#where they are shown to trust each other and feel comfortable around each other enough to show emotion and vulnerability

[nyhti]

Them <333

The Brave and the Bold #184

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry. 

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

[magua-vida]

SLAY THE QUEEN THORN

I was inspired by Abby's sketch of a hypothetical Queen version of the Princess, so I tried my hand at it with a few vessels, including this one. I... ended up drawing something akin to a fashion design concept art rather than a practical design that won't be tiring to draw over and over after a handful of sprites later. I also had to use a bit more artistic license growing unnatural poppies on the dress and the thick twirly prickly noodles.

some explanations behind the process

For the "mended" Thorn, I pretty much just removed the foreground thorns and added the dirt.

rambling/fangirling/screenshots below:

The Thorn is one of my favorites. If I had to choose only five vessels to offer to Shifty and there's no replayable feature, she'll definitely be one of them. I'm one of those suckers who's into Hurt/Comfort stories. Almost like a masochist for those fics, you could say. If the climax to an Action-heavy story is the defeat of one party, then the catharsis of Hurt/Comfort is when the two characters... well, comfort each other- either due to hurt from each other or someone else. In The Thorn's case, she started off rather innocently, Damsel-like, but not quite. She still had caution. It was until she was literally stabbed in the back that she learned that it was a mistake. And when Long Quiet offered sincere regret and admission of fault, she stabbed him... but she didn't feel the relief she thought she'd get from it. I think many relate to having been betrayed and/or betraying someone they trusted, and the scratches are felt by many players.

The thorns curve inward, as if it's more painful to leave her than it is to approach her.

Poppies grow around along the bramble. Many mistook them for roses because they're red and there are brambles (tbh, I actually dunno if they're brambles or briars, I looked them up and I got confused, forgive me, plant enthusiasts ;.;) that grow around the patches of those poppies. Death and romance~

This brings back to Chapter 1 where Hero was kinda-sorta-maybe-definitely crushing on the Princess and wants to give her the benefit of the doubt, not only because of feelings, but for a reasonable cause of wanting to rescue someone who possibly may actually be a victim of circumstance.

Look, I have reasons why Thorn route is one of my favorites and it definitely doesn't have anything to do with both characters having massive trust issues and the capability to change themselves for better or worse and the emotional moments hitting me like a lovely diamond-dusted dagger. Both of them are rather cat-like with pointy ears too.

I appreciate that you're still given the options to leave or stab Thorn, as if the situation isn't pitiable enough. Even her tiara looks like a crown of thorns. It's as if she views the thorns as both a form of penance and a defence mechanism to protect herself from being hurt again, even though she's hurt by her own making this time.

I chose for the Long Quiet to save her and leave the cabin together.

This part stabbed me the most. Even when shown genuine help, she shrinks back.

This part burns a bit of the jadedness away. Trust is a scary thing, so is love. How can you be so sure that you won't be hurt by the one you love again? But just like what The Prisoner says, it's about trust- blind trust. Thorn looks more human than her previous self- less animalistic, softer. A part of The Damsel returns, even in the music.

I recall weighing on whether I prefer the version with the Voice of the Cheated or Voice of the Smitten. I vaguely remember wondering if there was an option to ask her if it's okay to kiss her. I guess the ideal would be is to have that choice, but I suppose the climactic moment calls for it and she doesn't mind it, at least. It's like the option to hug Astarion from BG3, but you're not sure whether he'd be comfy with it after being hurt so much. He gave approval for it too~

As much as Thorn is one of my favorites, I'm not attracted to her and any of the vessels. Instead, I ship her with the Long Quiet- the character himself. I don't really see myself AS the Long Quiet, more like choosing what actions on what he does and I separate myself from him a lot for many reasons. It's a bit like the Harry situation from Disco Elysium in terms of seemingly blank-slate protagonists.

Instead, I kinda put myself into her situation to feel how she felt in this route. The poppies not only felt symbolic of her nature as part of the Shifting Mound, but also specifically the end of the mutual treachery you've inflicted on each other, potentially beginning anew on a path of healing.

==============ramble-bramble over===================

[celestialprincesse]

Hello! Can you write Lieutenant Ghost x Colonel or Captain reader, please! And take your time with it! Thank you 💗💗

I really did take my time with getting around to this whoopsie🥴 Anyways !

John Price retired four months ago, and to the surprise of everyone in TF141, had been replaced externally, instead of by one of them. Ghost, in particular, had not been thrilled with that information. Until he met you.

You'd been one of Laswell's most trusted associates, worked alongside her for years in all different military and CIA branches. Truly the cream of the crop. Despite all your acclaim, the 141 had always been a tight knit family, held together by Captain John Price. What if you couldn't fill his shoes? Keep them running like a well oiled machine?

He'd be the first to admit that despite he and Price's similarity in age, his Captain had been the closest thing to a paternal figure he'd ever had, in his own weird, fucked up and emotionally distant way.

Admittedly, you're beautiful, funny and completely magnetic - but you're not Price. Something about how - how seemingly flawless you are seems to only make you less approachable to Simon, like he'll say one wrong thing to you and not be enough.

You feel the exact same way about him.

Realistically, you know he's your lieutenant, he was Price's too. He should've been the next choice for captain. All of them could've been better for the position than you. Gaz had shadowed Price for as long as he was in the 141. Johnny was the youngest ever to pass the SAS recruitment test. Ghost was noted as exceptionally physically proficient on his file, and had been in the military since he was legally able. Not to mention, Laswell had raved about him to you. You can see why now.

When he lurches at your back, seeing you safely to your office like some loyal guard dog, you can't help but to feel so immensely comforted, like he's a storm, in which you've somehow found yourself in the eye, protected fro, the world outside. And Ghost, loyal as he is, will always protect his team.

The others had taken to you so well, instinctively protective towards the only woman on their team, although you've shown them time and time again that you can hold your own. Simon, however, is on a different level entirely. It's stayed the same since day one. Something in him calls to something in you, and vice versa, and where you go, he goes.

At first, you had thought maybe he was trying to suck up to you, earn your favour, but when he'd started getting in your space, memorising your coffee order and helping you with everything you could imagine, you'd quickly realised that your lieutenant, the big, brave Simon 'ghost' Riley, has a big fat crush on you.

The feeling is mutual.

Obviously, you've got to be careful with the way you go about showing it, especially in a professional environment where fraternisation is frowned upon. It's clear to the both of you though, the pining isn't one sided.

Maybe when you're fully comfortable in your position as captain, well settled into the team, and sure that no one will think that to only way you achieved your position was by blowing someone higher up, maybe then you'll act on your feelings. God forbid you want to. One thing you've fortunately learned in your months working with Ghost, however, is that he's a patient man. He's willing to wait, to let you get comfortable.

Good thing you're patient too.

But until then, you'll settle for the stolen glances with soft eyes, or the way he's always checking on you when you're in the field together. You'll savour the gentle hands patching you up, or the moments between sparring sessions when you sit there sweaty beside one another, just breathing, touching, being.

Pining!! Mutually!! fuck yeah!! They can't have each other!! (yet)😛

still in love though

just subtly

[reaper2187]

Ei x female reader

The sky over Inazuma was painted in hues of purple and orange as the sun began its descent, casting a serene glow over the landscape. The city was bustling with life, but within the Tenshukaku, a different kind of energy filled the air – a quiet anticipation that was almost palpable.

Ei, the Electro Archon, stood by the window of her private chamber, gazing out at the horizon. Her thoughts were distant, but they centered around one person – Y/N. Y/N had been a steadfast presence in her life, a beacon of warmth and light in a world that often felt cold and unyielding.

The sound of soft footsteps drew Ei's attention away from the view. She turned to see Y/N entering the room, her expression gentle and her eyes filled with the same warmth that had captivated Ei from the moment they met.

"Ei," Y/N greeted, her voice soft yet steady. "You wanted to see me?"

A faint smile graced Ei's lips as she walked over to Y/N. "Yes, Y/N. There is something I wish to discuss with you."

Y/N nodded, her curiosity piqued. She followed Ei to a small seating area by the window, where they both settled comfortably. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that had developed over time.

Ei took a deep breath before speaking. "Y/N, you have been a loyal and trusted companion, always by my side. For that, I am eternally grateful. But there is something more I wish to convey."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She had always admired Ei, not just as the Electro Archon but as a person. There was a strength in Ei that drew Y/N in, but also a vulnerability that she felt privileged to witness.

"Ei, you know you can tell me anything," Y/N replied, her voice full of sincerity.

Ei reached out, taking Y/N's hand in hers. The gesture was simple, yet it held a profound significance. "Y/N, in my pursuit of eternity, I have often overlooked the fleeting moments that make life truly meaningful. It is through you that I have come to understand the value of these moments."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, her heart swelling with emotion. She squeezed Ei's hand gently, encouraging her to continue.

"You have shown me that eternity is not just about an unchanging state, but about cherishing the moments we have, no matter how brief they may be," Ei said, her voice soft but resolute. "Y/N, I have come to realize that my feelings for you go beyond mere companionship. I… I love you."

Y/N felt tears welling up in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness. She had always hoped that Ei might feel the same way, but hearing those words aloud was more than she had ever dreamed.

"Ei," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I love you too. I always have."

The air around them seemed to hum with energy, a reflection of the emotions they both felt. Ei pulled Y/N into a gentle embrace, holding her close as if to affirm that this moment was real.

For a while, they simply held each other, savoring the warmth and comfort of their embrace. When they finally pulled apart, Ei looked into Y/N's eyes, her gaze filled with a depth of feeling that words could not fully capture.

"Thank you, Y/N," Ei said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for showing me that even in the pursuit of eternity, there is room for love."

Y/N smiled, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. "Thank you, Ei, for letting me be a part of your life. I promise to cherish every moment we have together."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a soft twilight, Ei and Y/N sat together, their hands intertwined. The future was uncertain, but for now, they had each other, and that was more than enough.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the gentle sound of birds chirping outside the window. She turned to find Ei still asleep beside her, looking peaceful and content. Y/N smiled to herself, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Ei's face.

Ei stirred at the touch, her eyes slowly fluttering open. When she saw Y/N, a soft smile formed on her lips. "Good morning, Y/N."

"Good morning, Ei," Y/N replied, leaning in to place a tender kiss on Ei's forehead. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Ei said, her voice still a bit groggy. "Better than I have in a long time."

Y/N felt a surge of happiness at Ei's words. "I'm glad."

They spent the morning together, enjoying a simple breakfast and talking about everything and nothing. It was a rare moment of normalcy, a glimpse into a life that was both ordinary and extraordinary.

As the day went on, they ventured outside the Tenshukaku, walking through the city and taking in the sights and sounds of Inazuma. Y/N marveled at the beauty of the place, made even more special by the fact that she was experiencing it with Ei.

They visited the Grand Narukami Shrine, offering their prayers and enjoying the tranquility of the sacred grounds. Ei took Y/N to her favorite spots, sharing stories and memories that made Y/N feel even closer to her.

By the time they returned to the Tenshukaku, the sun was setting once again, casting a golden glow over the city. Y/N and Ei stood together on a balcony, watching as the day turned into night.

"Y/N," Ei said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I know that the path ahead may not always be easy, but as long as we have each other, I believe we can face anything."

Y/N nodded, her heart full of love and determination. "I feel the same way, Ei. No matter what comes, we'll face it together."

As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Ei and Y/N shared a quiet moment, their hearts intertwined in a bond that was as enduring as it was beautiful. In that moment, they knew that their love was a light that would guide them through whatever challenges lay ahead, a testament to the power of cherished moments and the eternal beauty of love.

[misshoneyimhome]

I’m so sorry, love! I accidentally deleted the request 🙈 But fortunately I’ve saved it in my notes! 😉 Now, I have to confess, I did tweak the order of the activities a bit – I hope that’s alright 💕 And I also combined it with these two requests [outfit] [Swallow] - hope you all enjoy it! 🌺

"You're doing so fuckin' good älskling." A loud, muffled whine escapes you, drool spilling down past the ball gag that sits in your mouth and down your chin. William slows his hips, stilling you before landing a harsh slap on your sensitive cunt. "Stop yanking your arms, okay?" Unless you want me to keep slapping this pretty face and pussy. Tears spill past your bottom lashes as William slaps your cunt. He grabs a handful of your hair and holds your head up, his other hand continuing to slap your cunt with a steady rhythm. His other hand tightens around your throat, pushing your face closer to his as he whispers, "You better behave." You nod, your throat tight as he tightens his grip. He releases you, but his fingers remain buried in your hair, and his grip is a gentle reminder of the consequences of disobedience. You swallow, your eyes still shining with tears. He smiles, satisfied, and releases you. You take a step back, your heart still pounding in your chest as you look at him, your face still flushed from his touch. You take a deep breath, feeling the effects of his dominance lingering in the air.

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, Smut 18+ (are we even surprised by now🙈), sex toys (gag ball), mild dom/sub play, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m receiving)

Word count: 4.6K

➼｡ﾟ

What I got on, for you to take off | inexperienced!reader x William Nylander ✐ ☆

It had been a while since you and William had fully embraced the creative spark that once ignited your sex life.

In the early days of your relationship, he had been the one to introduce you to the thrill of exploring new realms of intimacy. What started as playful curiosity soon deepened into something far more intense, weaving together a connection built on passion, trust, and desire. It had been electric—raw and all-consuming.

Now, a bit over a year into your relationship with William Nylander, the Toronto Maple Leafs star, things had changed. Life as his girlfriend meant being pulled into a whirlwind of responsibilities, balancing your role among the team’s wives and girlfriends, attending charity events, team dinners, and constantly being in the public eye. It was a life you had never imagined for yourself, never expected to be living, not even when your friend had first introduced you to the Leafs or when William had shown a genuine interest in you.

It was exciting—sometimes too exciting. You loved being part of his world, but there was a bittersweet side to it all. Amid the glamour and excitement, your private time with William had begun to slip away.

Your once-vibrant sex life, filled with late-night passion and intimate explorations, had taken a backseat to the demands of his career and the social obligations that came with being his partner. You’d see the longing in his eyes, the way his hand would linger a little too long on your waist as he passed by, his gaze darkening with desire—but the timing was never right. Late nights at the rink, early mornings filled with media appearances or workouts, and you—tired from your own commitments—would often fall asleep before he even made it home.

The bed that had once been your shared haven for hours of intimacy was now where you found comfort in quiet moments. Soft cuddles, his arm wrapped protectively around you, had become your solace. Occasionally, you’d steal a moment together in the shower, where his hands would glide over your skin, lips trailing hot kisses down your neck. But it was never enough. The passion that once burned so fiercely between you had dimmed, waiting for the right moment to be reignited.

Weeks turned into months, and the ache for more, for each other, grew stronger. You missed the intensity, the way he used to claim you like there was nothing else in the world but the two of you. You missed the way he’d look at you with that mischievous glint in his eye, pulling you into his arms as if he couldn’t wait another second. And you knew, deep down, he felt the same.

The question was: when would you finally have the time to bring that spark back?

Finally, after weeks and months of feeling the strain of your busy lives pulling you apart, a rare gap appeared in William’s schedule—a precious opportunity you weren’t about to let slip through your fingers. Especially considering Alex wasn’t home either. With a renewed sense of determination, you decided it was time to take matters into your own hands.

That night, you dressed with intention. A tight red dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the colour bold and provocative—exactly what you knew would drive William wild. You kept dinner simple, opting for sushi takeout—something cold and easy to store in the fridge in case your evening took a more… heated turn.

As you arrived at the training facility to pick him up, the anticipation coursing through your veins built to an almost unbearable level. You stood in the hallway, surrounded by players in their white and blue uniforms and casually dressed family members. Among them, you were a beacon of fiery red, your dress clinging perfectly to your body, heels accentuating your legs, and your hair falling just the way you knew he liked it. A confident smile played on your lips as you leaned against the wall, knowing exactly what reaction you’d get.

And when William stepped out of the locker room, his eyes immediately locked onto yours. You could see the way his breath hitched, the sharp gasp that escaped him as his gaze roamed over your body. Desire flickered across his features, and for a moment, you could practically hear the blood rushing south as he took in the sight of you. He tried to stay composed—after all, his teammates were watching—but the quickened beat of his heart and the hunger in his eyes gave him away.

You flashed him a knowing smile, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as he approached you. It was clear from the look on his face that he understood exactly what your intentions were for the night. After far too long, tonight was the night you’d reclaim that intimate connection, the one you both craved so desperately.

Despite the teasing catcalls and laughter from his teammates, William moved faster than you’d ever seen him.

“Ooooh, someone’s getting lucky tonight!”

“Careful with that dress, Willy—we know you want to rip it!”

“Don’t forget protection, bro!” someone shouted from the back, causing more laughter to erupt.

But William didn’t care. He threw his gear aside without a second thought, brushing off every comment with a cocky grin. All that mattered was getting to you, wrapping you up in his arms, and finally kissing you the way he had been longing to for weeks.

Without hesitation, he made his way through the crowded hallway, eyes never leaving yours. The moment he reached you, he pulled you in close, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of electric. Sparks flew as the pent-up longing between you both surged to the surface, igniting that fire that had been burning low.

You didn’t care who was watching; neither of you did. You were both well accustomed to the attention that came with being together, and tonight, your love and undeniable chemistry were on full display for anyone who dared to look.

Then after releasing his tight embrace, William took control with a firm grip on your hand, leading you swiftly toward the car. In that moment, you felt a distinct shift. What had started as your plan to surprise and seduce him had quickly changed course. You’d thought you were in control tonight, but it was clear now—William had taken the reins. The fire that had been simmering beneath his surface for weeks was suddenly roaring to life, and you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as you willingly relinquished that control.

The sushi you’d picked out for dinner? A perfectly timed choice, as it turned out. Stored easily in the fridge, it would have to wait—there was no time for a leisurely meal tonight. William insisted on driving, his urgency palpable as he navigated the familiar streets of Toronto with a single focus in mind. His determination to get you both home left no room for distractions, no room for anything other than the two of you and the promise of what was to come.

The second you stepped into your apartment, the door barely clicked shut before he hoisted you effortlessly over his shoulder, carrying you straight to the bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. A surge of adrenaline shot through your veins, his swift, confident movements making your heart race in anticipation. 

No words were necessary. The moment he set you down, your dress barely had a chance to make its impact before William swiftly tugged it off, revealing the lack of underwear you’d so thoughtfully chosen for his ease. His eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you, a low growl escaping his lips.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy, älskling,” he muttered, his gaze roaming over your body, his admiration mixed with pure, raw hunger. “You’re so fucking dirty.”

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch, a blend of appreciation and desire swirling in his eyes. Even after all this time together, it still amazed him how effortlessly you could captivate him. Tonight, you were his feast, and he was starving—yet, despite the urgency that burned between you, William was never one to rush when it came to moments like this.

Because with him, it wasn’t just about physical satisfaction. It was about savouring every moment, every touch. Yes, you indulged in playful roleplay, but he always reminded you in subtle ways that you were so much more to him than just a toy. You were his life partner, his lover, the person he trusted most with his heart and body. There was something deeper at work between you two, something that made every intimate moment feel profound and meaningful.

As he guided you onto the mattress, his hands gentle but sure, you could feel the power shift again—he was slipping seamlessly into his dominant role, and you welcomed your own submission just as naturally. But this dynamic wasn’t about harshness or power alone. It was rooted in something much deeper—an unspoken understanding of trust, love, and desire that bound the two of you together beyond words.

Once you were positioned on all fours, William moved calmly to retrieve a piece of toy for the night’s play, returning fully undressed, his body sculpted like a masterpiece. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him to add a bit of spice to your evenings together. And yet, he always managed to surprise you, whether it was with something new to try or a creative way of using something familiar. The best part? He always made sure your pleasure came first.

Tonight was no exception. With soft yet firm hands, William gently commanded you to stay on all fours with your mouth slightly open. And then he presented you with something new—a gag ball—and your heart skipped a beat. You had indulged in many different plays and dynamics before, but this? This was a new, thrilling addition to your ever-evolving intimacy.

As he guided the gag ball between your lips, his touch was tender but decisive, his eyes watching your every reaction. You were more than intrigued. You trusted him implicitly, knowing he always had your comfort, and your trust in mind. Tonight, like every night, would be unforgettable.

And as William’s hands slid down your back, his touch reigniting the fire within you, you knew you were about to just let go.

As always, William took his time, wanting to enjoy every moment with you. William never failed to take care of you, no matter how deep into your shared fantasies you ventured. There was no fear in surrendering to your most hidden desires with him—especially not when his praise filled the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“My pretty little princess,” he growled, his voice dripping with a mix of affection and control that sent shivers down your spine. A muffled whimper escaped your lips from behind the gag, drool sliding down your chin as you squirmed, unable to contain your need beneath his watchful gaze.

Saliva trickled down unchecked, but it hardly mattered. What truly consumed your mind was the torturously slow way William circled you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your obedience. He was doing it on purpose—teasing you, making sure you understood who was in control. You could feel the heat of his gaze, a heavy weight that only made you ache for him more.

Then, finally, he knelt behind you, his hands roaming over your body like he was discovering you all over again. Just as you started to relax into his touch, he delivered a sharp, deliberate slap to your sensitive core, sending a shockwave of sensation through your trembling body.

“Stop yanking your arms,” he warned, his voice low and laced with authority. The playful edge to his threat didn’t soften the command. “Unless you want me to keep slapping this pretty pussy of yours.”

A tear pricked the corners of your eyes as the sting from his hand faded into an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain. You couldn’t stop the sobs building in your throat, especially when William’s fist gripped your hair tightly, tugging your head back towards him. His other hand resumed its assault on your cunt, each slap making you cry out, even through the gag.

“You’d better behave,” he whispered darkly, his breath hot against your neck as he moved his hand from your cunt to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it in a grip firm enough to remind you of your place. The pressure sent another shiver down your spine, and you nodded as much as the gag and his grip allowed, desperate to please him.

When he finally let you go, you swallowed hard, your lips trembling around the gag. But there was no time to catch your breath, not with William. You felt the slow, deliberate slide of two long fingers deep inside your soaking core, filling you up, and the muffled moan that escaped your throat was all the encouragement he needed.

Your body reacted instantly, pleasure rippling through you as William expertly worked you over. His fingers moved in a rhythm that had you unravelling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Your eyes fluttered shut as he hit all the right spots, knowing exactly how to make you fall apart.

And all the while, William simply watched. He was in no rush. He loved seeing you lose control, watching your body tremble with overstimulation. His cock throbbed painfully, desperate for release, but he wasn’t ready yet. He wanted to savour you—savour every moment of this. Because in this space, in this dynamic, you were his. And he would never rush that.

However, to your great disappointment, just as the knot of pleasure tightened in your core, your body teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing orgasm, William abruptly denied you the release you craved. His fingers withdrew without warning, leaving you gasping, the high you’d been so close to replaced by a flood of frustration. A whimper of disappointment escaped behind the gag as your thighs trembled in desperation.

And he knew exactly what he was doing.

His dark gaze remained fixed on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you struggle with your need to obey, to hold on for him, even though all you wanted was to fall apart in his hands. He relished every second of it—your torment, your obedience, and your absolute surrender to him.

But just when you thought you might lose your mind from the tension, William finally gave in. His hands tightened on your hips, the firm grip grounding you as he lined himself up at your entrance. With one smooth, deliberate motion, he buried his member inside, stretching you in the most exquisite way.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with unfiltered desire as your warmth enveloped him.

You couldn’t respond with words, the gag still silencing your voice, but the moans that escaped your throat were unmistakable. Pure, unfiltered cries of pleasure, muffled only slightly as your body adjusted to the fullness of him.

William wasted no time finding his rhythm, his thrusts powerful, purposeful, yet brimming with the kind of passion that only came from being completely connected with someone. It was the perfect balance of raw, primal need and the deep affection that had grown between you. Every thrust drove him deeper, every motion perfectly timed, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

The room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, the wet slap of his body against yours, and the gasps and moans spilling from your parted lips. A string of spit dangled from the gag, falling onto the sheets, only heightening the vulnerability of your position. You were completely at his mercy, and you loved every second of it.

You were so consumed by the high that, without warning, your orgasm intensely washed over you. The release was sudden and overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you shaking as your body clenched around him. It was beyond anything you had felt in so long, your entire body convulsing with the intensity of it, and William groaned in satisfaction as he felt you come undone around him.

But he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

With a controlled groan, he pulled himself out, still holding back his own release. It was clear the effort wasn’t easy for him, his cock dripping with pre-cum and throbbing the need to finish, but his desire to stay in control—to prolong the moment—was stronger.

As he then came around again, you looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, your heart skipping a beat as you saw the approving smile on his lips. He was pleased with you, with your submission, and the way you’d given yourself to him completely.

He let you catch your breath for a moment, both of you basking in the charged air. Your body was still trembling from the aftermath, the lingering effects of his dominance washing over you like waves. You could even feel your own juice, slowly dripping down your inner thigh.

Then after letting the tension simmer between you, William’s fingers reached down to remove the gag, his touch firm but gentle. His eyes never left yours, locking onto you with an intensity that seemed to strip you bare, as if he could see every hidden thought, every unspoken desire. 

He knew exactly what he wanted.

As the gag slipped free from your lips, you inhaled deeply, a gasp of relief and need escaping your throat. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as your body adjusted to the freedom, your senses heightened, every nerve alight as you waited for his next command. 

A low, dark chuckle escaped William’s lips, the sound vibrating through the air. That laugh—so rich, so teasing—ignited something primal inside you, your pulse quickening in response. His hand, the same one that had been relentless in its punishment of your cunt moments earlier, slid back up to wrap firmly around your throat. The grip was just tight enough to make you aware of your vulnerability, leaving you breathless, teetering between control and surrender.

“Hmm… you’re doing so well, älskling,” he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with a sensual authority that sent heat pooling in your belly. He leaned in close, his lips ghosting over the edge of your cheek, his breath warm and tantalising. “But I know you can do even better.”

With a sudden, deliberate motion, William tilted your chin upward, forcing your gaze to meet his and your mouth to open. The depth of his dark blue eyes burned into yours, smouldering with a predatory hunger that made your heart pound against your ribs. 

Towering over you, he never broke eye contact, his lips curling slightly into a wicked smile. Then, with slow precision, he let a thick drop of spit fall from his mouth, landing on your tongue. The act felt deliciously dirty, a raw, primal exchange of control that sent a flush of heat coursing through your body. It was filthy—yes—but there was something so undeniably sexy, so intoxicating, about the way he dominated every aspect of you, even this.

“Now, swallow,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation, loosening his grip slightly. 

Without a second thought, you obeyed, the act of swallowing his spit more intimate than you had ever imagined.

“Am I a good girl for you now?” you breathed, the words escaping your lips in a soft, shaky whisper, your entire body trembling under his touch, desperate for his approval.

William’s lips were still curled into a knowing smirk, his thumb brushing lightly across your bottom lip. “Depends…” he mused, his voice deep and seductive, “…are you ready to show me just how good you can be?”

You nodded eagerly, your breath catching in your throat as a rush of excitement surged through you, igniting every inch of your skin. You were ready—ready to give him everything he asked for, to prove just how much you wanted to be his good girl.

Without warning, William released his grip on your throat, giving you a moment to gasp for air. “Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice rich with authority.

You didn’t hesitate. Dropping to your knees, you felt the coolness of the floor beneath you. Kneeling before him, you tilted your head back, your eyes locking onto his towering figure. He was a vision of raw masculinity, his powerful frame exuding dominance, making your pulse race.

Your entire body throbbed with anticipation, desire flooding your veins as you waited for his next command. William’s thumb gently grazed your bottom lip again, parting it slowly as if to tease you. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through your very core. Then in a swift, commanding motion, he guided your head closer, positioning himself mere inches from your lips. “Now, show me how much you want it,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The heat radiating from his hard length was almost palpable, and with a teasing touch, you brushed your lips against him, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat. 

“Open wide,” he spoke, his voice dark and demanding. You obeyed without question, your lips parting as you took his cock entirely into your mouth. The weight of him settled against your tongue, a delicious blend of salt and skin. You revelled in the sensation of him filling you completely, your lips wrapped around his length as you surrendered to him once more.

William watched you with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, his grip on your hair tightening slightly as he guided your movements. “Just like that, älskling. You’re such a fucking good girl for me,” he encouraged, the praise igniting an eager fire deep within you.

As you bobbed your head up and down, the rhythm quickened, and soon you found yourself lost in the moment. Each thrust of his hips synced perfectly with the pace of your movements, a primal dance that left you breathless. You could feel the pressure building within him, his thigh muscles tightening, and with each gasp of pleasure that escaped his lips, your own desire surged higher.

William began to thrust deeper, the tip of his length hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly. Tears welled in your eyes, but the discomfort only heightened your excitement. You adored being at his mercy, relishing the knowledge that you were satisfying his desires while he fulfilled yours.

“Take it all,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. You could sense his control slipping, a need surging within him, pushing him closer to release. Eager to please, you concentrated on your movements, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around him, desperate to bring him to the edge.

The world around you faded into a blur; all that mattered was the way he felt, the way he groaned your name, and the intoxicating sensation of being utterly consumed by your shared desires.

“God, you’re amazing,” he breathed, his voice heavy with need. “My good little princess.”

His praises sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, tightening your body around nothing. You pushed yourself further, determined to bring him to the brink.

“Just a little more, älskling,” he urged, his voice shaky as he fought against his own impending climax. “I’m almost there.”

You moaned around him, taking him deeper once more, your throat constricting as he thrust into your mouth. 

“That’s it, take my cock,” William’s voice was rough, commanding, 

You held him deep in your throat, gagging slightly as his hips bucked forward. His body trembled above you, the tension building in him as pleasure surged, and you could feel it like a current flowing through you, hot and electrifying.

Each thrust became more desperate, more frantic, until finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. He released deep in your throat, his cum filling your mouth, the salty taste coating your tongue. You didn’t look away, your gaze locked onto his as you let the liquid linger in your mouth. Just how he liked it. 

Slowly, he withdrew, his hand brushing over your cheek as he looked at you, the harsh edge of lust giving way to something softer, something almost tender. “Oh yes, you’re definitely a good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with warmth. His praise was soft, genuine, and it made your heart swell, leaving you breathless for a whole new reason.

You then slowly rose to your feet, legs shaky but steadying as you stood before him. William stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his thumb lingering on your skin before he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. His hands cupped your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as his touch softened even more. His thumbs brushed slow circles over your flushed cheeks, grounding you after the intensity of what you had just shared.

Those blue eyes of his, normally so playful, were now filled with emotion, deeper than you’d ever seen before. “You mean the world to me,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear, but his words hit you like a wave. The vulnerability in his voice, the weight of that confession, left you breathless.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with unwavering certainty. “You mean the world to me, too.”

For a moment, the only sound was your breaths mingling, a soft rhythm of shared intimacy. And without a word, William then gently took your hand, leading you toward the bed with the grace of a man who knew when to take charge but always with care. His touch was firm yet tender, and as he pulled you into his arms, you felt his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, its strong rhythm grounding you in the present—where only the two of you existed.

You closed your eyes, melting into the warmth of his embrace, not just basking in the afterglow of pleasure but in the undeniable connection between you. This was more than just sex—it was the deepening of something that had been growing. His fingers began to thread through your hair, each stroke deliberate and soothing, a silent promise in every gentle movement. He didn’t need to speak; the tenderness in his touch conveyed everything he felt but didn’t say aloud.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he whispered, his voice rough around the edges, as if the words had been hidden deep. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, and in that moment, you could feel the weight of his sincerity—it was real, and it meant everything.

Your heart swelled at his words, and a soft smile tugged at your lips as you tilted your head to meet his gaze. In the soft light, his blue eyes reflected everything you had been feeling—vulnerability, affection, and the unspoken promise that what you had would always be something far deeper than a fleeting moment.

“I’m lucky to have you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but brimming with the love and sincerity you felt for him.

In that quiet, shared moment, wrapped in his warmth, you knew without a doubt that no matter the gaps between moments of intimacy, no matter the pauses in your shared nights, the bond between you and William was unshakable. There was nothing to fear. You were his, and he was yours, in every way that mattered.

[icycoldninja]

Do you know how in every Soulsborne games, there is almost always one maiden present in the game

For example in Elden Ring there’s Tarnished (the player) and Melina:

In Bloodborne, it’s The Hunter (the player) and the Plain Doll:

Another example is the Ashen one (the player) and the Firekeeper:

Can you write a maiden reader and the DMC boys following this relationship archetype, basically a knight and a maiden but here’s a catch:

The boys venture to an abandoned castle on Mallet Island to find Mundus and then that’s where they find an awkward young woman, who seems pretty sketchy at first due to how awkward she is (can’t really blame her since she’s been kidnapped and locked away by Mundus ever since she was a young teenager till now so her communication skills are rather f-ed up)

So naturally they keep their guards up around her…and her, although very wary around them, has to do her job as a maiden which is to serve them in every possible way regardless of their offer even if she may feel uncomfortable doing so like trying to offer them help like bringing them warm water, medication, letting them vent to her, bringing them books to cure their boredom, etc…Much to her surprise, even though they do generally accept her care from time to time, they would never force her to do something that genuinely makes her feel uncomfortable a.k.a prostitution which is something a lot of men who came to the castle request her to do it after a certain period of time

Time after time, they gradually grow close with each other, sharing their thoughts and insecurities and in return offers comfort for one and another (usually it’s the reader letting them sleep on her lap and patting their back in a nurturing way). It really is a fresh breathe of air for the reader because for so long she has yet to form such a close bond with someone else that is not in an unhelpful or abusive way (she fell first but he fell harder trope)

When the boys finished their goals, they no longer need to stay on the island and when the news arrive, the reader was scared because they’ll leave her just like many others do when she already so attached to them. Originally, she was tasked by Mundus to pry out any information from them but she can’t bring herself to do it because of how nice they are to her and now she can’t bring herself to confront them abt her original purpose because that would mean they would have more of a reason to hate her and that’s the last thing she wants, to be hated by the only person who have shown you kindness throughout the abuse and manipulation you have undergone your entire life

So she begs them to forgive and at the same time, if they can’t do that then at least dispatch her so that she no longer has to suffer under the hands of Mundus

——————————————————————————————————————-————————————————————————————————————————————

P/S: if you can, pls write a reader with a poor posture and just generally not really attractive like Rya from Elden Ring. I can’t find any good pictures of Rya without her being goonified so I use my oc as an example (It’s not an OC x DMC boys)

Sure, sure. Sorry this took so long to get to.

Sparda boys + V x Maiden!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante ended up traveling to some abandoned castle on Mallet Island during his search for Mundus, where they find this...odd young lady.

-See, she wasn't conventionally attractive and had very poor posture, making her appear a bit...lifeless.

-He didn't trust someone as sketchy as you, and kept his guard up even as you followed him around, offering advice about the castle, bringing him water and things, though where these items came from was questionable.

-Time passes, and Dante gets used to you, growing comfortable enough to let you sleep on his lap and such. You might be a bit weird looking, but you're a sweet soul whom he's starting to really bond with.

-When Dante finished his business on Mallet Island, he had to leave, which disheartened you because you were afraid he would abandon you. What made things worse was, you didn't want to reveal your true reasons for befriending him, because if you did, he might be even more inclined to just disappear without a trace, and that was the last thing you wanted.

-Turns out, Dante planned to take you with him all along, and now that you're free from Mallet Island, you don't have to worry about your original mission, though there is the threat of demons coming to look for you.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was searching for Mundus to get revenge for all that had happened to him, when he discovered this bizarre woman.

-You were an stooped lady who looked unhealthily pale, carrying an eerie aura and generally seeming like someone who would work with demons--or is a demon.

-This didn't stop you from guiding him through the castle, bringing him food, water, and books when he needed to rest, and keeping him company despite his blatant hatred of human interaction.

-After some time, Vergil felt himself warming up to you, even letting you use his lap as a pillow while he read from the books you brought him. You were an odd looking person, but he liked you.

-When he finished his business and prepared to depart, you started panicking, trying so hard to keep him in the castle that it became extremely suspicious. Vergil asked you why you didn't want him to leave, and you confessed your true intentions, telling him how Mundus wanted to use you as a spy, but you just didn't have the heart to.

-Vergil scoffed at that and told you that if you hated being abandoned, just come with him. He was sure there was an extra room at Devil May Cry anyway.

□ Nero □

-Nero didn't really know what he was doing on Mallet Island, but he saw this big spooky castle and figured that's where the bad guys would be.

-Instead, he found you, this strange, slouched woman with a horrible complexion and a strange, ominous aura.

-He let's you guide him through the castle, telling him about its history, bringing him supplies when he takes breaks, and generally keeping him company.

-Nero thought you were pretty weird, but in a good way. He was really growing to like you, and after a bit, he let you lie on his lap while you talked about your insecurities, your lives, and everything else in between.

-Eventually, he had to leave, and in your panic, you told him everything; how Mundus intended to use you as a spy, and how you just didn't have the heart to.

-Nero was understandably shocked, but got over it quickly. Since you never betrayed him, why should he be mad? Come with him!

● V ●

-V was looking for Mundus at the behest of his fellow devil hunters, and in doing do, stumbled across this odd castle.

-Within this castle lived a very odd woman with horrible posture and a face that screamed potential danger.

-While a tad bit worried about his wellbeing and your intentions, V didn't mind it if you followed him around, acting as his assistant of sorts.

-You guys end up getting closer and closer with each passing day. You liked V because he was kind to you and didn't try to take advantage of you, while V enjoyed your presence because you were endearingly sweet to him.

-Alas, all things must come to an end. V had finished his business and was about to leave, worrying you because the last thing you wanted was to be abandoned again.

-V noticed this and offered you a place at Devil May Cry. You accepted, not telling him of your troubled past, though it seemed to be for the best. Some things are better left unsaid.

[repulsiveliquidation]

To Love Someone

Ona Batlle x Reader, Part 2 of The Best of Me, inspired by this request!

currently obsessed with Benson Boone's song To Love Someone lol

word count : 6.1k, enjoy my longest fic yet.

warnings of knifes, blood, kidnapping and SMUT.

Over the next few months, you slowly began to be more comfortable with changing around the girls. You had mentioned off-handedly to Alexia that you were getting more comfortable with changing around Ona and that you wanted to start changing with the girls in the changing room. You figure she must have said something because when you had taken your shorts off in front of them the first time there was little to now acknowledgment from the girls. Ona gave you a big smile when you pulled on your training shorts, the rest of the girls coming up to you to give you pats on the back and squeezes on your shoulder; without saying much, they had shown you their support and that they were proud of you for trusting them. The original five stayed behind, wrapping you up in a group hug as you softly cried. Ona held you face softly with tears in her own eyes, pecking your lips as she mumbled praises only for you to hear.

“I’m so proud of you, bebita. You’re so brave, the girls and I are all so proud of you.”

Alexia pulled you into her arms, hand cradling the back of your sniffling head.

“I told them that you were ready and to not overwhelm you. Was that okay? Did anyone make you uncomfortable? I’ll tell them for you if you want, you don’t need to. I’m sorry if they did.”

You grab her hands and hold them to your chest, you lean in and give her cheek a soft peck.

“You’re a right worrier, Ale. It was perfect, the girls were the best. You’re the best, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re like a little sister to me, nena. I’d do anything for you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Ale,” you turned and faced all the girls; Ona was hugging Aitana and Lucy, Ingrid was wiping away tears as Mapi quietly teased her. Your heart swelled at the sight of them, feeling safe in their presence. You had finally learnt how to put your past in the past and these girls, including Leah, were the only reason you could, the only reason you felt strong enough to even try.

“You girls are the reason I could take that step towards being myself around the team and I cannot thank you enough. Ona, if you hadn’t unintentionally touched me that day, I wouldn’t be here today. There were days before we met where the voices in my head were too loud and quite often took control. When I allowed myself to love you, they eventually stopped. You showed me that I could love and that I could be loved. Ale, you took me in when I didn’t have anyone. You showed me that family doesn’t need to be blood. Lucy, you and Leah showed me that people really can be kind just because and not expect anything in return. Amanda has never let me pay her back for all that she did for me. ‘Just go keep Leah entertained, darling. Lord knows that child can be a right handful,’ she used to say, pushing me out the back door.” You chuckled at the memory, clearly hearing Amanda’s voice like she was right there with you. You turned to Aitana and continued.

“Tana, you showed me that love comes in many forms. I know we aren’t that close but you have stood by me because you’re close to Ona, your silent support has been more impactful than you worry about with Ona. You were there for her when I couldn’t be. Lastly, Mapi and Ingrid. You two have been like parents to me, a shining example of how two people can and should love each other. You’ve helped me try to love Ona the same way. I love you all, more than words could ever say.” You wipe a couple tears away, grinning a little. “Okay, spiel over,” You end with a soft chuckle, just as Mapi is now in tears as she pulls you in for a rough hug. You laugh and rub her back, the rest of the girls now making fun of her.

//

“Y/N? Could we have a word?” Jonatan asks, standing near the water coolers with Alexia and Lucy. You jog over, letting go of Ona who was hugging you.

“Yeah, Jonatan?” you reach over and grab your bottle, taking large sips. A few weeks after your affectionate confession to the girls you had finally gotten to courage to wear a short-sleeved shirt. You were still weary of being exposed so you compromised with keeping your pants long this time but a short sleeve shirt was something that you can barely remember putting on since you left home all those years ago. The breeze on your arms was something you didn’t even know you missed, not to mention being able to touch Ona with all that newly exposed skin. She snuck into your arms while you were talking to Pina and Patri, her rough palms simply rubbing over your fine-haired arms. She felt the warmth in your skin give her a sense of safety, choosing to close her eyes and listen to you talking to your teammates. When you were called over to Jonatan, you kissed the side of her head and left, jogging over towards them. She watched you carefully, trying to read his lips as he talked quite seriously with you. Alexia standing there with Lucy did nothing to soothe her worries but she trusted them to have your back should something bad happen. Pina and Patri seemed to have the same thought as Ona, they too stopped talking and watched the four of your closely. Pina spoke first, when she saw you shaking your head then nodding.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Oni. She’s okay.”

Ona could only nod, biting her fingernails in worry.

//

“Yeah, Jonatan?”

“I see that you’ve made use of our new training jersey. It looks great on you,” he compliments, knowing your story after you spoke to all the coaches a week ago.

“Thanks, I like it. What did you want to speak to me about?”

“You know our fixture next week is a friendly in England? Against Arsenal?”

“Yes sir.” “I know it was scheduled for Leigh Sports Village at our request but there’s been a mix up.”

“Okay, so?”

“It’s been changed to Meadow Park.”

You try to keep your calm and nod, feeling like the walls were closing in despite being outside. You take deep breaths and find yourself, Alexia’s arm wrapping around your shoulders. You take a big sip of water, calming down enough to keep them from being more concerned.

“I understand if you don’t want to be a part of the travelling team.”

“No, no. I want to play. I can.”

“Nena, you don’t need to push yourself too fast. You don’t need to go if you’re not comfortable yet.”

“No, Ale. I’ve been running for years. 6 years. No more, I can’t let him keep controlling me this way,” you tell her, convincing yourself at the same time. She looks at you stone-faced, eyebrows indicating that she was buying none of it. She didn’t protest it however, nodding slowly at you before turning back to Jonatan. He smiled softly, calling out to the girls to tell them that training was over for the day. Ona came up behind you and hugged you, you jumped out of your skin when she held you. You managed to brush it off with laughter, scolding her affectionately for scaring you. You lean back into her a little before putting your bottle back into the carrier before taking her hand and pulling her towards the changing rooms. The girls watched and smiled fondly, thinking that you were dragging Ona away for some private time but Alexia knew you better than they did.

Maria saw the cross look on her face as she watched you two disappear out of her sight. She watched Alexia mumble under her breath a little, shoving her bottle into the cooler a little too aggressively.

“Alexia? What’s gotten into you?”

“She’s pushing herself too fast.”

“Who? Y/N?”

“Yes,” she turns, facing Aitana, Maria, Ingrid and Lucy. “She wants to go to England with us for the Arsenal friendly next week.”

“So? The stadium and hotel aren’t close to where she used to live.” Maria says, clearly she didn’t check her email.

“You idiot, didn’t you see the stadium change? It’s at Meadow Park now.” Lucy tells her, running a hand down her face in frustration.

"Oh, Dios mío" Aitana exclaims, hand flying to her mouth in surprise.

“We must keep an eye on her, only God knows what could happen if that asshole finds out she’s coming home.”

//

“What’s wrong Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

“I just need you to sit,” you tell her, pushing her into an empty treatment room. She sits, pulling you into her arms wordlessly. You breakdown the moment your face tucks into her neck, wrapping your arms around her waist as she comforts you. Her hands rub the back of your neck just how you like, the other circling over your back.

“Shh, shh tell me what’s wrong bebé.”

You sniffle, mumbling into her neck a response. “We’re going to England next week.”

“Yes, I know. Nowhere near your father bebita, we will make sure of that.”

“No, Ona. They changed the stadium venue.”

“To where?”

“Meadow Park.”

She freezes her comforts, her time in London serving her with good memory of where that was. She knew the area relatively well, realizing that it was just under an hour away. The game was a big one, with Barcelona coming to England, it was widely advertised. When the game was scheduled for Manchester, two and a half hours seemed like a decent distance but an hour was not as comforting.

“Mi amor, you don’t have to go.”

“I don’t want to but at the same time I can’t keep letting him win.”

“But I don’t want you to be looking over your shoulder the whole time, cariño.”

She pulls your face out of her neck and wipes away your tears. She kisses the apples of your cheeks and smiles softly, leaning in to kiss you properly. You sigh into the kiss, melting into her arms as they wrap around your shoulders and you pull her closer to stand between her legs. They too wrap around your hips, your hands pulling her closer. She’s pressed flush to your body, before you pull away slowly and press your forehead to hers.

“I can’t keep running away from him. I want him to see who I am, the name I made for myself. The pain I turned into success. The pain that still consumes me sometimes but I am better than he ever said I could be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” You sigh and look at her. “Thank you for being here with me.”

She cups your cheeks, you hold her wrists and lean into her palm. You press a soft kiss to it, looking up into her beautiful brown eyes. She looks at you with love you can see, her thumbs rubbing into your cheeks with love you can feel. You close your eyes again, taking in her presence and her soft breaths. It calms you, easing your worries about the thought of meeting your father again.

//

“Are you ready, amor?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You’re at the airport, sitting in the departure lounge with the team. Ona was on your left and Alexia on your right. She had been following you the whole day, doing her best impression of a bodyguard. You’ve got Ona’s legs draped over your thigh, softly rubbing her exposed skin as she’s already about to fall asleep. You’re also in a heated debate with Maria, trying to figure out what to do once you’ve gotten to London.

“Maria, we are not going to all get matching tattoos.”

“Why not? I have a brilliant design!”

“That will not go near my skin.”  

“Are you saying my design is ugly and that you don’t want my artwork to grace your body?”

“Sí.”

“Why you little–”

“That’s enough, elskling. Plane’s boarding.” Ingrid snaps at her, rolling her eyes as she grabs her bag, leaving Maria to gather her stuff alone.

“We aren’t done, you back stabber.”

“Oh, I’m just shaking in my boots.”

//

“I’ll just do the chips and a glass of water please.”

“Uh, the same for me.”

As the flight attendant hands you your snacks, Ona takes hers and waits for the flight attendant to walk away. She suddenly pulls your hand into her lap; you look up at her, smiling softly before you see the concerned look she’s got. You see that she’s got a flavor of chips she doesn’t like.

“You want to trade? I know you don’t like those.”

“Huh? Oh, Sí, gracias.”

You use your other hand to swap the chips but she looks distracted, eyebrows furrowed like she’s thinking really hard about if she should speak.

“Darling? You okay?” you ask first, squeezing her hand that you’re holding.

“Are you sure you’re okay to be there tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’ll be okay. I don’t even know if he’s alive, let alone still living there.”

“He is, he’s still there.” Alexia interjects, looking up from her iPad she was furiously typing on in front of you.

“How do you know?”

“Leah told me, I asked,” she answers simply, tone indicating that she was not about to argue with you.

You huff, leaning back into your seat as Ona softly rubs your forearm. Her thumb rubs over the cigar scar there, something that oddly gave you comfort; a gentle reminder of your strength.

“I’m sure she’s got a good explanation, bebé.”

“Yeah…”

Alexia gives Ona an apologetic look, sighing softly to herself as she goes back to typing aggressively.

//

“Ona, wait.”

Alexia called, hand resting on her shoulder as she caught up to her. You were walking with Lucy and Aitana, telling them about Maria’s idea for matching tattoos. Maria pokes in, pulling out her phone to show her design off and argue her case. Ona merely looks up at Alexia, a look of slight disappointment on her face. Alexia can see it, eyes going soft with embarrassment.

“I called Leah to ask her to check, I promise I’m just looking out for her Oni,” Alexia explains herself, walking with Ona towards the bus. Ona sighs.

“I know, it’s just– I can see that it’s really taking a lot out of her to be here. She’s hasn’t exactly been sleeping well. I found her sitting in the living room watching film two nights ago at 3 in the morning. She had the tv on but she was picking at her scars. The one on her forearm was bleeding because she dug her nails into it and broke the skin.”

“Fuck Oni, I’m sorry. I know it’s still hard for her but she refused to stay home and insisted she was okay.”

“She loves this team too much to be a disappointment. But, I think she needs this to fully have closure. I think it’s what she needs to put this behind her for real.”

Ona steps onto the bus, Alexia following behind her with a soft nod. Ona sees you tucked in the back by yourself, smiling as she walked over to you.

“Is that seat taken?”

“Oh yes, it’s for my beautiful girlfriend. I’m sorry.”

“I see, what is she like?”

“She’s really pretty and she’s the cutest. She lets me have an extra cookie after dinner and loves me for who I am,” you tell her proudly, a soft blush creeping up her cheeks. You hold your hand out to her and pull her into the seat next to you, grinning happily.

“Hello pretty girl.”

“You’re so silly.”

“You’re welcome.”

//

The ride into London was better than you thought it would be. You and Ona talked about all the places you both knew, you pointing out more places that she didn’t know about and that you promised to take her to one day.

At the hotel you’re a little jumpy, you held onto Ona’s hand a little tighter than usual but she didn’t mind. Alexia made sure that you were roomed with Ona too, Alexia’s room was right next door. You did not sleep again that night, drifting in and out of consciousness the whole time. Ona felt her heart shatter, feeling helpless at not knowing how to help you. You did fall asleep for about twenty minutes, waking up suddenly after you had a nightmare. You yelled, heart racing in your chest. It scares Ona awake too, she pulls you into her arms to soothe you quickly. You’re sobbing into her chest, hands tugging on your shirt she’s wearing.

“Shh, bebé. It’s okay.”

“I don’t think I can do this, Ona.”

“I know bebita, we don’t have to. But, you said that it would be good for you. You need to overcome it cariño, you can’t run forever.” It pained her to say it but she knew that it was what you needed to hear. You nodded into her chest, your sobbing slowly subsiding. She pulled you into her chest more, laying down slowly. You were basically on top of her, her hands softly carding through your hair. She began to silently cry too, her heart breaking yet again as she felt the pain her lover was going through. It killed her to see you scared like this, a feeling she wanted to badly to take away from you.

She knew that love and patience was all she could give you and she was going to do her best to make sure you felt it.

//

“Y/N!”

“Leah!”

You both ran up to one another for a big hug. You picked her up and spun her, wrapping your arms around her tighter. You’d last seen her at the World Cup (a/n let us all pretend that our beloved captain was there), going through the loss together.

You talked and talked, soon half the Arsenal girls were chatting with the Barça girls before heading in to change and warm up.

“Been a while since I’ve played against you, Lee. You ready to lose?”

She shoves you playfully, chuckling when you lose your balance.

“You wish, L/N. May the best team win.”

“I love you, Leah.” You quietly tell her, pulling her into one last hug. “You’re the reason I’m still here today.”

“You’re basically my sister, I love you too. I’m so glad you didn’t have boots that day.”

//

The final whistle blew, Barcelona proving to be the better team on the pitch, winning three nil with you scoring two of those goals. Leah looked a little defeated but smiled proudly when you asked for a jersey swap. She happily pulled yours on, you doing the same as you called over a photographer to snap a picture. She pulled you into the tunnel with her, explaining that she had a surprise for you.

“I swear Leah, if you pull some bullshit prank on me like you used to do when we were children I’ll call your mother.”

“Call me for what, dear?”

You turned the corner and there stood Leah’s family. You were shellshocked, stood frozen as you stared at her mother.

“Come give me a hug, you naughty girl; you never call!” Amanda quips as you literally launch yourself into her arms. She laughs and rubs your back soothingly, tears pricking in your eyes as she whispers how much she’s missed you. You pull away and she holds your face in her hands, wiping away your tears. You smile and turn to her grandmother, giving her another big hug. Her father and brother do the same, praising you for your two goals. You fall into easy conversation with them, as if time hadn’t even passed. Ona found you in the tunnel as she was walking back to the changing room, sheepishly standing to the side as she waited for you to finish your conversations. You saw her, smiling widely and holding your hand out for her to take. She shyly does, immediately introducing herself to Leah’s family.

“She’s beautiful, Y/N/N.”

“I know, she’s been so good to me. I don’t know if I could have even come here this week if it weren’t for her and the team.”

“You’re happier than I’ve ever seen you sweetheart, that makes me so happy.”

“All thanks to you, Amanda. I only have you to thank for that.” You pull her in for another hug, smiling softly as you excuse yourself to change and take showers. Amanda invites you over for tea, Leah promising to pick you up from the hotel at 4.

“Bring Ona with you, darling!” Amanda adds, a dark blush creeping up your face as you nod back at her.

Walking back to the changing rooms, Ona pulls you into her arms just before you open the door. Your hands snake around her waist, pulling her closer as you face tucks into her neck. You take a deep breath, the unique scent of Ona fills your senses. It grounds you, makes you feel at home. She kisses your cheek, hands cradling your head softly.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, my love. I’m proud of you too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

You press your lips to hers, feeling her melt into your arms. Your lips move in sync, trapping you both in a bubble of your own. Her hands hold your face as she kisses you, your hands pulling her closer by the waist. She pulls away first, smiling at you.

“We can still cuddle in bed for a bit before Leah picks us up for tea if we leave now. We can shower in the hotel.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

//

Ona certainly couldn’t keep her hands to herself the whole ride back to the hotel as she pulled your hands into her lap and dragged them over her thighs to get you to touch her. You were sat in the back of the bus away from everyone, the girls mostly sitting closer to the front to celebrate the win. You sat back into the seat, pulling Ona between your legs. Your hands snaked down her aching thighs, roughly kneading them in your palms. She whimpered softly, snuggling back into your chest as she closed her eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your fingers ghosted over her core, pressing teasingly around it as she whined softly. You kept your touches light and slow, soon Ona was squirming in your hold just as the bus came to a stop. She huffed, making you laugh as she urged you to hurry and grab your things. She sprinted to the room, leaving you to trail behind her. Maria catches up with you, slinging her arm around your shoulders.

“We’re going to a bar nearby for drinks tonight, hermana. Think you and your girl are up for a little celebration?”

“We’ve got plans, Maria. Tea at Leah’s house.”

“Sí, I understand. Try not to be too loud, okay?” she runs off after Ingrid, their room only a couple doors down from yours.

“María León!”

“Love you too, hermana!”

You shake your head and get to your room, seeing the door left ajar. You can hear the shower running, you check the time and smile. It’s just past 2, you had plenty of time before Leah got here.

Stripped and hair pulled out of its ponytail, you gently pull open the shower door and step in. Ona turns slowly, smiling wide when she sees you. You reach for her and kiss her, getting yourself wet under the hot shower. She moans into the kiss, hands grabbing your face to kiss you even deeper. You pick her up and press her to the wall, knee resting against her core as she grinds herself down gently. You rest your forehead on hers, feeling her warm breath as she whines softly. You kiss her neck hard, her hand pulling at your hair gently. You slowly put her down, hands caressing her soft skin while your lips begin to mark her neck.

“No marks,” she whines “Everyone will see.”

“That’s their problem,” you say, hands turning her around in your arms. Your hands begin to then caress down her sides, sending a shiver up her spine. Long fingers find her pulsating cunt, dragging themselves over her sensitive folds which elicit a long moan from her throat. You grin against her ear, fingers rubbing tight and fast circles over her wet clit. You growl nasty things into her ear, her arms grabbing your wrists as your other hand curls itself around her neck. She’s shuddering, eyes rolling into her head as you begin to push her towards her orgasm. Just as she’s about to release, your hand around her neck tightens and she goes light-headed as she reaches her high. She screams your name loud enough for people in nearby rooms to hear, holding her against your chest as she calmed down from her first orgasm.

Your quick to clean her up, stepping out of the shower with her dried body in your arms. You dump her on the bed, crawling into it to join her. She smiles and bites her lip, kissing back passionately just as your fingers find themselves back between her legs. She opens them up obediently, jaw slacking when your fingers tease her hole. A single digit dips in, teasing her again. She’s relaxed from her first orgasm as your finger slips in easily.

One digit quickly becomes three, pressing up against her g-spot that you know the location of so well. She keens and cries out your name, legs trembling in pleasure as her second orgasm begins to build behind her navel. You pull away just then, causing her head to shoot up and give you a severely annoyed look. You climb off the bed and rummage in your bag, pulling out a strap that you had hidden for emergencies such as these. She can’t even be mad at you for ruining her orgasm anymore, wordlessly scooting herself to kneel at the edge of the bed in your favorite position. You pull the harness on and look up to see her sat where you wanted her, smiling proudly at your incredibly obedient girlfriend.

You drag the tip of your cock over her folds a few times as you stand behind her, making her beg for it before it pushes into her hole slowly. She reaches back and grips your hip, steadying herself on the bed properly before giving you the nod to keep going. You hold her waist and begin to fuck her, hips pounding into her cunt with precision and determination. You push her down onto all fours, grabbing her hips and fucking into her deeper. She cries out for you, begging you to speed up your thrusts.

“Such a needy little whore, you are Ona. Do you have no shame?”

“Fuck, you feel so good…”

You plant your leg on the bed, hands pulling her back onto your cock. Your hips speed up and begin to rapidly pound into her, the moans she elicits tell you you’re hitting all the right places. She can barely speak properly, getting cockdrunk already. You chuckle, pulling her body up to press her back against your chest.

“You’re lucky we’re on the 25th floor, no one outside gets to watch you get fucking wrecked. Did you want that babe? Is that why you were being a cheeky slut on the bus? Did you want the team to watch you get fucked? I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“Fuck please, I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah, you want to cum on my cock don’t you?”

“Yes, yes please!”

Your hand wraps around her neck tightly again as your other begins to tweak at her nipples. She shrieks, cumming hard and squirting all over the bed. You had remembered to lay a towel under her thankfully, still thrusting into her as you chased your own high. You came just as she was beginning to feel overly sensitive, pulling out of her with a shudder.

“I’m pretty sure the whole floor heard that, baby.”

“Oh no.”

//

“Tea was lovely, Amanda. Thank you.”

“Of course darling, you’re always welcome.”

You stepped outside for a bit with a steaming cup of tea, leaving Ona and Leah inside as they chatted with Amanda. It made you smile and your heart happy as you saw Ona get along so well with Amanda. She was the only mother figure you had in your life and she was basically family so it was like bringing your date home.

There’s a rustle in the bushes, you brush it off as a squirrel when suddenly your head hurts and there’s a bag thrown over it. You’re being dragged out the back door like deadweight. A pair of arms hauls you over its shoulder and throws you into the back of a car, speeding on off before anyone notices you’re missing.

“Where did Y/N go?”

“Maybe she went to say hi to Cathy, I thought I saw her tending to her roses.”

Ona stands, an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She suddenly sees the broken glass, rushing out to the patio.

“Y/N!” she yells, checking the garden for any sign of you. Leah rushes out into the road, kicking the door frustratedly when she doesn’t see a car on the road at all.

Ona is sobbing, Amanda holding her as she calls the police. Leah gives her a knowing look which she gives back, thinking exactly the same thing.

“My daughter was just kidnapped. By her own father.”

//

“You thought you could just run away, stupid girl?”

“From you? Yes.”

“Still haven’t learned to not talk back to me, I see. I guess my old methods need some refreshing.”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

Smack. His hand comes across your face hard. Your eyes well with tears, biting your inner lip to try and stop them from falling. You watch as he cuts a fresh cigar, lighting the end till it’s nice and ember hot. You start to shake a little in fear, the adrenaline fight or flight rush crashing down.

“What did I say about talking back to me, you ungrateful shit?”

“You’re a piece of shit excuse of a father.”

His eyes turn red with anger as the end of the cigar burns a new welt on your chest. You scream and writhe, tears you tried so hard to blink away falling down your cheeks in betrayal. He finally pulls the cigar away, laughing maniacally at the sight of you tied up and at his mercy.

“You ran away and played that stupid football when I told you not to. Disobeying me and disrespecting me, you really just needed to listen to me and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“You don’t deserve to be respected you pathetic joke of a man.” you panted out, the pain in your chest becoming an aching throb. He chuckled darkly, pulling out the pocket knife you had seen in your dream the day before. It felt like déjà vu, your mind going back to your time with Ona after you had the nightmare and how she held you close and told you that she loved you. You could only hope she was looking for and that she had noticed, and that you didn’t die before she could find you.

//

“I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight, Ale! I-I left her alone for 10 minutes!”

“It’s okay Ona, we’re going to find her. She’s a strong girl, she’ll be okay, she has to be.”

Ona was still at Leah’s home, having called the five girls who immediately rushed over. Everyone was being interviewed when suddenly the captain on scene got called in for a suspected location. Everyone rushed to the abandoned cabin just 20 minutes from Leah’s house, a witness stating that he had seen a man matching your father’s description in the area a few times before the game today.

At the cabin, the police found a horrifying scene; your father dead on top of you, knife pushed into his heart. You were covered in your own blood more than his, torso and back covered in gashes that were bleeding heavily. An ambulance was rushed to the scene, Ona and the girls having to be held back from running to you before Lucy managed to get an officer to let Ona in as family. She rushed into the ambulance, sobbing loudly as you were barely conscious. She held your hand and caressed your bleeding face, a light gash over your eye (a/n had to add in the badass scar over the eye.)

You managed to squeeze her hand a few times, her head shot up as you were rushed to the hospital.

“I’m here, mi amor. I’m so sorry bebita, I’m sorry.”

“I got him Ona.”

“Yes, I’m so proud of you mi guerrero. He can’t bother you anymore, my brave girl.”

“I love you,” you croak out, crying tears of relief as your nightmares were finally over.

//

“You rest, I’ll set up the couch for you.”

"Gracias, mi amor".

“Anything for you, Cariño.”

You were lying in bed back in Barcelona, a week after being kidnapped and killing your father. You weren’t being convicted, released based on overwhelming evidence of self-defense. Your injuries weren’t that severe; your chest, torso and back covered in over 75 stitches from all the gashes and burns your father gave you. He got through an hour of ‘punishing you’ when you had managed to untie yourself and fight him. He had severely underestimated your strength, your hours in the Barça gym had paid off as you landed blow after blow on his face and abdomen. It was instinctive, your body finally being able to defend itself from the monster that had a hold on you your entire life. You grabbed the knife and shoved it straight into his heart, watching the life just disappear out of him as he fell forward and onto you. Exhaustion caught up just as the police arrived and found you, relief washing over you like a massive cloud.

“Bebé?”

Ona pulled you out of your thoughts, your head shaking as you focused back on her. She smiled softly, opening her arms. You climbed out of bed, walking gingerly towards her.

“Your lounge is ready.”

You laugh and take her hand, walking towards the couch that had all your favorites set up. Pillows and blankets along with snacks were laid out for you. You saw the medical bag on the table, sighing softly as you knew what she needed to do before you could truly relax. She saw the change in your face, gently pulling you this time to sit on the couch. She gently pulls your shirt off, leaning in and kissing the scar on your shoulder. Your bare chest was littered with bandages, some of them a little soaked through with remnant of blood. Ona carefully redressed each one but today she had questions.

She pulled at the old dressing on your chest.

“What’s this one for?”

You look at her and smile a little.

“Being disrespectful.”

She redresses it and kisses it after she’s done. She moves to open the one just above your heart, the new cigar burn,

“This one?”

“Talking back.”

She redresses it and kisses it like before.

One by one she opens and asks, meticulously redressing and finishing with a kiss. You tell her about each one and it gives you closure, relief that the fight is finally over.

As she tapes down the last one, your hand cradle her face and you lean in to kiss her. You didn’t even know you were crying until she wiped them away, pressing your forehead to her own.

“Thank you, I love you and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too. You will never have to know what it’s like without me. You’ll always know what it’s like to love someone and to be loved.”

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Hold Me Like a Knife (ii) (ao3)

Chapter 2 for @nessianweek day 6…. because uh… viking!Cassian is a legend? We're squinting with this one.

After an evening spent in the lord's mead hall observing the Danes and their ways, Nesta finds herself in trouble when an unfriendly Norseman follows her through the streets of Jorvik. Fortunately for her, she's already caught the eye of a man who'd sooner spill a river of blood than see her harmed...

(previous chapter // next chapter)

The business of negotiating land, it seemed, took hours.

In the lord’s hall, behind a wooden door carved with the image of a great tree encircled by a snake, the men disappeared. After briefly being shown to their lodgings, Nesta and the other ladies of the court had been escorted back to the hall, like the Danes didn’t trust them enough to give them free reign about the city just yet. And so, as the king and Rhysand and their most trusted men remained ensconced behind those doors, locked away for hours to debate the lines of their treaty - which towns and rivers would fall under the rule of the Danes, and which fields and roads would remain Saxon - Nesta studied that tree. Seated on a long wooden bench, she traced each meticulously carved branch that stretched towards the edges of the door, admiring the craftsmanship as she followed the tail of the snake that curved around the tree. 

Somebody had told her, once, that the Danes thought their world was a mighty tree, and as Nesta sat and watched, she wondered if it was true. If the world was cradled by the boughs of a great oak, then where exactly did they sit, now? Were they in the branches, high enough to feel the light of the sun? Or was their little corner of England the roots of the tree, buried underground, so near to the scales of the beast that surrounded them?

She didn’t know who to ask to find out.

Every now and then, Tomas would leave the room, letting the door slam behind him as he left to fetch whatever parchment or deed the king had requested. Her husband muttered under his breath as he went, glaring at the walls, and not once did he stop to tell her - or any of them gathered outside that room - what was happening inside. 

It was only when Rhysand stepped out into the hall and cast his eyes over the court of Wessex assembled before him - interspersed with Danes - that the news was shared. The Norseman’s face split into a ruthless smile as he took in the scene before him, the gathering lit by candlelight as the sun beyond the windows started to wane. The hall seemed to glow, the fire in the middle stirring as logs were added to the dwindling embers.

With a smooth, slippery kind of smugness, Lord Rhysand announced that the vast swathe of territory henceforth to be known as the Danelaw cut diagonally across Britain— so many miles and miles of land, surrendered to the heathen invaders that had looked at these shores and decided to make them their home, at any cost.

It was a wonder, Nesta thought, that King Alfred had left the room with the crown still upon his brow. 

“This land has given me many things,” Rhysand began after his announcement, his violet eyes casting over the crowd with an intensity that made Nesta want to shudder. Beneath his eyes, somehow she felt like he could see into her soul— read her mind. “It has given me a new home, and comforts that I could not have dreamed of across the sea.” With a smile that felt almost genuine, Rhysand looked to Alfred like one might look to a brother. “With this treaty between us, I look forward to days of peace.”

Murmurs rose among the crowd; whispered agreements.

But Nesta saw the way Rhysand’s eye glinted in the firelight, the curve at the corner of his lip that made his smile more wolfish than anything else. And somehow, she didn’t think the peace would last.

There was a hunger in Rhysand— in all of his people, too. Did Alfred think a pretty parcel of land might be enough to sate that hunger, to slake their thirst for blood? Nesta looked to the snake carved on the door, its jaws wrapped around the tree that made up their world. The sharp teeth were shadowed by the firelight, the branches of the world-tree seeming to shake as the flames trembled, the light quivering like the sails on one of their ships, caught in the wind. 

Servants appeared along the walls, and as Rhysand announced the feast and welcomed the Saxons to his hall and his hearth, Nesta looked back at that snake, and wondered if they hadn’t just walked right into its jaws. 

***

In the lord’s hall, woodsmoke tangled with the scent of spices imported from far-off lands— places Nesta had only ever heard about in stories. Places where there was sand underfoot more often than stone, places where the sea was so blue it was deeper than the colour of a summer sky. 

We had a ship arrive last week filled with spices— pepper and saffron and cumin. Entirely foreign to these shores without our extensive trading networks, of course, Rhysand had said, filling up his goblet with mead.

Nesta had never tasted anything like it— the meat so delicately spiced, the taste of smoke lingering deliciously on her tongue. Suddenly, she was ravenous. She tilted her head at the mention of the spices the Danes imported. Her father was a merchant after all, and yet… they spoke of lands so distant, where floors were made of tile and temples were erected in the name of yet more gods she couldn’t recognise. She followed the tales Rhysand told with interest as platters of food were laid out on the long tables that housed Dane and Saxon alike, the embers in the fire-pit glowing a vibrant red as smoke drifted up to the hole cut in the roof above, curling past the decorated wooden beams that stretched up from the floor; all of them carved with the faces of great beasts: serpents and dragons, wolves and bears. Mead and ale were poured liberally as conversation rose like the tides, and through it all Nesta sat silently, observing. 

“Not good for the soul,” Osbert muttered as he plucked up a piece of chicken between his thumb and forefinger. “Such a rich diet. It heats the blood, fosters sin.”

Tomas scowled, poking at a piece of meat with the tip of his silver knife. “Everything about this place fosters sin, father.”

With a grimace twisting his features, he set his fork back down, the meat untouched. Like to break bread with the heathen was a sin all its own.

Indeed, as the meal ended and benches were pushed back from tables as the Danes rose from their seats to fetch more drink, Nesta noted with a sharp eye how more than a handful of Alfred’s court made haste to retire. Thegns and their wives made their excuses to their king, slipping away into the safety of their lodgings, like they couldn’t bear the peace any longer. Nesta, for one, found that she didn’t so much mind the food or the wine or the hall they found themselves in, and though there was a healthy dose of reservation as she looked at the Danes assembled on long benches either side of the hall, she had to admit that her curiosity was burning like a pyre, so many questions balanced on the tip of her tongue that she knew she could never ask aloud. 

What were the creatures carved on those columns lining the room? What stories did they tell, and why were they deemed so important, so beloved, as to immortalise them in the wood?

Further along the table, King Alfred got to his feet. In a move that echoed, Rhysand did too, plucking up his goblet with lithe fingers as his assembled guests began to filter through the tables, the din of conversation rising all around them as formality was shed a little. The Northern lord took a different seat, closer to the fire, and beckoned to Alfred— to the empty seat beside him, illuminated by the flames. Both king and Dane might have claimed that they had left political discussions at the door as soon as dinner had been served, but Nesta knew the world of men too well to think differently. Negotiation continued, only this time it masqueraded as pleasant conversation.

Beside her, Tomas moved too, taking up a position directly behind the king, like he thought himself some kind of protector.

He didn’t sit down.

Only Nesta remained where she was. Even Osbert rose, a grunt of displeasure leaving him as he drifted to the edge of the room, taking up a seat against the wall, like still he feared someone was going to stick a dagger in his spine. Nesta didn’t think she could blame anybody for trying; Osbert watched with scrupulous eyes, speaking to no one, and giving no one leave to approach him. His silver cross shone in the low light, and every now and then the priest would wrap his fingers around it before lifting it to his lips, like showing his reverence to the cross might protect him in a hall so filled with heathens. 

And yet Rhysand, she noted, recently baptised as per the terms of the treaty with Alfred, didn’t look particularly overcome with religious zeal of his own. 

She supposed she wouldn’t be, either. Alfred and her husband might have thought Rhysand had taken the sacrament in all honesty, but he had been raised to believe in so many gods— what was one more added to his pantheon? 

What was one more, when it brought him England?

Such a small price to pay, and even as he attended Mass on Sundays, she suspected he would still make his offerings to Odin. 

She had said as much to Tomas, when he had first informed her of the king’s plan. The treaty they had made. 

He had told her to stop trying to understand the politics of men— that it was too difficult a topic for her delicate female mind to comprehend. When he’d turned his back that night, she’d spat in his ale.

And now he stood behind the king, his chest puffed, engorged with his own self-importance, and as the firelight cast shadows across his face, Nesta half wondered if it would make her a terrible wife to wish that peace fell apart. To hope for a Danish blade to find a home in Tomas’ spine.

There were certainly enough Danes gathered beneath that roof to do the job. 

She cast her eyes across them, taking in the way they raised their drinking horns, and the game pieces scattered across so many tables as they played a game she didn’t recognise. Her gaze roved across them all, until—

Across the hall, her attention caught on one Dane in particular.

Caught and held, like no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t bid her eyes to look away. 

It was the one from earlier— the one who had been fighting outside the hall. He lounged against the wall now the banquet was finished, one foot up, clad in leather with hair down to his shoulders. He looked… cleaner now. The blood had been washed from his face, his shirt exchanged for a fresh one, dyed a deep burgundy with not a single crease to mar the fabric. None of the men were armed, but there was a space at his hip where a dagger might rest, and over the broad span of his shoulders, she thought that the hilt of a sword might look at home there, peeking out from above his back. His eyes glinted in the firelight, and a well-trimmed beard graced his jaw. Silver beads were threaded through his hair, which was braided at his temples. The Northmen were known for their… vanity, Nesta thought wryly, but perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible thing. The leather he wore was polished and smooth, if a little worn, and his hair shone in a way that was unseen amongst the Saxons.

He was… curious, Nesta thought, tilting her head as she watched him beneath the candlelight. 

The distance between them felt like nothing— like she might reach out and feel the fabric of his tunic beneath her fingers, and as she watched, not quite sure of whether she wanted to widen the space between them or diminish it, he lifted his chin and found her staring, their eyes meeting with something that felt like a thunderclap, a bolt of lightning to her soul.

He raised his goblet; a toast across the fray.

His eyes sparked, and at his side, the warrior with the scarred hands muttered something before shaking his head. The first leaned close to whisper something in the ear of the second, and when the second pulled back, his lips were curved with an indulgent smile as he rolled his eyes. In tandem, both men looked across the room, pinning Nesta to the spot when their eyes found her. The first tilted his head, his eyes still trained on her as he drew his lip between his teeth, eyes aflame as he let drop the foot that he’d had resting against the wall.

Slowly, he ran a finger across his lip, his interest written plainly across his face. 

And when that look in his eyes said he was about to approach her…

Nesta’s heart stopped.

Without hesitation she tore her eyes away, back to her husband and her king, and Nesta really did feel apprehension then, like a knot in her gut she couldn’t loosen. Her blood felt too thin, like there wasn’t enough air. In her chest her heart hammered, because what would happen if that Dane decided to cross the hall to speak to her? Her mind reeled. 

Did she want to know the sound of his voice? To know what her name might sound like when shaped by his northern tongue? 

Tomas would have her flogged when they returned to Wessex.

She looked to him now, but her husband did not smile or speak as she rose from her seat and joined him at the king’s back. Tomas only glanced at her and the wine still in her hands, his lip curling. After a moment, he took a single step back from Alfred, gripping Nesta’s upper arm with a tight hand. Silent, a muscle ticked in his jaw. 

The Dane across the hall retreated.

And still Tomas’ hand curled into the soft flesh of her shoulder, like she was one of his hounds to be restrained, and no wedding ring circled his finger the way it did hers; her golden band little more than a collar binding her to a single master. Had she been given the choice, she never would have married him. Might never have married at all, in fact. There were women in convents who dedicated their life to prayer. Who read history and theology and lived in peace, when the Danes weren’t raiding, and didn’t that sound like a better life than this? 

Her father had sold her to Tomas, a landless thegn, in order to better his standing with the king. She had been a bartering chip, no more. Tomas had never viewed her as anything more either, and the fact that she had yet to bear him a son and heir had him growing impatient. He was not gentle nor kind nor loving— he was everything she had feared to find in a husband, and she dreamed of that convent life now, every time he touched her.

Nesta spent all of a single heartbeat in her husband’s grip before deciding to retire.

“I’m tired,” she said, setting down the goblet that was still half-full. “The journey left me weary.”

Tomas only made some non-comital sound in his throat. His hand fell away from her arm and without even glancing at her he said, almost as an afterthought, “I may join you later.”

Nesta knew well enough what he meant. If he didn’t find a place in a whore’s bed, he’d come looking for his place in hers.

She said nothing, only dipped her chin to hide the way her jaw clenched. She turned without a goodbye, cutting through the crowd and noticing that most of the other women had already left, too. As if they could sense that the night was about to shift, that the men were getting too deep in their cups. It was a sense all women bear, Nesta thought, an instinct engrained within them all, to know when the men they were surrounded by were about to shed civility and turn into beasts, with nothing but blood on the horizon.

In that regard, no man was different, be he Saxon or a Dane.

Their hands would wander, their ears deaf to any protest.

Quickly Nesta ducked outside of the hall, into the darkness and the cool air of the street outside, and looked towards the lodgings only a short distance away. 

Beneath the moon, the narrow streets were silver. The corners were bathed in shadow, and she’d only made it a few steps before she realised there was someone watching her from the darkest of those shadowed corners. She saw the glint of something silver— the moonlight reflecting off a ring or a necklace.

Or a blade.

She pushed down the fear, lifted her chin and slowed her steps. Refused to be cowed.

“Who’s there.”

A dark chuckle answered her.

“Saxon,” a voice said, nasal and pitched too low, like the man it belonged to was trying to sound larger and more imposing than he was. Nesta might have scoffed had she not been certain that it would end with her blood on his hands. Her heart started to hammer.

He stepped into the moonlight. More boy than man, his dark hair was made black by the silver light, the sneer contorting his features making a caricature of the shadows on his face. A too-new scar cut across his nose, and his eyes were flat and cold. He manoeuvred out of the shadows until he was blocking the path ahead, and as Nesta looked behind her, she wondered if she could run back to the mead hall, make it to safety before he caught her.

She looked at the way he braced himself, and knew she wouldn’t make it far. 

Her hand strayed to her skirts, where her dinner knife was tied to her belt. It was custom to carry a knife for dining, and though the blade was fine enough to eat with, she knew it wouldn’t do enough damage to the Dane before her. It was too short, too blunted.

He smirked, a cloud passing over the moon that cloaked him with shadow.

“I don’t like Saxons,” he whispered.

“Pity,” Nesta sneered before she could still her tongue.

It was unwise, she knew, and the Dane laughed, cruel and throaty. 

“I never asked for an alliance with your king,” he spat, taking a slow step forwards as Nesta took a single step back. “I don’t want peace. I came here for blood— for glory.” He freed a blade from his belt, the curved edge of an axe raised. “And I’ll be getting it— one way or another.”

The moon was almost entirely masked now, plunging them into darkness. Only the sharp edge of his seax glinted. 

And then— footsteps. Loud footsteps. Sure and confident. 

The clouds cleared, and turning her head, Nesta beheld the Dane from the hall walking casually, carefully, down the street towards them. His eyes were fixed on the Dane with the weapon in his hand, though briefly they flicked to her, running across her from head to toe, as if to check for injury.

In his presence the Dane blocking the way ahead hesitated, the hand holding his seax raised dropping an inch, his fingers slipping on the short handle, as if searching for a stronger grip. 

The Dane from the hall closed the distance quickly. His own small axe was tucked back into his belt now, and with one smooth, effortless motion, he freed the weapon and held it to throat of his fellow Northman.

The latter’s axe fell to the floor with a muted clatter.

Nesta took a step back, her spine hitting the wattle-and-daub wall of the building behind her. Even in the darkness she could see the scowl on the face of the Dane that had threatened her, and the unkind twist of his lips as the Dane from the hall pressed the sharp edge of his axe in a little harder, freeing a thin ribbon of blood that spilled down to the hollow of his throat. 

“I’ve told you before, haven’t I, Kallon, about what happens to men who follow women down dark streets,” the Dane from the hall hissed. The one at the mercy of his blade - Kallon, Nesta presumed - tried to speak, but the effort was lost when the axe was pressed deeper against his throat, so perilously close to cutting right through. “Did the last scar I gave you fail to teach you well enough?”

Kallon tried to fight against the Dane’s hold, but his movements were pinned by the lethal edge of the axe at his neck. Resentment curled his lip even as his blood stained the ground beneath him, his eyes filled with such a bottomless, relentless hatred that Nesta’s own fingers traveled to her throat, curling around her necklace as if searching for something to grasp.

“Rhys will have my head if I kill you now,” the Dane muttered. “Something about keeping the peace while the Saxons are here. Not confirming their beliefs that we are naught but a violent and lawless people.” He snorted, the inflection in his voice making it clear that he was parroting Rhysand’s words, letting them echo in the otherwise empty street. He raised his free hand, grasping Kallon’s face roughly between his fingers. Blood spilled down the handle of the seax, coating the fingers of his other hand, but the Dane seemed entirely unconcerned as he lowered his face and met Kallon’s eye. When he next spoke, his voice was cold and dark, carrying no hint at all of an empty threat. “But trust me, the next time that I see you…”

He trailed off, letting the threat linger before pulling his blade away sharply. Kallon’s hand immediately banded his throat, covering the small wound.

He looked up at the man who had been but a moment away from killing him, and though his glare remained, he straightened. He was a full head shorter than the other Dane, and not nearly so well-built. Where the other seemed to have been born and raised on a battlefield, Kallon appeared to be the Norse equivalent of Tomas: cocksure, arrogant, and entirely devoid of skill. 

Nesta pushed away from the wall, looking away from Kallon and finding her attention snared by the powerful span of the Dane’s shoulders, the way the muscles bunched at his arms as he slid his seax back into his belt. 

“Leave,” the Dane hissed.

Kallon hesitated.

“Now.”

Kallon scrambled down the alley, his steps stumbling only once as he hurtled round the corner, bracing a hand on the wall to steady himself. A smear of blood was all he left behind, a crimson handprint made garish by the silver light of the moon. 

For a moment, relief swelled in Nesta’s chest. 

For just one moment— because then the Dane turned, and fixed all of that ruthless attention on her.

“Dangerous,” he said, his voice low and husky, “for a Saxon woman to be walking these streets alone.”

“Thank you,” she said, brushing a hand down the fabric of her cloak. “For…” she gestured to the mouth of the street where Kallon had disappeared, then nodded to the axe he’d just wielded in her defence. “…That.”

The Dane raised an eyebrow. A scar ran diagonal through it, and his nose was slightly crooked, like it had once been broken, long ago, and hadn’t set completely straight. It made him a rugged beauty, alluring and compelling in equal measure, and when the moonlight shifted and illuminated his face, Nesta thought he might have been the most dangerous man she had ever laid eyes on.

“You shouldn’t walk alone,” he said.

She bristled. “What else am I to do?”

He shrugged. “Do you not have a husband to escort you?”

Nesta scowled, forgetting that this man had just had a weapon against the throat of another. Somehow, she didn’t think he was going to hurt her. When he took a step closer, she didn’t retreat.

“I don’t need my husband to escort me anywhere,” she spat, hardly able to hide the venom in her tone.

His eyes darkened as he pulled his gaze across every inch of her. Even though every piece of her skin was covered, somehow she felt bare beneath his attention, like he was somehow able to see the parts of her she kept hidden. He drifted closer, those eyes like sparks of hazel, and he reminded her of something wild, something prowling in the dark.

He laughed— laughed.

“Tell me sweetheart,” he said, his voice a low brush against her senses. “Was he the man standing behind your king?”

She didn’t answer, letting her silence fill the space between them, but the warrior huffed a sharp laugh, one that was mocking and derisive, that should have made her afraid. But he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth again, letting his laugh devolve into a hum lodged deep in his throat, and as the moonlight drifted again across his beautifully rugged face, Nesta swallowed, and didn’t feel afraid at all.

“He looks weak,” the warrior continued, his lip curling into a sneer. “Can he even lift a sword?”

And oh, if Nesta were a good wife, she would have defended Tomas. She would have spun a tale of his bravery, of his strength, until the warrior before her backed off and left her alone. But she was not a good wife— not made for such things, to be shaped and moulded by her husband’s hands. So instead she shrugged, and looked the Dane before her straight in the eye. They liked their women outspoken, she’d heard. Allowed them to fight beside them in battle, did not consign them to breeding and childrearing— no, these brutish men from the north let their women be as fierce and as ferocious as themselves, and knowing that…

For the first time in her life, Nesta did not hold her tongue.

“He says he can.” She paused, words balanced on her tongue that she’d longed to say out loud since the day she was married. She’d never had the courage, but here, in the presence of this man, she found it— found it in abundance. “But then again, he says he can use his prick, and I’ve never seen proof of that, either.”

The Dane laughed again— louder this time, a true laugh, deep and sure. It echoed. Delight shone in his eyes as he took another step closer. 

“Why did you follow me?” she asked, breathing in the scent of him, all leather and smoke and honeyed mead.

“Because these streets are no place for a lady,” he answered easily. When she said nothing - because what was there to say anyway? - he hummed a little, shrugging idly before continuing. “Besides, you were looking at me. In the hall.”

Nesta blinked. “You followed me because I looked at you?”

He grinned. “I followed you because it was clear to me that you liked what you saw.”

God in Heaven, this man. 

A breathless laugh escaped her, one softened with surprise. “Are all Danes so direct?”

“Usually.” He lifted his head up, looking to the sky as he took a deep breath. “Life is short, sweetheart. I am a man born and raised for battle. Valhalla could welcome me any day now, should an enemy blade pierce my flesh, so why waste time?”

He took another step, and Nesta swallowed. He was close— close enough to touch, now.

“When I want something…” he continued, trailing off as his eyes dropped to her lips. They flicked back up, catching her gaze and holding it. “I don’t waste the opportunity.”

Nesta snorted. “Spoken like a true Northman.”

He quirked a brow. “Did you expect anything less?” He dipped his head, leaned in close, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Did you think all men are like your pitiful excuse for a husband?”

Suddenly, Nesta couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She had never been one to lose her senses over a man, and yet here she was, feeling her heart racing for all the wrong reasons in the presence of a heathen. It would be so easy for her to reach up, to drag her fingers across his beautiful, rugged face. To feel his heat. 

When he laughed, the sound was like honey. Thick and warm and sweet, washing over her as he lowered his head, his lips a breath away from her neck. His hand hovered over her hip— not touching, not yet, but close enough that one wrong move would bring them crashing together, colliding so forcefully she didn’t think there would be anything left of her by the end of it.

When I want something…

His voice echoed in her head, burning and burning in her blood until the heat made her tip her head back, searching for the cool brush of the night air. The Dane took it for an invitation, his hands coming to rest at her waist. 

She was too stunned to move.

Her body froze, so entirely still that she half thought she might have forgotten to breathe. And yet the space at her waist was warm, his palm seeming to mould to the shape of her, like it was what his hands had been made for.

“Odin has blessed me, it seems,” he muttered, his voice sultry in the dark.

Still, she didn’t move.

And Nesta thought of those hands— the hands he had on her, spanning her waist, his fingers at her spine as his thumb grazed her hip. Strong hands, firm. She swallowed, fighting the urge to pull herself away, grasping for composure as his thumb made another pass over her hip, a long swipe that had her blood heating. 

She didn’t think of what it meant that he was a Dane. 

Of the lives those hands had ended.

Of the monasteries on the coast, raided and burned to the ground.

He smiled at her, all lethal grace and beautiful, exhilarating possibility, and Nesta didn’t think of what it meant that his hands were soaked in Saxon blood.

And wasn’t this the worst kind of treachery— the most despicable treason? To not pull back from a Norseman’s touch, when a century’s worth of Saxon blood had been spilled at the hands of raiders just like him?

Maybe it was the mead. Maybe she’d lost her senses.

But damn her— when he held her, when he touched her, part of her wanted to fall right into him, like he was the sea, beautiful and dangerous, and she was standing alone at the edge of a cliff, hands outstretched.

She tilted towards him, each pounding beat of her heart resounding through her with a force that she thought could shatter a shield wall, and when his hand lifted to drag a finger down the column of her neck, lingering at her collarbone, she felt her eyelids flutter, her lips part. It was a question, an invitation, and she felt the heat of him, his lips so close to her own, and knew that he had understood, that the hand he still had circling her waist was an answer in and of itself.

And then—

From the direction of the hall, suddenly light spilled out into the street. Warm and golden and bright— a candle or a lantern, held in someone’s hand. Voices drifted out from the hall, loud and raucous, accompanied by footsteps. Whether a Dane returning home or a Saxon seeking their lodgings, Nesta didn’t wait to find out.

She hurled herself backwards, her mind clearing as the Dane’s hands slid from her waist. 

In the absence of his touch, common sense came screaming back. She stood in the dark, in a foreign city, with a Dane’s hands on her— a Dane’s lips close enough to kiss. Madness. It was utter madness. No matter what peace had been agreed between her king and his…

He had killed his way to these shores. 

She cleared her throat, putting a safe distance between them. When she glanced up, the moonlight illuminating the planes of his face, she expected to find anger colouring his cheeks, or displeasure narrowing his eyes— the signs she’d grown accustomed to when a man was robbed of what he desired. Instead there was mirth lining the corners of his generous mouth, the starlight reflected in his dark eyes. He didn’t look like a man who had been refused something— no, he looked like a man ready for a challenge, the smile playing on his lips telling her that this might as well have been a game to him.

And the chase, it seemed, had just begun. 

“Good night, then,” he said, offering her a shallow bow as he took a step back. The moonlight gleamed along the edge of his seax, the sharp end of the blade shining like mercury in the darkness of the street, Kallon’s blood still staining the edge, and as the Dane rose to his full height, he shot her a wink that had her standing stunned. 

“Good night,” she answered.

A grin answered her like a slash in the dark, one that imprinted itself in her memory, carved there like the beasts on the pillars in the hall. And as the Dane slipped away back into the shadows, Nesta didn’t look back as she made her way towards the rooms Rhysand had set aside for Alfred’s court, not daring to glance over her shoulder until she had reached the door, standing in the circle of candlelight emitted by the small tallow candle sitting on a ledge beside the window. 

And a small distance away, like he’d followed a hundred paces behind to ensure she got back safely this time,  Nesta saw a glint of silver— and that same smile, white in the dark. 

Taglist: @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie

[bebx]

I didn't think I could possibly get any more feral about Lokius, and then this ep happened!!!

Loki being so comfortable having Mobius constantly touching him, and instantly seeking him out as a source of comfort when he's in distress.

Not questioning for one second that they would risk their lives for each other, though they playfully complain about it like a total married couple.

Mobius not needing Loki to complete his confession (no one can tell me that's not what that was) before he disappears, because it doesn't have to be said. He already knows...

They are the epitome of the "It's rotten work..." meme, and I don't know if my heart can handle a whole season of this!

I feel like everything I wanted to say, anon has already said it and they said it so beautifully so I’m just gonna say ‘anon, you get it!!’

I’m so happy Marvel gives Loki his Mobius because, as someone who’s been a fan of Loki way before the first season of Loki series, I can wholeheartedly say Loki has never been this happy and himself around anyone else as he is around Mobius, and it’s shown in all these little details like how he trusts Mobius enough he lets his guard down and sleeps while in Mobius’s presence (season 1 episode 2) because — even in a strange place where he’s a prisoner — he knows Mobius will keep him safe. or the way he so desperately needs to find Mobius — no one else but Mobius — when he returns to the TVA. like… everything about them makes me go so insane.

Lokius is literally the definition of true love and no one can change my mind.

[gah-who-are-you]

Choso! Win over my heart!

Choso X Fem. Reader (SFW) (Reader likes collecting and wearing earrings. Which causes them to constantly go shopping for earrings. Not only that but the reader finds some sense of comfort in wearing them. The reader can find themselves to suddenly get really anxious and panic if they don't wear their earrings in a public space. Reader has trust issues and well despite having dated choso for months, she finds a side of her doubting them, even if she really doesn't want to. Reader is shown to have trust issues and I really hope this can help some of you see yourselves in it. I personally have trust issues and it can get the best of me, even if it's foolish and doesn't make sense. So I wanted to depict that, because sometimes those thoughts really can isolate us from what's in front of us. There's a better explanation on what I wanted to focus on at the end of the post.)

---Summary----------------------------------------------------------------

You've been trying to buy some new earrings recently, searching online but not really finding any of them to catch your attention. You got pretty frustrated about it. Choso noticed your change in mood, and knows about your obsession with earrings. He's seen the different earrings you have on the displays in your room, and when you go out on dates you're always wearing a different pair each time, which he likes to notice and later on talk about the story on how you picked them out. Whether you found them in a store or stumbled upon them on the internet. Sometimes it led to interesting stories. Like how you almost fought a 15 year old for the last earrings of your character that was limited edition. Which amused Choso. So he found it weird when you were out on a date together and noticed you not wearing any earrings. He sees your mood is pretty sour and that you seem to shift uncomfortably. You seem to have enclosed yourself more, barely talking to him and instead distancing yourself. Choso found this pretty surprising, He knew you really liked earrings and found that they were a sense of comfort to you, but he never saw how you'd react without them. So this led to you spacing out and walking alongside Choso. Choso held your hand and guided you. Soon enough you found yourself in front of a hot topic. (You see throughout the few months you've spent dating you've found yourself hesitant. Having gained trust issues throughout your years of growing up.)

---Start!---------------------------------------------------------------------

Your thoughts were gone. You reached up to your where you earlobe is and didn't feel the familiar sensation that you would when you would wear your earrings. You didn't have them on to be able to fidget with. Dammit, I should've just put on some random earrings instead of having worried about it not matching the outfits. You see you knew that if the earrings didn't match it would be bothering you the whole day. You had to have everything matching. Your perfectionism just would let you. Yet now you wish that you would have just put on any earrings really! Yet all you could do was sigh and shake your head. Why do I do this to myself... You thought. You found yourself fidgeting, holding onto your white cardigan while you other hand was intertwined with Choso's. Your nerves were getting to you. Your palms were sweaty and you felt your stomach churn. Your head started to pulse and you find yourself short of breathe. No not again. not now. You thought, as your repeated it in your head. You started walking slower, you hand tightening around choso's. It's like you were isolated, in a small cube. You felt as if your body was being compressed, you lost your rhythm of breathing and thought to yourself. How do I breathe? Like a barrier was isolating you. Before you even knew it Choso took notice, he stopped walking and faced you, as you came to a halt. He placed his other hand on your face and caressed your cheek gently. You jolted in surprise, having been snapped out of your thoughts. Choso looked down at you, concern etching his face. "Hey, love. Are you okay? What's wrong?" his voice was a sense of comfort. Your breathing came to a regular pace. The churn in your stomach slowly leaving you. Your head was starting to clear and you found yourself able to start focusing on what was in front of you. It took you sometime to process why Choso was looking at you like that. Ultimately his questions did click and you tried to wave him off. " I'm okay cho, don't worry. I'm just.. well I'm not really used to not wearing earrings. It's hard to explain" You said nervously but relaxed as you felt Choso's hand rest on your cheek.

You see, choso and you had just started dating a few months ago. You didn't want to weird him out, scare him, or worse have him dump you. But what you didn't see was that those thoughts would have never crossed Choso's mind. Not even in the slightest. Choso looked at you concerned, his eyes scanned your face for any sign of discomfort and his expression softened as he saw the way you relaxed under his touch. He leaned in and gave a small kiss to your forehead, as he wrapped his arms around you gently. "C'mon, let me buy you something." He said with a small hum as he draped an arm over your shoulder. You were slightly confused, not having really seen choso act randomly. Usually on dates you two would have a small schedule, he'd take your out to eat, you'd later go on to read books in the library, him sitting beside you and resting his head on your shoulder. Meanwhile you'd be immersed in the book you read. You'd then go to a mall, walk around, maybe walk into stores that you two had been wanting to go to. A organized yet calm and comforting schedule. So you were confused when he decided to do something you found well....spontaneous? You started to get slightly nervous, spacing out. A million of different thoughts racing and fighting in your head. When suddenly you felt Choso's hand brush gently against you back rubbing circles, soothing you. You looked up and then saw before you the sign of Hot Topic.

You hadn't noticed but a small smile formed on your lips. He looked down at you and smiled gently. "Go on love, choose anything you'd like." He said, his voice soothing your thoughts. That's when you felt that burst in your chest. You heart racing, cheeks turning red, and your breathing coming to a halt. Oh this man, this man is sure going to change you. You thought to yourself. Choso only looked at you and smiled gently softly placing a kiss on your head. You looked at Choso and smiled, your eyes lit up and found yourself lost in him. You turned to the store and walked on in, wrapping an arm around his as he followed you, a smile gracing his features as he sees your body relax upon the sight of the earrings on display. You looked upon the display, some funny earrings shown. Like a little duck holding a knife or something a bit more elegant. Like a moon crescent with dangling gems. Choso looked upon you with love in his eyes. The way you were focused. Evaluating each earring but took note on how you hesitated on buying some of them. He leaned in slightly and took notice that the ones you seemed to like more were a bit more costy. Choso smiled softly as he noticed how despite him saying he's the one to pay, you still found yourself worrying about the price and how much it would sum up to in the end. A hour passed by as you finally decided on three pairs of earrings. ( Authors note: Now you might ask why a hour for just three pair but you see sometimes you gotta be picky and indecisive. Sometimes it can take longer... If you know what I mean.)

You started to walk up to the counter, readying yourself to beat choso before he arrives, noticing that he seemed to be looking at some earrings. But as you placed the earrings down Choso appeared right behind you and placed a pile of earrings before you. Your eyes widened as you scanned the earrings and noticed that all of them were earrings that you had looked at, inspected and found yourself wanting to buy but hesitant. You were about to protest to choso but he just winked at you and paid the order before you could say anything, so there you were, walking outside the store a small bag full with earrings. To say you were surprised wasn't even the start of it. Choso looked at you, warmth in his eyes. "You're going to have a bigger collection now." He said with a soft hum. You looked up at him, gazed at him, you could hardly believe what he had just done. Yet you were grateful, grateful that he noticed the smallest thing about you some people wouldn't even bother to notice. You wrapped your arm around his, rest you head on his shoulder as you walked together to your house. Choso hummed a light tune, he would look at you every now and then, noticing that your eyes seemed tired and would close for a few seconds. Must've been from the anxiety, he thought to himself. So he offered a piggy back, a playful smile gracing his face. You nodded at him and soon enough your arms were wrapped around his neck and your legs around his waist. You noticed his smell, his warmth, and the softness of his hair. The way the wind blew, spreading his scent. The way his soft hair moved in the air and how You felt at ease. A relief washing over you. You nuzzled your face between his neck and gave a soft kiss his to cheek. You noticed his ears flush red and his hand give a gentle squeeze to your thigh. It didn't bother you, not even in the slightest, instead you felt warmth, security, and love for the man who was holding you. You've succumbed to his warmth and his to yours. You eyes closed and you found yourself drifting off, a smile resting upon your face.

This is your peace.

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[ Authors note: I based this off of like comfort items, personally I can't really go out without putting on some earrings. I tend to buy a set of earrings once a week so you can imagine how big my collection is.... I tend to feel uncomfortable when I don't have earrings on when I'm in public. In some way I find the earrings to protect me in some way. Kind of like how hoodies are to some people, or a bracelet that a close friend gave you can make you feel. I don't know if it's something to do with my anxiety.... It's hard to explain. So I really want Choso to showcase that person, a loving one, one that would move the land and sea to make sure you're comfortable. To make sure that you know they love you. Also cause I'm delulu for Choso and really love him .3.) I wanted to showcase how the reader is insecure about relationships, in general reader is shy, anxious, hesitant, really has a lot of issues with them but honestly, I don't want perfection in the reader, I wanted something a bit more vulnerable. I wanted to write a reader where they hit a point of vulnerability where they need that guidance at some point. Even if they try to hide it. I wrote something that I felt would target someone like me and really just bring a sense of comfort. Where the reader finds comfort in the person who has shown to love her more than anything, even if they're hesitant and well to be honest, a reader where a side of her tells her that she doesn't deserve this, that she's weird and that she doesn't really have trust in other and even in herself. Where in the end her mind tells her she's probably being selfish in allowing herself to indulge in the comfort. When in reality it can be a rewarding feeling, a feeling I believe every person deserves when they find themselves with that person that would move the land and sea for them. I really hope at least one person can relate and well find my work enjoyable. (Or maybe I'm just weird, and sad, and alone ;sob;...) -Anyways I hope you enjoy my writing^^ -Also I didn't proof read it...I'm sorry (AND IM SO SORRY IF IT'S OUT OF CHARACTER!!!) -I'm confusing myself just writing my explanation....]

[vitzi9]

Patience is the key to success (2)

Masterlist if you want to read my others things. Part 1 here.

CW/TW: yandere-manipulative-obsessive-stalker-ethan, fem reader, smut, no p in v, depressed reader(but really), suicidal thoughts

i'm trying to post this quick because I crave attention, whatever its insults, compliments, likes or repost, idc. I want ppl to know i'm existing. i have a big oral test tomorrow and im really bad at speaking before someone (hence why im writing instead) so i just need to know im not totally useless in the society and that im, at the very least, making people enjoy my things. sorry for the rant, i have a big headhache, probably gonna die ✌️😚

the smut is really bad btw but like really but im bad at writing them but i need to to improve (26/06/2023) (5226 words)

"Let's just finish watching the movie now." you say and Ethan doesn't make you repeat as he goes straight to the couch.

You felt much better after that little talk. Ethan did not say much but in his words, there was a lot more. He was planning to be with you a long time. He does not want to ruin things. It made you so happy. Every fiber in you was warm thinking of it. You were at peace.

Ethan was calm after that, albeit moving uncomfortably sometimes. (maybe because of his boner?) He was just as cuddly as when you arrived. His head laid flat on your chest, rising up and down with each one of your breath. Your fingers brush his curl slowly as you hear his breathing slacken. You were giddy thinking about him being at peace with you, too.

His arms were closed tightly around your body, never letting you go. The movie was really advanced by now, the end was coming soon. It probably was something towards 11AM. Usually, you would have gone knock at your friend's house but there was no need now as you already saw her earlier.

When the movie fatefully ended, the credits start to roll but none of you moved an inch. Ethan rubs his cheeks against your chest before sighing happily. His eyes were closed. Was he asleep ? No, certainly not. He loves horror movie. He wouldn't fall asleep when one is ongoing.

He was cute here. You were delighted to think he trusted you enough to let his guards down and sleep with you. You were his safeplace. And he was yours. Your fingers trail down on his back where you draw small patterns dreamily. You write things, that cross your mind. You simply scratch him. His sudden speaking startle you. Your hand stopping evey movements.

"Are you sleeping far from here, today ? Every movements of his jaw hitting slightly on your chest. 'today' because he knew about your frequent change of home.

Relaxing, you continue to caress his back lovingly.

-No, not really. But I don't sleep there anymore.

The hotel too was starting to worry you. Like the building was shrieking on you. You don't know what was scarier, to be alone or to never be. And now that you found such a warm place, you don't want to leave. Ever.

-Why ?

-Scare me, s'all.

-You can sleep here tonight, if you want.

-Why ? Your decision was already made; you'd sleep here. You knew it the second he offered you to stay the night. But you wanted to see his arguments to convince you.

"Let me be with you." his sentence made a shiver run down your back.

Did that stalker fucked you up so hard you had chill even thinking about them? It was just a damn sentence. Everyone can say it. For god's sake, it's Ethan saying it of all people. Even if he awoke this uneasy feeling back, you couldn't blame him. He didn't know about the sign the criminal had shown you. You didn't tell him that much detail, only saying they had indeed brought creepy signs but omitting what was written on it. And Ethan said it so prettily, too. Yes, of course you'd be with him.

He told you you never slept here before and that you'd be safe anyway since he's here and don't plan on leaving you. So you accepted. It was really early in the day but the both of you were getting sleepy because of the calm and comfort of the situation. He offered you to go to his room which you accepted. After guiding you to there, he tells you he has to go grab something and that he'd be back really quick.

And he did, in fact, came back really quick.

By then, you were already sprawled out on his bed. You had time to see the mess he had scattered everywhere. The carboard, the books, the drawings, some letters, too. And you even found out about his second phone. The lockscreen was a generic one, the one you have by default, as if he just got it recently. But the phone wasn't new, it seems in contrary really old as it was broken at some area.

Ethan arrives in the room with a small plastic blue square packaging, you don't have time to see what it was that he throws it under the bed. You don't pay it too much attention. Playing mindlessly with his other phone in hand, you take off and put back the phone case of it to entertain yourself.

"You got two phones ? you ask even though you kind of knew the answer already.

-Oh, yes. One is for games only, the other is the one I'm really using. Did you went on it ?

-No, don't worry, I won't frisk into your secret criminal life."

He smiles before taking the phone out of your hand. He places it in the drawer of his nightstand. Ethan falls on top of you, taking your breath away for a moment. You laugh and hit his back for him to get away from you and he just laugh heartly before letting himself fall beside you.

He lays down, setting his head on his arm, looking up at you with stars in eyes. Sometimes, he's so pretty it hurt physically to look at him. Starting to get embarrassed by his insistent look, you find something to say.

-Why do you have so much pieces of cardboard anyway ?

-I make placards out of them.

With a fond smile, Ethan stares straight at your eyes. As if waiting for you to say something. You would have ask questions about his 'placards ' if not for the sudden interest he was displaying in you, which, instead, made you change subject without really noticing it. A nervous laugh escaping you.

-Why are you looking at me like that ? Is there an undertone ? Am I supposed to understand something ?"

He shakes his head negatively, displaying a small mischievous smile. He could be such a goblin at times ! Wanting to make him swallow his pride, you lean towards him and kiss his lips. Ethan smiles and moves his lips with yours.

Your arm set down on his waist and soon the kiss get heated. Ethan's body is burning, his breath is too. You don't let each other breath, as soon as you separate from each other, you plunge back in. Physically needing the contact.

You rise on your knee, arching your back to kiss him still laying flat on the bed. Soon, he joins you by rising as well. Both of you on your knees, face to face, eating each other's face. Ethan's hand are mahandling you to sit on his thights. Then, with his surprising strenght, he starts sliding you on them. Your heating pussy rubbing directly on the fabric of his pant. Your hand instinctivly goes to rub the growing tent in his trousers. The area was hot, when you slide your fingers on it, it would budge.

Ethan whimpers, thrusting his hips against yours. You straddle him completly, framing his his body with your legs. You rub his tent against your clit for some frictions. It was aching and growing more desperate by seconds.

"I... I wanna have sex with you." Ethan says softly.

You kiss his cheek, going for his neck. You answer with a meek 'me too' before sucking the skin of his neck. Ethan backs his head, already out of breath. He gives you full access to his body, still rutting desperatly his hips into yours.

But you were growing impatient. You lift your body from him, making him whine at the contact loss, before sliding your fingers behind the elastic of his pants. You slip it down to his knees before you start salivating at the sight of his hard cock already drooling for you.

He didn't have any underwear. That's why you could feel him so close to your core.

Your hand touch his thight, caressing gently his body. Making sure to avoid the area he need you the most. Ethan try to touch himself, tired of your teasing, but you slap his hand away. He whines and looks up at you with teary eyes. Silently begging you to do something. It was impossible for you to resist him.

Your hand grabs his cock in one motion, you could feel it pulse and its warmth propagate in your hand. It was already so so wet because of all his precum, your hand was sliding so easily you could have thought he came multiple times already. Gently, you start to move your hand on all its lenght slowly. The boy props himself on his elbows and look at the scene before him. Ethan sighs happily, eyes closing and head backing. He's in heaven, he thinks. But not entirely, as he looks at you still clothed.

"Want to... Want to finger you..." he pleas.

In front of a boy so desperate, and being incredibly horny, you slide your pant down, making sure your underwear went with it. Ethan lose every one of his braincells when he sees your bare pussy glistening with your love juice. He wanted to lick it bad. That's the only one fanstam he ever had that help him getting off so hard he can't move for a whole minute. He wants to drown himself in your juice. But you have others projects.

You guide his pointer finger to your lips. Ethan starts caressing it and smear your juice everywhere. His lift up another finger and start passing both of them on your lips.

"Here, you have to touch here." you say, pointing to your clit.

You move briefly to bring your genitals closer. You could feel each other's warmth emanating from your core. Seeing him try to touch you was so hot. He was listening to everything you said.

Soon getting the hang of it, he starts circling your clit, applying different pressure on it to see which one were you reacting the most to. Slowly, you quicken your pace on his hard cock. As if to reward him for being such a good boy. He was in a trance, eyes closing and opening. And when they opened, they were staring with a utmost care at your moving breast throught your shirt. Your nipples were hard and were poking through the fabric.

His eyes were glued to it. Understanding his want, you lift your shirt above your collarbone with your free hand. Ethan can't seem to take off his eyes of you. They're probably the first pair of breasts he sees in real life after all.

"Fuck... You're so pretty, love." you speed up on his shaft at his praise. "Fuck, fuck...

-You can touch baby.

-I can?"

He stops all movements to your pussy, your frown but let him discover his needs. It was his first time, you needed to let him have a little fun. His free hand touch one of your breast, massaging it then weighten it in the palm of his hand. He smiles like an idiot, an idiot so cute you let him do what he wants with you. His other, wet, hand pinch lightly your sensitive bud.

Your free hand slap his arm to make him understand he did it too hard. He sends you an apologatic smile.

"They're like stress ball."

Amused by the weird comparison, your chuckle. Still impatient to come, you guide your hand higher on his cock to caress his tip and rub it. His face contorts in pleasure, browns frows and mouth ajar. His forehead fall on your shoulder while his fingers go back down near your entrance. His hips were thrusting into nothing but your hand. Obscene wet noises were resulted. You were hot, terrribly hot but so was he.

Ethan's small puff of breath sends chill in your body. His whimpers couldn't be replaced with anyone else. Your hand was all wet and sticky, as was his. Ethan decides to enter once again two of his digits in you. Your head falls back and you sigh happily at finally scratching that itch in you.

"Curl your fingers, E." you whisper.

He hums and do as told. Curling his fingers in you, he starts to thrust them in and out at a slow pace, adopting the same sensuality you used to jerk him off. You accelerate, your hand no longer lingering on the entire shaft. Sometimes, you'd stop completly to hear him whine. Your thumb caressing his cock's veins.

"Baby please..." he pleas.

Ethan starts kissing sloppily your shoulder, your neck. You, on the other hand, take his hand to guide the thrust of his fingers, angling them correctly for them to touch that spongy spot inside. His fingers were long and thin, that was a part of him you absolutly loved. You always had a thing for pretty hands and his were beautiful.

"What do you want, love? you ask tenderly.

-Tell me you love me..."

You nudge his hair with your nose and he looks up. Staring at his eyes, you see them wet with tears. You kiss him instantly. Playing with his tongue with yours, your hand moving faster and faster. You stop the kiss to tell him you love him and he bites his lips, eyes closing.

His breath is jerky, uneven. You press his palm against your clit, rubbing it while you push his fingers inside you again. You feel a knot tighten. You won't last long.

"Tell me you love me.

-I love you E, you're doing so good.

-Again..."

You said it as many times as he needed to feel better. His hips stuttters, his cock quivers. His words are slurred to each other, resulting in incomprehensible blabbering. You don't lose the rythm, keeping the same pace until he'd eventually come.

-Love you so..." he whines.

His body tense, his breath stops. You can only hear the wet sounds your hand is producing. He doesn't utter a sound until spurts of cum smear on your hand and belly. Feeling at ease, he moans a last time from relief and breath again.

You're not far behind. Ethan being pratically knocked out, you grind on his hand. You close your thighs around it, ensuring it stay inside. Your legs are shaking, wave of hot and cold invade you. You plunge his fingers inside but, to your surprise, Ethan regains control and start pounding into you to get you to your end.

He kisses your neck while you finally come on his fingers, sweaty and disvesheled. You swear one last time when he withdraws his fingers. You stay here for a while, just hugging , breathing and basking in each other's presence.

After some minutes, you decide to go shower together. You end up finally getting a good night of sleep, cuddled in his strong arms.

The next day, Ethan and you had a stupid satisfied smile on your face. Both happy to be here. You kissed and confessed your love to each other all morning until eventually he had to leave for work. Sadly, you had things to do, too. Ethan offered you to stay and sleep here for a few nights because he wanted to stay close to you.

You liked this idea. Of course you liked it, you love Ethan. And to convince you further, he told you his roomate wouldn't mind. So naturally you accepted. You were embarassed at the idea of bothering his roomate but you decided you would just sleep here, and the day, you'd let the apartment free. It was his too, after all. Not only Ethan's. There is no way you'd let someone feel excluded in their own house.

Grabbing your phone, you click on your friend's number. You call her, the ringing echoes three times and no one answer. Somehow begrudgingly, you resume yourself at simply sending a text. Just for you to instantly forgetting your sorrow as she answers. The discussion was quite simple, she was telling you she was at her grandma right now. She was bored and wanted to know how you were doing.

'I'm going back to my dear haunted apartment, probably gonna die. Wish me luck.' you texted. She put a little more time answering this one. It's possible it triggered something in her. After everything she endured. 'nobody will hurt you as long as i'm alive' she said. She simply changed subjects after that. Asking you about the cute guy you told her about in the letters. And so you explained everything. Every time you tried to offer to call her, she'd decline. You were still sad she didn't want to talk to you but you were telling yourself you needed to be patient.

On a happier note, you decided to leave the place to go to your own apartment.

To one point, you should have known better than be too happy about your improving situation. Of course, it was well too soon for you to consider everything better. But you were probably stupid because the fall hit you much harder than you could've prepared yourself for. Oh, the pain you felt when reality had finally caught you. You thought you were going to die when you came back home to simply grab some clothes. (Ethan told you to do so.)

Your door was ajar. But it wasn't your doing. No, of course it wasn't you. Your apartement terrified you, why would you come here more ofthen than needed ? You felt your body freeze but you quickly overcame the feeling. That's it. You needed it to end. This fucking stalker had ruined you. You and your life. You sent a text to Ethan, telling him that if you do not call him after twenty minutes, he needed to call the cops. He didn't answer. He was at work. It was well past eleven by now.

Your heart was beating so hard you thought it was going to collapse on the ground, and you with it. Slowly, aware of every sound around you, you push the door. Your livingroom was as messy as you had left it. At one difference, the wall. Every frame you had put up on the walls were thrown away. Most of them on the ground and broken, with shattered glasses everywhere.

Why would the creep empty the walls ? To write on it. Of course they would write on it. You laugh bitterly for yourself. You couldn't see their stupids fucking signs anymore, so they had to improve. To force you to read their creepy obsessive text. You hear the crushing of a broken piece of glass, as if someone had stepped on it. But it wasn't you.

You're on alert. Every one of your senses on crisis. Was your mind playing tricks on you ? It was possible in this hellish house who did nothing but give you nightmares recently. You don't realize how you stopped breathing. Only calming when three long minutes had gone without another sound to be heard.

Nothing is here. You're alone, you think. Everything is good. You'll just grab your stuff and leave. Regaining your breath, you bring your attention back on the wall. Words were written on it in deep crimson red. Is that blood ? No, it can't be. Probably paint to give a creepy look that'll catch your attention. You approach the wall to better understand the message.

'She's not here anymore'

The need to throw up almost won. A dark feeling in your guts was telling you 'she' was your friend. But you didn't know. She responded to you, after all. You talked to her. So she had to be okay. She had to. You put your hand on your belly to soothe that want to vomit. You take big breath before finally leaving the livingroom. You quickly make your way to your room where you meet your bare bed. Where are your sheets ? What the hell ? But you don't want to stay longer so you throw clothes in your bag in a hurry.

The front door slam shut. And you know it's the end.

You already feel the tears drowning your sight. Trying to stay silent, you hide in your closet almost empty with how many times you came here to grab clothes. Your hand clasp against your mouth to avoid doing any noise.

Slow footsteps can be heard in the empty apartment. With your shaky hands, you fail to unlock your phone. Your vision is blurry, you can't touch the correct keys. The worst is that you can't see where the creep is. If they stay silent, they can enter the room you're in without you even noticing. And this idea is horrifying. But on another side, you'd preferred them to kill you by surprise so you don't have to affront them.

Your cries intensify, in your despair, you drop your phone straight on the ground. The footsteps stops abrutly. Three distincts knocks are echoing on the corridor's wall. They are coming toward you. You're fucked. They're coming ! What do you do ? What did you do ? Why is this happening ?

Kneeling like you could in the closed space, you reach your hand to grab your phone. As soon as your finger grazes it, the phone vibrate and your ringtone start playing for the whole building to hear. No, no, no, no, no ! Ethan. Ethan is calling you. You pick up despite everything but as soon as you do so, the call is cut short. Fuck E, why would you do that !

The criminal's footsteps are louder, quicker, heavier. They're running. They're running here ! You hold the closet door shut with your both hands, praying for your life. You only have knives in your kitchen, but it's too late now. If you go out, they'll see you. You realized at that moment that whatever you were doing, you couldn't win. That you never even stood a chance against them.

Everything was illusion.

Nothing was improving, you knew it, in fact. You were lying to yourself, searching comfort in a man that don't even understand the dept of the problem. Of your problem. And your friend ? You don't want to talk about her. You don't want to open your eyes just yet. You just want to live in your nice little lies you made up for yourself. You're nice with them, in fact, you like them. Nobody wanted to help you anyway. They could have saved you, you and her, but nobody listened.

Now, it's too late.

The closet start to shake. Widening your eyes, you realize that the creep had start to punch it with their bare fist. You don't give a fuck about being heard anymore, you're bailing your eyes out. Begging for them to let you go, screaming, yelling, calling for help. Holding the door for dear life as if it was going to save you, because in your head it was. But the door didn't last long.

A hole is quickly created in the door. You thought you'd see someone's face, wether it be a man, a woman, whatever. But you saw a white plastic mask instead.

Ghostface.

Why was a damn Ghostface chasing after you? Was it all a sick joke from the start ? You swear you were seeing his eyes boring into yours through the mask. You swore you already saw them somewhere. Ghostface tilts their face to the side, as if mocking you. They were telling you that you were stuck, that it was the end. You hoped they'd kill you.

You couldn't live like this anymore.

In the hole of the closet, Ghostface pass his gloved hand. The latter lay on your shaky face, on your cheek to be exact. You feel the fabric against your skin and think of biting his fingers off. No, you'll angry him. If he's going to kill you, that it be in the least painful way.

"Ethan, right ? Does he treat you so well you forgot about me?" his changed voice said. A weird and creepy robotic voice, one you knew you'd never forget.

You were moving your head left to right. You didn't know why. Probably to tell you didn't want to die, probably to avoid looking into his eyes. He laughs, sounding like a rumbling.

"Ending things right now would be such a waste."

No ! You thought you were finally free ! Why would he chases you down for so long without acting on it !? His gloved hand retract and the door slowly open in an acute creaking. The man is finally revealed before you. He was wearing the whole outfit, the big black robe and the hood.

"It was fun. I give you a gift to reward you for these beautiful screams."

And the knife.

He had a knife in hand. And it was tinged red. Something in you told you it was her. Suddenly, the red writings on your wall had a different meaning.

"I hope you like it, I worked extra hard for it."

Out of nowhere, Ghostface takes your hand, force it open, and lay in it something before forcing it closed. He laughs deeply. One of his hand pat your head mockingly before moving up.

"See you later." he said, swinging his knife in a playful manner.

You were absolutely paralyzed. You didn't know what happened. You stayed up without moving for whoever say how long. When your legs finally stopped shaking, you decided to look what the killer had gave you. Slowly opening your hand, your knee buckle and you fall to the ground crying silently at the sight of a nip of your friend's hair.

You curled up on yourself before completly laying down on the ground, tightening the hairs in your hand close to your heart. She was not here anymore. You wanted to fucking die.

Ever since, Ethan was forgotten. He had tried to call you so many times you had blocked his number. You spent the rest of the day crying in your hotel's room. You resented him. So hard. He didn't answer, he was the one calling and giving your position to a fucking criminal, to a murderer! And he didn't answer. He didn't help, like everyone else.

One day later, neighbors complained about a smell coming from an apartment. You didn't cry when they found your friend's dead body. You didn't cry when cops came to interrogate you. The caretaker having told them about you. Your eyes contained so much hatred in them when looking at him the cops had to let him leave to get him away from you. You didn't cry telling the cops how many times you went to see them to ask for help, nor how many times did they reject you. You didn't cry when they told you she was dead for at least a week, and that her boyfriend was missing. You had no tears left in you. It had simply ended you.

All your lies, every single one of them, destroyed. But you needed them. Of course you weren't talking to her by text, you never did. And fuck, you don't even want to know who was answering instead of her. It was so obvious how she never wanted to call, how she was never leaving her house. But the eye you saw at the peephole. The fucking eye...

You don't want to think about it.

Ethan tried to talk to you. He went to your hotel and found you. You didn't bother to move this time as you were done with your life. He fell to his knee and started begging and crying for your forgivness. Did you even love him ? Or were you, are you, just lonely ? Unfortunately, you decided to forgot the anger you had against him when you realized he was the only thing you had. Your only support. The only one knowing you were a victim. You spent the days crying in his arms.

"Shhh, shhh, I'm here, love. It's okay." he reassured you, again.

It was a routine, now. You'd sleep the days away and when you'd wake up, you'd find yourself crying inconsolably. Everything was your fault, you kept repeating in your head. She's fucking dead because of you.

You wanted to end it all but Ethan wanted you alive at every cost. He was brushing your hair, feeding, washing and changing you. You were a lifeless doll. Sometimes, his roomate would come and talk to you. Most of the times, you don't even realize he's talking to you, too lost in your thought to proceed his presence.

"It's okay, everything's okay."

Ethan hugs you firmly. Kissing your hairline. His t-shirt was damped. Your eyes were burning. Every time you closed them, the picture of your friend would come and haunt you, a new nightmare coming. You weren't able to think about something else anymore. But it was your fault. You put her in danger, you got her killed. It was you Ghostface wanted, not her. You got her killed.

"I want to leave..." you whispered in a voice so hoarse, so weak, it didn't sound like yours. His hand goes on the back of your head to pull you towards him.

"No, no my love. It's okay. I'll protect you. You won't be alone anymore." his leg goes over yours and crushes them to prevents you from moving.

Alone.

Have you ever been alone in your life ? No, he was here all along. He was watching you all along. You never were truly alone. He had your adress, your friend's adress, your number and even Ethan's name. No, he's always here. Lurking.

"Just... Stay with me, I'll protect you. Please, don't leave me." he begs.

He looked calm, surprisingly calm being given the situation. But you needed it, in a way. If he doesn't freak out, you don't need to. (you coudn't, even if you wanted to) He probably know what to do. It was too late for you but he could do something. Maybe. His behaviour was slightly comforting. It was dangerous, mostly for him. He probably didn't even know what he was doing, he probably didn't know what he was getting himself into, in fact.

But once, just for once, you wanted to be helped. You wanted someone to listen to your pleas. He was going to die, it was a fact. And yeah, maybe you were selfish, you were condamning him after all.

"I feel like I'm using you. Like I manipulated you. you say, mostly for your own conscience than for his safety.

-Use me, love. I don't care. Manipulate me, whatever. I swore I'd help you. And if I have to risk my life doing it, I'll do it. I love you. You don't know the things I'd do for you.

-Now, you're the one manipulating me...

It was true. He was forcing you to think you had a chance in getting out of this situation when you knew there were none.

-Oh baby, you have no idea how manipulative I can be to obtain what I want.

-If you say so." you whisper, drifting to sleep once again, knowing you'd wake up hours later in the same position, in the same problem and knowing you killed your friend.

[ria-ragdoll]

small things

small things that they do

cw: mentions of narcissism & the red flags of them

feat; bsd characters. (ada ver.)

nakajima atsushi.

dear darling over here will show his love to you through the little things, like simply asking if you're okay or if you need a hug. usually most of the time when he asks if you want any sort of affection, it's his silent way of saying that he wants your affection as he's just too shy at times to voice his love to you. but at times he will get enough courage to say that he loves you, but with him it's like sharing a secret in the dark night, where it's simply just the two of you and sappy feelings that make his heart jump in excitement. sometimes he'll even crack a joke if he feels up to it, sweet boy thrives off of seeing that people feel better because of him. he wants to see just how much he can do to help others, even in the expense of his own happiness, so as long as you're with him and happy, he wouldn't need anything else in the world. atsushi is hurt, causing him to be needy and clingy, he'll stick around you for a while but then suddenly distance himself, not wanting to be a nuisance. it's an annoying process, but it's a way that shows that he cares and loves, even if it's manipulative in a way. he'd do anything for you to the point of leaving you if it made you happier. so if you show your love to him in a faint way, a faint touch or simply just a smile, it's going to remind him that he's doing the right thing, and that he's doing good. atsushi is simple but sweet, a true romantic at heart, some flaws too, poor boy is trying his best. but, atsushi would do anything for you, you're truly the only thing that matters to him

dazai osamu.

dazai is a very narcissistic person, manipulating others for his own gain, it's in his port mafia black blood. but he's been trying to better himself, ever since he was given the chance to abandon the port mafia for a better life. the love he tries to show you is like being vulnerable with someone who won't criticize you for it, it feels good, maybe even a little forbidden at some times, but you enjoy it. dazai will whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you pass each other during work, he'll annoy you as you work, but it's his way of showing love, very tough love. there will be scarce touches throughout the day, sometimes even risque ones, another way of his love. but there will be times where in the comfort of your home will his heart be shown barren to you, blood, guts and all the other crap he has piled on him. he'll wear less layers as your relationship progresses, leaving him in his striped blouse and khakis and less bandages. it might not seem like much, but it's like walking around naked, you'd have to be comfortable to do that, it's a silent way for dazai to show that he trusts you. his way of love is truly silent, it might seem like he would scream out to the world that he loves you, but he also loves you enough to say it to the person who matters, the person who gave a faint reason to live in his dull life.

edogawa ranpo.

ranpo is obviously very clingy and high maintenance from first impressions, believing that just because he's smarter than everyone else he then deserves special treatment. he's very narcissistic in his own way as well, but it's mainly unintentional, he lacks the normal amount of care and love he should have been given. that then causes his over clinginess and over exaggerated personality, he lacks attention and he found that being like that then gave him the attention he looked for. he's not above becoming better either, it's how he's grown up and still has that child like mentality, but there are times when he's truly vulnerable and acts like his age. when he puts on his childish front, he'll cling to you as if you're the thing keeping him tethered to the world, maybe even share a snack if he deems that you're deserving of it. he'll drag you away from your work, so days like these are never productive, even when you whine and beg for him to let you go he won't listen at all, throw some praise in the mix and he might think about it, only if you promise to praise him more. but then during the times of solitude when it's just the two of you alone, no longer in the agency for the day, he becomes silent, quietly doing things and staring blankly at walls or even his snacks. the atmosphere of being around others fuels him, causing his loud and childish nature, but the moment he's alone he then acts his age. he'll actually be more bold as well, telling you softly to not go when you're about to go grab something from the kitchen. it's almost like he's in a state of depression, but it's just how he truly is, silent and soft. it's like watching the sunset with the person you love most, it's a soft moment, sometimes even useless to some, but in the end it's a sense of vulnerability where you share secrets without any words. his true love is like that, quietly looking out for you, using his insight to subtly help you. love is a very foreign topic for him, he used to view it as useless and unnecessary, but with you he's slowly warming up to the idea of loving someone.

i was gonna add fukuzawa but i gave up .⁠·⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠(>⁠▂⁠<⁠,)⁠´⁠¯⁠`⁠·⁠.

— r

[nanistar]

one of the reasons that i like jaybriar so much is because i’m a sucker for long, slow burn relationships that develop naturally over time, and warriors doesn’t have very many of those. they start out as patient/doctor, then they become friends, then they become close friends and after that it feels natural for them to share a nest and curl up together. firestar and sandstorm develop naturally over 6 books, which is about a year and a half and you grow with them. they were rivals, then friends and then mates. it feels natural. bristlefrost and rootspring weren’t even friends.

briarlight gets injured just before she turns one year old, and then she dies at about 5 and a half, and jayfeather is about 6. that’s 4.5 years of living with jayfeather in the medicine den. they have spent a majority of their life together, and were together through major tragedies like hollyleaf’s real death and the great battle. she starts out as his patient, before a verdict is reached and she’s told she can’t be a “full warrior” (not getting into that now.)  after she gets well enough to start moving around again, he helps her with her exercises and stretches (as is his job) and keeps her spirits up and reminds her that she’s a valuable member of the Clan even if she can’t do typical warrior activities and he helps her come up with jobs to do, and then she is referred to as “jayfeather’s assistant” several times in the actual text (this progression from patient to assistant happens over about 2 books iirc). she very much does not put up with his grumpy bullshit, she’s shown talking back at him and they have a lot of back-and-forth banter. they’re shown to have a very close bond at this point, sharing a first Close moment when he comes back from the tunnels soaking wet and he lays beside her as she grooms him dry, and he falls asleep like that. he refuses to take her as his apprentice because he doesn’t want her to feel forced into the job like he was, or cinderpelt before him, but he teaches her a lot and she is shown sorting herbs, preparing herbs for him, and helping out with small remedies which helps her stay positive and gain confidence and feel “useful”, and he trusts her to do so (especially compared to how much he micromanaged and didn’t trust alderpaw at first). and she comforts him after the gathering where he is accused of killing flametail, taking care of him and again grooming him to sleep, and then fetching food for him in the morning. he encourages her and helps her work on her goal of climbing a tree with just her front legs. she’s the first person he thinks of when rocks start falling into the quarry, throwing himself over her to protect her. he blames himself for her death, and he chokes up to the point where he can’t continue speaking and alderheart has to take over when trying to speak at her vigil.

the two have two major gestures; jayfeather massages briarlight’s back and hind quarters, which yeah, is a medicinal thing, but it’s also an intimate gesture. cats kneed as a comfort thing. idk it’s the close skin-to-skin (fur-to-fur?) contact. it’s different when millie or alderpaw do it. it would be different if they were humans. and then the other gesture, is briarlight grooming him to sleep. he allows himself to relax only for her, and is comforted by her. not an easy feat for emotionally constipated jayfeather. i never see these two actually talking about being mates or talking about their relationship at all, and they would absolutely deny it if anyone ever asked them. but they have a very deep bond, are unequivocally and undeniably in love with each other. it just sorta... happened. it makes sense for them. their physical and emotional closeness feels natural to them because it just is.

(additionally, i’m not making this post to defend them or convince anyone! just to think out loud about them, essentially. i saw a few folks tag my most recent jaybriar post as qpp and honestly if you see them more that way, that’s awesome. if you don’t sip them at all, hell yeah. peace and love on planet warrior cats)

[ineffectualdemon]

I'm going to get personal while talking about Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian

A lot of you don't understand what it's like to be a neglected child

I'm not saying Wei Wuxian was in an enviable position in the family as both the Golden Child (to Jiang Fengmian) and the Scapegoat/Troublemaker (Madam Yu)

To receive all the attention BOTH good and bad is not a pleasant position to be in (especially as it feels that while Jiang Fengmian favoured Wei Wuxian he didn't really see him, he saw his parents)

But to be the neglected child is awful

To know that your parents wouldn't notice if you weren't around hurts. To never receive attention and care and certainly not positive attention or care ever gives you severe insecurity and a feeling that you will never be enough and all your accomplishments are worthless because it doesn't matter how good you are or how diligent or how hard you work.

You don't matter

Your accomplishments don't matter

Your feelings don't matter

And yes you are resentful and angry but no one allows you that anger

They laugh it off or act like it's out of no where

No one sees your anger as justified. How could it be? You're not in the firing line! You're not getting the worst of it

And no you don't want to be seen in the bad ways and hurt in the same way but you fucking want to be seen

By anyone!

Just to have your hurt and your sadness and your loneliness and your successes and triumphs seen and heard and validated

That's all you want

And you want to protect your sibling from being the constant victim and try to play peacemaker but that doesn't work when you're invisible and you also hate that you will never be as good as them at anything and how there is nothing that is just yours. Your accomplishment that they haven't already done better

But they are also the only one who sees you at all

The only one who gives you comfort when you cry or backs you up when you do something well

But they don't keep promises anymore than anyone else

And there are reasons. They have their own hurt. Their own issues. They are also a child trying to grow up in a hostile world

But they still hurt you and leave you and don't see you enough

And there is resentment from them to you because you don't get targeted and you don't have to live up to anything and carry a weight that no one person should carry

Now I had enough issues with my own sibling (and they had enough issues with me. The causing each other pain went both ways) but we are reforming a relationship as adults

But if you add in secrets like the reason why Jiang Cheng lost his core and the core transfer that happened after plus the complete lack of communication from Wei Wuxian during it all and the seeming betrayals and rejections

Yeah it's no wonder that Jiang Cheng reacted like he did

And I gotta say I do like the relationship he has with Jin Ling. A Jin Ling who chooses to sit with Jiang Cheng. He sees his uncle and his hurt and his pride and he is proud of him, proud to be his nephew

And Jiang Cheng for all he is rough on the outside and makes empty threats and demands (that Jin Ling knows are empty and says as much) He is very caring and loving towards Jin Ling. This is shown in the trust Jin Ling has in him and how he gravitates to Jiang Cheng whenever he is insecure or afraid

And as crushing as the core transfer reveal and Wei Wuxian just leaving again was, Jiang Cheng did not go catatonic. He did not completely fall to pieces. Because he still has to care for his nephew and his sect

And I think that really shows how he has developed from a teenager

He had an embarrassing freak out but at the end of the day he can continue on. But he's still hurting

I think he can reconcile with Wei Wuxian but it's going to be painful and awkward and slow

I'm not saying Jiang Cheng is always right but I'm saying his hurt and his reactions are very real and very in character from the point of view of a neglected and unloved younger sibling

[bnhaficsforthesoul]

I know you’re on a villain streak rn but can we get some headcanons for fantasy AU shouto? Sfw or nsfw up to you 👀

I really can't see Shouto as anything other than a prince in a fantasy AU

but the kind of prince who hates his role, wishes he could run away and live a normal life

He became the heir of his kingdom after his oldest brother had a huge breakdown, tried setting as much of the castle as he could on fire, and ran off to another kingdom. Then, his other brother married a princess from another kingdom, deciding to join her family rather than make her join his. These actions caused both brothers to be disowned by the King, leaving Shouto as the new heir.

You were a thief of sorts, and after a whole scenario where in attempting to steal something valuable from Shouto he agreed to give it to you only if you took him with you wherever you were going, and you decided it was the easiest course of events, and you could ditch him later

Except, you didnt ditch him. Unknowingly, he used his pretty face to convince you to keep him around and teach him how to defend himself and steal

Months of days and nights alone together in the forests, traveling through towns, surviving with each other and living lavishly as criminals drew the two of you insanely close, until a night mixed with a little too much alcohol helped some feelings become exposed

Shouto very quickly learned to care for you, even though your meeting was random and him tagging along was clearly unwanted on your part, you saved him from a life he didn't want, and youve shown him more than he ever could have hoped for before. Especially as you become softer and more trusting of him, he came to love you

you really considered selling him back to his kingdom for a while, but you noticed how your heart fluttered seeing this spoiled mans smiles even as you trudged around as dirty criminals

the thought of living as royalty disgusted you, but you never thought someone as lucky as him would choose your life over the one he was given

going back, eventually you do end up together, and this is the only time that shouto ever considers going back. he loves his life now, and he knows you do too, but he also knows its dangerous and as King, he could make sure you were always safe and happy. Except he knew you wouldn't be happy in a castle, you needed the world to explore. So he never did go home

He's never been in a relationship before, and his examples of relationships are scarce and not good. His mother's fear of his father alone told him that he should at least never become like his father

He relies more on his instincts with you, and he acts how he pleases. If he wants to touch you, he does. If he wants to kiss you, he does. He's not shy at all, and can be very blunt with you

He likes taking care of you, hes used to being pampered so he feels like he doesn't deserve it when you pamper him, but he knows youve had a hard life and he wants you to feel comfortable.

He gets playfully annoyed when you bring up his royal status, such as calling him your highness and such

He's incredibly smart, and he learns very quickly, so sometimes youre surprised to find him teaching you something.

He hopes that you two can earn enough money to one day move far away where no one would even slightly recognize your faces, and you can live a normal life

He does want a family one day. Even if you cant naturally have kids, there's plenty of kids living in the streets in the towns you go to, you could just take a couple for yourself.

He is insanely naive when it comes to sexual things. He knows what sex is, but only in very scientific terms. He knows it as how someone has a baby, but the idea of it being for pleasure is somewhat foreign to him.

So when you two reach a point of making your relationship sexual, he is (happily) surprised

Youd take the lead in the beginning, but again, he loves to pamper you, so once he knows what hes doing he loves pleasuring you non stop

Im ngl for a while after your first time, you two would fuck like bunnies. He wants to experiment, and he also loves feeling close to you in a way he didn't know possible

Aftercare is very important with him as well even if he isnt aware of him doing so. If he gets rough he massages your body, he helps clean you up, he tells you he loves you and how beautiful you are, he makes sure that you eat.

Honestly, while there are definitely some things Shouto is completely confused about outside of his princely life, he has never once seemed negative about it. For a spoiled prince, he acts so humble and appreciative of everything, and he is always willing to go outside of his comfort zone - this is one of the things that you love about him