#here though i’m not sure. it could be taken either way that she’s keeping him here or that they’re both stuck

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

From the kitchen, Valentino catches the tail-end of an argument, fluttery and high-pitched, unserious—Marc has charred the garlic, or something. Àlex seems indignant. Àlex’s girlfriend has not stopped cackling. Marc’s voice rises over both of them, his ugly, honking laugh.

Valentino hasn’t been included. Rather, Roser Alentá had taken one long, flat look at him and invited him to sit with her, on the porch.

His palm is wet around his wine glass, but she hasn’t touched hers yet—the Grans Muralles bottle Marc said she’d like—so he hasn’t either. Feels his stomach churn, acid and bile rolling around.

“You’ve made it,” she says.

And he could make his way in pieces to the sewers, he gets the impression. Or at least find his way back from whatever hell hole she thinks he crawled out.

Her Catalan is pointed at him, unfamiliar, the vowels only familiar enough to feel alien when Valentino tries reaching out for them. He gives up, settles on Spanish, but even that language slides soapy in his dumb, numb mouth.

“Marc loves spending time with his family.”

It’s easy to wave Marc around, the proverbial white flag. They both know why he is here. They both know Marc never gives up on anything until he can’t take it anymore. Exhibit A: Honda. Exhibit B: Cervera. Valentino isn’t—for some reason—exhibit C.

She raises her eyebrows, though. “And does he need your permission to be here?”

Valentino startles, despite himself. Remembers to smile a moment too late. “Of course not,” he exclaims, his finest smile on show, who? Me? “But he says it’s better when everyone is—ah, involved.”

No sign of thawing. Even the sip from her glass is neutral, cold.

“Do you agree?”

Valentino swallows around a chokeful of bleach. Stefania lives in a house he built for her, carefully tucked in the space he and Luca allowed for her, often with his dogs and his cat, often not. Graziano calls a few times a year, on the wrong days.

“It’s nice,” he lies.

Rather, it’s not something Marc will compromise on—never did. Before, when he’d been twenty and liquid and eager, one of the few times Valentino had managed to really stumble on a knife was when he suggested Marc leave Àlex behind for a couple of days.

Marc is full of things that he will not compromise on, now.

Roser snorts, a quiet, unimpressed noise. “I’m sure you think so. But no matter, are you liking Cervera, Valentino?”

“It’s very much like Tavullia.”

Wrong answer, or wrong language, or wrong everything. Roser only stares. He gives himself permission to drink, does it until his tongue stops tasting like something died there. The wine—Marc likes it just the same, acidic and fruity, rich in the aftermath. Valentino drinks his whites when they’re together.

It is like Tavullia. Small and unimpressive at first glance, dust-drenched dirt tracks dotting the roads nearby, very delighted with its champions. The museum, the murals of Marc. People—overfamiliar—seem happy to leave them be, though. If they have something to say to Valentino, they won’t do it while Marc is around.

But he recognizes when they talk about him.

A cousin, her eyes sliding over him, chilly, before she turned to Marc with raised eyebrows. An aunt, halfway done with her cigar, if I were Roser, I’d spit that asshole out of my house—he’d felt proud, grimly, for getting most of it. The unhappy grumbling from his uncles, or great-uncles, who cares, eyes dark and unfriendly.

“I think he’s just waiting for you to fuck up again and prove him right.” Roser’s voice is crisp, sharp. She’s rolling her glass around.

Valentino flinches.

Inside, Marc and Àlex have started calling her, half urgent, half cackling mama! He can’t quite hear it, through the pounding of blood in his ears.

Roser just leaves her glass and stalks inside the house that feel like a memorial of moments that Marc will never talk about, that he keeps rescuing from interviews that sit in his belly like a mouthful of crunched carbon fiber. Here, the stripped bare walls. Here, the empty shelves. Here, the place where Marc wrestled a journo off him. Here, him lying awake at night, in pain.

It will be a rather long Christmas. Valentino remembers, acutely, why he never bothers with his own family anymore.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

(Part Two)

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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₊ ⊹❀

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[you-oughta-see-the-odyssey]

Yeah. There’s also that snippet in Not Sorry For Loving you where Odysseus says “I love you…but not in the way you want me to.” It doesn’t sound like it’s manipulation or a lie (at that point I don’t see a reason why he’d feel the need to), it sounds sincere. I think in the 7 years he spent with Calypso he did come to love her—platonically. At least unless the full Not Sorry For Loving You comes out and disproves that.

i am sooo setting myself up for hate with this but like...damn! y'all really hate epic calypso and i...really don't? i don't know if it's lack of background knowledge on one (or both) of our parts or just knowledge of different versions of the myth/character or different interpretations of love in paradise/not sorry for loving you but like...

calypso hurts odysseus. but not maliciously? he's a victim, and so is she.

i think possibly the lyric "under my spell we're stuck" is making people think she's the one keeping them on the island? she's not. she's a prisoner, too. hopefully the next saga makes that clearer? i think from the clips we've got of not sorry it might.

i don't think she's using the words of his dead friends to mock or trigger or harm him or even to try to manipulate him. it's possible she doesn't even realize what she's saying - how would she know the origins of those phrases? If she's hearing them as he talks in his sleep, even odds they sound like affirmations. they sound positive - i'll stay in your heart! greet the world with open arms! in the best possibility, she's trying to comfort him.

that is of course an optimistic view. call me polites, i guess. but even as she is hurting odysseus - and she is, i don't deny that! - i can't see it as because she's another example of an evil god. i think for better or worse - she doesn't know any better. it doesn't excuse her violations of boundaries, but she has a childlike, self-centered perspective because for so long she HAS just been herself. the world DOES revolve around her. it doesn't make it right. but it doesn't make her a villain.

i've already seen people complaining about how she refuses to apologize in not sorry for loving you. but she does. she apologizes for everything (say too little too late, fine, but she does) EXCEPT loving him. and her love has never been the thing causing harm. her actions have. she shouldn't apologize for loving him.

also also - within epic canon, as of what we know now, i don't think those aforementioned actions include sexual assault. there are differences between epic and the odyssey. that has been made abundantly clear. and other incidents of violence and sexual assault within epic are clearly articulated. if these aren't, i don't think we can assume they're there.

epic calypso isn't odyssey calypso. or pjo calypso. or any other calypso except: epic calypso.

[seancekitsch]

BONNIE YOUR THREESOMES ARE PEAK PLEASE WRITE JAYVIK X READER PLEASE

hehehehe this was more involved than i thought it would be

summary: you and viktor get bored and jealous at a gala, threesome ensues after

m/m/f, dom!vik, switch! mostly sub reader, sub! jayce, smut, hehehehe

“I hate these things,” you say, but you always get dressed to the nines whenever there’s a gala, not a hair out of place and the fanciest gowns that otherwise rot in the background of your closet. You always make sure you look your best for your men at these things.

“I hate these things,” Viktor says, but he never fails to pull you onto his lap when he’s sure no one is looking. He always presses long kisses into your exposed skin that leave you flustered and giggly. He always makes sure you’re taken care of and more than flirted with when you go to a gala.

“I hate this,” you’ll say halfway through the night, angrily picking at your nails between glasses of champagne as you watch Jayce be hit on by yet another investor, “Must we pimp him out?”

“I hate it too,” Viktor agrees, but he doesn’t answer your question. You both know what this is, a necessity that brews a vicious anger in your gut. Jealousy and possessiveness brew like a venom as the two of you eat caviar and french fries on the outskirts of a ballroom. Viktor keeps an eye on your scowl as he leans on the table.

“I’m mad,” you’ll pout, when you can finally tug on Jayce’s jacket and pull him near, “You’re ours.”

He’ll just laugh and urge you to finish your last champagne glass before the carriage arrives.

He throws his jacket over you as Viktor’s free arm comes around your waist. To any bystander, it looks as if the two inventors are holding up a drunk girl. In reality, they can’t keep their hands off of you.

You’re thankful the carriage driver is discreet, with noise you’re making. Viktor actively holds your top half, your chest haphazardly thrown over his as he keeps you in place. Viktor messes up your hair, pushing it all away from your face. Jayce is relentless, bordering on mean with his teasing. His too warm hands dance around your inner thighs and drag along your skin. He’s long since discarded your panties and shoved them into his pocket as he kneels on the floor of the carriage and grins up at you in the moonlight.

“Jayce, please,” You beg.

“Are you kidding?” is how he responds, his voice low and harsh, “don’t think I didn’t see the show you were putting on with Vik.”

You smile sheepishly, and look up to where a dark purple spot blooms on the man’s throat.

“You were pretty mean to tease him like that,” Viktor says, and you realize there will be no orders for mercy in this carriage for you.

The walk from the carriage to the elevator is a struggle, your legs feeling like jelly from all of Jayce’s teasing and touching as the men crowd on either side of you. Jayce lifts you as the elevator doors open, one of his hands grabbing not so subtly at your ass. This is where it gets risky, as anyone after hours could blow the little cover your trio has. 

The mood shifts as the elevator doors close, and your feet touch the ground as you both look to Viktor. Always, you and Jayce look to Viktor. Jayce holds you close, his arms caging you in. Viktor leans against the wall of the lift, his hand unbuttoning his waistcoat as he smiles at the two of you. 

“You made her upset at the gala,” he states simply, looking up at the taller man, “Let’s make sure she feels loved enough to not complain so much next time.” 

Anticipation swells in your chest, excitement having you ready to tear at their clothes right here and now, though you don’t move an inch. 

Ironic though, that Viktor brings up your jealousy. As if he himself does not have an essay worth of complaints when he himself feels that way. As if he is not the biggest complainer in Zaun and Piltover combined. You voice none of that though.

Only a small whispered “Thank you, V,” leaves your lips.

“Touch her,” comes Victor’s voice from the couch, and instantly warm hands are upon you. Jayce gropes from your hips to your chest and back again, his warm fingers leaving a blazing train in their wake, wildfires breaking out upon your skin under his touch. 

“So pretty,” Jayce breathes, his voice strained and breathy as he kisses along your shoulder. Jayce pushes the top of your dress from your shoulders, and then upon seemingly discovering the buttons along your back, his hands become laser focused on those. 

“You both are,” Viktor sighs, his hand palming over his crotch as he watches you with a predatory stare, “Get her naked, please.”

Jayce obeys, sweet obedient Jayce. His fingers find themselves spinning you around, immediately working the line down your spine. His big fingers are nimble, rapidly pulling the extremely delicate buttons apart with ease without ripping a singe one of them. His hands travel down your spine, your body reacting in turn with shuddering gasps, until he reaches the cleft of your ass where the buttons finally stop. This is when Jayce urges you to stand straight, pushing your dress down to the point where it falls down your ass and legs, leaving you bare for them spare your heels.

Jayce’s warm hands are on you, caressing your chest and squeezing your hips.

“Is it.. good? The heels aren’t too much?” You ask, their lack of immediate verbal praise making your skin prickle in a way you don’t like. 

“More than good,” Viktor scoffs, then orders “Come here.”

Without another thought, you sink to your knees immediately. Viktor’s wish is your command. 

You shuffle forward until you’re between Viktor’s knees, his brace undone and his pants already unbuttoned and waiting for you. You push both down with care, actively pulling his brace down his leg gently to make sure that it’s not bumped in any way on the way down. It’s not unsexy, the way you remove the brace is the same way you’d remove any piece of clothing, just another thing on the journey to unwrapping him like a present. And he is a present to you tonight, most of your time with Viktor hurried in the lab and mostly clothed. The time and space to actually see him bare is a rare thing for you. You take the time to take his pants with it, each inch of revealed skin met with kisses. Lipstick meets the insides of pale knees, up pale thighs, exaggerating the punctuation of the moles on his legs. 

You look up at him expectantly, as if for instruction.

“My love, what?” he ask, a chuckle in his tone as he grasps the back of your head, “you know what to do.”

With that he gently leads your head down, your lips parting to catch the head of his cock between them.  You waste no time sinking your mouth down onto him, only stopping when he hits the back of your throat. Despite the fact that he does not fully fit in your mouth, you do not wrap your fingers around the base of his dick. That’s always been a quirk of Viktor’s, that he likes it with no hands. So one of your free hands sinks into the couch, the old worn cushion soft under your touch. Your other hand moves between your thighs, moving lazy circles with your middle two fingers over your clit. You moan at the contact, and Viktor shudders as your moan reverberates around him. He crooks a finger towards the other man, and Jayce comes forward to quickly capture Victor’s lips into a kiss. You stare up from your spot below, licking the underside of Viktor’s cockhead as you watch the two lock lips. Viktor is the first to deepen the kiss, his tongue diving past Jayce’s lips. They’re so beautiful, your men. You watch them hungrily as you bob your head up and down on Viktor’s length, your cheeks hollowing out around him. Your fingers speed up, and every few moments you allow your fingers to dip into yourself, not nearly enough and not what you want but it fuels the fire in your gut. You don’t hold back with your own moaning, letting them know how good you’re feeling right now. 

Viktor seems to notice the way your shoulder is moving, and pulls away from Jayce. Not too far, as his breath still tickles Jayce’s mustache. 

“You made our little Princezno very upset, Jayce,” Viktor tsks, “Look at how good she is being for us, and you make her so jealous?”

Jayce looks down, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” he tells you, and you hope he can see that you’re smiling even with Viktor’s dick down your throat. 

“Did you think that was enough?” Viktor asks, and one of his hands comes to your chin, gently pulling you off of him. You stretch and move your jaw, slightly sore from use. Viktor pulls you up, gesturing for you to lay in his lap. He does this when he needs a breather, when he gets himself a little too worked up too quickly. It’s almost an ego boost knowing you have that power over him, but not when it leaves him attempting to stifle a cough. You comply happily though, stretching out on your back so that your head rests mostly on his good leg, your hand lazily coming up to rub along the edge of his back brace. His still hard cock rests against his abdomen, close enough that you can kiss it when you turn your head, and you do. Your lips press a warm kiss where the base of his shaft meets his balls. 

“Look at her, she’s worked herself up so much,” There’s fake pity in his tone as Jayce moves to the other side of the ratty couch, “I think you should make it up to her.”

“I agree,” Jayce sighs as he kneels at the edge of the couch, his big hands propping up your hips for him and holding you still. Jayce’s breath fans out across your core, already dripping and ready for him. He smiles at you, and you want to run your tongue along the gap in his teeth. Jayce is so fucking handsome. You don’t know when he removed his jacket and shirt, but he hooks one of your legs over his bare shoulder before diving in. His tongue feels molten hot as he licks your cunt open, and he groans as he tastes you. A greedy slurp cuts through the air of the otherwise quiet lab, obscene and embarrassing as you throw your hands up to cover your face. 

“None of that,” Viktor chides you, gently prying your hands away, “If you must grab anything, grab Jayce. I want to see you.”

You comply, just as obedient as Jayce when it comes to Viktor. You nod and him as your hands tremble, fingers burying themselves in the hair that Jayce is trying to grow out. Jayce hums appreciatively against you at the contact. He returns to opening you with fervor, his tongue now focused solely on your clit. Jayce’s fingers tease your entrance, dipping into where you’ve already soaked and just barely breaching you, earning him breathy whines and whispered begging. 

“Jayce… need you,” you moan, frustrated tears already prickling at your eyes. He’s in a teasing mood tonight, his worst and most dangerous mood. If Viktor doesn’t call him off, you could be at this until dawn.

“Do you need us both?” Viktor asks, which you meet with nodding that jostle’s Viktor’s good leg. You look up at him, silently begging. He pouts mockingly at you, using one hand to wipe away a stray tear near your lashes. 

“Prep her,” he orders Jayce, not taking his eyes off of yours, “She needs us both, who are we to deny her?”

Jayce hums against your clit again, making you yelp. His fingers delve into you, scissoring you open and pressing deep. Finally, you think, finally. His fingers don’t stay long, just enough to soak them. Jayce pulls his fingers out and moves them lower. He circles the other hole, then slowly, ever so carefully, pushes one in. The adjustment is always a little painful, despite that you’re used to this by now. He’s slow to move, and works you open to take the second finger. 

“She tastes so good,” Jayce moans when he removes is mouth from you, only for a moment to catch his breath, “So so sweet.”

His fingers in your ass start to move a little faster as his lips reattach themselves to your clit, sucking hard on the little bud to make you yank on his hair. If there’s something Jayce likes, it’s a little pain. He fucks you on his hand until you see stars, each time you come close to ecstasy, he pulls back; maddening and near painful. He does this three times, each time has you whining and cursing and panting while Viktor holds your face still and whispers sweet praise to you. 

“You’re doing so well, look at how happy you’re making us, just once more.”

But his words mean little when you’re blinded with the need to cum, the need to make a mess for Jayce to lick up, to be sandwiched between the two of them and filled. 

“Can’t … fuck, ah… can’t do it anymore,” you plead, the tears starting to come more rapidly, a babbling brook becoming a stream. You twist nearly out of Viktor’s hold, your fingers going slack against Jayce’s scalp, and Viktor’s face goes stoic. 

“Jayce, stop!” he tells him, clear that you’ve been pushed a little too far. Jayce pulls back immediately, but doesn’t leave. Instead he wraps his arms around you, his head on your chest like a weighted blanket as he holds you. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Was I mean to you?” Jayce croons, but the way his hand envelops yours and squeezes tells you it’s a check-in. 

“A little,” you whimper, “I just wanted to fuck you… and cum.”

You add the last part with a little indignant joke in your tone. Truly, you could handle what he was doing on a normal night, but tonight, you just wanted your men and their attention. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats again, and then lifts his head up to Viktor, “You ready to go again?”

“I always was,” Viktor scoffs.

You sigh as you sink down onto Viktor’s length, the familiar stretch to accommodate him always pleasant. He smiles up at you from where he now lays on the couch, his good leg digging into the cushion to give him some leverage of his own, his own lips parted in his own clumsy sigh. You lean down to capture those lips in a kiss, a brief peck before you turn your head back to Jayce.

“You ready?” You ask him, beckoning him closer.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for something,” Jayce jokes, his knee pressing into the couch cushion between Viktor’s legs and yours. He drips some lube onto his shaft, until now neglected as some light unspoken attempt of a punishment. He remembers how you had rolled your eyes and made fun of him when he pointed out to you that he had even bought some lube to hide in one of his personal drawers in the space. Now, however, its half empty and every combination of the three of you have been more than happy to use it on more than one occasion. He gives his cock two pumps to smear the lube, then settles in behind you. Jayce runs hot, and his heat radiates across your back.

He lines himself up gently, and just as gently pushes into your other hole.

It takes everything in you not to scream and come at that very moment. You breath through your teeth, seething at the way you hold back as you adjust to the feeling, while familiar always an adjustment. Your panting breaks into a light airy chuckle as you move your hips, a small swivel and roll. Both of your men groan at the feeling. That’s their cue to begin. 

Viktor and Jayce are geniuses to begin with, but when it comes to your body they’re even more than that. They fall into opposite patterns, when Viktor is fully flush in you, Jayce is pulling back; When Viktor pulls you up from his lap, Jayce’s hips are flat against your ass. Viktor goes in, Jayce goes out, Jayce goes in, Viktor goes out. It’s maddening, and so damn quick to work you back up into a frenzy. 

“Fuck, Amazing,” Viktor pants, his head thrown back against the cushion as he tilts his hips up again into you, “You two spoil me.”

A breathy laugh leaves his lips as he continues his movement, his hands lazily tracing up Jayce’s biceps and down your waist. He smiles though youre sure he’s sore by now, something he’ll use as an excuse to have you and Jayce massage out and to cater to him and bring him a glass of sweetmilk and the little lemon loaf cake you had baked yesterday. Jayce doesn’t respond verbally, but speeds up the movement of his hips, double time to ease Viktor’s movements. He easily pushes you up and down on both of their cocks, the change in pace somehow even more divine than before. 

“Spoil you?” you gasp, your mouth hangs open as you struggle to moan between the two of them, your hands frantic and clumsy grasping at them both, yet not finding purchase or rooting anywhere. You find yourself, between the gasps and the moans, laughing too.

“I’m the fuckin’ spoiled one,” you tell them. Viktor’s hand leaves your waist, dropping down to rub circles on your clit. 

Almost instantly, you go rigid, the many orgasms Jayce had denied you crashing down upon you. The feeling makes it feel like you shatter, like your muscles are made of glass and you break in their embrace. 

“Ah, fuck fuck, shit,” Jayce curses as you tense up and shake between the two of them, “So tight.”

You moan, low and hoarse and drawn out as the two men cage you in, holding you tight between them. Viktor’s hands find your face, cupping your cheeks as he whispers praise to you. 

Heat floods you, Jayce finishing along with you, spilling into your ass with a harsh groan. He stills behind you, one of his big arms coming up from the couch to wrap around you and hug you tight, your sweaty spine colliding with his equally sweaty chest. 

“Fuck you guys are fantastic,” he whispers, his stubble and lips brushing clumsily against your shoulder as he speaks. Viktor still thrusts up into you, his movements slower now as the two of you still above him. He looks down to where his fingertips have left the faintest of bruises on your hips. Beautiful, and he knows you’ll wear them with pride. 

You start to shift on top of him, not quite meeting his lazier thrusting, but the friction is enough. Your mouth falls open, your eyes screwed shut as you keep going. You’re so good for them, with the way you’re clearly spent, all sluggish limbs and overstimulation, and still fucking yourself on him. 

Viktor finishes quietly, another flood of heat within you as he sighs and throws his head back against the cushion of the couch. His frame shudders, a full body shake beneath the both of you as bliss takes over. 

You start immediately to rub circles with your thumbs over Viktor’s shoulders, routine now as the three of you fall out of your haze, calm settling over you. Everything is still once more in the lab, the only noise your shared breathing and the hum of the generators. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, laughter on your lips. Jayce starts kissing the back of your neck, a soothing balm to ease tense muscles as he gently pulls out. He moves slowly, feeling the trickle of his spend follow his exit. You groan as he moves away, standing up from the couch. 

“Come back,” you tell him, reaching out with one hand to try to beckon him back. 

“You need a washcloth,” Jayce laughs, stark naked and proud of the mess he leaves the two of you on the couch. He shuffles over to the little wash basin and care station the three of you had slowly built up over the years. He runs the tap for a little while, waiting for the warm water before he brings the cloth under the flow of the water. He looks back at the two of you, flashing a toothy smile thats blinding even in the darkness of the lab. 

“Braggadocios, is he not?” Viktor asks, a playful smirk on his tired face. 

“Terribly,” you respond, winking at him. 

“I can hear you two!” Jayce calls as he walks back over to the couch, “Conspiring against me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you hum, but he knows thats a lie. 

He wouldn't have it any other way, though.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 6

Summary: More battles and more bargains come into play as things go from bad to worse.

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Character Death (Unnamed); Mentions of Slavery/Assault/Incest (the twins are back)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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I’ve aged a decade in the time it takes to get inside the Imperial Palace. The blistering heat makes sweat bead down the back of my dress, every inch of heavy fabric feeling like it’s plastered to my skin. Everything feels too heavy on my body. I need to get home and into the tub, maybe with enough soap and water I will be able to purge the oppressive weight that clings to my skin.

Though I have my doubts. It’s not just the heat or the dirt, it’s this whole place. Everything I have known and loved about the city feels like it has been stripped down to nothing but the oozing, wretched thing that has been hidden beneath golden arches and layers of stark white marble. It reeks of a decay that has nothing to the crucified bodies hanging outside our doors.

Senators and Commanders mingle, wives dripping in expensive jewels hanging from their arms, laughing and talking about how magnificent this celebration for Amarantha is. I’d be shaking with the rage I feel clawing up my insides were it not for the way Rhysand still held me in his mental grip.

“Steady,” he warns for what feels like the fiftieth time today. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay so calm, especially when his men have been taken through the back streets of the city. There is a prison on the outskirts of the capitol, on the eastern wall, hopefully there will be less cruelty on the streets now that they’re away from the parade, but it is still a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It cannot be easy to be forced to stay here, with the enemy at every turn, while your men labor in a dungeon, yet he and Cassian, stand with their heads high behind me.

One of the guards untethered them from the back of my horse, but holding their chain in my hands is just as bad as leading them on horseback. Cassian gives me a wide berth, far enough away that if I take two steps ahead I’ll drag him by the throat. Azriel, however, hovers near my left shoulder, head down like he’s trying to hide, even as I watch his shadows slither down the back of his legs and scatter across the floor in search of something. One still remains coiled around my ear, hidden by my hair.

“Be careful around the twins,” I warn as my cousin catches my eye and makes her way towards us. She’d been too far behind us in the procession for me to see her reaction to the horrors, but, judging by the grin on her usually stoic face, I’d say she enjoyed it. 

Rhysand shifts so he’s standing behind my right shoulder, so I’m framed on either side by a towering Illyrian. Their presence is soothing, especially when Brannagh’s grin could peel paint. She obviously wants trouble. I’d be a fool to think the bloodshed outside was enough. She’ll need something to sink her fangs into before the night is over to be satisfied with the day. 

“There you are, cousin!” We have the same slate colored eyes and that is where the family resemblance stops. Everything about her is rigid and uniform and for so long being near her had made me feel like a lamb being watched by a lion. Yet, with the males at my back, I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I’m surprised you made it,” she says, eyes raking over Rhysand, then Azriel, then Cassian, sizing each of them up to see which would be an easier meal.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to punch in her teeth. 

“First the Games, now this,” Dagdan says as he abandons an attempt to woo one of the Senators with his bullshit war stories, and joins us. “Maybe we are related after all.”

Rhysand withdraws his mental presence from my head and I draw my mental shields back up to make sure I keep the twins out. 

Brannagh walks a slow circle around us, tongue running over her lower lip. “I really didn’t think you were capable of this.” Her bony fingers reach out to flick the chain looped around their throats. “It’s a little… what’s the word you always throw at us? Barbaric for you?”

“All it took was Mommy Dearest to lose her head for you to grow a spine, huh?” Dagdan sneers.

Azriel’s shadow hisses angrily in my ear as his head jerks up off his chest. The glare he throws over my shoulder could melt a glacier, the heat in it seering across my skin. 

“This one’s pretty,” Brannagh coos at him, her fingers reaching out to brush across his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” I bite out through my teeth. 

“Careful, we bite,” Cassian snarls.

This only makes Brannagh grin further and my first instinct is to draw all three of them behind my back, as if they were small children in need of protection and not three fully grown warriors. As if I had not seen them kill a Giant and a handful of Wargs in the Arena just yesterday. 

“Were they fun?” Brannagh teases, making another circle so she can draw her nails over Rhysand’s nearly bare chest.

Red tints my vision. 

“They look like they’d be a good fuck.”

I clench my hands into fists to keep my power from erupting and taking out everything in the room. Rhysand can’t save me from this one, not without them sensing his mental presence. And if we are to play this game, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I might not be the most skilled fighter in this room, but I have plenty of other weapons in my arsenal. 

“How would you know? The only thing you’ve ever fucked is Dagdan.”

She flinches like I’d punched her right in the stomach. It was all rumors of course, but the whispers were there. The twins still insisted on sharing a room; still went everywhere together. They were toxically co-dependant and on more than one occasion they’d mentioned old practices of keeping bloodlines pure. I knew it was a sore spot, I didn’t care very much if it was true. As long as the blow landed; as long as I had something strong enough to cut her, so the bond screaming in my ears didn’t prompt me to cut off the hand still lingering too close to my mate’s skin. They were not hers to touch. 

Cassian chokes out a cough, trying to keep back a laugh as Brannagh’s face twists. 

Dagdan’s teeth flash in a snarl.

I merely grin as I give the chain in my hands a very subtle tug. “I think we’re done catching up, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of the celebration.” I do my best to leave them in the dirt as we head deeper into the palace. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make me pay for the remark later, but for now, I’ll count it as a victory. 

The exchange took place in the open foyer, the roof held up by pillars and the outside world only separated by billowing sheer curtains. I mount the steps that lead us into a secondary foyer, where bubbling fountains and a pool of multicolored fish take up much of the space. Standing guard atop the fountains are twin statues of our gods of war and victory; the golden bowls at their feet overflowing with coins left by worshipers as they come and go from the Palace. We need more than a little luck and victory on our side and I leave a handful of coins on Victory’s altar. I will go to the Temple later and beg the Mother for forgiveness for how blind I have been, and seek a Priestess to make an offering for her blessing in what is quickly becoming an act of outright treason.

I feel Rhysand’s violet gaze on me as I make the offering. 

“The twins really are… like that?” Cassian asks as we round the fountain. It has to be morbid curiosity that prompts the conversation, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all makes my heart race in my chest. I’ll take whatever scraps he’ll throw my way, if it only means he doesn’t hate me as much as he did yesterday.

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t than if they were,” I say, unable to suppress a shutter when thinking about it. “They’ve always been… together… and weird about it.”

“Sure, and we’re the animals.”

I can see the back of Amarantha’s blood red head as the inner circle makes its way towards the atrium for food and whatever entertainment could be dragged into this den of vipers for the afternoon. Servants carrying goblets of wine drift through the clusters of visiting dignitaries and soldiers. There’s more than a couple armored gladiators, acting as guards for their sponsors, in attendance. I try to keep track of who belongs to who as we go, in order to give us an edge for the next match. Senators Beron and Tamlin, former lords from Prythians courts, now given new titles within the Empire for merging their kingdoms, both have sponsors shadowing them. The males have to be half Giant, with arms and thighs thick as tree trunks. Their armor has to be custom made to be able to fit them. I don’t know the names of either males, only that they’ve been employed long enough for their conditions in the Arena are they don’t fight Amarantha’s Attor. Too much money has been put into them to let them get torn to ribbons by that beast. 

I slide my way through the throngs of people to get closer. To play this game, there is no doubt that they will have to go back into the Arena a couple times. I need to start finding ways to give them an edge. I can start by seeing up close just how much taller they are then Cassian. If they have to go hand-to-hand in the future, I want to see how they compare next to each other so I can plan to get around it. 

The gladiators have at least two feet on Cassian, which makes me basically an ant in comparison. I already have to tilt my head up to look my mates’ in the eye, these males make me have to keep distance between us to be able to see anything other than they’re stomachs. 

Cassian is fairly nimble, from what I’ve seen so far, as long as the wound on his leg is healed by the next match, he can use that to his advantage. But the thought of having to watch him fight males this size makes my stomach twist. I’m going to need to do more than size up the competition. 

Beron is accompanied, as always, by several of his sons, but it is always Eris by his side. The well dressed male turns a grin in my direction when he catches sight of me. “Highness,” the bow is graceful, fox-like in a way that reminds me of Lucien, wherever he is in the crowd to avoid his Father. It’s not like him to leave Tamlin alone in these situations, they’re usually joined at the hip.

“It does me good to see you outside,” Eris continues, as he reaches out to take my hand and press a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles.

Azriel’s shadow hisses in agitation in my ear as something hot flickers down the bond.

“It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence.” I’ve known the Vanserra’s for a long time, Eris is not quite the flirt Lucien is, but he has no shortage of sway over females, males too for that matter. It had always surprised me that Father hadn’t tried to arrange a union between us. Eris was known, from time to time, to share the same savage brutality the Emperor valued in his court; it should have pleased him to have Eris for a son in law. 

“Are you finally feeling better?”

“It took longer than I expected to recover,” I say honestly. Better to not oversell anything; all lies have a little truth woven in. “But getting some air has been good.”

His russet gaze jumps to the males behind me, and the grin I’ve known for decades turns serpentine. “And profitable, I’d imagine?”

“For the Empire, of course, all earnings will go to aid the far reaches.”

“So I heard,” he nods, still studying them. “You always did have a bleeding heart, Highness. It is good to see it benefit you.”

The compliment feels underhanded, but so do most things around here. 

“When will we get to see them in action again?”

Talking about them like they’re not standing here makes me want to start smashing things, but I reign in my temper. “I was just about to ask you the same about your Father’s gladiators.”

He glances back at the male and shrugs. “Felix is always ready, but we’ve gotten no summons.”

Interesting. The Gamesmaker should already have a match-up in place, even if the Arena will be closed for repairs for a few days still. 

“How unfortunate, it’d be quite the fight for Cassian.”

I feel Cassian shift a little closer, the scent of sandalwood and snow-capped mountains invading my senses. It is an effort not to step back and lean into him, he’s never dared be this close before. 

“It would be quick,” he states.

Eris huffs a laugh. “For your neck to be broken, brute? Yes, we’d be in agreement.”

There’s a snap as Cassian’s wings ruffle and whip closed again, his agitation so clear I can taste it. The frayed edges of our bond simmer, but I can’t tell if the rage is his or my own. We are alike in that aspect.

“Who was summoned, then?” We can’t linger too long here, especially not for information I do not yet need. Rhysand still needs to get a better look around and we’re starting to linger on the stairs, people clustering behind us.

“Not Tamlin’s man either,” Eris says with a shrug. “I’m as in the dark as you.”

“You?” I force a teasing smirk to my features. “I thought you knew everything around here, Eris?”

His russet gaze darkens as his perfect teeth dart out to bite his lower lip. It’s a move I’ve seen thousands of people swoon over. “I’ll happily find out for you, Highness.”

Azriel’s shadow snarls in a language I can’t make out, but it is Rhysand’s side of the bond that ripples with promised violence. Is that jealousy I feel? I try to shove the thought aside; hoping that they feel this thing between us is too much to ask for. I will only hurt myself if I start to hope that I am more than a means to an end.

“Please do. I’d be indebted to you.” That’s all it takes for the Autumn male to bow and disappear into the crowd.

Senator Thessian and his large entourage of guards pushes past us on the stairs, the armored guard slamming into Rhysand from behind hard enough that he stumbles forward, hands reaching out to catch himself on my hips before he can take both of us to the floor. My whole body freezes under the contact, the warm press of his body against mine enough to make all rational thought fly out of my skull.

He leans in, like he might offer an apology, breath ghosting over my neck as his lips brush the shell of my ear. My whole body shivers in anticipation. “Clever, little vixen.”

The low baritone of his voice makes heat rush between my legs, something hot coiling in the pit of my stomach. Now the citrus and jasmine scent of him invades all my senses and I really, truly have no thoughts left in my head. 

My knees wobble as he gives my hip a squeeze, even as the bond roars at the loss of contact as he steps back. Maybe it’s just been awhile since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but that small amount of contact feels like an electric current beneath my skin. It is an effort to keep moving up the stairs and not turn and do something foolish, like press my lips to his and slide my fingers into his hair. 

The atrium is a wide, open room with tables piled with food lining the far walls. On the left are floor to ceiling windows, thrown open to let in the warm summer breeze, a few Praetorians standing at attention amidst the billowing curtains.. There are low couches along the walls, some of which are already taken. If not by anyone with a gladiator, I don’t linger on who sits where. 

A servant with a tray of wine passes and I snag one to try and calm the sizzling beneath my skin. I didn’t realize one of today’s many battles would be trying not to throw myself at my mates. 

There is a raised dais against the far wall, the couches and lounge chairs far more plush and ornate than the rest. Father has found his seat, a slightly less gaudy throne than usual, and reclines as a servant fans him with a palm frond. Amarantha has taken her usual seat on his right, reclining against one of her pleasure slaves. The male wears little but a strip of crimson fabric between his legs, every inch of bare skin lean and smooth. There’s another perched on the armrest of her chair, holding a goblet of wine for whenever she needs it; a third sitting at her feet, running idle fingers up the side of her calf. All that attention, and yet her dark gaze still tracks the males behind me with enough hunger I debate how much trouble I’d be in if I threw my own wine glass at her head.

She is not the only one who pays such close attention to the Illyrians. A couple dignitaries’ wives and high ranking soldiers gawk blatantly at how much skin they have on display. More than one head turns to get a better look at Rhysand’s ass in this get-up.  He neither cowers or preens under the attention; it’s like he doesn’t even register it. I can’t help but wonder if that was the point: Everybody is so busy ogling him, they’re not really paying attention to what he’s doing. It’s a good mask, it shields his intentions and lets him observe without it being obvious, but the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat makes me wish I had claws to scratch out their eyes. 

I take another sip of wine, trying not to look too desperate for the emptiness it’ll bring as I head in the direction of the dais. 

“You’ve surprised me,” Father says as we approach. It’s the first real acknowledgement he’s shown me all day.

The shadow curled around my ear burrows a little deeper under my hair to avoid detection, the soft ether brushing against a sensitive spot on my temple that has me gripping the wine glass a little tighter to keep from reacting.

“As I said, I am trying to do better, Father.”

His gaze flicks to the chain in my hand, down the length of it like he’s inspecting the strength of each wrung before finally arriving on the occupants tethered to it. He grins in triumph as he takes in their attire. Maybe they were right to ignore what I’d brought out. It certainly looks like I’ve intended to humiliate them by dressing them in the same attire many of the Senator’s slaves are sporting. 

“Tell me how you managed to bring the three of them to heel when Amarantha couldn’t?” 

Amarantha bristles in her seat, her perfect teeth flashing in her pale face.

Another small victory. 

“Tell him you instructed the healer to give us a sleeping drought in our wine.” The twins haven’t reappeared and his sudden return in my head nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “And faebane in the water this morning.”

I repeat his instructions as I move to take the seat that is mine on his left and force myself not to think about how it’s a couch instead of a chair like his because it used to be shared with my Mother. 

“You’re hoping to acquire mirthroot in the city to keep us docile until the next match.”

I repeat that too, making a mental note to ensure that I follow through with it. He will monitor my every move in the city, if I don’t follow through, he’ll know it and then we’re dead. An issue that seems far less pressing when Rhysand’s hand brushes over my wrist. Watching him in the Arena did nothing to show just how agile he is, not when he expertly maneuvers my hand towards his chest, the chain blocking his part in this. The next thing I know, I’m moving to sit and he’s falling into the couch behind me so it looks like I pushed him down into the seat so I could recline against his chest. The motion takes him seconds, it looks like he rehearsed it down to the exact placement of the chain to hide the fact that he’d been the one moving me and not the other way around. 

Azriel seats himself on the armrest wordlessly; Cassian grunting as he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. I get the distinct impression he is only keeping his shoulder against my knee because being any farther away would mean his wings were in reach of Father’s hands. 

It takes me a minute to find my bearings again as my brain short circuits over how close they all are. Rhysand’s heartbeat is steady against my back, his skin warm even through the fabric of my dress. He lets his head lean back against the back of the couch, feigning exhaustion or maybe repulsion from being “forced” to be this close to me. I’m close enough that I could run my hand up Azriel’s thigh if I wanted, and damn me do I want to. Or close enough to Cassian that my fingers itch to brush through the thick strands of his hair. It is a cruel trick of fate that my mates are close enough for me to touch and I can’t.

At the mention of the mirthroot, one of Amarantha’s males leans around the Emperor to offer a rolled cigarette, even dried the hint of mirthroot is obvious. The male’s eyes are glassy, shining under the effects of it himself, the grin on his features lazy and unbothered. Far too soft a male to be shackled to Amarantha. 

I tap Cassian on the shoulder to prompt him to take it. A mistake because he flinches like I hit him and I think I might have undone any effort I’d made to get him to at least tolerate my presence. He snatches the offered cigarette, and the liter that follows and passes it back to me with a huff.

The Emperor watches the exchange with more interest than he’s ever shown me in my life. “What would you have done, Amarantha?” He asks.

“The same,” she says through her teeth. 

I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from making a disgusted face at her. “Ember said that’s what she used to do for Amarantha’s slaves before she came to my keep, so I simply took a page out of her book.” 

I pass the cigarette and liter to Azriel, and pray the sight of the flames doesn’t cause the same reaction it had when he’d been branded. He grits his teeth, but there is no angered flash down the bond or hiss from the shadow to indicate it’s anything other than a show as he lights it and takes a long drag. 

“I’m glad to see that in your seclusion you’ve finally grown half a brain,” Father says. “I was beginning to worry that your Mother’s poisoned tongue had gotten to you.”

I flinch despite myself and all three of the males tense around me. Cassian’s jaw ticks, the flutter of movement brushing across my knee. For the first time all day, his hazel gaze flicks to me, and  maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I see a flash of pity there.

“No, it didn’t,” I whisper, unable to put any feeling into the words. I haven’t been back here since the execution. I’d found every reason to avoid it. Being back feels like peeling a scab off the wound and letting it bleed all over the floor.

Azriel takes another drag and I wish more than anything to take a hit of it myself and numb this feeling in my chest. What I would give for the empty numbness that had filled me in the early months of my grief. There are so many tangled emotions here, between the loss and my mates and the horrors of what we just witnessed outside. I cannot pick just one to focus on; can’t find some outlet to expel the building pressure. It all tangles and lodges itself in my throat like it's trying to drown me.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my arm as he draws his hand up to take the cigarette from Azriel. To an onlooker it looks accidental, maybe it is, maybe I’m just reading into it, but even that faint brush drags me back to the surface for a bit of air again. At least I am not alone in the water anymore. Mother had always been emotionless, nothing got to her. I was always the one that felt too much. At least now the emotions can be shared.

“Your actions yesterday inspired me,” the Emperor says after a beat. 

Apprehension licks its way up my spine.

“I haven’t taken a champion of my own in a long time. It’s become dull, betting on someone else’s man.”

Shit!

Azriel’s shadow dares to peek out around my bangs, observing the crowd as they begin to settle in their seats with plates of food, as if on some silent command. Brannagh and Dagdan join us on my left, on the seat closest to the dais, the stare they level at me hot enough to melt glass. So much for Rhysand being in my head the rest of the evening. 

With a wave, the Emperor motions over a creature I have no name for. It walks on two legs like a man, but is covered head to toe in thick, brown, fur. Horns curl from the top of its head; a beak with a hooked tip jutting from its face. Its hands end in talons like that of a bird, but there are five on each hand instead of three. Its tunic has been folded down around its waist, leaving its chest bare, revealing a spider web of scars gouged through the heavy layer of fur. A thin, whip-like tail ending in a spiked tip flicks back and forth behind it as it walks, each step sending a shutter through the Palace. 

My skin pricks with goosebumps. Some strange sort of alchemy made this thing.

“I was hoping to test it in the Arena, but with the repairs in order, I thought a smaller show would do just as well.”

My stomach hurdles into my throat.

“Why don’t we pick one of your champions to break it in, daughter?” The Emperor suggests as if this is a thought that just came to him and not something he’s been planning from the beginning. 

I take another sip of wine as I turn to look at him, trying to steady the rapid pounding of my heart. I can’t let one of them fight this thing! Its maw opens and snaps shut with a clack as it stands before us, growing impatient.

“I’d personally like to see Cassian’s thick skull get crushed like a watermelon,” Amarantha chimes in from her seat.

I’m really going to throw up right here in front of all these people.

“A splendid idea from our woman of the hour, don’t you think?” He grins like he’s caught me, like he knows I’ve been playing games and have walked right into his trap.

“Nothing can be as bad as listening to you speak, Amarantha,” Cassian snarls as he gets on his feet, effectively making the decision for me.

He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, wings ruffling behind him, but before he can step into the center of the room, he turns to face me, much to my surprise. Hands scarred from swordplay reach out to give the chain around his neck a little tug. “Mind letting me off the leash, Princess?”

One of the Praetorian steps forward to unchain him but I stand and snag the key from his hand instead. I’ve seen enough males get stabbed or injected with something right before a fight to give the opponent an upper hand to know I can’t trust anyone near him. And, maybe, just maybe, the act of giving him a little relief from the chain might make him not hate me so much.

My hands shake as I reach up to his neck to unclasp the chain. I know better than to take the whole collar off while there are so many people watching even if I wish I could. His breath is warm on my face as he watches me, waiting for his moment of freedom. The urge to stretch up on my toes and kiss him for luck is overwhelming; maybe in another life we could have. 

I step back with the chain in my hand and return to my seat before I can follow my impulses. 

Cassian turns to face his opponent and even though I saw him perform yesterday, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I have just sent him to his death. The creature sizes him up like it's calculating the best spot to take a bite out of him and its beady eyes settle on the bandage tied around his bare thigh.

Rhysand leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch, arm loosely looped over my waist. It looks casual. No one bats an eye at the gesture, but I am pretty sure he’s done it so he can keep me from jumping off the couch.

Azriel leans forward, bracing himself with his knees on his elbows, hazel gaze tracking the steps of Cassian’s opponent as he also calculates its weak spots. 

“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” The Emperor asks, leaning over to be heard over the rush of excitement the audience gives to the challengers.

I tear my gaze away from where I’m trying to memorize every line in Cassian’s wings, every curve of tattoo over his back and shoulders, just in case. “How so?”

“Cassian wins and I’ll let you pick their next opponent in the arena,” he suggests. 

I like the offer; it gives them a better chance at surviving. 

“Cassian loses, and you give Rhysand to Amarantha.”

The world flips and spins and the roaring in my ears has me clutching my hands in my skirts to keep a surge of power from destroying the room. My power singes the fabric, only the smoke from the mirthroot hides the smell. 

There is no way in Hel I am making that kind of bet!

Rhysand stiffens behind me, heartbeat skipping for half a moment before he pretends to be unbothered by the comment and takes another drag of the mirthroot. 

I’d rather throw myself on a blade than chance that. Cassian is an exceptional fighter, but I cannot take that risk. I am already risking his life by letting him fight like this, how can I risk both of them?

My chest aches. There are too many opportunities to lose them. Too many things that can go wrong. 

“And let our people think I am weak and incapable of following through on the deal we made yesterday?” I challenge. My voice trembles as I fight to hold his gaze steady. 

Azriel’s shadow hisses what sounds like a warning in my ear.

“You know if we split them up now it makes me look as if I can’t handle them.”

“Attached, are we?”

“No, but I am tired of looking weak,” I hiss. “If Amarantha wants them, she can challenge me for them herself.”

Rhysand stiffens behind me. The twins are too close for him to slip into my mind again, but I can practically feel him shouting at me down the bond.

She huffs a laugh around the other side of him, “As if you’d stand a chance in that!”

I ignore her as I hold my ground with my Father, “You have always thought so little of me.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“So if you really want to make this interesting, then fine. If Cassian wins, I pick when and who all their matches are with. And if he loses, well, you’ve already chosen a husband for me I’m sure, so you can speed up the process and I’ll provide them the heir you so desperately want by the end of the year.”

The bond shakes so hard in my chest it feels like Azriel’s screaming in my ear. Rhysand has gone still as death behind me and I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Cassian’s head whips in our direction, eyes wide.

Father throws his head back and laughs at that. “This new found confidence is amusing. I will allow you to pick the next two fights, but not all.”

Better than nothing.

“Deal.”

I think I can hear Azriel’s teeth grinding together beside me, so I force myself not to look at him. The bond thrums like he’s in physical pain and I hate that I have caused it, but I will not barter with their lives.

“To first blood!” The Emperor calls to the room.

“To the death!” Brannagh chants instead. 

When this whole Empire goes up in flames, I’m pushing her in first.

The crowd begins to murmur to themselves, debating. “I’ll put some money on it if they fight to the death,” Tamlin tosses out. 

“As will I!” Shouts a commander whose name I’d never learned.

The motion goes around the room in a full circle, by the time the Emperor concedes, I’ve drank my full glass and abandoned it on the couch. Didn’t we just do this?

The Praetorians provide blades for the two males, but the Emperor’s creature can’t hold the blade with its claw tipped hands and tosses it to the ground with a screech. Its barbed tip tail draws back behind it as it drops into a defensive stance. 

I forget how to breathe as Cassian drops into his own.

Time slows in a familiar sensation of undiluted horror as the creature moves first, striking forward with its tail like a spear. Cassian pivots back a step, rearranging his feet as he blocks with the sword.

The crowd cheers excitedly and I distantly recognize coins changing hands as they take bets, but cannot tear my eyes away enough to watch who is participating in it. Cassian remains on the defensive as the creature rears its tail back and attacks from the other side of its body this time, testing the Illyrian’s reaction time. When the strike is blocked a second time, it switches tactics and goes for a punch, talons extended towards Cassian’s face.

While the creature is taller, it is not as agile, and Cassian side steps out of the way of the blow, using the momentum to lunge into the next step and strike the tip of his sword across his opponent’s stomach. Its ear shattering screech shakes the room as the blade makes contact, drawing black blood. If it wasn’t for Brannagh, the challenge would be over, Cassian would have won. It would have been easy for once.

Enraged, the creature strikes with its talons again, missing a second time, but catching Cassian in the jaw on the backswing. The whole room can hear Cassian’s teeth clack together as he stumbles backwards.

It takes everything in me not to squeeze my eyes shut, not to wince and react to every blow. I have to keep telling myself that this is part of the game and I cannot give them away, but by the Mother it is harder and harder with every passing second!

Rhysand remains with his chin propped up on my shoulder, the bulk of his weight keeping me in my seat. I so desperately want to reach out and take his hand, give myself something to ground in, but I can’t. I have to accept that this might be all we’re ever allowed to touch, especially after today.

The creature strikes again with its tail, once, twice, a third, each like a punch. The third blow shatters Cassian’s sword into pieces and my heart plummets into my stomach as he dodges a fourth assault. He’s not so fast on the fifth and that barbed tip punches right through his bandaged thigh! Blood splatters as the tips hurdles through muscle and sinew until it pushes through the back of his leg.

One of the dignitaries' wives reaches for a bucket and wretches as Cassian’s roar of pain rattles my teeth. 

Azriel flinches, looking like he might just jump into the fight and stop it, but then catches himself. 

The bond screams and bashes against my insides as my powers flare again, singing more of my skirts as I hold them in a death grip that only worsens as the creature yanks the barb back out of Cassian’s leg, bringing him to the floor. Blood pours from the wound from both ends, cascading down his calf to make a puddle on the stark white tile.

There’s enough of my skirts to hide the motion, Rhysand buries his hand beneath them to hold onto my hip tight enough to bruise. I don’t know if that’s to keep me in place or himself. 

The creature snarls out a noise that sounds like triumph as it pulls its hand back, aiming to use its claws to sever Cassian’s head.

Not again! Not again! Not again!

I have to stop this! I have to do something!

At the last second, Cassian throws himself out of the way, knees tucked to his chest as he rolls out of reach, right to where the creature’s discarded sword lies. He snags the blade with a grunt, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his thigh as he pushes himself back onto his feet. His face twists in pain at the slightest movement, but he manages to stay upright. 

Rhysand breathes a little easier behind me, but his grip on my hip hasn’t let up.

The Emperor frowns beside us, displeased with the outcome thus far no doubt. He really expected this to be easy. 

The creature strikes again, sticking to what it has found successful, and it becomes a mistake. Cassian twists at the last second, blade raised so when the strike comes, he doesn’t need to block it. At this angle, not only does it miss him, he has a height advantage and he brings the sword down as hard as he can, cleaving the tail in half. The barbed tip hits the floor twitching as the creature reels backward and wails.

Holy shit! I’ve seen a lot of warriors in my life, but I don’t think I’d ever describe them as beautiful until now. Each move is calculated, backed with training and muscle. His tattoos seem to come to life with his body as his muscles shift and strike. 

He doesn’t let up as his opponent stumbles back either, he uses the distraction to his advantage and plunges the sword into the creature’s shoulder. He might have been aiming for the heart, but the wound in his leg gives him too great a limp to lunge far on. The blade catches in bone, the resounding crunch deafening in the domed ceiling, and when he reels back to pull it out, he twists it just enough to make his opponent’s arm absolutely useless.

With two of its preferred methods of fighting gone, the creature bends at the waist and charges with a roar, hoping to use its horns like a battering ram into Cassian’s chest.

An otherwise horrifying sight, if Cassian didn’t laugh and step dramatically out of the way so the creature rams right into the wall. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He taunts as a rain of dust falls on his head. 

The creature screeches as it yanks itself free from the wall and shakes its head, clearing the debris from its beady eyes. 

Cassian spins the blade in his hand, adjusting his grip, and I think it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

He can’t crouch with his leg, but he doesn’t need to. The creature tries to ram him again and he dodges and brings his hilt down on its neck, knocking it to the floor. He wastes no time in rearing back with the blade and bringing it down, easily cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders. 

Amarantha throws up her hands in a huff at the sight.

I finally take what feels like my first breath in an hour as Cassian tosses the blade on the floor. He did it! He won!

Azriel removes his elbows from his knees and reclines back against the armrest, clearly satisfied with the outcome. 

“Excellent! Excellent!” Praises the steward as he goes about helping anyone who placed bets collect their proper earnings. 

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to the nearest guard, “Find him a healer, now.” Before he bleeds out on the floor or Father decides he has another champion he wants to test. 

The Emperor takes a long drink from his goblet, eyes narrowed on the severed head the staff has to now clean off the floor. Around him, his dignitaries drink and argue over why they bet the way they did. It is business as usual, completely unbothered by the blood around them. 

When he finally turns to me, I have to brace myself against the anger simmering in his eyes. This is usually the part where I put my chin to my chest and try to make myself as small as possible. Usually. But not today. 

“It seems I’ve underestimated their talent for bloodshed.”

Cassian hobbles back over to us and I make a show of telling Azriel to help him before he gets blood everywhere, so no one thinks I just let them wander off on their own. 

“The Games will continue at the start of next week,” the Emperor continues.

That gives us days. I try not to look at the gaping hole in Cassian’s thigh. Thank the Mother it looks like it missed bone, but how is he supposed to participate with that? There’s no way it heals in time, even if I have Ember work twelve hours a day on him.

“I expect you to have their opponent picked out by the Senate meeting in the morning. You still have that end of your bargain to uphold.”

This victory will not be without repercussions, but it is still a victory nonetheless, and we have to take what we can get.

--

Managing to procure the mirthroot I need to trick my Father into thinking I’m following through with the regime I’d given him, as well as finding horses for the Illyrians to ride back on takes longer than usual, given the massive partying happening in the streets. We have to take the backroads home to avoid being pelted with more rocks, or outright mobbed. Compared to the rest of the day, the journey is uneventful, spent mostly with the others ensuring Cassian doesn’t pass out on the horse. 

The sun is already changing colors by the time we return to the River House, but I know if I try to prepare for bed now I’ll never sleep. Instead, I leave Anise with instructions to look into potentially safe opponents in the Arena, so when I see Eris again tomorrow I can compare their notes, and then set out for the Temple built on the edge of the property. 

I doubt there are enough blood offerings and animal sacrifices to cleanse the sins of this Empire, but I offer as many as I can in apology for my part in it. I don’t know how I’ve been so blind to all of it. I can’t stop seeing it now, it should have always been so obvious to me.

The Priestesses do not ask why I linger for over an hour, praying long past the time it takes for my offerings to burn atop the altar. I’d hoped that, if I said them hard enough, the weight of the day would slip off my shoulders. I’d thought, with enough sacrifices, the guilt would ease, but I can still feel my mates’ agitation and pain clearly through the bond. 

I return to the House as weary as before. Tomorrow will be a whole new set of problems. I cannot put it off by lingering in the Temple. 

The walk doesn’t clear my head, or loosen the tension, and I climb into the tub with that same heaviness still clinging to my skin. I heat the water as hot as I can, hoping it might cleanse me in a way my sacrifices couldn’t.

Exhaustion creeps its way in as I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink. Every time I close my eyes I can see the crucified bodies, gasping for air as they slowly suffocate under the weight of their own body pinned to the wood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight; I can only imagine how it would feel to know each of those males before this. The bond still swirls beneath my skin, heavy with agitation the hot water can’t touch. 

I wish there was a way to take that from them, but how can I do that without calling attention to the mating bond? 

I give myself a few extra minutes in the blissful heat before dragging myself out and tossing a silk robe over my waterlogged skin. My brush is on the vanity where Anise left it this morning and I have just started to brush the knots out of my hair when I hear the bedroom door open. My hand stills halfway through my hair; it is unlike Anise to not announce herself when it’s this late. 

The door clicks shut again, the eerie silence that follows enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. The darkness of the room makes it hard to see beyond the candlelight that fills the bathing chamber and my hand goes instinctively into the vanity drawer, where my Mother had always kept an extra knife. The blade is cool in my fingers, the handle smooth and undamaged from never being used. The benefit of having constant guards is you usually never see the threats against you, though there are always exceptions.

There’s no footsteps on the carpet, but I can practically feel movement next to my bed. 

I’m a sitting duck here among all the candlelight, but if I step into the darkness beyond I’ll be totally blind. Better to wait for something to make itself known. 

I suppose there’s enough guards around, I can always start screaming for help if it comes down to it.

A heartbeat passes before something dark and snakelike comes slithering across the floor. The ether loops itself around my ankle and crawls up my thigh like a purring cat before the shadow takes its perch behind my ear.

I set the knife on the vanity with a sigh of relief as Azriel steps into the light. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His shadow caresses the back of my ear in apology, far more expressive now than it was earlier. “Sorry.”

He side steps out of the doorway, but not in my direction, which is odd until Rhysand steps out of the shadows behind him.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Found the lever on the door to your secret tunnel,” Azriel says as his eyes trace up my bare legs, brazenly taking in all the damp skin I have on display.

Heat flushes up my cheeks and I have to look away from him. The candlelight and the hour of the evening makes this feel more intimate than it should, given the way Rhysand looks like he might burst out of his skin. I certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the idea that Azriel would look at me as anything other than a means to an end. Hope is too dangerous a thing to have right now. Just because we agreed to do this, doesn’t mean they’re anxious to accept me as anything other than help. Besides, I need to remind myself that it will be even more dangerous for us than it already is if we were to acknowledge the bond.

 “We were careful, no one saw us,” Azriel assures.

I should be relieved that they’re being safe about it, but the frown on Rhysand’s face makes me rethink it.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?!” He snarls.

Normally, that kind of outburst from a male would make me jump back in surprise, but at this point I’m too exhausted to move, let alone figure out what the hell he’s referring to. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts today, Rhysand, you will have to be more specific.”

The chain rattles around his neck as he steps further into the room, like it's fighting to hold back his powers. “Your bet with Hybern!”

Ah, right. That. “What of it?” Is he really still upset about that? Cassian won, nothing was lost.

Azriel winces and the shadow at my ear hisses in warning. 

“What of it?” He repeats, his voice rising to an octave just shy of shrill, like he can’t believe he heard me right. “You can’t just offer yourself up like that!”

“And what was my alternative?”

“He gave you an alternative!” He seethes. “All you had to do was say yes!”

I fold my arms over my chest in irritation, but I don’t miss the way both their eyes dip to my chest at the motion. “Oh so it’s ok for you to put your body on the line, but I can’t do the same with my own? Seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

He’s inched his way into my space step by step, until I’m very aware of the jasmine and citrus scent of him. Sometime after he returned home he’d changed into the clothes I’d had laid out for him, the swirl of ink along his chest just barely poking out around the dark collar. Even hidden, the urge to reach out with my hands and trace the swirls with my fingers remains. 

“Because,” he says through his teeth. “It’s not a deal I can live with.”

“You don’t have to live with it because Cassian won anyway,” I retort, tearing my gaze away to look at Azriel. Rhysand is too close to me like this. I can barely think past the urge to touch him, let alone hold the argument like I need to. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

Azriel folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “He’s not. You shouldn’t have made that deal.”

I throw my hands up and push past Rhysand, trying to give myself room to breathe. “You two are impossible!”

They follow like I’m still holding onto their leashes, footsteps somehow impossibly silent despite their size.  

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’d rather I offered you up to Amarantha?”

“If it meant you were safe,” Rhysand snarls. “Yes.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, a snarl working its way up my throat. “Well that’s not a deal I could live with, Rhysand.” 

Their legs are a hell of a lot longer than mine, Rhysand manages to snag my arm and turn me back around to face him before I make it more than three steps into the darkness of my chambers. 

His face looks strained, eyes rimmed red. He has to be exhausted. The bond feels fragile, strained from all the emotions that have been blared down it today. “I need you to find a way to deal with it,” he says, voice verging on pleading. 

I hate myself, but I can’t help but wonder what the hand holding onto my bicep would feel like travelling down the rest of my body. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, whatever you have to do, I… We need you to find a way to live with it.”

Azriel comes to stand on the other side of him, so they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “If Cass had lost and you had to…” even in the dim light coming from the bathroom I can see the heaviness in his eyes. 

I glance back and forth between them. “You’ve all suffered enough, I can handle myself. I knew what I was doing.”

Rhysand shakes his head, “I can bear a lot of things, but not that.”

Hope is a cruel bastard, and I’ve never learned to master it. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

He lifts the hand not holding onto my arm, fingers just barely brushing over my damp cheek and my heartbeat is suddenly very loud in my own ears. His mouth opens like he might say something, and then he clamps it shut again, debating with himself over the words.

While he can’t seem to find the words, Azriel’s scarred hand reaches out to gently grab my chin and tilt my face in his direction. “It matters,” he huffs, voice low and rich and the reverberations of it send shivers down my spine. “Because you’re our mate.”

------

Author's Note: Hehe was gonna wait for the reveal at the end but couldn't bring myself to do it. Let me know what you thought about it! And as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

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[ajortga]

love you silently

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

a/n: i hate this SO much, i seriously didn't know what ideas to write for this

word count: 1.1k+

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based off request!

May I request a Jenna Ortega x fem reader where the reader is a fan of her but are dating in secret and Jenna gets jealous plz🙏

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You loved the feeling of being loved.

Feeling like you had a reason to live, to wake up with kisses and to have a thumb rubbing against the top of your hand that lulled your stresses away.

But what was even better was being loved by your damn celebrity crush. Dating your celebrity crush.

No seriously, Jenna Marie Ortega was your girlfriend.

And something about you just made Jenna feel so special. Because you weren’t there for fame. You were there for her. On the red carpets, Jenna wouldn’t see you trying to have your photos taken, you were taking photos of her, like a little girl that looked so happy. And even though she wouldn’t mind either way, you were humble.

This quiet kind of love. The love where you didn’t care if it was loud or known by others. As long as it was known by her.

And something about your love being secret felt good. 

You were both at a red carpet for Jenna’s upcoming films. She bought you a ticket for a special access, and of course didn’t mind if you wandered with her. You liked coming with a microphone, pretending that you were just an interviewer, not like you were her girlfriend or anything.

It was cute, you followed her like a lost puppy.

You had questions and everything, prepared if you were seen as suspicious. Hell, you even had a set of questions for each cast mate. 

Of course only the ones Jenna trusted most knew. Which mainly consisted of her closest family and a few of her closest friends.

So right now, a camera was wrapped around your neck and you just had a random prop microphone in your bag as you clung onto Jenna each time there was no one around.

After the event had started, you and Jenna had to part ways for a while so you wouldn’t cause suspicions. 

A few minutes in and someone had tapped you on the shoulder. You were expecting to see your girlfriend, but instead, you were met with a taller man. Um.. 

Shit.

“Hi?” You start, swallowing as he leans on the random table next to you.

The look he gives you keeps your guard up, his wavy locks that were gelled kind of gave it away. His siren eyes scan you, “I saw you wandering around with Jenna a few hours back and just thought you were pretty.” He says, his voice trying to be alluring.

You were sure he might’ve eaten garlic. 

When you don’t respond, just tilting your head, he clears his throat, “I’m Liam, I play in the same movie with Jenna.”

Oh, Liam. Jenna had mentioned him a few times in the past, and you could tell that he was the kind of person to get on people’s nerves. Arrogant was what Jenna had said.

“I see,” you respond, distracted as you scan the room for Jenna, who was having her photos taken. You immediately play with your camera. “How has the movie been? What do you enjoy about it?” You ask, trying to maintain your interviewer physique. 

Liam’s eyebrows tilt up, “Been good, I think the best part is when pretty interviewers come up to me because of it.” He says, voice cheeky, and you almost roll your eyes. He was literally the one who approached you?

-

As Jenna walks away, she searches the crowd for you. It doesn’t take long when her eyes reach your figure. You were a little backed onto a table, Jenna can’t see your expression from here.

You make a quirky, confused smile at Liam’s joke, laughing at the way he looked a little embarrassed when you didn’t get it the first time. You don’t realize or pay attention to how he’s inching closer to you every few moments. But Jenna does.

He says something that makes you give an awkward smile, and before he can say something further, your eyes trail to your girlfriend’s, well, not so pleased ones.

She stands between you and Liam, giving Liam a sour smile, “Hey,” she grits out, a smile that was definitely, not a smile, on her lips.

“Jenna, hey,” Liam says, her tactics not failing him. “You should’ve told me how sweet Y/N is. I would’ve approached her way sooner. Right?” He turns to you, and you look away, a little uncomfortable.

You can almost see your girlfriend’s eye twitching as she gives another bitter smile and pulls you away. “He always fucking does that,” she grits, literally not caring about the way there are photos being flashed into your faces of her grabbing your arm. 

“Baby-” you whisper, Jenna grabbing a cup and filling it with punch, gulping it down. Then guides you to another room and crosses her arms.

“What the hell was that, Y/N? You were seriously getting hit on.”

She looked angry, not at you, just at the situation, upset even. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to get out of there.”

After a moment, you could see the way her eyes softened, and she kissed you. “I understand, I’m sorry baby, I don’t like it when people take advantage of you. I seriously think that we should make our relationship public when we feel like it.”

You bury your face in her shoulder, nodding.

-

You seriously thought you were safe, after the red carpet, an after party was held. And of course, you were let in. But as you look out at the sunset from your seat, the chair across from you creaks.

A smile was about to form on your face, thinking it was Jenna, and then you see the same gelled locks. Sigh. 

“And we meet again. At least we might not get interrupted this time?” He suggests, and you feel your mouth quirk, ugh. Did this man seriously have 0 knowledge of spatial awareness?

He bought you a glass of wine, and you refused to drink it, then he bought another one. 

“Liam, I don’t think-”

“Hate to break it to you, but she doesn’t want to even talk to you,” a soft hand comes from behind, resting on your shoulder. You let out a breath of relief, she stood next to you, still holding her punch of juice.

Liam’s eyes narrow at the actress he works with. “Why don’t we let her be the judge of that?”

“The only thing I’m letting her judge is your damn attitude,” Jenna says, pissed off as she dunks her fruit punch over his suit.

You can hear him cussing her out, and before you know it, you're cussing at him. "Don't you fucking talk to her like that!" You shriek, but she’s basically scooping you up and angrily walking somewhere else. 

“Um.. Where are we going?” You ask, voice small as she goes out a quieter way, placing you on the passenger seat. She looks like she’s about to lash out, but when she turns to you, definitely not.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she murmurs, thinking. “How about milkshakes and fries?”

[syabts7]

My Shadow

summary: You have a secret admirer who stalks you from afar and visits you on nights when you are always asleep. Tonight, though, things are changing… Are you ready to face the new circumstances? What would you do if that unknown man visits you again and you are wide awake?

જ⁀➴genre/au: Taehyung x reader [she/her, female anatomy}, smut, 18+, explicit content, stalking, obsession, knifeplay, Non/Dub-Con.

જ⁀➴ Word Count: 2.728k

Find me on Ao3 for more frequent updates.

[Inspired by the book Haunting Adeline]

Unknown: You are beautiful when you are sleeping, little shadow.

You stare at the text for more than ten minutes, not able to move your fingers and give a response. And frankly, what can you possibly do in this situation? Calling the police was once a consideration, but when the officers pulled over to your house to check for any trace of your secret admirer, they found nothing. And before you knew it, the case was closed.

Apparently, you have a stalker. A man you never saw, but each day you wake up to find presents on your dressing table. Either flowers or photos taken during your daily routine, or even pictures of yourself standing naked in your bedroom before taking a shower. You have changed the locks on your house numerous times and even installed cameras in every corner of every room. However, he always had a way to enter your property and avoid the cameras. He was determined to show you that you were helpless and the fucker was succeeding so far.

However, you were tenacious. You loved this house so much that you didn’t want to abandon it just because someone decided to invade your privacy. Or maybe you were stubborn enough that you wanted to show your admirer (from whenever he is watching you) that you were completely unfazed about his alarming behavior. If someone must back away, it was the creep, not you.

You suck the bottom of your lip by the front of your teeth and finally you start to type something in the screen of your phone. You reread it one last time before pressing send.

Y/N: Quite the gentleman, aren’t you? Protecting me at night from any intruder is really a dream come true for every woman. Do your gentlemanly manners also count if I tell you to fuck off?

It’s the first time you text him back, and you can’t lie, but notice your heart hammering against your rib cage. It doesn’t take one minute, and your stalker has already read it. Three dots appear on your phone screen. The next, a text appears forcing you to suck a breath.

Unknown: I’m far from a gentleman, little shadow. I think we both know that. And I won’t stop haunting you until you come to me willingly.

Y/N: Don’t be delusional. Only someone who is completely mad would approach you, let alone be with you.

“No wonder you keep your identity hidden, you fucking creep.” You muttered under your breath, thinking about how his face looked. You shivered at the idea that this man could possibly be some creepy old man who hadn’t gotten laid in ages. At least if he were attractive, it could make your situation less hideous. It's scary how the privilege of being perceived as pretty sometimes works.

Your phone once again chimes.

Unknown: Don’t say things you will soon regret, little shadow. And one last thing… Don’t call your soon-to-be-boyfriend a creep; find a better pet name like I did for you.

Once you finished reading the text, a sound of footsteps was heard from upstairs. He was all the time here, in your house. You froze, completely terrified, and held your breath to make sure that your stalker wasn’t descending the stairs. But the house had fallen into an utter dead silence. You waited for another five minutes just to make sure, and then jumped from the sofa in the living room and ran straight to the kitchen. Taking from the drawer one kitchen knife, you managed to control your frantic panting and marched towards the stairs that led to the second floor.

Much to your luck, there was no one there. You checked every room, only to find nothing. It was you and your exhilarating heartbeat.

He is here.

Your ears perk up at the sound of his footfalls approaching, and your eyes squeezed even tighter. You’re pretending to have fallen asleep, your hand gripping the knife that you've pushed under your pillow.

After the morning incident with your stalker, you were agitated all the time. It was the first time he made his presence known in such early hours, as he always talked to you via messages. And the moments when he was visiting you, you were always asleep. Today, though, he became bolder, and that scared you. That’s why you promised yourself that tonight, you wouldn’t fall asleep. You promised yourself that if that man touches you, you will fight… Even if the idea seems impossible.

The floorboards creaked beneath the man’s feet. His shadow moves past your closed eyelids, and your limbs struggle to slacken off. The fear has won you over to the idea of him touching you or, worse, harming you. Truthfully, you had a weapon at your defense, but what if he had one of his own? In the end, you regret that foolish plan of yours.

A gentle tug it only takes for the thin blanket to expose your body to him. The blanket falls to your ankles, now feeling the breeze that comes from the open window of your bedroom. You are wearing a silky long nightgown, though feeling his heated gaze admiring you, it makes you feel like you are wearing nothing.

A deep grunt rumbles from his chest, yet his hands never come your way. He doesn’t reach out for your dress or push it up to your navel to force his way on you. Nothing happens, except his heavy breathing illuminating the dark room.

Unfortunately, you spoke too soon.

The bed shifts underneath you, and then his hips straddle your own. Something hard presses against your rear, and not waiting for another moment, you bare your teeth as you expose the knife from its hideaway. Maneuvering your body towards him, you aim for his neck, only for long, thick fingers to slip around your wrist. They stop you midair, and a gasp leaves your parted lips at the sight in front of you.

Where you imagined an old, creepy man to haunt you down, here the man was to prove you otherwise. Black curly hair and deep brown eyes were the first things you noticed. Then your eyes gazed at his sharp jaw, full lips, and a symmetric face, evoking you to forget in what position he had you in or in what position he was that made you alert in the first place.

A smirk stretched across his lips, exposing his white teeth. “You got me a gift, little shadow?”

If his lethal good looks weren’t enough to make you ashamed of yourself, his voice was. It was enchanting and deep. It swirled between the two of you that a shiver skated down your spine until it settled in your core. If he wasn’t your goddamn stalker, you would beg him to talk to you all day.

Your eyes snap at his strong hold around your wrist. The knife trembles in your weak grip, and you wish that you weren’t so stubborn. Really, what made you believe that you could win someone twice your size? If that man has a way to invade your property, that means he also knows how to defend himself.

You have fallen precisely where he wanted… To his trap.

However, your tongue runs faster than your mind. “It’s a shame that I didn’t have the chance to slit your throat with it. Now its value is gone.”

He chuckles like what you said was a humorous joke. But it wasn’t. What you proclaimed was only a threat without any lie. Despite his handsomeness, you still wish he was now dead. At least this is what you are trying to convince yourself.

“Is it?” He mused, his fingertips turning white as to how tightly he held you. A cry fell out of your mouth, and the knife was released from your grasp. It fell on the mattress, and the next thing you knew was him now having it in his hands. The acidic blade shone underneath the moonlight that spilled into the room, and soon your mouth ran dry. You didn’t like the way his eyes examined you, let alone the weapon that was now pointing at your face. “I think it would be quite useful.”

Plenty of remarks and sarcastic phrases rang your mind, yet when your lips parted to sing them out, you stammered the opposite words. “P-p-please don’t kill me.”

Mischief glinted in his eyes, and he smiled with no mirth. His free hand grazed your cheekbone, and your chest inflated and deflated in frantic breaths. Goosebumps arose on your skin when you felt his hips adjusting from above you, hating how your body acted differently than your mindset.

“If my motives were to murder you, I would have already done it.”

“…T-then why are you here?”

In a flash of movement, the hand that caressed your cheek so lovingly now pinched your cheeks between his palm. He forced your face to the side as his lips brushed against your ear. “You think I have drawn any sanity line just to kill you? I’m at your mercy, little shadow, and it disappoints me how you can’t see it.” The man whispers, and you sense the metal of the knife brushing against your collarbone. Your body sinks even further into the mattress when you hear his next words. “I will never lay a single finger on you, Y/N, but I would to any man who dares to approach you, speak to you, or even set his eyes on you. You are mine, and I won’t hesitate to prove it to them. With or without the force of violence.”

He is there, his body heat radiating through you. The way he stands so close to you, your nostrils are filled with his expensive cologne, making you dizzy. Your bloodstream gathers in your pale cheeks, and the hate for yourself only grows with each passing second. Where you shouldn’t shudder at his alarming words, here you are almost purring at the sound of them. You are becoming addicted to his attractive voice and sweet to his looks.

His hand withdraws from your cheeks, and now the butt of the knife presses against your bottom lip. “Wrap your mouth around it.”

In a trice, whatever high hit your head has now ebbed as the reality settles down once again. Your eyes widened in fear, not wanting to guess what your stalker had planned for you.

He must have seen your hesitation because his expression hardened, and a vein worked on his temple. “Don’t make me repeat myself for a second time. Suck.”

And you did.

Opening slowly your mouth, you invited the back of the knife with your tongue — swirling and sucking until it was covered with saliva. Warmth spread down to your legs as your eyes locked. You watched him as his eyes drifted to your pink tongue and then back to you, his pupils expanding in adoration. Once he was satisfied, he pulled it away, and you watched a small trail of saliva connecting your lips with the butt before it snapped in the middle.

“Good girl.” He rasped. And with the knife, he tore your nightgown until you stood only in your white panties. You didn’t have to guess what would eventually happen next.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and even if you wanted to hide yourself from his predatory gaze, it was unfeasible. He stole your weapon, and now he was stealing your dignity. Instead of covering your perky breasts from his sight, your hands balled into fists at your side, defeated. You looked at him, and the man looked back at you.

You gasped when his lips skimmed over your neck. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

His finger pushed aside the thin layer of your panties and your felt the butt of the knife brushing gently on your wet folds. You stiffened at its coldness.

His other hand didn’t touch you. He didn’t place his palm over your breast and knead the rounded flesh. He didn’t kiss you like you expected he would. He only stared at you, drinking in your every expression. Whether it was dread or pleasure.

The knife pushed even further into your folds, pumping it inside you in slow thrusts. You bit your lower lip until you drew blood when you saw his head lowering until he stood between your legs. His eyes never strayed, and you didn’t want to give him the pleasure of hearing you sighing and moaning once he pushed your legs apart to place his mouth to your clit. You struggled to maintain a stiff posture and not to arch your back at how his lips sucked your sensitive bud until your toes curled inward. Suddenly you had the desire to run your fingers through his rich curly hair and ride his face for an orgasm – forgetting completely that he was fucking you with a fucking knife.

In where the thrusts of the knife were slow, now he was picking up the pace, compelling you to grunt as if you were in pain. Truthfully you had other man eating out your pussy but not the way he did. You almost wept when he pulled away. You were so close to cum.

“Play with yourself.” He breathed, fighting the urge to feel your now-sweaty skin. It was crystal clear that your stalker wanted to do a lot more than just observe you, but for reasons that you didn’t know, he didn’t accomplish them. He was refraining.

You were hesitant, but when the knife remained still, your fingers twitched. He was reminding you who had the upper hand in the current situation, and you didn’t waste another second to find out what your punishment would be. Frankly, you were cringing at the idea of the police finding you dead in your bed and a body that seemed to have been railed with a knife. The same knife that would be buried in your sternum if you don’t behave.

Of course, he promised you that he wouldn’t murder you, but like someone wise said before: Trust everything but a man.

One finger pushing the thin layer of your panties at the side to expose yourself better, your middle finger circled your clit hard and fast. Your orgasm was building up slowly, and you wanted this ordeal to end as fast as possible. Despite being drawn by that unknown man, you also wanted him to begone.

Wet sounds illuminated the room and your warm walls were grasping the butt like a vise. The man above you growled, his tongue licking the bottom of his lip that was filled with your taste.

A single cry rumbled from your chest, and as your back arched, you felt your body becoming paralyzed. Your middle finger swirled even faster around your sensitive bud, driving your orgasm until its very end.

Then, your stalker withdrew the knife from your weeping pussy, only for his lips to be wrapped around it. He was cleaning it off while he was staring at you with a dark look.

Once he seemed to be done, he released it, and to your surprise, he let the knife fall beside your weak form. Shame washed over you when you realized that he knew you wouldn’t bother holding it and use it to your advantage. He knew that instead of wanting to slit his throat you would beg him to touch you.

You have yielded to his sick desire, and you are embarrassed to admit that from now on, you will fantasize about the day he will visit you again. It only took him one night to have you wrapped around his finger and the asshole succeeded. For the second time.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet you, little shadow.” He said as he made his way to the door. And before you see him disappear into the night, you ask him what his name is. You sounded desperate, but you didn’t care. You have all the time to regret your decision tomorrow or even forever. At this precise moment, you just wanted to know one single information about him.

His name was Taehyung. And before you had the chance to tell him to stay, he disappeared like a shadow into the night.

[moonstruckme]

i don’t really request so idk if this is where i should be asking but I wanted to know if you could do a Sirius x reader story where Sirius is trying to ask out or “woo” the reader but she is rarely noticed romantically and sort of confused and surprised by sirius genuinely liking her

You nailed it, babe! Thanks for requesting :)

cw: alcohol, mention of vomiting

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The smell of vomit has escaped the bathroom and is seeping out into the hallway. You scrunch your nose and try not to breathe. Or hear. Your friend is purging all the alcohol she’s drank over the last few hours with your other friend holding her hair and murmuring slurred but heartfelt encouragements, and because you’re a sympathetic puker you’ve been put on bathroom guard duty. 

“Sorry,” you croak when another person comes up to you. “This one’s occupied. I think there’s another upstairs, though.” 

“I’d really rather people not use that one,” he says. His voice is silky smooth. “Last time I allowed that, everything in my medicine cabinet had moved around the next morning.” 

You blink. “This is your party.” 

“I’m Sirius.” He gives you a smile and sticks out his hand for you to shake. His palm is cool against yours. There’s something disarmingly intense about his gaze, the way he holds yours the whole time you’re touching. “This party is one-third mine. I live here with my roommates.” 

“Right, I—uh—” You try to reclaim control of your tongue. “I think one of my friends knows one of your—James?” 

Sirius nods thoughtfully. “Seems likely. Is she in there?” He nods to the closed bathroom door. 

You feel embarrassed at the scene now, though you’re not sure why. “Yeah. She’s helping my other friend, who’s, uh…having a rough time.” 

He purses his lips. The movement accentuates his cheekbones, which you can’t help but notice are ridiculously striking already. They certainly don’t need the extra help. “Think either of them will go through my medicine cabinet?”

Your eyebrows bunch. “No. What?” 

But he’s already knocking on the bathroom door, cracking it a tad. He brushes a piece of hair behind his ear as he bends at the waist to poke his head in. It’s a deep, impenetrable black which moves fluidly like dark water. 

“Hi.” His voice softens as he addresses your friend. You imagine the situation probably looks dire. “She alright? It’s—no, it’s fine, babe, it happens. Would you like to use my bathroom? It’s a bit cleaner, more privacy. I mean, if you think you can make the journey?” 

Someone must answer in the affirmative, because then Sirius is ushering them upstairs. You take up the rear, providing vocal but cautiously distant support and trying not to gag when your friend does. 

“Well,” Sirius says, closing the door to his bedroom behind him, “that’s taken care of.” 

“That was really nice of you,” you reply. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, it was mostly selfish.” He grins, leaning over the banister to look down at the party. “See that broad-shouldered, smiley bloke in the middle of the couch, looks like he plays every sport known to man?”

You laugh and acknowledge that you do. 

“That’s James. You can see, I’m sure, how it’d be fairly easy for him to shake me about by my ankles if I let his friend kneel on the dirty floor of our downstairs toilet. Plus, now I get to keep the general public away from my bathroom and you don’t have to look so green and uncomfortable at our party anymore. Everyone wins.” He turns his head to look at you, eyes twinkling. “But mostly me.” 

Fuck, being in this guy’s presence is like being in a dark room with a shining star. You’re blinded by the sheer presence of him. 

“Did I really look green and uncomfortable?” you ask him. 

Sirius smiles like he’s trying to stop himself but not really. “I mean, you were obviously stunning regardless, but yes. You’re much improved now, though.” He nods downstairs. “Let me get you something to drink, doll.” 

You’re concerned you might be actually reeling, but you manage to nod, and Sirius takes your suddenly warm and sweaty hand in his cool one, leading you down to the kitchen. You don’t know what’s happening, how it came to be happening to you of all people, but you’re more than willing to go along with it. 

A girl named Marlene has requisitioned the party’s alcohol. She pours Sirius a gin and tonic, giving him a meaningful look and a smile when he turns to you to ask what you want and you squeak out “The same.” He hasn’t let go of your hand. 

“So on a scale of want-to-leave-right-now to best-night-of-your-life, how good a time are you having?” he asks conversationally as he guides you into a loveseat.

You clear your throat, doing your best to act casual. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen is sitting right next to you, holding your hand and talking to you like you’re halfway interesting. This night is ranking pretty highly. “That’s quite the range.” 

“Well, I want to allow for plenty of variance,” Sirius explains. “Earlier, you were standing outside our nastiest toilet and looking like you could be sick, so I might have interpreted that as a two and I’m hoping things have improved since then. What would you say?” 

You smile into your cup, hoping the lighting hides your blush. “Definite improvement.”

“Really?” He grins, sparkling. You try not to swoon. “That’s excellent news.” 

“Is it?” 

“Of course. I want you to have a good time, gorgeous.” 

Your heart does an odd, stuttering thing. You feel suddenly warmer. You wish any of that could be chalked up to the alcohol. If he keeps talking to you like this, you’re worried you’ll actually go into shock. These things don’t happen to you. 

“Why?” you ask, dumbly, before you can stop yourself, because you’re an idiot. 

“I mean,” Sirius swipes his hair behind his ear again, gaze dropping from yours for just a millisecond, “you might stay longer if you’re having a good time. I’ll take you for as long as I can get you.” 

His eyes have found yours again, but they’re different. There’s less bluster behind them. You feel the beginnings of a slow, shy smile spreading across your face. He actually does like you. Somehow, realizing his nervousness lessens yours. Maybe you’re on equal footing here.  

“I’m having a good time,” you tell him. “I want to stay.” 

Sirius mirrors your smile, and his charm is back in full force, but this time you can see through some of the smugness. It feels like he’s let you in on some sort of secret. “Thrilled to hear it, doll. Want to dance with me?” 

You find you really do.

[itsnathateasy]

aot characters and "will you be my valentine?"❣️

word count: 1,8k warnings: mentions of alcohol includes: eren, armin, jean, connie, reiner, bertholdt, ymir, levi, hange, erwin a/n: DON’T COME AT ME i’m not really a fan of valentine’s day either, but i hope i did a decent job with this short thingy here hehe! enjoy!

In all honesty, Eren never expected you to ask him to be your valentine and I don’t think he had any plans of asking you either. “We’re already dating, right? We’re each other’s valentines by default!” “Yes, buuut why not make it a little more special?” and then you’d present him with the most ridiculous valentine’s day gift you could lay your hands upon. I’m talking festive underwear, socks with your face printed on them and those silly cards with hearts popping when you open them. Eren isn’t the type to be surprised, let alone show it. But you got him there, and you got him good. He can’t contain his laughter at your silly gifts and he’s honestly so happy to receive them! And even though “you’re each other’s valentines by default” (smh eren🤦) he did get you a gift. It’s been wrapped and waiting for you in your side of the closet, right behind your shoe boxes. Did I mention it’s been in there for the past two weeks or so? Yeah, Eren is so pathetic for you, but he’s trying his hardest not to let it show.

You probably know this already, but Armin asked you to be his valentine in the cutest way. He handmade you a card, a quite elaborate one too, and he wrote a long ass message about how much he loves and appreciates you. He left it on your bedside table for you to find the moment you wake up, because he sadly had to leave earlier than usual. When you texted him a while later that you saw the card and that it was the sweetest thing, he had your favourite coffee and cinnamon rolls delivered to your door with the promise that “there’s more to come, this day is for you only!” The rush he was getting from spoiling you like this was insane. What could you possibly do to top his actions? It was barely 9 a.m. and Armin had already managed to surprise you twice! It made you feel like the gift you got him and the dinner reservations you’d made weren’t good enough. No matter what you’d came up with, he surely had something even greater planned. The troubles of dating a literal mastermind I guess!

Mikasa didn’t want to celebrate valentine’s day. She really didn’t want to. But then she realised you kept giving her hints about gift ideas and that you ‘had a surprise for her’ for that evening and the signs were too overwhelming to ignore. Okay, if it’s that important to you, she’d celebrate it as well. She didn’t really know where to begin at first, but, thank heavens for pinterest, she quickly navigated herself around the do’s and dont’s of valentine’s day. When you came back home, your house looked like a florist’s. Mikasa had bought a bunch of bouquets and pots and she added ribbons and hearts on basically every single item you’d ever owned. “I thought you didn’t like valentine’s day, Mikasa! What’s all this?” You honestly couldn’t believe your eyes! “Are they enough? Should I have gotten more?” For someone who was doing this for the first time, she’d exceeded all expectations!

Now, Jean… WHERE DO I BEGIN?? The boy cooked big time! Bought you a gift. Orchestrated an entire fake emergency to get you to meet him and the most romantic spot in the city and pulled his grand gesture of asking you to be his valentine. He hired drones DO YOU HEAR ME? He wanted you to remember this day! (Even though he keeps pulling grander and grander gestures each year, he wants to document EVERYTHING!). He’s doing his best to recreate scenes taken out from fairytales and plant those core memories inside your brain. He’s probably booked a restaurant too, but, to be honest with you, the entire set up he managed to create, was enough of a gift. It didn’t matter if there was a date afterwards. Waaaait… Why is your house decorated too? And why is it bursting with boxes as if it’s Christmas??? Jean’s gone overboard… AGAIN!

Connie was a bit of an ass this valentine’s date, but you can’t really blame him. He’s seen into the future and he knows his plan is bulletproof. He never asked you to be his valentine and when you asked him (rather late for your liking too, but you were really expecting him to do it first!), he said he had plans with the guys. No, for real. He wouldn’t budge. Said they’d been going over this for days. You were quite upset with him, but whatever. A galentine’s it was! Little did you know he’d made sure to let the girls know about his plan! While you were working on your galentine’s, Connie was preparing a themed date based on your favourite film/show! He’d altered the placing of your furniture (don’t expect juicy time after dinner, his back is killing him), he’s put up themed decorations, has the film/show waiting for you on the tv and even created a three course meal inspired by it! And he made all the drinks himself. Honestly, kudos to him, cause the hours he’d spent checking recipes were endless! You were so upset when the girls 'cancelled' on you last minute. You did the walk of shame home, utterly disappointed and expecting to find it empty, but… You couldn’t have asked for a greater valentine’s date!

You don’t have to ask Reiner, but he won’t ask you either. His actions speak volumes and as soon as he realises you want to celebrate valentine's day, it’s literally game over. He’s got the table set and he’s ordered your favourite. There’s flowers and balloons all over the place and he’s got some soft music playing in the background. Oh and that cute lingerie you spotted the other day while window shopping together? Yeah, that’s kind of been laying on your bed. I wonder who put it there. Reiner has plans to breach that wall, you know? Anyway, he’s being really cute about and he even made you a card! Yes, he diy’ed it! It’s the ugliest effing thing, but it’s also the sweetest valentine’s gift you’ve received in your entire life. Who else would put all this time into a single card? Reiner is acting like a schoolboy when it comes to you and you love him for it!

You and Bertholdt had a silent agreement to celebrate this day, but not go too overboard with it. The last thing you both wanted was to do all those cliché things people do on valentine’s. You’d made reservations at one of your favourite restaurants, that was quite fancy too, and simply treated yourselves to your favourite foods and some good wine. It was a lovely night overall, nothing too crazy about it, but it was the way you both liked it. You were spending time together and that was the most important thing! Except Bertholdt kinda gave in and bought you a heart-shaped chocolate box. And a heart-shaped plushie. But that’s all, he promised! He looked so precious when he admitted to ‘breaking’ his part of the deal, but that cute face was the most memorable part of your evening!

Ymir would celebrate with you, but she’d give you a hard time about it. She was determined to make you regret it. She’d probably do her best to prank you any way that she could by sending you flowers and addressing them to the wrong person or by buying you a box of candy she very well knew you disliked. Now, why would she do that you may ask. She just didn’t want you to expect the actual surprise she’d planned for you. What better way to keep you on your feet, right? And although her pranks weren’t really appreciated (you did fight about that ‘wrong name on the card’ situation) you really didn’t expect the surprise and that made it all the more special! She even baked you a cake and decorated it herself! You honestly thought you weren’t going to celebrate at all! Who would’ve thought that Ymir was simply playing games, right?

I’m so sorry, but Levi would never ask you to be his valentine. Such manifestations of affection were just pointless in his eyes, but that doesn’t mean he’ll refrain from making you happy. He’s just choosing not to participate in such a materialistic, capitalistic WHO SAID THAT holiday. He knows that it’s important to you though, so he makes sure he gives you extra care and attention today. When you returned home, you weren’t really expecting much. You’d bought some chocolate and a special edition valentine’s tea for you and Levi to try. But instead of finding a boyfriend who didn’t want to participate in the trend, Levi was running you a warm bath and had lit up a bunch of pretty candles. You smiled so big when you saw the set up! “Can we also have a cup of tea together?” “But that’s it, do we have a deal?”

Hange was so excited when you asked them! You could tell by how vividly their eyes sparkled, their excitement was the most precious thing! You decided to organise an activity together, you know, in order not to give in into those overconsumption trends. What are you if not against the system, right? You decided to book a day trip to the botanical garden or maybe a local animal sanctuary. And what an idea, because you never thought there’d be so many things to do there! Hange even surprised you with a gift, even though you’d said you wouldn’t get each other any. This gift doesn’t really count though, because they crocheted you a jumper and they spent so much time making it. (They started knitting in early January! Can you believe their dedication!?) When you came back home after a beautiful, yet tiring day, you decided to bake brownies. You hadn’t realised you’d barely eaten during the day and a sweet treat was what you both needed! It was a unique valentine’s date!

Okay, listen, Erwin is upset you asked him. He had it all planned out! Why did you have to be so impatient and ask him to be your valentine first? (He’s not really upset, he just wanted to be the man). And also, let’s be honest here, Erwin is a provider man. You get a little treat for every day leading up to the 14th and, of course, he’s booked a table at your favourite restaurant, bought you the fanciest jewellery and the loveliest attire like??? WHO IS HE? I just KNOW he’s the guy to also leave you a printed invitation on your night stand, telling you where you should meet him for your valentine’s date. He’s the most cliché of them all, but he’s never failed so far, has he? Consider yourself spoiled for the entirety of the week. And who knows, maybe longer even. That’ll depend if you’re good for him I’m afraid.

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[fluentmoviequoter]

The Best Present

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(implied cop)!reader

Summary: You want to ask Tim to be your date to a Christmas party, but he's going with another woman. When you're caught under the mistletoe together, you give Tim more than a present.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst. 1.2k+ words

“Tim!” you call as you exit the locker room. When he stops and turns toward you, you smile and ask, “Can we talk?”

Tim begins to nod but is interrupted by Angela reminding everyone of the Evers-Lopez Christmas party tonight. As she tells the surrounding officers about the gift exchange, food, and fun she and Wesley have planned, your eyes stray to Tim. It has taken over a week to convince yourself it isn’t a terrible idea, and now you’re ready to ask Tim to go with you to the party. Your fingers tap nervously against your hip, though you’re oblivious to Tim’s repeated glances at you.

“Who’s bringing a date?” Angela inquires. “I need to make sure we have enough food.”

“And mistletoe?” Nyla guesses.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Angela deflects. “Dates? Timothy?”

“Yeah, I’m bringing someone,” Tim answers.

Angela’s jaw drops as you and everyone else swing your head to look wide-eyed at him. She had been kidding when she called him out specifically and certainly didn’t expect him to say he had a date. Tim says her name and where they met, but you can’t hear anything over your heart pounding and a week’s worth of doubts swirling.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Tim remembers as the surprise diminishes and people begin leaving the station.

“Yeah…” you answer. “It can wait, though. Enjoy your date.”

You could’ve still asked him or told him the truth of what you wanted to talk about, but it’s easier this way. You’ll be at the same party. Tim with his date and you with what’s left of your Christmas cheer and a heart crushed like peppermint.

Tucked into a corner with one of Lucy’s Christmas cookies, you watch the party from a safe distance. Tim’s date is gorgeous, as you expected, and you fight to keep your attention away from them.

“Hey,” Lucy greets as she approaches your safe haven. You send her a close-lipped smile, and she lays her hand on your shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Nothing worth talking about,” you say. “These cookies are amazing by the way. Peppery ginger snaps, who knew?”

“My aunt. But, seriously, if you decide you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“I do. Go enjoy the party.”

“As long as you do, too. I’m getting your gift during Dirty Santa and if Tim even thinks about stealing it, I’ll tell Angela about his bad attitude last week.”

“I think I’d like to see that.”

Lucy sends you a heart with her hands, and you finish the last bite of your cookie. Walking through Angela’s house to either get another or throw away your plate (you’ll decide when you get there), you keep your eyes down until your shoulder bumps into someone.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, looking up.

“You’re on a mission,” Tim muses. “There’s no more cookies, but if you’re nice to Nyla, she might tell you where she’s hiding them.”

“I could just get something else,” you murmur, thinking it would be easier to get someone else, but you want Tim.

“Uh, guys?” Nolan interrupts. “You’re under the mistletoe.”

Tim tips his head back and spots the green leaves hanging sneakily above a doorframe. You shake your head at Nolan, but he waves Angela over despite your protests.

“It’s tradition!” she argues. “You have to!”

“Yes!” Lucy agrees when she realizes where you are. “Kiss!”

Several of your friends cheer, and you shake your head again.

“Don’t be such a Scrooge!” Lucy tells Tim.

“I knew you were going to say that,” Tim complains.

“Tim, you’re here with a date,” you remind him softly.

Tim clicks his tongue, then raises his hands to the sides of your neck and jaw. “We have no choice,” he points out.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you lean in and kiss Tim. The noise of the party fades as you grip Tim’s waist and move with him. When Tim pulls back, you notice that the crowd beside you has dissipated.

“Where’s, uh…” you begin.

“My date?” Tim guesses with a barely contained smile.

“Yeah.”

“She left ten minutes in, decided this wasn’t her scene – her words.”

“How is a Christmas party not someone’s scene?”

Tim shrugs, and you apologize for his bad date.

“It worked out,” Tim replies.

“Gift time!” Angela yells from the living room.

You find a place on a small loveseat by Tim and watch as the white elephant gift exchange begins. After the moment beneath the mistletoe, a feeling of magic lingers within you. You must tell Tim about your feelings for this to go beyond Christmas.

“Don’t get attached to that,” Nolan says as Wesley opens an expensive tool set.

Laying your head on Tim’s shoulder, you don’t feel him freeze beneath you. He watches you laugh with his friends, content in an environment – his environment – when his date couldn’t even tolerate walking past the cookie table. As Tim relaxes, welcoming you into his space, and feels the same warmness he had while kissing you, he unknowingly gives you his heart. You give him yours in return, and it’s the best gift exchange you’ve ever participated in.

Lucy opens your gift and squeals before tucking it under her sweater.

“I’m stealing that, so make it a little easier to get to,” Tim warns her.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Angela, Tim yelled at me last week.”

“She can’t save you now,” Tim tells Lucy. “I need that one.”

“Why?” Angela asks, raising her eyebrows as she glances toward you.

“You’re a detective, Lopez, figure it out.”

“Let me give you a ride home?” Tim asks in your ear.

You nod and accept his hand as you stand. After receiving hugs and gifts from a few friends, you follow Tim outside, and a soft white powder falls from above to greet you.

“Is that what I think it is?” Tim whispers.

Extending your hand, you catch some on your fingers and raise it to your nose. “Only if you think it’s powdered sugar.”

“Chen!” Tim barks. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Lucy asks from behind him. “Is that snow?”

“It’s close enough!” Nyla answers.

“Nyla?” you ask, stepping out into the powdered sugar snow. “Wade?!”

Tim follows you onto the walkway. His eyes widen when he sees his watch commander perched on the roof and spreading fake snow through a sieve.

“Act like I’m not here,” James adds, pouring more sugar into his shaker.

Nyla rolls her eyes and looks at Tim to demand, “Just kiss her again and put us out of our misery before New Year’s.”

You don’t have time to question her command before Tim pulls you in. The door clicks closed as you taste the powdered sugar on Tim’s lips, and you smile against him as the fine confectioner’s treat covers your clothing.

“I was going to ask you to come with me,” you admit, leaning your forehead against Tim’s as his arms wrap around your waist. “Like a date.”

“Raincheck for New Year’s Eve?” Tim suggests.

“Will it be like this?”

“I hope not.”

Nyla scoffs, but you kiss Tim in the makeshift winter wonderland rather than replying. You have been in love with Tim Bradford for longer than the duration of this party, but learning that he loves you too is a Christmas present that will never be topped.

[lucyrose191]

hi!! can i request something with Kimi or Mark Webber x driver reader?

SILENT ADMIRATION| K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Author’s note; I didn’t know if you wanted a specific scenario or if you were fine with me choosing so I wrote this and if you want anything specific feel free to send a request!

Pairing; Kimi Raikkonen x fem!Driver!Reader

Summary; Kimi’s got some deep feelings for the reader but plans to do what he does best, keep silent. Until, Sebastian manages to persuade him that maybe melting his icy exterior might work in his favour for once.

Warnings; Implied age gap but not specifically mentioned.

F1 Master List , Part 2

Y/N L/N. 3 time world champion and first female formula one driver; a few years ago she had shown up out of nowhere and taken everyone by surprise as the new RedBull racing driver.

There were a lot of similarities between her and her teammate, Max Verstappen. They weren’t here to mess around, they were here to win and that’s exactly what they were doing together.

It was clear that she had tunnel vision, Y/N didn’t spend a lot of time with the other drivers, albeit she was very friendly and polite to them whenever they were together, she was laser focused on her career and had no time for distractions.

Hence, there had been absolutely no sign of a possible lover on the scene whilst she had been on the formula one track and she left no room for speculation either, repeating the same words constantly to the nosey reporters and journalists.

My private life is none of your business, you’re here to ask me about racing.

I’m here to race, not to find a husband.

Her attitude towards the press reminded Kimi a lot of himself, their distaste was matched and it was always fun to watch the frustration on the journalists face due to the lack of answers they were receiving when both Y/N and Kimi where in the same press conference.

Right now, Kimi was standing at the entrance of the Ferrari garage, leaning against the wall as he looked out into the pits. He was simply watching the rustle and bustle of the Friday morning before a free practice session but found that his eyes kept straying towards the woman stood just a garage away.

Wrapped up in a large RedBull raincoat to protect herself from the cold, Y/N was stood with her race engineer, as she spoke her hands were raised into the air making all sorts of gestures to back up her words. He found that it was a common habit of hers and it always conflicted him when he felt a tugging at the corner of his lips whenever he saw her doing it.

Kimi wasn’t against feeling things, he just wasn’t good at it, they were out of his comfort zone. The feeling in his chest that he felt when he saw her wasn’t bad and he didn’t not like it, he just didn’t know how to deal with it or if he should deal with it.

It wasn’t often that Kimi thought about his future, he preferred to just tackle things as they came rather than trailing after things that were only possibilities.

He wasn’t a guy that sought after love, he didn’t crave it but he certainly wasn’t opposed to it. He had been married before and well, it wasn’t what everyone made it out to be but could that just be because it wasn’t with the right person?

Kimi scoffed at his own thoughts, how did he get from Y/N to thinking about love and marriage. What he felt for her wasn’t love, it was simply an admiration. A silent admiration that would be kept that way, silent.

"Are you going to keep staring at the poor woman or are you going to ask her out?"

Kimi turned his head to the side, coming face to face with a smiling Sebastian Vettel, whose eyes were filled with mirth and amusement.

"What?"

Sebastian wasn’t put off by the bluntness in the Finn’s voice, he never had been, instead he embraced it and nodded towards Y/N’s direction. "Y/N, you fancy her right?"

"Don’t be stupid." Kimi replied, voice gruff as he looked away from Sebastian’s burning gaze, turning back to the paddocks, though he made sure his eyes didn’t stray towards Y/N’s direction, not wanting to give Sebastian the satisfaction.

"You’re being stupid." Sebastian rolled his eyes, "It’s very clear you like her, stop standing here staring at her and go and tell her."

Instead of responding, Kimi simply continued staring out of the entrance of the garage causing Sebastian to sigh. "Why won’t you?"

It was silent for a solid minute and when Sebastian thought that he wouldn’t be getting any answers from Kimi today, the man spoke up. "She’s a good driver, she’s got a successful career ahead of her, mine’s close to finishing. She doesn’t need or want distractions, she’s said it plenty of times."

It was a reasonable excuse, there were no lies in his words but there was something deep inside Sebastian that needed him to play Cupid between the pair. Kimi and Y/N would be one of the most bizarre and unexpected pairs but he had a feeling it would work so well.

"The right person would be no distraction, it doesn’t matter what she’s said before. People change and so do their opinions. Think about it this way, there’s more of a chance of her saying yes if she knows you like her than if you don’t tell her."

"What would she want with a divorced man like me? Everyone thinks I’m a heartless arsehole."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "No one cares that you’re divorced and what do you think people think about her? Have you heard the things she’s said to the press?"

Kimi smirked, of course he had and shockingly her words had made him laugh. She was a firecracker of a driver.

"Just give it a try, i think she’d be good for you." Sebastian patted his shoulder before walking away.

Kimi didn’t really register his teammate leaving, his eyes focused on Y/N’s figure just a couple metres away.

That Sunday, Y/N had qualified and finished on pole, leading the entire race by a large gap between her and her teammate, sharing the top three with Max in second and Kimi in third.

She stood on top of her car and waved at the crowd briefly before jumping down, she made her way to Max and congratulated him with a pat on the back before making her way over to Kimi who was still in his car, probably purposefully taking his time to try and prolong the post-race interview.

She would’ve done the same if she wasn’t too eager to go home.

"You good?" She asked, leaning her body over the halo of his Ferrari, she was smiling at him underneath her helmet, even though he couldn’t see.

Kimi nodded, removing his steering wheel, setting it onto the front of his car. Y/N stepped back so he could pull himself out. "You did good," he told her when he landed two feet onto the ground.

"Thanks, I heard you had a small battle with Max out there." Y/N reached up and began unbuckling her helmet, Kimi following her lead and doing the same.

"It was okay," he shrugged.

His response wasn’t anything other than what she was expecting, it was short and straight to the point but Y/N didn’t take it to heart like most would, in fact she actually preferred it. She liked that he was always clear and confident in his words and didn’t waste time with unnecessary explanations or apprehensions about other’s feelings.

Besides, there was no need to fill the space with uninteresting conversation to be able to enjoy a person’s company.

The three podium achievers got weighed before they were lead to the cool down room where they had water waiting for them and the screen that showed the race highlights.

Being able to share the podium with the woman that was all bright smiles as she was soaked in champagne was more enjoyable that Kimi ever thought it would be.

Seeing the utter happiness in her eyes caused a light curve to form at his lips, a greater reaction than gaining third had achieved, the smallest smile of his didn’t even dim as she emptied an entire bottle of champagne over his head, instead it caused an entire opposite reaction as the words spewed out of his mouth before he had even had time to realise he had spoken.

"Do you want to get a drink with me?"

Y/N had almost dropped her champagne bottle in surprise at his words but her smile seemed to grow even wider as she nodded at him, she was clearly confident in her response but her eyes had glanced down to the ground shyly.

"Not out though, yours or my hotel room?" She bravely suggested, not feeling going out but also taking the opportunity to spend some time one on one.

Kimi glanced away from her for a moment over the edge of the balcony before quickly turning his eyes back when he saw Sebastian who looked like he was seconds away from bursting with excitement as he looked at the pair.

"Mine?" He shrugged.

"I’ll see you there, Iceman." Y/N smirked and walked past him off the podium, patting his shoulder as she did so.

She didn’t see the real smile that had shown on Kimi’s face that day and she didn’t hear Sebastian’s shouting amongst the crowd of fans, the man cheering for an entirely different reason than everyone else was.

[urinarythreatinfection]

Tbh I had this already written. Poll had the shortest time as a day. HELLA warning though, this isn't non or dub con but it IS gorey. I wrote this shit at like 11pm and I was stressed the hell out and kinda pissed. (well the outline of it anyway). I'm a gore enjoyer, not in a weird way I just like the way it's written or drawn i don't like actual gore. Anyway the gore here isn't that bad but there is some so I'll say there is gore as a warning. I also put a small border for the people that don't wanna read the smut since there is some story.

The Cute and Obsessive You

Yandere Shanks x Male reader. Reader matches Shanks's freak. Smut so minors read something else until I write not smut. top male reader. Violence warning. 4,135ish words.

Your boyfriend is very cute, you know that of course, you also know that he gets just a little worried when you’re out of his sight. That’s why when you opened your eyes to an unfamiliar place, tied to a chair, your first thought before worrying for yourself was ‘Oh no, I hope my boyfriend is gonna be okay.’ and you were correct in your worry, because Shanks is not okay.

“(Y/n)!?” Shanks calls out as he searches around for you. “(Y/n)!” He calls out, his heart racing. Where are you? Did you run away? Finally getting tired of him and leaving? How could you do that to him, when he cares about you so so much!? He gave you everything! Something clicks, what if you were gone unwillingly? What if someone took you. Took you from him? “(Y/N)! Sweetie, please come out if you’re somewhere around here!” He’s been searching for a while now, feeling stupid. Of course you wouldn’t leave him, you loved him, but he had thought this island was safe. Shanks had taken his eyes off of you, busy with the townsfolk swarming him. He hadn’t been to this island in a long while so they were excited to see him, and you had told Shanks you were going to explore nearby. Shanks trusted that. Trusted that this island that was friendly to him would be friendly to you, there should’ve been no danger to you. That’s not to mention you weren’t weak either, but people don’t always get what they want by being strong. A pretty looking flower is what it took, you’d been interested in the local flora so you went to check it out. It was only when you took a closer look that you realized it looked unusual, by then it was already too late. The fake flower had let out a gas and knocked you out. Now here you were, in a place unfamiliar to you.

“Hello?” You call out, but there’s no answer. Your weapon has been taken, but they’ve made a mistake, not finding the knife that you keep on you for emergencies. That means you could cut yourself free… but what then? You don’t know where you are and the door is locked, and to be honest.. you’re a little curious. You don’t feel like you’re in any real danger, and Shanks is probably going to find you eventually. The thought of him finding you, desperate to see you with a crazed look, fills you with satisfaction; so you wait. Eventually a woman comes down from the stairs and enters the room holding a long blade.

“Hello.” She greets you. “You’re lucid, good. Do you know why I’m doing this?” You think for a moment, Shanks had said this place was friendly so you’re not sure, but she answers the question for you. “I’ll just answer anyway. I did this because you bother our chief, clinging to him like a leech. You’re not nearly as strong as him or the rest of his crew, I even managed to kidnap you with some fake flower. It’s dangerous for him to have someone by his side, especially someone so weak. He’d be better off without you.” Her words sting a little, she has somewhat of a point. If it weren’t for the fact that it might be impossible to leave Shanks this could’ve even convinced you to.

‘Wow.. my cute and obsessive boyfriend knows some people that act similar to him.’ You think to yourself as she points the knife to your neck, pricking you. ‘Uh oh.’ This got much more dangerous quickly. Meanwhile, Shanks is still searching for you, finally finding flattened grass where it looks like someone was dragged.

‘He didn’t run away!’ Shanks is almost relieved before he realizes you being kidnapped and in danger isn’t much better. He clenches his jaw and quickly follows the flattened grass to a cottage in the woods, entering and looking around. “I don’t have time for this.” He mumbles to himself and decides to destroy everything until he finds you, crashing things to the floor and breaking through walls to find his lover. You hear the sounds above you and try to yell out, but your mouth is quickly covered by the woman. You take a deep breath and instead tip over your own chair and let yourself slam to the ground. The sound alerts Shanks and he looks down, realizing there's a room underneath this cottage. He needs to get to you, that thought sticks to his mind until he breaks a hole into the floor and drops into the room with you and the woman; though there was an entrance he could’ve found had he looked a little longer.

“C-Chief!” The woman stutters, panicked. “You, I-I” She doesn’t know what to say, turning silent when she looks at Shanks and finds someone she doesn’t recognize. Someone unlike the kind person she’s been doing this for. Crazed eyes look from her to your fallen and tied up form.

“Baby, are you okay?” He goes to you, ignoring her.

“I’m alright, just tipped my chair over.” You reassure him and he’s about to sigh in relief when he catches sight of something. Blood on your neck from the prick she had given you earlier. Blood, your blood. His vision quickly goes red and he grabs her, slamming her onto the ground.

“Chief, please let me exp- AAHH!” Her words are interrupted by a scream of pain when he stomps on her arm, shattering it. She starts to cry but it’s too late, he’s seen your injury and the blood you’ve shed is worth more than she could ever be.

“How dare you, how dare you. Mine, You hurt my boyfriend. My boyfriend.” His voice is laced with rage as she cries, screaming as he stomps on her limbs. Hands, arms, legs, it’s not long until they’re reduced to a mess of flesh and bone stuck to her by her skin.

“sorry sorry ‘m sorry it hurts.” She can’t even struggle, having screamed too much already. You stare at this, then try to move out of your restraints. Pain shoots up your leg.

“Ow!” You yelp and Shanks turns to look back at you, anger replaced by worry. “I’m okay! I think I just twisted my ankle a little when I fell.” You explain, feeling a little embarrassed you yelped over such a small injury. He looks back at the woman and she realizes, in her final moments, that you were so much more than she could’ve comprehended. Shanks grabs her by the hair and slams her head into the wall, creating a crater with the impact. What’s left of her head splatters across the concrete, and he drops her crushed corpse to the ground with a thud. He can hear the blood rushing through his ears, only snapping out of it when he hears your voice. “Shanks!” The redhead turns back to you, walking over and crouching down.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I let you out of my sight and doubted you when you were stuck here. This is my fault-” He starts but you interrupt him.

“Shanks you’re very lovely like this but please untie me first.” You ask him and his eyes clear.

“R-Right. Sorry.” He quickly cuts the ropes with his sword and you stand while rubbing your wrists. Once you’re both standing he starts to shake, emotions filling his psyche. Anger for the ones that hurt you, guilt he let this happen, sadness you got hurt, relief you’re still alive. They swim in his head, crowding and messing with his mind. You notice this and pull him into a soft hug

“It’s okay~ It’s okay~” Your fingers run through his red hair, ignoring the blood mixing in. “I’m okay, I’m alive and safe. You didn’t fail me, I’m right here.” He clings to you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.. I’m so happy you're safe.” He says, burying his face in your shoulder. Shanks still feels guilty, but his emotions calm with you in his grasp. You feel him clutch onto you tighter and you can tell his anger is coming back now that his emotions are more sorted.

“It’s not the townspeople’s fault, honey.” You tell him, sensing his thoughts.

“They let this happen to you.” His voice is cold. This is their fault, they don’t deserve his help or his protection. They don’t even deserve their lives.

“Not all of them could’ve known.” You respond and he doesn’t answer. You sigh and pull him back enough to look into his clouded eyes. “Let's do this, we can go back into town, find out who helped this happen, and you can punish them. Okay?” He stares at you, considering what you said, then nods. “Good, thank you for understanding.” You give him a kiss on the cheek.

You and Shanks walk through the town, ignoring the horrified looks of townspeople seeing him covered in blood. Once you’re to the town square he yells out. “Everyone gather up!” They begin to gather in front of him while the Red Haired crew puts any children inside. They don’t need to see this. Shanks’s eyes scan the crowd until they finally land on a married couple, a wife and husband; they look guilty. Unlike the others who are scared and/or confused they look visibly jittery, as if they’ve done something wrong. What's more, when they meet your eyes they look away, as if from shame. ‘It’s them, they did this, they helped this happen.’ He walks over and stops directly in front of them, staring them down as they start to tremble. “You two have done something.” He says and they flinch. Some townsfolk try to ask Shanks what’s happening but Beckman and the others are smart, quickly leading the rest back inside so they don’t see their chief do this; or get caught in the crossfire. The couple try to deny it at first but eventually the wife breaks and starts to cry.

“Chief I’m sorry, I didn’t know she would go this far. We did this because we were worried about you.” She pleads with him and he stares at her.

“Worry? Worry!? You think your worry for me is enough of an excuse to do this? To harm what’s mine? No no no this isn’t how you’re going to escape responsibility.” Shanks is angry, angry that the town he trusted could do something so deplorable as causing harm to his boyfriend. He looks down at her with disgust and grabs her by the collar of her shirt. “You put your hands, your disgusting hands on my everything while I spent my time entertaining this town.” He moves his hand so it’s wrapped around her neck, gripping it firmly. "Was it amusing seeing me smile with you all, oblivious, while your friend was about to kill the love of my life?" She cries out and tries to struggle but it’s no use, he’s too strong; even as those struggles turn to scratches from his tightening grip, she's unable to make him budge as her vision goes dark.

SNAP

Shanks drops her lifeless body to the ground, red eyes trailing to the husband. He looks at the body of his wife, dead, and tears roll down his cheeks slowly. “Oh gods, please, chief please. I’m sorry.” His pleas are weak and useless as Shanks’s eyes bore into his. This is it, he can’t do anything. Even if he tried to run away he knows it’s futile, he wouldn’t even make it a step. His only hope is you, turning his head to look at you. You meet his eyes and give him a nervous laugh.

“Well it is kinda your fault, right?” You say sheepishly and his hope is gone, looking back to Shanks.

“Don’t look to him for help, you don’t deserve it.” The redhead states coldly and the husband closes his eyes, the world going black as Shanks cuts his head off of his shoulders. It rolls pathetically on the ground, and he stomps on it for good measure. The two previously pleading people full of life now reduced to lumps of soulless flesh. Shanks stares at what’s left of them, emotions still raging. It's unhealthy, you know that. This look of his is dangerous, the proof and symptom of his instability, but to you it's so so beautiful. The eyes of the kind, friendly, and lively red haired captain everyone knows are unlike everything about him. They're obsessive, crazed, uncaring, the light in his irises replaced by the unhealthy darkness you bring out of him. So beautiful.

“Shanks.” You call out and he quickly snaps his head to you, chest heaving with emotion. “You’re so cute like this.” You can’t help it, your crazy yandere boyfriend is so endearing when he’s obsessive like this. His face flushes slightly, caught off guard by the sudden compliment despite the gore around him.

“Really? Cute? N-Now??” He asks, he wouldn’t have been shocked if he turned to see you looking at him with disgust, disappointment, or even fear; but instead you look at him with your cheery and warm expression, nodding.

“Mhm!” You walk over to him and cup his face. “You were worried about me, right? I’m okay now, you saved me and punished the bad guys.” At that his shoulders finally untense, his sanity slowly coming back.

“Of course I was worried, I couldn’t bear the idea of anything happening to you.” Shanks says, letting out a held breath as his expression softens. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them to look at you. The brown of his eyes are replaced with red, his pupils dilated. You love it, the unsettling look in his eyes is so nice to see; even when they change back to brown. Like this, the crew in the background see their friendly captain as his yandere self, and his cheerful boyfriend who turned out not normal either. The captain can feel their gazes on him, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is you, you you you. The you that’s in front of him, touching him, loving him, the you that’s safe.

“Your eyes are creepy like this, y’know.” You say and place a kiss on his forehead, making him sigh in contentment.

“Creepy huh? That’s one way to describe em… Do you like it?” He asks, a bit insecure.

“And if I don’t? What’re you gonna do then?” You respond and Shanks’s heart sinks at the thought of you not liking anything about him. He loves you too much, he wants you to feel the same. He looks into your eyes, trying to gauge how serious you’re being. When he can't tell he speaks with hesitance.

“I’d.. change them.. I don’t want you to dislike any part about me.” Is his respnse. You hum, kissing his cheek.

“Hmm~ How would you change them?” You continue the question and Shanks tries to think through the chaos in his head, almost tempted to say he’d rip them out for you but managing to think more rationally.

“Colored contacts.. or try to appear less obsessive. Tone it down a bit.” He seems a little sullen talking about it, the idea that he would have to change himself for you is bumming him out; even if he would do it. You can tell he's unhappy, letting it go.

“That sounds like a hassle. It’s good I like them then!” You say and a weight is lifted off of his heart, your words always have so much effect on him. “I like everything about my crazy and cute boyfriend.”

“Good, because this crazy and cute boyfriend of yours loves you. A lot.” He speaks with a sigh, wrapping his arm around you to pull you into a tight hug.

“Mhm~ I love you too.” You rub his back as he buries his face into your shoulder and inhales, relishing in your scent.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you. I love you.” He murmurs into your shoulder, muffled by your skin as you soothe him through his love confessions. He doesn’t even notice he’s getting blood on you. "You mean everything to me. You're the light in my darkness, the reason I keep going. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you, I couldn't bear it. I love you more than anything in the world." His hand moves up to thread through your hair. "I love you so much. Never leave me." His voice is almost pleading at this point.

“Shh.. I’m never gonna leave you. You’re the only one for me, you’re my crazy and cute boyfriend. Look at me.” You tell him and he pulls back enough to look at you. “Hi honey~ I love you~” His expression falters, his heart warming. He’s still affected by what's happened but he’s here looking at you, and that makes everything feel better.

“I love you too.” Shanks kisses your palm. His voice is soft now, but still laced with a possessiveness that makes your own heart feel full “I’m looking at you too and I love you too” So happy, and just from being with you. You run your fingers through his red hair, scratching his scalp lightly, and his eyes close from bliss as he lets out a small content hum. When you use both hands a small shiver runs up his spine from your touch and attention. Can’t help it, too enamored with you.

××××××××××××××

“You’re so adorable.” You say and kiss him, feeling the way he melts into it. So pliable for you, and the slight jolt he gives when you roll your hips against his is satisfying to feel. ‘So reactive too’ you think to yourself as he lets out a small moan, trying to hold in another as you continue. It's to no avail, giving you the chance to slip your tongue into his mouth. Shanks hums, the both of you making out in front of the two corpses of the people Shanks killed for you. Oh and is it all for you, he doesn't even remember them right now. Your hands go to his hips and pick him up, walking a few feet away before laying him gently down onto the grass. He looks up at you, eyes foggy with lust and confusion.

“(Y/n)?” He asks and you wrap his legs around your waist, grinding your dick directly against him, causing him to curse with a moan.

“Sorry, my obsessive boyfriend was too sexy while protecting me.” You say as he pants underneath you, his face flushing. The crew, forgotten, slowly make their leave.

“You think I’m sexy? Even like this?” He asks you, not understanding how you can look at him with such caring lust when he just committed such a vile act. Even if it was for you, he didn’t need to make the deaths as gory as he did.

“Of course! My boyfriend is the cutest and sexiest in the whole world!” You say it as if it’s fact and it sends a shock of happiness and pleasure through Shanks’s body.

“In the world..” He mutters and you nod.

“Yup~” You’re pleased seeing him like this, and your hand goes to slide under his shirt, making him flinch. “The whole world~” Your hand slides up to his chest along with the fabric, showing his bare torso to you as his back arches slightly to follow your touch.

“B-Baby.” He tries to speak but it comes out as a whisper as you run your hand along his chest, stopping at one of his pecs to squeeze. “(Y/N)!” His back arches more and you lovingly circle a finger around his nipple, tapping it with the pad of your finger as he lets out soft gasps. “Fuck...” You’re teasing him, but he’s just too cute not to tease. Alas, you won’t keep him waiting, especially when the captain has been so good for you. You press the pad of your finger onto his nipple and he lets out a breath, your other hand moving to his chest as well as you grope and fondle both of his pecs. He loves it, you can feel it from the way he hardens against you and hear it from the grunts escaping his lips. His chest is nice, big, muscular, reminders of his strength along with the few scars that run along his body. You lean down and kiss one of them before flicking your tongue onto one of his nipples, earning a cuss from above. He grips onto your hair, blood coating your locks as you bite and suck his chest, moving from one pec to another; but never leaving one unattended with the help of your hands. You wonder for a moment if he could cum just from this, but you’ll leave that for another day, taking your mouth off of him with a lewd pop. The sound makes Shanks’s breath shaky. You sit up and look down at him.

‘So beautiful..’ You think to yourself when you see your boyfriend. Covered in the blood of townspeople he slaughtered in your name, eyes cloudy with lust, and shirt lifted up with perked up nipples. “My sexy honey is so sensitive, even when near the corpses of people he’s killed.” You grind against him and he grunts. “Do you care? Should I stop so I can take you somewhere else?” You ask him and Shanks struggles to form a coherent thought, mind clouded by you.

"No.” He starts, his voice shaky. “I don’t care about the bodies, I want you, I need you.” He responds, needy.

“Awweee~” You coo to him and lift his hips up, sliding his pants away enough to expose himself to you. You put your fingers to his mouth and he parts his lips to wet them. “You’re so good for me, my perfect boyfriend~” You praise and he lets out a small happy whimper, his heart racing. He always gets like this when you’re more dominant, sometimes it’s the only way to get him to calm down. Of course, that’s not why you’re doing it right now.

“Hahh.. hahh..” He pants and then gasps when you slip a finger inside him, something about his unstable emotions right now is making him more reactive. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the relief of knowing you're safe, maybe both.

“I love you Shanks.” You say while putting another inside, relishing in how he squeezes around the digits. “Do you love me too?”

“Yes yes I love you I love you. Please, I need you.” He says, voice strained as you stretch him out.

“Are you sure? I get a little insecure sometimes.” You pull your fingers out and tug down your own bottoms, grabbing your dick to rub the tip around his entrance.

“Fuck.. I-” He’s interrupted by his own long whine as you press into him slowly, his head going foggy until you give him a smooch. “I love you, I love you more than anything, you’re my love- Ah~!” you start to move. “You’re everything to me can’t live without you I love you so much it hurts but feels so goOD~!” You lift his hips up to slam into his prostate, making his eyes roll back as he pants and groans.

“Good boy I love you too, you're doing so good for me~" You praise while bullying his prostate, Shanks’s mind going numb.

“I love you more than anything and everything I love you more than treasures or air or breathing or- ah~! or even myself~! I need you you’re my home and purpose my love and the blood flowing through my veins!” He’s happy, he’s happy you love him and he gets to say everything he wants to without worrying about your disgust. “You’re the reason I get up in the morning and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep-” He rambles as tears prick at his eyes from pleasure “m-my life and my purpose. I want to spend every second with you, I would give up everything for you. I love your voice and your laugh and your skin your hair your fingers and the way you feel i-inside me~!” His back arches, he’s close. “I can’t hold back any- ah~! longer!”

You kiss his neck, sucking marks into the skin. “It’s okay, you don’t have to hold back. Let everything out.” With that, he opens his mouth and lets out a loud keen as he cums.

“You’re all mine you’re m-mine! No- nngh~! one else’s mine mine~!” He rambles absentmindedly as you fuck him through his orgasm, repeating posessive words before you slam into him as much as you can and coat his insides. He whines, aftershocks continuing as your dick throbs inside of him with each burst. Once you've emptied you lean down and nuzzle his cheek affectionately before kissing him.

“You’re right. I’m yours and no one else’s. I’m never gonna leave you, because you’re my boyfriend and I love you.” Your words of confession make his heart feel full. He can’t think about anything other than you, that he’ll never let you go. His legs wrap around you and pull you into another kiss, happy. You’ll clean up in a bit, you’re still in public after all and the townspeople can’t be inside forever; but for you’ll indulge your cute and obsessive honey. Just because you love him so much.

There you have it. As for the Jealous reader x Shanks that's still gonna happen, the poll was just to choose which one I focused on first. I still do whatever by the way, I'm not gonna become smut focused or anything.

[thoughtsandmusingsandideas]

I had a thought for a creator but they didn't believe they were the creator and could influence others into believing it too.

The two characters are Sara kujou and yae miko

@mastadon64 here you go!

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Godboss - Kujou Sara and Yae Miko

Kujou Sara

Cw: Sexual innuendos

-Honestly, waking up in Teyvat, you had a hard time convincing yourself you weren’t dreaming

-(It took you tumbling down a hill and slamming into a particularly sharp rock to realize it was not a dream. Also, ow)

-(You ignored the way your blood was golden. You were pretty sure you’d never seen the Genshin characters bleed anyways. It was probably just censoring. Totally.)

-Some way or another, you ended up in Inazuma

-Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting

-Most of the creatures were pretty chill, and as long as you avoided the people, you didn’t get in much trouble

-And then you kicked a Tenryou commission officer in the face and got arrested

-You know, jail wasn’t as bad as you expected either!

-Your cellmates weren’t too bad either- one of them asked you if you were god, which was weird, because you didn’t look anything like the Shogun, but you gave him a stick of dango and he shut up

-(You might not have been a god, but the fact that you managed to keep your inventory from the game was the closest thing to a divine blessing that you could imagine. Who needs a gnosis when you have your own pocket dimension?)

-It’s about half an hour before you’re taken from your cell for questioning

-You walk into a small interrogation room, shock igniting in your chest as you spot Kujou Sara

-Wasn’t she important?

-Was kicking that guy in the face really such a grave offense?

-“Are you the Creator God?” She asks, deathly serious

-Why did people keep asking you this???

-You’re pretty sure you don’t look too godly, garbed in stolen clothes that you’re ninety percent sure you put on wrong, a fading bite mark on your arm from when you tried to pet a rifthound, leaves in your hair. Honestly, you looked pretty disheveled, and…

-“Is that your way of saying you think I’m hot? Like… godly or whatever?”

-Considering the way the Tengu’s face turns a vibrant red, you’re either very right, or very wrong

-It’d be funnier if you were right though, so you press on

-“I mean, not that I’m not into it, but I’m feeling kinda iffy about the power dynamic here- prisoner and cop is a cute trope and all, but not all that smart in real life, I mean I get it if it’s a kink or whatever, I know handcuffs are attractive, but as of right now it’s immoral-”

-“Shut up. Please.” Sara mumbled, covering her red face with her hand. Her hair has more volume than usual, tiny sparks of static dancing between the strands

-“… I mean after I get out of prison I’d totally be down to go on a date, and if you feed me well enough I might even let you handcuff me.” You add.

-The silence in the room is heavy

-“Get out.”

-“Yes ma’am. Hm. No. Yes Mommy? Yes Master-“

-You’re cut off by an electrically charged arrow striking the wall beside your head.

-“Out.”

-“Okay!”

-You’re released from prison three days later, now with a whole gaggle of new friends from criminals

-(You ignored the fact that some of them made really important sounding speeches swearing their fealty to you. Also the small shrine they were building in your honor. If you didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist)

-You were surprised that as soon as you left, you were met with a glaring Kujou Sara, who takes your hand in her own

-“Am I being arrested again?”

-“… I’m going to take you on a date. And then I’m going to handcuff you.”

-“Yes Mommy!”

-“I Will Shoot You Again.”

Yae Miko

-You had to admit, stumbling upon a small shrine that seemed to be dedicated to your doppelgänger was creepy

-But you had also just been Isekaied to video game land, so you were pretty adaptable at the moment.

-Or high on adrenaline.

-You pick up one of the Sunsiettas from the shrine, biting down and relaxing, until-

-“Your excellency?!” A voice squeaks, and looking up you see a very frazzled shrine maiden staring at you.

-“Uh. No?” You say, swallowing the Sunsietta.

-The shrine maiden starts sobbing. “Your excellency!”

-“Oh- no- I’m- uh- I’m like you? You know? I’m uh… a messiah? Priest? Prophet? Whatever gets you to stop crying?” You awkwardly pat her head.

-“You- you’re the Creators chosen one?” She blubbers.

-“Uh. Yeah. Totally. Stop crying.”

-“CHOSEN ONE!” And she’s crying again

-After a lot of crying, you’re led to the Grand Narukami shrine, where you’re introduced to the head shrine maiden as the chosen one

-“… Are you sure she’s not just the creator?”

-“You flatter me. I’m just gods favoritist and most specialist little princess.”

-The Kitsune likes this. Perhaps too much, but we’ll let her have her fun

-And thus, the war to get you to admit that you’re the Creator begins, hidden under the guise of her introducing you to chosen one duties

-She takes you on a pilgrimage all across Inazuma first, going to the most dangerous places possible just to put you in danger and save you at the last second, disappointed that you never use godly powers to save (read: reveal) yourself

-She meditates with you, and paints obscure markings on your face when you fall asleep, which you have to pass off as messages from the creator

-She takes you to meet the Shogun, but after leaving you alone for five minutes, returns to you teaching her poker and robbing her blind. You cited divine luck and she pretended she didn’t notice the cards stuffed inside your sleeve

-It ends pretty anticlimactically, actually

-She’s introducing you to the local foxes, when you trip over a rock and face plant into the floor

-And get a nose bleed

-Miko can’t help but doubling over in laughter at the sight of your pout as golden blood drips down your face

-“And how are you explaining this one, Oh revered Chosen One?”

-“Genetic condition.”

-The laughter doubles

[carlsangel]

CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT

carl grimes x fem!reader

(you were chosen at terminus.)

tags: angst to comfort, themes pertaining to terminus.

masterlist here!

You were absolutely terrified when you were pulled from the large container that you were held in at Terminus. You remember Carl grasping at your hand, trying to keep them from taking you but he couldn’t hold on tight enough. Once you were gone he started to blame himself. He immediately felt that your life was at stake and it was his fault.

You were in and out of consciousness while you were dragged away from your family. All that ran through your head is that you weren’t able to properly say goodbye to anyone, you believed you were the only one being taken but soon you realized you weren’t. You were able to take in everything once you were in a larger room, a room where you heard a loud blade, so loud that you realized you hadn’t heard a noise like that in a while.

You look up to be met with a terrifying image that would most likely be engraved in your brain for a while. You were scared it would be you soon. You were thinking, there needed to be some way out, you were always able to escape. You were thrown next to Rick, once settling onto your knees you look down the row to see Daryl and Glenn as well, along with another group of four people who you didn’t know.

Once Rick took it all in, realizing that you’d be sitting right next to him, he panicked. He’d do anything in his power for you not to be there, after all you were incredibly important to him and Carl. You were family. The next few moments were taunting and torturous. There were things you would definitely not forget.

You were able to escape death, maybe for the tenth time in your life. You couldn’t think, you just took orders from Rick or went into the direction he shoved you into run. You didn’t even really react when reuniting with Carl either. You just let him tackle you into a hug, and you can’t quite reciprocate it, instead you just freeze until he feels you not responding and he pulls away.

From then on you can’t quite open up. Carl hated every second of it. He wasn’t sure what to do, you practically shut him out completely. Michonne noticed his frustration. At some point she caught him just staring at you after it all while you were out on the road the day after Terminus. You were sitting on a log by the fire and he stood next to a tree and just watched you.

You kept your head down, sort of drawing shapes into the dirt beneath your feet quietly. That was until Abraham dropped a log into the fire, causing a loud noise which you couldn’t help but flinch at. Everyone noticed, the yelp that came from your mouth as you shielded your head. Just the noise coming from the fire’s flames growing louder filled the silence before Abraham spoke.

“Sorry, little one…didn’t mean to startle ya.” He says apologetically, his tone was quiet, he seemed sincere and concerned. You shake your head, telling him it’s fine and to move on. Meanwhile with Carl watching you, he noticed how startled you gotten and he just wanted to help you. He was going to walk over to you before Michonne stopped him. “Don’t. Not right now.” She tells him, leading him to be frustrated. “She’s seen a lot. I’m not exactly sure what, it’ll be a while before she truly opens up but…give her some time.”

So he does, he gives you a couple days but you start to warm up to everyone again once all the remaining people from Terminus were killed at the church. You felt somewhat relieved. Like they couldn’t hurt you anymore. Even though they never did and never could. You started talking to Carl more often which made him ecstatic. Except you avoided any topics toward Terminus. You put up a front, you didn’t want to think of it so you acted like it didn’t happen.

He understood but he wanted nothing more than for you to open up to him. He’s so in love with you, he just wants to help but he can’t if you just act like nothing happened.

That was all until after losing Beth and Tyreese. That’s what set you off. You wandered far into the forest while you guys stopped for some food and water, little did you know Carl was following behind. You walked quite far, cleared any of the walkers on the way before you slumped down against a tree trunk. Not long after, Carl approached. You expected him to be there, he’s sort of been lingering.

He walks over and sits next to you, his eyes focused on you the entire time. You stay silent until he speaks up, bringing your attention from the floor beneath you to him. “You know I love you…right?” He tells you. “I really do. I want you to talk to me. I wanna help you.” He continues. You just look at him, your eyes sort of pleading like you want to tell him but you can’t. “I just…I want you to open up.”

Your pleading eyes start to fill with tears. You wanted to ignore everything that happened at Terminus but with the past weeks you’ve realized holding it in only makes it worse.

“It was horrible, like really terrifying. They were sawing a man apart in front of us…they were gonna drain all our blood. Almost killed Glenn if it wasn’t for Carol.” At this point, tears were falling from your face and he was wiping every single one away for you. He looked at you so intently. “Gareth waved a knife in front of my face…he was gonna take my eye out if your dad didn’t cooperate.” You mutter. He feels horrible for you, he has no idea what he could do for you besides comforting you. He didn’t realize how bad Terminus truly was. “I just…I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel like I can’t think straight.”

He leaned forward to place a kiss on your forehead which lead to him pulling you into him for a hug. He rests his chin atop your forehead while you hug him tightly. Every time you squeeze him, he squeezes back.

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I mean it.”

a/n: maxine how dare you request this ITS SO PAINFUL!!!!! AGHHH!!!!! I’m jk this was sooooo rjgsjfbdjdjff sobbing pissing and shitting my pants i love it even though it’s so upsetting AHHHH

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh @callsignwidow

[vrystalius]

hello! your halloween event sounds super cute, can i please request going trick-or-treating with gyutaro shabana? 🩷🩷 love your work and really admire you as a person and a writer, please take care!

Trick or Treating with Gyutaro.

The only day of the year where he can feel a little more confident in his own skin.

Pairing: Gyutaro x gn!reader

Gyutaro was staring at you while you were leaning closer towards your mirror, trying to paint the birthmarks of his perfectly onto your face. You wanted to match with him while going out to trick or treat, much to his surprise. He thought you might be ashamed to go out with him or go out with Daki. But after asking his sister if she’d like to go out, she bashed him for treating her like a child. He beat himself up for upsetting his sister like that, so you suggested you two could go together! Gyutaro looks a scary and special, like a really cool costume! What he would’ve taken as an insult any other day was now perceived as a compliment. The excitement especially started bubbling up in his stomach while watching you try to match him so badly. You spend hours trying to mix up the correct foundation colour on his palm until you finally managed to kind of recreate his skin colour.

After an hour of work, you and your boyfriend were finally matching! Although your posture and body type is not exactly the same, the resemblance was still there. Now all you two have to do is wait until the sun goes down and he is finally able to leave to house. But until then, Gyutaro has gotten awfully cuddly. He didn’t bother to explain why the sudden affection because you were to distracted trying to shield your face to not smudge your make-up. He couldn’t stop staring at the black spots and markings you copied. They made him feel like you two were bonded now, like soulmates. You had a piece of him marked on you now, even if it is just temporary and supposed to be a scary costume, it still made him feel all warm and fuzzy how hard you were trying to imitate his marks.

After night finally came, Gyutaro kept snickering and laughing at the sad excuses of costumes some random kids put together. Your boyfriend also found immense joy in scaring toddlers. He straightened his back to make himself even taller and would flash his teeth, giggling and silently showing off his sharp nails. Those poor kids ran back to their mother or to wherever they came from. Why are there even kids in the entertainment district?

You were a little envious at how much candy Gyutaro was scoring. His success was either because people found him to have a very convincing costume (with his waist looking so inhumane and his skin looking so sickly all over his body), or because he was silently threatening the home owners to hand over all of their remaining sweets. That way you can enjoy the most amount and no other stupid kids can eat them. Maybe you can hand out some candy in Daki’s brothel if you don’t want to keep the multiple buckets of candy. Gyutaro saw how little candy you were getting in comparison to him and proceeded to slip some over into your bucket everytime you’re not paying attention. It was making him happy seeing your eyes lit up when glancing into the bucket and finally noticing how your amount increased by a lot. That last guy sure gave you a lot of candy, huh? Or at least that’s what your boyfriend made you think to keep you happy.

“Here, t-take my stuff. I can’t eat it anyway… B-But can I watch you sort it through though? I wanna s-see what kinda candy I can get ya for the f-future…”

I’m going to be real with you, one of my closest friends has the EXACT same pfp as you, and when I saw the notification that you started following me, I thought you were her 😭 I was really confused and scared for a day or two XD (my friends aren’t aware of this blog yet). Also, don’t be shy to send in some requests for this event! <33

Anyways, I love Gyutaro, but also EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

Here’s my event masterlist 🎃

Here’s my Trick or Treat event 🎃