#also friendly reminder that this is not a one shot this is part of a continuous story

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

day four: watching while loved ones are hurt

a Vaniah story. word count 1,431.

After the incident with the tranquillising a week ago, Maria had become positively foolhardy. She talked back to Jim, who seemed to enjoy it, and had put on an air of bravado that fooled precisely nobody. It surprised and frankly worried Vaniah. She had been nervous: now she was hard. Training was making her hard.

But it was making him hard too. His instinctive reaction to thinking about his family now was a faint tinge of disgust; they were not only sheltered but weak. It took another moment before he reminded himself that they were not weak but had different strengths. He was becoming superior.

He was also gradually losing sight of the honest reasons he had signed up for this career in the first place. He was scarcely aware that that was happening: only when he lay awake at night, wishing he could sleep and finding no rest. Usually, though, he was too tired to lie awake, and slept dreamlessly.

Today there was nothing happening until after lunch should have come and gone. At that time he had not eaten for nearly twenty-four hours, as dinner had been off the menu. Was Jim planning to starve them all? It probably should have bothered him more than it did. He was learning to take life as it came; the fear was dying slowly, leaving him an emotionless shell.

Somehow that didn’t bother him as much as it ought.

The siren went when the day was coming towards evening; everyone moved with alacrity to the meeting hall, glad to have something more than hanging about to do. Vaniah found his place next to Mordecai, and looked attentively to the front, where Jim was standing as usual.

“Form into pairs,” said Jim coolly. Vaniah turned swiftly to Mordecai, who nodded and put his arm through Vaniah’s elbow. “Line up in your pairs.”

This feels like primary school, thought Vaniah. Like children.

He was unsurprised to see the first pair ordered off to a different room, and gradually each pair was sent to one of the several smaller rooms nearby. He waited without thought or fear. He had learned to stop helplessly panicking. In this his training was becoming useful. Presently they reached the front of the line, then were sent into another small room: the one in which, weeks ago, he had been medically tested. The same doctor was waiting there, masked and gowned.

“Who wants to be chosen for this test?” he said.

Vaniah hesitated, and because he hesitated Mordecai spoke.

“I’ll do it.”

The doctor turned, left the room and came back with two chairs. He tied Mordecai, passive and unresisting, to one, then Vaniah to the other. They stared at one another. Vaniah was commencing to worry.

“Remember you chose this,” said the doctor, and slapped Mordecai hard across the face. His head was flung backwards by the impact, and the chair rocked. He uttered a startled yell.

Vaniah moved. He was securely bound, but he threw his weight against his restraints and moved the chair forward a couple of inches. “Don’t hurt him!” he said sharply. “Hurt me instead!”

Mordecai looked dazed. He blinked, then shook his head vaguely and winced.

The doctor slapped him again. This time Mordecai kept his eyes closed.

“Don’t you hear me? I want to be chosen. Don’t hurt him.” Again Vaniah threw his weight against the ropes, and this time a knot gave. “Don’t—!”

As he got his arm free the doctor punched Mordecai, closed fist and hard. Mordecai’s head hung limp.

“You’re hurting a defenceless man!” exclaimed Vaniah violently, wrenching his arm free and reaching out to grab the other’s lab coat. “What are you, a coward? Can’t you let him free to fight, at least? This is senseless!”

All his anger did nothing; the doctor glanced at him emotionlessly. “You chose to let him be hurt.”

“I did not! I just—I hesitated. For one second. Let him go and hurt me instead. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“And you do?”

“Yes,” said Vaniah without hesitation. “More than Mordecai does.”

The doctor got a bucket of water and flung it in Mordecai’s face. The boy groaned.

“Your choices led to this,” said the doctor calmly. They made eye contact. “It’s your fault.”

“You’re lying,” said Vaniah, without conviction. “It’s not my fault.”

“I wouldn’t be hurting him except for you. This is your own fault. Your choice.”

“Hurt me instead.” He wrenched at his bonds again, unsuccessfully. “Damn it! Don’t hurt Mordecai!”

The doctor took a lighter from his pocket and flicked it on, holding it up. “I wonder how this will feel?” he said in a conversational tone.

Vaniah, shaking, tried to reach for it. He would gladly suffer the burn if he could prevent it from being applied to Mordecai, who was still barely conscious.

“You coward,” he seethed. “Hurting an innocent man—!”

“Innocent? None of us are innocent. Why are you trying to protect him? What’s he ever done for you?”

“Basic human decency! And he, this friend of mine—”

“None of you should have friends. Just for that—” And he held the lighter against the back of Mordecai’s hand. Mordecai flinched violently, but the doctor gripped his wrist.

“Stop!” Vaniah jerked his chair forward several inches. He didn’t care that he was crying. “Stop it! Stop hurting him! Why are you doing this?”

“Because of you. I heard you the other day, talking to Maria. I hear everything you say.” He removed the lighter, let Mordecai’s hand drop to his lap again. It looked charred; Vaniah didn’t want to look too closely. “You see, I’m being completely serious that this is your fault. None of the others are being hurt.”

Vaniah closed his eyes. He wasn’t quite sure enough that the man was lying to shake the guilt. It was his fault. It was. If only he hadn’t— Mordecai groaned again. The doctor was prodding the burn, and saying in a mild, childlike tone, “That’s interesting.”

“What’s your name?” asked Vaniah.

He had a purpose, but the man looked at him with raised eyebrows and said gently, “Why are you worrying about my name when your friend is injured and you can’t tend to him and it’s all your fault?”

Vaniah closed his eyes. Then he opened them and said coldly, “I want to know your name so that once I’m out of this cursed place I can come and hunt you down and kill you.”

“And how would you do that?”

“I will find out where you live. I will watch you as you go in and out every day of your life. I will find out who you love and who you hate, and I will protect the ones you hate from your wrath. Then I will follow you, one day on your way to work, and I will kill you with a thousand cuts, slowly, and I will enjoy your death screams. You will die only after begging for death for a long time. It will not be pretty. But you will never know when your doom is about to come upon you until it is coming. You will fear me for every day of the rest of your miserable existence. I can strike whenever I like. You know I am strong, and I am growing stronger. Fear me.”

He thought the doctor had gone a little pale. But the man rallied and said, “You are in my power.”

“For now,” said Vaniah: and smiled. “Only for now.”

“Because you said that,” was the calm response, “your friend, or the person you called your friend, is going to hurt more. Do you think Mordecai will forgive you, Vaniah?”

“Mordecai is very forgiving,” he said coldly. “I know that he will forgive me.”

“Even for this?” The doctor leaned down, gripped Mordecai’s chin hard and said, “Mordecai!” When the boy stirred, mumbling incoherently, he continued: “This is Vaniah’s fault, you understand?” Mordecai blinked and eventually nodded.

“Vaniah’s fault,” repeated the doctor, and hit him again. Vaniah clenched his fists and tried to get out of his binding again. Again he failed.

“How can you?” he asked. “You’re a monster.”

“We’re all monsters here. You will be one too, if you aren’t already.”

“I swear I never shall.”

“Oh, but you’ve changed already. You’re a different man to when you came in. Some things can never be undone.”

The words hit home like he had been struck. “I am not and never will be a monster.”

The doctor smiled; slowly, broadly, cruelly. “That’s what every monster thinks.”

[runariya]

Part 2 of this | shout out to @slut4jeon who made this happen part of the prompt game pairing: metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader genre: apocalypse!AU, S2L warnings: survival after nuclear fallout, foul language, basically just smut, jealous JK, oral (f. receiving), a bit of handjob, boobplay, fingering, squirting, a bit of eating out and finger sucking, unprotected seggs, a bit of cock warming, spanking, body worshipping, they are just whipped for each other, rough possessive seggs, JK's a bit whiney, cum shot, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 1.336

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Living in the Metro is, to say the least, completely unexpected. It’s like stepping into an alternate universe compared to the outside world. Not that it’s entirely safe here, with certain stations better avoided, especially when you’re on your own, but it’s still so much safer than anything you could have ever wished for.

What’s also otherworldly is living with Jungkook. It’s not only a luxury but like living in a constant dream. You’d never have believed you’d find someone like him, not even when the world was green, and the skies were blue before everything fell apart. But here you are, living the dream because Jungkook is the best partner you could ever hope for.

There isn’t a single day that passes where he isn’t more than willing and eager to please you to the best of his abilities—abilities that are beyond heaven. If you’re sad? He fucks you. If you’re happy? He fucks you too. And if you’re angry with him for reasons you can’t even recall? He’s usually the one responsible for making you forget in the first place.

You’d never complain, though, and never would you deny him or the multitude of orgasms he grants you day in and day out.

Like right now. He saw a seller at Riga Station, the trading hub of the Metro, being a bit too friendly with you. The man even gave you a rare flower, despite everyone knowing you belong to Jungkook. Hoseok just wanted to wind him up, and you suspect he did it on purpose.

“Sit down,” Jungkook orders, pacing the small room while his jaw ticks dangerously. You obey, clutching the flower tightly, not at all scared but rather anticipating the ‘punishment’ you know is coming.

“So now you’re collecting gifts from every man in—”

“I’m not collecting anything, Kook, he gave it to me volunta—”

“Voluntarily?! You didn’t just say that.”

You nod, biting your lip to suppress a smile as you watch Jungkook spiral further into frustration.

“Are you still looking for someone better? Is that it?”

“You never give me flowers,” you pout dramatically, and when Jungkook gestures with both hands to the wall overflowing with flowers and other gifts, you almost feel guilty enough to stop the game and tell him how good he is to you.

Almost.

But you don’t, because his next words are exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

“Maybe I need to remind my girlfriend who’s worthy of her.”

And as Jungkook strides towards you, ripping his army shirt off, you toss the flower aside you don’t care about. In seconds, he’s on you, crushing his lips against yours, his lip piercings digging into your lower lip as his hands grip every inch of your body.

You’re both naked in the blink of an eye, Jungkook alternating between sucking and licking your nipples while you jerk his perfect, hard cock. The sight of him worshipping your body like this never gets old, and his touch is never the same twice.

“I’m going to make sure I’m the only one on your mind.”

Jungkook’s fingers glide down to your cunt, pushing two fingers inside once you’re wet enough. The way his thick fingers stretch you sends stars exploding behind your eyelids, and the pace he sets, combined with his mouth and free hand still working on your tits, is utterly intoxicating. 

It’s insane how he can fuck you so perfectly with just his fingers, knowing exactly where to touch you. When he adds a third finger, thrusting as deep as he can, you know he’s not messing around this time. The burn from the stretch only intensifies when he rasps into your ear, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

“Kook!” you cry as he presses particularly hard. You didn’t know he could be this possessive, but God, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a man.

“Scream my name, love! Let everyone in this forsaken hellhole know who owns you.”

“Jungkook!” you moan as his fingers thrust relentlessly into you, his wrist occasionally grazing your clit, sending you even higher.

“Fuck yeah. My goddess.”

Your tits and neck are littered with hickeys at this point, and you’ve forgotten all about his cock in your slackened grip, but he doesn’t care. He never cares—his sole focus is your pleasure.

It’s when Jungkook leans back, looking down at you with his lips swollen and shining, that it all undoes you. Your orgasm crashes through you, fast and hard, and even though he’s made you squirt before, it never fails to shock and slightly embarrass you.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you dwell on that. He pulls his fingers out, licks them clean, and then dives straight between your legs, licking up every drop like always.

You’re spent, completely worn out, but you know it’s far from over. His cock is standing proudly, angrily red and ready for its well-deserved attention.

You’d like to give him head, but you know you wouldn’t survive it after what he just did to you. Jungkook, knowing you too well, simply lines himself up and pushes inside without breaking eye contact.

Every inch of him makes your head spin, especially when he bottoms out completely, filling you in a way that makes you never want to be without him.

You’re confused for a moment when he doesn’t move, and then you catch his lazy, wicked smirk. His hands run up and down your thighs before hooking them under your knees and pushing you further into him, making you moan involuntarily.

“You’re going to accept gifts from other men?”

You hesitate. Should you tease him further or stop while you’re ahead?

“Yes?” you test, but it’s clearly the wrong answer.

Jungkook’s hand smacks your ass, making you yelp, moan, and clench around him, only causing that smirk to grow.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I said yes.”

Another smack, another moan.

“You think this is funny?”

There’s something about a jealous Jungkook that hits differently, and despite knowing not to push him too far, you also know what’s coming is exactly what you both crave in this doomed world.

“Yes.”

Again, his hand strikes your ass, and this time you can’t hold back, your cunt squeezing so violently around him, coating his abs and thighs with a new wave of arousal. 

“How about I fuck that ‘yes’ out of you, huh?”

There’s no time to answer before Jungkook slams into you without mercy, stealing any possible words from your lips.

“Where’s your big mouth now?”

It’s gone, completely useless. You can only pant in time with his brutal thrusts, his fingers digging deeper into your legs as he forces you even closer, higher, as you cling to his wrists, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Scream my name, ____.”

He thrusts harder, but your voice is stolen, only broken cries escaping your lips.

“Scream!” Another slap across your by now red ass, the only thing holding you together is his massive cock.

“Jungkook!” you finally cry out, so loud you swear it echoes not only through you both but through the entire Metro as well. 

“Again.” Smack.

“Jungkook! Yes!”

“That’s right.”

And with that, you’re gone, chanting his name with every thrust, every drop of sweat that falls from him onto your body. Your next orgasm washes over you without mercy.

You know he’s close, too, when he abruptly pulls out like he always does and starts jerking himself off. 

With his eyes locked on you, he comes with a desperate whine, spilling white all over your body like a masterpiece.

He’s beautiful, your gorgeous, perfect boyfriend.

Jungkook collapses onto you, and your fingers instinctively find their way into his hair while he catches his breath.

“You know there’s only you, right?”

He grumbles in response.

“I love you, Kook. Don’t think otherwise.”

“I love you too,” he grumbles again, voice still muffled, but you don’t mind. It just makes him even more endearing.

“Good, because you’re not getting rid of me.”

[serpentandlily]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny III

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: none

a/n: hope you enjoy this one just as much as the others!

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

Part III

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

“That was…weird,” Mor remarked.

You agreed. You had no idea what to make of Eris’s behavior. Feyre and Rhys seemed to be locked in a mental conversation, leaving the rest of you to silence. You rubbed at your arm, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. You didn’t want to create any problems for your sister but you also didn’t want to leave. 

“He had a point,” Rhys finally said before looking at you with those violet eyes that reminded you far too much of a certain pair of amber ones. They both held too many secrets. “But I don’t think Beron will prove to be much of a problem as long as we keep his focus on other things.”

Feyre nodded along. “Besides, what is Beron going to do about it, anyways? Short of killing us, there is nothing to be done.”

You felt a flicker of fear but pushed it down. Rhys was the most powerful High Lord. Surely he would defend you and your sister if it came down to it. Feyre was also powerful in her own right and could fight for herself but you…

“We won’t let any harm come to you,” Rhys promised, his voice softening. “And what did I say about keeping those mental shields up?”

You turned red and quickly slammed the gates to your mind closed. 

“I would like to stay,” you mumbled, sheepishly. “But I don’t want to cause problems.”

Mor waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Eris talks out of his ass most of the time. He probably just wanted to put us on edge. You being here is not a problem, doll.” 

You didn’t feel comforted in the slightest.

“Well, if that's settled,” Rhys said, standing up. “I believe it is time for us to make our way towards the meeting room.”

You let out a breath, trying to settle your nerves from Eris’s display. Feyre gave you a small smile, linking her arm through yours. “Don’t look so nervous. There’s going to be some friendly faces in the crowd.”

You nodded, still feeling anxious about the whole thing. Although you hardly considered Vassa and Jurian your friends, at least you were familiar with them. Unfortunately, you were also familiar enough with Lord Nolan and his son.

Feyre placed her other hand in Rhys’s extended elbow and the two of them led you out of the chambers and into the wide corridor. Your breaths were still shaky once your group got to the staircase that would lead you to the meeting room with the reflection pool. 

Feyre unwrapped her arm from yours and Azriel stepped forward instead. 

“Azriel is going to escort you in,” she explained. “If you feel nervous, just stay by his side. Okay?”

You gave her a small nod and let them lead the way forward. When your group finally reached the top of the staircase, you were a bit relieved to see that the Autumn Court wasn’t present yet. Your eyes darted around the room, landing on all the various High Lords and their entourages, trying to place them in their respective courts. 

“That right there is Tarquin,” Azriel whispered from beside you, following your eyesight. “High Lord of Summer.” 

“And him?”

“Kallias, High Lord of Winter. His wife and mate, Vivianne, is the female next to him.” 

“Another High Lady?”

“Not quite,” Azriel answered. He inclined his head towards a different group. “That’s Helion, High Lord of the Day Court.” 

The male he nodded to was quickly approaching your group, a serpentine smile on his face. Gods, you were still not quite used to how beautiful the fae were. Helion looked like a God in his own right. His eyes passed over your group until they landed on you and lingered for a second longer. 

You watched as he greeted Feyre, Rhysand and Mor before turning his head towards you and Azriel. 

“Shadowsinger,” he nearly purred, “Always happy to see you.”

Azriel didn’t smile, didn’t move. In fact, he shot the High Lord an exasperated look as if this flirtatious behavior was all too common. That didn’t stop you from blushing when the High Lord looked at you and smiled coyly. 

“And who might you be?”

He reached out a hand but before you could open your mouth, the High Lord was suddenly knocked to the side, stumbling over himself. 

“My apologies, High Lord,” Eris sneered at Helion. “Perhaps you shouldn’t stand in the middle of a walkway.” 

Eris strode away before Helion could even respond, his brothers trailing after him, glaring around the room. Your jaw nearly dropped at his audacity but you quickly schooled your face, watching Helion glare at their backs. He seemed to shake off the encounter quickly, his charming persona snapping back into place as your sister came up on your side.

“Helion,” she said, “this is my sister, Y/n. She’s here to help us discuss the peace treaty with the humans.” 

Your introduction with Helion was short lived as Thesan called for the start of the meeting now that everyone was here. The first half of the meeting was just with the fae before the human leaders were to be brought in. Since you were primarily there for the humans, your thoughts drifted away as the fae leaders began their discussions. 

Your eyes trailed over all the courts—taking interest in how different each fae looked depending on where they came from. But your gaze kept falling on one fae in particular. The red headed male sat behind his daunting father. He hadn’t once looked in your direction. Part of you was glad for it, because it would be embarrassing to be caught blatantly staring at him as you were. Another part of you longed for him to look your way… You had no idea where that feeling came from. 

Eris was dressed far more formally than he had been the last two times you had seen him. He wore a dark green vest stitched with golden thread, tiny leaves embroidered along the seams, on top of a cream button up. A golden fox brooch was pinned at the neck of his collar, probably the Vanserra family’s emblem. His pants were an even darker green, almost appearing black and neatly tucked into his boots. Around his shoulders was a matching green cape coat embellished in gold detailing much like his vest. 

His red hair looked like a raging fire next to all the green, his pale skin glistening in the soft lighting of the room. He was so distractingly beautiful, even with that familiar haughty smirk on his face. It didn’t matter that there were far more powerful, commanding fae in the room. Your eyes could not keep off him. 

Like a moth to flame. 

Eris’s honey amber eyes finally met yours and you felt something snapped inside of you. You gasped as a golden thread unraveled within you and shot out across the room—all the way to the male seated across from you….all the way to Eris. 

Mate.

The word clanged through your head, drowning all other thoughts.

Mate.

Eris was your mate. 

In your shock, you missed the warning look Eris shot your way. You gasped, loudly, drawing the attention of the room as you stood so suddenly, your chair was knocked to the ground behind you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, that golden thread thrumming with sparks of flame.

Your sister quickly rose from her seat, placing a hand on your upper arm to steady you. Azriel too had jumped up, his hand ghosting over Truth-teller, as if ready for whatever invisible threat was occuring.

Eris stood abruptly, almost panting. Your eyes never left those amber ones. Not even as they seemed to plead with you to sit, to hide, to disappear from this room entirely. 

“What’s wrong?” Feyre asked, her voice hurried and filled with concern. Her eyes followed your line of sight and darted back to you and down to the hand you held to your chest. 

Rhysand seemed to catch on to what was happening quicker. 

“Azriel, get her out of here,” he ordered the shadowsinger. 

A scarred hand wrapped around yours and a second later, you were engulfed in a wave of shadows.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

“Rhysand,” Thesan said, “Please answer for that display. What antics have occurred in your court to disrupt such a meeting?” 

Feyre’s hands were shaking as Rhysand latched onto them, guiding her back to her chair softly. “Apologies, Y/n is still a bit sensitive to magic since coming out of the cauldron. You’ll have to forgive her sudden departure.” 

“And here I thought you had moved on from your lying and deceiving ways, Rhysand,” Beron jumped in, his voice filled with wicked amusement. “It appears a congratulation is in order.” He turned to face his son. “It seems to me that a mating bond has just snapped into place.” 

Eris’s face was unreadable as he sat back down, fists clenched at his sides. 

“Explain yourselves,” Tarquin interjected, looking bemused. “How do you have another Made female in your court, Rhysand?”

“She is my sister,” Feyre declared. “And she was there the day Hybern forced all of them into the cauldron.”

“Why was she not included in the reports from that day?” Thesan asked, sitting up straighter.

“She was under our protection,” Rhysand answered. “She was hardly more than a child at the time.” 

“Liar. She never came out of the cauldron,” Tamlin said, sharply, eyes narrowing. “Your reports never included her because she never came out of the cauldron that day.”

“Well, considering you all just saw her alive and in person,” Rhysand shrugged, picking a piece of lint from his coat. “Obviously, she did. Perhaps your head was too far up Hybern’s ass to see.”

Tamlin growled but was cut off by Beron. 

“Where have you taken my son’s mate?” Beron demanded. 

“That is none of your concern.”

“Rhysand, you cannot possibly keep her away from her mate,” Thesan said. “He is entitled—”

“He is entitled to nothing,” Feyre snapped. “The Night Court does not force females to accept mating bonds. As she falls under our jurisdiction, she has our full protection against any of your antiquated beliefs.” 

“Leave it to the Night Court to spit on traditions,” Beron hissed. “A mating bond works both ways. As the other half falls under my jurisdiction, my son has all the right to invoke a blood duel if you wish to keep her from him.” 

The Lady of Autumn looked alarmed at her husband’s words but said nothing. Neither did Eris, who seemed to be choosing his next moves very carefully. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time the Night Court stole a female away,” Tamlin said, sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh please, spare us from revisiting your despair,” Helion chuckled, humorlessly. 

“Have we all forgotten why we are here today?” Kallias cut in, his tone cold. “Must we argue over something that does not involve the rest of our courts? This meeting has already been derailed and some of us have better things to do with our time then listen to squabbles.” 

“This is not over, Rhysand,” Beron hissed. Eris still sat stoically behind his father, not faltering in the slightest. “You and I have much to discuss after we deal with the humans lest you wish to start a conflict between our courts.” 

“Fine,” Rhysand growled. “But prepare yourself and your son for disappointment.” 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

You paced in the sitting room in the River House, your heart still beating rapidly, your thoughts out of control. A mating bond. A godsdamn mating bond had snapped between you and Eris of all people. Eris, the male whose reputation followed him like darkened clouds. Eris, the male who had left Mor to die in the woods all those years ago. Eris, the Heir of Autumn, the son of one of the most ruthless fae in all of Prythian. 

Surely it was a mistake. It had to be. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Elain suggested, gently, patting the cushion beside her on the couch. “Feyre will get it all sorted out. You needn’t worry so much.” 

“How can I not worry? How can I not worry when Eris of all people is my mate, Elain?” You rubbed at your chest, already feeling an emptiness there now that you had been separated from him. “This must be a mistake. A trick, perhaps?” 

“Perhaps,” Elain agreed, though she didn’t sound like she believed it for one second. “But there’s not much you can do about it now. Not until they return from the meeting.” 

You let out a long breath and plopped onto the couch next to her. Elain brushed a hand through your hair, guiding you to lay down on her lap. “It’ll be okay, Y/n. A mating bond isn’t the end of all things. Feyre would never let that male get his hands on you.” 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Some part of you wanted that male. Not the Eris that the others saw. But the one you had seen in those secret moments between the two of you. The alluring fox behind the mask. 

Your heart sang for him now that the mating bond had snapped into place. He hadn’t seemed surprised in the slightest….like he had already known about it. Had it snapped for him? Had he known this whole time that you were his mate? Why wouldn’t he tell you? Maybe…

maybe he didn’t want you…

Hours went by. The whole night passed. You didn’t stray from the couch, neither did Elain. You appreciated your sister comforting you. You wished Nesta wasn’t on her mating vacation and was here to help you as well…maybe she would know what to do.

The door to the house opening had you sitting up, rubbing at your red rimmed eyes. Elain woke abruptly as well, wiping the drool that was dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Feyre, Rhysand and Mor strode in, all looking just as exhausted as you.

“Well, I’m glad that shitshow is over,” Mor said, falling on one of the settees dramatically. 

A second later, Amren and Azriel came into the room, both wearing unreadable expressions. Amren’s silver eyes studied you for a moment before moving to Feyre and Rhysand.

“How’d it go?”

“Awful,” Rhysand sighed. “No one could come to an agreement.”

“Did the humans not want to sign?” You asked, purposefully avoiding the other topic. 

Feyre shook her head. “No, they were…even less receptive than we thought they’d be.” 

“What happens now?” Elain asked.

“We go through that again and again, I suppose,” Rhys answered. “Until a peace treaty is signed.” 

The room fell into a heavy silence until you broke it, minutes later.

“And…and what of…” You trailed off, unable to say the words, unable to ask about the male that had been on your mind since you had been whisked away from the meeting. 

“Beron will be visiting the Court of Nightmares tomorrow,” Rhys said, hesitantly, gauging your emotions. “To discuss what is to be done. It is unfortunate that he knows about the bond now because there is little Eris can do as long as his father is in power.”

“He can finally kill the bastard,” Mor grumbled into a pillow. 

“We must tread carefully,” Amren said. “If Eris is forced to call for a blood duel against Rhysand, he will die and one of his brutish brothers will be next in line for the throne.” 

“What!” You exclaimed. “A blood duel? Would he…would he really do that? Fight Rhysand even if it means certain death?” 

Eris was powerful, sure. But he was still only an heir, not a full blown High Lord like Rhysand. He would be misted in seconds. Just that thought of it sent you into a panic.

“I’ll fight him in your place,” Azriel said, darkly, looking at Rhys but he shook his head.

“We cannot risk that,” Rhys said. 

“Do you really think Beron would have his own son fight and die in a blood duel?” Feyre asked. 

“Of course he would. One less person he has to keep off his throne,” Amren said.

“He’s a monster,” Elain whispered, staring at you with concern. 

“Yes, he is,” Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So we must do as Amren said and tread very carefully.” 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

The next day, you stood in the foyer of the River House, dressed in a simple dark blue, silk dress. Your stomach was tossing and turning with nerves, scared of what would happen during this meeting with Beron. You hated that you were causing your sister and Rhysand so much stress, hated that you were in the middle of this conflict. 

You wished you could turn back time. Wished you could go back to that moment the mating bond snapped so you could hide the realization better. You had always worn your heart on your sleeve and it had finally bit you in the ass. 

You had no idea how today was going to play out.

You were certain of one thing, though. You ached to see Eris again. The mating bond had nearly kept you up all night. Feyre had tried teaching you how to block if off, but it was hard. Eris seemed to have no problem keeping his side of the bond locked down. It infuriated you to know he was probably feeling every single emotion from you. 

“Are you ready?” Rhys asked as Feyre, Mor and Azriel slid into view. 

Rhys and Feyre were dressed like they always were when making trips to Hewn City. Mor wore a scandalous red dress that clung to her beautiful curves and Azriel wore his Illyrian leathers, as per usual, all seven siphons on display. 

You nodded, unable to even speak.

The next hour seemed to happen while you were stuck in a daze. Rhys winnowed you all to Hewn City and led you into the throne room where everyone was waiting. Word must’ve spread quickly of what had occurred. Keir escorted Beron and Eris into the throne room after the formalities were done.

You couldn’t find the nerve to look at Eris now that you were in the same room. You had shown your hand during that meeting and had caused an avalanche to fall in its wake. You felt guilty, ashamed and scared…so scared. 

A dumb bunny, indeed. 

Rhys and Feyre led you all to a private meeting room, shutting the door in Keir’s face as he tried to join. You sat, hiding your shaking hands in your lap, keeping your eyes on the floor. 

“Well, I assume you have come to your senses by now,” Beron said, leaning back in his chair as if he commanded the room. “The girl comes with us. The Night Court owes Autumn a bride as it is.”

His glare focused on Mor for a moment and she scoffed in his direction. 

“Not so fast, Beron,” Rhysand tsked, pouring himself a glass of wine. “We don’t owe you anything. It was your court that ultimately broke the marriage agreement all those years ago.” 

Beron sat up with a sneer. “I believe it was broken the moment that girl decided to whore herself out to an Illyrian bastard of all people.”

You tensed in your seat, gripping the dress in your fists.

“Father, please,” Eris sighed, making you look up at him finally. 

Beron glanced at his son before turning back to Rhysand. “You should be overjoyed that we’re willing to take the girl as it is, considering the beasts in your court have probably ran through her already.”

“Watch your mouth,” Feyre snapped.

The smell of burning wood filled the room and Eris flexed his hands, new scorch marks on the table underneath them. “Don’t speak of her like that.”

Beron laughed. It was an awful sound. “Right, my apologies, son. Don’t worry, those mating instincts will go away once you’ve fucked her for a near century.”

Your face turned bright red at the crude words. Eris growled. The sound was so primitive, so animalistic. It sent chills down your spine. Even Beron looked unnerved for a moment.

“You are not winning yourself any favors,” Rhysand purred, smirking at the older male. “Have you any dignity?”

“Have you?” Beron bit back. “You all but spit on the face of the Mother by keeping her away from her mate. This is more of a blessing for you then it is us. A marriage alliance with Autumn, one you do not deserve that we are graciously offering.”

“Let me make myself clear, Beron, since you refuse to listen,” Rhysand snapped. “Our court has no laws that require a female to accept a bond. You would really go to war over something like this? While our courts are still recovering from the last one?”

Rhys and Feyre had theorized that Beron was so adamant about forcing you into the bond not because he cared for his son, but for two other reasons. One, you were Made. They had all seen how powerful Nesta was because of it and Beron craved power above all else.

Two, it was another way to keep Eris in check. To dangle you over his head as a threat. 

“Perhaps we should ask what she wants,” Mor interjected.

“What she wants does not matter,” Beron snarled. “She is mated to an Autumn male, by our laws she must accept.”

“She is a resident of our court,” Feyre argued back. “She does not have to accept it.”

“Then you leave us no choice,” Beron said, rising from his seat. He planted his palms on the table, staring at you all of a sudden. You crumbled into yourself. “Is that what you want, girl? You want us to declare a blood duel against your family?”

You shook your head as Rhysand stood, slamming his own hands on the table. “You would have your son fight in a blood duel against me, a High Lord?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be against you,” Beron laughed, cruelly. His eyes fell on Feyre. “And it wouldn’t be my son. I will demand a blood duel against your mate. A mate for a mate. Very fitting, don’t you agree?”

Feyre versus Beron…. That bastard had planned this. You’d all been so concerned with Eris declaring a blood duel you didn’t even realize this would be a way Beron could kill Feyre as he wished in a legal way—as barbaric as it was.

And most of the other courts held the mating bond in such regard, you wondered if you’d find any allies against him for doing this beside Helion. 

Rhysand growled, darkness leaking off of him,

“And I will just fight you in her place.”

Beron smiled. “Oh, but you see, you can’t. Once a blood duel has been declared you either surrender to the terms or fight. I don’t know where you got your information from but there are no place holders allowed.” 

Your heart was racing in your chest. 

Silence fell so heavy in the room your ears were ringing. All of this was all your fault. You felt tears line your eyes. You couldn’t let Feyre fight for you. You wouldn’t. Even though she could probably hold her own against him, he was ages older than her—more battle worn. She’d be at a huge disadvantage.

And Eris couldn’t do anything about this, not if it was his father who wished to fight a blood duel. He couldn’t order his father not to. 

You couldn’t let her do this. You owed your life to her, you owed everything to her. It was time to start fighting your own battles. 

“I’ll go,” you whispered, so quietly you wondered if you had even said the words out loud. “I’ll go.”

Feyre’s head whipped to you. “No, absolutely not.”

But you shook your head. “I do not want anyone fighting on my behalf. I will go with them.”

Beron’s grin grew into one that could rival the devil himself.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

“We will find a way out of this,” Feyre whispered into your ear as she hugged you. “I promise. Just hold out for us, okay? We’ll get you out of there.”

You nodded, pulling away to brush the tears off her cheek. You weren’t even going to be able to say goodbye to Elain and Nesta. Beron was demanding that you leave right away. 

“I’ll be okay, Fey,” you murmured to her. 

“Enough of the dramatics,” Beron called out. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Eris didn’t look at you as he held out a hand. You swallowed audibly and walked to his side, grasping it softly. You spared one last glance at your sister before you were winnowed out of Hewn City and into the den of foxes.

“Come here, girl,” Beron barked, now standing before his throne. “Let me get a look at you.”

You glanced at Eris but he just stood there, stoically, not meeting your gaze. You walked towards Beron, trying not to shake in fear. 

The older male grasped your chin in his hand, turning your face from side to side as he examined you. Eris’s other brothers stood at the bottom of the dais, their wolfish grins doing little to make you less nervous. The Lady of Autumn was seated in a small chair to the side of the throne, her eyes not lifting from the floor. 

“You look just like my other son’s mate,” he remarked. “Smaller, though. The runt of the family, I’m assuming. Pity. Were you not fed properly as a child?” 

You weren’t even sure how to reply to that. You decided not to respond and Beron’s eyes narrowed. 

“Hmm,” he mused, finally letting go of you. “Have you sullied yourself with those beasts?” 

“Father,” Eris growled, stepping up next to you. “That is enough.” 

Beron chuckled, mirthlessly, waving a dismissive hand. “Fine, take her away and get her out of those whorish clothes.”

Eris grabbed you by your upper arm and dragged you out of the throne room. You had to walk quickly, trying to keep up with his long legs as he led you down corridor after corridor. The Forest House was magnificent, beautiful. It was a shame that someone like Beron ran this court, you thought, as you studied the place. 

Eris finally stopped in front of a room, yanking the door open and pushing you inside. You glared at him as he slammed the door shut behind him, crossing your arms. You were inside of a huge suite, it seemed. A lavish sitting room, with two doors on either side, likely leading to a bedroom and bathing chamber. 

“These are my quarters,” Eris explained as he shrugged off his cape coat and tossed it on the red, velvet couch. He began to unbutton his vest as he faced you. “You are to stay here. Do not leave without an escort. Tomorrow, I will assign you two handmaidens to help you.” 

Your eyes widened. “I’m…I’m meant to stay here…in your room?” 

Eris let out a long sigh. “It is the safest place for you and I do not want to risk rumors.” 

“B-but surely this is improper,” you stuttered. “We are not properly mated.” 

Eris let out a cruel laugh. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t made such a spectacle at the High Lords’ meeting so don’t start complaining to me.” 

You felt a flare of anger. 

“You knew,” you grumbled. “You knew about the mating bond between us and you didn’t tell me! Perhaps if you had told me, I wouldn’t have even been in that room! I would’ve stayed home.” 

“Unlikely,” Eris sneered, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a decanter on a bar cart behind the couch. He chugged the drink down, loosening his collar with his other hand. “You don’t seem to have a lot going on in that pretty little head of yours, bunny. Did you ever stop to think about why I might be hiding it?”

“You are such a prick,” you snapped. “I am not one of your little pawns. I am not a part of your stupid games! You should have told me!”

You went to whirl around but Eris grabbed your wrist, dragging you closer to him. You glared up at him, ignoring the way his heat enveloped you in its embrace. 

“This is not a game to me,” Eris growled. “Have you any idea what you’ve cost me? Have you any idea what he will do to you if I so much as take a single step out of line now?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip. “Have you any idea what this has cost me? I’m the one who's been forced out of my home—forced to come here!” 

“And who’s fault is that?” 

Eris slammed the empty glass down on the cart. 

“Gods, sorry I couldn’t read your oh-so-clever mind! Sorry I couldn’t act like an emotionless shell of a person like you!” 

“Watch how you speak to me,” Eris snarled. “I can make your life here a living hell, bunny.”

“I’m not scared of you, Eris,” you snapped. “You don’t fool me. I see the real you under that mask and you know what I think—I think it is you who is scared.”

Eris ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You know nothing. Do you understand? Nothing.”

“Then tell me! Tell me so I can help you! I know you do not wish to see your father in power much longer. Let me help!”

Eris grabbed your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. You hated how cold his amber eyes looked.

“No. Absolutely not. I will not involve you in the slightest,” he snarled before his eyes softened and his hand slipped to cup your cheek instead. “I cannot…I cannot bear to see this place make you cruel. Stay here, where you’ll be safe, bunny. Leave everything else to me. You were not made for this place. But me…You have no idea what kind of monster I can be.”

Eris’s hand dropped back to his side and he stepped away from you, heading towards the door. You were breathing so heavily, your lungs constricting your ribs against the dress you wore. 

“Can we talk about this? Please!”

He said nothing, reaching for the handle of the door. 

“Eris, please!”

His hand fell against the doorframe, flame licking at the wood—scorching it again. A growl rumbled through his chest and his head hung between his shoulders but he didn’t turn around, didn’t look at you.

“Do not,” he groaned. “Do not say my name like that.” 

And then he was gone, leaving you completely alone. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

When you woke up later that night, you found yourself in an unfamiliar room. You sat up, realizing you were laying in a bed. You were certain you had fallen asleep on the couch, not wanting to even go into Eris’s bedroom.

The silk, dark orange sheets next to you were undisturbed. You rubbed at your eyes, getting up from under the covers. You were still in the dress you had fallen asleep in.

You padded over to the door, opening it slowly. You took two steps into the sitting room before you froze in your spot. 

There, on the couch, was Eris. The fireplace was roaring in front of him as he slept, a lump on the floor by his feet. You blinked away the blurriness in your eyes to see what it was.

Ashera was curled up there, the dog you had met that day you had accidentally winnowed into the forest here. She slept soundly on the floor next to him. 

You stepped back into the bedroom and closed the door behind you, quietly, not wanting to disturb them. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

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[honeydjarin]

(I’LL GIVE YOU THE MOON)

OPLA SANJI X READER

You owe Sanji a dance and he intends to have it Or A flirt is going to flirt (that doesn’t mean he’s not yours)

genre: fluff, mild angst

warnings: smoking, drinking

word count: 1,500

a/n: I wasn’t expecting the first part to receive so much love! Thank you everyone who took the time to leave such kind comments. This fic takes place after Bring Me the Sun, but it was planned as a separate one shot and can be read as such.

PART I: BRING ME THE SUN

You stand on the back deck of the Going Merry, the round faces of Nami’s tangerines staring at you from either side. The moon joins in, its face glowing more gold than silver where it hangs just above the horizon. You think it’s a full moon.

Maybe that’s why you feel like you're losing yourself. 

You’re alone on the ship—or you’re supposed to be—while the rest of the Straw Hat Crew are out at a bar, enjoying a little downtime between wild adventures. Yet even here, surrounded by only the sound of water lapping at the stern, the sweet tangerines swaying in the low breeze, and the silent gaze of the moon, you are haunted by the man that consumes your head and your heart. 

You can still feel the heat of his hand against your lower back, the curve of his fingers on the nape of your neck, the weight of his arm across your shoulders. You can still feel the brush of his hair against your cheek as he leaned in close for you to hear him over the music. Despite the fresh air, the smoke of his cigarette still fills your nose (or maybe that’s a phantom too). Even now, with so much distance between you, Sanji’s touch still lingers. 

It’s so easy to feel like you’re special when he’s near you, like you’re the only one he sees when he turns his soft gaze your way, lips curling in an easy smile. The way he speaks makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world he could ever have eyes for. Like you’re the person he holds closest to his heart—just as haunted as you are. 

And then he stands up, offers to get you another drink, saying: “It’s the least I can do for someone so beautiful.” 

You’re left watching as he turns that smile towards a stranger getting a drink next to him, eyes gleaming as he laughs, and you wonder if you’re just another one of his friendly flirtations. Maybe that gentle fondness that softens his features when he looks your way isn’t that at all, but merely the familiarity of being with a friend.   

You want to be his friend. You also want to be so much more. 

You couldn’t stay at the bar tonight, despite leaving Sanji with a full glass and a broken promise that you half hope he remembers. You needed space to think, to breathe. Sanji would have made his way back to you, he always does, but your mood had soured too much to play it off as simply being tired. You walked past a drunkenly dancing Usopp on your way out the door and wished you could be as carefree as him. 

The chill of the night air starts to seep into your skin, raising goosebumps on your flesh. Still, you remain. You stay there when you hear the rest of the crew return, voices loud in their drunken haze, carrying across the ship even as they descend to the sleeping quarters. You’re still there when silence settles once again. 

Footsteps trail up the stairs, coming to a halt not far behind you. When you turn, you see Sanji standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, eyes taking you in. It’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling in the low light. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask. “It’s late, you should get some rest.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” he says. 

“I don’t think I will either,” you admit. You turn your attention back to the moon. It’s higher now, glowing bright enough to drown out the stars around it. 

Sanji steps closer, closing the distance between you. He leans against the railing beside you, staring out at the moon. The heat of his arm inches from yours is enough to remind you of how cool the air really is, and you shiver. 

“You’re cold,” he says, and you nod, unable to face him. Without a word, he takes off his jacket and places it over your shoulders, the fabric helping to chase some of the chill away, but not all. Once again you’re left wondering if this is just a friendly gesture, or if it could ever mean something more. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Will you look at me?” Sanji asks. You nod again, but turning to face the man who is always in your thoughts is more difficult than you expect. Instead you clutch his jacket closer, seeking comfort for a problem of your own making. 

When you still don’t move, Sanji takes your cheeks in his hands, thumbs stroking gently along their curve, guiding you to look at him. His hold prevents you from turning away. 

His hair glows silver in the low light, like a halo—beautiful. Your skin warms beneath his touch despite the ache in your heart. The chef’s own cheeks burn red, the wine he drank throughout the night settling just beneath his skin in a rosy flush that you long to press your lips to, if only to feel the heat of him. 

It takes all of your willpower to keep from leaning forward and kissing him right then and there. Liquid courage leaves you sticky with affection and with inhibitions dulled just enough to risk acting on your desires. It’s the little voice in the back of your head that reminds you you’re just a friend that keeps you from pulling him closer. 

“You promised me a dance tonight,” Sanji says, words laced in disappointment. 

“Did I?” you play dumb. You can’t help but hope the wine has stained his memory, not just his cheeks. It’s merely wishful thinking—a couple of glasses isn’t enough for Sanji to get drunk, just enough to go soft around the edges.

He hums. “You did. And then you left before we could.” 

“I needed to get some air,” you claim. 

“I thought things were going well, that we were having a good time. Together.” All traces of flirtation and charm have vanished from the chef’s features, leaving nothing but unclouded honesty behind. His usually crystalline eyes are dark in the night, their usual light gone and instead filled with confusion as he looks into your own. 

Guilt settles in your stomach like a stone. Of course your actions hurt him. 

“We were,” you admit. “But I got scared.” 

Even in the dark, you can see the moment your words sink in, recognition sparking in Sanji’s eyes, and then something more, something softer. Your favorite smile curls on his lips and you can’t help but stare. 

Sanji starts to remove one of his hands from your cheek, but before he can your own hand reaches up, keeping it there. It’s selfish, you hurt him—hurt yourself too, with all of your overthinking. 

He looks at you so fondly. He always does.  

“You know I mean it, right darling? Every word. You’re beautiful.”

The ache that held itself in your heart since leaving the bar eases, fading into a mere whisper. He isn’t looking at you like a friend, or some stranger in a bar. He’s too honest right now, and it’s all the reassurance you need. At least for a little while.   

Once again you’re overcome with the need to kiss him, and this time you do. You lean in, and before you have a chance to doubt your decision, Sanji meets you halfway. 

His lips are soft and warm against yours, better than you imagined. He tastes like the smoke of his cigarettes. Not a phantom—this is real. It’s like a balm for your heart that dreamed of this moment for so long.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are shining bright enough that you swear you can see the moon in them. Or maybe it’s you who is moonstruck. Either way, you can’t stop your own lips from curling into a smile, a laugh bubbling up your throat and spilling out into the night. 

You want to kiss him again, so you do. When you pull back this time, Sanji’s lips find your cheek, pressing a kiss there too with a murmur of “you really are too sweet to me.” 

When Sanji pulls back again, just enough to take in your lovesick state, he adds, “You promised me a dance.”

He sways you slowly, barely rocking more than the boat’s natural rhythm in the tide, his smile never dropping for a minute. There’s no music to guide you, but you’re too caught up in each other to care. 

“I’m pretty sure the music at the bar was faster,” you joke.

“Was it? I think I prefer this speed.” As if to emphasize his point, Sanji pulls you even closer, tucking you against his solid form. 

When you left the bar, you didn’t expect your night to end so perfectly. Surrounded by only the sound of water lapping at the stern, the sweet tangerines swaying in the low breeze, and the silent gaze of the moon—there is nowhere else you would rather be. 

a/n: I think Sanji would still be a charmer even if he was interested in someone/in a relationship. That doesn't mean he wouldn't be loyal to his love.

[dark-fics-4-you]

possible rafe request?! rafes gf makes him mad by being too friendly at an event w wards business partners so he fucks her at the event 😈

Golden Boy

Warnings: domestic violence, noncon, toxic relationship, jealousy,

You chuckled politely, trying not to glare at the thirty-something year old man in front of you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but put a little venom in your reply, “Well, I actually do have plans outside of my boyfriend. I’m going to college right now, and I’m actually in a paid internship that I got before Rafe and I met.”

The somewhat handsome, but definitely too old to be your type, business partner, whose name you had already forgotten, gave you an annoyed look, not expecting you to respond that way to his poorly hidden dig at you not belonging at this event.

It was true, in some ways. You were far from your side of the island, and no matter how much time you put into your make up and hair or the price tags of the many expensive clothes Rafe had bought you, the Kooks could always sniff out the people who grew up with nothing.

Before he could respond though, you heard your name being called from behind. Peering past the man in front of you, you could see your boyfriend waving at you to come over to him.

You didn’t even bother telling the asshole in front of you that you were exiting the conversation, you just did, quickly returning to Rafe’s side.

“Ugh perfect timing, that guy I was just talking to was a total jerk,” you whispered in his ear as you gave him a hug.

“Baby, didn’t I tell you to try to get along with these guys?” He seemed angry and you could tell that this event was already stressing him out a lot. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and everything about him was somewhat jittery, like he wasn’t in his right mind.

“I mean, you know I need to look good in front of them while my Dad’s watching. It means a lot to him.” You looked into his eyes at his words and noticed two things. One, Rafe said it meant a lot to his dad, but you knew it was more about how how much it meant to him. And two, his pupils were much wider than they should have been.

Rafe had obviously done some coke before tonight, trying to calm his nerves and give him some confidence, but it was only doing the opposite.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you look bad, but I don’t think it’s fair that I can’t defend myself in front of the people here who are looking down on me.” You shot back at him, annoyed for more reasons than one. “I’m being polite to them, but it would probably be easier for me if you were by my side to stop them from being so rude to me.”

You lowered your voice before speaking again, “And also… I don’t think you should be doing so much coke right now.”

Rafe’s burning glare alone was enough to make you regret saying anything, the return of his tight grip on your arm was just a sick formality at this point, reminding you of the previous bruise he had left in that same spot that you had to cover with makeup for this event.

After being with your boyfriend for so long, you knew the lengths he would go to when he felt personally wronged.

You learned very early on that Rafe was never one to hold back on his verbal abuse, and his physical abuse was no different, although he always tried to keep both incredibly private due to the damage that could come to the Cameron name if it ever came out that Ward’s son, the golden boy, was hitting his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, Rafe. I just care for you, that’s all. I promise I’ll be polite to your dad’s friends.” Your meager apology seemed to be good enough for the moment, and your boyfriend gave you a silent nod after staring at you for several unnerving seconds.

“Be polite, don’t share your opinion, and just keep your mouth shut for the most part. Let them talk about themselves, and they’ll probably think it was the best conversation they’ve had all day.” Rafe grumbled, but his mood improved when he tilted your head up, pressing his lips to yours, large hand still resting under your chin. You kissed him back for what you thought was an appropriate amount of time, but when you tried to pull away, he held you in place, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you to kiss him back.

By the time he released you, you pulled away to see several people staring at the two of you, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Rafe was always doing things like that in public when he felt like other men were threatening your relationship, he always needed to prove himself and stake his claim on you. Let everyone there know that you belonged to him.

“Remember what I said sweetheart. Just try to act like you belong here.” He smirked at his obvious jab at the very thing you felt the most self conscious about right now, before he calmly turned heel, approaching another group of stuffy, rich assholes across the large room.

Your huff of frustration must have been loud enough to be heard by someone standing near you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

To your surprise, when you turned around you were greeted by a man who looked to be about your age.

“You’re Y/N, right?” He held out his hand, which you grabbed, giving him a firm handshake, just like Rafe had taught you.

“Yes I am, although I’m not quite sure if we have met before?” You lightheartedly responded.

“Ah, my apologies, you haven’t, I’m James, I work with your boyfriend at Cameron Development. He’s honestly a blast,” the man, James apparently, chuckled as he recalled several stories of work assignments with Rafe. This led to the two of you exchanging several funny work and college tales.

Despite never having met James before, you felt an instant chemistry with him, nothing romantic at all, of course, but you found him very easy to talk to, and to your surprise, after glancing at your watch, you realized that the two of you had been chatting for nearly 25 minutes!

At this realization, your blood instantly ran cold. Where was Rafe? Why hadn’t he checked on you? Had he seen you talking to the same guy for nearly half an hour, clearly enjoying yourself the entire conversation?

As if he could tell that you were thinking of him, Rafe suddenly appeared several yards away from where your conversation with James was taking place. There was a scowl on his face, and you could tell by the way he was advancing on you that he was pissed.

“Hey, Y/N, why don’t I give you my number, just so you have it?” James innocently asked, completely unaware of the anxiety coursing through your veins and the fact that your boyfriend was in earshot, pushing through the small crowd behind him to reach you.

Before you could even open your mouth to politely decline, Rafe was speaking for you, “She’s not interested.”

You didn’t have time to say goodbye, because your boyfriend was dragging you away from your new friend, his grip harshly digging in to your bruised arm.

“What the fuck did I tell you, Y/N?” His voice was even and calculated, but he couldn’t hide the rage simmering beneath the surface.

“You told me to-”

“I told you to get along with them, not to try to get into their pants.” Rafe growled, pushing you into the closest room with a door he could find, which happened to be Ward’s office. You landed on the carpeted floor, wincing in pain when your elbow absorbed most of the fall.

“Rafe, I promise, I was just having a good conversation.” Your voice was beginning to waver, the weight of the situation that you had found yourself in was beginning to sink in. “He’s your coworker, is it so wrong that I talked to him?”

“Stop lying! I know what I saw! You would have to be an idiot to not realize that he’s trying to fuck you too.” You would have been worried that someone could hear your boyfriend berating you, had it not been for the music playing throughout the house, and the thick walls of Ward’s study.

You realized how sad it was that you only knew that because Rafe had now loudly hurled insults at you in every room in the house he could at this point.

The blond stalked towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you upright. “I mean, did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? You think that little of me, Y/N?”

“Rafe no, I-”

You felt the air in your lungs disappear as your head snapped to the side, a sharp pain in your cheek blossoming across the now reddened skin.

“You don’t get to talk back to me right now!” Your boyfriend yelled in your face. You had barely processed his slap when you felt him moving you again, although now you felt much more numb.

Numb to Rafe roughly manhandling you before he bent you over his father’s desk, numb to the feeling of the cold, hard wood on your face as Rafe held you down, numb to the feeling of him pushing your fancy dress up and rudely yanking down your panties before harshly pushing two fingers inside you, and numb to the tears that were now spilling onto Ward’s desk.

“Such a fucking slut! You’re soaked,” he darkly chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his voice. “Is this all for me, or is it for James?” He bitterly wondered aloud, and when you didn’t give him a response fast enough, you cried out at the feeling of him smacking your ass.

“F-for you, Rafe,” you choked out through your tears.

You could hear him removing his belt, the sound of it hitting the floor was enough to trigger your body to begin quaking with fear and anxiety.

“Aw baby,” he cooed, and you flinched when you felt his fingers in your hair, lightly brushing some of it out of your eyes so he could look at you. “Don’t act so scared. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Well, at least, not until after the party’s over.”

His laughter made you feel sick, but even worse was the shock you felt when Rafe spread your pussy and sheathed himself inside of you without warning.

You saw stars for a few moments, the surprise catching you off guard and he was able to slide deeper into your tight walls.

“Rafe!” You gasped, unable to fight back, as your arms were pinned beneath you, and your boyfriend’s large chest prevented you from moving.

His fingers tangled into your hair, gripping a handful tightly as he pushed your face into the desk. His hips were snapping against your ass, fucking you harder whenever you futilely tried to break from his hold.

Every time you tried to escape mentally, to tear yourself from the reality of what your boyfriend was doing to you, he brought you back, snapping his fingers or groaning your name into your ear as he forced himself deeper into your wet cunt.

You were sure that your hips would be bruised from bumping into Ward’s desk as Rafe fucked you against your will. Another reminder of all the lessons he insisted that he had to teach you by force.

Every sharp thrust was a warning that this was him holding back. This was him being nice. And you knew better than to further aggravate Rafe when he was on a power trip.

And that was exactly what this was all about. The power and privilege that Rafe held over you, that he used to hurt you time and time again, without ever facing any real consequences. This was about reminding you that you belonged to him and at the end of the day, Rafe Cameron was untouchable and unstoppable, the Kook King, the golden boy of one of the richest families in the Outer Banks.

“You are my girlfriend, Y/N,” Rafe growled. “It’s time you started fucking acting like it.”

[berrygoodjob]

Heeeey can you do a jealous boyfriend Tokyo Debunker headcannon? With Taiga and can it be NSFW (? you don't have to do that last part if that makes uncomfortable tho)

Jealous!Taiga Hc

Taiga Hoshibami

—jealous!Taiga is not someone to mess with,,, seriously. Unless you want everyone that looks at you to get shot

—jealous!Taiga won’t hesitate to pull you closer and death glare anyone who gets a little too friendly with you for his liking (Kaito nearly shit himself the first time he saw taiga like that)

—jealous!Taiga keeps an arm around you, it gives him a bit of reassurance that you’re not gonna try to run away, he knows you’re comfortable with him, but having his arm around you is a nice reminder to himself, while also showing everyone else you belong to him

—jealous!Taiga loves the idea of showing you off, but doesn’t like how people look at you when he does…. He dug his own grave there

—jealous!Taiga loves to have you sit on his lap while he gambles so everyone knows he has a good luck charm that they can’t ever touch

—jealous!Taiga gets pissed when you have to go help any of the other ghouls…. He might insist on coming with you, but because he doesn’t trust you. Because he doesn’t trust them

—jealous!Taiga can be convinced to calm down if you want to give him some extra attention….

NSFW

—jealous!Taiga will move his hands to publicly grope you bc you’re his and he needs to show that off

—jealous!Taiga will throw you down onto his bed and proceed to relentlessly fuck you while doting on about how good you are for him and him only

—jealous!Taiga will take 3-5 rounds to even start to calm down

—jealous!Taiga will be extra rough to get the frustration of being jealous out, but he’ll give extra after care too (he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and don’t want to leave him)

—jealous!Taiga will cum inside to prove you belong to him

—jealous!Taiga will watch his cum flow out and finger it back in giving lots of praise about how amazing you look filled up by him

—jealous!Taiga will cling to you until the next day and complain when you have to go, he’s gonna fuck you one more time that morning just so you remember how much he loves you 🩷

[satangcrush]

an ode to nicknames pt.3 <3

✦ CAST: simeon, solomon, diavolo, luke, barbatos ✦ WC: 1.8k ✦ SUMMARY: f! reader, what nicknames (or lack of) will the cast use for you! established relationship (simeon and solomon), diavolo (more than friends), luke (familial) and barbatos (start of program) ✦ WC: 4.4k✦ WARNING: spoiler for OB!SWD for simeon’s part

[PART 1] | [PART 2] | [PART 3] | MASTERLIST

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Simeon thinks you’re an actual saint for putting up with the demon brothers and calls you ‘angel’ somewhat as a joke at first but now thinks you actually can be one. He also regularly calls you ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, ‘doll’, and ‘love’. He loves referring to you by a nickname but unfortunately or fortunately (however you see it), he has the vocabulary of a friendly old lady. (Spoiler for OM!SWD in Simeon’s part)

.

“Angel.”

“Yes?” Simeon was insistent on using the nickname despite you telling him not to. At first, you wondered if this was some kind of weird coping mechanism of his but he had repeatedly assured you that it wasn’t. Thus, over time you have now fully embraced the weirdness of the ex-angel calling you… an angel.

“I overheard this today while manning the cafe. What does a sheep in wolf’s clothing mean in the human world?” His gaze lingers as he looks at you sprawled on the table over a book. The chair beside you made no noise even as it was pulled out for him to sit gently.

“I believe the saying goes something like a wolf in sheep’s clothing instead.” You huffed out a laugh, making a move to close your book to meet Simeon’s curious expression instead.

“How did you even overhear that conversation? Like, what’s the context?” You propped a hand up on the table that you were reading on, raising an eyebrow thoughtfully. 

He pursed his lips, clearly racking his head to search for the answer. “Honestly… I forgot. I only heard the ‘sheep’ part and was reminded of when you turned into a sheep during our initial stay in the Devildom. You were very adorable, and I regretted never getting the chance to cuddle you back then.” You stifled a laugh, knowing that he wouldn’t appreciate you laughing at him. He was so cute, you don’t even know if he noticed that he was pouting right now.

“Well, too bad.” You said teasingly. “I’m pretty sure the brothers cuddled me enough for your share too.”

“Maybe I should ask Solomon if he has a spell to turn you into a sheep temporarily,” Simeon winks at you, tone inked with hope. 

You hit his shoulder playfully and shot him a glare. “Respectfully, that would only give Solomon too much power. And in case you forget, I’m a fully-fledged sorcerer now too.” Simeon gave you a kicked-puppy stare, and you could swear you almost saw imaginary puppy ears on him.

…Maybe you should ask Solomon to start teaching you about transformation spells.

“Ah right, back to your original question. I could be wrong but I vaguely remember the term deriving from a fable by Aesops. But anyway, the phrase is used to express someone who deceives others by pretending to be harmless when they have evil intentions. It’s not a positive expression.” You shook your head slightly, heart squeezing at the sight of Simeon’s frown deepening at your explanation.

“I thought it would be a different explanation in the human world, but I guess it’s the same everywhere, huh?” Simeon sighed, arms folding across his chest, “I was hoping that it might be a cute expression.”

“I guess not. The Devildom uses something similar too right?” You turn in your chair, flicking your finger on his forehead gently. “Come on, we should start on dinner. Should we cook or eat out today?” You hesitate to get up from your chair when you notice the pondering look on Simeon’s face.

“What if I change it to an angel in human’s clothing? Wouldn’t that refer to you?” You tilt your head, not knowing if you should say something or just let it be. It was ironic coming from the mouth of an ex-angel.

As you froze in your movements, Simeon grabs your hand to pull you into his lap, and you go without question. His lips lay on the crook of your neck and you fondly stroked the top of his head, the repetitive motion soothing your heart. His breath was warm against your neck and then suddenly, a cold flash of teeth and tongue drifted along your neck like he was tracing stars into your skin. You wonder if he could hear your pulse beating deep within you. But it’s not like he would care. You’re certain that if you put your ears to his pulse, his heart would also be beating to the same rhythm as yours.

A sharp sensation of teeth punctured the nape of your neck before he quickly swiped his tongue over the skin. You pulled on his hair, watching as the spit connecting the both of you together broke. “Simeon!” You admonished him with a laugh, “Why did you bite me?” You trace the indentation on your neck, glancing at the sheen of spit that came away with it.

“Disgusting.” You whine, “Come on, let’s eat. Aren’t you hungry from working?”

“Mm. Give me a minute,” He muttered, burying his face in your chest. “Let me have this for a little while longer,” His arms tightened around your waist and you nodded to yourself, steadying your hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you, love.”

Your heart swelled at his declaration as your hands interlocked behind his shoulders. It wouldn’t hurt to rest another five minutes, you supposed.

══════════════════

One would think that Solomon’s experience with his 500 wives and various other relationships would mean that he has at least learned how to act like a proper gentleman. Sincerely, this man lives purely based on menace and instinct. He would address you by all sorts of nicknames but his particular favourite is calling you his dear apprentice, student, and maybe even his other half. Your master-student relationship is the one thing that the two of you shared that the brothers are unable to take part in. With you, Solomon treasures the quiet moments when he can steal you away from the rest.

.

The apricot-skied evening blooms before your eyes and when you look up, the vast stretches of wilderness expand rapidly and you couldn’t help the gasp that hitched in your breath. It was… ethereal. You would love to take in all of the scenery peacefully… except for the fact that you are currently hanging upside down with all the blood rushing to your head, thousands of feet in the air.

“WAH! SOLOMON! Let me down! You stupid wizard boy! I’m going to curse you!” Tears blotted your vision as you buried your head deeper into the curve below Solomon’s ear. You can feel his chest shaking in laughter as he heaves your legs higher around his waist, steadying you. As frantic as you had sounded, you were still clinging on for dear life to him. 

“MC… you know you don’t sound threatening in the slightest, holding onto me like that.” He murmured, lips brushing the tip of your ear softly. Solomon hummed lightly as he recited another spell, to levitate the both of you up a few feet higher. You chanced a glance to look at the ground and immediately regretted it. You could practically feel bile coming up your throat and you quickly squeezed your eyes shut again.

How in the three realms is he okay suspended mid-air while being flipped upside down??

“Dumb old man! Stupid wizard! This is not what I meant when I said I wanted to fly!” You hissed, fearing for your life as your grip on the back of his neck turned tighter. You should have known something was up when Solomon had asked if you had a fear of heights and you cursed at yourself for mentioning that you wanted to freefall after watching that stupid movie with him last week. Your face contorted into a grimace; survival instincts kicking in as you pressed yourself against him as if you were climbing a tree.

“My dearest apprentice, you need to relax. I can’t focus on the spell if you keep yapping beside me, you know.” There wasn’t even the slightest hint of irritation in his tone, you could clearly tell he was enjoying your panic to the fullest. “Also, do you really want me to let you down now? We’re so high up. Though, if you wish for it, I could make your dreams come true.” 

You felt his fingers, which has been firm around the plush of your thigh, loosen a little. “N-no! If you let me go, I’m breaking up with you, you ass!” You threw out your words venomously, as your grip tightened into an iron grip. If you were any less scared, you would have worried about his ability to breathe with the amount of strength that you were putting around his neck.

Solomon tsked at you, the corners of his mouth turning up at your ultimatum. His hands slid from under your thigh to the back of your waist and pinched the skin there. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” You could practically envision the stupid smirk he must be wearing but you couldn’t be bothered to reply, fear choking your windpipes.

“Don’t worry darling, we’re reaching the fun part now. Be a dear and hold on tighter to me, kay?” His voice took on a simpering tone and before you knew it, you could feel the magic that was holding you and Solomon up, disappear.

There was no way you weren’t going to murder Solomon the moment you touched both feet on the ground.

You couldn’t even let out a yelp as the air was stolen from your lungs as you felt the wind and your hair whip past your face. Solomon caged you with his body, the sound of his laughter lost in the air. The only thing that you could do was to hold onto him while shaking like a leaf, breath forced out through your burning lungs.

You honestly think you must have passed out on the descent down because the next thing you knew, you were on the ground staring up at the darkening sky, though your limbs were still entangled around Solomon.

“There, there, MC. See, that wasn’t so bad, wasn’t it? You just needed faith in your master to take care of you,” He soothed you, grabbing your hands from around his waist to entwine them together as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

You found it concerning that he was still wearing that stupid smirk on his face as if the both of you didn’t just have a near-death experience. Your mouth gaped open and closed, reminiscent of a fish out of water, as you intended to berate him but the words died on your tongue as you realised that the scratchiness in your throat was preventing you from speaking a word.

“W-water.” You managed to squeak out, face red in embarrassment. Solomon quirked a curious eyebrow at you as he placed a finger on your chin to bring your head up, “...Did you lose your voice?” He could barely fight the grin off his face, fingers now trailing down the curve of your neck. 

You glared at him, resolutely not breathing a word. His face seemed to be utterly insufferable today, and you would just love for the opportunity to punch that pretty smirk off his face.

“Well, it seems you’re just in luck, my dear apprentice. It’s about time for our dinner reservation, I’ll teleport us there now.” He mused, drawing his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“You’re paying for the dinner, you slimy bastard.” You mouthed at him bitterly, while he just laughed your frustration off. “Don’t I always pay? Come here, don’t be angry anymore. I apologise for my wrong-doings,” He cooed at you gently, smoothening the wrinkles in your forehead out with his fingers, as he cupped your cheek.

══════════════════

Diavolo is a certified loverboy, honestly. However, due to the importance of needing to keep up his reputation, he uses your name in public. (Though, he has ‘slipped up’ and addressed you by ‘love’ a couple of times.) Around people he trusts or when in private, he calls you his ‘love’, ‘beautiful’, ‘princess’, and even ‘queen’. He is such a romantic that he even made Barbatos research the trendy nicknames that humans use so that he can impress you.

.

Diavolo suddenly leans forward in his chair, “MC, I’ve been recently researching human nicknames and I would like your opinion on them.” His eyes sparkle as he angles his body towards you.

You pause in your journey to reach out for another dessert, one of Barbatos’s famous pastries that Luke has been singing praises about. You considered his question for a bit and somehow, you were almost sure you knew exactly where this conversation was going to go, but the allure of the delectable pastries was clouding your judgment.

“Yeah? What kind of nicknames have you come across?” You said, mid-crunch through the flaky croissant, and you internally melted at the taste. If only you had a butler like Barbatos, you would put the demon to work every day just so you could have a taste of this heavenly (devil-y?) flavour. He should be competing in all three realms with his talent, it was indeed a waste to keep it hidden.

Hands, big and burly, catch your attention as he plants them on the table. “I’ve heard humans call their partners or friends… ‘pookie’.” Your eyes had honed on his fingers, now drumming on the table, as the words flew past your head before you registered it with disbelief.

Sometimes, you wonder if the next-in-line for the throne has a screw (or multiple, maybe) loose in his head.

You frowned up at him, embarrassment suffocating you into silence. For an agonising few seconds, he holds eye contact with you before he tilts his head, silently prompting you to give him an answer.

You clear your throat as you wipe your hands on the provided tissue placed on the table, “Um… I believe yes. But, I don’t know much about the term if you require an explanation,” God, you hope the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You don’t understand why you were chosen to discuss such a topic with the ruler of Devildom.

“Ah well, that is fine. I was hoping that I could refer to you as ‘pookie’. I’ve heard that a sign of closeness for humans is to start using nicknames.” 

Your distaste for the term must have been unfiltered as Diavolo immediately leans back after seeing your expression, thighs spreading wide against each side of the chair. “If you are unhappy with the name, you may tell me so.”

Honestly, you were at a loss. This seemed like a lose-lose situation no matter how you see it. It wasn’t like you could reject the Prince of the Devildom. (I mean you could, but you dread the scolding that Lucifer would give you once he found out.) 

And if you allow Diavolo to call you ‘pookie’... you could almost envision Solomon rolling on the floor, dying of laughter. Even worse, you shudder to think of him calling you by that in front of the whole RAD. Suddenly, you very much regret not letting Belphie make a second attempt on your life.

“It’s not that I am unhappy with the name,” You start slowly, “I just believe that a nickname should be more personalised like… I can call you Dia!” You hurriedly blurt out, waving your hands frantically in front of you. 

Diavolo says nothing, and your eyes quickly skim his expression which remains startlingly neutral. For a second, you wondered if you had overstepped your boundaries. Maybe Dia was too chummy of a nickname for you to use?

Before you can continue spiraling, his face breaks out into a wide grin. “I hadn’t even considered that! What a wonderful idea, as expected of the human exchange student that Lucifer chose. I will come up with an appropriate nickname accordingly as well.” He gushed, “As expected, it seems that my knowledge about human world customs seems to be lacking. I will need to brush up on them.”

You scooted back in your seat while laughing politely, heart jumping to your tongue. You had definitely avoided a red flag but somehow… it felt like you had triggered another, which was now waving frantically in your face. You tapped the side of your thighs anxiously, you do hope that you make it out of this interaction without any further embarrassment. You don’t think that your heart could take another shot.

“How about cuddlebug? I’ve also heard that it is popular amongst humans.”

“...Sorry?”

You were going to need someone to sedate you so that you can forget this interaction once you were home.

══════════════════

Similar to Simeon, Luke also calls you an ‘angel’ and he is convinced that you have been born in the wrong world. He believes that someone of your character should have been up in the Celestial Realm. He also tries hard to come up with all sorts of nicknames using your actual name, be it shortening, or even substituting your name to something similar. (He had always wanted to give you a nickname but was too shy to. However, he learned that the demon brothers had been using nicknames and he felt spurred to do so as well.)

.

“MC!” You spun just in time to see a mess of blond hair barrel into the side of your body as you grabbed onto their shoulder to steady them.

“Woah, hey there.” You gently ruffled Luke’s hair, ignoring his complaints, knowing that he secretly enjoyed it. After all, he had once made a sleepy confession that he found the motion reassuring, and ever since, you always made it a point to do it.

 “Did you need me for something?” 

He started twiddling his thumbs, looking up at you with a hesitant pout. “What is it? Did you get bullied?” You lifted his jaw with your hand, scanning his face for any physical altercations. After checking that there was none, you let go and took a step back to give him a onceover.

“No! It’s nothing of that sort, MC. I…I just-” He cuts himself off, before looking down at his feet sheepishly, “I want to use a nickname for you too,” He mumbles under his breath, voice only slightly louder than a whisper.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Sorry Luke, you need to speak up. I can’t hear you,” You said apologetically, a small smile playing on your lips. The expression on Luke’s face could only be described as ‘deer-in-the-headlight’ as he shifted side to side. He mumbled again, an embarrassed flush at the tip of his ears.

This time, you waited for him to look up before pinning him with a questioning glance. He sighed before taking in a deep breath, “I SAID…I WANT TO MAKE A NICKNAME FOR YOU!” After shouting his request, his face immediately turned red. “I-if you want! I will make you my special cupcakes if you say yes!” 

Your heart swelled up with affection, “Aw Luke, you don’t need to bribe me to say yes. Of course, we can use nicknames. I’ll call you…” You placed a hand on the top of his head and thought carefully. “Puppy?” No matter how you thought about it, ‘puppy’ was the only adjective that you could think to describe him, even more so now as he was looking at you with big shiny eyes.

“MC…” He whined, looking at you with a disapproving stare that eerily reminded you of a certain angel. It was endearing how his actions resembled Simeon at times, it just showed how much Luke admires him.

 “But it’s so cute… You can come up with a nickname for me too,” You said encouragingly to him with a hint of amusement.

“Angel. I’ll call you angel! You’re so nice like one,” He said animatedly and your heart fluttered at his visible show of excitement. It seemed like he already had a nickname in mind when he came bounding up to you.

“...Sure.” You knew you had taken a second too long to respond when you caught his worried glance, “Do you not like it, MC?” Luke’s face started to fall as you quickly placed your hands into an ‘X’, “No! I love it! It’s just that I can’t help but think it could be a little offensive if other angels hear you calling me as… one?” You questioned, scratching the tip of your nose bridge in awkwardness.

You didn’t want to get into trouble with the Celestial Realm, after all. Being an angel is a tall order in your opinion.

“No, they won’t! Once they meet you, they will definitely agree with my nickname too!” He said with so much conviction that you didn’t have the heart to correct him.

‘Well, it’s meant with good intention… So it should be fine,’ You mused to yourself as you nodded at Luke, giving him the go-ahead to use it.

“Well, if it makes you happy then. I’ll think of another nickname for you since you bestowed such an honor on me then,” You said teasingly, “I will also take you up on your offer about those cupcakes. Shall we head to Purgatory Hall? I’ll stay and bake with you today.”

══════════════════

Barbatos is another one in the cast who will exclusively refer to you by your name as he shows his affection through acts of service. However, if you ask him to use nicknames, he will, but it won’t be of his own accord. 

If he does use a nickname of his own accord, Barbatos will call you little sheep to tease you. Barbatos could easily kill you with a single strike (as does everyone but he is most aware of it) but treats you like a puppy (or sheep) that he leaves alone as he feels bad for you. 

(He smiles gently at you but there is not an ounce of care behind it. It is just for politeness's sake.)

.

“It is surprising to see you here so early, MC. Did the brothers not give you any trouble today?”

“Eh, no. I came from RAD.” Your natural response was to talk informally to Barbatos as you still have not gotten a grasp on the custom here.

“Sorry, I meant to say that I came straight from class. Pardon my rudeness.” You apologised, still feeling unsettled in the Devildom.

“It is alright, MC. However, the young master is still in a meeting and will presumably not be out anytime soon. Would you like for me to serve some tea and pastries first?” 

“That would be great. Do you need any help?” Despite your obvious apprehension, you still weren’t beside your manners to ask him.

Caught up in your conversation with Barbatos, you hadn't even noticed that he had led you to the guest room. “Please take a seat here. I will prepare the refreshments for you.” Barbatos replied in a gentle tone, firm in not letting you do any work.

“Ah, could you please prepare cold water for me instead?”

“...I understand.”

After Barbatos had left and you were alone in the room, you did a cursory glance and quickly covered your face with the back of your hand to sigh. The problem was that you still weren’t used to the Devildom and you jumped at every single thing that moved and that butler scares you. His mouth may be curled up into a polite smile but you could not feel any warmth behind it.

‘...Urgh.’

The best scenario now is just to survive the school year without dying since it seems that going back to your realm is impossible.

“MC?”

You quickly straightened yourself and smiled at Barbatos, hoping that he did not notice your worries. 

“Ah, thank you.” You took a sip from the cup that Barbatos had brought over and instantly your face scrunched up into a frown as you took in a deep inhale.

“Is this lemonade?”

“It is lemonade, the Devildom version of it. I thought it would help you feel more refreshed.”

You remember clearly saying to prepare cold water instead of lemonade yet he still chose to bring over a cup of cold lemonade, which would have taken more work to prepare. You wanted to be angry at the sour taste but you were afraid of the sly butler who was now looking over at you with a pleasant expression that was telling you to enjoy your drink. God, you never had an issue with lemonade but it seemed that the Devildom version was much sourer than what you were used to.

You continued to drink the lemonade.

“Thank you for the drink. It was perfect.”

“I’m glad to hear that, MC.”

Barbatos’s cordial and gentle smile sent chills straight down your spine and you subconsciously clenched the glass tighter. As a human, you can only trust yourself.

“Barbatos, please continue with whatever you were doing before I came. You don’t have to be around me, I can take care of myself.” You wanted this butler who gave you the creeps to quickly go away as you didn’t want to see his face, but he refused to leave.

“MC, it is my duty as the young master’s butler to attend to his guests when he is not here to do so.” 

You inwardly clicked your tongue after seeing Barbatos flash another smile at you, his teeth glinting in the light. You wanted to throw a tantrum but you shuddered at the possible repercussions, so you opted for another method instead.

“Well, why don’t you sit down and enjoy these pastries with me? It’s a little too much for you to be hovering over me and not eat anything.” Despite your best attempts to not let your sarcasm bleed into your words, your tone had taken on a complaining whine in the end. You took a quick peek at Barbatos, who was standing there with a stiff expression.

…Should I not have said anything?

Before you could regret anything, the screeching sound of the chair being pulled made your head quickly turn up to see Barbatos sitting down opposite you, back straight with perfect posture.

“I will fulfill your command then, little lamb.” Barbatos chuckled, and despite yourself, you found yourself letting out a huff of laughter as well. You decided that you would treat Barbatos better and not make him mad following the next interaction, the way he was smiling at you right now made you feel uncomfortable.

══════════════════

a/n▸ my apologies if barbatos is OOC, he was especially difficult for me to get a read on seeing as I don't play through any of his devilgrams. Thus, i feel that MC would have been very awkward with barbatos initially bc all his actions/words were due to his sense of duty. I also think its funny to see barb fkin w mc LOL Personally, i think its hilarious to characterise MC as jumpy because man, all of these characters are sus as hell, ik i wld be getting heart palpitations every minute #solomon is a menace, the movie they were watching was How to Train your dragon LOL, i was rewatching it and i wondered how it wld be like to freefall

[charliedawn]

Hi hi!

It's been a while since over requested anything but I've been keeping track of your posts and I am still in love with your writing style!!

I was wondering if I could have the slashers with a nurse wo already has 5 kids but is a single mom?

When it comes to her kids safety she turns into a complete animal like mama bear style....

Her children are smart in their own ways and are very close nit, but they always look out for their mother.

Thanks if you do this!

❤️ anon

P.s please take care of yourself! And drink lots of water and eat healthy meals!!!

Jason would be quietly protective, his natural instinct to shield others kicking in as he watched the kids play. He might not say much, but he’d be the first to step in if any danger appeared. He’d probably even enjoy the occasional moments when one of the kids quietly sits beside him, without fear, just being present.

But…Jason is afraid of children. He knows they can be cruel. So he wouldn’t approach the kids if he can help it. He would first need reassurance that they are good kids who wouldn’t be mean to him. I think your kids would be safe with him, but be careful as Jason is still a kid in his head and kids usually do not realise what they are doing until it is too late…

He might get scared.

Bo would put on his usual tough front, pretending that he’s unfazed by all the noise and mess. But over time, you’d notice him helping fix things around the house without asking, muttering under his breath that he’s “just keeping the place from falling apart.” And you might catch him joking with the older kids, giving them advice like an older brother might. He would eventually warm up to the kids. (And they would watch Cars together cause duh…cars. 🤣)

Your kids wouldn’t necessarily see him as a threat cause they know his true love is cars.

Pennywise and Penny would likely be the most chaotic around the kids, trying to keep them entertained in their unique way. They’d take turns clowning around (literally), teasing and laughing, but always making sure the kids were safe. Pennywise might grumble about all the work, but deep down, he’d appreciate the chaos that reminds him of his bond with Penny. Also, they would create illusions and Penny would even turn himself into a poney to have some fun with the kids. They would hence learn to be more friendly and to care for your family—as much as they care about you.

Freddy Krueger might pretend to be too cool to care at first, but he’d surprise you by keeping the nightmares at bay for your little ones. He’d even show them how to stand up for themselves, all while cracking jokes and making a game out of it. He’d never admit it, but being part of a family dynamic might soften him a little, especially when he sees how much he’s grown fond of the little monsters. 😆

Freddy *takes one of the kids and smiles* : "If you think you can just bat your eyes at me and pout and get me to do whatever the hell you want…you got another thing coming, kiddo."

All your kids start doing it and he pretends to get shot and fall.

"Aaaah ! Curse y’all for ganging up against me !"

Vincent Sinclair and Jason would be silently helpful, stepping in to create art for the kids or fix broken toys. They’d rarely speak, but their actions would show how much they’ve come to care for both you and your family. Both their gentle side would emerge more often when they’re with your younger children, especially if they showed interest in their work.

Michael Myers would be a constant presence, quietly observing and occasionally stepping in when needed. He might bond with one of the quieter kids, appreciating their silence and the way they understand each other without needing to talk. He’d be fiercely protective of your family, seeing you and the children as his own responsibility. He would also organise cooking or baking sessions for the kids—managing to make them all participate and teach them a thing or two—in case you do not have the time to cook for them.

And Brahms Heelshire—though not used to such a lively household—would probably hover around you, trying to be helpful while also seeking attention. He’d keep a close eye on everything, particularly the younger kids, and would often look to you for reassurance, wanting to be part of this new family.

Once approval give though ? He’d quickly share his many toys and board games with the kids—eager to make some new friends. He would also be happy if they invited him to play with them and end up missing them when they have to leave. He’s also be happy to receive hugs from the kids and beg you repeatedly to bring them back.

[starguardianniom]

Billy and Lighter

I love their dynamic so much.

Freaking Lighter of all people sees Billy as his worthy rival.

Ngl but I legit think it's because Billy is the only one he can fight without being afraid of passing out.

Given Lighter faints at the sight of blood and that Billy is an android, if Billy gets hurt he will probably leak oil, but no blood, which is perfect for Lighter.

I honestly, half-seriously thinks that's the sole reason Lighter considers Billy is rival, because he won't risk embarassing himself if he manages to hurt Billy while fighting as Billy has no blood for him to faint to.

But he also does respect him given he thinks highly of him and actually likes him like a brother too.

They playfully tease one another but you can also clearly see that Lighter has a high opinion of Billy and is also happy for him to have found happiness somewhere else too, and that's so wholesome, my heart.

I was pratically screaming of joy in my head the entire time yesterday when I speedrun the chapter (I had the day off lucky me so I used it to clear out chapter 4 entirely yeah!).

I took so many pictures, will upload them this weekend, now I need to go do that certification exam to get my people to level 50, given I need to level up pretty much everyone I have right now (Billy, Anby, Nicole, Corin, Soukaku, Ben, Anton, Seth, Jane and Lucy are the characters I currently have the game refuses me Piper and just sended me a lil army of Corins, Anby and Soukaku, now I have Anby and Soukaku to M4 and Corin to M3, though it gave me Billy M2 and Seth M2 thank god) I'll be at it for a while.

But honestly I expected Lighter to be a bit more mean toward Billy and feeling superior to him but it seems like I was worried for nothing, Lighter loves Billy and Billy loves him back, though I'm pretty sure Billy also thinks that he wasn't able to escape Lighter entirely given he now has Anby around. XD Lighter keeps forgetting things and Anby keeps forgetting the line between fiction and reality, I imagine Billy must be used to Anby because he had to spend half his time reminding Lighter of stuff all the time. XD

I swear Billy had it better than Lighter back then, given he was the Champion that means he was the strongest of the Sons of Calydon, which means he's stronger than Big Daddy, and Big Daddy is most likely the one who raised and taught Caesar how to fight, so if she didn't get the title of Champion back then, then Billy was most likely strong enough to beat her too and Big Daddy. But then he left. But he also got to meet Lighter before that, but Lighter is weaker than Caesar but still has the title for some reason, so it's a bit murky there as to why they needed 2 champions.

I think Billy wanted to leave or something happened that made him leave and then Big Daddy brought in Lighter to pick up his title but Billy sticked around long enough to make sure Lighter was up for the job given they have a good brotherly friendly rivalry relationship together so once Billy thought Lighter was ready he gave him his title and left. And then Caesar got to be the new boss of the Sons of Calydon when Big Daddy retired, and was strong enough that she was able to beat Lighter apparently.

But the title of Champion is basically being the number 2 of the gang, so if the leader isn't around it's most likely the champion calling the shots and making sure everything is alright and settling disputes and what nots, but since Lighter is pretty scatterbrained, most of the duties went to Lucy while Lighter is just now extra muscles, since Lucy is pretty much the one making sure everything is alright and being the brains of the Sons, but she clearly doesn't have the strenght to be the Champion because Lighter is the one with that title.

So I imagine Billy used to handle negotiations and relations and other stuff with Big Daddy before he left and probably used to be deadly efficient, in some parts of the story he is a lot more aware and shrewd than he presents himself most of the time, such as asking us about the H.D.D and asking why we'd bother to be proxies when we could have done so much more and get a much more lucrative job, or when he was ready to sell us out to PubSec to save the Cunning Hares and himself pointing out that the Cunning Hares could get their record cleaned if they reported a proxy, which was a very smart way of thinking given their situation back then. He is also knowledgeable about the Outer Ring, so he is way much smarter than he acts too.

I do feel like Billy is seen as a superior predecessor to Lighter and while Lighter doesn't resent Billy at all for it he also feels the need to prove himself to him in some way to live up to his "brother's" legacy.

Lucy probably didn't have much to do until Billy left and Big Daddy retired. Then she basically became the second half of the Champion title in the Sons of Calydon, being the brain to Lighter's brawn, but Billy before them had the title on his own to the point that he is still feared today by other people in the Outer Ring.

It does beg the question of what was Billy like back then, probably less happy and more brutal and having the mindset of a weapon maybe, but he was still cared for a lot.

I also like to think that Big Daddy called him Billy Kid because he honestly saw Billy as "his" kid when he bought him from a group of drifters, now I really want the whole story, if they release Big Daddy and Lighter, give them more content with Billy, I need more, Hoyo!

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[honeydippedwaffles]

Smallest Drop - Part 3

Summary: Tav knew she was falling for him in some ways but she didn't realise just how bad it had become until she got shot in the leg while killing a vampire hunter for him.

Meanwhile, Astarion really doesn't understand Tav and her strange solutions to problems and ignoring it really isn't working well.

I've already planned a part 4 because I'm addicted. Tav is not mentioned by name.

Content Warnings: She/Her Tav

Word Count: 3k words

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Though she tried her utmost to appreciate every environment they explored (if only because she would otherwise go crazy), she couldn’t find much she liked about the swamp. Not even with its sweetened flowers, warm sunlight, and strange sheep.

She was almost a thousand percent sure those were polymorphed humans but she refused to worry about them yet. Whatever had created them surely would reveal itself and for now, she focused on the bigger problem before her.

A monster hunter standing before her with a friendly smile on his face and a laugh echoing across the swamp as though he hadn’t threated one of her companions.

He may not know what he’d done but it put her on edge regardless.

She made sure not to look at Astarion, a subliminal concern in her. She refused to give too much attention in case it drew his gaze over to those glinting red eyes or faded but very obvious scars nestled against pale skin.

Instead, she stepped forward and demanded all the attention she could with a loud voice and a smile. “Sounds awfully boring,” she said. “To hunt one creature for so long and not make any progress. Hardly even a challenge or thrill to just slowly camp somewhere and wait.”

The hunter chuckled and she seethed. “The first thing you learn in my line of work is never underestimate your opponent. This spawn has been eluding me for quite some time.”

She tried to keep her expression neutral but struggled. Even in her best moods, she couldn’t hide what she thought and the anxiety in her chest was stronger than ever. Maybe he would think the worry in her face showcased a fear of the creature rather than of him.

“Only a spawn?” she asked. “Pity. Not like it’s a real vampire. There’s little glory to be had in such a hunt.”

He frowned at the accusation in her tone and raised an eyebrow, perhaps confused by the hostility in her voice.

Before he could answer though, Astarion drawled, “I don’t know. I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip your throat out if he felt like it.”

She couldn’t help a slight smile. Though perhaps not happy, he didn’t sound nervous which meant they fight should be easy. Lae’zel, bored as she was, never complained about further bloodshed and undoubtedly this hunter had no experience facing a gith sword.

Her own bloodthirstiness surprised her. Rarely did she feel the desire to spill blood quite as intensely as she did now and no guilt followed. This man dared to threaten somebody she cared for and she immediately moved to murder.

She really needed to be careful of the strange hold Astarion had on her.

“He is right, unfortunately. They’re only weak when compared to their masters. During the day we have the advantage but when night falls, you will not find a more dangerous quarry.”

She pretended to wince. “Awful for somebody like you to hunt something so fierce when you appear barely able to fight one of these sheep. Should I not worry about one of these spawn creeping up on you when you least expect it?”

The hunter appeared thoroughly offended and Lae’zel snorted in what she had started to learn may be a laugh.

“Well, we’ve stayed alive so far so perhaps we can focus on that.” Astarion reminded her of a cat playing with a mouse. But the cat also hovered far away from the potential battle, uncertain.

“It’ll be safer for you to keep patrols at night,” the hunter warned. “Just in case it tries anything.”

“I don’t think I will.”

He tried to be friendly and helpful but now he simply frowned. She almost felt bad for turning rude and abrasive, noticed how her response made him a little more uncomfortable but not enough to reach for a weapon. Her hand however drifted closer to her blade.

Morals said she should provide him a false lead and send him on a wild chase far away from her party.

Her brain said he may be a threat. If he doubled back or found out about her deception, he could sneak into their camp and take Astarion before she noticed.

And her heart told her if she let him go, Astarion wouldn’t relax again. He may not even stay in the area if he thought the hunter lurked nearby – too jumpy and flighty to stick around their group.

Her morals would need to keep quiet until she dealt with this.

“Maybe we should take him up on his recommendation,” Astarion suggested. “Or deal with this threat now.”

“Take him out before he hurts anybody,” she said and it was an agreement.

The hunter waved his hands quickly. “Oh, I wouldn’t recommend hunting a vampire spawn if you have no experience. You may be a strong fighter but I doubt you’d be able to challenge one.”

“I wasn’t speaking about Astarion,” she said. “If he wanted me dead, he’s had ample opportunities so far.”

Astarion hummed, almost chuckling. “You’re not wrong. It’s lucky that you’ve proven yourself far more useful alive.”

The hunter’s gaze slowly drifted between her and Astarion and her grip tightened on her blade. “That’s impossible,” he said as he reached for his crossbow. “There’s no way you’re –“

She stepped forward and slipped the blade free. Steel sunk deep into flesh and he choked out a garbled, surprised sound as his throat split open. Disgusting.

Blood sprouted from his neck and down his chest as he fell backwards, eyes wide with shock. But she had been too confident and she didn’t notice how he’d managed to get his crossbow out; how he pulled the trigger even as the last of the dark red pulsed from his throat.

The bolt stabbed directly through her thigh. It drove straight through the leather and pierced the flesh beneath even as the others drew their weapons to assist in a battle she’d already won.

She collapsed to one knee as his body thumped against the ground with a few ragged gasps. This was scarcely her first time being shot by a crossbow bolt but something must have coated the weapon. Poison or enchantment, she didn’t know but the pain and the weakness spread fast through her body and her blade fell onto the soft grass below.

“Are you alright?” Wyll arrived at her side first, concerned.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him through gritted teeth. “He’s dead right?”

“From what I could see,” Astarion said with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a pity. I wanted to kill him myself.”

She ignored him and put a bit of pressure on the site of the injury. Her muscles burned fiercely as she decided to leave the bolt in for now. Rather not pull it out when she didn’t know what clung to it.

She slowly stood and blood pulsed down her leg in thick rivers. It slicked the area between her armour and left awful, sticky trails.

No visiting the strange old woman it would appear. She refused to explore a swamp when her leg felt like this.

She stepped forward and hissed in pain, just about collapsing once more if it hadn’t been for Wyll’s support on her back. Definitely something strange about this one.

“We do have spare health potions,” he said as he looked at the bolt. “But this has some magic on it. We should get back to the camp to make sure it isn’t going to deal any long-term damage.”

“I like that idea,” she admitted with a strained and uncomfortable laugh. “It’s a little sore.”

Over the past few days, she’d had many close calls with many weapons but this wooziness… she hated it. The air around her swam as she limped her way along the ridiculously long road back to their camp, reassuring her companions with soft words which held no purchase. Even they could see the way the energy drained from her body with each step.

She accepted only the occasional of assistance from Wyll and tried to make it appear as though the injury didn’t bother her.

Honestly, it had been her fault entirely. She should have noticed the crossbow and been more aware of when he pulled it free. Anger clouded her vision then and still did as they walked back.

The audacity of such a man who dared to threaten her friends… he agitated her even now when he lay on the floor, destined to be anything more than food for the various animals in the area.

Astarion didn’t return her occasional glances nor did he offer help.

She hoped he hadn’t become upset at her actions. Though he may have wanted to kill the hunter himself, she had seen an opportunity and taken it before anybody got hurt.

Well, aside from her.

The enchantment on the bold got removed swiftly but her body needed time to recover and the evening passed uncomfortably. Every muscle burned and her breaths came in soft, quick succession. She tried to keep her complaints quiet and not bother any companions. She had the antidote; she had a bandage. Now all she had to do was wait.

And wait.

The night’s hours stretched long as she lay in her tent. She prayed for sleep to find her but the ache in her bones and the burning pain refused to allow her an opportunity forward.

The footsteps distracted her from her twisting and turning. For somebody so akin to sneaking around, Astarion had stopped doing it after he’d given her a heart attack and she ended up headbutting him. He’d complained non-stop over it for at least an hour but now he didn’t sneak around anymore.

He stepped through the entrance of her tent, his hair haloed in moonlight. The night suited him as well as the day did. He looked practically ethereal as he drifted into her tent, every bit the predator she’d been warned about.

“Well, don’t you look like an absolute mess.”

She rolled her eyes and tilted her head away from him. “And it’s all because of you.”

“Me? It’s hardly my fault the man had a poisoned crossbow. You could have dodged it, you know. I’ve seen you twist your way out of worse hits than that.”

Almost always because of luck but she wouldn’t tell him as much. Instead, she offered him a small smile and tried to stop the tremble in her limbs. At least the pain felt lighter than before.

“Aren’t you meant to be cured or whatever by now?” he asked.

“Shadowheart said it’ll heal up by the morning at latest. I just have to last until then.” Exhausted of lying down, she pulled herself up into a sitting position, leaning against her travelling chest with her legs stretched out. “I’m surprised you came to visit. Are you worried?”

He put his hand to his heart and smiled. “You wound me. Of course, I’m worried. It’s not every day I find somebody dedicated enough to slice a man’s throat in my name.”

“The others would have done the same to keep you safe.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t trust any of them with catching a spider.”

She laughed. Though he complained, they were growing on him and she didn’t even need to prompt him to join their impromptu gatherings anymore.

“They like you.”

He ignored her comment and instead spoke of something else. “I believe my old master sent the hunter. He wants me back under his thumb, as I expected. This won’t be the only person he sends and not all will go down so easily.”

“I won’t get distracted next time then,” she laughed.

“Distracted?”

She gestured at him, knowing better than to voice the protectiveness for what it was. She didn’t understand it much either. “I’ve always told you how pretty you are. Now look what those sharp eyes have done. I couldn’t stop looking at them.”

She could play his game too. Offer him compliments and flattery instead of truth when he felt vulnerable.

“You can’t distract me with compliments,” he scoffed.

“Oh, I absolutely can.”

If she had the energy to do so, she would have continued but the wound pulsed in pain and she turned her attention to it, pressing against the soft skin to try and make it stop. The red bandage twisted her stomach into knots but it had stopped bleeding after a while.

Astarion appeared close to her unexpectedly, close enough to kiss with the smallest smirk on his face.

“You must try to stop yourself from getting hurt like this,” he said, trailing the faintest brush over her thigh. “It’s a waste of perfectly good blood. I almost couldn’t contain myself when I saw it running over your skin.”

She tried to laugh but it came out more exhausted than anything. “I’ll try but I make you no promises. My blood isn’t only yours.”

“Not yet. Perhaps the next time you give me the opportunity, I’ll drain it all so you can’t waste it.”

She tilted her head to the side to bear her throat, an exhausted but teasing smile in place. “I did say you could feed off me this morning, right? You’re welcome to take a bite now if you’re hungry.”

He appeared to not be able to tell if she joked or not. She smiled to tell him she was. Even if she had the blood to spare right now (and honestly, she didn’t), she doubted Astarion planned on feeding from her when he already felt as though he owed her some strange debt.

She’d noticed that about him. He only propositioned her when he felt as though he had to give her something in exchange.

It made her concerned.

He scoffed. “You couldn’t pay me enough. I can smell that rancid poison in your veins and it’s awful.”

She groaned and rolled her head back. “I hate this. It’s worse than that stupid apple I ate when we first entered the swamp and just as awful as when the goblin managed to sink its axe into my arm the other day. I thought I caught something from that at least.”

He chuckled. “Well, whatever magic was, it was likely intended for me so it probably won’t kill you.”

“If it’s going to kill me, I’d like it to get it over with. This pain is horrific.”

She expected him to leave soon but she took the opportunity to tap the spot beside her, asking him to sit down. What better company could she ask for? Elves didn’t sleep and despite pretending, Astarion certainly never allowed himself to meditate for very long at all.

“You’re very demanding, aren’t you?” Regardless, he took a seat and they lapsed into silence, punctuated only by her soft and somewhat shaky breaths.

She wanted to ask about the hunter. Wanted to know more about his old master and why he would be so desperate to claim a spawn back. Vampires could create as many spawn as they wanted to and he didn’t need to keep one at all times. It felt like a great deal of energy.

But as the silence stretched out, only one really bothered her enough to make her speak.

“Are you alright?”

“Obviously,” he laughed. “I’m not the one who got shot, was I?”

“No but I wouldn’t want to know a hunter is after me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re unsafe here.”

His smile turned bitter and unhappy as he answered that, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “Safe? Nowhere’s going to be safe as long as Cazador remains alive. The reach of a vampire lord goes far beyond what you may think.”

She may be a little light-headed for a proper conversation but she kept conscious, if unable to stop herself from leaning against his side. He was so cool. It felt amazing against the feverish nature of her skin and she wanted to hug him so badly.

“If he tries anything, I’ll make sure he doesn’t take you.”

He frowned at her and shifted his weight, not quite moving away from her but also not wholly embracing it. She hoped he would move away if he felt uncomfortable, as he did to a few of her other casual touches.

“You’re greatly misunderstanding the power he wields,” Astarion warned, his voice soft. “It would never be as simple as what we’ve seen so far. If he wanted to, he could stroll into this camp and whisk me away before you even noticed what had happened.”

Her solutions were a little scattered so she went for the easy one, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together before she could think about it.

“There,” she murmured. “If he tried to take you away now, I’ll notice immediately.”

Astarion’s muscles turned strangely tense and he made a small coughing sound, muttering something about how she would lose a hand then. She didn’t really hear it. Sleep crept up on her fast with the relaxing touch of his cool body and she lowered her head to his shoulder, eyes drifting closed.

When she woke in the morning, she lay alone in her tent beneath almost every blanket she owned and feeling brilliantly better. The pain faded and she felt ready to take on a hag.

Which incidentally is what they ended up doing. She spent the longest time afterwards wondering if she’d dreamed the previous night or not, distracted enough to nearly spill a bottle of unknown potion all over Gale. After a multitude of apologies, they made their way out and if Astarion’s hand brushed against the back of hers for a second, she didn’t mention it further.

Taglist: @venus-wrts @stephmundo @cassiopeia-adaar @escapistoftherealworld @scarletrosesposts @mavix

[buckrecs]

You are literally doing god work thank you so much for this blog

I kinda have a request if that's okay. Can you please give us some Mob Bucky recs . Series or one shots

Thank you so much

Mob!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

Thank you so much:) Here are some Mob!Bucky fics!

* = contains smut

ONESHOT

Kiss it Better by @straywords

You’re not entirely sure your boss with the staring problem even likes you, but you’re determined to do your job either way.

little lilly. by @raysheart

you unknowingly bring out a side of bucky he never knew was there.

*Come Home. by @sinner-as-saint

Bucky comes home to find you and your son asleep in your bed and his heart damn near explodes with how much he loves his family. And after putting your baby to sleep, Bucky proceeds to show you just how grateful he is to have you and how much he loves you... 

That I What? by @itsthewritergal

Y/N’s ex seems to have more of a hold on Y/N than Bucky realised.

Never Giving Up by @itsthewritergal

Reader is ill on the one day Bucky said no interruptions... 

*the proposition of a lifetime by @tee-swizzle

mafia!bucky teaches his best friend how to please a man.

Put My Mind At Ease by @slyyywriting

You married the head of the mob in payment for your father’s debt. The contract includes that you must give whatever Bucky wants. And what Bucky wants is for you to be jealous.

protector by @vxntagedior

the moment bucky fell in love with you

Kerosene by @metalbuckaroo

“You took my heaven away and didn’t think that I wouldn’t go looking for revenge?”

Black Card by @jelsasnowflakes1

When Bucky finds out you finally used the card he gave you he was confused why you only spend 15 dollars with it.

third date rule by @classylo

you had a rule, the third date rule, you had never reached it so perhaps that’s why you were still a virgin...that is until you meet the infamous sweet mob boss.

I Am Your Fall by @sinner-as-saint

You’re hiding from your past, in Madripoor. You did nothing wrong, other than mix dangerous business with a lot of pleasure. You couldn’t go home because... he would find you and Madripoor was the only place he didn’t do business, or had any allies or friends. But little did you know that the mob boss had finally found you after obsessively looking for you ever since you left, and left him in pieces. He didn’t want revenge, he just wanted the one thing he had hopelessly fallen in love with; who also happened to be the one who had betrayed him and hurt him more than anyone or any bullet ever did before - you. 

A Simple Housewife by @beyondspaceandstars

A new member starts getting too friendly with you one night, forcing Bucky to show a side of himself you’ve never seen before. And possibly never want to see again.

Could It Be Fate? by @bxcketbarnes

taken. by @wintersldr1

when you are captured by Bucky’s enemy, he will stop at nothing to get you back, and remind everyone the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

a wolf in man’s clothing by @witchywithwhiskey

you walk into a bar owned by the Russian mob, and Bucky just has to swoop in to save you—and claim you.

Protector by @cherryrogers

Ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with.

*My Devotion by @cryptidcasanova

The one where Bucky doesn’t take your breakup well.

SERIES

A Business Deal by @ezm-imagines

Mafia Boss Bucky and Stark Reader agree on a deal to improve their businesses. A deal which will unite them together forever, whether they like it or not. Well, that is if they go through with the deal…

*A Moment of Your Time by @stevesbestgirl

A soulmate AU where the headstrong reader realizes that she’s meant to love the brutal mob boss of New York City, James Buchanan Barnes. She doesn’t want to be a part of organized crime and she doesn’t want to rely on anyone, but how do you ignore your soulmate?

*Deception by @avecra

Growing up in the dark business your father ran, violence wasn’t new to you. Rivalries and bloodbaths were something you unfortunately were used to. And in order to save your father from an unnecessary fight, you force yourself into an arranged marriage with Brock Rumlow. But when he threatens your father over a small mistake on your part, you find yourself in front of your husband’s biggest rival and your old friend, Bucky Barnes. With the shared history between the two of you, Bucky finds himself drawn to you once again, and will risk everything he has just to keep you safe.

Gunslinger by @ghostofskywalker

The bitter reality was this: you did what you had to do to survive. And if that meant going head to head with the most feared mob boss of the city, so be it.

*honey, there is no right way by @bonky-n-steeb

when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

*Hostage Of Your Eyes by @sinner-as-saint

You accept an unusual offer made by a very familiar, but dangerous mob boss. And despite the rather bizarre situation and all the troubles which come along the way; old flames rekindle – and you find love again, where it wasn’t supposed to be.

Invisible String by @oitommothetease

James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

*Lost Without You by @angrythingstarlight

Soft Mob Bucky Series

Missing by @buckyalpine

Bucky’s baby is missing and he will not stop until he finds her.

Run to Me by @sgtjbuccky

In where you’ve always had a habit of ending up in situations you shouldn’t, and when you caught the eye of the man who ran New York, Bucky Barnes, your life changed. They warned you about him, but the one thing they never warned you about was how you’d always want to run to him. 

*Run To You by @bestofbucky

Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard.

The Light We Lost by @world-of-aus

James Buchanan Barnes had been it for you, and you wanted to believe that what the two of you had, was you making it. You wanted to be the other side of the statistics that actually made it, but your marriage wasn’t meant for this life. You fought hard to make your way back to him, to get him to see you, but life had a funny way of kicking you down when you were already down.

*wrong choice, right places by @mvtthewmurdvck

never wanting to work for him or protect his fiancé, falling for you was the last thing he should do—especially when his boss was zemo, who now ran most of the city.

The Maid of Mr. Barnes by @disasterofastory

You get a job as Mr. Barnes's maid. You heard about the notorious gangster, but since you desperately need money and a place to live, you are not in a position to be picky.

Icarus by @marvellous1917

it’s the day after giving the dangerous mobster his first tattoo, and he hasn’t contacted you yet. What a dick.

[chelseachilly]

falling for you

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: as a reporter for chelsea and england, you and ben have always been friendly - and sometimes a bit flirty - but you never imagined a fluke injury while filming a youtube video could lead to something more warnings: mentions of minor injury, mainly just fluff ☺️ word count: 6.4k

author's note: hope you like this one! it was a lot of fun to write and definitely my longest one-shot yet hahah. fc is olivia buzalgo obviously lol

-

As a reporter for both the England national team and Chelsea, you’ve always tried your best to remain professional and not show favouritism towards any of the players.

For the most part, this hasn’t been an issue. While you do spend a lot of your time with incredibly fit guys around your age, they’ve never been anything other than colleagues or, at the most, friends.

Except for Ben Chilwell. 

He had been on your radar professionally for some time before you met, as he was an up and coming talent at Leicester and for England. You always thought he was good looking when you watched him play on television, but you didn’t really know much about him.

It wasn’t until he signed for Chelsea in the summer of 2020 that things changed.

You were tasked with conducting Ben’s first interview for the club, and the two of you hit it off immediately. You felt like you had known him your whole life within the hour you spent together in a small room at Cobham, chatting about his career and his goals at Chelsea. 

You also learned quickly that Ben wasn’t just attractive - there was something magnetic about him. You felt instantly at ease around him, yet he also made your heart rate triple with a quick smile as you passed in the hallway or a glance in your direction while he’s on the pitch.

While you would never dream of pursuing him, partly because it’s unprofessional and partly because there’s no way he feels the same way, the connection between you two hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed. 

Every time you post an Instagram story of you working with Ben or a video of you interviewing him is released, the comments and replies are flooded with fans speculating about whether you two are dating. You always feel a bit embarrassed, wondering if he’s seeing these responses too, but you continue to post the content for two reasons:

One, because your content with Ben always performs the best, meaning your bosses are always encouraging more of it;

And two, because you’re super into him and you’ll take any excuse to work with or spend time with him.

So, despite all the speculation, you continue to post pics with Ben whenever you’re working together, and the occasional borderline-flirty comments he leaves certainly don’t help matters. 

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, masonmount and others yourusername Always a pleasure with the best left-back in the league @benchilwell ☺️ view all comments benchilwell High praise from the best reporter in the game 😉 chelsfan1 ooh i think chilly has a crush on y/n benfan2 they are never beating the secretly dating allegations 🤨

The seemingly flirty comments he sometimes makes in person don’t help matters, either - certainly not for your growing crush on him. You find yourself both looking forward to and dreading every opportunity to film something with him, loving every minute of your time with him but wishing deep down that it could lead to something more. 

You’ve hung out a bit outside of work, too, sometimes grabbing something to eat after a shoot or partying together after Chelsea have won a big game. You’re friends, but that’s all you are. You’re painfully reminded of that every time you read about the latest gorgeous model he’s dating. 

That doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when your boss emails you your next assignment, a video with Ben and Conor. They’re two of your closest friends on the team, so it should be a dream day of work for you to film a silly video with them for the club’s socials, but you’re more nervous than usual. 

Ben’s been a little bit flirtier than usual lately, bringing you coffee when you’re working at Cobham and sending you funny TikToks throughout the day. You’re not reading too much into it, but it’s definitely going to make it harder for you to ignore your feelings for him.

But you’ll at least have Conor and the camera crew there, so it won’t be that bad. You hope.

You arrive at Cobham bright and early that day, already dressed and having done your own makeup as per usual for a shoot like this. You meet up with the cameraman, Brian, who you frequently work with, to go over the plan.

“You nervous?” Brian asks when you walk into the office, a small smirk on his face. 

You can feel your face go pale and your eyes widen. “What? Wh-why would I be nervous?”

“Because of the shoot,” Brian says blankly, raising an eyebrow at you. “You know, how you were saying you’re awful at football…”

Ah, yes. The normal reason for you to be nervous. 

Truthfully, your mind has been so taken up with thoughts of seeing Ben that you haven’t worried too much about the video itself. The premise is that the boys will demonstrate some football skills and you’re supposed to try to replicate them. You’re hardly a footballer, so it’s really just meant to be lighthearted, funny content for fans who like your dynamic with the boys. 

“Oh, right,” you say with a small laugh. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad. How hard can it be?”

Brian just laughs, ignoring your slightly odd behaviour from before. “Yeah, you’ll be fine.”

A little while later, you make your way out to the training pitch where you’re meeting the guys, and you smile when you see Ben has shown up early and is kicking the ball around and scrolling on his phone. He stops and smiles when he sees you approaching.

“Y/N, hey!” he exclaims, pulling you into a quick hug. “You alright?”

“Hey, Ben,” you reply, in a bit of a trance as you pull back from the hug. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Great,” Ben grins. “You ready to learn a few things?” 

“Oh, yeah, it’s not every day that I get a free football lesson from the stars of Chelsea FC,” you tease. 

“Yeah, you basically won the lotto,” Ben chuckles.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk. “You’re comparing a morning with you to winning the lottery?”

Before your banter can continue, you see Conor and the rest of the video crew approaching and you’re brought back to reality - in which Ben is your coworker, not your boyfriend, and you have a job to do. 

You quickly hug Conor hello and chat for a minute while the guys set up the filming equipment. You can tell they’re in high spirits from the recent winning streak they’ve been on, making the atmosphere around Cobham better all around. 

Once it’s time to get started, you get into position and begin your intro, explaining the premise of the video. 

You start off with some easier skills, watching Ben and Conor demonstrate before attempting them yourself. You’re definitely not a professional, but you played a bit as a kid, so you can handle a few kick ups and headers. 

As things start to get a bit more complicated, you’re definitely struggling more, but the boys are very sweet and encouraging. Honestly, you’re not too concerned with showcasing your abilities - it’s just a funny video, and it’s part of the job. You don’t think any of the fans are expecting you to be the next Leah Williamson or something, but you still try your best for the sake of the challenge. 

The final skill you have to do is a bit of a trickier one, a crossover. Ben shows you how to do it with ease, obviously, before encouraging you to give it a go. 

After a couple failed attempts that you hope the video editor cuts out, you finally manage one, and both Ben and Conor cheer for you like you just won the Champions League.

“You’re a pro, Y/N,” Ben grins. “Wanna go again?”

With a sudden boost of confidence, you nod, and Ben kicks the ball back to you. You kick it up a few times and meet Ben’s gaze with a small smile before jumping up and swinging your leg around the ball again. 

Only this time, instead of landing perfectly on your feet, you land directly on the side of your left ankle and fall over.

There’s a shooting pain up your leg, but that’s overshadowed by the immediate embarrassment you’re feeling. The moment you catch your breath and sit up, Ben is already at your side with his hand on your upper back, asking if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist, before you’ve even had time to assess if that’s true. “Just give me a sec and we can keep going, sorry guys.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asks, setting his camera down on the tripod after he stopped filming. “It looked like you twisted your ankle pretty bad.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you say, though the pain has begun to settle in and it definitely doesn’t feel like nothing. “Ben, can you help me up?”

Ben looks hesitant, his eyes flitting from your ankle back up to your face, but he nods and grabs both your hands to help lift you to your feet. 

You’re determined to soldier on and finish the video with minimal humiliation, but the moment you put the slightest bit of weight on your left foot, you wince sharply and feel tears begin to brim in your eyes. 

Ben immediately catches you and carefully lowers you back to the ground, keeping a hand on your back.

“Y/N, you’re hurt,” Ben says, eyes full of concern. “It’s your ankle?”

You nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will tremble from the pain.

“We should take her to one of the physios to get it looked at,” Conor suggests. 

“I’m sure they have more important things to deal with,” you mumble, feeling a bit more grounded by the way Ben is gently rubbing your back, giving you something other than the pain to focus on. 

“Not really, we don’t have training today so most of the boys aren’t even here,” Ben assures you. “I’ll take you there now.”

You’re about to ask how you’re going to get all the way up to the physio offices if you can’t even stand, but you don’t have to wonder for long before Ben is carefully slipping his arm under your knees.

You let out a small gasp as you’re swept off your feet, suddenly finding yourself in Ben’s arms. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks quickly, misinterpreting your surprise for pain.

“No, I’m good,” you say quietly. Despite the shooting pain, this is partially true - how could you not be good when you’re currently being carried bridal style by the guy you’ve had a crush on for years. 

“Sorry, guys,” you say to Conor and the crew. “Maybe once they look at my ankle we can continue-“

“There’s no way you’re walking on that today, and we have enough content for the video,” Brian tells you. “Go get checked out and let us know how you’re feeling, alright?” 

“I will,” you smile. “Thanks.”

“Good to go?” Ben asks you, and you nod. 

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you with ease up to the physio department, feeling strangely comfortable in this position you never expected to be in. You love the feeling of being in his arms, how safe and protected you feel even in your vulnerable state. 

Once you arrive at the physio rooms, Ben sets you down gently on one of the beds and runs to grab someone. He returns moments later with Billy, who you’ve met a few times around the club. He’s a kind man who you know is particularly close with many of the players, including Ben.

“Hi there, Y/N, let’s take a look at that ankle,” he says gently. “Ben, mind grabbing some ice?”

“Of course.”

Ben goes over to the freezer and grabs a bag of ice while Billy carefully removes your shoe and sock, the action alone making tears form in your eyes once again. 

“Let’s ice it for a few minutes first,” Billy suggests after seeing the state of your rapidly swelling ankle. “I’ll go get you something for the pain.”

After he takes the ice pack from Ben and gently places it on your foot, relieving the throbbing a little bit, Billy leaves the room. Ben pulls up a chair next to you and lightly touches your arm. 

“You doing alright? That looks like a bad one,” Ben says, his voice impossibly even softer than before as he sees the pain you’re experiencing.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m just so humiliated, to be honest. Leave it to me to injure myself on video, and in front of my coworkers and two professional footballers.” 

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, love, that could’ve happened to anyone,” Ben insists, making your heart jump at the tender nickname. “It’s my fault, I encouraged you to go again. I’m so sorry you got hurt, I feel awful.”

“No, Ben, absolutely not,” you say quickly. “It was just a dumb accident. I think I got a bit too confident in my football abilities.”

“Well, you were doing great,” he smiles. “I think the fans will love the video. Just like everything else you do.”

You’re grateful that Billy walks back in right in that moment, both because of the pain meds he has for you and because it diverts Ben’s attention from your now flushed cheeks. 

As Billy begins your assessment, you turn back to Ben.

“You really don’t have to stay, I’m sure you have better things to do with the rest of your day.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” Ben says definitively. 

You’re sure you’re blushing again, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your grimacing in pain as Billy gently rotates and palpates your foot. Ben’s presence calms you down massively as Billy runs some tests to determine the extent of your injury.

After it’s determined that it’s just a bad sprain, Billy puts you in a boot and gives you crutches to get around for the next few days. He says to go for an x-ray if it doesn’t improve in the next two weeks, but that you should be walking fine by then. 

Once you’re cleared to leave, Ben offers to grab your stuff from the media team offices as you rack your brain to think about how you’re going to get both yourself and your car home. 

He returns with your bag slung over his shoulder and another gentle, heartwarming, completely irresistible smile on his face. 

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I just need to call my parents and see when they’ll be able to make it,” you tell him. “It might be a while, but I’m fine to wait here. I’ve already taken up way too much of your time.”

Ben just furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t your parents live in North London?”

You just blink at him for a second, completely surprised that he remembers this detail you hardly remember sharing with him, before nodding.

“That could take hours with traffic, I’ll just take you,” he insists.

“That’s really nice, Ben, but I also have to get my car home somehow.”

“So I’ll drive you home in your car, then Uber back to get mine later,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Ben-“

“Please just let me do this, Y/N,” Ben pleads. “I swear it’s no trouble.“

After a moment of deliberation, you find yourself agreeing with him. It could take hours for your parents to get here, and you’re really looking forward to being home on your couch after the day you’ve had.

He helps you down to the car park, matching your slow pace and opening all the doors for you, and then helps you get into the passenger seat of your car. You feel mildly embarrassed that he has to drive your tiny little vehicle that probably cost only a fraction of his weekly pay, but he immediately tells you how nice it is and cracks a joke about how much cleaner it is than his own, putting you at ease. 

You play some music while he drives, chatting about some of the recent changes at the club as you give him directions to your flat. About halfway there, you notice how his phone that he placed in the drink holder between you is incessantly buzzing.

“Do you need to get that?” 

“No, it’s alright,” Ben shrugs. “Probably just the boys. I was supposed to go to my mate’s house after we wrapped up, but I’ll text them and explain. He won’t mind.”

You instantly feel terrible for keeping him from hanging out with his friends on a rare day off from training. 

“Ben, I-“

“Y/N, it’s really no big deal,” he says, looking over at you now that you’re stopped at a red light. “They’re not going to care that I bailed on playing FIFA to help my injured friend.“

You nod and smile at him, holding his gaze until the light turns green and the person behind you is honking at you to drive.

-

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, conorgallagher92 and others yourusername Before and after attempting to keep up with professional footballers…I’ll keep my day job lol 😅 view all comments benchilwell You'll be back on the pitch with us in no time 🥰 conorgallagher92 Hope you're feeling better!! You did great 😊 chelsfan3 aww poor y/n, what happened?? yourfriend Get well soon babe! x benfan4 Omg Y/N and Ben...need this video out asap (and hope she's ok!)

The next few days pass fairly uneventfully as you’re laid up on your couch icing your ankle and watching Netflix. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have any in-person work commitments this week, and you’re able to do some prep for next week’s interviews from the comfort of your own home. 

Although the injury is certainly a disruption to your routine, the most significant change is the sheer amount of attention you’ve been receiving from Ben ever since.

After he helped you get home and learned that your flatmate is on holiday for two weeks and you would be home all alone, he insisted on staying and making you something to eat. He only left once he was confident that you were comfortable and had everything you needed. 

Since then, he’s texted you way more than he ever has before, constantly checking in and asking if you need anything. As much as you would love for him to come over every day and watch movies or have dinner with you, you have a nagging feeling that he just feels guilty about your injury. You like him so much, even more so for how sweet and attentive he’s being, but you don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

After the third day of being bored at home, though, you’re starting to go a little stir crazy, and it’s hard to resist when Ben texts you. 

True to his word, Ben shows up at 5:45 with Nando’s for both of you, having remembered your order from one time you went together after an interview he did for Sky. 

After teasing him during dinner for never having finished the films, you decide to watch the fourth Harry Potter movie, Ben helping you settle in on the couch with your leg up before sitting right next to you. 

As time passes, he gets progressively closer to you, until his arm is resting on the back of the sofa. He’s not quite touching you, but after he selects the next film, silently looking at you to see if you want him to stay, you feel a bit braver. After nodding with a smile, prompting Ben to hit play and settle back into the cushions, you shift slightly closer to him and lean into his body. 

“You’re warm,” you say, suddenly feeling the need to justify your closeness when you feel his muscles tense slightly.

When you feel him shift away from you, you’re completely humiliated for misreading the situation. What on earth were you thinking trying to cuddle with him? You don’t cuddle with your other friends.

But these thoughts are quickly shut down as Ben grabs the blanket from the opposite end of the couch and drapes it over both of you, then raises his arm to invite you to lean back into him with a smile on his face. 

You hesitate only a moment before curling back up to him, your head now resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you. 

You’re so comfortable and at ease in this position, despite it being completely new and a bit terrifying, that you can feel yourself drifting off less than halfway through the movie. You swear you feel Ben press a kiss to your forehead, but you’re not sure if it’s real or you’re already dreaming.

When you wake up again, the credits are rolling and Ben is half-asleep with his head resting on top of yours. 

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you murmur with a small yawn, reluctantly extracting yourself from his embrace. 

“It’s okay, you needed the rest,” Ben says softly, his voice a bit gravelly from lack of use.

God, you want to kiss him so bad. 

“It’s late, do you have training in the morning?” you ask.

“Yeah, at nine,” Ben confirms. “So I suppose I should get going. Do you need anything before I do?”

“No, thank you, though,” you say. “For everything, Ben. You’ve been so amazing, I really cant thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ben says softly, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “You’ve always been so nice and supportive when I was injured, whether you’re interviewing me about it or we’re just chatting privately, and I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you.”

Your cheeks are growing hotter as you hold his gaze, his bright blue eyes staring into yours with a new kind of intensity you’ve never seen before. 

As much as you desperately want to lean in and press your lips to his, or even tell him how you feel, you’ve grown to treasure your connection with him too much to risk anything. You have to be sure. 

“You’re welcome, Ben,” you say. “I’m glad I could help. I’ve always hated seeing you go through that.”

Ben nods, squeezing your hand once more before letting go.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, keep taking it easy and feel free to call me if there’s anything you need. At all.”

“Thanks,” you say once again, rising and grabbing your crutches to walk him out and so you can lock the door behind him. “I’ll be okay. But I will probably have to miss the game on Sunday, not sure I’ll be up for the journey to Newcastle.” 

You hate missing Chelsea games, whether they’re home or away, but even if you secure a spot on the team jet and you have a comfy spot in one of the boxes, it would be a lot to navigate on crutches. 

“Of course, we’ll all miss seeing you, though,” Ben says. “Won’t feel right doing the interview with someone else after we win.”

“I love the confidence, but you speak with other interviewers all the time,” you tease him gently. 

“Yeah, and I always wish they were you,” he admits as he slides his shoes on. “Good night, love.”

He steps forward, cupping your face and pressing another kiss to your forehead - this one definitely not a dream - but pulls back much too quickly for your liking. 

“Good night, Ben,” you’re barely able to choke out, your heart rate nearly triple its usual pace.

The moment he’s gone, you crutch back over to the sofa and flop down, letting out a long exhale. 

Surely, he would’ve kissed you when he had the chance if he fancied you, right?

But, at the same time, no matter how nice of a person he is or how much he treasures your friendship, you doubt he would spend his whole evening cuddling with you if he didn’t want to. 

As you settle in and press play on yet another movie - the perks of not having work in the morning - you try to put all thoughts of Ben out of your mind. This proves difficult, considering the blanket you’re using still smells a bit like his cologne, and because you haven’t really stopped thinking about him since the day you met. 

-

The next week, after Chelsea defeat Newcastle 3-1 with a spectacular assist from Ben that you really wish you could’ve seen in person, you’re back at work. 

You’re doing an interview with Pochettino this afternoon to talk about the win and how the season is turning around, which is a great opportunity for you, career-wise.

You just wish that it hadn’t happened on a day when you’re still hobbling around in a boot and Brian is stuck in traffic, meaning you have to set up for the interview yourself. Thankfully, you’re no longer on crutches, but by the second trip down the stairs from the media office to the room where you’re doing the interview, your ankle is really starting to protest all the walking.

Just as you’re taking a break in the middle of the stairwell, propping the tripod you were carrying up against the wall and taking a seat, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching and mentally prepare yourself to explain what you’re doing just chilling on the stairs.

“Y/N!”

The sound of the familiar voice calling your name relaxes you a bit, your shoulders slumping as you see the same smile that has been imprinted in your brain for the past week. 

“Someone told me you were in today but I couldn’t find you in the media office,” he says, the smile on his face fading as he notes your slightly pained expression. “Are you alright, love?”

Since your injury, he’s called you “love” more times than you can ever recall him saying to anyone before, making your stomach fill with butterflies every time. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist. “Just…taking a break.”

Ben narrows his eyes, and you know you aren’t fooling him, as much as you don’t want any more pity or guilty looks from him. 

“In the stairwell? Wait - you aren’t carrying equipment yourself, are you? Y/N-“

“Brian’s stuck in traffic, and I’m interviewing Poch in an hour. I’m not going to waste his time because we were late to set up.”

“Y/N, there’s no way I’m letting you carry anything else down these stairs,” Ben says seriously, reaching out to carry the tripod under one arm and offering you a hand with the other. 

You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet, but you still can’t help but protest.

“Don’t you have training right now?”

“Nah, just finished,” he says, beginning to walk down the stairs and keeping a hand hovering behind your back as if he’s afraid you’ll topple over. “We have a break for lunch now before we hit the gym.”

“But-“

“I’ll have plenty of time to help you and eat,” Ben says, now countering your arguments for accepting help before you can even make them. 

Once you get down to the room of the interview, Ben insists you sit down and elevate your leg while he grabs the rest of the stuff. On his final trip, he comes back with your folder of notes in one hand and a bag with lunch and drinks for both of you in the other. 

You don’t know how he keeps continuing to surprise you with his sweet gestures, but somehow he’s one-upped himself yet again. You sit on the floor and eat the sandwiches he grabbed from the cafeteria together while he helps you review your talking points for the interview. 

He doesn’t get up to leave until Brian arrives to finish setting up, ensuring that someone will be there to prevent you from doing any more physical labour.

“Can I give you a ride home today?” Ben offers as he helps you up off the floor. “You still can’t drive with that on, right?”

You glance down at the cumbersome boot. Unfortunately, you did injure your driving foot, which means you had to get an Uber here today. You’re about to tell him you can get another one home, not wanting to inconvenience him any more, but you know that he’s just going to refuse.

“That would be great, Ben, thanks,” you smile, squeezing his hands before letting go. “I should be done here in about an hour and a half.”

“That’s perfect,” he grins. “Good luck with the interview, I know you’ll smash it.”

He jogs away to head to the gym, which you suspect he’s now late for, leaving you in a bit of a daze with a completely lovestruck expression on your face. 

“Someone’s got a crush,” Brian says a moment later with a smirk, snapping you out of your trance.

“I-I do not,” you insist quickly, your eyes wide.

“I was talking about Chilly,” he says, chuckling a bit at your frantic denial. “But now that you mention it, you have always gotten on particularly well with him. No wonder the fans are always commenting about the vibes between you.”

“Oh, shush,” you roll your eyes. “There are no…vibes. He’s just being nice because of my ankle.” 

“Right, I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Brian retorts sarcastically. 

You pull out your phone and see that the Instagram stories you posted earlier are garnering lots of attention, your replies full of fans commenting on how sweet Ben is - something you’re well aware of.

yourusername via instagram stories

Thankfully, Brian can’t tease you much longer before Poch shows up for the interview. You say hello and settle in before getting started. 

About 30 minutes later, you have everything you need from him and thank the coach for his time and a great conversation. You and Brian head back to the media offices to get to work on early edits of the video, a part of the process that you’re not really required to help with, but you always enjoy being as involved as possible. 

You’re wrapping up and sending the file to the media team for final edits when Ben appears in the doorway, freshly showered and now wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that really look unfairly good on him instead of his training kit. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “I’ll just grab my bag-"

Ben is already walking over and grabbing it for you so you don’t have to carry anything, and you both say goodbye to Brian before heading for the car park. 

He opens the door to his car for you, even though you’re definitely capable of getting in yourself now, and then he begins to drive to your place, no longer requiring any directions.

“So, how was the interview?” Ben asks after a moment of comfortable silence.

“It was great,” you say. “He speaks very highly of you, you know. Not that I blame him after that assist on Sunday.”

“You watched?” Ben asks, his eyes lit up with joy as he glances over at you. 

“Of course, I wasn’t gonna miss it just cause I couldn’t be there in person,” you smile. “You were brilliant.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Ben’s gorgeous smile as he continues to drive - improved only by your compliments being the reason for it. 

You continue to chat about the game and other things until you arrive in front of your building. It’s hard to keep the slightly sad expression off your face when Ben pulls into the driveway and you know you have to say goodbye to him again. 

All you want is to drag him inside with you and never let him go, but you know that isn’t realistic. Sure, he’s been wonderful and caring and attentive all week, but you’re sure that as soon as your ankle heals, everything will go back to how it was. 

“Are you okay?” Ben asks once he puts the car in park and notices the look on your face. “Is it your ankle? Is it bothering you?”

“No, no,” you say, quickly dissuading his worries. “It’s nothing, I’m all good.”

He nods, but the concerned expression doesn’t quite leave his face. “I’ve been worried about you. You know, being here by yourself and stuff.”

Though your stomach flips once again at his soft tone, you try to ignore it. He’s just being nice. He’s a nice person. That’s why you like him so damn much. 

“It’s okay, my mum has come around a few times and my flatmate will be home on Saturday,” you tell him. “Besides, I’m completely fine. I know you feel a bit guilty, but it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ve been so sweet looking after me, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Ben blinks at you for a moment before letting out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. 

“It’s not…I mean, I did feel a bit guilty, but that’s not why I wanted to take care of you. It’s because I care about you.”

You frown in confusion. “I’m not saying you don’t care about me, Ben, I care about you too, but-“

“Y/N, for gods sake,” Ben cuts you off, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just that I care about you, okay? I care about the boys, but I don’t exactly turn up with dinner and cuddle with Reece or Trev when they’re injured.”

As you realize what he’s implying, your breath catches in your throat and you find it hard to speak at all, let alone say the right thing.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but the only thing you can think to do in the moment is the thing you’ve been dreaming about doing for the past three years - you lean across the console and press your lips firmly to his.

You have a brief feeling of terror that you’ve misunderstood what he was saying, until Ben starts to kiss you back and you no longer have any thoughts in your brain that aren’t of his lips.

He parts his mouth slightly and you kiss him harder, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair. You sigh into his mouth, in pure ecstasy as he kisses you like his life depends on it. 

You only part when you both need to come up for air, and even then, you’re reluctant to pull away from him, lingering close. Ben brushes his nose against yours, and you watch as he slowly opens his eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to,” you murmur, slowly pulling back from him. “Why…why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

“I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable since we work together a lot,” Ben admits. “I thought about bringing it up every time we hung out outside of work, but I always chickened out.”

“Oh,” you exhale, your mind whirring with a million different thoughts. “I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I flirt with you all the time! There’s a reason the fans are always posting about us online, saying I fancy you and stuff. I thought it was obvious.” 

You could nearly scream at your own obliviousness - if only because it delayed what was just most definitely the best kiss of your life - but you never thought in a million years that Ben would choose you over all the other options he has available to him, over all the perfect girls you’ve seen fawn over him at games and parties.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me now, even if it took me falling over and injuring myself for us to get here,” you laugh under your breath, making him roll his eyes at you with affection.

“I’m definitely not glad you got hurt, but I was happy to have an excuse to spend more time with you,” Ben admits. “I just…always want to spend time with you.”

You’re blushing like crazy again, but this time, you don’t care that Ben can see. When he reaches out to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb, you don’t shy away from him, your bashful smile mirroring his. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asks. “There’s this amazing French restaurant in Richmond, I would love to take you if you want.”

You’re giddy at the thought of an actual, romantic first date with Ben, though you’ve felt more romance eating sandwiches on the floor and chatting in crowded stadiums and walking to get coffee with him than you have on any “real�� first date you’ve ever had. 

“I would love to,” you smile. 

“Okay,” Ben grins. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

You nod, feeling pure elation as Ben begins to lean in to seal your agreement with a kiss. It feels so natural, it’s hard to believe your first one was just minutes ago.

“Can I help you inside?” Ben offers once you’ve pulled away again. 

He knows full well that you’re completely capable of walking to the door by yourself, but you’re not offended by his chivalrous behaviour, especially now that you know he has a very good reason for it. 

“Only if you kiss me again at the door,” you respond, smirking at him playfully, and his eyes light up with delight.

“I can definitely do that.”

-

please let me know what you thought!! i love your comments and asks more than anything 💕

[maveras-posts]

Slasher House Part:♾️

✨How it’s like living with the slashers✨:

I swear it’s like a bunch of teenagers!

The others have attempted any times to teach Micheal modern slang and technology (For fucks sake he has stuck a fork in an outlet and the DAMN TOASTER)

He has lots of candy stashed in random spots throughout town and the old Myers house

Micheal is very fond of ✨CanDy CoRN✨ sour gummies

Also Micheal and Jason are VERY MUCH on the spectrum!

Bubba is very childish when you get to know him but is very short tempered

NEVER comment on how he looks or stare for too long

Sam is just like a kid so we must preserve the innocence (Freddy taught him no no words😒)

Ghostface is also very friendly, and a joker

Highkey reminds me of deadpool in a twisted way

Art is another ball game… (gaslighting is his middle name)

Pennywise does his own thing most the time but is quite friendly and fun to be around.

Out of all of them you’d feel safest with Sam and Jason they are teddy bears

Sam is the least problematic one there along with Jason it’s like the two toddlers found eachother

Freddy likes to bully everybody except for Art and he tried with Sam —

Art fucking pulled a flamethrower out last time he tried to pick on Sam—

Ghostface and Freddy have karaoke nights (much to Michael’s dismay) Sam is raging in the background

My man Michael needs his 8 Hours

Pennywise and Art also bunk together in the basement…don’t go down there! (Art has the good kush it’s MINE—)

The playground and clown cafe are a vibe I just can’t get the damn ✨SONG✨ out my head🤬

Pennywise is a recluse we forget he lives here sometimes🤷‍♀️ (He Sleeps A LOT)

The 🍃 circle with Art is lit as fuck!

Ghost is very funny and his room is a vibe he can go on for hours about scary movies (Imagine purple and orange lights with tons of movie posters and his collectibles on shelves 😭)

Family game nights are banned now, everyone fought with eachother

Micheal is not allowed to operate any stoves or toasters… HE SHUT THE POWER OFF OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD😑

NO ALCOHOL for Jason (the FBI still can decipher what happened…)

Art may or may not have dared him to shots and he just took chilled water💀 (Jason is a virgin to alcohol)

Art sends Sam to do his dirty work💀 Sam took all of Freddy’s left shoes and threw glitter in all of Micheal’s drawers 😒 Art also gave Sam a lighter😭

Micheal is the only one with Law and Order he is like the father of all these damn children

The people voted and I answered MANY wanted the slasher house to continue, I’ve added a couple more into the house and I just realized I fucking missed the chance to make Fourth of July headcanons for them forgive me council😭 I hope everyone enjoys this dumpster fire and again requests and recommendations are open!

Love You Sick Things!

🖤Mavera🫶

@michaelmyers-isdaddy @slasherholic @slasherwife @slasherfxcker @getmeoutofhell @gloopunknown @slasherhaven @arttheclown-coveredinblood @rosehilol @spookystree @michaelmyersleftfoot

[random0lover]

Her Past Is Their Torture

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst/No Comfort (yet), SFW, talk of death, readers fake funeral is mentioned, fake identity is mentioned, healing wound referenced, A gun is mentioned one time, words "terrorist group" is used once, nothing to serious!

Things to know: reader themself is never referenced looks wise so this is POC friendly! Also if you decide to follow me after reading, READ MY PINNED POST, thank you ♡

Notes: I wrote this in 3 hours after not writing anything for a while, so I hope this is okay! This somehow is getting turned into a mini-series, but I cannot make any promises on how fast each part will come out, but it will be a happy ending!! Kind of proof read but not really so sorry for any errors <3

Part 1 Part 2 (You’re here!)

You were not supposed to be alive. Your heart had stopped while you were lying in the arms of the man you loved but somehow you were alive sneaking your way through the base that you used to call home. 

Today was the day of your funeral, a month after the incident, you knew it would be your only chance to make it onto base to grab a few of your main keepsakes from your room, and no matter how bad of an idea it was, you wanted to stop in Simon’s room one last time. 

Laswell didn't know you were here as far as she knew you were on your way to pick up everything to complete your temporary new identity. A 24-year-old from the States wanting to get some traveling in after completing nursing school before going back home to start their job as an ER nurse. Enough information to satisfy anyone that wanted to have a chat but nothing that would be too memorable. 

Kate was the first person you saw after you woke up in a room that was decorated with floral designs that reminded you of the worn couch that sat in your grandmother's living room until the day she passed away. She told you that your getting shot that night wasn’t a coincidence and that the same people you've spent the last few years running from were once again coming after you.

 Before you became part of Task Force 141 you had previously been part of a different unit, one that now has no evidence of existing after a mission that went haywire. You had all been tasked to eradicate a terrorist group that had supposedly made threats to multiple governments not knowing that you were not the first unit being sent in, that it was a death wish going after them. You and your captain had been the only ones to survive at first until four months later you woke in the middle of the night to a frantic phone call from him saying that they were going to come for you next, the sound of a shotgun being cocked, then the line went dead. Not ten minutes later you had packed a bag and were getting ready to go out the backdoor when you heard your front door being kicked in, if it hadn't been for your captain making that call you would've been dead too.

From that day you spent two years running, going everywhere from China to The United States, to Poland, to Japan, anywhere you could hide until Kate had you staying in the UK which is when she introduced you to Captain John Price and you officially became part of task force 141. Price was the only one that knew your full story until you told Simon but you never got the chance to tell him that you might have to keep running one day. That the people that were after you would only show up to try and kill you to then disappear without a trace until they decided to come after you again.

You had become too comfortable, too hopeful that they were not going to come after you again, that maybe it was all over but the healing bullet wound in your side states otherwise.

You shake your head to get out of your thoughts and continue to make your way through the base while keeping your head down.

~~**~~

This morning you had watched to make sure all of the task force members had left so that you didn't risk running into any of them. You had already been to your room making sure to grab the necklace Soap and Gaz had gifted you on your birthday last year, the little notebook Soap would doodle in when he would sit in your room with you, the t-shirt you had stolen from Simon’s closet, and a coffee mug that Price had jokingly given you that said “dad’s favorite”. 

You knew it was all pointless stuff but the little things had always meant the most to you especially when it was things that people that were as close to family as you'll get had given you.

Walking through the men's barracks would not be a good idea usually but today they were mostly barren for obvious reasons. You quickly made it to Simon’s room having to resist stopping in Gaz’s room and staying focused. Oddly enough the door was unlocked but you didn’t think much of it, mainly just thanking the stars that you got lucky enough that he forgot.

You make your way into the room gently shutting the door behind you and move until you're standing beside his bed closing your eyes for a moment taking a deep breath, taking in the smell of pine and cedar mixed with notes of vanilla and a small hint of smoke. 

You open your eyes and finally let your eyes drift across the room. The room itself is completely clean not a thing out of place almost as if it hadn't been touched since the morning before that last mission what catches your attention though is the small desk in the corner that is currently the dirtiest you've ever seen it, covered in a few stacks of paperwork, mugs that have dried-out tea bags in them, and not so shockingly your file. It was sitting on top of everything else but you could tell from the creases and a few dirt stains in the manilla folder that it had been opened multiple times and maybe even thrown or dropped a few times. 

You feel in your pocket for the folded note that you had written the night before and pull it out. You stare at it for a moment before opening the folder and sliding it in between some papers at the bottom of the stack hoping that he’ll find it. As soon as you close the folder you hear some voices coming down the hallway and make your way towards his closed closet waiting to see if you’ll need to hide. You hear the voice fade and let out the breath you were holding until you see the door handle turning and frantically throw yourself into the closet hiding behind his clothes and trying to shut the door.

Simon comes into your view for a moment and you see him looking around the room, you hear him let out a sigh before taking a deep breath and you see his body go rigid, you freeze hoping he didn’t hear you, and hear him sniff again almost as if he smells something weird. He turns towards the closet and you can see his eyes settle on the door, you want to slap yourself for not making sure to close it all the way and suck in a breath as he takes a step forward reaching out to open the door but before he can you hear his door open again.

“You got that file you were looking for Lt.?” Soap asks from the doorway.

Simon looks at the closet door one more time before turning to the desk and grabbing the file, “Yeah Johnny, let’s go.” 

You wait in the closet for another five minutes before you decide that it’s safe to venture out and quickly make your exit, locking the door behind you before you sneak off base. 

As soon as you reach your car the burner phone that was in the center console starts ringing the screen saying ‘GREEN’ in big bold letters meaning that it’s Kate. You pull out the phone and answer it while starting the car. “Where are you? You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

 “I'm almost there Kate, I’ll be there soon. Promise.” You sigh before hanging up.

Hi my lovelies, I hope you enjoyed the second part to Open Wounds and War Paint! Feedback is appreciated but not necessary. As always I hope you have a great day/night. &lt;3

As of right now I have a few requests, but requests are open! I cannot promise when or if I will write them, but I do prefer requests that are slightly more specific as I find them easier to write but it's not required. Thanks for reading my darlings! ♡

[gwynniethenymph]

Do you think so? Part 1.

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara.

Word count: 1212 words.

Notes: Sooo... here is jealous Azriel and a one shot that accidentally became a two chapter story! I'm very nervous about posting this since it's the first story I write in years, but I'm also very excited. Constructive criticism is very welcomed! Don't know if I should post this in ao3, but I'll think about it. Also, Azriel is very, very bad at feelings in this first part.

~~~

"Is it normal for the sun to be so... bright?” Cassian complained for the fifth time in an hour. Azriel only stared at him. His shadows writhed in agitation too, but there was little he could do.

The Summer Court offered oceans of the purest water and clear, hot days. Oddly enough, the Shadowsinger sometimes appreciated this kind of weather, though Illyrian leathers were unbearable in the heat. He missed his leathers.

Despite the initially pleasant atmosphere, the air around them crackled with raw power and fear. War was imminent, and so was betrayal, hence the week-long Courts Meeting. The Spymaster just couldn’t understand why war meetings were disguised as luxurious balls and quick alliances as amicable friendships.

“Courtier's shit,” Rhys had answered with a scoff. They needed to keep the common people calm while orchestrating swift relocations to the south, far from the borders between Spring and the Human Lands. The urgency of such activities was probably the only reason Tarquin tolerated Cassian's presence.

Azriel had plenty of work to do as well, trying to keep his High Lord informed of every glance and conversation. He sighed. It would be easier if that devilish, mischievous little nymph wasn’t so damn... distracting. And offensively good at her job.

With the growing popularity of the Valkyries Division and her remarkable contribution against the Illyrian Revolution, Gwyn had become a respected and well-known name across Prythian. According to Amren, she was also quick-witted, well-versed in history and politics, and "strikingly beautiful". Before understanding her line of thought, Azriel had agreed and added how good of a spy the priestess was.

As a result, Gwyn had been assigned to secure Tarquin's alliance and friendship. Considering how closely they danced at the moment, Azriel thought he might have to remind her of the "friendship" part. Or perhaps punch Tarquin and get himself banned from Summer.

It would be worth it, though.

The dark-skinned High Lord held the Valkyrie against his chest, one hand around her slim waist as they spun. The silk of Gwyn's gown resembled a cobalt ocean, the halter neckline exposing the toned muscles of her freckled arms. If she were closer, he would see her huge, mesmerizing eyes lined with gold and her pink, plump lips. She looked like a siren from the tales Azriel’s mother used to tell him—a beauty like no other, ready to enchant unsuspecting sailors and drag them to the depths of the sea.

Tarquin looked quite happy in his "sailor" position. Azriel would be happy too. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, couldn't ignore the pang in his chest. Gwyn had become too important to him in the last few years, their time together reserved not only for training and sparring, but for the deepest conversations he’d ever had, for silly jokes and friendly flirting.

Well, he had believed the flirting was not that friendly anymore, but as Nesta and Emerie giggled and whispered about the dancing couple, the Shadowsinger concluded he must have been wrong. As that terrible, awful dance ended and Gwyn separated from the High Lord with a courtesy, Azriel found himself relaxing, his shoulders dropping for a mere moment before he realized how many heads turned towards her.

“Twenty and seven, Singer.”

“What?”

“Twenty and seven males turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer. Would you be interested in knowing the number of females too?”

Azriel sighed. “No, thank you.”

“Twenty and three females turned their heads to look at Our Light, Singer.”

“Okay, no more counting.”

“This equals fifty heads turned. Dismissing, of course, the heads that didn’t need to be turned because they were already looking in Our Light’s direction, Singer. This includes your head, Singer.”

Azriel gritted his teeth. “Please go check on the Vanserras.”

“Of course, Singer.”

As his shadows went silent and the Spymaster sighed, Gwyn reached the group with a smile. The golden sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows hit her eyes, making them seem like a gateway to the shallow seas of Adriata. Emerie and Nesta grabbed each of her arms and proceeded to gossip and giggle:

"Who could imagine Tarquin uses dancing as a form of foreplay?" Lady death grinned, mischievously.

Even the tips of Gwyn's ears went red, her eyes going wide "It- it was not! We just danced. Like... friends. Very good friends."

Emerie snickered wildly "I am your friend for longer and never received this type of treatment. You are hurting my feelings."

"Oh, shush. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I know, Gwynnie. He looked at you the same way I do when you look too pretty."

Gwyn's mouth went slightly agape. "Wouldn't that make the look even more... friendly?"

Cassian, who had been observing the conversation, pointedly looked at his mate and nodded. "Wouldn't it, Nesta?"

Caught in the act, Nesta cleared her throat before uttering a simple, "No". Gwyn considered her friend for a moment before shaking her head.

Azriel expected her to say the relationship with Tarquin - and, well, Nesta - was nothing but friendly. That their were all going insane and seeing things that weren't there. He expected her to shrug it off. Instead, Gwyn's eyes glinted with interest.

"I'm not going to dive into your last comment, but... You think so? That he looks at me... like that?"

The two Valkyries looked at Gwyn like she had just convinced Helion to give them a pegasus. Azriel's shadows were whispering about murder and something else the Spymaster couldn't quite catch given the zooming in his ears. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly he feared it may break. She... she truly liked Tarquin?

"SO YOU LIKE HIM!"

As if it was possible, Gwyn went even more red. "Perhaps, but-"

Azriel couldn't help himself from murmuring "That's not what you should be worried about."

Gwyn's eyes found his "Oh. I- Sorry?"

He shouldn't be saying this. It was only meant to hurt her like he was hurting. But, again, he simply couldn't help himself. "I said you shouldn't be worried about silly romantic... whatever. You have a job to do, and seducing Tarquin is not a part of it."

Their small group went deadly silent, Nesta shooting death glares at him. "I... I was not trying to... seduce him. I'm doing my job perfectly well."

Between the hurt he saw in her eyes before, there was anger emerging. One he matched quite well. "Well, then keep your- your heart and feelings out of it. And your body at least a few inches separated from his."

This time, her mouth was fully agape. Gwyn stuttered from a moment, trying to find an answer, when Tarquin suddenly surged behind her.

"Gwyn? Is this a good moment? There's something I want to show you."

She turned around to face the High Lord and, before Azriel could growl at him or stop her, one of his shadows - the only one that actually listened to the Shadowsinger sometimes - nervously darted across his face, whispering about something about Beron.

Azriel turned around, scanning the room in search of the Autumn High Lord, only to find him having a mildly heated conversation with Helion. But when he returned to excuse himself from the group, Gwyn and Tarquin were gone.