#lots of ships have this dynamic it turns out!

[maxdibert]

Would you ship Severus with Narcissa? Don't you think there was something going on with them according to Spinner's End? Like how did she know his address? Why was she being so touchy? I wouldn't surprised if at least she had an unrequited crush on Sev but a full affair also wouldn't be surprising

I have my own headcanons about Severus and the Malfoys, and I really think they had a pretty close relationship. I believe Lucius took him on as his personal 'project,' kind of like Cher in Clueless (lol), as a way to prove that he, as the epitome of a pureblood posh boy, could turn that poor half-blood into a respectable member of society. I base this a lot on the fact that it's mentioned several times how highly Lucius speaks of Severus in public.

I also think that, as the years went by, beyond the slightly creepy mentor-disciple dynamic, once they were both adults, Lucius came to see him a bit like a younger brother (they’re both only children, and these dynamics are super common among only children) someone he looked down on with condescension, sure, but also genuinely cared about. And I think that extended to Narcissa as well.

Some people interpret a kind of sexual tension and ship Snucissa from that; others think Narcissa was just emotionally manipulating him (which I also buy, though not in a cold, calculated way, more like appealing to the bond they had built over the years). Personally, I think Narcissa also got to know Severus quite well through Lucius and treated him like a sort of little brother too, especially considering she only had sisters and was the youngest herself. I picture Narcissa taking on a big-sister, nosy, advice-giving role, always trying to warn him about life, his behavior, how he relates to people, etc., and Severus being mildly annoyed by her but also genuinely fond of her.

In my personal headcanon, Severus really did care about the Malfoys, but he held himself back to some extent because he knew that, eventually, he’d have to betray their trust and the relationship they had for his role as a double agent. But whether it was out of interest, aristocratic condescension, or genuine affection, the truth is the Malfoys always treated him well and supported his career. And Severus, if he’s anything (partly because of the lack of affection he received during childhood and the few positive relationships he ever had) is someone who is incredibly loyal and grateful to those who have shown him even a little kindness. You see that in his relationship with Lily, with Dumbledore, and also with the Malfoys through Draco. Because honestly, I think the reason Severus let so much slide with Draco and was generally indulgent with him is that he was projecting the relationship he had with Draco’s parents onto him, just like he projected his hatred for James onto Harry.

[contrautism]

(this is long and not super structured but i need to out this into the air for when i actually write a proper essay or sumn lmao.)

i feel like a big reason why a lot of people fail to properly digest the plot and themes of whc1/2 is that they can’t turn off ship brain. and no i’m not one of those “it’s a bromanceee😩” people because a. it’s not and b. they don’t understand the show either.

weak hero is a show that requires you to examine every single dynamic with an equally watchful eye. what is sieun to suho? suho to beomseok? beomseok to youngyi? you even need to dive into all their different dynamics with the bullies (ex. what is it that makes sieun a target vs. beomseok, and how does that translate to the differences in how they’re harassed?) you have to understand how every single character and their actions impacts everyone else. if you watch weak hero as the sieun x suho show (which is your prerogative i promise you i’m not going to war over it) and not a show that highlights destructive cycles of violence, the way that ideals of “masculinity” reward and encourage violence, the ways in which children are used, abused, and discarded within society, and so on and so on and so on, then you miss out on a lot of what truly builds weak hero into what it is.

and like? idk walk w me for a second.

suho was sieun’s first friend, the first person that has his back, the first person who actually cared about him. he loves that boy in a way that he doesn’t properly understand because he has never needed to process emotions in such a way.

suho and sieun were the same for beomseok, but he didn’t have the same ability to accept that he possibly had something good. they were beomseok’s first friends, first people that gave a fuck about him, the first people in his life that didn’t beat his ass every day and night and make him feel unworthy of breathing. and he zeroed in on suho as suho was who he wanted/wanted to like him/wanted to be (complex ass set of feelings, right).

i’d honestly argue that everything sieun felt for/about suho, beomseok felt just as (if not more) intensely and was even more lost when it came to navigating that. which is a fucking nightmare when you remember the communication skills he never got to develop, as that doesn’t just mess up how he interacts with others but also how he interprets other people’s words and actions. and we see how that plays out.

you can’t just water down beomseok’s character to him being jealous and “sociopathic” (also please stop throwing that word around? lmao) and the one that broke apart #real lovers, because it shows that you refuse to engage with who his character actually is and what he represents in regards to the show’s themes and messages.

well actually i mean you can but that don’t make it right. i don’t have it in me at the moment to break down all the ways in which being a victim of horrific abuse for years can break down a child’s psyche in ways that will take twice as long to repair, the inner workings of a 16 year old boy’s mind, the fact that it wasn’t just about an instagram follow, yadda yadda, so to wrap this up:

1. shipping is fun i love it woo but i feel that a lot of the show that deserves to be dug into more just… isn’t? at least not by certain areas of the fandom and that’s not the end of the world but it does just upset me (seeing as how in those same circles i often see very odd discussion of beomseok as an abuse victim).

2. i yearn for more detailed analyses of sieun & suho vs suho & beomseok vs beomseok & sieun’s relationships with each other in ways that truly respect all of their characters and the deep emotions they feel for each other (platonic, romantic, resentment, jealousy, allat). GO DEEPER WITH THE “FIRST LOVE” COMMENT FROM THE DIRECTOR! REACH THE CENTER OF THE EARTH!

alright that’s all i got i hope you can see where my head is at😭

[ozmodai]

what are your fave oc ship(s)/dynamics and why? ^_^ (can be the obvious ones or multiple that you just wanna talk about for fun)

the most obvious one bc i never ever shut up about them is pyrshen so sorry if anyone is ever tired of those two guys, i will not stop

they encapsulate some of my favorite ship dynamics in general with their own flavor and caveats FJKDSA sunshine x grumpy, flirty x awkward, "nothing in life matters!" x "nothing in life matters…" :plead: plus i just think their slow burn and how they develop and bounce off of each other is very sweet and funny LMAO they are both a mess and while it doesn't make sense to others looking in, they balance each other out and become better people for it. pyrroh pulls jishen up and jishen grounds pyrroh in turn

i also do have a big ol soft spot for rorzak and valtra, i think about them a lot. they are my angsty childhood best friends. my "are they lovers?" "worse". they may not be requited, but they both still have very strong feelings for each other that drive them. i don't talk about them much but they are the main characters of my fantroll story for a reason

pyrshen's love for each other isn't unconditional, it's something that they choose and commit to and grow for each day. while rorval is unconditional; they adore each other in spite of their failings and even when they become unforgivable and unrecognizable, the love is still agonizingly there.

while pyrroh and jishen become each other's strength, rorzak and valtra become each other's weaknesses and i'm obsessed with both

[fourgods-nobrakes]

Summer Fest is here! I'm nominating a bunch of things from relatively rare bits of canon, but perhaps one of you would like to read one of these things and get to know some of these characters. I'm not discussing the Black Legion or Fabius Bile books, because you already know about those (read them read them read them they have great ensemble casts, please ship some of the less common pairs with me), but here are some of the less-discussed ones:

Harrowmaster, by Mike Brooks: Solomon Akurra is an Alpha Legionnaire who wants to see his Legion become a force to be reckoned with again. He has some plans to give them a reason to rally around him, and he has a very cool ex-imperial psyker on his side, which is good because he also has a number of enemies both within the Legion and otherwise. Fun twisty plot and an excellent read for people who enjoy when an Astartes has a solid working partnership with a mortal ally; she's capable, dangerous, and very willing to give him shit when he needs it. There's also a secret bonus ship option that I don't want to talk about too much because of important plot turning points, but it hit me hard in the brotherhood and trust places.

Shroud of Night, by Andy Clark: the Unsung are a small Alpha Legion warband who've been in a warzone for long enough to develop a wide variety of I Can't Believe It's Not PTSD. Now they have a mission to perform a high-stakes reverse heist, delivering a mortal to a key location on an embattled planet while trying not to get killed by either the imperial defenders or the Khornate berserkers besieging the place—and, of course, trying not to fall apart from the growing tensions among the team. I'm here for the poor mortal, who has clearly never gotten the hugs he needs, but there are a variety of cool dynamics among the group. ...Followers of either Celestine's or Khârn's careers should know they both turn up here, though they're both mostly here to be terrifying forces of nature that our lads try not to get killed by.

"Sacred Hate," short story by David Annandale: Mr. Annandale wrote this story for me specifically, I'm pretty sure. It centers on Cerastes, a teenager who's in training to be a missionary for the Ecclesiarchy, but who's been privately having a crisis of faith. Then the ship he's traveling on gets attacked by Word Bearers, and he discovers what he was looking for. (Spoilers: it's not the God-Emperor's light.)

The Red Tithe, by Robbie MacNiven: A Carcharodons company and a Night Lords warband walk into a bar prison planet... They're both looking to replenish their numbers from the teenage boys in the prison. And a psyker on each side has divined that one of the boys is an unsanctioned psyker whose power could be very useful if they can secure him. The boy in question just hopes he can get out alive. This one's definitely dark; the Carcharodons might be on the imperial side but they're brutal in ways that are usually glossed over for their compatriots. Most of the story takes place in the prison complex and the attached mines, so the whole thing feels claustrophobic at times. MacNiven also cares more about tactics than a lot of BL authors, so the battles are more interesting than "we charge into a hail of gunfire, fearless and unstoppable." Grim but very cool.

Day of Ascension, by Adrian Tchaikovsky: If you've read his other work you know he's interested in, and sympathetic toward, non-human POVs, and thus you know why I'm so fond of this book. It takes place on a forge world where the miserable living conditions of the non-Mechanicus work force have provided fertile ground for the growth of a genestealer cult. The cover blurb suggests that the power plays among the tech priests are the central plot, but actually the emotional core of the book is Davien, a young woman in the cult who is coming into her strength as the arrival of the cult's "angels" draws near, and whose passion for her people will wind up being key to their future. My big ship for this one doesn't sail until late in the book, but man, when it happens, it's so good.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

the "platonic explanation" is that I feel like shipping cheapens a perfectly good friendship and turns it into something shallow. Takes something that could have been interesting and turns it into just another dime-a-dozen romance you can find in a million other stories. Sands off anything cool or unique about the relationship and the characters so they can slot neatly into some little "A and B" dynamic. The Sunshine x Grumpy the Blue-coded x Red-coded the Cinnamon Roll x Killer. You just have to cut them down to fit in the Romance Box™.

Suddenly every interaction, every look they exchange, every word they speak, has to be seen through the lens of attraction, it HAS to be about the attraction, nothing else matters, they cannot have feelings about each other unrelated to that. If they like each other it's because they are attracted to each other, if they hate each other it's because they are attracted to each other, there can be no other reason behind their actions and feelings, nothing else about them as people matters anymore. They aren't people anymore, they aren't characters anymore, they are just "A and B".

The "platonic explanation" is that lately I've just found friendships SO much more compelling and freeing and cool, y'know? (obligatory ''I'm not bashing you if you like shipping I just Do Not Get It Personally'')

[gomzdrawfr]

First off, that sneak peek art of Viktor is amazing!! Did you draw that? Wow. Second, is there a place I can find out more about Raven's lore and background? I know so little. Fish sounds really cool, but I can't imagine putting your life in the hands of a medic who makes decisions based on his coins! Poor guy sounds like he really needs a hug. If he's related to Jelly, maybe Ghost will give him one that crushes his soul back into his body. B6 sounds like he might have been really good friends with Raven. I wonder if he gets out of Cobra and how Price and Ghost feel about him. I could see Nik getting along with him. Did you ever find a name for his cat? I love Jelly as Ghost's squishy fluffy haired girlfriend. They are very cute together. <3 Thank you for all the lore. I love hearing about OCs.

Nope I didn't draw Viktor, that was a commission work from my friend @/hai-nae (twitter link). They're AMAZING at what they do and they did these for me too!!!!!!!!!! (SCREAMING!!! the last one was a comms piece too)

I used to have Raven's lore in my google doc that I've linked in my reference sheet post but I removed it cause I'm thinking of revamping some stuff. But the key points are probably just these:

Raven growing up in an orphanage, mistreated and bullied, bonds with crows and owls (tragic story 1.0)

Orphanage burnt down by Viktor, Viktor then adopts her because she glared and looked at him eye-to-eye without fear. He had intention for her to take over Cobra but somewhere along the way the lines blurred (just know Viktor's fucked up and wanted Raven to kill him since she's like a copy version of him in terms of skills and whatnot)

She dabbled in private intelligence agencies (affiliated with Cobra) before she officially joined Cobra and worked as mercenary, taking contracts every month (there's a quoto you need to achieve in Cobra, and she's ranked top every time which builds up tension amongst the Cobra members)

Just extra note, all Cobra members are bounded with a barcode tattoo on their wrist (showed in her ref sheet)

Lieutenant John Price's name showed up in one of those monthly quota thingy and that's when she met him, the intention to kill him was overtaken by curiosity and infatuation and such.

Before that, in her years of working in Cobra she went through one event where she was locked and tortured in an abandoned kindergarten, tied to the chair and had to face a small room with worn down sunflower wallpapers (tragic story 2.0, and also why she develops a fear towards sunflowers then eventually other flowers). This fear was discovered quite late into the story when Price has signed her up to work with the 141 when Gaz brought them to a sunflower field, causing her to pass out.

Dialling back a bit in the timeline, the Cobra PMC (and Viktor included) planned an assassination attempt on Raven, nearly ending her life at an oil rig with her signature back scar - see ref (tragic story 3.0)

B6 then came in and basically help her contact Price and then erase her history almost entirely (hence, it was hard for Price to trace back her backstory, but nothing's lost forever)

Price and Gaz were the ones who rescued her and funded her recovery process. I think somewhere in my doc I've talked about partial incomplete spinal cord injuries, RSI and PTSD and such? (Take it with a grain of salt since spinal injuries rarely allows full recovery) She'll suffer lingering nerve related scars and injuries later on into her life, causing pain and many, many sleepless nights

Uh then I suppose she starts working with Price and the 141. This is where priceraven doodles would appear

She is however, driven by grief and revenge, setting to return the favor from Viktor and she does kill him in the end. (Refer animation - which has more rambles on how she felt afterwards)

Also another OC that I have yet to develop, but Viktor is paired with Archi, his assistant, which followed Viktor's death not long after Viktor died (by suicide). They're basically toxic yaoi co-dependent pairing if I want to explain their dynamic lol

I think then afterwards Raven sort of retire for a while, stayed at home and such. I call this the domestic era.

Then after mw3 happened, she's back on action with Price again. This is where my fic's timeline is currently at. The next part should involve Price marrying Raven (and hopefully I can update Raven's name to Eira Price :p)

B6 eventually left Cobra as well since the act of deleting Raven's history went against the PMC, he end up living the life he wanted in his own garage and just tinkering away :) Price and Gaz knows him personally and they're good colleagues, not really friends since he puts people at arms' length. As for Ghost, he respect the lad and nothing more. I'd say the person B6 would most likely warm up to is Gaz since they're in similar age range (and well, who can resist Gaz's easy charm eh?) Not too sure how Nik would feel towards him, probably same as Ghost. Nope, have not decided the name of his cat but I'm open to suggestions! (lil buddy is a munchkin tuxedo meow meow...very tiny...very clingy...small meows but powerful paws)

[unboundprompts]

Hey unbound!! I was wondering, have you written anything for "how to write Enemies to Lovers"? I LOVE the trope but have a hard time ever making it feel realistic to me

How to Write Enemies to Lovers

1. Establish a Real, Believable Conflict

The characters shouldn’t hate each other just because. Make sure their "enemy" status is rooted in something meaningful:

Clashing goals or values

A betrayal or misunderstanding

Socioeconomic, cultural, or professional rivalry

One perceives the other as a threat

Avoid making one character just "mean" for no reason, that risks turning the story into bullying-turned-romance.

2. Make Them Equals

Both characters should challenge each other, not dominate or belittle. Whether in intellect, skill, or influence, their push-and-pull dynamic should feel balanced. This keeps the conflict engaging and the chemistry sharp.

If one character starts with more power (social, political, magical, etc.), show the balance shift or even out over time. Maybe the more powerful one learns humility. Maybe the underdog gains confidence or leverage. This keeps the romance from feeling one-sided or unbalanced.

3. Gradually Shift the Tone

Let the hatred evolve in stages: Irritation → Respect → Curiosity → Affection → Love

Sprinkle moments of:

Vulnerability (they see a new side of the other)

Unexpected teamwork (they’re forced to rely on each other)

Banter that turns from biting to flirtatious

4. Use Intimacy in Small Doses

Tension thrives in proximity. Make them interact often, maybe unwillingly at first. Body language, awkward silences, or a brush of the hand can say a lot when feelings are complicated. Don’t rush the romance. The longer it simmers, the more satisfying the payoff.

5. Force Them to Re-Evaluate

Something should cause a shift in perspective, maybe the "enemy" does something selfless or shows surprising depth. They realize their initial judgment was wrong or incomplete. Internal conflict is key here. Let them resist falling in love before they accept it.

6. Let Them See Each Other at Their Worst... and Best

It’s easy to love someone when they’re charming. But realistic enemies-to-lovers arcs involve characters witnessing each other’s low points (failures, flaws, vulnerability, etc.) This builds empathy, and that’s what turns conflict into connection.

7. Acknowledge the Past

Don’t sweep their antagonistic history under the rug. Have them talk about it. A good resolution includes:

An apology or mutual understanding

Growth from both sides

Acknowledgement that love doesn’t erase the past, but it builds on top of it

8. Give Them a Bond That Justifies the Shift

Love isn’t just "we stopped fighting." It’s "we learned from our differences." Let them find something shared:

A common goal

A mutual vulnerability

A deep belief or value

Even just a sense of humor that breaks the tension

9. Keep Their Voice Consistent Through the Shift

As they fall for each other, don’t make them suddenly sappy or soft-spoken unless it’s in character or they’re resisting it. Keep their sarcasm, bluntness, or bite, but redirect it. Now, it’s flirtier. More protective. Slightly gentler.

10. Make Their Love Transform Them, But Not Fix Them

They shouldn’t change their core beliefs for the other, but because of the experience the other provides. They challenge each other’s worldviews, make each other question things. The love should feel like a consequence of character growth, not the cause of it.

11. Your Readers Should Ship It Before the Characters Do

Plant the emotional groundwork early, even if the characters are being stubborn. Your readers should start rooting for them mid-argument, mid-banter, mid-moment-of-tension.

[saphronethaleph]

Fluid, Dynamics

“So, uh…” Anakin said, looking around him. “This is weird.”

“Is there something wrong, Master Jedi?” the Kaminoan asked, concerned. “I was going to welcome you to Tipoca City.”

“Oh, I’m actually not a Master,” Anakin replied. “My Master’s busy, I’m just…”

He shook his head. “Sorry about that, it’s very unprofessional of me. I know I’m supposed to be professional, but being around this much water is very odd for me.”

“Being around water is odd for you?” the Kaminoan repeated. “...is there an alternative? I know Kamino is an unusually wet planet, but I did not think the difference was that stark.”

“I’m from a world where there just… isn’t water,” Anakin explained. “The only way we got water to drink was to pull it out of the air, and there wasn’t enough to go around.”

Then he frowned slightly. “Actually, uh… come to think of it, it isn’t all that far from here to my homeworld… do you think I could ship some water over there?”

“That is an… odd request,” the Kaminoan admitted. “But I must admit, we do have more water than we know what to do with. Perhaps we could discuss something like that after our main business is completed.”

“Sure,” Anakin agreed. “So, where do we get started?”

“I will take you to Lama Su,” the Kaminoan decided. “He will show you the current state of progress.”

Anakin nodded, absently, mostly thinking about showing up at Tatooine with a freighter full of water.

“How often does Anakin go on missions without you?” Padme asked, curious.

“It happens, sometimes,” Obi-Wan replied. “Increasingly often these days, actually. Anakin is approaching the point where he will have the chance to become a Jedi Knight, and… I worry about him a little.”

“Is that something a Jedi does?” Padme said.

“All the time,” Obi-Wan replied. “But right now, Senator, your safety is the highest priority.”

He frowned. “Though I must admit, I was expecting there to have been some kind of assassination attempt by this point.”

“You almost sound disappointed,” Padme suggested.

“No, no, it’s pattern recognition,” Obi-Wan replied, firmly. “You see, my missions with Anakin so rarely go smoothly. And if this mission is going smoothly, where the biggest danger we’ve had to deal with is mosquitos, then I dread to think about what is going on with Anakin.”

There was a beep.

“...like that, for example,” Obi-Wan added, taking his comlink out of his pocket. “What is it, Anakin?”

“So, first I want to say, I didn’t set out to do this, Master,” Anakin said.

“...oh dear,” Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s never a good sign. So, what is it that you didn’t set out to do?”

“So it turns out that Kamino was building an army for the Jedi,” Anakin said. “Also, it’s a really wet, flooded planet, they actually have too much water, I didn’t know that was possible! But I said that Tatooine had too little water, and since they had all those giant ships anyway I thought some of them could be used for transporting lots of water…”

“Sorry, Anakin, Kamino was building an army for the Jedi?” Obi-Wan repeated, a little incredulously. “That seems like the most important part of the situation.”

“No, no, the most important part is that some guy called Darth Tyrannus hired this bounty hunter called Jango Fett to be the clone template,” Anakin said. “And get this, he’s the one who killed that bounty hunter we chased, and things got a bit complicated… anyway, I went over the technical details and the clones have this weird chip in them and I think Chancellor Valorum might have been trying to assassinate the Jedi because the chip would have let the Chancellor tell the clones to kill the Jedi… obviously I told the Kaminoans to take that bit out because we didn’t need it and it’s way too much like slavery if you ask me. Anyway, uh, I’ve got the clones shipping water from Kamino to Tatooine for now, the Kaminoans are actually totally okay with it because they’ve got too much water, and I rescued my mother, too! I told you she was in danger!”

Obi-Wan took several seconds to process that particular bit of Skywalkerness.

Then he processed it a second time.

“…you have the clones… shipping water to Tatooine,” he repeated.

“Yeah, it’s going to break the Hutt control over water production and transportation for anything above the subsistence level,” Anakin said. “And it’s going to make Tatooine a way better place-”

“I have to interrupt you there, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You said you rescued your mother? That’s very impressive, but you didn’t tell me she was in danger.”

“I did!” Anakin objected.

“You said you were dreaming about her,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “That does not mean you were dreaming about her being in danger. That’s quite different, Anakin, you must remember to use the right words if you want me to know something.”

“...oh,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan could hear the shrug. “Well, anyway, I think there might be some kind of Sith plot involved too because of the whole Darth thing. Do you think Chancellor Valorum was a Sith?”

“I see what you mean,” Padme admitted.

[fanzou]

Un Bisou

✗ Pairing: Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader

�� Summary: Though the cook himself is considered the most romantic amongst the crew, alone with you—he begs to differ.

✗ Total WC: 1.4K

✗ CW: SMUT, oral (Sanji receiving) lots off kisses (in unholy places as well), reader is discreet about her affection, no penetration, reader takes really care good care of Sanji *wink wink*, dom!Reader if you squint

✗ A/N: My first work! Extremely excited, requests are now open.

Sanji absolutely adores you, and it’s certainly no secret.

You absolutely adore Sanji, but your love reveals itself in secret.

When the crew sails to a new island, you’re sure to have the blonde right next to you, never leaving your side. He keeps his slender fingers tugged into your softer ones. When he doesn’t have his hands in yours he’ll fit his arm snug into your waist. When he doesn’t have his arm around your waist, he’ll compensate by maybe putting it around your shoulder. Case in point; Sanji Vinsmoke needs every excuse to showcase to the world that you are his and his alone.

When you’re out to eat with the crew, make no mistake—Sanji has his arm snug around you once again, chairs pressed next to each other, and when he isn’t engaged in the conversation (in your presence, he almost never is) he’ll give your neck a little kiss, whisper an “I love you” and longingly gaze into your beautiful eyes.

“He’s worshipping her! Wow, is she lucky.” One woman whispers to the other, “Yeah, but she obviously doesn’t see it, she’s practically trying to get away from him,” the other continues in what you can only chalk up to be distaste towards you, “He’s drooling all over her and you can tell she doesn’t even care.”

“If I were her, I’d be all over that.” The two giggle at the comment together.

Your discomfort isn’t unnoticed by the blonde, your brows furrowed and a little tense.

“Don’t listen to them baby.” His hand glides down to caress your thigh before pulling you almost impossibly closer to him. The act itself made you blush but inevitably… It was true, although Sanji was known for his public displays of affection, you were the other side of the dynamic who didn’t reciprocate those same displays given how easily flustered you got, though you would grant Sanji access any given moment, it was almost embarrassing for you. Not because you were insecure, but it wasn’t something you deemed proper. You believed in having decorum and keeping a respectful image anywhere you went, even if you were a pirate—the fact still remained. Sanji worshipped the very ground you walked on, but his advances could be a bit overwhelming given the circumstances. Regardless, he relished in your embarrassment. He thought it was cute.

And it’s only because Sanji knows who you really are.

Sanji knew that the second you returned to the ship, the others still scoping out the island for any supplies they could gather for the next adventure. In the kitchen, you would be all over him.

You might act like you didn’t care for his little antics in public, but in private?

First, it started playfully. Giggling, you kiss his cheek, and then you’d bite it—and kiss it again. Then you’d move to his lips and give it a few pecks before hurriedly moving to his neck and absolutely ravishing it. You’d give Sanji’s neck a few licks here and there to which his own laughs and giggles started dying down and turned into breathy moans and a couple of curses. Yes, this is the woman he knew and loved. He’d put his hands on your hips and guide your lips back to his, only this time it wasn’t just pecks. You and Sanji started to sloppily make out while your hands skillfully unbuttoned his shirt. Once unbuttoned, you started feeling around his chest while simultaneously trying to fight for dominance on his lips. Your hands explored his chest, touching his nipples and then going lower and lower.

He moaned at the intimacy of it all, and subconsciously started humping against you. “You’re making me so fucking hard.” He manages to say in between kisses. At this, you put a halt to your little hot make out session and take his hand and guide him back to the girl’s quarters.

Obviously, Sanji preferred it over the men’s.

Once you arrived, you don’t hesitate to open the door and guide him to your bed, making sure it wasn’t Nami’s or Robin’s. (A mistake you’ll never make again after Nami almost murdered you both for it one time.) You quickly find Sanji’s lips again, while he sits on your bed with your thigh between his legs, again; grinding against you. You pull away from the kiss once again, and you can visibly see the disappointment in Sanji’s face. But you insist on taking your shirt off and getting on your knees in front of him, and his once disappointed face doesn’t seem so disappointed anymore.

He quickly tries to unbuckle his pants and slide them off but you don’t let him, taking your hands in his and slowly moving them to his sides, “Baby, let me do what I have to do.” You say as you look up at him with the most loving eyes, they reassure him that you know where you wanna take this, and how could he ever say no to you? He swears he could cum right then and there, to your gorgeous and pleading face, but he hasn’t even got to the best part.

You carefully take off his pants and glide them down to his ankles. Sanji expects you to reach up to the hem of his boxers and start pulling them down like he wants you to so eagerly, but instead you do something that makes him freeze in place. You pepper the outline of his shaft in little kisses while you’re looking at him. It was such a loving gesture, so loving and so caring. Had it not been for the context of the situation he was in, he would mistaken you for the purest angel of all.

“Please, my love,” he says breathless, “don’t tease me like that.” He could see the pre-cum forming a patch on his boxers at this point, and you moan at the sight.

Much to your dismay, Sanji takes it upon himself to finally pull his boxers down to meet his pants. His tip is almost burning red with pre-cum leaking all the way down to his balls. “Fuuuck.” You stare with furrowed eyebrows. All you can do in the moment is look at it in awe. Your cunt is pulsing like a heartbeat and you feel so hot. You try to find any friction by grinding into nothing, maybe hoping that your panties will create enough to emulate any kind. You want nothing more than to sit on it and go to town, but instead, you take it in your hands.

You bring his tip to your lips, “Those women,” *kiss* “were so wrong.” *kiss* You let your spit drizzle on his dick and start stroking him slowly while he looks down at you with the most lust-blown eyes ever.

“If only they knew how much I took care of you.” Then, to his very audible satisfaction, you take him in your mouth ‘til there was no more you could take, your head bobs up and down slowly, and you stop to kiss the side of his dick and then lick it. “They could… never… make you feel like this.” You take hold of his cock with your hand and viciously lick the underside of it’s head. “O-h my… F-Fuck… just like that.” Sanji’s chest is heaving, and he’s fighting the urge to collapse on the mattress and let you do your thing, but he just can’t take his eyes off of you. You’re so perfect. It’s insane. He can’t stop letting out breathless moans while you attack the most sensitive parts of him. His left hand is gripping the sheets of your bed while you make eye contact. The way your tears start to trickle down from your face, your chest plump and glossy with sweat while you’re bobbing your head on his cock is making him weaker and weaker.

You take him out of your mouth again and start to lick his balls while simultaneously stroking him, the whole scene was so very lewd. It was almost disgusting. But because it was you, he was so much more in love with you. You were so beautiful. He couldn’t stop saying your name, it was like it was all he knew.

“I’m gon-na fuck- I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum in your mouth.” He begs, and with his request, you take him in your mouth again, hands now fondling his balls and your tongue attacking his weak spots. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was about to pass out from pleasure, and when he did bust, your head was still bobbing, tongue still swirling. When you decided to take him out of your mouth under the impression that he was done, another string of white liquid hit your chin. Unfazed, you wipe it off with your finger and lick it off, ensuring that Sanji’s request was met. He loved you so, so much.

Sanji beckons you to climb on top of the bed and join him. He looks like he’s on cloud 9, and you can’t help but give him a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Sanji.” And then you lay your head on top of his shoulder. “I love you more.” He wraps his arms around you, like he always does and says, “I’m so glad you’re mine. Just mine.”

You raise your head up to look at him. “Yeah?”

He looks up at you with a crooked grin. You couldn’t help but admire the sexy expression painted on his face, “I wanna kiss you again, Sanji.”

“Be my guest.” He says, taking your chin in his hands.

[bluemoonscape]

I’m overanalyzing Melissa as a character, but listen, the toxic yuri is calling.

Obviously Melissa and Shauna as a ship is pretty surprising, seeing as Mel hasn’t had very much screen time at all—even Shauna was shocked and appalled to find out she has a personality—but I do like it. A lot. It provides a catalyst for Shauna finally confronting her sexuality in a direct manner on screen and is presumably going to have some lasting effects on the adult timeline too. It’s a Jackieshauna win, at that, because this all but confirms Shauna had feelings for Jackie, and I’m relatively (cautiously) confident that it will be delved into more throughout the season to make it clear? Either way the implication is there.

Melissa herself has a chance to be so interesting in this season now. In S2, we learned very little about her as an individual at all. She was with Gen a lot, we know that. She was one of Lottie’s followers like many of the girls. Now in S3, she’s incredibly drawn to Shauna. Shauna is a powerful figure among the girls—while Nat is their group leader and Lottie is their spiritual leader, Shauna is the girl that you do not fuck with.

Her being surprised by Melissa expressing her opinions and joking around is a funny sort of fourth-wall breaker, but if you’re really delusional like me then there can be more layers to that! Melissa is one of the lesser known girls. She’s quiet and has pretty shy/anxious tendencies these first 2 eps of S3. Of course, most of what we see of her is her with Shauna, so that’s probably amplified by Shauna’s presence in those scenes—but bottom line, Melissa isn’t a powerful figure in the group. She doesn’t have an important role. She’s not one of the big dogs.

But Shauna is.

And notably, Melissa acts on her feelings for her the moment Shauna holds a knife to her throat:

She’s not just drawn to that power, but she actually physically lusts after it. Mari seems somewhat similar based on how she’s seemed to rise in the ranks and butt heads with Shauna between S2 and S3, except Melissa doesn’t push against Shauna to gain that power, but pulls her in with the allure of acceptance.

And Shauna, wow. A major facet of her character and character arc as a whole is her strong tendency towards envy. She had it for Jackie and now she has it for Nat in Jackie’s absence. She always feels inferior to someone and has to exert herself over them in some way to make herself feel better. Equal. Important. Her strategy has thus far been alienation, what with her telling Jackie she might as well leave the cabin, and now trying to oust Nat as the leader and turn the other girls against her.

But now here’s Melissa who subconsciously desires the force of Shauna’s will, is seduced by all the things that make others see her as frightening. Shauna suddenly has control over someone like (or so she perceives) Jackie had control over her. And, like Sophie Nelisse said in this interview, she has complicated feelings for Melissa because she yearns for the acceptance, but also has motive to manipulate Melissa and use her to help her turn the girls against Nat:

So Melissa makes Shauna stronger against Nat and as an individual within the group by backing her as she is in all of these photos, and Shauna makes Melissa feel more empowered, i.e. her telling Melissa “don’t” when Mari tells her to bring her a drink. Telling her “you don’t have to do that, don’t listen to her.” Except Melissa needs somebody to listen to at all times, so it’s not that she’s becoming independent, it’s that she’s turning away from serving others and choosing to serve Shauna instead.

And there’s the fact that Shauna is very likely going to project Jackie onto Melissa whether she realizes it or not BUT that remains to be seen I won’t talk don’t let me talk

Point is, I really like the unhealthy power dynamics that have already been established in Shauna x Melissa (shaulissa? shaunalissa? or just. shaunahat) and I think it’ll be a hell of a toxic yuri ride. Melissa, get behind me, I’ll protect you from the haters

[bc-jpeg]

Thoughts on Grumbo?

I would kill for them. I think they might be the biggest hyperfixation ship in my life, I don't remember this level of insanity with any other fandom before.

I guess it’s not that visible from me, because I prefer to keep my socials blogs kinda clean from rebloging stuff*, AND I don’t draw them so often because I have so much projects on me and no time, it’s kinda sad.

honestly, if I had started, there would have been a huge lecture about grumbo, they have had so much going on for several years, and all the details fit so perfectly into an incredibly interesting dynamic that includes not only the interaction between the two of them, but also the essence of each of them, some character traits, daily habits, traumas and etc.

I'm going to say something that really upsets me. the problem of grumbo's non-popularity is very much based on the fact that their ship does not lie on the surface. it’s not as accessible as other popular ships in this fandom, and this is extremely painful, considering what their history really is.

grumbo are built on much bigger things than just silly interactions between characters that you might notice in episodes, even bigger than scripted lore moments on hermitcraft and life series. everything goes from their very first collabs to this day for several years already, and some micro fragments/clips from their videos are simply NOTHING compared to the context of the whole story. and just a disclaimer: I'm talking about the characters here, not about real people, the whole story only falls on their characters.

I often see that people may not understand grumbo’s ship dynamic at all simply because they watch only one pov (mostly grian). in this case, I beg you to watch both povs, you miss a lot if you watch only one person. in general, you can also watch third-party people with them! last life grumbo are also built on martyn's pov, for example.

I am so happy that their story started spinning again at the end of the hc s9 due to mumbo’s return, now in hc s10 + WHATEVER IS GOING ON in life series (especially in life series, because mumbo has NEVER had such possessive moments about grian before).

“forget the cactus ring, the desert i'm stuck in is sahara”

* I often reblog things from @mwapollo because he can put everything into right words MUCH better than me, especially when we discussing it all on a daily basis together, so we literally have the same vision about grumbo. I just really want all of his thoughts to be seen in this fandom. ykw I would turn it into shout-out, GO TO @mwapollo’s blog I DARE you. if you’re a grumbo fan, his blog is my first recommendation to go to.

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART IV)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Sexual content (but MDNI 18+ just to be safe), dry humping (-ish?), violence, alcohol consumption, toxic dynamics, swearing, themes of prejudice and misogynism, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

WC: 5.6k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

As the winds guided Ser Tyland's ship to the Free Cities, the excitement regarding the wedding of the future Princess of Dorne and the Crown Prince buzzed in the air. No ravens had to be sent, for the whispers began within the palace walls, spread through the bustling streets of Sunspear, and were carried by the desert winds across the dunes, reaching the furthest Dornish houses.

Princess Y/n sat before her mirror, watching her handmaiden, Melynda, fasten the back of her dress. A sweet girl of one-and-twenty, Melynda had been brought from Pentos on a cramped boat, a former slave traded by her master for coin. Ever since she had served the Princess with quiet devotion, her nimble fingers always making a masterpiece out of her.

Despite being draped in the finest fabrics of deep sapphire, adorned with intricate golden swirls and beads of amber, Y/n stared blankly at her reflection. The celebrations leading to the wedding were set to last a fortnight, a long stretch filled with feasts, ceremonies, and endless politicking. In mere hours, she would be facing the guests, forced to smile and charm as she and the Velaryon boy persuaded them to align with Rhaenyra's cause. She didn't even know where to begin looking for the strength and willpower she had to gather to convince those lords to join a war she herself didn't fully believe in.

“Is it too tight, Princess?” Melynda asked meekly, noting how Y/n had remained quiet the whole time she had been preparing her. "Princess?"

Suddenly, Y/n's bottom lip began to quiver as she felt a knot forming in her throat. 

“Gods be damned…” she muttered, feeling her tears pooling in her eyes. “How did it all come to this?” 

“If it's too tight, mayhaps I could—”

“Of course, it’s bloody tight! It’s damn near crushing my guts!” the Princess burst out, causing her handmaiden to stumble backward, her hands trembling. “I apologise, Melynda,” she sniffed, feeling the guilt pool in her chest. It wasn’t the first time she had taken her anger and frustration out on the younger girl. Of all the people in the palace, she was the least deserving of such crude treatment. “It’s just—”

“I understand, Princess,” Melynda smiled sadly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y/n held her hand softly, holding back her cries. “To be betrothed to someone who you don't truly love must be a punishment for the soul.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid this all these years. Gods forbid a woman who wants to live a life free from all this nonsense," she muttered bitterly.

“You are to be the Princess of Dorne. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But not with a Targaryen… someone who sees us as nothing more than goatfuckers.”

“Once you get to acquainted with one another, I’m certain he’ll see past the veil of prejudice that blinds the rest of Westeros.”

“Oh, we’re well past the point of acquaintances, and I’m certain we’ve both made it clear that we’d rather kill each other than push forward with this betrothal.”

“And yet, you've hardly spent a moment alone together, away from prying eyes. Forgive me if I'm wrong, my Princess, but this hostility you feel towards one another... it feels more like the weight of your houses than your own. He’s not truly wronged you, nor have you wronged him... well, apart from the few wounds you’ve exchanged.”

“I wish it were as simple as you say, but the hatred between our houses runs deeper than that trial. We’re talking about years of bloodshed, of lives torn apart by their desire to conquer what was never theirs. How can we ever forget that? If anything, those Targaryens are only reaping what they've sown.”

“I understand, Princess, but is it truly fair to place the sins of the forefathers upon their children? Yes, the Targaryens once sought to conquer Dorne, but they failed. And since then, they’ve left us to rule our lands. Why should Prince Jacaerys suffer for the wrongdoings of his ancestors when he himself hasn't harmed you?”

“You speak the truth, Melynda. But do you truly think the rest of the Dorne will see it that way?” She stared at her handmaiden's reflection. “The pain the Targaryens have caused... it’s not just written in our histories, it’s engraved into the souls of our people.”

“I’m not saying that your betrothal to Prince Jacaerys will reconcile your houses overnight, Princess. In fact, it may take generations to heal these wounds. However, if Queen Rhaenyra proves to be the rightful and just ruler she claims to be, and honours your demands... and you and Prince Jacaerys unite the Seven Kingdoms as promised, then mayhaps it could be the beginning of something.” 

Suddenly, both women were startled by a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Y/n cleared her throat.

“My Princess,” Ser Domeric said from the other side. “The guests have begun to arrive, and your presence is expected shortly.”

Princess Y/n quickly composed herself, ensuring that any trace of sorrow had vanished from her face, and replaced her semblance with a mask of indifference.

The late afternoon breeze crept through the palace windows, stirring the heavy air in the Hall but doing little to lift the mood. Spirits were low and the lingering music was drowned out by the quiet murmurs of the guests. Lords and ladies from House Yronwood to House Qorgyle had traversed across the arid deserts to Sunspear, not out of enthusiasm, but out of duty, their gazes shifting warily as they gathered to pay tribute to the Princess. Even Y/n herself, appeared as though she wished to be anywhere else.

At the high table, the Martells sat alongside the Targaryens, not able to look one another eye to eye. They faced the great houses, whose semblance didn’t hide their disdain for the dragonriders. They showed no efforts for forced pleasantries, bracing themselves for the next chapter of conflict rather than celebrating a wedding that would unite the Seven Kingdoms.

Before anything, Prince Qoren stood up, ready to speak before his people.

“It is truly an honour to welcome you all this evening, and I thank each and every one of you for making the long journey to Sunspear. Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate the betrothal of my beloved daughter, Princess Y/n Martell, to the Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon... but also, the union between House Martell and House Targaryen,” he spoke, the enthusiasm fading in his voice. 

The crowd fell into an immediate hush, the lords and ladies exchanging uncertain glances, some full of resentment, and some full of disgust. Y/n felt each pressing gaze suffocating her and tried to hide her discomfort behind the rim of her cup, already expecting those pessimistic reactions. After all, who in their right mind would willingly wed a Targaryen?

“Out of all of the suitors that have lost their lives willing to serve you and our realm, you chose to spare the one whose ancestors sought to conquer our lands?” Lady Liara from House Briar’s voice trembled, barely able to hold back her anger. “Could you not have shown mercy to my sweet boy Eldritch instead?”

The Princess had always been taught to hold back in such moments, especially in front of such a large audience, but before she could stop herself, the words were already spilling out of her mouth.

“My Lady,” Y/n began, trying to push down the feeling of irritation rising up her chest. “Remind me… who sent your son, alone, to seek my hand? As far as I know, someone that young shouldn’t be burdened with ‘providing me a strong heir’ or ‘making Dorne more prosperous than it already is.’ Those aren’t words a boy of three-and-ten should be speaking.” 

Lady Liara sank back to her seat with a scowl. The Princess’ gaze swept across the Hall, their faces etched with grief and bitterness, never forgetting the lives lost in pursuit of her hand. 

Whilst the guests sat in silence, waiting for either Prince Qoren or Princess Y/n to justify such a decision, Rhaenyra seized the moment to capture the crowd’s attention. She cleared her throat and rose slowly, her lilac eyes lingering on each guest, meeting the same eyes that had carried pent-up hatred for generations.

“By coming here, we are not denying the sins of House Targaryen,” she paused, allowing her words to settle, her gaze never leaving the crowd.  “I understand that to many of you, we are still the enemy. I am aware of the blood that was spilled and the pain that has lingered for generations. But the true enemies now are the Greens, who have usurped the Throne and seek to bring all of Westeros to its knees. And I know Dorne will not bend without a fight. Join us, and we will stand together. We can prevent the war that the Greens will bring to your lands.”

Despite Rhaenyra's words, the guests still mumbled with one another and her plea fell on indifferent ears. She clasped her hands together, holding her composure.

“So, the Greens are the enemies now, eh?" A voice echoing across the hall finally broke through the whispers. “To them, you are the usurper. And as far as we are concerned, they have yet to come to our lands to pester us with this petty war of yours.”

“Do not mistake their silence for mercy, my Lord. When they come, they will not ask. They will take. And by then, it may be too late to decide where your loyalties lie,” Daemon retorted.

“They have left us with no other choice,” Lord Lysander Dayne scowled. “Is this why you brought these beasts? So they can burn us if we refuse to join?”

Upon the mere mention of the dragons, the fear of the crowd became palpable. Prince Qoren’s face was flushed with anger, seeing that the celebration had somehow turned into a council meeting.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Prince Qoren bellowed, rising to his feet and jabbing his fist to the table. "We are here to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my daughter, not to squabble over this bloody war! If I hear more of it tonight, I’ll throw you in a pit of scorpions myself," his voice cut through the crowd, making the lords shrink back into their seats as he glared at Rhaenyra.

The music, which had momentarily ceased, began to play again. Princess Y/n exhaled deeply, gripping her cup as she swirled the crimson liquid. If she was going to endure the remainder of this night and persuade those thick-skulled lords to support Rhaenyra, she would need wine. A lot of it. She downed the first cup, the sweet taste lingering on her palate as her gaze shifted across the room, spotting the lords she had to sway.

Lord Lysander of House Dayne sat with his lady wife, his stern face etched with displeasure. He had made it clear where he stood, opposing any involvement in the war. Yet, he was infamously known for his ambition; he was the sort of man who would bend the knee for the right price, advancing his own house in exchange for his formidable army. Then there was Lord Thaddeus of House Yronwood, head of the second-most powerful house in Dorne, capable of providing enough supplies to sustain the armies at sea; a practical man, loyal to tradition, but always open to negotiation. On the other side of the Hall, she spotted Lord Ander of House Jordayne, who owned the largest fleet in Dorne.

Ser Domeric, being part of House Uller and their loyal informant, would provide whatever support was asked. And lastly, House Santagar, though not enthusiastic, had always been fiercely loyal to the Martells and would stand by their house regardless.

Despite the collective disappointment lingering in the air, as the feast came to an end, the guests stood up to salvage what remained of the evening. Jacaerys’ eyes followed Y/n as she rose from her seat, weaving through the multitude and making her way to Lord Lysander. The man bowed his head and extended his hand, offering the Princess a dance which she accepted with a smile that seemed far too charming than she would normally allow herself to be. Jacaerys couldn’t tear his gaze from Y/n, watching how she leaned towards Lord Lysander, her lips closely brushing his ear, as he nodded eagerly so as not to disappoint her.

“A celebration of our upcoming betrothal?” Jacaerys scoffed, already feeling his blood boil at the sight of the Princess with another man. Had they been at the Red Keep, the whispers would have already circled around, rumours of the Princess enjoying the company of other men, even while bound by a betrothal to him, that would call into question not only her honour but the legitimacy of their future children. He could already hear the council’s scandalous whispers behind closed doors–whispers that had been haunting him all his life.

“She’s quite gifted, isn’t she, my dear sister?” Elyas remarked, turning to Jacaerys. “She has a way of making men dance in the palm of her hand.”

“Only if one is foolish enough to fall for whatever games she is playing,” Jacaerys muttered.

Jacaerys and Elyas watched how Lord Lysander placed a kiss on top of her hand. With one final whisper, she slipped away from his arms and disappeared into the crowd, only to be seen again; that time with Lord Ander, who offered the Princess his hand without hesitation. 

“There are a couple of things you should know about her,” Elyas said with a sneer, glancing at the Princess. “One of them is… you’ll never be her only one.”

“You need not tell me what I can already see. It seems your sister is not familiar with the notion of faithfulness.”

“Faithfulness? As far as I’m aware, neither of you are bound by vows just yet,”  Elyas grinned, noting how Jacaerys clearly wasn’t enjoying the conversation. "But listen, this celebration isn’t meant for you to sulk in a corner, watching my sister dance with every lord in Dorne. It's for indulging. There’s a place not too far from the palace, where we know how to truly celebrate. Who knows? You might not even survive this war you’re throwing yourself into. You may as well enjoy the finest pleasures our land has to offer before it’s too late," Jacaerys’s knuckles whitened around his cup, his repulsion palpable, but Elyas only leaned in closer. 

As much as Jacaerys despised watching Princess Y/n flit from lord to lord, he wasn’t about to lower himself to her games. What was she trying to prove? Was she testing him, daring him to show any signs of jealousy or anger? Or mayhaps she was simply making it clear, once again, how much she misliked him?

Jacaerys refused to give Elyas the satisfaction of a response and merely shook his head. Elyas smirked, amused by Jacaerys' restraint, and stood up, ensuring he ruined the evening even more before leaving.

“Oh, and just so you know… whatever illusions you have about loyalty and honour, you'd best cast them aside. If you think my sister will suddenly change her ways after this betrothal of yours, then you’re completely wrong. I’m telling you now, she won’t. She’s as Dornish as they come… untamable and always chasing trouble. The more you tighten the leash, the more she’ll struggle to break free. And she’ll keep playing her games, whether you like them or not... so you better learn how to play them if you don't wish to end up as another one of her playthings,” Elyas said, slapping Jacaerys’ shoulder playfully before walking away.

Jacaerys hadn’t even realised how tightly he was clenching his jaw until the sound of Elyas and his sworn protector’s fading footsteps pulled him back to reality. He let out a breath, trying to shake off the bitterness away, and downed a gulp of wine.

But what he hadn’t noticed was a pair of dark wide eyes watching him from the other end of the table. It was Farien, whose gaze had been flickering between him and Elyas the whole time. When Jacaerys caught the boy's gaze, his expression softened. He set down his cup, watching how the little boy stood up and made his way over to him.

“If you marry my sister, does that mean you’ll become my brother?” Farien asked. 

“I suppose,” he forced a smile, though he wasn’t sure if the little boy was particularly glad about that.

Farien climbed on to the empty seat beside Jacaerys, glancing around the nearly deserted table and making sure none of his family members were nearby. All of the Martells were tending their own business, leaving the Targaryens seated in silence. The boy leaned in close, cupping his small hands around Jacaerys’s ear, scared that someone might hear what he had to say.

“So, does that mean I get to ride your dragon?” He whispered. 

Jacaerys looked at him, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“If your father allows you, then I suppose you could… but are you not afraid?” He asked.

“I’m really, really scared. But I wonder what it must feel like to see the world from up above. The closest I’ve ever gotten to flying is in my dreams, you know? It feels like I’m one of Father’s falcons, soaring high in the skies. Father says I have the gift to turn into one of them at night and watch over the desert,” he glanced up, his eyes gleaming in wonder.

Jacaerys looked at the boy and allowed himself to smile, as Farien somehow reminded him of his younger brother, Joffrey, whom he hadn't seen in a long time.

“Anyway,” Farien continued, “I think we could be brothers, you and I. We even look alike, see?” He pointed at Jacaerys’ curls. “It would be nice to have another brother... because, well, Elyas... he’s nice, sometimes. But not always.”

Jacaerys held back a scoff, figuring as much. 

“And what about your sister?” 

“We like sneaking sweets from the kitchens and feeding them to the horses,” Farien’s eyes suddenly lit up. “And she loves fighting, too. But not the angry, shouting kind, no. She says that sometimes, fighting feels like dancing, and that’s why she enjoys it. She’s really good at it. And I think you are too. But my sister is better.”

Just as he was about to ask Farien what other things his sister enjoyed, one of the little boy’s servants approached them. 

“My Prince, your father has sent me to take you back to your chambers to rest,” she smiled at the little boy, who had no choice but to accept dejectedly.

As the servant took him in her arms, Farien waved at Jacaerys with a small smile. He nodded at the little boy, unable to stop himself from smiling back.

“At least the little one is not as irritating as the rest of his family,” Rhaenyra said as her gaze softened, noticing how the little boy never tore his eyes from them as he got further and further.

“Give him a couple of years. He will turn out exactly like his older brother,” Daemon muttered. 

Then, Jacaerys' gaze trailed back to the Princess once again, who was still locked in a dance with Lord Ander. The exchange of whispers seemed to grow more intense, as his lips lingered on the shell of her ear, making her nod as her smile never left her lips.

“Jacaerys,” Daemon’s sharp voice cut through his thoughts. “Do you not have a duty to fulfil?”

“I have been fulfilling them since the moment we arrived,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. As Jacaerys had been doing everything he could to uphold his duties, Daemon merely sat back, watching the spectacle he had set in motion unravel before him. 

“You have, but sitting and watching the Princess be courted by every lord in Dorne is not one of them. Listen to me, these men are doing everything in their power to pull her away from our alliance since they can see she does not favour you,” he paused leaning in closer. “You are no stranger to this. If you two are to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she needs to be seen by your side.”

Jacaerys rose from his seat as he exhaled, growing frustrated by the second. It was all in the name of duty, after all. He headed towards the Princess with steady steps, disappearing into the crowd and dodging every drunken lord and lady that stood in his way. Lord Ander, who seemed to have more intentions than just dancing with the Princess, held her close, too close, his hands lingering on her waist. 

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cleared his throat, barely containing himself. Lord Ander snapped his head towards his direction. “I would hate to interrupt your conversation, but the hour is quite late, and Princess Y/n needs to rest.”

“Is that so?” He pulled Y/n even closer to him, making Jacaerys’ blood boil. “How come the Princess seems to be enjoying herself?”

Jacaerys’ eyes flicked to the cup in her hand, the liquid threatening to spill from the rim. He wasn’t a stranger to that dazed look and that loose smirk playing on her lips. 

“The Princess seems to have indulged in one too many cups. You may continue whatever… conversation you were having on the morrow, my Lord,” Jacaerys forced his words through his teeth. 

“Is that an order from the Crown Prince? Or from a boy who is still learning how to hold a woman’s interest?” Lord Ander raised a brow, sliding his hand even lower on her waist. 

The Princess’ gaze flicked between the two men, unaware of the escalating tension. She took another sip from her cup, her eyes landing on Jacaerys, finally acknowledging how dashing he looked in a Dornish ensemble of deep blues and golds.

“Gods, spare me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You two sound like you’re ready to start another war.”

“If it means winning your favour, Princess,” Lord Ander said with a grin.

“Mayhaps that's a battle for another day. Besides, the Prince is right, the hour is quite late,” she said softly, growing tired at the show of bravado between the two men. She moved away from Lord Ander and took a step towards Jacaerys.

Jacaerys, whose heart was pounding with both anger and relief, offered her his arm. Y/n would’ve hesitated at first, but under the effects of wine, any qualms were long gone. She noted how he tensed his arm uncomfortably, unaware that she was putting pressure on the wound she had given him not too long ago. 

Casymir leaned against one of the pillars with a hint of amusement on his face, watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes. Once Jacaerys and Y/n were away from the crowd, he finally pushed himself off the pillar, approaching Jacaerys, who was struggling to keep her in place.

“Allow me, my Prince. The Princess is in good hands with me,” he said, extending his arm. 

Jacaerys glared at Casymir as he adjusted her weight in his arm, wondering what he was smiling for.

“You are the Princess’ sworn protector, are you not?” He raised his brow. 

“Yes, my Prince,” he smiled proudly.

“Yet all you did was stand and watch how the Princess wandered into the clutches of men with less than noble intentions,” Jacaerys tried to keep his composure, though his anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Do you question my service to the Princess, my Prince?” He chuckled, brushing the Prince’s concerns aside. “The Princess was in no immediate danger. And as far as I’m aware, a dance with a lord hardly constitutes a threat.”

“If you think a man whose ulterior motives are clearly written in his face not to be dangerous, then mayhaps we have very different understandings of the word danger,” Jacaerys said. 

“You greatly misunderstand the Princess. Lord Ander was eager, but he knew better than to cross the line. And besides, she would’ve ended his attempts long before you stepped in. As you might have already… experienced, the Princess knows how to handle herself and hardly needs to be coddled,” his blue eyes trailed at the way their arms were intertwined. “Though, it seems she doesn’t mind letting you try.”

“So, what are you here for, then? Just for decoration?”  

“Is picking fights with other men a favourite pastime of yours, my Prince?” The Princess laughed, poking fun at Jacaerys as she unconsciously tightened her grip around his injured arm. “You do seem to have a talent for making enemies wherever you go.”

Jacaerys hesitated, unsure if replying to the Princess was even worth the efforts given her current state, so he merely scoffed, shaking his head in defeat. However, one thing he couldn’t ignore was the feeling of having her so close as she mindlessly ran her hand up and down the length of his arm. He tried to calm his heart, but he couldn’t keep his composure with each stroke of her fingers that made him lean into her touch ever so slightly.   

Once they reached the Princess’ chambers, Casymir leaned on the door, his arms crossed with an infuriatingly calm expression on his face. 

“If you wish to be escorted back to your chambers, my Prince, I can call for a servant,” Casymir offered, implying that Jacaerys had overstayed his welcome.

“No. I wish to stay. The Princess and I have a few words to exchange,” he said.

“I’ll be fine, Cas,” the Princess slurred, assuring her sworn protector with a slow nod.

“As you wish, my Princess. I'll be just outside, should you require any assistance.”

Jacaerys stood by the door, unsure of what to do now that he was inside the Princess’ chambers. It wasn’t improper of him, as her soon-to-be husband, to be seen there, so he found himself leaning against the wall, trying to regain the composure that he had repeatedly lost throughout the night. His eyes trailed around the intricately carved golden statues that adorned the corners and the colourful tapestries that swayed slightly, catching the faint breeze that slipped through the windows and bringing with it the distant murmurs of the ongoing celebration. 

Only when he heard a soft clink and the steady stream of wine being poured into a cup, he snapped out of his thoughts. Before he could even think, he turned to Y/n, walking towards her and snatching the cup and jug from her hands, causing her mouth to hang open in disbelief and indignation. 

“You will not drink any more tonight,” he ordered, pouring the liquid out of the window and slamming the cup aside.  

“Well, isn’t this absolutely perfect?” She spat, throwing her arms in the air in defeat. “Not only will you take away my freedom, but now you wish to take away one of the few things that bring me joy?”

“You must live a very miserable life, Princess, if wine and men are the few things in life that bring you joy,” Jacaerys burst out, no longer able to contain the pent-up anger that had been brewing all night.

“Oh, believe me, I’ll have a miserable life once I marry you.”

“And what makes you think I want to marry you? That behaviour of yours… is unacceptable,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I do not wish to marry someone who is a slave to their desires.”

“A slave to my desires? Is that what you think of me?” Y/n shouted, unable to control the fury taking over her voice.

“What else am I supposed to think when you go from lord to lord like a marionette whose strings had been cut?” He paused, taking in her dishevelled appearance. “I was not aware how these Dornishmen could name someone so ruthless and so debauched as their Princess.” 

“And I didn’t know you Targaryens go around crowning bastards just to keep your house on the Throne,” she spat, making sure to rest her gaze on his dark eyes and on his brown locks long enough.

“You whore–!”

Before Jacaerys could finish his sentence, Y/n's palm collided with his cheek in a stinging slap, his head snapping to the side. His eyes widened, more in shock than pain, as his hand instinctively rose to the reddening mark on his face.

“A whore? A savage? A goatfucker?” Y/n's voice trembled with fury. “Is that all you see me as?” She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. Her finger jabbed into his chest with every word. “You,” she spat, “should be thanking me for getting my hands dirty, persuading those lords to join your petty war!”

Jacaerys was stunned into silence momentarily, feeling every ounce of her rage bleeding through her words.

“And who told you to do that on your own?” Jacaerys shot back. “You could have asked me, we could have gone together and spoken to them like it is expected of us!”

“You overestimate yourself,” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. “Do you even know what those lords think of you? Of your family? If it weren’t for our betrothal, they would have driven a spear through your chests without a second thought. Because to them, you Targaryens are nothing but bloodthirsty murderers who’ve come to take our lands all over again.”

“Enough!” Jacaerys grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her, slamming her against the wall. “You think I do not know that? You think I do not feel it every time I step into a room? The way they look at me? At my family? You think I enjoy being the enemy?” He seethed, feeling his throat grow raw with each word. “Gods, you are infuriating,” he grunted, realising how close their faces were to one another. 

The Princess’ lips curled into a smirk, a flicker of satisfaction lingering in her eyes. She had struck a nerve, realising how Jacaerys was always quick to react to whatever blasphemous speech she had to say about his family, and once again, she had managed to unleash the dormant wrath that blinded his actions. 

As the Princess found herself cornered between his arms and the wall, she crouched low, slipping beneath his arms in a fluid motion and spinning around to pin Jacaerys against the wall, pressing her chest to his back. Jacaerys reacted instinctively, kicking off the wall to shove her back. The sudden force sent her stumbling as she crashed on the ground, and he followed, landing on top of her in a tangle of limbs.

Just as he was about to stand up, Y/n yanked him back down and rolled on top of him, keeping him in place by locking her thighs around his waist and pinning his arms on the floor with one swift movement. Truth be told, Jacaerys could have easily pushed her away as her usual strength was halved by the wine; yet he remained still, feeling the warmth of Y/n’s body pressed into his, and how their faces were inches apart yet again, her breath hot on his skin.

Once again, he found himself under her mercy.

She stared down at him with half-lidded eyes and lips slightly open as she breathed lightly, taking in the sight of Jacaerys’ flushed face and his gaze clouded by desire. Jacaerys looked up at her and gulped, feeling his erection stirring uncomfortably beneath his breeches.

His eyes locked onto her plump lips and trailed towards to the hollow of her neck, down to her chest. He stared hungrily as she leaned towards him, his fingertips itching to explore the skin hidden beneath the fabric of her dress. As she got closer and closer to his face, Jacaerys’ breath hitched, and without realising it, his lips parted slightly as his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. His pulse quickened, waiting for the warmth of her lips pressing against his.

But instead of the kiss he craved, he felt the hot caress of her breath graze the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Her voice, low and smooth, held him captive with each honeyed word.

“If you want to win this little war of yours, you better start by respecting me,” she whispered as she let go of one of his wrists and began tracing delicate patterns with her finger. “Just because I’ve chosen you as my betrothed doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind,” she bucked her hips against his hardened cock, causing Jacaerys to groan at the sudden spark of pleasure coursing in his veins. 

In that very moment, Y/n had uncovered yet another emotion—the primal desire that, despite her infuriating attitude, she had managed to set ablaze. If Jacaerys had to ask himself how it happened, he wouldn’t know where to begin answering. Had it all started when they first met, when she held little regard for him? Was it in the arena, when she brazenly humiliated him in front of everyone? Or was it the fact that they always seemed to find themselves pointing a blade at each other’s throats? Behind all that anger and hatred, and the prejudice that blinded him from seeing the Princess as she truly was, lay a spark of curiosity. Something he knew that once he began to explore, that spark would turn into wildfire.

With each passing second, he fought against the temptation to place his hands on the curve of her hips and make her grind herself against his cock.

“Remember, my Prince,” she purred in his ear, bucking her hips once again. “The wedding has not taken place yet, and anything could happen.” 

A/N: For some reason, i keep beating my wordcount record. istg my fanfic wc is way bigger than all of my uni papers combined, and bare in mind i was a humanities student lmfaooo.

anyway, i feel like this chapter was a mess. jace's patience continuously getting tested by everyone, and our reader making things even harder for him. i actually feel sorry for those two but the way they are handling things is not very demure, mindful or cutesy. we got the exact opposite.

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a (continued in comments)

[stellaspectral]

okay i have a request: bayverse!leonardo x fem!reader. the reader has been friends with the turtles for months and during this time she and leonardo have developed a close relationship thanks to their love of reading and the fact that both of them are calm introverts (the reader is much more sweet and in tune with her emotions tough, bay!leo really needs someone like this imo). now leonardo is realizing that what he thought was just friendship is becoming something more, at least on his part, and he doesn't know what to do about it. obviously his brothers notice this change and their way of helping him is to tease him in front of the reader to force either of them to confess (they secretly been shipping them since the beginning and finally their ship is sailing!).

A/N: Hello, anon! I loved writing the dynamic between Leo and the reader, how they’re a lot alike but she has that emotional intelligence that he often lacks. And the brothers’ teasing “encouragement” to get them together was also a fun element to incorporate, even if it’s rough-going at first 🫢

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Between the Lines (angst/fluff)

💙 Bayverse Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Mutual pining, sibling teasing and meddling, brief anger/snapping, emotional vulnerability, confessions, first kiss, happy ending. All characters are aged-up.

The familiar, cool air of the lair wraps around you like a well-loved blanket.

You’re curled up on the worn but comfortable cushions of the couch, a thick hardback open in your lap. Across from you, Leo occupies his usual spot in a patched-up armchair. He’s immersed in an old, slightly battered-looking copy of Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings. He furrows his brow in concentration as he tracks the lines of text.

This is your usual routine, which began not long after you—months ago—literally stumbled into Leo and his brothers’ hidden world. And this comfortable silence you now share has become one of your favorite parts of it. You both found kinship in your introversion. A quiet understanding that doesn’t require constant chatter.

And of course, you’ve bonded over books and love to discuss the stories, the characters, the ideas within them. Sometimes the discussions are deep dives into themes and motivation. Other times they’re just comfortable exchanges about a particularly well-turned phrase or a plot twist neither of you saw coming.

While you’ve grown fond of his brothers’ more eccentric dispositions, Leo’s calm presence is something you enjoy. You appreciate the depth you sense beneath his disciplined exterior, the careful way he observes the world. You, in turn, offer a gentler perspective, a willingness to voice the emotions he usually keeps tightly locked down.

You sometimes catch him watching you when he thinks you’re not looking—like right now. For a moment, his brow smooths out, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his blue eyes.

Before his gaze snaps back to his book, brow furrowing once again.

A faint warmth spreads through your chest at the intensity you glimpsed, even if it vanished as quickly as it appeared. You keep your eyes dutifully on your page, though the words blur together. You pretend you didn’t notice, respecting the boundary he clearly erected by whipping his gaze back so sharply. And that’s part of the understanding too: knowing when not to push.

You shift slightly on the cushions, the worn fabric sighing softly beneath you. The sound seems amplified in the quiet. You reread the last paragraph on the page, forcing your focus back to the intricate plot unfolding. And for another minute or two, the silence stretches. You find yourself wanting to bridge it. But again, you relent, convincing yourself not to press.

Your cheeks are warm. This isn’t just the comfortable quiet anymore; your skin tingles, and the air feels like it does before a storm. Again, you attempt to focus on the words in front of you, but you can no longer comprehend them. All you can think about is the definite shift you’ve sensed in Leo—and the precarious question mark hanging in the space between you.

Because lately, the way he looks at you—it feels … different.

The words on the page have become meaningless squiggles, drowned out by the roaring silence and the frantic beat of your own heart against your ribs. Just now, you feel that look again. That focused stare. You try to take a slow, steadying breath, but it hitches halfway. Then you risk another look at Leo—

—and this time, he doesn’t look away immediately.

Instead, his eyes meet yours. And for a beat, you swear you feel the air crackle. There’s a tension in his jaw you’ve learned to recognize as him grappling with something internally. He continues to hold your gaze, not looking away. You swallow, rooted to the spot.

Inevitably, something shatters the moment.

“Ooooh, lookie here! Study buddies getting intense?” Mikey’s voice booms as he skateboards into the main room, executing a wobbly turn.

Leo’s posture goes ramrod straight. Every muscle seems to tense. “It’s called reading, Michelangelo.” He speaks in a clipped, overly formal tone—a sure sign of his discomfort.

Donnie wanders in, tapping away at a tablet. Though his eyes flick between you and Leo with keen interest. “Technically, Mikey’s right. Leo’s bio-feedback readings have shown a slight elevation in heart rate and galvanic skin response when you’re in close proximity.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you bookmark the page and close your book. Oh boy, you think as Raph enters the room. Here we go. The peace is officially over.

Raph glances from a now distinctly uncomfortable Leo to you, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. “Yeah, ‘reading’. Looks more like our fearless leader is trying to figure out how to use his words for something other than barking orders.” He gives Leo a pointed look.

Leo’s shoulders bunch up even further, and he shoots Raph a glare that could curdle milk. “I was contemplating strategy, Raphael. Something you might benefit from trying occasionally, instead of just charging in.” The deflection is immediate, sharp.

You tuck your feet beneath you on the couch, feeling the tension in the room climbing. “He’s right, guys,” you say softly, trying to inject a note of casualness. “We were just enjoying the quiet.”

“Quiet? Dude, the air was buzzing!” Mikey insists, ditching his board and planting his feet firmly on the floor. “Like, zzzzt! Electric eel quiet!” He makes buzzing noises and wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

“My sensors registered a distinct increase in localized atmospheric ions,” Donnie says, “that are consistent with elevated emotional states. Fascinating, really.” He taps his screen again. “Further analysis pending.”

Leo makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Donnie,” he grits out.

Raph folds his arms over his plastron, that knowing smirk still firmly in place. “Aw, relax, Leo. Nobody’s judging.” He pauses, letting the implication hang heavy. “Much.” He winks at you, making you blush. “Just sayin’, Leo. Maybe Musashi ain’t the only thing holdin’ your attention these days.”

“Shut up, Raph,” Leo snaps, his gaze darting towards you, checking your reaction.

“Aw, is Leo getting flustered?” Mikey teases, grinning as he looks at you. “You finally break through that super-serious shell of his?”

Heat floods your face, matching the flush you see creeping up Leo’s neck.

You manage a small, slightly shaky laugh. “You guys are relentless,” you say, aiming for amused rather than mortified. You gesture vaguely towards the books resting nearby. “There’s no ‘shell breaking’ going on. We were just reading.”

Leo pushes himself abruptly out of the chair, his movements stiff and jerky. He places The Book of Five Rings down on the armrest with more force than necessary. “Enough, Mikey,” he bites out, his voice low and tight with warning. He refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over Mikey’s shoulder, his jaw clenched tight.

“Actually,” Donnie begins, adjusting his glasses, “the ‘shell’ metaphor is interesting. Because psychologically, prolonged exposure to a non-threatening, emotionally open individual can foster increased vulnerability and trust in subjects typically exhibiting guarded behavior. My preliminary data correlates with a significant decrease in Leo’s baseline stress markers when in your presence, contrasted with—”

Raph snorts, cutting Donnie off. “See? Even Donnie agrees you’re gettin’ soft, Leo.” He grins wider, thoroughly enjoying the leader’s discomfort. “Must be all that … quiet reading.”

“Is Leo gonna start writing poetry now?” Mikey says, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, completely oblivious to Leo’s darkening expression—or perhaps relishing it far too much. “Ooh! Or maybe singing love songs?” He strikes a dramatic pose, hand over his heart.

“That’s enough!” Leo finally snaps. His voice cracks through the room like a whip, sharp enough to make even Mikey flinch back a step.

The playful teasing evaporates instantly. For a fraction of a second, Leo’s furious gaze lands on you. You see a flash of something raw and conflicted—Panic? Frustration? Regret?—before he wrenches his eyes away and pivots on his heel. “I’m going to train.”

Before he can go far, Raph grabs his arm. “Leo, wait. We didn’t mean—”

“Let me go.” Leo shakes off Raph’s hand, his voice low, strained. His gaze flits momentarily back to you, and the raw emotion you glimpsed earlier—that maelstrom of panic and frustration—is starkly visible before he clamps down on it again, hardening his expression.

Raph lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. The smirk is long gone, replaced by a frown of genuine concern mixed with self-reproach. “Leo, we’re sorry. Didn’t mean to push ya like that. We got kinda … carried away.” He casts an apologetic glance at you as well.

Mikey looks up, nodding quickly. “Yeah, dude. Sorry. We were just messing around. Because you know, the two of you …” He gestures vaguely between Leo and you, opens his mouth to say something—before wincing slightly, thinking better of finishing that train of thought.

Leo’s about to throw some barbs at his youngest brother when you stand abruptly and go over to him. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to calm him. “They’re just being—”

“Annoying?” Leo bites out. “Intrusive?”

“Accurate,” Donnie supplies, leveling a look directly at Leo.

“Seriously,” Raph says. “We see how you get all quiet and weird—well, quieter and weirder—when she’s around. So just spit it out already.”

He glares at Raph. “There’s nothing to ‘spit out.’ Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to broadcast every fleeting thought or impulse that crashes through my head.” The insult is sharp, aimed squarely at his hot-headed brother.

Mikey winces again, glancing between his two oldest brothers nervously.

Raph raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, easy, Leo. Just sayin’—”

“Saying what, exactly?” Leo cuts him off, his control fraying. “That I enjoy quiet companionship? That I value having someone around who … who understands me?” His eyes flicker briefly, almost involuntarily, towards you again.

Your cheeks grow warm once more. But before Leo can say anything else, you quickly move forward, laying a hand gently on his arm. “Please, Leo,” you murmur, your voice soft but clear. “It’s okay. Really.”

He freezes at your touch. His muscles remain rigid beneath your hand, taut as bowstrings. But the furious energy seems to stall, caught short by your intervention. He looks down at your hand resting on his arm, his plastron rising and falling with agitated breaths. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to your face.

The anger in his eyes vanishes, momentarily overwhelmed by that conflicted look again. His vulnerability warring fiercely with his ingrained need for composure. And for a fleeting second, he looks utterly lost.

Exposed.

Raph watches the silent exchange between you and Leo, his own expression softening considerably. He nudges Mikey. “C’mon, guys,” Raph says quietly. “Let’s, uh … Let’s give ‘em some space.”

Mikey nods, looking immensely relieved to escape the line of fire. “Yeah! Space! Totally! Good idea, Raph!” He backs away towards the tunnels.

Donnie again looks between the two of you, before following Mikey out of the lair. Raph joins them soon after, leaving the room to fall quiet again.

It’s heavy, thick with everything that was just said.

And everything that wasn’t.

Leo hasn’t moved. He’s still looking at you, your hand still resting on his arm. The tension hasn’t fully left him, but the volatile anger has receded. Slowly, deliberately, he covers your hand with his own for a second—before pulling away. It’s not a rejection so much as a gathering of courage.

He turns away slightly, running a hand over his face, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I … apologize,” he says, the word strained. “For their behavior. And … for my reaction. It was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Brothers tease. It happens.”

He shakes his head. He still won’t look directly at you, focusing instead on the worn pattern of the rug. “No. It’s not just teasing.” He pauses, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. “They weren’t entirely … wrong.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wait, hardly daring to breathe, as he visibly struggles with himself. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. He takes a deep, unsteady breath, the kind you’ve seen him take before facing a daunting opponent.

Finally, he turns back to face you. His eyes meet yours, and the turbulent emotions beneath shatter his usual discipline. The raw vulnerability you glimpsed earlier is fully present now, unguarded and intense.

“Donnie’s observations,” he begins, his voice rough, stumbling slightly over the words. “And Raph’s … accusations.” He swallows hard, his gaze unwavering now, locked onto yours. “While crudely delivered, they hold a measure of truth.”

He takes another breath, forcing the next words out. “My focus—it has been compromised lately. When you are here.” He gestures vaguely towards the couch, towards the shared space, towards you. “This quiet companionship, as I called it. It’s become … significant. To me.”

He pauses again, the silence stretching, amplifying the frantic beat of your own heart. You can see the effort it’s costing him, the sheer force of will required to push past years of ingrained stoicism and emotional suppression.

“I find your presence centering,” he continues, the formality of his words contrasting with the emotion in his eyes. “And distracting. Simultaneously.” A faint, self-deprecating grimace touches his lips before vanishing. “My thoughts deviate from strategy. My focus … shifts.”

He looks down briefly, then meets your gaze again, his own filled with a hesitant, almost uncertain intensity. “What I mean to say,” he finally manages, the words quiet but clear in the heavy silence, “is that my feelings for you extend beyond friendship.”

He doesn’t say more. He simply stands there, stiff as a board, his jaw clenched. As if preparing for a blow after having laid his carefully guarded heart bare. His eyes, usually so calm and assessing, are wide, searching yours, filled with a potent mixture of apprehension and hope.

You can only stare, the echo of Leo’s words reverberating in the space between you. It’s the confirmation of the subtle shift you’d sensed, the answer to the unspoken question that had been tightening your own chest for weeks. But hearing it spoken aloud by him causes a warmth to bloom inside you, chasing away the anxiety that has plagued you for so long.

You see the tight set of his shoulders, the way his hands are still loosely fisted at his sides as if he’s bracing for rejection. For the possibility that he’d misread everything, that he’d shattered the comfortable dynamic you share for nothing. You take a hesitant step closer, closing the small distance between you.

Shoving down your own introverted caution. Because he deserves the same honesty he just offered you.

“Leo,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper.

You lift a hand, not quite touching him yet, letting it hover in the charged air between you. “That quiet companionship …” you begin, echoing his earlier words, your voice gaining a little strength. “It’s … significant for me, too.”

Relief flashes across his face, but he remains still. Waiting.

“I thought … I thought maybe I was imagining things,” you admit, a wobbly laugh escaping you. “The way you looked at me sometimes. The way it felt just sitting here. Reading.” You finally meet his gaze fully, letting him see the emotion swimming in your own eyes. “It wasn’t just comfortable silence anymore, was it?”

He shakes his head mutely, his throat working as he swallows.

“My focus hasn’t exactly been stellar either,” you confess, a small smile touching your lips. “These last few weeks, maybe longer. Trying to read when all I can really think about is …” You trail off, suddenly finding it hard to say the words, your own vulnerability rising to the surface.

You take another step, finally closing the gap. Your hand finds his arm again, resting gently on firm muscle. This time, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his own hand covers yours almost instantly, his grip surprisingly gentle but firm, anchoring you.

“Leo,” you say again, your voice steadier now. “My feelings for you … they extend beyond friendship, too.” You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush of relieved honesty. “A lot further. I …” You swallow. “I love you.”

The admission hangs in the air, raw and true.

For a heartbeat, Leo just stares at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to absorb the reality of your words. Then, the tension visibly drains out of him. His shoulders slump in relief, his posture relaxing. His grip on your hand tightens possessively. A slow, tentative smile—one that reaches his eyes—transforms his face, erasing the lines of worry.

It makes your heart do a ridiculous flip.

“You …” he starts, his voice thick with emotion, almost rough. He clears his throat. “You do?”

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, your smile mirroring his. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. Not from sadness, but from overwhelming relief and happiness.

He raises his other hand, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. He seems momentarily lost for words, the disciplined leader grappling with an emotion far more complex than any battle strategy.

“I …” He shakes his head slightly, that small smile lingering. “I hoped. But I wasn’t sure.” He leans closer, gently cupping your face. “I love you too,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

The world seems to narrow down to just the two of you. Leo’s thumb strokes gently over the back of your hand. His other hand remains cupped against your face, his touch feather-light but possessive. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. You give the slightest nod, a silent permission that sends another wave of warmth flooding through you.

He leans in slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to pull away, true to his nature. But you don’t move. You meet him halfway, rising on your toes. The space between you disappears. His lips meet yours, tentative at first. His lips are surprisingly soft against yours, moving with a hesitant tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

You sigh softly into the kiss, your free hand coming up to rest against his plastron, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm. It’s racing almost as fast as your own. He deepens the kiss slightly, his hand tightening its hold on yours. It feels like coming home, like finding a piece of yourself you hadn’t realized was missing.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes remain closed for a moment, as if savoring the connection. You keep yours shut for a few moments, too.

“Wow,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering open.

An unguarded smile touches his lips again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Wow.” He gently brushes a stray strand of hair from your face.

He takes your other hand, holding both securely in his grasp. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his expression serene, resolute. The vulnerability is still there, but tempered now with confidence, with the quiet joy of reciprocated feeling.

“So,” he says after a few moments, a hint of his usual pragmatic nature returning, though softened around the edges. “Reading might be … slightly more challenging from now on.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and happy. “Might be,” you agree. “But I think … I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiles—a proper, heart-stopping smile that lights up his face. He leans down and presses a brief, sweet kiss to your forehead.

Your respective stories have taken a turn neither of you fully anticipated. But it is a chapter you were both eager to finally write.

Together.

[stanlunter]

Why don't we talk about how Melvika is extremely overrated for a ship that makes no sense and ruins the characters

I mean, I usually love crackships, they're often interesting and can reveal the characters from new sides and make an unusual dynamic

Even in Arcane there are some good or not bad crackships that I treat fine, but Melvika? Seems like the only reason why it exists is bc the fandom likes headcanoning them wlw and bc it's a "masculine"/"feminine" dynamic which for some reason is often a must have in any wlw ship

But the problem is that Sevika absolutely despises pilties, esp from the council and would never tolerate Mel, it just goes against all her views and arc. While also the fans love turning Sevika into some dog/slave/servant for Mel that stays on her side and goes against Zaun. Should I even explain how classisit and disgusting it is? And how much it mischaracterises and downplays Sevika who would never be like this for a piltie? Even while working for Silco she afforded herself being openly rude to him and was completely honest that she would betray him if there's someone better for Zaun, cuz she did it for her own views, not for Silco. Also in most of the content Mel is some manipulative madame who uses Sevika as either some lady-in-waiting or a personal knight, which makes no sense for Sevika either.

.It's even worse with Sembessa cuz besides all that Ambessa also caused so much problems to the undercity and used its discrimination against it btw, but at least it's not as popular

While Mel, who grew up with a cold mother who appreciated violence and was against peaceful ways of resolving the conflicts, would have no reasons to fond for someone who's for radical methods of fight who would never cooperate or compromise with those from the opposite side. Considering with what Mel loved in Jayce: his softness, aspiration of the innovations, faith in the best for everyone and some naiveness about it. Their frankness, sort of valnurability, tenderness, emotionality and sensuality were a huge part of the relationship that made Mel feel loved and cared about. Obviously, we didn't see how Sevika act in relationship, but she didn't show any of it, even when she had a lot of emotions inside, we haven't seen her showing any emotion besides anger so there are no reasons to think she would be open enough for Mel, since she never was with anyone else it's out of character for her, which is why I don't think their relationship could work out or even start in the first place

I'm free for other opinions tho and would glad to hear what other people think about them

[bylerween]

Announcing the daily themes for BYLERWEEN 2024! 🎃🦇👻

Each day has three themes: a Halloween theme, a show theme, and a one-word theme. Feel free to use inspiration from just one, two, or all three themes for each day!

Day 1: Sunday, October 27:

Horror AU

Demo Creatures

Summon

Day 2: Monday, October 28:

Masquerade

Turn it Upside Down

Spell

Day 3: Tuesday, October 29:

Graveyard & Zombies

Young Byler & Old Byler

Haunt

Day 4: Wednesday, October 30:

Pumpkins & Skeletons

The Party

Transform

Day 5: Thursday, October 31:

Costume Contest

Trick or Treat, Freak (2x02)

Sweet

Day 6: Friday, November 1:

Movie Night

Hawkins Lab

Fire

Day 7: Saturday, November 2:

Fortune Telling

Season 5 Era

Shiver

🎃🦇👻

Extra prompts and ideas for these themes are under the Read More cut!

amazing art by @magentamee!!!

Here are some additional ideas that you can use as inspiration for each day's themes! You don't need to follow these prompts at all, but feel free to jump off of these ideas.

Day 1: Sunday, October 27:

Horror AU: Make an AU of your favorite horror movie, show, video game, or book. Feature Mike and Will as the villains, or as the final ones standing.

Demo Creatures: Demogorgans, Demodogs, and Demobats, oh my! Revisit our favorite creatures from the Upside Down. Will Dustin’s beloved D’Artagnan make a reappearance? Or create a brand new kind of Demo Creature!

Summon: Will the Wise and the brave paladin Michael are summoned to complete a quest! Or maybe at a spooky sleepover, Mike and Will accidentally summon a demon.

Day 2: Monday, October 28:

Masquerade: Will kisses someone handsome at the masquerade ball, but they had a mask on - was it Mike or someone else? The party shows up to the ball to have a good time, but are surrounded by enemies in masks. Hidden identities, lots of dancing, and a raucous good time!

Turn it Upside Down: Explore the Upside Down, whatever that means to you! Will and Mike go through a gate into the Upside Down, or flip the whole ship on its head: Willow and Michelle around Halloween, underexplored AU’s, flipped ship dynamics. Go crazy with it.

Spell: Enchantments, curses, and magic. Has Hawkins been placed under a spell this Halloween? Will the Wise casts a spell, or has to undo one.

Day 3: Tuesday, October 29:

Graveyard & Zombies: Buried bodies, graveyard shifts, and ghosts. Will and Mike work at the graveyard and have to stop an undead army from rising, or maybe that’s just where they share their first kiss. The “Zombie Boy” nickname still stings Will when it’s thrown around at school, or maybe not so much after Mike fights their bullies.

Young Byler & Old Byler: What did Mike and Will get up to on their first, second, third Halloween together? How do Mike and Will celebrate Halloween once in college, or in their 20s, 30s, 40s, or 50s? How are they spending Halloween in 2024?

Haunt: What still haunts Mike and Will all these years later? Mike searches for Will who is haunting him while still stuck in the Upside Down. Mike and Will bravely face the Hawkins Haunted House, or move into an actual haunted house as adults.

Day 4: Wednesday, October 30:

Pumpkins & Skeletons: Will and Mike carve pumpkins together, make a pumpkin pie, or investigate the mystery of the rotten pumpkin fields in Hawkins. The party fights against skeletons come to life, or a mystery in Hawkins begins when an unlikely skeleton is found.

The Party: Any and all Party Halloween shenanigans! Explore party dynamics during the spooky season, from pranks to trick or treating. What was the party’s first Halloween together like? The party attends or hosts a Halloween party.

Transform: Transformations of any kind! Werewolves, vampires, Frankenstein, or just the kind of transformation that happens when you are stuck in the Upside Down for a week.

Day 5: Thursday, October 31:

Costume Contest: The party is going all out for costumes this year! Or is it just an AU? Dress Mike and Will up in historical clothes, clothes from your other favorite fandom, or anything else! No matter what, Mike and Will are dressed to impress this year.

Trick or Treat, Freak: A perfect day to appreciate our beloved season 2 Halloween episode. Ghostbusters, Max Mayfield has joined the party, Will sees a shadow in the sky. Crazy together.

Sweet: What’s Halloween without candy? Mike and Will share their favorite candies, or maybe they’re just being extra sweet to each other this Halloween.

Day 6: Friday, November 1:

Movie Night: Whether it’s the whole party or just Will and Mike, at the movie theater or just hanging out in the basement: Byler is cozied up and watching their favorite Halloween movie. Or, what if the party is making an amateur horror flick?

Hawkins Lab: What goes on there, and how are Will and Mike involved? Mad scientists, dangerous experiments, and kids with powers.

Fire: Bonfires to keep our boys warm on a chilly October night, the fire under a wizard’s cauldron, Will the Wise casts Fireball, or a dark night lit only by candlelight.

Day 7: Saturday, November 2:

Fortune Telling: Look into the crystal ball and tell me what you see! Will or Mike get their fortune read and things go awry! Horoscopes, tarot reading, palm reading, tea leaves: does knowing the future make things easier, or so much worse?

Season 5 Era: Time to daydream about our season 5 era! Speculate about what spooky things will happen based on the behind the scenes pictures. What does the next Halloween after season 4 look like for Mike and Will? Is there still time to trick or treat when the world is ending?

Shiver: “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” What has Mike and Will shivering with fright: a supernatural creature, something ancient and mysterious, or a strange deadly virus that has the whole town shivering? Mike and Will get trapped somewhere cold. Will insists that “he likes it cold.” Or maybe there’s just a chill in the air - it is autumn after all.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter ten

chapter ten

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 5.6k

summary: joel faces his inability to protect you.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, p in v, oral, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tommy Miller is a changed man. 

Four and a half years of scouring the midwest will do that to someone. 

So will being bitten by a toddler. 

Well. Probably not just any toddler. 

After Tommy had cajoled DJ into sinking his tiny teeth into Tommy’s bicep, Laura hadn’t spoken to him for three months. She refused his company at the door. 

“I have spent years��years, Miller—teaching that boy that he cannot, under any circumstances, bite someone. Do you know how hard it is to convince a toddler not to bite? Do you?” Laura had berated him thoroughly, and shut the door in his face.

She’d forgiven him, after some nudging from Tess, and a couple special deals with Bill for some new shoes for the boys. 

Even so, he’d never felt quite so alone before. There was a pull behind his ribs, an ache that said he could not give up. 

“You really don’t feel any different?” Tess said cautiously, one night when all three adults were lounged on the worn leather couches in Laura’s cottage, passing a bottle of whiskey. 

“Nah,” Tommy says. “Well, I do, but I can’t explain it. But I think I’m getting closer. I’ve got this feeling.” 

Tess crooked a brow at him. “You got me brokering deals across the goddamn half of the country based on a feeling?” 

“Ain’t like you’re getting nothin’ out of it,” he grumbled. 

“I know what you mean,” Laura admitted. “I— when Peter died—” she, with a kindness he feels sick for accepting, doesn’t say 'when you shot my husband.' “I knew.” 

“That’s freaky,” Tess says bluntly. “But alright. I’ll keep pressin’em for info.” 

It was hard, though, to get real information out of anyone, when you can’t explain that the missing person in question may also be an 8-foot-tall fairytale monster. 

There were rumors, though. Most of them turned out about as well as if he were looking for Bigfoot. 

Tess spent less and less time in Boston, taking up Laura’s sofa. Tommy spent less and less time at Joel’s cabin, instead roaming the country for any sign of his brother. Sometimes, Tess would go with him, usually if she had secured a good trade at the same time. 

But there was no sign of Joel.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight. He refuses to go out, even when they bring him to the ground with the shock collar. 

“She goes with me,” he snarls. 

Jim throws his hands in the air in frustration. They’ve tried… well, they’ve tried a lot of horrible things. You wish he would just go and stop getting hurt. 

“Joel,” you plead for the nth time. 

“Look at it this way,” Jim leers. “You either go and risk her getting hurt. Or you refuse and guarantee it.”

Joel wolfs out for the nth time, and horribly, you share a look with Cheryl. 

“For fuck’s sake,” she says, finally breaking her uncharacteristic silence. “He wants to bring the girl? Fine. We’ll bring her.” 

Her words are not a comfort. There is no promise of safety. But truth be told, not that you’ll voice it after all this, not that you’d ever disagree with Joel in front of them, but the verdict is a tightening noose. 

To you, the threat is gone. You helped him pick the threat out of his teeth. The two brothers were an anomaly; none of these people have any loyalty to one another. The status quo works right now, but at the slightest tip of the ship, that ends. No one is coming after you because of Mike. 

Joel had furrowed his brows, shaking his head with a glower. “That’s what we thought about Mike. Ain’t riskin’ it, darlin’. And that’s final.”

He hadn’t used his alpha voice, but you had felt compelled to shut up anyway. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the way his jaw was set tight. You reached up, one hand against his cheek, thumb brushing his beard. “Okay,” you capitulate. 

He almost bristles at the coddling, but the rigidity leaves him in a heaving sigh, and he allows himself a moment to lean into your gentle touch. His hand covers yours, trapping it there. 

“Atta girl,” he mumbled, drawing your palm to his lips for a kiss. 

Now that it was happening, though? He smells the acrid citrus disinfectant of your fear as it curls into guilt in his lungs.

Not that he can do anything to help. He stands, hands through the bars, as they shackle him. He waits, brow twitching, as they fit the muzzle around his snout. Two of the lackeys push him against the cinder block wall outside your room, twin prongs jabbing against the furry expanse of his chest. It heaves with his heavy pants, eyes darting between his would-be guards and where you’re similarly being bound. 

Jim bitches. Of course he does. He bitches the whole time they begin the march to the surface, to the wild. 

They shove you in the van behind Joel, and he uses his great, hairy body to catch you, huffing and nudging until you manage to sit on his lap. Your hands are bound tight behind your back, tense lines of your body perched precariously, but the only other option is the floor.

The raiders are piled in around you. Well, most of them. Cheryl and her favored lackeys are in a pick-up truck following behind. Jim drives, ruling this operation as he does every other—with rigid, unwavering control. The others trapped with you in the cargo hull have guns or tasers, so clearly uncomfortable with sharing an enclosed tin can with the most dangerous creature they’ve ever known. 

None of them look at you. It’s too careful to be coincidence. He’s made his point. 

The Wolf doesn’t think it’s enough, so he growls every time someone so much as shifts in their seat. 

It speaks to the danger that you don’t even think of making a Little Red Riding Hood or Three Little Pigs joke, though they do come to you later. 

The raid is anticlimactic. The raiders mow down most of the other group. Joel disposes of the rest with neither pomp nor circumstance, just swift swipes of sharp claws. 

They work methodically through the small house, loading the back of the pickup with their spoils. That takes far longer than the slaughter.

“Can I sit down?” you eventually ask Cheryl. Jim’s made her your keeper, since she made the call to drag you along.

“What the fuck do I care?” she snaps, examining a nail under the light of the moon. 

So you sit on the porch and wait, hoping you don’t get a splinter in your ass. 

Later, under the illusion of safety, you nestle into the circle of him, as you had in those earlier days. You tip your head back and bury your fingers in his fur, one hand petting and the other holding tight. He makes a sort of snuffly sound, inquisitive and wary.

“I’m still not scared of you,” you say, splitting the silent night. “I watched you eat a dude. Today was nothing.”

He rolls his eyes but settles back down, head resting on his misshapen arms. 

When you wake, he’s more man than wolf. It’s been that way more and more often, now.

Joel cradles you the way he always does, like a child at the beach whose fistfuls of sand keep retreating with the waves. There’s a tender desperation to it that makes you ache. You can’t take it, pulling yourself close to him with his shoulders beneath your grasp, pressing your lips together as if the sweet sedative of his saliva could fix the rabbity seizing of your heart. 

A twinge near your hip gives you pause, a creeping reminder of something that shouldn’t have been forgotten.

“Hey Joel,” you say slowly, drawing his eyebrows up, “you said the heats are for…” 

He hears the word you can’t force from your mouth. As his fingers continue their steady rhythm, the soothing back-and-forth against your temple, he douses your worry. 

“‘m shootin’ blanks, darlin’,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, not pursuing anything, but luxuriating in the moment.

You shouldn’t laugh, but you snort anyway. “You’re telling me that you’re… fixed ?” you tease. Any self-control you had before doesn’t seem to have survived him. 

He pulls away from his lazy kisses to scowl at you. “Shut up,” he grumbles, though there’s no mistaking the twitch of his lips as you grin. 

“I’m right,” you say, squealing as he nips at your neck in retaliation. 

“Ha ha,” he says, deadpan with a wry twist of his lips. “I get it. Like a dog. You gotta get some new jokes.”

“No, I’m good; these are still funny,” you say, wrapping one hand around the nape of his neck and trying to tug him back to his affections. 

“I’m serious, though,” he says, somehow settling the little bubbles that crept up your throat. “Got snipped a long time ago.” 

It’s an answer that asks questions. You don’t give them a voice. Not why, not when. You’re haunted by the thought of his past. My daughter loved that shit. It’s been weeks since he dropped that little tidbit, and neither of you have dug it back up. He sees the questions blooming in your eyes even as you snip them at the root, and shakes his head, so you follow a safer path of curiosity.

“What about the healing? What if it undid it? That’s a thing, right? Undoing vasectomies?” 

“Thought about that, too. But none of my other scars or injuries from before went away. Why would that?” 

He sounds so casually confident, and you can’t really disagree. “So you’re saying I won myself a sweepstakes from Little Debbie?”

He closes his eyes for a moment before looking skyward. “What’re you on about now?”

“A lifetime supply of creampies,” you say seriously, but it doesn’t hold, and you bury your laughter in his arm. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says flatly, shaking his head. “And those are oatmeal cream pies, you pervert.” 

It just makes you laugh harder. “I’m your little toaster strudel.”

He groans. “Wrong. Icin’ goes on the top of those.”

“Says the man who literally rubbed his jizz over my tits.”

“Alright, time for you to be quiet,” he says, covering your mouth with his hand only to snatch it back when you bite. “Now who’s the fuckin’ dog?” he mutters.

“Aw, giving up?” you say as he rises on his haunches, still looming over you.

“Nope,” he pops the p as his smirk grows. “Got a better way t’shut you up.” 

The thing about him being nude all the time is that you’re hyper-aware of the status of his cock, like, all the time. It’s been half-mast for the last hour, but it’s paying full attention now. 

“Guess I’m just as much of a dog as you. Got me over here like Pavlov.”

“Pavlov was the scientist,” Joel says absently, stroking his cock and scooting closer to where you’re sitting up in anticipation. 

“S’there a way to shut you up?” But you don’t need to ask. You cut off his retort by taking the tip of his cock between your lips and sucking hard. 

His words become a strangled whimper and you pull off with a lewd pop. “Oh yeah,” you say, “like that.” 

Before he can muster up another snarky comment, you take his balls in one hand, rubbing your thumb over them to make his hips jerk a little. His hands don’t stay off you for long, but he doesn’t try to push you around or rush you. 

A sweet kiss to each, and he knows this’ll be over a lot sooner than he’d like. 

But goddamn, will it be worth it.

You groan at the velvety feel of his wrinkled sac, which grows more and more taut as you adorn it with little kitten licks, nuzzling your cheek against it. His oaky bourbon musk has a sharp edge to it that makes you a little dizzy. With a single-minded focus, your hands curl around the backs of his thighs, a soft sigh ruffling the coarse hair. 

You pause to pick one of said hairs from your teeth and go back in for more. 

His hand rests on your head, and he gazes down at you, his eyes dark like the underbelly of a cloud grown heavy with a brewing storm. The wiry tuft of his pubes copies his scruffy beard, though the former is far less salt than salt-and-pepper. The hard line of his cock presses against your cheek, the slip of his foreskin smooth. It leaves a trail behind when you pull away, though you can’t help but lean back in and kiss the rest from the tip. 

He does the unthinkable in that moment.

He steps back.

You look up sharply, catching yourself with an oof. “Wha—” 

He doesn’t even let you finish wondering. He grabs you, both palms smothering your hips, and rolls you onto your stomach. It’s not a display of his brute strength, but instead of the thrall you don’t like to admit to being under. The slightest pressure from his urging has you rolling over.

“Need t’be inside you,” he grunts.

“You were, ” you protest with no protest. 

He shuts you up much more efficiently by the intensity of his grip on your hips as he pushes into you. His impatience finds his cock buried in the depths of your cunt and his teeth buried in the shallows of your shoulder. He rests on his elbows with your upper body trapped between them.

The breath leaves you in a whine, air forced from your lungs under the pressure of his bulk on you. 

“Oh,” is all you can muster. 

He nips at your ear in response, laving his kisses and tongue down your neck, bringing his teeth back up to the line of your jaw. 

It’s so much. You’re overwhelmed by him, by the way something in you sings at the weight pinning you to the cold floor, sweater rucked up about your waist. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to turn that isn’t Joel, and it’s bliss. White static and the pounding of his hips against your ass consume you. Your gasps and grunts and moans come from somewhere in the distance, not quite underwater, but only because his are rough in your ear, keeping you afloat. 

He runs hot, hotter than any man you’ve lain with before, and it’s not long before sweat slicks between your bodies, dripping down from his brow. You’ve given up all illusion of being an active participant, instead laying your cheek against the cool ground and letting your eyes close. 

The angle is divine. Each rock of his hips grants you the tiniest bit of friction, but it ends up being all you need. He makes you come once, twice, three exhausting times before he allows himself to take what he needs, fucking down into you mercilessly. 

You only get to delight in the sensation of his cock twitching, of the bursts of his cum inside, for a moment before he’s pulling out to spill the rest across your ass. 

When he pulls out, he slides off you to the side, but keeps you pinned with a leg and arm over you. If you weren’t so sated, floating your way down from the exquisite high, you’d roll your eyes. He’s letting it dry; of course he is. 

He nudges you with his nose, and you turn your head to catch his eyes. They’re as tired and pleased as yours, but something cheeky lurks there. He doesn’t make you wait long for it. 

“There," he says with a slap to your ass. "Now You’re a cream pie Toaster Strudel. Happy?” He's deadpan with flat brows and a scowl. 

You laugh, lighter than you’ve been in a long time. It almost sobers you—the realization that you are. You may not be happy with your living conditions and dangerous circumstances. But you’re… you’re happy with him. 

“Oh, you’re a pastry chef now?” You tease before pressing a kiss to his prickly cheek. “Yeah. M’happy.” 

He stiffens at the way your voice goes so soft. So fond. It’s undeniable—the very thing he feared the most coming to full bloom before his eyes. 

But what was he to do? This wretched world that always takes, always, never gives, it had given him you. And he’s too damn selfish to care anymore. There’s the imprint of concern, a triplicate carbon copy—barely indented, barely visible. 

But more than that, it’s a facsimile. It’s the only thing that remains of the cautious voice warning him to keep a distance. To protect you from being hurt. To protect you from himself. 

He can’t protect you from himself anymore. His hold on you turns, tightens like a corset around your ribs, and he watches in disbelief as you simply melt into it. 

No fear. No flight. No fight. Just you, and him, here. Any energy he had earlier is sapped seems to leak out from his sigh, unfurling from the look in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have called it fond. 

Joel, though? Joel’d've called it something else. 

The trips outdoors happen weekly. At least, you think so. Not that you know much about the passage of time beyond the phases of the moon. They skip the new moon since the Man isn’t useful. Everything is by-the-book, if there was such an awful thing, until the second full moon. 

The Wolf Moon rises above the glittering snow, and all hell breaks loose in her glow.

The heavy, languid body sits huge on the horizon, commanding control. It’s hypnotic. You can’t really quite look away from the cold yellow, bigger than the sun and twice as potent. 

You don’t even notice that you’ve started to move when she catches you.

Cheryl’s nails make little crescents in your shoulder, her face so close that her hot breath puffs into your ear. It’s an awful sensation, and you want no part of her in or on your body. But here you are, too afraid to do anything but take it. 

“You’re just as mindless as he is,” she says with a breathless laugh. 

You consider protesting, but she beats you to it. 

“He doesn’t even know who he is. He’s got no control. Only obeys his master,” she says. Her fingers curl under your chin, grinding the soft flesh against your teeth as she forces you to look at Jim. 

He’s got a girl by the throat. She can’t be more than fifteen. His gun sits in his hip holster, knife in his pocket. He doesn’t need a weapon. He has the Wolf. 

A man who can’t be anyone but her father is pleading on his knees. You can’t hear anything, don’t know his crimes against Jim. But Jim kicks the man back with a boot against his chest and drops the girl unceremoniously to the ground. 

He snaps his fingers and points. And the wolf lunges, teeth catching in the moonlight. 

You don’t realize you’ve screamed until the whole clearing goes silent. He’s frozen, inches from the girl, but all his attention is on you. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, and he recoils from her, standing on his warped legs and howling. 

“You little bitch,” Cheryl hisses, her fingers dropping your chin in favor of your throat. There’s a fraction of a moment where the world pauses before the cacophony erupts. 

Joel snarls, lunging for Cheryl. Jim hits the shock collar’s trigger. Joel stumbles, falls, and keeps moving. 

It earns him a bullet to the leg. Jim never lets go of the button, and you scream as he convulses, bleeding profusely on the thick patch of grass. 

It’s the last thing you see before everything goes dark. 

When you wake up, you’re in the cage. 

Outside the room. 

Joel paces in front of the barred door, eyes never leaving you. A sigh billows out when he sees that you’re awake. He drops to his knees, reaches, and just barely grabs the bars before he pulls. The metal screeches something awful against the tile, but he can reach you now. 

“Hey,” he urges, voice low and a little wrecked. “Tell me you’re okay. C’mon.”

“I’m okay,” you groan, but make no effort to sit up. You stare up at him, inverted as he is, half-obscured by the bars. “I miss Excedrin.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, but disregards your complaint. “Y’ain’t bleeding,” he says by way of comfort, though more for his benefit. 

“No, just fuckin’... hurts,” you say, closing your eyes against the sickening flicker of the nearly-burnt bulb. 

“That was real stupid,” he says. It lacks real bite, but it’s bloated with something worse than anger. 

“We both lived. And that girl.”

Joel winces and looks away. 

“No,” you say weakly.

“They shot ‘em all,” he says, the gravity of their fate dragging you down. “They never leave anyone alive.” 

“No,” you repeat quietly. His words are the swing of an axe to your sternum. 

He looks away. He’s always known you’re too soft, too good. Somehow free of dried blood under your fingernails all your life. He’s never asked, may never ask, how you ended up here. It’s not the thing to do. 

Nobody talks about before.

“I know that ain’t what you want to hear,” he tries, but it’s disingenuous, placations like packing peanuts in their unwanted staticity and general ineffectiveness. The sound grates in his ears about the same, too.

“Sweetheart, listen t’me. Y’can’t interfere. They brought you here to get me to cooperate. If they think you’re a problem, they’re going to shoot you.”

It’s a sobering truth. “But—“ you whisper. 

Joel isn’t having it. “I told you. I ain’t the man you think I am.” He swallows hard, and something shifts, his eyes gone cold and the set of his jaw hardening into a plaster mask. “I kill people. All the time, darlin’.  Even before I got bit. It’s what a man like me has to do to survive and protect people I—” a pause, a catch in his throat—”my people. Do you understand?”

He hates the way apprehension settles your teeth into the soft bed of your lower lip. The way your gaze is unwavering, though the ache wafts like citronella, as if that could keep him at bay. 

“I said, do you understand?” He repeats firmly. His words aren’t harsh, but they cut anyway. His hands on the bars rattle you a little, as if your dizzy brain needs more centrifugal motion. 

“I don’t want to,” you hear yourself say as if underwater. You’ve never heard yourself sound quite so small. 

“Goddamnit,” he growls, dropping his hands from you and rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “Goddamnit, can’t you see I’m tryin’? For fucks sake, just shut your eyes and don’t watch if that’s what you gotta do. But if you pull a stunt like that again, I can’t protect you. They will kill you.”

You draw your knees to your chest, tucked up against the corner. “I—I just—“

“You just nothing,” he snaps. “You need to listen t’me. Do what you’re told so I can keep you safe. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? I am not gonna let you get yourself killed because you can’t stomach what has to be done.”

Your throat closes, eyes squeezed shut tight. 

He heaves a loud, grating sigh and covers his face with both hands, head tipping back. 

A minute drags into five, and the only sound in the cell is your matching measured breaths. The thrum of his heartbeat from across the room. The silence fills with the buzz of your brain seeping out to your ears, the crackle of tinnitus, and just when you think you’re going to crack, he moves. 

Joel crouches in front of you. “Hey,” he says gruffly, but with less bite. “Look at me,” he coaxes gently. 

You want to bristle at being treated like a skittish horse, but instead, you acquiesce, taking in the lumbering shadow of him. You swallow hard, your heart lodged in your throat like gravel. 

 He sighs again, and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at you. Really, really looking. And he doesn’t like what he sees. As if your scent didn’t give it away. It’s different, somehow, seeing the fear stiffen your shoulders and pull you back from him like a hooked fish. 

“It can’t be any other way,” he says. “I’m… I’m a bad man, a shitty person, and that’s mine to bear. I can’t shield you from it. I tried.” His voice croaks a little on the tail end. “And…” he makes sure you’re looking at him still, his hand slipping between the bars, catching your chin. His thumb brushes your lip as if he can rub the bite marks out. “And I ain’t sorry. Not if it keeps us alive.”

It’s strange, the way his words turn you inside out, and his touch puts you back. But you’re properly distracted from reading too much into it by footsteps clomping down the stairs. 

The cage turns out to have been for dramatics. A red-headed man you’ve not seen before has shown up to haul you from it and dump you back in the room across the hall. 

This time, Joel is quiet. He wants to snarl, to yell, to threaten. But he bites his tongue and lets it happen. It’s this or a bullet in your skull.

Instead, he paces the cell, near-sleepless. You can hear him at all hours of the day, the padding of his bare feet akin to the beat of his heart that usually lulls you to sleep. It’s a poor substitute, but you’ve learned to accept scraps. 

They keep up their end of the bargain, though, and ten days later, they pull you from the locker room to ride along on the latest outing. This time, though, you’re stuck in the truck with Cheryl. 

She turns sideways to regard you down the petite line of her nose. “Do I need to gag you?” 

The question is drawled lazily, but her hand holding the switchblade as she cleans under her nails is anything but. The knife catches in the moonlight, the silver gleam a steady promise. 

“No,” you mumble. 

Nothing happens. She locks you in the truck, still bound. Sure, you might be able to reach the locks, but getting the door open is another story. And surely you’d fall on your face in the mud. 

 For a moment, Joel protests, but gives in. You’re safe in the truck, and he can still see you, still smell you, still hear your heart pulse through his eardrums as if it were his own. 

You don’t watch, but you have to listen. 

Nobody pays you any mind, which means you risk peeking into the bed of the truck. There are the expected supplies—rope, tools, and old sheets. But more importantly, much more importantly, a line of filled backpacks are tucked against the cab. Go bags. They have to be. There’s a bedroll on each, and you’d bet your sweater they’re full of supplies. 

Oh, Jesus. Has your life really come to that? The only meaningful thing you have to wager against yourself is a sweater? 

Fuck. 

The bags live in the back of your mind, scurried away with the tidbits you’re collecting and trying to sweep into a pile vaguely resembling a plan. 

It’s not going great, because Joel isn’t cooperating. 

“You have to eat,” you plead. 

His hands grip your shoulders, seizing onto you like it’ll make any damn difference. “I can't fucking take it anymore. Can't fuckin' sit by letting it happen,” he hisses. 

“Joel,” you murmur, bringing your hands up to cup his warm, scruffy face. “Please. When the time is right, we’ll stop. But for now, please.”

He crumples, as he always does when you beg so sweetly. And he has to admit you’re right. This is not the way. There will be a time, but the new moon isn’t it. He can’t put you in danger by being weaker than ever. 

He heaves a sigh and picks up a flank, rending the meat from the bone like he’s sectioning an orange. It should be disgusting, watching him eat raw, bloody flesh. 

It should be. 

Right? 

You’re not sure anymore.

You’ve never been one for gratuitous displays of strength, but this… isn’t that. This is primal. It stirs behind your sternum, a possessive rumble that has him look up at you with an eyebrow raised. You shake your head and scrub at your face with both hands until it settles. 

He gives a huff of approval, and then, capitulating to his belly that seemed to respond in kind to your growl, he shifts and does his magic trick, turning a huge stack of meat into a bloody tray.  

When he stalks over to you after, he raises one thick, sharp-tipped finger in your face. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

You stifle a laugh. “Don’t say what?” you ask, all fluttering lashes and saccharine innocence.

“Don’t,” he says, but the sternness of his voice falters.

“Don’t ask if you’re ready for dessert?” 

He groans, head dropping to your shoulder before sitting back on his haunches. “You’re not a very good listener,” he says. “Maybe we’ll skip dessert.” His eyes roll.

“What? No,” you say.

“Bad girls don’t get rewards,” he says, and to your mortification, you burn and squirm where he has you pinned with his hips. 

He chuckles. “Aw, ya gonna pout now?”

“C’mon,” you whine. “It was just a joke. You wouldn’t be that mean.”

“I’m fixin’ to leave you high n’ dry.”

“ Joooooel,” you whine, and fix him with your best pleading eyes. “You’re not gonna take care of me?”

He twitches. “That ain’t fair.”

“But alpha—”

He cuts you off with a growl, yanking you by the hips and diving in. He holds you to the mattress with ease as you squirm and savor each stroke of his tongue, and doesn’t let go until he’s had his fill.

The days trickle, but it’s harder to abide them. You had taken this tentative peace for granted, before, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to see the veil. It’s still there, now, but you’re hyperaware of the shroud.

Gone are the lazy days of lounging and fucking and sucking. Gone are the luxurious cat-naps (dog-naps? wolf-naps? freak-of-nature-naps?), and you struggle to remember that you’re supposed to be figuring out a plan.

Joel doesn’t forget, though. Despite your argument, he’s eating less and less. He can’t stand the haze, can’t stand the complacency that stole nearly five years of his life. 

At night, he broods and schemes. 

“Next time, I want you to run,” he says. 

“We’re not ready.”

“We’re gonna get you ready.”

You sit up in the darkness, your eyes as sharp as in the sunlight. “I’m not going without you.” 

He growls. “Darlin’, you ain’t got a choice. You hear me? You get a chance? Take it. Swear to me.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

He shakes you a little roughly. “You will if you have to. Understand me? Swear it, omega.”

He knows you’re pissed. And maybe you’ll never forgive him, never trust him again after he’s done what he swore he’d never do. But you’ll be free.  

“Yes, alpha, ” you grit out, teeth creaking with the strength of your clenched jaw. Your hands ball into fists, but there’s nowhere to direct your anger. 

His mouth drags blunt teeth down your neck, and you snarl. He’s reminded just how much you’ve changed. How every day with him turns you more and more into the animal he makes you. 

How much his bite has cost you. 

“Tell me again,” he says gruffly as you give in to the insistent pressure of his claim and relax against him. He hates it, hates doing this to you when he knows on the inside you’re frothing and raging and burning. 

But he holds you to him with that same fire and makes you repeat it. Over and over. Coordinates he could say in his sleep. The location of the key, the way to jimmy the back window loose if it’s gone. 

And the name. Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

Find Tommy. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

This was just a test run. An experiment to see if your newly-cleared brains (and viciously empty stomachs) welcomed back your sharp senses and survival skills. It wasn’t supposed to be the run. 

You’re not ready. You have no supplies, no direction, no plan. 

But it’s happening. It’s your chance, and you must take it. You hesitate long enough that the Wolf tips his head back and howls, urging you, and even though he speaks no words, your body must listen.

There’s no command, no compulsion. No, the howl is worse because it’s a plea. 

You must run.

So you do. 

Your heart pounds in sync with the beats of your bare feet against the forest floor. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know where you’ve been. The world blurs, not because you’re going fast enough but because of the unbidden tears pricking at your eyes, the pulse of fear and foreboding familiar. 

Crack. Bark shatters to your right. 

Crack. Dirt upturned inches from your left foot. 

Crack. A yelp. 

No. No. 

They wouldn’t. They need him. 

It becomes your mantra. 

Each thud of your foot against the rotting leaves and hard-packed soil pounds with it. They wouldn’t. They need him. They wouldn’t. They need him. 

The bullets stop; there’s no pursuit. You’re disposable. 

Find Tommy. 

Everything narrows to your path. To your feet and the way they carry you in turn, away from the angry yelling and howling and screams. Away from your prison and its guards. Away from your alpha— no. You can’t think like that. You’ll see him again.

You will.

Right?

dearest beloved readers, our story is coming to an end soon. it may be 2-3 more chapters including an epilogue. this particular chapter is one i'm v nervous about sharing since it's been our destination from the start. pls be niceys to me and i love you all, thank you so so much for reading.