#he remembers nothing but the weight of the sword | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shanastoryteller · 3 months

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Happy holidays! Dealers choice?

a continuation of 1

The young Lord de Bois returns with the same uptight lord as before and a young dark skinned man who’s grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. They disappear into the blacksmith’s home along with several other men and Mrs. Cole, who’s husband’s been dead for thirty years and who apparently remembers a time two lords past when things were handled differently.

They don’t emerge for the rest of the day, candles bright in the cracks of the shutters to show that they’re working through the night. It’s almost noon the next morning when the village assembles to hear what’s been decided

Merlin still isn’t allowed to look, but he sneaks glances anyway. He wishes he could get a better look at Lord de Bois, but there are several people in his way, almost deliberately keeping him from view. He wonders what his mother promised them to get them to do that.

“My father,” Lord de Bois sighs, “has decided that if I’m old enough to complain about how things are handled then I’m old enough to handle them myself. Ealdor is now under my purview and authority, which means we’re going to have to turn a profit here if it kills me.”

Great. How does he expect to do that here? He might as well just execute people now if he’s planning on starving them slowly. He’d seemed to know better, before, but now that it’s his neck on the line he’s apparently a lot less sympathetic.

“And it might,” says a new voice, probably the dark skinned man Lord de Bois has brought along.

“Shut up, Elyan,” Lord de Bois says, just for a moment reminding Merlin that they’re nearly the same age. “We’ve worked up a new plan for mining for ore and replanting the fields – the soil’s exhausted and it’s all too far from the river. We’re going to have to set up an irrigation system as well.”

They know that. They’ve always known that. It’s just that there’s nothing to be done about when the time lost to start again would mean they lose out on a whole season of crops, since the ground is too cold to do much of anything in the winter and they don’t have the people do any of that and get food in and out of the ground.

There’s stirrings of discontent and it’s Will, of course, who shouts, “Who’s going to be doing all that? We need to eat ourselves, not waste time feeding you too!”

“You little,” hisses the lord from before and there’s again the sound of a sword being drawn.

“Enough, Gregory,” Lord se Bois snaps before addressing them. “Unfortunately, I am now required to put my money where my mouth is. I’ll be covering your taxes this year to the king and providing grain to make up for the lost food while we work out these changes. Your debt now is not to the king, but to me. I’ll be coming back frequently to check on your progress.”

Merlin pinches himself, sure he’s dreaming. Who does this? It’s crazy. It’s ridiculous.

It might actually work.

“You can’t just let them take and get nothing in return,” Gregory says angrily. “Don’t be stupid about this.”

“Too late for that,” Elyan says. “Why don’t you take someone to work at the castle? Their wages can be put to the town’s debt.”

Lord de Bois sighs. “Why would I take someone useful from here when I’m trying to get all this done?”

“Take someone useless, then,” Elyan suggests.

Oh no.

“Alright then. Who here is useless?” he calls out, clearly mocking.

Merlin’s ears burn as he feels the weight of far too many people’s gazes. It’s not his fault! His magic just makes things – complicated.

“Wow,” Lord de Bois says, laughter running through his voice. “Move aside then. Show me this useless person.”

His mother tenses at his side as people shift and then Merlin is staring down at a pair leather boots that are probably worth more than everything he’s ever touched combined.

“Who’re you, then?”

He’s not supposed to move or speak or look at anyone, but surely his mother can’t expect him to ignore a lord. “Merlin.”

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Merlin.” He snaps his head up and is immediately caught up in the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. “Are you useless?”

His face burns and he shrugs.

“He’s young, my lord,” his mother says carefully, and Merlin can’t help but feel guilty over the way her voice wavers.

Lord de Bois’s face softens. “You’re his mother, then?”

She dips into a curtsy. “Hunith, if it pleases my lord.”

“Hunith,” he says, “don’t worry. He’ll be fine at the castle. Being my servant isn’t that difficult.”

His what?

“Your servant?” Gregory sputters. “Every time your uncle assigns you one, you fire them for incompetence!”

“Well,” Lord de Bois says, “then he’ll at least be in good company.”

Elyan walks over and claps Merlin in the arm hard enough that he stumbles. “Good luck.”

Lord de Bois rolls his eyes and Merlin considers how his he should really be careful what he wishes for.

He’s going to get plenty of chances to look at Lord de Bois, apparently.

His mother lectures him over and over again about keeping his magic to himself, about how they’ll try and control him and abuse him and turn it into something terrible and dangerous if they know what he can do. He really can’t do much of anything, but he nods and agrees and lets her kiss his face.

They don’t have a horse to spare, so he rides with Elyan. Gregory takes the lead, angrily muttering to himself the whole time and Elyan leans over and whispers to Lord de Bois, “We could just make him walk back. He might run out of steam by then.”

“We’re not going to get that lucky,” he sighs.

The ride is shorter than Merlin had feared, which is good because he’s not used to riding. They enter the city just after nightfall and they pull the gates open as soon as they catch sigh of them. Several people brighten and wave when they see Elyan and Lord de Bois, although they duck away from Gregory.

There’s an actual castle. Merlin is being taken to a real castle. It feels fake and he’s walking inside one.

“ARTHUR!” a high pitched, childish voice yells out as the sound of small feet come running.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Gregory says, beating a hasty retreat.

“Is he running from a little girl?” Merlin asks, too surprised to keep silent like he’s supposed to.

“She doesn’t put up with him like we do,” Elyan answers.

What?

“Arthur! You’re back!” shouts a girl who can’t be older than six with brown eyes and curly brown hair.

Lord de Bois scoops her up in his arms. “I told you I would be.”

“You lie,” she says promptly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Merlin finds himself pinned by her narrowed eyes and understands Gregory a little better. “Who’s this?”

Lord de Bois – Arthur, apparently, since now there’s more than one Lord de Bois to keep track of – says, “This is Merlin. He’s going to be my servant. Merlin, this is my cousin, Amabel de Bois.”

Before Merlin can figure out how to greet a child lady, she says, “Hi Merlin. I’m a witch.”

Uh.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Stop telling people that.” Merlin relaxes. “You’re going to be a sorceress, but only if you study very hard and listen to your mother. You don’t think she became a high priestess without listening to her tutors, do you?”

Merlin tries very hard to not make any sort of expression at all.

“Yes,” Amabel says promptly.

Arthur makes a face. “Well, maybe, I wouldn’t put it past her, but you have to listen. You haven’t even stabbed any of them with a sword, I don’t know why you’re going through so many.”

“She lit the last one on fire,” Elyan says. “Honestly, between the two of you it’s a shock that any of them are willing to step foot in the castle.”

He shrugs. “Well, my aunt and uncle are very scary. Dad’s not, but that’s what he has them for.”

This is so much worse than he’d feared. Keeping his magic a secret among a bunch of nobles was going to be bad enough, but a high priestess? And a kid training to be a sorceress?

Merlin has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #girl-reading2 #merlin

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djarincore · 2 months

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a sacrifice in your name

SUMMARY: A paladin's oath means everything to them—but not to Simon, not when it comes to you.

ALTERNATIVELY: Simon sacrifices his oath to save you.

TAGS: oathbreaker!ghost, f!reader, DND!au, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, nondiscript violence, implied minor character death(s), Simon can lift reader, special villain guest appearance by Graves, body worship, cock warming, WC: 3.2k

A/N: a little what if scenario for vengeance paladin!Simon, who will always choose you over everyone else no matter the cost. and yes, the title is another sleep token lyric...

thank you to @/saradika-graphics for the dividers!

You wake to dim woods, a full moon overhead, and arms firmly encircled around your waist. The world bounces and sways in your bleary vision with a persistent ache pounding through your head.

Memories of the past few hours are a rapid flash of reds and oranges, sounds of crackling, splintering wood, and terrified screams echoing through the night. The bone-chilling fear of death seems to still freeze your sore muscles.

Now, as you slowly regain your senses, you realize you're riding atop a horse somewhere deep in unfamiliar woods in nothing but your night gown. The figure, whose arms encircle your body, grips the reins in front of you. Their own weight almost sags against yours. A helmet rests against your shoulder.

Icy fear crawls back through your body. You wish you can remember or get a clue as to where you were, but it is too dark and the horse is no longer on a path. The best you can do is escape, run, somewhere far from this stranger.

You jerk forward and claw at their arms, but you're blocked by leather vambraces. The stranger pull you closer to their chest, trapping your arms against your body.

“Let me go,” you plead. The stranger scrambles to restrain you and reign in the horse, who has become spooked by your cries. “Please!”

“Shh, you're safe,” a familiar voice soothes. It's grated, rough. Simon. “It's alright.”

Your body sags into his, but your heart still pounds. Your thoughts are mush in your head as you try to piece them together.

“What happened?”

The last thing you can recall is smoke and flames, raiders breaking down your door, and the blunt end of a sword bashing your temple.

Your query is followed by thick silence. A dark cloud of confusion hangs over you and Simon doesn't seem to want to offer any guidance.

“Simon?” You attempt to turn, but he holds you tighter, almost forcing the air from your lungs. And then, you realize he's trembling.

Simon, who was the pillar of strength, never trembled, never showed an ounce of fear. You grew worried.

“Don't,” he says quietly. “Just rest. We’ll be at an inn soon.”

A pit sinks in your stomach. An inn, but not your inn. If your fragmented memory serves you correctly, your inn is ash. The home and business your family-owned for generations was gone in a single night.

All the fight and adrenaline drains out of your body, leaving you weak and exhausted. You shut your eyes and lean against Simon, allowing tears to fall freely in the dark.

The neighboring town’s inn is small, cold, decorated with the heads of different animals and sharp weapons mounted on the walls. You hate it. There is no fireplace, no warmth, or life—nothing like your inn, your home.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

The owner is a bony, severe-looking man whose slimy gaze clings to you alone. Even as you cower behind Simon the man’s hunger makes you shudder.

You stare into the glassy eyes of a deer hanging above the owner instead. Your blank expression stares back in the reflection.

“A bath for her.” Simon tosses an extra silver piece onto the counter.

You're covered in soot with a trail of dried blood running down your temple and a small cut on your neck.

The owner perks up. “Do you require any assistance washing?”

You can't help but cringe at his words and wrap your arms around yourself.

Simon’s hand darts over the counter to grab the man by the scruff of his neck and slam his face onto the counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barks, “and get it ready. Or I'll spill your fucking guts on the floor and you can wash that up instead.”

The man whimpers and you can't find it in you to feel bad for him. But you do worry. Simon always makes a point to keep his violence away from you.

His fury wasn't a sight you saw often. You only know the beginnings and ends of it. The deep breaths as he tried to control himself and keep his temper in check or the bloodied knuckles and split lips.

“Yes, yes, right away,” the man stammers.

Simon doesn't let up. You see the fingers of his pointed gauntlets curl tighter, forcing a choked gasp from the man.

“Mercy,” the man pleads, voice wavering on the edge of tears.

Finally, Simon flings the man back and he stumbles to catch himself from hitting the wall. Scampering off, the man disappears around the corner.

Simon heaves a sigh, bordering on frustration and exhaustion. His shoulders are tense and when you reach a hand out to touch his arm, he doesn't look at you. He hasn't since you woke up on his horse. His helmet being on didn't help either.

You desperately want to know what he is thinking. Simon was never a talker, but his eyes were always more expressive than his words.

His arm wraps around you, bringing you into his chest. Your cheek rests against his chest plate. The metal is cool against your skin. Your arms wrap around his waist in turn.

You want to ask him so many questions, but now isn't the time. You want to think he’ll explain everything soon, but his tension doesn't reassure you.

He holds you in silence until the owner returns.

The man's gaze doesn't fall anywhere near you this time. The bloodshot, green eyes stay firmly on Simon as he stumbles over his words and let's you know the bath is ready.

Simon takes your hand and leads you around the corner. The narrow hallway has a wooden staircase built into the left and leads further down to an open door. You can see the tub inside, a towel draped over a wooden chair beside it.

The washroom is a simple room with a basin and a chair. There's a standing mirror tucked in the corner you use to look at the grime covering your body. Your face is gaunt, a shell of yourself. Your fingers ghost over the frown you fear will become permanent.

Simon shuts the door and moves behind you like a pillar, poised to support your unsteady legs. “Off,” he commands with a low voice, brushing the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder.

Your clothes slip off easily and Simon guides you into the tub. The water is lukewarm at best and you curl your knees to your chest to conserve heat.

“Will you tell me what happened now?” Your question is quiet.

He runs a cloth over your shoulders.

“Raiders,” he all but spits.

“What of everyone else?”

“Gone.”

Your brows furrow. You just couldn't believe you were the only one to make it out. Your heart breaks for all the people who were lost.

“And the raiders?”

No doubt Simon made short work of those bastards. He always did.

Simon wrings the towel out and extends his hand. “Come on. Out before you get cold.”

You're redressed in your nightgown but not satisfied.

He leads the two of you up to your room for the night. There's a wooden bed tucked in the corner and a dresser beside it with an oil lamp. You grimace at the sheets which are covered in a layer of dust. You pull them off the bed and toss them to the floor.

Simon begins the quiet routine of shedding his armor at the door. It almost feels like you're back home. His helmet comes off first and rests on the dresser.

Finally, you can see the tight furrowed brows, the downcast eyes, and tense jaw he wears. There is a quiet conflict raging behind his tired eyes. He looks exhausted and beaten to the core. He leans his sword against the wall, places his gauntlets on the dresser, chest plate and greaves beside it.

You watch as each piece comes off, searching for signs of injury. He never returns to you without scars or bruises for you to fuss over. But piece by piece, his clothes are free of blood and his body doesn't tense from sudden movements.

No sign of injuries should be reassuring, but it only adds more questions.

“Are you okay?” Your hands run down his chest to rest on his abdomen.

He's quiet for a moment, tense beneath your hand, before he mutters a curt, “Fine.”

Simon takes your hands and guides you back onto the bed. He leans over you, forcing your neck to crane back. A hand cradles your cheek, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb, as his lips lower to ghost over yours.

You want to ask him more questions—ones he won't answer, he can't answer—but he stops you short.

Simon captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He kisses you with a hunger that he needs satiated. His hands cup either side of your face, always gentle.

When he pulls away there's something missing from his gaze, replaced with a despair that stretches beyond you.

“Simon…”

“Not tonight,” he whispers.

He never liked to talk about his missions, the evils he faced all in the name of upholding his oath. And you never forced him to, simply doing your best to provide him comfort in other ways. You gave him a home to return to, open arms to fall into, and loved him completely. But, the hollow look on his face warns you of something terrible, something that can't be healed.

He brings himself to his knees, head hung in quiet repentance. His lips press against your knee. Then his hands snake up, pushing your nightgown past your thighs.

You grab his hands before he can reveal anymore, but he is insistent.

He looks up between your thighs like you alone can offer him salvation for whatever sin is consuming him whole.

“I need you,” he pleads. “Let me have you.”

Simon doesn't wait for your response before he’s rising once again to push you against the bed. When his lips meet yours, it's fierce and demanding. His body cages you and you're helpless to refuse as he knees your legs open.

Simon’s rough hands explore the soft curve of your body. Your hands caresses the slender curve of his neck and into the silk strands of his hair while his thumb traces random patterns on your stomach before dipping below the waist of your panties. His fingers skim lower and lower, and you squirm when the dull ache between your thighs grows stronger.

The pads of his finger meet your sensitive clit for the first time and rub slowly. Your body seizes around him, thighs clamping around his, and your arms wrap around his neck to ground yourself around the sensation.

The way he gazes upon you so reverently, like a goddess worthy of his devotion, nearly makes tears spill down your cheeks. You let out a gasp as the pleasure in your stomach grows stronger.

Your hips move against his hand, demanding more. When his hand moves away to tug at your gown, you pout.

“Off,” he commands.

Nothing needs to be said twice, not with Simon. You pull your dress off, freeing yourself to the darkness and his roaming eyes. Your nipples are pert against the cold air. His calloused hands glide over your waist, mapping every inch and curve of your body to commit you to memory.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers in awe. His hand cups your breast as he lays kisses across your chest. Between each kiss he says, “You’re mine.”

You feel yourself blossom beneath his reverent touch and words. You lift your hips to let him pull your underwear off. His hands slide up your calves, over your thighs, and eventually one settles over your mound. You arch into his touch. A sigh leaves your lips as he runs his finger through your slick folds.

Two fingers are thrust into you without warning. Your breath is caught in your chest as you clench around him. His fingers work inside of you, pulling sweet moans from your lips, until you come undone.

Simon lifts your limp body against him as he settles on the bed with his back against the wall. You lay against his chest, face buried in his neck, as a wave of exhaustion hits you. The traumatic night is finally catching up with you.

As you come down from your orgasm and your eyes grow heavy, he pulls his cock free and positions you above him.

You attempt to shift your hips down to take him, but he stops you with a gentle squeeze of your hips.

“I've got you. Just relax.”

Simon eases you down on his cock, stretching you open. You want to squirm, to move, to please him the same way he did for you.

“Just stay here,” he says, his breath heavy in your ear. His hands cling to you as he shifts your bodies against the pillows. You feel the stir of him in you and involuntarily clench. He groans, burying his face into your neck to regain control of himself. “Let me feel you.”

You stay in each other's arms until your breaths fall steady. The closeness, his warmth, is a comfort you relish. Your home may be gone, but you still have Simon.

And, for now, it is all you need.

Simon waits for you to fall asleep first, cradled against his chest, before he allows himself to feel guilt wash over him. The weight threatens to drown him and he clings onto you like a raft.

He leans his head against the wall, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A veil of unshed tears blurs his vision. “Forgive me,” he whispers.

To who and for what, he doesn't know. He just hopes those words are enough to make the ache fade—it doesn't.

He allows himself to fully recall the entire night before he found you, before it all fell to shit.

Simon returned to ruin.

He saw the plume of smoke in the distance and hoped it wasn't real, but it was. Your town was engulfed in flames, glowing in the dark as bright as day, burning in his eyes like hellfire.

He moved through rubble, mind swimming with dread, to find you at the center of town, bound and unconscious. There were men surrounding you who wore a familiar coat of arms.

Graves, the pain in his side who never seemed to just disappear, was standing in the center of it all. Simon had faced his men before, but never Graves in person.

Simon would have caught on to the strangeness of the situation if not for the fury boiling in his blood.

Simon knew what he had to do—kill him, make him suffer. His oath wouldn't allow his evil to continue any further.

Gods, he hated the cocky grin on his face.

“There you are,” Graves called out like he was greeting an old friend.

“What the fuck do you want?” Simon’s sword was already unsheathed, ready to taste blood.

“To teach you not to fuck with me.”

Simon almost barks out a laugh. He raised his sword toward the challenge. Not one of Graves’ men moved to help defuse the situation.

“Go ahead and do as your oath commands—kill me.” Graves stood proud, arms spread wide.

Simon took a step further.

“But if you kill me, your girl dies too.”

A henchman hauled you up and placed a dagger at your throat.

Simon, for once, faltered. The sword in his hand trembled. He tried to steal himself but found he couldn't catch his breath.

He couldn't kill Graves and reach you in time. And he was sure if he made any move to save you, you'd be dead already.

“If you don’t kill me, I'll let you leave with her. Make your choice.”

So that was the game.

“Fuck you,” Simon spat. “I don't know ‘er.”

Graves ignored the bluff. Something in his smile told Simon, he saw right through his bullshit. “Go ahead and be a hero, Ghost.”

“I'm not a hero.”

He scoffed at the word. Destroy evil by any means necessary. His tenant echoed in his mind. Any means necessary.

He was far from a hero. A hero didn't turn a blind eye to those in need to pursue evil. He left behind innocent's far more times than he can count in the name of his oath.

Would you become one of the souls he sacrificed too?

Ever since he lost his family and took up his oath, he couldn't allow himself to feel emotions like guilt, sorrow, or fear, less it made him weaker to deliver the vengeance he swore to uphold.

But, you were his new family, the love he found amidst his violent wandering. He couldn't lose the safety and warmth that you were.

No matter what he chose, you or his oath, he would lose a part of himself.

Simon wanted to plunge his sword into Graves’ chest and be rid of the man and his impossible choice and that fucking smug smile. He wanted to destroy his very existence, so not even the strongest magic or God could piece him back together. He knew the world would be better off without him. He knew it deeply.

Yet, Simon lowered his sword and made his choice to condemn the world.

“I knew you were a selfish one.”

“Give her to me.”

Graves waved his hand and you were dropped. Simon caught you before you could touch the ground. He wrapped his arms tight around you, shielding you from the world.

“Fuck with me again and I won't wait for you to save her.”

Simon gritted his teeth but didn't say a thing. He kept his eyes on you. There was a cut on your neck where the blade was, shallow enough to draw a sliver of blood, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Fighting Graves would mean your death. Simon didn't care if he died, but he would never risk you. All he could do was lift you up and walk away.

Each step away from that ruined town he felt a piece himself slip further into the dark, remaining in the wreckage. His limbs lost feeling; his chest constricted.

A rope pulled inside his chest, urging him back to finish his duty. But, his feet dragged against the force to continue forward.

When Simon stepped over the town's threshold, the rope snapped. He was left with cold, empty despair.

Simon held you because that was all he could do as he left behind the destruction and his oath. At least he still had you.

He condemned the town’s survivors to death and allowed evil to escape the wrath of punishment—and he would do it all again to save you.

He will tell you of his selfishness in the morning. But, for now, he will hold your bare form tighter against his chest, closer to his heart, convincing himself you will fill the piece of himself that will never return.

But the void is boundless. It is echoes of flame and terror, shame and guilt, and a haunting voice calling to him in the dark.

“Oathbreaker, what have you done?”

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost scenario #simon ghost riley #cod mwii

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gay-dorito-dust · 13 days

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can you make HSR male character with a dead reader (I LOVE ANGST, I LIVE FOR ANGST).

for the characters, it's up to you, but if possible, please include Blade and Jing Yuan (if this topic makes you uncomfortable, don't do it)

Sorry for getting to this after so long and if it was shit.

Jing yuan:

It had been a while since your passing and everyone had seemingly forgotten your name and the fact that you had once lived amongst them.

However Jing Yuan didn’t, he refused to let himself forget the hold you once had over on his heart, mind and soul, or how your actions touching him in ways that he didn’t think were possible.

Life had lost its colour and appeal the moment you died and Jing Yuan had no need to feel excitement for things that he did before with you by his side.

The stars looked dull as though they were mourning you alongside him, the flowers you once given him didn’t smell as fragrant nor looked as healthy as they should’ve. Even the street food stalls didn’t seem at all appetising when you weren’t here to practically salivate over, and or give him the biggest pair of pleading puppy eyes over that never failed to elicit a chuckle out of him.

He stayed inside more often than not as everything outside might as well have been casted in black and white to Jing Yuan, with the only remnants being at your grave of which he often found himself sat in front of.

‘You once asks me what my biggest regret would be and I told you that I don’t live life with regrets, which was a lie and you knew it but didn’t speak up about it, whether it was out of respect or otherwise I’ll never know…not now at least.’ He says with a forced smile, the pain within his chest growing ever greater the more he relived your loss. ‘I am burdened with many regrets. Many of which that have threatened to squash with their weight, but loosing you will be my ultimate regret as with you I was starting to believe in forever in this life once more…only for forever to die with you.’ He concludes as he presses his forehead to your headstone and closed his eyes in hopes of feeling your warmth once more.

But all he felt was the cold, unforgiving and hard surface of your headstone as a tear fell from his eye at the reality that all aspects of you were truly gone forever…

Blade:

Your death was a tragedy Blade couldn’t forget.

It was engraved into every corner of his mind where it was made impossible for him to forget.

Even in his torturous dreams he was forced to watch you die in front of his eyes constantly and in the most horrific ways possible, all the while he remained helpless to stop any of it from happening.

Any remnant of you was clutched tightly in his hand under it bled from his nails digging into his skin, but he couldn’t feel it for he had grown numb. He’d even tie a piece of cloth from your clothes to the hilt of his sword or his finger in order to feel you with him wherever he went.

Just like you always wanted.

Blade couldn’t fully dedicate himself to being your partner but he was more than selfish with your attention and affection. He wanted it all. No, he needed it all for himself and gave you nothing much in exchange other than letting you hold onto him and kiss his scars.

He did love you in his own way and was building himself up to actually be your partner properly, only for you to die selflessly in his arms, whispering that’d you loved him before passing on from your wounds.

Blade thought he should’ve been use to death by now but your death hit him in a way that left him desiring death more than normal, in hopes that he could reunite with you and correct his wrong doings when you were alive.

Now and then in moments where Blade was faced with death, he could feel a presence next to him that felt soft, warm and felt very much like the you he was forced to remember…

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 7 months

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imagine zoro saving you from drowning

Roronoa Zoro was a man of many things, but a longing man was not one of them…usually. He stared from the upper deck, elbows on the railing overlooking the grassy area. Eyes lingered for a moment to where Robin and Chopper were reading, sprawled out on a blanket. His gaze moved past the two to where Luffy sat, back against him on the railing. Feet dangling as he held onto a fishing pole. Usopp was next to him but on Luffy’s right is where you sat. Feet dangling as well but you faced inward – giving Zoro a perfect view of your facial expressions. His heart raced and confusion riddled his bones as the sound of your laugh filled the air; it was so obnoxiously loud, and he could recall the times it used to annoy him.

Now it ruined him in ways he didn’t think were possible.

He had never felt this way and if he had, that time had passed long ago.

But you, you felt new.

He watched with repudiation, shoving feelings down until suddenly you were gone from his sight. Standing straight he noticed Luffy panicking, heard Usopp shouting that you were going to drown. He was confused for a moment, then he remembered – you were a devil fruit user.

Shit, she must have fallen off the damn ship!

Without thinking, Zoro allowed his swords to fall to the ground and he jumped over the upper deck railing. He landed on the grass next to Chopper, leaving no room to explain as he rushed to Luffy, shouting for him to move aside. He leveraged his weight onto his right foot as it moved up onto the ship’s railing, launching himself headfirst into the ocean. It happened in seconds, and it was freezing but he opened his eye under water and saw you drifting downwards. He used all his strength to propel himself forward, it took two huge moves before he had you in his arms. He swam to the surface, breathing out harshly and moving you onto his back as he yelled for Usopp to bring down the rope ladder. You gurgled out water; body weak against his as he held both of your hands against the base of his neck. He swam to the ladder and with his one free hand, climbed the rope.

“Help her out.”

Ussop and Luffy immediately pulled you off Zoro’s back so he could climb back onto the Sunny. The duo laid you on the floor and you started to cough; Chopper was immediately at your side. Your eyes fluttered open; throat ached – your whole body felt the weakest it ever had. Your head was dizzy, but as your vision came to, the first thing you saw was Zoro. Not just Zoro, but the expression on his handsome face.

Concern.

This brought on the biggest smile and Chopper worried you were experiencing dry drowning from all the water inhalations. He commanded someone to take you to the med bay and Zoro was the first to volunteer, gently lifting you off the ground into his arms. He held you close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder as your eyes fluttered open and shut. Zoro walked carefully but as fast as he could, Chopper ran ahead to make sure the bed was ready for you.

“What were you thinking being so close to the damn ocean? You could have died.”

Your throat still aching, you cleared it before speaking but your voice still came out hoarse. “But I didn’t thanks to you.”

Zoro stilled, steps stopping as he looked down at you; sopping wet but eyes warm as you stared up at him. He could feel his cheeks burning red but all the feelings he had pushed down were begging to erupt like a volcano. He didn’t want to take you to the med bay, he wanted to take you to his bed. Lay you down and pull you into his arms until you feel better. Where he knew you’d always be safe, by his side. It was a terrible feeling to feel…love but he supposed nothing could be done.

“I will always keep you safe from the sea.”

and everything else that wants to harm you…

The latter didn’t need to be said out loud because his lips were on yours before he could get another word in. If he didn’t kiss you now, his entire body would turn to fire but when you kissed him back – he felt relaxed, relief. He felt like he was a new man, worthier than ever to be the greatest swordsman, to help Luffy become King of the Pirates…to be a man who could love and be loved. His lips moved from yours and he smiled softly just as Chopper shouted from the med bay.

“Coming,” he called out, looking down at you with a renewed softness in his eyes when you asked if he’d stay with you while Chopper observed you. He grinned, moving towards the office. “Don’t ask stupid questions, of course I’ll stay with you.”

Forever…

...

tagging those who were interested in zoro fics.

@posessedbytheinternet @smolracoon25 @notthemainblog

@xentaipriest @xitara666 @rouzuchan @southside-otaku

@dimplewonie @stuckinthewrongworld @yourmomsgirl

@zoroshispanicwife @reneeprika

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece #zoro

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phantom-scrybe · 9 months

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I remember back in the day when people would do the math thinking way too hard about DSMP's disaster of a timeline and be like "tommy was literally eight when the war happened" when he was clearly playing a character that was his age.

but the eggs really are so young in canon. they're like. ten. at most. if we want to be reasonable and not say "they're literally three months old."

and just thinking about chayanne. being ten years old. he and tallulah had to get a chair to hang up the crown for the techno memorial.

he's so young and fragile but he's trying so hard. he's ready for war at any moment. he's his uncle's nephew through and through, but the Blade had an infinity to become what he was. chayanne is trying to be an ancient blood god at ten years old.

and I think q!phil realizes this. or at least realized it. Back before the codes started really getting bad, in the peaceful times, when they were just vibing on an island and the worst thing that could happen to an egg was Random Act of Slimecicle, he and Wil both tried to keep Chayanne and Talullah from becoming warriors.

And if we're operating on the principle that DSMP is like. kinda canon. like canon when the angst calls for it. phil and wil know what happens to children who have to see war. children who reach for a sword when they wake up in the morning. children who know how to strap on armor before they can tie their shoes.

and they didn't want that. quesadilla island was supposed to be a fresh start. was supposed to be safe. was supposed to be nothing like the smoking crater Wil once ruled.

but Philza is the angel of death and carnage follows Wilbur like a shadow.

The eggs never had a chance.

Chayanne could have never been a normal child.

There is too much history, too much weight on his young shoulders.

He is the heir to the Blood God, and he is ten years old.

#phil and wil just wanted their kids to grow up in peace #peace they never had.#qsmp #qsmp wilbur #qsmp philza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp talullah #wilbur #philza #talullah #chayanne #technoblade #quackity #long post #angst post #dsmp #tommyinnit

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flowerandblood · 5 months

Text

The Man with the Bloody Sword

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, bloody sex, fingering, profanation, smut, angst, violence, beheading, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He remembered little of the moment of their nuptials and coronation itself, hearing only the loud thumping of his heart, a host of doubts running through his mind. He had waited so many years for this moment that he decided it couldn't be real, that something had to happen to shatter it all.

He thought that her younger brother would not bend the knee, that he would have to kill him and then she would hate him, that he would have to take her as his wife by force and watch her wither and fade before his eyes for the rest of his days.

He could not describe the relief he felt when he heard the loud words from outside the temple of young Lord Walford announcing that he was relinquishing his claim to the crown, only to see his sister a moment later in the gown he had gifted her, red and black, the colours of his house.

He lifted his chin higher, looking at her with a kind of pride − she looked beautiful and dignified, not a trace of fear or doubt on her face. She was looking only at him − he could see in her eyes that she was doing this of her own free will and he allowed himself to be enveloped at last by the peace he so much desired.

The crown that Criston had placed on his head appeared heavy and uncomfortable, but he thought that was what it was meant to be, to remind him that nothing was certain and given forever, that he had to be vigilant, that he could not afford to put his mind to sleep like his father.

Riding his horse towards the fortress amidst the cheers, he imagined with a tightened throat that his mother was already waiting for him there, ready to throw herself into his arms and embrace him, telling him how proud she was of him. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze, knowing it would never happen.

That night her body and her closeness blurred in his mind the weight of his crown, the grief of feeling lonely and empty, her warm hands clenched on the skin of his back as he rooted into her again and again, his lips joined with hers in lazy, hot, sticky kisses, her soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest in the tight embrace of their arms.

His restless nights were filled with silence and warmth; he was finally able to sleep again, and although he was sometimes awakened by nightmares, seeing and feeling her body snuggled into his, he only sighed with a sense of relief, pressing his face into her hair, thinking only of her scent and the softness of her body until his eyelids closed again.

To him, his wife was like a lit candle in the dark, cool chamber of his heart, emanating a warm, pleasant light that did not blind him, but showed him the way, made him regain his sight.

Watching the helpless efforts of the ladies of the court to catch his attention, he felt amused − their desperation made him grin ironically, causing them to blush in embarrassment, their cheeks rosy with shame.

They did not comprehend his nature, the darkness that lurked in the corners of his mind, his coldness and distance, his bottomless desire to remain in the shadows, to hide even as he remained king.

His wife understood him, his need for solitude, allowing him to spend his days on his duties, patiently waiting each day for the evening when they were reunited.

Although he would never admit it openly, he adored missing her, adored suffering at the thought that, however much he wanted to, she would not come to him without a reason, would not interrupt his training or council, would not seek his attention, focusing on her own affairs.

A few hours of anguish without her presence each day was enough that when he saw her lying in his bed, bare, waiting for him, he would simply sink into the pleasure and relief of her body.

Being deep inside her, he felt safe.

She was his refuge − inside her he would hide when the heavy crown he carried on his head overwhelmed him.

Apart from her, he had nobody and trusted no one.

It seemed to him that she was a lost part of him, that years ago something inside him had shattered into pieces and it appeared that what was left of her fitted into his parts, creating something entirely new and satisfyingly certain.

He appreciated the strength of her character, her maturity and her wisdom, the fact that she knew when to be silent and when to speak, that she never undermined his authority, that she always listened to him with concentration, advising him as best she could.

"All Lord Marrey wants is gold coins. He flaunts his wealth and his position at court. However, that is not what worries me, but what will happen if someone dares to offer him a better price."

She said wrinkling her eyebrows, her face turned to him in profile − she gazed thoughtfully out of the window into the night, stroking her arm involuntarily, her body clad in a richly decorated gown of blacks and reds, her beautiful shoulders bare, her sleeves reaching almost to the ground.

He lifted his gaze to her face, stirring with his hand in his goblet the remnant of wine that was left there, only to lift it to his lips and tilt it, drinking all that was in it, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"What do you propose, wife? Should I, in your opinion, kill or lock up anyone who might betray me in the future?" He asked coolly, leaning against the back of his chair with a loud creak of wood, stretching out on it comfortably, the wine he had drunk so far making him feel warm.

Although he tried for a moment to focus on what she was saying, his gaze stopped on her bare back, emphasised beautifully by the bold line of her gown, wondering if she had been walking around the fortress like this all day, letting the guards shamelessly stare at such a large part of her exposed flesh.

He licked his lower lip at the thought, running his hand over his chin musingly.

"Aemond." He heard her impatient voice and felt himself shudder, lifting his gaze quickly to her face − it was extremely rare for her to speak to him like this − she only did it in private and only when he frustrated her with something. "His case really worries me. If you wish, I'll speak with him myself."

He pondered her words in silence for a moment, tapping his fingertips against his armrest.

"And what are you going to do? Ambush him?" He asked impassively, crossing his legs with a loud creak of his chair, leaning to the side with a loud sigh of fatigue, looking at her back again.

Just like when he had the mask on, he could watch her all day from hiding, look at her expression, her profile, her long eyelashes, her eyes and mouth, her agile, light movements full of dignity and serenity.

While he was like an aggressive flame burning everything, she was like the surface of a lake, letting him extinguish himself in the coolness of her reason, in the tenderness of her heart, making him manage not to cross the thin line that separated him from madness.

"I can propose that his daughter become my lady in waiting, and also suggest that I help him find a suitable candidate for her husband." She said calmly, playing with the three ruby teardrop necklace that adorned her beautiful long neck, his gift to her after their wedding night.

He loved fucking her when she was wearing nothing but this, the colour of their red combined with the black of her hair and the light of her body beneath him made them glow with fire in his eyes, the same kind he felt when their bodies connected in a tight, sticky, hot embrace.

He hummed under his breath, lowering his head, looking away, staring at his hand, playing with his fingers.

"Do as you see fit, wife. I will not interfere with your choice of ladies in waiting or the reasons that guided you." He said lowly, rising from his chair with a loud creak of wood and approached her with a confident, lazy step − her eyes grew large, a warmth and trust in her gaze, something that invariably surprised him.

He grasped her chin in his palm and lifted it slightly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Let's go to bed. There are a few things I want to convey to you. Among them, what I think of your bare back."

The next day there was to be, as there was every month, a gathering in the throne room, the lords and the townspeople could bring their issues and problems before him.

His Queen, to his satisfaction, willingly attended these meetings, at first standing by his side.

Later, however, he found it undignified that his Queen was not allowed to sit for so many hours, so he ordered a smaller throne to be created and placed next to his, on which she took her place from then on.

She never interjected without being asked, only speaking up when he requested her opinion in public, which was often when the matter was delicate, involved someone's hurt and misfortune and required a more understanding, compassionate approach.

He was pleased each time to hear that the words coming from her mouth were thoughtful, filled with wisdom but also with empathy and concern, without sounding hysterical or despairing, maintaining the solemnity of the situation.

He knew that outside the walls of the fortress, despite the fact that many lords were hostile to her, the people of the kingdom feared and respected him, but it was her they loved, seeing in her gestures of mercy and her support for the poor her value, which he also recognised.

He raised an eyebrow when a woman was brought before them, surprised that from afar he could see how unnaturally green her eyes were, her gaze sharp and assured, her black hair loose, her dress, though the garb of a typical bourgeois woman, perfectly accentuated her mature, feminine shapes.

"Your Grace. This woman I present before you is Alys Rivers, better known to some as the Witch of the East. She is known to foretell the future. I have brought her here because I thought the skills of someone like her might be of use to our King." Said Lord Ronwell, the same one who expected him to marry his daughter.

He refrained a grimace of amusement with the last of his strength, finding it difficult to restrain himself from glancing at his wife, knowing that a fire that could burn cities down probably shone in her eyes.

His words seemed to him a poor excuse for what he had been trying to do for a long time, which was to lessen her influence over him as Queen, to divert his attention towards another woman.

He hummed under his breath, crossing his legs, stretching comfortably on the throne, deciding he would take his time with the situation − the thought of his wife, whom his guards were surely thinking of at night, being jealous of him pleasantly tickled his ego.

"Speak, Alys, Witch of the East. Foretell me my future." He said with a sneer, cocking his head − he heard his wife let out a quiet breath of air with impatience.

She knew why he was doing this, that it wasn't even about this woman, that he was teasing her.

Alys Rivers walked boldly forward, climbing step by step higher, startling him and his wife, a brazen look on his face. He pressed his lips together, feeling discomfort and rage, wondering whether to stop it or not, and then the woman spoke.

"Your Queen will bear you a son with dark hair, a future King, beloved by the kingdom. You will have six children, but only two with your wife." She said softly, looking at him with a slight smile. He felt a squeeze in his throat, involuntarily glancing sideways − his wife was pale, her eyes open wide, her lips clenched into a tight line.

He laughed, running his hand over his face, unable to believe that she had allowed herself to say such a thing in her presence.

"And the daughter of which lord will experience the pleasure of carrying my children inside her?" He asked with a sneer, guessing that she had surely been ordered to say such a thing.

"I shall receive that honour, my King." She said with a sensual smile and he froze, lifting his gaze to her in disbelief, looking at his wife again, regretting that he had allowed her to speak at all. He licked his lower lip, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen, looking away with rage.

"Hold her." He said dispassionately to his guards, rising from his throne − they immediately grabbed the woman by the shoulders and forced her to kneel, her gaze changed, her confidence gone from her face, her breathing loud and ragged.

"− my King − I −"

"− give me your sword −" He ordered dryly, extending his hand to Criston, who looked at him horrified, but reached for his blade without a word and slid out his weapon with a loud clatter of steel.

"− please, my King, have mercy − I have been ordered to say so −" She mumbled out, seeing the determination and coldness painted on his face.

The most important thing he had learnt over the years of observing people was when they lie.

When she stood in front of him she was not at all frightened, what she said was not uncomfortable for her − she truly believed that with her words he would destroy his wife's trust in him and eventually become his lover.

He was not going to rely on fate in this matter.

However, it was not his opinion or her plea that mattered to him. He looked over his shoulder at his wife's face − she was staring at him, pale, her eyes red, full of tears, full of pain caused by this cruel humiliation she had suffered because of him, her breasts rose and fell quickly in a shuddering breath, her nostrils twitching restlessly.

I will kill with my own hands anyone who dares to offend my Queen.

He had never lied to her.

"Who ordered you to say such things, woman?" He asked impatiently, leaning the tip of his sword against the stone floor, placing his hands on the hilt, towering over her, complete silence reigned around them.

The woman swallowed loudly, no longer daring to look at him, feeling that he stood over her like an executioner.

"− Lord − Lord Ronwell −" She mumbled quietly, all around them he heard sounds of disbelief and argument − someone shouted that Lord Ronwell was a traitor, the man however shook his head.

"This woman lies, my King!" He said enraged and horrified, clearly not suspecting that the situation would take such a turn.

Loud arguing and shouting echoed around him, which quietened immediately as his blade swished through the air and the woman's head tumbled down the stone steps to the floor below, several ladies of the court squealed loudly, horrified by the sight.

"Her every breath would be an insult to my Queen. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries to plot against her. Guards, lock Lord Ronwell in the dungeons until she decides what to do with him." He said extending his hand with a sword towards Criston, surprised and horrified, his tunic all dirty with blood.

He turned to look at his wife's reaction − she was staring at him with her eyes wide open, her lips parted in disbelief, the heat in her gaze from which his cock throbbed hard.

She wasn't disgusted or afraid of him.

She understood that he had defended her honour.

That he had done it for her.

"My Queen. Forgive me that you had to listen to those disgusting words. Take her body and let us move on." He said indifferently, sitting down on his throne again, expecting them to continue as if nothing had happened.

His wife surprised him as soon as they were alone in his chamber, clinging greedily to his lips, grasping his cheeks in her hands − he groaned low, feeling the throbbing in his breeches, reciprocating her kiss with a loud click.

"− let me wash my hands − they're filthy −" He breathed out into her mouth, but she shook her head, grasping his hand in hers and pressing it to her face, in her eyes heat, longing, gratitude and desire from which he felt himself get completely hard.

His thumb, all slick with the blood of this brazen woman ran over her lower lip − he shuddered when he felt her run her moist tongue over his skin.

"− fuck −" He growled, grabbing her jaw with his hand, clinging aggressively to her lips. She bit him and he groaned low, surprised, lifting her gown, hitting her bare buttock with all his strength. "− how dare you − how fucking dare you treat your King like this −"

He hissed, turning her violently to face the table, clamping his hand in her hair, forcing her to bend over, her cheek pressed against the table top. She panted loudly along with him as he lifted the fabric of her gown with a swift movement, revealing her naked hips before him, her womanhood all pink and swollen, glistening from her moisture.

"− fucking knew it − my little wife is bloodthirsty, hm? − isn't she? − so jealous −" He gasped feeling his heart pounding like mad − he slid his finger deep inside her without warning and groaned weakly, feeling how her walls clenched around him, how aroused she was, her thighs trembling whole before him.

"− please, husband − please, I need it −" She mewled sweetly, innocently, her face and buttock dirty from the blood from his hand − there was something frightening and at the same time so arousing about the sight that he felt like his cock was about to explode.

"− what do you need? − speak, sweet wife, your King listens to you intently −" He said mockingly, sliding his finger in and out of her, once in a while pressing and massaging the spot hidden between her folds, each time bringing out of her a loud, pathetic cry, her body trembling all over, her lips parted wide in pleasure.

"− g-gods, take me − fuck me − please −" She begged desperately. He gasped low at her words, unable to deny her, sliding his finger out of her, quickly untying and lowering his breeches − she whimpered loudly when his swollen manhood slapped against her buttocks.

"− quiet − lay still and let me in −" He growled, with a sure, deep thrust of his hips pushing the head of his cock into her hot interior. He clamped his hands on her buttocks and began to slam into her with a loud moan of relief − she whined loudly in pleasure, clenching her fingers on the table top, her eyes squeezed shut, her eyebrows arched as if in worry.

"− gods, you're leaking − the sight of me beheading that whore made you so fucking wet? − hm? −" He gasped, rooting into her even faster, squeezing her soft buttock with his hands, watching with delight how his fat, swollen manhood stretched her tight, fleshy core with his every thrust.

"− p-please, don't stop, keep going −" She mewled, responding with her body to the movements of his hips, her wet, hot muscles sucking on him greedily, wanting to keep him inside − he was horrified at how sacrilegious and intense this experience was.

"− I'll kill anyone − anyone, gods, just say the word − I'll give you everything −" He burst out and she sobbed loudly. He felt a wave of pleasure shake her body, her walls were clenching around him so tightly he was running out of breath − he slammed into her like mad, his thighs slapping against her buttocks with a loud clicks of her moisture.

"− my beloved King −" She whimpered with difficulty quivering all over, his heart pounded so hard he felt like it was going to rip his chest open, a convulsion shook his body.

"− just like that − oh, fuckkk −" He exhaled, clenching his eyes and tilting his head back, panting hard, feeling a wonderful, overpowering relief, his seed spilling deep inside her at last.

They were both breathing loudly and shaking, unable to believe how strong their fulfilment was − he put his hands on either side of her head, trying to calm himself, his cock twitching all over deep inside her.

"− good gods − are you all right? −" He asked horrified, breathing heavily, reminding himself that they had fucked each other so hard that they could barely get the words out.

He sighed in relief sliding out of her when she nodded, he heard her hiss quietly. He stared for a moment wordlessly at the trail of his spend that trickled down her thighs, his hand reached up to her hot buttock and squeezed it tentatively.

"Let's take a bath."

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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daydreaming-nerd · 8 days

Text

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 10

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

AN: You guys I'm sorry this took a while. I really put a lot into this so I hope the wait was worth it. ALSO The Tortured Poets Department just came out!!! which means my creative juices are flowing, because nothing gets me thinking like Hans Zimmer and Taylor Swift. Already thinking of some Azriel angst for The Black Dog. ALSO this fic has a a cinematic playlist that goes with it? I can post it if that's something you guys are interested in.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, heavy angst, descriptions of character injuries, reader got the Mor treatment, last lil bit of angst guys you'll like the end.

Word Count: 5,103

Third Person pov:

Cassian stared at the other side of his bed. The one that suddenly felt so large now. He skipped training that morning, skipped breakfast too. Instead he twirled a small brass ring between his fingers. His mother’s ring to be exact. The last thing he had of hers, given to him by the female that told him where her body was dumped.

He had wanted to give it to her, his mate. Longed to see it on her dainty hand. He laughed when he thought about it in comparison to the ring Eris gave her. He remembered the sight of it as she pulled it out after the night he first made love to her. The thing was huge, when he held her hand yesterday he could practically feel the weight of it. The idea of putting a busted up old brass ring on that finger made his heartbreak. He wanted to give her so much more.

At least, he thought, if she’s married to Eris she will be able to have nothing but the finest things.

He tried to make that a consolation for him. But he knew that even a gilded cage was a cage.

It wasn’t until midday when pain exploded through his gut, white hot and unyielding. He sat up abruptly, clutching his heart as he reached down the bound searching for her. Gasped as he realized that golden rope unwinding slowly but surely. He looked deeper, allowing himself to feel whatever she felt. His body temperature dropped as the pain in his gut worsened, and then as if the string was cleaved by a sword he felt nothing at all. A stone wall had dropped over the bond.

No, no, no, no.

He shot from his bed, ripping on whatever leathers he could find on the ground of his bedroom. Banishment be damned, he wouldn't let her die.

Azriel sat on the couch nursing a hangover as Cassian bursted into the room, he tossed him a spare dagger.

“Get up somethings wrong with y/n,” Cassain ordered the voice of a general making itself known as he laced up his boots.

Azriel didn’t object, didn’t even whine or moan from his aching head as he got up to join his brother. The shadowsinger had always been the calmest of the three, always the most collected. But he had never seen his brother so scared before, and that cool veil of calm that he always kept so wholly intact started to slip.

It was a short flight to the townhouse and as Cassian landed at the front steps he started to realize the weight of what was about to happen. He had no time to prepare himself for how he would tell his High Lord, his best friend, and his brother in arms about the secret relationship he had been having with his precious little sister. And y/n was precious to Rhys, always had been, even if the trauma they both endured under the mountain had driven a wedge between them.

Cassian reached through the bond and felt nothing still. He lost all hesitation and nearly blew off the doors to Rhysand’s study.

Rhysand’s head flew up, and assessed whatever threat would lie before him. His eyes soften when he found his best friend standing in the doorway, but hardened again once he saw the sheer panic in his eyes.

“y/n is in trouble we have to find her,” Cassian ordered, leaving no room for argument.

“What do you mean y/n is in trouble?” Rhysand stood to brace his hands against his desk. “If she’s having a problem her husband can help her Cassian.”

“And what if her husband is the reason she’s in trouble? I came to you for help, but if you won’t offer it I’ll take Azriel and I’ll find her myself.” Cassian growled, a male beyond feral.

Azriel looked between the general and the High Lord, the stare down between the two so cold, so unyielding that it would go down in history. Rhysand’s violet eyes burned into Cassian’s, looking for the untold truth Cassian was keeping from him. When he didn’t find it, power filled the room as Rhys looked into Cassian’s mind.

“Stay out of my head Rhys!” Cassain grumbled, shaking his head as if those dark talons had already pried into his memories.

It was too late, and Rhysand’s eyes filled with an anger Cassian had never seen as he winnowed over to where he stood and slammed him against the wall.

“YOU SLEPT WITH MY LITTLE SISTER?!” Rhysand bellowed in his face.

Cassian had never been afraid of the High Lord of Night. Not when he showed up at Windhaven with his brand new training clothes, not when he saw him wipe whole infantries off the face of the earth with the flick of his wrist. The common denominator was that he was never on the receiving end of Rhysand’s rage. But now he had a not so friendly reminder that he was the most powerful High Lord to ever grace Prythian, and Cassian was scared.

“Let me explain,” Cassian choked out, the raw power spilling off Rhysand stifling his ability to even breathe.

“Rhys,” Azriel warned, that cool calm coming back to him as he watched his brothers at eachothers throats.

Rhys’ head whipped around to Azriel, “You knew?” he seethed.

The spymaster didn’t dare speak, he simply took a step back raising his hands in surrender.

“She’s my mate Rhys,” Cassian ground out.

Rhys’ eyes met Cassain’s, and saw the pleading in them. The kind that could only be found in a male who’s mate was in danger. He had seen it before, when Kallias talked about Viviane, even before he knew she was his mate.

Rhys released his hold on Cassian and the general's boots hit the floor with a thud as he started to collect himself.

“She’s dying Rhys’ I can feel it. She was so cold and then there was just nothing. Please we have to find her.” Cassain pleaded.

The High Lord seemed to be inside his own head, sorting through all the information he had been given in the last couple of minutes. This was more than just saving his sister, it was saving his best friend’s mate. Losing one would be like losing both, Cassian could never recover from such a loss.

“If you felt cold she’s most likely in the Winter Court. You and Azriel take the border of Autumn and Winter, I’ll go speak to Kallias and Viviane and see what they know.” Rhysand ordered in a way that was more High Lordly than his brothers had ever heard.

y/n’s pov:

It had been at least an hour, I had deciphered. The cold winter winds whipping around me as my body became so cold the snow started to bury me.

I thought about grabbing the dagger just inches away from my frozen hand and plunging it through my heart, but when I tried to reach for it the pain that radiated through my side was too great.

So I kept pulling on that bond, the rope that had turned to a thread. It felt like it was tied to a boulder, as every time I pulled it I found the otherside dead. The effects of the bloodbane taking away my ability to feel Cassian and my ability to heal.

As I lay there, my legs becoming heavy as they become covered in a thin layer of frost and my blood spilling out onto the snow, I thought of one thing.

It was all for nothing.

Cassian’s pov:

The blizzard that had waged war on my wings yesterday was even stronger today. Thankfully Azriel was able to winnow the two of us to the border with ease. If y/n had truly been left out here then there was no time to waste. The snow and wind was so thick I could hardly see the ground below us. I prayed to the mother that she was with Kallias and Viviane, warm, safe and alright. Because if I found her out here it would be a miracle to find her alive.

I flew as fast as possible, fighting against the gusts of wind. Azriel was farther behind me, no doubt running his eyes over every place I might’ve missed in my panic. If she was out here she wouldn't be hard to find, for on the border there was nothing but bare land. No trees, and no bushes or rocks. If the snow hadn’t buried her she would stand out like a sore thumb.

She can’t be gone.

I was beginning to lose hope, nearing the end of the border when Rhys spoke into my mind.

Kallias and Viviane have not seen her, they’re sending out search parties as we speak.

My fears only heightened at Rhys’ status report, she was out here somewhere and I was most likely already too late.

No she’s not gone.

I told myself as I tugged on the bond one more time to see if there was still that concrete wall there and to my surprise I found a faint hum. The rope between us torn to shreds, I almost felt like if I tugged on it one more time it might disintegrate.

“I can feel her!” I shout to Azriel over the wind. He shields his eyes from the wind to give me a nod, as he continues to search for her.

My eyes scan the vast expanse of white below me until I see a small crumpled form, lying in the snow.

No.

I don’t think for another moment before tucking in my wings and diving straight for it. As I slam into the icy ground. I rush over to the heap on the ground and my worst fears are confirmed.

There lies y/n with her back facing me, nothing covering her but a silk robe. Her body littered in bruises and blood pooling all around her. I fall to my knees before her, ignoring the bite of the snow. I pick her up and turn her carefully in my arms. The frost that covers her cheeks isn’t the worst of my concerns as my eyes fall to her stomach. There, nailed to her womb is a note that reads…

‘WHORE’

I feel a liquid coating my hand and I hold it up to find blood. I spy a bloodblane laced dagger lying in the snow just a foot away. I reach down inside for the bond but I feel it disintegrating before my very eyes.

“No, no, no Princess wake up!” I cry moving the hair from her frozen face.

She doesn’t move.

“Please wake up y/n!” I scream, my tears falling on her face as I try to shake her awake. “COME ON!” I growl.

A shadow slams into the earth behind me and I feel Az’s presence behind me falling to hitting his knees next to mine. I don’t try to read his face, if he looks at her like she’s dead I don’t know what I’ll do. Instead I focus all my efforts on trying to get those frozen eyelashes to open up for me.

“Come on baby come back to me,” I grit, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My lips bite at the coldness there.

“Cass I told Rhys, he’s already home,” Azriel reported, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Give her here,” he began reaching for her.

“No, don't touch her,” I growled, holding her closer to my chest.

“I can winnow her back faster than you can fly her. You need to trust me Cass or she’s not going to make it,” he pleaded calmly.

I sigh knowing that my brother is right and that my territorial male bullshit would only kill her. I reluctantly give her to Azriel and it isn’t until he stands with her that I realize how small she looks in his arms. How breakable, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

“Save her Az, please,” I beg, still on my knees.

“Hang tight Cass I’ll be right back,” he says winnowing away.

I’m left with the aftermath, and the roaring wind that’s practically white noise by now. In front of me is the imprint her body left in the snow and ice, as well as crimson colored snow. The knife that lay just a foot away identical to the one that was jabbed into my side just yesterday. I nearly threw up at the idea that she had felt that white hot pain of bloodbane making its way through her blood.

A few minutes later Az winnowed back and took me with him to the townhouse. We landed in the foyer, and I didn’t hesitate to bound up the steps towards her own room. The door was flung open and Rhysand was already pacing watching Madja do her best work.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, unable to rip my eyes away from her too still form lying on the bed. Her hair is still frozen, lips still blue.

“We don’t know yet,” Rhys answers in a tone so somber it pulls my attention. His eyes are just as bloodshot as mine and his hair is sticking up all over the place like he had been running his hands through it too much.

As Majda stitches her wounds and assesses every inch of her, I find myself peeling off some of my leathers. The place was practically a sauna with a roaring fire heating the room and the bedpans littered about her bed. Even Rhys had a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead. It was the only thing that could be done, to warm her up.

I stared at my mate's unconscious body, and prayed to the Mother that she wouldn’t take her away. Even half frozen, battered and bruised, she was still so beautiful, still the Jewel. Still my princess who I had fallen for all those years ago.

Please Mother, please don’t take her.

If anything, just let me see her one last time. See her beautiful eyes and kiss her lips. Allow me to hold my mate one last time while her heart is still beating.

As Madja worked her hands up and down her body she didn’t say a word, didn’t even breathe loudly, as if she was listening for something. Her behavior affected us all, as we stayed completely silent, the only sounds in the room coming from the crackling fire.

So when her shoulders slumped and she sighed, the breath echoed throughout the room. My stomach sank as she turned to us with a somber face.

“Before she was left out there she was taken by force, that’s where the bruises are from. The wound to the right side was caused by a dagger laced in bloodbane, she was practically mortal when he left her in the snow. And the wound to her lower abdomen? It hit her womb, if she ever wakes up she may never be able to have children,” Madja says sadly.

“If she wakes up?” I ask quietly, praying I heard wrong.

Her eyes meet mine and then Rhysand’s, “We’re losing her.” she begins and I swear I feel my knees about to give out. “I can’t access her thoughts or her emotions, but given what she’s been through, it seems she’s lost the will to live.”

That was it.

I take the two steps to the edge of her bed and my knees hit the ground as I begin to weep. I slide my hand under the piles of blankets, careful not to disturb them, and take her hand in mine. Gods it’s so cold. She had always had cold hands, she used to put them under my shirt to warm them up. But this was different, her hands were like ice. She didn’t even feel like her.

“Maybe if I can look into her mind?” Rhys breathed, the angst ridden in his voice.

“You are welcome to try my Lord,” Madja said solemnly, like whatever he found wouldn’t be of any use anyways.

I hear Rhys' footsteps walk around to the other side of the bed and kneel. He places a hand over her head, his palm twitching from the sudden cold that was there. I watched intently as his eyes closed and brows furrowed. As he went deeper and deeper into her mind his face contorted until it began to soften once more, and a single tear fell from his face.

“What? What is it?” I asked, my voice cracking.

The High Lord pulled his hand from his sisters face to wipe his stray tear, “Madja’s right. She’s given up. Her last thought was that she had lost the Autumn Court’s armies and she had lost you too Cassian. After everything that happened, it was all for nothing.” Rhys relayed sadly.

“But she’s here now, she’s safe, she has to wake up,” I pleaded, squeezing her too cold hand tighter.

“She doesn’t know that she is here though general,” Madja says calmly, like if she spoke any other way I would rip her to shreds, which was probably true. “She fell under thinking she would never see you again.”

“What can I do? I’ll do anything.” I plead with Madja. Hell I’d trade places with her if I could. Her people needed a princess more than they needed a general.

“I’m afraid there is nothing any of us can do. All we can do is wait and hope she comes back,” Madja says sadly.

“I want you to take up quarters in the town house for the time being,” Rhys ordered.

“Of course my Lord, I will be checking on her constantly,” Madja nods, collecting her bag full of tonics and bandages.

“Is there anything I can do for you Cass?” Azriel asks, placing a hand on my back.

“No,” I say solemnly, pressing my forehead to her hand. “Just leave us.”

Neither one of my brothers protested. The only indication that they had left was the door closing and the silence that had followed. Their muffled voices went down the hall, no doubt to show Madja where she would be staying. I was sure that Rhys would be back to check on his little sister once he was done.

I lifted my head from where I had it pressed against her hand to see her face again. Her skin was still pale but the frost had melted off her eyelashes and skin. Hickies littered her neck and a faint hand shaped bruise wrapped around her neck.

Gods what had he done to her?

“Princess I don’t know if you can hear me but you have to open those pretty eyes for me okay?” I pleaded with her. “It wasn’t for nothing baby, I’m here now and I’m not going to let anyone take you away again. You were so strong and so brave but you don’t have to be anymore, you just need to wake up. Just wake up and I’ll take care of you okay?”

I feel my tears starting to well up. I didn’t just want my girlfriend back, or even my mate. I wanted my best friend back. I thought about what a lonely world it would be without her.

“We can go back to reading your silly books while I tickle your feet. And you can whoop my ass and drink me under the table when we play Marks again.” I laugh remembering the time I taught her how to play the ridiculous drinking game, it felt like so long ago now.

“You have to come back to me because we have to have the most ridiculous and ornate mating ceremony ever.” I chuckle through my tears picturing how much she would detest the idea of an over the top event. “And you gotta wake up because I wanna make you my wife baby.”

I feel the lump in my throat form, remembering the brass ring I had left on my nightstand from this morning. I had almost wished that I had felt the same sadness I felt then now. For nothing could compare to the agony of the mating bond slipping out of my hands like sand falling through an hourglass.

“But we can’t do any of those things until you wake up honey, so you gotta open your eyes for me okay?” I say trying to smile.

Her eyes don’t open, I’m not even sure if her chest rises and falls to breathe.

“Please y/n wake up! Please don’t leave me, I can’t live without you.” I plead, my tears falling faster than ever now.

I let out a groan as I press my forehead to her little hand again. My chest caving in as I find the skin there still cold. Fuck it, if she can’t hear me than I’ll beg to the gods who might.

“Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t take her from me…”

Rhysand’s pov:

After I show Madja where she can set her things and take a load off, I slump into an armchair in my room and run my hands through my hair. For the first time today, I’m finally hit by the weight of what the past two hours have been.

The images of what I saw when I reached into y/n’s mind were enough to make me shudder. I was so blind to her pain. So focused on my own mate, and my own trauma, I forgot that she went under that mountain with me. And what’s worse is that she felt like she owed me an army for saving her. I almost regret going so far back into her memories that I saw it all. The things Eris did to her, the way he spoke to her. The conflict she felt.

But then there were moments of immense happiness. Each one of them featured Cassian in one way or another. Images of him lacing up her dresses and placing a kiss on her shoulder when he was done. Her laughing in the early hours of morning with him. I had never seen my brother smile so big or love so much.

Oh gods Cassian.

I thought to myself, remembering the look on his face when he saw her lying prone on that bed. His agony that practically filled and infected everything in the room. He needed me, and I needed to see my little sister.

My tired body creaks as I stand from the chair with a groan, making my way next door to y/n’s room. The same one I used to sneak her out of when we were kids. Sometimes I miss those days and how simple everything was.

I opened the door slowly to not disturb Cassian. The light from behind me illuminated the mostly dark room. The only other light source was the fire. Cassain was right where I left him, kneeling on by the edge of the bed, stroking her hair whispering sweet nothings to her that I couldn’t hear.

I make my way inside and close the door to keep in the heat as I sit on the opposite side of the bed. It isn’t until the bed dips under my weight that Cassian’s eyes meet mine. In all the years I’ve known him I had never seen him this way. His eyes were bloodshot and weepy, and the bags under his eyes prevalent. It reminded me of when I thought Feyre had died under the mountain, and I supposed that made sense given this was the same thing.

“Has she?” I asked, wondering if she had shown any signs of life.

“No,” was the only answer the general could give me.

My eyes fell to my sister once more, unable to take the sorrow that came from Cassian’s stare. The frost that once covered her face was now melted, and her lips were no longer blue. However, pink had not yet tinted her cheeks and I wondered if it ever would again. It raised the question, how could I have prevented her from meeting this fate, and prevented Cassain from having to feel this pain. I was the most powerful High Lord in History, but right now I had never felt so small.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your mate?” the question spilled out of me. “If I had known I would’ve stopped the wedding immediately.”

Cassian lifted his head from where it was pressed against her hand and looked at me again, “For the same reason your mate is still in the Spring Court. She deserved to have a choice.” he said to me, and though his words held no anger, no resentment, they were a punch to the gut.

“I’m a terrible brother,” I admit, my eyes falling to her.

“No you’re not. She did what she did because you are a good brother. She wanted to help you in any way she could, at any cost. That’s how much she loves you.” Cassian spoke, his voice quiet and even toned. “But things might’ve been different if you two hadn’t distanced yourselves when you got back from under the mountain. Whatever you guys saw down there? Whatever happened? You need to face it together, Rhys. If she wakes up, you need to be as close as you once were.”

Gods, for a general my brother had a way with words. He was right about all of it. I had distanced myself from her after we came back. Thinking that I could spare her from the pain I felt, but I had forgotten that she had gone under that mountain with me. She had demons to battle as well, and I left her to fight them alone.

“She will wake up Cass,” was all I could say. “She has to, because I have to make things right.”

y/n’s pov:

Waking up was slow.

First all I could hear was the crackling of a fire and slow steady breaths. Then I smelled the familiar scent of night blooming jasmine laced with cedar. Next was the immeasurable warmth that fanned my face, and last was the feeling of a strong calloused hand holding my own.

I squeezed that hand ever so slightly before finally opening my eyes. I looked up at the familiar ceiling of my childhood bedroom, the constellations that had been painstakingly painted there. To my left a roaring fire and to my right… Cassian. Kneeling at the edge of the bed his forehead pressed to my hand. His breaths rising and falling slowly, the way they always did when he was asleep.

“Cass,” I rasped out, my voice still uneasy.

His head flew up and his eyes were on me in an instant. I loosed a sob at finding that familiar hazel staring back at me. The face I thought I would never see before.

“Oh my god baby,” he smiled, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You came back to me, thank the Mother.”

“Cassian, I'm so sorry. I should’ve listened to you. You were right about everything and I should’ve stayed and-” I began to ramble through my tears.

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed, brushing a tear from my eye as a few of his own fell. “Don’t worry about that now. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you know”

The bond tugged at his promise and I was reminded of the blessing I had been given, “You’re my mate,” I smiled pressing a hand to his face. He winced at the cold but then laid one of his own hands over it, bringing it down to his lips to press a kiss to my palm.

“Yeah I am,” he laughs. “And you’re mine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him as he continued pressing kisses into the palm of my hand.

“You were already dealing with so much y/n,” he said softly. “I couldn’t make things even more complicated or try to control your choices. Not when this alliance was the first thing you ever got to choose for yourself. But I should’ve told you and I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” I soothed him like he had me moments ago. “We both made mistakes Cass, but none of that matters now that we’re together again.”

“You’re right,” he smiled, kissing my forehead.

“The only thing we need to worry about now is Eris and whatever he does next,” I say, rubbing his cheek with my thumb, the stubble there telling me he hadn’t shaved in a while.

His eyes hardened as he pulled my hand from his cheek, grasping it in both of his hands as if he was praying, “If he comes back for you y/n I will fucking kill him. I swear to the Gods I will invoke the blood duel-”

“You will do nothing of the sort Cassian. I just got you back. I won’t lose you again.” I say firmly.

“Are you doubting your general?” He gave me a cocky smile.

“No, but I don’t trust Eris to play fair. If he comes back Rhys will deal with him.” I assure him.

“As your mate I have the right to defend you,” he reminds me.

“You’re right, you do. But if we don’t handle things just right Eris could declare war on us. I won’t let my people be attacked by Hybern and the Autumn Court.” I explained to him.

Cassain nodded. I could sense the disappointment in him, and I didn’t blame him for feeling that way. I would’ve paid good money to watch him kill Eris. It was scary enough when someone hurt another male's mate. Especially when the affected male is The Lord of Bloodshed.

“And Cass?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“You were wrong before, about my choices. The first thing I ever got to choose for myself wasn’t Eris, Cassian. It was you.” I smile looking at the best decision I had ever made. I would never come to regret asking him to kiss me after that ball. Not when it had brought me his love. The best thing I never knew I needed.

Cassain smiled and then let out a hearty chuckle, as if he had finally realized that I was back, and we were together again, and we would be together until The Mother called us home.

To be continued…

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anystalker707 · 6 months

Text

aching pleasure

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender-neutral, amab] Reader Kinktober prompt: Sadomasochism Tags: bottom zoro / he's also a good boy! / squeeze his tits / penetration / hair tugging / back scratching

requested by the cmt anon

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You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight between your feet a little while raising your hands to your forehead, eyeing Zoro through the gap between your arms. He rolled his shoulders before copying your posture, eyebrows knitted together.

“Real strength?” You asked Zoro. “Are you sure you got the defenses?”

Zoro relied a lot on his swords, and he wanted to improve his hand-to-hand combat just in case—totally not due to being humiliated during a past fight. Asking you was a lot better than asking for help from the shitty cook or something, but it also took him significant effort to get through his pride and actually ask you for tips.

The first part of your practice with Zoro resumed with training his response to a few moves, especially kicks. It was a little trouble since getting him to understand the right and left coordination, but he got the spirit. He just needed to know what to do, and he seemed to be doing well, if not for the small things that took major side orientation or still required him a lot of thought until it got into his brain.

“Yeah,” Zoro almost scoffed. “Let’s get started with it.”

You raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Zoro was the first one to move, and his jab hit you with more strength than you’d anticipated, but it still wasn’t anything to get worried about. He could defend the same attack, too, sometimes dodging the hits instead. It was somewhat awkward initially, but you could finally fill in the gaps until it could be called a proper sparring session.

Okay, now that you had warmed up, you could get more serious.

Zoro didn’t see it coming, gasping, but he stepped to the right side and hooked his arm around your leg, enough to pull you closer and give you another punch. That was good. The next time, though? Instead of throwing your leg off in the opposite direction, he pulled you right towards him—his eye widened the moment you lunged forward and threw him to the ground along with the pressure of your elbow colliding with his chest.

“Fuck,” Zoro huffed as he fell back to the ground of the crow’s nest with you on top of him, pressing his eyes shut when your forearm pressed to his neck. You certainly were going to throw a blow right at his face, and… Where was it? He slowly opened his eye, and his face burned when he saw you just grinning at him, not even holding a fist up. “Can’t believe it,” he exhaled, letting his head rest back against the floor.

“That’s what you do when you make a mistake in a real fight?” You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle. “Just give up? Come on,” you sighed, shifting a little to push away from him, just to be pulled back as he grasped your upper arm.

“You know me better than that, bastard,” he said through gritted teeth as his breath fanned over your face.

“Oh?” Your grin widened. “Then prove it.”

The next round was a little better. Zoro could remember where to throw you off and also gained a little more confidence to fight back even after the mistakes. He was already good at fighting, of course, but something about fighting you managed to hold Zoro back whenever he was supposed to retaliate. He knew you could take it, he knew you were strong, but his mind simply went blank the moment he noticed there was an opening.

Shit. A kick right on the abdomen sent Zoro back against the ground; his hand couldn’t even hold your ankle quickly enough to bring you down with him.

“You’re not even trying,” you chuckled, kicking his side. Did it make Zoro whimper? Maybe you were just imagining things. “Is that observation haki of yours for nothing, by the way? Or is your brain too small to process more than one thing at once?” A sigh escaped your lips as you pressed your foot right to the middle of his chest—not only was he strong, but he could also use that to his advantage, and you didn’t really care. “Come on, muscle-head. What are you made of?”

Zoro gasped as your foot pressed down to his chest more. His forearm was thrown across his eyes, though, so you couldn’t have a clear notion of what was going on in his head. “I…”

Despite the silence, Zoro didn’t say anything, only trying to catch his breath. You clicked your tongue, adding a little more pressure to his chest.

“Zoro. I’m talking to you.” You raised an eyebrow, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile at the way he whimpered again, confirming your suppositions. “Don’t tell me you like this. Is it the pain or something else?”

“Stop talking nonsense!” Zoro snaps, lowering his arm to glare at you. “It’s nothing like that!”

“You’re not tired yet, and you’d have thrown me off already if you could.” You placed your hands on your hips, looking at him for a long moment—he was blushing, all tense. “Oh, Zoro,” you breathed a chuckle, kicking his side again and then his thigh, “it’s no shame you’re a masochist.”

“I—”

“You?” You raised an eyebrow. His breath hitched in his throat with how your foot pressed down to the inner side of his thigh, adding enough pressure to make him whimper again. “Expected more from you,” you sighed, letting your heel sink into his thigh more. The bulge in his shorts was becoming more evident. Okay. Your foot was back to the ground as you got down on a knee and leaned in. His face was so red. “Poor thing.”

Zoro closed his eye and took a deep breath before he started sitting up, glaring at you. “You better stop taking things the wrong way, you idiot.”

You raised an eyebrow, taking hold of Zoro’s jaw to make him look at you; the pressure of your fingers made him hiss a little, and his pupil was blown as he looked at you, swallowing audibly. “That’s hot,” you whispered, leaning in until your nose brushed against his. “Come on, Zoro,” you whispered, “you wouldn’t be turned on if I were wrong, would you?”

“Bastard,” Zoro grumbled again, but he didn’t fight this time.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, “but I’m certainly one that you love.”

Your lips pressed to Zoro’s firmly, holding his head in place until he finally started kissing you back, groaning softly. He really was a sucker for that, and he wished there’d been at least a little longer before you found out, and he… Fuck. A sharp pain spread through Zoro’s lip with the way your teeth sank into it, making him gasp and hold your forearm, but he didn’t stop you. If anything, he loved the way you kept tugging on his lips with your teeth until they throbbed and a metallic taste filled his mouth.

“Mmph, I hate you,” Zoro whispered as you forced his head to the side, drawing a moan from him with a bite on the neck.

“Oh, you’re into hate fucking as well?” You chuckled and licked over the bite mark. “We can fix that.”

“Won’t you shut up?” His attempt to sound at least intimidating failed again, his words cut off by a moan with the new bite, but your teeth didn’t leave the skin so soon—he whimpered and tightened his grip around your wrist. He gasped, unable to contain the sounds that spilled from his lips, and the bite mark throbbed at the same time his shorts grew uncomfortably tight. “Mm, babe…” He tried to catch his breath while you pressed soft kisses along his neck.

Goddammit, that was starting to do things to you as well. The fact that the pain you inflicted could make him so weak, turned him on that much… Your cock throbbed the more desperate he became.

Reluctantly, you let go of Zoro so that you could sit back on the ground, taking off your shirt with a sigh before you patted your lap. “Come here, let me give you a treat.”

Zoro narrowed his eye at you, practically pouting, but his red face gave him in; aside from his painfully hard cock that tented up his shorts. He slowly exhaled and straddled your lap, his shirt joining yours on the ground.

“That’s my man!” A grin tugged on your lips while you squeezed Zoro’s pecs, fingers pressing to the skin. They eventually clasped his nipple, and Zoro doubled over, almost pressing his head to your shoulder at the way you twisted his nipple. Just the thought of the pain made you hiss, but Zoro fucking loved that, right? He moaned, thighs quivering.

“(Y/n).” He pressed his forehead to your temple, breathlessly, still firmly holding onto your upper arms.

“Aw, you gotta let me have fun with my new find.”

You chuckled, kissing right below his ear; there was a grumpy hum in response, but he never said or tried anything to stop you. Your thumbs pressed to his nipples, giving each of them the same treatment. They were hard under your touches, becoming swollen as you tugged on them and twisted, trying to add the edge of pain that Zoro seemed to enjoy so much. He moaned into your ear, breath all out of pace, and his fingers sank into your arms whenever his moans went a pitch higher.

“Be a good boy and grab the lube, hm?” You let go of his chest to lightly slap his thigh instead, earning yourself a string of curses in response.

Fucking in the crow’s nest was practically a habit already, a stress reliever after intense training or a session to catch up with the need after long without intimate moments. Sometimes, it was just to kill the boredom during the night watch. Either way, it was no surprise that the bag with Zoro’s training stuff had lube in it. Just in case.

Zoro handed the lube to you before he took off his shorts and boxers, hissing a little when the cold air came in contact with his cock, tip flushed and shiny with pre-cum. He gulped as he noticed your eyes on it while you also got rid of the remaining of your clothes to allow him on your lap again.

“Man,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around Zoro’s waist to pull him closer, kissing between his pecs as he held on your shoulders. He caressed the skin gently, sighing at the feeling of your hands trailing down his ass, squeezing it. “I bet you’d cum in your shorts if I didn’t stop,” you chuckled against his skin, letting your tongue poke out when your lips came across his scar.

Zoro was about to complain when you bit down on his pec, and whatever he had to say gave place to a moan. You did that again—your mouth didn’t leave his skin so soon. “Mmph, fuck…” His fingers sank into your shoulders as he held himself back from squirming. The pain resulted in warm waves through his body that left his cock throbbing between his legs, leaking more, aching more.

“You’re down bad…” You raised your eyebrows, wiping the drool away from your mouth with the back of your hand before taking the lube in hand. Since he was so on the edge by now, you didn’t bother being quick. Damn, you wanted the fun to last.

A soft sigh came from Zoro while he waited, seeming to notice what you were doing, but he wouldn’t say a thing. The bite marks still throbbed a little, a little more intensely than the pain left behind where you’d kicked him or pressed your foot. He wanted more of that, so badly. The click of the lube’s lid being closed brought him back to reality, compelling him to perk up as you held the base of your cock and his hip. You didn’t even need to say anything—he lifted himself and positioned over your cock.

“Mmph, great,” you moaned. Zoro felt so good around you, tight walls clenching around your cock as he gasped, noisier than usual. He was so sensitive already, clinging to you, taking you in so well despite the small resistance. You bit your lip, switching your grip to his thighs once you finally bottom out.

Zoro’s hips immediately rolled against yours slowly as he tried to control his breathing. At the same time that he wanted more, he also wanted it to last. He bit his lip, closing his eye for a moment, just while he tried to find a faster and steady pace—he actually managed to do it, just for his hips to falter the moment your palm met the side of his thigh sharply.

“Fuck,” Zoro whimpered, clenching around you so deliciously.

“That’s it…” You turned your head up and let his forehead press to yours, groaning softly. “You feel s’good…” Your hands went up his hips, waist, and then to his back. His muscles were tense under your fingertips, already with a layer of sweat over them ever since your sparring training, but you could feel him tense up even more when your nails sank into his skin.

“Nnngh, (y/n),” Zoro breathed against your lips, “more…”

Who were you to deny that, even more so when he only became tighter around you? Milking you so good. He was such a good boy.

You bit your lip, going all the way up to Zoro’s shoulders and letting your nails drag down slowly as you made sure they sank into the skin. That’d probably leave marks, make his back all red, but you’d love staring at those later and remember that moment. Your cock throbbed, feeling Zoro’s gummy walls squeeze your cock even more, more often; it made your thighs quiver.

“Z—”

“Fuck you,” Zoro groaned, rolling his hips against yours deliciously, not even giving you time to react before he tugged the hair on the back of your head, tilting your head back. “‘M so close.”

“Then come,” you moaned. Warm pain spread across your scalp with the tug on your hair, unexpectedly helping the arousal grow in your lower stomach. “Damn it.” Your nails dug into his back again—he whimpered, rolling his hips against yours more frantically, and at the same time his grip tightened around your hair.

Zoro’s cum came out in thick spurts that stained both of you, hot against the skin, while he clenched tightly around your cock, as if trying to pull you in deeper. He still whimpered, unable to contain his sounds, pressing his eyes shut as he focused on riding out his high until the throbbing between his legs grew more sporadic. His fingers slowly let go of your hair as he let his weight down on your lap, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. Heavy breaths escaped his parted lips, chest heaving up and down at the attempts to catch his breath.

“Zoro,” you breathed.

“Hm?”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m not done. You’re not done.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #x male reader #x reader #kinktober 23 #zoro x reader #zoro x male reader #oneshot #imagine #scenario #one piece x reader #fan fic #fan fiction

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aphroditelovesu · 8 months

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The Lost Queen - IV

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader

— word count: +1,870.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 4

Perdiccas didn't know what to do with himself.

The macedonian general felt confused and troubled by the thoughts that were running through his head. He didn't understand why he was feeling this way about someone he had just met but couldn't help it.

There was something about this strange woman that appealed to him profusely.

He watched her like an eagle but kept silent as Alexander questioned her. She seemed quite calm, or so he thought, as she had answered all of Alexander's questions with unwavering grace and confidence. He respected that, respected that she hadn't shown fear even though she was clearly in a vulnerable position.

And when he learned her name it was like a weight had been lifted from his chest. (Y/N). A name he had never heard before but it suited her, suited her beauty. The way she spoke with so much softness and confidence, as a Queen would speak was one of the things that attracted the general's curiosity.

''(Y/N)…'' Perdiccas whispered and was satisfied when the beautiful woman's name fell from his lips.

''What did you say?'' Ptolemy asked and leaned towards Perdiccas, who shook his head quickly.

''Nothing.'' He lied quickly and Ptolemy glared at him for a bit but turned his attention back to the King and (Y/N).

Perdiccas didn't need anyone to find out the thoughts that were in his head, not even his closest friends. There were things that were better left unsaid and he knew within himself that he should never speak what was on his mind about (Y/N). He was sure no one would understand, in fact, not even he understood his thoughts and feelings.

He turned his eyes to (Y/N) again who was escorted to the tent that would be assigned to her. Perdiccas watched her whimpering, wanting desperately to keep up but it wasn't smart to do so.

He clenched his fists as his fellow generals filed out of the King's tent and he promised himself that he would visit her later. Perdiccas needed to make sure she was okay, something inside him screamed that this was what he should do and, for some reason, the general didn't question it.

He closed his eyes and counted to twenty. This habit of counting to calm down has always worked since he was a small child. If he concentrated more, he could hear the sweet sound of his mother's voice telling him epic stories.

And how much he missed his mother. Perhaps she knew what he was supposed to do in this situation.

Perdiccas sighed heavily and left the tent and started walking aimlessly. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to distract his mind a little and he could choose between walking a little or a sword practice with Cleitus.

He chose the first option.

Not that he didn't like the older general, he did but he preferred to be alone. Cleitus would probably tell him not to stress, get a drink and a woman. The order didn't really matter.

Perdiccas had nothing against getting drunk and sleeping with a woman, but he wasn't in the mood for something like that today. At least not for now, there was the feast and he needed to talk to (Y/N) about something.

He just needed to find out what he needed to talk to her about. And most important of all, he needed to get her out of his head.

Visiting her tent hadn't been the smartest decision he'd made in his life.

Perdiccas was a general, a proud and skilled macedonian warrior. He knew how to wield a sword as well as he knew about diplomacy, maybe he wasn't as good a diplomat as Hephaestion, but he had his talents. And, modesty aside, he was an attractive man. And he knew it.

He knew all this but even so he felt cornered like a wounded animal when addressing the beautiful and strange (Y/N).

His heart broke when he saw her crying and he wanted to hug her and try to calm her down. He didn't understand why he felt that way about her, although he was considerate of others, Perdiccas never acted like that with anyone, not even with his friends from Mieza.

He felt a little better when she smiled at him. It was a forced and sad smile, but it was still an attempt at a smile and he promised himself that he would do everything to make the feast pleasant for her.

And for that to happen he would need to talk to his friends, to make sure they didn't do anything or say anything that made her more uncomfortable than she already was.

Which was why he was sitting on the couch in his tent, with his friends gathered, except for Alexander and Hephaestion who were talking about something he didn't know. He looked at them all and smiled faintly, Ptolemy, Cleitus, Philotas, Nearchus and Cassander.

He took a deep breath and started talking, ''I called you here because I have something important to talk about.''

Ptolemy looked into his friend's face and pursed his lips, ''And what is it about? I imagine it is not about any attempted conspiracy against our King and friend.'' This was Ptolemy's way attempt to lighten the mood and it paid off when everyone laughed.

''No, but it's always an idea!'' Perdiccas chuckled, ''But I want to talk about our guest. (Y/N).'' At the mention of her name, a suffocating silence fell and he swallowed hard.

''What about her?'' Cassander's dry, cold voice broke the silence.

Perdiccas frowned at Cassander's sly tone, ''Are you aware that she will be at the feast tonight?''

Everyone nodded hesitantly.

''We must be sure to make her as comfortable as possible.'' Perdiccas took a deep breath and continued, ''It is our duty.''

Philotas blinked in surprise and said in a voice full of disgust, ''Why?''

Perdiccas glared at him, ''Because we are not wild and uncivilized. She is our guest.''

''I wouldn't say guest, Perdiccas.'' Ptolemy's calm voice interrupted the argument about to form. ''We don't know her and she doesn't know us. We don't know anything about her, only that she is a stranger who appeared out of nowhere in our camp. ''

''Precisely and that's why we should be kind and also why Alexander is treating her like a guest. Our King knows how to be kind, but has he ever bestowed a tent, food and clothing on just anyone?'' No one replied and, satisfied with that, Perdiccas continued, ''We don't need to be cruel or act savage, she is not a threat and we should be courteous.''

''I agree with our friend.'' Cleitus replied and smirked as attention shifted to him, ''She appears to be harmless and, moreover, she is very pretty and appears to be polite. Even if she is a foreigner, we don't need to act so badly unless she poses a threat. ''

''I think the same, Cleitus.'' Nearchus replied with a laugh. ''She may be a stranger to us, but we can try to be kind and tolerant. There is nothing wrong with that.''

''So are we in agreement? Shall we do our best to make this feast something pleasant for her?'' Perdiccas finally asked and everyone thought for a moment.

''We are.'' Ptolemy replied and soon Cleitus and Nearchus did the same. Cassander and Philotas frowned a little but nodded in agreement with their friends.

Satisfied with the arrangement, Perdiccas finally felt lighter that day.

He had decided that he would try to be as gentle and calm as possible with her.

Perdiccas wanted to do a favor, a kindness, and sent two servants with some clothes and jewelry for (Y/N) to use at the feast.

Although she looked very pretty in what she was wearing, because she was, but it wasn't the appropriate type of outfit to wear to a banquet. Whatever that was, it definitely wouldn't be of good use for the occasion.

Perdiccas finally finished getting dressed and hoped he looked presentable. His hair was braided and one part loose and he wore a white chiton with some gold bands, along with some bracelets and wore his traditional sandal. He hadn't dressed up as much because he didn't think it was necessary, but he wanted to make a good impression on (Y/N).

The general got out of his tent and started walking towards (Y/N)'s tent. As he walked, he surveyed his surroundings and smiled when he saw that the soldiers were busy with bonfires, lots of wine, and small talk. Sometimes he and his comrades are like that.

Once he arrived in front of (Y/N)'s tent, he waited a few minutes to make sure she was dressed. Seeing her naked wasn't in his plans, but it wouldn't bother him. Shaking his head to rid himself of such thoughts, he entered when he had permission from (Y/N)

And he almost fell to his knees right there.

She just looked... Divine. Her face was clean and natural, with just a little bit of kohl applied to her eyes, bringing out the beautiful color in them. Her hair was done in a rather ordinary but very attractive hairstyle, showing off her neck which was adorned with a necklace that he had chosen himself. A beautiful gold necklace. And her clothing, oh, the chiton fit her perfectly and although it was long and covered her legs, Perdiccas could still catch a glimpse of her thighs when she turned around and the cleavage was subdued but pretty. He was sure if he got close to her he could catch a glimpse of her breasts, but he didn't.

Instead, he blushed a little without knowing why and smiled at her, which she returned with a shy smile that made Perdiccas' heart skip a beat.

He moved a little closer to her and offered his strong arm, which (Y/N) accepted, hooking hers in his.

''Are you ready?'' His voice was as low as a whisper and she nodded. Perdiccas began to guide her to Alexander's tent, the place where the feast would be held.

As they approached, Perdiccas could hear the noise of his friends' voices and he felt (Y/N)'s body tense. He stopped walking and forced her to look at him.

''You have nothing to worry about. You are under Alexander's protection and, dare I say, mine,'' he murmured, looking into her eyes tenderly, ''no one will dare to hurt you and I promise they will all be kind.''

''Thank you.'' She whispered, closing her eyes. ''For everything.''

Perdiccas smiles widely and in an act of weakness, he leans his forehead against hers.

''Whenever you need something, come to me or call me and I'll come to you.'' His voice was so low that it could barely be heard over the loud noises echoing from the King's tent. But they didn't care.

Perdiccas and (Y/N) didn't care because the only importance was themselves at that moment.

— lady l: and that ending there, huh?? I know it wasn't the feast, but I wanted to show Perdiccas pov, but don't worry, because the next chapter will be the feast and I promise A LOT of drama!! What did you think? I hope you enjoyed it and forgive me for any mistakes that went unnoticed. I love you all!! ❤️

#yandere history #history #yandere historical characters #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #the lost queen #long fic #long fanfic

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skyloftian-nutcase · 9 months

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Zelda's Personality

I did a post about how Link, despite being a player insert, has different personalities through the games that appear subtly and can be inferred based on his behaviors and responses. So now it's time for the Zeldas! More recent games have given more of a shining role to the character for whom the franchise is named, and I love the variety between them all, so let's explore it a bit! (At least for the games that I've played)

Ocarina of Time Zelda - My gosh. I love her so much. This woman ain't a princess, she is a Queen. She is so determined to protect her people that even as a child she's willing to order people around and go against the adults' wishes, despite being ignored. This girl is determined. Like, BotW Zelda gets put down over and over despite her efforts and she is understandably dejected and goes along with what her father wants. This Zelda is straight up like I'M RIGHT YOU'RE WRONG and just moves on LOL. Not only is she determined, she has a plan. A very foolish childish plan because she is a child and no one is going to stop her.

And, naturally, since it's a child's plan against an adult who has all the other adults wrapped around his fingers, it doesn't work. Zelda is left with a kingdom in flames, the evil man she was trying to stop obtained the Triforce, and her father is dead. She's fleeing her home and spends the rest of her childhood in exile. Something like this could destroy a person. And maybe it did. But she picked herself back up. And not only did she pick herself back up, she trained herself to fight. She learned everything she needed to about the Hero's journey so she could guide him when he returned. She stayed in hiding to avoid Ganondorf's watch. She protected the Triforce of Wisdom. This girl is a certified badass.

This Zelda is a fighter in every sense of the word. Nothing will stop her, not even her own mistakes. But she is sensitive too, she's aware of the damage this has done to Link and is apologetic and so incredibly sad. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. (Granted, this is Adult Timeline Zelda, but she is just Child Timeline Zelda put through a different scenario, so... same personality for both of them, just different circumstances).

So overall, this Zelda is decisive, resolute, never gives up, empathetic, and probably a little reclusive based on how she's always left to her own devices.

Skyward Sword Zelda - This girl is chaotic and it's wonderful. She pushes her best friend off cliffs and sky islands. She bullies the bullies. She's training in a knight's academy, which more people need to remember dang it. She's protective, she's anxious, she's bossy, she's curious.

This girl is also pretty darn adaptable. Like. She gets thrown out of the sky, out of everything she's ever known, tossed into a world of danger with no one to guide her but a stranger, and has to recover memories of being a freaking goddess and endure a journey of discovering herself while also being chased by Ghirahim. And she does it. Like... Link isn't far behind her, he goes after her literally the next day, and she's already doing her part of her adventure. She was told the fate of the world depends on you and she said okay, then, better get going. Like wow.

She has to have a strong sense of self. This girl found out she was a goddess and told Link after everything, "I'm still my father's daughter. I'm still your Zelda." She was called Your Grace, she was a spirit maiden for a deity her people worshipped, and she still said, "yes. Yes, all of this is true. But I'm still me." Like... I know we see her during her journey when she's still processing and not the aftermath, but this girl has a will of iron and will not let go of who she is.

In summary, this Zelda is courageous, has a strong sense of duty, is a gremlin, excitable, assertive, and stubborn.

Breath of the Wild Zelda - Oh, this poor princess. This Zelda is so sincere and wants to help so much, but she struggles with discovering herself and her powers. She is endlessly inquisitive and absolutely crushed under the pressure her father and her kingdom places on her. She lets it out through understandable frustration, pitting it against someone who, to her, represents everything she is not, which is so interesting.

This Zelda wants for the pieces to just fit but she can't figure it out, and instead of doing some introspection she just continues to look for alternatives. When she does do introspection, it's just to ask why she's defective. Things just need to make sense. I feel like an attitude like this implies that 1, Zelda has no instructor and therefore never learned how to learn, and 2, that implies that everything else she's good at has come naturally to her, such as technology. This girl is a scientist! Who has not learned the scientific method! Though she does try experiments, as poor Link can attest.

When Zelda is allowed to just be herself she seems very sweet and bubbly and excitable. She's so happy when she wants Link to try that frog! She's also incredibly chatty, bless her, having to put up with that silent knight all the time haha (yes, Link does eventually talk to her. Eventually.)

I would also like to note that the instant this girl gets her powers, she goes straight to the castle and holds Ganon at bay for a hundred years. The instant she's free of that burden and bondage, she wants to rebuild her kingdom. Like holy cow. This girl went from doubting herself so much to having so much hope. She is a symbol of hope for her Hyrule.

BotW Zelda is uncertain initially, but learns to have faith in herself and more importantly has all the faith in the world in her people. She is inquisitive, extremely intelligent, energetic, bubbly, and very sensitive.

Twilight Princess Zelda - One of the more mysterious and less prominent Zeldas in her series, this woman radiates quiet strength and regalness. Also, her very first scene (or maybe it's a cut scene flashback in her first interaction in the game) shows her brandishing a sword to fight alongside her soldiers. Hell yes, Queen. But she also has the wherewithal to recognize when she's outplayed. She is wise and knows when to fold to avoid needless casualties. She is willing to put herself in such a vulnerable state in order to protect others. She knew that fighting would still result in the kingdom being overcome by Twilight magic with bonus dead soldiers, so she opted for doing it without the dead soldiers. Knowing when you're beaten and taking it with grace to figure things out takes not only wisdom but humility.

This Zelda is also just... so incredibly understated. Her sadness over her kingdom's fall into disarray is poignant but subtle. Her compassion for Midna when she's dying is muted, but so clearly evident in that she gives her remaining life energy to her. Her acceptance of Link as the Hero, and her sign of respect to him and petition for his aid is just oh my goodness, the regal bow, the willingness to fight alongside him, I love her.

With as little as she features in the game and with as quiet as she can be, she honestly is hard to peg down, but overall this Zelda strikes me as someone who feels deeply and expresses little of it. She's quiet, she's reserved, but she is humble and dignified and incredibly kind.

So there you have it. Some of the ladies for you. I love them all dearly and love to compare and contrast them. <3

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demigods-posts · 9 months

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percabeth headcanons that live rent free in my head (disclaimer: they're adults in all of these, so most of these are a bit ✨ spicy ✨ so read with caution lol):

• percy loves watching annabeth workout. specifically, anything that has to do with her arms and back because of how muscular she is in those areas. seriously. you try to focus when your girlfriend puts her hair in a tight bun and grips onto the pull-up bar and lifts her weight off the ground and the veins in her biceps pulsate and the muscles in her upper back contract as the sweat beads down her body and—

• ^^^ annabeth knows he loves it, so she purposefully puts pulls up at the end of her set so percy can jog over to the training area after teaching sword fighting lessons and drool over her because she likes the hold she has on him

• annabeth is a unit. she is a warrior. she is the moment and nothing in the world can break her focus and shit, percy is shirtless. look, it's not a crime to stare at her muscular and incredibly hot boyfriend when he emerges from the camp lake dripping wet and shirtless and smiling at her and his shorts are just barely clinging onto his hips and—

• ^^^ percy knows she loves it. he's not an idiot. he doesn't will himself dry for the sole purpose of rendering his girlfriend speechless. he likes the hold he has on her

• percy is pretty, okay? he's a pretty boy, and annabeth calls him this all of the time whenever they're alone and percy just blushes and buries his head in her hair and annabeth adores it

• annabeth orders a skirt online because she wants to experiment with her style, except it's a little too big on her. percy jokingly offers to try it on for size and annabeth, newly intrigued at the thought, practically commands that he do just that. so he does and the moment is an awakening for the both of them

• percy ends up really liking how wearing skirts makes him feel so they buy more and more skirts for him to wear and annabeth is super supportive (and she also like seeing her boyfriend in skirts. sue her)

• annabeth once surprised percy in a tux for their anniversary dinner and holy fuck. straightened hair. eyeliner. rings on her fingers. all of it. she feels hot embracing a more masculine attire and percy couldn't agree more

• ^^ annabeth also got percy a bouquet of flowers on this date and he cherishes that bouquet like it's his most prized posession

• they have matching necklaces. annabeth wear a necklace that says 'seaweedbrain' and percy wears one that says 'wisegirl' and they never take them off

• this one is incredibly specific so don't @ me but one night on their honeymoon, annabeth gets a little more drunk than they anticipate and almost lights their marriage certificate on fire

• of course, percy fucking panics and dunks water all over her and the certificate because what the fuck, babe? we've only been married for a week. what could have possibly happened to make you regret marrying me this quickly?

• and hilariously enough, because annabeth was drunk, all she remembers is getting dunked with water for ✨ no reason ✨ so she likes to fuck with him and say that percy tried to murder her on their honeymoon

• "our honeymoon was pretty much perfect except for when you tried to drown me, asshole" "no the fuck i-!" "if you hate me, just say it." "annabeth-" "bitch." "annabeth-!"

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo text post #pjo headcanon #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percabeth textposts #percabeth headcanon #chaotic percabeth #“you tried to muder me!”#“you're delusional.”#“your left eyebrow is delusional you murderous jackass”#expect more of these lmao

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esamastation · 6 months

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Shizuroth, part eleven.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

Well, at least Sephiroth knows better than to run around the Shinra building in a t-shirt and pyjama pants - which, while no doubt amusing, would've caused far too much chaos to be worth it.

While Angeal is putting away the remains of Sephiroth's fast food, Genesis gives the man himself an assessing eye.

The shirt he'd picked up, dark green turtleneck, works well enough with the usual coat. The outfit would need some more matching accents to really work - there's too much black and grey, they overpower the slight splash of colour - but at least it doesn't clash with anything. However… It's obvious there's simply not enough space in the sleeves of Sephiroth's coat for a full-sleeved shirt.

The leather creaks in agony when Sephiroth moves his arm, and his bicep bulges accordingly.

"Couldn't find a new coat, then?" Genesis asks, resting a hand at his hip.

Sephiroth tugs at his cuffs unhappily and bows his head, saying nothing. That's a no then.

Well. As weird as it is that memory loss gave Sephiroth the kick he needed to exercise some self-care, Genesis isn't about to look a gift chocobo in the talons. "I'll mail you the details of the shop where I got mine. They don't do mail order, everything is bespoke, but well worth the effort."

"Mn. My thanks," Sephiroth says, considers his gloves, and pushes them into a pocket. He then picks up his sword, and holds it by its sheath at his side. "Shall we?"

"You know Lazard isn't going to be happy about this," Angeall comments idly, putting the trash in the garbage. "I'm pretty sure he banned us from using the training room, permanently."

"What he doesn't know can't come to bite us in the ass," Genesis says dismissively. "And besides, we're supposed to be evaluating Sephiroth! Surely we must be thorough about it."

Angeal shakes his head, amused, and looks at Sephiroth, now fully dressed, with a shirt. He looks relieved. "Let's go."

They head out, Sephiroth trailing after them and clearly trying to cover up the fact that he has no idea where they're going.

"Floors 49 to 51 are dedicated to the SOLDIER program," Genesis says, once they're safely in the elevator. "49 is training and equipment, 50 has a gym and gear storage, and 51 is SOLDIER offices - Lazard office is up there too. We're heading to 49, where the training room is."

Catching his meaning, Angeal adds, "Floor 49 also has a briefing room, it's where we acquire most of our missions."

Sephiroth looks at them sideways through his bangs silently for a moment before nodding ever so slightly. "I see."

He really doesn't remember any of it? Damn. "You don't usually hang around on the SOLDIER floors, outside receiving missions," Genesis says, looking at Angeal and arching his brows. "You're not usually around much."

"Mn."

"I think you go to the Record's sometimes in your down time," Abgeal offers, clearing his throat and arching his brows to Genesis. "Floor 58. It houses the Shinra public archives."

"Well, public," Genesis says, shrugging. "You need a keycard to access it and a high enough security level to actually take anything out, and of course none of the really classified files are accessible. And their drama section is abysmal."

Sephiroth hums, looking between them suspiciously. "A library, then?"

"If you want to call it that. Midgar Public Library has better variety - and a little less propaganda - but I imagine you've never been," Genesis sniffs and looks at him.

"Ah," Sephiroth says, wary.

"You'd be swarmed there," Genesis clarifies. "By the grateful and adoring public."

Sephiroth shifts his weight at that and says nothing, looking uncomfortable.

Angeal hides how troubled he is well as he faces Sephiroth, but Genesis can hear it in his voice. "The cafeteria, by the way, is on floor 61," he says. "It's not usually too bad, and people tend to leave members from other departments alone."

"Or you can pay the cafeteria staff under the table to deliver," Genesis muses and looks up as the elevator comes to a stall. "Right, I'll go see that the coast is clear. Angeal -"

"We'll just wait here," Angeal says, knowing, and looks at Sephiroth - who is very much not ready to be jumped on by an excited baby SOLDIER asking for pointers.

"Then off I go, to face the beasts," Genesis says and sets forth.

It's a well-practised routine at this point, to subtly chase away any wayward SOLDIER Second Class members from the training room. Mostly it just involves him walking in and making his presence known - Seconds tend to know to make way.

Thirds are trickier, because they're often too new to know better - but SOLDIER Third Classes don't have access to the training room anyway.

"Genesis, sir," a Second Class he's sometimes trained with, Kunsel, sidles up to him. "It's it true? About Sephiroth?"

Well, at least he knows to keep his voice down. "Is what true about Sephiroth?" Genesis asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I heard he was hanging around in Injections," Kunsel says carefully and adds, "In The Restroom?"

It really took them only a day, huh.

"Sephiroth? In The Restroom? Really," Genesis says as though excited and leans in. "When? Did someone see him?"

"Um, yesterday?" the Second Class says, also leaning in a little. "It was one of the Third Classes."

"... Oh," Genesis answers, affecting disappointment. "I see. Well, I'm pretty sure Sephiroth was at home yesterday."

"... Really?"

"Saw him myself," Genesis assures him with a shake of his head and rests a hand at his hip. "You said it was a Third Class who spotted him? Well. I wouldn't want to call them a liar, but… they were probably coming out of the procedure themselves. And you know how it is with Mako injections."

Kunsel hums in thought, looking a little troubled. "I do, sir," he says and shakes his head. "It did seem a bit weird."

"You should talk to the Third," Genesis says. "They're probably really convinced they saw something, and maybe they did - but it still wouldn't do to spread stories like that. That's only good for ruining someone's reputation."

"No sir, you're right. I'll talk to him," the Second Class says seriously and nods. "I'll take care of it."

"Good man - maybe take them out on some easy mission, get their mind off it," and get them out of the building for a bit. "It's not their fault. Mako plays tricks on us all."

With Kunsel and hopefully the rumours thus fended off, the coast to the training room is clear. Genesis heads to the elevators, where Angeal is casually poking at the floor button

"Showtime," Genesis says and looks at Sephiroth. "Time to see if you're still worthy of being a Hero."

Sephiroth clenches his hand around Masamune's sheath and gives him a weird look. "A hero?" he asks incredulously. "Me?"

… Oh. That's…

"Don't worry," Angeal says quickly, clapping Sephiroth on the shoulder. "We'll help you remember." But he looks worried too.

"Or else, take your place," Genesis says, but the taunt lacks its usual sting as he shares a look with Angeal.

This… might be even worse than they thought.

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss; Genesis.

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #shen qingqiu #shen yuan

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violettduchess · 3 months

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chevalier and ex-lovers for the angst promt? that seems like it would be really interesting considering his route. thank you for reading this ask

A/N: With some encouragement and brainstorming (thank you @lorei-writes 💜) I finished this!

An addition to my Broken Heartstrings series

Chevalier x Reader

WC: 1.3k

The crowds that have gathered in the streets are humming like a hive full of excited bees. Some small children are pushing their way beneath elbows and through knees, trying to get to the front. Others are being hoisted up onto the shoulders of grown ups who shift their weight from foot to foot, as eager as the children to get a glimpse.

You can see them all from your spot, perched on the wide windowsill of your bedroom. Precarious as it may be, you’ve pushed open the window, leaving nothing between you and the view of the street below. It’s a joyful scene, one of breathless anticipation as the townsfolk wait for their king to ride through on this, the anniversary of his coronation. The king that you chose a year ago. The man who had challenged your spirit and won your heart.

But instead of sitting by his side, proudly looking down at all the beaming faces, you’re alone at your window, stomach in knots at the thought of seeing Chevalier Michel again, even from a distance.

Just thinking his name sends your mind down well-trodden paths of anguish and heartbreak....

What had seemed so solid, so strong, had unraveled in a single moment. You didn’t even have the chance to anticipate something was wrong. He had gone to investigate suspicious activity at the border. He had returned, white clothing running red with blood that was not his. Still, you had run to him, concern an engine that spurred you forward at lightning speed….and he had turned away, turned his shoulder towards you. And then he had told you, in a voice as chilled as winter’s edge, to leave.

Leave, he repeated at the palace gates, his hand gesturing for you to move away.

Leave, he repeated as you stood in his bedroom, questions shooting from your mouth like wayward fireworks, bright and burning and frantic.

Leave was all he said, his voice a blade as dangerous and final as his sword.

His betrayal of your trust was a sudden cracking of ice, a fall into freezing water that left you speechless, breathless, and utterly broken. All the possibilities for the future, all the countless daydreams. All the nights spent talking, sharing, weaving a relationship from the threads of your heartstrings snapped in a blink by silver shears, cold as the blue of his eyes when all your wild thoughts boiled down to a single question, your voice trembling like a leaf in a cruel, sudden wind:

Why?

Leave was his only reply.

And so you fled the palace, the beautiful rose gardens, the confused and concerned questions in the eyes of his brothers. You fled the place that had become home to return to the life you had known before, except it didn’t fit as it once did. Something was missing, something that ached in the night, that chased sleep away from the spinning hurricane of your mind. A longing for someone that you shouldn’t want, someone who was willing to drive a stake into the beating heart of your love without hesitation. Or explanation.

A combined gasp and cheer rises up from the crowd as the royal caravan approaches and tugs you back to the present. The other princes ride upon their horses, smiling and waving. Well, Licht isn’t exactly smiling and something about his somber expression is so familiar, a constant in a world turned upside down, that it actually brings a smile to your lips, a sad, watery thing but a smile nonetheless. Jin and Nokto beam brightly, waving and nodding, especially to the women who meet their gazes with excited hands pressed to their hearts. Leon is every inch the prince, flawlessly dividing his attention between both sides of the street, his smile open and wide. He was always so kind. A wave of bittersweet emotion washes through you as you remember the time he would take to explain things to you, to help you find your way, to listen,

But he is not the one your heart chose.

And behind Leon and his black stallion rides the King on his destrier of purest snow white. The sight of him, tall and proud, one gloved hand on the reins, the other casually on the pommel of his sword freezes the breath in your lungs. Your fingers curl into your palm unbidden, nails biting deep into flesh gone numb. Beside him, Clavis is all flashy smiles and waves, golden eyes scanning the crowd to award a nod or tilt of the head to anyone he wants to feel special. His head tilts up as his gaze sweeps across the many open windows and people waving handkerchiefs, some embroidered roses, some embroidered with tigers in honor of the king’s crest.

You, still as a beam of moonlight, stand out amid the riotous cheering.

Of course Clavis notices you. In a heartbeat, your eyes lock with his and something inside you shifts as you are flooded with the memories of the many laughs, the teasing, but most of all, the way he supported you through loving his brother. He knows what a difficult path that is to walk. He has been walking it his whole life.

He offers you something no one else in the crowd gets. His face, always adept at schooling itself into whatever mask it need be, is filled with genuine emotion at the sight of you. He offers you a smile, soft and sad and real.

Somehow, even from a distance, he has still found a way to comfort you.

Your spirit is bolstered, just a little, and you manage a smile in return, raising a hand in greeting.

And then Chevalier notices his brother’s upturned face and his own head moves, his gaze rising to see what has Clavis’s attention.

There you are, up in the window, framed like a beautiful portrait, smiling, but even he can see it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, like a garden dappled in shadows. Your hand is raised, that hand he knows intimately. He knows the motion of your fingers as they delicately turn the page of a book. He knows the strength in them when you grip a horse’s reins. And he knows their softness, the tenderness with which they can touch, the feel of your fingertips as they trace the line of his jaw. The eagerness with which they press into the back of his neck when he kisses you-

Kissed you.

When he kissed you.

Because he will never know their touch again. Nor your kiss. Nor your smile. Even now, as your gaze meets his, that smile fades, your hand slowly lowers, curling against your heart like a wounded animal, seeking shelter.

And he knows he did that. He killed the warmth of you, the joy, the whispering sunshine of your love.

And he would do it again.

Because as pained as you look now, somehow he knows it would never compare to the pain of being in love with someone who could so deeply disappoint you. He learned that lesson the day he rode to the border, when he killed as mechanically as clockwork, without remorse, without regard. How easily his blade drank the blood of young and old. He saw only red, felt only the jolt of sword through flesh and turned to seek it again and again.

You claimed there was good in him, there was mercy and the capacity to love.

And for a brief moment in time, he had believed you. Until that day.

And rather than watch your love for him slowly wither as you learned you were wrong, that he was nothing more than a brutal beast, he made a clean cut. Sharp, painful but without a doubt in his mind the correct thing to do.

He could not watch the light in your eyes go out. Because he loved you.

Loves you.

Because he still loves you.

Chevalier’s pale head turns away from you and the procession continues.

Slowly, breathing against the burning ache in your chest, the broken pieces of your heart slicing into wounds that have never fully healed, you lean forward and pull the window closed.

There is nothing left to see.

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @greatstarlightstarfish @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #chevalier x reader #broken heartstrings #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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