#clutching prison bars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slyandthefamilybook · 5 months

Text

A NON-EXHAUSTIVE BUT NEVERTHELESS EXHAUSTING LIST OF NEO-NAZI AND WHITE SUPREMACIST DOGWHISTLES

since some of y'all apparently need a refresher course. as always, use your judement when deciding if it's a dogwhistle or just innocent usage of a number or symbol

NUMBERS

100% - 100 percent white

109 or 110 - A reference to the 109 countries that have expelled, in whole or in part, their Jewish populations. 110 refers to the hope that more countries will do so, usually specifically the United States. Often posted on its own as a reply, or phrased as a question (e.g. "If you were kicked out of 109 bars it's probably our fault")

1290 - A reference to the Edict of Expulsion of 1290, which expelled the Jewish population of England

13/50 or 13/52 or 13/90 - The supposed statistic that Black Americans make up 13% of the population yet commit 50% or 52% of violent crime, or 90% of interracial violence. Often posted on its own as a reply

14 - The Fourteen Words, a Neo-Nazi slogan

14/23 - A number representing the Southern Brotherhood, an Alabama prison gang

1488 - A combination of the Fourteen Words and Heil Hitler

C18 - Combat 18, a British neo-Nazi group

18 - The letters A (1) and H (8), standing for Adolf Hitler

21-2-12 - The Letters U (21), B (2), and 12 (L), standing for Union, Brotherhood, and Loyalty, the slogan of the Unforgiven, a Florida prison gang

23 - Often thrown up as a hand sign, with two fingers raised on one hand and three fingers raised on the other. Represents the letter W (23), standing for white

271,000 - A reference to the supposed fact that the Red Cross claimed only 271,000 people had been murdered in concentration camps. In reality, that number reported by the Red Cross only came from reports from 13 concentration camps (there were 23 main camps, plus a large number of smaller "satellite" camps)

88 - H (8) H (8), standing for Heil Hitler

9% - A number representing the percentage of the world's population that is white

SYMBOLS

((( ))) - Triple parentheses, or echo. Used by neo-Nazis to call out someone as Jewish

Iron Cross - A German military decoration

Sonnenrad (Sun Wheel)

Reichsadler (Imperial Eagle) - A blocky, art-deco eagle facing to the side. Variants exist, some facing right, some facing left. The Parteiadler (Party Eagle) has a slightly different design. The Reichsadler is usually clutching a wreath with a swastika, although this is sometimes left out to maintain plausible deniability

Totenkopf (Death's Head) - A symbol used by the SS

Wolfsangel (Wolf's Hook) - Used as the insignia of various Wermacht (Nazi Military) divisions

Wolfsangel (horizontal)

Odal Rune - From the Proto-Germanic "Othala" meaning heritage

Algiz Rune - A symbol used by German nationalists

Celtic Cross

"Broken Sun" Cross

Arrow Cross - A Hungarian nationalist party that was active from 1935-1945. The symbol has been re-appropriated by modern neo-Nazis

Valknot

EMOJI

🤑 Greedy Face Emoji - Used to refer to "greedy Jews"

💰 Money Bag Emoji - Used to refer to "greedy Jews"

🥸 Disguised Emoji - Used to refer to Jews because of the enlarged nose

🤥 Lying Emoji - Used to refer to Jews because of the enlarged nose

👃 Nose Emoji - Used to refer to Jews

🙋‍♂️ Raising Hand Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

✋ Raised Hand Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

o/ or 0/ - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

🐸 Frog Emoji - A reference to Pepe the Frog, a webcomic charcter co-opted by the alt-right

👌 Okay Symbol Emoji - A hand symbol co-opted by the alt-right. Sometimes said to resemble the letters WP, or White Power

🚪 Door Emoji - Refers to the fact that some of the gas chambers (such as the ones at Auschwitz) had wooden doors, and therefore could not have been airtight enough to contain the Zyklon B gas used to murder prisoners. In reality, many of the wooden doors were either replaced with airtight metal ones, or were made airtight with strips of felt that then deteriorated or were removed

🚿 Showerhead Emoji - Refers to the showerheads used to dispense Zyklon B gas in the gas chambers

⛽ Gas Pump Emoji - Refers to gas chambers

⚡⚡ Double Lightning Emojis - Used for their resemblance to the Siegrune (victory rune) badge worn by members of the SS (Schutzstaffel)

💀 Skull Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Totenkopf (Death's Head) used by the SS

☠️ Skull and Crossbones Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Totenkopf (Death's Head) used by the SS

WORDS/PHRASES

6MWE - Six Million Wasn't Enough. A call for further genocide against Jews

AKIA - A Klansman I Am

Annudah Shoah - A mockery of both the Shoah (Holocaust) and the fear of further genocide

Auschwitz had a swimming pool/rec center/maternity ward/etc. - An attempt to diminish the horror of concentration camps by making them seem more like labor camps with amenities

Blood and Honor - A neo-Nazi slogan

Blood and Soil - A neo-Nazi slogan

Blood Libel - Not a phrase used by the far right, but something they often believe in or claim. Blood libel is an antisemitic conspiracy theory stretching back hundreds of years. The original claim was that Jews used the blood of Christian babies to bake matzah (a ritual food eaten on Passover). It has since evolved into images of Jews drinking blood, kidnapping and killing non-Jewish babies, and conspiracy theories about harvesting adrenochrome

Bowlcut - A reference to white supremacist mass-murderer Dylan Roof

Cohencidence - A portmanteau of Cohen (a common Jewish last name) and coincidence. Used to refer to Jewish control (e.g. "All these companies are owned by Jews! What a Cohencidence!")

COORS - "Comerades of Our Racial Struggle"

Cultural Marxism - A conspiracy theory that Jews are intentionally weakening "Western values" in order to make countries like the United States more susceptible to communism. This was called Cultural Bolshevism in Nazi Germany

Da Shoah or Muh Shoah or Muh Holocaust - A mockery of the Holocaust

Day of the Rope - A day referenced in neo-Nazi book The Turner Diaries when all race traitors will be hanged

Degenerate - An insult based on the false theory that bad morals will cause human beings to regress along the path of evolution (to de-evolve). Used to describe groups, individuals, or ideologies

Early Life - A reference to the "Early Life" section of Wikipedia biographies, which will reveal that a person is Jewish or has Jewish ancestry

Every Single Time - Every time something bad happens, the perpetrator is Jewish

Featherwood - A term derived from racist prison subculture. A featherwood is a woman associated with a racist gang

FGRN - For God, Race, and Nation. A Ku Klux Klan slogan

The Fourteen Words - A neo-Nazi slogan. "We must secure the existance of our people and a future for white children"

The Frankfurt School - A school of sociology founded at Goethe University Frankfurt in 1923. Usually blamed as the originator of "Cultural Marxism"

Fren - Internet slang. A diminutive of "friend", used to diminish Naziism and make it seems more harmless. Often used in usernames to describe one's self (e.g. sad_fren_88)

Globalist - A person who desires connection between countries in terms of politics, trade, and travel. Used to scaremonger about Jews destroying countries by removing their borders

Gorillion - A mockery of the number 6 million, being the amount of Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust

Goy - Hebrew for "nation", used by Jews to refer to non-Jews/gentiles. Used disparagingly by neo-Nazis to suggest Jews view non-Jews as beneath them

Goyslop - Unhealthy food that Jews force non-Jews to eat to keep them weak

Groid - A shortening of "Negroid", an archaic terms used to describe Black people

Groyper - A follower of avowed neo-Nazi Nick Fuentes. A reference to the "Groyper" meme, a variant of Pepe the Frog

GSHW - Germany Should Have Won (i.e. won World War II)

GTKRWN - Gas the Kikes; Race War Now

HDKH - Hitler Didn't Kill Himself. A neo-Nazi theory that Hitler escaped Germany and fled to Argentina

John 8:44 - "You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies." Part of Jesus' rebuke of his Jewish followers

Joo or Jooz - An intentional misspelling of "Jews" in an attempt to bypass censors or automatic content filters

Kate Hikes - A spoonerism of "hate kikes"

Kek - 4chan variation of "lol"

Kekistan - A fictional country imagined by white nationalists with a flag that resembles the Nazi battle flag

Khazar - A reference to the conversion of a group of Khazars (a Turkic people) to Judaism. Antisemites speculate that the entirity of Ashkenazi Jews are descended from these Khazar converts, and therefore have no historical, cultural, or genetic tie to the Levant. This has been proven false on multiple occasions

Kike - A racial slur against Jews

Lizard People or Reptilians - A conspiracy theory by far-right figure David Icke, claiming that world leaders are really reptilian aliens. Most people who believe this theory believe that the lizard people in question are the Jews

Magic Soil - A protest against the idea that people of one nationality can become people of another nationality simply by living in a country (i.e. "France doesn't have magic soil that turns Africans into Frenchmen")

Nicker - An intentional misspelling of the N word in an attempt to bypass censors or automatic content filters

Ns - Black people (as in the plural of the letter N)

NSDAP - Nationalsozialistiche Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. The Nazi party, but using an acronym that is unfamiliar to most people

NS - National Socialist

Noticer - Someone who "notices" that Jews control the world

The Noticing - A mass movement of people "noticing" that Jews control the world

New World Order - A far-right conspiracy theory about Jews taking control over the world and implementing a single world government. Also used in conjunction with phrases like "world banks"

OFOF - One Front, One Family. Slogan of the neo-Nazi group Volksfront

ORION - Our Race Is Our Nation

Oy Vey - A Yiddish exclamation meaning "oh woe". Used by neo-Nazis to mock Jews

Pattern Recognizer - Someone who has recognized the "pattern" of Jews always being in control

Peckerwood - A term derived from racist prison subculture. A peckerwood is a man associated with a racist gang

Power Level - A memeification of far-right beliefs. The more fascist your beliefs, the higher your "power level"

The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion - A 20th century Russian hoax claiming to be the minutes of meetings between Jewish leaders discussing how they will take control of the world

Pure Blood - Someone who is a pure member of the white race

Rabbi Smolett - A claim that Jews fabricate antisemitic hate crimes (a reference to actor Jussie Smolett who was accused of doing the same)

ROA - Race Over All

The Goyim Know - A phrase used by white supremacists acting like Jews who have discovered white supremacist activity, and are afraid that they've been found out. Often "The Goyim Know, Shut It Down", which adds the idea that Jews will prohibit any conversation that gets too close to the truth

The Red Cross - A reference to the supposed fact that the Red Cross claimed only 271,000 people had been murdered in concentration camps. In reality, that number reported by the Red Cross only came from reports from 13 concentration camps (there were 23 main camps, plus a large number of smaller "satellite" camps)

Tiny Hats or Tiny Hatted People - A reference to the Kippah or Yarmulke often worn by Jewish men

Reject Modernity, Embrace Tradition - A fascist slogan warning against social progress and calling for a return to a prelapsarian (usually ethnocentric) paradise

Rubbing Hands - A reference to an antisemitic charicature called "The Happy Merchant"

"To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you're not allowed to criticize" - A quote often misattributed to Voltaire, which neo-Nazis use to decry claims of antisemitism as efforts to silence them. In fact, it's a quote from a neo-Nazi pedophile

Shabbos Goy - A non-Jewish neighbor of a Jew who can be asked to perform acts Jews are forbidden from doing on the Sabbath (e.g. turning of a light or turning on the heat). Used by neo-Nazis to claim someone is a slave to Jews

Sheeeiiit - An over-the-top representation of how "shit" is said with a Blaccent. Often used in memes declaring Black people to be less intelligent

Shekels - Jewish currency (from the Hebrew word for weight, similar to how British currency is called the pound. In reality, the plural of shekel is shkalim). The name has been adopted by the State of Israel for the NIS (New Israeli Shekel). "Shekels" is used by neo-Nazis to mock Jews as being greedy

Synagogue of Satan - An antisemitic term for Jews, stemming from the Chrsitian Bible

They or Them - When used to describe a nebulous group of undefined adversaries, these words almost always refer to Jews

They Cry Out in Pain As They Strike You - An antisemitic proverb claiming that Jews will make false cries of antisemitism while at the same time perpetrating atrocities

Troon - A slur against trans people, particularly trans women

Volk - German for "folk", or "kind". Used by neo-Nazis to refer to white people

We Wuz Kangz - A racist phrase ment to mock Black nationalists

White Genocide - The myth that a group of people (usually Jews) are conspiring to eliminate the white race through various means including immigration, intermarriage, and homosexuality

WP - White Power

WN - White Nationalist or White Nationalism

Wooden Doors - Refers to the fact that some of the gas chambers (such as the ones at Auschwitz) had wooden doors, and therefore could not have been airtight enough to contain the Zyklon B gas used to murder prisoners. In reality, many of the wooden doors were either replaced with airtight metal ones, or were made airtight with strips of felt that then deteriorated or were removed

Zio - An abbreviation of "Zionist". Used derogatorialy by neo-Nazis

WPRWS - 'Weimar Problems Require Weimar Solutions" (sometimes shortened to just "Weimar Problems" or "Weimar Solutions"). Prior to the rise of the Nazi Party, the democratic Weimar Republic was in financial crisis (the eponymous "Weimar Problem"). This was often blamed on the Jews. The "Weimar Solution" is Naziism

ZOG - Zionist Occupied Government, reflecting the belief that the United States government is controlled by Jews

#atlas entry #this took me several hours to compile so please give it a reblog #there are also a lot of ways nazis will mock Black or Jewish names but that's less dogwhistle-y and more foghorn-y #if you see someone say “lol 'Stein' 👃” and don't understand what they mean. I dunno that's on you man #also sorry for putting kike on here but you'd be shocked how many people I've met who have genuinely never heard it before #also the ADL website has a bunch more representing various prison gangs #but I feel like it can be overwhelming to know that 11 12 and 13 can all be racist symbols. I don't wanna make people jump at shadows #besides those are more likely to be worn as tattoos than displayed in someone's twitter bio #jews #jewish #judaism #nazis #neo nazis #neo-nazis #christofascism #far right #alt-right #white supremacy #white nationalism

4K notes · View notes

youryanderedaddy · 4 months

Note

yan prison guard who hates u but low-key wants to f??

YES?!

tw: female reader, hinted non-con, period cramps, physical neglect, abuse of power, hinted blood play, reader is hinted to be a criminal, starts flirty but ends dead dovey xD My Ko - fi <3

"Shit." You mumble, your back softly resting against the cold wall. You reach for the nearest utenstil on the ground - all metal now, since you broke one too many nice porcelain plates - and throw it against the bars with little consideration to the vomit inducing "food" still left inside. The yellow sauce splashes all over the floor, and you look up, not even bothering to hide your smug expression.

"I could make you lick that up, you know." Darcy states, adding little emotion to his already monotone voice - his eyes glued to the book in his lap and all the tiny little words in it, perfectly pristine fresh ink in the stuffy air. His gloved hands are digging into the paper, almost crumpling it, and you now know that his pale hands are simply incapable of holding anything gently - even the things he actually likes.

"Will you?" You tease, but the warning bells at the back of your mind go off nonetheless, seemingly in spite of your best attempts to come off as playful and not desperate. He rarely jokes around - not exactly the fun type. "I'll decide after I finish this page." Your warden chuckles humorlessly. "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline." He starts reading aloud, licking his cold lips. "So be earnest..." You can feel his gaze on you, caging you in like a wild animal. "And repent." He finally closes the book. "Revelation 3:19." The blonde repeats quietly, turning his attention back to you - and you realise calling out was a mistake, but now it's too late. He's got you in his clutches.

"My stomach hurts. Tell me, Father Allmighty, is this devine punishment too?" You spit out sarcastically, hugging your knees in order to numb the pain a bit. "Or am I simply on my period?" It's your turn to giggle, although it hurts to do so - anything to mask the unease tugging at your vocal cords every time you're faced with that demon.

His eyes narrow in response, and his fingers circle his nose bridge as he scoffs at you, annoyance quickly spreading across his irritatingly handsome, yet equally sharp features.

"Your voice makes my head throb. Stop it." The guard barks, voice dropping low in warning. Still, you decide to push your luck due to pure and simple physical need. "But it hurts." You let yourself whine, slowly revealing your collarbone - and silently hoping that just this once the sweat will look like glitter. "I don't care." He hisses, picking his book again.

You roll your eyes.

"Alright. Sure. But you'll be the one cleaning the bloody sheets after." You mutter under your breath, crossing your hands. You're not sure what's more frustrating - the way your stomach is trying to eat itself or having to appease a narcissistic maniac with too much power and free time through it. Somewhere in the part of your brain still capable of rational thought you realize you should be provided with basic hygiene products just like all the other female prisoners. What makes you different, you guess, is the fact that you're kept under lock and key almost extensively. Solitary confinement 24 hours a day, except for Darcy.

He brings you food. He helps you bathe - if you've been good enough. He's the only one who knows if you're dead or alive. Hell, he may be the only one who even cares.

"I'm sure cleaning up your mess will be quite exciting." The blonde cracks a tiny, self evident smile only he knows the meaning of - and you would have frowned in disgust if you could still feel that lovely human emotion. "Admit it, you actually like the thought of me bleeding, you little freak." You scrunch your nose at him, then look back to the floor, the filth so thick it almost sticks to your slightly less dirty shoes. "Takes one to know one." Darcy responds nonchalantly, running his hand through his slick white locks.

At that moment the cramps return in full force, your lower abdomen on fire with sharp stabbing pain. You remember some fragmentary tips from your scrappy teen years - you close your eyes and breath in deeply, you bite the inside of your cheek - you even pray to whoever is listening, but it just won't stop. So you bargain.

"You can have it." You say with difficulty, folded in half. Hot tears prick your eyes and you try to fight them, but soon give into the agony. It's such a relief to cry after months of resilience - to break down completely and let your most vulnerable self out.

The warden takes a single steps towards the bars and motions for you to move closer. You crawl to him, your hand supporting your lower belly in the process. He takes a good look at you and slowly, almost gently caresses your face through the metal - eyes suddenly softened by the image of you dancing in the palm of his hand.

If it was anyone else he'd be simply repulsed by this clear display of weakness. If it was another prisoner, another hardened criminal, he'd have no problem following his own principles of zero tolerance - of crushing and breaking their spirit until nothing was left. But it was you and your beatiful, stipid tears that mesmerized him to no end, that haunted his dreams and turned his bloodlust into something a lot more sinister. Something harder to capture, harder to fight - and easier to give into.

"You can have it." You repeated tearfully, rubbing at your soft wet eyelids - completely still. Scared of your own flesh and its betrayal. "My mind, my body, anything. Just please give me some pills. I can't take it." You whimper pitifully, shaking under his watchful eyes. He's holding onto your cheek, but you feel like he's got you in a suffocating embrace. And then just when you're about to kneel down, he unlocks the door to your cell.

"I've been taking your brain apart for months now." Darcy whispers softly, taking off one of his gloves and letting it drop to the floor. He takes another step towards your cowering form. "Your body, on the other hand, is a white canvas." He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his burning gaze - and the pain fades away instantly, replaced by raw, intense fear. "I wonder what your insides look like. Surely, they're beatiful."

You feel his lips on your neck, followed by the tip of a knife - a butterfly kiss.

#yandere #male yandere #yancore #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere warden #yandere prison guard

403 notes · View notes

midnightarcheress · 6 days

Text

you panic.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: reader's pov. panic attack, simon in protective mode, hurt/comfort ig? 6 | gold rush masterlist.

you couldn’t breathe. the room seemed small, walls closing in and trapping your limp figure inside of an endless nightmare, compressing your lungs until no air reached your alveolus. the mirror reflected the terror stamped on your face, bloodshot eyes staring at the terrifying warning that froze your blood flow and the trembling hands clutching to your arms, wrapping your torso like a straightjacket, desperately trying to pressure your body into disappearing from that reality.

up to this point, you’ve managed to control your fear. shove your worries aside, trust that nothing would trespass your walls and infinite security measures, promise yourself that it would never infest your brain, but that was the last straw. it was your home. you weren’t safe anywhere and it was just a matter of time until you’d be ripped to shreds in your own garden, crimson painting the destroyed flower beds and a golden crown placed on your head like a perfect corpse-bride.

your knees dropped to the frigid floor with a thud, dreadful mist clouding your vision as tears rolled down your cheeks. you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, and the alcohol in your veins only managed to heighten the panic. your soul was floating out of your form, knocking on the bars of the prison, looking for a way out of the ordeal and hoping that it was just a hallucination. the loud thumps of your heart ringed in your ears, muffling Ghost’s attempts to get your attention.

the knot in your throat kept tightening, constricting your vocal cords until the only sounds that could be heard were your strained sobs. being in your own skin was overwhelming and you’d give it all to escape the well you were stranded in, but the water was rising quickly, covering your head and drowning any attempt at tranquillity.

“hey, i’m here,” Ghost said, trying to coax you back to the present, “just focus on my voice, can you take a deep breath for me?”

your dilated pupils take the sight of him crouched on the floor and follow the movement of his chest, letting his low timbre pierce your eardrum and soothe your heartbeat. you mimic him, feeling the crisp air cursing through your nostrils, down your trachea and bronchi, finally having enough oxygen in your system.

“can i touch you?” he asks, and you notice the concern behind his hazel irises. you can’t ignore the shame that came with your panicked state, breaking down in front of someone you barely know and who must’ve endured so much worse in his life. you hate feeling weak, frail, like you’d crumble by just one look, but you need comfort. need it so badly that you nod, allowing him to take your quivering hand in his.

his grip is firm, and despite the roughness of his palm, the touch is delicate, tender, enveloping you in gentle heat. you melt in his arms, pitiful sobs leaving your lips when you turn in nothing more than putty in that moment. “shh, i got you, everything will be alright,” he coos, doing his best to calm you, but you couldn’t believe him.

how could everything be alright? the last ounce of safety you had was just taken from you. “it’s my– it’s my home, Ghost,” you stutter, lifting your head to look at him, “i’m not safe in my own home anymore, i can’t–” another wave of tears flood your waterline, and you stop before finishing your sentence. the anxiety was still bubbling in your stomach, it was still too much to handle at once.

“i know, love, i’ll get you out of here, trust me. nothing will harm you. now just breathe, okay? slow and steady.” his tone is light, almost ethereal, but unmistakably determined. it sounded more than just a phrase to pacify you. it was a promise. a vow. one made with his whole heart and he wouldn’t die before making sure you’re safe.

it takes a while before your brain settles back, slipping out of the hysteria. Ghost lifts you to your feet, taking a step back to give you some space. you sense him studying your expressions, wanting a hint of how to proceed. “what do you need?” he questions softly.

what do i need? the query lingers on your mind while he gazes at you. you're not sure. you never had an attack like this, never had an emotional collapse, never needed so much comfort. “i... don't know,” you gulp, glancing around the room and viewing the bathroom door, “i guess i could go for, uhm, a bath? it might help, right?”

he nods, pacing past you and walking through the door. you faintly hear the running water filling the bathtub and you strip off your heels, your clothes, let your hair fall down and your skin feel the cool air of the room. you shiver, but the tingling of the cold reminds you that you’re still alive, so there’s still a flimsy hope of peace in your future.

you put on a robe and head to the bathroom, tip-toeing on the chilling tiles. Ghost moves to the exit, allowing you privacy in your vulnerable state, but your meek request makes him freeze on the spot. “can you... stay?” you sigh, “i’m scared of being alone right now.”

he pauses, not knowing how to answer, and you shift your weight from one leg to another, fingers fidgeting with the fluffy belt that holds your covering in place, regretting even asking for such a thing. “sure.” he clears his throat, taking a seat in the tiny wooden ottoman in the corner. the image is quite comical, the bulky man slowly leaning down to the stool as if one glance from him would crack the material, and a timid chuckle escapes your mouth.

his face turns to the side when you undo the knot of your robe and you feel the heat coming to your cheeks when you come to your senses. what the fuck did i ask? you’re bare, slipping into the warm water that was supposed to relieve your anxious mood, but that mainly swells your chest with embarrassment.

you don’t know if you should be grateful that he’s not making a big deal of it, or sink in the tub due to the quiet – too quiet – atmosphere. Ghost is nothing but a gentleman at that moment, maintaining his head down and eyes away from your blurred naked body, so different from every man you’ve been near. they all seem to think that because you’re known, famous, whatever, you’re merely a doll on display for public use. it’s nice to not feel like an object.

after a long hour of letting the water purge your anguishes, you find yourself draped on a blanket on the sofa, sipping on a cup of chamomile tea that he, so heartily, prepared. he’s on the phone in the next room, and you don’t want to pry, but your ears unconsciously perk up to catch some of his words. he’s talking to someone named Price? something about a safe house?

a few minutes later, he’s back, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “so, we’re gonna move,” your brows raised, confused by his statement, “talked to an old friend and i got you a safe place, you can stay there as long as you need, the bastard won’t find you. and i’ll be there with you all the time, okay?” he’s gonna stay with me?

rationally, you know it’s a good idea. you don’t feel protected in your house anymore, and having him constantly by your side would probably give your heart a rest and unburden your shoulders. but moving is a big thing for a life so regulated. “Dan–”

“i’ll talk to him tomorrow, don’t worry,” he assures, putting a hand on your knee and giving you a small smile. your vision was so hazy before that you didn’t even notice that he had his mask down, and you find yourself musing on the curve of his lips.

“thank you, Ghost.”

203 notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 8 months

Text

Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They��re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

1K notes · View notes

angelbaby-fics · 4 months

Note

Daddy stucky x little reader x little Peter where the reader is in a very young headspace and took a nap but when she woke up she was all alone in the bed and want to be with her daddies and Peter so she try to crawl off the bed but fell and hurt herself and daddy rushed in the room seeing little one crying and after he ask why she crawl off the bed she's like "I wan be wif daddies n pweti"

MUCH COMFORT PLEASE 🥺💞

Comfort

Word Count: 800

A/N: Ahh what a precious idea!! I really really love the big brother Peter dynamic hehe 💕 also this fic is so me bc every time I wake up my first thoughts before I get my bearings are usually "wheres dadaaaa" 💕 enjoy!

It was typical for you to regress even smaller during the course of your afternoon nap, usually leading to a wonderfully cozy evening. After a day of playing, Bucky would put you down in your crib with the lights dimmed to replenish your energy while Steve cooked the family meal. Peter was always a bit older than you, so his afternoon nap was optional. Today he opted to help out Daddy in the kitchen while you slept.

Bucky returned from your nursery to see his two best boys working hard in the kitchen. Peter was dutifully stirring a big bowl of ingredients while Steve carefully cut vegetables and dropped them into the mix. Bucky made absolutely sure they didn’t need any extra help before he retreated to the living room to put on a record. Soft jazz music filled the house, and Bucky picked a book to pass the time before supper was ready. Settling into a soft armchair, one where the kitchen was still within view, he started to lose himself in the peaceful moment, the ambiance only interrupted with the turning of each page.

Until he heard the thud.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep. You weren’t sure what was dream and what was real. You were stuck in a prison cell, your family on the other side. You reached out for them, desperate arms restrained by the bars. When you opened your eyes, the bars were real.

You caught your breath slowly as you took in your surroundings. It was just a dream. You told yourself that over and over again like a meditation, but it didn’t make it any more believable to your babified brain. You had to see for yourself that your family was still there. You needed to feel your Baba’s strong arms hold you against his chest, to hear Daddy’s soft voice humming a lullaby as he played with your hair, to stretch out your hand and immediately have it met with Peter’s, reassuring you that your big sibby was always there.

But you were so, so tiny. You could hardly balance on two legs, gripping tight to the railing of your crib as you tried to hold yourself up. Falling back onto your hands and knees, you gathered up all your stuffies and piled them all into one corner, forming a makeshift ramp. Scurrying up like a squirrel on a tree trunk, you pulled yourself over the top rail, but you hadn’t planned this far ahead. You fell to the carpeted floor, right on your padded bottom.

Bucky was pushing through the doorway before you even had time to cry. He picked you up and held you tight against him, softly bouncing you up and down as he patted your back.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you.” He whispered with his rumbly voice. “Shhh…”

You grabbed him tightly, his clutch pulling you back from the verge of tears. You took fistfuls of his soft t-shirt in your hands, the fabric more comforting to you than any blankie.

“What got you all worked up huh? Bad dream?” Without moving much, you nodded into his chest. You didn’t have the energy to tell him about it, but as usual you didn’t need to. Bucky had a way of reading your little mind.

“How about we go cuddle out in the living room, okay babydoll?” “‘N daddy ‘n Petie?” You mumbled in your little baby way that your Baba could always understand.

You could hear their voices as Bucky carried you out of your nursery and into the main foyer.

“Is that my baby?” Peter asked.

The excitement evident in his voice at the thought of getting to see his best playmate again. It had only been a little more than an hour that you’d been asleep, but he loved you that much. Your head perked up at that, and your bleary eyes blinked to see Steve carrying Peter out of the kitchen, mirroring you and Bucky as you met at the living room couch.

“There’s still a few minutes on the timer for dinner.” Steve said. “Does anybody know what we could possibly do to pass the time?”

“Cuddles please please please!!” Peter cheered, and you clapped in agreement.

“What a great idea! What smart babies we have, don’t we Buck?”

“I think we might have the smartest, cutest babies in the whole wide world!”

Each man sat on the couch with their respective babies in their arms, but as soon as they were seated, you and Peter started crawling all over each of them, lapping up as much love as you could before the oven timer went off. Even when it did, you weren’t too disappointed; you knew once supper was over you’d be right back to cuddling your family again.

#little!reader #stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky #daddy!bucky #bucky x little!reader #daddy!steve #stucky x little!peter #steve x little!reader #steve rogers x little!reader #marvel agere #agere fic #little!peter x little!reader #chloe's fic

344 notes · View notes

juuuulez · 4 months

Text

📰 | prologue, part two: capulet.

info: No Carl Grimes (sorry!), takes place after farm/before prison era, awkward father Negan my love!, reader is 13 in this.

summary: Both you and Negan struggle to navigate your new relationship.

HELLO!! thank you all for the nice messages about Capulet! this is another backstory chapter, but is actually soooooooo cute :,) it’ll provide more context for the readers choices in the next chapter, so don’t skip it!

next chapter will focus around the narrow end of the war, and what this means for the carl/reader relationship……aka shit is going down!

-> masterlist <-

It had been a few weeks since Lucille died.

Now it was just you, and Negan. For the small while you’d stayed at their house, you cherished the feminine presence, something you’ve never experienced in your own household. Your mother had died when you were little, delivering your sister, who passed weeks later an infant.

But Lucille was nice to you. Even if you were skittish, and spoke back whenever Negan tried to make you read a textbook, and took any chance to go outside and playfully harass the undead.

She had a lot of books, you originally noted. One night, upon noticing your attention towards them, she’d offered to read to you. So you picked one out, and nestled in the chair beside her bed, allowing Lucille to read you to sleep.

Romeo and Juliet.

You thought the dialect was beautiful, and held such a tragic story, one moreso than your own. It was comforting, in a way. That, and the Shakespearean language flowed from Lucille’s tongue so easily, it was mesmerising.

Not that it mattered anymore.

You stood outside while Negan crowbarred the door open, snow falling at your feet. It was an early winter morning, and Negan had insisted you find a new place to stay, somewhere with thicker walls and better heating. A fireplace was your top priority, right now.

The door finally creaks open, but you stay put obediently as Negan goes to inspect it for any dead. You’d found the routine stupid at first, but now knew better than to aggravate him about these things.

He was hanging by a thread as it is, and if something were to happen to you? There’d be no recovering.

Finally, he gave you permission to enter, trudging into the house quickly to escape the biting winds. In your hand was that metal baseball bat, clutched tightly. You’d been taking it everywhere. Every time you looked at it, you remembered what you’d done to your father.

It made you feel powerful.

Which was probably concerning for many reasons, but you didn’t care.

Negan searches the house for any supplies, noting the two bedroom layout. The living room, surprisingly, contains a small fireplace, and a kitchen attached. You scour the cupboards, finding not much else than a few cans of soup, pulling them down for later.

Curiously, you turn to the gas stovetop, pushing the knob down as it clicks. One, two, three, and suddenly it starts hissing. The revelation overshadows the potent smell reaching your nostrils.

“It’s got gas!” You yell out, a victorious little grin on your face as you turn it off. At least tonight you’d eat hot food, which was a relief in itself.

Negan comes into view, finally resting your bags down on the floor. This means you’ll stay here tonight. Thank god, you mentally sigh.

“Gas line must still be connected. Probably got heating, too.” He comments, searching through the cupboards once more as you pull yourself to sit on the counter. “Front door was barred, so they probably left out the back. Hoard must’ve come through the town.”

Your legs swing slightly, clad in denim jeans, though they don’t exactly do much to combat the cold.

“It’s a nice neighbourhood. We should go raid the other houses.” You suggest, mind already working at a fast pace, despite having just found somewhere to settle down.

Negan picks up on this, his brows furrowed, head shaking dismissively. “Hold your horses, kid. One step at a time.”

It makes you frown, knowing that he doesn’t take you seriously enough, like an equal. Though, you suppose that’s fair, given you’re a child. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of keeping your shit together.

Fortunately enough, this souring mood is disturbed as Negan abruptly turns around, a small purple tin in hand, and a stupid grin on his face. “How ‘bout this?” He holds it out, towards you.

You take it tentatively, a small smile coming to your lips. It’s powdered hot chocolate. Not something you’ve had during the apocalypse… or much before it, either.

“Pretty cool, I guess.” You admit, and despite any attempts to seem less enticed by the childish find, your expression gives it away. Definitely more than pretty cool.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Negan tries to find little things for you to be happy about. Things kids like. It seems, most of the time, that your attitude is anything but childish. He’d like to try and preserve that for as long as possible.

That, and it was a good distraction from the grief. Gave him something to pour his energy into, lest it fade completely.

So, the pair of you shared a dinner of canned soup, warmed up, and in actual bowls with cutlery. The nearby fire illuminated the area, warming the small kitchen whilst winter raged on outside. Snow had begun falling, and you internally wondered how the dead would hold up against the cold. Did it affect them? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn’t for you to know.

After dinner, Negan boiled some water over the stovetop, pouring it into two mugs with a healthy scoop of the chocolate powder. Milk was a luxury, now. Even if you somehow found some on the shelves, specifically the long-life kind, there was nowhere to keep it cooled.

But this tasted perfect as was. You sat on a stool at the kitchen bench, feet unable to touch the ground. All that walking was beginning to take its toll on your feet, so you were grateful for the break. Yet, that wasn’t an excuse to slow down.

“I really think we should check those other houses.” You prompt once more, trying to steer back into the conversation that had been shut down an hour ago.

Negan appears curious to your insistence, but not in the mood to entertain it. “Not we. I’ll go out in the morning, poke around. You can sleep in.”

Your brow furrows, a look of irritation filling your features despite the kind offer. “I’m not a toddler. I don’t need to lounge around while you’re collecting shit for us. I can pull my weight.”

“No, but you’re thirteen. You don’t need to pull your weight,” He explains sternly, “Just stay here, be a kid. Go play ball, or something.”

This irritates you to no end. However, Negan doesn’t know how sensitive you really are. Your whole life, you’d been forced to grow up, and now those tools were beginning to come in handy. Yet you were forced to act an age you outgrew years ago.

You huffed, slipping from the stool and padding down the hallway, refusing to entertain this conversation. Okay, maybe that was a little childish, to storm off. But you couldn’t help it.

So far, Negan had been nice to you, and you didn’t want him to realise how bringing you along was a mistake. That you couldn’t get along with adults, because it always felt like they were out to get you. You didn’t want to repeat this cycle with him. So, you shut him out for the night.

You even left your half-drunk hot chocolate on the bench. It was only after you’d firmly shut the bedroom door, that you realised, and were too prideful to go back and retrieve it.

“What the fuck..” Negan mumbled to himself, not understanding what he’d said wrong. He knew better than to chase after you for answers, instead letting it simmer, hoping you’d sleep it off.

Since leaving the house, you’d slept in all sorts of makeshift shelters. So having your own bedroom was weird. The wind was audible from inside, trees scraping against the windows, their branches whipping back and forth. You tried to block it out, but found that to be difficult.

You’d like to read your book.

But it was still out there, in your bag of supplies, which was left on the living room floor. Maybe this was the consequences of leaving in a huff. You told yourself that you didn’t need it: you weren’t a child, you didn’t need a bedtime story. Besides, you’d already read the play thousands of times.

It reminded you of that short period you’d been happy. Sure, the dead rising was pretty rough, but you had a safe place to stay, companionship, and were treated with a motherly kindness, something you’ve never experienced. It was more than just a book, for it reminded you of Lucille, when she’d read to you.

This room was the opposite of that memory. It was cold, it was dark, and it was lonely. What if something were to happen, and you were cooped up in here?

What if Negan decided you weren’t worth the trouble? An ungrateful brat that couldn’t communicate, couldn’t regulate her feelings, and thought everyone was against her.

Suddenly struck with the image of him leaving, of taking the chance to continue on his own, you rose from bed. Fuck that. You weren’t being left behind.

You pushed the door open, peeking into the hallway. It was dark in the house, but much warmer out there, the sensation growing the closer you got to the lounge, where the fire was still going.

The two mugs still sat on the kitchen bench, causing some guilt to ebb in your stomach, feeling bad for being so childish.

The other door, opposite yours, was still open. The room was dark, the bed empty. So you passed it, continuing into the living room, where you suspected Negan was.

You were right.

“What’re you still doing up?” He asked, having heard your footsteps coming down the hallway. It irritates you that he was so perceptive, but knew lashing out again would be unfair.

So, you shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” It’s a mumbled answer, still mentally distancing yourself, yet you come over to sit on the couch.

He’s seated on the floor, near the fire, trying to stoke it back to life. With no response, you feel antsy, like you should be explaining yourself, like you owe him an answer. A reason for everything. That no movement, no word, no action is allowed without justification.

“It’s just, that, bein’ down there feels weird,” You whisper, sounding unsure of yourself, “Like, in the back of the house… thought I’d sleep out here, instead.”

Negan gives a small nod, acknowledging your words, yet provides no argument against it. You wished he would argue.

To cement your point, you shift so you’re lying on the couch, knees brought up to your chest. In truth, it is much warmer out here, and significantly less closed off than the bedroom. It will work as an adequate resting space.

Then, Negan stands, moving out of your line of sight. You frown, wondering if you’ve done it, pushed him away. Some evil, dirty voice in the back of your head applauded you: yes, you don’t need him.

You weren’t awarded too much time to wallow, as soon the footsteps are returning, and a thick blanket from one of the bedrooms is placed over you. A frown fills your features, but nonetheless accept it, finding it much warmer.

The couch dips at your feet, Negan sitting down, remaining silent for the time being.

Truth is, he was still trying to figure you out. It was hard. He knew that you weren’t right, that he couldn’t handle you like any other child, but was determined to figure out what made you tick.

He tried to think about those few moments you had been happy. When your soured mood faded, and you actually smiled, not worrying about the undead.

“Want me to read to you?” Negan asked, sounding nervous. It was almost amusing. Almost.

You rolled your eyes, burrowing further into the blanket. “I know how to read.”

It was a snappy reply, laced with irritation. But Negan knew not to stop there. So he leaned down, fishing through the small bag on the floor, until he found it. A hardcover copy of Romeo and Juliet. It was Lucille’s, though he never remembered getting it for her, and assumed she must have bought it herself.

Flicking the pages open, he found where you’d tabbed the worn paper. He’d never read a script before, hesitating for a moment before reading aloud, sounding equally confused and awkward.

“I am.. a-weary, give me leave awhile,” He read in a monotone voice, “Fie.. how my bones ache. What a.. what a jaunt have I had..”

“You’re doing it wrong,” You immediately correct him, sitting up on the couch to deliver an unamused glare. “It’s not supposed to sound like that.”

“Who talks like this?” Negan rolls his eyes, but nonetheless continues reading. “I would.. thou hadst my bones, and I thy… c’mon, these aren’t even words.”

You try not to smile, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but it proves increasingly difficult. You lean over, taking the book from his hands, biting back a grin as you position it in your lap.

“Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.” You read off the page, in a much softer voice, trying to mimic the tone of the conversation.

Negan looks over your shoulder, visibly confused. You tilt it towards him slightly, pointing at the next line.

“Here, you can read for the nurse.” You suggest, only half serious.

That much is obvious, as Negan rolls his eyes, “Y’know what, you’re right, you do know how to read.” He scoffs, though he feints annoyance, he tries not to make the subtle victory known. That he managed to cheer you up.

You smile, laying back down on the couch, book propped up in front of your face. You resume a less tense position, letting your legs stretch a little, to which Negan manoeuvres your ankles so they rest over his lap.

He knows there will be many more days in the future where this happens. When something sets you off, or you get snappy, or you act out. But it’s not a terrible thing, as it means you’re alive and well. He’d like to keep it that way.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, anyway. Negan decides not to disrupt you, letting you stay on the couch, but he does carefully take the book and close it.

The next morning, you’d scavenge the remaining houses together. You’d continue your travels, together, until inevitably, your little group of two would grow into an army of many.

Even then, you were still a pair.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #negan smith x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #twd x you #carl grimes x you #the walking dead #negan smith

111 notes · View notes

royalsweetteaa · 1 year

Text

Ransom Drysdale

Masterlist

Series

Good intent - dark!Ransom Drysdale x homeless!reader

Ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | (complete)

Summary: Ransom is going through a mid-life crisis where he’s miserable and he wants to change things up to make his daily life more interesting. The change involves taking the freedom of someone who he deems is beneath societal suitability.

One-shots

Hearts behind bars - inmate!Ransom Drysdale x prison psychologist!reader

Summary: Your new job as a psychologist at a men’s prison goes better than you first excepted. All of your clients are well behaved, - particularly one gentleman being the infamous murderer of his grandfather’s housekeeper - Ransom Drysdale. The two of you become a little too fond of each other, and Ransom catches feelings for you. How do you manage this forbidden relationship?

Misreaders - soft!Ransom Drysdale x gf!reader

Summary: You deny Ransom physical affection you used to give him all the time after overhearing him complaining on the phone about how clingy and annoying he finds you.

Sweet red velvet - soft!Ransom Drysdale x menstruating!reader

Summary: You go through your period for the first time in yours and Ransom’s relationship.

Capital of needs - bratty!soft!Ransom Drysdale x housemaid!reader

Summary: You’re Ransom’s housemaid and you get to learn more about the trust fund manchild from a different perspective as you earn a place in his heart.

Short-shots

Love in the makings - soft!Ransom Drysdale x gf!reader

Summary: Ransom is feeling extra soft and passionate one morning.

Addicted to your voice - Ransom Drysdale x gf!reader

Summary: Ransom is horny and seeks reader for relief virtually.

A little help - Dark!Best friend!Ransom Drysdale x naive!innocent!reader

Summary: Ransom decides to use his best friend’s naivety and innocence when he can’t hold himself back from desiring her anymore.

Keep calm - soft!Ransom Drysdale x PTSD!reader

Summary: Reader goes through yet another PTSD trigger late at night, and Ransom has to handle it.

Inevitable ends - Ransom Drysdale x reader

Summary: You finally break away from Ransom’s clutches.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans #ransom drysdale masterlist #masterlist #soft ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #dark ransom drysdale #chris evans x reader #chris evans character fanfiction

353 notes · View notes

rinrinx2 · 8 months

Note

Hey rinrin ^^

I wanted to ask if you would do me a request about prisoner!ran x lawyer/prosecutor! Reader

You’re ran his (step-)sister and didn’t want to be in his case cause you don’t get along well with ran but your boss forced you and now you stand in front of his cell and talk with him about his case but it doesn’t end by just talking.

Could you maybe do this nfsw?

Prison pleasures

Ran x reader

Warnings: Language, prison s€x against the bars, p0rn with a plot

You had always warned your older brother that his actions would have consequences but everytime you’d mention it you were always dismissed with a

“Maybe if you catch a dick you’ll loosen up a bit”

With a snickering Rindou everytime he made the comment.

But now with the tables turned as you stood parallel to your brothers jail cell as he looked up at you from the bed at the back of cell.

“So you gonna stare at me or help me prove my innocence?” Ran questioned as he kept eye contact with you.

Even behind bars he still kept that snarky uptight attitude thinking that he was better than everyone else and it was because of his attitude that caused you to beg your boss not to take your brothers case.

It wasnt a matter of your abilities to defend your brother that you were worried about, if you were able to win the case of a thief who stole a million yen’s worth of jewellery then getting Ran out would be a piece of cake, but you didn’t want to help your brother to get out you wanted the asshole to sit in that cell for as long as possible and maybe fix his attitude.

That attitude that he didn’t even bother hiding when your parents got married.

“You’d think she’d make an effort at her own mothers wedding” you heard Ran whisper to Rindou as you stood with your bouquet next to your mother as the photographer merrily took pictures of what he assumed was a happy family.

And his attitude didn’t get better as step-siblings it in fact only got worst.

“Are these your panties?” Ran asked as he held up the triangle piece of material.

“Yes” seven teen year old you said without much thought.

“God I could jump off a building and whip one of these bad boys out and float gently down to safety, with these parachute panties”

“So you helping or should I go back to my nap”

And your eye twitched at his comment.

“I wanna watch you rot in that cell” you said through gritted teeth as you clutched your brief case tighter witch years of repressed anger coming out.

“You and the whole of Tokyo” Ran said with a snicker as he broke decided to break eye contact and opting to lay on his stone hard bed.

“As much as I want to watch you die in this cell I can’t my boss had a lot riding on this case” you said with a stoic expression trying your best not to give your brother the satisfaction that he would be free soon.

“I can imagine, Mikey needs me so I can only imagine the pickle he must have your boss and his family in right now” Ran said with without a care in the world.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t take my time to get you out” you said with a half smile, you were trying to show that even in this situation that your brother didn’t have dominance that for once it was you.

You had the power, you controlled whether he was able to walk out and when he would.

You didn’t even realise the effect your comment had made as you barely noticed that Ran had stood up from his bed walking over to the cell bars where you stood.

“I don’t think you wanna waste time getting me out” Ran said as he peered down at your figure.

“And why wouldn’t I want to waste your time” you said trying to stand your ground.

“You really think you can stand like that, like I don’t have an effect on you” Ran said with a smirk as he pushed his nimble hands through the bars placing them on your chin.

“You don’t” you replied removing his hands off of you.

“I do” Ran said as his hand went around your waist catching by surprise.

“And I know I do, because now you’re breathing faster, you’re taking deeper breathes and your pupils are dilating”

And with his words did you realise he was right he did effect you even if you didn’t want him to.

“Come on as much as you hate me I know I make you excited” Ran said as he moved his face closer to the bars as he looked down at you.

“Those walls at home are sturdy but they’re not sound proof, I use to hear you loud and clear every night as teenagers”

You bit down hard on your teeth trying your best not to show how flustered you were from Ran’s words.

And as much as you didn’t want Ran to be right you knew he was, you had in fact use to touch yourself to the thought of your step brother as much as you dreaded him. You weren’t sure why you felt attracted to him maybe it was how much he towered over you or maybe it was his self assured ego that drove you to feel flustered.

“Don’t get all pouty with me, you want my baby girl it’s natural”

You felt as Ran’s hands moved from your face outlining each curve till he was met with the mounds of your breasts giving them a firm squeeze that caused a breath of air to escape from your lips.

And you tried your best to compose yourself, trying you best to put on your unbothered facade but as your eyes once again met with Ran’s you were met with something you’ve never seen before.

His lilac eyes were now covered by black as his pupils dilated to its max, his gaze intense like a hunter waiting to capture its prey.

“I like it when you make those noises” Ran said as he pulled you closer by your waist, now you were squished to the bars but the failing of Ran’s hands on you drove heat to your core.

And within an instant your felt his hands begin to hike up your pencil skirt feeling as the cool air hit your bare thighs.

“Ran I-“

“Just enjoy it” Ran apple cutting you off as his hands now shifted to your pantie massaging your clit through the thin material.

You tried your best to bite back on moans, to both not alert the guards as well as not to have him fully satisfy him.

And the minute you felt as if you were about to release Ran removed his hands.

“Getting to excited now” he said with that same animalistic gaze which was your sign that he wanted it just as much as you.

And then suddenly your felt a warm appendage poking at you womanhood.

“Time to make those fantasies come true. Turn around and bend over” Ran commanded and before you could protest it Ran spoke again.

“Do it, don’t make me repeat myself”

And just as Ran commanded you did.

Turning yourself around feeling as Ran’s harden cock poked at your wet panties.

And like some pray being answered you felt as he shifted your panties to the side and slipping the tip in .

“Fuck you’re right” Ran moaned at as he slipped himself in the rest of way as you bit your lip holding back moans that begged to be spilt.

Ran began to move his hips back and forth as he fucked you through the bars of his cell.

The cold metal of the bars adding to the pleasure as it contrasted to how hot your pussy wrapped around Ran’s cock.

And your imagination never prepared you for how good Rans dick actually was, the way it judged perfectly against that one spot that your fingers could never reach.

The feeling of his cock rubbing against your walls were making you see stars and soon your felt that urge that had you screaming out for dear life approaching fast.

And Ran felt it too, and then suddenly it happened and you felt as liquid dripped down your thighs as your pussy milked Ran’s cock as he shot hot cum into you.

Ran pulled out with a grunt as he released his dick from your tight cunt. As he shifted your panties back over your cunt keeping his cum deep in your pussy

Tucking his cock back away as you tried your best to compose yourself gripping onto the bars you were just fucked against as Ran sat back down on his cell bed.

Ran watched as you pulled your skirt back down calming your breath as you reached for whatever disregarded briefcase you had.

“That’s why you shouldn’t waste time getting me out of here”

172 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 10 days

Note

OMG! I can practically see her pulling at her pearls in indignation and fury! I wonder how many wet dreams he rejected her to result in this anger 🙃🙄😜 https://www.tumblr.com/maximumwobblerbanditdonut/747779411400671232/public-intoxication-sh-was-invited-to-the-landcon?source=share

Dear Pearl Clutching Anon,

This woman is the worst mythomaniac and the most pathetic know-it-all of the entire fandom. Mark me: probably a sock account of one of the Mordor sopranos, who'd like to play it cool otherwise. She is an impostor, pretending to be a Scot. But her grammar and spelling recurrent mistakes point to anything else but an English native speaker.

Prized and praised as she is by the dim-witted, she is living proof of the fact that you cannot reasonably and endlessly pretend to be an expert in hair implants, cocktails/bartending, audiovisual production, copyright, alcohol sales and pretty much everything in between. To me, she is at her most pathetic when she pretends to analyze the legal intricacies of the French regulations applicable to public alcohol tasting events.

What happened, in fact, at the Landcon 6 whisky tasting?

Ok. So, this was announced by the French organizers on March 5th and presented as a limited audience event, priced at 350 euros.

This idiot's comment is absolutely priceless:

She would be surprised to find out that, unlike the US, there has never been any Prohibition decreed in France (Hell would have frozen). Even more interestingly, the only venues where French law specifically prohibits alcohol tastings and sales are enumerated very clearly in regulations far above her intellectual abilities:

The main idea is that you cannot sell/organize alcohol tastings in public health venues (hospitals, clinics, etc), rehabilitation clinics (d'oh!) - both for alcohol and drug addictions -, schools, youth summer camps, sports arenas, swimming pools or any other public or private sports venues.

(Source: French Public Health Code, https://www.dalloz.fr/documentation/Document?id=CODE_CSPU_ARTI_D3335-1&scrll=CSPU022225&FromId=CODES_SECS_CSPU_TALPHA)

To these limitations, the French national professional organizations add, as best practice, the following: churches, cemeteries, prisons, military barracks, railway/public transport facilities (including depots).

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

To my knowledge, Landcon's venue was neither a cemetery, nor a church (the latter could be, however discussed: wee & lame joke, btw). And for that poor woman's information, you would not need an exemption, but a permit, or licence. In current French law, there are four such sale permits, ranked from I (soft drinks, such as Orangina) to IV (all drinks, including spirits). The fabled Licence IV (also the name of a beloved 90s French kitschy music group, LOL) is now impossible to obtain and if you want to have one, you have to buy the venue (cafe, nightclub, bar, bistro, restaurant or buvette) that had it issued first, many moons ago.

That problem solved, we would have to further analyze the type of event hosted by the Landcon. Was it a tasting or a sale, according to French regulations?

If it was a tasting, no licence is needed. If it was a sale, you might need a temporary licence, granted by the Mayor, provided you have notified them at least 3 months before the event. These are also famously hard to get and very sparingly granted, too.

Because tastings are an exception, they are strictly defined by French regulations as 'free alcohol consumption' and their regulations are excruciatingly detailed. Procedures and limitations vary according to the type of event: sports, tourism promotion, markets and fairs, public gatherings or cultural events (which is the one that seemed the closest to our situation). But a cultural event-cum-tasting would have to be completely free of charge (no paying access tickets), in order to be exempt from any legal obligation. This was not the case, as we know there was a rather steep, 350 euros fee, to be able to attend it:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la dégustation/Tasting Legal Guide - https://www.syndicat-cotesdurhone.com/upload/article/file/202103guidejuridiquedeladegustation-60658bb9468b4.pdf)

That new activity was certainly not a tasting, as defined by French law. An amateur could then conclude, that S's event was, in fact, a disguised sale and that he is either a sinister fool or a filthy conman.

The trouble is, French legislation tolerates one single, overruling exception to everything I wrote above: sale by the producer of said alcohol. It is to be found (or rather interpreted - and it has been so by myself AND the French professional organizations), in the Code Général des Impôts/ French Tax Code:

To avoid a tedious legal translation, the idea is that if you do not sell your own produced booze, you are automatically considered as a stockist/trader and as such, subject to alcohol sales' regulations. If the Landcon organizers would have sold/promoted Laphroaig, for example, they would have needed the permit. But hosting a paying tasting event organized by SRH, promoting SRH's whisky and which profits entirely belonged to SRH is a sale by the producer, as defined by French law, not needing a permit:

(Source: Vin & Société's Guide juridique de la vente/Sales Legal Guide - https://fgvb.fr/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/Vin-et-Societe-Guide-juridique-de-la-vente-19042021.pdf)

So: even if the tasting event was, in fact, a sale, French law allows a producer to sell his own alcohol, for promotion purposes as a side event, with no further need to obtain a permit. And this is exactly what their legal team rightfully advised them to do and completely what I would advised them to do, too.

That woman is so often and in so many ways completely wrong, that she is absolutely ridiculous. She (and also her other Big Friend) should perhaps stop pretending to be whatever they are not. Infantilizing, bullying and snarling at people does not help with their credibility.

Such women are genuine Frauds and absolutely despicable. People spend years fucking their eyesight in law school and we do not joke about interpreting and reading legalese. Ever. But to see idiots pretending to know just because they fucking used Google for ten minutes is just infuriating: it took me two hours to find the exception and another two to write this comment.

I hope this long, tedious answer was helpful, Anon.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

72 notes · View notes

deepouterspacecandy · 2 months

Text

Ink and Paper Hearts: Part Two

This is the second part of an earlier piece that I absolutely loved writing and had posted for Valentine’s Day. Like its predecessor, this one is over 8k words. We’ve got a bit of everything here. Light angst, fluff, a slice of smut. Violence, gore, and sexual themes. Heavier in tone than the first, for sure. 18+ only.

Dogs barking at a murder of crows outside jolt you awake—their high-pitched caws cutting through the dawn. You suspect the birds have homed in on a corpse beyond the fences or food scraps someone has carelessly left behind for them to scrounge.

The sounds of paws hitting the pavement echo, signalling that someone has already taken the four-legged crew out for their morning walk. The exhaustion in your body is grateful.

Five more minutes to curl up in this stark, sterile cell Isaac has forced you to call home for the past two months.

The hardest part of getting out of bed is no longer the lack of sunshine, but the shock of the frigid floors against your bare feet. Heating a prison that was probably already in disrepair long before Cordyceps hit is a gargantuan task.

Abby’s letters and dried flower trimmings adorn the plain walls, filling the space with a bright fragrance. Nobody at the prison dares read them, every soldier respecting the already dire lack of retreat the barren walls provide.

That doesn’t stop them from teasing you for being the only one in camp brave enough to journey beyond the walls for office supplies.

It also doesn’t prevent them from offering generous trades for a few pens and some paper of their own when you return.

A chilly nose nuzzles against your palm, urging you to confront your troubles and venture outside so that she can serve with her comrades.

“No sleep for the wicked, eh?” you groan, your voice causing her floppy ears to rise. “Oh, no—don’t even think about it!”

With a joyful whine, she eagerly tackles your tired body, making quick work of reducing all your blankets into a messy heap on the floor.

“Troublemaker,” you giggle, letting her spin into oblivion over the soft material before giving her a gentle shove so you can put your bed back together.

“Should we shower first or write to Abby?”

The familiar name triggers Navigator, causing her to bark and spin with enthusiasm. To be certain, you break it down for her one more time, making sure she comprehends.

“Shower?”

She lets out a tiny, impatient whimper.

“Write to Abby?”

Her shrieking bark echoes through the prison, and you wish you had the means to share it with the girl in question. The dog hasn’t even met her yet, but she knows.

Abby is a beacon of light to her handler.

“Alright, alright, you win,” you say, the hazy cloud of your breath reminding you to grab your coat.

Writing to Abby during sunrise would be a beautiful way to start the day. You glance into the hallway to make sure the pathway is clear and turn to your pup.

“Navi—who’s there?” you ask, the command changing her demeanour instantly.

She stiffens and lowers her head, listening.

Before panting in your direction to give you the all clear, she attentively scans her surroundings but detects nothing out of the ordinary.

“Good girl, Navigator—yard,” you say, and she’s almost too thrilled to compose herself.

She bumps into the chair beside your desk, giving the object a quick sniff before moving through the familiar doorway. Her shoulders graze the steel bars, but only enough to help her right herself and course correct.

Your hand instinctively searches for a pen, but catches on a delicate bracelet, its intricate chain hindered by a broken clasp. It didn’t arrive to you that way, but after many sleepless nights constantly clutching it under your sleeve, it eventually gave in.

It makes you miss Abby even more.

Chilly air stings your lungs as you look out at the most recent delivery spilling from an eroded shipping container just outside the gates. These intermodal containers clutter the field, creating an unsightly and hazardous environment.

The level of chaos seems to be escalating, and it’s unclear if Isaac is fully aware of it.

The prison is evolving into a central hub for storing resources, and speculation about Isaac turning it into a medical facility is increasing.

Someone forgot to close the hatch on the one closest to the entry gate, the dented door of the container left ajar. You whistle for Navigator. Two of her more seasoned companions join her on either side, ears perked at full attention, watching her six.

“Navi—check,” you command.

It’s a new obstacle, and her busy nose finds the perimeter first. You swallow against your racing heart, praying that nothing has crept inside overnight. Navigator is capable, but she faces unfavourable odds, and everything in this world happens fast.

You have conflicting feelings about helping her develop into a stronger soldier, yet wanting to keep her close to you.

She wags her thick tail as she maps the object and waits for your command.

“Good. Check,” you repeat, and she slows to a silent crawl, her ears on a swivel.

She clips her hip on the rusted lock as she disappears inside the metal box, her nails clicking against the wooden floor. You draw your gun and wait.

A full minute goes by before her nose cautiously peeks out again, and there’s a rush of relief as the tension drains from your body.

“Good, Navi. Good job,” you exhale, crouching to touch her face and run your hands over her in search of injury.

A soldier, who you can only assume arrived with the shipment, makes his way towards you through the mud.

“Who left this open?” you ask, your tone garnering the attention of others in the field, still nursing their morning coffee.

The crew within earshot nonchalantly shrug their shoulders, and the indifference stirs up a storm inside you.

“I guess we’ve got ghosts!” you laugh humourlessly. “If you leave room for trouble, trouble will find you—and then it will find me and my crew. You must close the damn—,” but before you can finish, you’re plunged to the ground, a rancid jaw snapping at the back of your neck.

Gunfire sends every crow to the sky, the blast leaving a deafening buzz ringing in your ears. Your chest heaves on the damp ground as you try to gather your bearings, sweaty palms pressing into the soil against the rotten weight on your back.

----------------------------------------

Abby,

I don’t know what it would look like for you to leave it all behind, but I know it would be better than this.

With enough force to chew through it, you gnaw on your pen cap while reading over the start to your letter. Paper is a precious resource and you’re not above scribbling out the odd mistake, but this requires a new sheet. Considering the stress Abby is already facing, it’s best not to add anything more to her plate.

Abby,

What was the first thing you did when you woke up?

Give me details—what did you eat for breakfast? Did you go to the gym?

I’ve got your letters up on the wall beside my bed and it’s the first thing I see. The first thing I feel… well, that would be Navi’s cold nose. Usually, it’s somewhere at the back of my neck, but today it was my hand, so I’d say all in all, it has been a decent morning.

She’s doing better. We had a minor mishap earlier, but it’s no different from any other dog I’ve trained, really. They all have their quirks. I know she’ll be able to handle everything with a little more practice.

She already likes you, and you haven’t even met. You’ll see what I mean soon. I talk to her about you a lot, she’s a good listener. I still can’t believe we found each other the way we did.

It’s getting crowded around here. I’m starting to appreciate the long walk to town! There’s this abandoned gym I pass by sometimes and it makes me think of you. Maybe I should grab a set of weights and start training. That would only make me miss you more, though.

Oh, any chance the stadium has adopted a jeweller? I accidentally broke the bracelet you sent me and I’m rather grumpy about it. Still makes me smile as much as the first time I saw it.

Maybe you’ll be here whenever it’s fixed, to put it back on for me. Or take it off. The choice is yours.

Is that too much? I’m going a little stir crazy.

It’s too quiet here at night!

P.S.

Did you have someone before this? Another Dragonfly Firefly?

Abby’s next letter arrives after just a week, and you sprint up the stairs to the top of the guard tower to absorb it. As Navigator curls up beside you, her solid jaw rests comfortably on your lap, creating a soothing weight as you pet her. You notice her spine feels different under your touch, no longer as bony as it was when you first brought her back.

Maintaining a connection with Abby is helping you stay grounded while you cope with life outside the stadium, and so is the growing bond with your affectionate pup. You’re counting down the days until those worlds collide.

Dragonfly,

You make my face hurt. In a good way, obviously.

Bah, should I rewrite this? I’m running low on paper, so I guess I’ll embarrass myself.

Hi, pretty girl.

That slip up was super cute. Did you know dragonflies can live under water for like two years after they’re born?

Do you like to swim?

I bet Navigator loves the water. Can I take her to the lake sometime? Mama, too, of course.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m jealous of your dog, big time. The thought of waking up next to you does things to me.

Breakfast? Well, I wolfed down a salmon bagel this morning and hit the weights early. I didn’t go to the gym, just me and my dumbbells today. I enjoy working out on my own, gives me time to think. Mostly about you.

If you’re serious about working out, I know an excellent trainer who would love to help you. (It’s me.)

They served me a glass of wine tonight, so I’ve got the warm fuzzies going on. Sitting here with your letter, I’m realizing that this is how you make me feel—like the edges of everything, somehow hurt less. I think about that night on your living room floor, and it gives me butterflies.

Hitting me with the big relationship questions, are we?

Do you remember Owen? He was still around for a while when you got here, I’m pretty sure. He was the only Firefly you speak of. A chapter I’m glad to put behind me. There’s a new one I’m reading and I’m thinking this book might be a keeper.

Nothing you say is too much. Sometimes I worry you’re holding back, like maybe you don’t want me to know how bad things are out there. Please tell me everything, even the bad stuff.

I’m dying to see you all grouchy, but I’ll still fix your bracelet. Don’t need a jeweller for that.

I think you know what I’d vote for, but I’m down for either of those things.

(Just in case, the answer is off. I’d vote for taking it off.)

I made myself blush when I wrote that.

Think of me.

Yours,

Abigail

You crunch the letter against your face with glee, the pup on your lap tilting her head quizzically at your outburst.

“I like her so much,” you say, releasing Abby’s letter in favour of squealing into your cupped hands. “I like her so, so much.”

Navigator searches for them, nudging at your fingers to gauge your emotional state.

“These are happy sounds,” you tell her, dropping a smooch on her snout.

She takes your word for it, cozying back up next to you.

After rereading Abby’s letter, you find yourself lost in thought as you stare out at the quiet grounds, your mind overflowing with things you want to write to her.

And some things that you don’t.

--------------------------------------

The Stalker who attacked you didn’t breach the protective layer of your clothing.

You still find yourself obsessively checking your reflection in the D-Block bathroom mirrors throughout the day—running your fingers lightly along your shoulder blade, feeling for any cuts or abrasions.

Close calls happen, but this has niggled inside the darkest corners of your mind, dive bombing into your nightmares.

As idiotic as those soldiers were, and maybe as green as Navigator is at surveillance, this is how easily it goes down.

A random, insignificant day, before the sun has even risen above the treeline, another human ceases to exist. You’d never considered it before—how you’d prefer it to happen. You know one thing for sure, you’d rather it didn’t shake out at the hands of someone too lazy to keep the area secure.

“Shit, sorry,” a voice groans out. “I didn’t think anyone used these showers.”

As you turn, your eyes meet those of a stranger. She stands before you, a towel tucked neatly under her arm, hair pulled back to prevent her glossy curls from getting wet. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and you can see it’s because she’s exhausted.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, rushing to slip your shirt back on. “I normally don’t use them, but you’re more than welcome.”

“What’s got you back here, then?” she asks. “You good?”

With her narrowed, inquisitive gaze, she reminds you of the importance of conducting thorough investigations on everyone you come across.

“I’m fine,” you say, pointing to the rusted handles protruding from the wall. “Crank it to the left and you might get lucky, but hot water isn’t really a thing around here. Decent pressure, though.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

You hesitate, and she extends her hand with a low laugh.

“Nora,” she says. “I’m a medic. Isaac’s got me here setting up shop.”

“Right, makes sense,” you say, feeling the tightness in your muscles dissipate.

“Did you want me to take a look at that?” she asks.

She’s pointing to the spot where you had the closest contact with the infected and your stomach churns, blood rushing into your ears. You spin in the mirror, yanking your shirt collar down.

“I’ve checked a thousand times! I swear there’s nothing.”

With a calm demeanour, she places her hand on your arm.

“I believe that. But I’m thinking maybe you don’t,” Nora says.

Her touch is enough to keep your heart from ejecting from your throat, but only barely. Her bedside manner alone sets her apart as one of the best medics you’ve encountered.

“Keep focusing on your breath,” she continues. “Are you comfortable lifting your shirt?”

You nod, and she assists you in bunching the fabric under your chin.

Nora slips a knackered flashlight out from her towel, placing her sheathed knife onto the countertop. Clicking on the flashlight, she illuminates the ominous bathroom, casting eerie shadows in the mirrors and around the room as she moves it from side to side.

“I heard about what went down,” she explains, pressing the pads of her fingers into your skin. “Not cool.”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at her casual evaluation, but your own mistake in the incident quickly comes to mind. You wiggle your fingers into Navigators’ fur; the pup quietly leaning against your leg.

“Shit happens, I guess.”

“Yeah, well,” Nora says, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting the shirt fall to your sides. “Some mistakes shouldn’t happen twice.”

With your head dipped, you shuffle towards the entryway, hesitating at the threshold of the haunted corridors.

“Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s not make it a habit,” she smirks, the faucet screeching under her grip. She raises her voice above the rush of water. “I can think of one person who’d be rather livid if she found out her girl was in danger. That would be all bad.”

Abby’s reputation for being tight-lipped about personal matters makes you suspect that they’re friends, and your chest constricts.

“I shouldn’t tell her, then?” you ask.

Nora plunks a bar of soap onto the partition between shower stalls.

“Not what I said,” she grins, undoing her belt buckle. “Hey—do you mind leaving him?”

She tips her chin at your dog.

“Navigator?” you say, sending the dog’s tail into a helicopter spin. “Uh—yeah. Of course. But she’s not really—she still needs time.”

With tenderness, Nora bends down and cradles the dog’s head in her hands.

“A little lady, huh?”

She runs the pads of her thumbs beneath Navigator’s eyes, whispering something into her ear that is overpowered by the sound of water tearing into the tile ground.

“We’re good,” Nora says. “Now, what’s it going to take to get a little privacy around here?”

---------------------------------------

Abby,

Is the new chapter with me? Please tell me it’s me.

I can’t put a face to Owen. That time was a blur for me, but I remember Mel. She examined me when I first got there. I hope everything went well with the baby.

Uh oh, now you’re asking me all the hard hitters!

Promise not to laugh, okay?

I have no fucking clue how to swim. I could probably… not drown… for a solid minute or two.

When we were little, my siblings told me there were infected in the lake. After that, I always felt too scared to try. When I got older, I’d go in on horseback because they really loved to swim. Luckily, nothing grabbed my feet. That was always my biggest fear.

I miss the smell of horses. That probably makes me a weirdo, right? I’d like to have one again someday. They’re such gentle giants.

Reminds me of you.

Speaking of which, all this gym talk has unlocked fun new cravings in my brain. You could ask me about them, or I could show you.

You make my face hurt, too.

I want to be that for you all the time, which is why I’m scared to tell you this next part. Please try not to worry either, because I swear, I’m okay.

I got jumped by an infected. The fucker laid me out. It’s getting hectic around here and someone forgot to close the shipping container. It was an accident, and nobody got hurt, thankfully. Everyone is being more careful now, I think. But the deliveries are constant and it’s getting a bit out of hand. It doesn’t feel secure here the way it does back home.

On the plus side, I think I saw a radio being carried in today! Do you figure they’d let us use it? I’d really like to hear your voice.

Please be safe.

Dragonfly

From the porch of the administrative building, you hear the unmistakable sound of an engine starting up, followed by the sudden beam of headlights cutting through the darkness of the field beside you. It’s not common for groups to travel after dark, but you make your way to the fence to satisfy your curiosity.

“Where are you guys headed?” you ask.

A woman with pigtails and a wicked scowl casts a sharp, sidelong glance in your direction. “What’s it to you?”

“Are you heading into the city, by any chance?”

She braces herself against the truck’s hood and analyzes you.

“It’s classified,” the woman mutters, tearing apart a strip of jerky before tossing a piece to Navigator. “What’s the matter—she got something against beef?”

You whisper a command, patting the grass in front of her. The pup easily locates the source of the incredible smell, but you can feel the weight of the woman’s scrutinizing glare.

“We could really use some better lighting out here,” you say, holding up your folded letter. “If I ask you to take this to someone at the stadium, what would you want in return?”

She works you over for a moment, nodding at the multi-tool on your belt.

“Done!” you say.

As you busy yourself with taking the tool off its leather strap, she grunts, “Who’s it for?”

You survey your environment for any potential eavesdroppers, heat creeping up your neck.

“Anderson.”

With a contemptuous snort, she propels herself off the hood.

“Abby? What’s your deal with her?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s classified,” Nora interjects from the shadows, grabbing the letter from you through the fence.

The paper lands against the woman’s vest with a sharp slap. You suddenly feel a wave of concern that she might crumple up the letter and fling it out the window before the convoy moves ten feet from the prison.

Nora turns on her heel to load a crate onto the truck before raising her brow at the disgruntled soldier.

“I’ll make sure she gets it,” the woman says.

“Great!” With a wink, Nora begins her slow, determined walk toward the main gate.

You get to keep your Leatherman, too.

----------------------------------------

During morning training, Navigator’s keen sense of hearing allows her to mimic the movements of her peers closely, effortlessly blending in with them. The day kicks off on a high note, as every dog under your care triumphs in their practice missions.

Under the cloudless blue sky, the sun casts its vibrant energy into everything it reaches, including you. Perfect timing since you’re already needing to make another run into town.

It’s an easy trek for the first while until you get closer to the roadways. Rusted vehicles marred by fallen trees make it a challenge to explore.

“Navi—up,” you say, keeping your voice low. She sniffs to find her obstacle and seems to recognize it as the mossy log it is. “Careful, it’s slippery.”

You should heed your own warnings, but alas, the ground is so uneven that you stumble and slip about ten times before reaching your destination.

Although there is no post office, there is a pharmacy that shares its premises with a convenience store. You’ve had good fortune in locating supplies, particularly towards the back where someone has stacked boxes in front of the door marked Staff Only.

They act as a barrier, and you have no desire to uncover the mystery of what they’re obstructing. You take what you need and scram.

You notice a city mailbox and contemplate attempting to pilfer what’s inside. When you pull at the drop box handle, it gives out a loud, metallic creak that reverberates through the streets. Navigator goes rigid, her ears pinned as she notices something you don’t.

With your pistol in hand, you carefully sweep your gaze across the area, straining to discern any movement amidst the jumble of abandoned cars. The dog growls, a quiet rumble in her chest at a Runner, rocking unsteadily in an alley. As your blood chills, you quickly backtrack, moving the both of you to safety.

It takes longer to reach the prison, but the detour keeps you whole.

You release your companion to lounge leisurely in the sun with her friends and decide to face the dreaded ice shower. It demands serious mental toughness to withstand being both cold and wet in a cement dungeon, and you’re not quite conditioned for it.

The system you’ve come up with is laughable and miserable, but it somehow convinces you it’s the optimal solution. A bucket, filled to the top, that you can pour over your head to prevent fully submerging yourself.

With a sense of desperation, you lean forward, silently hoping that today will be the day when someone fixes the water tanks.

After subjecting yourself to hygiene torture, you wrap your towel snug around your frame, contemplating the idea of building a firepit inside the bathroom.

A voice unexpectedly pierces the dark and startles you.

“That is a great outfit.”

In a state of shock, her powerful physique and honeyed tone instantly bring you warmth.

“No freaking way!” you shout.

“Get your butt over here, smoke show. Don’t make me wait,” she says.

With a sprint and a leap, you throw yourself into Abby’s arms, your towel slipping from your hand. She holds you so tight it doesn’t shift an inch.

“How?” you ask, your body trembling. “How are you here right now?”

“I took a leave of absence,” Abby murmurs into your damp hair.

She giggles as you wrap your arms snugly around her neck, your legs a vice around her waist.

“Tell me this is real,” you say, voice breaking as you inhale her deeply. “God, you smell so good.”

Abby shifts her weight in a rhythmic sway, soothing you in her embrace as you suddenly crumble.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she whispers, hushing you gently as you sob against her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

----------------------------------------

Abby decides you’ve been cold, and towel bound long enough so you throw on your clothes and lead her outside, where you emerge with the sun’s last kisses appeasing your icy skin.

The golden light transforms into a hazy cotton candy glow, casting a celestial hue that electrifies every blade of grass beneath your feet.

With a bright, lopsided grin on her face, Abby lingers a few paces behind you, adding a pleasant energy to the air. Her army fatigues, rugged and worn, serve as a reminder of her toughness, yet her movements with you are graceful, as she effortlessly synchronizes her steps with yours.

“You’re too far away,” you say, keeping your pace. “I’m all alone up here.”

The moment she tackles you, a boom of surprised laughter escapes from your throat. She seizes the opportunity to launch her attack as the last hours of sunlight hit your eyes, raising you carefully above her head to place you on her shoulders.

“Don’t you dare drop me,” you warn, her grip on your legs helping you defy gravity. “I’m slipping!”

With a sigh, she cheerfully tickles your thighs, poking fun at your theatrical antics.

“You’re fine,” she says.

“I can see everything!”

“Now you see what I see,” she murmurs, launching into a series of small hops to readjust you above her.

Her words settle within you, and it’s clear Abby is making her father proud, bearing an uncanny resemblance to his sentimental ways.

The years you spent on horseback have honed your core muscles, enabling you to toy with her earlobes as she trudges on. When you take full advantage of your special access to her neck, the sounds she emits are soft as peach fuzz.

Striding through the vast field, she exudes a sense of purpose, as if leading you both home.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You talk too much,” she teases, pressing her lips to the inside of your thigh.

You feel it consume your body, leaving you breathless. Abby circles her thumb over the spot her lips met your leg, like maybe it was having the same effect on her.

She moves through sparse brush to a crumbling shack, its bones tilting above a flowing creek, summoning the earth to wash it away.

Abby easily adjusts to the incline of the muddy bank while you clumsily flail about. Extending your hands in front of her, she grabs hold of them and steadies you.

“Everything good?”

“I can walk,” you offer.

“Is that what you want?”

“No,” you confess.

She smooths her hands over your calves, before stepping onto the sunken pebbles.

The bubbling stream welcomes her steady boots, and you close your eyes. Up the trunks of the trees, small claws scamper, accompanied by the fluttering of wings that turn the forest into a harmonious amalgamation of nature.

“I’m not hurting you?” you ask.

She knows what you’re really worried about. With a knowing huff, she easily scales the other side of the bank, as if to prove a point.

“I could deadlift you in my sleep.”

“Move over universe—Abby’s ego is coming through!”

You feel her body vibrate with laughter, and you’re thrilled to be connected to her gales of happiness. But truthfully, the strain of trying to keep your equilibrium and extend your hand to touch her is causing a dull ache to spring up in your back.

When you tap out, it’s in one swift motion down the length of her back. Your feet hit the ground and you wobble for a few steps before becoming reacquainted with your sea legs.

“I like how strong you are.”

“I like that you like how strong I am,” Abby says, her brows arching suggestively, adding a mischievous twinkle to her eyes.

You catch sight of a towering white wall, its grandeur diminished by years of wear. It’s supported by the framework of sturdy steel truss, not intimidated by time or extreme weather the way the rest of the place seems to be. As wildflowers merge with a mob of ancient vehicles, the lot becomes a kaleidoscope of colours against the sunset, bridging the gap between the past and the present.

A weathered marquee sign stands as a charming centrepiece, teeming with prosperous vines. The wind has stolen away a significant number of the movie titles—what remains evokes a profound wave of sadness.

Look for the light.

“Abby,” you whisper, reaching for her hand. She laces her fingers with yours. “What is this place?”

With her hand still tightly woven in your grasp, she steps in front of you, passionately describing the nostalgic charm of a Drive-In movie theatre. Although she had never been, her dad had shared numerous stories of them.

“So, you’d just sit in your car and eat snacks and stuff?”

“Well, the families did,” Abby snorts.

She plucks a purple flower from the wheel of an RV before slipping it into your hair, her warm breath tickling your face. Your scalp tingles pleasantly at her touch.

“And the others?” you ask, reaching up to feel the soft petals of her affection against your fingertips. “What would they do?”

You weren’t born yesterday, and she quirks a knowing brow at your play of virtue. Your lips moisten with anticipation. Abby tilts her head, her gaze flitting to your parted mouth.

“It’s hard to explain,” she lies, scrunching her freckled nose. “Want me to show you?”

A shiver at the base of your neck sends your temperature rising.

“I think that’s probably best,” you say.

As Abby moves closer, your foreheads accidentally collide, causing both of you to break into hushed laughter, becoming even more enchanted as you feel your breaths mixing.

She swallows, and it’s a loud squeak at the back of her throat, your heart thumping erratically at how timid she has become. It empowers you to tease her, brushing the tips of your fingers along her jaw, tracing the corners of her smile. Your forefinger dips below her chin and drags along the column of her neck.

You gently explore the hollow of her collarbone until her yearning drives her to lean into you.

“The way you look at me,” Abby whispers. “You make me weak.”

“I wonder what happens if I do this, then.”

Your lips skim hers in a slow, teasing sweep until she whimpers against your mouth.

“Please,” she begs.

The taste of her full lips and the sweet glide of her tongue leaves a forest fire burning deep inside you.

----------------------------------------

The moon’s glow penetrates the dense foliage, causing hallucinations that morph ordinary plants into nightmarish beings, making the journey back to the prison a sensory maze.

Your body longs for Abby’s touch, but your mind advises against begging her to pin you against a nearby tree.

“Speak, chatterbox,” Abby teases, pulling you against her side so you can both stumble through the dark. “You’ve gone quiet on me.”

“I’m really turned on right now,” you blurt, and Abby barks such a rich laugh into the peaceful forest that it instantly becomes your favourite tune. “I think I’d put Manny to shame.”

“Wow. I’m that good, huh?”

You imitate the piercing static of a HAM radio, holding up an invisible mic. Your juvenile behaviour nearly causes her to collapse with laughter.

“This is Dragonfly calling Abby’s ego,” you say. “Can someone put my girl back on the air?”

Abby comes to a halt at the edge of the field, her wide eyes transforming into an inky sky. Her gaze bursts with ethereal stars.

“Can I see that for a second?” she asks, gesturing to the invisible mic in your hand.

Your cheeks sting with euphoria as you hand it to her.

Pretending to adjust the coiled cord, she puts on quite a show, and you’re smitten.

“This is Abigail calling Dragonfly,” she says, her confident voice dripping with authority.

When you don’t pick up, she playfully lambasts you.

“But you took my mic!” you squeak.

She cups a hand over the one she stole from you, to whisper, “Grab another one—they’re all over the place out here.”

Your adoration for her leaves you entranced, enabling you to produce another microphone out of thin air. You feel a rush coursing through you, from the roots of your being to the tips of your extremities. You’re not sure if you’re walking or floating.

“Dragonfly here. Standing by,” you say.

As Abby pulls you close, a glaring flashlight steals your vision, its blinding beam eviscerating the little world you’d built together.

----------------------------------------

Nora paces the makeshift medical bay as Abby braces herself on a bedrail.

“She was by my side the whole time,” Nora explains, her face twisted up in anguish. “The delivery squad pulled their truck through the gate and forgot to secure it. Navigator must’ve slipped out. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, feeling the anger well up inside you as you think about the lax protocols of the prison. “There are too many people coming and going.”

“She knows where home is, right? I mean—it’s wherever you are,” Abby says, rubbing your back.

“Not sure,” you admit, fear taking hold. “I have to find her.”

You gather a small bag of supplies and Abby stops you before you reach the door.

“It’s not safe.”

“You don’t understand, Abby. She isn’t—she can’t be out there alone.”

“Where do you want this, Nora?” a soldier asks, his arms loaded to his chin with boxes.

Abby marches across the room and slams him against the wall.

“Who left the gates open?” she roars.

“Christ, Anderson! Chill out. I don’t know,” he wheezes. “We got the orders to unload and go. Where’s your gate patrol?”

“We’re a skeleton crew, there is no gate patrol,” you say, hands shaking. “There’s a sign out front for a reason.”

“Isaac hasn’t sent anyone yet?” he asks, shouting over his shoulder as he ambles back into the passageway. “That’s suicide out here.”

“Tell me about it,” you groan.

Abby’s jaw clenches and she balls her fists. “Enough of this shit,” she says. “We’re finding your dog and I’m taking you back with me.”

“Isaac won’t like that. You know it,” Nora warns, pressing her palms into her eyes. “Let me try him on the radio.”

“Wait, did you hear that?” you ask.

Navigator’s familiar, lancing bark reverberates through the prison yard, prompting the three of you to sprint after the sound. Trapped outside the fence, she paces restlessly, her nose sniffing the ground in search of a way inside.

Nora disappears to take matters into her own hands, assigning someone to patrol the gates for the night.

“Will you meet me in the guard tower?” you ask Abby. “There’s something I want to show you.”

----------------------------------------

Flames crackle and hiss inside the base of a small metal drum that Abby hauled up the stairs. Standing in front of the window, her silhouette watches over the field she had explored with you only a few hours earlier.

The fire radiates so much heat in the tower that Abby has abandoned her jacket altogether. You watch from the doorjamb in awe as Abby takes tools off the carabiners on her cargo pants one by one and arranges them neatly in a pile.

Up here, it’s usually silent except for the occasional visit from a curious barn owl. The dilapidated space comes alive under her presence.

“Someone wants to meet you.”

Every movement Abby makes is sluggish, as if she’s drained of all energy, but her smile makes your heart stutter. With a gentle gesture, she kneels and raises her bent arm towards your pup, presenting the relaxed knuckles of her hand.

With the jitters still lingering from her unexpected journey in the woods, Navigator moves slowly, searching for her new friend.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Abby says, her tone softening as she takes a seat and crosses her legs. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Startled by the unfamiliar voice, the pup cautiously inches forward, her nose quivering as she takes in the scents of the surrounding air.

“You’re okay,” Abby hums tenderly.

Navigator settles into her gentle palms as Abby carefully examines her face, tracing the patterns of freckles that decorate her cheeks.

Abby looks up at you with benevolence.

“She can’t see me,” she whispers.

Upon shaking your head, you immediately feel a tightness building in your throat. You wrap your arms around yourself and take stock of how this indestructible woman can so easily tap into an ocean of empathy.

“But you can hear me, can’t you, sweetheart?” Abby says.

As Navigator’s tail blurs, merrily slicing through the air, it leaves a trail of embers that float and twirl toward the open window.

“Tell her your name,” you suggest.

Bending her head, she meets Navigator halfway, voice brimming with affection.

She murmurs her name as she reaches for her coat, ensuring that her scent lingers for the puppy to recognize.

When she repeats her name a second time, Navigator lets out a buoyant bark, spinning across the floor and back onto Abby’s lap in a heap of excitement, her paws barely gaining purchase before covering Abby’s face in hyper kisses. She braces her arm behind her to keep from toppling over, chuckling through the battering. As they become acquainted through cuddles and play, the tension within you fades.

“You never mentioned it in your letters,” Abby says, encouraging the dog to settle between you.

It’s not long before the soothing ambiance of the fire lulls her to sleep.

“I couldn’t take the chance. If someone intercepted them, you know?” you explain, mind racing with the consequences. “It ends badly in the wrong hands.”

“Isaac, you mean?”

“Isaac—really anyone with his intolerance for weakness,” you say, messing with a piece of kindling before adding it to the fire. Within seconds, the flames engulf the tinder. “He was always intense. But he’s cruel, now. Power blinds him and he just doesn’t care who it burns. There’s no way he’d let her stick around if he thought she couldn’t fulfil her duties.”

“He’ll find out,” Abby utters, intertwining her hand with yours on Navigator’s back.

“I know,” you confess. “That’s why I can’t stay.”

Abby takes a deep, concerned breath before straightening up, crossing her arm sheepishly over the other. Her chin trembles and tears well up in her eyes.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

------------------------------------

When Abby speaks about the regrets of her past, she does not mince words. She gets candid about her missteps and how the loss of her father confused her relationships. Abby tells you about Mel, her father’s surgical protégé, a girl who was supposed to be her friend first—instead of becoming a shoulder for Owen to cry on.

She alludes to their covert flirtation building over time and tells you about the painful day Owen asked for her blessing.

He still sheepishly proclaimed his love for Abby, which tipped her world upside down until she launched herself into work and training to keep from falling apart.

Abby faced great difficulty in dealing with her grief, and it was particularly hurtful for her to witness her own people capitalizing on her vulnerability during a time when her world was in chaos.

While recounting the events of their transition from Fireflies to the WLF, she doesn’t overlook the trauma experienced by her friends. But she allows hers to matter, too, and you respect her immensely for it.

She reaches for your hands when she tells you about that night, almost as if she fears you’ll get up and leave.

A regretful one-night affair tinged with a jar of rank hooch and unrequited love. A night which offered Abby closure but only served to open the floodgates for Owen and a world of heartache for Mel.

When Mel was in her third trimester with their unborn child, Owen made a plea to Abby to stay with him—help him make it work.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t in love with him anymore,” Abby sighs. “I cared about him, but I could never give him what he wanted. Not after everything that happened. He needed to get his priorities straight.”

“You deserved better,” you say.

“So did Mel. You should be upset with me.”

She lays her imperfections bare before you, and you only see her resilience. A woman forced to learn how to rebuild herself with bricks made of loss and betrayal. You shake your head and press a kiss to her palm.

“Would it have happened if the roles were reversed? If it were your pregnant girlfriend waiting around for you?”

“Never,” Abby states, her piercing gaze locking with yours. “It’s not even a question.”

“Exactly. It sounds like he was trying to escape his situation, with or without you.”

Even before the affair, Mel griped Owen wasn’t content, and she wasn’t the only person who shared that belief. The gossip had turned into a string of hushed rumours after Isaac had offered Owen a place to stay in Section Ninety-Six. A dedicated area for young families—a home with Mel he’d never set foot in.

In his pursuit of a different path, he seemed to prioritize his own needs above all else.

Perhaps they all had their own personal demons to confront.

By immersing herself in her responsibilities to the WLF, Abby could keep her mind off things until Owen’s desertion caused everything to unravel. The chain of events ultimately resulted in Abby defying orders, Isaac losing his most skilled surgeon to another faction, and Abby finding herself trapped further in the WLF because of her perceived debt to Isaac.

“Owen went AWOL?”

“Yeah,” Abby responds, her brows furrowing as she recalls the memory. “He got himself into some trouble and hid. When I found him, he was trying to fix his boat so he could leave.”

Absentmindedly reaching for Navigator, you mumble, “I’m noticing a pattern.”

Abby’s gaze softens.

“I did the wrong thing,” she says. “There’s no excuse.”

Her fingertips trace a soothing circle on the back of your hand. Your vision blurs as you reach for the imaginary HAM radio once again.

“Dragonfly to Anderson,” you say, barely audible to the human ear. “Do you copy? This is Dragonfly for Abby—over.”

“This is Abigail.”

She anxiously chews at her chapped bottom lip, and you gradually pry it from her teeth with your thumb until it glistens against the firelight.

“Welcome to being human, Abigail,” you say into the mic, and she stifles a teary laugh, patiently waiting for you to release the invisible button.

Giving her time to process it, you carefully study her features.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” you continue, one hand on the mic, and the other on her cheek. “And you’re allowed to be loved as you’re learning to let them go. Don’t let them be the reason I can’t love you—over and out.”

Her eyes dart between yours, and the frown on her face dissolves into something so fragile you cup her jaw to keep her from shattering.

“Isaac blames me for what happened,” Abby says. “He won’t let me go without a fight.”

“Neither will I.”

Swiftly, she maneuvers you over the sleeping dog until you rest comfortably on her lap.

“I know who you are now,” Abby murmurs.

“Who am I?” you ask, captivated by the woodsy scent of her hair as you carefully untangle her braid. “Debrief me.”

You quiver as her hands skim the hem of your shirt; her nails leaving a trail of heat at the small of your back.

“You’re the one I want to dance in the kitchen with.”

----------------------------------------

Moonlight seeps through the crevices of the tower, and Abby is angelic in your arms. A thin film of sweat draws light to the hard edges of her muscles and the depth of her scars. She’s a work of art.

The sleeping bag she unrolled for two tangles between her legs and your sated body as she sleeps.

The woman is a devout soldier, but she’s also a voracious lover. Your skin hums as tiny bruises bloom across the tender surface. You smoulder in the afterglow.

You reflect on her closemouthed moans, and the hungrier ones that slipped through. How she readily poured pleasure into you, yet she was reluctant to let herself feel any in return. It was a profound and intimate moment when she entrusted you to unravel her, powerful hands guiding your mouth across her tight body.

“Quit wiggling,” Abby whispers.

A knowing smirk lifts her drowsy face.

“Go back to sleep, bossy.”

“I can’t,” she groans, her hand kneading your hip. “Your thoughts are too loud.”

“First, I talk too much, now I think too much. What do you want from me, woman?”

She snickers against your ribcage, her lips leaving behind a hungry ache with every lazy, peppered kiss.

“I want you in my fucking bed,” Abby grumbles, and the gravel in her tone makes you shiver.

“Whoa, your filthy mouth is really doing it for me,” you tease.

Abby hides her bashful face in the crook of her arm and giggles. It’s so sweet you can’t help but wrap yourself around her.

“Tell me a story,” she says.

“I don’t have any stories,” you gripe, playfully wrenching her from her hiding spot to poke at her bottom lip. “What are you in the mood for?”

Abby traps your finger between her teeth and sucks at the tip. It makes a wet sound as she pulls off and moves to the next finger.

“I’m trying to be serious here,” you say, a throb pulsing below your navel at the sensation of her tongue. “You need rest.”

Abby hums, pressing her thigh between yours as she torments your knuckles with her mouth.

“Recovery is important,” she grins. “But you make it so tempting to over-train.”

When she finally acquiesces, she gives your ass a slap of defeat.

“How am I supposed to behave myself when you look like that?” she pouts.

“Where’s your discipline, girl?” you ask.

There’s a split second where you can almost hear the growl of her dominance, making you wonder if she’ll charge at you and assert it. Part of you hopes she will.

She tucks a flyaway behind your ear and kisses your forehead.

“Tell me about the day you found Nav.”

Right off the bat, you know she’s going to wince through most of it. Abby puts herself in danger daily, but the thought of you being in harm’s way leaves her dangling restlessly on the edge.

“You sure?” you ask.

“I can handle it.”

You stagger to your knees to tend to the fire until the wood crackles. As soon as you’re within arm’s reach again, Abby pulls you into a tight hug, her arms clinging to you as if you’ve just returned from war.

“Okay, but you’re not allowed to be mad,” you say.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Abby says, pulling you on top of her.

You nestle into the inviting space between her breasts and clear your throat.

The area you frequently scavenge had been a bitch to navigate your first time around.

The constant rumble of delivery trucks and the sight of patrol vehicles passing by on the nearby highway attracted infected, but the soldiers never ventured inside the nearby towns to eradicate them. Your intention was to gain a strategic advantage by exploring an area that was avoided by everyone else.

But even your innovation and quick-thinking left you at the mercy of a deranged, agitated Runner.

In a state of panic, you found yourself inside the grocery store, desperate for a hiding spot. You ultimately ended up cramming into a stand-up freezer, watching the decaying cadaver pace back and forth, inches from you.

“That’s horrifying,” Abby balks. “You must’ve been so scared.”

“I was,” you admit.

You thought you were out of the woods, but on his third round past the doors, he saw you through the glass. He almost collapsed his own skull, attempting to break through it with his head.

“How’d you handle it?” Abby asks, her fingers tracing a delicate path along your spine. “I can’t imagine being trapped like that.”

“Took a deep breath and prepared to fight for my life.”

“Good girl.”

“He was loud as hell, making so much noise,” you continue. “I thought I was toast for sure—and then I hear this huge crash. Navigator tore a flat of bottles off a shelf a few aisles down. Started barking and running laps, luring that fucker away. She saved me.”

Abby reaches out her arm to stroke the dozing dog, who remains blissfully curled up by the warm fire, before she presses a slow kiss to the top of your head.

“You want to know why I even bothered with those boring letters?” Abby asks. “The property debt and the mortgage stuff?”

You look up at her as she plays with your hair.

“Humour me,” you tease.

“I thought they might help me find the cabin my dad always promised my mom.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Abby.”

“I found it,” she whispers.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

70 notes · View notes

meraki24601 · 24 days

Text

I'm The Bad Guy

“So, it really was you. From the very beginning.” Caretaker sighed as they closed the door behind them. The fewer people who saw the horrors that had been done to the unfortunate victim, the better.

Blood dripped from Whumpee’s hands, splashing into the puddle below as they laughed, “Finally! I thought you would never catch on. I was starting to get bored.”

It was a mistake on Whumpee’s part not to have Caretaker pull their hands from their pockets—or maybe it was intentional. There was a chance Whumpee knew the Caretaker had hidden an emergency call button on their right and a small recording device on their left. “I knew. I didn’t have proof, but I knew. I’m sorry I couldn’t act sooner.”

“You’re apologizing to me? Ha!” Whumpee knelt at their victim’s side, “Shouldn’t you save that for them? Their family? They stayed so strong for so long, but even though you say you knew, you did nothing to stop me. Now, both of us know exactly what color their intestines are.”

“Hey,” Caretaker’s voice was firm as they took two solid steps closer. “It’s over. Whumper is going to jail. You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself.”

The laughter that filled the room was dripping with insanity. “Whumper? Whumper isn’t here. Whumper didn’t do this. I did. Arrest me! Take me to prison. Lock me up for three lifetimes or more!”

“This isn’t your fault.”

Caretaker fell to their knees as Whumpee’s fist connected with their jaw. “Enough! Stop making excuses. You can see what I’ve done. Can’t you imagine the kind of pain they must have been in before they died? Every single one, every single time. I listened to their screams. I washed their blood from my hands, my clothes, and my mind. Now, arrest me before I kill you, too.”

“He’s safe. We found where Whumper was keeping your brother. I’m sorry, I can’t let you see him, but we managed to save him from that rotting cabin.”

“You’re lying.”

“That alone is reason enough to keep Whumper behind bars. They were caught at the scene. They’re being held at a maximum-security facility. Friend and I chose their guards personally.”

“It’s a lie! You’re lying. You, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Arrest me! It’s all there is left for me.”

Caretaker pulled Whumpee to the ground and into their arms. “Breathe, my friend. It’s over. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Whumpee shook, trying weakly to pull themselves from Caretaker’s hold. “No! You’re lying. You’re a liar. Liar. Liar! Whumper would never let my brother go. I’ll never be free. My brother isn’t safe because, because if that’s true, then they… I killed them. I killed them for nothing.”

Whumpee’s desperate struggles turned to sobbing and clinging to Caretaker so hard they heard their shirt rip in the back from where Whumpee clutched it. “Why did you kill those people?”

“Whumper! They took my brother. They, they, they hurt me. Whumper tore me apart and put me back together and told me if I didn’t do it to whoever they said and, and frame Friend… They said… My brother. They were going to do it to my brother. Only, they promised me he wouldn’t survive. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to, but I… I didn’t… Whumper was…”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Caretaker reached into their pocket to turn off the recording device. They pulled the needle from their pocket and pressed it into Whumpee’s neck as police burst into the room. “Rest now. It’s over.”

#whump fic #whump #whump scenario #whump writing #whumpee #whump ideas #caretaker #whump tropes #forced to be a villain

56 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 4 months

Text

Introducing “In the Monster’s Shadow:” Shadowheart x Ascended Astarion dark!fic… where power, pain, and pleasure go well together

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart (BloodLoss?) | E | 1.5K chapter

Summary: Shadowheart wakes far from alone, in the belly of the Monster’s lair—that monster he has become since his Ascension. And now, she’s in his clutches.

CW: Biting, blood kink, jealousy, sexual tension, general dark!Ascension behavior (assumes Tav left him), defiant Shadowheart

Read on AO3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 1…

🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸

For a dungeon, this was far from the dank and musty one she recalled that day…

Back when he became a monster.

His Ascension.

No, she couldn’t even recognize this place. Warm and soft and bright with torches and a burning brazier. Empty but clean. Of course the thought had crossed her mind during these hours, maybe days of languishing in her binds, that the fire could be used for more torturous activities than heat and light and comfort.

But… regardless, this was a far cry from the mouldering walls of Cazador’s decrepit pit of death. Of sacrifice and death.

Shadowheart had been trying to forget the faces of those spawn, all seven-thousand of them that had died to make her former… friend… into the monster he was now.

It changed him.

Or was it the fact that his true love had abandoned him… abandoned them all really… once the final battle was over. Shadowheart would never forgive Astarion for becoming what he did… that he chose power and ascension over just being him… over keeping that love of his.

Maybe he wouldn’t have become so vile. So evil.

She shook her head, arms beyond numb from the way he had her chained. But that was all she felt. Numb. Such unique chains… somehow the metal seemed softened, enchanted perhaps… but even as her body grew tired, arms reduced to pin pricks above her head, she never once felt the bite of metal into her flesh.

Not that you would mind the edge of pain, Princess…

She could almost hear his voice. Taunting and goading them all. Not towards her in the way it always had been aimed at the one he had loved. He saved all his most lustful comments, his fangs and his body for her.

Not that she had deserved it in the end.

Shadowheart shook her head, clearing the fog that had kept her under. Time passed strangely. There were no guards, no prisoners. No sounds other than the crackle of fire. Not even the chattering of a rat or the stench of neglect. She sighed to herself twisting as she scanned the barred room. Her cell. “For a dungeon, it’s actually rather cozy,” she muttered, meant for no one’s ears but hers.

“One may even mention just how… luxurious… it appears, isn’t that right, little princess?”

That velvet voice. That dripping, seduction, only amplified now with his power—a power that was only magnified in the bowels of his palace.

He crept from the darkest corner, the densest patch of shadows almost materializing into his body.

Just as lean and wiry. Exuding that same flow of limitless power. His face’s lines caught the flickering light, all sharp bone and quirking brows, all glowing crimson eyes and flashing fangs. “I wasn’t expecting your company,” he hissed, eyes narrowing as he closed in on where she dangled. “Imagine my surprise when my thralls and servants found you on my ramparts, crawling around like a vagrant. Come to kill me or convert me, Shadowheart?”

She held her tongue, glaring daggers at him instead.

“I didn’t silence you…” he purred, striding closer slowly, hands clasped behind his back. So unassuming, except for the brilliant red glow of his eyes in the shadows. “I just… relieved you of your magic and charms. Until you find a way to earn them back... or perish in the process.”

“You fucker,” she finally broke, spitting in his direction. “I should have killed you, should have thrown that dagger through Cazador’s dead heart instead of letting you carve that infernal to take his place as Vampire Ascendant.” She strained at her bonds, forcing herself a step in his direction, where he leered at her just out of reach. “How does it feel to be alone, hmm? To have all your friends disown you for the monster you became. Even her…”

There, that’s the monster—the way his eyes flared, his fangs snapping as his hand flew to clench around her throat. “You don’t… get to mention… her… or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” She swallowed beneath his chokehold, her breath ragged and thin. “Cause me pain? Kill me?” She grinned, craning against the pressure of his hand to shove her face closer into his. “You should know, as well as any of us, I do not mind the pain… I crave it. And if you want to add my soul to your vast inventory, then who am I to stop you, might Vampling? Not even the woman you did love would stop you, and you all but killed her…”

Fingers clawed her chin, jerking her head to the side. His teeth were like ice, chilling and tearing into her skin, but not to kill.

To feed. To drink her blood.

She shuddered. His hands gripped so hard, she had no place to escape. So she laughed. “So this is what all the fuss has been about,” she cackled, not even recognizing her own voice. “I always wondered what it was that Tav craved to let you into her bedroll every night…”

He lifted his mouth, biting down again even harder against the top of her shift. Just where breasts began to peek out.

That made her squeal. “That’s a good little princess,” he purred into her flesh. “I’ll take your cries of agony over your ceaseless, pointless words any day. You don’t get to speak about… her.”

“Why not? she hissed back. “Afraid you’ll have to own up to the way you always kept the corner of your eye on me? Have to admit how you always made sure I heard your nightly activities… made sure I caught you staring at my breasts when I would have to bend over the campfire….”

“Too late for any of that,” he growled into her skin. “Tempting as you may have been, you’ve shown your true colors, princess, sneaking into my palace, intentions unknown, and now…” he lifted his head, his chin covered in her bright red blood, his tongue equally coated as he licked it clean, “…now I get to have you anyway, my enemy, chained so prettily for me to keep here…” His hand swept down her body, touching the skin of her thigh, teasing up the bottom edge of her shift, “…for me to do with as I see fit.”

“And what are you going to do to me, Astarion?” she sneered in reply, totally unphased by the bites in her flesh or the blood that trickled from her wounds. “You going to turn me into a mindless spawn like you wanted to turn her?” She rattled her chains, breasts heaving as she worked herself into a frenzy. Her white shift stained red with her blood, the thin material clinging to her skin as she grew sticky with it and with her sweat.

“Not unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he purred, closing in on her, pressing his body to crush her against the wall, one hand yanking her chains hard enough to make her cry. “Not unless you beg for it, to be mine, little princess of Shar, to serve me as all creatures crave,” his eyes flashed down at how their bodies melded, how her supple curves caved against his hard planes, “in one way or another.”

“You want me?” she spat, “you want what you could have had a lifetime ago, it seems. And what if I don’t? What if I came here to end your miserable existence, to make you pay for the seven-thousand and some souls that made you a monster?”

“Let’s be clear, I don’t want you.” That stung, her face flinching as his voice rang, cold and exacting. “I don’t… want… you. You’re cold and cruel and self-righteous. You care only for pleasing your goddess,” he gave a little disgusted shake of his head. “Why would I want you if you have no interest in pleasing me?”

She held her breath.

“Seems… pointless,” he released her, withdrawing a step. Out of reach again. Close enough for her to smell that scent of him, more powerful and heady than he ever smelled at camp. Undiluted perfume of citrus and brandy and rosemary. He turned on his heel, heading for the gate to her cell.

“You’re going to leave me like this?” Shadowheart screeched.

“Darling, I can leave you however I want,” he gloated, flicking his gaze over his shoulder. “And today, I want to leave you to know the meaning of hunger, a lesson I learned over the course of centuries.”

“Yes that’s right, continue the cycle,” she jeered, cocking her chin in defiance as he turned to face her completely. “Become the next exalted vampiric master in all the ways that made you what you are.”

Crimson eyes steeled over, he raised his fingers to snap loudly. Her chains released, a small table of warm food and clean water appeared before her. Out of thin air.

“You are going to learn hunger, little princess, and I am going to find out why you were creeping around my walls…” he turned to continue, not even needing to unlock the door to the cell to walk straight through it. “There are so many more forms of hunger, Shadowheart. And you’re going to learn them all before we are through…”

And then he vanished into mist.

85 notes · View notes