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ozzgin · 6 months

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Completely outside my usual fandoms, but I’ve been tempted to scribble out some ideas for the longest time.

Edit: Alright, alright. I’ve officially added CoD to my fandom list. Part 2 is out!

Yandere! CoD Headcanons: König x Reader x Ghost

Featuring two men, one mission, and a female reader that caught their interest more than they’d like to admit. TW: Obsessive behavior, violence, dubious consent, mildly NSFW

[Part II]

It really shouldn’t be that fucking difficult. You go, you complete the mission, you return. Repeat. That’s what they’ve been doing for years. So much, in fact, that most of it is really just a sequence of mechanical actions, done so often they’ve become part of the subconscious. Crushing the throat under an armlock, stalking the target, mounting the suppressor before a sneak shot. Like driving a car, it becomes a learned routine.

Naturally there are elements of novelty to each mission. New teammates, new places, new requirements. It’s all part of the job. People come and go, comrades stay in your heart. What happens, however, when that latter part isn’t enough? Both Ghost and König have become accustomed to the classic rule: don’t get attached. Yet this time, for whatever reason, the nagging anxiety in the back of their heads just won’t go away. A pitiful need is clawing the walls of their pride, like a stray dog whimpering after the first sign of shelter. People come and go, but (Y/N) stays. Somehow this statement has materialized in their hearts and no other truth can be accepted.

They cannot pinpoint the exact moment this insidious feeling has nestled its way in. It started rather innocently. The first brief greetings were done on the loud, bumpy ride towards the temporary base. ‘Greetings’ is a generous word for it. Ghost had nodded at you in acknowledgement, and König merely glanced at you before staring into the distance.

You scarcely interacted with each other on the field, although that’s probably where their respect for you had gradually built up. You’re swift and efficient, nearly competing in ruthlessness. For König, the most memorable affair was you quietly twisting the neck of an enemy he failed to detect in time. His eyes widened upon seeing the barrel pointed at him, but just as speedily your form emerged from the shadows and you lunged at the assailant. Once the deed had been done, you merely lifted your hand in a thumbs up gesture and you went on. He remained there for a good minute, staring at the massive man you took down without hesitation. Similarly, Lt. Riley felt the cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his teammate shouted into the radio, demanding reinforcements. He wouldn’t make it in time and the anticipating guilt begun knotting in his stomach. He was searching for a solution when a prolonged round of bullets jolted him back to the radio. Moments of static silence, before you spoke in your headset: “Targets down. Out.” And just like that, you had vanished.

The realization hadn’t truly hit until they encountered you out of battle. They were going over the map when a small, dainty hand pointed to a random location. For a second they were startled, wondering if a civilian somehow entered their base. They hadn’t even registered your presence. Standing next to König’s enormous frame, you almost faded into the background as one of the furniture pieces. You were still in uniform, sure, but the heavy combat accessories and the dust of the bloodied fields seemed to have added more inches to your posture, at least in their imagination. You glared incredulously and inquired if it’s dementia or misogyny stopping them from recognizing (Y/N) (L/N). Ghost cleared his throat and curtly apologized for his reaction and König mumbled a continuation to it, suddenly and unexplainably awkward.

Such a faux pas would normally be swept under the rug. Had tactfulness and diplomacy been their key strengths, they wouldn’t be out here shooting people. But whatever embarrassment struck them on that particular day continued to linger, tugging their focus in a restless reminiscence. Until it finally occurred to them it wasn’t embarrassment persistently occupying their minds. Rather, and it should’ve been obvious, they have since become helplessly infatuated with you. The elephant in the room had gotten a name. But this particular elephant came with thick tendrils of obsession, spreading out relentlessly and asphyxiating any attempts to subdue it.

It really shouldn’t be that fucking difficult. Except it is. It’s hard for Ghost to look you in the eyes and give you the orders without clenching his fists and desperately trying to bury the avalanching thoughts of pushing you against that very wall, railing you until you forget his name. König can barely peek in your direction without being plagued by indecent images of your flushed, drooling face as he slams into your frail body.

Even worse is when the men become aware of each other’s intentions. Ghost had meant to check up on you after the latest expedition, but he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of König inspecting your wounds, his large hand resting innocently on your thigh as he squatted before you. You were in too much discomfort to notice, but it was clear to him. This bastard had a death wish. Days later it was König’s turn to taste the bitter betrayal when he heard your vibrant laugh approaching. You were thanking your companion for the entertaining workout and Ghost took advantage of your relaxed, distracted mood to place a hand against your arched back. That’s when he looked over with a predatory, malicious glint in his eye, as if marking his territory. You smiled, blissfully unaware of the suffocating tension within the room.

It’s no longer a matter of you accepting them or not. It’s who gets his hands on you first. You really must try to see it from their perspective, (Y/N). Put aside their love for you for a moment, and think about it. They’re only doing what’s best for you. Someone like you will never be satisfied with just any other man out there. You need a fitting partner, one that can protect you with imperishable, incessant loyalty. That’s truly the logical conclusion to it: there’s no one else for you. Just like nobody will ever compare to you in their eyes. And lamentably, you can’t afford to doubt their argument. The clock is ticking, and before they know it, the mission will be over and you’ll all be shipped to the next task. They can’t have that. They must act now.

“Isn’t it kind of early?” You ask, stretching up to check the ammunition shelves. Ghost asked you to help him gather some supplies from one of the storage closets, yet no one else is currently preoccupied with it. The hallways are empty and the only sound is your own shuffle between the cramped walls, emphasized especially by the tall man next to you. “I like to plan ahead” is all he answers. He bites his lower lip underneath the mask, contemplating his next step. How the fuck do you casually tell someone they’ve been your wet dream for months and you’d like to make it official, with or without their input? He should probably leave out the first part. Yeah. You don’t need the details of his nightly activities. Nonetheless, he has to make it clear who you belong to now. Afterwards he’ll deal with the pest that’s been wagging his tail around you.

“Oh, fuck this.” He eventually huffs out, exasperated. You jump slightly at the sudden outburst and turn to him, confused. He approaches you until your back hits the shelves, at which point he slams a hand above your head and effectively traps you between his sinewy arms. Perfect fucking spot. No, he shouldn’t get sidetracked. Plenty of time for that later. “What the hell?” Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth. His eyes are hollow, yet determined. A cold shiver runs down your spine and your eyes dart around the room, looking for an escape. At this distance you wouldn’t be able to tackle him down. He’s too big. Goddamnit. You grip his forearm, hoping to find some switch that pulls him out of this bizarre behavior. Ghost opens his mouth to speak, but the words dissolve into the explosive noise of the door ripping from its hinges. You yell at the sudden commotion.

König walks in, bending under the small doorframe. He seems to have just returned from the battlegrounds, vest splattered with fresh blood and sleeves scratched and torn. Despite the usual cloth draped over the head, you can discern a feral expression plastered on his face. “Du Landschlampe.” He growls and extends a hand towards Ghost. He clicks his tongue, annoyed, and is forced to release his hold on you to block the incoming blow. This is your chance. You nod at the Austrian man, grateful for his help, and proceed to sprint for the exit. Contrary to your expectations, he swiftly blocks your path and you slam into his body as the air is abruptly expelled from your lungs. You fall to the ground from the powerful momentum.

“You’re not leaving until we settle this”, König states in a low voice. Ghost reaches for one of his pockets and pulls out his hunting knife with a parading twirl. “That, I agree with. Let me show you exactly what happens to the fucker that messes with my woman.” König lets out a chuckle. “I was going to say the same thing.” You can only stare in terror.

What on Earth is going on?

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ldrfanatic · 12 days

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Hi! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you are can you do a Slytherin boy(preferably Mattheo, Theo, or Enzo but you can choose) x reader. So the reader was walking down the hall and they heard chanting and cheering so they went to check it out and they saw the Slytherin boy in a might. Their face was really bloody and already starting to bruise so the reader tries to break up the fight, but ends up accidentally getting hit. Before the Slytherin boy can do anything the reader punches the other person in the face and then drags the boy back to his dorm to clean him up. And the boy is just kinda awestruck by what he just witnessed, and he just admires the reader as she cleans and patches him up. Sorry that this turned out to be so long 😭 have a lovely day!

The Knockout Chronicles

Theodore Nott x Reader Mattheo Riddle x Reader Enzo Berkshire x Reader

warnings - cursing, blood, fighting

a.n. i am taking requests esp for the slytherins :)

sooo... I couldn't decide who to write this for so I just did all three I hope that's okay. also this is my first time writing for Mattheo and Enzo so please let me know if there's something off regarding their characters I tried to do as much research as possible.

i was so freaking excited to get a slytherin request that i literally wrote this all in one sitting so i apologize for any typos or anything. please feel free to send more slytherin requests!!

wc 1.9k (each piece is about 500-600 words)

nav slytherin boys

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You yanked exhaustedly at the tie, finally undoing the loop and pulling the damned thing off your neck. After a long day of O.W.L's all you wanted was to find your boyfriend and collapse into his arms. Whether it was your dorm or his made no difference to you so long as you didn't have to do anything more for the remainder of the evening.

As you walked the corridor in search of your now missing little snake, you heard the distinct hollering and shouting of what was likely a fight taking place. Typically, you'd be there either watching or taking bets, but today was different. There was a tired in you that settled into your bones.

The gentle glow of the setting sun lit up the castle walls with beautiful hues of pinks and oranges as you debated the merits of actually going to get involved in this affair when suddenly, you heard a student call out a familiar name.

THEODORE

"YEAH! Go on Theo, kick his ass!"

You closed your eyes, leaned your head back, and took deep breaths as you attempted to suppress the rage currently building within you.

All you wanted was a peaceful, quiet evening in Theo's arms.

Nonetheless, you quickly advanced toward the noise. Despite having heard students cheering and chanting for him, you were still rather surprised to see your boyfriend on top of some poor Ravenclaw boy, beating the absolute snot out of him.

Theo's fist came down punch after punch. Unlike the loud atmosphere of the students who'd gathered, Theo fought in complete silence. Still, though he seemed calm and controlled, you knew that you had to put an end to it.

It wasn't often that Theodore Nott got into fights. He didn't like to let his emotions get the better of him. In fact, emotion was something his father had tried to beat out of him at a rather early age. But when he did get into fights, Theo was ruthless. He could beat someone to death and never change expression. In fact, most people avoided conflict with Theo entirely due to the boys ability to deliver blow after blow for hours on end.

This Ravenclaw boy didn't seem to get the message. You approached the pair of them and placed a gentle hand on Theo's shoulder. His fist froze mid-swing.

"That's enough, Theodore."

Your appearance gave the Ravenclaw the momentary distraction he needed to wriggle out from underneath. The boy immediately lunged at Theo as soon as his feet touched the ground. However, in his reckless abandon, his elbow found it's way to your cheek and hit you on the side of the face with an audible thud, effectively whipping your head sideways.

The courtyard fell silent.

For the first time since their fight began, Theo's emotionless front cracked. He was seething with pure rage.

"Listen, man, I-- I didn't mean--"

Even those that weren't deterred by Theo's reputation and had decided to fight him anyways knew that there was only one person in this world that Theodore Nott cared for. You. And if anyone ever messed with you, Theo was more than happy to provide them with a brutal trip to the afterlife.

But the punch that broke the boy's jaw wasn't delivered by Theo.

You shook your hand out, not expecting your knuckles to pop in the way that they did when your fist met his face. The force of your punch had knocked the Ravenclaw to the floor. Two of his friends suddenly pushed through from the crowd and picked him up as quickly as possible before the three of them took off down the hall.

You didn't say anything as you grabbed the arm of Theodore's shirt. You plucked his robes off of the floor and stormed out of the courtyard, towards the Slytherin Common Room. Theo was silent the entire walk there. It wasn't until you were perched on his lap, cleaning the cuts on his face and hands that he spoke.

"Merlin, all this time you've been able to throw a punch like that?"

"Keep fucking playing with me Theodore, and you'll find out just how mean of a punch I can throw."

MATTHEO

"C'mon Riddle!"

"Goddamnit." You huffed out as you barged through the doors that led to the one-eyed witch courtyard. Mattheo, whom you were unfortunately in a relationship with, was rather engaged in a surprisingly brutal fight with Stewart Ackerley, a Gryffindor in your year.

His shirt and hands were covered in deep red splotches which you could only assume were Stewart's blood. Mattheo had probably the roughest upbringing of anyone you'd ever known. He'd always been hotheaded and he was always getting into fights. The number of entanglements he'd been in had died down considerably since the two of you began dating but it wasn't hard to get Mattheo riled up if you knew what button to push.

And Stewart Ackerley had damn near broken that button when Mattheo overheard him scheming with his disgusting friends about trying to get you into his bed.

Something that you noticed really early on into dating Mattheo is that he's not like other students. His troubled childhood and his unfortunate parentage meant that he had a darkness in him. He'd joked on more than one occasion that the real him was a monster that he kept chained up in the back of his mind.

Most importantly, when Mattheo fights, he lets the monster loose. He's complete, uncontrolled chaos as soon as that adrenaline hits his blood. It's like getting into a fistfight with a hurricane.

You carefully approached the pair of them, careful not to get too close.

"Mattheo stop it."

Mattheo's body flew around to face the source of whoever had been brave enough to scold him. It was likely this person would be the next target of his rage. That is, until his eyes met yours. He took a deep breath that did nothing to stop the way his body shook with rage.

Once you'd decided it was safe enough to draw near to him, you wiped away a bit of Ackerley's blood that had splattered onto his cheek.

It seemed, however, that the beating he'd received wasn't enough to deter the stupid Gryffindor. Moments later, he was blindly throwing his fists towards Mattheo. His vision was too impaired by blood and sweat to notice the figure standing next to him and in a moment of sheer ignorance, he'd mistakenly punched you in the face instead.

The taste of iron filled your mouth as blood started to pool. His blow had caused you to bite down on your tongue quite hard.

Mattheo instantly grabbed Ackerley by his collar but before he could punch the boy, he'd doubled over in pain from a swift kick that you'd delivered to his groin. While he was bent over, you swiftly pulled your knee up, satisfied with the crunch noise his nose made as it came in contact with your knee.

Ackerley let out a rather unbecoming shriek as he fell to the ground.

Mattheo stood off to the side with a proud look on his face. He smirked and flipped Ackerley off as you yanked him from the scene.

When you made it back to the Slytherin Common Room, Mattheo pulled you into a rather intense kiss. You pushed him onto the expensive leather couch and began dabbing at his busted knuckles with a cotton pad soaked with alcohol. Mattheo's other hand snaked around the back of your neck, pulling your head up so your eyes met his.

"As incredibly hot as that was Princess, do me a favor. Next time you're going to try and help me, don't."

"Get in there Berkshire!"

Confusion contorted your face as you approached the bell towers.

Why in the hell, would your sweet, loving Enzo be in a fight? Though you were convinced that it was really just some other slytherin who might've held a close resemblance to Enzo, you still allowed your feet to carry you towards the source of all the racket.

It came as quite a shock when you'd approached and saw your dark haired Slytherin on top of some poor student. You recognized the boy from the halls but you'd never actually met him. And here your sweet Enzo was, very thoroughly pummeling him to your surprise.

Not that you thought Enzo couldn't fight. In fact, you knew that Enzo had quite a bit of experience in that realm after the training his father had given him. What was shocking was that Enzo was fighting at all.

Despite his cousin Draco's attempts to goad him into fights on numerous different occasions, Enzo really did despise fighting. He was always a little bit afraid that if he allowed himself to lose control like he'd seen Mattheo do so often, he'd accidentally kill the bloke. No, it wasn't fair to engage in fights with people so much less trained than he.

So to see him now, face set in a hard and angry stare while he obliterated the boy below him was startling.

Though the student on the ground was just about destroyed, Enzo didn't have a scratch on him. He had a little blood that had splattered onto his coat and you suspected his knuckles had split, but aside from that, he was untouched.

You knew that if you didn't put an end to this, Enzo was going to regret it.

"Enzo." Your voice rang out softly into the air but he didn't hear you as he continued to beat his opponent. "Lorenzo, lay off of him."

This time, Enzo registered the sound of your dulcet tones. He stood from his place on top of the boy. You'd expected him to walk over to you and laugh it off, but instead he delivered a brutal kick to the boy's ribs, still angry beyond reason.

You marched up to the two of them, frustrated. "I said, stop."

Enzo turned to stare at you with a blank look in his eyes. It was like he'd completely died inside.

Whoever the little shit was that he'd just beat the life out of saw a unique opportunity (to die). You let out an involuntary yelp as he kicked your legs out from under you. Thankfully, you landed on your bum on the soft grass, but his actions did nothing to help Enzo's rage.

Before your boyfriend could get the chance to kill the kid, you'd jumped to your feet and stepped directly on his hand, applying probably more pressure than necessary. You secretly enjoyed the hoarse scream he let out. You only wanted to wound him enough to send a message, not enough to send him to the hospital wing, or worse, crying to the teachers like a little bitch.

After a thinly veiled threat, you took Enzo's bloody hand in yours and jerked him back towards the castle. Thankfully, most of the students were either on their way to dinner to already there so the halls were fairly empty.

"What was that?"

You growled out the moment the door to the Common Room shut behind you.

"Look I'm sorry, Y/n. But I'm not just going to stand by and let Cormac McClaggen of all people insult you."

Your eyes softened and you reached to the first aid kit kept in one of the large oak cabinets near the fireplace. You spoke gently to Enzo as you cleaned and bandaged his hands.

"Thank you, but I don't need you to protect me Enzo."

"Yeah, clearly."

4.18.2024

-- taglist -- (this is my theo taglist but to join any taglist for any specific boy just comment on any of my posts specifying which taglist you'd like to join)

@moonlightreader649 @svt-dk97 @thatdammchickennugget

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spaceeoddity · 2 years

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As a verdict is possibly hours away, a sense of dread has been building in my stomach for what it will mean for Amber’s future, as well as all victims of intimate partner violence (IPV), particularly as women’s basic rights continue to be under attack in the United States. Like many people who are following the case, I have personal experiences with abuse. Much of my research focuses on IPV, specifically, the disparities in resources and services that are available for survivors to leave their abusers, such as economic, social, geographical barriers. It’s a topic which is deeply tied to my own personal experiences and academic career.

I initially was ambivalent to Amber Heard. Before I began to research the case, I was firmly in the "they both suck" camp, having only briefly glanced through articles. I started to pay more attention to the media coverage over the past six weeks and was really staggered by how Heard was being portrayed as a lying, crazy, gold-digging woman through narratives that were not only going unchallenged, but were heavily perpetuated in the public discourse. Even worse, that the abuse she experienced had been capitalized on by "true crime" junkies and mocked in TikTok videos and Youtube compilations. So I began watching the trial live and found that there was far more evidence and far more substantial evidence which shows that JD was the perpetrator of abuse within their relationship.

The evidence collected through JD's personal texts and emails show an early pattern of abuse. He exerted control over the clothes Amber wore and would become angry when she didn't dress "conservatively". He would consistently accuse her of having affairs with acquaintances, friends, and various co-stars, even with an openly gay director, Clive Barker. He didn't like that she was ambitious and would scorn her when she took opportunities to advance her career. He would constantly refer to her with misogynistic language. He also referred to Amber, an openly bisexual woman, as a “lesbian camp counsellor”. He messaged other men to discuss killing her through drowning and burning her, and then raping her burnt corpse to prove that she was truly dead. This all occurred while they were still dating. She was in her early 20s and he was in 50s. All of these coercive, paranoid, jealous, controlling behaviours are deeply and unequivocally abusive.

None of this includes the evidence which shows physical and sexual abuse. There are audio tapes in which he admits to headbutting her, so hard that she was concerned her nose was broken. In another recording, they discuss how her family and friends have seen her bruises, broken blood vessels, and bald spots from her hair being torn out of her scalp. Another shows him stating “I will smack the ugly c**t before I let her in.” A video shows him aggressively breaking and smashing furniture near her. One interaction reveals that Stephen Deuters, his assistant, begged her to come back to him after her assaulted her on a plane in front of his bodyguards, pleading to her that JD was remorseful for his actions. Heard also has stated he sexually assaulted her multiple times. Remember, he previously discussed violently raping her in those infamous messages to Paul Bettany.

As for witnesses, several testified to seeing bruises on her numerous times, including JD's witnesses, such as their marriage counsellor. A makeup artist, Melanie Inglessis, testified to covering swelling on her lip and two black eyes. Raquel Pennington saw several injuries, including bloodied bald spots on her head, a swollen nose, and cut lip. She expressed fear JD would eventually kill Amber if she didn't leave. Josh Drew also testified to seeing her with injuries, including black eyes, a swollen cheek, and a busted lip. iO Tillet Wright (who Depp misgenders throughout his testimony) recalled hearing JD assault Amber and scream “oh, you think I hit you? You think I fucking hit you? What if I peel your fucking hair back". iO then called 911. This was the incident which led Heard to file for a divorce and a restraining order, two days afterwards. It is worth noting that Pennington, Drew, and Wright all corroborated this incident in their depositions, as did iO’s 2016 essay.

Is she guilty of fighting back? Absolutely. She never lied about doing so, even dating back to her 2016 deposition. However, fighting back against a man who has beaten you, sexually assaulted you, controlled your career, finances, and who you can associate with does not equate to being an abuser. It’s simply surviving. And yes, I’ve heard those audio tapes, the in which she’s expresses her incredulity at him for stating their fights were fair when she feared he would kill her.

His case has relied upon deeply misogynistic narratives to discredit both her claims and her character. She was after his money all along, even though she refused the 30 million dollar fortune she was legally entitled to, as there was no prenup. She painted on bruises, even though a makeup artist testified to covering up her swollen lip and two black eyes. She cut off his finger, even though multiple texts and even an audio recording showcase him admitting to doing it in the midst of a bender. She didn't donate her money, even though she and the organization created a 10 year plan for her to make yearly payments (in my personal opinion, what she does with her money either way is nobody's fucking business). Also worth noting, an ACLU representative testified to her being ahead of schedule until Depp began suing her. She made up a hoax, because she documented her abuse - as we advise all people who are in abusive situations to do. She's a liar, because women are inherently deceitful liars.

None of the evidence that JD's attorneys presented has proven that she defamed him through her op-ed piece. That's likely because their goal was never to prove that her article - which never explicitly references him or their relationship - impacted his career. Those who watched the trial will know, Tracy Jacobs, his agent of 30 years stated that it was his drug and alcohol abuse, anger issues, chronic lateness (7 or 8 hours late to set each day), and unprofessionalism that led to his career decline. Film crews grew tired of working around these problems, and eventually, so did Hollywood. Tina Newman, a Disney Corporate Representative who worked on POTC stated no one knew of Amber’s op-ed until Depp sued her.

The trial was always meant to humiliate, shame, and terrorize her. We are witnessing in a powerful man terrorize his ex-wife through the legal system, all while the world makes TikToks of her sexual assault testimony. JD has a documented history of violence and is due for another court date after assaulting a crew member of the set of City of Lies. To quote his own words, “If I’m angry and I’ve got to lash out or hit somebody, I’m going to do it and I don’t care what the repercussions are. Anger doesn’t pay rent, it’s gotta go. It’s gotta be evicted.”

I don't know whether Amber Heard will win her case. We’re witnessing a radical right-wing political swing to control and criminalize women’s bodies with Roe v. Wade under attack right now. To be blunt, I have very little faith in the justice system and that a jury - in Virginia of all places - will rule in favour of an abused woman over her charismatic, powerful ex-husband. However, I think it's important to remember that Amber did everything right, that is, everything we tell women to do. She documented her abuse, left her abusive partner, and was granted a restraining order - and she's continuing to be punished for doing so. If Amber, a privileged white woman with access to economic resources, is still struggling to escape her abuser, how can we expect women without those privileges to?

#amber heard #i stand with amber heard #justice for amber heard #johnny depp #anti johnny depp #johnny depp is an abuser

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yandere-wishes · 8 months

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‧ ₊˚✧ Do Not Weep Hydro Dragon ‧ ₊˚✧

Summary: There's a crack in Neuvillette's heart that bares your name. He sheds a tear for you each day. Yet once you return to Fontaine with your fiance. The cracks and tears begin to grow.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, arranged marriages, affairs.

Author's note: I'm sorry 😭💔😭💔

There've been rumors circling around Fontaine. Ghostly whispers floating between coral-tainted lips and fervid ears. The rumors spoke a bittersweet name. One Neuvillate had long since buried. At first, the notion of your return had felt like a bad dream. like the roar of a tsunami before it crashes on shore. Terrifying yet, ultimately unreal. He'd summed the rumors up to some traveler who bore your mien. To an erroneous article by the steam bird. Anything. anything at all.

Anything that wasn't you.

It wasn't until after a particularly grueling trial that he'd witnessed the truth behind these rumors. There you were in all you're glory. Gleaming akin to the finest pearls laying dormant in the primordial sea. Your expression, when he could catch it, was gleeful, delighted, A drastic contrast to his last unfortunate memory of you. His eyes follow the delicate movement of your gloved hand as it stifles a cheery giggle pouring from your cherry lips. It's only after noting your delight that he becomes conscious of the gentleman accompanying you. A ginger with bloodthirsty eyes and a soul that reeks of carnage.

A splash of heat rolls down Neuvillet's cheek. Right before a splash of cold splatters across his temples. his attention narrows on the sky, as the

clouds begin to weep. What once was a peaceful sunny day shatters like a wine glass on porcelain tiles. Humidity threads through the air robbing him of his breath.

It's raining.

How fitting, Neuvillette thinks as he watches you and your companion run to find shelter.

Neuvillette recalls your smile almost as clearly as he recalls your pulse under his teeth. The taste of your flesh as his teeth left bloody love bites in every wrong place. He remembers saying I love you, albeit there was more to it than that. It had started with I love you and ended with every truth he'd forgotten how to tell. He had shed his human masquerade, in the hope of finding true love. You had screamed that night. You had screamed every night since.

Neuvillette thumbs through his memories. As the rain outside grows more ferocious. He remembers you standing by the sea, he remembers you telling him the phobias that ran deeper than blood.

You hadn't been from Fontaine, not originally. A fallen gear from an ancient automaton whose kin resided across the sea.

You'd been raised in the ways of the hydro court. Even if 'raised; was too generous a word. Morphed or sculpted may have been more appropriate synonyms. You grew up clawing at your own skin, trying to find who was underneath the layers of mindless expectations. You'd been raised as a lady and grew into a harrowing beast that feasted on the stars.

Yet even creatures of unparalleled strength had their weaknesses. Even ever-blessed vision wielders bore a certain Achilles heal.

Yours so happened to be your incompatibility with your foster nation. Or rather with the water itself.

When people asked, as some had tended to do. You'd weaved them tales about serrated Pisces and dorsal-finned leviathans with open maws awaiting their prey. You don't tell them about the vastness, the dark blue landscape that feels all too wide and all too endless. You don't tell them about the things you swore you've seen lurking beneath the infinite waters of Fontaine. And you most certainly leave out the parts about the creature who engraved fear upon your bones many moons ago before you even knew how to walk.

Neuvillette remembers your eagerness to leave. That had, ultimately, been your bonding point. He'd been an outcast. The supreme justice was ever only relevant when he upheld the law. And whilst Supreme Justice Neuvillette was revered and adored by all. Plain Neuvillette was nothing more than a shadow of evaporated water that hunted the streets of Fontaine. You had never wanted to mingle with the people. Keeping everyone at arm's length. Maybe it was fate that had brought two lonely souls together all those moons ago. Maybe it was something else.

He had loved you. He swears it on the Hydro archon ( or any other Archon who lacks Furina's fickleness) He'd tried to show you that the waters of Fontaine meant you no harm. He'd even shown you his true form, the utmost assurance. Maybe that's why you fled. Maybe that's why you'd left him heartbroken one morning when the sun didn't rise.

It had rained that day. As well as the following days. Until the surrounding islands ceased to exist.

You'd left him hollow and alone.

Yet your return made the cracks in his heart fester.

Neuvillette had taken it upon himself to cloak you in his watchful gaze.

He'd come to notice how you and that dreadful Fatui Harbinger you'd come to associate yourself with. Rather liked taking long walks

where the sea kissed the shore. He'd also noticed a ring of Snezhnaya Alexandrite perpetually wrapped around your finger.

Neuvillette's footsteps are heavy as they collide with the concrete. He's closer today. So close he can practically smell the scent of citrus and eucalyptus. If he reached out with his powers he could surely touch you, feel the warmth of your body bleeding into him, just like old times. He misses you, yet a part of him pities your return. Neuvillette's grey eyes follow your desolate gaze. It rips open one too many wistful wounds.

"So then Teucer said...Hey darling are you listening?"

Childe's eyes follow your frozen glare, tracing your line of sight straight to the menacing waters that refuse to part from your side. You hear your lover mumble a faint 'right'. Before you feel his silk-clad fingers dance across the back of your neck. Flirting with the chilling fear that rolls off you in waves. You pin your body to him, finding comfort in the familiar scent of his cologne as you bury your head in his neck.

"I'm truly sorry for this darling" Sincerity rolls off his tongue, percolating into the tender kiss he presses to your temple. "I've just been feeling...down lately. Like this inexhaustible sadness is going to swallow me whole. Fontaine was the only place I could convince the Tsaritsa to transfer me for a short while. I just, I need a break from it all." You answer him in a low melodic hum. You get it, truly you do. Sadness is a poison, acidic in nature. It engulfs one's soul. Melting away their purpose, their resolve. Eating away until it reaches their hearts, their desires. It leaves behind empty shells and broken pieces too fragile to ever fully mend.

Who better than you to understand the pains of being soulless, bereft? A mere shell awaiting a miracle that had died long ago.

There's a voice, carved from velvet and silk. It rolls across you like a tidal wave. Potent yet soft. It whispers your name and calls out in hopes of mending broken hearts. You turn to look behind you. All you see is the endless sea.

It's only on the fourth day of your visit that Neuvillette permits you to see him. Actually, see him. It's no longer his ghost that haunts you nor the empty waves that he commands beckoning you by name. It's him, really him. His glare is relentless as he leaves a prolonged kiss on your knuckles. You're in the middle of a conversation with that dreaded harbinger. Something about his older sister wishing to take to shopping upon your return to Snezhnaya.

"My darling it's been all too long, how fare thee my-"

He's cut short, how rude. Yet far be it from him to expect proper mannerisms from the Fatui.

"Hey, I'm having a conversation with my betrothed. Don't interrupt." Childe's eyes morph into his own glare. One which promises blood and violence. The fates of those caught on the other end of said glare are never pleasant.

"As the chief justice of Fontaine, I have to right to interrupt any conversation I see fit."

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. Choke the fear down with a cup of Fonta and ask Neuvillette to join the two of you. It's the nostalgia talking really. Some remnants of the past collide with the present causing your heart to adopt an unsteady rhythm.

It's after that event that Neuvillet permits his presence to be seen by you and your "lover". He's always a mere breath away, following under the guise of being a gracious "tour guide". But tour guides do not wrap their arms around a lady's waist when her fiance isn't looking. Nor do they sneak kisses behind open parasols. You haven't protested about any of this. Maybe your fear of the hydro dragon has perished, replaced with a yearning for your former lover. He prays to every star in Tyvat for this to be true.

It's on the day of your departure that you receive the bad news in the form of an army of Gardemeks. Childe is being arrested, something about a serial disappearance case. Something about a trial. It's a ruse you feel it in your bones. Neuvillette personally appears at the docks and holds you in his arms as you weep. He assures you this will all be cleared up soon. That you have nothing to fear.

But you do, you have all so much to fear. Neuvillette permits you to stay at his house whilst the trial takes place. He traces the shimmering blue of your veins with his lips. He says he loves you, that he refuses to let you slip from between his fingers ever again. He'll keep you here. Keep you safe. Away from the Fatui.

Away from Ajax.

How he wishes he could tear the universe apart with his teeth. Part the oceans and bury the two of you under it. He dreams of keeping you by his side away from everyone else. Neuvillette is the chief justice of Fontaine, it's a prestigious role, one that demands trust. Yet maybe, just this once. He'll have to find the accused guilty regardless of the evidence.

Tag list: @rebeccawinters @fangirl-katwithclaws @starshiningsirius

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lovelybluebirdie · 4 months

Text

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here.

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well.

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people.

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand.

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.”

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third.

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.”

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest.

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!”

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

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hypnos333 · 4 months

Text

War and Love

clarrise la rue x Aphrodite daughter reader

Synopsis: You were always flirting and if everyone in camp encourages it she’ll beat them to death

“Hello I’m ___ from aphrodite cabin I will be your tour guide” You said cheerfully to percy. He was speechless you were a beautiful blonde with a pink rose crown on your head. Some might’ve mistaken you as your mother.

“U-Uhm I-I’m percy-“Percy Jackson hmm Poseidon kid right?” You finished for him making him nod in embarrassment.

“I can feel like you’re gonna be like me, just being chosen fast enough” You said honestly making him confused before you started walking making him walk beside you.

everyone made eye contact with both of the two nervously making you roll your eyes.

“What do you mean by that ___?” He asked hesitantly but before you answer, you noticed Clarisse storming towards you making you stand in front of the kid making him even more nervous.

“Babe” You sigh out putting your hands in Your hers Hoodie. “Why is he near you?” She asked letting her anger get the best of her.

Clarisse is very territorial of you and with your flirting nature she usually with you 24/7 .

“I was told to show him around my warrior” You answered softly having lots of patience with her. You held her hand comfortly, trying to calm her a little.

She still was full of anger so you called Luke to show Percy around. Which was easy with a little bit of an innocent smile and a wink. After that Clarisse immediately dragged you to her cabin.

“___ I-I found your pink ribbon you lost from capture the flag” A boy from the Hephaestus cabin said handing her the ribbon.

You instantly smile “Thank you, Thank you, Thank you” You repeated hugging the shy boy tightly. He hugged back but when he saw Clarisse glare he pulls away and bid you goodbye before rushing off.

You put the ribbon in your pocket before dragging Clarisse towards her cabin.

“My Love I need to get something from the cafeteria I left behind wait for me?” Clarisse asked making you hum in agreement going through her stuff to find something entertaining.

Clarisse wonder around to see if she could find the boy and she did by the archery and arrows.

So instantly she punched starting a crowd around them, he couldn’t even get a punch in as she constantly punching his face making it all bruised and bloody.

Everyone knows about the love triangle between Ares,Aphrodite and Hephaestus. Aphrodite being married to Hephaestus but having an affair with Ares.

That alone made Clarisse even more mad to have one of Hephaestus half breed flirt with her girl.

Making her punch’s become harder but it came to a hault when Luke and the leader of hephaestus pulled her off.

She shrugged them off before rolling her eyes at the bloody and bruised up boy as she left to go hang out with you.

Everyone including the newbie’s now knows what she capable of when it comes to you and it makes everyone frightened to even speak to you except your half siblings.

#Clarrise la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #clarisse la rue

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deathbecomesthem · 5 months

Text

Roomies 2 |

+18 ONLY

Part 1

Eddie Munson x Best friend!reader | ~2.6K

Summary: It's the perfect solution. You need a place to stay, he needs someone to help with the rent.

Warnings: Blood, fighting, a homophobic slur. A very problematic and obsessive ex boyfriend.

---

Drew started calling once in the morning and once in the evening when he figured out where you’ve been staying. His first thought was your sister’s place, and it wasn’t until after the 20th call in an hour that she finally caved and told him where you were. For the life of you, you can’t understand why he’s trying so hard - maybe Janey got boring or something. Maybe with everything out in the open, the affair lost its appeal. All you know is that the idea of having to talk to him makes your skin crawl. Just the thought of the sound of his voice sends a flash of red across your vision.

But you want your shit, and you need the calls to stop.

Brrrrrnnnnnggg - it’s 7:00, evening call time. Eddie looks at you from across the room. He’s sprawled out on the couch with a well worn paperback - The Talisman - held in one hand. His big toe, pushed through a hole in his white sock, is pointing at you accusingly at the sound of the ringing phone. Eddie sighs loudly, and turns a page.

Brrrrrrrnnnnggg - you sip your tea and pretend to ignore the shrill sound, but Eddie’s laying his book on the coffee table and heads to the kitchen with heavy footfalls. You reach your hand out to stop him, but with a clenched jaw he sidesteps your fingers.

“Eddie, just let it go.” You’re up on your feet now, arms wrapped around your waist. Protective and calming. “Please.”

Eddie doesn’t look back at you, he grabs the receiver, knuckles white with his grip, and answers. “Hello?” You hope it’s not Drew, not this time, but you know it is by the way the vein in Eddie’s neck is standing out. “Listen, man, I’ve been very fucking patient. Stop calling here. She doesn't want to talk to you.”

Drew’s voice is loud enough for you to make out the words, “slut” and “motherfucker” - the rest is muffled shouting through the telephone line. Eddie’s face and neck are on fire, and his eyes are closed while he listens to your ex vomit his rage at him.

You stride over and try to grab the phone from Eddie’s hand but he holds up his hand, one finger up in a just a sec gesture. He grabs your forearm and gives it a squeeze in reassurance. He’s been doing this lately, stepping into the line of fire so you don’t have to face this thing down. But it’s all coming to a head.

“Listen to me,” Eddie’s voice is calm, but every muscle in his body is tensed, “if you want to talk to her, you’re going to have to fucking kill me first.” You can hear Drew’s voice again, muffled but loud. Eddie booms out loud enough to make you jump back, “Yeah? Big words coming from you, motherfucker!” Eddie slams the receiver back onto the jack, nostrils flaring.

You both stand there for a minute, staring at the phone on its receiver willing it to stay quiet. This is the first time Eddie’s confronted Drew like this, and you don’t like it. You get a flash of Eddie and Drew with bloody knuckles and know that either and both of them have it in them to go too far. All three of you do, it’s a powderkeg of a situation.

Brrrrnnnngggg - Eddie laughs. He’s quick to slap your hand away from the phone when you reach out for it.

“Come on, let’s get out of here for a while. Wanna get some food?” Eddie’s back is still to you, but he turns his head and looks for your face with his peripheral vision.

Brrrrnnnnngggg - you’re frozen in the spot, unable to answer his question. Neither of you move for a second, waiting to see what the other person will do. You remember that just a couple of weeks ago you and Drew were sitting at the kitchen table in this apartment with Eddie and his little piece of ass from the bar, laughing and passing a joint.

Brrrr - the sound is cut off when Eddie grabs the phone set with one hand and yanks it off the wall, unplugging the phone line from the jack. You can hear the other set ring from the bedroom down the hall, but it sounds less persistent with so many walls between you and it.

—

Gino’s is quiet this late on a Sunday evening, and you’re glad for it. The corner booth is darker than the rest of the place, one of the bulbs in the Tiffany style lamp above your heads is burnt out. It’s nice, though, it feels quieter. It’s easier to talk about things when Eddie can’t see every expression written clearly across the lines of your face. The shadows hold your secrets a little better.

“You’re not going over there, that’s a fucking stupid idea.” Eddie wipes grease from his chin and shakes his head. He’s been singing the same tune all week, and you’re at the end of your rope. “That dude is seriously unstable, and he’s got it in his stupid head that he owns you or something.” He shakes his head again, “Jesus-fucking-Christ, he fucked that girl in your bed and he’s still acting like this.”

He’s still acting like this - Eddie’s hated Drew all along, and you’ve known that. He did his best to keep it friendly, but all bets are off now. And you’re not arguing any of this with him, you agree with him. You don’t know who he’s trying to convince. Drew could be choking to death in front of you, and you wouldn’t even give him a pat on the back to help.

But you want your shit. It’s yours.

“Yeah, well, fuck Drew. And fuck you too, Munson, if you think you can tell me I can’t go over there to get my shit.” You’re done tiptoeing around this. It’s time to have it out. Eddie huffs and drops his grease stained napkin. He sits back against the high wooden back bench and crosses his arms. You can hear the leather of his jacket groan under his biceps. “I’m serious. I love you, Eddie, but for fuck’s sake - you know goddamn well I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah. I know.” Eddie’s biting something back, you can tell. He’s got a barb sitting on the end of his tongue that he wants to throw in your direction, but he’s holding it back. Something along the lines of, you took care of yourself so well you ended up with the biggest psycho in town. “But that guy,” Eddie cocks his head to the side and leans in so you can see his face better under the dim lighting, “can you at least let me get some of the guys together so we can go with you?”

You pick a mushroom off of the last piece of the pie sitting between the two of you, and Eddie sits stock still - only his eyes shooting across the face waiting for you to show something. You pop it in your mouth and meet his eyes. The concern is plain, Eddie is begging you with those soulful brown pools and you soften a little. There’s so much love between you. You’ve been through things worse than Drew in the past, and you’ve done it together.

“Yeah, Eddie. I want you guys to be there to help.” Eddie closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath, “but this has to be as quick and chill as possible. I’m dead serious, I just want my shit. I don’t care what he says to me while I get it. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Eddie reaches a hand across the table to squeeze your arm again. You think about how nice it would be to scoot over to his side of the booth and lean your head on his shoulder. Feel his arm wrap around you. “I’m here for you, however you want me.”

—

The drive to the house is quiet. Jeff’s shotgun, and you’re in the back with Gareth. You were surprised he was able to pull himself away from the new girl’s pussy, but all it took was a quick phone call from Eddie and he’s here with bells on. You told them you don’t care about the bed, you just want your clothes and records - the thought of multiple trips makes you nauseous. In and out, no heavy lifting. The furniture that’s technically yours was all from the curb or the Goodwill - either way, not worth the trouble. Just the stuff that’s really yours.

“Shit.” You whisper it under your breath, but Eddie’s eyes flick up to the rear view mirror at you. Drew’s car is in the driveway. He’s supposed to be working. You knew he’d be here, you knew it. “Listen. We’re getting my shit and leaving. Do not engage with the psychotic ex, ok?”

“No problem, Angel. I’m not looking for any trouble.” Eddie’s words don’t quite match the way he’s holding his shoulders. You noticed it this morning, the way he’s holding himself is tighter. It’s ready. It makes you nervous to see. Eddie’s never looking for trouble, and neither are you - and yet it always finds the both of you.

Drew’s sitting on the sofa when you open the front door. He’s just sitting there, waiting. You wonder how he knew you’d be here today, but then it makes sense. He knows your schedule, and you know his. Thursday afternoon while he’s still in the office and you’re not at the coffee house.

“Hey, Baby.” Drew’s words are slow, and you think there’s more than coffee in the cup he’s holding. “You come to see me?”

You don’t engage. You walk past him and down the hall to the bedroom you shared with Drew for the last 2 years. You can feel Eddie behind you, Jeff and Gareth stay in the living room to pull your records from the rack by the stereo. All in the plan - in and out. One quick trip. Easy as pie.

“The bathroom,” you point to the door next to the bedroom, “grab my stuff while I get my clothes.” Eddie sighs, squeezes your arm, and turns. You drop the big duffel bag, a leftover from Wayne’s time in the service, onto the bed - your bed - and start opening drawers. You’re happy to see your nice sweaters are still whole. You’d forgotten about the box of pictures up on the top shelf of the closet, and stretched your arm to reach it.

You smell him, whiskey and sweat, before you notice anything else. “So, Munson finally got what he wanted? He fuckin’ you?” Drew’s long arm is reaching over you to pull the shoe box of memories down, purposely dropping to so the images of your past scatter on the floor in front of you. “You stupid cunt.”

The blood in your mouth is what clues you into the fact that your teeth are biting down on your tongue. Good. Bleed. Keep your mouth shut. Quick and easy. Steady. You bend down to pick up the photos. Drew’s booted foot is standing on one of you and your sister, so you pull on the corner and let out a strangled gasp when it rips in half.

“Gareth?” You need backup, someone to get Drew to stand down long enough to get your stuff. Except, it’s not Gareth or Jeff that comes to stand between you and the drunken man hovering over you, it’s Eddie.

“Hey, Ed,” you keep your voice steady, steady, “I just need a little help getting the rest of my stuff in here. I’m almost done.”

“I’m right here, Angel. Let’s get your shit and get the fuck outta here.” Eddie doesn’t touch Drew, he just sidles up next to him. Same height, but Drew’s built like a truck. Both men have unsettling smiles on their faces. You shake your head and get back to work.

Shoes, pictures, underwear. You look at Drew and open the top drawer of your old nightstand and pull out your vibrator. No time for embarrassment, it’s yours. Drew’s grin turns sour at the sight.

“What’s a’matter, Munson? You leaving my girl unsatisfied?” Eddie ignores the jab, and gets to work throwing random candles and bottles of lotion from the top of the dresser into the bag he’s holding. “I’m not surprised, ya know. She’s been gettin’ weird on me. Dressing like a dyke.”

Drew’s spitting venom, but you’re immune. This is nothing he hasn’t already said to you in the last month. You’ve been living in this private hell looking for a way out, and the cheating was the shove you needed. It was a relief. This isn’t the person you are, you don’t let men talk to you like this, and yet. Here you are.

“We good?” Eddie’s voice snaps your mind back into the present. Drew’s sitting on the edge of the bed now. Your bag is full. You take a quick scan of the bedroom and calculate the losses, the things you’re choosing to not take with you, and decide it’s worth it to be out of this thing.

“Yep. Let’s get the fuck out of here and go home.” Drew snorts at your words, but you and Eddie ignore it. Jeff and Gareth are coming back through the front door for one last load of records, and you notice the tv is gone.

It’s your tv, you bought it last year. The boys know it. You told them how you saved up for the 6 months to be able to afford it. You can’t even be mad at them for taking it, because you should fucking get that thing. You wave the boys on, because it’s time to go before things can start to unravel.

“What the fuck?” Drew’s slurred words come from behind your back, and you mouth “go” to Gareth. “Fine. Trailer trash ass bitch, get the fuck out of my house. Dirty whore.”

Eddie walks back to the door frame between the kitchen and living room while the other boys move in the opposition direction through the front door. And then everyone freezes. Eddie’s arms are wide and the smile on his face sits wrong on his lips.

“Hey man, we’re cool, right? You’re gonna leave my girl alone now? Enjoy fucking that girl from the office? Because, when we walk out of that door, none of us want to see or hear from you again. Cool?” The tone of Eddie’s voice, gentle and calm, sets you at ease. For just a second, you thought things were about to go very wrong.

Drew looks at Eddie right in his face, and he smiles back at him. He furrows his eyebrows and nods in a way that says, “oh, sure. No problem, man.” And then in a flash you see Eddie rear his head back.

Crack. Eddie’s skull smashes into Drew’s face in a shockingly swift movement. And then it’s met with the dull thud of Eddie’s fist in Drew’s face. He’s on the ground before you fully realize what’s happening, and Eddie’s booted foot is kicking him in the side.

Blood on Eddie’s knuckles. Blood flowing from Drew’s already swollen nose. Eddie’s legs seem to be moving in slow motion, but Drew’s long arms do little to protect himself from the onslaught. You don’t register the figures that push past you. Four hands grip Eddie’s arms and struggle to pull him away from the man on the ground in front of you.

“Come on, man.” Drew’s voice is wet with blood and tears. He’s crying on the ground, holding himself around his middle, protecting himself from more kicks and stomps that aren’t coming. “Fuck.”

Eddie’s smile, tinged pink with blood, is still on his lips while he looks down at Drew. He shakes Jeff and Gareth from his shoulders and says, “Alright, Bud. I think we’re on the same page. You call my place again, and I’ll kill you.”

—

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” your words are unconvincing even to yourself, but they’re all you have.

“I’m sorry, Angel, but I don’t think he was getting the message. He needed a couple of bruises as a reminder.” Eddie hisses at the feeling of the cotton ball on the bridge of his nose. You’re happy to see that smile wiped from his face. You’re happy to see your Eddie in front of you.

“Yeah. I just hope he doesn’t call the cops.” You run a cotton ball along the side of his mouth where a couple of drops of blood have dried. “I need you here with me. He’s not worth the trouble.”

Eddie’s closed eyes flutter at your gentle touch, and you soak up the opportunity to scan his face. Up close, you can see each individual hair on his upper lip. That cupid’s bow, perfectly formed for kissing.

“No, he’s not worth shit, Angel.” You don’t know when Eddie’s eyes opened, but he’s watching you study him. “But you are. I need you here. It’s worth a couple of cuts.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff

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zzleeper · 1 month

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Good

Jason Todd x Nurse!Reader

MAJOR hurt/comfort

authors note: tbh i do not put as much effort as i should when i write these fics so pls forgive any errors. ty to the internet for providing me with tutorials on how to heal burns :)

ALSO this happens after the end of under the red hood. if you dk what happens basically the building everyone is in explodes and jason is probably incredibly emotionally vulnerable

CW: wounds and burns

words: 2227 . playlist/vibes

There’s the squeak of your window opening, and despite the fact you know it’s Red Hood, you pick up the baseball bat you keep beside your nightstand.

You had met Red Hood at a side job of yours. As a nurse in Gotham with dogshit pay, sometimes you’ve got to have some more questionable sources of income. You were stitching up some criminal who’d been beaten to half a pulp by Batman in the back of some sketchy club/drug dealing front, and he had caught your eye. Later, you realized he was probably there to fuck with the guys in the area once the men you were patching up started muttering about “The Red Hood” like if they spoke too loud he was going to hear them.

He’d played into your advances, flirting back with as much enthusiasm as you had arrived with. It was flattering having such a fine-ass man show interest in you. It didn’t matter how genuine it was since he had proven how good a lay he could be a week after that when you two had found each other again at another base of operations for another gang.

Every other time he always found you. He probably knew where you lived before you brought him back to your apartment. And he never took the mask off. It was a little weird, how attached to it he was, but it’s Gotham, and you’re fucking with a criminal. You’re lucky that, as far as you can tell, he’s not an escapee from Arkham. He didn’t touch the mask, and you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was super disfigured or something. You didn’t care; he looked good and fucked good, so nothing could’ve been that bad.

Red Hood always left before you’d even fallen asleep. The post-orgasm haze was enjoyable until he untangled himself from you and left without saying goodbye. It was always a silent affair every time he left. He was so committed to leaving that he refused to stay the night during a thunderstorm, deciding to brave thunder and rain instead of sleeping in the same bed with you

It didn’t hurt, but it was a little disappointing. You had never defined your relationship with Red Hood, but you knew he wasn’t interested in anything but sex. You were, though. The dull ache in your chest every time he left was nothing unexpected; catching feelings, or at least thinking you are, is a natural progression of fucking someone once every week or two. It’s a pattern you’ve found forming every time you’ve tried to have a no-strings-attached sort of relationship, even if you haven’t even seen his face before.

Creeping out of your room with socked feet, you shuffle toward your window and flick the light on.

Your bat clatters to the ground, and you can see Red Hood flinch slightly.

“Oh my god, what the fuck happened?” You gasp in shock at the state of the man who’s just broken into your apartment. Red Hood is beaten and bloody and clutching his side. You can see blood oozing out from the gaps between his fingers, but that might just be from how burned his hand is. His mask is just gone. But he’s still wearing a domino mask over his eyes. Bruises bloom everywhere on his face; his eyebrow is sluggishly bleeding into his eye, which is puffing up under the mask. He’s leaning against the wall beside your window, looking more like he collapsed.

He groans quietly in response as you rush over to him, collapsing on your knees next to him, “Got in an–” He coughs quietly, that’s not good, “An explosion.”

You want to suggest a hospital, but you know that he would immediately refuse and–if he could walk–probably just leave. Talking to Red Hood in vulnerable moments was like coaxing a feral cat.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Okay,” You know how to do this. Maybe with more people and more hospital equipment and not in your apartment, but you know how to do this.

“Alright,” You shuffle next to him and wrap an arm around his torso, maneuvering his arm to rest on your shoulders, “I’m going to lift you on one, okay?”

Red Hood nods, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey,” You snap, nudging him with your shoulder, “Stay awake–and deep breaths, alright?” Shuffling into a crouching position, you adjust him slightly, “Three, two, and one,” You both grunt in unison as you lift him up and off the floor, “Up we go, come on.”

Stumbling to the bathroom, you nudge the door open with your hip and carefully sit Red Hood on the toilet with you crouching between his legs. He droops in a way you’ve never seen before. Red Hood has always been so confident, holding himself high, but right now, he looks bone-tired, something sleep can’t fix.

He feels raw and broken open, something thick with sadness and tragedy oozing out of him, and that’s not just the blood. You cup his cheek to make him look you in the eyes, “Tell me what hurts, honey,” You say, the endearment slipping out as if you’re talking to a patient. Or someone you love.

Red Hood pushes his face into your hand, making your heart squeeze in your chest, “I think I broke a few ribs, definitely a concussion too,” He lifts his hand, it’s bloody and burned, blisters forming in spots that make you cringe, “And my hand is burned like crazy,” He rasps, “Shot my gun with some shit blocking the barrel.”

“Okay, can you take off your shirt, or do you need help?” You ask, standing up to start running the water and grabbing two cloths made from old t-shirts from the hamper next to your tub. Red Hood shakes his head and pulls off his shirt in your peripherals. Glancing over, his chest looks just as bad as you thought it would, with bruises scattered everywhere. It makes your stomach drop just a little more. At least there aren’t any deep abrasions anywhere.

Once the water warms up enough, you wet the cloths and offer one to Red Hood, resting the other one down on the sink countertop, “Wrap that around your hand and keep it there. I’m going to go get some ice for your ribs,” You say quietly, leaving the bathroom to walk over to the kitchen.

Why was Red Hood even here? He’s the most secretive person you know, and doesn’t he have an entire gang to patch him up? He must have a lieutenant or something somewhere. You grab the towel you keep in your kitchen and stuff it with ice, heading back to the bathroom where Red Hood awaits you. Honestly, fucking one of the most dangerous men in Gotham and a notorious crime lord was not your brightest idea, but patching him up after he got into a fucking explosion? What the fuck.

This isn’t what you two do, especially with Hood being so vulnerable right now. He’s breaking the boundaries he had firmly set completely on his own.

“Hey,” You say, Red Hood’s leaning back against the toilet, his eyes closed, “Wake up, I’ve got your ice.” Thankfully, he opens his eyes and takes the makeshift icepack with his good hand, pressing it against his ribs with a slight grimace. You pull the t-shirt-cloth off the counter and stand in between his legs to clean his face.

Nudging his chin with your hand to make him look up at you, you peel off the domino mask with some hesitation, but Red Hood just closes his eyes. He rests his head in your hand when you carefully grip his chin to nudge his face in the direction you want. Starting to clean the cut on his eyebrow, you think about how familiar he looks. His eyes look like those you’ve seen before, but you have no idea where.

“What happened?” You ask, wiping the blood off his face as carefully as you can. You know he won’t answer honestly, the few times you two had talked about anything close to emotions he had fled or changed the subject as soon as possible.

“I told you,” Red Hood responds like the avoidant fuck he is, “Explosion.”

You tut, whacking him lightly with your t-shirt-towel, and he huffs good-naturedly, “You know what I fucking meant, dickhead.” You scold, but he just shakes his head minutely in response, a furrow forming between his brows.

You swipe your thumb over it, soft in a way you two have never been, “You don’t have to tell me, Red. If this is the best way to help, then I’ll fix you up and send you on your way.”

He takes a shaky breath, and his eyebrows scrunch together more. You’re scared he’s going to stand up and leave your apartment, but he pushes through your hands and presses his forehead into your stomach. He falls apart against you. You can’t tell if he’s crying, but it’s something close.

“Oh, sweetheart,” You mutter, curling a hand into his hair.

You both stay like that until he calms down, the sobs wracking his body slowing to a stop. Cupping his face in your hands, you push until he looks up at you.

You don’t have to push very hard. Wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs, you smile sadly down at him. There’s a small wet spot on your shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” You crouch down and start wiping the dirt and blood off his chest, pushing him until he leans against the back of the toilet. Repeating this on his back as well, you try to soothe as best you can with a hand stroking up and down his side with the least bruises.

Once you’re done you pull him around to face you, “I’m going to wash your hair, bandage your hand, and then you’re sleeping for a very long time.”

Red Hood visibly tenses at that, and you level him with an unimpressed stare, “Stay,” You say quietly, resting your hands on his biceps and avoiding his gaze, “I want to watch you if you have a concussion, and I can’t do that when you’re having a seizure in an alleyway because it’s given you brain damage.”

He deflates, but still rolls his eyes, “It’s not that bad,” He argues, “I’ve been through worse.” How bad, he doesn’t say, but from the amount of scars on his chest and back, you can pretty much tell.

You patronizingly pat his cheek, “That sucks for you,” You tease, your hand sliding down to wrap your fingers around his wrist, avoiding the burns on his hands, and gently tug him towards the shower. He follows without protest, and you both sit against the tub as you wait for the water to warm up. It’s calming, sitting beside Red Hood, your sides pressed together.

Once the water is at a heat you deem acceptable; you pull down the showerhead and maneuver Red Hood to kneel over the tub, still icing his ribs, and start washing his ashy hair with generous amounts of shampoo and conditioner. You can feel his breathing slow next to you as you massage his head with your hands, suds falling into the tub under him.

You wring out his hair with a towel and push him back up into a sitting position. Kneeling on the ground, you lean over to pull open the cabinet under your sink and carefully take the first aid kit from its precarious balance on top of your medicine hoard.

Wrapping his burn is easier than you thought, Red Hood pliant and willing under your hands. You do a once over of him and judge him fit to sleep. You lead him out of the bathroom with a hand on the small of his back.

“Sorry, I don’t have any underwear for you,” You whisper, scared to break the quiet vulnerability you two are sharing.

He smiles at you for the first time since he arrived, which really means it’s the first time ever. It’s soft around the corners with exhaustion, and he looks at you for a little while before responding, “It’s okay, I didn’t expect you to,” He whispers back, just as hushed as you.

You chuckle at his late reply, “Your concussion must be pretty bad if it takes you that long to process words,” You goad, slipping under the covers. Red Hood goes to follow after setting his icepack down on the nightstand, but you hold out a hand to stop him, “Pants. Off. I’m not getting your grime and soot all over my clean sheets.”

He smiles brighter, “Well, you could’ve asked nicer,” He huffs, unbuckling his utility belt and letting it fall to the floor. He undoes his real belt and kicks off his cargo pants, nestling down into the sheets with a groan that’s half pain and half satisfaction.

You’re lying on your stomach, your face smushed against the pillow facing Red Hood, who’s lying on his back, as he fucking should, staring up at the ceiling, “Good?” You mumble, more at the pillow than the man beside you, and he laughs slightly, turning his head to look at you.

“Yeah,” He whispers like a secret in the dark of your bedroom, “It's good.”

#jason todd #jason todd x female reader #jason todd x reader #hurt/comfort #i made myself sad #nvm that was the mitski

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loving-family-poll · 4 months

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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2

Propaganda under the cut:

Cersei/Jaime:

they're literally womb-to-tomb lovers. they feel that the rest of the world is beneath them and they're the only ones that matter. the fact that they're twins is fundamental to their attraction to each other

they’re blonde they’re evil they crossdress they’re fucked-up mirrors of one another they serve cunt they’re both bisexual probably and they’re TWINS who FUCK. who said that.

"if I were a woman, I'd be Cersei."

"I'll kill [...] the whole bloody lot of them until you and I are the only people left in this world."

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want."

"'Do you have a little wife, ser?'" No, I have a sister."

Cesare/Lucrezia:

They're iconic. literally watch the first 15 minutes of the borgias and you will be convinced without a shadow of a doubt to vote for lucrezia/cesare. The intensity of the sexual tension is too much for mere mortals and I had to pause several times while watching in order to collect myself. Before watching the show I still had some deniability about being batshit insane but look at me now... writing propaganda for an incest poll on tumblr....

They literally fuck in the TV show and it's amazing. Insane obsessive love. He kills at least one of her husbands because he can't stand the idea of sharing her with a man who doesn't deserve her.

They're the children of the pope during renaissance era political machinations. Cesare is crazy when it comes to Lucrezia. He killed her ex-husband, he killed their brother who threatened Lucrezia's child, etc. He's also really sweet with her and they're really cute together. Lucrezia starts out young and naïve and thinks the world of her brother. After a horrible marriage and an ill-fated affair she gets more cunning and dangerous like Cesare. After her second husband proves to be a flop she decides the only person who can truly love her is her brother and she is right (they have sex on her wedding night). Overall, they are canon, incredibly in love with each other, and murder people yay!

his edit: https://www.tumblr.com/castratedvader/705351248093806592/all-he-needs-is-a-life-in-her-shape-and-so-he

#tumblr polls #tournament polls #incest poll #cersei/jamie #lannicest #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #cesare/lucrezia #the borgias #tw incest #round 2

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bhaalble · 6 months

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Indulgent as the concept of Gortash mourning Durge is I tend to resist it a little in my own canon. Largely on the back of "Orin told me how she humiliated you". Two things can be true at once: Gortash has a lot of history with and affection for Durge. And Gortash plans to WIN. His plans for the moment need the alliance of Bhaal's Chosen. For the time being: that Chosen is Orin. Its why he works with her without much complaint after Durge vanishes, why he has the line "we agreed not to meddle in each other's affairs" ready to go when Durge asks him why he never looked for them. This is also why I believe he makes beating her a requirement for properly reviving the old alliance (the vows are renewed, but you're not getting any active help from him until you work out succession issues with your sister). He would prefer it be Durge! But he can't afford to publicly move against Orin. In the event that Durge loses he'll be in breach of contract enough that she'll have the go ahead to kill him. He'll hedge his bets rather than risk backing the wrong horse, because he knows too well the consequences of getting on the bad side of Bhaal's champion.

What compels me, though, are the little potential moments of self-betrayal. The flickers of wounded ego when he sees them with their companions, and the smugness when he reveals who they are. Did they really think they knew a thing about you? The poor fools have been wandering around with a lion thinking its a house cat. They don't know what it really means to stick their hand in your jaws and emerge unscathed. No one but him ever truly has.

Nostalgia and some kind of unnnameable complexity when he hears from his sources that you've been busy in the hells. A reminder of where this all started....and his old host dead at your hands. Did you remember, he wonders, the little things he'd let slip about his time in the House of Hope? Was it on your mind when you did your bloody work on Raphael? He wonders what it would have been like to see it. If you would have let him come with if he had known to ask. Hardly your first journey to the hells.

Not his only parental figure you encounter. Its when he realizes you're at his parents (seen through the eyes of his Steel Watch, he can't resist checking in from time to time. He assures himself its to make sure the wheels are still in motion) he feels real dread. He never told you the Flymms were alive, much less tadpoled. But is the prickling he feels fear that you'll uncover something? A childish irritation that you might break his least favorite toys? Or shame that he's not there to soften this revelation for you, that his humiliating origin is known while he can't say a thing to paint over it as inconsequential?

The unexpected pride he feels when you return with Orin's blade. Even addled and physically deteriorated by everything that was done to you these last months, you triumphed. No more looking over his shoulder for Orin's blade.....and, he realizes privately. All those pretty words he's said about a future ruled by the two of you may suddenly not just be words anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something like destiny at work here.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #dark urge #dark urge spoilers #durgetash #goretash

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rowretro · 22 days

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𝕮𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖊

✧warnings: Yandere/toxic themes, Cheshire Riki, manipulation ig? mentions of going mad, blood, mentions of abuse, mentioned of being stoned

❁synopsis: Y/n is a very curious girl, and incredibly creative, having grown up in a heartless, cold, boring family, others always ponderred if the mother perhaps had an affair. She's so sweet and cheery and always curious. Her head always in may books, shows, as she feeds off of whatever knowledge gains... In fact she herself started wanderring whether hse was going mad....

✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧❁✧

Y/n was stuck in her room, her arms and legs all scratched up and bloody, she sat on the floor of her now, somewhat messy room. There and then she cried. Her eyes landed on the book above her vanity, she got up, limping, tripping over one of her stuffed toys, as she gripped onto the frame of the mirror, her face landing right on the mirror. However to her surprise, she didn't shatter it, or hurt her face, in fact she saw a whole new world.

Perhaps she had hit her head a little too hard and she was now in the afterlife? She immediately pulled away with all her might. Not a scratch on her face. She didn't even hurt herself. Curious, she reached her hand out to touch the mirror again, the mirror rippling as her hand went right. through the mirror. She looked back at her messy room then back at the mirror.

There's a whole crazy world on the other side of that mirror, No boring beings, senseless story books, long science essays that are meant to feed one's knowledge. Maybe behind the silver there's a whole dreamland. Smiling she stepped through the mirror. Boy was she stunned. Shocked, but she loved what she was seeing. "Oi mind your step!" a tulip yelled from beneath her foot.

"Oops- sorry sirmaam maamsir?-" she questioned, as she stared up at the sky "Ooh score tree candy!" she smiled, trying to reach for the gumdrop, only for the tree branch to suddenly go up "awh- can't I have candy mrmissmrrsmx tree?" Y/n asked, assuming the tree would also talk. A smile appeared mid air, and there, a handsome fucking man, smiling mischievously whilst staring down at her. "Well you're one cute lil kitty~" Riki said with a smile.

Since that very moment, everything seemed to be a blur. Y/n woke up gasping for air, there on the ground of her messy room. She had one very vivid, crazy dream, it felt so real yet she barely remembered most of it. She could only make out the figures of actual, human-sized solitaire cards chasing her down, A queen with a heart-shaped head. A white rabbit quite like her pet one, except it's male and it talks.

"Is there a chance I was stoned?" she asked herself as she shrugged, sitting up, there on her wall, surrounding the frame of her mirror, are solitaire cards. Is this some sort of Deja vu? Her shaky hands reached out toward the mirror, touching it. Yet she just left a finger print. It was just a dream. "No it wasn't sweetheart." Shocked, she turned to where that deep, dreamy yet familiar voice was heard. It's the Cheshire man.

"Have I officially gone mad? it's said that too much knowledge makes a human go mad" Y/n asked as the man snickerred, teleporting before her. "Everyone's mad here my darling..." he said "Darling?... no one's ever called me that-" She admittingly said. Riki smirked, walking around her in circles, tutting as he admired every inch of her "What a princess what a princess... why don't you do the honours miss Heart, and be my darling wife?" the handsome man asked as he stared down at her.

"Y/N. WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?!" a woman screamed from the entrance, her eyes doubling in size as she noticed her daughter talking to thin air. "I KNEW IT. WE SHLDN'T HAVE ADOPTED SOME RANDOM 5 YEAR OLD THAT WAS PAINTING ON BRICK WALLS.... WE CAN'T HAVE A MAD WOMAN IN THE HOUSE. NO ONE'D MARRY YOU." she screamed. Ah yes, marriage. She's nothing but a pretty doll to sell to the richest man that'll treat her like his sex slave as he slept with other women, just so her so called family could have the money they want.

As the woman picked up a sharp dagger to stab poor y/n, she suddenly dropped dead, the very dagger pierced into her heart. "It seems you have no other choice my darling... you have to come back with me. Marry me. Let me love you in the place I call home, and you call your dreamland... if you stay here, they'll torture you cand claim that you killed her...." Riki explained as Y/n stood there frozen. Sure the woman was cruel and unloving, but she's still her mother...

"She isn't your real mother darling...... I know you're real mother... The queen of hearts." The male said, nothing but truth in his mouth. "You know you can trust my y/n... I know everything about you... I've been watching you through this mirror, my poor princess, so creative, curious and darling.... being mistreated in this dungeon.... let me take you home~" he said, opening a portal in the mirror. She had no choice, the guards had discovered the body... so through the mirror she went... into her wonderland.

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a/n: Idk if this is very yandere or if u cld wrap ur head around it, I'll try to be more active for now my darlings as I will be pretty inactive due to a-levels and soon even uni and work etc etc, I'll work through my requests<3

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where-dreams-dwell · 3 months

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I haven’t read the book and only have vague recolections of the movie (though I remember sobbing violently at several points) but I hoped I’d love Netflix’s One Day adaption. And of course I did but one of the things I loved was so unexpected.

I love how they portrayed Sylvie.

Particularly how that relationship both ended and endured. How even at the start there were issues but the small kind you want to work on and work through. She knew her family were hard work but she was on Dex’s side and wanted him to be accepted: but still knew that her opinion was the one that mattered. Dex knew he didn’t fit it but he was trying so damn hard to, and hoped that if he kept trying it would be enough eventually. And she wasn’t this demon or harpy, even people who just met her liked her. She was a nice person.

So many times when the male lead is with another woman before they eventually get together with the female lead this ‘other woman’ is portrayed as toxic, unmanageable, cruel, snobbish, etc… or even just unpleasant to be around; someone we’re happy for the male lead to leave. Maybe it helps us to support the male leads pursuit of the female lead and not confront his poor behaviour as a romantic partner if that ‘other woman’ is unlikable and we’re happy to see her gone?

But here they made it clear: Sylvie is a kind nice woman who loves Dex, and didn’t handle the crumbling of their marriage well.

It was almost voyeuristic how we saw the breakdown of her and Dex’s marriage. It seemed so bloody real. New baby, no sleep, renovating the house, all of it building up until you’re being a bitch and you know you are, and you’re apologising after the fact for what you said but you don’t know how to talk around the fact that you still meant some of the things you said. And a partner who you know is struggling with direction and purpose, and you want them to do well, but *god* you’re the one fielding questions and having to go to bat for them every time someone asks, and as a result you never feel safe to take a break or question them yourself.

And (I don’t know how intentional this was) but Dex’s joking tone which is clearly meant to relax and reassure just came across as him not taking things seriously or being trustworthy. Sylvie lists a whole range of food options for Jasmine while she’s out for the night, clearly showing she has prepped *everything* ahead of time: she isn’t leaving Dex in charge of finding or cooking Jasmine dinner, she’s leading him by the hand to the ready made stuff and telling him now to reheat it. Kind of like he’s a child too. It really shows how capable she feels he is.

And then Dex jokes about giving Jasmine crisps. He’s clearly trying to break the tense atmosphere and joke around with his wife, but it just comes across as ‘I wasn’t listening to you, I don’t realise how much work you’ve done, you were right not to trust me to cook dinner because look what I immediately suggested, you can’t rely on me’.

In all their conversations the tone of their voices just show they’re not sure how to talk to one another anymore, that they know everything they say will be taken the wrong way and so they have no idea how to speak.

It felt like no one was particularly demonised or made into a caricature. Just two people who were different, put under stress until they broke and grew apart. And Sylvie had been responding to this state of her marriage by having an affair, so she is clearly in the wrong there and the one who causes the divorce etc, but… I don’t know; here it comes across more as a plea for help or freedom in the midst of her confusion and less a lack of care or thought for Dex and her daughter (like I remember it coming across in the movies).

Even when they have the brief mention of dramatics and anger around the divorce, afterwards she’s back in the picture as a level headed co-parent: joking around to relate to Emma, sharing co-parenting pains with HER too (‘Jasmin’s learning the violin?’ ‘Yes that’s why we’re fleeing the country’). And genuinely congratulating them in their relationship and marriage.

You don’t see many ex-wives in media who are so openly concerned about how their ex-husband is handling his second wife’s death. She’s present, caring and supportive. And keeps reaching out to him well after she could be forgiven for stepping back.

So yeah I loved all of One Day and yeah it made me cry AGAIN, but I also loved how real they made those significant relationships look. How adult and complicated and messy and ‘no one was a monster/you were both wrong in different ways/there is no right and wrong’ they played out as.

Just because she wasn’t the ‘love of his life’ doesn’t mean she was a footnote either.

#one day #one day netflix #dexter mayhew #emma morley #Sylvie Cope #relationships in media #the ‘other woman’ trope

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r0ttenhearts · 10 months

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GENSHIN IMPACT

MONDSTAT

- DILUC

last drop; diluc’s troubles have him turning to things he wouldn’t have. angst?

look at me; diluc neglects you only to regret it. angst, no comfort.

- ALBEDO

LIYUE

- XIAO

won’t you hold my hand again; you find xiao at a party after he ghosts you. angst, no comfort.

cherry flavored kiss; after scaramouche’s affair you move on and find better for yourself. angst, comfort.

forgotten letters; xiao tries to apologize with letters. angst, no comfort

- CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

i wanted it to be you; waiting for tartaglia to come home bloodied and bruised isn’t easy. angst, no comfort

- KAZUHA

my dove; kazuha abandoning you after tomo’s death. angst, no comfort

- ZHONGLI

SUMERU

- ALHAITHAM

like a dog; alhaitham takes you in after your mother no longer cares for you, but he expects you to stay on top of his demanding schedule for your studies. angst, no comfort

fleeting moments; being pregnant with your first child together was supposed to be the beginning of a new life. but how can it start when alhaitham doesn’t acknowledge you? angst, no comfort.

inconvenience; after alhaitham fails to show up for your birthday celebration. the night gets worse once he shows up. angst, no comfort.

- KAVEH

- SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER

lady of the house; your butler scaramouche has a thing for you. nsfw. smut

friends?; scaramouche continually picks haypasia over you. angst, comfort

you promised; plans to go to college together with scaramouche don’t go as planned once a blonde haired girl shows up. angst, comfort

last night together; scaramouche’s jealousy towards childe bursts out one night. angst, no comfort

one missed call; you get fed up with scaramouche’s antics, missing his calls. angst, no comfort

say something; being scaramouche’s roommate while he’s ignoring your existence is difficult when you’re in a situationship. angst, no comfort

words on a screen; scaramouche is a streamer and is much more interested in his screens than his relationship with you. angst, comfortish

after the storm; the aftermath of a nasty breakup with scaramouche. angst, no comfort

i know who you pretend i am; you find out scaramouche sees his deceased lover in you. angst, no comfort

choose me?; being scaramouche’s affair partner makes you ask him one question. her? or you? angst, no comfort, suggestive themes

waiting for a sign; your devotion to scaramouche goes beyond what you thought. but does he feel the same? angst, no comfort

what are you, stupid?; childhood friends to lovers hc’s with scaramouche. fluff

cold tea; after scaramouche’s erasure from irminsul, something in him changes. angst, comfortish

birthday blues; scaramouche doesn’t come home for your birthday. angst, no comfort

not your pet, anymore; scaramouche shows interest in someone else, becoming distant to you. so you do the same to him. angst, comfortish

melted cherry icee; with ei leaving scaramouche and his younger sister behind to fend for themselves, he’s tasked with taking care of his sister. angst, comfort.

what could have been; meeting up with scaramouche after being online friends for 4 years doesn’t go as planned. angst, no comfort.

wasted on you; scaramouche picks his idol career over your third year anniversary. angst, comfort.

broken bottles; what’s left of the promises scaramouche made you. angst, no comfort

cold greetings; taking scaramouche back after a nasty situationship-breakup. angst, comfortish

crystal ball; a grimes songfic with situationship! scaramouche. angst, comfortish

cherry flavored kiss; you move on after scara’s affair. angst, comfort.

goodbye, old friend; memories of your childhood friendship with scaramouche. angst, no comfort

never made it; long distance takes a toll on scaramouche. angst, no comfort

not a lot, just forever; being scaramouche’s support doesn’t earn you the loyalty you had thought it would. angst, no comfort.

- TIGHNARI

unsaid words; tighnari gets sick of you hurting yourself while you’re out exploring, so he takes away your reason to explore. angst, no comfort

- CYNO

care for a round?; cyno forgets your birthday for a “tcg tournament” angst, no comfort

INAZUMA

- THOMA

sweet summer; his heart belongs to another, but you can’t help but yearn for him. angst, no comfort

in another life; with thoma’s position at the kamisato estate he strays further and further from you. angst, no comfort

end of summer blues; with the end of summer coming your situationship with thoma dwindles. angst, no comfort.

- HEIZOU

it won’t leave my head; situationship with heizou. angst, no comfort

you’re just like them; heizou doesn’t keep his promise to you after your breakup with scaramouche. angst, no comfort.

- ITTO

- AYATO

- GOROU

- KAZUHA

longing stare; after kazuha cheats on you he finds you on beidous ship after two months. angst, no comfort.

#— masterlist

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Note

OMG! I’m so happy for you, 5K is so exciting and you deserve it so much. I (live laugh) loveeeeeee your writing style so so so so much and I’ve just about read every fic you’ve made like 30 times over. I have an idea for a Soap nsfw fic that I’ve been wanting to submit since I found your account and I think this is the perfect time.

Rivals to lovers? Soap and reader were cadets together during their training/pre-selection days of the SAS, they were both top of their “class” and would often try to one up one another? Despite that, they would have one another’s backs. Eventually, after SAS selection, they parted ways and maybe a few years later (just after the events of MW2 2022) they reconnect as they’re both assigned to a mission. Sexual tensions high after years of not seeing each other? and goes sideways and they have to end up staying at a safe house (One bed trope?) and then things escalate from there?

Thank you for opening your requests for this momentous occasion! I’m so so happy for you and I’m so so excited for the next work you put out!

—Still The Same Fools

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞

“I told you it was a bad idea,” you tilt your head, tightly wrapping your left thigh; bandages you pull harder, grunting as the flow of blood slows.

The safehouse is cold—and it’s snowing outside worse than a shaken snow globe on a massage chair, flakes as big as your hand slapping the window.

Johnny’s trying to start a fire, shoulders all wound up as you stare at his tension-ridden back.

“MacTavish,” you call, glaring. “I’m talking to you.”

“Aye,” he grunts, flicking his lighter three times before the smallest of flames sparks up—he quickly moves it to the dry logs, letting it take to the kindling. “I have ears.”

You grimace, shaking your head.

The history between the two of you was long—dating back to the days when you’d both signed up. You’d bled together, failed, and won together, even if the tensions were visible in the air as much as the long glances were. SAS selection had been the point where your clashing attitudes had been put on pause; things were getting more serious now—there was no going back. Only a year in you’d both seen the last of each other.

Or, you thought that at least.

A mission—Norway during a blizzard. Full coverage and the means of a Capture-Or-Kill.

“You want to explain to me why you still decided to rush in like that?” You push, voice digging.

The room was weighed down by heat—not from the now sizzling fire itself but from the stiff look that’s passed your way. You blink, Soap’s blue eyes darker than they had been. With a low grunt, the usually sarcastic and blunt man stands, beginning to stalk over with hard steps. Bodies layered with sweat and grime, you release the shreds of the bandages around your bare thigh; pants half down your legs.

Frowning, you ignore the soar in your heart rate and let him move up to the rickety chair you sit in, his hands coming down to lean into the armrests on either side of you.

You hold back a gasp as his face is shoved into yours.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he utters, accent stiff, and both of your eyes battling one another for dominance that neither wants to give up. Two feral wolves at each other’s throats. “Maybe it was to make sure the old Hen of mine didn’t get herself killed.”

You snap back immediately, faces closer and breath puffing over skin. “You don’t trust me?”

“Never said that,” he grunts, stubble shifting into a frown.

You scoff, nose brushing against his as heads tilt. “Prove it. Because right now, I’m hearing a lot of bullshi—”

Lips smash into yours.

The affair that night was a rabid tangle of shed clothes and loose limbs, bare skin bloody and sweat-stained long before any action had even been taken. The wound at your thigh was of little concern as the fast shove of Johnny’s pelvis sent his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head tilting back to connect with the floor as the fire spreads light over the safehouse. “God, right there. Right there, Johnny.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, a thin stream of crimson moving down your flesh as the sound of slapping wet skin echoes over and over again. Like a loyal dog, the man smirks into your neck as he bites, sucking and groaning all the more as you tighten around him with a shiver of electricity working its way down your spine straight to your core.

You whine as he grabs your chin, glaring weakly until your glossy eyes blur the space behind his head.

“Like that, do you?” He teases, hand firm and unyielding. “Tell me you like it, Dearie.”

“Go,” you pant, fingers digging into his mohawk and pulling. Johnny’s blown pupils widen even farther, hips thrusting harder and making you moan in his hold—him doing the same, with a more cut-off version that would make a pornstar blush. You force out, “screw yourself.”

He feels you tighten even farther around him, his jaw clenching as his abdomen bunches, trying to hold off his approaching orgasm.

“I think I’m enjoying this more, see,” he sloppily kisses the side of your mouth, licking at the skin. Everything about this was pent-up lust—messy sex in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

His tip caresses your womb, pulling almost all the way out of you before jerking forward and grinding moments after. His pelvis massages your clit, textured walls like a noose trying to keep him in. Your fluids leak out to coat his thighs a nice shiny clear. Muscles glide over yours, the dip and swell of flesh addictive.

A growl is sent into your face.

“Pull my hair again.” You do so, listening to the animalistic groans as your body moves up and down on the floor, cutting off exhalations of air puffing out from open mouths.

“Harder,” your gasp, “fuck me harder, Sergeant.”

A hand slams into the wood beside your head, the other moving to press into your stomach. You nearly cry when you can feel his cock hammering against the thin flesh of your abdomen.

You tighten around him and arch your back, lips brushing against his as you strangle down a loud plea for release. Your fingers latch and twist Johnny’s head to the side as the cord in your snaps.

“Fuck,” Johnny draws out the curse, eyes rolling back as you bare down on him ruthlessly, thighs tense and stained with blood and cum as your orgasm seeps violently down the swell of them.

He follows with a loud gasp, letting you feel the gush of his spend as it fills you to the brim, leaking out with every failing cant of his hips into yours.

The man loosens and lets his limp head hit your shoulder, body shaking as he stays above you only enough to keep his full weight from crushing you. It’s a long time before either of you find the words to speak.

“Round two?” Johnny asks.

You blink and feel the small sparks of pain in your thigh. It was nothing serious.

“Yeah,” you shrug, voice breathless and cunt spasming. “Why not.”

240 notes · View notes

themotherofblood · 1 year

Text

byka perzys | part two

rosy riñītsos | part one | masterlist

Dark!Daemyra Targaryen x Crybaby!Reader

A/N: y’all filthies were hungry for part two so here we go, again do not come at me. This is very taboo with dad Daemon and step mom Rhaenyra. Feel free to skip this if it ain’t your cup of tea; I have other vanilla ones. A little angsty start!! Not proof read. I’m going to bed lol I will do it later :)

tw: naive reader, dubcon-ish,breastfeeding (lactation kink), infantilism, incest!, spanking.

It has been eight moons since Rhaenyra Targaryen claimed the Iron Throne, it had been a bloody affair truly- her own kin beheaded and hanging off the gates of the Red Keep as an example.

Usurp the throne and pay its price.

People that Y/N once called family all hung from the gates, her favourite aunt in chains with her little cousins. Daemon and Rhaenyra did their best to keep their children away from the monstrosity that followed with war, however keeping Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena proved to being harder. They won the throne regardless with every green supporter executed or incarcerated. Only after Rhaenyra secured her position did she send for her eldest daughter to be brought to King’s Landing from Dragonstone.

The battle had turned both Rhaenyra and Daemon bitter, while to the court they had begun celebrating their victory. With enormous galas being thrown for their children’s engagements. Both Jace and Baela being named future heir to the throne, they had begun being more involved in the politicking while Rhaena and Luke began to make journeys with their grandfather Corlys.

You felt alone in it all- Joff, Aegon and Viserys were all little making them the joy of everyone’s eyes and what remained of you? A mere bastard girl at court with nothing to her name. You were happy that the war ended, that your mother sat the throne; your family whole. You had spent all your life hidden, buried in your books or lost in the gardens. You didn’t care much for courtly attention, what you did care for were your kepa and mūna.

You went from nursing yourself to sleep in between them for many moons to the war making them forget of your existence, you waited, you truly did. However as the days passed, the more scared you became. You would cry yourself to sleep with fear of death, and now you felt alone. You stood at court and yet no one saw you. A giant table set for supper and yet there was just you awaiting your family. They never came.

You had found solace elsewhere, making multiple trips with your lady’s maids to the city as everybody made efforts to sew Kings Landing back to its proper glory, many of Daemon’s gold cloaks would accompany you; not wanting to loose their heads to dark sister. You offered baskets of milk, clothing and food out to the people of flea bottom and perhaps in those few hours you spent with the common people. You felt more seen than you had in over six months, your visits became frequent, and while Daemon and Rhaenyra believed you were holed up deep in the libraries in the Red Keep; you read stories to children at the Blackwater beaches.

You learned of tales of your own birth and how you might have been one of these common people had your father not been so considerate of his own blood. It warmed you heart and yet upset you more. He never spoke of your birth mother and you never questioned him on the matter, not until you sent out your lady’s maid to find the tavern you took birth in. It was weeks until they returned with the name of the tavern, which too they relayed to you with hesitation. A princess in a tavern…blasphemy.

You had found your people, while your mother perished while birthing you, an older tavern wench recognized your lilac eyes the second you set foot into her establishment, they cared for you the first eight moons of your existence until gold cloaks came knocking down their door to retrieve you for your kepus, the King. They did not fight, mayhaps their one child of many would be raised in riches. They closed the bar down as they celebrated your return.

Everyone of the barmaids began hounding you with questions.

“Do ya remember us little lady?” one questioned “I bathed you as babey”

“Aye- but I named ya little fires!” a woman named Chataya replied.

“Tell us litte fires, have ya gotten one of those monsters?” the older woman questioned, you happily smiled as you nodded your head.

“Vermithor.” you said smiling ear to ear.

“Vermithor!” they all cheered as they raised their cups of ale, making you flinch but giggle along. You spent a better part of that afternoon basking in happiness, there wasn’t a single room in the Red Keep that spread with this much joy at your presence.

That evening at the square named you the Princess of Flea Bottom.

A fitting title for a very different reason from when Daemon was named the very thing for his whoring habits.

Just as always even tonight, other than Joffrey everybody seemed to have found themselves occupied.

“Sorry sister, there are council matters.” Jacearys apologised on his and Baela’s behalf for their inability to join you for supper. Lucearys and Rhaena had extended their stay at Driftmark. You had spent the better part of supper scraping your peas from one end to the other as Joffrey went on about his new horse gifted to him by some lord- Massey? Baremon? You weren’t sure which.

“A proper princess finishes her food!” the shrill voice of Septa Marlow scolded you yet again.

That night you attempted something you would have never tried before, you frustrations seemed to have frozen your nervousness as you pattered your way over to the royal apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast with a book in one hand and a doll in another. Hoping that tonight Daemon might read to you for the night, you wouldn’t even beg to lay with them; merely spend a few moments in their company. The queensgaurd placed by their doors already had succumbed to slumber as he leaned against the wall. Your meek nature made it far to easy to evade him as you entered the Queen’s apartments.

The door to their bed chambers were slightly parted as you heard chatter from within, a burst of joy spread through you. After much time they had been in their bed chambers at an acceptable hour, perhaps tonight you might sleep all through the dark skies till the sun graced King’s Landing. You smiled to yourself, already the forming the sentence of request in your head so you wouldn’t stammer while speaking. Running the words over your head twice before approaching the door.

You peaked in, immediately freezing as your knock barely reached the door. You eyes fixated on the image within the chambers. Your heart sunk, small twitches of anxiety moved through your fingers as your gaze fell upon a girl stood in between Daemon and Rhaenyra. Daemon’s lips attacking her neck as she suckled at Rhaenyra’s breasts, your feet took you backwards. Knocking over the vase placed on a side table by the door, a loud crash through the corridor.

Daemon’s eyes immediately shot to the door, furious at whoever would dare interrupt the Queen and her consort, and even more who would dare to peak in. He pushed the whore on the bed and unsheathed his dagger, ready to swing it at whomever he would find at their chamber doors. He heard hurried shuffling feet as pushed the door open with all its might, the queensgaurd placed at the door looking disheveled as he appeared to make himself look coherent. He stumbled to no evidence to who the onlooker might have been, other than a book laid on the ground.

He picked up the book, turning it to read it’s cover. A tale of romance that perhaps only one person would have read it in all of the Red Keep. He shook his head, cursing himself at what you might have seen as he returned inside to grab his cloak. He threw the book at his wife, who looked at him questioningly; she frowned at the cover as Daemon apologized to the doe eyed whore that both Daemon and Rhaenyra would have enjoyed tormenting.

“Sorry pet, here’s your gold.” He placed four gold coins on her lap before leaving to find you.

You ran as fast as your feet would allow, hiking your skirts with both hands as your discarded your doll by the servants chambers, everyone of them shouting at you; concerned of your well being. You had managed to climb over boxes just as you did with trees and jumped over the lower walls, ridding yourself of the Red Keep. You hated it here, you wanted to go home. You wanted everyone to just return to the days at Dragonstone. The metal fencing tugged at your skirts, ripping through a good inch or two of your lavender skirts and dug into the skin of thigh, drawing blood that in the moment you hadn’t registered somewhere in the scuffle you had also misplaced a slipper, leaving your one foot bare as you escaped. You just ran, escaping the vile portrait of another girl nursing on your mother.

Pushing through crowds of people as you ran towards the Dragonpit, Vermithor had already felt your inner turmoil, growling and freeing himself of his chains as he stomped his way out of his holding to the courtyard; awaiting your arrival as he still growled at the dragonkeeper trying to settle him down. They already knew the sudden outraged behaviour of the bronze dragon had to do with your arrival, in the darkness however they couldn’t tell a thing.

You ran towards your dragon, looking behind you to see if anyone followed which you were sure they would. Your father might have been as furious as you were at them, if not worse.

“Vhalar Vermithor!” you yelled at him.

“Soves!”

You hurried to pull yourself onto his wing, yanking your body up onto your leathered saddle. “Sovētēs!” you ordered once more before your dragon pushed its wings back to fly towards the dark skies. You hadn’t even bothered to tie yourself to him, you just held on as your heart hammered within your chest.

Daemon arrived to the dragonpit moments later, already finding a torn piece of your dress stained in blood and your doll discarded at the servant grounds, he cursed under his breath as Caraxes was brought out of his holding. He wasted no time in mounting his dragon after he made sure that the dragon keepers would send word to his wife. Caraxes would hunt them down to be sure, he had to.

Vermithor flew for hours to be sure; you had not a clue of where he took you. Your mind toiled of far worse things.

What were you thinking? The court didn’t want you and neither did your kin. The word bastard began to ring in your ears as you cried high above the clouds. The more Vermithor flew the more it became apparent that he was flying north, the air began to grow colder until he finally landed upon a strip of mountains. You sighed, looking around at the hill forests as you shuffled off him. You yelped out loud feeling the throb in your thigh, you began trembling again.

You wanted to go home.

You wanted to go back to Dragonstone.

Vermithor grunted, already irked that you had distrupted his sleep and yet he sympathized with your sorrow, the cold that had began to seep into your bones that your torn summer gown did nothing to shield you from. The bronze fury let out a gust of fire, circling around himself and you to keep him warm as he snuggled himself on the grass. You shuffled closer to his neck as you rested against the warm reptilian skin, crying into your hands. Afraid and alone.

Daemon had flown for hours, Caraxes had lost the scent of your dragon past the burning ruins in the Riverlands. He returned at dawn, failing to find you as he stomped into his chambers. He explained it all to Rhaenyra who looked terrified, hurrying to send out ravens to every lord to seek for a bronze dragon and their princess dressed in lavender. Daemon made trips himself, scouring through Dragonstone and Driftmark first, knowing the Vermithor spent most his time on those lands. To no avail.

He regretted no reaching out to you sooner, most of it was to blame the monstrosity that clouded Rhaenyra and his blood at the aftermath of the war. The enjoyed paying whores to leave those girls bruised by the morning, how were they to do that two their own zaldrititos. They couldn’t bare the thought of touching you while their demons ran wild in the sheets, you were far too pure to taint so early. Many night they’d free themselves of the council at late hours, Daemon himself would return covered in blood after he “interrogated” the green sympathisers. He’d peer into your bed chambers just as Rhaenyra would, watching a small frown that they would pet away from your sleeping body.

You had fallen asleep at some point, the simmering burnt grass lulled your sobbing frame to sleep as you hid under Vermithor’s wing. Come morning you woke within the same burnt circle, the sun glaring in your eyes as Vermithor rested from a few feet from you; nibbling on a roasted sheep. You shuffled up, groaning at the throb on your thigh, some where along the night the cut had stopped bleeding but left a better part of your gown soaked in blood.

You groaned as you stood up, looking around to have an inkling of where you might be, you limped toward Vermithor. Petting his skin.

“Can you take me home? Dragonstone?” you asked him, hoping he’d be done with his meal soon. His yellow eyes merely looked at you from his periphery before thudding his head to the ground to rest. “Please?”

He moved his snout to push the leftover sheep towards you, before closing his eyes to slumber.

You had begun to venture around the edge of the woods, luckily finding a pond to wash your wound. More tears followed as the gash burned anew, the cruel cold water bringing you much discomfort. Hours went past, you had begged your bronze dragon to take you home a dozen times, to no avail. He had begun to drag himself to a mountain cave, holding his fresh kill within his mouth as he huffed every two breaths; awaiting your limping frame to keep up with him.

Perhaps this was your home now, you were hungry, and ate around the cooked flesh of the kills Vermithor would hunt, you were in pain. Both physically and mentally, perhaps they didn’t care, perhaps they threw another gala as they were rid of their bastard daughter.

“What if she never returns Daemon?” Rhaenyra sighed as she held rocked baby Visenya to bed. “She won’t survive out there.”

“I know that! Don’t you think I know that?” Daemon snapped, still beating himself over your disappearance. “She has her dragon with her, he will protect her.”

Various lords around the seven kingdoms sent out watch parties, hoping to spot the princess or atleast her dragon. Four days past and not a word, until finally a white raven arrived from The Vale. A parchment containing the sightings of Vermithor atop their mountains and talks of Hill tribes and Mountain men attacking whatever that dragon was trying to hide. All attempts to make contact were met with dragon fire, killing the Knights of The Vale and Hill tribes alike.

Daemon was enraged as he rushed to mount Caraxes, armed with Dark Sister while he rode with all his might to arrive at the Eyrie before the dusk began to decorate the horizon. They pointed toward the taller peak, warning him of Mountain men all guarding the cave for any sitting of the bronze fury. Daemon flew above with Caraxes, watching as the savages below shoot arrows and boulder like rocks in the cave; above all he heard the furious roars of Y/N’s dragon. He had burned every last one of them in a fit of rage, the glowing carnage could be seen from miles below the mountains as Caraxes landed with a thud just outside the caves. Daemon approached the dark cave with stealth, singing a Valyrian lullaby that his grand sire sung for his dragon, one that he sang with Y/N while he helped her claim the enormous beast.

You hid behind your dragon’s tail, groaning in pain as a rock yet again bruised your skin. The first two days stop the mountain were peaceful. You had found yourself berries that kept your fed just enough to curb the rumbling, the fresh water pond helped both you and Vermithor and the gash on your thigh began dry as your cleaned them with washed leaves. Your dress on the other hand, went from lavender to dirt brown in no time, your feet covered in little cuts at you rid yourself of your only slipper. Your family consisted of Vermithor and little cave bugs, that was until the people Vermithor was stealing sheep and goats from came knocking- charging at your door.

You had fought them for two days, with barely enough sleep as they kept throwing things and shooting at Vermithor. He burned them and yet more came, then came knights who knew your name. Perhaps green sympathizers that wanted your head, you burned them too. You cowered behind Vermithor sobbing until you heard a familiar lullaby, you cried louder in your hands, you feared you had succumbed to madness.

“Y/N! Riñītsos?” you heard Daemon’s voice bellow in the darkness. You were sure somebody had come for you, and it sure wasn’t Daemon. You huffed pulling yourself onto Vermithor, hoping to scare away whoever it was.

“Dracarys.” you said, making Vermithor let out a blow of fire around the cave. You sat atop him with agony and rage in your eyes, you were exhausted and were sure you would die by the end of the fortnight. That was until the warm glow of the fire flashed the white haired figure stood at the entrance of the cave.

“nyke issa riñītsos.” his voiced echoed through the cave.

“k-kepa?” you bottom lip wobbled as you shuffled off of Vermithor, barely able to hold your own weight together.

As much as Daemon wanted to run to grab you, he couldn’t. The bronze fury still held a murderous stance towards him, he had to wait for you. You feet slowly limped forward to him, clearing your eyes in the little light that remained in the burning darkness. You whispered his name once more to which he replied, holding his arms out until he saw your body in the light.

Frail, your dress covered in soot, dirt and blood. The braids on your hair undone and unruly, stained in dirt and blood too. Wounds on your arms and a bleeding cut on your head, Daemon took in a sharp breath once he finally had you in his arm, you collapsed- whimpering as he rushed to cover your body with his cloak.

“Iksā ȳgha, iksan vaoreznuni.” He whispered against your temple as he pushed you hair away. Daemon carried you to Caraxes, helping you mount him first before situating himself behind you. He was perturbed to be sure, that you would be so reckless but in the moment he felt nothing but relief as he flew back to the Red Keep with you in his arms.

Two days, it had been two days as you graced the world of consciousness and then drifted to slumber again. The day Daemon returned to the Red Keep, carrying your cloaked frame in his arms as your lady’s maids rushed to care for you. Both Rhaenyra and him and sat through the ordeal as the cleaned your wounds, he wanted to backhand every one of your maids as your hissed and cried out as the girls tended your wounds. Upon being tucked in bed, Daemon sat with you for hours, humming a lullaby under his breath as he caressed your silver wisps.

When you had awoken for sure, you had jolted awake. Eyes darting over your canopy until they fell upon Rhaenyra and Daemon sat next to your bed. Both looked tired and yet furious, their faces reminded you of what you had seen, soon filling your relieved heart with bitterness.

“What were you thinking?” Rhaenyra questioned darkly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

“The Queen asked you something.” Daemon said in addition.

You scoffed at the two of them, frowning at their audacity to question you after what they had done. You groaned as you sat up, shuffling yourself off your bed from the other end. The poppy you were sure they made you consume, helped with your aching joints. Daemon’s chair scrapped as he approached you, holding your arms firmly in his hands as he questioned you once more.

“Nothing, my queen.” you said bitterly, fighting to tear yourself away from his grip.

Your tone irked her even more, far more than you using her title to defy her. “We don’t ask you for much, that you remain with us, and obey us.” she lectured “Perhaps we have been to lenient with you.”

You still said nothing as you scowled at the floor, “Do you know what they do to the girls at Old Town? The ones that behave as poorly as you have!” Daemon scolded you this time as he dragged your body back to your bed. You fought harder against his hold only irking them further.

Daemon held your body down as they plopped you on your belly. You felt them shuffle over you before Rhaenyra lifted your sleep shift from your backside, hastily pulling away at your small clothes.

“Let me go!” you screamed “Damn you, damn both of you!”

Daemon held you face down, muffling your screams as you felt the leather resting against your rear. “How many days did we not sleep proper , sweet wife?”

“Seven days.” she replied with venom in her voice.

“Seven hits.” Daemon agreed. “You better count them!” he warned you.

You felt the first hit throb against your rear, you bit your lip to starve them of a reaction. Another slash of the leather burned against your rear. “You better count if you want her to stop.” Daemon tutted.

“Go to hell!” you spat.

They had not a clue of why you acted this way, surely they would have explained what you saw but your defiance angered them way beyond measure. They wanted their meek, shy girl to return, even if they had to spank it back into you.Another harder hit radiated through your bottom, this time you cried out; only to be hit again when you finally screamed out “One!”

“Have you a clue of how afraid we were?” Daemon scolded along with the leather connecting to your arse again.

“The Vale knights you have killed? The damage alone!” Rhaenyra yelled before spanking you again.

“What if something happened to you? Do you see the wounds under a fortnight alone?” Daemon loosened his hold on you as you succumbed to your punishment, now fighting to sob.

“You could have been killed!” Rhaenyra bellowed as she got her last hit in.

You scurried forward into the bed as Daemon let you go, you hugged your knees as you shielded your face away from them. Your muña would have yelled at you once more but Daemon pulled her out of your chambers as she heaved in anger.

They hated you.

They left you to ponder over what you had done, you killed people, you ran away from home. You were horrible and they hated you now. You hadn’t realized when you began to sob but you did, you lady’s maids visited once to stoke the fires by the hearth before leaving. You sobbed into a pillow, letting every last shred of emotions in your body wet through the silk of your pillow.

Rhaenyra resumed court for the day, still fuming at what her daughter had done. Reparations were made of the dead knights to the Vale as Daemon did his best to calm her down. Perhaps they had gone two far in punishing you, however you needed to understand if not fear leaving this castle ever again. She would have chained you to the bed for all she cared, fighting this hard to sheild you from a war. Atleast her sons knew how to fight, her step daughter by Laena were fierce. You were mouse disguised a dragon, spoiled endlessly. She hated that it had resorted to this and would comfort you sooner than later.

Daemon on the other hand had handed her his belt, the simmering rage he had felt as he held your frail body back to the keep, unsure if you were dead or just asleep in his arms. The pained screams he had to hear as they cleaned your wounds, all because you were too stupid to ask them or yell at them instead of running. He hated himself too, he should have known better. Known that she would wither if left alone for far too long.

They approached your room way after supper, trays of untouched food remained outside your chambers as a lady’s maid informed them of your refusal to move. Rhaenyra huffed as she picked the tray of supper as Daemin held the door open for her, it had been a while since she had fed you herself.

You still remained the fetal position in your bed, small whimpers left your body as the pushed through the bed curtains. At first she believed you were crying your sleep, a prank of guilt ran through them as they saw your reddened rear peaking through your sleep shift.

It wasn’t until you whimpered out more words that they realized you were awake, regressed to a mere child afraid of monster as you cried.

“I-I want to go home,” you said through hiccups.

“You are home,” Daemon whispered as he pulled your onto his lap.

“D-dragonstone, home,” you whimpered.

“Oh, zaldrititos. This is our home now,” Rhaenyra cooed at her.

“No, not my home- daor!” you wailed louder, only growing more distressed as you refused to look at them “Ao vēdros nyke! Daor nyke!”

Rhaenyra gasped, “No- we could never hate you.”

“Always want our riñītsos,” Daemon whispered against your temple.

You shook your head as more furious tears fell from your eyes “The girl! I saw her, s-she was feeding on muña. You want her, n-not me.”

You began to shuffle away from her as reached forward to touch your face “We were afraid of hurting you sweet pea, I never get this angry but we have fought so hard to keep all of you safe.”

“Not knowing where you were was death, do you understand? I couldn’t breathe knowing you were out there, alone.” Rhaenyra confessed.

“You have been alone and angry, we are so sorry riñītsos,” Daemon said as he pushed your hair away. “We should have come for you sooner.”

Daemon began to pepper kisses down your face as Rhaenyra approached you again, this time you let her touch you as she caressed over your bandages.

“kepa,” you whimpered as more tears fell from your eyes. “muña,”

“You need to eat,” he whispered in your ear, nudging you to sit up right. You whined, I wanting to untangle this cocoon you had craved for months. “No, just be here.”

Your tummy grumbled and yet your refused to let this warmth wash away for a stupid cut of steak or mutton. You nuzzled your nose in the peaking curve of Rhaenyra’s bosom, hoping she would let you nurse on her; you felt far to dazed to be refused of such tenderness. Rhaenyra being a mother new exactly what you wanted, she shuffled backwards, tugging at the front strings of her dress robes. Her breasts spilling through the loosely tied corset.

You hungrily latched at her pink nipple, all too inviting at your groaned the second the sweet milk hit your tongue. She tapped your nose to make your suckle gently at her sore breasts and yet your happily lapped as your nurses on her. Daemon shuffled away making you whine, he shook his head at your impatience. Which soon turned to joy as he returned with your discarded doll in one hand; dressed in a brand new red and black dress. His other hand held the book you wanted him to read to you. He slotted himself back in yet again as you smiled around Rhaenyra’s breast.

Daemon read through passages like melted butter to the tongue, with every pause he pressed a kiss to you temple or caressed through Rhaenyra’s hair. Before Daemon flipped through the first chapter you had switched to the other breast as you suckled her dry. One thing was to be sure, it would be a while before her miles dried up for good. Not that she cared as she doted over the contentment that washed over your features

You felt content, warm and safe. You were bathed and clean, fed and sated as your were cuddled in between the two people you loved the most. You muña letting your hair as your kepa read you to sleep, the wars had ended, the blood shed seized and perhaps just for a moment. The Red Keep felt like home.

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