#i want to write it but my brain has other worms wiggling

[pfhwrittes]

something something soapgaz being notorious for picking up a third (of any gender) for the night and this time they’ve got their eye on transmasc!reader something something

[ccrites]

CC's Masterlist

This masterlist is a work in progress!! I'm doing my best to make sure it's pretty, but I am in fact, a grandma with a laptop!

updated : Aug 17, 2024

banner by @/cafekitsune

John Price x reader

Signal Lost - finished - 101k words/29 chapters - link to AO3 here

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story or, a story I started writing when AO3 was down for I believe 2-3 days or so last summer, and for some reason I decided I need to pour some words into a google docs. the result was a 100k word x reader adventure/thinly-veiled plot required for porn I wanted to write, with too many self-insert moments, but of which I am proud to have finished. I will accept no criticism.

John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Chokehold - finished - 6.5k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

6.4 words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him. an open love letter to early @/391780 and to other fat broads out there self-conscious about their bodies

it's a compliment, I swear - in progress - 10k-ish words so far - link to ao3 here

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4...

me simply thinking about freak!Soap and getting the brain worms wiggling with two sentences: "I can make him better--" "Not if he makes you worse first." a dash of dub/non-con here, a drizzle of puppy vocabulary-verging-into-puppy-play there. no idea where I'll get with this, just vibes and a vague plot. this will progressively get darker, mind the tags when I add them.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Honey, don't feed me, I will come back - finished - 11.7k words/one-shot - link to tumblr post here and to AO3 here.

Based on this post I made a while ago that has been haunting me ever since or recently-dumped simon riley joins a cooking class chef!reader teaches. you get more than you bargained for.

ask box open for and requests / ideas. Currently planning to write more gaz x reader, though I might be convinced to write ghostsoap. no promises.

[sailor-crusader]

I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about the massacare ending in yttd. Spoilers ahead.

Like, I can't stop thinking about what Sara and Nao did after they escaped. The way I see it, I think they'd become terribly co-dependent. How could they ever tell anyone else about the death game? How could anyone else understand? They don't have therapy for death games! Literally, the only people who can truly understand Nao and Sara now are themselves and each other.

Let me state that I haven't played yttd in a whole year and I never actually finished it (stopped sometime in chapter 3 section B) but all this time later, this ending still has worms wiggling in my brain

LOOK AT THEM. ITS SO GOOD

Just imagine them trying to live their lives afterwards. No doubt Sara would have immense guilt over what she's done. I bet she could barely function, I bet she has nightmares every night for years-DECADES-after the incident. And who is the one single person that could ever understand Sara? Comfort Sara? Tell Sara it's not her fault? Nao. The one who is just as. If not more responsible for the incident. This is peak writing.

When I first played this game I actually chose Nao, partially because I was curious to see what would happen, and partially because I just LOVE Nao. And boy it did not disappoint. By far my favorite part of the whole game. It's what sold me on Naosara, too. I love Naoreko for a cute Sapphic couple. But I come to Naosara whenever I want diabollically toxic yuri.

Shipping aside, this ending made me LOOOVE Nao's character. I always liked her, but something about seeing her do something so terrible, not because she is some secretly evil villain, but because she is a person put into extreme circumstances and had to... I guess "grow up." In a way. It's so peak, man. It's

Thank you for listening to my incoherent ramblings.

[waddingham]

not to just leave my fic brain worms out in the open like this for god and all to see but if anyone wants 900 words that are a direct result of whatever the fuck THIS is.........come and get it

He loves a team bus. Win or lose – or draw – it's an exceptional feeling, almost tangible, to be a part of something right alongside two dozen other people. There's no mistaking the sense of being so fully in the same boat with everyone else, feeling the same things and supporting each other in the reach for success, however it may come, whatever it may manifest as.

Today it was a light-hearted feeling – they'd won, spirits are high, Beard even higher and, well…

Somehow they got Rebecca today, blessing them all with her presence, her humor, her sweet voice. It had circled them in the back of the noisy bus and he couldn't help but nod along as he made an attempt on Sharon's advice, writing out his thoughts, his feelings, all the while marveling at the clarity of Rebecca's voice even as she slouched into the seat.

It was a long trip – for her especially, he thinks wryly, so it's no wonder at all that she's long asleep by the time they roll up to the dark club.

He does wonder a little at her choice of pillow. Has been ever since she slid back into the corner next to him, legs out long and head tipped onto his shoulder.

"Let's see how good a pillow you make, Coach," she'd muttered and by God, if he didn't make himself the best damn pillow this side of the Atlantic.

He hadn't moved chatting with Beard, or fiddling with his phone, or going over his notes again. And when the bus started to dim bit by bit, Beard passing out and Greyhounds falling asleep, he'd just tipped his head back, breathing in whatever lovely floral scent follows her around and letting all the safety and comfort around him relax his tired body.

He's safe here. He's content here, in these moments in the dark bus with his team, with Rebecca at his side, listening to the intermittent rain tap the roof. And he relishes each one, each moment, knowing the next may be bereft of this peace.

Beard snaps up as soon as the brakes hiss, looking dazed only for a moment as the boys start to nudge each other awake. He takes him in, then Rebecca, a grin spreading over his face.

"Should I wait up?" he asks as he stands, still in that ridiculous wig.

Ted shakes his head, waving him off as the bus starts to empty, then looks down at the blonde head on his shoulder.

Something like two hours ago, she'd wiggled against him, threading her arm under his, her hand flat against his forearm. He smiles down at it now, her fingertips resting on the heel of his hand. He curls his fingers, brushing them over the familiar soft pink color on her nails and his smile grows, his chest warm.

"Rebecca," he murmurs, squeezing her fingers more firmly. "Boss."

"Mm?" she grunts without moving and he almost chuckles.

"Home sweet home," he says, nudging her gently with his elbow. She sighs, squeezing his arm to her but still not moving to go.

"Unless you plan on spending the night in this bus," he says. "And let me tell you, if you're sore from your little swim earlier, sleeping on this probably ain't gonna do much for it."

She tilts her head on his shoulder just enough to shoot him a dirty look.

"Don't be a dick," she mutters. "It wasn't fucking marked as a bike lane."

"Mmhmm, 'course it wasn't," he says indulgently.

Her look gets dirtier.

He just chuckles, squeezing her fingers. "How'd I do as a pillow? I'm accepting feedback."

"Four stars," she says, lifting her head from his shoulder but not moving to rise.

"Four?" he says with an exaggerated frown.

"You lose a star for being too good," she says, rolling her head on her shoulders. "I didn't mean to sleep for so long."

"Oh," he chuckles. "Well, I'll take that."

She sighs again, taking in the fact that they're the last on the bus before turning to him, tipping her head against the seat. She gives him a small smile, almost clandestine, eyes full of the same contentment he's been filling his reserves with.

Her voice is hushed when she speaks. "Were you just gonna let us get locked in here or…?"

He snorts a little bit. "We got at least two more minutes before the boys sort out their bags and Ricky always checks before he gets the bus to the garage."

"Mmm," she hums, looking down at their hands for a long moment. Her fingers curl experimentally against the tender skin inside his wrist, sending tingles up his arm before carefully releasing him to sit up. "Thanks for letting me sleep on you."

"Oh, anytime," he says, meaning it entirely even as he rolls his stiff shoulder in its socket. He stands, lifting his backpack from the floor and over his shoulder before stepping around the tiny table, holding a hand out to her.

She smiles up at him as she slides her hand into his.

"You know what, Coach Lasso," she says as she rises, twinkling just a little bit. "I just might take you up on it."

He gasps dramatically.

"After all the fight you put up about joining us on the bus–"

She rolls her eyes, still grinning as she pulls him down the aisle, "Come on."

"Oh, but riding on the bus was gonna be such a long trip, such a nuisance–"

"Shut it."

"You can't tell me you had fun–"

He giggles when she pulls up short before the step down, releasing his hand to point a finger at him.

"I hate the bus."

He grins at her. "You're a terrible liar."

She huffs, but it does little to counteract her smile as she steps off the bus.

He lingers for a moment, his fingers still warm from being tangled up with hers. He closes his fist, trying to hold onto it as he follows her back down to solid ground.

[3amfanfiction]

🛒⛔️💖 for the emoji fic writing ask game!

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I love to incorporate slice-of-life style scenes whenever possible. it's one of my favorite style of story to read so i make sure to add the domestic parts as often as i can

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

nothing that i've scrapped yet, it's all either been saved in a word doc for when inspiration strikes or it has been gutted and repurposed in other stories. it's only a matter of time though, with how many stories i start writing before jumping to another one

💖 What made you start writing?

there was a post on here about ghost haunting a house and it made my brain worms wiggle in just the right way so i decided i wanted to write a story about it. it's still a wip bc i keep changing my mind about what i want to happen in it, someday it'll be finished.

as i was working on it back in the beginning other stories were coming to life and they all ended up posted before the ghost one 😂

[film-in-my-soul]

Not sure where to start on this and this may seem a little out of the blue, but do you have tips on how to continue writing a wip when there's been a recently uploaded story that has a similar/same premise, or prompt/dialogue?

I recently started reading something, and in it was a line of dialogue that's the exact same as in something I've been writing and is quite important, so I don't want to cut it out of my own work. How do I keep going? I don't want to steal anyone's work or plagiarize anything...

Feeling a little stuck. Any tips?

Hi! That's a tough situation to be in, for sure, and I can completely understand where you're coming from. It's so easy to get discouraged when you see someone else write something similar to what you're working on or even when there's a line you have in mind that pops up in someone else's work. I think in more recent fandom days, there's been a lot more of a critical eye on similar seeming work, so I think hesitance is justified.

All that being said, however, you shouldn't feel like you can't write what you want simply because of a happenstance like this. Lines, especially within the same fandom, are bound to be repeated, and plot lines even more so. As much as we all like to think we're boundless wells of original material, there's a reason why stories repeat themselves, and depending on how deep/active you are in fandom space, it's going to happen where similar viewings will spark similar stories. But, to put my word vomit to an end, here are a few more concise things/advice I want to say on the matter:

You never know who is going to read your work or the work you just read. It's possible that your audiences don't overlap, and that important line might be missed if you don't include it in your own.

Intention is everything. You've already told me that you didn't intend to plagiarize, you wrote your line before reading this piece, and if anyone decides to bring it up (unlikely unless it is a very specific line), you're always going to have the chance to explain.

People need to remember that fanfiction, at its core, is meant to be fun, and when people start throwing out the word plagiarism for things such as a single line or a similar plot it's not okay. Obviously, there are examples of real plagiarism within fandom spaces, and that isn't okay, but when we start using it for everything, it's so discouraging to writers who want, for example, to take a coffee shop au for a spin, from doing so because they might fear it'll read too similar to someone else's.

You write for yourself, and what you're writing is important. The fact that someone else's brain worm wiggled a bit similar to yours shouldn't stop you from completing your work.

If you're really caught up on it, you can always take a step back or reevaluate. See if you can say the same thing but in a different way.

I'm sure you didn't want an answer this long-winded, but I think there's such hypercriticism of ourselves and from others reflected back on us, and it really spoils what should be a fun and creative experience. Your writing matters. Your intention for your writing matter. That line or plot you want that someone else might have already taken a crack at? It all matters, and it would be a shame not to share that because of a fear of criticism that, at the end of the day, when it doesn't come from yourself, shouldn't matter.

[myname-acrosthe-c]

MY EVERYNIGHT DREAM

( i had entered a writing competition, with the topic of " write about a character who has no memory of the last 24 hours". I didn't win that one, so I'm posting my work here :) {i cant blame them though, like wtf is this even} )

I'm posting the first part only anyways

My hands were rotting, my skin though intact, had weird welts raised onto them. There were thousands of miniscule particles moving underneath my flesh, I realized with startling clarity. There was only movement underneath. They were digging onto every one of my innermost orifices. And my body held onto them as if a mother would, tearing myself apart to feed them. 

Something itched. Just below my ear. It wiggled and wiggled and wiggled till I was forced to remove the parasite. I pulled on it and it came out. A black worm, unlike anything I have ever seen. It resembled a maggot, yet it was not it. It was something completely mine. I was fascinated with it. It wriggled  around until  it  squealed itself back into my skin. Leaving a red welt in its place.

I shook my head from side to side and there it was.

My parasites slithering and worming themselves to each and every crook and crevice of my brain. they munched onto all my memories.

Some flashed before my eyes, before they were digested into nothing. I look up from the fog that covered me, only to find myself in a desolate landscape.

A strange feeling fluttered in my heart  as I looked to the far distance. Hidden behind the evil fog loomed two massive stone structures. One lead to the sky, the other deep underground.

Beyond stood black of the blackest night. An never ending chasm of unbridled dreams and hopes which all lay dead and at its feet. They resembled staircases, yet their destination exactly was unknown. 

They loomed large and menacing, incongruous with the surroundings. The  murky grey skies stretched as far as I could see and so did the land.

Thatches of grass strewn upon the ground of which I woke up. I had no idea how I had gotten there. Or how my little parasites got into me.

Perhaps I should have been much more skeptical and had freaked out by now, but an almost psychedelic haze had muted and shut down most of my brain.

Maybe it was just the creatures doing.

Maybe, maybe not.

I look back at the stairs, so large with no end in sight, and despair filled every single pore in my body.

Longing, so much longing like I've never felt before had my heart in a vice. It sears pain right through my very being and shattered my broken soul. 

I look away and attempt to breathe, yet then I realize that I already wasn't. I tried to inhale, yet all it did was stir up the beings who now called my body home. 

Was I dead? The probability seemed so unprofound that a small laugh broke out of my mouth. And then another and another, and suddenly all I could do was laugh. I clutched my stomach and fell to my knees, inhumane cackling spewing from my mouth.

Something had lodged itself into my throat, something upset by my fit, and my laughter soon turned into hacking. I fell face wards towards the ground and coughed till whatever wanted to be free, was, from my throat. 

A baby shoe. A pink baby shoe, covered in shiny black tinged mucus, lay before my eyes. The sweet grass on which I lay upon was soon forgotten as I touched the shoe. 

“ ”It’s a girl!”, perhaps that's what upset my mom more, that i hadn't been birthed a boy who could've taken care of her. From her abusive husband. Or perhaps if I had, I would have turned out like him. But, no, my mom had birthed me a girl, right into this wretched world.

And with her partner and my father absent from the room, from the hospital, lurking somewhere else, my mother had let out a cry that shattered my bones deep within and rattled my soul.

It was a cry of agony. I wasn't her savior anymore. And she didn't have the strength to be mine when she herself couldn't be hers. So, my mom did what she could. She left me and ran. "

[asongcanmeaneverything]

Ricky and Gina’s Weekend Getaway

Synopsis: Ricky and Gina fly out to a music festival in Chicago where she's set to perform as a backup dancer for one of Jamie’s artists. While there, Ricky and Gina help each other deal with Todd and Jamie, and unexpectedly deepen their relationship before summer ends.

5,300 words. 

Characters: Ricky, Gina, their moms, Jamie, and Todd.

Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to actually write it. I quit my job this week so I actually had the time. Shoutout to my little brother who acted as my editor. Hope all you Rinas enjoy. 

“Mom! I can’t find my lucky dance bracelet!” Gina yelled, tearing apart every inch of her new bedroom. Her bedroom. Her very own space. Half boxed, half unboxed – and her brain in full panic mode. 

Ricky quickly quipped over FaceTime. 

“Easy Killer. You’re like a hurricane right now. Warning! Category Five Gina has just made landfall in Salt Lake!” 

She snatched the phone and glared at Ricky with a cold icy stare… 

“Don’t get me started.” 

It had only been two months since camp ended, one month since their big first kiss, and only one week since she and her mom moved in to her seventh home in seven years. It was a mess, all of it, but she was learning to embrace it. Her room too was all over the place in reflection, and she needed to find her lucky dance bracelet now more than ever. 

Gina’s mom gently approached her door.

“You had it earlier today at the pool baby. Remember? You handed it to Ricky.”

Ricky’s heart raced. He was frozen. He felt at his pockets and pulled out the bracelet into her view. Gina’s eye twitched imagining all the things she could do to him. 

“You almost lost my—” 

"Ok. Hey – I didn’t lose it.” 

“Remember when you lost our tickets to the movies last week?” 

“They weren’t lost. I just forgot they were in my pocket. I always forget that my pockets exist. Do we really even need pockets? Come on Gina.” 

Gina tilted her head in disapproval. Ricky wiggled the bracelet like a worm, giving it a shrimpy cartoonish voice. 

“Please don’t kill Ricky, Gina, he’s very sorry.” 

She bit her lip down to hide a quiet giggle. Ricky always seemed to find a way make Gina smile. As expected, the attempted suppression failed and the two burst into laughter. Gina’s mom leaned against her door, perplexed that the two could laugh so hard at almost nothing at all and amazed at just how happy Gina had been lately. 

It was the last weekend of summer vacation and Gina and Ricky were headed to Chicago together. Jamie was premiering a new artist at a big musical festival, but more importantly, he was able to get Gina hired as a backup dancer. With so much buzz from the documentary premiere, this was a perfect follow up for her online fans to see more of her dance skills. It was going to be her first professional gig, and it meant all the more that Jamie had gotten it for her. While the two hadn’t exactly been on great terms since he left Beauty and the Beast, life was going so well for her now that this felt like the beginning of a fresh chapter for them. The start of something new.

Gina’s mom had to work this weekend though, so Ricky begged her and his parents for permission to fly out with Gina to Chicago. And they actually agreed. But Gina would be staying with her brother, which meant Ricky would be staying with his mom and Todd. As excited as he was to spend the weekend with Gina and see his mom, spending any time with Todd hung over him like a dark cloud. But he didn’t want to tell Gina and take away from her focus from the festival, and truthfully, he was ashamed to admit he was still uncomfortable seeing his parents date other people. It had taken him a while to adjust to Ms. Jenn dating his dad, but even that was different. He saw Ms. Jenn every day at school. But Todd was the guy who got his head out of the game on opening night. Ricky was eighteen now, and knew he had to fight these feelings and he shouldn’t be so affected by change anymore. It was time to grow up, and yet, there was a little something distant and sad in his eyes, which Gina, as always, quickly caught.

“Ricky. You okay?” 

He snapped out of it. “Sorry I was daydreaming about our flight tomorrow! We have so much to do.” 

“On a three hour flight?” 

“Of course! We’re going to finish the new season of the Great British Baking show, and eat pretzels, play games…” 

She smiled. “I can’t wait to see the sights as we fly in.” 

Ricky softly smiled back. He’ll just be happy to see her, he thought.

They continued to talk and pack late into the night. Ricky rambled on with joy and excitement about all their weekend plans. It was a lot, but he was making up for time lost between them. He was so busy detailing all of the places he wanted to take her, all of the things that they could do, that he hardly noticed for the better part of an hour she had quietly dozed off into a dreamy slumber. She was so peaceful when she slept, and he didn’t dare wake her. How lucky few had ever gotten to see Gina Porter sleep over FaceTime he wondered. He laid his phone down next to his pillow and turned out the lights. 

“Good night, G.” 

The next morning Gina placed her carry on in the overhead, while Ricky over shared with the pilots up front. 

“Yeah it was unreal. So, I just grabbed her arm and said, “wait.”” 

Gina overhearing all this, laughed and rolled her eyes. She then checked her phone for any messages from Jamie. She had been texting him since last night to confirm the time and location of their meet, but he had yet to reply. She checked his story only to see he was out partying all night. She was really frustrated. Disappointed, her brow furrowed and she squeezed her phone into a death grip. Ricky appeared with an armful of snacks but immediately could feel something was off.

“Everything okay, G?” 

She shook her head with confusion, “What are you –” 

“Well, I got us pretzels, and cookies, and waters, and –” 

“Ricky,” she tenderly interjected, “you’re supposed to wait for the attendants to distribute that.” 

“Oh, I was just so excited. Sorry. Should I take it back?” 

His arms full of stolen treasure, she giggled, and helped him to their seats. He almost looked proud. It was cute. He was cute, she thought, in a helpless puppy who thinks he’s a pit bull sort of way. 

“I downloaded the finale of the Great British Bake Off for us to finish.” 

She exhaled and kissed him on the cheek forgetting all about Jamie. It amazed her that no storm passed through her life, that Ricky didn’t seem to fly and glide above without even trying. The two got ready for take-off while Ricky continued to elaborate his plans for them this weekend. She listened ecstatically, but every once in a while, the sun would stream in from their window lighting the tips of his whispy brown curls, leaving her altogether beside herself. He was the only thing keeping her Jamie stress at ease. He was, she thought, the only thing.

Once they reached cruising altitude Ricky pulled out his laptop and they watched the finale. 

“I knew Rahul would win!” 

She turned to see Ricky had all but fallen asleep. He had stayed up all night over exciting himself, and now finally crashed. 

“Ricky, are you kidding me?” 

He didn’t hear a word as he nuzzled himself softly into her warm coco butter scented Afro. 

“Mmmm,” her grinning, sleepy boy muttered from his dreams. 

She wanted to be annoyed with him. Annoyed that he had left her alone with her festival anxieties and thoughts of Jamie, but the feeling of him sleeping so close against her in total serenity – not just safe, but happy – like not a single thing could bother him so as long as he was with her, she couldn’t be mad even if she tried. She gently rubbed his temple and slowly stroked his curls. Her nose twitched noticing that he was wearing the cologne she had mentioned liking to him after homecoming. She couldn’t believe he remembered it. She couldn’t believe any of this. Her finally having a home, her professional debut, this whole summer, and how this most unexpected romance happened between two outsiders just looking for someone to get them. It suddenly dawned on her. This was her season of abundance, her year of yes. If she got Ricky to get her, then she’d have to make the effort to have Jamie get her too. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but part of her began to believe for the first time in forever she wouldn’t have to compromise herself to reach her goals. With this thought, her stress had strengthened into resolve, and was only distracted now by Ricky muttering in his sleep about pink jelly. 

When they arrived in Chicago Ricky’s mom was waiting to pick the two up. When Ricky saw her car pull forward, he let out a deep sigh of relief. One, he realized, he had been holding onto since he last saw his mom during spring break. Ricky raced over and gave his mom the biggest and tightest of hugs. He awkwardly stepped back a bit, as Gina giggled. 

“Mom this is—” 

“Gina, as in thee Gina Porter, the dancing queen?” 

Ricky blushed “Okay, mom.” 

“Ricky’s words, not mine.” 

She gave Gina a tight hug, an image Ricky never knew how much he needed to see.

“It’s nice to meet you Ms. Lynn.” 

“You too, sweetheart. You guys hungry?” 

“Starving,” Ricky replied, throwing their bags into the trunk, “I didn’t get anything to eat on the plane.” 

“Cause you abandoned me and slept the whole way.” 

“You know, Ricky has always loved naps ever since he was a baby. One time, at Big Red’s ninth birthday party, he disappeared, and we were all freaking out trying to find him. When I finally found him, he was cuddled up in the petting zoo with a baby goat and two piglets.” 

Gina exploded with laughter. 

His mom excitedly continued, “It’s true I have pictures at the house.” 

“Okay, that’s enough.” A mortified Ricky interjected. 

“Oh I’m going to be getting all the tea in Chicago.” 

“Pizza and tea!” His mom responded, taking Gina in her embrace. 

“Sounds perfect.” Ricky relented opening the car door for Gina. 

“Why thank you my little piglet.”

The three huddled together in an Italian pizza joint as their server sat a steaming hot pie at their table. Ricky grabbed a slice add and immediately drowned it in Parmesan. He took a bite, scorching his tongue, and quickly downed his soda to cool it off.

“So Gina, Ricky tells me you’re going to be dancing at the music festival this weekend. Are you excited?” 

Ricky noticed Gina was still anxiously checking for texts back from her brother. He quickly picked up the missed cue.

“She’s a pro mom. This is just another day at work for Gina.” She looked up embarrassed, but he rubbed her shoulder assuredly. “We’re going to go to the bean. Gina found this awesome food truck on Lakeshore drive that we’re going to try, and then we’re supposed to meet her brother Jamie later at the mall.” 

“Well, that is a lot. You sure you kids are going to be okay all on your own?” 

“Of course! We’ll be sure text you throughout the day, and I’ll be sharing my location. It’s going to be great, and then tomorrow is the big show.” 

Gina put her phone away and finally rejoined the conversation. 

“You’re welcome to come to the show tomorrow. I’m sure Jamie could get you in with a plus one if you want.” 

Now it was Ricky who was stuck. His mom had learned by now to handle this with great sensitivity and care, to help keep Ricky from becoming overwhelmed. She could see in Ricky’s eyes that he still wasn’t ready and that was okay.

“I do have some prior engagements tomorrow, so I’ll have to wait and see if I can, but thanks for the offer.” 

She rubbed Ricky’s shoulder who exhaled another deep sigh of relief. 

“I’d love to come though, if I’m able.” Ricky looked at Gina hoping to have some of her classic courage rub off on him. 

Ricky took pictures and recorded TikTok’s with Gina by the bean. He was so excited to participate. It was easy helping Gina make content. They just gelled creatively. They just got each other. Ricky was a shameless madman, willing to go to wild lengths to catch Gina at all the right angles. Giving her notes and making endless attempts at the perfect shot. And yet, they almost always posted the outtakes. The mess ups. The candids. The takes that unraveled without reason and made them laugh and grab onto each other desperately trying to breathe. He had almost no memory of all the times he was forced to make content with Lily. It wasn’t that he forgot, it was more like it never even happened. Is that what love is, he quietly thought. Something or someone rearranges your life so that it’s only before, her, and after? When he looked at Gina through the phone camera lens, he wasn’t just looking at his girlfriend. He was looking at the whole world. That’s what Gina does for him. She changes how he sees everything. As he steadied the phone for another picture, he saw Gina’s smile fall into worry. Jamie still hadn’t text her back. Her neck tensed. She was watching her whole world fall apart. 

Gina walked through the mall clouded by doubt. Voices in her head begging her to get it together quick. Ricky followed closely but not too closely giving her just enough space. Jamie had told her he’d confirm the time to meet them here. But he hadn’t. Maybe all this was a mistake, she wondered. Maybe Jamie regretted offering her the gig and didn’t think she was ready. No, there’s no way, she told herself. If she wasn’t sure about Jamie, how could she be sure about herself. It dawned on her that this was the real problem. But how could she address it when he was never available or even around. She’d do what she had always done.

“Just keep pushing. Just keep pushing.” She softly muttered in an almost trance like state. 

“You hear from Jamie yet?” Ricky offered in softness.

“No. Not yet.” She exhaled sadly, stopping to drop her head.

“There’s still time. He’ll call soon.” 

“That’d be a miracle at this point.” 

Suddenly the two heard a large crowd cheer. They took a left around the corner to investigate. 

Ricky and Gina stumbled into a huge Dance Dance competition. There was at least a hundred people standing by to watch as contestants competed in pairs. The goal was simple: Highest score wins. But this was a competition, so contestants weren’t playing the same version found in homes. This was an intense expert level routine designed specifically for skilled dancers. Ricky smiled in disbelief. This is exactly what Gina needed. He grabbed her hand. 

“Let’s go!” 

“Oh Ricky, I don’t know. We need to find Jamie.” 

“La-la-la – Sorry, I can’t hear you.” 

He dragged her up onto the platform and a familiar song began to play. Of course, it was “Born to Brave.” Finally, it was their turn to leave a mark on this now essential wildcat anthem. The two began, and immediately something switched in Gina. She wasn’t just nailing each move, but added extra spins, touches, and flourishes to make the choreographed moves all her own. Ricky struggled to just keep his breath, and with the dance break approaching, things weren’t looking good for him.

“Bosses and Queens stand up on your throne. Know who you are this is your kingdom. Legends at heart, Individuals. Go make your mark. Be original.”

The fast paced dance break finally broke Ricky. He collapsed into pile of sweat. Gina laughed, still dancing, and looked at him concerned. Ricky laid there immobilized, panting, and waving for her to go on without him. 

“Don’t stop. You got this!” he breathlessly assured her.

The crowd laughed at Ricky and roared for Gina. She got to the section of choreography that had proved the most difficult for all the other contestants. She just had to zone in. Focus. Her feet working double time, one foot in front of the other. The crowd was amazed. Ricky still lying down, worked the crowd. 

“Oh yeah, that’s the Gina Porter I know! Come on everybody. Let her hear you!” 

As she finished the routine, we see that despite losing a partner she still hit the high score. The winning buzzer went off and she screamed with elation. A judge handed Ricky their winning ribbon. Gina fell down elatedly exhausted next to Ricky. The two embraced each other.

“We did it! We won!” 

“We? You’ve gotta be kidding me. That was all you. You see the crowd right now. They love you. Just like they’re going to love you tomorrow. Everyone loves you.”

As he said each of those last three words, the two fell silent as each word delicately nestled its way in between them. The crowd continue to cheer and take videos and pictures, but Ricky and Gina might as well have been the only two people in the entire world right then. Gina’s heart was racing. Everyone meant everyone. Everyone meant Ricky, she thought. Did he mean to say it? Did he want to say it? She searched Ricky’s soft brown eyes, and she had this gut feeling he was about to tell her. Ricky sweetly smiled and opened his mouth to speak when suddenly Jamie appeared clapping loudly above the crowd. 

“Now I’ve seen some legendary Gina Porter performances in my day. But that was top two and not two. You ready for sound check superstar?”

Later that night Gina was settling into the hotel with Jamie and FaceTiming Ricky. Ricky was in his mom’s new apartment with Todd. Gina was tired. Ricky was uneasy. The two surviving through the electronic signal passing between their phones. They had much left to discuss. Ricky went first. 

“How was the rehearsal?”

“It went well. I didn’t do a bad job, but it wasn’t my best either. Whatever I had at the mall with you, I lost it on stage tonight.” 

Jamie listened hesitantly. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he could tell Gina was already frustrated with him for the lack of communication. He wished she only knew that every time he didn’t say something, he always wanted to. 

“Hey Gina. Sorry to interrupt. I’m going out with the talent tonight to introduce them to some industry folks and network. I might be back pretty late. Are you going to be okay here alone?” 

Gina wanted to shout. She wanted to scream. Couldn’t he for once just be my big brother, she thought. Couldn’t he for once act like one? For once couldn’t he just stick around? What is it about me that makes him runaway? She sighed sadly. 

“Yeah Jamie. I’ll be fine.” 

Jamie was no fool. He could tell she didn’t mean it. Defeated, he nodded silently and slipped out the door. Gina grabbed her pillow and screamed into it. 

She shot back up with a scary smile on her face. Ricky’s head shot back with fear. 

The two stared at each other and then burst into laughter. At everything. At nothing. 

“I don’t want to tell you what to do G, but…”

“But I should tell him how I feel?”

He nodded as Todd called over from the next room. Dinner was ready. The timing of the moment couldn’t have been more perfectly imperfect. Almost like a sick joke he thought. Ricky twisted his neck, eating his own words. Gina crossed her arms.

“Yeah, okay Ricky. You first.” 

The next day Ricky jumped out of his uber and headed into the festival area. After getting checked off at security he entered the performance space. It was huge. Crew hoisted up huge lights as the DJ set up his table. He texted Gina to let him know she was here. He waited and looked around. He then heard a voice call from onstage. 

“Ricky!”

He turned to see Gina in full make up and costume. Her hair was in a high ponytail with bits of silver streaking throughout. Glitter makeup danced around her eyes. She beamed. His heart stopped. It didn’t matter how many times he saw her in her element, it never got old. A crew member focused a light onto Gina. The light bounced off the sparkles in her costume, the glitter in her make up, and the twinkle in her eyes. Ricky legitimately couldn’t move. 

She could tell. It almost brought her to tears. Sometimes he didn’t even need say the things he felt. To tell her how beautiful she was. She could see the compliment trembling in his fingers. 

“Wow G. You are everything.” 

What he really wanted to say was that he loved her. Maybe he would soon he thought. Those words felt all too heavy after Nini. He knew the responsibility in saying them. He respected their power. He knew that a time would come when he would tell her, and at this rate, it would be very soon. 

She took him backstage and showed her the green room where everyone hung out. Ricky was beside himself when he learned all the food and snacks were free. He helped take pictures of her in costume for her socials. 

“Okay champ. How are you feeling? You ready to crush it?” 

“I guess. I don’t know. No? I kinda wish I hadn’t come. I thought this would be a bonding experience for me and Jamie, but somehow, I feel more distant from him now than ever.”

Jamie was down the hall pacing back and forth on his phone. Ricky looked over to him. Gina too. 

“Why can’t you tell him that?” 

“It’s easier to say how I feel when I’m with you.” 

Ricky thought about it. “Okay. That's what we’ll do then.” 

Before she knew it, Ricky had grabbed her arm and raced the two down the hallway. Gina stumbled into place as Ricky stood right around the corner giving them some semblance of privacy. Jamie stared perplexed. 

“Hey Gina. Need something?” 

She fumbled with her lucky dance bracelet. She smiled nervously and gulped. She opened her mouth, hoping words would just spill out, but nothing. Ricky grabbed her hand, squeezing tight like one of their opening night circle up’s. Jamie was lost.

“Is that Ric—“

“I’m upset with you Jamie. You got me this gig, and I’m beyond grateful. And you’re my big brother, and I love you. But you haven’t been communicating with me. You’ve been constantly ditching me to go out, and I don’t know, I’m at a place in my life where I don’t need anyone’s pity. I came here for the opportunity to work, but more than anything it was the chance to work with you. But we haven’t really done that. I just want to know where we stand. Okay. That’s all of it.” She glanced back over to Ricky who gave her a thumbs up. “I think.” 

Jamie’s eyes watered a bit. Gina was shocked. She dropped Ricky’s hand and grabbed her brothers. Ricky walked away to give them space they needed. 

“You’re a star Gina. I’ve always believed that. It’s been hard for me lately. I don’t feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be professionally, and personally. It’s no excuse, I guess I just thought by keeping you at a distance, I would spare you any more disappointment.”

She grabbed him into a long hug. “You’ve never disappointed me. I thought you didn’t really want me around.” 

“I didn’t want my bad vibes to rub off on you or hold you back.” 

She hugged him, and he hugged back. The two talked, and talked, and talked some more. They cried a little. Hugged. Laughed. Cried again. She smiled. He smiled too. That’s the thing with siblings, when the love is genuine, it’s never too far away.

“I wasn’t so sure about the other guy I met, but that Ricky’s a good kid.” 

“He’s the best. He’s – wait, where did he go?” 

After some searching, Gina found Ricky back in the green room entertaining a dozen people with a story.

“… and so then Gina asked me to play my solo acoustic guitar version of the song, and I was like, really? You want to hear it? So I pulled out my guitar and started playing.”

One of the musicians handed Ricky his guitar. Gina stood there smiling when she got an idea. She stepped out into the hall to make a phone call. 

“Perfect. We’ll see you then.”

She hung up and stepped back into see Ricky getting a warm applause for his song. 

“Oh hey Gina, how’d it go?”

“Good. Really good. I couldn’t have done it without you Ricky. So, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a leap and did something for you.” 

“Okay?” he offered confusedly.

“I invited your mom and Todd to come.”

Ricky was shook. 

“Now listen, I know you want to push past the awkwardness so you can just feel like a normal person around them. This is your chance. I’ll be onstage the whole time so if you get nervous you can just look up to me.” 

“G, I don’t know.” 

She thought for a minute, and then grabbed his hand. She slid down her lucky dance bracelet and placed it over his wrist. Ricky smiled. 

“You were there for me with Jamie. I’ll be there for you. We’ll always do that for each other.” 

He grabbed her and the two went in for a kiss. One that lingered in joy like a home. As they kissed Gina slipped a small note into his pocket. Ricky was so locked into the embrace of her love he didn’t even notice. As Ricky pulled out of their kiss, his worries grabbed back hold of him. The other dancers grabbed Gina to go and finish getting ready. Ricky called out to her as she disappeared down the hall.

“Gina! What if don’t know what to say?” Did she hear him? He turned away nervously and made his way out to the audience. 

His mom was there. Todd too. Ricky was trying. He had graduated from terror and panic and was now battling intense awkwardness. If you looked at these three you would have had no idea that they were at a festival. The crowds cheered around them, but between them was tense deafening silence. 

The DJ played an intro song to hype everyone up before the artist Gina performed with came out. Ricky bobbed around trying to find safety in the rhythm of the music. It started to work, and he even smiled at Todd and his mom. Todd smiled at Ricky’s mom and pulled her into a dance. Ricky didn’t know how to feel. He slowly lost the beat. He texted Gina quickly, as his mom subtly brought their dance to a halt.

“I’m ruining the vibes. I don’t know what to say.” He pressed send.

He watched as the typing bubble appeared and then dropped. His hopes dashed, and the song ended. He softly shuffled his feet and crossed his arms. The lights dimmed, and then three back up dancers ran onstage. Gina was down stage left. His attitude turned on its head when he saw her posed, ready to pounce. She was with him, like she had promised. He wasn’t alone.

This was it. Gina took a brief look offstage and her brother made a heart sign with his fingers. A smile beamed through her eyes. Right before the beat drop, she turned her gaze to Ricky. She saw his face light up. She slowly traced her finger down to her left pocket and tapped it. She raised an eyebrow subtly so Ricky would catch the hint. 

From the crowd, Ricky watched her tapping her left pocket, wondering what it might mean. Instinctively, he reached down into his pocket, and like some magic trick, he found the small note Gina had secretly left there earlier. The beat dropped and the dancers ran upstage to bring on the singer. Ricky began unfolding the small piece of paper that somehow smelled of Gina. In it, there was a message written just for him. 

Don’t say anything. Just fly dude <3

She hit the first steps of the combination, fiercely swinging her hair like a dragon’s tail. Ricky nodded with unfamiliar acceptance. He looked at his mom and Todd who seemed to be waiting to take his lead. He reached out to his mom and swung her into a dance. He spun her out with one hand, and then brought Todd in with the other. He passed his mom back over to Todd and three danced and boogied while Gina tore the stage in two. Gina changed everything for him.

Jamie was live-streaming Gina’s performance on her Instagram. Screaming and cheering her on in the background like any proud big brother.

“That’s my little sister! That’s my star!” 

Gina faintly heard his cheers over the sounds of the crowd and the music. Some strain of electric joy zapped up and down her body. She was back at the mall doing Dance Dance with Ricky. She was back onstage in the barn with Kourtney. She was back at East High dancing in the lunchroom with her friends as they desperately tried to save Ms. Jenn’s job. At its best, this is what performing was all about for her. Sharing joy with people. During the dance break she hit her famous death whack. The crowd thundered with approval. The dancers and the singer hit the final pose. She held it while her heart pounded out of her chest. She looked down to the crowd to see Ricky standing there screaming at the top of his lungs. The two held each other’s gaze. Ricky changed everything for her.

“Everyone loves you Gina!” He yelled. She smiled and laughed, and he searched her eyes with certain seriousness before silently mouthing I love you.

Gina’s heart dropped into her stomach, and then launched out through the top of her head. It danced through her body like a revolution. The artist announced the next song and she hesitated before jumping into her next position. Even the most seasoned performer can be shaken by the power of love. 

That night on the plane back to Salt Lake Gina was passed out, laying across Ricky’s lap, her legs stretched into the empty third chair beside them. They had to leave immediately from the show, so she never had time to get out of costume. Ricky gently wiped off her make up and draped a blanket over her. She stretched, readjusting to getting comfortable, before falling back into a peaceful slumber. How lucky few had ever been able to tuck Gina Porter into bed he thought to himself. He wrote her a small note and gently slid it into her pocket. He wrote it before he even realized what it said. 

I love you, Gina Porter. I always will. 

He put in AirPods and quietly opened his laptop to finish the finale of the Great British Bake Off. His eyes grew wide as he whispered.

“No way, Rahul won? She called it.”

@rinaweek hope I’m not too late lol

Edit: I’m sorry for blazing this post. I genuinely wanted to see what would happen and have learned my lesson lol.

[ann-mariee]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Pairing: Fred x Reader

Warning: None, other than this being rushed aha and not edited very well.

A/N: This isn’t the long fic I’ve been working on, that’s still happening though! I just felt bad about not writing for awhile and then this idea hit me. Not so sure how I feel about it, but oh well. I hope some of you enjoy it lol and now just to finish the long one 🤦🏻‍♀️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Orange and red hues decorated the grounds outside of the beautiful castle (Y/n) called her second home.

Fall had finally made its return to Hogwarts.

It’s beautiful colors and chilly sweater weather accompanying it.

It’s surprising how fast time can pass by when focusing on the good things life has to offer.

When (Y/n) got her letter, she had no idea what adventures and memories she’d have waiting for her.

The first few years she spent at Hogwarts, she mainly focused on her academics.

Being labeled a “book worm” by those in her house.

It wasn’t meant to be taken in offense. The opposite actually.

She was the go-to study partner not just for her house, but the others as well.

Both a brain and personality everyone who met her couldn’t help but adore.

On the train to the school, she had met a charming Hufflepuff that she would later call her best friend.

Cedric Diggory.

He was the first welcoming face she was met with.

Both sharing a compartment which led him to telling her she had nothing to worry about and how nerves were normal. Speaking with experience being in her place just a couple years prior.

Saying, and I quote, “The sorting hat will do its part and put you where you belong, its up to you with the rest”. For the first time since stepping foot on the train, the girl felt at ease about entering a world she knew little about being muggle born and all.

It would be a lie to say the girl wasn’t a little bummed not ending up in the same house as Cedric.

The sorting hat shouted Gryffindor and (Y/n) knew as soon as she sat at the long table along with her new “family”, she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Nevertheless, her and Cedric remained good friends.

Which is exactly why you could find the young Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sat in a back booth at the Three Broomsticks during one of their first fall trips to Hogsmeade.

“So how have you been (Y/n)?”.

“I’ve been well Ced, a little stressed about my paper Snape assigned, but all in all I’ve been alright. What about you? Any progress on your crush on Cho?”, the girl spoke wiggling her eyebrows with a sly grin placed across her face.

“(Y/n) (L/n)! You’re one to talk, might I recall you have you’re eyes set on a certain ginger headed twin. Goes by the name…what was it again? Oh yeah! Fred Weasley?”.

“Make all the snarky remarks you want Diggory. Mine and Freds relationship seems to be going smoothly. If that’s how you want to describe it”, lowering her voice a tad as she said the last sentence. The girl glanced down at her hands placed on the table. A sorrow expression beginning to take over.

“(Y/n)?”, the boy questioned at her sudden change of expression.

“Can I ask you something Ced?”

“Anything”, he said reaching for her hand to give her some sort of comfort.

“Do you think I would be a good girlfriend?”

“He still hasn’t asked, has he?”

“…no he hasn’t. I mean, is their something wrong with me? I feel like we are dating but every time I want to bring up the possibility of being more than whatever we are…”

“The fear sets in”, the boy says cutting her off.

“I know you. Believe me when I tell you there is nothing wrong with you. Give him time. Fred’s not really a player despite the rumors that float around the school”, he said to the girl with a reassuring smile.

Unknown to the girl and her Hufflepuff friend, the tall older Weasley twin had walked through the door along with his other half and their best friend Lee. Glancing around, only to find his eyes settling on where Cedrics hand sat gently on top of (Y/n’s).

Taken back at the sight, anger began to boil in the boys stomach.

His feet moving faster than his brain, he was just about to make his way over to their shared booth only to be stopped by his brother.

“Where are you going?”, before needing a answer, George looked up in the direction his brother was headed to find (Y/n) sat in a booth with Cedric Diggory.

“Hold on a sec there mate. What exactly is your plan hm? Walk over there and tell Cedric and (Y/n) off? For what? You aren’t together officially, and if your plan is to tell them off you risk never getting the chance to ever be official.”

Huffing in annoyance, Freds anger slowly started to calm down and dissipate.

“You’re right, but just this once”.

“I am always right my dear brother”, George said with a light chuckle patting his twin on the back.

Just as he was about to give a snarky remark to his brother, the most angelic laugh could be heard from his spot near the door making his head turn.

Her laugh.

Her laugh, and not at something he had said.

Looking back in his brothers direction, he handed him the bag he had been carrying from Zonkos.

Confused as to what was happening,

“I’m just gonna go talk to them”, was all Fred said before making his way towards (Y/n’s) booth.

Walking faster the second time, just in case, not wanting to be stopped again.

Reaching the table, both Cedric and (Y/n) looked up at the tall ginger.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know you had plans to come here with Diggory. I might as well join you now that I’m here”, Fred said sliding in the booth right next to the girl. Reaching his arm behind her, letting it gently hang from her left shoulder.

“Oh okay, yeah that’s fine”, the girl said taken slightly by surprise at Fred’s actions.

“Yeah, the more the merrier right?”, Cedric said with a forced laugh, not entirely sure what was happening.

“So, what are we talking about?”

“Well, Ced was just telling me about how his herbology class has been going”, (Y/n) said smiling up at Fred.

“Is that right, Ced?”.

The name rolling off his tongue with what could only be described as annoyance.

“Yeah ha, um I’ve got to use the restroom. If you’ll please excuse me”, the Hufflepuff said. Wanting to get out of that booth and away from the daggers being shot at him by Fred’s eyes as soon as he could.

Fred scoffed at Cedrics exit, turning back around only to find (Y/n) staring up at him with furrowed brows.

“What?”

“Are you alright Freddie?”, she spoke pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, joking as if to check for a rise in temperature.

“I’m fine love, what makes you ask that?”, removing her hand and grabbing the one sat in his lap.

Looking down at their joined hands and playing with her fingers, hoping to hide the slight flush in his face that appeared at her question.

Then it hit her. He was jealous.

Fred Weasley was jealous she was sat with another boy.

“Well, from where in sitting it kind of looks as if you’re jealous”.

Trying to keep his composure, the boy tried to brush off the accusation.

“Jealous? Me? No”.

“Merlin! You are jealous aren’t you!”, laughing a little. Not out of embarrassment for him but rather herself. That not but a few moments go, she was concerned his feeling for her weren’t as deep as hers for him.

“Alright, yes I’m jealous. How’d you expect me to react seeing my girlfriend sitting alone in a booth with the only guy I’d ever admit might be slightly more handsome than me? Hhm?”.

Wait, did she just hear him right?

“Did you just say girlfriend?”

“W-well, y-yeah, I mean, if you want to be called that. Which I hope you do. I had been planning on asking you. You see back in school I thought about writing you a poem, but then I got too embarrassed and never did. So, its up to yo-“, before he could finish his sentence. The girl closed the space be ween them.

Planting her lips on his. The both of them melting into one another all at once.

They’d kissed plenty of times before sure, but this one.

This one was different.

“I would love to be your girlfriend Fred Weasley”, her voice barley above a whisper. The widest smile written across her face.

With their foreheads resting against one another, the boy spoke up, dreading to finally break the comforting silence they had found themselves in.

“If you weren’t here with Diggory right now, I’d suggest we share a butterbeer, just us”.

Looking past the boys shoulder, remembering who she had come with, confused as to what was taking Cedric so long in the bathroom; her eyes were met with her friend in the corner laugh and something Cho had said.

“I wouldn’t count on him coming back”.

Turing towards the other side of the room, Fred’s eyes grew wide.

“Cedric’s got a thing for Cho Chang?!”

Laughing at his obliviousness,

“You’re so adorable”, the girl spoke sharing a smile with Fred.

Love being the only thing seen in their eyes towards each other.

They both shared their butterbeer as the sun set.

Siting in the back booth talking about anything and everything, content on where they now stood.

At least, for the time being.

[glowingbadger]

I’m currently doing the black eagles route, and I got total brain worms for the concept of Yandere!Seteth falling for Byleth, but then she ends up siding with Edelgard, but in a twist of fate the knights of seiros manage to capture her when they ambush garreg mach…and they deliver her right to Seteth for some good ol’ fashioned ✨ reconditioning ✨

Oh man Friend Anon this wiggled right into my brain and did not let me go lol guess it's time to write some Dark Shit™️. Since I don't write Yandere as often, I'm honestly not sure if I hit the right balance of like... "this is fucked up and he's fucked up" vs. "but like he's handsome and persuasive so it's fine, right?" lol so idk, hopefully you guys like it. I've been staring at it for too long and now I have no idea if it's any good xD Also God this thing ended up too long- it's like around 6k words I think wtf.

Side note- I actually decided to stick with my usual Reader-Chan perspective for this, but you probably could still just put Byleth there in your brain tbh

Also I guess if Byleth/Reader is with the Black Eagles originally for this, then technically Garreg Mach should fall after that battle, but for narrative purposes, I'm doing kind of a hybrid route where the conflict is ongoing and GM doesn't fall immediately idk man I needed a setting lol

TW: dub con, manipulation, general dark yandere-ish stuff

As always, please do not push yourself to read something you're not comfy with ❤️

Yandere!Seteth (FE3H) x AFAB Reader

Reconditioning

NSFW 18+

Seteth's is the first familiar voice you've heard since your capture and imprisonment in the dungeons beneath Garreg Mach, and you're not certain whether to be relieved or all the more terrified. It's distant at first, but unmistakable still.

"We are not to be disturbed until I specifically send for you, do I make myself clear?"

The soldiers outside of your cell answer in the affirmative, and you hear their boots on the cold stone floors as they depart. You hadn't even realized there had been guards assigned to you specifically. There is a small barred window in the cell door, but the shackles around your wrists had been latched to the wall the moment you'd been taken in, so you've hardly moved an inch in what felt like hours, maybe a full day by now. Your muscles ache, your empty stomach aches worse. You're exhausted, filthy from the battlefield, mouth dry and hair a tossled mess. You had started to think your mind and heart had numbed through in your desperation, dulled by hopelessness. But Seteth's voice stirs something in your chest up to your throat, and you force your head up to watch him as he enters.

Five years look as though they've hardly touched him. Other than perhaps a deeper crease at his brow, he appears unchanged. It's almost crueler this way. Looking at him makes it so easy to imagine simpler days and pleasant chats over tea. You want to say his name, or say anything, but you're silent as he approaches. He seems... Sad isn't quite the right word. Regretful would be closer, if maybe not exact. He breathes out your name, and raises a hand as though to touch your face, but stops himself.

"I often prayed that I would see you again someday," he says, bright green eyes fixed on you, "But... Not like this."

"Seteth..." You finally choke out, your voice rasping painfully in your throat.

"Shh, do not push yourself," he replies. Once more, his hand nears, and when his fingertips graze your cheek, you instinctively lurch away. He looks hurt, and you almost apologize to him. But you remember- he's the enemy commander. He's the reason you're in this cell. He's your captor.

Nonetheless, Seteth sighs softly as he cradles your face in his hand,

"The things they must have done to you... When they took you from us, I feared the worst."

"No, Seteth-" your eyes plead with him, "You don't understand, Edelgard's ideals are similar to your own."

His brow furrows deeply, and he leans close.

"Poor thing, that witch has even poisoned your mind."

"It's not like that, please-! If you would only speak to her, I know-"

"That is enough," his eyes narrow to a glare.

"I could mediate, we could come to an agreement-"

"Silence!" His face twists into a horrible grimace, and the hand that had caressed your cheek is at your throat, his grip forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are wild, his hold at your neck restricts your breathing and pins you to the stone wall. Your heart pounds in your ears. You wonder if Seteth can feel your pulse racing beneath his hand.

Then, slowly, gradually, his expression softens, his grip loosens.

"This isn't why I came to see you."

Your chest rapidly rises and falls as you gulp in precious air. You don't dare to say a word in reply. His touch is gentle once again as he smooths back your hair. Then, he takes a waterskin from his belt.

"I cannot release you, you must understand that," he says with genuine remorse, and you nod, "but I will ensure that you are taken care of. You have suffered so much already..." He raises the water to your lips, one hand under your chin to guide you as he carefully tips the pouch so you can drink from it. It's fresh and clean, cool but not cold. You can't remember water ever tasting so good, and you lap it up gladly. Seteth is patient all the while, watching intently as you gulp down every drop he offers you. Then at last, when the waterskin is spent and he lowers it from your mouth, he runs his thumb across your bottom lip to dry it. You wish there were more, but the invigorating feeling of water in your belly fills you with such relief, you feel gratitude welling up in your chest unchecked.

"It would be foolish to think that things could truly be as they were..." He says, his voice low and bittersweet, "But if you are willing to meet with me, perhaps we can mend what's been broken."

You stay silent, and he steps away. Turning to the heavy cell door, he pauses to say,

"There are others who have been taken in. Your cooperation would reflect positively on them, and may allow the guards to treat them more generously. That is all."

The following day, Seteth brings food when he visits. Good food, at that- not some prison slop, but an array of cooked vegetables, meat and bread that looks to be straight from the dining hall. The scent alone makes you salivate, and your pupils grow wide as he approaches you.

You would be willing to eat from the floor. Frankly, you're surprised the food is plated. You know you can't have your hands free, but eating like an animal would be preferable to starvation. Yet, instead, Seteth carefully feeds you by hand, starting with easier, lighter foods. He regulates your pace, though you very nearly beg him for each bite.

"Easy now, go slowly. Don't overwhelm your stomach all at once and make yourself sick."

On the third day, he brings food and water, and a key. With it, he frees your shackles from the wall, and attaches them instead to a lengthy chain rooted in the floor. Your wrists are still bound behind you, but now you can walk, sit, and at least wander the breadth of your cell. You try to tell Seteth not to feed you today. You try refusing him, struggling, lashing out. He's patient, rebutting your attempts with a parent's measured tolerance, until you finally settle and allow him to feed you once more.

On your fourth day in captivity, Seteth brings a basin of water, towels, and some kind of subtle floral soap. He sets these down on the floor and gestures for you to kneel beside him. Only gradually does it occur to you that he intends to wash you himself. If the situation allowed for emotions like embarrassment, you're sure you'd be beside yourself. But, somewhat surprising even yourself, you simply allow Seteth to begin undressing you. His touch is gentle, even tender as he removes layers of fabric caked in filth and sweat. One dirt-crusted button at a time, he exposes your breasts, your stomach, your hips, his eyes wandering each inch of you with a focused, yet unreadable expression. His arms draw around you, and you feel his breath in your hair as he says,

"I'm going to free one of your arms so I can remove your tunic. Please, do not try anything foolish. I want to help you."

You nod. He opens the cuff around one of your wrists. You should fight. You should try to resist him- take the key and make your escape. Your muscles tense. It may be your only chance. Seteth holds you more firmly against his chest and pulls your clothing from your body. The air around you is cold, but he warms you, surrounds you.

Your muscles are weak from your imprisonment. He could easily overpower you. You relax in his arms.

"Very good, Y/N." He praises you softly, and you feel the words tickle the shell of your ear. Then, the cuff is locked around your wrist once more.

He tugs your breeches down your hips, then legs. Your undergarments soon follow. You're bared completely, but Seteth watches you with a softness in his eyes that's ill suited to a war general. He dampens his hands, then lathers them with the faintly sweet soap, and begins to massage it across your skin.

So good. His hands feel so good; they're calloused and strong, but he's gentle with you. And it's then that you notice you don't shy away from his touch anymore. In fact, you find you subconsciously lean into him. You savor him.

Madness. His care and kindness are breaking you.

"Seteth-" you try to bite back your own voice, but his name comes out too quickly.

"Yes? Do you need something of me?"

His hands run along your sides, and you inhale sharply, arching back.

"Why... Why are you doing all of this for me? I'm... Your prisoner. An enemy."

At first, he doesn't reply. He takes the towel and dampens it, then sets upon scrubbing away the filth of your last battle and the grime of your time locked up. At last, he says,

"I have never been capable of viewing you as an enemy."

You're about to question him further, but the way he looks at you stalls the words before you can get them out. For the first time since he'd discarded your clothing and left your body exposed to him, you meet his eyes. He leans close, an arm around your back to cradle you to him, as the other cleans you, caresses you, soothes you. Then, his lips are on yours, and you're almost glad your shackles keep you from reaching out to him.

It's not a delicate kiss- more the type that lovers share. You'd imagined kissing Seteth before, back when you had the luxury of such pleasant idle fantasies. It was never anything like this. His tongue passes your lips, toying with yours as he tilts his head and leans into you. And you kiss him back. Your lips and tongue move on instinct, welcoming him despite all reason. Your mind is screaming at you, but the screams sound muffled and far away. At some point, he dropped the towel he'd been using in the water basin. You only realize this because his hand is running up your inner thigh, and you gasp against his lips.

"Did that wretched woman take you as her own, I wonder?" He whispers into the miniscule space between you. There's a bitterness in his voice, yes, but also a deep and sorrowful sympathy.

"No- she... Edelgard never-"

"Or perhaps she gave you over to that snake of a man she calls her advisor... No, she wouldn't," Seteth's fingertips brush the swell of your lower lips, and your thighs twitch inward around his arm, "A covetous warmonger like that, who only seeks to conquer and subsume. She would not gift you to another."

"Seteth-!"

You should push him away. You should scream for the guards and hope against hope that they'd dare to stop him. Instead, you accept his lips once more, and allow his fingers to part you, slowly pressing into your tight opening. Cradled against his warm frame, you feel him exhale, feel his heart thudding in his chest. His fingers gradually work you open around him with gentle, rhythmic thrusts, careful never to hurt you. Your chest is tangled in a million different knots- one of guilt, one of fear, one of desperate, longing need. The noise in your head is near unbearable, but above it all, you hear Seteth's voice against your ear,

"I want you to know that I forgive you. For everything."

Forgives you...? The words sound nice, but you can hardly parse their meaning. His fingers are coated in your slick, allowing them to fuck into you more steadily. You bite down on your lower lip to hold in a moan. He forgives you...

"Ha...!" A gasp finally escapes you. As though satisfied by that very sound, Seteth's fingers ease out from your drooling cunt, only to refocus on your clit. You barely even realize how you'd let your body slacken in his arms, letting him hold you close as he drives you to pleasure you've been without for far too long. Seteth, a man of the church, a man who lead troops against you and your allies. His touch pulses around your stiffened clit, sending shuddering waves of pleasure through your nerves. Rhea's advisor is going to make you cum. The realization grabs hold of you, filling you with white hot shame- and something far worse. A thrill of arousal. The temptation to surrender.

"Given my station, I feel it only right to take full responsibility for your spiritual well-being," his voice sounds like a lustful whisper, but the words are frigid, formal, "it would do you good to relearn several of the core values of the Church."

Then, his hand pulls away.

"We will begin with patience."

A moment of confusion rapidly devolves into desperation. You sit upright and lean towards him.

"Seteth, please-"

Please what? Continue to touch you? Make love to you? You find you don't want to face the truth of what you're pleading for.

He stands with all the dignity of a holy ceremony, then unclasps the cloak from the back of his robes. He kneels briefly to drape it around your shoulders. It's warm, and it smells like him. Like incense and old parchment.

"I will return with a change of clothes for you, and send for these to be cleaned," he says, picking up your old clothes and turning to depart, "I trust that you will be a diligent student in the coming days."

The night is agonizing. Seteth is all you can think of. Him, and the shame and guilt of how obsessively your mind circles him. His voice, his scent, his touch. You want more than anything to relieve the desperate need he awoke in you- to satisfy the nagging urge for release, and then perhaps be free from the memory of his hands. But with your own bound behind your back, there's simply no way.

How could you ever face your allies among the Empire's forces now? Now that you'd allowed- practically begged for a man of the church to pleasure you, to enter you. The phrase "sleeping with the enemy" comes to mind.

In the end, the moment you see Seteth open the cell door the following day, the heat of unresolved need floods your core. You tell yourself it's because his is the only touch you've felt in recent memory. You tell yourself that, if circumstances were different, you would resist him, push him away. Yet something in your expression must please him, as he grants you the slightest hint of a smile when he approaches.

"Have you had ample time to consider our lesson in patience?" his voice is firm yet kind, the voice he might use with a somewhat dense student. Your lips tighten to a thin line, and you step back against the stone wall. You give no reply, to which Seteth merely sighs and shakes his head.

"I cannot help you if you choose to be obstinate," he says, stepping towards you and raising a hand to your cheek as he has many times before. You realize that he hasn't brought any food with him today. The thought causes your stomach to tighten, grumbling low, yet loud enough that Seteth takes note. He gives a short, contemplative hum, then his hand comes to your chin to force you to meet his eye.

"Your body already associates our visits with food, I see." He knows what he's doing to you. He knows how he's training your body to respond to him. You force your head to turn from him, and he allows it, though his fingertips brush through your hair, "Don't be difficult, Y/N, I will have your meal brought after today's lesson has concluded."

Before you can reply, Seteth's hand begins to travel down your body. He caresses your neck, then continues downward, only pausing for a moment to cup your breast in hand. Your posture tightens, your face warms. But his free hand urges you to face him once more, and he kisses you with that same possessive intensity that hasn't left your mind since his prior visit. His thumb brushes across where your nipple has begun to harden against the fabric of your tunic. But rather than pursue this pleasurable sensation, his hand continues down your stomach and hips, then slides his fingers beneath your waistband.

The moment you feel him press between your folds, you whimper against his lips. His fingers run firm against your opening, but refuse to enter. You know you're positively soaked for him already. You know he notices the way you try to subtly shift your hips against him, rutting yourself onto his hand.

"Seteth, please..." you sob between kisses, and once again, he merely sighs.

"I had hoped that you would exhibit at least some measure of restraint," he says sternly, pulling away his hand and bringing his fingers to your lips. Some deranged part of your mind thinks that perhaps if you please him, he'll satisfy you- and so you immediately take the digits into your mouth, sucking and lapping at your own juices. Fierce emerald eyes fix onto you and watch you intently until you've finished, and he says,

"Your lessons will continue until you have fully grasped and appreciated the values of our Church," he continues, his tone even but his gaze firm and direct, "Now then, on your knees. Today, you will learn humility and service."

After only a brief glance at those unyielding green eyes, you obey.

You kneel at Seteth's feet, wrists still bound behind you, stubborn arousal and anticipation roaring in your veins. With pupils blown wide, you watch as he parts his robes and tugs down the front of his breeches, revealing the hardened length of his manhood. Once more, Seteth's reality is far more lurid than your idle imaginings had been, back when you'd entertained an innocent crush on the man who would someday be your adversary. His size is, in truth, a bit intimidating. But you straighten your posture and part your lips, worried that stalling for too long may provoke him.

Instead, he's patient. Excruciatingly so. If only he would be harsh with you, you think. If only he would attack or berate you. Then, you could hate him. Instead, a part of you that grows like a wildfire spreading too quickly for you to trample down so dearly wants his approval. His care and concern. The forgiveness he claims to offer, which you can only hope you're truly worthy of.

Your lips wrap around the head of his cock, a bit clumsy at first without your hands to balance you. Your tongue massages the glans steadily, and you turn your eyes up to him, not knowing what you hope to see in his expression. He's unreadable, but not cold. His hand comes to stroke your hair fondly, and he murmurs,

"That's right, Y/N. Take your time, and don't push yourself. This is all for your benefit."

True enough, forcing yourself to take him deeper would be uncomfortable at best, and suffocating at worst. Given his generous size, you're forced to work your way down the shaft gradually, working to widen your jaw and open your throat for him inch by inch. And all the while, Seteth instructs you, petting you and occasionally encouraging you.

You feel him grow harder within the warmth of your mouth, but he gives little indication of his pleasure. He seems utterly focused on you, his gaze unwavering as he watches you dedicate yourself to him. In a way, allowing you to service him slowly, rather than fucking into your mouth at his chosen pace, grants you the uniquely cruel opportunity to enjoy the process. You imagine a different scenario in a different life; one where Seteth is your lover and not your captor. You imagine how his strength would comfort you, rather than cage you. More than anything, you imagine this incredible cock making love to you- how it would feel inside of you, how he might sound groaning your name in pleasure.

Instead, as you urge yourself to take him as deep into your throat as you can manage, you only hear him exhale between his teeth. You quicken your pace, bobbing your head and taking him into the tight passage of your throat over and over. And at long last, you hear him from above you,

"I'd like for you to swallow it. Can you do that for me?"

You whimper around him, but don't dare to pull away.

"Very good. I'd rather not make a mess of you."

You hardly register the words. For the first time, he's thrusting back into you, his hand in your hair still, and his breath finally just a bit strained. With the slightest groan, he holds deep in your mouth, his cock twitches, swells, and begins to pour his release down your throat. Your eyes nearly water with the strain, but you force yourself to gulp down his cum as he grants it, swallowing until he's spent.

When he pulls away, you nearly slump forward, but he steadies you by the shoulder. You cough a bit, but somehow don't spill a drop of his release. Seteth fixes his breeches, then kneels down and caresses your cheek fondly.

"Seteth..." you half-moan his name, your eyes blatantly desperate, "Please, will you... I- I want..." you can't bring yourself to tell him that you need your own relief, but he understands your intent. And, if anything, he looks disappointed. He sighs, and stands once more before you.

"I see. So you had hoped for your own gratification in return. Have you truly lost sight of our lesson so quickly?" You struggle up to your feet, and he continues, "A servant of the Goddess does not act for the sake of personal reward. Service is done for its own sake, Y/N."

He turns toward the cell door, and only pauses to say,

"No matter. I'll bring you your meal, and we will try again tomorrow."

Days pass, and lessons pass. Seteth brings you food and water, he cleans you and feeds you by hand. Sometimes, he grants you a few precious moments of pleasure, his fingers working expertly between your thighs and yet never bringing full satisfaction. You wonder whether it would be more merciful if he never touched you, if you never experienced the rush of his lips on yours and his fingers stroking your most sensitive nerves. But then he draws near again and you can't even think to protest.

He continues to teach you patience and service, of course. And over time, further lessons follow. He teaches you obedience, instructing you to pleasure him with only your tongue, or to hold his cum in your mouth until he orders you to swallow it. And after this, your lessons become more intensive still. You're taught an extensive list of prayers by being made to repeat after him, knowing that success would earn you a few blissful moments of pleasure at Seteth's hands, while continued failure would bring punishment.

And you're a good student, only earning his punishment on a single occasion. One day- and only once -you dare to suggest that he may free you. That negotiations might be possible. You should have known he would react poorly, but the memory of his hand constricting around your neck is distant, and clouded by days of patient instruction, of food and bathing and touching.

Your suggestion earns you a lesson in contrition. As Seteth fucks into your throat so hard you can barely breath, he snarls from above,

"I don't wish to be cruel to you, Y/N, but you have forced my hand," his fist is tight in your hair, and his voice is low and dark, the warning of a far worse fate barely concealed in his tone. Your jaw strains around his thick cock and your eyes threaten to roll back, already dewed with tears. You nearly gag several times over, yet even when he feels you choke around his cockhead, he shows little mercy. Your throat feels sore and raw, and you wonder how you're even able to withstand him brutally pounding into your mouth for so long. Then, once he's finally sated, he pulls you off of his member by your hair, and shoots powerful ropes of cum across your chest as you watch him with dazed, puffy eyes and swollen lips. He's never marked you like this, always preferring that you take his load down your throat. Feeling his hot, thick release dripping down your skin fills you with a confusing mess of emotions- arousal, shame, humiliation, and strangely, a thrill of submission. The thrill of being claimed.

Seteth takes a moment to fix his clothes and steady his breath. Then, he kneels before you and cradles your face in his hands. For a moment, neither of you speak. His thumb brushes across your cheek, drying a single shed tear.

"I want to help you- you know that. Everything I have done has been for your sake. I take time out of my work each day to ensure you're cared for. In light of your favorable progress until this point, I have even given orders that other prisoners are to be given more generous treatment."

You raise your eyes to meet his. Bright green, and so earnest, as though desperate to reach you. Your chest feels heavy. Your mind is buzzing loudly, yet utterly silent.

"I'm... sorry," you choke out, "I'm sorry, Seteth..."

You're not certain what you're apologizing for- but he pulls you to him, cradling your head to his chest, and you feel a wave of relief. He kisses your hair and runs his hand over your back. He's warm- so warm, and his scent on his robes soothes you.

"You are forgiven. Always."

The soft sweetness of his voice seeps into your mind- into your heart.

It's intoxicating. He releases you, and smiles gently as he brushes your hair back.

"I will return in a moment to clean and feed you. Behave yourself and wait for me, I won't be long."

You never again go against Seteth's wishes. You never again mention your former allies, and with time, you think of them less and less. Such thoughts are replaced with lessons and prayers and Seteth's hands on your body. Yet you wonder why he has never fully taken you, instead choosing only to use your mouth. The surface answer appears to be that it would not serve to educate you. But is it what you want? The obvious answer comes far too readily. You want it more than anything.

Yet the day you realize this is the first day that Seteth does not visit you. You had found it strange that, during his prior visit, he had altered the shackles around your wrists so that your hands were bound in front of you rather than behind. In addition to putting less strain on your back and shoulders, this allows a guard to pass food to you through the openings in the barred window of your cell's door. You accept your meal, but call out before the guard leaves,

"Where- uh, where is Seteth?"

The guard hesitates before answering, and when he does, his words are rushed and clumsy,

"He- said he was busy today. And... that we were not to interact with you under any circumstances."

With that, he turns from the door and hastily departs. You know that Seteth must be a busy man- his consistent visits despite this are yet one more testament to his immense care and kindness towards you. But then the days continue, and for what you estimate to be a week, you don't see him. You don't feel him or hear him. The guards resolutely refuse to speak to you, only passing your meals before returning to their stations. The time spent alone is unbearable- worse by far than any punishment Seteth had ever granted. Are you being punished now? What had you done wrong?

The days without him are agony. Perhaps you had taken him for granted. He went so far out of his way for your benefit, taking the time to teach and train you, always so patient and understanding even when you made mistakes. If you could only see him again and prove that you would be good, that you would behave and obey him.

When the door of your cell opens at last, your heart leaps in your chest. Seteth enters, but his expression is grave. His eyes are narrowed, his brow low and stern as he silently approaches.

"Seteth-!" you gasp out, your face lit up with relief. A shadow of a smile shows through when he meets your eyes. He whispers your name with a strange sort of heat in his tone. That's when you notice the blood smeared down the side of his face. On a second inspection, he looks worn and haggard. His robes are frayed and torn in several places, the worst of which being a gash across his lower abdomen at his side. There's more blood still- some his, and some not, by the looks of it -and not even fully dry. Your expression falls. However before you can question him, Seteth says,

"Did any of the guards lay a finger on you in my absence?"

You're surprised that this is his concern, but you manage to reply,

"No, not at all."

He draws close and brings a hand to your cheek.

"Good. If any so much as looked on you even once, I would have them punished within the full extent of the Church's authority." You feel a chill at the thought- you know fully well that he means to imply execution.

"What- what happened?"

"Only a minor skirmish," he replies, his voice carefully measured. Then, his hands are at your waist, and he guides you back against the nearby wall, "Another attempt at breaking through the Monastery's gates. Preparation for this assault is what has kept me from you as of late. But you've no need to concern yourself with such things,"

He seizes the chain that joins your shackles and draws them upward, latching them to the wall behind you above your head. Then, he pulls you up and into his arms, embracing you and trapping you between the wall and his body.

"You- you should see a healer, you're hurt-" you stutter out.

"Such wounds couldn't possibly keep me from you," Seteth whispers, his voice rasping in his throat. When he kisses you, it's full of possessive hunger, and you feel the now-familiar ache for him roar to life at your core. You whimper against his lips. It feels different from before. Perhaps it's because of your recent separation, but he's more direct now, more passionate. He smells like sweat and iron and the carnage of the battlefield, but you can't think clearly enough to be bothered by it. If anything, it only spurs on your need for him.

Large, calloused hands run up your sides beneath your clothing, and you moan into his kiss. You're certain he means to tease you still, to bring you to the edge to leave you dangling by a thread. Instead, he tears open the front of your tunic with one hand while the other grips your thigh, down its outer curve to your ass, holding you firmly against him. And you feel his manhood, hot and incredibly hard, rutting between your lower lips behind layers of clothing.

You try to say his name, but he smothers your words in heated kisses, his tongue thrusting into your mouth to claim you. Before you can track, he's tugged down your breeches and adjusted his own clothing to free his throbbing member. Then, with your back to the cold stone and your legs wrapped around his hips, you feel the tip of his cock at your entrance and whimper aloud. You think he may make you beg or plead or pray. Not today. Today, at long, long last, Seteth murmurs your name and pushes the head of his cock into you, groaning as he feels you clench around him.

You're already panting, whining softly as he works his massive length into you. He had wasted no time, and yet you're already soaking wet for him, your juices coating his cock and welcoming him into your needy cunt. He spreads you open gradually but insistently, fitting you around him as he opens you up with thrusts that drive deeper and deeper with each pass. It's bliss- a bliss that makes you so dearly grateful for your own imprisonment. In this moment, you feel you'd gladly remain caged for life if it meant Seteth would care for you and satisfy you. Briefly, you do struggle against the restraints that hold your wrists in place, though only out of longing to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, to pull him close and offer yourself to him.

"Seteth..." you say, your voice shaky and weak. He glances up at you, and the heat in his eyes nearly takes away your breath. He's held inside of you to the hilt, the tip of his cock pressing hard into your core and the girth of it stretching you to your limit; yet he pauses, and you manage to say,

"Please- take... take me..."

He smiles and rests his forehead against yours. You feel the cool metal of the circlet he wears, and the tightening of his grip at your hips as he holds you against him.

"My angel..." he whispers into the quiet of your prison cell, "Yes, darling, I'll take you. Until you're mine and mine alone."

Seteth's hips begin to move, thrusting into you at a steady yet impassioned pace. His arms hook under your legs, urging them back towards you and spreading your thighs, allowing him to fuck you even deeper, driving into you to the hilt and filling you until you're gasping for breath. Your body arches up from the stone wall as his lips travel down your neck. Where it meets your shoulder muscle, he bites down, and you breathe out his name as he marks you, his teeth harsh around your flesh. His beard grazes your skin, his hair tickles your neck and chest, and not even the still-present scent of blood can lessen the thrill of finally receiving him.

You wear a dazed smile, mumbling his name amidst cries of pleasure, and his pace increases. He fucks into you harder, his hips slamming up against you, the tip of his manhood sending shocks of pain and pleasure up through your core. The distant sting of his nails digging against your upper thighs hardly even registers in your hazy thoughts. Your body can't withstand the onslaught of pleasure- not after days and night and weeks of building need -and with a shiver that runs up your spine and across your skin, you see white, and the tense knot at your core comes undone. The relief of cumming is like a potent drug, and the thrill of cumming around Seteth's cock is indescribable bliss.

You're a boneless, trembling mess in the wake of your long-awaited climax, and it's all you can do to watch Seteth with unfocused eyes and lips parted as he continues to chase his own satisfaction. Shocks of tingling pleasure wake your nerves despite how positively spent and dizzy you feel. But then his eyes meet yours, and the animal hunger in that gaze rushes you to the edge all over again. You bite at your bottom lip. He presses you harder against the wall, pounding into your cunt as it clenches and spasms around him, then growls against your ear,

"Say that you belong to me. Now."

You rally any sense of control you still have over your body to gasp out,

"I... I'm yours-! I'm yours, Seteth..!"

With a final shaky groan, he holds your hips painfully tight and shoves the entire massive length of his cock into you. His member swells and throbs, and then, the heat of his release bursts out inside of you. His lips find yours, drawing you into a messy, heated kiss as thick cum fills you, his full length swelling and pulsing against your aching inner walls with each wave of his orgasm.

You feel light. You feel dazed and unfocused and practically mindless. Once Seteth has finally poured out the last of his climax into you, he lets out a heavy exhale, holding you to his body while he catches his breath. With his cock still nestled deep inside of your over-full and over-used hole, he nuzzles his face against your hair, and with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, he says,

"I will never let her take you from me again. I swear it."

'Her' is someone who mattered once- you're certain of it. But in Seteth's arms, full of his warmth and cradled to his sturdy frame, you find you don't have it in you to care. Perhaps a lifetime ago, you would have questioned him, or even resisted him- but you know better now. He provides for you, protects you, gives you pleasure beyond what you've ever felt before. There's no doubt remaining in your mind that this is right. That you belong to the Church. You belong to Seteth.

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii i love your stuff - could u do one where the readers ill but they have stuff to do and tom has to look after her. maybe if they were just friends before too but both pining? thankuuuuuuuuu

should I be writing this instead of revising? clearly fucking not. Did I make this little blurb req ridiculously long purely to procrastinate? Of fucking course.

but also this was v cute! I assumed u meant famous!reader, sorry if that's not what u were after at all anon x

summary: Tom Holland turns into the readers knight in shining armour when they get ill during promo

warnings: fainting / feeling ill

///////////////////

It couldn’t be today. Of all days, why today? You’d been at home for two weeks doing absolutely nothing, before this trip. And yet it’s when your itinerary is packed to the brim, people moving heaven and earth just speak to you. Two weeks of unrelenting press for Marvels next big ensemble movie. 

Your manager was speaking to you, reeling off a run down of todays activities but instead of listening you nodded along blankly - head rather cloudy with this heavy mist that was not shaking off, no matter how hard you tried. 

“You got that Y/n/n?” Lucy pointedly spoke, eyes almost physically knocking you backwards as if her eyeliner was battery rams. Fumbling with your thoughts, your answer wasn’t particularly cohesive earning you just a disappointed head shake. 

“I um… yeh I think. Who-who did you say I was paired up with?” 

“Y/n please for the love of god. Tom, like I said the past fifty times.” And to be fair to Lucy she wasn’t wrong. It was the first major major promo tour for the both of you and after just two days so far - you were both exhausted. She was more than allowed to be a bit short tempered. 

“But we-we hardly know each other? The chemistry won’t be there and-“

“As I said, I tried to re-jig it but Kevin is of the mind that acting is your job.” Her tone was sharp but as she glared across the opposing seats, in the little mini van Marvel had hired for you as transportation, her eyes softened. Lucy had been so wrapped up in her own stress she may have overlooked quite how gingerly you were sitting. By the time she had arrived at the hotel, your stylist had already managed to half save your ghoulish looking face, with sunken under eyes and tired skin, so it wasn’t so blatantly obvious how crap you were feeling.  “Is everything okay with you?” 

It felt pretty puny to say that the jet lag from flying to Tokyo had been weighing you down further than you wanted, or that the local cuisine top chefs had kindly prepared for you last night wasn’t siting well in your stomach. To be honest, even you thought it was just your body being a bit overdramatic. So in response, you put on your best happy-go-lucky face feigning a smile.

“No no I’m fine, just want to give the best interviews I can and you know…. I’m awkward as hell as it is, then pair me with the most talented actor that I share about two minutes of screen time with…it’ll be interesting.” 

The way Lucy reacted with a weird slow nod, eyebrows furrowed, meant it was quite apparent you had perhaps overplayed that one. Had you not been so over the day before it even began, you would’ve tried again to give a more believable act. But as you were, you turned your attention back out to the bustling streets of Tokyo and the high rise buildings bordering each pavement. 

You didnt have a problem with Tom, far from it in fact. Tom was hilarious and the times you had met him, you’d both built up this weird and sarcastic competitiveness with each other. It was a game of who could get the last laugh, each of you pushing each other with the Mickey taking just a little further. Of course, not in a malicious way, just the way you’d both lived pretty similar but parallel careers - when everyone drew comparisons between the both of you, it was nice to make it a joke. 

Like Tom you’d also started out on stage, had a ‘big break’ movie as a kid and then spent your teenage years on and off film sets - till marvel happened. Then everything blew up to epic proportions, changing your life forever. Actually, it was so similar to Tom’s story, plus the fact you were also from the south west of the UK. It was bizarre your paths hadn’t crossed more - He probably could’ve been a useful ally in the the whole ‘becoming famous’ thing. 

And yet, you could probably count on two hands the amount of conversations you’d had with him. 

Now that, that was the issue. Right from the beginning you learn what the press want and when you are publicising a movie you cater into it too. They’d all be asking for the insider scoop on set; what pranks you’d pulled on each other; what was the most annoying thing about each other. Which is hard if you’d only had 5 or 6 days actually on set together. 

By the time the cab had wormed its way through the Tokyo traffic and you arrived at the PR hotel, it was already 9:30 - making you 15 minutes late (blame it on the traffic). Instantly then you were ushered straight to the interview room for the evening, no chance of green room chat or grabbing a drink before. The place was stuffy, everything was draped with black curtains except the poster board that Tom was already sitting infront of. 

He’d scrubbed up well, no doubt about it. He was wearing statement-ish burgundy suit trousers, teamed with a black knitted but collared shirt thing - that was clearly tailor made for the man. As soon as he noticed you scurry into the room, his face broke out into a warm smile, jumping up to greet you in a friendly hug. It was brief, and as you pulled back you accidentally bumped your head on one of the overhanging lights. No doubt someone had spent a ridiculous amount of time configuring them so they were positioned perfectly, which you had just ruined with your big head. 

“Oh shit!” Tom just laughed in response, shaking his head slightly as he lead you the two steps across to your pre-positioned seats. 

“Making an entrance as always I see!”

“Yeh, you know me, a bit of chaos just to keep everyone on their toes.”

“Oh is that why you’re ‘fashionably late’” With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, you just rolled your eyes, fidgeting on the chair to find a position that didnt aggravate  your stomach so much.

“I’m ready now though! What did I miss? Just having to pretend to be your friend for 15 minutes?” You stressed the words as though the thought of conversation with Tom was the absolute worst thing in the world - which you definetly didnt think. Scowling like you’d insulted his dog Tessa, it was almost visible how the cogs were turning in his head looking for a comeback. Unfortunately for him though, he was quickly shut up but the organiser bringing the first interviewer in . 

For what would, no doubt, be a long day. 

////

Everything had started off so well, the banter was flowing between you and Tom, no major spoilers revealed that meant Marvel would have to make the journalist disappear. It was once you hit an hour of back-to-back interviews that everything started to crack bit. Because yes, it had only been an hour but that was enough to exhaust you on this particular day. When Tom joked around you got slower and slower, similarly the  energy was zapped from your own answers. It’s not very compelling when someone says ‘you have to watch this movie’ in a monotonous voice with sullen eyes. 

As the interviewers were swapping in and out, Tom actually lightly nudged your shoulder.

“Everything alright? We’re trying to sell tickets and you’ve got a face like thunder.”

“Oh no-no sorry I just, I-um.”

“You want some water?” Now looking at your with more concerned eyes, as if he was just nervous he’d actually offended you for calling you a boring bastard. And you would’ve picked up on it and alleviated his concerns, if it weren’t for the fact your eyes were glued on the water bottle he was holding out to you. You were thirsty. You knew that, that wasn’t the conundrum. What you weren’t so sure about was whether your stomach would accept it, or more violently reject it. In a very non ‘we’re-trying-to-sell-a-movie’ style. 

But the lightheaded fogginess in your brain won out, as you nodded jerkily, taking the bottle and taking a little swig - too cautious to take anymore. 

Now concerned with how Tom thought you were being a Debby-downer too, you managed to perk yourself up for the next four interviews. They were easy, asking questions without any activity and though you did rely on Tom beefing out and adding to your answers, it was okay. Then the next interviewer came in, who you recognised as being from the BBC, Ali Plumb, that had interviewed you a number of times. From the way Tom jumped up to give him afirendly bro-hug, you guessed he also was familiar with him. As soon as he took a seat the cameras were already flashing with the red light, demonstrating his 7 minutes had already started. 

“Guys! It’s been a while.” 

“How are you Ali?” You started it off with the pleasantries, Tom echoing, before the speccy dirty-blonde asked his first question. 

“So the last time I spoke to you guys the universe was in chaos, Peter Parkers on the run and Aurora Blake was trying to strip her own powers, so I guess my first question is how are you both doing? We can use this as a therapy session if you guys need.” His very typical nerdy joke made Tom laugh, nodding as he leaned forward and repositioned a bit. 

You didn’t share the same humour though, more focused on this invisible blanket of stuffiness that seemed to have been thrown on top of you. It made you feel groggy, incredibly hot and so unbelievable nauseous. The lights weren’t helping either, it felt like you were pouring with sweat from your forehead. You thought Tom was answering Ali, even if you couldn’t really hear  - everything had merged into a deafening roar. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, unconsciously making you fumble yourself to standing, desperate to get somewhere with fresh air. The last thing you saw before your vision tunnelled into darkness was Tom, reaching out to try and catch you. 

Because next thing you knew, you were on the floor, wires from all the cameras and lights digging into your back as you looked up to see Tom on one side and Lucy on the other - both wearing a similarly panicked expression. You knew you hadn’t been out long, seconds if that, going by the fact everyone else was in the ‘oh my god’ phase of panic. It was a bit weird how calm you where, but then again all your life you’d been the ‘class fainter’. Waking up on the floor was something you were long since used to. 

“Y/n? You awake?” Rather stating the obvious Tom asked the question as you bent your head up - allowing you sight of all the concerned facing oggling you. With a defeated sigh, you flopped your head back. 

“If this is a dream then it’s a real bloody nightmare.” This time Tom didnt seem to appreciate your joke, looking at you without almost dumbfounded eyes, as you blinked repetitively and groaned. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lucy appeared to want to lecture you, which to be honest wasn’t the most time appropriate. You were still on the floor, legs crumpled up under you, so ignored her. Instead you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to blink away the blotchy haze that threatened to takeover your vision once again, whilst the pair above you both cautiously rested their palms on each of your shoulders -trying to be useful. The room still felt cramped and stifling, as everyone around were no doubt looking at you. 

It took a few minutes but your body seemed to get over itself, sitting up normally and trying to make small talk with Ali - who, by the way, was still sat awkwardly in the chair. Still nestled on the floor, your back up against the chair you had been siting on as you raved with Ali of the Harry Potter theatre show. In a natural lull in conversation, Tom perked up - from the door where he’d been muttering with the organiser as Lucy bit her nails nervously. 

“Y/n you need to go home.” 

All of you knew what Tom said was impossible. Not being egotistical, but you were too important. Although you hadn’t been paying masses of attention for Lucy’s run down of your itinerary - you knew it was packed. 

So you just looked up and rolled your eyes at Tom, earning yourself a strong glare, before locking the organiser in eye contact.

“How many have we got till lunch?” 

“Um this gent here” He gesturned toward Ali, who was almost squirming in his seat now “then two more.”  

“And then lunch?” 

“Yes, then you have a personal appearance at a dinner, so transport will be coming to pick you both up.” This poor guy seemed obsessed with the clock and his timetable, looking at your with a mixture of panic and frustration. You should know this stuff, you should’ve listened to Lucy. 

“How fars the drive?” 

“At this time probably an hour and a half.” 

The plan was clear in your head, you’d sort yourself out in the car and be fully fine by the afternoon and evening engagements. Plus you felt almost fine now. So with a sigh, you hauled yourself up onto the chair, patting for Tom to sit back down. 

“It’s half an hour and then I’ll sort myself out at lunch - come on their waiting.” The way Lucy pouted showed she disagreed somewhat, except a stern look kept her from protesting, as Tom walked toward you. 

“Are you sure you don’t loo-“

“Let me stop you before you insult my appearance.” Snickering slightly at his worried face, you laughed it off , knocking his side with a gentle murmur of ‘don’t worry about me’. 

In fact after that little episode you did feel a little recovered, which meant you were properly noticing the change in the boy sat next to you. Throughout the remaining three interviews he’d done a complete 360 from earlier. Rather than trying to get little digs at you, he had become fiercely protective - jumping in if a questions wasn’t particularly appropriate or relevant to the movie ( meaning when an awfully crap man asked what underwear you’d been able to wear in your suit) ; taking the heat of the conversation as well as just watching you like a hawk. Each time you answered his beady brown eyes were watching you from the side, you got the impression it wasn’t only just because of the risk of spoilers. 

Quite remarkably, you survived the rest of the day pretty well, after a power nap in the car on the way over - even if it was a bit difficult when you had your manager watching you like a hawk from the seat across. It was as if Lucy had never seen anyone ill before, she seemed concerned that you were going to spontaneously stop breathing and die at any point. 

Though by the time all the official business at the dinner was done, your body and willpower had reached the end of their tether. You and Tom were both on a round table, surrounded by 6 CEOs and execs of what seemed to be a multimillion pound business enterprise. With the language barrier meaning you had to speak through the two people on the table who were fluent in both japanese and English, the conversation was already pretty jilted. Though to be fair, the six did seem to be enjoying the evening - something you werent able to reciprocate. Thankfully, five minutes after the main course dishes had been collected, Tom spoke up from his position opposite you.

“This has been lovely and we really appreciate your time and generosity but me and Y/n have a really early start tomorrow so I think we should probably get back to the hotel.” You swore in that moment you could’ve kissed him, and it looked like Tom could tell - by the way your shoulders sagged and you let out an exhale of pure relief. Apparently even if you’d managed to convince the hosts you were enjoying the evening, Tom easily saw through the performance. After some hurried goodbyes, Tom led you out of the hall with his hand hovering over your lowerback, trying to make sure your exit was as discreet as possible. 

Away from the bubble of chatter and activity, in the deserted hallway, Tom stopped you - lightly holding both hands on each of your arms. 

“Wheres your team?” 

“Um Luce is back at the hotel, she was trying to see if she could reschedule any of my stuff tomorrow.” You winced at the way he sighed, realising you were all on your own in some random business event hall in Tokyo.

“Harry -my brother- is waiting in the car at the front - is that okay?”

“No Tom, don’t worry abo-“

“Yeh well I am and I think you feel ten times worse than you’re letting on.” He spoke harshly, like a school teacher telling you off - except the hint of a kind smile at the end was a dead giveaway. 

“You sure?” 

With a relieved nod (Tom had thought you might be a bit more stubborn - you obviously were really really ill) he wordlessly shrugged his suit jacket off, wrapping it round your shoulders. He muttered something about not wanting you to catch a chill but to be quite honest you were a bit distracted by the woody cedar smell of Toms aftershave that enveloped your senses. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being fussed on by him? To be fair he wasn’t wrong either, you were in a strapless evening dress - you would’ve preferred to be in joggers, but Marvels press team had other ideas. 

After a quick pit stop at the toilets, the two of you managed to make an unnoticed escape out the building - into a big SUV which had seconds prior pulled up onto the steps. You literally melted into the nearest window seat, body hunching over as you probably crumpled Tom’s jacket beyond belief. 2 seats along from you, a frizzy haired boy gave you a sympathetic smile, which you returned weakly whilst muttering a ‘hi’. Meanwhile, Tom pulled the sliding door shut, sitting across from you. 

“Oh Y/n this is Harry and Harry this is Y/n.” In unison both of you replied with an ‘I know’ eye roll. Your response was somewhat more shocking to both Holland boys, you could tell from the way they had this whole nonverbal conversation with their eyes - they were very clearly brothers. Needing to explain you continued. “I like to keep tabs on my castmates, I’ve seen you on Toms instagram.” That had both boys smirking, Harry presumably just because you knew who he was; Tom more smugly, you’d just given away you slightly stalked him on instagram. 

Silence reigned for a moment, as the driver put his foot down slightly. 

“How you doing?” Tom asked. 

“Mhm…” you thought for a second, how to eloquently describe the sensation. 

“shit.” 

Both boys chuckled a little and even though you had closed your eyes in an attempt to dull the throbbing behind your temples, you could feel the eyes on you. 

“You want the music off?” Harry asked, referring to the indie-rock coming quietly out the speakers of his laptop, which was resting on his lap. With a shake of your head you refused, even if really silence probably would help your head, you were already causing the two Hollands enough trouble - no need to bore them during the journey back into central Tokyo, especially when you weren’t the most enthusiastic company ever. 

Thankfully the music stayed on a low volume, whilst the car seemed to settle into a comfortable silence. With a long exhale you fluttered your eyes open, seeing Tom focused on his phone, before you rested the side of your head against the black-out glass. Taking some relief from the cool glass, you huddled further into the corner of the car against the door.

Floating in the space between sleep and wakefulness, you were kind of aware of your head occasionally bobbing and jerking about - but really didn’t have the energy or willpower to do anything about it. Instead, the thing that perked your attention was hearing some supposed-whispering from inside the body of the car.

“I know she said she didn’t care but she was clearly lying-“ 

“Like you know! You’ve been desperate to try and spend some time with Y/n- maybe you poisoned her just so you could be all knight-in-shini-“

“Turn. The. Music. Off.” Tom sounded scathing now, and with a grumble from your other-side the cheery drum beats ceased.

“Happy now?” …and Harry was sarcastic. 

“Swap places with me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“So she can lie down.” 

“Well no because you would still be in the way if we swapped.”

“Yeh but she can lie on my lap idiot.”

“She can lie on me.”

“She doesn’t know you!”

“Well for 1, barely ten minutes ago she said she did know me. And 2, she doesn’t know you any better!”

If this was their version of whispering, you would love to hear what volume ‘shouting’ was. There was no reply for a short while, you imagined the two brunettes locked in some intense staring match.The next time Tom spoke he sounded more defeated - almost begging. 

“If I admit you beat me at the driving range the other day will you-” 

“I KNEW IT!” Harry yelped, the volume making you jerk, eyes flying open before reflexively closing because the light was too bright. There was a little mutter of an apology, then silence again. 

Once agin you must’ve drifted off because it felt like absolutely no time had passed when a firm but gently hand on your shoulder nudged you awake. 

Sure enough the boys had swapped position, Tom now sitting along the seat from you, Harry looked a little sulky from across the way. It was Tom who was reaching over, a gentle and peaceful smile on his face.

“You wanna lie down? Don’t want you to strain your neck.” He wasn’t wrong, adding to the throbbing headache, the cloudiness in your brain and the unsettled feeling in your stomach… now your neck hurt. Just bloody great. 

Had you been your normal witty and perceptive self, you might’ve teased Tom as to why him and his brother had done a switch - but everything hurt and all you wanted to do was sleep for a hundered years. So with squinting eyes you jerkily nodded, missing how Tom chuckled to himself. The guy undid your seatbelt, then sat back to let you balance the back of your head on his thigh, looking up at the roof of the SUV. Already your eyes were closed again, you kicked off your slip-on heels and bent your legs up to lean against the backrest - occupying the position you had been sat in before hand. You felt his hands reposition the jacket, pulling it round so it was now like a blanket tucked under your chin. 

To be fair it was much more comfortable than sitting up and you weren’t even aware of how quickly you dropped back into sleep. 

Though it wasn’t quick enough to miss Harry’s very sulky sounding comment, presumably meant only for Tom’s ears. 

“Still think you’re being fucking creepy bro.” 

<33 lemme know what u think! (would make me feel less guilty for not doing all the work I rlly should be doing aha)

tagging : @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove

[ccrites]

about me

Hi, i'm CC (she/they), i'm twenty-[wilhelm scream] and i've decided to create this side-blog to post my writing, bc my Google docs is getting cluttered, and I want to make a step in feeling less self-conscious about my work. We'll see how long I last.

I've been writing since i was like 6, and have gotten into a bad habit of never finishing stuff unless I forced myself to post it somewhere, so I'm hoping this blog will help me go through with it. some stuff will be edited, some not, some ideas, some plots, some horny pwp, some dark stuff, whatever, I just want to get my stuff out there.

currently writing about: call of duty (i know, shocker)

MASTERLIST

MDNI. 18+ only, if you don't have your age in bio you will be blocked

You can find my old fics on AO3 here and any new stuff from this blog cross-posted on AO3 here or on my Tumblr writing tag here (if the link does not work, it's tagged under "cc writes").

(more info under the cut!)

this is a sideblog, so follows and asks from me don’t come from here. If you find my main, I don't care no you didn't.

i am not a native English speaker. If you ever think something sounds wrong please tell me

i am both a full time student and have an adulting job at 80% for my master's. if i ever disappear for a few days do not worry, if I post a lot out of a sudden, i might have a deadline coming up and that's me procrastinating (pls yell at me to go back to work)

might be presumptuous of me to assume my stuff would ever get plugged into AI but if it does I will haunt you and move all the stuff in your house one inch so you always stub your toes Update: privated my AO3 for this reason because I'm paranoid.

if you leave a nice comment I might just combust, I bookmark all of the AO3 emails relating to comments!! I love you!!!

I will always try to answer asks, but like, I have to get them first lol

things i don’t write: I am pretty vanilla but depending on the mood I might venture into dark-er stuff. but if anyone asks for piss stuff I will not judge and gently redirect them away from my ask box

greatly inspired by @391780, @soapskneebrace, @ceilidho, @charliemwrites, @ohbo-ohno, @peachesofteal, and so many others talented writers around here i am forgetting right now. I am a big fan and read almost all their stuff, and it has gotten some of my own brain worms wiggling around in here. let's just hope I don't embarrass myself

[spacedikut]

i love your blurbs sm, can you write one about in quarantine with spence?

“im running out of new things to try.”

spencer’s looming in the doorway, enviously watching your position of comfort - you’re on your twelfth book, cuddled up in the duvet, using every pillow on the bed to your advantage.

he’s been pottering around in the kitchen all morning - he’s recently discovered his mathematical mind makes baking come naturally, and he’s beginning to translate that ability to pastries that he’s only content with if you shove into your mouth whole.

you hum. “you could clean,”

“already done.”

“rearrange your books?”

“did it yesterday. and five days before that.”

“...are there any puzzles you haven’t finished?”

“i’ve done them all at least twice now.”

you laugh, then, because it’s barely midday and this crisis usually happens at least right before dinner - to which you suggest he attempts to make said dinner and... he tries his best - and spencer frowns, displeased by your response and evident lack of empathy when it comes to his struggle. and what a struggle it is.

he shuffles towards the bed, kicking off his slippers (which he made himself - penelope sent a kit), revealing his mismatching socks (that he crocheted), a rush of air pushing out of you both when he lands on you.

“it’s not funny!” he whines, worming his way into your neck. “i have a shipment of new books arriving tomorrow, but every time i track the delivery it shows the same ‘delivery in progress!’ message.”

“for once, your constant need to be learning has come to bite you in the butt.”

that wasn’t the correct response, apparently - although he doesn’t move from being burrowed in your side, his lithe fingers momentarily dig into your side, just enough to get a reaction and for him to pull back and show you the pout on his lips. he’s asking for sympathy and you’re making fun of him.

he pauses, calculating as he waits for you to catch your breath. “what about a pet?” he asks.

although you’re fond of the idea, there’s one tiny issue: “that would require going outside, mr homebody.”

he huffs, moving from your chest to resting his head on your stomach - prime head scratching position. 

“doctor homebody.” he mumbles uselessly.

he flicks through his options like a catalogue in his mind - he’s done knitting, crocheting, sewing, anything involving needles and patterns, really, and he’s done his fair share of baking and cooking and he made that lopsided cake that one time. he’d reread every single book in your apartment before the first lockdown ended, and although he’s more than happy to do it all again...his brains needs something different. something other than being stationary and only using his upper body to flip pages and stir pots and weave fabric through holes.

with a soft hand rubbing against the bare skin of your thighs - he’s also started taking skincare very seriously - he tentatively asks, “we could...dance?”

you pause, questioning whether you heard him correctly.

“did you hear me?” spencer asks, turning to face you, fingers poking under the book that rests on your chest to lift it so he can see your face. you look very confused.

“dancing?”

“yeah.”

“you want to dance?”

“im not great, but...”

“you really want to?”

he can’t decipher if the expression on your face is building excitement or disgust. it’s terrifying - one will lead to future embarrassment (when he inevitably stands on your toes) and the other will lead to imminent embarrassment (when you call him a gangly freak). “i would like to, yes. if you’ll be my partner.”

“spence!” you sit up abruptly, forcing him to follow, and now he’s confident it’s excitement contorting your face. “are you kidding? of course! this’ll be so much fun,” you’re wiggling from under him and leaving the bed. spencer watches you with a warm smile. “i’ve always wanted to see you dance, ever since i saw the videos of jj’s wedding.”

you move towards the record player in your room, shuffling through the vinyls you own with pursed lips and bright eyes. spencer watches, leaning back on one arm, lovesick and surprisingly not even a little worried about how difficult this will be for his uncoordinated self.

(the mention of wedding has him asking if you’ve got any music fit for a waltz - of course you do - and has him tearing up with you’re close and softly singing along to what spencer decides will be your wedding song)

[turtlee-rockin]

How to Wake a Sleeping Cat (Catradora)

Ship: Catradora (lee Catra, ler Adora)

Summary: Adora is excited to have fun in the snow, but Catra, who isn’t the biggest fan of snow, needs some convincing.

Words: 993

A/N: My first fic!!! It definitely won’t be the best quality of writing, but I’m excited to finally contribute to this community. I really hope you all enjoy reading it. Feel free to send writing tips or really anything you’d like in my asks! Also, this was written and posted from my phone so sorry if the formatting is messed up!

_______________________________________________

Adora’s eyes blinked open sleepily. The morning light streamed gently through the windows of her bedroom in Bright Moon. She sat up slowly and glanced at Catra, curled up comfortably next to her, breathing slowly and steadily.

Then she noticed it.

Flecks of white, falling silently to the ground. The first snowfall since the war ended.

Adora’s eyes widened. She reached over and shook her girlfriend awake. “Catra! Catra, it’s snowing!” she exclaimed. She could barely keep her excitement contained.

Catra groaned, never the morning person. She covered her head with a pillow to try to block out Adora and return to her peaceful slumber. “So what? We’ve seen snow before,” Catra mumbled into the mattress, not even bothering to open her mismatched eyes.

Adora rolled her eyes. “Do I have to remind you that last time we were in the snow, giant bugs made of first ones tech tried to kill us?”

Catra noticed Adora’s omission of other certain events from that night, but still raised her arm just enough to wave dismissively at Adora. “Uhhh yeah, they tried to kill us in the snow.”

“Catraaaaaa, come on! Let’s build a snowman!”

“Snow is cold and wet and I want to sleep,” whined the still half asleep feline.

Adora huffed, trying to think of a way she would be able to convince her grumpy girlfriend to enjoy the peaceful snowfall with her. She suddenly flipped her body over so that she was laying directly on top of Catra like some kind of human blanket.

“Oof- Adora, what the heck?” Catra propped herself up on her elbows as best she could with a body on top of her and glared at the blonde, who was sitting on her back.

Adora then began to chant, using the squishy bed to her advantage and bouncing up and down on Catra’s back. “Get. Up. Get. Up. Get. Up.”

Catra, thoroughly annoyed, flung the pillow that was beneath her backwards with one arm. It manages to hit Adora directly in the side of the face.

Adora’s bouncing ceased, much to Catra’s relief. She folded her arms under her to replace the pillow that she had just sacrificed, and closed her eyes again. She didn’t give Adora, still perched on her lower back, a second thought.

That was, until she felt two claw-like hands squeezing at her sides. Adora had managed to slip her hands underneath the oversized hoodie which Catra had decided to sleep in.

“GaH- Ador-HA ghhhh quit it!!” Catra’s arms instinctively shot down to protect her sides, causing her to face plant into the bed.

Adora laughed (somewhat evilly), and continued her early morning attack on her girlfriend, amused at how hard Catra was trying not to laugh. The brunette beneath her was emitting a variety of noises resembling squeaks, grunts, and hisses.

“Aw, what’s wrong, babe? Too ticklish?” At the sound of Adora’s teasing voice, Catra’s face flushed as she bit her lip, still refusing to give Adora the laughter she desired. It was too goddamn early for this.

“N-no! Now get off of meheehee!” A few giggles leaked from her lips.

Thirsty for more of Catra’s laughter, Adora began worming her way between Catra’s body and her tightly squeezed elbows, working her way up her ribs toward her armpits.

This caused a steady flow of raspy giggles mixed with various curses and threats.

“Adohohora, I swehehear if you don’t gehehet off of me I’ll kihihihihill you.” Catra tried her best to sound threatening, which was difficult to do with the wide grin plastered on her face and the small bursts of giggles she was emitting.

Adora just chuckled and kept wiggling her fingers, which were now trapped in Catra’s armpits thanks to her tightly clamped arms. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making these kinds of statements, now are you?”

“Shaha-shut uhahahap!” Was the only response that Catra could formulate, her brain overwhelmed by the tickly sensations.

Adora, who was having perhaps a bit too much fun, suddenly remembered why she was torturing her girlfriend in the first place. “So, are you gonna come outside with me or what?” She asked, poking up and down Catra’s back, making her squeal and rock side to side.

With tears forming in her eyes Catra spluttered out, “pffft-HA ahahafter youhou put me through thihihihis? Nohohoho wahahahay!”

Adora pulled her hands out from under Catra’s sweatshirt and placed her hand on her chin, as if deep in thought. “Hmm… it sounds like some more convincing is in order,” she said in a dramatic accent.

“W-wait! Adora, I swear if you don’t get off of me right now-“ Catra didn’t like the sound of that one bit. Her eyes were wide as she scrambled frantically in a fruitless attempt to throw Adora off. The only thing she managed to achieve was to shift Adora from sitting on her back to sitting on her thighs.

“Ah ah ah~” came Adora’s sing-song voice. “Not until you agree to go outside with me.”

Seizing the newfound opportunity, she rapidly squeezed Catra’s hips, digging her fingers into the pockets of the bones.

Catra cackled, her squeaky laugh echoing throughout their bedroom. She arched her back to escape Adora’s fingers, but her body gave out and she flopped back down when Adora skittered her fingers underneath her body to tickle her stomach.

Catra practically screamed, Adora’s fingers now trapped between her and the bed.

Finally, after a few more seconds, Catra gave in. Her resignation came in the form of a desperate string of words.

“FINEI’LLGOOUTSIDEWITHYOUSTAHP!!!”

Adora whooped triumphantly and leapt off of Catra, who was still laying breathlessly on the bed, tears in her eyes.

Adora let her girlfriend catch her breath for barely a second before grabbing her arm and dragging her toward the closets to get dressed. Catra complied this time, a soft smile on her blushing face.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with this dork”.

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - One

Dorian x reader (throne of glass) (future fenrys x reader)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 4.5k

a/n: ahhhhh I’m finally writing this!! This has been in my head for so long now so I’m so glad I’m finally getting it down and I’m really excited to develop it further and possibly go into some poly!dorianxfenrysxreader but that shall all be revealed soon lmao, pls comment and let me know your opinions and theories and shiz it always makes my day!!!

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“Wake up.” You felt insistent tapping on your forearm, groaning as you shook it off, turning onto your side and burrowing deeper into your soft duvet. “C’mon wake up princess,” your brain barely registered Dorian’s whining as you groaned in return, throwing and arm out behind you and batting at his firm chest.

“Go away.” You moaned as you felt a firm body land on top off yours. Dorian pressed his face in between your shoulder blades as his arms wormed their way beneath your stomach, warm fingertips massaging the skin of your belly as you cracked open an eye, albeit reluctantly.

“I have to say all those lessons in ladylike manners sure paid off.” You heard Chaol’s sarcastic voice and turned your head just enough to glare at him as well as he sat comfortably on the armchair next to your fireplace.

“I also have lots of lessons in stabbing rude boys, shall I demonstrate those,” you grumbled, flipping him off before shaking your clingy boyfriend away, sitting up in bed and glaring at both of them as they laughed at your disgruntled expression. “What do you want and why are you waking me up?”

“Well, my love,” Dorian moved behind you to gently start brushing your hair as you hummed in delight at the attention, both of you ignoring Chaol’s eye roll, “It is your birthday isn’t it?”

“So you choose to torment me?” you asked as Dorian stood again, smiling at you boyishly as he moved around your room, tidying away clothes.

“Well seventeen is a big one,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you and Chaol moved to translate as you stood and made your way to your bathroom where a bath had already been run for you, the hot water smelling of expensive soaps and salts.

“We have to make appearances today, and there’s a ball tonight.” Your shoulders slumped as you realised what your day entailed.

“Appearances?” you gave your friend a pleading look, but he just shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

“Carriage through the city, the whole point in the public seeing you so much is to dampen any threat of revolution and they haven’t seen the two of you together recently. Your birthday is as good a time as any.” The older boy explained as your dark-haired prince moved closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and kissing your head.

“I know it sucks princess, but if we make the rounds this morning, we’ll have all afternoon to ourselves before the ball.”

“I don’t like being a show pony.” You grumbled as the familiar frustration prickled behind your eyes, tears forming on what was supposed to be a happy day for you.

Chaol and Dorian averted their gazes at your words, both feeling a deep sense of guilt over something they truly couldn’t control. You had spoken of this before, only in confidence to them; Dorian the love of your life and Chaol alike a brother to you, you had told them how you felt like a toy, a shiny thing for the king to display, waved around in front of the public until you were drained, and they were putting artificial colour onto your face. You had once described it as being alike a corpse in makeup, dragged around for others entertainment as you slowly rotted and decayed until you were unrecognisable.

“I’ll be there the entire time my love, when it gets too much I’ll drag the attention away from you okay?” you nodded as he stroked your arm reassuringly.

“I love you,” you said to him as you leaned up to kiss him gently.

“I love you too baby, happy birthday.”

Chaol walked past as he left the room so you could clean, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Maybe next year you’ll grow,” he mocked, narrowly missing your smack as the three of you laughed.

“Clean up, we’ll be waiting when you’re ready,” Dorian pressed another kiss to your head before he was dragged out of the room, his grin easy as you waved him away.

--

You washed quickly without the help of the maids that usually surrounded you. You presumed that was a birthday present from Dorian as he knew how much you despised the bustling groups of women that would preen over your every feature.

You spent half the bath scrubbing off layers of dead skin and the other massaging your hair until it had no option but to shine in the morning light. Cleaning your face and dragging a razor over any visible body hair as you repeated the rules you were taught in your head.

1.      Never look anything less than perfect. A queen must look put together.

2.      Always stand straight.

3.      Never smile with your teeth.

4.      Wave to children only, adults get a polite head bow.

5.      Speak once spoken too and only if given permission from the Crown prince…

The list went on for what seemed like hours and at one point you had it written down and pinned on your wall next to your mirror, reading it every day. The first four years you had spent under the king’s care were the same. Lessons followed by more lessons, restrictive diets, and waist training. They broke you down and remodelled you into the perfect queen, and throughout those lonely years you never once saw Dorian, excluding the first time you met as children.

Only when you were twelve did you see him again, and from then on you did everything together. When he sword trained you practiced ballet, when he read, you read, when he ate, you ate. You became one person, never doing something without the other, Chaol turning your duo into a trio soon after.

When you turned fourteen he kissed you. You both knew you were to be married one day, but one snowy day he had pulled you aside and kissed you quickly, face as red as the roses your mother used to grow every summer. He had asked you to be his girlfriend, speaking so quickly you barely heard him as you held in laughs at your usually so composed prince. You had nodded in response and he kissed you again, holding your hand tightly as the two of you escaped the castle for the night, determined as he was to take you on a real date.

You dried quickly when you got out the bath, rubbing your favourite lavender scented hand cream into your hands and neck. You towelled your hair off and dressed quickly, mindful of the delicate necklace that always hung around your neck, the one that secured your place in the glass castle. Even if you didn’t know why.

Your dress was dusty blue with silver stitching, the king and queen liking when you and Dorian sticked to a theme. You thumbed some silver earrings in and adorned your wrists in similar dainty, silver bracelets, finally twisting your hair into a low bun and pinning away the loose strands, applying minimal makeup.

You heard a soft knock at the door before it pushed open, a familiar mop of dark hair appearing at an odd angle from behind the door. You smiled when you saw him, unable to escape the rush of feelings that appeared whenever he walked in a room, all easy smiles and suave manner.

He sauntered over to you with a cheeky smile, his hands hiding something behind his back.

“Maybe Chaol was right about the height thing,” he commented when he reached you, your similar heights long gone as you both grew into your bodies, the days of being young and without consequences gone.

You jabbed him in the rib jokingly, “It’s my birthday and all I’ve gotten so far is abuse.”

“Let me change that then,” he pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, and you shut your eyes, revelling in the attention from your lover. He pulled away and revealed the flat box he was holding. “I know you can’t take your necklace off, but I thought this would go nicely with it,” he opened the box in your direction, and you looked down at a beautiful gold necklace with a circular pendant showing an opalescent crescent moon with three stars on the gold plating it rested on.

“Oh Dorian,” you whispered, picking the necklace up gently to admire it.

“Of course I have a million other presents waiting for you later, I have to treat my best girl,” he scrunched his face up in the way that always reminded you that he too was just a boy, despite his lessons. You loved these gentle moments when you both let your masks drop, and instead focused on the true love you shared, a lack of care for the way it was pushed. You instead focused on the luck that had given you a man you could truly love, through all the pain and harsh words, the world had given you someone to endure its hardships with, and for that you would remain grateful.

“Put it on for me?” you smiled at him, biting your lip gently as he turned you around, clasping the necklace that sat perfectly under your crystal behind you neck, his fingers soft and gentle as they trailed down the chain and settled between your collarbones, his touch almost wary of the stone as he moved to stand in front of you.

He seemed like he was about to say something but clearly decided against it, instead reaching to tug some strands of hair down to frame your face, twirling them in his long fingers.

“We’ll be fine today, it’s only an hour or two.” He said, his voice steady and sure, his courage coursing through you as he cupped your face lightly.

“We will be. We always are.” You moved away and sat to pull on your shoes as Dorian checked his sword was hanging safely from his side still before he picked up a light shawl, slinging it around your shoulder and linking arms with you.

“The city awaits my love,”

--

Chaol was escorting you through the courtyard when you were surrounded by a fleet of soldiers, exchanging a worried glance with Dorian.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his arm tightening around you as he and Chaol both scanned the area.

“Yes your highness, however a rather dangerous prisoner is being taken to the king, so we are simply on high alert.” A guard you recognised said, Dorian frowned but you all continued onwards, only slowing when you passed an ever-larger group of guards. When you passed them you looked to the centre where a beautiful girl with a tear-stained face stood, being dragged along, her blonde hair matted with blood and dirt. She locked eyes with you, and you felt a pulse of power go through your body, her turquoise eyes widening for a second as time seemed to slow around you, a soft glow emitting from your neck. However before you could ponder it she was dragged away, and Dorian was asking you a question.

“Huh?” you asked quietly, mind occupied by the strange, beautiful girl.

“What do you think she did?” he asked, his grin cheeky.

“Maybe she steals princes hearts and eats them,” you joked, nudging his side even though your smile didn’t feel real, hiding your shaking hands behind the pleats of your skirt.

“Shame mine has already been stolen,” he flirted, and you laughed genuinely as he helped you into the carriage, pushing down the thoughts of the girl and the anxiety that surged through you as you prepared to plaster on a fake, placid smile.

“I haven’t eaten it yet though,” he laughed, joining you and squeezing your hand.

“Save it for dessert.”

--

The rest of your day passed slowly. Practiced waves and polite conversation taking up a majority of your morning as you tried to keep a pleasant facial expression when all you wanted was to curl up with your very cute boyfriend and sleep your birthday away.

You hated being put on display, the way you were shown off like a shiny toy and your hand was frequently finding Dorians, holding his tightly while you dug your nails into the palm of your other hand, the biting pain reminding you that you were in fact human.

By the end of the long, slow loop of Adarlan your shoulders were aching, and your mouth hurt from the still, soft expression you had kept it in. However you didn’t let your shoulders drop as you moved swiftly through the castle, Dorian by your side and Chaol a pace behind. Instead you only let your shoulders fall when you reached your room as you squealed, clapping your hands together and turning to Dorian with wide eyes when you saw the copious amounts of presents laid out for you.

“Dorian this is too much!” you exclaimed as you tackled him in a hug.

“Nothing is too much for you angel.” He muttered, kissing your head as you practically swooned in his arms.

“You read too much romance,” you said, ducking your head to hide your heated face.

“Plus a solid twenty percent are from me,” Chaol said, and you turned, hugging the tall man tightly too.

“Thank you!” you held your hands to your face, biting the tips of your thumbs like you used to as a child as Dorian led you to the seats where the presents were placed.

“I think this one needs to be opened first,” he said, a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t place as he passed you a large but light box. You opened the lid cautiously as Dorian exchanged excited looks with his brother. You were met by a ball of white fur, bright blue eyes blinking up at you and you gasped.  

You placed a hand over your heart as you reached into the box, picking up the kitten that was roughly the size of your hand and cooing gently as you stroked it, tears filling your eyes. You looked up at Dorian and he smiled at you as you pressed the furball into your chest, nuzzling its soft head.

“I found it abandoned on a street and had to take it home,” he explained, “He doesn’t have a name yet.”

You wiped away a tear that had escaped as they laughed at your emotional state, “Amaris,” you whispered, still choked up, “My little ball of light.”

You leaned into Dorian’s arm and kissed him gently in thanks, his head coming over your shoulder as you cooed at the small kitten that was pawing at your hand like new parents.

“As sweet as this is we’re going to be here for hours if you take this long on everything,” you stuck your tongue out at Chaol, placing Amaris in your lap as you were passed more presents. You ended up opening many presents for Amaris, Dorian sheepishly explaining that he got slightly carried away, countless books, dresses, hair pins and bags filled with sweets from all over the world.

By the time you were finished you all felt slightly sick from the taffy you had shared but the aches left from your smiles were real this time. Maids came in to clear away the wrapping paper and dishes Dorian had ordered up when he realised you hadn’t had any substantial food yet that day.

“I should go, we’ve got dinner then the ball in an hour and I can hear the maids outside,” Dorian said late that afternoon, his arms tight around you as you snoozed on his chest, Chaol having left to complete his duties for the day, not having the luxury to laze around like you and Dorian, and Amaris curled on Dorian’s chest next to your head.

“Do you have too?” you whined, and Dorian laughed,

“Yes, now c’mon. Wear the gold dress tonight,” he was referring to an intricate rose pink and gold dress he had bought you, currently hanging on the screen in your room, the matching tiara in a velvet case on your vanity. You looked over to it with heart eyes, wondering how you got so lucky before you sat up and Dorian marvelled at you, eyes puffy from your nap and lips parted and pouty. He reached up and stole a kiss, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before deepening the kiss with a hand on the back of your head. He pressed into your body, his tongue seeking out yours and you moaned softly into the kiss, his grin a promise of more to come later in the evening.

He pulled away too soon, leaving you breathless and left with a wink as you were surrounded by a sea of flustered maids, getting swept up in the lace and satin, the rush of the room silencing your mind for the time being.

--

You sat next to Dorian on a velvet seat, Dorian’s hand protectively resting on your knee as you spoke to the duke and duchess of some shit you didn’t care about. They were speaking about their fifth horse when you felt a sharp gaze on you and turned to see the king staring at you with his cold eyes, and for a second you felt that pulse of power again, the Duke cut off mid-sentence as the world slowed. You tore your eyes away quickly, clenching them shut as the image of the blonde girl came back into your head, Dorian gazing at you with worry as he excused the two of you.

“What happened?” he asked, leading you to dance as you forced yourself back into your practiced facial expression, the mask slipping on hiding your fear.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into his embrace, “I need to talk to you about something that happened today,” you whispered low enough for him to hear.

“Are you okay? Did someone do something?” he asked, grip tightening slightly as he led you in a waltz.

“Not quite, I’ll tell you when we can go somewhere more private.” You peered over his shoulder and met the kings’ eyes again, watching as he spoke lowly to Chaol who turned slightly pale before bowing and making his way over to you.

“May I but in,” he asked, and Dorian nodded, still watching you cautiously as he passed you to Chaol.

“The king wishes to speak to you after the ball, he says it’s the first thing you have to do.” He told you quietly and it took all your training to mask your fear.

“Did he say why?” you asked, taking a deep breath when he shook his head. “Okay, that’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.” You finished your dance with Chaol before carrying on with Dorian, occasionally having to entertain a noble who would breathe heavily in your ear for ten minutes before Dorian found an excuse to steal you back, giggling like the teenagers you were as you did.

When the ball ended and everyone began filing out, all wishing you a happy birthday and you and Dorian a happy future you felt the ball of anxiety that had been in your stomach all night grow, consuming your entire being and swallowing you whole.

“Are you sure you’re okay going alone?” Dorian asked for the fourth time and you faked a laugh to appease his nerves.

“He probably just wants to let me know of new duties now I’m older, I’ll not be long.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“But why won’t he let me or Chaol escort you,” he looked concerned, his trust in his father depleting as he grew older.

“Probably because you’ve both been drinking,” you squeezed his hand as his shoulders slumped, “I’ll be fine.”

“Come up to my room as soon as you’re done okay?” you smiled at his concern, placing a hand over your new necklace, and walking back, away from him.

“Promise.” You blew him a kiss, “see you in a minute, I love you.”

--

You knew something was wrong even before you walked in the room as you watched the queen walk out, eyes red. Her breath stopped when she saw you and she looked as if she were about to come over to speak to you, but shook her head, continuing on with a tight smile.

The guards opened the doors to the large throne room, escorting you into the dark room.

The king sat alone.

The room was dark, lit only by the light of the full moon coming in from the glass walls and ceiling. He sat on his burnished throne; his crown lopsided on his head as he swirled a goblet of blood red wine.

You stepped forward, head bowed, posture never faltering as your mind travelled back to the way you had watched your grandmother stand up to him as well, only to pass away less than a month later leaving you with no real family.

“It’s a shame really,” he started, voice low and gravelly and you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “You were truly doing so well, and Dorian the poor boy, this will affect him greatly I presume.”

You fought the bile rising in your stomach at the implications of what he was saying, but kept your mouth shut.

“And I have been nothing but fair, giving you all you could ever dream of and keeping you on a tight leash. But I suppose teenage girls will always want to disobey.” He stood then, motioning to the guards who came and kicked you down, landing on your knees harshly with a yelp as you looked up at the approaching king with fear in your eyes.

He reached you, his hand stroking your cheek lightly before trailing down to your necklaces, gently twirling the stone between your collarbones before holding the one Dorian had gifted you tightly.

“Hmm, tacky,” was all he said before tugging harshly, ripping the necklace of you, and throwing it to the side. “I guess I’ve dragged this out enough now.”

You were shaking were you sat, tears slowly trailing down your face but still to afraid to say a word, even as a guard you didn’t recognise approached you, drawing his sword as the others held you tightly. Your eyes widened, fear seeping in as you started fighting the guards, desperately thrashing in their grips as you met the kings’ eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you begged but it was futile as he laughed in your face, “Please it will destroy Dorian, he is your son please don’t do this.”

“It builds character, a strong king needs to be broken.”

“What about the public! They will figure it out, you can’t spin this one.” You were pulling at strings, but you had to try anything you could.

“I AM KING! WHATVER I SAY GOES, WHATEVER I SAY IS THE TRUTH!” he exploded, and you started sobbing, begging for your life as the king turned away, gesturing for the guard to continue. You were shaking, pulling away from the guards as you fought against their death grip.

You watched the guard raise the sword above his head, squeezing your eyes shut as you sent a prayer to any god that was listening. As you prayed, clutching your necklace letting loose sobs and cried for Dorian you failed to notice the glow emitting from you. You heard the guard step forward to slash down and raised your hands to brace for the blow, a blow that never came.

You looked up to see the three guards that were next to you were all sliced in half, blood spilling onto the floor. You screamed pushing away, slipping on the blood as you tore away sobbing as the king turned to you, face white with fear and rage.

“GET HER!” he screamed but you had already begun running, skirts bunched in your hands, the glow around you shielding you from their arrows as you tore through the doors and into the courtyard, running as fast as your legs would allow, dropping yours arms as the full force of the moons light hit you. You saw a path you and Dorian often took to sneak out and headed for it, hiding behind the mock door that was covered in shrubbery, a hand pressed to your mouth as you muffled your sobs hearing the guards stopping nearby, speaking in hushed tones.

You felt something wet press against your leg and almost screamed, looking down to see Amaris gazing up at you with those bright, unblinking eyes. You held in your sobs, picking him up and pressing him into your chest as you quietly made your way down the path that led to the woods, walking in the moon veiled forest.

Your dress was bloody and torn, your delicate heels had snapped, and your feet were tearing from where you stepped having removed them. You ran through the woods, heading as far away as you could get, however you eventually had to slow walking and holding in your sobs as you realised what you had done.

Not only had you used magic, but you had also killed three men and left Dorian. You held Amaris tighter to your chest as he licked at you gently, your necklace still glowing even thought your entire body ached, ready for rest. But you ploughed on, coming out of the forest onto an empty dirt road.

You sat down for a second, letting Amaris down as you sobbed into your hands until you had no tears left, your entire body still shaking. But you forced yourself to stand, picking up Amaris and walking down the road, luckily finding a small farm with horses.

You quietly took a horse, placing down your tiara in its place, wishing you could apologise more but instead mounting the horse and leaving, riding into the night, tears drying on your face as you held your light close with one hand. You wished you could just wake up, wrapped in Dorians arms as he comforted you after your bad dream, but the pain in your body suggested that wasn’t going to happen.

You wanted Dorian but you needed a plan. And you needed a drink.

--

Chaol stood in the throne room, his hand clenched so tight his knuckles were white as he watched the king spin his story of your sudden disappearance, the sound of Dorians silent cries breaking his heart.

When they were excused he dragged Dorian to his room, where he finally broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands, muttering about how he should have protected her.

“Dorian I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I think something bad happened to (y/n).” he said, approaching his brother cautiously as he looked at him with wide, tear filled eyes.

“What?” he asked, his voice breaking in his throat. Chaol finally unclenched his hand and passed what he had been holding to Dorian.

The gold necklace was caked with blood.

[jackyjango]

Perfection!

Cherik Week- Day 7: Free

Written for this glorious gifset! :D

I wanted to end this with a happy (and crack) fic, because they deserve to be happy ever after!

---------

If Erik were a poet, he would have written elaborate odes to Charles’ plush arse. Lines and lines of flowing poetry dedicated to the softness of the skin and the firmness of the flesh- the way the tender skin dimples sweetly under Erik’s possessive fingers. If Erik were an artist, he’d fill canvases with the round contours of Charles’ --glorious, might he add-- half globes and his thick, meaty thighs. He’d capture the rosy tint that rises to the skin under the press of Erik’s palm with masterful brush strokes and immortalise the constellation of freckles that dot his skin beautifully. If Erik were so spiritually inclined, he’d build an altar to the sweet flesh, kneel in front of it and apply his tongue to worship. But Erik, fortunately or unfortunately, is none of those things, so all he can do now is simply ogle the marvelous in front of him- Charles’ round ass and thick thighs, and the way it fills his jeans. The fact that it wiggles in the air now and then from where Charles is bent over to search something behind the mantle is only spurring on his endeavour. So he stares some more, mouth agape and throat dry, and marvels to himself, ‘Perfection!’

‘What was that?’ Charles asks, turning sideways towards Erik.

Erik doesn’t find the need or mood to answer that question, so he goes back to ogling his boyfriend’s arse.

Charles turns to him after a minute or two of searching. He’s panting, hair beautifully tousled, cheeks deeply coloured and eyes twinkling bright in the golden candlelight. For a moment Erik’s breath catches. Now, Erik’s not a poet, but if were-

‘I couldn’t find any more candles,’ Charles says, cutting Erik’s musings short. ‘What about the generator, were you able to fix it?’

‘No,’ Erik shrugs. ‘The battery inside the generator has corroded and the plastic coating has melted into the canisters. It’ll take me at least a day to repair it.’

‘Okay.’ Charles drawls, no doubt weighing in their options. ‘How far is the nearest town? Maybe we could get some help.’

Erik had already considered that option. The nearest town is a three-hour trek downhill. A three-hour trek which is a waste of time and energy. Time and energy which can be spent in more… productive endeavours. 

Charles overhears that thought. ‘What are our other options here, Erik?’ He asks, sighing heavily, ‘The wires are out, so is the generator, and we can’t even get help.’ He looks around the small space of the cabin that is lighted in patches by the three candles they were able to unearth earlier. The candles will last them till daybreak at best. ‘Did you have a plan for the evening?’ Charles asks hesitantly.

‘Plan?’

‘Yes,’ Charles says slowly now, his eyes widening with every word. ‘I thought this was meant to be a surprise for me, so I didn’t pry earlier. But I thought you had a plan for the evening.’

Why would Erik have a plan for the evening when the whole point was to have no plans at all? 

The last three weeks had been extremely difficult for all of them, between the mid-terms and the festivities and the birthday celebrations, both of them had been extremely busy-- Charles with teaching and grading, and Erik, well, with… everything else. Erik hadn’t been able to hold a proper conversation with Charles without one of the brats dragging Charles away. Erik hadn’t been able to take a quiet smoke break without one of the younger ones pulling on his trouser legs. It had been tolerable in the beginning, adorable even, but it had begun to lose its charm sometime during the second week. And Erik was sure to go ballistic by the end of the third. All he wanted was to get away for a day or two from the brats, have a quiet night away from the kids and the mayhem of the mansion. He’d all but kissed Raven when she’d mentioned a cabin upstate that could be rented this time of the year. Of course, he’d expected the said cabin to have a working electrical system and dry logs resting in the fireplace, but that isn’t a huge setback as far as Erik is considered. He’s lived worse.

Of course Charles overhears that thought. His jaw drops and his eyes go wide as saucers. ‘You made me trek three hours and brought me here just so you could get away from the kids?’

Erik doesn’t see what’s wrong with that. 

Charles is all but glaring him down now, his sharp, blue eyes throwing daggers at Erik. Erik should be intimidated by the look, but Charles’ overall appearance doesn’t support him all that much. He’s panting lightly with pinked cheeks and hair sticking out in places. If anything, he looks extremely adorable. Now, Erik’s not an artist, but if he were-

‘I thought you brought me here to celebrate our anniversary,’ Charles says finally, glaring intensified.

‘Anniversary?’ Erik asks dumbly. ‘What anniversary?’

Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to ask, because Charles is practically seething now. ‘Our third year anniversary. Since when we began dating.’

‘Oh, has it been three years already?’ Erik asks, and it only serves in adding fuel to the fire. 

In Erik’s defense, though, the period between the time they met, and they settled into a relationship is all very hazy. Erik doesn’t know exactly when he’d been charmed by Charles to call him his friend, he doesn’t know exactly when Charles had wormed his way into Erik’s heart, he doesn’t know exactly when the school they’d started with a few students began to feel like family, and he doesn’t know exactly when he’d begun falling in love with Charles. Though Charles terms them as thus, all those chess matches played every night for months on end and taking private dinners away from the congregation of the students hadn’t felt like ‘dates’ to Erik. Partly because he didn’t know or have experience with dating and partly because he’d had no clue what love felt like before Charles. Besides, he’d no idea whether or how they’d celebrated the first two-year anniversaries.

Of course, Charles overhears his thought, for his anger abates slowly. ‘Oh, what do I do with you, Erik?’ he asks, tone exasperated and fond; like he does when one of his younger students refuses to eat their greens.

‘Marry me.’ Erik shrugs casually. ‘Simple.’

Charles gapes at him like a fish while his mental fingers rummages through Erik’s brain for signs of a joke or a prank. But Erik isn’t joking or pranking. Granted that he was slow to realise that he loved Charles, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d marry anyone else once he did. He’d end up marrying Charles one way or another. So it doesn’t really matter when or how that happens. Does it?

And of course, Charles hears all of it.

‘We don’t even have a ring,’ Charles says at last, a little lost.

No. Erik doesn’t. He could always fashion a ring out of one of the nails holding the wood planks in place, but Erik doesn’t want to make a ring out of rusted and cheap metal. Charles deserves only the best. 

‘No,’ Erik agrees. ‘We don’t. But we do have this.’ He removes the silver chain that permanently resides in the pocket of his trousers and moves towards Charles, cupping the chain and the locket in his palm. Each curve of the locket bears a black and white photo of his father and Mother. Erik falls to one knee in front of Charles and holds out the chain in one hand. If Erik were a poet, he’d write elaborate love poems describing his love and affection for Charles, but he isn’t. So he simply says, ‘I promise to make you tea just the way you like it and give you scalp massages every day for the rest of our lives.’

‘Yes, you idiot. I’ll marry you,’ Charles chokes out and throws himself into Erik’s arms.

Later when they’ve dragged in all the ragged cushions and rugs from all parts of the cabin and made love in a warm nest (and after Erik worships Charles’ and his arse with all the reverence he deserves) surrounded by three grand candles that Erik asks Charles, ‘This is not so bad as anniversaries go, is it?’

‘No, my love’ Charles says, gazing adoringly at the silver locket on his chest and looks up at Erik. ‘It’s perfect!’ he says, kissing Erik sweetly on the lips.

-