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gamermattsgf · 3 months

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Silk ribbons // sub Chris

Warnings: major sub Chris / mommy kink / blindfold kink / restraints kink / overstimulation / praise kink / cum kink (I literally have no idea what to call this lol, you’ll get what I mean tho… hopefully) / degradation / slut shaming / male masterbation / hand job / female masterbation (if u squint)

Summary: chris invites you around to bake brownies, but after a slight mishap with your underwear he finds it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but the sight of them.

Author’s notes: this oneshot is literally the physical embodiment of training wheels by Melanie Martinez ugh, it matches the vibe perfectly. You guys wanted sub Chris so I delivered, enjoy yourselves thirsty hoes ;)

“I love everything you do, when you call me fucking dumb for the stupid shit I do… I wanna ride my bike with you, fully undressed, no training wheels left for you…” - Training Wheels, Melanie Martinez

Chris thinks he’s a little strange.

Ever since he’s been young he’s loved all things to do with the colour baby pink, and he’s always led a life of soft aesthetics, pearls and strawberry shortcake daydreams. He’s grown up looking around at other people and thinking there has been something wrong with him because there’s no way a man should have been this obsessed over all things soft and delicate.

But he couldn’t help it.

He just couldn’t resist the gentle look of soft pink bows, used for both accessories and decor, and he really loved his mom’s antique pink china tea set, so much so that whenever she offered to make him tea he’d always shyly request it to be poured into one of those cups. He just liked the look of them, that’s all.

He also loved his mom very much, he was for sure a momma’s boy, but unfortunately her affections and coddles rubbed off on him a little too well, which left him as a touch starved 20 year old… absolutely terrified of being asked to top.

Truthfully, he really had no idea what he was doing in the bedroom, he didn’t like the control or the freedom to do whatever he wanted.

Within his sexual fantasies he’d much rather have been the subservient one to whoever was willing to entertain his strange desires.

Because he wanted to be babied, he wanted to be degraded, he wanted hair strokes and wrist ties.

He had met you at his local skatepark whilst sitting on the edge of a ramp.

Biting his lip, he had been peeling off the paper from the sticky side of a hello kitty bandaid that he had needed to use to cover up a graze. His nostrils had flared and he had hissed at the rawness of it on his skint kneecap. He knew he should have worn his jeans that day, not his jorts.

Whilst securing it onto his cut, the skateboard that he had been sat on top of creaked gently underneath his weight. Suddenly, the wheels to another skateboard had filled his ears whilst he focused in on the calming pink colour of the bandaid, admiring the soft little white cat print. The gritting sound of them on the concrete had forced him to look up to you, who had now stepped off of your own skateboard and kicked it up into your hand.

You had smiled down at Chris cheekily, curious but shy in front of him. Fondly laughing, you had pointed to the hello kitty plaster on his knee that had covered up his cut as he sat before you on the floor. ‘Nice bandaid.’ Chris had swallowed nervously, thinking that this stranger was about to tease him about the girly looking bandaid… but - to his bewilderment - you had sat down next to him instead, your perfume a waft of sweet roses that again, readily attracted Chris because of his acute love for all things light.

‘Got a spare for me?’

And after that day you two had just clicked.

You’re not really sure if you were friends or something more, but Chris undeniably felt attracted to you, partly because when he had muscled up the right amount of nerves to invite you around to his place, you had excitedly freaked out over his coquettish room, marvelling at its cuteness and flopping onto his bed to grab his monkey stuffed animal and cuddle it into your chest.

Chris had been so fucking terrified that you would have been weirded out by his taste in room decor, but on the contrary- you had found it extremely interesting, that someone as masculinely set and attractive as Chris had such a unique aesthetic.

You had never really met anyone like Chris, and that excited you. His room was queer, a perfect mix of both boyish and girlish things. His skateboard was always leant up against the door to his closet and random pictures of rappers haphazardly dotted themselves about his walls. Additionally, a desk with a pc sitting on top of it took up the left hand corner of his room whilst his blue and white headset constantly rested on top of his Xbox.

Oddly, you hadn’t expected his bedcovers to be a pearly silk pink when you had first entered the threshold, nor expected the white fluffy throw blanket draped lazily over the side of it, but you hadn’t complained. You had loved it.

Looking back, it didn’t surprise you much. He did wear an awful lot of pink. A deep pink puffer jacket, pink t-shirts, a pink button down for formal occasions and he had even doodled pink swirls onto his white Nikes with acrylic leather pens. He usually skated in them, and one day when you asked him where he had gotten them from he had told you did them himself. This only made him ten times cooler in your eyes.

On this occasion, you were around at his place to hang out downstairs. Chris had suggested baking brownies and you had been quick to agree with him, finding a recipe online and opening different cupboard doors to select ingredients.

For some reason however, sexual tensions between you two had been high. You felt it hit you extra hard whenever your sides brushed or whenever Chris flicked his powdery blue eyes to meet yours, before he shyly averted them and cleared his throat. Multiple times you had looked down to his arms to see that the soft hairs of them were raised to attention, and whenever Chris’ palms touched against yours to help you stir the mixture you felt them to be clammy with sweat. It was only when you bent down to grab another mixing bowl that you realised something was truly up, because Chris had gone silent.

Why you ask? As you had bent down, your soft white sweats had slipped from above the handles of your hips to reveal the tight waistband of your lacy underwear pinching against your skin perfectly. Chris’ throat had gone dry. Fuck, he had felt like such a pervert looking at the soft cherries of your ass cheeks that were covered over with your sweats, but he couldn’t help the way the butterflies shooting through his gut quickly traveled past his own underwear and right to his cock.

You were wearing lacy pink underwear.

Chris was a naturally anxious and nervous person that liked to overthink. Immediately his mind drew itself to a bunch of different conclusions over something probably meaningless. Were you wearing that set because you knew that you were going to be around at his and that the colour pink reminded you of him? Or was it just a coincidence that you chose to wear literally the most tantalising pair of underwear that you could have in his presence.

He wasn’t sure, but his mind overwhelmed himself with these thoughts whilst his eyes greedily drank in the eyeful you had given him. Reacting quickly, he thought it necessary to speedily dart behind the other side of the counter before you could turn around and see how embarrassingly hard his cock had gotten. He felt wet, his tip hot and soaking as he quickly plummeted into humiliation at his lack of self control. He pressed his hips into the counter, flustered with a stupidly obviously blush dusting lightly over his cheeks whilst he held his breath, trying to conceal any noise he might have been tempted to make at the rub of the hard-wooded counter against his flushed cock.

You had turned back around, completely oblivious to what had happened and unconsciously pulling your sweatpants back up by nature.

After quickly edging his way to the exit of the kitchen and rushing an ‘I’ll be right back’ shakily, he stumbled his way up the stairs, practically cupping his length so that you couldn’t see it before sprinting into his room and closing the door behind him.

Chris has never felt more embarrassed in his life. You are still downstairs and he still has a raging boner.

Panicking, he doesn’t feel like he can get rid of it by willing it to go down with just images in his mind, so he worriedly comes to the conclusion that he’s going to have to touch himself.

His heart races, and his cheeks flush a humiliated red, getting even hotter the more he meekly pads over to the side of his dresser with his cock throbbing and his balls tight. He frowns when all his mind can do to help is cast 3D printed images of your ass snuggled into the pair of underwear you were wearing right in front of his field of vision, evidently making his stiffy now much worse.

He slaps his clammy hand to his forehead, his fingertips lightly brushing over the yellow bandana that he has on to pull back his hair. His shoulders heave as he squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief.

As he reaches out his other hand to his top dresser drawer, he swallows when noticing it’s shaking with nerves. He can’t believe he’s going to have to do this whilst the girl he normally thinks about when he strokes himself is actually downstairs in his house.

The thought makes Chris want to throw himself out of the window, because he’s generally embarrassed wanking off with his family in the house, no less with the girl that he likes as more than a friend residing just downstairs in his kitchen. But there’s no other way to get rid of it, and wouldn’t it be more embarrassing for him to be parading around you with his cock proudly on show than for him to quietly sate his horny hunger in the comfort of his own room?

Sliding the drawer out, his jittering hand goes straight for the tube of lotion, knowing that he’s going to have to make this as quiet as possible so that you don’t get suspicious as to where he’s actually gone.

Rapidly sliding off his sweatpants, he takes a shaky breath at the feeling of the fabric rubbing against his sensitivity before the soft material drops down to his ankles and he has to step out of them.

Kneeling onto his bed, it squeaks quietly underneath his weight and Chris has to cringe in both guilt and arousal.

Inconspicuously worming his bottom half under the silky pink covers, he tunes in his ears to make sure that the house upstairs is silent and that there can be no creaks of floorboards heard before blinking and flipping open the cap of the lotion.

He squirts a heavy amount of the sticky clear liquid onto the palm of his sweating hand before gulping and arching up his hips so that his spare hand can thumb itself into the band of his white boxers. Pulling them down he pants a little and shamefully looks at his twitching cock, his tip a bright red and his skin a needy pink whilst the thick vein on the left side of his shaft bulges outwardly.

Before he begins, a surge of sexual excitement hits his nervous system and has adrenaline pulsing through his blood. He decides to grip onto the hem of his shirt at the last minute so that he can tuck it into his mouth and bite down on it as a last ditch effort to suppress any noises he knows that he’s going to make.

Another thing Chris is embarrassed about is how loud he gets, and this statement still rings true as the already cherry red flush on his face seems to thicken even more after he looks down at his cock to observe the way his hand spreads the lotion along the hot thickness of his girth.

At the first touch, his back arches slightly, and he has to take in a laboured breath at the feeling of his cock, rock hard in his grip and begging to be stroked by his hand.

‘Ugh fuck…’ he moans breathlessly into the bite of his t-shirt, humiliation swarming him in waves as he starts to jerk his hand up and down. It was like torture, being forced to listen to the sticky slickness of the lotion moving upon his throbbing skin as he whimpered and spread his legs slightly with the current of pleasure that came with it.

‘Fuck… fuck… f-fuck…’ he stutters quickly through more pants, his fist tightening perfectly as he feels the slimy texture of his guilty filth run over his hand. His back rests against the headboard of his bed but it doesn’t stay there for long intervals at a time because of how much it arches.

He sweats, and breathlessly feels like he doesn’t know what to do with himself the more he stimulates his cock. His other hand grapples and fidgets, first clutching onto his thigh, but then moving restlessly around to grope his pearly pink pillow, only to then move once again up to his headboard. His arm extends across the expanse of it whilst his fingers knuckle the wood.

Chris’ head tilts and hits the wall with his eyebrows furrowed when his thumb comes up to quickly swirl over his tip before he whimpers into the air and allows his t-shirt to drop down out of his mouth and crumple back into its original resting place. He simply cannot hold it within the bite of his lip anymore because all his mouth does is lay slackened and open.

He then allows himself to tune out the rest of the world, only focussing in on his pleasure until playing with his slit becomes too sensitive.

Looking down once again in fascination at his hand working against his cock, the erotic noise of the lotion lubricating his skin makes him mumble a quiet ‘Jesus Christ…’ before he’s shutting his eyes again.

This time however, when he shuts his eyes an almost incriminatingly foul image crosses his mind, and he wants to slap himself for thinking such a dirty thing about such a sweet girl.

But suddenly, he sees visions of an elegant you, lying down sprawled across the other side of his bed. An elegant you that seems to be wearing a matching two piece set in baby pink…

The bra is see-through, allowing Chris to fantasise about what your nipples may look like whilst your tits lay perfectly nestled in between the sheer silky material with bows and pearls decorating the pale pink lace, he also seems to imagine it being one of those pretty bras where the fabric is detachable from the wires so that Chris can easily suck on your tits, drooling all over them like a lovesick puppy.

The panties are indeed too, lacy and decorated with a little bow on the top, however, scandalously attached to the sweetheart underwear are sensual-looking garters, that pull up knee high white socks with tiny pink love hearts stitched into them, the frills at the top also being a matching baby pink.

Chris moans again at the image and pants into the air at the thought he fantasises just for himself. His absolute dream underwear set on you.

But that’s not all. Because along with the temptress-esque underwear he has you wearing, your knees are also propped up with your legs spread out, one hand perched lazily on the covers. You lie there, with a somewhat helpless look on your face, whilst your other hand slips down your bare navel to in between your spread legs so that you can delicately play with yourself.

The noises Chris imagines you let out are soft, and you almost purr desperately, looking at him with lustrously hooded eyes and your hair fanning out around you like an angel.

‘Aren’t you going to play with me Chris…?’ His imagination pouts gently to him in the warped voice of you, your finger circulating where Chris wants to touch the most before you hiss quietly in pleasure.

‘I want you to touch me… please… be my good boy, I’m aching for your cock…’ you whine again, panting quietly whilst Chris moans once more, whimpering this time a pathetic ‘mommy…’ that more so comes out like a babbling baby’s whisper, before he dares to look down at the image he’s conjured up in his mind once more to help himself get off.

‘I’m dripping Chris… please… I need you angel boy… I- I- I wish you could just stuff me full of your cock. I’ll always be your sweet girl, I promise! Haven’t I been a good mommy? Do I not deserve it?’ You coquettishly pout once again, your big beautiful glassy eyes almost welling up with tears as you perfectly demonstrates the balance between sadness and sexual desire. You look like his strawberry shortcake daydream… and Chris so badly wants to sink his teeth into your flesh.

This almost pushes him over the edge, his legs spreading the furthest they can go to make sure that his hand can get the best access to his cock whilst the covers that he once had concealing his embarrassed sensitivity now rolling down his legs.

The bed squeaks as he fucks his hips upwards gently into his hand. The more he gets carried away within his groans of struggle and hitched breathes of a long awaited high, the more agressive he gets with his grip.

All of his incoherent speeches are drowned out by the squeaking groan of his bed and the sticky stroke of his cock. Now, the red blush from his cheeks has spread to pretty much his whole entire face, his sinful act also feeling so so fucking addictive. And he feels like he’s swimming in ecstasy, mumbling your name in pleasure, over and over again. That is… until there is a gentle, almost timid knock at his door, the cupped fist most likely belonging to the only other person in the house at the moment. You…

…oh fuck.

‘Chris what are you-’

You suddenly burst into his room, completely unannounced after your knock, because you had heard the guttural stutter of your name…

And there Chris sits, like a deer caught in headlights, frozen with his lower half naked and his boxers clinging to the skin of his thighs. You clock the discarded bottle of lotion on the left side of his bed covers and then gawk at his glistening cock, wrapped up within his right fist.

‘Oh- fuck, sorry!’ You yelp suddenly, yourself unable to look away and Chris too stunned with embarrassment to rush and cover himself up. There would be no point now anyway, it was so fucking blatantly obvious what he was doing.

‘N-no please it’s my fault. I- I just didn’t want you to see. Thought I could get rid of it quietly’ Chris stutters back at you, now finally gaining the common sense to cover himself up by draping his duvet over his nakedness so that he could regain some of his decency back. But his decency quickly crumbles once again when you let out a huge breath. You relax, your eyes blinking as you cock your hip to the side. ‘Why’d you stop…?’.

Chris swallows nervously and his jaw goes slack at your question, he furrows his brows, slightly confused, ‘why’d I- why’d I stop?’. His voice sounds hoarse and he has to clear his throat ever so slightly in awkwardness.

‘Yeah… doesn’t really bother me to be honest’.

His hands are shaking underneath the plushness of his silky covers.

‘Umm… well I just thought you’d be a little weirded out by it that’s all… s’that not normal?’ He chokes out, feeling it very queer to be having a conversation with you like this, still hyper aware that his cock is painfully hard and that you can probably still see it poking up from under his bedsheets. He squirms around at this thought, his cheeks red and emanating heat.

You just shrug. ‘I mean… for some people probably, but not me’ you smirk ‘what were you thinking about?’. As if Chris isn’t embarrassed enough already, this question makes everything so much worse. ‘Umm… well I- uh’ he bumbles stupidly, struggling to find the words, which just makes you even more smug. You’re not stupid, you had heard him mumble your name from the other side of the door before you had burst it open.

‘C’mon Chris be a big boy now and spit it out’ you chided him, walking towards him a little. In response to this he shuffles further back up his bed, trying to get away from the overwhelming burden of having to admit that it was you he was thinking about.

‘Umm… just- stuff’ he jitters, and you roll your eyes. ‘Don’t bullshit my Chris, you and I both know that it was me… believe it or not you weren’t dealing with it as “quietly” as you thought you were’. Chris knows there’s no way to possibly skirt around this, so his chest deflates and he sighs. Fucking curse him for being too noisy. His eyes shyly look to his bedcovers, refusing meet yours. ‘Fine… it was you. Sorry… I just couldn’t help it’. His hand not covered in a thin layer of lotion comes up to his eyes and pinches them shut.

‘Don’t be sorry. I’m flattered to be on your mind. Because you sound so pretty getting off to the thought of me…’ you smirk when Chris snaps his eyes open, his misty blue irises flicking about your face to scan for any hint of a lie. But there’s none there to detect because you are being genuine with him.

Chris is a very interesting person, so you feel like he’s the kind of guy to have interesting kinks… I mean… look at him, so feminine yet so fucking masculine at the same time. He’s the kind of person that anyone would be lucky to taste before they die.

‘Yeah? You think about me with your hand down your pants often Chris?’ You taunt him, your heady smirk working him up into a flustered state of stuttering. ‘No! Well- I- yes… but it’s not like-’.

He vigorously tries to defend himself but he only makes a mess of his speech pattern, so you do him a favour by hushing him softly. You’re now towering over him, his big eyes trained on you and his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. ‘What do you like Chris?’ You ask, leaving the question opened ended. This could have been about anything, but of course, you only have one goal in mind. You want to know what gets him going, gets him hard, gets his back arching and his legs spreading…

‘What do you mean…?’ Chris decides to play dumb, his shyness seeping through every pore in his body. ‘Chris you know what I mean. What keeps you up at night… what do I do in your imagination that makes you want to touch yourself until you’re making a mess all over yourself hm?’ Your voice is light and gentle whilst you bravely reach your hand out to cup underneath his jaw. You lift his chin gently, the weight of his head softly resting on your hand as he swallows again.

‘I like…’ he mumbles breathlessly, struggling to get the rest of the words out before you are peeling back his sweetie pie pink covers to expose him. You look down to see his thighs twitching slightly at being revealed to you once again. ‘Oh Chris that looks sore baby…’ you coo, and his hips squirm. ‘Keep going’ you respond to him, wanting him to finish answering your question. But this time, you reach out your hand to grasp onto his cock, his texture warm and damp.

Chris bites his lip and feathers his eyes closed, his head tipping back and a boiling hot surge of pleasure scalding his gut as soon as you start to work your hand against his slick skin. ‘Um… look- look in my bedside drawer…’ he moans, his voice struggling to crawl up his throat without a whine tinging to every single word. You furrow your eyebrows, keeping your hand on Chris as you lean over to use your other one, which wraps around the handle of his drawer slowly.

Sliding it out, you look inside to see all of the typical things kept in a man’s nightstand, as well as some girlier things like a bundle of different pearl necklaces, but you’re not interested in that.

You’re more interested in the pink silk ribbons, that are long enough to wrap tightly around someone’s wrists and restrain them there.

‘Chris… are these for…’ you trail off, subconsciously squeezing his cock a little harder as your eyes sparkle at the cheeky silk ties. Chris nods, filling in the gaps for you and answering your suspicions with an ‘uhuh’.

Your hand dives in without a moment to lose, fishing out the exiting looking toys that you can play with. ‘Chris you little slut’ you giggle with a surprised air about you, admiring the way he looks at the ribbons as you place them on his bed.

‘Hey! M’not a slut!!’ He snaps his head back up to look at you, whining in offence, but you shake your head, finding that so fucking hard to believe.

‘Is that so… well, in that case I’ll just have to make you into one using them then’ you slur seductively, before slinging your leg over his naked lap. Chris nearly chokes at your fast actions whilst you fully straddle him and push his back into the headboard. Wrestling one of his wrists up to the holed wood Chris pants and slides his bottom half further down onto the bed so that he can lie on his torso whilst you tie his hand to the headboard. Chris doesn’t put up a fight… he wants this.

He’s wanted it for so long.

The second one doesn’t come long after.

He hisses suddenly at how tightly you had tied them, his wrists practically unable to move in their awkward position slung up over his head and pinned to the headboard. The pretty pink silk brushing against his skin delicately makes him ache, and he admires your work.

‘Where’d you learn how to do that?’ He utters in breathless wonder whilst you find it hard not to smirk at what you’re going to do next. ‘Practice’ you muse whilst Chris shuffles about, unable to get comfortable. Your hands then shoot out and come to rest on the yellow bandana neatly pushing back his long wavy hair.

‘W-wait, what are you doing?’ he stutters as you use them to gently slide the fabric down over his eyes. This conceals his line of vision, and you watch the way his fingers and arms flex helplessly, his mind immediately trying to move his hands to push the bandana back up onto his forehead. But it’s no use, and he moans in frustration when he realises that there’s no way he’s going to be able to slip the bandana back up because his wrists are restrained.

‘Fuck… t-that’s not fair!’ He cries out in defiance but all you do is snigger, getting off of the bed so that you can admire the way his long legs stretch out to the bottom of his bed and kick about restlessly, his cock still red and throbbing whilst his colourful t-shirt rides up just above the curves of his slutty little waist. Strands of his soft looking hair fall over the yellow bandana that rests on the delicate curve of his nose whilst he twists his neck from side to side, his wrists bending and yanking helplessly against his silk ties.

‘Oh really? If you’re going to be a naughty boy and touch yourself like that without my permission then you’re going to be treated like a naughty boy’

Chris’ cheeks flame at how much he enjoys this degradation, his prick now painful and needing to be touched once again.

‘You got anymore requests before I give you what you want baby boy?’ You quip, extremely excited and getting wet at the fact that Chris has absolutely no idea what you’re going to do to him because of the blindfold obscuring his vision.

Chris hums, debating on whether or not to reveal to you his deepest and most yearned for sexual fantasy.

You don’t skate around his debate though, ‘Chris just say it, I think we’re a little too far into our friendship now to judge each other’. He sighs at this and stops biting his lip in contemplation.

‘Can I- can I call you mommy? Please’ he shyly requests and your stomach squeezes at the idea of being called mommy. You’re not surprised that Chris has a mommy kink, it’s pretty obvious with the way he carries himself, his actions are always so soft and delicate.

‘You can call me whatever you like Chris’ you say, before crawling back onto the bed. Chris’ back arches at the freedom you give him and his head twists from side to side yet again, trying to look in vain to see if there is anyway he can possibly clock where you are. But it’s no use. His makeshift blindfold has completely obliterated his sense of sight, equally, his sense of touch is also limited which heightens his other senses tenfold.

Running your finger tips up the inner sides of his thighs, he shivers with his breathing hitched and his shoulders heaving. He looks so sweet practically defenceless before you.

‘Go on then Chris… call me mommy… beg for it’. Chris whines into the back of his throat when he feels the pad of your thumb slowly sliding over his weeping tip. ‘Please mommy- call me a slut, I don’t care… just- just touch me’ he breathes, a surge of power flowing through your veins at the way you can make him unravel at the sound of your voice. Even the faintest of touches to his cock makes him worm about pathetically.

‘There’s a good boy’.

Finally, you find it right to praise him, and by god does it illicit the desired reaction. Chris’ lips curve up into a proud little smile, his legs spreading and his head throwing all the way back to put his powerful jaw on show, his masculine neck heavily contoured and highlighting his strong throat structure within the dim lighting of his room. ‘I am a good boy mommy’ he meekly responds back whilst your hand rewards him further by wrapping itself around him yet again.

He feels nice in your palm, warm and thick, precum dribbling down his tip and mixing with the lotion that is still making him sticky enough to easily slide your hand over him. And doesn’t he just look like the sweetest darling, all messy and panting beneath you?.

‘You like the way I touch you? Is this the kind of thing you dream about baby?’ You muse as you work your hand along him to stimulate his prick. You know he’s not going to last long, he had edged himself enough already before you had interrupted him. And you know that he is most likely going to have the most earth-shattering orgasm at your touch.

He nods shakily, his hips thrusting up accidentally to get more friction. ‘All the time’ he states, this time a little more confidently, and you hum in satisfaction.

‘You look pretty in pink baby boy’ you suddenly compliment him, and this makes Chris the happiest he’s been yet. He gets flustered and shy, especially after you stroke his ego with telling him he looks nice is his favourite colour. Something about someone complimenting him in that way makes him feel soft and light. ‘Thank you mommy…s’my favourite’ he shyly peeps, his voice as smooth as butter and making your thighs quiver. You’ll definitely be around at his place a lot more often after this to get even more of his strawberry goodness.

‘I know sweet boy… and that’s why you look so pretty in it’ you praise him even more, and he moans uncontrollably, his cock twitching within your hand. ‘Fuck, is my good boy ready to cum already?’.

He hums vigorously. ‘Y-yes mommy… so bad’. You sigh, feeling sad that this moment is over so soon, because he just looks so pretty tied up and blindfolded below you, but you conclude that he’s suffered enough already with having to hold on for this long, and so you let him cum.

‘Okay then sweet boy, you cum when you’re ready’.

And cum he does, a fuck load. It melts and drips all over his stomach, and Chris curses into the air after every time your hand works down his length with a squeezing motion to get rid of as much cum as you can. After the sticky strings of them are spent and Chris whines in overstimulation, you let go of his cock.

Chris thinks it’s over, and he cools down with his chest heaving and his mouth panting, that is, until you unexpectedly place your hands on his stomach, right into his puddle of cum.

Chris chokes when your hands start to make a slow ascent up his stomach, past his happy trail and up to his chest, absolutely covering him in his own cum. He moans at this, feeling your sticky fingers trailing over his rib cage. You smirk at him.

‘Thought you weren’t a slut Chris…? Good boys don’t like this kind of thing’.

His tilted head snaps back up, cutting his enjoyment short with a pout and a pitiful ‘but I am a good boy-’, his blindfold still completely concealing the way his eyes are probably glassing up with worry. ‘Really? Because I don’t think so…’ you tease once again, knowing that it’s just going to get him even more worked up. Gathering up a dollop of his cum onto two of your fingers you sneakily gravitated them up to his mouth whilst he fusses about underneath you.

To shut him up, you use your spare hand to open up his mouth fully and slot your two fingers onto his tongue. ‘Shhh, suck on this baby, you just focus on how you taste and I’ll worry about everything else, that’s what mommy’s are for yeah?’.

This quiet babying seems to work to get Chris to calm down, and his needy figure relaxes whilst curling his tongue around your two fingers and licking off his own cum. He swallows it all in one go. Removing your hand from his mouth, finally, you let him see once again by pulling off the yellow bandana, leaving his hair in a ruffled, fluffy mess.

His lips are blood red and his cheeks are a light pink, his silk ties matching his sheepish complexion whilst he watches you unravel them. After they’re removed, you look to see the red marks they’ve left on Chris’ wrists from how tightly they had been tied and equally how hard Chris had been tugging against them within his pleasure filled trance.

Suddenly you begin to giggle. And you can’t stop. A tired looking Chris gazes over at you in confusion, his stomach and chest shining with a trail of his own cum.

‘What?’

He shuffles around insecurely, his shyness once again blocking up any other emotion.

‘Nothing… it’s just… I kinda always knew you had a mommy kink after you mumbled it in your sleep one time I was staying over. Think you were having a wet dream’.

Chris goes red once again, his eyes widening as he smacks his lips, grabbing his fluffy white pillow and affectionately hitting your head with it at not telling him sooner that you had actually heard something you shouldn’t have.

This of course, initiates a playful pillow fight between the two of you, which slowly transitions into somewhat of a messy make out session with your tongues twisting against each other’s and your noses brushing before you both collectively hear the sound of the smoke alarm going off in the kitchen.

You gasp and pull away from Chris’ sugary lips.

‘FUCK, THE BROWNIES!’

Author’s notes p.2: phew that was a lot. Can u guys tell I love the colour pink?? I’m lowkey obsessed with coquette baby girl Chris ngl, he’s literally the male embodiment of a Melanie Martinez song. I hope u guys enjoyed my take on sub!Chris, but request and ask me anything as always!! :) @luverboychris this one is for you wife, I know you’ve been waiting for it <3

Taglist: @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luverboychris @luv4kozume @strniohoeee @sturniolosreads @thesturniolos @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @strawberrysturniolo @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @carolsturns1 @1800chokedathoe @lovergirl4387 @sophie21153-blog

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sub matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #mommy k!nk #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

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rippersz · 20 days

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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kairolee2004 · 4 months

Text

I feel like this would be impossible but— HEAR ME OUT!

Imagine if- as a young child, you lived in Texas and had a close friend that you would even consider your best friend. Thomas Hewitt..

And when your younger teenage years came around, your parents moved you out of Texas and all the way to England.

You live there still in your mid twenties and decided to get a job. A Nanny job to an English family by the name of the Heelshires. Of course you thought is was for a real child but it turns out the nanny job is to take care of a life-sized porcelain doll. The two parents tell you that the “doll” is named Brahams… Supposedly, the real Brahms perished in a fire 20 years ago, and he had apparently rejected several nannies prior to being introduced to you. As Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire leave for their vacation, you are given a list of rules to follow in regard to their son.

Turns out, the bastard wasn’t dead but better yet, living in the walls and stalking you. He had become obsessed and in love with you. How couldn’t he? You were so damn perfect and gorgeous… you needed to stay forever. He tried to keep you all to himself. But you got away with only one suitcase.

You tried to think of a place where you know Brahams would never think to try and look for you. Somewhere completely different from where you were right now… how about Texas?

Making your way all the way back to Texas, you decide that it wouldn’t hurt to see some old family. And head on over to the Hewitt family house. When you arrive, you of course see Luda may and charlie (Hoyt) but you don’t see Tommy anywhere. You ask about him to Luda May and she calls for him… you weren’t ready for what you saw.

Tommy wasn’t the same old little boy who was shorter than you, smaller than you, quieter than you- no.

This was a full grown ass man with 2 feet towering over you and more than 200 pounds of muscle to over power you. And when you say he was “quieter than you.” You meant it. As kids he didn’t talk much and now he still didn’t say a word. It was his eyes.. yelled and screamed with ruthlessness. His eyes seemed as if he saw stuff. They weren’t innocent like they used to be. If looks could kill, you would have dropped minutes ago.

Yet his actions spoke other wise. When he first saw you, he was stiff, kinda like when a bull walks around in a china shop. With the intention of not breaking something so precious and fragile. He didn’t want to break you.

Next thing you know, your body without mind, walks towards him and hugs him. He is stunned for a second before he engulfs himself around you. In a protective manner, a way of saying ‘I’m not letting you go…’

You felt off when you hugged him. Sure it was nice when you saw your childhood friend once more but then again… he wasn’t at the same time. This place was different, this family too. They all were dark souls that were covered with a normal family persona. It was wrong.

Luda May promised that you could stay one night and in the morning you could hit the road again. You felt no reassurance behind those words.

As you got ready for bed, you opened the one suitcase that you took from the Heelshire house, you were frightened… you had some clothes in there and some essentials but one thing was out of place. Brahams porcelain mask. You knew how much this mask meant to him… and he would do anything to get it back. Even if that meant going 4,669.21 miles just to get it back.

Later that night in the bedroom, as you were about to fall asleep, you heard blood curdling screaming coming from the basement. As you made your way down from your room, you saw a young woman burst through the basement door and she was covered with blood. Not far behind her, followed Tommy. He looked at the pathetic women, then at you. He looked terrifying… you didn’t move, only stared.

The young woman screamed at you for help, that was until Tommy revived his chainsaw and killed her with it. This couldn’t be real- right?

Reality hit when all of a sudden, Tommy came over to you and held the side of your face softly. And looked into your eyes. He didn’t want you to be scared of him.

You over lapped your hand over his and held it without saying a word. Slightly leaning into his touch. He helped you stand up and held the back of your head, with the other hand on the small of your back.

You let your head lean against his chest. This was wrong on so many levels… you both knew it. Yet it didn’t stop both of you. This was a silent moment needed.

Well… that was until you heard his voice again. The fear of which you knew was bound to come once more.

“(Reader), Why did you leave me?” Brahams child voice appeared right behind of Thomas. When he turned around, he was there. Brahams of course didn’t have his mask but rather yet, pieces of the porcelain dolls face glued together. It was a sight to behold.

Both men stared at each other… you couldn’t tell what they were thinking but you could definitely tell what was about to go down.

Oh no …

Could you imagine that?

I swear! These two men got me by the throat- ;/;

I absolutely adore these two masked men, and I mean come on how could you not!?! <333

#x reader #slasher fucker #slasher community #slashers headcanons #slashers #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt #brahms heelshire x reader #brahams heelshire #slasher imagines #my obsession #daily thoughts #I LOVE THOMAS AND BRAHAMS!!!

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absolutebl · 8 months

Note

What are some BL couples who you DO think could actually have a long haul perfect ending and not burn out two months after the show ends?

(Also if possible, could you drop the show titles aswell? Thanks)

20 BL Couples I Love & Think Would Actually Make it In the Long Run

Ha, yeah I intentionally didn't include the titles in that last post because I was being negative. Since these are positive... here you go!

Advance Bravely

I know right? One from China. But yeah I think they're very opposites attract but still well balanced and suited to each other. Plus "stern but indulgent Daddy + spoiled brat" is a favorite dynamic of mine.

Guardian

He waited 10,000 gd years. It has to work out. Despite censorship.

Old Fashion Cupcake

They both mature enough to be very motivated.

Tokyo in April Is

They suffered for that love. It's an enduring eternal kinda thing.

Cherry Blossoms After Winter

Taesung is NEVER letting him go. Never.

Long Time No See

Not only are they staying together, can you imagine anyone trying to separate them?

Nobleman Ryu's Wedding

I just think they gonna live in obscurity in the middle of the woods with their books forever.

Our Dating Sim

Of course they're gonna last, that was the whole point of the show.

Oh Boarding House

I think they both had to come around to each other with a lot of self-examination as to what it meant for them, their identities, and their lives. That kind of thoughtfulness bodes well for longevity.

(This is an under-appreciated gem. IMHO)

Be Loved In House I Do

Yeah they just so into each other but also adoring but understand each other's quirks. There's no meanness or pettiness to either of them. Double down on affection + chemistry is a good recipe for longevity.

DNA Says Love You

They came back for, and waited for, each other.

HIStory Obsessed

It's in the title. This level of mutually obsessed disfunction only ends in death.

HIStory 4: Close to You

Problematic side couple. Dito the above.

Thousand Stars

It's high romance of the eternal forever kind.

2 Moons Ambassador

They are *that* couple. "I married my college sweetheart and am incandescently happy forever in a disgustingly sappy way" that shouldn't work but does.

My Only 12%

Again, they suffered too much not to make it work. They are basically each other's half, it codependent, but that's the point.

Ingredients

They define domesticity. The true key to most couple longevity is the ability to actually live together.

Oh My Sunshine Night

File these two under the "once he had a taste, its' forever." The seme is too bossy and too possessive for anyone but the one he picked. This one lasts because Rain would MAKE IT last.

Oxygen

Dito the above, only softer.

Until We Meet Again

Of course. I mean, OF COURSE OF COURSE. That's the point. Dean's entire existence would be a failure if they broke up.

Despite my love of the genre I didn't pick any high school BL couples. Even if I think they may have a chance I'm not sure how I feel about that kind of pairing.

I didn't pick ones we know lasted because they showed it to us: e.g. Unintentional Love Story, His, Dear Doctor, My Ride.

There are a few I left off because I think they could last as a couple but the circumstances of their lives and surrounding, means I'm not sure if they would be allowed to, like Not Me, Never Let Me Go, Manner of Death.

(source)

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yuikomorii · 4 months

Text

// Ok I didn’t want to go this far but at this point, you guys are hating on Ayato just for clout and it shows. It’s okay not to like a character but straight up spreading misinformation about him is not okay. If you lack reading comprehension, just admit it.

What makes Ayato’s past so sad isn’t only the fact that Cordelia was mean towards him. She mentally and physically abused him, yet what genuinely hurt Ayato the most was the way Cordelia treated ALL the triplets. A part of him didn’t even want to kill her, given that he CRIED in the MB flashbacks because, despite being a huge abuser, he STILL felt sympathy even for someone like her. No matter how horrible Cordelia was, Ayato still wished for Karlheinz to reciprocate her feelings only to finally see her happy.

Don't even get me started on the Adam curse. He was practically used as bait and abandoned to death by his own brothers, but he still hoped for their safety after escaping. That curse literally destroyed his entire life because its purpose was to make the person who ate the fig drown in despair and go insane. That's why he was sooo obsessed with Yui's blood. Heck, he's cursed in routes other than his own, as he goes insane in Ruki's MB one, to the point that his brothers had to lock him inside the dungeon. In addition, in his MB Vampire Ending, he falls into a coma because he refuses to hurt Yui and keep drinking her blood.

Other than that, Laito was the one who made him believe that he wasn’t special, hence he adopted the “I will never make someone special again” mentality. He also wanted to kill him when he was younger (no hate towards any of his brothers though). Kanato was the only one who never did something bad to him, considering that when Ayato was a child, Reiji called him the disappointment of the family after failing a test.

Ayato did twisted stuff too; no character is a saint, but he always tries his best to fix things. Even when not dating Yui, he’s capable of showing compassion, support and a desire to improve his relationship with his brothers BY HIMSELF. Check this analysis for example.

Other than that, despite every time being hurt when trying to show kindness, he still became a very selfless guy who’d sacrifice himself for anyone at any given time. What makes this even more admirable is that according to Karlheinz, he’s literally the only one who actually VALUES his life. This guy who loves life would risk it all for Yui, even when not dating, or for any of his brothers.

Credit to: dialovers-translations and tournesolia on Tumblr

On top of that, he's incredibly empathic?? He forgives everybody, no matter what they do to him, and seeks to maintain good relations with them. In Kino's LE route, for example, he tortures and burns Ayato, but Ayato is the first person to recognize him as his brother because he wanted Kino to feel that he, too, belonged to a family.

Last but not least, nobody silences Karlheinz as good as him. He was also the only one who connected the dots by himself about his dad being the root of all evil, including being the only one who didn’t want to kill him only because he didn’t want to fall into his plan. Check this post.

Oh and, Ayato is actually really big; it’s not that only his fans make him that way! This post basically proves that he’s the IT boy of otome games and I should also mention that he’s the character that sells the most in Japan and China! Just look what Japanese fans think of him. ;)

You can dislike him as much as you want but nobody can deny how brave and pure-hearted he is. He’s the definition of from zero to hero.

As I mentioned earlier, it's fine to dislike him, but don't become obsessed with it, lol. At the end of the day, he's merely a fictional character with endearing characteristics and the male lead. It's really not that deep. Besides, it's embarrassing when the hate comes from Yui stans because she definitely wouldn't be happy of any of you talking about her man in that way.

#diabolik lovers #ayato sakamaki #dialovers #sakamaki ayato #admin

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astrobiscuits · 4 months

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🎄🎵Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas🎵🎄

Holiday (365443) persona chart observations

🎅 Individuals with Ascendant at 1° or 3° get really excited in advance at the thought of Christmas coming. They tend to approach the holidays with the same innocent joy they had as kids even in adulthood

🎅 Stellium in 2nd house = tasty Christmas dishes and gifts are their only priority lmao

🎅 Neptune trine Venus tend to get lost in the beauty and bling of Christmas decorations

🎅 The sign and house where Jupiter is located tells you what type of gifts you might usually get on Christmas (it's also great to use as a gift guide!!):

🎁 Jupiter 1st house/Aries: gym equipment; sports-related merch; tickets to an event, which you're really passionate about; hats/head accessories; could also be something related to the natal Ascendant (check the description for your natal Rising sign for more info)

🎁 Jupiter in 2nd house/Taurus: lots of chocolate and sweets; clothes; art pieces; scented candles; perfume; fine china; kitchen utensils; cookbooks; (renewed) subscription to a movie streaming service

🎁 Jupiter in 3rd house/Gemini: a (new) car; books; musical instruments; handpan (if Jupiter is in Pisces or it positively aspects Neptune); your most memorable gift might come from a sibling or a relative (cousin, uncle, aunt)

🎁 Jupiter in 4th house/Cancer: plushies; heated blanket; board games; photo albums; your most memorable gift might come from your parents or it might be something passed on from generation to generation

🎁 Jupiter in 5th house/Leo: concert tickets; a trip to the tattoo parlor; gold jewelry; could also be something related to the natal Sun

🎁 Jupiter in 6th house/Virgo: Fitbit/smartwatch; aesthetic stationery (notebooks, planners, writing instruments); reusable water bottle; humidifier; pets

🎁 Jupiter in 7th house/Libra: make-up; beauty gadgets; a romantic partner/fiancé (no, but fr, you might get a love confession during the holidays); your most memorbale gift likely might come from your partner (if you have one)

🎁 Jupiter in 8th house/Scorpio: money/gift cards; sexy time toys; stockings; could be something the individual is obsessed with

🎁 Jupiter in 9th house/Sagittarius: trips to exotic destinations; henna hair dye; compression socks

🎁 Jupiter in 10th house/Capricorn: vintage decor; office chair; office purse (or just one that screams "high status"); sterling silver jewelry; high quality alcohol drinks

🎁 Jupiter in 11th house/Aquarius: electronic devices (smartphone, laptop, tablet, etc.); video games; anything related to supernatural beings (aliens, mermaids, fairies etc.); telescope; anything you've wished for/been manifesting

🎁 Jupiter in 12th house/Pisces: anything sleep related - pajamas, bed sheets, pillow sheets (or a new pillow), silk sleepmask; crystals; manifestation journal; tarot decks; art supplies

🎅 Christmas traditions based on the number of planets in angular/succedent/cadent houses:

❄️ High number of planets in angular houses (1, 4, 7, 10) = starting new family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in succedent houses (2, 5, 8, 11) = carrying out family traditions

❄️ High number of planets in cadent houses (3, 6, 9, 12) = tweaking/improving current family traditions or letting them go if they don't resonate anymore

🎅 Sun square/opposite Saturn & Ascendant conjunct/square/opposite Saturn = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but doesn't do anything to "destroy" it; might show a lot of sarcasm during the holidays; they might not celebrate Christmas due to reasons related to their position of Saturn

🎅 Sun square/opposite Mars = Grinch who doesn't like Christmas, but actively tries to "destroy" the holiday spirit for the people around them by picking up fights with loved ones

🎅 If you want to "hire" a Santa to show up with gifts for your kids on Christmas (aka choose one of your friends to fulfill this role), the best Santa would have atleast 3 of the following:

Sun conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Venus conjunct/sextile/trine Jupiter

Sun/Moon in 5th house

Jupiter in 2nd house/5th house

Jupiter conjuncting MC

Sagittarius Rising or Jupiter as dom planet

Ruler of 2nd house (benefic planet) in 5th house and vice versa

Asteroid Abundantia (151) conjuncting Venus/Jupiter

❆❆❆ ~ 𝕸𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘, 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 ~ ❆❆❆

#astro #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro posts #astroblr #astro blog #astro notes #persona chart #jupiter #christmas astrology

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loganofthenorth · 5 months

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Every time I think about Mulan, I get obsessed with how awesome these three are. So I’mma take a few minutes to rant about it.

This three good balls, bad asses, loveable idiots. They’re fricken adorable and I love them. And like, as a kid, I used to not understand how they became friends with Mulan. I thought they were sexist assholes that only trusted her because, well, you know, she saved China.

But I analyzed the movie as an adult, and honestly? I think they knew Mulan was a girl the whole time, and just kinda, accepted it. Still treated her like one of the guys, wanted to see how long she could keep this up for. Yao and Ling most certainly bet on it while Chien-po was probably like: “Shouldn’t we just… tell her we know so she has people to trust?” And the other two were like: Nah this is funny.

I also think Ling and Chien-Po knew instantly since Yao was too mad to be like: Huh… hmm… something’s off here.

They probably told him later. Like:

Chien-Po: You know, it isn’t nice to hit a lady.

Yao: Wow, didn’t think you had it in ya to be such an ass. I mean, he’s a wimp but sheesh.

Ling: *falling over laughing*

Yao: What the hell’s his problem?

Chien-Po: *whispering* I mean and actual lady, Yao.

Ling: And no one tells! Got it? No telling anyone else. Only us three know. I wanna see how long this goes on for.

Chien-Po: Also… They’ll kill her if they find out, and… She’s our friend now.

Yao: Friend’s a strong word… But sure, I’ll keep it to myself. Besides, only I’m allowed to kill them now.

So yeah, when they later heard that Mulan was alone in the bath pond thing, it was too good an opportunity to miss. I don’t think these himbos even considered how weird it was. They were too distracted with how fricken hilarious it’d be.

I mean

Come on

That smug smile and Chien-Po’s: This is fine.

They know exactly what they’re doing.

Then with ‘A Girl Worth Fighting For’, Ling brings up the song to cheer everyone up because they’re sore, didn’t choose to go to war, and need something, anything to keep them going. Then once Mulan’s line comes up it’s like: “Oh, right. Forgot about that. Whelp, time to continue messing with her.”

Like: Ight, guys. Whatever she says, probably describing herself. So, whatever she says, say Nah. It’s funny.

The main thing that sent me on this tangent, was this scene

Their shock, their surprise, this reaction isn’t an: “Oh shit, we trained/hung out with/bathed/etc with a girl.” Reaction.

This is a: “Shit they caught her and now they’re gonna kill our friend!” Reaction.

Which, yeah, of course it would be. They have their priorities checked out.

However

If memory serves me right there was no hesitation

There was also no hesitation to trust her when no one else would

Because they didn’t have the feeling of betrayal Shane had for being lied to

And they were totally down to dress in drag

They really just couldn’t care less about Mulan being a girl

And I love them for that

This tis the end of my tangent. I love these three gentlebros

#mulan #disney classics #disney princesses #Disney Mulan #Yao #Ling #Chien-Po #Yao Ling Chien-Po #Mulan’s Friends #movie analysis #character analysis #Disney movie #mulan 1998

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the-one-who-lambs · 4 months

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9 people you would like to get to know better tag meme

except I'm starting a new post because the one I got tagged in was long as shit. I was tagged by @tacofuus, thanks so much!

Last song: Batter Up by Babymonster. It's a solid 6.5/10 check out

Favorite color: violet/lavender. Really any shade of purple

Last tv show/currently watching: I honestly don't really watch TV. I genuinely cannot remember. The last series I actually watched was Death Note with my best friend and that was last year/beginning of this year. I used to be into anime when I was in middle school and this felt like a return to my roots lmao

Sweet/spicy/savoury: I go with savory most of the time, but my favorite is sweet for sure.

Relationship status: narilamb

Current obsession: Writing fanfic for cult of the lamb. It's been just about a year and a half now and I don't see this dying down anytime soon, cotl has squarely entered full special interest status for me so I'll be here for at least another 3 years. I have a bad habit of making a new fandom blog every time I get a shorter-term hyperfixation, writing for it, getting kindasorta recognized in the fandom, then abandoning my works and deleting the blog when I'm not interested in it anymore. Maybe some of y'all followed me in my previous fandoms and y'all would probably never know bc of orphaned works that I can't find anymore. ...anyway. I've made too many close friends in this fandom to pull that stunt again. the-one-who-lambs and my cotl fics are here to stay. I'm rambling

Last thing you googled: 600 cc in cups (I was making soup but all the good noodle packets from China+Korea give units in cubic centimeters. It's about 2.5 cups btw)

Uhhhhh I don't know who to tag so I'll just pick the most recent 9 mutuals in my notes who haven't been tagged already by taco or the people they tagged lol. Don't feel pressured to do it, though! @artsycryptix @just-a-random-demon-official @miallurk @pikos-den @tokyonymph @mianing @bamsara @coffincrows @fanged-cotl

#hannah's rambles #y'all already tagged pavi juliet megsie piper lori but I'm thinking of yall too. barkbarkbarkbarkbark

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madwomansapologist · 1 year

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Shan Yu obsessed with you would include

synopsis: For Shan Yu, it was love at first sight. For you, he was the man that kidnapped you. Oh, young love.

warnings: female!reader. badass!reader. kidnapping. nudity. in this house we hate the misogynist version of Shan Yu in Mulan (2020).

• Villages on the border are not usually targeted by the Hun army, as they are mostly built and maintained by the effort of the population itself. They are part of China, but it would take weeks for the Emperor to be updated on the situation of these villages. There's no need to attack them, and it's not useful either. After all, everyone needs to rest. It is an agreement between the army and the city leaders: peace is maintained if they are well received and well fed.

• It was suppossed to be a quick stay. After a long battle, the army needed to eat and rest. And so needed the horses. Soon after, they would continue their journey. After enjoying the feast offered by an inn, Shan Yu decided to ride alone along one of the mountain trails. This battle showed that the Chinese army is well organized, despite being smaller. As tempting as counting victory is, deluding yourself can be a fatal mistake. Shan Yu needed to think, and he needed silence.

• Hours after leaving the inn, a noise caught his attention. A sneeze. And the sound of running water. Shan Yu searched for the source of the sound, comanded by his own curiosity. It was almost like his body was warning him: This is important. He jumped off the horse and followed his ears, finding a lagoon hidden by ash trees. It's water was dark because of the stone banks, filled with a few carps and low vegetation. Then you emerged.

• Shan Yu almost fall into the lagoon. He never thought he had weak legs, but they were shaking. He couldn't feel knees, but he did feel his heart. It was aching. Like something sharp hold onto it. It was such a hurting feeling, but he never want to not feel it. Because he knows exactly what this mean. Shan Yu just fell in love.

• He saw you whole. Reflecting the moon, water falling down your body, he saw every inch of your skin. Your curves, your beauty, your smile. Your scars, your freckles, your marks. Shan Yu saw your body, but also saw your soul. The way you moved into the water, having fun, even tho you were shivering. It was so, so cold. But you didn't mind. You wanted to swin, so you did it.

• You were brave. Certain about your desires. Resistent. And your laugh... That sound was deserving of a thousand praises. People should give their lifes for the chance of hearing you. Of seeing you. Of being near you. And it would be a pleasure. A small price for such a great gift.

• Then you sneezed. And again. And again.

• Shan Tu quickly notice your clothes stretched on a rock. It appeared to be made from a nice tissue, but he couldn't let you wear something like that. So he came out from among the trees.

• You got scared. Who wouldn't? Even if you didn't knew who he was, you probably heard about him, a man appearing out of nowhere is really frightful. You dived up to your chin, on a attempt of covering your body, and walked away from him. Even scared you were the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

• Shan Yu was glad the inn offered him a bath before the feast. His mustachioed was trimmed, his hair combed, his skin cleaned. You couldn't look away, did you notice his yellow eyes? Did you like it? Shan Yu hopes you does.

• Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he took his wolf fur coat and left it among your clothes.

"Do not approach!" You yelled at him, thinking he was undressing to join you. "I'm warning you: I can fight."

Shan Yu chuckled. If he wasn't sure before, now he knows that you were made to be his. You were deciding between running or fighting, but he turned away. "What the hell," you said to yourself.

Walking back to his horse, Shan Yu did his speciality: he planned.

• The stay was extended. Shan Yu ordered his best warriors to watch you. To discover who you were, where you live, what you do. To make sure you would always be safe. Within days, he already knew your routine, your family, your name. And as time went by, Shan Yu decided to act.

It was a quiet night. Snow started to fall, no more travelers for some good months. After spending the day helping your mother keep the house clean and teaching one of your younger friends how to cook a congee, all you wanted was to sleep. And so you did.

But you woke up with breaking glass noise. You jumped out of bed immediately. And when you noticed the silence, you thought you just had a realist nightmare. You lay backdown, snuggling under the sheets, and closed your eyes to sleep again... and someone pulled you by the feet.

You couldn't see who was hurting you, all candles were out, but you felt it's tight grip around your ankles. You felt on the floor, your neck started to burn, the person pulling while you screamed. You bet he didn't think you would react, 'cuz on the moment you had a chance you kicked the man so hard he fell back. Then you kicked his head, putting him to sleep.

You runned to your parents room to get them out of here, but it wasn't a solo job. Three big man guarded the corridor. Moonlit, you noticed that nothing was damaged. That wasn't just a robbery.

"Touch me," you smiled at then, sure they would see it. After tucking a lock behind your ear, you positioned yourself to fight. "And I will beat the shit out of you."

All you remember after was the sound of bones breaking, blood gushing from noses, screams of pain. They tried to get you, but you always knew how to protect yourself. "I've warned you."

You managed to open your parents' bedroom door, and found them gagged on the bed. As brave as you were, you knew you couldn't release them and defend you three. "I'll be back," you promised. Hearing the sound of people entering your house, you opened the bedroom window. "And with help."

And then you jumped.

Barefoot in the snow, you had only one goal: to reach the bell on the wall between the houses. It is only used in emergencies, its ring is almost an announcement of calamities. No one would ignore it.

You just didn't count that more than five men guarded the perimeter of your house. Now it was clear that the Hun army was attacking you, although you didn't understand why. There was only one thing left to do: run.

You managed to contain them, after all that was the land of your house. You knew where every hole, stone, obstacle was.

Climbing the ladder that connects the walls, there was so little left for you to reach the wire and show everyone what was happening. But your foot was pulled, and you landed hard on the floor.

Breathing was difficult. It burned. It was like someone muzzled your chest and asked you to take a deep breath. It hurt so much that you couldn't protect yourself as they lifted you off the ground, pushing you towards something.

When you started to get used to the pain, you tried to run. But someone grabbed your shoulder and kept you still. After a few seconds, you heard steps. The gate of your house was opened, and your blurry vision couldn't focus on the man marchingon your direction. Less than a minute felt like a decade.

"Who hurted her?" A deep, eery voice asked.

As he come closer, you reconized him. The man that handed you his coat on the most creepy way possible. Now, looking closer and without water on your eyelashes, you understood who he really was. And that scared the shit out of you.

A eagle landed on his broad arm. He was armed, but even if he wasn't it would still give you the creeps. He looked like a predator. A big cat ready to attack. He lived up to his fame. That makes you a prey? Shan Yu was looking at you, and you didn't know if he was the last thing you will ever see.

Whoever was holding you decided to let you go. Shan Yu got closer, but you didn't step back. You wanted to, but didn't. If he want something from you, than he better undestand that you will never submit.

"I'm not hurt." It was a lie, but it wasn't just thay. It was you challenging him. "What do you want from me?"

Shan Yu smiled. He wasn't that close to you, but he made you feel so small. It's impossible to look at Shan Yu without feeling weak. "Are you always that brave?"

"That's me being reasonable" you answered. "In order to be brave I would need to be scared. What do you want from me?"

"Your heart." He took a step back. "Care to join me?'

You did, but you also didn't have an option.

Shan Yu led you to his legion. Surrounded by silence, you saw when the four man stepped out of your house. You didn't know what to do or what to expect, but there was something more important then your future. "Did you kill my parents?"

"No." Shan Yu was succinct. "I ordered them to bring you to me, not to hurt you. They will be punished. I promise you."

"I'm not hurt", it was all you were able to say.

Shan Yu sighed. "You can fight, but you can't lie."

After walking for a few minutes, you saw the Hun army. And they were ready to travel again. Thousands of them ready to invade China.

Your parents are safe. If you run, you can go back to your village and warn them about what happened. You could've try, but you didn't.

What they would do? Fight a whole army because one family was attacked? You wouldn't start a war that you know you can't win. You can fight, but not like the Huns. They just didn't expect you to fight back, but they are bigger and stronger than you could ever be.

"You need to rest", Shan Yu woke you up from your thoughts. You noticed that those other men following you weren't there anymore. Your bravery faded away little by little. "Come here."

You could see now where he is walking you. Compared to the others, it was the biggest carriage. The prettiest. It was long, driven by ten horses, made for sleeping. Shan Yu was leading you to his carriage, and that made you want to vomit.

Shan Yu opened the door, and gestured for you to come in. You stepped back. "I won't be your whore."

He frozed. If you have paid attention, you would've noticed the pain in his eyes. But you didn't. "You won't. I would never do this."

"Don't lie to me!"

"I've told you the truth." Shan Yu licked his lips. He never felt so scared. He would... he would never do that. "I will only touch you if you want me to."

"You kidnapped me!" You shout at him. "You hurted me. You hurted my family. Why would I ever believe on what you said?"

Shan Yu moved foward to you. He bent over, looking at you from your height. "I will give you China as a dowry."

You stumbled back. "What did you said?"

"You will be my Empress." Shan Yu smiled at your response. "My heart is yours. I will wait, don't matter how long it takes, for your reciprocal. So please, rest."

You didn't knew how to react. His face, so close to yours, made you swallow hard. It makes no sense. Why would he do that? You ain't a noble or rich or anything like that. That must be a lie. But why would he bother lying?

You walked past him, completely unsure of what to do. You ignored his eyes, scared to see that he speaks the true. Now your surprise was greater than your fear. This can only be a very weird dream. You pinched yourself, but nothing happened.

Inside the carriage, you realized that everything was actually... beautiful. You'd think an army would have no room for beauty, but Shan Yu's gigantic room proved otherwise. Intricately finished wooden tables with maps and plans, sheets of warm, hard-to-sew fabrics, gold religious items. Everything was beautiful. And probably more expensive than your house and everything in it.

Shan Yu closed the door. It wasn't a quiet night anymore.

• You woke up to footsteps in the carriage. You don't remember falling asleep, but at some point you did. It was cold, you were tired, and it was such a comfortable bed. When you got up, you saw people arranging chests in the center of the room. A lady placed a tray on the table, the food on it looked delicious. They were all just smiles for you, a warm feeling almost didn't take over your body.

• Those trunks had your new clothes. Appropriate clothing for cold weather and long trips. It wasn't a dream. No, it really wasn't. Shan Yu is... in love with you? What a weird kind of love. He really chose to kidnap you rather to talk with you? If feels like a story from a fantasy book, not something actually happening on your life.

• But Shan Yu is honorable. Somehow. You saw him fighting: Shan Yu seens to be joking with others life. Sometimes he allows his enemies to have some kind of advantage, just so he can win in a more humiliating way. But he never touched you. Or disrespcted you. Or let anyone treat you badly. And he also care for his army, for his people. So, yeah, honorable. Somehow.

• Shan Yu slept in the same carriage, after all it was his carriage, but not in the same bed. It was strange, but he said he wouldn't leave you alone at such a vulnerable time. You laugh about it, saying that he wouldn't be able to protect you or anything like that if he was sleeping. That very same night, when you both slept together for the first time, you woke up because of the horses. Within a second, Shan Yu was awake, asking if something had happened. Light sleeper: you will be safe.

• You participated in discussions about strategy. And always sitting next to him. One of his trusted men explained the vocabulary you didn't know. Shan Yu insisted for you to be there. Whether it's battle strategy, discussions about money, meetings with the different troops, mapping the path: Shan Yu wanted you there, paying attention and learning.

Riding down the montain on the sorrel he let you choose, Shan Yu was particularly relaxed. "Who taught you how to fight?"

You were also feeling just fine. The weather was mild, the sun warmed you, and riding had finally become second nature. The night before they held a feast in celebration of the end, and victory, of a battle.

"I was an angressive child, and my grandpa always taught me everything he knew." You smiled, but it was a little bit sad. You miss him a lot. "But I don't really know how to fight. I just hit where it hurts, and then I run as fast as I can."

Shan Yu guffaw. "That strategy is... not enterily wrong." His words were positive, but Shan Yu didn't notice he shook his head. You did. "I can teach you."

"Do you have time for that?" Soon your honest question turned into a joke. "Because I can beat you ass anytime."

As time went on, you kind of forgot that you were angry with him. Shan Yu was surprisingly a good listener. And even his coldness could be funny. And he was honest. Never hurted you or forced you to do anything. You don't love him, but you understood your life beside him would be interesting.

You've learned about war, economics, you can tell what each officer in the army does, and you've learned a thing or two about Huns history. Much more interesting than cooking, cleaning and going out to do something that, deep down, was just a way to make yourself more attractive to a good husband. This was no longer a concern. You could be stubborn, annoying, angry, petty: but you don't have to behave to attract a man's gaze. You could just exist, and it was enough for him. It is... liberating. You miss your family and friends, you miss them so much it hurts, but it's not all bad.

"I will take that as a yes."

• The storm changed everything. It was impossible to set a camp down. Shan Yu was leading his army, as he always will, but not even a man strong as him can defeat nature. In a few days with the cold water giving him no time to rest or eat, everyone around Shan Yu could see that he was sick. But he didn't admit it. Saying that he was just fine, he continued to lead the troops.

• His determined nature didn't allow him to rest, but his body couldn't take anymore: he fell of the horse. Shan Yu was treated with the finest medicines, but he didn't woke up. Didn't even move a finger. You stood beside him the whole day, and when the moonlit touched your skin... You were shaking.

• How could he done that to you? Everytime you went out he made you go back to the carriage so you wouldn't get sick. How could he not care about himself the same way? How could he get so hurt without allowing anyone to help him? Shan Yu is a liar. He told you he would never hurt you, but look what he did to you! You can't breath, you can't think, you can't even look at him without feeling that your chest is about to explode. How dare him lie to you?

• Crying, you lay down next to him. You tucked your head onto the chest that moved slowly with shallow breathing, and hugged his broad waist. Your fingers drew disjointed shapes on the boiling skin, your lips murmured prayers to all the gods and ancestors who could hear you. You just wanted a sign that everything was going to be okay. And muttering prayers as you caressed his skin, you fell asleep.

• You woke up to a caress at the small of your back. Your mind took a while to understand what was happening, but as soon as you opened your eyes and saw him, everything ceased to matter. Shan Yu was awake. And he smiling.

"When did you woke up?" You tried to sit down, but his arm around your waist didn't let you. "You need to eat. I gonna call the maesters. How are you feeling? Why didn't you woke me up?!"

"Calm down", his weak voice almost broke your heart, but his tone showed you that Shan Yu was back. "Stay this way. Just a little longer."

"Do you know how scared I was?" You feel like you were about to cry, so you didn't look into his eyes. "Let me go. Let me help you."

"You've never touched me." Shan Yu caressed your cheek, tucking a strand behind your ear. It was so intimate, it made your stomach ache. But it wasn't a bad thing. "You're warm. And soft. And you smell like tears."

"I thought you..." You couldn't say the words. "You didn't react to anything. I thought you were about to die."

"I would have come back to you." His fingers slid to your chin. A delicate touch, too delicate for someone so rough, made you look into his eyes. "I would crawl out of my grave. Not even death can put us apart."

"I missed you." You admited. "I missed you so much. How terrible it is to love something death can touch."

"You love me?" Shan Yu didn't gave you time to answer. "Love me." It wasn't a demand. Shan Yu wasn't ordering. He was begging. "Please."

"I have your heart." You got closer to him. "And you have mine. Don't break it."

"I wouldn't dare."

Next part!

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