#he's in the battle tower fit how could he not

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

The lighthearted feeling that’s sweetened the air over the past 24 hours vanishes with flashpoint speed. The atmosphere is left frozen and scorched all at once. Minato’s mouth is suddenly so dry that he tastes metal and his throat stings like he’s been breathing smoke.

It can’t be the Dark Hour. It’s supposed to be gone. 

Except it’s here, right now. There’s no alternative truth to grapple for. Kirijo-san’s assistants, unlike their boss, apparently don’t have any kind of potential– they’d transmogrified the instant midnight hit. Minato’s never seen the shift from human to coffin happen in real time, and it– 

He doesn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t gory or torturous. It wasn’t even much of anything at all, but– he really doesn't want to see it ever again, all the same.

Junpei is the first one to shake himself out of their shared stunned paralysis.

They’d had doubts? Sure, the Dark Hour the previous night hadn’t vanished in a puff of smoke alongside the Hanged Man shadow, but Minato had felt the way the atmosphere had changed. He had assumed that it was like the heat leaving a body newly dead– just a matter of time for entropy to do its work.

Even if he’d had any misgivings, they’d been laid to rest when Pharos had visited him this morning, in the light of dawn, to say his tearful goodbyes. If the Dark Hour hadn’t ceased to exist, then why on earth would Pharos?

The silence is cracked open by a metallic boom that Minato can feel in his teeth.

There’s a low register throb in the air, the tell-tale sign of a noise that’s far away but enormously loud. It thunders into the still night again, and a third time, and by the fourth time it sounds Minato recognizes what he’s hearing–

Is there even a tower that could hold a bell huge enough to make this kind of sound in Iwatodai?

…Of course there is. But only during the Dark Hour.

Kirijo-san surges to his feet, stormy and furious. Minato has never seen him look anything but professional– his sudden anger is as jarring as it is intimidating.

Foreboding curdles in Minato’s gut. Did something…happen to them? The Chairman can’t summon a Persona, and if Aigis was still mid-repair when the Dark Hour hit, then who knows if she’d be in any fit state to fight if she needed to. Did they get caught up in whatever’s going on and–

Sanada’s voice breaks him free of his thoughts before they can spiral too far, and Mitsuru seems to snap out of a similar loop. She stands, spine regally straight and fists clenched at her sides.

Apparently Mitsuru’s come to the same conclusion as Minato, and judging from Sanada’s grim nod and Fuuka’s nervous one, they’ve arrived there as well.

The state of relaxation they’d all shared not even five minutes ago has vanished utterly, and no one shows even a trace of sluggishness as they all rise to their feet, ready to grab their battle gear and evokers. Aragaki stands up as well, looking determined.

It doesn’t sound like he’ll be taking no for an answer. He isn’t asking permission to start with, simply stating a fact.

Mitsuru closes her eyes and hisses a long sigh through her teeth.

Aragaki draws a long, deep breath– it’s almost comical how closely his concession of defeat echoes Mitsuru’s. Some of the tension drains from his posture as he lets it gust back out, his shoulders sagging.

Definitely a soft spot for Fuuka. Maybe it’s a cheap shot for Mitsuru to take, but Minato can’t exactly blame her for it.

[xproskeith]

Here's a little fic I wrote that takes place at the end of Paladin Strait and kind of takes The Line into account with my theory of how The Line fits into the lore (and also this one about the drumming at the end of The Line). It involves TB appearing to Clancy and talking to him! I hope you like it. Below a read more so there's no worry for a block of text on your dash.

Clancy was determined. He was going to find Nico and defeat him and the rest of the bishops. He was going to break the cycle. He had no problem using the power he'd been granted to swiftly handle the 7 other bishops. He was ready for Nico.

Or so he thought. When Nico burst through that door, Clancy froze. And then Nico's cold hands were around his neck. It happened so fast. Did Nico really move that fast? Or did it only seem that way because he froze when he finally saw Nico? Clancy couldn't be sure and in the end the answer didn't change anything anyway. Clancy closed his eyes, trying to gather himself and what he would do next. What he COULD do next. Then Nico began to speak, his monotone voice distorted and as cold as ice.

"So few..."

Memories of the banditos getting ready at the basecamp flooded Clancy's mind. Before the attack. There were so few compared to what they would be facing. Yet, they were all so resolved. They believed. In the cause, in the Torchbearer, and in Clancy. But there were still so few...

"So proud..."

Clancy's mind drifted to the Torchbearer. His first time seeing him after his escape. When he rescued Clancy from DEMA. All the times he fervently told him about the Banditos and the cause. How he stood there looking at him so proudly when they reunited at the fire back in Trench after his long journey. He was so proud. Of the cause, of the Banditos, and, for some reason Clancy still didn't understand, the Torchbearer was proud of him as well. He believed in him. But this is where Clancy found himself now... Clancy felt the antlers slip from his hands.

"So... Emotional..."

To Clancy's own surprise, he thought of himself in this moment. He thought back to the surges of emotion that spurred him to first try and escape DEMA and of the journal entries and letters he wrote. He remembered being inflamed by the Torchbearer's words and his cause. More so than even the other Banditos. His desire to defeat the bishops and Nico. Yet all he could feel in this moment was fear and despair.

"Hello, Clancy."

It felt like Nico's hands tightened around Clancy's neck. What was he going to do? He'd already released the antlers. He couldn't use the power he'd been granted. Nico had him. Clancy thought he was ready, but he wasn't. He froze. And now his chance was gone. It was over.

His eyes still closed, and lost in a sea of his own fear and anxiety, Clancy's mind spiraled out of control. Each thought led to something worse and darker, feeding his anxiety and despair. He failed. He had failed the banditos. He failed the Torchbearer. He failed himself.

—

Torchbearer watched as the bodies of the glorious gone abruptly collapsed. They fell to the ground haphazardly, like puppets whose strings had been cut. The other banditos seemed surprised, but relieved. It seemed like the battle was won, that Clancy had succeeded. In spite of that, Torchbearer couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over, that something was wrong.

Torchbearer looked up at the tower once more. There, he saw nothing. No light, no movement, nothing. Something was wrong. A sense of dread filled Torchbearer. There was nothing physical or observable for him to base this feeling off of, but he knew Clancy was in trouble and struggling. Something was wrong and he needed help.

Torchbearer had sworn he would never leave Clancy and he fully intended to live up to that promise. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He envisioned Clancy clearly in his mind and his desire to help and guide him. As he exhaled, he envisioned himself at Clancy’s side. And he opened his eyes.

—

Torchbearer was inside the tower. Or his projection was anyway. Before him, Torchbearer saw the other bishops felled, lying on the floor, but what immediately took his attention was seeing Nico with his hands firmly wrapped around Clancy’s neck. Torchbearer was right. Something was wrong and Clancy was in trouble

Torchbearer quickly looked over the scene and situation, assessing the state of things. He saw the antlers on the ground. Torchbearer knew that Clancy must have relinquished them himself. He could feel the fear and anxiety exuding from Clancy. That’s when Torchbearer realized that the biggest threat to Clancy in that room wasn’t Nico. It was Clancy himself.

—

Clancy suddenly felt a warmth wash over him, contrasting the icy hands of Nico and the frigidity of the tower. More than that, he could feel a presence. It was comforting and familiar. Clancy knew immediately who it was. It was the Torchbearer.

Clancy’s mind immediately spiraled into regret. Here he was, bound up in his failure, and now Torchbearer was here to see it. Clancy was sorry. So sorry. Had he disappointed him? After all the faith he’d put into him? Surely he and the rest of the banditos would never allow him to come back to them. Not only had he failed, but he had given them hope and led them on this crusade only to fail. No, they certainly hated him now. Clancy couldn’t blame them. They should never have put their faith in someone like him. He thought he was ready to face down his fears, but he was wrong. Clancy had no idea what that actually meant. When the moment truly came, he froze. He failed. Again.

And yet, he could still feel Torchbearer’s warm presence. He was still there, despite it all.

“Hey”, echoed Torchbearer’s voice in Clancy’s mind. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry”, Clancy responded. “I can’t fight anymore. I’m done. I’m sorry.”

Though it was in his mind, Torchbearer’s voice was warm, calm, and soothing, yet strong.

“It’s not over, Clancy”, said Torchbearer. “You’re still alive.”

“But he has me”, replied Clancy. “There’s no escape from here.”

“Just because he ‘has’ you doesn’t mean it’s over.”

“No. I’ve failed. Failed you, the banditos, myself. They could never take me back.”

“The banditos would never abandon you, Clancy. Nor would I. I promised that I’d never leave you. I hoped by now that you’d have realized that I never left you before and I never will.”

“But why? I’ve failed. Failed all of you. You should leave with them while you still can. Believing in someone like me to change anything was a mistake. It’s hopeless. I can’t break this cycle. I shouldn’t drag the rest of you down with me.”

There was a pause. Torchbearer could finally see just how far Clancy had spiraled, how broken he felt. But Torchbearer knew Clancy, perhaps better than Clancy knew himself. He knew the strength of heart that Clancy had deep inside of him. He knew Clancy could do this, even if Clancy himself didn’t believe so. Torchbearer just needed to remind him of that. And also remind him that he is not alone in this. That he doesn’t have to face this all alone.

“Clancy,” began Torchbearer. “Breathe. Stop and just breathe.”

That caught Clancy by surprise, but it did bring his racing mind to a screeching halt. Clancy realized that he really wasn’t breathing and not because of Nico’s grip on his neck. He listened to Torchbearer and took a deep breath. Clancy was surprised at how much something so simple started to ground him. But it still didn’t change anything. The situation was still as dire and the outcome would be bad.

“It’s not over and this is not hopeless, Clancy,” continued Torchbearer, as if sensing Clancy’s thoughts and feelings. “So long as your heart beats and you draw breath, it’s not over. Yes, things may look bad, but don’t let your own doubt and anxiety cloud your view and judgment.”

“What do you mean?” asked Clancy.

“Take a moment to step back and look at things as they truly are. You made it here, to the tower where the bishops were hiding and using their power. You stopped seven of them on your own. You stopped those being seized by them. You granted them peace from the glorious gone.”

“Maybe so, but now Nico has me. I’m powerless against him. I should have known better. I can’t face him. So, in the end, he and they still win. The cycle continues like always.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Nico knows you’re afraid of him, of what he represents to you. He’s using that against you. He’s turning you against yourself. In giving in to that, you’re doing the work for him. Reject that, face those fears, and find a new way to stand and fight. Do that, and you’ll be no match for Nico by himself.”

“But I’m just one person. I’m all alone up here. It’s hard. I… I got used to having people around me. People I could depend on… As much as they depended on me. I… I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

“Clancy, you’re so much stronger than you realize. I’ve seen it. I know it. You don’t need anyone to see this through, but that doesn’t mean that you have to do it all alone. And you won’t have to. I am here with you. And so are the rest of the banditos.”

“But you’re not even truly here. You’re just a projection. It’s all in my head.”

“And who’s to say that makes it any less real? I’m here to help and guide you. But more than that, we are coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m rallying the banditos to you. We’ll be there soon. Like I said, you have the support of the yellow. We would never leave you.”

“I�� Why? Why aren’t you running away? Get everyone out while you still can.”

“We believe in you, Clancy, as well as the cause. We want to see an end to the bishops’ rule and to vialism. You’re right to call it a cycle. And you will be the one to break it. So, we will support you however we can. You’re not in this alone. You never were. So, are you ready to see this through?”

Clancy didn’t understand why, but he felt encouraged. Torchbearer’s words and the knowledge that his comrades were on his way to him to help him, despite the danger, caused his anxiety to fade. Clancy began to realize his anxiety for what it was, false and irrational thoughts and feelings. Where would he be had Torchbearer not intervened? Who was he to give up now if everyone else still believed in him and was still fighting? No, Torchbearer was right. It wasn’t over. It was time for Clancy to see this through to the end.

“I am,” replied Clancy, opening his eyes finally, his eyes filled with defiance and determination.

Clancy’s eyes met Nico’s at first. Nico's eyes were cold and soulless, almost lifeless. Then Clancy noticed Torchbearer standing next to him and Nico, looking at Clancy. He really had been there the whole time. Torchbearer gave Clancy a nod with a smirk. Clancy knew what to do.

Clancy quickly brought his arms upward, slamming into Nico’s elbows from below. Nico’s grip on his neck slipped. At the same time, Clancy ducked, fully escaping Nico’s grasp, and then slammed his palms as hard as he could into Nico’s chest. Nico stumbled backwards, creating distance between him and Clancy. He looked bewildered and stunned at what had just happened.

Clancy quickly retrieved the antlers and assumed a fighting stance again. He glanced over at Torchbearer. Clancy could hear the footsteps of the banditos making their way towards him. Torchbearer smiled as big and as warm as the sun at Clancy.

“Covering you,” said Torchbearer with a wink.

With that, Torchbearer disappeared. Moments later, before Nico could truly recover, Torchbearer and the rest of the banditos breached the doorway. The banditos gathered around Clancy as they faced Nico. Torchbearer took his place at Clancy’s side. He, like the rest of the banditos, also adopted a fighting stance, their torches in hand. Torchbearer looked at Clancy.

“So, ready to finish this?” asked Torchbearer.

Nico had recovered, brushing the attack off like nothing. To their surprise, he looked more angry than afraid or upset. It definitely wasn’t going to be that easy.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” replied Clancy.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

[screampied]

you don’t really realize you’re growing old with satoru until you spot a grey tress inside the roots of your hair as you’re looking in the mirror. the thing about marriage and life itself was that time really doesn’t stop—for no one. as you entrap the lock between your fingers, you murmur out to satoru with a cheeky grin. “satoru baby, c’mere.”and as he’s lying in bed with a wrinkled nose, he reads some book titled ‘three men in a boat.’ as he flips a thick page, his cerulean blue reading glasses crook down the bridge of his nose before he turns his attention toward you.

“yesss, honey?” he rubs his eyes, bringing a palm up to his growing stubble. as he got older, you noticed how he moved a bit slower. satoru was still fit as he aged, but he’d have a bit of a waddle whenever he walked. it was cute—how his limbs were getting more and more fragile, but he was still labeled as the strongest despite his inevitable aging.

he makes his way behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you make eye contact through the mirror that reflects you both, a happy married couple. “look, we’re finally matching now,” and his face softens once you bring the silvery colored strand up to his view. ‘matching,’ because his hair was naturally a snowy white . . almost similar to the strand of hair you just showed him.

although as the years progressed, satoru was growing ashen grey streaks too.

“i guess we are,” he replied in a gentle tone, his hands remaining on your hips. satoru’s touch was always gentle and ginger. he presses his lips near the back of your nape before letting off a soft sigh. “you’d look pretty with white hair, actually.”

“prettier than you?” you hum, glancing at him through the mirror. satoru towers over you as he holds you, the band of his wedding ring grazing against your hip.

again, you watch as the corners of his lips crease into a smile. a toothy genuine one where his dimples show.

“haha, veeeery funny,” and as he buries his face into your neck, he deeply ponders to himself for a moment.

to think . . how much time has passed, out of all the countless tiresome battles he’s had to face—

all those years at trying to keep the world safe and now, he could finally relax. having his arms around you gave him a peace of mind, and in the end it was all worth it because at the end of the day, satoru gojo—the strongest, came back to you. you were his personal safe haven and he was yours.

“but honeyyy,” he yawns with rosy pouty lips, shifting his chin up to rest against your left shoulder. satoru starts leading you toward your side of the bed. “ ‘s pretty late, let’s getcha back to bed, hm?”

“okay,” you mumble, already feeling your eyes starting to get heavy again. satoru’s still got his burly arms wrapped around your waist as he leisurely guides you back to bed. he was clingy, and that never changed. satoru gojo’s always been clingy ever since the two of you met. as he pulls down the cover for you to enter, you crawl back in and he gets beside you.

satoru slings an arm around you, pulling you close as his hooded eyes starts a staring contest with the swaying wooden ceiling fan.

it’s moving slow. . just like time was.

whenever he was with you, it felt as if time stood still. and as the both of you cuddled against each other with your head resting against his beating heart, he sighs. it’s a content happy sigh, and satoru’s hands find their way near the top of your head. his thin fingers maze it’s way near your soft grey growing strand before he leans in, giving the crown of your head a goodnight kiss. “mwah,” and he watches as your eyes briefly widen before glancing away, growing sheepish. “get some rest, my love. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

you nod, too drowsy to reply and he pulls you closer. satoru’s heartbeat was steady and slow, and each pulse that bested against your ear made you felt more and more protected. as he holds you firm and close, a hand of his softly caresses your forehead—brushing against the soft hairs that cling onto your skin.

as your breathing starts to relax and your eyelids finally close, he realizes you finally drifted off to sleep. satoru exhales lowly, almost forgetting to take off his reading glasses. as he places them near the nightstand, he lies back down, giving your sleeping state once last glance.

“i love you,” he whispers against your ear before reaching for the pearled lamp switch. “so much.”your head nuzzles against his chest and he assumes that was your non-verbal way of saying it back, even in your sleep. cute.

the only sounds that could be heard were the faint tick tocking of the grandfather clock that stood near the hallway and your soft breathing as you deeply slept. satoru feels a smile tugging against his glossed lips yet again, but this time it’s different . .

it’s not the same smile from when you showed him that you were graying, it was a more genuine smile that was satisfied at everything—primarily at life. satoru’s long crystalline lashes gradually flap shut as he smiles to himself, a thumb brushing against your forehead. all those battles was worth it in the end, because right now, he’s at the only place he wanted to be . . with you.

life wasn’t a competition, but satoru finally felt at peace, true peace—and that peace was being in your presence. he wasn’t one for believing in good endings, but maybe this particular one wasn’t so bad.

“i . . won.”

[sundays-lover]

stupid in love

husband!zhongli x gn!reader — fluff

synopsis: you're a talkative drunk and zhongli is in love.

content warning: reader is drunk and mentioned to have hair (lmk if i missed anything !)

notes: NOT PROOFREAD <3 ; zhongli is a wonderful lover but let's not forget that he is also canonically a menace 🫶 ; i'm writing and posting as much as i can rn bc i'll be inactive this week because of exams 😭

zhongli can't recall a time when he felt this helpless.

as the geo archon, he possesses the strength of a thousand meteors raining from the sky and has emerged victorious from numerous battles. his voice has commanded countless armies and his hands formed the towering mountains liyue is well-known for today. he is a respectable leader who can devise efficient strategies to overcome any obstacle he may face.

however, at this moment, he is not rex lapis, the god of contracts and liyue's archon. he is the simple zhongli, the funeral consultant of the wangsheng funeral parlor and, above everything, your husband.

tonight, his duty is to get you home. unfortunately for him, you don't seem to want to comply.

you notified him this morning that you and your co-workers would be going out for drinks that night to celebrate a successful business deal, with the promise that you would be monitoring how much you'll drink. while he had his doubts, he trusted that you would have a sense of rationality regardless of if you were sober or not and didn't question you further.

in hindsight, he supposes he should have enforced his doubts when he bumped into a co-worker of yours as he clocked out of work, who sounded tipsy, yet sober enough to inform him that you were currently drunk off your mind and needed help getting home.

that is exactly how he found himself trying to calm down a drunk you on the streets of liyue.

you threw yourself onto him the moment he arrived, not even bothering to bid goodnight to your acquaintances who were putting a group effort into keeping you balanced. after zhongli thanked them for finding him and wished them farewell in your stead, they took their leave. as they turn to head to their respective homes, they could hear you loudly thanking your lover for coming get you.

while the area was significantly less populated at night compared to during the day, the unusual sight of the normally collected funeral consultant struggling to bring his drunkenly rambling spouse home caught the attention of whoever was in the vicinity, causing an embarrassed blush to spread to his face which he ultimately chose to ignore.

his experience as a god and warrior never could have prepared him for this situation, he surmises.

meanwhile, you catch the look of powerlessness on his face and stifle a laugh.

“heh, you look so stupid right now~!”

zhongli gapes at you as you burst into a fit of giggles.

“my husband~ so silly~ so dumb~” your hands reach out and cup his face before he has the chance to pull back.

he merely stares at you as you sing what he wants to believe are praises in your drunken tongue. at this distance—or rather, the lack thereof—he can see your details more clearly; your hair is disheveled and eyes droopy. your gaze is unfocused yet fixated on the way his skin squishes under your thumb.

but he thinks you're beautiful nonetheless. the glow of the street lanterns frame your figure and he thinks you look akin to the radiant sun. moonlight shines down upon you and its gleam creates the illusion of you emitting a halo. he takes these as signs from the universe, reminding him to cherish you with his entire being, for they have sent him their best. he is certain that whatever celestia can offer does not hold a candle to you.

this god of stone crumbles to dust from your touch alone…

while you busy yourself with poking and pinching his cheeks.

he regains awareness of the situation and breaths a resigned sigh. you watch his face soften and shift to an expression that almost looks pleading, and you gasp loudly.

“ooh! so handsome!!!” you squeal, attracting even more onlookers. “i want to kiss you on the mouff—”

zhongli beats you to it, placing a hand behind your head and gently leaning in for a kiss as deep as his adoration for you. you think your knees would have buckled if it weren't for the arm he had wrapped around your waist. you think you hear some of the lady passersby coo at your display of romance, but the echo of your heartbeat in your ears drowns them out.

his lips move slowly against yours, savoring the flavor of the bitter remnants of alcohol mixed with the sweetness of your lips. he doesn't think he's ever tasted a flavor as divine as this.

you are dazed when he pulls away, as though bewitched. he notices and chuckles, eyes full of mirth and tenderness as they peer into yours.

he speaks up, almost breathless. “you look very…”

no, no, no! if he starts charming and complimenting you after all that, you might think you’ll consider marrying him for a second time—

“...stupid right now, my love.”

you blink once. twice.

then you burst.

“you…!”

you thrash in his hold and bury your face in his chest, feeling a bashful warmth rise to your face for the first time tonight.

“you can't pull that on me! so mean…” you mumble into the lapel of his coat.

he chuckles again, more heartily this time. ugh, darn that handsome laugh…

“i apologize, my love.” you sense a teasing lilt, but you can tell he's sincerely coaxing you. a hand remains on the back of your head as you lean against him, fingers softly running through the strands of your hair.

zhongli remains that way, patiently waiting for your emotions to settle. when he hears you meekly mutter his name, he turns to you in his hold.

“yes, dearest?”

“...let's go home, please?”

he mentally sighs in relief. externally, he calmly adheres to your request with a nod. “then we shall head home at once.”

he pulls away to position you so that you are held onto his arm as he leads you home, acting as your support while you keep yourself upright.

the walk home is neither dull nor quiet as you relentlessly babble about any and every topic that you can think of. you sway and stumble over the rocky pavement, but your incredibly attentive husband would never let you fall. frankly, he'd be more than happy to carry you if you asked.

a thought briefly flashes in his mind concerning how he's going to peacefully get you washed up and tucked in bed, but one look at you chatting away into the night and he supposes that he can afford to save those worries for after arriving home. until then, he entertains your mindless chatters with hums of acknowledgement and short quips as you walk arm in arm.

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Missing

Synopsis: You went suddenly missing, and your knight, Ser Aemond, was beside himself-- completely desperate to find you once more. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Reader becoming closer, ¿infatuation?, Aemond Overly Concerned, Fluff PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: ngl, i rlly like this one.

“I was gone for just a moment… how the fuck did you lose the princess?!” Aemond roared at his fellow knight, who had just recently recovered from his fever. You and your family were still staying by the seaside palace, and Aemond had only recently adapted to your new routine when your days were spent in your summer home, but it was suddenly disrupted by your disappearance. Ser Adam turned his head to the side and had a sneezing fit once more, making Aemond roll his eye. “I—I had only excused myself for a quick moment to relieve myself, and the princess swore she would stay put! I had no idea that she would escape!” 

“You imbecile! What kind of guard are you? Leaving the princess alone! You had a station in the castle longer than I— you must know of her tendencies to run off!” Aemond spat, stomping furiously as he searched for you through the halls, Ser Adam in tow. “I thought she had outgrown such habits! Ever since you came to be her guard, she never once escaped.” Ser Adam tried to defend himself. “Because I never let her out of my sight!” Aemond resisted his desire to punch his fellow knight as he gave him a sheepish look, and an ‘oh’ left his lips. “Go! Alert the other guards; the princess must be found quickly. If she is found harmed due to your negligence, I swear to you I’ll be the one to put your head upon a spike personally.” Aemond quickly sprinted through the halls, unable to see Ser Adam's reaction to his rather… bold and overly passionate statement. 

Aemond ran up the stairs, battling through the pit in his stomach and ache in his lungs to reach your chambers that were placed upon the highest tower of the seaside keep. When Aemond opened the doors of your circular chambers, naught a soul was to be found beside your pet cat who leisurely laid on your bed. “Princess!” Aemond called, going through the various rooms in your chambers in search of you. When he heard footsteps approaching, Aemond quickly exited the wet room, hoping it was you, but it was only your brother. The prince rested by the doorframe, catching his breath as he ran up the endless steps that led to your chambers. “Where…. Where is— she?” He panted, resting his hands on his knees as he felt winded. Aemond could not reply, only assisting the prince onto a chair. “I do not know if the tightening in my chest is because my sister is missing or because I ran up those wretched stairs! Whose idea was it to place her chambers in the highest tower?” He started to ramble on. 

“I believe she said that it was yours, my prince,” Aemond answered, remembering one of your anecdotes from the day before. “Ah, yes, so she could not climb out the window.” The prince ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavily. “How, in the name of the seven, did she even escape?! You never take your eye off her! I find it impossible to believe that she slipped through your fingers!” The prince exclaimed, exasperated as he was once again subjected to the fear of your disappearance. He felt a kind of anxiousness he had not felt in a while due to the attention your sworn protector placed upon you; he had not worried about you escaping and wandering off ever since Ser Aemond came to your care. “I was summoned by the king, and I left the princess on the watch of Ser Adam. He tells me he took a short moment to relieve himself, and when he returned to the gardens, the princess had already disappeared.” 

“Damned stairs!” A third voice suddenly boomed, catching the attention of the prince and the knight. “My king,” Ser Aemond quickly bowed, and your brother abruptly stood. “Where is your sister?” He questioned sharply, another person who got accustomed to your shift of habits as you had not once escaped when under the protection of Ser Aemond. “She escaped her guard,” Your brother sighed, making the king point his heated gaze to Ser Aemond. “Not Ser Aemond; you summoned him, and sister was under the protection of another.” Your brother quickly defended. “Oh, yes, of course,” The king said, already forgetting that he had spoken to Ser Aemond just a few moments ago. “Then what are you two doing in her chambers? Find her! For heaven’s sake, I thought we were past this!” The king said, holding the same exasperation as his son. “Of course, father.” The prince gave a curt nod. “And for the love of god, move her chambers to the east wing! These stairs would cause anyone apoplexy!” The king exclaimed from a distance. 

“I had told Ser Adam to order the knight to patrol and search the beach,” Aemond spoke, and your brother nodded. “The shore is stretched for miles. Hopefully, she had not threaded far.” The prince said in thought as he tried to recall where you had escaped to the past times. “Unless…” He trailed. “Unless what?” Aemond questioned. “Unless she found a horse— I gave strict orders to the stableboy not to lend her one, but she always manages to bribe them.” Aemond’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. “If she had managed to mount a horse, where would she run off to my prince? I only ask because I am still quite unfamiliar here,” 

“Oh gods,” Your brother suddenly paled, “She could reach town.” Dread spread to his stomach as his sister could be defenseless, squished amongst the crowd of smallfolk who would not hesitate to take advantage of her. “Or worse… she could reach the Mootons.” Aemond frowned, “Lord Tristan’s house?” He gritted, the gnawing feeling in his gut evermore persistent, and it only multiplied as your brother nodded. “I was told they left the capitol shortly after we had.” Your brother covered his mouth in deep thought. “I shall ride to Mooton, my prince.” Ser Aemond announced, ready to step out of the door, but the prince hindered him. 

“No, you are unfamiliar with this place. I shall ride to Moonton and search for my sister there. In the meantime, order the guards in town to keep an eye on her, and you must continue to search this castle.” The prince decided, and Aemond nodded with understanding. Both men quickly descend the endless stairs to search for you. No guard nor tracking dog had found you by the shore nor the town— not even in the near lordship. When the night was coming, the king had ordered to expand the search into the sea, searching for you far and wide when, in truth, you were just a few yards away from them. 

Aemond was growing frantic in his search for you, leaving no hall nor room unchecked. The moon was nearing its peak, and most of the guards had grown tired in their search, but not your knight who searched the castle like a madman. “Princess!” He yelled for the hundredth time of the day, still hoping that you would eventually answer his call. “You must rest, Ser Aemond… we will start fresh in the morning.” Ser Adam said cautiously, seeking out your sword protector, who returned to the gardens in search of you. “Rest?” Aemond spat. “We would not be in this situation if it weren’t for your incompetence!” He seethed, “As of now, the princess is alone and helpless in the night! And you are thinking of rest?! She— she had not eaten or… or drank anything for hours! She could have been taken or harmed! The princess of the realm is missing, and you think of rest?!” Aemond was ready to pounce on the knight, but he abruptly froze as a structure caught the side of his eye. 

Aemond turned to his right, his gaze enclosed on the towering shrubs of the maze, and only then did it occur to him that no one had searched there. He pushed away his fellow knight, took the lamp in his hand, and ran towards the maze. Aemond turned endless corners and was constantly met by block pathways until he finally found you. Aemond wanted to fall on his knees in relief as he saw you seated on the grass, a pout on your lips as you boredly picked at the grass you sat upon. “Princess,” Aemond breathed out, rushing to you and knelt by your side to check if you were at all harmed. “They changed the maze,” Was the first thing you said. “I got lost.” 

You looked upon your knight, his tired face filled with relief that slowly turned into anger with each moment you looked upon him through the light of the moon. “What were you thinking escaping your guard?!” Aemond roared, the dread in his stomach turning into a rage as you had subjected him to such emotions of anxiety and fear the whole day. You shrugged, having no reason or defense to escape Ser Adam. In truth, you had just wanted a moment alone— a moment without your knights’ constant presence or gaze. You did not intend to set a panic. You sighed as Ser Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel faint; I have not eaten since the morning,” You said weakly, unaccustomed to hunger and lack of sustenance, even if it was just for a few hours. And with you venturing through the maze in the summer heat as you tried to find the way out, it had left you completely tired. 

“Why had you not cried and yelled for help? Do you know the panic you had set? The King is furious; your brother is wrapped in fear, and The Queen—“ Aemond abruptly stopped speaking as he had not sensed any fear nor anxiety in the queen during your disappearance. Your mother was quite used to your escapes and no longer found care as she was certain that it was just a cry for attention on your part. “I did! I had been calling for you since the morning, but you never heard me!” You frowned, a pout returning to your lips. Ser Aemond had always answered your call, even if it were the measliest of matters, but when you needed him the most, it would seem he had not heard you. 

Aemond sighed once more as you crossed your arms across your chest, a furrow in your brow that was a telltale sign of your irritation due to your hunger. Your knight reached into his pocket and retrieved a pastry wrapped in cloth that he had been carrying the whole day, knowing that you would undoubtedly be peckish when he eventually found you. The sour look on your face instantly disappeared as you were presented with the pastry Ser Aemond had brought for you. 

Aemond bit his tongue as the pout on your lips quickly bloomed into a smile as you gratefully took the pastry from his hand and ate it, Aemond moving to sit by your side as the adrenaline had worn off and his tiredness quickly weighed him down. “I’m sorry,” You say as your knight rests his head upon the tall bush, a long, tired sigh leaving his lips. Aemond hummed, not wanting to believe you, but it was difficult as sincerity and remorse were heavy in your tone. “I truly am. I… I just wanted a few moments alone; I did not mean to alarm anyone.” You said softly, offering half of the pasty to your knight, who you were certain had no time of reprieve the whole day. Aemond did not have it in him to deny your offer to take a piece of the pastry to sedate his stomach. “Whatever intentions you have, you must know of the consequences of it, princess.” He said. 

“I was only gone for a few hours— none of you needed to panic as you did. It’s quite an overreaction.” Aemond scoffed. “You dare blame us?” He questioned. “Now, it is our fault that we care?” You rolled your eyes at your knight. “Seeing how often I do this… it is an overreaction! You need not fret that much,” Aemond shook his head. “Are you aware of how well-loved you are? Not only by your family but as well as this whole entire kingdom?” Aemond questioned. “No guard ceased in finding you— some did not even wait for a boat to search for you in the sea; they readily swam. I passed the kitchens endless of times, and each time, I saw the cooks and maids praying for you to be found. Even your cat joined in on the search, accompanying Ser Adam as he searched for you in each room. It is not an overreaction, princess; it is an action brought out of adoration.” 

Your gaze went to your lap. You bit your lip harshly as Ser Aemond waited for your reply, but he was only met with a stifled sniffle. “Princess?” He asked, trying to meet your gaze, but you would not let him. “Why are you crying? Does something hurt?” He asked, quickly springing up from his lax position and taking hold of your arm. “You made me feel guilty!” You cried, Aemond pursing his lips to hinder an amused smile that was twitching on his lips. Aemond froze as you suddenly buried your face onto his chest as you sobbed. Aemond sat there completely still, unknowing what to do, until he eventually cautiously wrapped his arms around your tremoring frame. He could not recall the last time he had embraced another person. He would think it was when he left home, his mother embracing him goodbye, but even he was uncertain. All he was certain was that though it was quite inappropriate to embrace the princess of the realm, it felt… nice. 

“Do you… do you think they will hate me now?” You sobbed, and Aemond ran his hand through your hair, taking the moment that you both were away from any prying eyes. “No.” He said with conviction. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better!” You cried. Aemond breathed in deeply, “Princess, I don’t think anything you would do would make anyone hate you.” You raised your gaze to see if your knight was sincere or if he was saying such a thing so your tears would cease.

“I tried to, but I couldn’t,” Aemond confessed, unable to restrain himself as the words left his lips. “Oh,” You say, “Why did you want to hate me?” You asked, but Ser Aemond shrugged, moving the two of you to stand. “Come now, we must return, so they must cease their search.” You could only nod, deciding to let go of the matter for the moment and focus on being grateful that your knight had found you. 

Taglist: anukulee ladyriverasafespace rebeccawinters

[alwaysshallow]

Isa baby please can we have ghost be told NO for some work stuff by higher ranked! Reader and him to be like

🤪🤪 why does this make me horny 🤪🤪

You’re mad as hell.

You should say something to him after ordering him to go to your office, you know it. You should address all the things that irritate you right now, but you physically can’t bring yourself to it—not when your desire is to bite into his throat. It’s not leader-ish, it’s not you since you never scream at your team. Yet, you have to clench your fists, so they won’t land on his pretty face.

“Won’t you even look at me?” he asks, and somehow it makes you even more mad at him. A low laugh escapes your mouth, as you shake your head with disbelief. His audacity is fucking insane.

As you look up at him, you can’t help but notice the way he just smirks under that simple balaclava he has. It’s almost arrogant in a way, like he’s completely unfazed by your emotions and what he did.

"You disobeyed my orders," you speak up, slowly, deliberately—it’s the only way of speaking that won’t have you screaming at him. “Then, you proceed to lead the entire team under your command, even if I told you otherwise.”

His brown eyes harden a little, but he’s not less amused, as he takes a step forward in your direction. "I did what I thought fit for the situation," Simon says. Riley’s tone is insistent, not leaving a pole in a discussion; a great leader trait, you'd normally think of it.

But right now, this tone makes you furious because he’s not the leader. He’s someone that should obey, someone that shouldn’t even question your choices on the battlefield since you are the one giving orders. Not him.

“Right. Completely putting people at risk, instead of backing out despite we had everything,” you grit through your teeth. The next words you want to say are tough, so you clean your throat and take a deep breath before actually saying them. “You’re off the mission.”

The atmosphere between you two can be cut with the knife. Not only he doesn’t speak to you for a good minute, but he looks at you with a confused look in his eyes. “What the fuck?”

Of course he’d react this way, you think. Nothing new, nothing surprising—at least not with Simon Riley. “I can’t have you sabotaging my mission because you did something that fit the situation.”

“Sabotaging your mission,” he laughs. You lean against the wall when he takes another few steps in your direction, and you tilt your head at him for a better view. “It fits the situation because ‘m savin’ your bloody ass, colonel.”

“I don’t remember asking for it.” You furrow your eyebrows, trying to calm down. It’s hard enough with being mad at him, but even harder when he's chest to chest proximity, towering over you.

“You don’t have to ask. I’ll do it anyway, whether you want it or not.” He shrugs; for a moment, your words die in your throat.

Whether you want it or not.

You shouldn’t feel so hot and bothered right now. Yet, you can’t really help it, as he leans down to your eye level, so you don’t have to have your chin up anymore.

“Should take you off missions with me, then?” you ask. It’s obvious that the question startles him a bit, as he scoffs.

“You can’t do that, love. Wouldn’t do you any good, would it?”

“As far as I remember, I call the shots. Not you, so I’d be careful.”

He hums, completely ignoring the slight warning in your words; his eyes drop to your lips, like he doesn’t care about anything you said before. “I want to kiss you.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the heat radiating all over your face. “I could have you suspended for insubordination right here, right now, lieutenant, and you think about—”

You don’t get to finish that sentence, as he pulls his balaclava a little over his nose and he pushes his lips into yours. Forceful kiss at first, evolves into the mutual battle of domination; maybe it’s the rank type of thing considering how eagerly you fight, but you can’t do it for long. Not when his hands lands on your hips and your back hits the wall

“I don’t think,” he pants out, his lips still against yours, “that you get how I care about you. You want to piss me off and send me off the mission? Do it. But I’ll be here anyway.”

“I could call the general on you,” you squeak weakly, as he picks you up and sits you on your desk.

“Then fuckin’ do it,” he growls, looking into your eyes—you do not look away, under any circumstances. It would only grow his ego bigger. “No one could protect you like I do. I’m on your command and you like it.”

The evident cockiness in his voice has you trembling, not to mention the lips on your cleavage, as he kisses the skin here. “On my command? You’d do whatever I want you to do?”

He smirks, lazily. “Isn’t that what I just said, love?”

You bite your lip more; it’s gonna be a bloody mess here in a minute, but you can’t care less right now. “Take off the mask,” you say. He tilts his head like a puppy, confused, as his back straightens. “You’re not fucking with me with this thing on.”

And oh, how quickly he throws his balaclava behind him, not even caring about where it lands. It's just your words that get him, the way you're so sure when you say it. It doesn't take him long to get rid of your pants either, kneeling right in front of you.

"'m gonna take," he murmurs to your thigh, gnawing at the skin, "such a good care of you, love. Gonna make this pussy all mine."

It takes one swipe of his tongue to know that he's right.

[love-bitesx]

HI MIAAA just have... Hobie brainrot... About little details in every day life like 😭😭 him nonchalantly pulling u by the waist so he's on the side of the street facing the road, him towering you in the bus or underground, blocking you from the big mass of bodies or any possible creeps (had my share when bus is too crowded 😭), or giving you the window seat because ita your favorite and that way he can block u from the aisle and protect u like with the street thing 🥹🥹 letting you fall asleep in his shoulder or hugging his arm. Sitting always in the chair facing the door when u go to a cafe or a pub, so he can watch out for any possible threats that could come in and be ready for them, so u can rest assured and enjoy ur time. Letting you play with his rings when you're bored or anxious, holding you tight when you hide a bit behind him if you're too shy when he first introduces you to his friends, his hand giving u a reassuring squeeze. !!! EXCHANGING BATTLE JACKETS <<333333 maybe yours fits him a little shorter but its so cute... Such a bonding act.... Making patches or diy badges for each other's jackets too!!! Painting each other nails and kissing the knuckles for every nail painted 😭❤️❤️ i could go on and on. I LOVE HIM!!!!

VIVI I SCREECHED INTO MY MATTRESS WHEN I READ THIS OH MY LORD ABOVE

i’d like to elaborate, if you don’t mind—

his brain was so wired to protect you that half the things he did weren’t even consciously (cupping his hand around corner of tables or cupboards so you don’t hurt yourself/hit your head, steering you to the other side of the pavement, away from the road, etc.). of course, you knew having spider-man as a boyfriend, you’d be safer than most, but when the mask comes off and it’s just your hobie, dark eyes lidded, watching you through his lashes as he towers you at the packed bus stop, cuffed arm pressed above your head, you knew nothing bad could ever touch you.

something about him mindlessly towering you on the tube just. wow. it’d be packed, rush hour hitting and he swore he could’ve just swung you both to your location, but you refused. swinging made you nauseous, and the tube wasn’t all that bad. if you chose to sit down, his ringed hand would be glued to your thigh, not to be a flirt, but to ease your anxiety, know that you’re safe and that he was there. if it’s too busy, he’d let you play with each steel band, secretly calmed by the sensation.

standing up, however, he’d hold onto the railing on the roof, free hand on your hip to bring you flush against him, grip tightening at every bump and screech of the crooked underground carriages. you know it isn’t his intention to tease you, but the way his body moved around yours at every turn, his cologne and natural scent inescapable with how close he held you, and the incredibly nonchalant intimacy of it all. something about the smirk that sat on his pierced lips, however, made you believe that his intentions aren’t always mindless. anytime you questioned him about it, he’d brush off your accusations, simply saying;

“too many creeps around ‘ere, darlin’. gotta keep you safe.”

he trusts you with every part of him and more, but his trust for other people was non-existent at best. so, at the pub, he always liked to be able to feel you (within reason (or without, actually, he wasn’t fussy)). whether it’s simply your knees pressed together, or you playing with his hands from across the table, arm snaked around your waist or shoulders as you sat next to him. he’d like to keep you away from the door, sandwiched between himself and his mates.

although he insists his intentions are strictly safety-related, he’d be lying through his teeth if he said that the visible rush of blood to your cheeks and falter in your voice as his hand slides across the skin of your thigh under the table, wasn’t an added bonus. the smug prick.

he’d share everything with you, if it’s possible. clothes? yours. no question. jewellery? yours. badges, patches, safety pins with beaded designs? yours within a heartbeat. hell, you even had a collection of guitar picks on your bedroom dresser that he’d been dying to give you after special shows. you had no use for it, but the giddy smile he wore on his face as he kissed it between his lips and offered it to you, who are you to refuse that?

speaking of gifts; if he wasn’t the one and only spider-man (well, of his dimension) then his criminal record would be miles long, purely because of the sheer amount of stuff he steals for you. he’s like a cat. anytime he leaves you for the day, he’ll crawl back through your window with pockets full of tiny trinkets he’d robbed throughout the day. anything he sees that even remotely makes him think of you and he’s slyly sneaking it into his back pocket – and trust me, it’s a lot.

all in all, he’d go to insane lengths to keep you safe, and if he’s able to keep a smile on your face – and a blush on your cheeks – whilst he does it? then he’s a very happy man. loves you more than he could ever say, and hopes these little measures let you know that.

i’m violently in love with this man, i actually need to be sedated

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 1.5

[Alastor & Other Overlords x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 (here) — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13

Okay, I think this needs to be set clear before there are future parts since no one asked about Reader’s/your presence in the show was. While you never made a formal appearance until in Part 1, which is after the battle with Heaven, you were hinted here and there.

Pilot: 

The beginning scene where Carmilla opens the curtains, showing Zestial, Zeezi, and Lucifer in the same. Then the scene of the Vees, and Rosie. There are eyes staring at them. Like just eyes

When the clock tower resets the extermination day, eyes opened to eye the new countdown before closing just as fast

During when Vaggie talks about “ancient and destructive evils”, your outline as a puppeteer is shown above all the Overlords

Episode 1: Overture

N/A

Episode 2: Radio Killed the Video Star

Alastor laughs at Sir Pentious that seeking to join the Vees was a terrible decision since their standing as Overlords was rocky and unstable. He taunts that Sir Pentious wouldn’t be able to hold the title as Overlord or fit in, referencing the Collection of Elites

Episode 3: Scrambled Eggs

After Zestial and Alastor were done with their chat like on the show, Zestial remarks that Alastor was very brave to go missing for 7 years but also remarkable that he was still in the Collection as per the mark on his soul

When Overlords are seated, they inspect the others to make sure the group was still intact and without change. Also reporting that there was no sighting or word from you, to their disappointment

After Velvette left, Zeezi laughed that the Vees’ days might be numbered with that attitude, Rosie chuckles and shrugs, saying that it wasn’t their decision or say in the matter

When Whatever It Takes is done, Zestial suggests for Carmilla to contact you on the matter since this was out of her hands. Carmilla sit back down on her chair, holding out a pendant with an eye design on it

The Egg Boiz reported to Alastor that Carmilla was the one to kill the angel and that she may contact someone, telling Alastor that Carmilla might have someone to back her up without knowing that Alastor know who it was implying

The same Egg Boiz didn’t mention you to Sir Pentious and only Carmilla killing an angel

(behind the scenes: you instructed for Carmilla to continue as always and maybe provide help to the hotel if she deemed it worthy)

Episode 4: Masquerade

When Valentino is offering a place for Charlie to star, he mentions how it could make him rich and show his dues to you without specifically mentioning you. Valentino’s a bit condescending when he addresses Charlie because he only sees you to be the one in higher power and rank

Valentino threatens Angel, hinting how he wouldn’t have some weak Princess or contracted soul ruin things for him. Meaning he is aware that he’s on thin ice with your interest and favour. Also implying that Charlie was nothing for him to fear, because he fears your wrath more

Valentino laughs how Charlie has no real power compared to what he faced with, confusing Angel since he has no idea of your involvement in the Overlords’ circle

While Husk was mentioning about his Overlord status, for the first time you’re mentioned, he talks about The Collector. “But when you’re dealing with souls while also being a gambler, the stakes are pretty high. I was warned about that, but when you’re winning, you don’t hear that kinda stuff. In my place, I lose a few hands and it got dangerous that I didn’t even know. When you’re down on your luck, you turn to anything to keep you afloat. Even making deals yourself.”

“What happened?”

“Turns out, I was long abandoned. And I wasn’t in the group anymore when I have that last deal. Like the fallen Overlords before me, I was hunted for being disrespectful and arrogant. Now I’m here.”

Episode 5: Dad Beat Dad

“Big talk for someone who’s also on a leash.”

“I should have torn your soul apart and broadcasted your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to abuse My Liege’s mercy and generousity! You were lucky your former Liege was merciful enough not to let your death happen.”

When Lucifer’s lecturing on Charlie about the hotel, he mentions how it lacks the power and authority needed to make it work. It’s referencing to you teaching Lucifer how to rule as the King of Hell when he first arrived

Episode 6: Welcome to Heaven

N/A

Episode 7: Hello Rosie!

(behind the scenes after Vaggie left, Carmilla grips on the pendant and hopes she did the right thing that wouldn’t disappoint you)

Episode 8: The Show Must Go On

The the Vees celebrate, they explicitly cheer for joy and anticipation that Alastor would be removed from the Collection of Elite while eyes were staring at them without their knowledge, also mentioning how they’d rise in ranks (favour)

Alastor’s breakdown is more centered around the possibility that he knew you were always watching and saw his defeat and shameful retreat, for his actions, he might fall from your interest and favour. He fears he’ll end up like Husk

When the news of the canceled extermination is being broadcasted to all of Hell, your silhouette was shown by a window with eyes closed and a small smile on your face. “Time to check in.”

Note: You can ignore this or not, but I had to at least put this out cause some Overlords' actions are a bit different, namely Alastor's breakdown reason.

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @plutobots @ray-rook

[blackgirlsrxck]

Old Friends, New Dangers

a/n: Yall... I cooked with this one omg. Like as soon as it turns October, my urge to write Twilight fanfiction becomes so extreme. I used to write them all the time on another account, but I don't use it anymore. Anyways... Enjoy <3

summary: paul imprints on someone unexpected

word count: 4.1k

-

The air was thick with the mist of the Pacific Northwest as Y/n moved swiftly through the towering pines. Her heightened senses caught every rustle of leaves, every breath of the wind. Forks had always felt suffocating, even when she visited the Cullens long ago. Today, it was a reminder of the family she hadn’t stood with when they faced their greatest threat.

The guilt sat heavy in her chest like a stone. You should’ve been there, she thought. They needed you.

But her own crisis had been just as consuming. In truth, she had barely survived her encounter with the rogue coven that had hunted her for years. The Volturi battle hadn’t been the only war in the world, and Y/n had been fighting her own.

Y/n caught her reflection in a passing creek and paused, crouching by the water. Her deep brown skin glowed faintly in the dim light, and her eyes—still a vivid crimson—stared back at her. The Cullens had always been different, with their golden eyes that symbolized their vegetarian lifestyle. She couldn’t deny the hunger that burned in her throat. A hundred years of resisting temptation, and yet, she still wasn’t one of them.

Her long, layered silk press flowed around her like liquid ebony, even in the dampness of the forest air. She ran a hand through it absentmindedly as she sighed. She would never fit in perfectly with the Cullens. That’s why she left. That’s why she was a nomad.

But Carlisle had always been kind, and she owed him an explanation.

-

The Cullen mansion appeared like a shimmering beacon amidst the trees—modern, sleek, and yet hidden in the remote woods of Forks. Y/n approached cautiously. It had been too long, and while she trusted Carlisle, the others might not welcome her as easily.

As she neared the house, she slowed, her footsteps becoming light, barely touching the ground. Before she could reach the porch, a flash of movement caught her eye. Edward, unsurprisingly, was the first to appear. He stepped out of the shadows, his golden eyes scanning her with cautious intensity. Y/n could feel his mind brush against hers as he tried to read her thoughts.

Edward, she mentally projected, I'm not here to cause trouble.

His expression softened slightly, but not by much. Bella emerged from behind him, holding Renesmee close. Her face was stoic, protective.

Y/n gave them a small smile, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, but the tension was unmistakable.

The front door opened, and Carlisle stepped out, his face breaking into a gentle, welcoming smile. "Y/n," he said warmly. "It’s been too long."

Y/n felt a wave of relief at his tone. “Carlisle,” she breathed, stepping forward. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed his calm, fatherly presence. She could feel the eyes of the rest of the family from the windows inside—Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie—all watching her, assessing the potential danger she posed.

Esme appeared beside Carlisle, her expression equally warm, though tinged with concern. “We’re glad to see you safe,” she said softly, her kind eyes studying Y/n’s features.

Y/n swallowed the knot in her throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she started. “When the Volturi came. I should have been here, but…”

Carlisle shook his head, his smile never wavering. “You had your own battles to fight. I understand.”

“Still,” Y/n continued, “I should’ve done more. I let you all down.” She looked at him, guilt in her red eyes. She hadn’t even realized how heavy the burden was until she was standing before him.

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” Carlisle replied, putting a hand on her shoulder in that reassuring way he always had. "What matters is that you’re safe.”

Edward, still tense, stepped forward slightly, eyeing Y/n with suspicion. “It’s not just the past we need to worry about,” he said, his voice low. “You’re still hunting humans, aren’t you?”

The air froze around them. Y/n couldn’t deny it, even though the accusation stung. She had never fully embraced the vegetarian lifestyle the Cullens so strictly adhered to, and that was something she had wrestled with for years.

“I am,” she admitted, her voice steady but guarded. “But I’m not a threat to you. I’ve always respected your way of life, even if I can’t live it.”

Bella frowned slightly, her arms still wrapped protectively around Renesmee. "It's not just about us," she said. "The wolves...they’re still patrolling. You know how they feel about vampires who aren’t like us."

Y/n’s brows furrowed. She had almost forgotten about the Quileute wolves, the natural protectors of this land. They were bound to sense her presence soon, if they hadn’t already.

-

Moments later, as if on cue, the unmistakable sound of paws hitting the earth reverberated in the distance. Y/n’s sharp senses picked it up immediately, and she tensed. The wolves.

Jacob, accompanied by two others, was running toward the Cullen home, his expression as intense as ever. One of the wolves shifted mid-run, and a shirtless man stood before them in seconds. His dark eyes immediately locked onto Y/n, a defensive scowl crossing his features.

Paul.

He was as she remembered him—fierce, quick-tempered, and ever-ready for a fight. His muscled frame was tense, and even though he stood in human form now, the aggression in his posture was undeniable. Y/n’s presence alone was enough to set him off. She could sense it, the way his heartbeat quickened, his fists clenching at his sides.

“What’s she doing here?” Paul growled, his voice dripping with hostility.

Jacob stepped in front of Paul, placing a hand on his chest to calm him down. “She’s not a threat, Paul. Relax.”

But Y/n could see it wasn’t that simple. Paul’s eyes flickered between her and the Cullens, mistrust etched into every line of his face. She could feel the heat of his anger from where she stood, but something strange rippled through the air between them—an unfamiliar, electric pull.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and Y/n’s breath hitched. She had been around enough wolves to know their instincts were unpredictable, but this… this was different. She could feel Paul’s emotions crackling in the air, but underneath the aggression, there was something else. Something raw, primal, and entirely unexpected.

Paul took a step back, his expression shifting from anger to confusion, as though he were fighting something within himself. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening. “No… no way,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Y/n frowned, her brow furrowed. “What… what’s happening?”

Jacob’s eyes widened in realization, and he turned to Paul, his expression one of shock. “Paul… did you just imprint?”

Paul's face paled, and his body went rigid. The fury in his eyes had been replaced by sheer confusion, and for the first time since Y/n had met him, Paul looked… vulnerable.

Y/n felt her stomach drop, her vampire instincts screaming at her to run, but something deeper, something more human, rooted her to the spot. She didn’t understand what had just happened, but she knew it had changed everything.

-

The tension hung thick in the air, thicker than the mist swirling through the trees around the Cullen home. Y/n’s mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Imprinting—a bond she had heard of only in stories—had been something she never expected to encounter, let alone be the center of. But there was no mistaking it. The way Paul’s aggressive stance had melted into confusion, the raw emotions flickering in his dark eyes—it was undeniable.

But she was a vampire, and he was a wolf. This shouldn’t have been possible.

Paul stood frozen a few feet away, his broad chest heaving as he struggled with the same realization. Y/n could see the conflict written on his face, his entire being torn between his natural instinct to hate her and this newfound, overwhelming need to protect her. She didn’t know what to make of it, and judging by the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists, neither did he.

Jacob, standing off to the side, broke the silence first, his voice low but firm. “Paul, you need to calm down.”

“I—” Paul’s voice cracked, as though the words were stuck in his throat. He took another step back, shaking his head like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. His gaze darted toward Y/n, then back to Jacob. “This can’t be happening.”

Y/n shifted uncomfortably, the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. The Cullens were watching with concern, and she could feel Bella’s protectiveness radiating toward Renesmee. Even Edward, though usually composed, had a look of uncertainty about him. Everyone was waiting to see what she would do next.

She was waiting to see what she would do next.

Her throat tightened, and she took a cautious step forward. “Paul... I don’t know what this means either. But I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice harsh as he glared at her. “Just… don’t.”

The sharpness in his tone stung, but Y/n understood. Paul had always been quick to anger, but this was different. He was terrified, and the idea of a connection to someone like her—a vampire, someone his kind was sworn to protect against—had to be shattering everything he thought he knew.

Carlisle, ever the diplomat, stepped between them, his voice calm and measured. “I think we should all take a moment to process this. This situation is… unprecedented.”

Paul let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Unprecedented? Carlisle, she’s not supposed to be here! She’s dangerous!”

Y/n felt a flare of indignation rise in her chest, but she bit back her retort. Paul wasn’t entirely wrong. She wasn’t a vegetarian like the Cullens, and her bloodlust was a constant battle, especially around humans. The wolves had every reason to be wary of her.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. “I came to apologize to Carlisle and the Cullens, not to be a threat to anyone.”

Paul’s jaw clenched as he stared at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Then why does it feel like everything’s spiraling out of control the second you show up?”

-

Paul couldn’t breathe. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—those vivid red eyes, her smooth dark skin, her presence that now felt like a gravitational pull he couldn’t escape. And he didn’t know if he wanted to.

He stormed through the trees, Jacob jogging behind him, trying to keep up. Paul could hear his thoughts, trying to calm him, trying to make sense of the situation, but it wasn’t working. Nothing made sense anymore. He had spent years hating vampires, especially ones like Y/n who fed on humans, and now, fate had decided to tether him to one?

“Paul, slow down!” Jacob finally called out, stopping a few feet behind him.

Paul stopped abruptly, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair, tugging at it. “Why her?” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of all people—why a vampire?”

Jacob exhaled, walking over to him slowly. “Imprinting doesn’t care about stuff like that. You know that better than anyone.”

“Yeah, but this is different,” Paul snapped, turning to face his alpha. “This isn’t some random human girl. She’s a predator.”

Jacob crossed his arms, his gaze serious. “And yet, you can’t hurt her. You feel the need to protect her, right?”

Paul said nothing, but his silence was answer enough.

Jacob placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice softening. “I know this is a lot, Paul. But imprinting isn’t something you can fight. You know that.”

Paul clenched his fists. He didn’t want to protect Y/n. He wanted to push her away, to stay as far from her as possible. But every time he thought about leaving, something deep inside him rebelled against the idea. His instincts—the ones that had guided him as a wolf, that had kept him alive—now screamed at him to stay close to her, to make sure she was safe.

“How the hell am I supposed to deal with this?” Paul muttered, more to himself than Jacob.

Jacob sighed. “You’ll figure it out. But whatever happens, we’ve got your back. Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

-

Y/n had never felt so out of place in her life. She stood in the living room of the Cullen house, her back against the cool glass window as Alice sat perched on the edge of a couch, watching her with curious eyes.

“You okay?” Alice asked softly, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Y/n sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Honestly? No. I have no idea what just happened out there.”

Alice gave her a knowing smile. “Imprinting is... complicated. Even for us, it’s hard to fully understand. But from what I can see, Paul’s entire world just got flipped upside down.”

Y/n couldn’t suppress the scoff that escaped her lips. “What about my world? I didn’t ask for this either.”

Alice’s smile faded slightly, and she stood up, moving to stand beside Y/n. “I know. But the imprint bond... it’s powerful. It’s not something that can be easily ignored. I think, deep down, you feel it too.”

Y/n glanced at her, frowning. “What are you saying?”

Alice’s eyes were gentle, but firm. “You feel it too, don’t you? That pull. Like something’s shifted inside you.”

Y/n opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. She did feel something—something strange and new, a connection she didn’t understand. And that terrified her. She had spent years avoiding attachments, running from anything that could make her vulnerable. Now, she was bound to a man who was sworn to hate her.

“I can’t,” Y/n muttered, shaking her head. “This isn’t... I’m not someone who can just fit into this world. I’ve always been on my own.”

Alice touched her arm gently. “You don’t have to be. Not anymore.”

Y/n’s red eyes met Alice’s golden ones, searching for some kind of reassurance, some way to make sense of the chaos swirling inside her. But there was no easy answer.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Alice,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Alice smiled softly, her gaze understanding. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just... take it one step at a time.”

-

Later that night, Y/n found herself wandering through the woods outside the Cullen house, her mind still spinning with the events of the day. The sound of footsteps behind her made her stop.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Paul,” she said, her voice quiet.

He stepped into view, his expression a mixture of anger and frustration, but something else simmered beneath the surface—something softer, more vulnerable.

“Why are you out here alone?” he asked, his voice low but intense.

Y/n crossed her arms, her eyes locking onto his. “I needed space. Everything’s… complicated.”

Paul let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. No kidding.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them thick and unspoken. Finally, Paul broke the silence.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, his voice rough. “This... connection. I don’t understand it. I don’t want it.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. “You think I do? I never asked for any of this either. But it’s happening, and we have to deal with it.”

Paul looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since the imprint. His eyes softened, and for a brief moment, the anger drained from his face. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart racing in a way it hadn’t since she became a vampire. “Neither do I.”

They stood there, two enemies bound by fate, neither knowing what the future held. But one thing was clear: neither could walk away, no matter how hard they tried.

-

The silence between Y/n and Paul was thick with unsaid words, the night air around them charged with tension neither of them fully understood. They stood just inside the tree line, the Cullen house glowing softly in the distance, but it might as well have been a world away.

For the past few days, since their initial confrontation, Y/n had kept her distance from the Cullens and the wolves. She spent her nights wandering through the forest, wrestling with the unfamiliar pull of the imprint. Paul had been keeping his distance too, but she could feel him—his presence, his emotions—like an invisible tether, always pulling her back to him no matter how far she tried to run.

Now, here they were again. Neither able to stay away. Neither able to make sense of it all.

Paul’s dark eyes flicked up to meet hers, something raw and vulnerable in them that hadn’t been there before. He took a step closer, and she held her ground, though every instinct in her told her to back away.

“Why do I feel like this?” Paul muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I can’t stop thinking about you, even though I don’t want to.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. She felt the same way—an inexplicable need to be near him, to protect him, to make sure he was safe, even if it made no sense. But she wasn’t about to admit that. Not yet.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe it’s the imprint. Maybe it’s messing with both of us.”

Paul’s jaw clenched. “It’s more than that. I can’t even think straight. All I know is I’m supposed to be near you, and it’s driving me insane.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, crossing her arms defensively. “I never asked for this, Paul. I didn’t ask for you to imprint on me. I’ve spent my entire life avoiding connections like this. I don’t do… attachment.”

His eyes darkened, his frustration shifting into something more intense. “Yeah, well, neither do I. I’ve spent my life hating vampires. And now I’m stuck feeling like I need to protect one.”

She felt the sting of his words, but she couldn’t blame him. He had every right to be angry, just as she did. But this was their reality now, and neither of them could escape it.

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared predicament pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket. Then, Paul’s voice broke through the stillness, softer this time.

“I don’t want to hate you.”

Y/n’s eyes snapped to his, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. “What?”

Paul ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t know what the hell this is, but… I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, confusion swirling inside her. She had spent so long building walls around herself, protecting herself from feeling anything too deeply. But here was Paul, someone who should have been her natural enemy, standing in front of her, telling her he didn’t want to fight anymore.

The walls she had built felt fragile now, crumbling in the face of something neither of them could control.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Paul stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him despite the cool night air. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out.”

-

The next day, Y/n found herself back at the Cullen house, standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the wary eyes of the pack. Jacob had called a meeting after Paul admitted to the imprint, hoping to ease the tension between the wolves and the vampires. But Y/n could feel the distrust thick in the air.

Sam stood at the front of the group, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been quiet since she arrived, listening to everything with a cold, calculating look. Y/n’s gaze flickered to Paul, who was standing off to the side, his eyes constantly darting between her and his packmates. He looked on edge, like he was waiting for something to snap.

“We can’t just ignore this,” Sam said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of steel in it. “Paul’s imprinted on a vampire. A non-vegetarian vampire.”

Y/n stiffened, feeling the weight of their eyes on her, judging her. She wanted to defend herself, to argue that she wasn’t a threat, but the truth was more complicated. She wasn’t like the Cullens. She had fed on humans, and even though she had never hurt anyone near Forks, it was hard to deny what she was.

“I know what I am,” Y/n said, her voice steady. “I’m not like the Cullens. I’ve made mistakes. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I came here to apologize, and now I’m just trying to figure out how to deal with… this.”

She glanced at Paul, who met her eyes with a look that told her he was as confused as she was.

Jacob stepped forward, his voice more diplomatic. “Imprinting is out of anyone’s control. We’ve dealt with this before. You all know that.” He glanced meaningfully at Sam. “We’ve had other imprints that broke the rules, but we found a way to handle it.”

Sam’s expression didn’t soften. “This isn’t the same as imprinting on a human. She’s dangerous.”

Paul growled softly under his breath, his protectiveness flaring up. “She’s not dangerous to me.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to Paul, his expression hardening. “Are you willing to risk that?”

Y/n tensed. She had been around the pack long enough to know the importance of the alpha’s word, and Sam’s opinion carried a lot of weight. If he decided she was too much of a risk, it would put a strain on the tenuous peace between the wolves and the vampires.

“I won’t hurt him,” Y/n said quietly, her voice firm. “I don’t know what this imprinting thing means, but I know one thing—I don’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not Paul.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in.

After what felt like an eternity, Sam finally nodded, though his expression remained guarded. “For now, we’ll keep an eye on the situation. But if anything changes, if you put anyone at risk—” He let the threat hang in the air.

Y/n didn’t need him to finish the sentence. She understood the stakes.

-

Later that evening, Y/n found herself standing at the edge of the woods again, staring out at the fading sunlight. She had always found comfort in the stillness of the forest, but tonight, her mind was restless.

Paul appeared beside her, silent as ever. She didn’t turn to face him, but she could feel his presence like a flame burning beside her.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a long pause.

Y/n shrugged, keeping her eyes on the trees. “I don’t know. Everything feels... different now. I don’t know how to be this person—the one who’s tied to someone else.”

Paul was quiet for a moment, then he let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, it’s weird for me too.”

Y/n glanced at him, surprised by the amusement in his tone. “What’s so funny?”

Paul shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I guess I never imagined I’d be standing here talking about feelings with a vampire.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing between them. “I never imagined I’d be stuck with a wolf.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments, both of them staring out at the forest as the night deepened.

Then, Paul spoke again, his voice softer this time. “I’m not good at this... at talking about stuff like this. But I know one thing—I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze—it was overwhelming. She had spent so long running from attachments, pushing people away, but with Paul, it felt different. It felt inevitable.

“I don’t need protecting,” she said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction.

Paul’s eyes softened. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m going to protect you.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and for the first time, Y/n didn’t feel the need to argue. She didn’t feel the need to run.

Maybe this was what the imprint was supposed to be. Maybe this connection between them was something she couldn’t fight anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n wasn’t sure she wanted to.

[bookishcarmela]

Dark Desires

warnings: none

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: Princess Y/n, the eldest daughter of Daemon and Laena Targaryen, faces a tumultuous life after her mother's death. Her father marries Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Y/n is betrothed to Rhaenyra's eldest son, Jacaerys. Over time, Y/n and Jacaerys grow to love each other deeply. However, their lives are thrown into turmoil when Y/n unexpectedly reunites with her cousin, Aemond igniting new emotions. As the threat of war looms, Y/n grapples with her feelings and the competing demands of love, duty to her family, and her betrothal to Jacaerys. She must navigate this emotional and political minefield to find her true path amidst the chaos.

Chapter 1: Drift Mark

 Y/n Targaryen felt the cold bite of winter against her skin as she rode Silverwing through the crisp morning air. The dragon's scales gleamed in the early light, a beacon against the pale sky. The flight from Dragonstone to Driftmark was short, but the chill in the air tinted her tan skin a soft pink. As she approached High Tide, she saw the pale stone towers peeking over the clouds. The welcoming cry of her grandmother's dragon, Meleys, echoed in the distance.

Landing gracefully, Y/n spotted her sister Baela waiting for her. They laughed and embraced each other warmly.

"Sister, it’s been too long," Y/n said, though it had only been a fortnight since their last meeting.

Baela’s silver hair was now cut short and braided, a change Y/n noticed immediately. As they let go of each other, Baela still held her hand.

"Come, sister," Baela said. "We have much to talk about."

They made their way down the corridors of High Tide, catching up on everything they couldn’t fit into their letters. Entering the main room, they saw their grandmother, Rhaenys, sitting upon the driftwood throne. She stood and embraced Ayra warmly.

"My sweet girl, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you," Rhaenys said.

"I’ve missed you as well, Grandmother," Y/n replied.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the maester and their uncle Vaemond. Y/ns' heart sank as she remembered her grandfather, Lord Corlys, who had been gone for six years fighting in the Stepstones. The maester spoke solemnly of how Corlys had been injured in battle and had contracted a fever that many hadn’t survived.

Rhaenys thanked the maester, asking him to prepare for Corlys’s arrival. Y/n could see the mix of emotions in her grandmother’s eyes.

"The Sea Snake is strong, Grandmother," Baela said, trying to comfort her. "Truly, it’ll take much more than a fever to best him. The Sea Snake is much too stubborn."

"I’m afraid not even my brother’s stubbornness can save him," Vaemond interjected, stepping closer. "I have seen blood fever overcome men half his age."

"I will not suffer the talk of crows in my house, Vaemond," Rhaenys said sternly, giving him a pointed look.

"I love my brother," Vaemond continued.

"If you loved your brother so much, then you would be doing your best to help him, not trying to usurp his seat while he is ill," Y/n said, interrupting.

"I speak only the truth, niece," Vaemond replied, turning to Y/n. "We might greet that ship only to find my brother already gone. Who will sit the driftwood throne then?"

"My grandmother seems quite comfortable here," Baela said.

"She resides only in the absence of her husband," Vaemond snapped. "Upon his death, the seat passes."

"To Lucerys Velaryon," Rhaenys interrupted, her voice firm. "As is my lord husband’s wish."

"I am the Sea Snake's own blood, the closest he has left," Vaemond said, looking at Rhaenys.

"I would mind my words if I were you, Uncle," y/n said. "One could take your words for treason."

Vaemond’s hard gaze turned back to Arya as he stepped onto the dais where Ayra and Baela stood on either side of their grandmother.

"I speak the truth, niece, and you know it. All of you know it," Vaemond said, looking at all three of them. "It has been decided," Rhaenys said, her voice steady but tinged with anger.

"By a man whose ambition has brought calamity upon us," Vaemond said, raising his voice. "My brother cares only for the history books, but the Velaryon line is to be snuffed out, supplanted by the pups of House Strong. Driftmark is mine by all rights. I should like your support," he said, looking Rhaenys dead in the eyes, "but I do not… need it. The winds have shifted. The crown has good reason to take my side."

"My cousin, the king, would have your tongue for this," Rhaenys said, her voice venomous.

"But it’s not the king who sits the Iron Throne these days, good sister. It is a queen," Vaemond said, stepping closer.

"You best mind yourself. She is still the lady of this household, and you are no more than a second son," Ayra said.

"Why, you little—" Vaemond started, straightening himself, his words cold.

"I would choose my next words carefully," Y/n said. "You forget yourself, Uncle. I am a princess of House Targaryen. You best mind your tongue before you lose it."

"You’ve overstayed your welcome, good brother," Rhaenys said, standing. "You may take your leave."

Vaemond tilted his head up and sent pointed looks to both Ayra and Baela before leaving in angry steps.

After her strenuous morning, Rhaenys excused herself back to her rooms, leaving Y/n and Baela to spend the day together. They walked along the beaches of Driftmark, the ocean seemingly calm today. The waves lapped gently at their feet, and the salty air filled Y/n with memories of her mother.

The sea always made Y/n think of her mother: her long curly white hair, her soft skin, and the way she used to hold Y/n. She remembered those last days before her mother passed, the day she had claimed Silverwing. She had rushed into her mother’s room, filled with happiness, to announce that she had finally claimed her own dragon. Her mother, sitting in a long white dress with a hand on her pregnant belly, had been so proud.

Her mother had promised that after the baby came and she healed, they would fly together. Such a simple memory, yet it brought a heavy weight to Y/n heart. Baela’s voice brought her back to the present.

“So, dear sister,” Baela said with a mischievous smile, “how is your betrothed?”

Y/n let out a giggle. “Jace is fine. He’s still struggling with his High Valyrian, but he’ll get it in no time. Vermax is big enough to fly now, so we’ve been flying together over the Dragonmount and the Blackwater.”

“You seem quite taken with him,” Baela teased, laughing. “You’ve come so far from playing kissing games with Father’s squires.”

Y/n nudged her with her shoulder, laughing as well. “If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the only one playing those games.”

“Yes, but you are the older sister. You’re supposed to set an example,” Baela replied in a light, airy tone.

“Oh, please, Baela. You were just as much trouble as I was. Besides, now I’m too old for kissing games,” Y/n giggled.

“Yes, we do much more than kissing now,” Baela said, laughing and bumping into Y/n.

“It is unladylike to speak of such things,” Y/n teased. “All I will say is that Jace does not leave me wanting for anything.” She winked, and both girls erupted into laughter once more.

After laughing until they were out of breath, they looked at each other.

“I’ve missed this,” Y/n said. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Baela replied. “How much longer will you stay here, Baela?”

All the humor left Baela’s face. “I don’t want to have this conversation again, Y/n.”

“Baela, please,” Y/n said. “You cannot stay mad at Father forever. Rhaena misses you. I miss you. Father misses you. We have two younger brothers who barely know you. You have to let this go. You have to come home.”

“Dragonstone is not my home,” Baela said. “Driftmark is my home, as it was Mother’s. My place is here with Grandmother. You see how things are here—Grandfather’s not dead yet, and still, vultures come to try to take his throne. I must stay here with Grandmother.”

“You and I both know that Grandmother can take care of this on her own,” y/n said. “With Meleys, she would make quick work of anyone who tried to harm her or her house. Don’t use her as an excuse to stay here. You’re five and ten, Baela; you’re too old for these games.”

Baela kept quiet and looked away, towards the sea, watching the sun slowly set as the sea swallowed it whole.

“The hour is late, sister,” Baela said. “Our grandmother is waiting for us.” The rest of the walk was quiet, and once they were within the walls of High Tide, they took their separate ways.

High Tide had always been an odd place for Y/n. They had lived in Pentos until she was four and then made their way here because her mother wished for her children to be raised in her childhood home. Y/n could tell that her father never really liked it. He never fully adjusted to High Tide, yet he stayed for her mother’s sake.

As she made her way into her childhood room, closing the door behind her, it seemed almost frozen in time, unchanged since she was a girl. No one ever took it. High Tide had a lack of guests ever since the death of her mother and uncle Laenor. Y/n quickly stripped out of her riding leathers and bathed herself, changing into an airy dress.

Its top was a light blue silk, almost so light it looked silver, with two silver dragons connected at her waist. The bottom of the dress was white lace. It was rare to see her out of her house colors, but she did love the blues and silvers of House Velaryon.

A servant took her to where her sister and grandmother waited. She sat opposite Baela, who only glanced at her. Y/n looked towards her grandmother, grabbing her hand.

“How do you fare, Grandmother?” Y/n asked.

“I am well, my dear. These leeches try to take everything from me, but I am of my father’s blood. I will stay strong,” Rhaenys replied, pausing before continuing. “My dear, I need you to write to your father about what has happened today. I have received word that Vaemond is readying to go to the capital to petition for your grandfather’s seat. We will leave on the morrow.” She looked at both her granddaughters, grabbing Baela’s hand as well. “We must stand as a united front. I need you both to ready yourselves for anything that might happen. It has been too long since we’ve been in the capital, and I fear we have no friends there.”

The rest of dinner was light, filled with simple conversations and old memories. When they were done, Y/n excused herself and went back to her chambers. As she wrote to her father, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of excitement. It had been too long since she had been in King’s Landing since they had all been in King’s Landing. Once she was done, she lay in bed and readied herself for what the morning held.

next chapter

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Kids Anger

Prompt: Kid and you have a huge fight, and in anger, Kid tells you to leave

~ Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

Killer watched the two of you fight as he often did. He learned early on which fights to step into to become the peacemaker and which ones to stay out of. You were yelling at Kid for going out of his way to fight a Marine ship and while everyone was alive, quite a few people were injured and the boat needed some major repairs. Even you had been shot in the shoulder during the battle amongst other injuries.

        “We won, didn’t we?! Why don’t you shut the fuck up and get off my goddamn back then” Kid was laying it on thick he was towering over you and it had been long since the rest of the crew made themselves scarce from your fight. Killer was in the corner leaning against the wall but you knew better than to try and get him to pick sides.

        “That’s not the point Kid. It was senseless, We got hurt for no reason, Not to mention the damage to Victoria Punk!” You were after all in charge of the crew's finances. A job Kid had given to you when he was too drunk to pay something off and it turned into plundering the entire village. We were never truly low on berries, Kid made sure of that, but you still would like to keep it above a certain threshold. “Nobody died this time but what about next time!?” It was another great concern of yours, Kid had already lost an arm and it took him god knows how long to wake up from that. It’s a sight you’d rather not relive.

        The two of you had been fighting for quite some time on the matter and neither side seemed to be letting up in this argument as both of you shot daggers at each other. “If I decide we attack that’s final. I’m you’re captain it shouldn’t matter what you think.” Kid slammed his fist into the wall right next to you. You tried not to flinch at the sudden and aggressive movement but couldn’t help but let out a little gasp, deciding to stare straight into his chest rather than make eye contact after such a weak display. “You can’t even fight, what do you even do around here to dare think you should even get a say in what I decide?!” Killer perks his head up at the sudden change the argument was taking. “A useless bitch like you should just stay out of the way” Your breath hitches at his word and you hear Killer yell Kid's name.

        You straighten your back, glancing up at your captain, blinking tears to stay away. His glare back at you is menacing and pissed, Your voice turns lower but unwavering, “If that’s how you feel..”

        “Feelings have nothing to do with this, facts are I let an absolute useless person onto this ship” His words dripping with venom that stung more than your shoulder, “If you can’t even listen to your captain's order maybe you should just leave.” It took a second for his words to sink in, waiting for him to retract his statement. But soon enough you whisper a fine under your breath before turning away and leaving the room. You could hear Killer starting his own fight with Kid at this point but it didn’t matter.

        You make your way to the captain's room, it’s where the three of you stayed after all, and start packing anything of yours that could fit into a single bag. You wince a bit as your shoulder starts to bleed from a sudden movement but still refuse to let tears escape. You look in the mirror once more, noticing just how tattered and covered in blood your clothes were, deciding to change into clean clothes one last time before continuing packing. Once the bag is full you head back to the deck and climb down a rope into the debris-ridden water below. You remember seeing a rowboat across the way from the now half sunk marine ship and you intended to use it.

~~~

        “What the fuck Kid” Killer gripped Kid's shoulder and turned him around as he could see y/n escape into the hallway, “What was that all about?” Killer couldn’t believe the words he had just heard from his captain and lover's mouth.

        “She fucken deserved it. What makes her think she can boss me around?” Kid was obviously still pissed beyond belief, huffing with anger in every breathe. He brushes past Killer, “If you need me I’ll be in my workshop.” Killer let out an exasperated sigh before trying to go find y/n on the ship.

~~~

By the time anyone had noticed you were gone, you had already found a row boat and started drifting away in the opposite direction of the ship.

Killer had told the rest of the crew to tell him when they find you but he had only assumed you needed some space after such a heated debate. He didn’t even bother to check the Captain’s Quarters, he doubted you wanted to be in such a place right now, if anything you’d be in a corner hitting the wall or a tight space to breathe and calm down. But as time went on, he grew increasingly more concerned at not hearing or seeing you.

Kid emerged from his workshop a couple of hours after the argument, cooled down a bit, and tired. The sun was long gone as he made his way to his room. In the past, your arguments could get out of hand but Kid could still find you angrily sleeping in his bed next to, or on top of Killer, begrudgingly making room for him. This time on the other, neither you nor killer were in bed, or even in the room for that matter.

He looked around to see your discarded clothes tossed on the ground and he noticed a lot more blood than he’d care to admit, had she been covered in this much when we were fighting? Regardless Kid turned on his heel to search for his two closest crew members.

Soon enough he ran into Hip who was carrying medical supplies, “Oh, Hey Captain. Have you seen y/n? She still hasn’t come to get patched up yet despite promising me she’d come later.” Kid stares at her for a second before she chuckles a bit, “Or did you take care of the wound yourself? How kind. Just remind her to change her bandages.” Kid stood there processing Hips words and she walked away chuckling. She was hurt? Why the fuck did she start a fight before getting treated? Kid started pacing the ship before he ran into an equally worried Killer.

“Kid have you seen y/n?” The taller blonde seemed to be anxious.

“Does it look like I’ve fucken seen her?” Kid snapped at his first mate, “Where the fuck could she have gone?”

~~~

You lay in the boat looking at the sky. The pain in your shoulder growing. You grit your teeth into some clothe as your fingers try to dig the bullet out. After another failed attempt you let out a painful, sorrow filled scream. You had realized a little to late into your little journey that when you were shot, the bullet never made it all the way through.

Truly, it was a great distraction from the events post battle. As you finally breathe in again you let your arm trying to dig the bullet out fall onto the floor of the boat. The adrenaline must have worn off at this point. The pain truly setting in as your mind wanders to what Kid said to you.

Finally, after hours of pretending to be strong. You let it out, you place your now bloodied hand on top of your eyes as the tears overflow.

[rainybubbles]

I need a whole story with Ghost and arranged marriage.

(and hybrids, I love the AU of the fandom about hybrids 141)

Something slow burn, angst where the reader is confident, but with social anxiety, maybe a f!reader?

She's a sacrifice, about to be married to another duke. But here comes a duchy long forgotten, tucked away in the shadow of the mountains, ruled by a mysterious Duke no one had seen in years.

A Ghost.

His name was Simon Riley, a widower, burdened with loss and cloaked in rumors. They said his heart was as dead as his wife, that a curse had taken not only her but every bit of warmth that could ever live in him. And so, when the black carriage came for you, no one in your village dared to offer you comfort.

You were the sacrifice—the black sheep sent to marry the Duke, an arranged match born out of fear, not love. Your family had seen you as expendable, a lamb to slaughter to secure their own futures.

You were confident in your spirit but burdened with the knowledge that your body didn’t fit the delicate mold others expected. (no one had courted you)

You never thought yourself beautiful, never thought you could inspire anything but pity or rejection. But it didn’t matter, did it? You weren’t meant for love. You were meant to survive.

When you arrived at the Duke’s castle, the silence that greeted you felt heavy, as if the very stones were holding their breath.

Simon Riley stood before you, a towering figure wrapped in shadows, with eyes that seemed carved from stone—cold, distant, and full of secrets.

He did not look at you the way men often did; there was no curiosity, no warmth, no appraisal. Instead, he seemed to be waiting, as if bracing for some inevitable end.

He didn't marry you for love, but because of his curse. Simon was fated to die within a year, and he needed someone to care for his kingdom and use their connections to maintain peace with other realms.

His people were not human, at least not fully. The hybrids, part-beast, part-man, served him with loyalty forged from some unspoken bond. There was Soap, whose wolf-like nature caused him to prowl the castle grounds in restless energy. Gaz, whose wings glinted like silver in the moonlight, was ever watchful, guarding the castle’s gates. And Price, the fiercest of them all, his dragon wings scorched from endless battles, often returned to you for healing.

You became their caretaker, stitching their wounds, reading old texts on werewolves to understand Soap’s habits, and joking with Gaz’s children when they visited.

Slowly, you found your place in this strange, otherworldly family.

And yet, Simon remained distant, an enigma wrapped in silence and sorrow.

He never sought your company, never looked for you, never asked for more than the duty of your presence.

He was a Duke, cursed and broken, and you were his sacrifice, meant to ensure his survival, not his happiness.

Days turned into months, and the weight of your loneliness pressed into your chest like a slow, relentless ache. You gave and gave—your time, your care, your heart—until you had little left for yourself. And one night, it became too much.

The walls of your room, once a sanctuary, closed in on you, and you cried. The sobs came softly at first, but then they grew louder, filling the quiet darkness with your grief, your exhaustion, your sense of never being enough.

Simon heard you.

He came to you in the dead of night, silent as a shadow, and found you curled up in the corner, tears staining your cheeks. He knelt beside you, his hand trembling as he reached for you, as if he wasn’t sure how to touch something so fragile. When his fingers brushed your skin, it was like a shiver of warmth had broken through the icy armor he wore.

“It means nothing,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. He was speaking to himself as much as to you. “Comforting you means nothing.”

But his hands told a different story. He cradled you gently, pulling you into his chest, and for the first time, you felt his heart beating against yours. He held you, whispering words you couldn’t fully understand, telling himself that this was just duty, that you were just another sacrifice for his throne. But you both knew the truth.

He had fallen.

Bit by bit, Simon let you in, let you see the man behind the Duke, the man who had lost so much. He had never hoped for love—not after losing his wife, not after the curse had taken everything from him. But there you were, taking care of his people, offering comfort without expecting anything in return. And in the quiet moments, when you would tend to Price’s wings or read to Soap, Simon would watch you, a strange ache building in his chest.

He had fallen, and it was too late.

But Simon’s curse was not the only one. Another hybrid, König, appeared at the castle one day, his presence unsettling. He was larger, more menacing than the others, and his eyes lingered on you in a way that made your skin crawl. There was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that told you he was not just another visitor.

And then, you were gone.

On the day Simon was to meet his death—a death foretold by the curse—you were not there. He searched for you, frantic, the coldness of his impending doom creeping up his spine. But you were nowhere to be found.

König had taken you, hoping to break the curse for himself, hoping to claim you as his own. But what König didn’t know, what no one knew, was that you had the power to break the curse—not just for Simon, but for another. You were the key, the sacrifice whose heart could unlock the chains binding these cursed men.

But Simon… Simon had already decided.

He would not let you sacrifice yourself again. He had watched you give and give until there was nothing left for yourself. He had heard your cries in the dead of night, felt the weight of your despair. And now, he was ready to curse himself—for you. He was ready to bind his heart to yours, to live an eternity of torment, meeting you again and again across lifetimes if that’s what it took. He would endure the curse, relive the pain, as long as it meant you would be free.

And as Simon drew his last breath, his heart shattered—not from the curse, but from love. His love for you, the woman who had given so much, the woman he had fallen for too late.

And in the distance, far from the castle, you felt it. The weight of his sacrifice. The bittersweet ache of love lost, of a heart cursed not by magic but by fate.

You wept, not for yourself, but for him—for the man who had loved you in silence, in shadows, and in sacrifice. And as the winds whispered through the mountains, carrying his name on the air, you knew he was gone.

But Simon… Simon would return.

Again and again, across lifetimes. Searching for you. Loving you.

Even if it was too late.

Centuries later, he stood frozen, eyes locked on the new translator stepping onto the base. Your smile was polite, a stranger's greeting, but his heart ached as the weight of lifetimes crashed over him.

"You're back," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Yet, your eyes held no recognition—you didn’t remember him.

Yeah, I need a fic like that. 10 chapters, where I cry because damn, this man deserves happiness and so does the reader...

And bonus if the reader is on the fat, chubby side , because I need to see more of that.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

To Catch A Falling Star (Idia Shroud x Reader)

Inspired by a scene from Criminal Minds

Masterlist

Reader is intended to be female

If Idia had to describe you in one word it was unexpected.

He still remembers the day he met the magicless prefect who appeared out of nowhere in a fiery blaze of glory like some leveled up shounen protagonist about to fight the final boss, how Ortho had directed you into his room before he could stop him. And instead of being repulsed by the many, many posters, figurines and merch he had scattered around his room, you were in fact…elated?

“You’re an otaku as well?” you beamed at him, your starry-eyed gaze of awe rendering him speechless before he flinches as you yell, pumping your fists in the air, “Finally! A worthy opponent! Our battle will be legendary!”

Yeah, he does not have the energy to unpack that.

Anyway, he never expected you to appear in his world, and he never expected to find himself comfortable with you, his new gaming buddy and fellow animanga enthusiast. You never judge him for his tastes or his behaviour or less than ideal personality. You were someone he could genuinely call a friend andabsolutelynothingmoreOrthoIloveyoubutpleasebequiet.

And having you around a lot, both because of you just barging into his room or by Ortho’s multitude of invites, just felt natural, your chatter being something that he could call soothing. Which is how he found himself absolutely dominating his current multiplayer playthrough with you doing your own thing by his side.

After his team had won the game, he turned to you, ready to receive your subsequent praise, only to find that your attention was diverted towards a wooden toy thing, your face scrunched up in concentration as your fingers fiddled with its many vertices.

“What are you doing?” he asked and you paused your twiddling, looking up at him. 

“Oh I got this star puzzle in Sam’s shop earlier. It reminded me a lot of this thing we have back in my world so I thought that I’d try it out,” you look back down and resume playing with it, “it’s practically impossible to figure out. You’ve got to put all of these pieces together to form a perfect star. It’s a bit of a headache really but it’s got a really sweet backstory.”

“So that thing’s got lore?” Idia raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. You gently toss it into his open palm.

“Well, you see it’s this romantic story where a young prince wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land, so he climbed up to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and caught a falling star for her. But, since he was so excited to give it to her, he dropped it and it smashed into all of these small pieces. So he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love to her and he succeeded and they lived happily ever after.”

“What a load of normie nonsense,” Idia scoffed.

“Excuse me?!”

“You can’t catch a falling star,” he deadpanned, “it would burn up in the atmosphere.”

“Really?” you ask, unimpressed, “you live in a world that has flying broomsticks and magic mirrors and plants that can yell loud enough to kill someone - I really don’t think you can argue about the concept of reality when there are children here who are capable of breaking the laws of physics on the regular.”

“But still, it’s stupid,” he grumbles, “why does catching a star make you a shoujo manga male lead.”

“It’s romantic,” you argue, “he loves her so much that he would do the impossible for her. Besides, the point is that it’s impossible to do because you have to take all of these pieces and fit them exactly into the shape of a -”

You trail off, dumbfounded, when Idia smugly presents to you the completed puzzle, a small brown star sitting idly in his hand. 

“You were saying,” he smirked at your flabbergasted expression, preening slightly when it shifted to annoyed, “it doesn’t seem all that hard to me.”

“Why do you have to be like this,” you lamented, pouting as you grumbled about ‘high and mighty otakus who think they’re so cool just because they’ve beaten you in every one-v-one you’ve played’.

“Just take the L,” he said, not without a hint of condescension, as he turned back to his screen. Thankfully you were too busy wallowing to notice the magenta glowing along the edges of his hair. Why do you have to be so cute? You’re dangerous, you know.

Yeah, you’re a pretty unpredictable person. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t pull any epic gamer moves of his own.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello. Can you write Dark!Thranduil and a plus size female reader ? Please.

.⋆｡Auta Nissë｡⋆.

Dark!Thranduil x human!plus size reader

She was unique, she was beautiful, she was soft and by the gods, she would be his

Warnings: DARK FIC, kidnapping, forced marriage, obsession, mentions of death, magic, manipulation, no use of y/n, drugging

WC: 1.1k

A/N: Title means kept woman

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was certainly curious, a woman among the group of dwarves his guards had brought him- and a human woman at that. She stood out from the group like a sore thumb, yet she fit in with them all the same. They crowded around her legs as if to shield her from his gaze, to protect her from whatever he had in store for the trespassers.

“How fascinating, a woman in your midst. Tell me, king under the mountain, is she your bed warmer or just a lost creature you took pity on?” He sat forward on his throne of knotted wood, his crystal blue eyes focused on her, taking in every inch of her face. She showed no fear, nor any offence to his crudeness. The king smirked, she would do well.

The dwarves around her exploded, each attempting to insult him in not only the common tongue but in their native language as well. He paid them no mind, letting his gaze drift down to her body. She was at least modest, a large white shirt and dark trousers hid her away, disguising her curves quite well but he could still see the bulge of her hips and the softness of her stomach.

She was unlike any woman he had encountered before. Her eyes held the fire of a warrior, her hands were as stable as a healer’s, and the protective stance of a mother. “Take them away, but leave the girl. I believe she will tell us what we wish to know.” He spoke over their shoats, ignoring the way that they all reached for her as if their pathetic efforts could somehow save her.

Her fingers curled into her palm but otherwise gave him no reaction to suddenly being isolated. Gracefully, he stood to his full height, easily towering over the woman, casting a dark shadow over her as he approached. “Why do you travel with such… filth?” He crooned.

“I was hired to do so.” She answered simply, her voice strong. It carried through the throne room like a lone instrument in a concert hall and settled into his bones, marking them with the melodic tones of her words. A fire began to grow in his loins.

He took a step closer, she did not flinch. “I could offer you a place here, in my court. Certainly your skills and your beauty would be of more value here than on some fruitless journey that will only end in death.” As he drew closer, more of her perfect imperfections became clearer- her moles and birthmarks, scars and blemishes, but to him, they were simply an extra detail in the statuesque flawlessness of her figure.

“If it ends in death, then that will be how I die.” She retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze once more as he was now only arm’s distance away. “I am human, death is not unknown to us.”

The side of Thranduil’s face burned with rage, reminding him of what he had lost to death all those many years ago. But that defiance, that drive so similar to that of his late wife, soothed the burn. “There are ways to cheat death, even for a human. But for now, it is my wish that you remain here until I decide how your quest shall continue.” With a flick of his slender wrist, he summoned two more guards.

They stood either side of her and began to lead her away. “You cannot stop fate, your highness.” She called, making him pause. The doors slammed closed behind her, leaving the great elven king to his thoughts.

——————

“I’m glad you joined me for dinner tonight.” He remarks while knowing that she had no choice. The Battle of The Five Armies had concluded months ago, Erebore was free and peace had finally settled over the land, yet Thranduil was still in the midst of his own war.

She refused his love. Isolating herself in the rooms he had so graciously given her, throwing away the luxurious food prepared fresh each day, even attempting to enact various escape attempts, but that had slowed significantly when she was moved to his own chambers and could be restrained each night in his arms.

Her silence irked him but he allowed it. “I wish that you would gain back some weight before the wedding.” She glared in response, merely sipping at her wine with her one free hand, the other bound to the ornate seat she was forced into. 

He sighed through his nose, hiding a smirk behind his own goblet. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drank the expensive liquor, savouring the sweet taste, unknowing that it was not the wine itself that gave the dark liquid its flavour. 

“Meletril.” (lover) He tuts, rising from his own chair to round the table. “Your hair is a mess. Let me fix it for you.” She was stiff as his slender fingers began to pick at her hair, delicately moving large strands into several braids. He worked quickly, the patterns and movements now an unconscious practice even if he had not practised in almost 1000 years.

“There, now I can properly see your pretty face.” His right hand cupped her full cheek, guiding her face upwards to him. Her eyes were now glassy, the potion he had snuck into her drink beginning to affect her, but her fire was still there, just existing as an ember now.

“This will not last, I will perish sooner or later and you will be left alone again.” She hissed, the bite in her tone significantly dulled. Yet Thranduil smiled and brushed her soft skin with his thumb before retreating back to his seat.

“Thorin sends his well-wishes, he is very excited about the wedding. And your little friend, what was his name, oh right! Bilbo, he will be journeying from the Shire with his nephew to attend.” Her nostrils flared with rage.

“Just kill me already! I am of no use to you other than a pet!” She cried, though her voice was beginning to slur as the magic took hold of her. 

The elven king slammed his hand on the table, immediately silencing her. “Enough! I have had enough of your silly rebellions and cruel words. You will be my wife simply because I love you. So no more silly speak of you being a pet, you are my equal, my queen but you obviously need to be reminded of your place. You are to never leave my side, death will not take you, I have made sure of that. Now eat.” Her eyes were now wide with panic, the truth finally settling in.

“What have you done?” Her skin began to glow as the transformation began. The king watched as all the indicators of her age were wiped away, the smile lines, the bags beneath her eyes, even scarring from the blemishes of puberty. She was ethereal, eternal now, just like him.

“I have changed your fate.”

LOTR Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @km-ffluv

[phoward89]

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: In the Corso penthouse things escalate quickly between you and Coriolanus in the moonlight bedroom. Is this change for the better or worse?

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Smut, Fingering (f receiving), Oral (m receiving), Degration. Slapping.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 3:

You were taken back by how large the penthouse was as Coriolanus guided you thru the front door. Even with only the silver-white light of the moon, you could see that the entrance foyer was larger than your front room back in your wooden shack of a house in 12. You couldn't help, but wonder how large the penthouse was as a whole. Would it be able to fit your entire house plus those of your neighbors on your street back in the Seam of District 12 in it? 

You were curious about the size of your new home, the 12th floor penthouse of a luxury Corso building. A building that had pillars and marble worthy of the ancient Roman Emperor Caesar himself.

Then it dawned on you, you were from District 12 and now you were in a 12th floor penthouse. Was that a coincidence or fate?

The door slammed shut behind you, pulling you out of your mental reverie and reminding you that you're not alone; that Coriolanus is right behind you.

“I promise, you'll get a tour of the place tomorrow.” His baritone, thick with exhaustion, echoed from the darkness. His black dress shoes clicked against the floor as he closed the space between you. 

Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.

Your breath was caught in your throat as you stared out into the moonlit room, awaiting your fate. Whatever that may be.

The large room was silent, too silent, and you felt like prey about to be attacked by their predator. Your ears strained to hear the movements of your predator since you were too nervous to turn around and find out where the imposing head gamemaker truly was. Suddenly, a scream caught in your throat as a large hand touched the small of your back; causing you to jump out of your skin in fear.

“Oh, darling, there's no reason to be so jumpy.” Coriolanus’ voice assured you from behind. His breath fanned over your cheek as he bent over slightly, towering over you like a weeping willow. His lips hovered over your ear as he reassuringly whispered, “You're safe here with me, your Coryo.” 

But were you truly safe with him? He was the man that had designed the deadly arena you were trapped in for days, battling for your life. How could you be safe with him? Surely you weren't in any danger in the Capitol. The dangers were back in the arena. Right?

Turning slightly, your eyes searched for his face. Coriolanus’ pale face was illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, making his pale skin have an ethereal glow while his normally icy eyes had a celestial glint in them. He looked as beautiful as an angel. 

A fallen angel.

Lucifer.

Yes, he was as beautiful as an angel turned devil.

You blinked away the thought of angels and devils alike only to avert your eyes from Coriolanus’ facial features and ask, “I survived the arena and I'm here in the Capitol now. Why wouldn't I be safe?”

A thin line crossed Coriolanus’ lips as he thought how to explain things to you. He didn't want to scare you with the harsh truths of the situation you were in by not just being his, but the victor of the First Quarter Quell. One truth being that he was a powerful man that had enemies posing as friends behind large fake smiles at every turn that wouldn't think twice about hurting the beautiful woman on his arm, who made his cold dead eyes flicker with life, to get to him. The other truth was a much darker one. You were a victor, HIS Victor, but still a victor and every high profile Capitol citizen knew that a desirable victor could be bought for a night if the prize was right. If the capitolite could pay a high price, then they could use the victor as their whore in any way they wished. 

Now that was a fate Coriolanus refused to subject you to. You were his and he didn't share what belonged to him. Sadly, that wouldn't stop horny, lecherous capitolites from salivating over you in lust though.

He was going to keep you close at all times during public appearances to make sure that nobody could steal what was rightfully his. He’d also have Tigris make your gowns match his event suits, just to drive it home to everyone in the Capitol that you were his and only his. If somebody so much as looked at you sideways he’d kill them and make it look like an accident. Coriolanus’ mind quickly weaved the words to say that would pacify you. Rubbing circles into your lower back, he gave you the sugar coated truth of, “The Capitol can be a dangerous pit of vipers, my darling rose. If you don't know how to play the game, well, you're in danger of being eaten alive.”

Tilting your head slightly, you countered him. “And I suppose you know how to play the game?”

“You supposed right, Y/N.” Coriolanus confirmed. Leaning his face dangerously close to yours, so your noses were barely touching, he vowed, “When the time is right, my darling rose, I'll teach you how to be a master chess player in the Capitol’s games.” His breath mingled with yours, that's how close his lush lips were to your cracked ones, as he suggested, “Let's get to bed, darling. It's late and I do have a busy day come sunrise.”

Your heart was beating out of control against your ribcage; your mouth went as dry as the desert. “Where-where’s my bedroom?” You slightly stuttered, feeling overwhelmed by the platinum devil’s looming presence over you. 

“I was just about to bring you there, my darling rose.” Coriolanus answered you.

“Okay, thank you.” 

As soon as you entered your new bedroom you realized that it was the master bedroom and even with the only light coming from the moon shining into the large floor to ceiling windows, you quickly took notice that the decor was fit for a man. Oh no. This wasn't just your room, but Coriolanus’ as well. Shuffling a bit into the room as the platinum blonde man shut the door, you stated, “We're sharing a room.”, although it did sound more like a question with how shaken your voice was.

“Well, considering it's my penthouse, yes, darling, we're sharing the room.” Coriolanus answered, crossing the room to a large closet. “Strip out of your dress; I'll give you a shirt to sleep in.” He told you, not even giving you time to make a remark about him owning the penthouse, as he slid open the closet door and reached inside of it.

“Where's your wife? Isn't this her room as well as yours?” You asked before you could think any better of it. You couldn't help it, sometimes your brain to mouth filter didn't work.

Coriolanus’ body shook as if he was possessed by an earthquake. He roughly yanked a white button down shirt off a hanger, causing the wire hanger to fly out of the closet and onto the floor somewhere. Slamming the closet door shut so hard that the thing bounced right off its track, he spun around and seethed, “I told you, Y/N, that I don't tolerate brats and back talk. I also told you in the car not to worry about Livia; that she won't be my wife too much longer.” He threw the shirt at you, causing it to hit you smack dab in the face, only to order with a careless wave of his hand, “Strip and put that on; then get into bed.” 

With the shirt in your hand, you went over to the bed while he started to take off his white fitted shirt. Pulling off your floral dress, you heard him tell you, “She's across town in the townhouse she lives in. I use this penthouse, my childhood home, as a getaway from the hateful shrew.” You didn't say a word, just slipped on the dress shirt he gave you to wear as a sleep shirt. 

The moonlight shined over Coriolanus’ back, which was turned to you, and highlighted his scars as he toed out of his dress shoes and pulled down his black slacks. You took note that one was a long silver thing, most likely from a knife or an ax wound, while the other was a burn scar that had marbled a large chunk of his shoulder and flank a white and pinkish shade. You've seen scars before, but those were always from mining accidents. Never like this. 

Before you could think twice about it, you crossed the room until you stopped right behind Coriolanus. Your hands, slightly raw from handling a knife and the elements in the hunger games, shook as you raised them. Your fingertips lightly ghosted over the scars on his back, scars that he let nobody (not even the wife that he hated) see for fear that they'd think him weak or lesser of a man.

Your feather-like touch burned his skin as if the wounds healed from 15 years ago had been reopened with a flaming hot poker.

“What happened, Coryo?” You asked, genuine concern flooding your voice, as Coriolanus stood in front of you in only his boxers and socks. Socks that he desperately wanted to take off, but couldn't due to your touch on his back rooting him in place like a tree.

It's been so long since he's been touched so lightly, so innocently, that he'd forgotten how good an affectionate touch of a woman felt.

He put all of his effort in steadying his breathing (he was a grown man and a politician, not a green boy in his academy days) so you wouldn't realize the effect you had on him. Oh, and the effect you had on him was intoxicating. He could feel his bulge growing in the confines of his boxers. Only your innocent touch and genuine concern over his scars from what seemed like another lifetime, when he was another person, would make all his blood rush to his cock.

“I was caught in some life and death situations when I was your age. I survived and was victorious.” Coriolanus answered, his voice clipped and measured, before he pulled away from you as if your touch burnt hotter than the flames of hellfire. Looking at you from over his shoulder, he sighed, “I'm not in the mood to share the story, my darling rose, so just be a good girl and go to bed.” His head turned back around, causing him to stare at his feet, as he added in as an afterthought, “I'll join you shortly.”

You didn't say a word, just turned around and made your way over to the large bed you'd be sharing with the head gamemaker. Your dress was strewn over the bottom edge of the bed, the soft cotton floral material contrasting against the dark silk duvet. You debated whether or not to fold up the dress and set it aside or just leave it there and crawl into bed. 

The bed was large enough that you could get in without rustling your dress, but you decided against it. While you folded your dress, you heard the sound of Coriolanus collecting his clothes from the floor. With your now folded dress in hand, you turned to find a place to put it, only to see Coriolanus draping his clothes over a nearby desk chair.

You knew that he wanted you in bed, but you needed to put your dress up. It'd get lost if you just left it on the bed. So, silently, you padded over to the desk and placed your folded up dress on the edge of it. 

His back was turned to you, so he didn't see you. Honestly, you didn't know if you wanted him to. His interactions seemed all over the place when It came to you and, right now, you didn't know how to feel about that.

Before the platinum blonde man could turn round, you quietly rushed over to the king sized bed. You thanked your lucky stars that it was so big. It meant that you didn't have to worry about any awkward sleeping positions with Coryo.

Hmm…or at least that's what you thought. 

Your Coryo had other plans for your sleeping arrangements.

You pulled back the dark pearly duvet only to reveal red sheets embroidered with white roses. The silky sheets were a pop of color against the duvet and pillows. Your knee crumpled the sheets as you climbed into bed.

Coriolanus made his way over to you, watching as you sunk down into the large bed, looking like an absolute angel in it. Before you could even reach for the duvet, to pull around your shoulders, his voice sounded out with a simple order of, “Leave it. I'll pull it around us once I join you.”

That right there, that simple sentence, was what tipped you off that you'd be sleeping close to the head gamemaker. A fact that had your stomach doing somersaults. You literally held your breath while the bed dipped beneath Coriolanus’ weight. He pulled the duvet over your bodies before slithering his arm around your waist; pulling you close to him. Oddly enough, his boa constrictor-like hold made you release the breath you were holding.

Quickly, you came to terms with your new sleeping arrangements. There was nothing you could do, but let him spoon you with his bulge brushing against the swell of your ass. 

He pressed a goodnight kiss to your temple.“Sleep well, my darling rose.”

“G’night, Coryo.” You responded as you heard his breathing start to even out, indicating that he'd found sleep shortly after his head touched his pillow.

Ha! Sleep well. That's rich, considering every time you closed your eyes you were transported back to your time in the arena. Different faces and names along with arena locations fluttered around your brain as you tried to sleep, causing your eyes to fly open. 

You doubt that you'll ever sleep well again. 

You began to toss and turn, causing Coriolanus’ hold on your middle to loosen. No matter what position you rolled into, your insomnia remained. Eventually you turned your head to the window, eyes locking onto the silhouette of the moon high up in the city’s black velvet sky. You couldn't help, but wonder how bright the moon was shining back in District 12 and if anyone back home was staring at it like you were due to insomnia.

“You need to sleep, darling.” Coriolanus' voice mumbled out, causing you to stop staring at the moon and to turn to stare at him instead.

“I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I'm back inside that arena, Coriolanus.” You honestly told him as you felt your eyes grow heavy with sleep that nightmares would never let you get.

“It’ll pass in time.” He told you in a tone that had a sense of foreshadowing in it. 

Coriolanus adjusted himself to sit up against his headboard, only to pull you close to his side. His large calloused hand wrapped around your neck, thumb caressing your pulse point as his prominent nose nudged against yours. “Y/N, you need to calm down and rest. Luckily for you, I know the perfect way to help you do that.” 

Before you could even ask him what he meant, his soft lips were hungrily pressed against yours. The fact that your lips were chapped and cracked from the elements you were exposed to didn't bother him. In fact the roughness of your lips seemed to turn him on.

Coriolanus’ hand traveled from your neck up to your jaw while his other one dug into your hip. His long fingers held your jaw in a firm grip, that was borderline bruising, as his teeth nipped and tugged at your bottom lip. 

Suddenly Coriolanus' teeth bit down into your lower lip, drawing both blood and a moan from you. Quickly his tongue soothingly lapped up the metallic liquid blooming on your lip, causing heat to pool between your legs. You let out a tiny whimper, giving him the opportunity to deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Your breathing sped up unevenly as Coriolanus’ tongue explored your mouth, entwining your tongues in an intimate dance. One of your hands dug into his bicep while the other found its way to the nape of his neck. He pulled away slightly, gasping for air, only to attack your lips once again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to live and he was a man suffocating for a thousand years.

His hand ran up and down your thigh, causing you to subtly rub your thighs together to try and ease the dull ache between them. A dull ache that was becoming harder to ignore thanks to him swallowing all the air from your lungs with his sinfully plush lips.

Pulling away from you, only to pepper kisses up and down your jaw, he smirked, “I see you're needy for me, my darling.” 

“Um…” You stuttered, feeling any and all words slip from your mind due to the heavy feelings of want currently coursing through you.

Coriolanus stopped kissing your jaw, only to look at you with black, lust blown eyes. His baritone was rapsy, from the strain in his own boxers, as he orders, “Use your words, Y/N.” His large hand slung your leg over his hip as you sat next to him, slightly propped up on your side. His hand trailed up your inner thigh, teasingly. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.” 

All you could do was stare at him with lust filled in your eyes. You knew what you needed, but being inexperienced you were unsure of how to word it. Your breath hitched as his hand brushed your inner thigh, close to where you needed his touch the most to soothe the growing ache in you. It was as if he knew what you needed, but was purposely holding back and edging you on until you verbally confirmed what you needed; what you wanted from him.

Deciding that your growing ache overpowered your impending embarrassment, you shyly looked at Coryo and softly said, “I need you.”

A Cheshire grin of victory appeared on Coriolanus’ lips. “See, that wasn't so hard to say now was it, my Victor?” His hand slipped out from underneath the hem of your shirt (his white button up) and suddenly his pointer and middle fingers were pressed against your swollen bottom lip. “Open.” He demanded.

You opened your mouth, with the question of why on the tip of your tongue, but you never got to utter a word since he slipped his fingers into your mouth. “Suck on them.” He ordered in a raspy tone, causing you to obey. Your tongue swirled over his digits before sucking on them. “Oh, you suck my fingers like such a needy little slut. Can't wait until you suck my cock like one too.” 

Coriolanus removed his fingers from your mouth with a loud wet pop. “Unbutton your shirt, darling.” Coriolanus told you as his hand disappeared under the hem of your shirt. As his fingers teasingly touched your dripping folds, he all but moaned out, “You're so fucking wet. Is that all for me?”

“Yes.” You squeaked out, feeling yourself clench at his touch. A touch that felt both like fire and ice as he played with your folds, only to start rubbing gentle circles into your clit. “Coriolanus.” You called out in a breathless whisper, fingers shaking as you unbuttoned your shirt, like Coriolanus ordered, while feeling the pleasurable pressure of his thumb on your clit paired with a finger ghosting your wet entrance.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Coryo?” He asked, teeth grinding, while slapping your pussy with a punishing force.

“Coryo…” You whined, shifting as a result of feeling the sting the slap left on your pussy.

“Oh, now my needy little slut calls me Coryo? Hmm…you learn quickly, my darling rose.” Coriolanus told you in a tone dripping with a dark mix of authority and lust. His fingers went back to working your folds as if they were the strings of a fine instrument while devouring your mouth in a heated kiss that was more teeth than lips.

You had finished unbuttoning your shirt and went to reach for his neck, to use as an anchor as he kissed you and played with your soaking cunt, but to your surprise he broke the kiss and ordered, “Take off your shirt. I want to see your tits.”

You nodded and pushed your shirt off your shoulders, making it crumble behind you on the bed. Coryo’s eyes were black as coal and danced with the fires of lust as he looked upon your bare chest heaving up and down. He felt his cock get painfully harder in his boxers as he grabbed one of your tits; pressing an open mouthed kiss on the other. All while his middle finger slipped into the wet heat of your tight hole. 

Your mouth made an O shape as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of your tight hole, teasing you. One of your hands latched onto his shoulder while the other found itself entwined in his platinum blonde curls as his fingers greedily kneaded your tit while his teeth grazed your nipple.

“Oh…Coryo…” Fell from your lips like a prayer as you felt him slip a second finger inside of your cunt while twisting your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Coryo pulled his lips from your nipple with a wet pop, only to darkly smirk, “That's it, Y/N. Beg for me, beg for me to finger fuck you like a good little slut.” 

Your face flushed every shade of red at his dirty, degrading words. Oh god, his words sent a warm tingle straight to your core. What was wrong with you that such filth turned you on?

Stilling the pair of fingers he had stuffed in your soaking wet pussy, he stared you down and ordered, “Beg or I won't fuck you. Won't let you cum hard on my fingers, my darling rose.”

Subconsciously, you darted your tongue out of your mouth and licked your lips. With your chest quickly rising and falling paired with an achy need in your pussy, you obeyed Coryo. “Please, Coryo, finger fuck me like your good little slut.” You pleaded, voice overcome with want.

Hearing you say ‘your good little slut’ instead of repeating his words of ‘a good little slut’ made Coriolanus go primal with an urge to devour you. Yes, you were his. You even confirmed it in your desperation for a pleasurable release. You knew you were his and that did so many things to Coryo. 

“Don't worry, my good little slut, I'll make you feel good. I'll make you cum.” Coryo promised, curling his fingers up into your cunt only to press against your spongy spot. The high pitch whine you let out paired with the way your hips bucked tipped him off that he found your g spot. “That's the spot that's going to make you soak my fingers with your cum, huh?”

“Uh huh.” You mumbled as you felt him begin to thrust his fingers harder into you, making sure to hit your spongy spot every time.

Coryo bent his head down, only to start roughly kissing your boobs while his hand worked your sopping wet pussy fast and hard. His teeth grazed the swell of your breast only to place a biting bruise there. 

“Coryo…don't leave a mark…” You breathlessly requested.

Coriolanus didn't like to be told what to do, especially in the bedroom where he was always the dominant one, so your request pissed him off. His eyes flashed dangerously as his head tilted up to look at you. Grabbing your hair into a rope and roughly tugging it, causing your head to snap, he warned, “Don't order me around or I’ll stop and won't let you cum.”

Your eyes searched his to see if he was bluffing, but all you could see was the truth behind his lust blown pupils. “I won't order you around. I promise, Coryo. Just, please, let me cum.” You told him, desperate to cum since, during his threat, he stilled his hand (one again).

He added a third finger inside of your tight pussy, causing you to feel a slight burn at the stretch, and rubbed your clit with his thumb all while telling you, “Consider this a warning, since your still so innocent, my darling rose, but if you pull this again I won't let you cum no matter how much you beg. I'll just stuff by cock in your mouth and call it a night.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded. 

Coryo smiled, happy that you learned your lesson, before latching his lips onto your collar bone. He pressed a few open mouthed kisses before sinking his teeth down into your flesh. His teeth grazed bone, causing you to let out a loud scream. His tongue tastes your metallic blood as he lapped at your wound. He soothed it with the swirl of a practiced tongue while pumping his fingers faster and faster into you.

You pulled his head away from your collar bone, only to look into his crazed eyes and declare, “I'm close, Coryo. So close.” 

Coryo captured your lips in his, quickly letting you taste the metallic tang of your blood, only to pull away and murmur, “I know, darling. I know you are.”

His forehead was leaning against yours as he pistoned his fingers in and out of your wet hole, causing obscene loud squelching sounds to fill the air. Your hips began canting up, chasing your high, as you held onto him like a lifeline. The knot in your stomach got tighter and you knew that any minute you were going to break and come undone.

“Coryo…” You moaned, clawing at him to anchor you in the moments before you came tumbling down.

“Cum right now, my darling rose. Cum right now like the little slut you are.” Coryo ordered, his voice thick and raspy, as he roughly pumped his fingers into your pussy while sloppily, but quickly, thumbing at your puffy clit.

You cum hard with his name loudly falling from your lips; your fingers digging into his shoulder and scalp. You stared into his lust blown black eyes as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, helping you ride wave after wave of orgasmic aftershocks. He only stops whenever you tug at his wrist while whimpering, “Too much, Coryo.”

With a proud smile on his face, Coryo removed his soaking wet hand from your pussy and brought it up for you both to see. “You're a very messy girl, Y/N. Soaked our sheets.” He chuckled before licking every single one of his fingers clean. Then he licked his palm clean and told you, “My darling rose, you're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.”

He dipped his hand back between your legs, only to use his pointer finger to gather some of your juices. Removing his hand and placing his finger to your lips, he ordered, “Taste how sweet you are.”

Without even thinking about it, you wrapped your mouth around his finger and swirled your tongue to taste your tanginess.

“Good girl.” Coryo praised you while removing his finger from your mouth with a wet pop. Grabbing your hand, he brought it to rest on the large bulge in his boxers. “You feel that, my darling rose? That's what you do to me.”

Looking between his bulge and his face, you asked, “You want me to suck your cock, don’t you?” 

“Yes, well, it would be nice considering what I did to make you feel good.” Coryo countered, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. You were just asking him a question, he didn't have to be so condescending about it. 

“I've never-” You began to tell him, only for him to cut you off with a simple, “I know, Y/N.” 

He removed your leg from his hip and got out of bed, all the while telling you, “I’ll teach you what I like, my darling rose. Don't worry your pretty little head over it.”

You watched him pull down his boxers, causing his hard dick to bounce up against his stomach. Your eyes widened at the sight. Yes, you've never seen one before, but by looking at Coryo's you knew he had a big cock. It had to be at least 8 inches. It had veins running alongside it and the head was an angry shade of red. Precum was leaking from his tip and all you could do was stare at it. 

“It's so big.” You gasped as he rejoined you in bed.

“You really think so, Y/N?” Coryo asked. He knew he was blessed with a big cock, but hearing you say it gave him an ego boost.

“Yea.” You nodded, eyes flicking between his hard cock and his eyes.

Coriolanus made himself comfortable by leaning against the headboard and bending his knees slightly. “Get between my legs, darling.” He instructed.

“Do you want me laying down or crouching or?...” You trailed off while crawling down between his legs.

“Whatever’s more comfortable for you. It doesn't make any difference to me as long as my cock’s in your mouth.” Coriolanus crudely told you. His eyes were glued to you as you bent down on your knees while placing a hand on each of his thighs. When you looked at him with a nervous innocence in your eyes, it turned him on. “Place a hand at the base of my cock and start by licking the tip.” He told you, knowing that if he didn't you'd probably stare at his cock wide eyed all night (well morning, but it didn't make that much of a difference).

You nodded before placing your right hand at the base of him and licking his leaky tip. His precum had a salty, musky taste to it but it wasn't horrible. In fact, you found that you didn't mind the taste of him. You gave his tip another lick, only to flicker your tongue over his slit.

“Oh fuck…” Coriolanus gritted out. He felt his balls tighten and he knew that he had to get you to move this along. He couldn’t cum just from you teasing his tip. That would be embarrassing, not to mention beneath him. “Wrap your mouth around it and suck, darling.” He instructed you. 

Nodding, you did as you were told and put his cock into your mouth. You began to suck, only to discover that his size made your jaw hurt. Also, he was so big that you started to gag on his cock. You tried to calm yourself and breathe thru your nose, but it was easier said than done. 

Upon seeing tears leaking from your eyes, Coriolanus groaned. “Darling, take as much in as you can and use your hand to work the rest for now.” Reaching his hand into your hair, he added, “Don't worry, it won't be long until you'll be able to take all of me.”

You let his big cock fall out of your mouth with a wet plop, only to look up at him and say in a worried voice, “Okay, but are you sure this is going to feel good for you? You're the only man I've ever been with and…yea…” 

You honestly did want to make him feel good since he made you feel good. Right now in this moment the only thing that mattered was returning the favor. Anything else (like how he was cheating on his wife with you or how he designed the arena that you could've died in; get nightmares from) would be dealt with later.

Coryo's too small black heart clenched at your words. How could you think that you were unable to make him feel good because you've never been with a man up until now? Didn't he tell you he'd teach you; show you what he liked? Didn't you agree to let him be your teacher? Was it your youthful innocence making you second guess yourself?

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he assured you, “You’ll be able to make me feel very good, my darling rose, because I'll teach you what to do.” His thumb brushed over your swollen lips as he darkly added, “I'm the only man you'll ever be with, Y/N, because you're mine and I don't share what's mine.” 

“But I have to share you?” Came tumbling out of your mouth before you could think better of it. 

Coryo raised his hand up in the air only to bring it down against your already bruised cheekbone in a loud, punishing smack. Grabbing your chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger, he lowly hissed, “I don't fuck my wife so you're not sharing me, Y/N. Don't you dare accuse me of not being faithful to you because I am.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks, causing him to use the pads of his thumbs to wipe them away. “You have nothing to worry about, my darling rose, I'm obsessively loyal to you and would never taint what we have by cheating.”

If you weren't still half blissed out from your orgasm minutes earlier his words would've been a huge red flag waving wildly in the wind. But, since your brain was still up on cloud 9, his words went right over your head. All you could do was nod your head at him. 

Tenderly stroking your cheek, that he just struck, Coryo sighed, “I really didn't want to slap you again, Y/N, but you left me no choice by accusing me of making you share me with that awful bitch.” 

“I'm sorry I said that. I wasn't thinking.” You told him, mostly because it was the truth. You really didn't mean to make that remark. It just slipped out.

“Yes, well, you need to be more aware of your words. You're in the Capitol now and saying the wrong thing here, well…just don't do it if you want to keep your tongue.”

Holy shit! Was he threatening to make you an avox or just talking in general? Honestly, you didn't know and you didn't want to find out. 

Threading his fingers in your hair, he smiled, “Why don't you get back to sucking my cock so we can get to bed.”

So that's what you did. You swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock before taking as much of it as you could into your mouth. Using your hand, you worked what you couldn't fit into your mouth. Just like Coryo told you to do. Quickly, you realize that hollowing out your cheeks made it a bit easier to take in his cock. 

As your tongue slid up the underside of his veiny cock, while you sucked him, Coryo let out a low moan. “You're sucking my cock so good for your first time. You're such a good little slut for me.” His hand tightened in your hair as he ordered, “Go a bit faster now and play with my balls.”

You couldn't say a word, since his cock was in your mouth, but the look you gave him showed that you understood him. Quickly, you listened and started speeding up your movements while bringing your left hand to his balls. Your hand fondled his balls as spit began to spill from your mouth.

It was a messy site and it turned Coryo on. Seeing you, his innocent Victor, nearly choking on his cock with spittle falling from your mouth was better than any wet dream he could've ever imagined. Oh, and looking at you rolling and squeezing his balls full of his cum in your hand spurred him on. 

Suddenly, before you could even comprehend what was going on, Coryo tightened his hold on your hair and began to trust his hips up. “Fuck, you feel so good. I need to fuck your throat.” He groaned. 

His balls began to tighten up in your hand as he fucked up into your face with a wild feralness. It was as if he was possessed by the spirit of a wild animal. He needed to mark you as his and what better way than shoving the tip of his cock to the very back of your throat.

As he bucked his hips, bullying his cock down your throat, you continued to suck him and use your tongue on him. You never stopped playing with his balls either.

For your first time sucking cock, you seemed to figure out real quick how Coriolanus liked it. Perhaps next time it'll go over without a hitch, unlike tonight…

You felt the roots of your hair burning as Coryo’s grip on your hair grew tighter. “Fuck…Y/N, I'm gonna cum.” He bucked up in fast sloppy movements while ordering, “You better be a good little slut for me and swallow every drop.” 

You remembered how you heard some girls at school from the merchant sector gossiping in gym class about how one of the Seam girls was nasty because they heard a rumor that she swallowed. You remembered how when you got home you asked Ashlie, your older brother's girlfriend, what the merchant girls meant and she gave you a quick talking to about it. All she said was that girls who swallowed when going down on a man were considered dirty girls and not to do it. That no respectable man would want a girl that did that.

Well, it seems that all of that was bullshit because the head gamemaker of Panem was ordering you to swallow his cum with a look full of lust, neediness, and adoration in his baby blue turned black as coal eyes. Coriolanus Snow was a very respectable man. Hell he was listed as one of the richest men in Panem according to some late night talk show, so if he said to swallow then it wasn't such a dirty thing after all.

Suddenly, you felt thick, hot ropes of cum shoot onto your tongue and down your throat as Coriolanus let out moans and curses around the proper noun that was your name. 

You did what he wanted and swallowed down his salty seed.

When you let his cock fall from your mouth with a wet pop, he caressed your cheek. “I see you swallowed every drop I gave you. Very good, darling.” Using his other hand to pat the spot on the bed next to him, he said, “Come here, I’m tired and we both need some sleep.”

Crawling over to the spot next to him, you sighed, “I'm afraid I won't be able to go to sleep, Coryo. Every time I try I have flashbacks and nightmares.”

Coryo adjusted himself to lay comfortably on his back. Stretching an arm out, in an invitation for you to snuggle up to his side, he tiredly told you, “You’ll be able to fall asleep, Y/N.” As you settled in next to him, he added, “You're safe with me, my darling rose.” While laying your head down on his chest along with resting a hand there, he pulled the blankets over you both and said, “Just lay your head on my chest and remember that I'll always protect you.” Leaning down to press a kiss to your hair, he whispered, “I will kill for you, darling. To keep you safe with me, I swear I will kill half the Capitol if that's what it takes to keep you safe in my arms.” His sleep laden voice got even softer as he declared, “You're mine and I'll never let anything hurt you again. You'll always be safe with me, my darling rose.”

You drifted off to sleep with those odd last words of his (a promise of safety, possession, and murders to come) going in one ear and out the other.

Maybe if you weren't so exhausted, both mentally and physically, you would've paid more attention to those words. Maybe they would've made you run for the hills. Or maybe not. 

Even a monster needs somebody to love them. But what is a beast without his precious rose? 

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak