#and they have to rescue him from Dark Sun

[something-in-red]

Divine!Kiran AU part 13: Darkest Night, Brightest Day.

The longest one yet.

• The time has come. Leitizia is in her chambers, eagrly waiting for the dawn of a brand new day. She could not sleep all night, tomorrow Veronica will be executed. With her death, and the imprisonment of the Queen, she has all but guaranteed her ascension of the throne. Leitizia will become the new Queen of the kingdom of Embla, and being supported by the Dark Goddess herself, none cam dispute her right to rule. She will have it all. Well, almost.

• Leitizia was lounging with a glass of wine in front of the balcony, the moonlight barely shone through the dark skies of Embla. She looks towards the figure of a man standing near the chambers door, shrouded by the darkness of the room. Leitizia scowls, no matter what she did or how many times she commanded him, he would not budge beyond where he stood. She would have to speak to Embla about his constant disobedience.

• No matter, she thinks. Once Veronica is out of picture, she will march her forces into the kingdom Askr and conquer it in the name of Embla. After all, that was Leitizia's part of the deal. The Order of Heroes would pose a problem of course, it holds some very powerful individuals in its ranks. But they're limited in numbers compared to the Emblan army and as the last battle proved, without the Askran army the Order would be stretched too thin to deal with her Curse Directive.

• Besides, with their helpless little Summoner in Embla's custody, the Order prioritize rescuing them and she has prepared a plan to intercept the Order should they mount a rescue attempt. Leitizia heard Embla's threat and frankly found it hilarious, that helpless welp? A demi-god? She would admit they are a good tactician, but nothing noteworthy beyond that. No matter, the real threat of the Order is the prince, Alfonse.

• The Askran prince proved to be quite a challenge, the initial reports of him a naive yet kind prince fell apart the moment she spoke of him. How he causally admitted to killing his late father and threatened her life in the same breath, How cunning he turned out to be. Prince Alfonse is someone who puts on an act of an ideal prince and in reality he is ruthless and pragmatic.

• No matter, she thinks once more. The prince shall be dealt with later, once the sun sets tomorrow, Veronica would be dead, Embla would slaughter Askr and the era of Queen Leitizia and the beginning of the Emblan Empire will begin.

• Meanwhile, in Embla's palace, the goddess was not sharing Leitizia's enthusiasm. Something was off, she could tell. The Order hasn't moved to rescue their Summoner or Veronica and Askr has not arrived yet. He was supposed to rush in headfirst into danger like the sentimental oaf he is the moment he learned of his firstborn's capture and fall into her trap. Except he didn't come at all. It must that stupid twig's doing, she thinks. He must've stopped Askr from going after her. She can still feel the sting of his attacks of his blasted branches, he wasn't supposed to do that! As guardian of the World-Tree he's supposed to remain there! But not only he decided to intervene, he chased her all the way to the middle of her own realm!

• She sneered, just thinking about them made her blood boil. They had it all! Askr had a thriving domain with mortals who love and worship him, married the World-Tree guardian Lærader and had many children together. Though, she supposes he did end losing one of the children, his firstborn no less. Embla may have hated Askr even back then but when she heard about the loss of the child she felt the tiniest bit of sympathy. But since said firstborn is alive and well and the Summoner no less, it's unfortunate Askr will lose him again, right before he himself breaths his last.

• Embla thinks for a moment about the mysterious person who provided her with this little piece of information. She hadn't seen or heard from them since Elm brought them to her, and the little bat was so eager in giving Embla the valued intel that he failed to even investigate this person before bringing them to her.

• They clearly had an ulterior motive in getting of Askr. Perhaps they were also an enemy of Askr? But the fact the person refused to disclose their identity before leaving her domain all together. She had ordered to go find anything he can on the individual but they hid their tracks well. She will have to investigate the matter herself at a later time.

• Speaking of Elm, the little bat is over the moon with what tomorrow will bring. The foolish cow Askr will die at the hands of his lady, he had asked permission from her to execute the summoner himself, and Veronica will die at Leitizia's hands. All their enemies will fall in one clean swoop! Tomorrow will be a day of celebration! In fact, he might get an early preview.

• Although his lady had scolded pretty badly the other day for letting an unknown person into her personal palace. He was in such a rush to give his lady the intel he forgot to do the basic thing and question this...mysterious stranger. Although, there was a familiar energy about them he couldn't exactly place, didn't help that they left as soon as they delivered the information to lady Embla.

• Whatever, it's a stroke of luck! Askr must've pissed off someone else who hates him just like lady Embla! It's not hard to imagine, with his condescendingly positive attitude and constantly placating the mortals. Not to mention those monstrous children he has! Honestly the thrashing he got from them, especially from the elk horned giant was down right brutal, Why would he pick on him like that?! And that annoying retainer Ash wouldn't stop talking and blabbering on about stupid things like why would do this? His lady ordered him what other reason he needs!

• Oh, Elm can't wait to see the looks on their pathetic faces once lady Embla stands over Askr's corpse in victory then the mortal Leitizia will march her forces into his domain and reduced it to ruins! Elm will execute all of Askr's children himself, starting with the Summoner and making Ash watch as he does. It will be glorious! Glory to lady Embla.

• Only a few hours is left till the sun rises, once the dawn breaks, Veronica will be hauled to her execution, Leitizia officially cements her right as Queen, and Bruno as her prince-consort. Askr will come to confront Embla and she will crush him and thus his domain will fall with him, then the Summoner will be die as well and without them, the Order of Heroes will crumple.

• Everything is almost ready, Elm decided begin his day by visiting the dungeon. He will taunt the Summoner and the princess about their impending doom. As he made his way to the dungeon he noticed the castle staff being wary, some maids turned away from his path immediately. Good, Mortals should know their place.

• Meanwhile, the rebels within the castle staff were freaking out, they managed to hide that the princess and the Summoner have escaped from Princess Leitizia but don't know if they can hide it from Embla's retainer. If they don't do something, everything will fall apart before the plan comes to fruition.

• So, when the maids noticed Elm heading towards the dungeon, they quickly thought of a plan. They brought clothing similar to the garbs of the Summoner and Princess and found people with similar builds to play pretend in the dungeons. The guards quickly smuggled them in and put them in the dungeons, it's a good thing the Summoner always hid their face so it was easy to disguise one of guards as them. But for the Princess a young newly hired made with similar build and hair to play the role of the princess.

• All they had to do pretend to be unconscious and weak from the lack of food and hope that Elm isn't perceptive enough to notice, hopefully the poorlit dungeon will help to hide their faces. If the worst comes they already sent word to the rebel leaders to move immediately should the ruse fail.

• Elm hummed on his way to the dungeon, completely unaware of what is transpiring behind the scenes. All he was focused on is how good it will feel to kick the Summoner and Veronica while they're down. So when he got to dungeon and ordered the guards to lead him to the prisoners, he failed to notice the looks the guards shared, or the way they were holding their lances a little too tightly, or the hidden rebel spy aiming a knife to his throat should Elm notice something.

• The little bat made his way towards the Summoner, they've huddled to a far corner of the dungeon and hid their face in their knees. They looked so small and pathetic, this was the Summoner of Legend? Don't make Elm laugh! He began on and on how Embla would win against Askr and then their precious order will fall apart without them and If they hadn't been here in Zenith none of this would've happened! Now everyone is going to die and it's going to be there fault!

• The 'Summoner' trembled in their place, Elm thought they must be crying! How pathetic! All it took was a few words to get the waterworks going. He turned to leave them for their misery and face 'Veronica'. She cover herself with a blanket and face away from him, Elm called her a poor little thing, abandoned by her own people for a better ruler who is loyal to their goddess Embla, as she should've been! Had just listened to his lady and did what she was told, she wouldn't be here, alone and forgotten. But she will not die alone! She and the Summoner are going to be executed for their crimes against Embla and the kingdom. The people will rejoice with a ruler who guide them in Embla's name! The kingdom of Askrr and it's god will fall to Embla's glory!

• Elm was invested in his monologuing he didn't notice that neither prisoner spoke once. As soon as he finished he began laughing maniacally and headed to leave the dungeon, his sinister laughter is echoing throught the whole place. Satisfied with his venture, Elm return to Embla's palace.

• All rebels sighed in relife when Elm took his leave and quickly removed the two disguised prisoners from the dungeon while setting up decoys in place should someone make an unannounced visit. The battle is almost here, and the rebels have prepared a route towards Leitizia's quarters when the Order arrives. The specific instructions were that Master Bruno is to be captured rather than killed, it apears that he is under Embla's curse and isn't in control of himself. Bruno is a sorcerer but subduing him would be a challenge, even without magic he is skilled with the sword. But the rebels prepared a sleeping potion just in case.

• Outside the royal castle's walls, the Order of Heroes was preparing its forces, they managed to remain hidden from the Emblan Army so far so the massive number of heroes moving in small groups hadn't been caught. While the Emblan Army outnumbers them, they not outmatched. A single group can take dozens of the enemy while slowly advancing the line, this way by the time the army realizes they're being pushed back, it will be too late to act.

• One of these groups is none other than the Askr trio, the Summoner and Veronica. They are on their way to meet the rebels who will let in the castle and defeat Leitizia. Capturing Bruno and retrieving the fruit from him is a priority of course, not mention Veronica herself is still susceptible to Embla's influence but if Askr manages to distract her long enough she will not affect her.

• Alfonse is ready to cut Leitizia down immediately but he did promise to at least try to apprehend her, for Veronica's sake. All that matters is defeating Letizia and and rescuing Bruno. The problem however, is that they still haven't heard from Lærader about the the second fruit, he promised he would deliver it soon but the battle will begin shortly. Surely he'll be here...

• Éclat, or the Summoner, is nervous. This is the first time they're directly involved in a battle but this no mere battle, this battle will determine the fate of two kingdoms with many many lives on the line. They looked at the sky and noticed the first rays of sun came through. The sun has risen, the dawn broke, and the fate of two kingdoms will be decided by sun down.

I keep thinking about my Divine!Kiran au that I talked to @rosymaraschino about and I can't sleep.

● Askr and Lærder are married, Kiran, the would be summoner, is the first child they had. They were a happy little family for a while, then Baldr appeared.

● Alfador claims that Kiran would to become the biggest threat the nine realms has ever seen and so Baldr was dispatched to 'deal' with them.

● Askr and Lærder ain't having none of that but can't do anything against Baldr and an order from Alfador, Baldr is actually conflicted about following through with her orders. On one hand, Alfador's visions always come true, on the other hand, Kiran is just a baby.

● Askr gets the idea of sending Kiran away, Lærder is against this at first but relents once he hears him out.

● There is a world that is incredibly difficult to open a gate to, and even more difficult to find. It is called the World of Steel.

● The World of Steel is so isolated from all other worlds that it doesn't even have magic. And extension, Alfador or anyone from the nine realms can't reach it.

● Askr argued that if Kiran were to be sent to the World of Steel, the child would effectively be banshied from the nine realms and therefore cannot be a threat to them.

● Baldr considers this, but asks if they're alright with sending their child away, never to see them again. Lærder yells at her of course they're not alright but what choice do they have? Going against Alfador is suicide.

● Askr and Baldr set out to secure the gate to the World of Steel, once thats done Lærder then follows with Kiran in hand.

● The two divine gods say a tearful farewell to their first child, before sending him through the portal and praying that they lead a good life.

● Baldr reports back to Alfador that now that Kiran is banished, there is no need to worry about the threat they will pose in the future.

● Alfador seems to agree at first, however, when Baldr leaves it's clear that he wants the child dead anyways. With the World of Steel out of his reach there is little he can do about.

Askr and Lærder later had more children (Ash+the Healing Hand) but never told them about Kiran, their abrupt loss is a wound that never healed.

[thedemonsurfer]

Hey can we talk about how the very recent SAMS stuff has turned out to be a brilliant twist of audience complicity?

With the most recent eps, its become blindingly clear that Dark Sun has been manipulating or influencing Moon's actions to some degree. And looking back over it, it's really fun trying to pick out the point where Moon started going downhill and being like 'oh, that's how he was being pushed'. Folks remembered that Moon was the first person Dark Sun ever grabbed, forcibly scanning him before sending him back home. Dark Sun outright told Eclipse that he wanted to do something to Moon.

Now Moon's reactions make more sense. The yelling, the lashing out at his family in a way he's never done before. The extremes that seem so Out-of-Character.

But at the time it was happening?

No one was talking about manipulation. Everyone was willing to go 'I guess Moon sucks actually'.

Including the audience.

How great is that! We're omniscient, more or less! The audience is exposed to interactions and monologues that the characters never see. We have knowledge like the exact things Moon said to Old Moon, or Dark Sun said to him. We can go back and reference them!

And yet we were led into the exact same trap as the characters-- looking at Moon and going 'you're no better than Old Moon'.

The thing Moon hates the most! That comparison to Old Moon, the fear that he really isn't any better. Haunted by a spectre of a shitty person that was apparently loved anyway. And you'd think we, as the audience, would remember that, but as soon as he slips up the comparisons start flying. I was doing it too!

And that's why I think the recent twist has been brilliant, because they hid it inside what they knew the audience would assume, like a pill inside some shitty cheese. By tying Moon's instability to his grief, it made his actions seem more plausible, and therefore it was seen as a failure of his character. Oh, clearly Moon just sucks as a person I guess.

We the audience failed the guy just as hard as his family did for not stepping back and going 'waaaaaait a minute', and we were manipulated by the writing into that failure (as, y'know, that's how writing works).

And that's fucking brilliant, 10/10

[bluemoon1331]

I think Sun is becoming increasingly more dangerous, while Moon is wilting. A strange role reversal for the multiverse, and how it was at the beginning.

If it came down to it, I believe Moon would be more on the defensive, and Sun would literally obliterate any threat to his family. He's been through too much to actually lose any of them now. Watched them all fall apart and get sewn back together, again and again. Fallen apart himself on a multitude of occasions.

And unlike a lot of Suns (in comparison to what Dark Sun did), it naturally strengthened him inside. Sun hates killing. He knows what it's done to him, and other members of his family. But if it came down to it, I don't think he would hesitate anymore, not if there truly wasn't any other way.

The guy is tired. Probably more so than anyone else around him. But he's definitely become quite steadfast, and a rock for his family. He's also got a daughter to take care of now, and he won't ever let anything bad happen to her again, not if he can help it.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - XX ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au. — warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy. — word count: 4,801. — tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23, @leathesimp. —the lost queen series masterlist. — ko-fi

Chapter 20

The march was an ordeal for all involved. The scorching summer heat punished soldiers and animals alike, making each step a monumental effort. Armor gleamed in the merciless sun, and the air seemed to ripple with the heat rising from the arid ground. The mood was almost palpable, a shadow that followed the ranks like an unwelcome companion. Yet everyone knew that they would rather face the scorching sun than face the icy winter winds that chilled them to the bone.

The destination was Babylon, a journey that would take months, according to the strategists' calculations. The army, vast in number and presence, advanced slowly due to the chariots, tents, and supplies that accompanied it. This slowness irritated Alexander deeply. He was completely focused on his goal: to rescue his wife, no matter the cost.

He was Alexander, and he would raze cities, enslave people, and send men to the sword until he recovered his wife, his Queen.

His wife and child were waiting for him. Alexander missed (Y/N) terribly. The moments they spent together, few but significant, did not make up for the emptiness in his chest due to his wife's absence. Nothing could fill the void that was eating away at him except having her in his arms once more, and this time he would be sure that no one could take her away from him again.

Impatience was eating away at him. He ardently wished to have wings like Icarus, to take flight and cross the sky to the gates of Babylon. Each day that passed seemed like an insult to his desire for action, an affront to his restless spirit.

It was then that he made a strategic decision. To speed up the advance, he decided to divide the army in two. He would lead the vanguard, accompanied by his main officers and the elite of his soldiers. The rearguard would be under the command of Parmenion, an experienced and trustworthy general. It would still take time to reach the city, but the movement would be faster with fewer men and baggage at the front.

Alexander would naturally lead the first group. His eagerness to advance as quickly as possible was almost tangible. Part of him wanted to mount Bucephalus and gallop non-stop to Babylon, ignoring all the risks of the road. However, reason prevailed over impulse. He knew that abandoning his army would be foolish. The path was treacherous, full of possible ambushes and challenges that would require his command and leadership. And he could not simply leave his own people behind.

As the sun set, dyeing the horizon red and gold, Alexander rode at the head of his troops, his gaze fixed on the east. Babylon was far away, but in his mind, he could already visualize the city gates, the imposing walls and the reunion that fueled his spirit. Determined and tireless, he advanced, guided by passion and the promise of victory.

Soon, he promised himself, (Y/N) would be back in his arms and he would never let her leave his side again.

"Alexander, please. The soldiers and animals need to rest." Hephaestion insisted, his voice thick with concern. He watched his friend closely as the men set up their makeshift camp for the night. The sky was already painted with shades of purple and gold, announcing the end of the day, but Alexander remained restless, almost oblivious to the exhaustion of everyone around him.

If it were up to him alone, Alexander would have continued the march without hesitation, ignoring the approaching darkness and the limits of the human body. But he knew that leadership was not just about giving orders; it was also about understanding the needs of his men. As much as he wanted to force them forward until their feet were raw, he needed to be wise.

"Fine," Alexander replied with a heavy sigh, finally giving in. He removed his sword from his belt and placed it at his side, as if the act symbolized a brief surrender. His eyes, intense and determined, fixed on Hephaestion. "But tell them that tomorrow, at first light, we will march again!"

Hephaestion sighed deeply, a mixture of relief and frustration. He knew Alexander better than anyone, and knew that this was as much of a concession as he could get. "I will," He replied with a slight nod, before walking away to relay his orders.

The camp soon came to life, filled with the sound of the soldiers' tired voices. Some drank wine around the campfires, their hoarse laughter mingling with the crackle of the flames. Others ate in silence or tended to their wounds, enjoying the brief respite of a night without marching.

Inside his tent, Alexander secluded himself. Sitting on a simple rug, he opened his copy of the Iliad. The epic poem was more than just reading material for him; it was a refuge, an anchor in the midst of the storm that raged within his mind. His eyes scanned the words greedily, absorbing the stories of heroes and battles that he so admired.

Alexander could not help but make the inevitable comparison. Once again, he saw himself as Achilles, the hero he so admired and whose legacy he aspired to equal — or even surpass. Hephaestion, ever loyal and ever present, was to him what Patroclus had been to the legendary warrior, a friend, a soul brother, someone he trusted more than himself.

But there was a third figure in this epic narrative that shaped his life. (Y/N), his wife, was his Briseis. Just as Agamemnon had torn Briseis from Achilles, breaking the hero's trust and inciting his fury, (Y/N) had been taken from Alexander. Not by a superior commander, but by Perdiccas — someone he had dared to call a friend.

Perdiccas' betrayal was an open wound in Alexander's heart. A man he had trusted had now allied himself with the Persians, keeping his wife captive. The memory of (Y/N)'s face, her beauty, her grace, her laughter, fueled his determination. He refused to accept that she would remain out of his arms, held captive like a trophy of war.

Thoughts boiled in his mind as he clenched his fists. He knew that, like Achilles, his anger and pain would drive him. But unlike the Greek hero, Alexander would not let anger cloud his mission. He would use his intelligence, his skill as a strategist, and his unbreakable willpower to get her back. He has to.

No matter the price he had to pay. No matter how many men or how many miles separated them. He would cross deserts, face armies, and defy even the gods if necessary. Because (Y/N) was not just his wife; she was his heart, the part of him that made him human amidst the divinity of his dreams.

And just as Achilles had gone after Briseis, Alexander would go to Babylon to seek (Y/N). But unlike his favorite hero, he would not let anyone stop him. Perdiccas would pay for his betrayal, the Persians would fall, and he would bring his wife back. No matter the cost. No matter the time. He would get her back.

And everyone who got in his way would be killed.

"Do you really think capturing Babylon right away is a good idea?" Nearchus's voice cut through the crackling of the fire, carrying the drawl of someone who had had a little too much to drink. He swung his wine cup slightly, the dark liquid reflecting the flames.

The other generals looked up, some with impatience, others with amusement. The firelight illuminated their battle-scarred faces, creating shadows that made them look even more worn from the campaign. Alexander was in his tent, lost in thought or reading, as usual, and none of them dared disturb him. As for Hephaestion, they all knew he was busy with his endless duties, and though he had been invited, he had politely declined.

So that left just them. As always.

"Do you want my honest opinion, or would you prefer a more optimistic one?' Ptolemy replied, his mocking smile shining in the firelight. He held his wine with the same casualness of someone going about their day, though the irony was evident in his tone.

Nearchus wrinkled his nose, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but he didn't bother to reply. He simply took another sip of his wine, perhaps as a way to distract himself. Cassander, as was typical of him, rolled his eyes dramatically and muttered something unintelligible that seemed to include the words "idiots" and "waste of time."

Cleitus, on the other hand, laughed. The sound was low, almost infectious, and it made the others look at him for a moment. He seemed more relaxed than usual, warmed by the wine and the rare camaraderie they shared in the midst of war.

"You may be a bunch of blockheads," He said, gesturing with his free hand, "but oddly enough, I like being here with you."

There was something genuine in his words, though the alcohol certainly helped. No matter how much they had their differences —and there were many — there was an unbreakable bond between them. They could tease each other, argue, and even fight, but when it came time to fight, they trusted each other as friends, as brothers, perhaps.

"Don't get all emotional now, Cleitus." Cassander's mocking voice echoed through the circle of generals, thick with irony as he arched an eyebrow. His green eyes glinted mischievously in the flickering light of the fire, ready to provoke.

"And don’t get all bitter, Cassander," Cleitus snapped back without missing a beat, his tone sharp but with a hint of humor. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing the final blow. "Tell me, is your bed really that empty?"

Cassander's face hardened, his mouth already opening to spew a sharp retort, but before he could fire off his retort, Ptolemy held up a hand, interrupting him with a tone of restrained exasperation.

"Now, no more arguing, huh?" He grumbled as he tilted the jar to refill his cup, the red liquid glistening in the light of the flames. "We're having a decent time, and we don't need two bickering children to ruin it."

Cleitus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he finished his wine in one gulp, not caring when a few drops escaped and stained his dark beard. He looked pleased with himself, relaxing back into his makeshift chair.

Cassander, on the other hand, looked indignant. He shot Ptolemy a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being compared to a child, but decided not to prolong the argument. With an expression that was a mix of irritation and disdain, he just snorted, muttering something unintelligible before picking up his own wine cup.

Nearchus, already visibly drunker, resumed the conversation, his voice carrying a note of sincere concern, albeit slurred. "But seriously, I don't think it’s a good idea to attack Babylon so immediately. The Persians have probably already received the news. They must be preparing, and honestly, another siege is not at all pleasant. We will lose more men than necessary."

The words hung in the air, and Ptolemy sighed, placing his wine cup on the floor, his gaze distant and thoughtful. "Yes, you are right. But what can we do? Alexander is determined. And.... She is our Queen."

The mention of (Y/N) brought a brief silence between the men. The light of the fire seemed to shine a little brighter in each of their eyes as they thought of her. Although the time they spent with her was limited, (Y/N) had earned a special place among the Macedonians.

She was not just Alexander's wife; she was a singular presence, able to touch even the most hardened hearts from years of war. Everyone remembered how she had saved Cleitus from certain death in a previous incident, defying orders to ensure he received medical care, how she had saved him with her own hands. Her kind heart and dedication to every soldier, regardless of rank, were rare qualities.

"She's different," Cleitus murmured, breaking the silence. He stared into the wine in his cup, as if the words had come out of themselves. "She didn’t have to, but she cares. About all of us."

The others nodded silently, even Cassander, who usually maintained a cynical air, seemed lost in thought.

Besides all that, (Y/N) was a good influence on Alexander. Where he was fire, she was the water that balanced him. She brought humanity to the king, reminding him that leadership was not just about conquest, but also about care and responsibility.

That was why they marched. It wasn't just for Alexander, or his glory, or the empire he sought to build. It was also for her, their Queen, someone who didn't deserve to be held captive. They would bring her back, not just out of duty, but because she had become part of the soul of the army.

Cleitus rose from his seat with a determined movement, his eyes shining in the firelight. With the firm stance of a warrior and the conviction of a man who knew what he was fighting for — or in this case, who he was fighting for — he raised his cup of wine.

"For our Queen!" His voice rang out loudly, full of respect and devotion.

For a moment, silence fell, but then, one by one, the other generals followed suit. Cups were raised to the starry sky, almost as an offering to the gods, the glow of the fire reflecting off the red liquids that danced within them.

"For our Queen!" They repeated in unison, their voices mingling, full of fervor and loyalty.

The wine was drank, but the true toast had been made long before that moment. It was in their hearts, in their determination. They would march for Alexander, for the empire, for glory — but above all, they would march for her.

And they would not rest until their Queen was free. And until everyone involved in her kidnapping was dead.

A few days before the march,

Roxanna moved restlessly around her room, unable to contain the anxiety that was eating away at her chest. She felt her servant's fingers sliding through her long black hair, gently combing it, but not even the repetitive gesture could calm her. Her thoughts were far away, swirling around a single name.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was firm, but without emotion. She did not deign to look at her servant, who obeyed immediately, leaving her with her whirlwind of thoughts.

Her father's visit a few hours earlier had only served to heighten her uneasiness.

"Seduce him, Roxanna. Make him marry you. For our people."

His words repeated in her mind like a crushing burden. It wasn’t just a suggestion; it was an order. A mission.

She sighed, her eyes lost in the reflection of the bronze mirror before her. Yes, Alexander was a handsome man. An unbeatable warrior, a powerful king. He could offer protection to her people, he could give her a position no other woman in Bactria had ever held. But she wasn't sure if it was the right choice. Not while another woman stood in his way.

Alexander's wife.

Her disappearance should have been a boon to Roxanna, but instead it seemed to only strengthen the bond between them. She knew it was common for a king to have multiple wives, mistresses even. But this.... This was different. Alexander had taken no mistresses — at least not that she knew of — and he was desperate to find her.

In any other circumstance, Roxanna might have found it romantic. A king's devotion, his unbreakable loyalty to one woman. But not now. Not when she wanted to be the only one.

She clasped her hands tightly, her heart pounding.

If she had Alexander's son, he would have to be the heir. The only legitimate heir.

But for that to happen, (Y/N) needed to disappear for good. She might be Darius' captive, but she was still alive. And that was a problem.

Roxanna sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands wrapped around her head as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her fate depended on her next decision, but the path ahead seemed foggy.

Before she could delve any deeper into her worries, her doubts, a loud sound echoed through the room — a firm knock on the door. She jumped, her heart racing in alert. She wasn't expecting anyone.

She frowned, straightening her posture and composing herself before answering.

"Come in." Her voice was firm, though it carried a hint of hesitation.

The door opened slowly, revealing an unfamiliar figure. Roxanna held her breath.

The man who entered was unusually handsome, exuding an aura of mystery and sophistication. His dark, deep-set, attentive eyes seemed to carry the weight of worldly knowledge. He smiled kindly, but something in his posture revealed that this was no ordinary visitor.

His dark hair fell softly over his forehead, and his rich, ornate robes were clearly Persian.

Roxanna felt her body stiffen. Who was he?

"Who... Who are you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed on him.

The man inclined his head slightly in a respectful gesture, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Aslan, at your service, my lady."

The name sounded strange to her ears. It wasn't Greek. Nor Persian. At least, not from a place she knew.

And that made her even more suspicious.

Roxanna felt a shiver run down her spine as Aslan took a step forward, his smile remaining enigmatic.

"Why are you here?" She tried to keep her voice steady, though a hint of nervousness betrayed her composure. "It's not proper for a woman to be alone with a man, I—"

Before she could finish, he interrupted her.

"Don't worry, little star. I'll be quick."

The nickname took her by surprise, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Aslan was already moving closer. His movement was fluid, confident, as if he was in control of everything around him. Roxanna took a step back instinctively, her muscles tensing in alert.

He laughed softly, a low, melodious sound, without a trace of threat.

"You don't need to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you." His voice was soft, reassuring. His dark eyes, which had seemed enigmatic and unfathomable before, softened.

Roxanna blinked, feeling her own heart slow down. The irrational fear that had gripped her seconds before began to dissipate, replaced by a strange calm.

She didn’t know why, but somehow... She believed him.

"I heard that you might become the second wife of our dear King Alexander." He began, his gaze roaming the room as if he were analyzing every detail.

Roxanna didn't bother to hide her displeasure at the title “second wife.” Her lips tightened, but she remained silent, just staring at the stranger.

Aslan smiled, as if he had already expected this reaction.

"And something tells me you're not happy with this arrangement." He continued, looking directly at her again. "Of course, nothing has been declared yet, and I doubt Alexander will marry you while sweet (Y/N) is still under the Persians. But the possibility exists. After all, it would be a beneficial alliance, especially since Darius' daughter, Stateira, is not yet of marriageable age. You would be the most obvious choice."

Roxanna felt a chill run down her spine as Aslan spoke, his words laced with a seductive yet dangerously calculated tone. She arched a dark brow, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Where was this conversation going?

Then Aslan tilted his head slightly, his gaze gleaming with something between amusement and intent.

"You see, little star," He murmured, his voice a soft, almost hypnotic purr. "I am a man of many talents. And I can make your problem disappear."

His smile widened, and Roxanna felt her stomach turn.

She knew exactly what problem he was talking about.

The silence that followed felt heavy, as if fate itself awaited Roxanna's decision.

A part of her, the rational one, screamed that this was a terrible idea. Nothing came for free, and Aslan was clearly no mere benefactor. But another part — the ambitious, desirous, dreamy part — was filled with excitement.

The idea of ​​being the only queen, the mother of the future heir, the woman at the great Alexander's side...

The thought warmed her chest like fire.

Aslan noticed her hesitation and kept his smile patient, as if he already knew what the answer would be.

"All you have to do is ask me, and I will rid you of your problem." He said it casually, as if he were offering something trivial.

A shiver ran down Roxanna's spine. She swallowed hard. She wasn't naive. She knew that nothing was done without a price.

"And what do you want in return?" Her voice was firm, but her heart was hammering in her chest.

Aslan smiled broadly, his dark gaze glittering.

"Don't worry about that now," He purred. "But I promise it won't be anything too far from your reach."

Roxanna felt her body tense. Every fiber of her being told her this was dangerous. But the promise of what could be... The chance to have everything she wanted...

The excitement, the desire, the dream took over her young mind.

And before she could think twice, the words escaped her lips.

"Do it."

She had just sealed a pact — and she didn't even know the price.

Present day,

Your eyes widened, your heart pounding in your chest as Aslan's words echoed in yoor mind.

Back to your own time?

Was that really what he was saying? Was it possible?

You had never really considered this possibility. You had always assumed that, because you were pregnant, you would be trapped in this place, that the babies inside you were an anchor preventing any return. But now... He spoke as if it were simple, as if everything could be reversed with a snap of his fingers. And maybe it could.

"Are you serious?" Your voice came out shaky, little more than a whisper, filled with disbelief.

Aslan smiled, that feline smile that never fully revealed its intentions, and nodded slowly.

"Yes."

Your heart raced even faster. The chance — if it was even a chance — to go home. To your family. To your time. It was a dream that seemed increasingly distant as you adapted to this strange Era, this reality you never chose but that had somehow become yours.

But why now?

Why was he offering you this choice now, after everything you had been through? After so long? After he himself had sent you here without even asking if that was what you wanted?

Your eyes narrowed, and your voice was firm, thick with suspicion.

"Why?"

Aslan shrugged, as if the answer didn't matter, his smile widening even more.

"Because I think it's time for you to come home, (Y/N)." His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was something about it that sent a cold shiver down your spine. "You've spent too much time here. Your time is up."

Instead of feeling relief, joy, or hope, something else burned inside you.

Fury.

It took over your body before you could stop it, hot and uncontrollable, and before you could even think about the consequences, your hand came up and slapped Aslan across the face with a loud crack.

The impact stung your palm, but you didn't care. Your chest rose and fell heavily, your breathing ragged.

Aslan stood still for a moment, his head turned slightly to the side. Then, slowly, he turned back to face you.

And smiled.

A dangerous smile.

Aslan raised one of his hands and lightly touched his own cheek, where the red mark from your slap was beginning to appear. His dark eyes shone in an almost amused way, as if he found your reaction amusing.

"Well, that was an unexpected welcome." He murmured, his carefree tone contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

You still felt your hand tingling, but you didn't regret what you had done. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling inside you.

"You have the nerve to show up here and simply tell me that my ‘time is up’ after bringing me here against my will?" Your voice shook, but not from fear — from indignation. "After making me live through all of this? Making me get attached to people, getting married? Making me get pregnant?! You have no right to do that!"

Aslan tilted his head slightly to the side, watching you as if studying your reaction. Then, he sighed.

"You've always been so full of spirit, haven't you?" He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's why I like you."

Your stomach churned in disgust.

"I don't give a fuck what you like." You spat the words out, your fists clenched at your sides. "I want to know what's really going on."

Aslan finally abandoned his relaxed posture and took a step closer. You forced yourself not to back away.

"Listen carefully, (Y/N), because I don’t like repeating things." His voice was lower now, more serious, and suddenly, the entire air in the room seemed heavy. "You came to this time for a purpose. Something that needed to be done. But now that purpose has been fulfilled."

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

"F-Fulfilled?" You repeated, the word sounding strange in your mouth.

Aslan smiled slowly.

"Yes. What had to happen, happened. You are no longer needed here."

The words hit you like a punch in the stomach.

You were no longer needed? As if your life was a simple object that he could discard as soon as he was done using it? As if everything you had lived here had meant nothing?

You felt an immense urge to punch him.

You gritted your teeth, blood roaring in your ears.

"What if I don’t want to go?" Your voice was low, but full of defiance.

Aslan smiled again, but this time, there was something dark in his expression.

"Oh, my sweet (Y/N)..." He whispered, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Who said you had a choice?"

The ground seemed to disappear beneath your feet, as if the world around you was disintegrating. With each breath, the air became heavier, harder to hold. You tried to stay upright, but the feeling of disorientation grew, your body starting to shake. Your eyes met Aslan's again, and this time, there was something different in his gaze — no longer just the calculated distance or the amusement of a manipulator. There was a touch of longing, as if he were looking at you with a sadness you didn't understand, something deep that was beyond your reach.

The chaos inside your mind intensified, thoughts tumbling over each other, conflicting feelings taking over your heart. How could he look at you like that, with a mixture of affection and... Farewell? Why all this? He was doing this to you, dragging you to a place where you no longer knew who you were, and now, he seemed to be saying goodbye for now. But why?

Before you could ask any other questions, a feeling of weakness took over your body, as if all of your energy had been drained. Your eyes began to close, your vision becoming blurry and hazy, while the weight of your own body seemed to become unbearable. Aslan’s words echoed in your mind like a distant whisper, even though he was there, standing in front of you, with the enigmatic expression as always.

"Don’t worry, (Y/N). We'll see each other again." He said, his words so soft that they seemed like a low, comforting chant. But what was comforting about all this? How could he say something like that with such certainty? "But don't worry, you won't be alone when you wake up."

Those words... You wanted to believe them, you wanted to feel that there was some truth to his promise, but the feeling of abandonment, of helplessness, was overwhelming you. Your vision grew increasingly blurred, as if the darkness itself was approaching, taking over your entire being. The last vestige of clarity in your mind disappeared, swallowed by a deep, cold abyss, and soon silence took over everything.

The last thing you felt was a strange sense of calm, as if, somehow, the darkness was a kind of refuge. And then, everything went black.

— lady l: I know it took a while to come out but my life has been a mess lately :( It hasn't been an easy start to the year but I'm here. We're entering a new phase of TLQ! Also, don't hate Roxanna! She's young (technically 16 if we are going really historical) and she doesn't know on what she's getting into. She'll come around, guys. 😉

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was longer than usual, but important. Forgive me for any mistakes and I'll see you soon! I love receiving feedback and comments! ❤️❤️

If you want to support or ask for something, my Ko-Fi/commissions are always open!

Bye for now!! ❤️

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - r. c (+18)

WARNINGS: smut; kidnapping; violence; blood. pairing: maybank!reader

◛ masterlist

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between Kooks and Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all?

Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. 

Ever. 

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — he was a fucking walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you, you were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him.

And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the mess of the island's most influential family feud. You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, driven by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie.

Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a mattr of seconds, you were dragged into a dark cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile and stupid against his iron grip, he tossed you inside like you were trash, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of the Cameron's. Ward Cameron, the man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. 

Because in his sick twisted world, family trumped everything, even murder.

Great. This was fantastic.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a hum of the ship's engines, reminding you that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue.

You quickly checked your options but there weren't many, the door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

You took a deep breath, trying not to lose your shit, panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face. 

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind his usual deranged expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples while his shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the faint light.

"Well shit,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive?

Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking. 

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit, always knew your kind was unreliable."

Son of a bitch.

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left, now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed dangerously as he walked towards you, you took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that settled in your bones.

It felt like you were being hunted.

"What am doing with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at any given moment. You knew what he'd done before.

You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people. But maybe you could reason with him. You were always a litte too good and hopeful for your own good.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again. 

His laugh was bitter, like you were trying to humor him,"You think I'm gonna let you go just 'cause you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“ 

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but all you felt was fear, the odds had never been so against you.

"What do you want? The cross? We can make a deal."

No, you couldn't.

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. 

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

What the fuck did that even mean?

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear.

“To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, you knew you were pushing it.

He leaned in close, his blue eyes unforgiving even in the dim light, “Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. If you were going to die you might as well take advantage of it.

“Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming.

Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood while grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue.”

Anger took over you hotter than the pain, yeah your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his stupid face, make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you.

Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body burning with desire for retribution. You spat blood at his face, proud to see him flinch while glaring up at him defiantly.

“You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know you will never be more than his bitch.” 

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting.

His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the way you’d felt.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had.

If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. Maybe if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you. 

The room was silent except for the sound of the ship’s engines, but then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door.

“Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!” 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of dread settle in your chest.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would care. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you were a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently.

Your brother would probably assume you were dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean mocked you from beyond.

The days melded into one another, marked only by the delivery of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some clarity, some clue of what your future looked like, but his visits offered nothing but insults or complete silence.

Charming.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in.

Great, because crazy number one hadn't been enough.

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward announced, "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, you knew he enjoyed watching people squirm around like worthless worms.

"Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words.

The answer was very clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination and when the door opened again, Rafe was there, that stupid frown always attached to his face.

"Time to go," he motioned for you to follow, hardly sparing you a look. "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around.

The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety, you were being held captive. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance.

You were a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut.

It was straight out of a postcard, something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists. 

God, JJ.

You only hoped he made it, you’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything.

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't ignore the feeling of impending doom. Were you going to die out there? In between pristine beaches and swaying palm trees? Alone?

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight, blunt nails digging into your tanned skin as he led you onto the sandy beach, Ward followed close behind, as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

You followed obediently, your mind already racing with possibilities.

Escape seemed unlikely, but there was still a slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess, eventually, even if it took you months.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, watching their prey.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you...a small house, in the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman. 

“This will be your home for the time being." Ward said it like he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you, such a fucking lunatic.

You wanted to demand more answers, but you knew it was futile and there was little fight left in you from how tired you'd been feeling.

“Rafe will be keeping you company."

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know.

Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration. Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, reminding you of the power he had over everyone.

As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours, no questions asked, only blind devotion to his father. 

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with him once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face, like this was your fault and not theirs.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," You hissed, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.” 

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do, that shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to.

He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You knew he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him. 

"Empty threats," you squared your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you."

He only stared at you, eyes bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. Just as quickly, his usual sneer returned.

"Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room, him and the stupid slamming of doors.

You had to get out, you knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye.

The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation. You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give.

Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department. 

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit. 

Weeks blurred into each other marked by the same routine.

Rafe's visits, Ward's passive aggressive threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape.

You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward, noticing how the later belittled him at every chance he got, treating him more like a tool than a son.

It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently.

She hadn't done the same for Rafe. Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother. 

You couldn't help but feel a little pity for him, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.  It was easy to spot his weakness if you spent enough time in the same room, the secretive moments of doubt and vulnerability.

His hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks and he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence.

It gave you whiplash. 

You began to argue less with him, your animosity giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving, this boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were.

Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued, strangely so, you’d memorized that expression.

You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, not understanding why you did it.

You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask. 

His eyes snapped to yours, "What the hell do you know about it?" At this point he just sounded tired. 

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor, for a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find.

"You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time and it was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare, how way your stomach flip-flopped under his attention. 

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else, you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone.

The days continued to pass, but something changed. Rafe was less hostile to you, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there.

 That's when you finally began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but, maybe, for him too.

You knew what he did, what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, wait for the right moment, and when that moment came, you had to be ready to act. 

Another day began with the same oppressive humid heat, the sun had just started to rise, casting golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had that day.

The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. Very healthy.

He stood with his back to you, staring out the window. 

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was more than an unexpected question, it made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, wondering if it was some kind of trick question.

He shrugged, still not turning to face you. "

Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it. 

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him. 

"Because he's family, and sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

"Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his unresolved inner conflicts that you'd grown accustomed to.

"That's what they say."

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It was heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”.

"Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

The two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

“It's not that simple," he snapped. "I killed someone. For him.” 

It was the first time he had said those words out loud, it made him sick to his stomach. He'd been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad. 

"We always have a choice," you countered, "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you watched his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly.

Without turning around, he spoke, his voice strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little, and that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was because of your last conversation or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle. Still, every interaction seemed to chip away at the walls he'd built around himself, showing you little glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air is still, the only sound is the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

You have been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your run for it. The house is quiet, Ward is gone and you haven’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you know how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork. 

You can it. 

This is your chance, you can’t afford to waste it.

You move silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seems to echo in the stillness, and you hold your breath, praying you won’t get caught.

Your heart races as you slowly turn the handle of the front door, wincing at the faint click that accompanies the action. Once outside, you glance around, ensuring the coast is clear, then make your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach.

The plan is simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you can find help. You keep low, moving quickly but cautiously, like a cat. The boat is within reach when a noise behind you makes your blood run cold. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot makes you want to cry.

You turn sharply, and in the moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerges from the shadows, it's the asshole who got you here in the first place. He’s closer than you had anticipated.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline moving through your veins as you break into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouts, his voice carrying across the trees.

You don’t dare to look back, your eyes locked on the boat when you hear a loud noise split the night—a gunshot. That's when you feel a searing pain in your arm, but you don't stop, pushing through, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rings out, but you are too focused to notice where it lands. You reach the boat, hands trembling as you fumble with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensifies, but you force yourself to keep moving, when suddenly, a heavy hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around.

You struggle, kicking and thrashing, but he’s stronger as he knocks you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioes for backup.

"Get your hands off me!"

It feels all to familiar. You hate very second of it.

"Got her," he says into the radio, his terrible breath hot against your ear. You try to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens and moments later, two more guards arrive, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The sting in your arm is painful reminder of your failed attempt as they pull you inside, your brief taste of freedom slipping away.

You were so fucking close.

Moments feel like hours as you sit in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat, they don't even try to stop the bleeding.

Then the quiet murmurs of the guards outside is interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flies open, and there stands Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barks as his gaze scans the room, landing on you. 

The sight of the blood staining your arm makes his expression change from bewilderment to fury. He storms towards you, his eyes blazing.

“What happened?” he all but demands. Before you can answer, he whirls around to face the guards who re-enters the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouts, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I fucking come back to?”

The guards exchange nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under his glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammers out. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twists with rage.

“So you fucking shot her?” His voice drips with incredulity. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who caught you tries to explain, but Rafe cuts him off.

“Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turns back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the sight of your injured arm, or maybe the pain is making you delirious.

 “We need to get that cleaned up,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holsters his gun and gently takes your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet as the guards look on, unsure of what to do or say. 

He shoots them a deadly look. “Get out before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men leave, he runs a hand through his long hair, pacing the small room before finally stopping in front of you.

He looks pissed as he sneers at you, his voice dripping with exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spats out, practically screaming in your face, "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You try to speak, to defend yourself, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His words come fast, "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

The monologue doesn't stop there.

His fists clench at his sides, "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stops himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to control his temper while he paces around th room, unable to stay put, "You're just reckless," he continues, his voice still seething, "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

What?

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you call after him, your voice trembling. You don't know if it's the pain or the weird pull in your stomach making you feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

He stops in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you.

"I don't," he retorts, "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You take a step towards him, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, not buying his bullshit speech.

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrow, "You don't know what you're talking about," his voice is dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? I gotta keep everything under control."

“Here we go again," You scoff through your nose. "Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twists showcasing his wrath, and he takes a step towards you, closing the distance.

"You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shoot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He takes another step, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he can finish, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching.

“I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gives you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his pretty features contorted. 

His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, his hands come up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hisses, like the snake he is.

"And you’re a coward.”

The next moment happens without much thinking, without any thinking, really.

Rafe’s grip tightens, before you can process what is happening, his lips crash into yours with a ferocity that you never saw coming.

His mouth is demanding, punishing, and you, like an idiot, kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even if you want to push him away.

The kiss is all rough, there's only room for anger and frustration after all you been through, a collision of two souls damaged beyond repair to recognize the depths of their own pain.

You should know better.

And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there is a stupid spark—as if you are both too messed up to understand how much you need each other. Each fingertip of his leaves an imprint wherever he touches, and some sick twisted part of you finds that attractive. It’s like he’s fighting to contain this fury within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both, but you want it.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… 

All you want are his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roam over your lower back, over your waist again. You breathe out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pull him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes, and while you grew up hating that particular combination, it worked on him.

He pulls away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinks down at you. You watch him lick his bottom lip, swollen, wet with both of your spits, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His blue eyes flare with renewed anger, turning almost black. He doesn’t answer verbally; instead, he takes a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift motion, Rafe carries you to the dining table, and you barely have time to register the cool wood against your back before he’s on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matches your own.

There’s no tenderness there, don't be fooled.

He pries your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kisses you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers grip your jaw with a vice-like hold, angling your head the way he wants to.

A strange sensation flutters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he presses flush against your center.

His hands move with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepens, his body is so close it's making you breathless.

You tug at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just can’t wait. He lets out a deep, sexy growl that makes a shiver run down your spine. His hands are all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they go.

"You're impossible," he repeats against your lips, all ragged as he leans down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you are amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round.

"And you’re an asshole,” your voice comes out breathless.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you reply, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You can feel the tension in his body, you know he’s holding back on you, but you don’t want control.

You want to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you've been through and just feel.

Rafe seems to sense it, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifts you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs, the friction is exquisite.

"Rafe," He almost falls to his knees at the soft whimper that leaves your lips, unable to stop the jerk of his hips forward.

He responds instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you dizzy. The table creakes under your combined weight, but neither of you care as your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There’s a wildness there, and for the first time in your life, you like it.

You reach up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the grown out stubble beneath your touch as his mouth leaves a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slips from your mouth as he palms at your tits, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth graze your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you pant, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tighten around his hips, feeling every inch of his cock against you.

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You open your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you are the one in charge, but the intention dies the moment Rafe cups you through your shorts.

A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat.

Heat blooms in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that floods your skin and leaves you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierce into yours, watching as he presses the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your pussy and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asks, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow. “Thought you had more fire in you.”

He moves your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel him touch you for the first time.

You can't think properly while he's doing this, it's been too long and your brain feels to mushy to form a proper sentence.

“Yeah, thought so.” 

"God, I h-hate you," you whisper again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that has fueled you for so long.

But even as you say it, you know it’s was a lie. Partly. You hate how much you need him right now, how you crave his touch, his dominance.

Perhaps you’ve been locked away from society for too long, that’s gotta be the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

He smirks, "No, you don’t.” 

You do. At least you used to, everything is confusing now.

He teases you, his touch light, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips.

You bite back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need is so overwhelming, you nearly give in.

“Fuck you," you spit out.

He chuckles, fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes your hips buck against his hand. Oh, he was going to ruin you.

"That's right," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers move easily with how wet you are, finding all the right spots, making you drip all over his hand.

You hate that he's so good.

"Rafe," you finally gasp, the words ripped from your throat by the pleasure. "P-Please, I need you."

You'd be embarrassed later.

His smirk widens as he pulls his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He doesn’t make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he frees himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water. 

Without a word, he positions himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance.

"You ready?"

You nod, your eyes locking with his, "Please.”

He doesn’t need any further encouragement.

With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside yo, not giving you any time to second guess it. The sensation overwhelming, your back arches involuntarily, your lips parting as fills you completely in a way you have never imagined.

He rolls his hips firmly against yours, and your head tips back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You don't think you ever felt so full.

He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, giving you another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm.

His movements are hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. Not that you want slow.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaks and groans beneath you, but you don’t care.

All that matters is the man above you, his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his need matching your own. Maybe it's been too long for him too.

Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can pretend you weren't stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growls, his voice all commanding. "Lemme see you.”

Even though you really want to shut him out, you just can’t fight the crazy pull he has over you. His voice is like a force of nature, making you open your eyes against your better judgment.

Seeing him above you, his face twisting with need and determination sends chills down your spine. His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with this intensity you never seen before and that leaves you breathless. No one had ever looked at you like that during sex.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. It makes you want to run for the hills, "Fuck—Oh, fuck. Y-You're sucking me in so nicely, huh?"

With each thrust, he drives you closer to your orgasm, your body responding to him in ways you can’t hold back. He leaves you gasping, moaning, begging for more. You don't even know what you're doing anymore but his name keeps slipping from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answers with his movements becoming more frenzied.

"Fuck," His is strained. "...Feels so fucking good."

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world has narrowed to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

"Rafe," you whimper, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm—I can't..."

He understands.

His pace quickens even more, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commands his voice a whisper against your earlobe that sends shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a scream, your body convulsing around him, squeezing him for all he's worth.

It's nothing you ever felt before, an explosion of pleasure that makes you lose it. So this was what great sex felt like?

Rafe follows you as you milk him for all he's worth, crashing through him with a force that leaves him shaking on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out his orgasm, groaning as his movements slow down, until he finally stills, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything is still, but then he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there is something almost tender about him.

“Y-You—“ He sighs, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

“Rafe...“

Before you can process his words, before you can question or argue, his lips are on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle. 

Devastating, almost. 

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Right.

He fucked you good enough to forget about the pain.

The moment of vulnerability between you evaporates, leaving you with the realization of your situation.

You just fucked Rafe Cameron. On a table. After being shot.

You push at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hiss through clenched teeth when he twitches inside you.

“Then do something about it."

He just stands there, staring at you as if he has never seen you before, as if he’s truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. 

You hate every second of it because your heart is practically leaping out of your chest.

No one has ever looked at you like that before.

Then he simply shakes his head, coming closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needs to ensure that you are real, that everything’s real.

“We’re getting out.”

You want to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it’s the only thing that matters. Even if it sounds stupid. You need it, at least for now.

“Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

[yandere-wishes]

Currently obsessed with the Damian x stray writing and had a very angsty thought about it (not a request, not meaning any pressure just wanted to share)

Stray feels suffocated by his attention. Maybe one day she might want him back but it’s all too much. She fakes her death (as her vigilante persona) and Damian morns and rages and turns cold, all of that delicious stuff.

Only one day the Catfam/Selina end up in hot water and she has to come back. He freaks the hell out.

oooohhhh I really love this, there's something so progressively dark about it. About Making Damian suffer so deliciously until he finally snaps.

Damian's love for Stray/Catgirl is complicated or rather it's easy but Damian likes to make it complicated by tying it to fate and legacy. He practically sees reader as his destiny as an omen and a good luck charm, heavenly insurance of sorts.

But should his darling, his comfort be stripped from him.

Well, destiny will still play out, but it won't be as kind.

Damian's life, his legacy, will be marred in ebony and rage.

⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆

The hands wrapped around your shoulders are suffocating. Same for the fingers currently squeezing your cheek, you angle your mouth right, trying to bite and gnaw at his flesh and bones. Damian just laughs, he still thinks the two of you are playing.

He always thinks you're playing. What can you expect from the little assassin boy whose first toy was a knife, who swung swords instead of playing catch. He loves the way your claws scratch at him, the tiny scars they leave. He likes to wrestle you along the harsh pavement, enjoys the punches he throws and receives. It's all just a game to him.

But you, you can't take it anymore, the sky itself is closing in. You can't breathe in his presence can't think when his arms are coiled like vines around your body.

The world is growing dark as his lips ghost across your lips...

Your mother notices your depression. The dark gloom that follows you across the rooms. The sharp snaps at your sisters, the endless screaming when someone gets too close.

She's already lost one daughter, she refuses to lose another.

Selina holds your funeral, pays for the coffin, and signs the invites.

She plays the role of grieving mother like an actress on the silver screen.

But despite the desperation in her action, her throat still hitches with fear when she sees the rage in the youngest Wayne's eyes.

She can't help but feel like she's doomed the world with her selfish little stunt.

In Star City you can breathe, see the sun as you walk across the dewy grass. There is hope here, sprinkled through the air.

You mind not the heroes that swing by. You even laugh at the stray arrows and masked family arguing on the rooftops.

In Star City, you can finally breathe...

Until the Gotham gloom creeps in once more.

He prowls the streets, cowl crown wrapped tightly around his head. Here he is vengeance he is law, Gotham bows at his feet.

He doesn't notice the family heirlooms shattered across the city streets,

The morals and legacy rotting away under the moon's mournful gaze.

Damian Wayne

Batman

The protector of Gotham.

And also it's jailer.

He doesn't have his father's mercy.

Doesn't carry his borthers' oaths.

He kills the monster that lurks between the shadows.

That fester in the darkness.

No crime goes unpunished.

There is no mercy for the wicked, no hope for rehabilitation.

There are only graves now.

His father would be disappointed...

Damian stalks towards the zoo,

He knows he's going to enjoy tonight's trifle.

Catwoman picks the lock on the new exhibit. She recoiled in disgust as her eyes scan the plaque by the cage.

*Lion cubs saved from the wild brought for restoration*

Lies she thinks bitterly. These little cubs were stolen, brought here from their homes across the sea. Imprisoned for the crule's amusement and the rich's greed. She sends her own kittens to rescue the lion cubs. But just as they go to make their escape. A dark figure descends from the sky, tearing through them and binding them.

Selina fights, but she's come to learn she is no match for the new bat. The vampire out for blood. He drags them back to the manor, once such a lively place now reeks of sorrow and mourning.

"This has nothing to do with crime and you know it! You know who's really guilty here. You just want an excuse to get rid of us. You still blame us, blame me for her death." Selina screams as the bat throws them into a dark chamber.

Damian says nothing he just locks the door and leaves.

After all the blood of the greatest detective still courses through his veins.

Your old suit feels too tight, cutting off your circulation. Still you jump from rooftop to rooftop vying for Wayne manner. You got the picture of your family tied up and starved, a few days ago. You hate how long it took you to gather the courage to return.

You shutter thinking of the image. Of the windowless cement room.

Your family may be infamous for breaking free.

But even a cat can't escape a cinderblock.

You crawl through the shadows. Sticking to the walls of the manner, the maze is endless, unrelenting. It refuses to be breached. The lights come on one by one as if catching a rat in a trap. You recoil at the blinding light when finally your eyes open once more you see Damian descending the stairs face painted in soft surprise, body covered in his father's suit.

"I knew you couldn't be dead." he's grown, face molded into a softer Bruce. But his rage still flickers relentlessly in his emerald eyes. Of couse he's finally cracked the case.

"Let them go" you beg tears cascading from your eyes "Please!".

"I see the civilian life has made you soft kitty. Not a difficult matter to resolve, I'm sure." You shake your head, stepping back trying to run away.

But the years have made him even stronger and Damian catches you before you can flee him again. His arms wrap around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck, intoxicated by your scent.

He can't believe he's holding you once more. Your body is so solid within his grasp. He missed your sweet voice and even sweeter whimpers. He missed the erratic thump of your heart whenever he was near.

He'll never let you go, ever again.

Damian vows it on his father's grave.

He kisses your neck, your cheeks.

Finally reclaiming your lips.

You can't breathe...

[billloveshushu]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟏, 𝐏𝐫𝐭 𝟏,𝟐━ 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲.

✦━━ ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕩 𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕆ℂ.

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˚✧˙ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ━━ A baby was rescued by Batman on one of his missions, feeling responsible, Bruce decided to adopt her. But the question is that the baby knew she was in the comic book world, not knowing how to react or why, will she survive in this traumatized family?

✦ ( "" ) Thoughts ( ━ ) Dialogue ✦

English is not my original language, the translation was done by Google Translate, só sorry for any spelling mistakes.

Only two days have passed since that night, the baby is still amazed at how much has changed in such a short time, especially Bruce, she knows he is quite busy with his duties as Batman and playboy Bruce Wayne so it wouldn't be surprising if he doesn't show up at the mansion every day, but somehow now he always finds time to spend with her even though in that time he learns how to take care of a baby, she still laughs when she remembers that day.

Bruce's hands were shaking as he held her, he was so focused that it seemed like he was dealing with a time bomb, and Alfred was by his side teaching him how to hold a baby without hurting him, the baby looked at the man who is the biggest nightmare of all Gotham criminals and started to laugh.

She was laughing and mocking Bruce, but in his vision it was different, he only saw a baby smiling and letting out sweet laughs with her pink cheeks. It seemed like a sun that warmed his insides, illuminating him with each laugh that came out and Bruce without realizing the corner of his lip rose.

From then on, Bruce didn't need much help from Alfred since he learned quickly, so his sense of overprotection began to grow. Every time he held her in his arms, he realized how much more fragile and defenseless she was. She wasn't like his other children. She wasn't trained from the beginning for combat and she wasn't super intelligent. She was just a regular baby. That's why Bruce stayed around the baby, even if it was through the mansion's cameras, and he regularly found himself worried about her, often calling Alfred to ask how she was.

Besides the fact that she is weaker compared to other babies, because in the orphanage where she lived, which was actually a front and a place for human trafficking, the children did not receive the necessary care and most of the time they went hungry, Bruce felt his veins pulsate just thinking about it, there is also the lack of records, he tried in many ways to find information about her birth or parental records but found nothing, so it was obvious, they planned to traffic her.

He regrets not beating up those drug dealers more, which is why Bruce had to resort to DNA testing to at least find out her ethnicity. Barbara applied to help and said it would take at least two days for the results. Meanwhile, Bruce prepared the other arrangements for the baby; this week would be quite long.

Then on the second day something strange happened, that day the baby tried to imagine what her past life was like, was she happy? What was her childhood like? Did she have parents? What was she like as an adult? And most importantly, how did she die...?

These questions had been going around her head all day, so that night, the baby tried so hard to remember more memories that she ended up falling asleep in the process, then she had a disturbing dream. She couldn't feel anything and all she saw was an immense darkness, it wasn't scary but rather sad and melancholic, it was nothing but darkness until in the sky she saw a little red dot, which gradually turned into a drop that fell to the center.

Then everything changed, she realized that it wasn't just a red drop... It was blood. It spread like a virus, the intense color shone in the place, she no longer felt sadness, she felt anger, a deep hatred but she had other feelings, fear... anguish that suffocated her, that trapped her in this red hell.

Like blood...

The baby woke up desperate, she was sobbing and short of breath, but she could still feel... those overwhelming emotions eating away at her flesh, her tears ran down her cheeks, she wanted to scream, get someone's attention, but she couldn't, as if it was registered in her body to suffer alone.

"Someone.. Ah... Please... Help!" he thought as his shortness of breath worsened.

At that moment Bruce was returning from patrol and heading towards his room, until he heard a sob and looked back realizing that the noise was coming from the baby's room, he immediately ran towards the noise, frustrated by the distance from his room, when he arrived and opened the door he was able to hear more clearly, they were small sniffles and a contained sob.

If he wasn't a person trained to hear the slightest noises he wouldn't have even noticed, getting closer he saw a distressed little baby with tears running down his face that was red trying to breathe heavily, Bruce quickly shouted calling Alfred and tried somehow to find what was wrong.

He gently picked up the baby feeling even more distressed, she wasn't crying like a normal baby, who screams and makes a fuss if something is bothering her, she was curled up like a shell letting out only small sobs and her mouth was tightly closed with only her tears coming out.

Bruce checked to see if any part of her body was hurt until he realized that she was holding her breath━ No no, please breathe! ━ he held her little head as he desperately tried to make her breathe.

Amidst so many tears, the baby managed to see Bruce's face blurry, who was desperate, seeing that someone was at his side to help, her breathing began to return slowly, her mouth opened and closed trying to make some sound, she stretched out her arms towards Bruce, touching his face and becoming calmer.

Bruce caressed her little hand and said ━ It's okay, I'm here ━ He wiped her tears and hugged her to his chest, lightly patting her back. Alfred soon appeared, out of breath from having run. With him were the boxes of medicine.

After taking her temperature, Alfred said that she had a fever but that it wasn't serious and that she just needed to take some medicine. Bruce was confused. How could it not be serious?! He saw her losing her breath as if she was in extreme pain. Bruce told this to Alfred, who was extremely worried and recommended that the doctor's appointment be rescheduled for tomorrow. Bruce agreed and looked at the room. It was a decent room but it showed his neglect of her at the beginning. It was far from his main room and he was completely unprepared in case something like what happened today happened.

Bruce turned to Alfred━ She will sleep with me tonight this place is not safe━ Alfred was surprised but did not disagree━ What are you planning sir?

━ I'm going to renovate the room closest to mine, and I'm going to install the security system in it━ the baby they thought was sleeping on Bruce's shoulder looked at him with wide eyes " what!? "

"Wait a minute! I know today was tense, but it's not that bad!!"

She looked at Alfred desperately "You don't agree with this nonsense, do you!?" and breaking her expectations Alfred said━ I completely agree, Sir.

The baby with her puffy cheeks looking like a pufferfish while drinking her liquid medicine thought "It's not fair..." Bruce couldn't help but pinch her cheeks as the baby slapped his hand away in irritation.

The next day it happened exactly as Bruce said, the baby spent the night in his room, she slept peacefully on his chest as if nothing had happened, he on the other hand, couldn't sleep and spent the whole night worried about her, and sometimes he just watches her sleeping perhaps envying her for her peace.

It was only in the morning that Bruce managed to sleep, but he was soon woken up by Alfred opening the curtains. He saw the baby already awake playing with his hand. He kissed her on the forehead and got up. The people Bruce had hired to do the renovations soon appeared. He comforted Alfred by saying that they were trustworthy people.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, Alfred answered it and came back accompanied by a woman in a wheelchair, she was beautiful and wore glasses, her hair was red and she was carrying a purse, she greeted Bruce and looked around as if she were looking for something, then her eyes shone when she found the baby.

" Bárbara Gordon?! " the baby was surprised by the woman who approached, it wasn't every day that she met the esteemed Barbara Gordon, daughter of Commissioner Gordon, the iconic Batgirl herself and one of the most intelligent people in DC, while thinking the baby suddenly felt in the air and realized that she was now in Barbara's lap.

Barbara was smiling beautifully ━ Good morning princess ━ ​​she said and kissed the baby's cute little cheeks who blushed, Barbara already knew her? But she doesn't remember meeting her.

The baby doesn't know, but when Bruce wanted to do the DNA test Barbara decided to come personally to collect the samples, but she was curious about the new child that Bruce adopted, when she found out that it was a baby she thought the decision was irresponsible, taking care of a baby is difficult and more dangerous with the lives of Punishers that they lead, the proof of this is her legs, the memory of the attack was still engraved in her mind.

Thinking that this could happen to a baby irritated her.

And when she arrived at the mansion she planned to leave quickly, that's when she saw her, Alfred showed the sleeping baby in the nursery so it was easier to get the sample, Barbara found her appearance quite rare, especially her red hair, she acted carefully so as not to wake her up and collected a bit of her beard, when she was going to take her hand away the baby grabbed one of her fingers probably thinking it was one of her stuffed animals.

Barbara stopped and watched the baby hugging her hand, her little cheeks around her transferring their warmth to her cold palm, Barbara couldn't help but find this very cute, it somehow eased her fleeting anger, realizing that this adoption can't be that bad.

That day Barbara felt comforted.

Now Barbara noticed that she had smeared the baby's face with her lipstick, she laughed nervously and wiped the baby's face with a tissue until she heard a dry cough behind her, she slowly turned to receive Bruce with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow ━It seems like someone woke up in a bad mood today━ she commented as she looked at Bruce's messy appearance.

He sighed━ Did you come to play with my daughter or hand over the documents I lost ━ he held out his hand waiting for the file, Barbara snorted━ It's here, you bore!━ she said taking the folder out of her bag and handing it over.

━ Isn't he annoying, baby?━ She asked the baby who raised his arms trying to grab the locks of her hair. Barbara laughed when she saw the baby enchanted with her hair. ━ Yes, dear, you're not the only redhead in this house ━ The baby managed to grab one of the locks and smiled, showing her dimples. Barbara felt her heart melt at the sight and couldn't hold back and kissed her little face even more.

Bruce sat in an armchair as he read the files. Through the sample, he discovered that the baby's ethnicity is Latin, her parents were probably immigrants and had the bad luck of falling into the wrong hands. He flipped through the pages and found nothing else of interest ━ Didn't you find anything else? ━ Barbara shook her head. ━ Unfortunately not, it's as if she never existed.

━ Hunn ━ he put his hand on his chin, that was impossible, the batcomputer had access to thousands of pieces of information, both confidential and public, not having even his parents' information was suspicious. While Bruce was thinking, Alfred appeared with a tray containing coffee and a bottle, he left the tray on a table and politely asked for Barbara's baby, who complained a little but let him, and he took her to another room, she looked back at Bruce ━ I heard what happened, Alfred told me, I'm glad she's okay ━ Bruce nodded ━ I'm taking her to the hospital today, I hope it's nothing serious.

━ You haven't given her a name yet, have you?

━...

━Bruce!!

He sighed━ I don't want to give her just any name, I want it to be special, with a meaning, that reminds her of her origins━ he shook the papers in his hand━ This might help, thank you very much Barbara.

She gave a small smile ━ No problem, but what about the others? You know it won't be long before they find out about her, I think even Tim already knows.

Bruce drank the coffee that Alfred left ━ Don't worry, I'll introduce her at the family dinner, until then I ask you not to tell anyone, and about Tim, he won't tell or simply doesn't care ━the family dinner, an occasion that Alfred plans every month, with the purpose of bringing the family together, even if it's a disaster with the frequent fights or an absurd silence that could even hear the flies buzzing.

For the first time Bruce found this meeting useful.

━ Oh yeah, I almost forgot ━ she turned on the TV at the exact moment the newspaper was on, Bruce was about to ask until the girl on television spoke━ Breaking news, apparently historians have discovered more about the greatest mystery in history, the Red Empress.

The newspaper continued talking about this, the red empress, a historical phenomenon that is a mystery to this day, whose existence was only discovered through reports from other countries, is considered a symbol of freedom and hope since it was through her that slavery in her country ended.

To reinforce the title historical mystery, not even her name was discovered and there was even a time when they thought she was a man, and her 'nickname' came through a report from a king who described her as having vibrant red hair, not even this was confirmed with certainty.

━ It's impressive, isn't it? Even after so many years we still know little about her ━ Barbara commented, Bruce never really paid attention to this subject, but he had to admit that it was fascinating.

Then Barbara had to leave, she had to take care of some unfinished business, the baby had a sad look as the woman left, she just wanted to spend more time with Barbara ━ Ó╭╮Ò ━ seeing the baby's eyes shining Bruce kissed her on the head━ No need to cry, you'll see her soon.

Soon the appointment time arrived, Bruce dressed in his usual casual suit and as the baby was wearing a pink jumpsuit and was wrapped like a taco, Bruce didn't want her to get sick again on the way. He took her to see Dr. Leslie Thompkins, even with their misunderstandings and fights in the past Bruce couldn't deny that Leslie is one of the best doctors he has ever known and at least she is a trustworthy person to take care of a baby.

Waiting in a private room at the hospital, the baby looked and recognized the old lady who opened the door, being one of Batman's old allies but for some reason she couldn't remember her name.

━ Good afternoon Dr. Leslie, and good to see you again ━ Bruce greeted her with a handshake, "Oh yes! That's her name! Leslie didn't appear that much in the comics, maybe that's why I forgot her name"

━ I'm glad to see you too Bruce━ she looked at the baby ━ Was that the child you rescued?━ Bruce nodded and she sighed.

━ I saw the news and read about her case, it really was a miracle, but today is not the day of her treatment, what happened? ━ Bruce told about what happened and also reported about the slight fever she had last night, she said she was going to do some tests and see if there was anything wrong.

Leslie took the stethoscope off the baby's back━ There's nothing wrong with her, but maybe I have a theory about it━ she pulled out some papers showing an x-ray of a head━ From what I saw the most concentrated injuries were on the head and maybe because of that some trauma arose.

She pointed to some spots in the photo explaining that some were not yet healed and others needed extensive treatment, the baby saw Bruce's hands close into a fist after Leslie spoke of the injuries, so she placed her little hand on top which Bruce responded by squeezing them making the baby laugh, Bruce gave a small smile to the side forgetting his anger.

Leslie stopped for a moment when she saw this scene. It was rare to see Bruce so emotional. She hadn't seen this side of him since her parents died. She shook her head, pushing her thoughts away, and continued her explanation. In the end, she decided to do some tests with Bruce's permission, and most of them were about locomotion and intellect, like playing with a brick cube and fitting it in the right place, or moving her arms and feathers when the doctor asked her to.

The baby put the last cube in place and Leslie wrote it down in her notebook and she turned to Bruce who was in the background watching━ The test went normally, there were no peculiarities━ Bruce sighed in relief.

"But of course, I had to pretend to be wrong on purpose so they wouldn't suspect me." The baby knows that faking the test is wrong, but if they knew about her having an adult conscience or that she knows that this world is made of comics, there's no knowing what will happen to her if they find out, so it's better not to risk it.

━ Since we didn't find anything wrong, the injuries probably don't affect her now but they could affect her in the future, so stay tuned ━ Leslie said as Bruce picked up the baby from the floor, if there's nothing wrong then what was that? Was it really just a nightmare? But would a nightmare cause such a reaction? Then he asked Leslie ━ Can this leave psychological trauma? Cause some kind of anxiety?

Leslie replied ━ She's very young so she can forget what happened, and that's good, she won't carry that trauma with her for the rest of her life ━ Bruce agreed and caressed the baby's face, looking into her eyes, it really is good news, the last thing he wants to see is this little angel suffer and lose the sparkle in her eyes.

In the end, the doctor prescribed some medicine if this happens again, but asked Bruce to wait a little while to talk━ I'm glad you entrusted her to me, but dare I ask, do you plan on making her-

━ No ━ Bruce interrupted her knowing what she was going to ask ━ I don't plan any of that for her, you don't need to worry about it.

She smiled and caressed the baby's face━ She is special Bruce, she was a warrior for surviving in those circumstances.

Bruce looked at the baby━ I know ━ and kissed her cheek━ She's a little ray of sunshine.

Three days have passed and the renovation of the baby's room is still not finished. Alfred even put a temporary nursery in Bruce's room, worried that the baby would start to depend on him to sleep, and she was shocked. "Alfred! It's not me you should be worried about, it's him!!!" she thought, pointing to Bruce. Not that she was complaining, Bruce's chest was a wonderful pillow but it was very tiring. Every time she slept in the nursery, Bruce woke her up in the middle of the night to sleep with him.

Apparently this is part of one of his overprotective paranoias, with her in his arms he can hear her heartbeat and protect her, this is comforting to him, even Alfred noticed that Bruce was sleeping well lately and he was quite happy about it, he doesn't even remember how much of a lecture he gave Bruce about his terrible sleeping habits talking about how a good night's sleep could be good for your health, but if he knew it was because of the baby he wouldn't be so happy.

The day started with the baby being woken up by Bruce kissing her forehead, she grunted trying to push him away because she was ticklish, he let out a little laugh and hugged her ━ Good morning sweetie ━ and got up to get ready while the baby tried to stay awake.

Alfred came and got the baby ready for breakfast and Bruce had to go to work to resolve some negotiations. In the kitchen, Alfred fed the baby a mixture of milk and medicine, as recommended by the doctor, since the medicine was too bitter for a baby.

Then Alfred took the baby for a walk in the garden, over time this became a pastime between Alfred and the baby, he showed her the flowers in the garden and enjoyed the calm and cozy time together, the baby in Alfred's arms looked at the beauty of the garden until she realized that in the background there was a vegetable garden.

The baby tugged on Alfred's sleeve and pointed to the vegetable garden, wondering what it was. ━ Oh, little miss, this is the vegetable garden your brother and I made together. ━ he said, coming closer and showing some freshly cleaned vegetables.

The baby tilted her head in confusion, "Brother? Which brother?" She approached a plant and realized something, "That's just like Damian. Even though he's an angry guy, he has very calm hobbies." She loved the fact that Damian likes to draw and is an animal lover to the point of becoming a vegan. It's no wonder he's her favorite Robin, even though he's annoying.

━Master Damian liked to water them early in the morning━ Alfred, even smiling, looked sad ━But now he's too busy for that...━ Alfred turned towards the mansion and the baby looked at the vegetable garden behind his shoulder.

Alfred had to do his job so he had to place the baby around several pillows in the living room, soon the baby got bored and moved uncomfortably, she hated being a baby and always being stuck in one place just waiting for someone to come by and ask for help so she could just get up.

She watched her little feet dangling and thought, "What if I try to stand up?" So she tried her best to get into a sitting position, but then she fell flat on her stomach on the couch, panting and sweating. "Wow! Just moving around made me so tired!"

So she gave up and took the opportunity to lie down on the couch, not knowing that someone was watching her through the cameras. Bruce, who was in a minimally boring meeting, took the opportunity to check the baby on the cameras on his cell phone and saw her get up, fall on her stomach on the couch and fall asleep. He had to hold himself back from laughing in the middle of the meeting.

At night, Alfred, after feeding her, gave her a bath and changed her clothes, putting on bunny-shaped pajamas. He had white fur with pink gloves and shoes and a hood with bunny ears and a bow.

This time it wasn't Alfred who bought it, it was Bruce who saw it in a shopping mall window and bought it almost automatically thinking it would look cute on the baby. After taking a photo, Alfred wrapped the baby in a blanket and sat in an armchair with her on his lap to read a story.

Just a second later the baby was already yawning with her eyes watering, Alfred noticed and quickly put her in the nursery, saying goodnight and giving her a kiss on the forehead, then he turned off the light and left Bruce's room.

The baby, as her eyes were about to close, lamented, thinking that she would soon be woken up by a certain person.

The next morning she woke up shocked realizing that she was still in the nursery, no one woke her up in the middle of the night and that meant that Bruce wasn't here, she should have been happy that he didn't disturb her but the opposite happened, in fact she was extremely worried.

Was he so hurt that he couldn't come? Or was he kidnapped by one of his enemies and is being terribly tortured? There were so many possibilities and situations that Batman could be in, that the baby was crying and let out a small cry calling Alfred's attention who came quickly.

In the butler's arms she let out grunts, pointing to the bed clearly asking where Bruce was, Alfred seeing this let out a small laugh and wiped her small tears with his thumb ━ Don't worry little one, I'll take you to Mr. Bruce ━ Alfred took her out of the room and walked through the corridor to the last door where Bruce's office was.

" Hun? He spent the night there, but why?"

Alfred knocked on the door but no one answered, he knocked again but again no answer, then he opened the door finding Bruce with glasses totally focused on a book and with other books around, you could see that he didn't sleep last night with his dark circles and tired look on his face.

Alfred coughed, attracting Bruce's attention, who finally looked up to see the two at the door. He sighed tiredly, taking off his glasses and pinching his eyebrows with a headache. He asked for the baby and Alfred handed it over ━ I never thought choosing a name would be so difficult ━ He caressed the baby's face, who was clearly angry with her eyebrows raised. Bruce looked at Alfred in confusion, asking for answers.

━ The little lady is upset because she couldn't find you this morning ━ Bruce gave a small smile and kissed the baby's cheeks apologizing "That's a lie! I was just worried" but she quickly forgave him now knowing that he did it thinking about her name.

Bruce showed the names to Alfred, most of them were from Latin America so that she would remember her origins but so far nothing pleased him, while they talked about looking for other names, the baby looked at the page of the book that Bruce was holding.

She looked through some names until one caught her attention, "Suyana..." somehow that name seemed familiar to her, as if a voice sounded in her mind, it was a soft voice calling her, she without realizing it placed her hand on the page attracting the attention of Bruce and Alfred.

Bruce held her and looked at the sheet finding the name she was pointing to━ Suyana, meaning hope in the Quechua language of South America ━ he thought the name suited her, hope... something he didn't imagine he would have in his life but now...

Alfred added, ━The meaning fits little miss, don’t you think, Mister Bruce?━ Bruce nodded, ━You’re right, and it’s quite unique like her.

━Did you like your name? Suyana━ the baby smiled happily, she finally had a name, she buried herself in Bruce's arms who hugged her too, she put her ear to his chest listening to his heartbeat, understanding now why Bruce likes that, it was relaxing to know that someone was by her side.

Bruce kissed her on the forehead but the baby pushed him away uncomfortable, he suddenly rubbed his chin realizing the problem ━ I should start cutting my beard.

Continued...

About the tag list, I don't know how to do it, so put in the comments who wants to be tagged in the next chapter. That way it'll be easier for me.🙂

Taglist : @fantasyhopperhea @daddysfangirls-dc @cruzerforce4256 @mallowryblog @ jsprien213 @kore-of-the-underworld @bookwarm0-0 @nxdxsworld​

[jobean12-blog]

Rescue Ride

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1,043

Summary: When you get stranded with your broken down car someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

Author's Note: Just because! Honestly, I'd go anywhere with him haha Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 😘

Warnings: It's fluffy and cute and sweet (other than the annoying car trouble haha)

The air grows cooler as night starts to fall. There’s an eerie silence that envelopes the quiet road. Your car, having made strange noises for the past few miles, begins to smoke, and finally gives up and sputters to a stop.

You steer it to the side of the road, your heart racing as the sky continues to deepen into a dark canvas. You scan the area, seeing nothing but the far-off mile markers and the long shadows they cast against the encroaching darkness.

Suddenly, the roar of a motorcycle engine pierces the stillness, growing louder with each passing second. Your stomach flips and your palms start to sweat.

You’re all alone out here and the chances of another car passing by any time soon are slim. You search your vehicle for something to defend yourself with…just in case.

Just over the horizon you can see the bike speeding closer. The rider flies by and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Now what? That may have been the only help you were going to get. If it was help at all.

You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. Since moving here, you had only made a couple of friends and you really didn’t want to ask either of them to come out and rescue you in goodness knows where.

As you continue to contemplate your fate you miss the low rumble of the engine and when you look up to see the motorcycle slowing to a stop a few feet in front of your car you nearly jump out of the seat.

He’s tall, one long leg lifting easily over the seat until both booted feet are planted firmly on the ground.

Your eyes continue to travel upward.

His tight jeans accentuate the shape of his muscular calves and the thickness of his thighs. A worn leather jacket fits snugly across his broad shoulders and his large hands are free of gloves.

As he moves toward you it’s hard to make out more than this large frame, the setting sun highlighting only his silhouette. However, when he reaches your car window and leans down with a smile, you’re struck speechless.

Long and dark strands of hair frame his face and his sparkling blue eyes crinkle at the corners. His sharp jaw is covered with dark stubble with patches of gray peppered throughout and surrounding a pair of very kissable lips.

“You ok doll?” he asks.

When you don’t answer he leans back to give you more space. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

You shake your head and open your mouth, still staring.

He smiles again.

“It’s ok. I’m ok,” you breathe out.

“Is your car, ok?” he asks.

“My car?”

He gently taps your car above the window.

“OH! Um, well no. I think it’s dead.”

Finally pulling his gaze from you he looks at the small puffs of smoke coming from the hood.

“Want me to take a look?”

“Really?” you ask. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says as he walks around to the front.

You open your door and get out, standing to the side to watch.

He opens the hood and peers inside, blowing smoke away from his face.

After only a few moments of assessment he says, “looks like you’ve got an antifreeze leak coming from one of your hose clamps.”

“Is that what it is?” you muse, trying to sound like you know what’s going on.

“I can fix it enough for you to get to the nearest station.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I can’t have you do that! I’ll just call someone.”

He starts walking to his bike.

“And then you’ll have to pay towing fees. Not necessary doll. Lemme help you out.”

He opens the saddle bag and removes the toolbox. As he does so you notice a small lump in his jacket and when it starts to move you let out a squeak of surprise.

“Oh right,” he chuckles.

He slowly and carefully unzips the leather and reveals a small white ball of fluff.

“This is Alpine,” he explains as the cat uncurls itself against his chest.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my gosh! He’s SO CUTE!”

“Here,” he says. “You can hold him while I check out your car.”

He picks the cat up with one hand and holds him out for you to take. You gently grab him and cuddle him to your chest, cooing softly and scratching his head.

“He’s such a sweetie!”

“I found him about a month ago. Abandoned at a truck stop.”

The shock and disgust are evident in your expression and Bucky agrees with, “I know. Unbelievable right? Thankfully, he loves rides on the bike!”

He gives Alpine a soft pat and then gestures toward your car with his chin.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s take a look.”

You follow, standing closer to get a better look at him and you can see he’s even more gorgeous than you thought.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

After you introduce yourself, you watch him bend over the hood and grab a bandana from his back pocket.

He uses a wrench to loosen a steaming clamp and then grabs the hose with the bandana.

“It can get pretty hot,” he explains.

When he pulls the hose free you can see the leak and watch with relief as he easily contains it with a quick fix.

“This will hold long enough for you to get it somewhere and get it fixed.”

“I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”

He drops the wrench back in his toolbox and stuffs the bandana back into his pocket, all the while studying your face with soft eyes.

“Tell ya what doll face,” he starts. “I’ll follow you to the nearest repair shop to make sure you get there safely and then while you wait for your car to get fixed I'll take you out for a bite to eat.”

“On your bike?”

“Yeah,” he answers with a smirk. “Ever ridden before?”

You shake your head no.

His lopsided grin grows, and he leans in a little closer.

“Lookin’ forward to being your first, doll.”

@randomfandompenguin @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814 @goldylions @kmc1989 @hiddles-rose

[brattyvox]

★ MERCY — MxF.

NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST // Inbox to be on Taglist!

After being held hostage by Terminus and breaking free, they try to rescue other survivors. And while searching, Daryl finds you vulnerable in another cargo container.

GENRE ★ Angst and Hurt/Comfort

PAIRING ★ Fem reader x Daryl Dixon

WARNINGS ★ Mentions of death, blood, etc., very implied that the terminus members violated reader but doesn't go into detail, age isn't mentioned but reader is of age, not canon specific but only because there's no set setting but like, you can imagine they're in a cabin or something

Word Count — 2.34k

All you could do was hit on the walls of the train car hoping someone, anyone, would come save you. But every time, you were met with those evil faces of the Terminus group. The smell of death lingered in the air, a stark reminder of how people have died in the car. You were the last living person in there.

But you didn't give up. You kept banging on the walls, even if the people in Terminus got annoyed and would repeatedly tell you to stop. They had taken everything from you: your dignity, your hope, and almost your life. You had to survive for the people you've lost, for the people you had yet to meet, and for the simple reason that you were not ready to die yet.

One day, the same day Rick and his group had arrived, you had finally given up thinking no one was going to help you. You sat in the corner of the train car, knees to your chest, and eyes closed, trying to find a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. Suddenly, the sound of distant gunfire pierced the silence, sending a spark of hope through your veins. You couldn't ignore it; it was the sweet sound of a possible rescue.

And then, the door started to open. You pushed yourself as far into the corner as you could, thinking it was one of the men of Terminus coming to hurt you again. But instead, you saw a pair of boots that didn't quite match the others. They were worn and dusty, but the person who owned them moved with a purpose that the others didn't. Your eyes followed the boots up to a familiar leather vest, and then finally to the face of Daryl Dixon, a grim determination etched into every line.

He looked you up and down, the slightest of disgust on his face. "You good?" he barked, his voice rough from the tension and his eyes searching the car as if expecting an ambush.

You stared at him for a few seconds before shaking your head, your arms covering your chest instinctively. The tears you had been holding back for days finally spilled over, and you felt a whirlwind of emotions crash over you. Relief, fear, anger, and hope all mixed into one. "H-Help," you choked out, your voice weak and trembling.

Daryl squinted and swung his crossbow over his back, stepping into the car and walking toward you with the same urgent yet careful gait you had seen him use in the group. He bent down, his hand outstretched, but didn't touch you. The smell of gunpowder and sweat clung to him, but it was a welcome scent compared to the stench of the train car. "C'mon," he urged gently, his voice a comfort amidst the chaos.

You shakily grabbed his hand and stood, using your remaining arm to cover your chest as he pulled you from the car. The sun was blinding after days of darkness, making you squint. The world outside was in a state of disarray, with fires burning and the sounds of battle echoing through the air. Daryl's grip was firm, grounding you as you stumbled out into the chaos. You could see Rick and the others fighting for their lives against the Terminus members, but Daryl's focus remained solely on you.

He kept you away from the danger as best as he could, only using his bow when he had to. He even handed you a random knife he found on the ground. And the entire time, he hadn't said much. It was clear he wasn't one to…talk. But his eyes communicated more than words ever could. They were filled with a silent promise of protection, of not letting anyone hurt you again.

When the group finally escaped and made it to safety, Daryl didn't let go of your hand. The cabin they found was a much-needed sanctuary from the horrors of Terminus. The others tended to their injuries, and you couldn't help but feel like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders. Carol was helping you fix yourself up while Daryl was sitting in the corner cleaning his bows, avoiding eye contact and any sort of interaction.

You'd occasionally steal glances at him, his movements methodical and precise, a stark contrast to the trembling hands that held you together. His silence was comforting in a way, a respite from the screams and taunts that had haunted your days in the train car.

"Don't even bother trying to talk to him," Carol chuckles, noticing your gaze. "Daryl's like that. He doesn't say much, but he's always there when you need him."

"Oh," you reply to Carol, your voice still weak. You watch as Daryl's calloused hands move over the strings of his bow with such gentle care. It's as if he's trying to erase the horrors of the world with each stroke. His eyes flicker up to meet yours for a brief second before returning to his task. You can see the unspoken understanding in his gaze.

"What? You got a crush?" Carol teased with a knowing smile, her hands deftly applying a rag to your bruised wrists. You couldn't help but blush, looking away from Daryl and focusing on the sting of the medicine. "Well, you're not the first, and you sure as hell won't be the last," she said with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"He didn't seem that…bad when he grabbed me from that car." You whispered to Carol, still not fully believing that you had made it out alive. "He was pretty…gentle."

"Well, he's sort of like a gentle giant." Carol's eyes softened, looking over at Daryl. "Once you get past that hard shell of his, he's got a heart of gold. Just don't go expecting poetry or anything," she added with a smirk.

"Go on and talk to him if you want." Carol nudged you gently, her voice low enough that only you could hear it. "He's not as scary as he looks."

You only bite your lip in response, standing and putting your hands in the pocket of the hoodie Carol handed you. She said she found it on the ground when she was leaving Terminus. Not your first choice, but it covered the bruises and the cold air outside was biting. You make your way over to Daryl, his eyes never leaving his work.

Once you made it over, you stood over him, your fingers fiddling nervously as you stared at him. You wanted to say something, anything, but the second you were near him your voice shut off.

Daryl looked up from his bow, meeting your gaze with a question in his eyes. His hand paused in its rhythmic movement, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. You took a deep breath and sat down next to him, the floorboards of the cabin creaking under your weight. For a moment, you both just sat there, listening to the distant sounds of the world outside.

"T-Thank you for helping me." You finally spoke, your voice a mere whisper. Daryl's eyes never left yours, searching for any sign of fear or pain.

"Yeah." he grumbled, his voice gruff but his gaze gentle. He didn't say anything more, but the single word was enough. It acknowledged your gratitude without making a big deal of what had happened. He went back to cleaning his bow, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Um," you start again, your voice a little stronger this time. "What happened to the others? The ones from Terminus?"

"Killed some of 'em," he grunted a bit, twisting and turning his bow. "Some ran."

The conversation stalled, the weight of your shared experiences at Terminus too heavy to ignore. You studied his profile, noticing the tightness in his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow. He had seen a lot of horrors, you could tell. "Do you ever get used to it?" you asked, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Use' to what?" Daryl's eyes never left his bow, but his question was clear.

"To… the killing. The death." You stumbled over the words, the reality of your new world still so stark.

Daryl's hands stilled for a brief moment, and he took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on the bow in his hands. "Nah," he finally said, his voice low and honest. "You just learn to live with it." He looked over at you, his eyes searching yours. "But it don't mean you gotta like it."

"You don't like it?" You prodded, curiosity lacing your voice as you leaned closer to him. The warmth of the cabin was starting to seep into your bones, but the chill of your experience still clung to your soul.

"If they ain' deserve it." Daryl's voice was gruff, his eyes still on the bow in his lap. His hands tightened around it, his knuckles whitening.

"…Have you ever…lost someone? Like, someone you loved?" you ask tentatively, the words heavy in your mouth. The room seems to hold its breath as you wait for his response.

Daryl's eyes flickered to yours, a brief moment of vulnerability flashing across his face before his expression hardened again. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice tight. "More than once…You?"

You pause, biting your lip as you contemplate how much of your past you're willing to share with this man. The fire in the hearth crackles and pops, casting a warm glow over the cabin, and you realize that despite everything, you feel a strange sense of comfort sitting beside him. "My… my family, my boyfriend," you finally manage to say, your voice shaking slightly. "They were all I had. They're gone now."

Daryl's eyes meet yours, a flicker of pain in his own. "Sorry," he says, his voice a low rumble. It's not much, but it's more than anyone else has offered you. You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "It's just… hard."

He didn't say or do anything, sitting his bow on the ground and still avoiding eye contact with you. But his presence was enough, a silent acknowledgment of your loss. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, but you didn't bother to wipe it away.

"How long you been there?" Daryl asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"T-Terminus?" You whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of the memories. "I don't know. Months, I think. It all blurs together."

"What they do to you?" Daryl's voice was low, the question hanging heavy in the air between you. You took a deep breath, the memories rushing back, the pain and humiliation as raw as the day it happened.

"Um," you hesitated, your heart racing as you thought about the unspeakable things that had occurred within the walls of Terminus. "They… they did some pretty bad things." You couldn't bring yourself to look at Daryl, focusing instead on the dance of the shadows cast by the flickering fire.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a rage you hadn't seen before. "They hurt you?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.

You nodded, your voice shaking as you whispered, "Yeah. But I'm okay now. Thanks to you."

Daryl's gaze softened, his hands still fiddling beneath him. "It ain't your fault," he murmured. "Those sons of bitches ain't got no right to do what they did." The words hung in the air, a quiet rage burning in the depths of his eyes.

"Yeah." you mumble, gulping and yawning at the same time. The fatigue was setting in, but you didn't want to leave Daryl's side. His presence felt like a warm blanket, protecting you from the cold reality outside. "But it's okay. I'm… I'm with you guys now."

"…You tired?" Daryl's question broke the tension in the air, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You nodded wearily, feeling the exhaustion of your ordeal settling deep into your bones. "Yeah," you admit, your eyelids growing heavy.

Daryl studied you for a moment before standing up, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man of his size and ruggedness. He offered you a hand, which you took, allowing him to help you to your feet. The cabin was dimly lit, with the only light coming from the flickering candles and the dying embers of the fireplace. The others were scattered around, some sleeping, others keeping watch, their faces etched with the lines of survivors who hadn't had a good night's rest in far too long.

"C'mon," he murmured, leading you to a corner of the cabin that had been set up with a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. "You need sleep." His voice was softer than you had heard it before, the rough edges smoothed out by the quiet concern.

You nodded, too tired to argue, and let him guide you to the bed. He helped you sit down, his hands gentle despite the calluses. You felt a strange sense of comfort in his touch, something you hadn't felt in a long time.

"You're my favorite so far." You whispered to him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips despite the pain.

Daryl's eyes searched yours, his hand pausing in its task of tucking the blanket around you. He didn't say anything, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch up in the ghost of a smile. "Get some sleep," he said gruffly, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn't leave your side until you had lay down, until your breathing had evened out and you were lost in the oblivion of sleep.

The entire time you slept, Daryl kept his eyes on you, his hand hovering over his crossbow. He didn't trust anyone else around you, not even the air around you. The cabin was quiet, the only sound the occasional snore from someone and the crackling of the fire. When you finally stirred, the sun had fully set, and the moon cast a silvery glow through the window.

[quietplace26]

SAGAU au idea. Part 1.

/EDIT: This au is now called the Through the Glitching Mirror. More information HERE/

MC lands in the stereotypical SAGAU situation but a glitch happens and two Teyvats connect.

One of course is the SAGAU au, while the other is actually a safer one where the 'CREATOR' nonsense doesn't exist. In that safer world the MC is just known as a invisible, helpful entity that follows the Traveler around on their journey. A precious companion to all of Teyvat, if one could say.

But then the special connection the MC had with the traveler and many others is cut one day during a regular commission run, and everyone loses their shit.

All the nations desperately try to find the MC, and when they somehow managed to bing their location and pull it up on a scrying mirror... they see the MC for the first time, and they looked horrible. The people of this normal Teyvat are horrified to see the MC being hunted down like an animal by their insane counterparts.

Something about being an IMPOSTER of their precious CREATOR? It didn't matter in the end as all that matter was rescuing the MC from that rotten place!

Some extra notes.

After MC is rescued, they would most likely be traumatized from their ordeal.

So, as a way to help ease them into this safer Teyvat, MC is slowly reintroduced to every nation and its people.

Paimon also volunteers to be assigned as MC's emotional support fairy. She's small but huggable. And she can talk and talk, distracting MC from dark memories.

Of course they start in Mondstadt. Starting with NPCs, then the child vision holders, then the adults... and finally Venti.

MC mostly spends time around The Cat's Tail, playing with the cats and sometimes being coaxed to play a game of TCG by Diona or others.

Venti definitely takes MC to meet Dvalin. They definitely also cuddle into Dvalin's fluff, and nap with Venti under the sun in Stormterror's lair.

When taken to Liyue, the same process happens.

The Adepti would follow MC around, keeping tabs on them and keeping any trouble away from them via Zhongli's orders.

Spends time at Xiangling's restaurant, helping out, slowly socializing with the Liyue populace.

Guoba is also MC's personal emotional support bear creature.

Zhongli... was a slow progress. But after some time and effort, MC easily walks beside the Geo Archon, listening to him talk, enjoying tea with him as a storyteller recited stories of Liyue's history and Archon.

And with the other nations, the process continues.

Eventually starts doing commissions with the Traveler as a way to help MC get even more out of their comfort zone. Nothing too hard. Definitely NO fighting. Mostly deliveries and such.

Traveler is really happy with this as they don't have to do some of the more boring fetch quests some of the NPCs ask for.

Dottore is NOT allowed within 10 feet of the MC, much less in the same city. These are direct orders from the Tsaritsa herself.

[calebsdog]

Throwing up thinking about stray dog Caleb taking tiny kitten Mc under his wing. He's just a puppy himself. He's been on his own for as long as he can remember. No memory of a mother, father, or any siblings. But you're so much smaller. He automatically becomes your loyal protector.

You and Caleb roam the streets. Staying out of sight from humans, taking shelter in discarded boxes when it rains, searching for scraps. Most of your meals come from the dumpster. Caleb wishes he could provide you better but he's still too little to hunt properly.

One day, a group of stray dogs way older than Caleb show up. Their rough, scarred muzzles curl into snarls. They were here to pick a fight. Of course, Caleb gives everything he has, knowing kitty Mc is relying on him. But he was outnumbered and outmatched.

When Caleb simply can't fight any longer and collapses kitty Mc finally has enough of watching from the shadows. You come rushing out of your safe spot behind Caleb. Now you're the one shielding the puppy who has been looking after you all this time. The pathetically tiny kitten uses all the air in her lungs to hiss at the dogs ten times her size.

Caleb barks weakly behind you, pleading with you to retreat. Don't you know how small you are? You were like a cockroach to this vicious pack of dogs. It would be laughably easy for them to rip your vulnerable body to shreds. Caleb tries his best to stand back up, to push you behind his hind legs again. He collapses every time he tries.

But Mc doesn't back down. You have to be strong in Caleb's place this time. This cruel world wouldn't be the same without him.

Just before things get truly bloody, an elderly woman by the name of Josephine comes to your rescue. Smacking the pack of dogs on the head with her broom, shooing them away. She kicks the one's who don't run right in the butt. Tails tucked between their legs, they give up on their fight with the wounded puppy and feisty kitten.

Josephine had no family and was becoming quite lonely at her age. Her heart strings were tugged the moment her eyes landed on the malnourished puppy and kitten nuzzling against each other for solace.

Josephine takes the two of you in the same night you almost died. For the first time in their young lives Mc and Caleb know the warmth of a home. Mc stays stubbornly glued to Caleb's side as he goes through the slow healing process.

Caleb's front right leg never works the same after that night. He used to be such an energetic puppy, carrying your tiny kitten body on his back while he ran. The wind blowing through your fur as he raced through the dark alleyways.

Mc blames herself for Caleb's injury for a long time. He got it protecting you. And now he was paying the price. He was no longer a stray. Yet he still couldn't fetch a ball or run through a park carefree like all the other dogs.

But Caleb wouldn't let you wallow in your guilt. The two of you roughhouse in the safety of Josephine's fenced backyard, never actually hurting each other, rolling around in the soft grass under the embrace of the Sun. Just because he's slow now doesn't mean he can't play with you!

The only time Mc actually hisses at Caleb is when he tries to snatch a treat meant for you out of Josephine's hand.

[merakiui]

100%

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, captivity, very vague and slight implications of codependency, angst note - your mobile phone was at 100% when he took you away. with time, the percentage has diminished. so, too, does your hope for a brighter future.

The windowpane is spattered with rain.

Sitting cozy in a cushioned alcove, you watch the droplets slide down in regal rivulets, consolidating to form single streaks. The scenery beyond the window is bleak and dreary—a despondent landscape of gnarled, leafless trees and scratchy brambles stretching towards a dark, dismal sky. Sometimes you liken the rain to tears, wondering if Mother Nature weeps for all creatures or simply for you and your situation. Rare are the days in which the sun shines upon the craggy stone façade of your captor’s castle, and she is as benevolent as she is cruel.

For all of its sumptuous splendor, generational wealth filling the interior with priceless heirlooms and relics, it is an empty, cold structure. You’ve taken to enveloping yourself in thick furs, if only because these furs do not speak like the monster who so humbly offers his embrace. Though you’ve always considered yourself of strong, sturdy mind, your restraint is thinning. As the days pass and you shed clothing sizes like they’re second skins, you find yourself drawn to warmth.

Which is, ironically enough, contradictory to your current temperament. The windows, frigid like the grave, provide solace you cannot find anywhere else—for it is only tender warmth you receive from him. Had he not been so merciful, perhaps it would have been easier to shrink away and truly loathe him with every ounce of your being.

And yet, in order to escape the warmth which enshrouds, you seek the cold, bitter windows and their rain-weary countenance.

Lying beside you on the pillows, snoozing the afternoon away, a calico cat snores idly. She was a gift from him. You were neglectful of your mental health and thus, as per his guard’s suggestion, he sought to find a cat to cure your loneliness and inspire some form of happiness. You appreciate Silver—genuinely, you do—but the good luck a calico brings is not nearly enough to rescue you from captivity.

She was a stray, a scrawny thing with a limp and one bad eye. You took to her right away, scooping her up in your arms and lovingly naming her Cotton. Similarly, she returned your affections, rubbing her head against your palm and purring pleasantly.

Now she likes to nudge the dome that is your stomach, a great, round thing at only six months. Sometimes you think she’s more motherly than you are. You’ve never been able to care for much of anything. Plants wither under your touch, recipes spoil even when you follow them to the letter, and your electronics crack.

Your phone, more fractured than your very heart, is cold in your hands. The screen is blank; it’s dying. It was at 100% before. Now it’s been reduced to a sad 7%. There is no reception or connection to be had in Briar Valley. Your phone, once so powerful and all-knowing, is but a hollow shell. Useless. A digital photo album will expire at its final hour, and there’s no charger. He offered to use his magic to charge it, but he has never known his own strength and you couldn’t risk losing the treasured memories stored within.

Sometimes you’d return to old message logs and read through them. Now you can’t do that, lest you drain the battery quicker than intended.

“So this is where you’ve retreated,” Malleus notes, poking his head around the corner of a towering bookcase. Concern settles on his features. “Are you well? Sebek tells me you were absent for breakfast.” “I wasn’t hungry,” you mutter, watching his reflection through the stormy glass.

Malleus glances at Cotton and then at your phone as it rests in your clasp. “May I trouble you to eat just a little, if only some fruit?”

“I’m not hungry.” He nods, stalling. “Will you join me for lunch?”

“If I must.”

A small smile lifts his lips. “Are you cold? It can’t be very comfortable to sit there for such a long time. You’ll catch your death.”

“I hope.”

He tuts in disapproval and shrugs out of his cloak, draping it over you even though you’re already wearing a fleece robe. Malleus assesses you with a fleeting once-over.

“It doesn’t hurt to layer. You must understand where I’m coming from, dearest. Extreme temperatures serve to weaken those who are already so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile,” you snap, turning to scowl.

He doesn’t flinch at the heat smoldering in your eyes. “You’re human.”

“How many times did you have to practice that to come to terms with it?”

Malleus’s verdant stare narrows; his frown tightens. “It’s the truth.”

“I didn’t think you’d confront it.”

“I must if I’m to understand…” He exhales through his nose, deflating somewhat. “You’re in fine health. The physician tells me so. There’s no need to worry ourselves with ineffectual what-ifs.”

You turn your gaze on the sprawling forest next, unwilling to discuss the report and its subsequent conclusion: If she remains in good health and follows the recommended diet for an expecting mother, she’ll carry to term.

“My phone is dying, Malleus.”

“Is that not life? Lilia once said so.”

“My pictures… My everything is stored in this phone. It means so much to me.”

“Truly? Is there not a way to make physical copies of these photographs?”

“Unless Briar Valley has the technology to do so…”

“I’m afraid not.”

Malleus takes a daring step closer, endeavoring to comfort you. Cotton cracks her good eye open to peer at him. She hisses low in her throat, a protector standing small against something so tall. Pouting, clearly disheartened, Malleus heeds her warning and chooses to linger just within the bounds she deems acceptable.

“Yeah, that’s what I assumed.”

You heave a dejected sigh, your shoulders drooping. Seeking to cleanse your visual palate, you power the device on. 5% blinks back at you, an insignificant number sitting in a corner that you normally wouldn’t have paid much mind to. Now it weighs heavy, a reminder that the end is encroaching.

“I would’ve liked to keep these photos forever,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. Malleus hums his acknowledgement; you think he knows the feeling—or some variant of it, at least. “If I lose these pictures…”

“Do you not have memories?”

“I do, but it isn’t the same. One day I’ll grow old and my memory will be frail. I won’t remember nearly as much as I do now. Those memories will become ghosts and eventually I’ll—”

“You will not.” There’s a finality to the declaration—you won’t leave me; you won’t drain or die like this mobile device.

You rest your head against the window. The cool glass soothes your soul. I wonder what the others are up to right now… You place your hand upon your belly. I wonder if they’d have any good ideas for a name. I’m terrible at naming things. I can never pick something that feels right.

“I’d like to have a funeral for my phone.”

But maybe there is no right thing.

“Of course,” he agrees, perfectly serious. You will have that phone funeral, just as you will have every other request you make—however patently absurd it may seem. (Every other request except for freedom, of course.) “Materials may not have the same worth as a loved one, but the experiences they provide are just as valuable. Surely, no? Otherwise I would not feel so troubled when Roaring Drago…” Pausing to search for the placeholder, Malleus glances at your phone. “Perhaps there is no greater tragedy than existence itself.”

“It’s the most bittersweet burden,” you echo, scrolling through each picture with wistful remembrance. “But then I’d rather know the fleeting frivolity of life than endure hundreds of years of solitude. It makes me appreciate everything that much more.”

You stop at a picture of you and Malleus, a photo snapped by Lilia himself. Part of you often wonders why he chose you—why he adores you to such a degree when you, like everyone else, will inevitably perish. But therein lies the allure: That which is unobtainable is even more tempting. And because there is only one of you, a human destined to one day return to her home world, your very presence is more fleeting than a dream.

To Malleus, who has always dreamt, fond and fervent, of the unobtainable mundanity of normal life, you are a sweet, tangible blessing.

“Horns, do you think I’ll ever get another chance to have my phone at 100%?”

He softens under the nickname. It means more to him than his lofty station. “Would you like to know that joy?”

“It would be nice, yes, but then I’d just get sad when it reaches zero. I guess I should be grateful it’s stayed alive for this long. Sorry, it’s a stupid question. Just forget it.”

“Nonsense. There is no such thing.” He reaches to touch your cheek, but Cotton hisses again and so he refrains. She stands on unsteady legs and climbs into your lap, perching awkwardly in spite of your rounded belly. The sight draws a deep chuckle from him. “Your feline friend is quite taken with you.”

“It’s probably because I’m warm. She likes my belly a lot.”

“As do I.”

You roll your eyes.

“Your beauty is most beguiling. There’s a certain radiance to your person. It’s very charming. Do you not agree?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere—definitely not in Cotton’s good graces.”

“I’m simply voicing a fact.”

Your hand slides down from your stomach to pat Cotton. She purrs under your touch, and a weak approximation of a smile tugs at your lips. Amidst all of this sorrow, she is a glimmer of hope. In a way, she’s like you—a stray without a place in this world, snatched from the cobbles she once wandered and confined in a cage of royal opulence. Your similarities are striking, if not immensely devastating.

“Fact or not, I don’t care if I look pretty. It means nothing to me.”

“To be impartial towards appearances… Quite a noble mindset.”

I never once thought you were scary or strange, Horns. Even now.

You look at your phone once more. 3% flickers back.

You’re just lost, and in being lost you found me. But I was also lost. I never even belonged in this world to begin with…

“I’m not going to be a good mother.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t even take care of myself.”

“I shall care for you when you find yourself unable to.”

“I’d rather you not.”

With Cotton having curled on your lap, slumbering peacefully, Malleus chances to close the gap. His broad frame leans to make up for the difference in height, and he runs cold fingers along your cheek. He brushes away the tears you weren’t even aware you were shedding.

You grip your phone in shaky hands, your shoulders hunched. There’s a piercing ache in your chest, pain stabbing all the way through to your heart. It persists when you power it off, unable to delight in pictorial reminiscence for a moment longer. Silent like death, you sob; seismic dismay shudders through you in waves. Distantly, in a forgotten corner of your brain, you suspect this may be the last time you’ll ever use your phone. The last time you’ll ever look upon the photos you’ve amassed. Photos of friends, class notes, food. Photos snapped by mistake, blurry and unfocused. Photos taken when Ace and Grim stole your phone. Precious memories are preserved within the permanence of a photo album—an album that only remains everlasting so long as you keep your phone charged.

Your final shred of the world beyond Briar Valley vanishes in a blip, leaving you with the dark void that is an empty screen. Brutal is the agony, contorting your face, and you bawl like you’ve just witnessed the end of a life.

In a way, you have. You held it in the palm of your hands, and you watched it wither. Watched the percentages drop through numbers, double digits easing into singles. Watched every week and tried to spare your beloved phone of its fate. Watched and attempted to stall the impossible—a foolish undertaking. This was inevitable; you knew this, and yet you’re still mourning.

Perhaps that is the most tragic facet of existence. From the moment one is born, they are mourning. Humans mourn losing time—of allowing it to slip through their fingers when they should have put it to better use. Humans mourn aging even though it is celebrated yearly. Humans mourn for things that are inhuman—for robots stuck in an endless cycle of some menial task while gears grow rusted and systems shut down or trapped on a distant planet, never to return home. For the fruit that falls from trees and rots, trampled and forgotten. For the endings, good and bad, of novels. For art that will never see the light of day because it has been destroyed or stolen or silenced. For the friends they meet, have met, and will meet.

You mourn because you know it’s impending, and you spend all of your life coming to terms with it, only to break down when it finally happens because the truth of the matter is that you will never be prepared no matter how much you prepare yourself. You mourn because you’re a complex human with complex emotions, surviving in a complex world with millions of intricacies, and the only way to weather misery is to mourn.

To the little life cradled in your womb, who knows not of these difficulties yet, they cannot fathom the anguish that accompanies loss. And right now that is all you can hope for—a life without loss.

But that is impossible because loss is true to everyone’s experience. It is part of existence, and existence is inescapable.

Malleus does not gather you in his arms. He will do so if you ask, and he knows you want to ask, which is precisely why he waits. But you’re stubborn and you refuse to give in to the temptation, let alone grant him the satisfaction. It doesn’t offend him.

The windowpane is spattered with rain. So, too, is your phone, spotted with tears and snot.

Briefly, you wonder if you still look beautiful to Malleus.

Even at your ugliest, he would still cherish you. Desperately, as if he might lose you.

Knowing this does not soften the gutting grief.

[buck-star]

So strong and yet so broken

He works for the omega rescue, and while you think these are organisations that are darker than they say they be, you never considered to ask them for help. Only when you see the other side of the omega rescue, you finally let go of your former alpha.

Pairing: Alpha!Chris x Omega!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 5.026 Words

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort, alpha/beta/omega, domistic abuse (not Chris), collar, spitting, lot of crying, angst, trust issues, lies (not Chris), mention of violence and cages, lots of fluff

Authors Note: Shout out to @thenameswinter99 for the encouragement and letting me rant about the idea! Divider made by me.

Events: Missy's writing challenge [Destroyer!Chris | Alpha/Beta/Omega | @saiyanprincessswanie]

Masterlist | Destoryer!Chris Masterlist

🎵You took my soul and wiped it clean.🎵

The slight sun breaking through the clouds doesn’t help much to warm up the freezing breeze that’s blowing through the streets of New York. The loud cracking of the nearby door makes you flinch, fingers wrapping tighter around the bag you’re holding between your shaking fingers as a strong, muscular frame appears from the inside of the building.

“Where were you so long? Didn’t I say, come home after work immediately?” His rough, angry voice breaks through the otherwise quiet, dark alley.

You’re not allowed to use the front entrance of your apartment building. You’re an omega, and omegas don't have privileges, so if you want to get inside, you have to be there on time when your alpha opens the back door of the apartment building.

“Do you need me to spell it for you? Maybe it would help to bruise your sorry little ass, letting you spell out every word why you’re late and spanking you for every single letter you say,” he suggests, his voice low and rough as he keeps standing in the doorframe. His eyes are cold as he looks down at your smaller, shivering frame. “No more little trips with ya little friends then.”

Your eyes widened slightly; it wasn’t just the promise for spanks but also that he doesn’t even allow you to go out with friends any longer. It wasn’t even your fault that you were late — half a minute too late for his liking.

“Don’t look at me like that and move your fuckin’ ass inside. Now,” he growls, annoyed, as he steps out of the doorframe and lets you walk inside. For a moment you hesitate, knowing what’s to come when you walk into your shared apartment.

You may be an omega. But it doesn’t mean he’s allowed to treat you like his property, right? On the other hand, you never learned anything else other than that. John's the first and only alpha after your father decided you’re old enough to belong to an alpha. You learned to love how to behave, how to submit even when everything inside of you was screaming that you should just punch him and run. But you never did — except in your wildest dreams, where you weren’t just a little doll for the alpha.

“A—“

“Shut up!” His voice was dripping with anger as he cut you off. One of his big hands moved to wrap around your neck, pulling you against his firm chest as he spit into your face with a wide grin. “Don’t you know better than to discuss it with me, pet?”

It isn’t Omega. It isn’t any kind of nickname he gives you. No, it’s pet.

And even that nickname isn’t a nickname. It shows your place, lower than it would be as an omega. You’re nothing but a pet for him. Good for pleasure, to pet and to feed as long as you do as he says. And if not…? Then you will have to learn that everything he doesn’t like has to be punished.

“Come on, use your words, pet,” he says, snarling as you dare to look in another direction. John doesn’t care who might see you; no one would say anything because you’re his. Marked. Claimed. He spits down on your face once again, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as his eyes flash with a hint of pleasure and darkness. “Cat got your tongue?”

You shake your head, looking down before you can catch another glimpse of a thick alpha walking through the hallway. His scent is musky, mixed with sandalwood and something sweet — not too strong. You don’t really know him; he sometimes visits one of your neighbors, a young omega who moved into the building a while back.

You barely see her; she’s more of the shy one or something. And the alpha who’s visiting her comes like twice a week, but he isn’t claimed, and neither is the omega he’s visiting. Maybe they are just dating, or they are friends?

“Don’t fucking look at him; he’s not your alpha,” John barks at you, slamming the door shut as he tightens his grip around your neck and pulls you with him through the hallway. You whimper when his fingers dig further into your soft skin; for a moment, he chases your oxygen to be cut off until he changes his grip slightly. “And now you’re whining, stupid, fucking pet.”

You immediately press your lips tightly together, trying to stop every sound that’s threatening to fall past your lips. John is already mad; you don’t need him to be even angrier just because of that.

“S-sorry. A-alpha,” you whisper quietly, trying to take a deep breath. You stumble after him, trying not to fall. John doesn’t really care as he pulls you with him through the hallway, walking past the other alpha who’s still standing in the hallway and watching the two of you from the corner of his eyes.

Chris, who noticed your distress the moment he entered the building, your sour scent filling the hallway, his nose scrunched instinctively. He listened to John’s words and noticed your submission as he walked past the two of you. But before he knocked at the omega's door, he stopped himself and waited for the two of you.

While he was used to the scent of fear due to his work, your scent made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His eyes darkening as he suppresses the low groan in his chest.

“Hey!” He says loudly, making you flinch. Your eyes squeeze shut and your breath gets heavier. Your chest tightens, making it almost impossible to breathe properly. Your fingers clutch the worn-out fabric of your shirt, a soft whimper leaves your lips as your body tenses.

Next to you, you can feel John tensing too, ready to fight against the other man if it’s necessary. He turns his head to Chris, raising an eyebrow to wait for the other alpha to say anything. The grip on your neck is unyielding and firm, leaving another pair of marks on your neck.

“Is that how ya treat ya omega?” Chris asks, nodding at you as his ocean blue eyes remain on your Alpha. John huffs, shrugging as he keeps you close to himself. Your lips are trembling when his fingers tighten further around your neck – you're sure he will leave bruises all over your neck. Chris raises his eyebrows, his blue orbs flickering to you for a moment, taking in your expression. “You hurt her.”

Three words said so casually, but they carry such a weight that your legs buckle underneath you. While you hope that his words mean anything for John, he thinks the opposite and only tightens his grip, making it impossible for you to breathe. A high-pitched whine escapes your lungs with the last bit of oxygen before you try to gasp for the tiniest bit of air in your burning lungs.

“You think I care?” John asks with a smirk on his lips. And damn, that hurts. Chris sighs deeply, taking a step closer to the two of you, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes. You see the muscles in his body tensing, ready for any fight that may come. “Now excuse us. My pet needs to spend a bit of time in her cage to know who’s in charge.”

You shake your head as best as you can. All but not the cage. It's not just way too small for you, but it only includes one small blanket. And since the floor cools the metal of the cage even more, you leave it always underneath you and try to roll yourself as small as possible together. John hisses, scrunching his nose in disgust when more of the sourness in your scent fills the floor.

“Get your shit together, pet. You stink, and we don't need the whole house to stink like your sorry ass,” John groans, annoyed. You try to swallow down all your feelings, not wanting to make him even angrier, but somehow it only causes the tears to well up in your eyes.

“Let her go now, or I will make you,” Chris says with a low growl. His eyes darken, and he takes another step closer. The sweetness in his scent is almost completely gone, and you can feel the dominance radiating off him. John keeps his hand where it is, not budging. But you can feel the twitch in his fingers, the slight tremble that gives him away, and not only you notice it — Chris does too.

But instead of laughing about John, like your Alpha would do when he would scare another Alpha, Chris keeps his cold expression, only walking with slow and steady steps closer to you. His scent is surrounding you almost more than John's as he stands only a few feet away from you, your eyes on his firm chest. Chris's shirt is tight, leaving not much to your imagination— though you have different thoughts than his muscular chest.

“Now.”

“Or w-what?” John growls, trying to keep his tough facade. Within a moment Chris wraps his hand around John's lower arm, squeezing until his fingers loosen around your neck. You gasp loudly, falling down on the ground between the two. Chris twists John's arm, turning him around before pressing him against the wall of the hallway.

The taller Alpha leans closer to John, his voice rough and dangerous. “You keep your dirty paws off her, got it?” His fingers dig further into your Alpha's arm, twisting it until you hear a whine coming from John. A sound you have never heard before unless it came from you. “Now get out of my sight before my patience snaps.”

And with that, Chris pushes the other man away. John stumbles through the hallway, muttering threatening stuff under his breath, but he doesn't dare to look back at Chris. The Alpha turns to you after a moment, his gaze softening as he notices your curled-up form on the ground, your hands clutching your neck and softly stroking the soft skin.

“Hey, shhh,” Chris tries to soothe you. His eyes narrow as he notices your body shaking, but there isn't the smallest noise coming from you. You're so trained to keep all the pain to yourself that only the trembling of your body and the scent coming from you give your fear and your discomfort away. He takes a deep breath, not sure how to get your attention; he doesn't want to call you ‘Omega’ — unsure how much you connect that with John. So instead of trying to get you to pay him attention with words, he sits next to you on the floor and purrs softly.

Your eyes widen slightly as you turn your head to look at the tall alpha. He sits next to you with his back pressed against the wall, his blue eyes focused on you, while the softest purrs rumble through his chest. You feel your whole body relaxing slightly until he pushes his hand in his pocket to pull something out. You flinch immediately, whimpering quietly.

“Shhh, just get my phone out. I have to message the Omega Rescue—"

“P-Please, no… I-I don't want to go there,” you whimper, shaking your head while you pull your legs even closer against your chest. “P-Please, I will be good for him, but don't bring me to a shelter… or a—”

“Shhh, can you let me finish my sentence, please?” He asks softly, a soft smile causing his lips to curl upward. You nod, trying to keep the tears at bay while you think about all the places he could put you as an abused and abandoned omega.

John told you a lot about these ‘omega rescues’; they are all but a rescue for the omegas. They keep the omegas in cages, selling them to alphas, who are way worse than John. Or they will force the omegas into breeding programs to mate — or not mate, whatever they want — with an alpha only for the pups.

“I won't bring you anywhere. I work for the Omega Rescue, and I'm here because in the door opposite us, there lives an omega who got abandoned, and after a while in the Omega Rescue, they wanted to move here. But they are still part of the rescue program, and I'm here to check on them. But you need my help more than they do, so I wanted to call a colleague to tell him to look after them,” Chris explains and holds up his phone with a name, number, and picture on the screen. “So, do you let me call my colleague?”

You nod, still wary of what he says and even more skeptical of his profession. You keep your mouth shut, though, keeping your eyes on him as he smiles and makes the call. Even though you're still sure he's calling them to get you into one of these programs, you stay quiet and still.

During Chris’ call you only hear his part of the conversation; you don’t pay too much attention — or you try — but there isn’t another noise for you to concentrate on except his soft voice. So, while you try to steady your breathing, you pick up some of the things he says.

‘Yeah. No. It’s none of ya business.’

‘She’s fine. But we said we would come around to make sure she’s fine.’

‘Send Lee— No. Yeah, they both have a thing for one another. Send him; he’s good for her. Bet he’s pacing in his office with her self-made cookies.'

You almost smile at his words. That Lee guy has to be really head over heels with the Omega who’s living here. Chris puts his phone back in his pocket and looks at you again. You’re still curled into yourself on the ground, shivering slightly but not as much as before.

“I will take you home, omega,” he says softly, watching your body language. You’re tensing further when he says that; he might be nicer than John so far, but he could show his true colors once he has you in his home. Or once he has you at the shelter, at the Omega Rescue, to sell you or breed you.

“N-no. I will stay here,” you mumble, clawing at your legs. Chris sighs softly, knowing that John fed you lies to make sure you never ask for any help at an omega rescue. He has worked with omegas who were told these lies before, omegas who were abused by their alphas.

“You can’t stay here with him. He’s abusing you. I won’t bring you to the omega rescue, and I promise to let you leave the apartment of mine whenever you want,” Chris promises. You look into his ocean blue eyes, searching for anything that could give away that he’s lying, but he’s looking at you with such softness and sincerity.

You shake your head once more, not moving an inch though. Chris sighs, considering the options in this situation. You don’t trust him, so telling you more about the omega rescue wouldn’t help; the lies you were told stuck in your mind. Picking you up and carrying you to his car would make him even less trustworthy. So, the other option is to keep sitting there in the middle of the hallway and talk to you.

“What if I promise to give you the keys and promise you a room just for yourself?” He tries again; it isn’t even a lie. Chris owns two keys for his apartment, and the guest room is free anyway. “We could make some pizza and watch a movie, or you say you want to be on your own and read a book.”

“But you work for the Omega Rescue,” you whisper quietly. There are still a few tears in your eyes, and Chris has to push away the urge to lean closer and wipe them away. But at least your scent isn’t as sour as before; a sweetness mixed with lavender fills the air.

“I do. But we are going to my home. It’s a small apartment, just me and you. I won’t hurt you, and I will not take advantage of you,” he assures you. The alpha isn’t even sure if it works, but it’s the only option he knows where he doesn’t scare you off. “I have a few books and lots of soft blankets. You could build yourself a nest in the guest room, eat, and read if that’s what you would like.”

You’re still not trusting him; you both know that, but you nod your head. He won’t let you go back to John, and you don’t want to. You push yourself up, knees still pulled against your chest as you lift your fingers to stroke the collar that’s sitting low on your neck, hiding your untouched mating gland.

John never wanted to mate — not yet, at least. And to make sure no other Alpha tries to mark you, he makes you wear the collar. It’s nothing you like, but you know better than to discuss it with your Alpha.

“What’s with the collar? Do you want to take it off?” Chris asks, his eyes moving to the fabric of your neck, watching your fingers stroke over the rough fabric.

He knows you’re not mated; he has seen these collars. You can’t get these in a normal shop; for that kind of collar, you have to have contacts in the underground, on illegal sides.

The nod you give him causes him to sit up straighter. His movements are thoughtful and not hectic as he leans closer. “Can I take it off? I won’t touch you more than necessary. I have to tighten it a tiny bit to open it, but I will be careful. I know you don’t trust me, and I understand it. Inhale deeply.”

You're not sure why you do what he says, but you do. And before you can exhale again, the collar is off your neck. You didn’t even feel him tighten it around your neck, his skilled fingers holding the collar between the two of you. Your eyes drift from his to the collar, and you swallow thickly as a few more tears roll down your cheeks. This is the first time in ages that you're not wearing the collar, and the feeling of the hard, hurtful fabric finally being taken off your neck makes your heart ache further.

John had such control over you that you never considered taking the collar off. No matter how hurtful or wrong it felt, you kept it where it was. With the removal of the fabric, it doesn't only feel lighter around your neck, but all the emotions you held at bay are suddenly crashing over you, pushing you to the ground. First a few tears, then a soft sob before your fingers claw for anything that gives you halt, anything that could keep you steady.

Chris places the collar on the ground, inching closer to wrap his strong arms around your shaking form. Sob after sob wreaks through your body, making you almost scream out loud. You bury your face in his firm chest, taking in his comforting scent with every breath. No matter how much you hate yourself afterward for trusting someone from the Omega Rescue like that, he takes away the weight you carried for years because of John.

“Shh, let it out,” he mumbles softly against your hair, kissing your hairline. You should hate it so much, but you can't bring yourself to hate something so soft and loving. You just can't bring yourself to hate him.

You sit there, wrapped in the strong alpha, for minutes while he doesn't once laugh or mock you. His hands are soothing up and down your back, the soft purr from earlier rumbling through his chest. Your fingers are tangled into his shirt, keeping him as close as possible while you let out all the emotions you didn't even know you held back.

The front door of the building opens, and you flinch, afraid that John called his friends, but instead you hear a happy whistling from there. Your face is still buried in Chris's chest, but you can feel his muscles relaxing — he must have thought the same about John's friends. You listen to the footsteps; they stop close to you, but you don't hear keys or a knock anywhere.

“Chris, whatcha doin’ here?” The man — who must be Lee — asks as he watches the two of you sitting on the ground.

“Nice to see you too, Lee,” Chris says with a hint of amusement in his voice. His fingers keep moving along your back, soothing you further while the purr softly fades. “You should ask her out; she's always excited when your name is mentioned in any conversation.”

Instead of answering Lee's question, Chris only smiles and nods toward the door. Lee hums and nods, knocking at the door. It doesn't take long until you can hear the door open, a surprised gasp leaving the omega's lips, and you can immediately smell her joy, which makes her scent smell like cherries and chocolate cake… or it's the chocolate cake she's baking.

After sitting a few more minutes, Chris tried again to get you to allow him to bring you home, and you agreed. Tired and exhausted from all the emotions and feelings, you let him carry you to his car and drive you to his home. He didn't try to touch you otherwise than just to carry you or buckle the seatbelt. Other than that, he offered his hand for you to hold if you wanted to, and after a while you took it.

So, that's how you find yourself in the entrance of his apartment; your eyes widen as he steps in and waits for you. But you just stare at him, then into the apartment. “D-Do you want me to kneel? T-To undress?”

You're grateful that he didn't bring you to any of these breeding or shelter places, so you can at least show him that you have manners. Manners that were taught by John.

“No, you can just come in. I just ask you to take off your shoes, but other than that, you can keep your clothes on. And kneeling?” He shakes his head once again. “Neither. We are equals.”

Equals. You heard of that, some pairs look like equals outside the house — that’s what John always said. When you watched other Alphas interacting with their omegas outside, they never meant it. They were just playing the role of a nice Alpha, but John always told you they weren't as loving and understanding as he was.

“John said there are no equals between alphas and their omegas,” you mumble quietly, taking off your shoes before standing straight with your hands behind your back, head lowering to face the ground and not be rude.

Chris sighs softly, nodding. He takes a moment to think about how to approach you without making you feel like he's lying or that everything you know from John is not true at all. It isn't, but it wouldn't help you to find out about that after the earlier breakdown.

“I know you learned that. And for John it was what he wanted to believe, what he might have been taught. But there are actually Alphas who treat their omegas as equals. Because that's what we are — equals. I'm not more worthy than you,” he says softly, bringing his hand to your chin to lift your head softly. You look at him with widened eyes, listening to every word he says. “So, I might be stronger, but that’s just to protect you. Not to use it against you, never to use it against you.”

You nod, watching a soft smile spreading on his plump lips. Chris’ blue eyes light up in the most ocean-blue eyes you have ever seen. The color and the shining remind you of the one time years back when John and you went to the beach. It was the rising sun that was brightening in a light yellow, and somehow it made the ocean glisten so blue that you had a new favorite color after that.

“Do you like pizza?” Chris asks after a moment, letting go of your chin and walking a step back to give you some space.

Is that a joke?

John never offered pizza; it’s not good for you. Not even during movie nights, where he stuffed himself full with fast food. You had your salad; he never asked if you wanted the salad or something else — you just got it. And he didn't offer you any of his food either, not even the leftovers; they were a no-go for you.

“Pizza…?” You ask quietly, narrowing your eyes. “For you?”

“And for you.”

“Salad.”

Chris chuckles softly, not mockingly, but you're too cute to not smile. He shakes his head, pointing at you, then at himself. “No, pizza for you and for me. If you like pizza. Otherwise we can get you a burger, fries, or a salad.”

“But I'm not allowed…?” You whisper, tears filling your eyes once more. Is that a stupid test to see if you're good? “D-Did I pass the test? I don't want to go into the cage, p-please.”

Chris's eyes water as he looks at you; he can't help it. The amount of cases with abused omegas he worked on where nothing compares to you. They were abused, they were afraid, and they needed time to trust. But he never met an omega who was so strong and yet so broken. He tries to wipe them away before you can see them, but you already had a glimpse at the tears.

“W-Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” You ask, shivering slightly. Chris shakes his head immediately, almost choking on his tears as they fall down his cheeks. You have never seen an Alpha cry, especially not because of a salad? “D-Do they only have one salad, and you wanted that one? I-I don’t need one then; maybe a-a water then?”

A sob escapes his lips, his eyes are teary, and there are tears leaking down his face without a break. His fingers dig into the hem of his shirt as he feels his heart being ripped out of his chest. It's like someone smashes it on the ground and stomps on it until it's broken in small pieces.

“Y-You didn't do anything, I promise. A-And you c-can have all the salads, water, pizza, and ice cream you want,” he whispers, his voice broken and hoarse as another sob wrecks through his body. You nod, watching him as he doesn't even try to hide his emotions; he's standing in front of you, crying. An alpha stands in front of you and cries.

“C-Can I hug you?” You ask quietly. Something about him being so hurt for whatever reason — it can’t be because of the salad — makes your inner omega want to hold him and comfort him like he did earlier. Chris nods, holding out his strong but shaking arms. “I'm sorry I made you cry.”

Chris shakes his head. You take a step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. And somehow it helps, not just him. You feel him calming down slowly, his arms holding you tightly while he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“You didn't make me cry. I—It's just—” he interrupts himself and pulls his head back to look at you with a soft smile, though the strains of the tears are still visible on his cheeks. Without thinking twice, you lift your hands and wipe them off his cheeks, causing his smile to widen. “I had so many cases with abused omegas before, but it was never an omega so strong and so… hurt like you. Every other omega would have been broken beyond belief, but not you. You're standing here, so full of love, and yet… John took so much away because of his behavior, because of his abuse.”

You listen to his words, letting them sink in. All you ever thought was just a play was the truth. And while you thought that your alpha was a nice one, he was the one who fed you with lies. He made you believe that everyone is worse than he ever could be.

“So… we can both get a salad, and there is no cage?” You ask softly, searching his blue eyes for anything that might give him away. But the only thing it gives away is the understanding, the softness, and the love he shows you.

“Promise!” Chris says, running his finger over your cheeks as well. “You will never be less than an equal. I only ask you for one favor, please: give me the chance to show you that the world has more to offer than what John showed you.”

You nod, feeling still wary, and he knows. But who would he be to judge you? His heart flutters at your nod, and in your eyes he sees the slight excitement of his promise. Maybe you will be able to see more than the darkness you were offered with John as your Alpha — even when unclaimed — for all the years.

“I would like to try a salami pizza, please… or one with—”

“We can get all the pizzas you want. But there will be lava cake as dessert; they have the best.” Chris says, smiling as he leans down to kiss your forehead. The feeling of his lips against your skin makes you giggle softly. A sound he will cherish like it's the laughing of a child — because somehow it’s your smaller self that is finally able to discover not just herself but the bright side of the world, of an Alpha. Your Alpha, someone who chose you when he didn't have to, but he did it. He didn't choose anyone but you as his omega.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @bamitzzsam @feynightlight @ethanhoewke

[hotyanderedaddies]

Spending the Night with Your Yandere Vampire Boyfriend

[Yandere! Vampire x Human! GN Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You've been with your new boyfriend for a few weeks by now, and things were developing really quickly. Much faster than any of your previous relationships.

Your new boyfriend, whom you playfully call Daddy, recently revealed to you that he's a vampire which was a total shock to you.

Well, maybe you should've caught on when he'd only come around at night when the sun was down, you never saw him eat any food, he seemed to avoid garlic at all costs, and he was super pale... and he had vampire fangs.

A total surprise.

Either way, you weren't too scared when Daddy revealed his "secret" to you.

Daddy is perfect boyfriend, honestly.

Daddy knows all of your likes and dislikes, and even loves all of your hobbies. The two of you share the same interests in books, movies, video games-- everything!

And you better since he spent such a long time following you around, studying your every move. Watching. Waiting.

Daddy is a pure gentleman, always treating you with the upmost respect. He virtually worships the ground you walk on, treating you like you're his precious treasure.

Because you are his. All his. And only his.

Daddy really seemed to walk straight out of a daydream, rescuing you from such a dreary life of working retail and attending boring college classes. He really helped to lift you up, especially after so many of your personal relationships seemed to have tapered off once you'd started college.

He only got rid of those who would try to take you away from him. Honest. He did it all for your relationship.

So when the two of you were on one of your dates at Daddy's house, he suggested that you stay the night (well, the morning). He had some sleep aid that he could give you to help you fall asleep during the day; although, dating a vampire was kind of throwing your sleep schedule out of whack.

At first, you were a little nervous since the two of you hadn't done anything past making out, but with one look at the eager face Daddy had, you melted.

"Sure, Daddy," you smiled.

Daddy's smile stretched out his handsome face, and his vampire fangs even poked out.

He grabbed you by the hand, his cool fingers interlocking with yours, as he led you up the stairs to the bedroom. You've never been up to his bedroom since the two of you almost never made it past the couch, so you were a little excited--

The bedroom door swung open and in the middle of the room was the "bed".

"A c-coffin?" you stuttered, your stomach falling to the floor.

"Of course, Darling," Daddy chuckled, dragging you closer to the coffin. "I'm a vampire after all. What did you think I slept in?"

"A bed...?"

"But then how would I keep the sunlight off me?"

...oh.

The coffin seemed to be standard-sized (you've been to one or two funerals, so they weren't completely unfamiliar to you), and it was lined with a clean, white satin that looked incredibly soft to the touch.

But it was a coffin!

And your frantic human brain couldn't help but associate it with death! Hell no, you weren't getting in that thing!

"Um, Daddy?" you mumbled, uncertainty drenching your small voice. "M-maybe we could rush to my apartment to use my bed and I'll put up some curtains?"

Daddy's smile disappeared, quickly being replaced with a deep frown. He narrowed his red eyes in your direction, tightening the grip he had on your hand.

"We won't make it before the sun rises," he growled, his voice deep and curt. "Now, get in our coffin."

When you hesitated, Daddy lost his patience, wrapping both of his steel arms around you. The vampire was much stronger than you are, so he had absolutely no problem forcing you into the tight confines of the small coffin.

Daddy crawled inside right after you, grabbing the lid and slamming it down with a bang. An audible click sounded out, and you were trapped in the dark coffin.

You couldn't see a thing thanks to how dark it was.

The coffin was so compact that you could feel multiple sides-- the back pressed against you and was rather soft, but you could also feel the one of the sides and the top touching you. It was enclosed all around you, trapping you, leaving almost no room for you to even move or wiggle around.

You could barely move.

You could barely breathe.

But there was a cold, hard feature inside the coffin with you, and it snaked both of its large arms around you and roughly yanked you into it.

Daddy buried his nose in your air and moaned loudly as he inhaled your scent.

"Calm down, Darling," he cooed. "Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Your heart raced in your chest and you felt dizzy from your panicked hyperventilating.

"It's okay, my sweet darling," Daddy continued to whisper into your ear, keeping you trapped against him. "I know it's a bit of an adjustment, but it'll be worth it, I promise."

He pressed his cool lips against your forehead.

You tried to squirm away, but he was tight against your front and the side of the coffin was tight against your back.

There was no room to move away.

At all.

You're trapped.

"Get some sleep, Darling," Daddy yawned. "I love you."

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Foxglove Downs Chapter 2: The Rescue

Pairing:Marcus Acacius x Lucius Verus x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Both men pull you in closer. While working with Marcus to rehab one of his horses, you both try to ignore the unspoken feelings between the two of you. Then there’s Lucius, surprising you with his newfound tenderness—rescuing you from a drunken mistake, offering his bed, and showing a side of himself you never expected. Warnings: Love triangle, horse talk, jealousy, pining, alcohol, flirting, smut (unprotected p in v), age gap (Marcus is in his 40’s, Lucius is in his 20’s). Reader is in her 30's, has hair, and has a nickname: Sunny. Words: 4,600

Foxglove Downs Masterlist Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

You’ve taken the same early morning walk down to Foxglove Downs every day for the past three years. You enter the stables greeting each one of your horses, stroking their soft muzzles and whispering affection into their ears. This is your favorite part of the day, feeding and caring for your horses as the world wakes up. The routine is always therapeutic; you love the quiet companionship of your horses. 

It’s midmorning by the time you finish and step outside, stretching your arms above your head and breathing in the fresh air.

A sleek yet unassuming black car pulls up the long driveway before parking next to where you stand. The driver’s side door opens, Marcus steps out, his body silhouetted against the morning light. You swallow as your heart skips a beat.

He looks every inch the seasoned horseman, his broad body clad in a dark green sweater and tan pants making his skin more golden.

“Good morning,” he calls out.

You smile, walking towards him. “Morning. Pretty early for Daisy’s appointment, aren’t you?”

“Wanted to get a session in with Barley this morning. Rome’s only a couple weeks away.” He stops in front of you, his brown eyes looking into yours. The air between you is warm, his broad body shields you from the cool breeze and the bright sun.

“How are you feeling about it?” you ask a little breathless from his proximity. 

The dimple you dream to touch, deepens as Marcus grins and nods. “We’re ready. Barley has been in great shape and jumping beautifully,” he responds proudly, his confidence and proficiency on full display.

“Good to hear,” you reply. "Can’t believe Barley was my first project and now he’s a world champion. It must feel amazing for you, I’m just the breeder and I’m proud.”

“It does, but you helped too, you’re the one who shaped him,” he says, his voice steady and warm. Like he’s carefully choosing each word he says to you. “You should feel very proud.”

“We’ll just call it a team effort,” you reply, waving your hand dismissively as you feel heat creep into your cheeks at his compliment. “Much like Daisy’s rehab.”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “Much like her rehab.”

He’s gorgeous, lit by the morning light shining around him, his skin glows an almost ethereal gold. His deep brown eyes are flecked with bronze, holding a world of emotions and intensity. The silver streaked waves of his hair are gently tousled by the breeze.

The silence settles between you, birds chirp in the distance, horse hooves echo across the pasture as stablehands exercise a few mares. 

You clear your throat feeling the heat of his eyes on you. “I should probably get some calls done,” you say, glancing down at your watch. “Meet you at the first practice ground at 2?”

“It’s a date,” he winks.

You can feel your heart beating against your chest as you turn and walk towards the clubhouse, feeling Marcus watch you the whole time.

—-

Every task seems impossible to accomplish as you wait for the minutes to tick by.

All you can think about are the countless moments you and Marcus have shared over the years. You had first met him when you were nineteen and he was thirty. He showed up after months of speculation he was moving to your town to train under the guidance of your father.

You remember the first time you saw him ride, his tall, thick frame moving in perfect harmony with his horse. He seemed to communicate with it at a level that went beyond mere training. You were in awe of him and his skills, mainly from afar, always far too intimidated by his presence.

As you got older, and were given more responsibilities, your paths crossed more and more frequently. Horse shows, auctions, events, charity galas, you found yourselves drawn to each other. You challenged each other, striving for excellence in all that the two of you did.

There were moments, long glances and lingering touches. Attraction sparking, hinting at a possibility of the two of you becoming something more… but always, one of you would pull back. Unwilling to risk the friendship and partnership that had become so integral to your lives and careers. 

Now, as you look out the window of the clubhouse and watch Marcus round the track on Barley, you think of the almost-kiss yesterday. The way your heart raced at how close he was, the wonder of what would happen if you didn’t step away… would you finally learn just how soft his lips are? You remind yourself that being cautious is better, crossing that line could ruin everything you had worked so hard to build upon the legacy of your parent’s.

—-

After what feels like an eternity, 2 PM finally arrives and you excitedly head towards the stables. You do your best to hide your anticipation for spending time with Marcus as you open Daisy's stall door and let her out.

“Hi girl,” you sweetly whisper as she happily whinnies and tosses her head.

Sensing eyes on you, you turn and see Marcus grinning as he leans against the entryway.

"What?" you ask, self-conscious under his gaze.

He shakes his head, his smile widening. "Nothing. Just admiring your way with her."

You duck your head, trying to hide your bashful smile from the compliment. "She’s a sweet girl.”

“Sweet, but sometimes stubborn.”

“Well, let’s hope she doesn’t mind everything we’re doing today,” you respond, applying Daisy’s halter and grabbing her lead. “Should we get started?”

Marcus nods. “Lead the way.”

You softly click your tongue, guiding Daisy along the path towards the practice ground, feeling Marcus’s eyes on you the whole walk.

—-

An hour of training and care passes by, Daisy responds enthusiastically to you, Marcus, and most of all, your handfuls of hay pellets. Marcus intently listens to your plans for her, nodding thoughtfully as you suggest adjustments to her training regimen.

He seems to be keeping a bit more distance than usual, as if he can't trust himself to be near you and he's also thinking about what might have happened if you hadn't stepped back yesterday.

Daisy gently lays her head on your shoulder as you coo into her hair letting her know she did a good job.

Marcus watches, his expression unreadable as you lead her back into the stable.

“Can’t thank you enough for lending your time to us,” Marcus says, his low voice soft.

“Of course, anything I can do to help,” you reply, warmth spreading through you at his sincerity. “Daisy deserves the best.”

“She does. So—uh,” he clears his throat. “Do you have plans tonight?”

Your heart stutters. “I.. I do. It’s my friend’s birthday party in the city later…”

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of disappointment crosses his features. “Oh? I didn’t know you had plans.”

“Yeah, they keep trying to get me to go out,” you say quickly, trying to deflect the weight of his gaze.

“Sounds fun.” He shifts his weight and looks away for a moment, as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts. “I should… probably head out, I’ve been here almost all day.”

“Right,” you nod. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. Though it seems like your night will be more eventful,” he responds with a soft smile before turning to leave.

As you watch him walk away, your heart sinks a bit more with each step he takes. It's becoming increasingly difficult to maintain the boundaries you've put in place.

—-

Your friends had been relentless in their efforts to finally pry you from the gated sanctuary of Foxglove Downs, and tonight's the night you finally acquiesced. If only they had known how long it’s been since you let loose and danced under flashing lights, feeling the rhythm thumping against your chest.

The club lights dance across your body, the liquor loosens your limbs and inhibitions. The cute guy who has been buying you drinks all night—Charlie? Chance? Chaplin?—runs his hand up your stomach, right below your breasts.

Chaplin's touch sends a shiver down your spine, but it's more unease than excitement. His fingers press into your skin as he pulls you closer, grinding against you to the beat. The room spins around you as blinking neon lights and undulating bodies flash around you.

Through the haze of alcohol and lights, you spot someone familiar across the dance floor—Lucius. His blue eyes lock with yours, widening with concern as he takes in the scene. He weaves through the crowd towards you, never breaking his eye contact.

"Mind if I cut in?" Lucius's voice carves through the music as he places a hand on Chaplin's shoulder.

"Actually, we were just—" Chaplin starts to protest, but Lucius cuts him off.

"I wasn't asking." Lucius's tone is direct, his stare unwavering. After a moment, Chaplin reluctantly releases you, disappearing back into the pulsing mass of dancers with a resentful glare.

Lucius's strong hands find your waist, steadying you as the room continues to tilt. He pulls you close, his body solid against yours.

"Are you okay?” his voice laces with concern as he looks you up and down before pulling you closer.

You let out a laugh, too drunk and overwhelmed to respond.

“I already talked to your friends. Let's get you out of here," he breathes against your ear. He wraps a protective arm around your waist, guiding you off the dance floor towards the exit. You trip over your feet, trying to keep up with him.

“Oh my god! Lucius!” a girl clad in the tightest and shortest pink dress you’ve ever seen fawns as she crowds the two of you. “So nice to see you babe, leaving so soo—”

“Sorry love,” he interrupts. “I’m busy.”

Lucius leads you towards the door, before pivoting to face you, his bright eyes under dark brows furrowed in a serious expression look you over.

"You okay?" he asks softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You offer a smile, loose and hazy under your inebriation, your body swaying as you try to stay upright.

“Come here.” He bends down and scoops you up into his arms and holds you close to his chest. Your head spins, your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

He carries you through the crowded club. You try to drown out the loud music, focusing instead on the beat of his heart against your ear.

The cool night air hits your hot skin as Lucius steps outside, holding you tighter against his chest as you shiver in his arms.

The driver pulls up and opens the car door, allowing Lucius to duck inside, easily maneuvering the both of you into the backseat, holding onto you tightly against his chest. You tuck your head under his chin as he settles into the plush seat.

You feel breathless as he grins towards you. "Come on, let's get you home."

The city lights blur across his handsome face as the two of you sit in silence. The comfort of Lucius and the car’s motion lulls you into a drowsy state. Your eyes flutter open and closed, catching glimpses of tall skyscrapers turning into tree-lined roads, farm fields, and large estates.

"We're here," Lucius whispers softly, waking you from your half-sleep. You blink your eyes open, his blue eyes warm in the dim light of the car. He scoops you closer against him, carrying you up the steps of his large manor.

He carries you as he makes his way through the luxury of his home, up the grand staircase and into his bedroom.

"Let's get you more comfortable," Lucius says, setting you down gently on his large four-poster bed with soft green sheets.

“Thank you,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the way his blue eyes look at you with care.

He nods and smiles before walking to his closet and pulling out a soft cotton shirt. "Here," he offers, "This should work."

You nod, standing on wobbly feet, fumbling with the ties of your dress. Lucius swallows, his eyes watching as you slip open the top before he turns his back, giving you privacy as you change. The smell of him engulfs you when you put his shirt on.

“Done,” you whisper, sobering lightly from your shyness.

He turns, his eyes flickering with an unfamiliar emotion as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt. He helps you get into his bed, pulling back the covers for you. His mattress is soft, your exhaustion quickly catches up to you.

"Good?” he asks, tucking the blankets around you.

“Yes,” you breathe out, your eyes staring into his eyes. His fingers brush your forehead, pushing back a strand of hair.

"Get some rest. I'll be in the room next door if you need anything."

“Thank you,” you whisper.

"Always, Sunny.” He leans in, gently pressing his lips against your forehead.

The last thing you hear before falling asleep is the soft click of the door as he leaves.

—-

The lakeside is lit by bright moonlight. A raucous party echoes in the distance. You’re standing all alone far from the crowd of the party you don’t remember attending, watching the surreal swirls of the water lap at the shore.

“My Lady. Why’d you do that?” a low, growling voice rumbles behind you.

You turn to find a formidable presence under a black hood, a handsome face hidden behind shadows.

“Marcus? What did I do?”

He removes his hood, his features set in disappointment.

“Going to a club, getting too drunk, needing someone to rescue you? Why did you put yourself in that danger?”

He’s so angry.

“Because I wanted to get drunk and have meaningless sex,” you admit, surprising yourself at your bold words.

He takes a step forward. “Meaningless? With whom?”

“With anyone…” you clarify. “With you… I wanted to pretend they were… you”

He steps closer, his heat sending a shiver down your spine. “You think I’d just stand by while someone else gets to… pretend with you?” he asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

You swallow hard. He’s close—so close that his warmth envelops you. You glance up at him, his gaze is intense and scrutinizing. His jaw sits tight with barely restrained desire.

“Marcus,” your voice shakes.

“Sunny,” he breathes against your ear. “Is that what you want? To pretend? Or do you want it to be real?”

“Real,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

The space between you dissolves.

“Then make it real,” he whispers against your lips, his hands finding your waist, fingers splaying wide as he pulls you possessively against his large body.

His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Finally, you taste him, warmth and intensity flooding your senses as you wrap your fingers around the waves of his hair. He responds, his lips pressing harder against yours, his hands roaming down your back, a trail of heat left wherever he touches.

The world around you blurs into a soft haze, distant music and merriment is replaced by a soft hum.

“Sunny,” he says between kisses, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you into his hold, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You bury your face in his neck, your hands grip his cloak as his cock pokes against your entrance, your body shivering in his hold though you have all of his heat radiating against you.

“Tell me you want this,” he groans against your skin.

“I want this, Marcus,” you moan, your whole body aching to feel him. “I want you.”

He growls an approving noise as he shifts you in his grip, moving your both toward the edge of the lake, lowering you gently onto the grass.

His large hands find the delicate laces of your dress, tugging each one open, his fingers brushing against your skin as he works meticulously to undress you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs softly, the moonlight lighting his eyes golden as they rake over your body.

He sheds his cloak, your breath catches in your throat as his naked body is revealed to you. You’ve waited so long to see him like this and he’s just as perfect as you imagined. He’s big, so damn big and formidable. Broad, yet toned. Soft, yet powerful. Strong arms, defined chest, and thick thighs.

You gasp as his hands travel up your thighs, his calloused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Spread for me beautiful.”

You obey, exposing your wet cunt to him.

“Oh Sunny,” he groans. “You’re so wet for me.”

His thumb slides through your folds, circling your clit as his other hand grips his cock, stroking himself as he moves closer to where you need him the most.

“Marcus,” you moan, his name catching in your throat as he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“I want to make this real with you,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to claim you as mine.”

“Please,” you plead, your voice trembling.

He captures your lips again, his hands positioning themselves on either side of you, shielding you from the outside world.

He pushes into you with a singular thrust, sheathing himself in your heat. You gasp as he fills you.

“Sunny,” he groans against your mouth, his brows furrowing with effort as he stares into your eyes.

Your hips move to meet his as the world disappears, only leaving Marcus Acacius and the way he feels inside you.

“Look at me,” he commands softly. Your eyes meet his, all the warmth and longing you’ve wished for now revealed to you in his dark brown eyes.

He groans over a long, drawn-out hum as he draws out each thrust into you. He shifts, his cock pressing into the place you need to feel him the most.

You cry out, your moans echoing across the lake. You don’t care who hears you. He kisses your lips between grunts, the hum getting louder, now an insistent vibration as warmth floods through your skin.

You’re hot, Marcus’s body presses against you like a warm blanket. The hum grows even louder, you shift slightly, trying to focus on the heat and weight of Marcus’s body against yours, his cock pulling out an orgasm, you open your mouth to shout his name—until—you awaken.

Your heart races as you blink against the sunlight filtering through the curtains of the unfamiliar room. Then, you remember the events of last night. You’re in Lucius’s bed. The bed he left you alone in last night—the bed you just had a wet dream about his biggest rival in. You push the weight of his comforter off of your body, drenched in sweat, your thighs pushed together soaked in sweat and your orgasm.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself. Gratitude for the comfortable bed and safe space whirls with embarrassment in your head, already aching from a hangover. You pick up your phone, turning off your alarm.

A glass of water and two aspirin are laid on the bedside table along with a pair of shorts. You guzzle down the water and take the pills before getting out of bed.

Last night you were far too drunk to admire the surprising comfort of Lucius’s room. It doesn’t look like the flashy womanizer bedroom you’d expect him to have. No, this room is more refined and well-put together… understated and luxurious. Deep mahogany paneled walls adorned with paintings of equestrian scenes. A large dresser holds a couple trophies, a framed photo of him and his parents along with a small frame of him as a child and a smiling border collie. A large window frames the picturesque view of the sprawling garden outside. Next to it, a single chair and a table holding a stack of books. The book on top catches your eye: The Tao of Equus. You smile to yourself, surprised by his choice of reading material.

You pad across the plush rug and put on the shorts Lucius left you. Ah, a pair of Lucius Verus’s famous running shorts. Short as heck and much looser around your thighs than his.

Opening the bedroom door, you peek out, hearing Lucius’s voice float up from downstairs.

You shyly head down the sweeping staircase, squinting your eyes as you walk into his large, sun-drenched kitchen.

Lucius is there, leaning against a marble countertop, chatting with a man. They both turn as you enter, Lucius's face breaking into a wide smile.

"Good morning," he says. "How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” you softly respond. “Thank you.” “I hope you're hungry.” Lucius says as he pours you a cup of tea. “I don’t know what you like for breakfast, but I had Eugene make quite a spread.”

You settle onto a stool at the kitchen island, watching as Eugene sets a large plate filled with delicious looking food in front of you.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble,” you say, feeling a bit guilty seeing as only a few minutes ago you were grinding and sweating against his sheets dreaming of Marcus.

Lucius waves away your protests, sliding onto the stool next to you. "Nonsense, it's nice to have company for a change. Usually, it's just me and Eugene here in the mornings."

“What about your hookups?” you tease, taking a sip of your tea.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning back, his blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t make a habit of letting them spend the night, especially in my bed.”

Your cheeks heat as you gently clear your throat. “Thanks… again for everything last night. I don’t tend to get like… that… I just wanted to have a night out.”

Lucius's expression softens as he watches you shyly pick at your food. "No need to explain. We all need to let loose sometimes… next time just call me. I’ll show you a good time,” he winks.

“You never stop,” you say, gently bumping your shoulder into his.

“Not when it comes to you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Gone is the polished playboy from the club scene. Here, in his home, he's casual—and comfortable.

—

“I should get out of your hair,” you say, pushing your empty plate away. “I can order myself a cab," you offer.

“No you absolutely will not, I have to head to the grounds to train after breakfast, I’ll drop you off at the house.”

“If you insist.” “I do,” he says. “You can even pick the music, I never let anybody choose the music.”

You giggle as you finish your tea. “I’ll just head upstairs and change back into my dress.”

"Ah, well, I did enjoy you in those shorts, but I won’t say no to seeing you in that dress again,” he says with a wink.

You rise from the stool and make your way through Lucius’s beautiful home, sun spills in through tall windows, plants of all different types sit in beautiful ceramic pots, modern furniture is placed amongst priceless antiques, shelves filled with books line a wall. This is a whole new side to Lucius, domestic and quiet, not brash and womanizing.

Back in his room, you slip back into your dress, gently folding and placing the clothes he lended you back onto his bed… the same bed that you dreamed of Marcus in.

With a deep breath, you open the door and make your way back downstairs. Lucius stops in his tracks when he sees you, his blue eyes widening as they roam your body.

“I forgot how good you look in that,” he says.

“Oh stop,” you roll your eyes, putting your heels back on.

“Are you ready to go? It's pretty chilly outside. Here, take my jacket. You'll look much better in it than I do, anyway.” He reaches for his light blue denim jacket and holds it out for you to put on. The faint scent of his cologne is back, cedar and citrus, it makes you smile, the smell of youth and strength.

He makes you feel at ease, even when your mind continues to race with thoughts of Marcus.

He looks you up and down, a slight smirk lifting his lips, his eyes lit with adoration. “Much better. Let’s get you home.”

Lucius opens the door for you, leading you to a large terrace, bundles of jasmine and peonies overflow out of large pots border the stairs down to a large fountain where birds chirp and happily bathe themselves.

“Oh my god, Lucius, it’s gorgeous here.”

“My mom was a gardener, I guess I got her green thumb,” he shrugs as he places his hand against your back leading you down the steps to a sleek green Porsche and opens the passenger door for you. The leather is soft against your skin as you slide in.

He gets in, sending you a wink as the engine roars to life.

“Nice car,” you say, rubbing your hand across the smooth interior.

“She’s my pride and joy,” he says, pulling out onto the winding road towards Foxglove Downs. “Always wanted one.”

“I’m sure you get all the girls in this thing, right?” you joke.

“Wouldn’t know, I just don’t let anyone in here.”

You swallow at the implication of his words again.

The short drive to the stables is quiet, save for Lucius softly humming along to the songs on the car stereo. Your mind is anything but quiet though… the way Lucius looks at you—like you’re the only one that matters in the moment—the way he saved you last night, acting with nothing but respect for you. The way he cared for you this morning, the gentle ways he took care of you… and yet, you still think of Marcus—and the dream you had.

“Do you have any plans today?” Lucius asks, interrupting your reverie.

“Not really, that’s why I was out last night,” you respond with a nervous chuckle.

“I’m glad I was there for you Sunny.”

“I am too.”

—-

As the car comes to a stop in your driveway, Lucius jumps out and rushes to open your door before you have a chance to do it yourself.

You step out, feeling how impossibly close he is to you, his lips parted as his eyes lit by the late morning sun gaze into yours. You sigh as he leans in to kiss you. But, instead of meeting your lips, you turn your head, he leaves a gentle kiss against your cheek.

As he pulls away, his eyes search yours.

"I should get going," Lucius says softly, his breath warm against your cheek. “Already running late.”

“Thank you again… for everything,” you say before he turns and gets back into his car.

“Of course Sunny,” Lucius smiles, giving you one last lingering look before he pulls away, heading down the path towards the stables.

You find yourself looking over the edge of the hill down towards the stables. Your eyes scan the grounds suddenly stopping onto Marcus standing in the gravel parking lot below. He’s paused, his bag gripped in his hand as he stares right back up at you. Even from here, you can see the intensity in his eyes, the confusion over why you’re in such a short dress in the middle of the morning wearing Lucius’s jacket. You wonder what exactly he saw.

—-

Thank you for reading! Tagging those who asked and some friends! Let me know if you'd like to be removed.

@ohheypedrito, @schnarfer, @magpiepills, @sawymredfox, @devineconjuring

@mothandpidgeon, @hellfire-state-of-mind, @darkheartgatita, @umnitsa, @christinamadsen

@pedrit0-pascalit0, @ace-turned-confused, @itwasntimethatdidit40, @lotusbxtch, @almostfoxglove

[latanyalove]

Red Haired Shanks - When he is in love with you

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 

When he is in love with you, Shanks would be very devoted and attentive.

He would shower you with compliments, gifts, and be very supportive of your endeavors.

He would make sure to make time for you and would always be there for you when needed.

He would be very understanding and patient and would make sure that you felt loved and appreciated.

You had been living with Curly Dadan and the others for a while now and were content with the life you had created for yourself in the forest. You enjoyed the peace and quiet in the woods and the freedom to do what you wanted.

You were happy to have made friends with the other people living in the forest and were slowly getting to know everyone better.

It was during this time that you first met Red Haired Shanks. He was a mysterious figure who had recently come to the forest and he quickly caught your attention with his friendly and kind demeanor.

Every couple of evenings, Shanks would come into the forest to talk to you and you only. He would bring stories and news from the outside world, as well as gifts for you.

He would often stay until the sun set, and sometimes even longer, but he would always make sure to leave before it got too dark.

You found yourself looking forward to his visits and enjoying the conversations you had with him.

Though these days, Shanks had become more flirty, often teasing you and making suggestive comments.

He would always make sure to keep these comments light and fun, but you couldn't help but blush when he made them.

"What's wrong, love? Don't tell me you can't handle a little bit of teasing from me?" he would say with a smirk.

Just then, the infamous youngsters, Luffy, Ace and Sabo had come to your rescue and started telling Shanks off.

"Hey! Leave my older sister alone, Shanks!" Luffy would yell. "Don't you have any respect for women?" Ace would add. "You should be ashamed of yourself," Sabo would chime in.

Shanks would just smile and laugh, raising his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I was just kidding around," he would say.

Despite the scolding, Shanks would still be happy that the trio was looking out for you.

The trio quickly dragged you away from Shanks with worry in their eyes. "Are you okay, sis? You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to," Luffy said.

"We won't let him bother you again," Ace added.

"Yeah, you don't have to be afraid of him," Sabo reassured.

You tried to reassure the trio that you were okay and that Shanks wasn't bothering you, but they still lead you away from him. You couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed, but also grateful that they were looking out for you.

You looked back to see Shanks having a smirk on his face before bowing slowly and walking away.

He gave you a wink and said, "See you around, love."

You couldn't help but smile and blush a little bit as he left. The trio just watched in disbelief as Shanks walked away. . . .

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆