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chaoticwriting · 1 day ago

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YOU ARE MARRIED 4!!??

Part 3

Clockwork: Welcome back, my boy. How does the mission go?

Danny: I'm going to assume you ask that purely out of courtesy but it is going fine. I capture Vlad and only experience some minor inconveniences.

Clockwork: Hmmm, minor inconveniences for now it is.

Danny: I'm sorry what?

Clockwork: Nothing. Anyway, you should get ready to go pick up Ellie. Also take this.

Clockwork throws a bag full of things on to Danny as he clumsily catches it.

Danny: Oh no, you are not just brushing it off. Tell me wha- AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

A green portal opens below Danny as he falls into it, leaving behind an unconscious Vlad on the floor and Clockwork standing there looking solemnly at the closing green portal.

Clockwork: I hope you will be able to face your future challenges well my boy.

-Gotham-

Batman is seriously not having a good night tonight. He just finished Riddler's riddles when he gets news that Black Mask and Bane are currently engaging in a shootout in the harbor.

It's bad enough that there are 3 rogues that are out tonight, his daughter is also not talking to him since he forced her to go on patrol tonight since she has been benched for far too long.

It's not that he doesn't understand her but he seriously needs help with both Red Robin and him injured, Red Hood is dealing with something in his territory and Nightwing is out of town. Only Spoiler, Black Bat and Robin are available since they are not supposed to patrol tonight.

When they arrive at the scene though, all they see is knocked out Black Mask and Bane, alongside a line of goons that are sitting on the ground with head hanging low like they are ashamed of something.

Upon closer inspection, they see a man standing in front of the line of goons, lecturing them about gun safety and how irresponsible they are for shooting and disturbing the night.

Batman has been doing this vigilante work for a long time and this still can easily be ranked in the top 10 of the wildest things he has seen.

But he is Batman. So he will adapt to the situation. Slowly approaching the man, he is startled and stunned when the man turns around and starts to lecture him about fighting while injured and the importance of rest.

He is about to refute the man when a black shadow passes by him and pushes towards the man. He sees the man equally startled at first and finally intercepts the fast shadow with a hug.

Everyone falls into awkward silence as everyone from the goons and the Batfamily watch as the man and Black Bat hug each other for a long time.

Batman: Ehem!

Batman's fake cough catches the attention of the two hugging figures as they separate with a clear (green?) blush on the man's face. The man turns towards the goons and urges them to go back home and thinks about what he says.

Normally, Batman would have stopped him to capture all the goons but right now, there is a lot more important matter at hand. Batman watches as the goons pick up their belongings and scramble away to what he assumes to be their home.

Batman: Are you Daniel Fenton?

Danny: Yes and I assume you are Batman.

Batman: *Grunts*

Danny: I'll take that as a yes.

Batman: What are you doing here?

Danny: I have come to pick up my daughter. Unfortunately, my luck isn't that good. I got caught up in the shootout between these two guys and their minions and decided to stop it.

Danny says as he points towards the unconscious Bane and Black Mask laying on the ground. Spoiler and Robin approach them and check their condition. After confirming they are just unconscious, they tie the two unconscious men and contact Jim to come collect the rogues.

While Batman is supervising their work, he could hear the subtle flirting happening between Danny and his daughter. He usually is very good at handling his emotions but right now, he really doesn't know how he is supposed to feel.

Batman: Let's go back first. We will continue this conversation later.

Batman then returns to the Batmobile to see only Spoiler, Red Robin and Robin following him. He stares at Spoiler as she replies with a shrugs.

Black Bat: I will show Danny the way.

Batman releases another sigh. As the Batmobile engine booms through the streets, a silent invisible car follows it from behind.

When they arrive at the Batcave, it is quite a surprise when a car suddenly appears right beside them. Its sleek black with neon green gives it a weird retro style design.

Exiting it are an unmasked Black Bat that is blushing a little and Danny that is grinning widely. Bruce can feel his eyebrows twitching when he sees the scene. He controls his impulse to go beat up Danny and calls Alfred to inform him of their guest.

They sit together in silence as all of them think of what they question they are gonna ask him when the elevator lets out a ding and comes out Alfred.

Danny turns towards the elevator and is surprised to see a familiar face.

Danny: Mr. Pennyworth. How are you doing?

Alfred: I am good, Mr. Daniel. How are you doing? Still traveling I assume.

Danny: I am also good. Hahaha. I try to do less traveling now that I have a family but you know how it is. I don't find problems, problems find me.

Stephanie: Wait, you two knew each other.

Alfred: Why yes. We go way back with him sometimes helping me and me sometimes helping him.

Danny: Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you said you want to retire from fighting.

Alfred: A lot has happened since we last saw each other. I for one become the butler of this family.

Danny: A butler? Well you do make a good tea. Wait, you mean this family. As in all of you guys are one family?

Alfred: Oh, Miss Cassandra didn't tell you? I would have assumed you know.

Danny: You know I wouldn't pressure her to tell me if she isn't comfortable about it. After all, each of us has a secret of our own, right?

To that statement, both of them just let out a little knowing smile. The rest of them are pretty stunt at the revelation that both Danny and Alfred know each other.

Stephanie: Wait, Danny. How old are you?

Danny: I am 21. Why?

Stephanie: Then how did you know Alfred? Both of you have like half a decade of age difference.

Danny: Oh! I can time travel.

Tim: *While getting his hand bandaged by Alfred* You can time travel?

Danny: Well, not me. I know someone that can send me traveling through time.

Stephanie: So when Alfred said you are traveling, he means traveling through time.

Danny: Well, that and dimension too.

Tim: And why did you travel to these places?

Danny: Many reasons. Visiting someone, delivering items, and even capturing prisoners.

Tim: So you are a servant of someone?

Danny: Servant in a sense your parents ask you to do something. Sure, I could avoid him and just run away. But last time I did that, he made me write a 1000 word apology essay in an ancient language.

Bruce: Is it Clockwork the one you are talking about?

Danny: Oh you heard of him? Yeah. He is like my mentor/parental figure. He helps me train my power and solve my problems and such.

Suddenly, a little figure pounces on Danny as he easily intercepts it and spins the little figure.

Ellie: Hi Papa!

Danny: Hello, honey. What are you doing still not sleeping?

Ellie: I was waiting for Mama to return from work.

Danny: I see. But it is quite late isn't it. We should take you to bed now.

Cass: Ellie, I thought I already put you to bed before I went out.

Ellie: I woke up when you were getting out of bed. I wanted to follow you but Alfred doesn't allow me to.

Cass looks at Alfred apologetically. It seems that her daughter is more perceptive than she thought.

Alfred: I do believe that this conversation can also be postponed to the next morning. I would rather that all of you have enough energy to deal with your day tomorrow too.

Bruce & Tim: *Groan*

Stephanie: Can I have a cookie before going to bed?

Ellie: Oh, I want it too!

Cass: You shouldn't eat sweets before going to bed, sweetheart.

Ellie: But Aunt Steph is also getting a cookie.

Cass: Don't follow your aunt Steph. You don't want to have your teeth all fall off right?

Ellie: *Covering her mouth* No!

Alfred: I also agree with Miss Cassandra. It is a little too late to have a midnight snack. Master Damian is also tired from how he is holding himself.

Everyone turns towards the oddly silent Damian and sees that Damian is leaning against the wall as his head bops up and down dozing off to sleep. Bruce goes to pick up Damian that snuggles closer into Bruce's shoulder as he is being carried up to his room.

Under Alfred's insistence, everyone returns to their bedroom that night.

#danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #batfam #dc x dp #danny x cass #dead silent #cassandra cain #cass x danny #Can you see that I kind of doesn't know how to end this one?#The ending is kind of awkward because I want to write longer but I am in class right now

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 1 day ago

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.°⋆🖇₊˚ෆ synopsis: you’ve been visiting doctor nanami regularly under the pretense of needing treatment, but your lingering presence in his office starts to shift into something more. as flirtation deepens into real connection, nanami struggles to keep his distance, even though he can’t deny the pull he feels toward you.

₊˚ෆ teddy’s notes: GUYSSS ITS FINALLY HEREE!!! ive been working on this for a while now, thus is a love letter to nanami from me because ugh he is a dream. its just that ive been practicing in hospitals a lot and there was not enough beautiful male doctors so ive been daydreaming about doctor nanami and started writing it about 2 months ago. it took a long time because i was having a hard time writing, honestly. anyways! enjoyyy <33

₊˚ෆ contains: 4697 words, doctor! nanami, gender neutral reader, minor descriptions of injuries, a lot of nanami’s thoughts and internal conflicts, and maybe slow burn-ish? dunno, its just a silly one shot. artist credited in the banner!!

the hospital was quieter than usual. the hum of fluorescent lights above, the distant chatter of the staff—everything seemed muted as nanami kento walked down the sterile corridor. he had long learned to appreciate the calm of late-night shifts. in his world, filled with chaos and unpredictability, the silence was a reprieve.

when he walked into the examination room, clipboard in hand, he didn’t expect anything unusual. it was supposed to be just another routine visit, another night spent stitching up cuts or treating minor injuries. he hadn’t expected to be confronted with you.

you were sitting on the examination table, your hand bandaged up, looking like you had a thousand other places you’d rather be. nanami’s eyes immediately flicked to the injury. a small, superficial cut. barely worth a second glance. but there was something about you—something that felt out of place in the typical ebb and flow of hospital life.

when your eyes met his, nanami didn’t know why he lingered on your face. there was a softness in your gaze, an energy that seemed to pull him in. it wasn’t just the usual patient—uninjured, pretending to be hurt. no, you were different. he could see it in the way you carried yourself, in the subtle way your lips curved upward when he spoke.

“i understand you’ve injured yourself?” he asked, his voice steady and professional, but there was an edge to it. he was trying to suppress whatever curiosity had sparked in him the moment he laid eyes on you.

you didn’t seem fazed by the sterile setting, or his no-nonsense demeanor. instead, you smiled faintly, a little sheepish as you held out your hand, showing him the tiny cut that barely needed attention.

“it’s nothing, really. just a scrape,” you said, and he raised an eyebrow, assessing the injury once more. it was minor—nothing to worry about—but your insistence made it seem like something else was going on.

“hmm.” he bent closer, his fingers brushing against your hand as he cleaned the wound with a swift and practiced motion. his eyes flickered over the bandage, then met yours again. “it’s not serious. but we’ll clean it up anyway.”

he didn’t expect it to happen, but he felt a small ripple of something within him as he worked. it wasn’t just the touch, though that was part of it. it was something in the way you were watching him, your gaze unwavering, full of quiet intensity. he almost forgot for a moment why he was here. he could hear your breath, slow and steady, almost like the air around you had shifted.

when he finished, he didn’t say much—just the usual instructions, the reminder to keep it clean, change the bandage. but there was something in the air between the two of you that lingered after he stepped back.

you were still looking at him, a faint smile on your lips, like there was something unspoken. something that made his heart skip just a little.

“thanks.” you said, your voice soft. too soft.

nanami couldn’t explain it, but as you spoke those words, he couldn’t help the thought that had started to form in his mind: why did you feel familiar? it was a strange thought, one he quickly dismissed.

before he could say anything, you were gone, slipping out of the room without another word, leaving nanami to stare after you. there was a lingering feeling, something unidentifiable, that stayed with him long after you had left the room.

—

he’d spent the last few years working here, and by now, he was used to the quiet rhythm of night shifts. routine was something he had long ago embraced, finding comfort in the predictable flow of patients and paperwork. but then came you—the one anomaly in his perfectly balanced life.

the first time you returned, nanami had thought little of it. patients came and went, most of them with complaints so trivial that it barely warranted attention. but when you stepped through the door again, with that same half-apologetic smile, that same determined gleam in your eyes, something in him shifted. he wasn’t sure what it was yet, but there was a curiosity brewing inside him that he couldn’t shake.

“back again, i see,” he said, his voice low, controlled. he glanced at the bandage on your hand from the previous week. the sight of it reminded him of how gentle he had been with you—how soft his touch had felt compared to the usual brusque motions he used with patients.

this time, you were a little more direct. “well, you know me,” you said, holding your arm out like it was offering up some tragic tale. “i can’t seem to keep my balance lately. bumped into the corner of a table.” you made a show of wincing as though it was a severe injury, but the way your eyes gleamed suggested otherwise.

nanami raised an eyebrow. another injury? he couldn’t help but feel a small, skeptical tug in his chest. but, as always, he hid it behind the professionalism he was known for. his gaze dropped to your arm, and as his fingers gently pressed against the bruise, he felt the subtle tension that always seemed to be there when you were around. it wasn’t just the touch—though that was certainly part of it. it was the way you looked at him. your eyes always lingered just a little longer than necessary, and nanami couldn’t ignore how it made his heart flutter.

he adjusted his glasses, his fingers still lightly brushing over the bruise. “it’s minor,” he said, his voice a little less dismissive than usual. “you’re fine. just take it easy for a couple of days.”

you were clearly enjoying the attention, despite the trivial nature of the injury. “i suppose i’ll just have to rest,” you said, a playful lilt in your voice. “though, i don’t know how i’m going to manage without your expert care.”

the compliment wasn’t lost on him. it wasn’t that nanami couldn’t handle the flirtation—it was that it made him feel something he wasn’t used to. something soft. he let out a quiet sigh and gave you a side glance. “you’re impossible.”

but the words didn’t have their usual bite. instead, there was a trace of amusement in his tone, an unexpected crack in his professional armor. and you noticed it. of course, you did.

—

the next week, you were back again. this time, with a slightly more elaborate tale about twisting your ankle while jogging. he didn’t even bother asking if it was true—he already knew. it was another excuse. another reason for you to seek him out.

but, as usual, nanami couldn’t bring himself to push you away. he couldn’t explain it. there was something magnetic about you—something that kept drawing him in no matter how many times you made up some new injury. maybe it was the way you looked at him when you walked into the room, like you were waiting for him to see through the act. maybe it was how you teased him so effortlessly, as though you knew exactly what buttons to push to get under his skin.

this time, you’d pulled a muscle in your leg. the bruise on your ankle wasn’t as bad as you claimed, but you made sure to exaggerate the tenderness as you sat down on the exam table.

“do you need help getting up?” nanami asked, though he had already seen you walk in with ease, so he knew it wasn’t as bad as you made it sound.

you tilted your head, your smile a little more mischievous. “only if you’ll carry me.”

nanami blinked, the words catching him off guard. but he couldn’t hide the slight shift in his expression—just a subtle tightening around his jaw, an almost imperceptible flush in his cheeks.

you were relentless, weren’t you?

he cleared his throat. “i’m not in the habit of carrying patients,” he said, though even to his own ears, his voice lacked the usual firmness.

“i bet you’d make an exception for me,” you replied, your smile only deepening as you leaned back, clearly enjoying the effect your words had on him. there was a glint of something playful—and yet, something deeper—in your gaze.

for a moment, nanami didn’t know how to respond. he wasn’t accustomed to this. you weren’t just another flirtatious patient; you were different. you’d burrowed your way into his thoughts, disrupted his routine in a way he couldn’t explain.

with a soft sigh, nanami knelt in front of you, his hands firm but gentle as he took your ankle in his grip. you met his gaze directly, not backing down. and why should you?

he started to work, massaging the muscle in your leg, his movements slow and methodical. but even as his hands worked, a part of him was aware of the connection that had formed between the two of you. it wasn’t just the act of caring for you—it was something deeper. something unspoken, but there, just under the surface.

“i’m not going to keep letting you get away with this,” he muttered under his breath. but you heard it, of course, and it made you smile.

“you’re not supposed to keep me out of here,” you said teasingly, leaning back slightly, still watching him with that knowing look. “i think you secretly enjoy our time together.”

nanami stopped for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, something flickering between you. he let out a quiet breath, resisting the pull you had on him. “you’re a handful,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice now, something he hadn’t intended to let slip.

—

over the weeks, it became harder to ignore the tension that had grown between you two. nanami’s professional mask remained intact most of the time, but he couldn’t help but let it slip more often when you were around. your teasing had evolved into something deeper—flirtation wrapped in softness, words said with intention. you began to linger a little longer after your so-called “injuries” had been treated, finding ways to stay near him, just to be in the same space.

one evening, as he was finishing up his shift, nanami found himself unexpectedly drawn to your presence in a way that he hadn’t anticipated. you were sitting in his office, your legs crossed, looking completely at ease as though you belonged there.

“you’re here again,” he said, though there was no surprise in his voice anymore. he had come to expect it.

you glanced up from your phone, meeting his gaze with that easy smile that never failed to catch him off guard. “can’t stay away from you.”

he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, a sound that surprised even him. you really are impossible, he thought. but damn if you don’t make things interesting.

you didn’t say anything else, but your presence was enough. the room felt charged, like something was hanging in the air between you both. nanami shifted slightly, adjusting his glasses. he wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion from his shift or the way you made him feel, but tonight, he felt something he hadn’t before—a pull toward you that he couldn’t deny.

when you stood to leave, you reached out, placing your hand on his arm just for a moment. the touch was light, but it sent a ripple through him. his breath caught in his throat as he glanced at you. your face was serious, no longer playful.

“i’ll be back next week,” you said, your voice steady, almost as if it was a promise.

before he could respond, you were gone.

—

the days between your visits had always felt like routine to nanami—filled with the usual responsibilities, patients, paperwork, and the monotony of hospital life. but ever since you’d entered his world, there was a subtle shift in his thoughts. your presence had become a part of his daily rhythm, even when you weren’t physically there.

he found himself wondering, during his quiet moments between patients, about your smile, the way you always seemed to know how to tease him just right, how you made him feel something he hadn’t experienced in a long time: disarmed. even now, in the midst of yet another late-night shift, he couldn’t stop thinking about the touch of your hand on his arm—the warmth of it lingering long after you’d left.

and that was when he realized something. he didn’t want you to stop coming. there, he’d said it to himself, even if he wasn’t willing to say it out loud just yet.

—

nanami was still processing his thoughts from the last time you’d left, still unsure of how much of it was just you—and how much was his own reaction to you. but when he saw you walk through the door the next week, with a familiar glint in your eye and that same teasing smile, he knew exactly what was happening.

you didn’t waste time this time—there was no exaggerated tale of injury. instead, you came straight to the point, your eyes mischievous as you stood before him. “i didn’t want to be too dramatic today, but…”

nanami glanced up from his paperwork, his brows furrowing slightly. “but?”

you didn’t say anything for a moment. instead, you stepped closer, placing your hand on his desk—just close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin. “i was hoping you might have time for me,” you said softly, voice quiet and seductive, a slight catch to it as if you weren’t entirely sure of his response. it was almost vulnerable in a way that took him by surprise.

for a heartbeat, nanami couldn’t say anything. his heart pounded in his chest as you stood there, so close to him that he could smell the soft fragrance of your perfume, feel the heat coming off your skin. he knew you weren’t here for an injury this time—not really. you had found your way back to him in a way that felt almost too intimate.

he cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses nervously. “i’m not sure what you expect from me, but if you’re here for another injury…”

you shook your head, a teasing smile spreading across your face. “no injuries today, dr. nanami. just… a little company.”

the quiet weight of your words hung between you two. you were persistent, and while nanami had originally assumed it was some harmless flirtation, something had shifted. he couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing you, spending time with you, had become something he secretly looked forward to.

he sighed, leaning back in his chair, and studied you for a long moment. he couldn’t quite put into words the feeling he had when you were around. maybe it was the way you made him feel seen, or the way you slowly peeled away his layers with every encounter. whatever it was, nanami knew he was walking a dangerous line, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“alright,” he said, voice low and resigned, but there was a soft undercurrent to it. “i’ll make time for you, then.”

you smiled, that playful glint in your eyes flickering with satisfaction. “thank you, kento,” you whispered, the softness in your voice almost like a secret only the two of you shared.

—

over the following weeks, the line between patient and something more blurred further. the flirtation, once lighthearted and innocent, had evolved into something more serious, something more significant. you found reasons to spend time with nanami not just for medical attention but for the connection between the two of you that had been quietly simmering under the surface.

sometimes, you’d linger in his office after your injuries had been treated, talking about your day, your life, or just sharing a quiet moment together. the conversations started to stretch longer, more intimate, and nanami noticed that he began to enjoy the sound of your voice. he began to learn little things about you—things that made his heart stir. your laugh, the way you crinkled your nose when something amused you, the soft hum you made when you were thinking.

he learned that you were always too hard on yourself, that you’d been through a lot in your life, but never let it show. he noticed the vulnerability in the way you’d look at him sometimes, as though you were waiting for him to notice. and for once, nanami didn’t feel the need to maintain his distance. he didn’t want to push you away.

but every time you flirted with him, he remained cautiously reserved, not quite allowing himself to fully lean into it. there was always a part of him that held back—the part that reminded him this wasn’t a good idea. he wasn’t supposed to fall for patients. but damn it, you made it impossible not to.

one evening, you came in as usual, this time with a strained smile on your face. “no injuries today,” you said, as though that was a small victory. “i just wanted to talk. if you have the time, of course.”

nanami glanced up from the paperwork he was working on. for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel frustrated by the interruption. he felt… relieved, even. you weren’t here for an injury. you were just here to be with him.

“of course,” he said quietly, setting his papers aside. his gaze softened as he met your eyes. this is what i’ve been waiting for, he realized—this unspoken connection, these moments where it wasn’t about injuries or excuses. it was about the two of you.

you took a seat in the chair across from him, your gaze unwavering as you leaned forward slightly, the intensity in your eyes making his pulse quicken. “you know, i’ve been thinking about something.”

nanami raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “what about?”

your lips curved into a small, secretive smile, and you didn’t immediately answer. instead, you simply reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

“you’re always so serious, nanami,” you said softly, the tenderness in your voice disarming him. “i think you should smile more.”

the simplicity of your words struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. he didn’t know why, but hearing you say that made something inside him shift. the tension he’d been carrying for weeks—the anxiety about getting too close to you—began to loosen.

nanami didn’t know how to respond at first. he was always so reserved, so careful about everything, but when he met your eyes again, there was an openness there that hadn’t been there before. he allowed himself a small smile, just for you.

“i’ll try,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

you leaned forward a little, your eyes bright. “good. because i’d like to see it more often.”

and with that, nanami realized the truth. he wanted to see more of you, too. more than just a patient. more than just the soft teasing and gentle flirtation. he wanted something real, something that neither of you had admitted yet, but that was undeniably there.

—

the surgery had been long and exhausting—hours spent under harsh, fluorescent lights, his focus sharp as he assisted the lead surgeon with meticulous care. it was the kind of work nanami was used to—demanding, grueling, but also strangely satisfying in its precision. his hands ached, his body was stiff, and his mind begged for rest as he made his way back to his office in the quiet hours of the night.

he wasn’t expecting much. just the usual—silence, paperwork he didn’t want to deal with, and perhaps, if he were lucky, a cup of tea from the breakroom. what he wasn’t expecting was you.

at first, he didn’t notice you. his office was dimly lit, the desk lamp casting soft shadows across the room. he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, loosening his tie. his mind was already moving ahead—thinking of the report he needed to finish and the notes he had to add to the patient’s chart.

then he heard it: the soft, steady sound of breathing. his movements stilled. slowly, he turned toward the examination table, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. and there you were, lying curled up on the table, your chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm, your head resting on your folded arms.

for a moment, nanami simply stood there, frozen in the doorway. his heart gave a strange, unfamiliar lurch in his chest, an ache spreading through him that he couldn’t quite name.

you waited for me.

the thought startled him. he wasn’t sure if it was disbelief or something deeper, something warmer, that coursed through him at the realization. he knew you were bold—your shameless flirting over the past few weeks had proven that—but this? waiting for him after hours, in his office, without even an excuse of an injury to justify your presence? it was reckless, but also… endearing.

his steps were quiet as he approached you, his gaze softening despite himself. you looked so peaceful in sleep, the sharpness of your wit replaced by a vulnerability he wasn’t used to seeing. his fingers twitched at his side, tempted to brush away the strand of hair that had fallen across your face. he resisted, though the thought lingered.

he stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. his rational mind told him to wake you gently, to send you on your way, to maintain the boundaries he’d worked so hard to uphold. but something inside him—the part he’d been suppressing for weeks—kept him rooted in place.

it wasn’t just your presence that struck him. it was what it represented. you stayed. for me.

nanami finally allowed himself to exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. he leaned forward, resting a hand lightly on the edge of the table, and called your name softly.

your eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused at first. when they landed on him, a slow, sleepy smile spread across your lips.

“nanami…” you murmured, your voice thick with drowsiness.

his chest tightened at the sound of his name on your lips. he cleared his throat, forcing himself to adopt his usual professional tone. “what are you doing here? you shouldn’t be—”

“i waited for you,” you interrupted, sitting up slowly. you stretched your arms, blinking as if trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “i just… wanted to see you.”

your words hit him harder than they should have. he didn’t respond right away, his mind caught between the rational urge to lecture you and the growing warmth spreading through his chest.

“you shouldn’t have waited,” he said finally, his tone softer than he intended. “it’s late, and you should be resting.”

you smiled again, this time wider, the teasing glint he’d grown used to returning to your eyes. “i couldn’t rest. not until i saw you.”

nanami felt his resolve cracking, the careful walls he’d built around himself beginning to crumble under your gaze. he tried to focus on the clinical details—the faint redness in your cheeks from sleeping on your arm, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly against the edge of the table. but all of it only made you more real, more tangible, and it was becoming harder to maintain the distance he’d fought so hard to keep.

“you…” he hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“why not?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “it’s the truth. i like being around you, nanami. is that so bad?”

his breath hitched. he wanted to say yes—that it was bad, that it was unprofessional, that it was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to cross. but the words wouldn’t come.

instead, he found himself stepping closer, the space between you shrinking until he could see every detail of your face—the way your eyes searched his, the way your lips parted slightly as if waiting for him to speak.

“it’s not bad,” he said finally, his voice low, almost like he was admitting something to himself. “but… it’s complicated.”

you smiled softly, undeterred. “complicated doesn’t scare me.”

nanami exhaled, his gaze dropping for a moment as though weighing his next words carefully. “it should,” he murmured, the faintest crack of vulnerability slipping into his tone. “i don’t know if i can give you what you’re looking for.”

you didn’t hesitate. “what if i’m not looking for anything specific? what if i just… want you?”

the words struck him like a blow, harder than he anticipated. his breath hitched as he raised his eyes to meet yours, searching for the usual teasing glint in your gaze. but there was none this time—no hint of mischief or lighthearted charm. only sincerity.

he swallowed hard. you made it sound so simple, so easy, as if he weren’t a man weighed down by his own doubts, his own careful walls. he’d spent weeks trying to convince himself that this was a passing infatuation, something fleeting on your part. but now, faced with the raw honesty in your voice, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

“i…” he started, his voice faltering. he looked away, his jaw tightening as he tried to collect himself. “you don’t understand how difficult i can be. i’m set in my ways. i work late hours. i’m not the type of man to make grand gestures or say the right things.”

“i don’t need grand gestures,” you said, your tone quiet but firm. “and i like the way you are—your quiet, your seriousness, your care.” you hesitated for a moment, your expression softening as you added, “nanami, i know what i’m saying. i’m not scared of who you are.”

something inside him gave way, the weight of your words pressing against the walls he’d built around his heart. for the first time in years, he felt seen—not just for what he could do, not just for the roles he fulfilled, but for the man beneath it all.

his hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching out to yours. when his fingers brushed against yours, he felt the faintest tremor in his chest, the warmth of your touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“i don’t deserve this,” he said softly, almost as if to himself.

your fingers curled around his, steady and sure. “you do.”

and that was it. the last thread of resistance snapped. he stepped closer, his free hand rising to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. his gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“i’m not good at this,” he warned, his voice low, rough with emotion.

“then let me show you how,” you whispered, your voice a promise and a plea all at once.

before he could second-guess himself, nanami closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deliberate and slow, but no less fervent. his fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might slip away.

you kissed him back with equal intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself. the quiet of the room was broken only by the sound of your breathing, the world narrowing down to the press of his lips against yours and the warmth of his touch.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. “this… this scares me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. “then let’s be scared together.”

a quiet laugh escaped him, a rare, unguarded sound that softened the lines of his face. and for the first time in what felt like forever, nanami allowed himself to let go of the doubt, the fear, and the weight of his own expectations.

because in this moment, with you in his arms, it didn’t feel so complicated after all.

thank you for reading this! likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

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starzify · 2 days ago

Note

hiii i love ur work sm! can u write a negan fic?

thank u baby !! so i'm only on s3 but he's too fine…🤷‍♀️

beg me ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing negan smith x fem!reader

warnings smut | blowjob.

MASTERLIST

Over the past few months, you had spent almost a concerning amount of time talking to Negan in his cell. It started with taking him the odd meal, alternating your duty with other people. But over time you regrettably developed a soft spot for him, and dedicated yourself to finding the human underneath his tough exterior. You didn't let him know that though, remaining cold on the outside. That being said, you had pulled some strings for him, he now is allowed daily supervised showers, toothpaste and the occasionally beard and hair trim. All the basic hygiene stuff.

Though the truth is, you are lonely. Rick and Maggie were your closest friends and now they're both gone, so often times, you find Negan being the only person to console in. You've never been much of a social butterfly anyway.

It's midday and you're sat watching Negan finish his lunch.

"All gone, ma'am," he says, popping the final bite in his mouth.

You take the plate from him and sit on your seat. He picks up the tennis ball that he has taken a liking to and bounces it off the wall, catching it, and repeating.

"So, what's the recent gossip?" He smirks. "Is anybody getting boned?”

"Negan," you scold, eyebrows furrowing. "That's none of your business. None of our business."

"Come on…” he continues, blatantly ignoring your remarks, continuing to bounce the ball, a huge mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You shake your head.

"No?" He asks curiously.

“Nope. Nobody’s getting boned, if you’re curious.”

"Fuck, that could’ve been the most interesting thing to happen." He scoffs.

"That's sad," you laugh, raising your eyebrows at him. "So depraved that you're living through people’s sex lives?”

You step closer to the bars, handing Negan his ball, but when he goes to grab it you quickly move your hand away, teasing him.

"You gonna give me my ball, sweetheart?" He smiles patronisingly.

You hold the ball, hovering it ever so slightly out of his reach. "Don't call me sweetheart."

"What would you prefer?" He taunts. "Sweet cheeks? Sugar plum?"

"You've got an awful lot of nerve talking to the only person who comes to see you like that." You warn, pointing your other finger at his face. "Say the wrong thing and I'm gone."

"But you always come back," he replies, cocking his head to the side smugly. "Why is that?"

"You don't get to ask questions." You snap.

"Oh, I like when you get fired up, darling." He smirks.

"I bet you fucking do." You retort impatiently.

"I do." He grins.

You bring your face closer to his and lower your voice, tired of Negan thinking he has you wrapped around his finger. "You also like this top?" You motion to the purple tank top you're currently wearing. "'Cause I've caught you looking at my tits at least ten times in the past five minutes." Your words clearly shock him. "You gonna jerk off to this little interaction later? That’s how fucking desperate you are?" You don't know what has come over you, you just want to finally have the upper hand.

"I'm a man." He smiles cockily, not embarrassed like you hoped he might have been. "I have needs."

He looks you up and down, his gaze burning into your skin, making you feel naked. "And I'd be lying if I said you weren't smoking hot."

You stroke your finger along his jawline seductively. "You thought about me before?" You ask. "While touching yourself?"

"Fuck yeah." He mutters, his eyes transfixed on your lips.

"Tell me what you think about." You demand.

"Baby, I-" but you interrupt him.

"Tell me." You snap, then moving your lips to trace his jawline and "Tell me and I'll suck your cock." He elicits a small groan and you grab his face in your hand, turning his head to face you. "And don't call me baby."

"Fuck, I- uhh..." He says, his voice gravelly. "I think about taking you in every fucking position, making you scream my name. Even fucking you out there," he points out of the barred window, "bending you over for everyone to see. So they can see how good I fuck you."

You look at him through heavy lidded eyes and in this moment you have never been so attracted to someone.

"See that wasn't too hard, was it?" You smirk, your lips lightly brushing his, just enough to give him a brief taste of what he wants.

"God, you're so fucking hot," he mutters.

"What do you want?" You ask him smugly.

"You know what I want." He groans impatiently. Your hands creeps to his crotch and palms him softly through his pants, forcing a small moan from his lips.

"I want to hear you say it." You whisper. "Beg me."

"Fuck, please," he groans. "Suck my cock. Please."

"That's it." You slowly lower yourself onto your knees and unzip his pants through the bars of the cell. You release him from his boxers and see that he is already rock solid, and he is big. Almost intimidatingly big. Teasingly, you trace your tongue around his tip, tasting the pre-cum on his cock. His hips buck at the small contact, not used to anything but his hand for so long. He'd been in this cell for years. Soon enough, you take his cock fully into your mouth and you can't help but get butterflies and the deep, gutteral moan he involuntarily let's out as you do so.

Through the bars he grabs your hair, guiding your head up and down his length. The way he pulls on your hair sends tingles down your spine. His hips thrust and you stop your movements as he basically just fucks your mouth, doing all the work himself.

"Fuck," he hisses, and you can tell he is dangerously close. Concocting a plan in your head, you pull away and he stares at you, eyes wide, looking disheveled.

"No, don't stop, I'm about to-"

"I know," you whisper. "Trust me."

He nods, frustrated, but his eyes light up as he notices you start to lift your top up. You lift it off over your head and swiftly unhook your bra, leaving you topless and bare in front of him. He reaches his hands out wordlessly and you step closer to him, kissing him passionately while his hands squeeze and play with your breasts.

Breaking off the kiss, you grin. "You want me to finish what I started?" You don't wait for his answer because his eyes tell you enough, so you drop to your knees yet again, taking your tongue from the base to the tip of his cock, painstakingly slow.

You look up at him before continuing. "I want you to cum on my tits, okay?" He groans at your words. "Think you can do that?"

Without warning, you engulf him fully in your mouth again and he grabs your chin with one hand and wraps your hair around the other, fucking your face mercilessly, picking the pace up in no time. Tears run down your face but you love it.

It doesn't take long for him to get to the point he was previously at because he hurriedly removes himself from your mouth. You brace yourself as he gives himself a mere single stroke, then his release spills onto your chest. He elicits the dirtiest, most primal sounding moans as he does so and it turns you on beyond belief. You can see him struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss the view.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you run your finger along your chest, gathering some of his cum and licking it off, sucking it off seductively. "Jesus Christ, you're unbelievable."

You pick the tennis ball up, which got dropped at some point, and place it on the chair, along with your black lacy bra, out of Negan's reach. Without another word, you exit the room, leaving Negan breathless, disheveled and hungry for more, reeling from what just happened, sat staring at the ball and the bra that you left to taunt him.

"I'm gonna fuck you next time," you hear him yell as you close the door behind him, eager to have the last word, as always.

tags: @inspiredangel @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented @whisperingdaze @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @urloveada

#cassie writes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 #negan smith #negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #negan smith x you #the walking dead #twd #jeffrey dean morgan #jdmorgan

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 5 hours ago

Text

Ludos Imperiales 5

Summary: A celebration of Amarantha's victories in Illyria reveals just how bad the Empire has become.

Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries; Crucifixions and Mentions of Torture; Slavery

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

--------

Sleep is elusive. I find myself staring at the ceiling, watching the cream colored walls change colors as the sun slowly begins to rise.

I have to be the worst mate in history. Well, my Father murdered his mate, so maybe a close second. Even if Rhysand did reach into my head and use me to brand them, I’d still held that iron, hadn’t fought it like I should have. Now, I can’t even say I made it right by getting them the hell out of here! I’m now actively giving them ways to stay, not just in the Empire, or in the arena, but in the middle of a game with my Father they can’t possibly hope to win. I should have pressed the issue harder. I should have ignored their call and waited til morning when Anise had found passage out of here and hauled them onto the ship. I most definitely should not be calling for a tailor as soon as the sun is up to make sure they’re fitted for clothes for this stupid parade.

I’m tempted to think Rhysand has found a way to make me do this for him, but I know he can’t reach me this far. The tether in my chest that links me to them feels strained from being so far away. It’s as if it’s a living thing beneath my skin that knows there’s too much distance between us.

Anise worms her way back into my room as I dismiss the tailor and tell her to send the healer my way for a report on the injuries the Illyrians finally let her treat once I’d left their room last night.

“I found what you were looking for,” she says as she shuts the door. I expected her to find an excuse not to do what I’d asked, especially after she’d given me the royal inquisition about what I’d been doing once I came back through the secret entrance last night. But her emerald gaze sweeps conspiratorially over my empty room, even as she hands me something that smells like a contraceptive tea.

I try to pass it off on my bedside table. “You know I don’t need this.”

“Drink,” she sits herself on the edge of my bed with a sigh. “Can’t have a boat disappearing into the Wastes while you grow with child.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Anise!”

She shrugs, “I suppose your Father would kill it anyway.”

“Get to the point, Anise.”

“Drink the tea first.”

To appease her, I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid the awful smell and force the amber colored liquid down my throat.

“There’s a merchant ship that takes the long way around the Wastes to reach the Human Lands. Passage can be acquired for a hefty fee.”

“Not a problem,” my stomach rises in my throat and I have to take a moment to let it settle before finishing the tea.

“There is a matter of it only being available for another three days before it’s gone for six months.”

That complicates things. How am I supposed to convince them in the next three days that they need to be on that ship?

“Thank you for looking,” I pass the, now empty, cup back to her. “I will need you on standby. Hopefully, I can find a way to convince them to get on board before it’s too late.”

Anise chews on her wooden thumbnail. “There’s a rumor, around the house, that they’re insurrectionists, is that true?”

I push the curtain blocking the bathroom aside. I might as well change and prepare for the parade now. If I give myself enough time, maybe I can slip back into the secret passage and strategize with my stubborn set of mates on how we handle today. I don’t like going into this blind, and I certainly don’t like having to be responsible for their well-being knowing that they’re just winging it.

How have they managed to get this far?

“More or less,” I say as I slip my sleep clothes off my shoulders. I frown at my reflection in the mirror. Too thin. Too pale. I need to get back into training; I need to get some color back into my face. All my clothes hang a little too much off my shoulders. Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if she knew how long I’d wasted away in this house over her. She hated mourners. Hated having an excuse not to be on top of training, in every area of life.

“And what-” Anise comes to stand in the doorway, frowning at the outfit I’ve chosen for the day. She snatches it out of my hands before I can put it on and comes back with something cobalt instead. “-do they have on you?”

“I don’t follow?”

“What are they using against you to get you to do this for them?” She fusses over the loose fabric, lining the seams up along my shoulders, tucking in loose bits of cloth here and there, slipping other strands through a golden belt around my waist.

“You think they have some kind of leverage on me?”

“I think this is unlike you. I think you’ve been a shell of a person locked in a dark house for months and months and suddenly now you care about parties and parades and those gods-awful Games. It is strange. I think I should send for a Healer to look at your head.”

I let her fidget and fuss so she has something to take the edge off her anxiety. “I went to plenty of parties and parades… before…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.

“You went for her, because she forced you too, this is different. You keep insisting there is nothing sexual happening, yet you drink the tea and sneak into their rooms and won’t tell me what’s going on.”

I turn away from the mirror to look at her, reaching for her gnarled hands. “They’re good males, I just want to help them, is all. Father doesn’t exactly smile on simple favors.”

She huffs, “Your heart has always been bigger than your head.”

“I feel… kind of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and when I woke up I didn’t recognize who I was in the mirror. I’m just trying to find myself again.” It’s the closest to the truth as I can get. “I’m sorry that I’ve worried you.”

She frees herself from my grip to touch my cheek gently. “Just promise me that you will be careful. If anything were to happen to you…”

“I promise.”

She nods then takes my shoulders and spins me back to face the mirror. “Good, then let’s fix this awful hair of yours!”

Better to have her focusing on making me presentable than all the possible dangers we have to face just by leaving the room. I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark about it all, but I can’t tell her the truth, not yet. It is too soon; it leaves too much to chance. I still have hope that I can find a way by the end of the day to convince them to get on that boat and then she will never have to think about it again. The worst will be behind us.

I may have underestimated just how bad this was going to be.

For one thing, I didn’t anticipate Amarantha showing up at the front gates before I had a chance to slip into the Illyrians’ room. Let alone bring a whole entourage of slaves and guards, all painted in her colors and dressed for the parade. The sight of her in my sanctum makes me want to start hurling things at her head, but I manage to keep a poker face as she dismounts from her chariot, pulled by a white horse with a speckle of gray across its glossy coat. One of Father’s prized war horses; a gift from a battle years ago.

“General, you honor me with this surprise visit,” the words taste like bile. Why is she here in my place of refuge? She’s never bothered to venture this far away from the Capitol before.

She glances around warily, like something might pop out of the sprawling gardens and bite her. “I came to check on your progress.”

“How kind of you.” I intentionally don’t draw attention to the path that leads to the guest house. “Would you like some refreshments? You must be tired from your journey.” The last thing I need is her poking around.

“No. We need to be on our way. I assumed you’d need help leading your new pets out.”

“Not at all. I have everything under control.” Bitch.

She grins but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good, then let’s get moving, shall we? Don’t want to keep your Father waiting.”

This is all happening a lot faster than I anticipated, but I will have to make the most of it. Her being here means they were right last night, I really had thrown Father off his game. Now he’s trying to compensate by sending her to feel out how I’ve managed this far. I keep my shoulders back as I tell one of the guards to bring the males out. I must remain in control.

I must keep my well-trained mask of courtly manners in place.

That’s a lot harder when the second curveball of the day comes hurling my way: I’d sent my tailor with an order to find my mates suitable pants, boots, and tunics. We weren’t going to have the time for anything fancy. With a few more hours I might have been able to find armor suitable for a Gladiator to wear out in public. A moot point one way or the other, because they wouldn’t have worn it. Not one of them is wearing the outfit I selected. In fact, I’d barely call the swatch of fabric adorning their bronze skin clothing. It’s closer to a toga, one half of the beige fabric pinned over their left shoulders, draping down in gentle waves down their waists, where it eventually falls to their upper thighs, one side slit nearly all the way open. It leaves half their tattooed chests bare, the swirls of tattoos on stark display. There’s so much open across Rhysand’s ensemble that I can very clearly see the curvature of his ass if he’s standing in any direction that’s not looking at me directly.

It is an effort to keep my jaw off the floor. What the fuck are they doing?

I don’t know if the guards attached leashes to the gorsian collars around their throats or if they did that themselves; at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I’ve underestimated you, Highness,” Amarantha says.

The words might as well have been spoken by a fly, they don’t even register. I can’t stop staring at them, at the miles of bare skin and muscle on display. Ember did a good job putting them back together last night, the bruises fading, the smaller cuts and scrapes nothing more than a swatch of fresh skin. Rhysand’s arm is still bandaged, as are Azriel’s wings, but they do not drape on the floor today. They all stand ready, heads high. The posture feels like a challenge; they should be defeated, they lost the battle, they’re chained here to me, but they don’t look it. They command the space around them.

I feel a flash of pride when I look at them. Even with all my training, I’d never be able to be this confident. Despite all their losses, they haven’t given up.

“I might have to challenge your claim on them,” Amarantha says, her gaze lingering too long on Rhysand for my liking.

Something ugly and possessive rears its head inside me and all I see is red. My hands ball into fists at my sides as my powers flare in my palms. Keep it together! Keep it together!

“And miss the parade in your honor?” I say as sweetly as I can. “My Father would be so disappointed.”

She sneers at me, perfectly white teeth flashing, “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge for me, would it, Highness?”

I’ve never shown anyone the full extent of what I’m capable of; it would be too dangerous to unleash that much power on the world. It won’t do me any good now to try and boast about what I keep hidden beneath my skin. “You’ve done enough fighting, save the challenges for your Attor.”

She huffs as she climbs back into her golden chariot.

It’s not really a victory, but it is the best I can hope for. Time will be the only thing keeping her in check today. If it wasn’t for the parade, she might be tempted to keep pushing the issue, and as much as I’d love an opportunity to shove a blast of obsidian power through her chest, I have bigger issues to deal with. I can’t let her get in the way of the plan.

My mates watch the exchange closely. Azriel hovers a little closer than someone supposed to be shackled to me should. His shadows are missing. Hidden somewhere, maybe behind his wings to avoid detection, or the sunlight, but the intensity in his gaze reminds me that there isn’t anything happening he isn’t aware of.

Rhysand gives me the subtlest of nods as the stable boy brings my own horse out. Anise must have sent them for me; she’s undoubtedly watching from the window. I have never been more keenly aware of how many sets of eyes are watching my every move, which is saying something, considering I’ve never left this house without a squadron of guards or some form of chaperone. Every breath I take feels like it’s being monitored, which is unfortunate, because the next issue of the day becomes the moment I realize the guards left with the wagon yesterday and I don’t have any other horses. How am I supposed to get them all the way across the Capitol?

I’m out of my element. It’s one thing to freeze in front of some guards who don’t know me well enough to see the panic in my eyes, it’s entirely another to in front of Amarantha, who can smell fear like a fucking bloodhound. She won’t stop grinning at me either, like she’s a cat watching a mouse creep slowly up to a baited trap. We’ve just started this, I can’t already fail!

The invisible force that is Rhysand slips right into my mind again as panic freezes me in place. My body moves for me, tethering the leashes in my hand to the saddle of my horse.

Amarantha’s grin falters.

I am not making my mates walk behind me the entire time! This, somehow, feels worse than the brand!

But I can’t fight his grip on me. My shields were low enough, I’d forgotten to enforce them, he’d slipped right in and taken control just like he had yesterday. I can’t do this!

“You can,” that silky smooth voice is like a caress against the inside of my skull as he moves me into the saddle of my horse.

I can feel Cassian’s glare between my shoulderblades, as if he’s imagining exactly where he’d drive his sword. The tether that links us feels even more frayed than it had yesterday, as if someone is taking a knife and swaying it away fiber by fiber. Worse, that someone is me.

Rhysand brushes a mental hand down my spine and my whole body trembles as if it had been physical. “It’s all right. You’re just doing what we asked you too.”

Amarantha starts moving, the grin now a full scowl. This is not at all how she thought this morning would go. I’m grateful she’s so distracted by the failure that she isn’t paying attention to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. This is beyond cruel and unfair!

“We’ve endured a lot worse than this,” he explains as he uses me to get my horse moving.

The collars around their throat rattle as they get yanked along behind me and I think I might never get that godsdamned sound out of my head as long as I live.

“When we lost that battle in Illyria, they kept all of my soldiers chained together, naked and bleeding in the snow. They made them watch as they burned our cities to the ground, with their families locked inside the Temple.”

Revulsion rolls its way through my stomach, as I flick my gaze to Amarantha; she’s always been a monster, she’s never bothered to hide it, but I’d never known the gory details. Father praised her for doing whatever was necessary to win, I knew that involved a lot of shed blood, but I’d never seen the true cost of her victories.

Maybe I’d never wanted to see. It had been easier to just keep my head down and accept that this was how the world I lived in worked. I’d been too terrified of what might happen if I challenged it; hell, I’d been too terrified of what would happen to even look at it. It had always been easier to turn and hide from it, withdrawing into myself where the monsters couldn’t reach me. How many people have I hurt by turning a blind eye?

“Amarantha made Cassian pick which of his men would live. Five out of every group of ten to be taken as slaves. The other five to be crucified. She did it in waves, five for every city we stopped at for supplies. Five to be a warning to the other Courts. Until we came to the Arena; then the question became which of us would fight and die. He chose us, so that, at least, the rest of his men may find a chance to escape.”

Rhysand won’t loosen his grip on me enough to let me turn in the saddle to look at them. He probably thinks I’ll lose my nerve if I do. My chest aches for them and what they’ve had to endure on the way here.

“If you hadn’t stepped in yesterday, Hybern would have killed Cassian and Azriel.”

“But not you?” His hold on me is not so strong that I can’t, at the very least, talk back to him. The connection soon becomes soothing, instead of like fighting against adamant. As time goes on, I can begin to feel the distinction in the tethers that link our souls. While they are still thin, and tangled in the heart of it, there is a glittering, starlight lined piece that leads me to him, and the connection feels like it builds on top of itself little by little as we go. Maybe the bond is not, totally, unsalvageable.

“I caught a glimpse in Hybern’s head. He was too far away for a good look, but I saw enough. At least for a little while, he wants me alive. I don’t know why. I assume to make a bigger display of my failure than Amarantha has already made, but I can’t be sure. I think that he might have let me live yesterday and killed them as punishment for speaking out. Judging by the way Amarantha’s acting today, I think that she expected to get me as a prize afterwards.”

My teeth clench involuntarily at the thought.

“I know that what I’ve asked of you is uncomfortable. It will be a hard role to play, but it is not without advantages.” Despite Cassian’s misgivings during their argument last night, him and Azriel had seemed to be in agreement that they needed me for this. If I cannot spare them entirely from pain, at least I can keep them out of Amarantha’s claws. A tiny victory, but still a victory.

The road ahead of us is long, physically speaking the trek into the city is several miles, and figuratively because there’s a lot of hoops to jump through and masks to wear and angles to work. This will not be an overnight endeavor. That ship with their freedom quickly feels like its slipping out of my reach.

“But are there not advantages to leaving while you have the chance?” There is nothing but a long, winding road lined with hills of rolling wheat between us and the outskirts of the city, I might as well make my attempt now.

“Not if it means abandoning my people.”

Stubborn male.

“This will be your Empire one day, do you not feel responsible for the people within it?”

As the sun continues to climb, so does the temperature. Sweat begins to bead its way across my hairline.

“It will not be my Empire,” I counter; especially considering what I had bargained to ensure their freedom. “My Father doesn’t think I know it, but he added a clause to his will that states, in the event of his death, my husband will take the throne.”

Through the mental connection, I feel him stiffen behind me.

And maybe because I’m desperate for any possible chance to push them towards that ship, I add, “And make no mistake, my Father has already chosen which male to pawn me off to.”

Anger flashes its way across the bond. A sign, I should think, that he at least knows there’s something there.

“He would leave you no choice?”

The question is laughable. For all the terrible things my Father has done, he truly thinks he’d still care about my consent in any aspect of my life? “He pretended for a while that I did, but his displeasure was always made clear. Not that it matters, now. I’ve already agreed to marry whoever he wishes.”

A growl works its way down the bond between us. “Why?”

“Did you think he would spare your lives for free?” A low blow and I know it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how Cassian had called me a spoiled little princess who’d never felt the effects of this Empire. My suffering has been nothing compared to theirs. No life time could ever compensate for that kind of torture. There is no contest here. But I am not immune to my Father’s whims either and I need them to understand that this is not the better option. They need to be on that ship. And if they feel the bond at all, if there is any push to be near me, I need to use it to get them to see how dangerous it is to be around me. I can shield them a little bit. I can stand between Amarantha. I can stay my Father’s hand on occasion. But it will not last. Nothing lasts long against them.

Rhysand is silent for a long time. Long enough that I feel his grip on me slip away, allowing me to turn my head and watch the three of them. They’re keeping pace easy enough, even with the bandage around Cassian’s thigh and the added weight of the bandages around Azriel’s wings. But it’s their eyes that catch my attention: Glazed over like they’re not seeing me at all. I’ve seen that look before, when the twins reach into someone’s head. The collar must limit his ability to reach out to more than one person at the time. He’s withdrawn to speak with them instead.

I keep my shields down, waiting for him to come back, praying to the Mother that it worked, that they’re at least, reconsidering this foolhardy notion of theirs.

Amarantha’s men must have cleared the streets on their way down here, usually, the twisting pathways of hard packed earth are crowded with carts and beasts of burden as they tend to the budding wheat stalks, but there are none. It is a strange silence, there are usually workers singing in between the rows as they weed and water and remove pests from the grounds. No birds sing. It’s as if the whole area knows a red-headed predator walks among them.

I find myself studying her, careful not to let the rage I feel at the thought of what she’d done to my mate’s rises back to the surface. Silence has always been dangerous for me, it gives me too long to think. And right now, all I can think about is how easy it would be to blast her in the back of the head with the dark ether that prowls beneath my skin. One of her slaves carries her helmet, the dark horse hair plume billowing in the warm summer breeze. None of her guards rides close enough to block the blow. Sure they’ll be an issue afterwards, but they won’t be able to save her. She’d be nothing more than a blood stain in the rode.

And then what? What would it help? It can’t erase what she’s already done to them. Even if I could take out the guards and we all made a break for that ship, Father would never let it go. He’d blame them, probably lie to the people and say I’d been kidnapped or brainwashed into doing it, and then he and everyone in the Empire would hunt us down until we were dragged back or killed. They’d never have any rest. No, I need to get them to get that ship and I need to find a way to make sure that no one comes looking.

My head hurts. This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There’s a lot more pieces to play than just moving them onto a ship. I resist the urge to rub my temples. How could someone’s life become so incredibly complex in less than 24 hours?

Rhysand finally returns, his arrival a brush of night kissed shadow that contrasts the summer heat. “Why did you agree to help us?” His voice sounds farther away, it must be a tremendous effort to keep this up for so long around that collar.

“Because I didn’t want to be like him.” That is as close to the truth as I will allow myself to admit to anyone.

His mental hand brushes down my spine, caressing, soothing. I close my eyes for the briefest of moments to savor it. I should not let myself indulge it. I should push it away before he has time to understand why it means so much, but I can’t. I really am a broken, selfish thing, but I can’t push him away like I should.

“Has he given you a time frame for the marriage?”

“No, but I’m sure he will soon.”

As we crest a hill, the walled edges of the capitol finally come into view, Father’s crimson banner billowing from the parapets. As we draw closer, I can start to see another banner hanging from the great, stone walls: Amarantha’s familial crest, emblazoned on a black banner, the great beast in the center, edged in crimson. The shape of the crest always bothered me. The edges were never smooth and even, like someone had put too much ink on the pen, letting it bleed. Maybe that was the point. Amarantha’s whole family line had clawed its way to power by shedding someone else’s blood.

It’s jarring to see her banner hang next to my Father’s. No one has that kind of power in the Empire. Not even my Mother had the sway to earn a banner in her name, no matter the exploits she’d brought within the Capitol’s walls.

My stomach twists.

“Then we may need to rush our plans a little.”

I pretend to fiddle with something in the saddle so I can look back at him. Sweat drips down his forehead, trailing lines down his exposed chest. There is nothing short of sheer determination etched into every line of his face.

Beside him, Azriel keeps pace, shadows peeking out from behind his wings in agitated waves. A look that would be intimidating on its own, but only worsened by the promise of violence in his eyes.

So much for making the ship.

“Don’t be rash and do something stupid,” I retort, as the sound of trumpets draws my attention off of them. There’s a cluster of horses and people waiting up ahead. As we draw nearer, I can start to make out the familiar faces of Father’s Praetorian Guards. Then Brannagh and Dagdan, atop their auburn steeds, bought at a hefty price from the Autumn Court. And finally, in his own golden chariot, pulled by a prized war horse, a golden laurel wreath atop his salt and pepper hair, stands my Father.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I mean it, Rhysand,” I snarl when he doesn’t answer me. “If you do something stupid now he’ll kill all of you. No pleading on my part will save you.”

I’m suddenly not sitting on the horse anymore, the world around me spinning and twisting and the trumpets and horns starting to play along the roadside sound like execution bells. My stomach rises in my throat; heart echoing to an octave that sounds like beating drums. I can’t see them, I can’t see the parade of people assembling all I can see is my Mother in those awful, dull gray robes, stripped of all the finery she always adorned herself, walking right to the executioner's block in chains.

“Breathe.” I must have been holding my breath because the memory comes to a grinding halt before I can rewatch her head roll off her shoulders and Rhysand is back in my head, gently shaking the memory from my grip.

“It’s over. You’re all right. Take another deep breath for me.”

My horse won’t stop moving and I swear my Father doesn’t blink the entire time he watches us approach. That slate gray gaze, so similar to my own, is empty and cold and it pierces through me like an ice pick.

“We’re not doing anything today, remember? Just observing. We need to see what we’re up against.”

I have to fight every instinct not to turn and look at him. I need to keep my head up, I need to not look like I’m going to throw up all over the floor. I cannot ruin this.

Father’s mood shifts when he turns his attention to Amarantha, and smiles. “General,” he calls out, the horde of people surrounding him parting so he can move to greet her. “I see you had no issues on your way here.”

“Dick,” Rhysand hisses as I sit there getting ignored.

“Please, just stick to observing. I can’t…” I shake off the memory as best I can, embarrassed that I showed him in the first place. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

The bond flickers with understanding, a moment of shared grief passing between us. I don’t know what else he has lost, but the emotion that flits between us is enough to show me it’s not mere pity. “Don’t worry, there’s not going to be room to do anything in this crowd,” he assures.

And he’s right, starting at the open gates is a whole crowd of people, all waving flags and streamers and cheering. The whole city is packed against the main road, held back by a thin barrier or red tinted magic. Every house in the Capitol has to be empty. Someone has thrown roses down onto the road, the perfume so strong I can smell it from here.

Behind us, more beings begin to arrive. I note some of Amarantha’s commanding officers and a few Senators. A couple of the Lords who have bent the knee and submitted to Father’s reign follow.

Amarantha stands a little straighter as they approach, preening under all the attention.

A steward with a very long scroll shuffles around in the chaos, trying to organize everybody into rows, his shrill voice echoing above the crowd with a little help from some lesser magic. Drummond has been in the service of the Empire since my great-grandfather was Emperor, he’s gotten pretty good at getting people to listen to him.

We’re quickly organized into sections, with Father and Amarantha in the front and everyone following in line behind them by rank and station. There is a large gap in between where Father and Amarantha ride and where I sit with my mates, just ahead of the other nobility. My birthright keeps me close to the front, but the gap between me and them is noticeable. I am not a part of their inner circle, I’ve only ended up ahead of they’re favored elites because I have the face of the Illyrian rebellion chained to my horse. It is not as if I want to be close to them, in fact, the distance helps me breathe a little easier, but the space between my Father and I has never felt so visible. We are two ships on opposite sides of an ocean. Mother used to whisper, when she thought I couldn’t hear, that the Goddess had cursed him by giving him me. Not only was I not the son he’d prayed for, I was not even a daughter he could benefit from having. He’d tried to hide that from his closest confidants, it’s why he allowed the River House. It kept me close enough to not become a problem, and far enough away to hide his shame. It used to bother me, now I can’t help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason I’d never belonged here. Maybe the distance had given me the eyes I’d needed to see my mates for what they were. If I had been born different, if I had become someone like Brannagh or Amarantha, would I have ended up here?

My musings are interrupted by Dummond as he side-steps Cassian, giving the General a far wider berth than necessary as he looks back and forth between his scroll and us. “Hmmm, should be a enough room I suppose?” He mutters, pen furiously scratching in the margins of what looks to be a very well filled out list.

Cassian’s wings suddenly unfurl behind him, as if he’s stretching his arms, the great, leathery membrane catching the early afternoon sun, as the spiked tip catches Dummond in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop the scroll.

The aging elf gives a yelp of surprise as he skitters after it like it’s made of gold. “Gods-damned Illyrian brute!”

“Cass,” Rhysand warns as the guards shift in our direction.

“What? My wings were cramping,” Cassian counters, looking smug, even as he snaps his wings shut behind his large body. I could watch him do that all day. If I’d had the supplies, I’d attempt to paint the way the sunlight reflects the hints of red and blue, highlighting all the scars that map their way across his wings. How many battles do you have to fight to have scars like that?

Dummond scurries past us to intercept a caravan of wagons, keeping his precious scroll clutched tight to his chest this time. He’s always been a little skittish--who isn’t around my Father?--but today looks like it’s worn down his nerves. I can practically hear his knees shaking as he directs the wagons down the little path that converges on the mainroad. The closer it gets, the louder the sound of rattling chains becomes.

Grief consumes me, so hot and heavy the three of them might as well have screamed themselves hoarse down the bond simultaneously. It is an effort not to grasp at my chest, as if they’re pain is a physical wound I can hold in my hands. I don’t need to see what comes our way to know what it is, but their arrival plays out in slow motion ahead of us. The wagons are all built to be moveable cages, walls of gorsian stone bars holding in too many bodies to count. There’s a padlocked door at the back of each and when a guard swings it open, a jumble of winged bodies tumble outward. Chains clank and rattle and male after winged male gets shoved into even lines ahead of us. They’re all a mess of blood soaked bandages and dirt; the number of wings more twisted than Azriel’s had been is too high to number. Once a wagon is empty it is directed out of the way and another takes its place, just as full as the last. There has to be at least a hundred Illyrians, all shackled and beaten ahead of us.

Dummond stays a healthy distance from them, counting down the numbers on his list to ensure they’re all in place. Not that it would be necessary, none of them fight it. Most stand with their heads to their bare chests--gods above half of them are still naked!

Rhysand has withdrawn himself from my head again, but I can still feel his pain down the bond just as well. These are his people, and he can’t save them from this.

Cassian’s pain soon turns sharp as a blade, rage pulsing down the bond.

I wish I had the words to comfort them; the power to make this all stop, but I am as helpless as I always have been. No words will soothe this offense.

How could Father do this?

Dummond carries on as if he is organizing cattle. The guards use the butts of their spears to keep any male that moves too far from the group back in line. Their force is excessive. The blow knocks the already beaten males into each other, causing a domino effect that brings a third of the Illyrians down into the dirt. I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the whimpers of pain; hear the coughing and wheezing that comes from untreated injuries and illnesses that only come when too many people are crammed together for too long.

There isn’t enough time to process the full scope of what’s happening before a set of trumpets starts blowing from the city’s outer walls. Shit it’s starting!

It’s like a bad dream as the procession begins to move, Father and Amarantha first. There are mages positioned down the fairway, their hands outstretched towards the sky as they weave colorful ribbons of magic like streamers above our heads. The bands move in time to the music, flashing in Amarantha’s colors first, then Father’s. Small children throw more roses into the street as the Emperor and esteemed General make their way into the city.

“All hail the Emperor!” Roars the crowd. “All hail Amarantha the Conqueror!”

Conqueror. The Illyrian captives are forced to follow after them, shuffling on bare feet and boots that are falling apart across cobblestones that have to be burning as the sun continues to rise across the cloudless sky.

There are small children in attendance, sitting on their parents shoulders, waving miniature versions of Amarantha’s crest. This feels like the most heinous part of the whole ordeal; are we to encourage this brutality in our children? They let their toddlers throw roses and dance along to the music, enthralled by the light show that flashes overhead as the procession moves through the city.

Dummond makes sure to leave plenty of room between the last row of Ilyrians and us, as if they’re scared to let them get too close to Rhysand. As if, the mere proximity of him might incite an uproar all over again.

At this point I’d welcome it. I’d happily watch the whole procession go up in flames.

Power rumbles through my veins and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the crowd to keep anything from escaping out of my skin.

“Steady,” Rhysand warns as we inch closer to the front gates. The crowd continues to cheer and celebrate ahead of us as the procession follows the path to the Imperial Palace several miles into the city. It will be a long road ahead of us, yet it feels like it’s been happening for ages.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry is not strong enough an emotion. No sorry’s will ever be enough.

“Do you see why we need your help?” He counters as a wisp of Azriel’s shadow crawls up my shoulder and dives beneath my hair. The little ether of power slithers like a snake up around my ear, hidden under my hair, observing with a gentle hiss. I wonder if he’s using it to see what’s coming ahead of us.

The road up ahead makes me wish he wasn’t here to see any of it at all. Being on the horse gives me a vantage point, lets me see around the corner we take to get to the heart of the capitol. The crowd has thickened even further here, bodies pushing up against the magic barriers, chanting and shouting to be heard. Except, the closer we get, the clearer the jumbled words become. As Amarantha’s chariot passes through, the noise soon turns from cheers and celebration to boos and curses. It’s the first hint that something is about to go terribly wrong and I feel my powers once again flair in defence.

The shift in the crowd is not the worst of it, even when they start hurling rotting vegetables and rocks at their captive entertainment. Blood splatters as someone gets hit in the head, nearly knocking down a whole row of males in the chaos.

I don’t even have time to flinch before Rhysand is once again holding me in place in the saddle. This time I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or his. The bond bleeds like an open wound between us, agony dripping into my consciousness.

More of Azriel’s shadows cluster beneath my hair, sitting like a snake, coiled and hissing as we go deeper into the city. This crowd will easily become a mob given the slightest provocation.

“Traitors!” The crowd shouts. “Send the Illyrian dogs back where they belong!”

The guards keeping the Illyrians in line don’t do anything to quell the crowd, letting rotting tomatoes and hearts of moldy lettuce get hurled like projectiles at a group of wounded males too beaten to fight back.

My stomach sits like a rock in my throat.

The deeper we get into the city, the worse it gets, and not just because there are more people here, but because, as we draw up to the center of town, there are crosses along the walkway, all holding a male with wings nailed to the cross beams.

The males in the front of the line freeze at the sight. One of them wails and falls to his knees, only to be forceable hauled up by the Praetorian.

“Crucify the lot of them!” The crowd roars.

“Send the bastards back to the arena!”

A rock comes hurtling towards my head so fast I don’t even have time to shield, my only saving grace Azriel’s shadow that goes flying out in front of me to catch it and let it fall to the ground beside me. Rhysand won’t turn to let me thank him; won’t let me do anything but keep my eyes straight ahead of me. Not even when I hear the sound of something hitting one of them.

I’d cry if I had the ability, but he seems to have locked that away from me too. I feel like a statue as we continue forward, slowly crawling towards the Imperial Palace, unable to move or react. Even as we pass closer to the bodies, blood still dripping from open gashes across their tattooed chests. Some of the males are, mercifully, already dead, but the street is long and the number of them soon becomes hard to track when you can just make out the ones still gasping for air. This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever seen the Empire do.

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to find my Father, waving cheerfully to the crowd ahead of us, as if this is some sort of game. How could one man be so cruel?

“Remember how I said you could ask me about that boat today?” Rhysand says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his pain as if it is my own and I don’t know how he, or any of them, is even upright. It’s debilitating. I feel it crawl into every crevice of my being. My muscles fight the hold he has on me to try and curl up into a ball to avoid it.

“Still think it’s a good idea?”

Like he can feel my gaze, the Emperor turns to catch my eye, one brow furrowed as if in question. For the first time in my life, I don’t shy away from the appraisal. Pain has walked alongside me my whole life, it has been a companion I have learned to hold hands with. But this? Having to live with the knowledge that these are wounds inflicted on my mates because no one has stood up to the Empire?

I’ve accepted a lot of shitty things in my life. I looked the other way when I couldn’t. But no more.

This ends.

And it ends with me.

“No. I don’t.” I snarl.

I can feel Rhysand’s grin through the bond. “Then welcome to the Rebellion, Princess.”

--------

Tag List:

@sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

@anainkandpaper, @rafeecameronsbitch, @whothehelliskayleigh, @lifetobeareader, @blimpintime

@hjgdhghoe, @krowiathemythologynerd, @urfunnyvalentin3, @mack234-blog1, @kissesfromnovalie

@marrass, @lia-h-r, @celestialzdiviner, @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Thank you all for your patience I know this chapter took me a little longer than usual to write! <3 As always, if you want to be added to the tag list let me know =)

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daenysx · 1 day ago

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hiiii girlie it’s me! 🌷 daring to make a request for the starry girl sleepover: can you write something about 11PM with Tangerine and with some smut? it can be as brief or as explicit as you wish ��️ (I CANNOT believe no one requested sexy times with Tangerine?? I can’t be the only one who’s horny for that man, damn)

thank you so much for requesting, my gorgeous angel, i hope you enjoy!! <333333

11.00 PM | TANGERINE

"You said you'd be home for dinner tonight."

You look cute when you pout, but Tangerine doesn't think he can tell you this now. He did say he'd be home for dinner and then something came up with their latest job, he had to help Lemon with the bodies and- anyway he couldn't make it. He's very sorry for that, but he thinks he can make it up to you.

"I thought I could make it, love," he says, extends a hand to you. You accept it with a soft scoff. "I promise I tried. I had to stay with Lemon."

You know what they do for work, you just don't want to know every detail so he keeps a few things hidden on purpose. He pulls you into a nice hug to start asking for forgiveness, you surrender this time. You missed him. His hair is a bit messed up and his rings touch your warm skin where your tank top fails to cover your waist. You shiver under his hands, the contact makes you wanna snuggle into him like a cat.

"Were you in bed before I knocked the door?" he asks, playing with the waistband of your sleeping shorts. You nod, leading him to the bed as he follows you without any protest.

"Lay down," he tells you with a deep voice. Almost whispering, but not quite. "Let me apologise properly."

You watch him take your shorts and panties off with experienced fingers. He has nice hands, big but gentle. He kills people for money, but he becomes the kindest soul you know when it's just you and him. You part your legs as he settles down between them, Tangerine kisses your thighs and makes his way until he reaches the growing wetness waiting for him.

"Oh, my girl," he murmurs before kissing your clit softly. "You did miss me, didn't you? Pretty thing, look at that."

You throw your head back when he uses his tongue to spread your folds and reaches somewhere too sensitive. His pants are too tight, he has to adjust his leg on bed to find some relief himself. He is not the priority now, though, he's begging for forgiveness between your legs, isn't he? He likes doing things right, he has to fix his mistake.

Your lips curl nicely as you moan, saying his name with that needy voice, and Tangerine has to breathe. He sucks greedily, your sounds guide him, he can't stop after having a taste. You lift your hips to his mouth, it's everything he can ever want, and for a second he even forgets his name.

He wants to watch you come.

It's so close, he knows, he sits down on bed and starts finishing what he was doing, by using his fingers. His rings graze the sensitive flesh of your clit and you nearly fall apart right there, he follows your every reaction. His thumb rubs the swollen nub as the rest of his fingers work on your wetness.

He wants to talk, encourage you to do whatever you want to him, but the words don't come out. Instead he kisses your cheekbone. Your lips are seeking his immediately, he knows he's forgiven then. The kiss turns into something more, you hold onto his broad shoulders as he finally makes you come around his fingers.

You're an incoherent mess when he pulls his fingers away. Ethereal. He brushes a few kisses on the side of your head, watches how the relief shows all over your face. You give him a lovesick smile. It's all he ever wanted to see since he left the bed this morning.

"Am I forgiven now?" he asks with a sneaky smile.

"Maybe," you answer.

"That's not good enough," Tangerine says. He takes off his shirt and throws it next to your sleeping shorts on the floor. "Did I ever tell you how pretty you look when you come around my fingers?"

"Yes, Tan. Probably a hundred times."

"I can always do better," he loves how you smile at him when he's being a cheeky bastard on purpose. "Just let me prove it."

starry girl sleepover ☆

#starry girl sleepover ☆#tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x you #tangerine fic #tangerine fanfic #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine imagine #bullet train #tangerine bullet train #bullet train imagine #bullet train fic #bullet train fanfiction

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f4ggydog · 1 day ago

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dark!lottie matthews manipulating the reader into worshipping her and servicing her sexually however she wants.

“the wilderness wants us to,” “you don’t want to upset it, do you?”

we’re back to writing bitches go woo woo if u missed me answering asks

DARK WILDERNESS LOTTIE (with dubcon and girldick!lottie)

it wasn’t easy to be tied to a god. it was 100 times worse to be tied to a god that wasn’t merciful. lottie never let you express refusal or deny yourself submission. you were her pet and if she had commands lined up for you, she expected you to drop everything and be a good servant for her.

it was always the threat of the wilderness. she knew how much you feared the wilderness’ power, how much you didn’t understand and how willing you were to learn all about it. unfortunately, all of your teaching were coming from a queen who loved using her power to her advantage. you were cornered every time, left to do nothing but drop to your knees and serve. remember your place or the wilderness wouldn’t be so kind with you.

“open,” lottie orders, referring to your mouth.

you’re reluctant to even part your lips. lottie doesn’t like that.

“didn’t I tell you what would happen if I didn’t see that mouth open?” lottie reminds. “i don’t make the decisions around here, contrary to your beliefs. the wilderness does. i’m not in charge. i know you think i am, but it’s the forest that leads.”

bullshit. you want to call bullshit but you listen anyways. your mouth opens and lottie immediately jams her cock inside.

you gag and nearly choke on the thick flesh. you feel like you have to unhinge your jaw like a snake to be able to take her. but, you comply and try to relax your throat.

“enjoy it,” lottie moans. “this is the best thing you’re ever gonna taste, baby. i swear on it.”

you nod, letting lottie’s cock fill your small mouth. tears sting your eyes as your throat becomes more sore. but the threat of what will come from disobedience leaves you sucking continuously.

“your mouth’s actually good for something now, my little pet. instead of just saying no when i want something. oh, you’re bold at times, aren’t you?”

lottie leaves you gasping for air when she finally retracts her dick from your mouth. she slaps you across the face, expecting an answer instead of pants.

“come on, my little whore. tell me what that sweet mouth is good for.” lottie’s voice is a coo, but the words that come out are anything but gentle.

“w-worship,” you squeal. “j-just worship.”

“so you understand.” lottie smiles with deep satisfaction and pries your mouth open again. “back down the hatch.”

“fuck you,” you murmur against her dick, but your words are muffled by cock. her balls slap against your chin as she pumps her dick inside of your mouth, desperate to have you swallow every drop of her essence.

“you make me cum too fast,” lottie groans, tangling her fingers in your hair. “oh, you’re so fucking filthy. I should’ve had you giving me blowjobs before we even crashed out here. take you to the locker room, force you on your knees and brutally fuck your throat. o-oh fuckkk.”

the fantasy lottie planted in her head brings her closer to the edge. soon, she’s destroying your throat and cumming balls deep inside of your mouth. her hot, thick cum doesn’t slide down easily and you nearly sob at the salty taste.

lottie pulls out of your mouth, watching as you attempt to swallow her cum. when you nearly spit out the goo, she warns you again of potential consequences. “the wilderness wants it. this is your meal, your reward for taking care of me.”

maybe you’d rather not have a reward.

lottie encourages you with some head pats and a kiss to your temple. “come on, now. you can do it. if you weren’t meant to swallow me whole, i wouldn’t have fucked your mouth in the first place. i’m doing this cause this will make the wilderness pleased.”

yeah, right. still you neglect your comfort and finally manage to choke her cum all down. and when you’re finished, you want to throw up in a bucket.

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coimbrabertone · 2 days ago

Text

Motorsports is Back for 2025

Last weekend we saw the unofficial start of the 2025 racing season with the Rolex 24 at Daytona and the Rally Monte Carlo running simultaneously, two of the typical curtain raisers for motorsports.

Now, there is also the Dakar Rally, which took place earlier in January, and I keep meaning to look into it, but it just hasn't happened. First of all because it's just so hard to watch in the US, secondly because even if it were easier to watch, the time difference puts it super early in the morning, and thirdly...it's in Saudi Arabia.

I know that the whole Western Sahara situation - as well as instability in Mauritania - makes the historic Paris-Dakar route difficult, and the South American experiment didn't really work out either, but Saudi Arabia? It's just icky to me.

I hate it that sports are bending over backwards for one of the most repressive regimes in history.

Anyway, let's not get bogged down in that, because with the start of the WRC and IMSA seasons, motorsports is back.

The Monte Carly Rally started first, with a Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sunday schedule. For those who don't know, the Monte Carlo Rally takes place on mountain roads in the French Alps just north of Monaco, with tarmac surfaces frequently covered in ice and sometimes even snow. Taking place this early in the year, many of the stages - which vary from 14 km in length all the way up to 27 - also take place at night, making the rally even more difficult.

So, it started with WRC legend Sebastien Ogier building an early lead, however, an early slip put him into the wall in a hairpin, handing the lead first to reigning champion Thierry Neuville in the Hyundai, and then Ogier's Toyota teammate Elfyn Evans.

Neuville ran into problems of his own on Friday, while Ogier's crew repaired the damage on his Toyota, meaning that Sebastien was back in the lead come the end of the second day. Hyundai, meanwhile, was in the odd position where Adrien Fourmaux, their youngest driver freshly signed on from Ford, was their highest placed car.

In fact, with Ogier in the lead and Fourmaux moving up to second, it was briefly a French 1-2 in the rally that takes place on French soil.

Saturday saw Elfyn Evans move back into second, while Ott Tanak in the third Hyundai surged forward, winning the final three stages of the day to surge back into contentions.

Under current WRC points, the bulk points are award at the end of Saturday, so Ogier got 25, Elfyn 17, Fourmaux 15, returning full-time Toyota driver Kalle Rovanpera got 12 in fourth, Tanak moved up to fifth place with 10 points, and Neuville received 8 points for sixth.

Tanak's charge came to an end on Sunday when he ran into issues and he'd score no regular day points that morning, while Elfyn would win the day, taking 5 points ahead of Rovanpera on 4, Ogier took 3 points as he coasted to win, Fourmaux took 2 points, and Neuville snatched the final Sunday regular point.

That brought us onto the Power Stage, one final high-speed run to the finish with another five points on the line.

Here, Ogier went for maximum points again, snatching the 5 points, ahead of Elfyn on 4, Fourmaux on 3, Rovanpera on 2, and Tanak who salvaged a point from his otherwise terrible Sunday.

So, Sebastien Ogier wins a record-extending 10th Monte Carlo Rally - clearing fellow Frenchman Sebastien Loeb who sits on 8 wins - Elfyn Evans makes for a Toyota 1-2, and Hyundai's new signing is surprisingly leading the pack in 3rd. Rovanpera finishes 4th despite being out of practice after skipping last year's Monty, ahead of Tanak and Neuville who both had issues. Josh McErlean in seventh was the only other Rally1 finisher, continuing Ford's somewhat token efforts in WRC as of late.

As these final Sunday stages were happening, however, another race was underway in North America.

The Rolex 24 at Daytona, the second biggest endurance race in the world and the traditional curtain raiser for North American motorsports. I've talked about this before, but it's a regular coming together of motorsports, with the IMSA regulars joined by WEC and ELMS crews, Indycar drivers, Trans Am drivers, ex-Formula One drivers, and even a few NASCAR drivers like Shane van Gisbergen, Connor Zilisch, and Austin Cindric.

Here's a fun game I've played with some friends lately - look at the entry list for a big race like this and find the most obscure name you recognize.

I saw Benjamin Pederson in the #52 LMP2 - he drove for AJ Foyt Racing for one season in 2023.

Eddie Cheever III is another. Son of Eddie Cheever who drove in F1 in the 80s, CART in the 90s, and IRL in the 00s, Eddie III was born in Rome and races under an Italian license. He's a Ferrari GT driver these days and appears at the Rolex 24 fairly regularly - this time around he was in the #023 Triarsi Competizione Ferrari.

Speaking of Triarsi, they're another one, because they're the old Ferrari of Central Florida team from Ferrari Challenge North America. They've gone big and adopted a bigger sounding name, but it is still essentially Ferrari Orlando running a pair of IMSA cars, and I think that's cool.

Anyway, enough trivia of who was in the race, let's talk about the race itself.

It was a fairly clean race by Daytona standards - up until the very end anyway - with relatively few LMP2 cautions, not too many cars stranded on track, and no rain to disrupt things. That being said, the racing kept it interesting, as the #24 initially built a big lead before a bizarre pitstop where Dries Vanthoor parked in his pitstall at a sharp angle, making his crew have to awkwardly scramble to get the pitstop done. This moved the Porsches into the lead, but the Acuras and a resurgent BMW did their best to keep the show interesting.

The #24 BMW was probably the fastest car all day and worked its way back into contention, however, they got a little too impatient in traffic and a little too free with the chrome horn, meaning they developed a tyre rub that dropped them a lap down an hour from the finish. The BMW would pass the #10 Wayne Taylor Racing Cadillac to move into fourth place, the first car one lap down, but it couldn't overcome more than that.

Thus, it turned into a battle between the #6 Porsche which led, the #7 Porsche which was in second, and the #60 Acura which came alive right at the end of the race.

The #7 was under pressure from the #60 with IMSA all-star Tom Blomqvist on a charge for Meyer Shank Racing. This left Felipe Nasr in the #7 with little choice but to go side-by-side with his teammate Matt Campbell in the #6 to take the lead.

It was the right call too, because Felipe Nasr was able to break away and win the race, while Matt Campbell got caught and passed by Blomqvist, denying Penske Porsche a 1-2 finish.

It was a similar story in the GTD classes, where in GTD Pro, it was a heated battle between the Pratt & Miller Corvettes, the Paul Miller (no relation) Racing BMW, and the Multimatic Ford Mustang. Earlier in the race there was a big controversy where the lapped #48 Paul Miller BMW helped out their teammates in the #1 car by holding up the #4 Corvette, which turned ugly when they made contact and Corvette picked up some big damage on the rear end.

To which, Tommy Milner won the adoration of the internet by raising his middle finger out the window and flipping off the BMW while going full speed through the Daytona International Speedway's trioval.

God bless America.

The #4 Corvette got a tape job and got back into contention with Nico Varrone behind the wheel, as it and the teammate #3 Corvette started battling with the #1 BMW and the #65 Mustang.

The Corvette and BMW start touching on the oval and through the bus stop, so finally, Nico Varrone has enough of it and wrecks the #1 BMW in turn one while the #3 Corvette turns beneath the both of them. Varrone gets a penalty and the #4 drops out of contention, but the #3 Corvette moves into second place.

Unfortunately, the #65 Mustang took the opportunity to disappear into the distance.

Unlucky for Corvette, but we got the #65 Mustang in first, the #3 Corvette second, and the #64 Mustang in third - making for an American car 1-2-3 in GTD Pro.

As for GTD Am, it was more beating and banging as the #27 Heart of Racing Aston Martin barged the #13 AWA Corvette out of the way in turn one, however, the AWA Corvette managed to recover and retake the position. They even went three wide into the bus stop chicane at one point as the AWA Corvette and the #27 Aston battled for so long that the #120 Porsche entered the picture. The AWA Corvette held off the competition and won the class.

#13...unlucky for some, but not AWA.

So, Porsche wins in GTP, Mustang in GTD Pro, and the AWA Corvette in GTD.

As for the one remaining class in the form of LMP2, that honor went to the #8 Tower Motorsports car, driven by John Farano, Job van Uilert, Sebastian Alvarez...and Sebastien Bourdais.

Bourdais and Ogier both got wins this weekend.

A good weekend for French dudes named Sebastien, huh?

#motorsports #racing #wrc #wrc 2025 #world rally championship #monte carlo #rally monte carlo #daytona #24 hours of daytona #rolex 24 #rolex 24 at daytona #IMSA #IMSA 2025 #sebastien ogier #sebastien bourdais

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