#Two Red Roses Foundation

[pasdetrois]

can i say something controversial... nina should have been the protagonist of monster

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"

[ahqkas]

BRUCE WAYNE never thought something as simple as a walk through the park could undo him so completely. he had been passing through on his way to a wayne foundation meeting, a brief moment of peace in his usually packed schedule, when his eyes caught the scene.

a toddler—no more than two, maybe three years old—stumbled through the snow, mittened hands clutching tightly to her father’s pant leg. she was bundled in a too-big scarf and a pink hat, hear head tilted to gaze at the snowflakes around her, her cheeks red from the cold.

he froze, mid-step, completely caught off guard by the wave of baby fever that crashed over him. it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about children before. he already had a house full of them—though they came to him much older, with the weight of trauma already etched into their young faces. but this was different. she was different. he imagined a tiny girl like that in his life, her small hand slipping into his with absolute trust, her laughter filling the empty corners of wayne manor.

by the time he returned home, the manor blanketed in snow, his gloves still clutched in his hands, his thoughts had become a single drumbeat: i want that.

he found you in the library, a fleece blanket draped over your legs, a book in hand as you sat in your favorite chair by the window. the firelight flickered over your face, softening your features, making you look like you belonged in one of the stories you loved so much.

“you’re back early,” you said, voice breaking the stillness. you glanced up from the book and your lips quirked into a smile that stopped him in his tracks. “everything okay?”

he didn’t answer right away, his gaze tracing your features like he was committing them to memory. finally, he crossed the room, shedding his coat as he went, draping it across the back of the chair opposite yours.

“i saw something today,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. bruce knelt before you, one hand resting on the arm of the chair as the other gently took the book from your hands. you let him, brow furrowing slightly as you tilted your head at his actions.

“what did you see?”

“a little girl,” his eyes locking onto yours. “she couldn’t have been more than two. she was holding onto her father’s leg, bundled up in a scarf that practically swallowed her whole. she was laughing.”

his words lingered in the space between the two of you, thick with unspoken meaning. your expression softened as you realized where this was heading, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on your chair.

“she reminded me of something,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “or maybe she made me realize something. i want that, with you. i want us to have a child—a little girl, a boy, i don’t care. i just . . . want it to be ours.”

your breath hitched in the back of your throat as your cheeks flushed—not just from the fire, but from the intensity of his words, of the way his eyes burned into yours like he could see every part of you—the future and the past. “bruce . . .” you began, voice barely above a whisper, but he leaned closer, cutting off whatever protest or question lingered on your lips.

“it’s all i could think about on the way home,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone. “how much i want to see you holding our baby, to watch them grow up with you. to give them everything we didn’t have.”

you swallowed hard at his words, your soft hand sliding up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

“well, it’s a good thing we’re snowed in tonight.”

bruce froze for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. he rose to his full height, pulling you gently to your feet, the book forgotten as it tumbled to the floor.

“is that so?” he asked, his voice like velvet, rough and warm all at once.

you didn’t answer with words, just slipped your hand into his, your gaze steady despite the flush painting your cheeks. your husband pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before guiding you from the library, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows in your wake.

and as snow continued to fall outside, the world quiet and still, the manor felt a little less cold that night.

[letoasai]

Will work for food

DP x DC An idea that's probably been done before but... here it is again.

~~

It was not an ideal setting for this. Out in the open, debris being their only cover. An unnatural storm closing in. The area had been evacuated but there was still no telling how many civilian eyes could be on them at this very moment. 

The League was scattered, making this current group a touch at odds while away from the majority of their normal teams. 

Batman stood with Red Robin, Flash, Superboy, and Raven. It wasn’t a bad lineup, but things were getting dicy. 

A monster had appeared, a creature foreign to most of them. With it came storms of all kinds, winds, hail, rain. It was a mess but there was nothing natural about it. The hail shattered the pavement. The winds were picking buildings up off their foundations. The blue lightning went without saying. The ice was changing the terrain. The temperature changes were disorienting to most of the heroes.  

Worse was the fact that this creature seemed to be able to duplicate itself, spreading the chaos out to a much wider area. They were having trouble even touching the thing let alone capturing it. 

“Are you sure about this?” Batman asked, a deep frown etched into his face as he watched Raven mark out a summoning circle. 

“It’s the only idea i have.” She said bluntly, shivering from the sudden chill. “That thing is not of this realm. We need something else not of this realm to subdue it.” 

“I hear what you’re saying but summoning a demon to deal with a demon still leaves us with a demon.” Flash said, seeing the flaw in this plan. 

“Unless you know this one personally or something.” Red Robin offered, his voice exhausted. 

“It’s not a demon.” Raven said, tone irritated but it wasn’t like any of them were having a good day. “Depending on how you want to look at it, it’s far worse than a demon. That thing came from the Infinite Realm.” 

Superboy just grunted once, watching her put the finishing touches on her spell circle. “You said that in a tone that said it was in capital letters. What’s the Infinite Realm?” 

“Bad news and something we shouldn’t freaking touch.” Raven answered swiftly. She stood, eyes going over her work. 

“Then what the hell are we doing?” Flash asked quickly, all of them tensed as the wind started to pick up again. If a hurricane was thrown at them, there was little they’d be able to do about it. 

“Raven.” Batman’s voice was serious. “You’re sure?” 

“It’s all i’ve got.” She repeated. “This is not a problem this realm was meant to handle on short notice. We need help.” 

There were several things in that one statement he didn’t like. “Who are you summoning?” 

Raven was looking rather pale herself. “The Ghost King. The King of the Infinite Realm. I’ve heard word that he can be bargained with so… we’re gonna give it a shot.” 

She didn’t wait for permission from anyone else to throw in their two cents on the matter. She threw her hands out, alien words no one else understood on her lips. The chant repeated and the summoning circle began to glow a green that the present Bats didn’t care for. 

It crept up the walls of the summoning circle in oddly pretty patterns before a gaping void opened on the ground. Silently, a figure rose into the circle from that same void. The king was smaller than they’d been imagining the last minute or two. He was human shaped and sized, a black crown floating several inches over his head. He was a wispy figure, face hidden by a large hood but there were strands of white hair floating around their shadowed face. He’d had nothing but a smoky looking tail when he’d first appeared but that had now split into solid looking legs. 

Given his size, he seems like a young adult, but it was hard to say for certain without seeing his face. 

“Woah.” Red Robin muttered, Superboy agreeing with the sentiment. 

“Heroes?” The Ghost King wondered, voice soft and lethargic. “Interesting.” 

Raven bowed her head in a show of respect. “Your Majesty. I apologize for the abrupt summons. We have a dire situation and are willing to make a deal for your help.” 

“A deal…” His voice echoed gently. He spoke as if raising his voice would shatter the very air around them. “That’s not something to choose lightly. What do you want from me?” 

Raven swallowed, her body rigid with nerves. She was almost relieved when Batman took over. 

“As i understand it, we have a being from your realm here in ours. We are underprepared to deal with such destruction and-” 

“Of my realm?” The King interrupted softly, head tipped a little as his attention turned to Batman. “Who?” 

Flash laughed nervously. “We’re not on a first name basis or anything but the guy seems to control the weather.” He pointed up and the sky above them was darkening the longer they spoke. 

The King made a noise like he’d clucked his tongue and it struck all of them as a very human kind of gesture despite his title. 

“I can handle that. Your deal?” 

Raven inhaled again, this obviously being the part she was dreading. “Blood, i have the blood of the Demon Lord Trigon-” 

“Pass.” 

That drew everyone up short. The others didn’t exactly understand the significance of Raven offering her blood but it clearly wasn’t something she’d expected to be declined so quickly. 

“My soul then….” Raven muttered. 

“Raven, no!” Superboy hissed. “The fuck!” 

Batman was also eyeing her unhappily. “Absolutely not. You are not Constantine.” 

Fortunately for the heroes, each of which was ready to revolt for such a barter, the Ghost King waved the thought away. 

“Nah.” He tugged on his hood a little and Batman realized he was likely brushing away one of those white strands of hair from his face. “That’s the thing about being the King of the Infinite Realm. Souls come to me one way or another in time. No need to preorder them.” 

Raven’s shoulders sagged, eyes shifting as she rapidly tried to think of something else she could offer. 

“What do you want?” Red Robin asked before anyone else could say something stupid. “You’re the one that’s going to fight this threat for us. What’s a good deal?” 

The King turned to him and stared. They could only assume he was contemplating his answer when he hummed quietly. “Food.” 

“Wha…” Flash muttered. 

The Ghost King just nodded. “Food from your realm. It’s been…a long time since i’ve eaten.” 

“Really? Like we could go grab you a burger and that would be cool?” Superboy asked, a touch suspicious, but the King just nodded.  

“Deal.” Raven said before anyone would make it worse. “A meal for returning this threat back to your realm.” 

The King nodded again, and each of them backed up several paces when the walls to the summoning circle broke apart and the King stepped out. For the briefest of moments he seemed to nearly stumble under the gravity of actually ‘walking’ but he got over it quickly enough. 

“Can we offer you any assistance?” Batman asked. 

The King shook his head. “No.” He wandered off towards the storm, the floating crown on top of his head seeming a little larger. He moved confidently and with purpose. “Oh Vortex…” He called, walking into the winds. 

He sounded young, but all of them agreed immediately that they never wanted to hear him beckoning them the same way. His tone was dangerous, and he walked right through a car that had been flung in his direction. 

“Cool.” Red Robin muttered. 

“Simmer down, Red.” Superboy muttered. All of them wanted to follow, but with the unstable weather and a literal Ghost King wandering about, staying out of the way felt like the best option. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t dying of curiosity. 

Flash moved to stand beside Raven, making sure she wasn’t about to topple over because of the power it must have taken to summon a king from another dimension. “You good?” 

“Yeah.” she breathed out a sigh. “Honestly, this was an unforeseen best case scenario. You should really go get that food for him.” 

Batman moved to her otherside, hearing the voices over comms noticing a shift in what was happening. “You think it will be over that fast?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well-” Flash looked up at the sky that was rapidly clearing. “Yep. I’ll be right back.” He was gone in a blur but it was hard to believe a change was happening so quickly. 

“Has it even been a full minute?” Superboy asked. “I mean, damn…” 

“Someone better have been recording visuals.” Red Robin muttered. “We are absolutely missing something amazing.” 

“He’s the King of the infinite Realm.” Raven said. “It’s the realm that connects every other realm and it is as the name implies… infinite. He rules it. I don’t even think Trigon would dare mess with him.” 

Batman had his arms crossed, still listening to the amazed chatter over comms. “Should it be suspicious that all he wants is food?” 

“He made the deal.” Raven shrugged. “He could have asked for anything. Literally.” She stopped speaking when the hooded king returned. He was floating this time though only a foot or two off the ground. He didn’t look tired or dirty or anything. 

Just the same ethereal otherness he’d arrived with. “Done.” He announced. 

“What uh- happened to the guy?” Superboy asked, pointing vaguely at where the storm had been raging. 

The Ghost King just dug into his cape and pulled out…a thermos. “Souped him. He’s gonna have a little time out.” 

“Oh my god, i have so many questions.” Red Robin whispered. 

The thermos was put away and Batman was suppressing his own urge to ask a dozen questions over what just occurred. They’d been struggling with the Infinite creature for hours and countless lives had no doubt been altered. Clean up would take weeks if not months and this Ghost King handled it in minutes. 

“My food?” 

“On the way.” Raven said immediately. “Flash is one of the fastest men on the planet. He’ll be right back.” 

The King nodded and looked around before moving to a pile of bricks that had once been a fence. He sat down and waited, somehow looking regal among the wreckage. 

“So… I’m Red Robin.” Batman looked up again when his son was sliding closer to introduce himself. “Superboy, Raven, Batman.” He gestured and the King’s hood shifted as he followed Red Robin’s introduction of them. “Is there something we can call you or is your Majesty the most appropriate?” 

The Ghost King sat in silence for a moment before reaching up to lower his hood. The shadows that had hidden his face disappeared revealing a young man only a little older than Tim. Maybe around Jason’s age. His hair was indeed white, and was braided down the nape of his neck save for the tufts of hair that floated around his face. 

His skin was pale, and Batman thought it might have been gray or even blue in different light. His ears were pointed and his eyes were a haunting green. 

With the hood out of the way, the crown lowered to sit on his head. 

“Phantom.” He finally answered. “You can call me Phantom.” 

Raven bowed her head again and Red Robin beamed. “Thank you for helping us! We literally couldn’t have done it without you.”

Phantom nodded again but without his hood to shield him there was something shy about the action. 

The Flash reappeared in a cloud of dust, two bags of fast food in one hand and a collection of drinks under the other arm. “I got a little of everything!” He announced. “Got some burgers and some chicken nuggets and fries and onion rings. There’s one of those little apple pies in here somewhere too.

Phantom took the bags with a small smile and set them beside him so he could go through them. Superboy helped with the drinks, setting everything down so Phantom could have his pick. There were three different sodas, a lemonade, and a water. 

It wasn’t fancy and probably wasn’t a fair trade of a meal for his services but he didn’t seem disappointed. 

In a flash of rings made of light, Phantom transformed. The otherness of him was still there, but instead of a noble king of a realm, a young…very living human was in his place. Black hair instead of white was still braided down his neck and the strands around his face hung limp instead of floating. 

Those eerie green eyes were now blue but that– oddly enough– was not the most startling thing about his transformation. He wore a large hoodie and jeans but his feet were bare. 

His hands and feet were almost skeletal, and his face was gaunt and starved looking. His eyes were slightly sunken and his skin was a sickly kind of pale. 

He looked emaciated, but there was the smallest of smiles on his face when he ate one fry and then another. He took a sip from every drink offered to him and then took a bite out of the burger. 

They couldn’t help but stand there and watch, all of them transfixed over what they were seeing. 

Phantom took two more bites before wrapping up the rest of his burger and placing it back in the bag. 

“Not to your liking?” Flash asked, voice small. 

Phantom licked his fingers and shook his head. “No, it was good. I’m just full. I’ll take it with me and eat it later when i’m hungry again.” 

Batman could only imagine the size of his stomach. Stopping now was probably the healthiest thing he could have done if he wanted to keep the food down. He cleared his throat. “Are you alright?” 

“Mhmm.” Phantom nodded, the rings of light appearing again. He was back in his healthier looking ghostly form. That was an oxymoron, wasn’t it? A healthy ghost form… 

“You’re still alive.” Raven whispered, stuck in her shock. “The living shouldn’t… The Infinite Realm isn’t…” 

Phantom’s lips tipped up in a smile. “You’re right, but wrong. I’m both. I’m dead. I’m alive. I’m balance.” He paused for a moment. “I haven’t been in a living realm for a while… guess i’ve been neglecting that side of me. Thanks for the food, it was a good deal.” 

He was gathering up the bags he clearly planned to take with him. 

“You should come back.” Red Robin spat the words out, likely before giving them any real thought. “I’ll take you to lunch. I’ll take you like… all the time. I am not going to pretend to know what you have going on but… shit, Agent A would disown me if i did not offer to feed you.” 

Phantom looked cold briefly. “Agent… A…?” 

Red Robin winced, “Code name for my grandfather. He’s an amazing cook.” 

“Red Robin.” Batman scowled at him. 

“Oh, what? He’s gonna give you the look for you not being the one to offer.” Red Robin said unapologetically, but the explanation had Phantom softening again. “What do you say? Lunch? Do i have to summon you?” 

“Jesus, Red. Let him actually decline or accept.” Superboy was snickering. 

Phantom looked between them, the confusion on his face clearing up after a beat. A piece of paper appeared between his fingers. It had some kind of squiggle on it none of them could read at a glance. He handed it over to Red Robin. 

“Have that on you, say my name. I’ll find you.” Phantom said. “I should…eat again.” 

“We…appreciate you helping us.” Raven added quickly, determined that they make a good impression. 

Phantom’s look grew warmer again. “It was fun.” With his bags and drinks in his arms, he wandered back over to the summoning circle. “I don’t mind helping when the trouble is severe and you were right. This particular problem was mine to clean up. Sorry about him, by the way. Vortex is an asshole.” 

Superboy and Flash both snorted. “Thanks anyway.” 

Phantom nodded at them again, floating in the middle of the circle before his eyes glowed that bright, toxic green again. He slipped inside the void and disappeared as quickly as he arrived, the remains of the summoning circle erasing itself. 

“So… That happened.” Flash muttered, not sure how they were gonna put this in a report to the rest of the League members. Batman wasn’t so sure either. 

“I can’t believe you were just hitting on the Ghost King, Red.” Superboy laughed. “I mean�� Lunches?”

“What?” 

Raven was on her phone. “I am already telling Nightwing.” 

“What!? Hey!” Red Robin was looking between them. “I wasn’t hitting on him. You leave Wing out of this!” 

“No way.” 

“You asked him on a date, man!” Superboy grinned. “All the titans are going to know about this in the next hour.” 

“You guys suck!” Red Robin growled, his face a flame. 

Batman just sighed. “There’s clean up to do. Get to work.” 

He definitely did not need to think about his son’s audacity, coming onto a King of an entire realm. Where did he even learn that kind of behavior?

~~

Masterlist

[hazelira]

tomorrow will be perfect!

The house was filled with the sound of wailing. A sharp, piercing cry echoed through the walls, shaking the foundation of the home you had built together. Your four-year-old daughter, Hina, sobbed uncontrollably, her tiny fists curled tightly against her chest.

"Shh, baby, I know," you cooed, running a soothing hand down her trembling back. "I know you're upset, sweetheart."

But she wouldn't calm down. No matter how many times you whispered reassurances, rocked her gently in your arms, or wiped away the steady stream of tears staining her chubby cheeks—she wouldn't stop.

And the reason for her distress made your heart ache even more.

Today was supposed to be her special day. The day she had been looking forward to all week—the trip to the amusement park with Mama and Daddy. Her excitement had been boundless the moment she'd woken up, but as the hours passed and Ni-ki still hadn’t come home, that excitement quickly melted into heartbreak.

You had tried to distract her with her favourite cartoons, bake her favourite cookies, and even play her favourite songs for her to sing along to, but none of it worked. The only thing she truly wanted was for her father to keep his promise.

And Ni-ki never came.

By the time he did, it was late in the afternoon, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink. He stepped inside with heavy steps, exhaustion weighing on him like a boulder. He had spent all day buried in work, rushing to meet deadlines, attending endless meetings, and barely having a second to check his phone.

Then, he heard it—the cries.

Your sniffles.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest when he walked into the living room and saw the two of you sitting on the couch, your eyes red and swollen, with Hina still sobbing in your arms.

"I tried so hard, but she wouldn't stop crying," you murmured voice breaking, your tears slipping down your cheeks. "She just... she just wanted to go with us."

Guilt hit him like a tidal wave.

Ni-ki dropped his bag and immediately made his way toward the couch. He crouched in front of the two of you, reaching to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping away your tears.

"Baby," he whispered, voice thick with regret. "I’m so sorry."

Hina sniffled, peeking up at her father with teary eyes. Her little hands reached out for him, and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. He pressed soft kisses to her hair, whispering apologies repeatedly.

"I promised, didn't I?" His voice cracked. "I should've been here. I should’ve been there for you."

Hina let out a tiny hiccup, gripping onto his shirt. Her sobs finally quieted down as she melted into his warmth.

"Park…" she mumbled, her voice laced with exhaustion. "I wanted… Mama and Daddy… park…"

Ni-ki swallowed past the lump in his throat, pulling back to meet her big, watery eyes. "I know, baby. I know you did. But listen tomorrow—Daddy doesn't have work tomorrow."

Her eyes widened just a little. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed with a firm nod. "Tomorrow, we're going to the amusement park, and we're going to explore everything you want. We'll eat ice cream, take pictures, and make many memories, okay?"

She hesitated momentarily, her tiny lips forming a pout, before finally nodding. "Okay."

You let out a deep breath, watching as she buried her face into Ni-ki’s chest, her tiny hands still clinging to him. You met his eyes, and despite the exhaustion he carried, the regret that still lingered in his features, there was a promise in them—one he wouldn’t break again.

"Thank you," you whispered, your hand resting over his.

He brought your fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss against them. "Thank you for always holding it together when I can’t. I promise—tomorrow will be perfect."

And for the first time that day, a small, genuine smile crept onto Hina’s lips.

And Ni-ki knew—he would do anything to keep it there.

The following day, the sun rose early, casting a warm golden glow over the kitchen as you stirred pancake batter. The air smelled of vanilla and sweetness, a comfort after yesterday's emotional storm. Hina was already up, her tiny body bouncing with excitement as she ran around the living room, still in her pyjamas but with a sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there the night before.

"Daddy’s gonna take us today, right, Mama?" she asked, her voice high-pitched with anticipation.

You smiled, turning around from the stove to glimpse her wide-eyed innocence. "Of course, baby. We're going to the park today. Everything's going to be just like you imagined."

Now dressed in his favourite graphic tee and jeans, Ni-ki came into the room, running a hand through his messy hair. His tired eyes were softer this morning, no longer heavy with guilt but filled with determination to make today perfect.

"Good morning, love," you greeted him, offering him a plate of pancakes. "Hina’s ready to go already."

He bent down to kiss the top of Hina's head, his lips lingering on her hair. "Hey there, little one. Are we ready for our adventure?"

Without warning, she jumped into his arms, her giggle echoing through the kitchen. "YES! We're going to the rollercoaster (the kiddie one ofc)! And the Ferris wheel! And the ice cream!"

Ni-ki laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Alright, alright. We’ll do it all. But only if you promise not to scream too loud on the rollercoaster, okay? I’m not as brave as you."

She giggled again, pulling his cheeks. "I promise, Daddy."

After a final check of the time, you ensured the bag was packed—sunscreen, snacks, water bottles, and the camera. You couldn’t help but glance at the small notebook you kept, where you wrote down your family memories. Today would be another page full of laughter, love, and the tiny details that made your little family special.

After a quick breakfast, you bundled Hina into her favourite dress—pink with little unicorns—and did her hair into two cute pigtails that bounced as she hopped along the sidewalk toward the car. Ni-ki grabbed a photo of her, his camera clicking away as he captured the morning light glinting off her joyful face.

"Cheese!" she giggled, striking a silly pose with one hand on her hip and the other holding a pretend microphone to her mouth.

You both couldn’t help but laugh as Ni-ki snapped the picture, the two of you exchanging a knowing look that spoke volumes. This was the moment—the one you would treasure forever.

As you all arrived at the park, the familiar sights of giant rollercoasters and spinning rides greeted you. Hina’s face lit up, her little hand gripping Ni-ki’s tightly as they walked together, your hand resting comfortably in his. There was something so right about this picture—the three of you, all together, all in the right place.

"Look, Mama! I wanna go there!" Hina pointed to the carousel, her eyes wide in awe.

You smiled, adjusting the strap of your camera. "Of course, sweetheart. Let’s go."

Ni-ki scooped her up without hesitation, his strong arms lifting her effortlessly as he approached the ride. You walked behind them, snapping photos as the two shared a private moment—Ni-ki gently whispering something to Hina that made her laugh, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

The day unfolded with moments of pure joy: the thrill of rollercoasters that made Hina squeal with delight, the gentleness of the Ferris wheel as you all watched the park from high above, and the sweetness of ice cream dripping down Hina’s chin. Each memory was framed in laughter, hugs, and little words of affection.

Ni-ki took a break from the rides to sit on a bench with Hina, holding her close as you clicked away with the camera. The warm afternoon sun bathed the scene in soft light, creating the perfect backdrop for a moment you would never forget.

"Mama!" Hina called out, waving her arms excitedly. "Come sit with us! I wanna picture with you, too!"

You made your way over to them, smiling softly as you joined them on the bench. Ni-ki wrapped his arms around both of you, pulling Hina between you and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You handed your camera to a passing park worker, who smiled and took a picture of your family. The moment felt frozen in time—a perfect snapshot of happiness.

Later, as the sun began to set, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky, Ni-ki pulled Hina onto his lap, his eyes tired but full of love. "Did you have fun today, princess?" he asked, his voice a soothing whisper.

Hina snuggled closer to him, her little face glowing with contentment. "Best day ever, Daddy," she mumbled, her eyelids fluttering as she fought off sleep. "Thank you."

Ni-ki smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Anything for you, sweetheart."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, your heart swelling with gratitude. Today had been more than just a day at the amusement park—it had been a reminder of what truly mattered. And as you all made your way back to the car, your hearts full, you knew this day would stay with you forever.

requested by: @yejisuu

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

[millers-girl]

these violent delights

chapter 9 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you and Ellie are left to fend for yourselves and in the snow-covered wreckage of a forgotten town, you learn what people are truly capable of... and what you’re capable of, too.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, injury, death, castration, mentions of sexual harassment/assault

word count: 5.6k

series masterlist

“Shit,” you mumbled, voice tight, eyes glued to the swollen, tender skin around Joel’s stitches. The area was angry and wet, ringed with red and seeping pus. You glanced up at Ellie. “It’s infected.” 

She was already moving, rifling through the dwindling supplies you’d gathered with frantic hands. “W–well, how do we fix it? What does he need?” 

You laid the back of your hand against Joel’s temple. The heat beneath his damp skin confirmed it – the fever was getting worse. He was burning up. Fading.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “He needs medicine,” you said softly, defeatedly.

After a pause, Ellie’s breath stuttered.

“Where the fuck are we gonna find that?” 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking around the edges. You couldn’t look at Joel for too long or you’d fall apart. His face was too still. His chest rose and fell, but shallowly. He was too close to the line.

Your gaze shifted back to Ellie, who was staring at him, eyes wide, jaw clenched, like she was trying to memorize his features – like she was bracing to lose him.

“Why don’t you take the rifle?” you offered gently. “Go hunting. See if you can catch something?” 

She blinked, nodding slowly. But you saw the hesitation in her eyes. 

This wasn’t about food. Not really. It was about getting her out of this suffocating basement – away from Joel’s labored breathing and the quiet dread creeping in like cold through the cracks in the foundation. 

She was a kid. She shouldn’t have to carry this kind of weight.

She climbed to her feet, grabbing the rifle. Her shoulders were stiff as she headed upstairs, glancing over her shoulder before the door closed behind her.

The silence that followed was thick and unnatural. You sat beside Joel, heart tight in your chest. Snow fell softly outside the boarded-up windows, casting faint shadows on the walls.

“I can’t believe I’m finally letting all my emotions out and you’re not even awake to see it,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a curl from his damp forehead. “You practically begged me for it for five days. Now, who’s the stubborn one?” 

Your fingers found his. They’re colder than they should be.

“I was serious about what I said before,” you whispered, quieter now. “You better now fucking die. I didn’t come all this way just to bury you in some fucking basement.” 

The silence stretched. The only reply was the rasp of his breath.

You leaned in close, pressing your forehead lightly to his temple, and it just slipped out – almost carelessly, like a secret you didn't mean to say aloud.

“I love you.”

But it wasn’t careless. It was a long time coming.

It was in everything between you two.

In the way he draped his jacket over you as you slept. In the way you made him coffee every morning, even if you didn’t really drink it yourself. In the way he carved the fox for you. In the way you teased him. In the way you treated each other like family, because you were.

“I love you,” you repeated, the words feeling like the most natural thing you’d ever said. “So come back and tell me you love me too.”

You tightened your grip on his hand.

When Ellie returned hours later, she stumbled down the stairs, red-faced and breathless. 

“Holy fucking shit,” she gasped. She rushed to you, clutching two small bottles in her shaking hands. “I got medicine. I got him medicine. Is this okay?” 

You blinked, stunned, as you took them from her. “Ellie… where did you get this?” 

“I ran into people while I was hunting. Shot this deer, tried to trade half of it for medicine, but…” She faltered. “The two men I ran into – they were from the same group. The ones at the university. The guy who stabbed Joel.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?” 

“I’ll explain, can you just – ” She gestured frantically to Joel, and you sprung into action, peeling his shirt up. The sight of the angry wound nearly stopped you, but you steeled yourself. The syringe felt awkward in your hand.

“Where the fuck do I even put this?” you muttered, glancing at Ellie. She just shrugged helplessly.

You took a breath. Fuck it.

You slid the needle into the edge of the wound and injected the penicillin. Joel didn’t even flinch.

“Come on,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. Hold on.” 

You pulled the blanket back over him and pressed a trembling kiss to his temple. He was still burning up.

Ellie curled up beside him, trying to share her body heat. You laid down on the other side, stretching your hand across Joel’s chest until it met hers.

A fragile tinge of hope warmed the coldest place you’d ever know.

“Who were those guys?” you asked softly. “The ones you ran into?” 

“They said they had some small town four miles out.” 

“That’s not far,” you frowned.

“Should we move?” Ellie returned.

“I don’t know. Did they seem… dangerous? Like they were out for revenge?” 

Ellie frowned. “I couldn’t tell.” 

“That’s dangerous.” You closed your eyes. “We should move.” 

You both fell quiet. Joel wheezed faintly in his sleep.

“In the morning,” you decided. “Let’s wait a little, see if the medicine kicks in.”

Ellie nodded in agreement.

Morning came quicker than you anticipated, the air outside brittle and sharp. You and Ellie took turns obsessively checking Joel’s wound. You’d convinced each other that it was getting less red – maybe. Maybe.

You fed the horses in silence, fingers numb, breath visible in the cold.

That’s when the flock of birds over your heads scattered.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment they scattered, their cawing echoing around you like a warning, your gut coiled tight. Ellie stiffened beside you, hand twitching toward her rifle. 

Then, the first man appeared – half-shadowed in the trees, gun drawn. And then another. And another. Five… six…

You could tell when the leader Ellie had spoken of, David, appeared into view. Calm, steady, like he was taking a stroll through a goddamn churchyard instead of hunting you three down.

“Go,” you mumbled, low enough for only Ellie to hear. “Back to Joel. Run.”

She didn’t move.

“Ellie, I said – ”

“No,” her voice wavered, but her resolve remained strong. “I’m not leaving you.” 

Your eyes didn’t leave David as he lifted his hand, a silent signal. The men fanned out, quiet as ghosts.

You subtly pulled Ellie back towards where Orion was grazing, a few yards away. 

“Clever,” David’s voice cut through the trees. “Hiding your friend in this neighborhood. But didn’t take us long to track you.” 

The conversational tone of his voice made your skin crawl. 

But you didn’t let it distract you as you shoved the reins into Ellie’s hands. “Climb up. Now.”

“What about Joel?” she whispered. 

“We’ll lead them away. He’ll be safer if we’re not here,” you explained, climbing up in front of her and taking the reins.

You turned to face the group. “Hey, assholes!” you shouted. “Come and get us.”

Orion took off like a shot. The wind stung your face as Ellie clutched onto you tightly. 

Then – a gunshot.

Orion reared, screaming. His hooves collapsed beneath you, snow rushing up and Ellie’s arms ripping away as you hit the ground hard. Everything went white and sharp.

“Ellie!” you screamed, scrambling toward her. She was lying crumpled in the snow. Unconscious.

You barely got to her before rough hands grabbed your arms. You pulled your knife, slashing wildly, hitting someone’s ankle – but they overwhelmed you.

Someone grabbed you from behind – strong, fast. Another punched the side of your head, making your vision tilt. 

You hit the ground again, snow in your mouth, blood in your ears. 

“Don’t kill her!” David shouted. “We need them both breathing.” 

Your knife got ripped from your hands and a man hauled you up, struggling and screaming and biting whoever’s flesh was closest to you but you were smaller. Outnumbered. 

Your arms were wrenched behind your back, rope biting into your wrists. A man grabbed your hood, yanking you upright, eye-to-eye with David. He brushed snow from your cheeks, in a gentle and sickening way. 

“You’ll understand soon,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.” 

You spat in his face.

In retaliation, they dragged you roughly through the snow, letting the forest swallow you whole.

And the last thought that broke through the pain was the one that made your knees go weak. Joel doesn’t even know you’re gone.

The cage you woke up in was cold, barren. You lifted your head first, feeling it pulsing in pain. Your eyes adjusted to see the wire fence caging you in, in a kitchen of sorts. 

Ellie was in the cage beside you, now awake, and when she met your eyes, she rushed over, fingers straining to shove through the bars and meet yours.

“I started worrying you wouldn’t wake up,” David’s voice echoed through the large room, making you snap your head towards him.

“Let us out,” you growled, voice thick with unease.

“Well, that’s certainly the goal… The others, they want me to kill you both for all that’s happened… but I stopped them.” 

You scoffed. “Yeah, out of the goodness of your heart, I’m sure. Fucker.”

He paused for a moment, seemingly taken aback with your potty mouth, and then said, “Why don’t we start with names?” 

“Eat shit,” Ellie retorted, making him glance between you two, considering the dynamic.

“Mom and daughter?” he guessed, before correcting himself, having seemingly had a lightbulb go off in his head. “Sisters.” 

When you didn’t confirm nor deny, he hummed, standing from the stool he was sitting on and stepping closer to the cages. “You two—small, weak, frail—can’t survive on your own.”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” you growled at him.

“I can help you,” he insisted. “I can protect you.” 

“We already have someone for that,” you spat. 

“Right,” David said. “Your friend… and how is he?” You didn’t dare let your face give anything away. But Ellie’s hardened look cracked, just a little. “I can see how much you both care about him, so I know it hurts. But even so, you two gotta face reality. That part of your lives, it’s ending. But what I'm offering you is a beginning. You two need to find a way to trust me because, otherwise, yeah – you will be alone.” 

He gave a final, patient smile, as if he was offering you mercy. Then, he turned and left, the heavy door clanking shut behind him, locking you and Ellie back into silence.

You moved first, testing the bars, even though you already knew they were solid. Cold metal bit into your fingers as you pulled, yanked, searched for any weakness. Nothing – just rust and steel and the sharp throb of your own frustration.

Ellie mirrored your efforts on her side, rattling her cage with all the defiance she could muster. “There has to be a way out,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “There has to be.”

You scanned the room – the wooden table in the center stained with dark, dried something; the butcher tools hung meticulously on the walls; the bloodied hooks overhead. 

Every inch of this place screamed something was off, but your brain was still too focused on survival to fully clock it.

Ellie gave the bars one more frustrated shake before slumping to the ground with a groan. You sat too, letting out a long, steadying breath. For a second, the silence stretched between you – thick, aching.

Then Ellie stilled.

She was staring toward the table, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open. “What is that?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

You followed her line of sight. At first, all you saw was the leg of the butcher's table, thick wood and iron bolts. But then your eyes adjusted, and your stomach twisted.

There, lying half-hidden in the shadow beneath the corner of the table, was a human ear. Pale and small. Jagged at the edge, as though it had been crudely sliced off.

You went still. Every sound seemed to drop away as you came to the realization. Your mind tried to reject what you were seeing.

No. No, that can’t be –

Except it could.

The stains. The saws. The bloody hooks hanging from the ceiling. David’s calm insistence that this was a beginning. That you and Ellie had to “face reality.” 

You felt sick.

Just then, the door opened again and David entered slowly, almost serenely, carrying two steaming bowls. The smell hit you first – meat. It might’ve been appetizing if you hadn’t just seen the ear.

David walked up to the cages and crouched down, sliding a bowl under each one through the narrow gap beneath the bars. 

Neither of you reached for it. Neither of you moved. 

He followed your gaze – both of you frozen, eyes still locked on the ear beneath the table. And when he saw it, he sighed. 

Not in panic. Not in apology.

In resignation. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said gently, “this is just deer meat. I swear.”

You stared at the bowl and your stomach dropped, suddenly feeling like the bare contents of it might come back up. “Why the fuck would we believe that?” you spat. “For all we know, we’ll end up chopped into little pieces in your next ‘deer meat’ stew.”

He offered a thin smile, unbothered. “I’d rather not do that.” His voice was maddeningly calm. “Please. Just tell me your names.” You and Ellie stared back, unmoved. David spread his hands as if he were the victim here. “Look, if you wanna judge me – ”

“Judge you?” Ellie barked, snapping. “You’re eating people, you sick fuck!” She kicked the tray, sending it clattering across the floor in a spray of oily broth and stringy meat. The stench turned your stomach once more.

David didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he said simply. “There are only a few of us that know.”

“You're an animal,” you muttered, voice low and seething.

He sighed. “Well, yes, we all are. That’s sort of the point.” His eyes met yours again. “It was a last resort. You think it doesn’t shame me? What was I supposed to do – let them starve? These people who put their lives in my hands, who rely on me, who love me?”

You scoffed, the sound hollow in your throat. “Maybe you should’ve.”

His eyes lingered on you. “You don’t believe that,” he said softly. “And I don’t think your friend would either. Didn’t he take another man’s life to save yours?”

Your heart stuttered. Joel’s face flickered in your mind – bloodied, broken, wild-eyed in the snow. You blinked hard.

“He was defending himself,” Ellie snapped.

“He was defending you.” Curiously, he turned back to you again, gaze almost thoughtful. “You knew that… you see a lot. But she…” He nodded at Ellie. “She reminds me of me. A natural leader, smart… loyal. Violent – dangerous. You think you’re keeping her safe, but I see it clear as day. She’s a threat.” 

You stiffened. “You don’t know shit about us.”

“I know more than you think.” His smile curled into something amused, pitying. “You? You’re all bark. Noise and fury. You hide behind others, probably behind your friend. But she? She’s the one with teeth.”

At the look in his eyes, your fists clenched at your sides. “Try to touch her and I’ll – ”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, eyes gleaming. “Cry? Shout? Throw another empty threat?” 

Without missing a beat, your voice lowered, threateningly. “I’ll chop your fucking dick off,” you growled.

He let out a single laugh, leaning closer to the bars, voice soothing – condescending. “You’re soft. Maternal. You’re wired for protection, not survival. You’ll scream and spit, sure – but you won’t do what needs to be done. When it comes down to it, you’ll freeze. You’ll beg. You’ll break.” 

Your jaw clenched so hard it ached. But something in your chest twisted – not rage. Not yet.

Shame. Because some part of you feared he was right. That when the moment came, you wouldn’t be fast enough. Brutal enough. 

Joel would be. He’d burn the world down.

“No,” David decided, “you’re not the one I’m worried about. You’re not like me.” He turned to Ellie again, smiling. “But she is.”

He stepped up to Ellie’s cage, meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he hummed. “You have a violent heart. And I should know – I've always had a violent heart. And I struggled with it for a long time. But then the world ended and I was shown the truth.

“Cordyceps isn’t evil. It's fruitful, it multiplies. It feeds and protects its children and it secures its future with violence, if it must. It loves.”

His voice lowered. “I’m a shepherd surrounded by sheep and all I want is an equal. A friend. Someone who understands what it means to do what’s necessary. I can give you a future, Ellie. You, and the people you care about.” He spared you a glance.

“What about our friend?” Ellie asked, voice careful.

“Loyal,” David nodded. “I can tell the others to stop looking for him. They’ll spare him.”

You scoffed bitterly. “They should be praying he doesn’t find them.”

David ignored you entirely. “They do what I tell them to do. They follow me. And they would follow us. Lord knows I could use the help… think of what we could do together as strong as we are. We’d make this place perfect. Grow, spread out, do whatever we need for our people. Imagine the life we could give them. Imagine the life we could build.” 

He reached again, pressing two fingers to the bars of Ellie’s cage. Your breath caught. 

“Get your fucking hands off of her!” you raged, hands white-knuckled around the bars of your own cage, nails digging into the rusted metal. You tried to use all your force to pry them apart, to get in between your sister and the nightmare of a man before her. 

David hummed in enjoyment, pausing his movements for a second. “Look at you. So angry. So scared. All that fire, and nowhere to put it,” he tutted. 

He turned back to Ellie, who hesitated, then rested her fingers over his. Carefully. Lightly. Then they gripped hard, and all you heard was a snap.

David howled, snapping his hand back and cradling it to his chest as Ellie backed away, triumphant.

“You little cunt,” he snarled, taking a look at his mangled fingers as he retreated toward the exit. “Let’s see what I go tell the others now.”

“Ellie,” she smirked.

“What?”

“Tell them that Ellie is the little girl who broke your fucking finger!” she shouted after him.

David turned slowly at the door, seething. His eyes briefly met yours. “How did you put it? Tiny little pieces?”

And then he was gone.

The fire cracked somewhere in the next room. Outside, the wind howled against the walls. Inside, your hands were trembling. 

You didn’t know if it was from fear… or from the way your vision had gone red when he touched her.

The way his fingers slithered through the cage bars, settling on top of Ellie’s like he was comforting a child. Like he hadn’t just implied the vilest things with a preacher’s calm and a butcher’s smile. That hand didn’t shake. It moved with practiced precision. Like he’d done this before. To another child.

And Ellie—God, Ellie—she played along. And when he screamed and recoiled, he glared at her like it was her fault he tried to touch fire and got burned.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Because in that moment—watching Ellie stand her ground, even in a cage—you felt something shift inside you. Like a lever being pulled. Something old and buried and ruthless unfurling in your chest.

You had always been the calmer one. The caretaker. The one who usually deescalated while someone else did the dirty work. You shot only when you had to.

But this was different.

You had seen men like David before. Heard them call it kindness when they took whatever they wanted. You’d fought them off enough times. But it had never been someone you loved at their mercy.

Until now.

And it clicked – he didn’t see you. Not really. He thought you were weak because your voice trembled when you threatened him. Because you put yourself between him and Ellie like a goddamn shield instead of a weapon. 

He thought Ellie was the fire and you were just the smoke.

But the thing about smoke? It choked. It blinded. It suffocated, slowly.

And he was about to find out you weren’t afraid of something you already knew how to be.

Instinctively, you stepped closer to Ellie. 

You watched her stare out, chest rising and falling rapidly. For a moment, you thought she might collapse from the tension running through her body, but she didn’t. She didn’t move at all.

You reached out for her but stopped yourself at the last second. Ellie was already retreating into herself, expression distant, like she was trying to process something that was too much for her to fully understand at her young age.

“Ellie,” you said, voice low but urgent. “Are you okay?” 

Her eyes flicked toward you, but there was a moment of hesitation before she spoke. The defiance usually lit her up like a Christmas tree, but it was now replaced by something else entirely. Perhaps fear, or shock – or a mix of both.

“I… I didn’t mean to – ” she started, voice trailing off as if she couldn’t figure out a way to finish the sentence.

You knew what she meant.

This was the first time Ellie had truly been forced to confront a kind of danger that wasn’t just physical. The kind of danger that left scars on your soul. The kind you'd tried to shield her from her entire life.

You stepped closer, trying to let your presence be grounding for her. “Ellie,” you said softly, voice steady. “Look at me.” 

When she did, you saw that this was new territory for her. The things she’d faced, the people she’d run from or fought, none of them had been like David.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured her, though it felt like an odd thing to say. What had happened wasn’t her fault, but it was something darker than just self-defense. 

Ellie had never had to face a predator like him before, a man who didn’t just want to hurt her physically, but wanted her body for his own. 

You’d always protected her from it. From the men in the QZ who would have taken advantage of her had you not stepped in. You’d kept her hidden, kept her safe, from the ugliest of truths. You’d always known the dangers, but Ellie hadn’t seen them – not fully, not like this.

As she stood there, still silent, hands shaking silent, you watched her come to understand just how dark the world really was.

You couldn’t help but feel a stab of guilt in your chest for not protecting her from this, too. From him.

“Ellie, you’re okay,” you said quietly. “You are gonna be okay. I’m here, alright?” 

Her lips trembled as she nodded, but she didn’t say anything else. The words were stuck in shock, in pain. You could feel the weight of it, like a dark cloud hanging over her head. 

Whatever was left of her innocence was gone.

And all you could do, from your own cage, was hold her gaze in a silent promise to always keep her safe. Even if she had to face this world on her own, you’d be right beside her, every step of the way. 

You barely registered David’s footsteps echoing on the concrete as he returned with his right-hand man. Your hands clenched into trembling fists, wrists still sore from the cage. 

Your thoughts were a pendulum, swinging between cold calculation and rising panic. Your heartbeat sped up, drumming in your ears, as they unlocked both cages, yanking the doors open, and dragged you and Ellie out into the middle of the room.

Ellie bit David’s hand in an attempt at defense.

“Let’s start with her,” he said, shaking out his wrist and nodding at you. “Ellie can watch. Maybe it’ll help her cooperate.”

Your heart stopped.

Ellie’s eyes met yours. Wild. Fierce. Defiant. Shaking her head with a terrified whimper.

David shoved you roughly onto the table, his grip bruising your shoulders. You barely had time to struggle before he raised the cleaver, the blade catching the light. 

“Wait!” Ellie’s voice cracked through the tension, loud enough to make both men freeze for a second. “We’re infected! We’re infected! We got bit. Out hunting. It got her in the leg and it got me here! Look, roll up my sleeve. Look at it – look at it!” 

David hesitated. His grip faltered, and the cleaver thudded onto the table as he reached for her arm. When he saw the mark, confusion darkened his expression.

“I told you,” Ellie sneered, a dry, humourless laugh escaping her. “I’m infected – and now so are you.”

The second-in-command, James, took a step back. “David…” 

“No, no, no. She would’ve turned by now. They both would have. This isn’t real.” 

“It looks pretty fucking real to me,” James pointed, his voice sharper now. 

As they bickered, you met Ellie’s eyes again and motioned, just slightly, toward the cleaver resting by her hand. In the same breath, she grabbed it and buried it in James’s neck.

The sound was wet. Immediate.

You surged forward, slamming your body into David with as much strength as you could muster. His skull cracked against the concrete wall with a sickening thud, giving you just enough time to pull Ellie and bolt out of the room.

You burst through the doors and stumbled into the dining hall that used to be a steakhouse. The booths were overturned, the tables stripped for firewood. Ellie ran to the main doors, finding them all locked, while you sprinted into the kitchen. The smell hit you first – smoke, char, rotting meat.

You grabbed two knives from a butcher block and handed one to her along with a burning log from the spit. It looked like you two were fighting your way out of this one.

The room glowed dim and orange, like it was already in hell. And maybe it was.

David crept through the swinging doors, and Ellie didn’t wait. She hurled the burning log at him. He ducked, but it smashed into the curtain behind him. Fire began tricking upward with eerie slowness, catching the fabric.

The entire wooden structure slowly began to burn.

Smoke filled your lungs with every breath. Your eyes watered. 

“There’s no way out, girls,” he called, a mockery of kindness in his tone. “The doors are locked. And I have the keys.” 

Good, you thought bitterly. You’ll need them – to escape us.

You glanced at Ellie and tilted your head. She nodded before creeping left, and you went right. It was a silent understanding: draw him out, find an opening.

David’s voice echoed between the flames. “Ellie. I know you aren’t infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive.”

The fire crackled, eating up the wooden beams along the far wall. The heat made your skin slick with sweat.

“No one likes being humiliated,” he continued, voice raising. “You don’t know how good I am! You don’t know what I could’ve given you – if you just let me…”

The sound of his words turned your stomach.

“Well, I have news for you. Neither one of us is dying today. You see, I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided you do need a father. So I’m gonna keep you, and I’m gonna teach you… Ellie. Ellie,” he sang, twisting her name into something grotesque; and it made you rage.

“She already has a dad, you fucking creep!” you roared, seeing nothing but red as you launched yourself at him, swinging your knife. It slashed across his ribs, the tip biting deep. He gasped, staggered, but he was quick to dodge your next attack, twisting and knocking you to the ground. 

“You fucking bitch,” he spat, blood bubbling at his lips. He kicked you hard in the side.

Something cracked.

The pain was blinding.

You choked on air as Ellie screamed and launched at him. She stabbed him in the back, just missing his lungs. He hesitated but was able to spin and throw her off.

Ellie hit the floor with a hard grunt, skidding across broken glass. David turned to you again, a sneer on his face, and kicked you once more – directly where he’d likely already broken a rib. You screamed in agony. 

"I'll deal with you later,” he muttered, “Don't you worry."

Then, he turned to Ellie.

Your mind went dark with horror as he straddled her, pinning her limbs, pressing his weight down while she squirmed and screamed beneath him.

"I thought you knew... the fighting is my favorite part." 

And just when you thought you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, those words lit a fire deep in your gut and something in you snapped.

"Don't be afraid. There's no fear in love,” David hummed.

You forced yourself upright, coughing, choking on smoke, but you couldn’t stop. Your vision tunneled. The pain didn’t matter. You saw his hand at his waistband, going to unbutton his pants, and that was it.

You screamed as you charged at him, no hesitation – just motion. It was instinct at this point, survival, rage in its rawest form. You tackled him off of her, the full weight of your body crashing into his side and sending both of you skidding across the burning floor. 

He snarled, scrambling back to his feet, but you were faster. You rammed your body into his once more, mounting him, and started swinging with a force you didn’t realize you had. Your fists met his face over and over again – bone, teeth, soft flesh. 

Again. Again. Again.

You felt your knuckles split and you didn't stop even then.

Blood gushed from his nose, his mouth. It smeared across your hands, sticky and hot and endless. You didn’t even feel your wounds anymore.

You grabbed the cleaver he’d tossed aside with shaking hands. He tried to crawl away, like the fucking coward he was, but you were on him. You slashed at his chest, once, twice, and when he kicked out to throw you off, you slammed the heel of your boot down on his ankle until you heard a crunch.

“You wanted violent?” you growled, dragging him by the collar back into the center of the room. The fire crept closer now, the heat unbearable, smoke curling into your lungs, but you didn’t care. 

You weren’t done.

You were nowhere near done.

David spat blood, struggling to speak through his broken mouth. “You don’t… have to do this…” 

“I think the fighting might be my favorite part, too,” you snarled, flipping the cleaver in your hand. You crouched over him, dragging the blade slowly, deliberately, up his thigh. He screamed. “You said I was too soft… That I’d freeze.” 

You pressed the blade to his groin and leaned in close. “You said I’d beg.” 

He whimpered. You pressed harder. 

“But I think you're gonna be the one who begs... So beg.” 

He looked up at you, wild-eyed and panting, terror finally eclipsing that smug certainty. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please – don’t – ”

“Louder.” 

“Please! Please don’t – ”

You did it anyway.

You screamed through your teeth as you brought the blade down and castrated him with a sickening, wet slice. His cries didn’t even sound human. They sounded like an animal – fitting.

The cleaver slipped in your hand, his blood warm and thick and coating everything, and still you kept going.

You stabbed. You cut. With each slice, you felt like you were becoming something else—something feral and unrecognizable—and you didn’t even realize when his screams stopped. It wasn’t until Ellie’s hand landed on your shoulder that you stopped to register the carnage.

David was unrecognizable. The fire’s glow cast grotesque shadows across what remained of his face and torso. Your hands were shaking. Your whole body was shaking.

You let the cleaver fall from your grasp and stumbled back, chest heaving.

You were soaked in blood. His. Yours. You didn’t even know anymore.

Ellie was staring at you, eyes small and scared, like she wasn’t sure what you would do next.

You didn’t know either.

You stood, grabbing her hand, and she flinched, just barely. You felt like you might vomit again.

But there was no time.

The fire was spreading fast.

You pulled Ellie to her feet and ran, staggering out into the snow, coughing and gasping for breath. The freezing air stung your lungs, and you welcomed it. Anything to feel clean again. Anything to feel human.

You fell to your knees and retched into the snow, the bile bitter and hot in your throat.

When Ellie screamed again, you lurched to your feet, heart in your throat—body instantly going into fight or flight mode once more—only to see Joel wrapping her up in his arms.

"It's me. Hey, it's me," he kept softly whispering, and Ellie finally stopped squirming and clung to him, sobbing. "It's okay, baby girl."

Your knees buckled, body shaking at the sound of his voice.

Joel turned to you, outstretching his right arm. You instantly fell into him. His arms were strong and shaking. He buried his face in your matted hair, promising, "I got you. I got you both. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

But you weren’t okay.

Not really.

You were still shaking. Shellshocked. Silent.

Looking down at Ellie, you weren’t sure what scared you more – what almost happened to her… or what you just found out you were capable of.

.

.

.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco @keileighr @buckyandlokirunmylife @deesparticus @underchaos @keepingitlokiii @silas-aeiou @underchaos @tjohn63 @princess76179 @umadirectioner

[dietcane]

⚢ barbed wire baby - happiness is a butterfly

cw: dead dove, do not eat !!, age gap (ellie is late 30's, reader is 21), elements of domestic violence, toxic relationship, death, themes of organized crime (gangs/mafia/drug cartels), cheating, bribery, abuse (physical, drugs, alcohol), mentioned gambling, bloodplay, strap-on usage, heavy manipulation, dark!ellie, spitting, rough sex, oral sex. more to be added!!

synopsis: as the adrenaline becomes more and more overwhelming, so does the danger. stakes are higher than ever. dingy prison cells, double entendres whispered through jail phones. knowing glances exchanged with prison guards. her modern day bonnie to her clyde. your life weighs in the balance. you know ellie has pull inside and out. you have to decide if you're willing to risk everything for her. are you?

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY

song: happiness is a butterfly - lana del rey

⤷ m.list | a/n: bush ellie truther | poorly made smut ahead

Ellie was taken in on several charges. One of her many incompetent men had managed to get the FBI's charges to stick. A rat. She'd been tense for months, that uneasy, nagging feeling in her gut. A snitch. To say she was livid? An understatement. The Feds got her on petty little white-collar crimes. Money laundering? Fraud? And criminal conspiracy? Tacked on a stupid little murder-for-hire charge (sixty-seven counts? Rookie numbers.) And added some (read: twenty-two) manslaughter charges for good measure. A cherry on top. A fucking joke. Ellie is personally offended.

The damn Feds have her locked up in a pathetic little maximum prison. A handful of her men are in here. She gets cigs whenever and bitches a few of the girls who get snarky with her. In seventy-two hours, Ellie has ultimately made herself a kingpin in the prison. They fear her. Bowed their heads when they tugged her in with their too tight cuffs. Nodded at her in silent submission. Moved out of her way during rec hours. Scattered when she turned up her nose at them. Turned their backs when she came into shower. Gave her that privacy she didn't ask for. Didn't ask, but demanded for. Silently demanded. Her aura was nauseating and powerful. It was like her very presence engulfed rooms and made it tense and uncomfortably quiet.

You learn very quickly that prison is not a very favorable place. Mildewy smell clinging to the walls, irate prisoners clawing at crumbling walls, and the heavy blanket of unease settling into the very structure of the walls. It's a suffocating place, Concrete walls decorated in sharp barbed wire. Ellie managed to get herself a conjugal visit- which you don't think is allowed in maximum security prisons, but you don't question it. You know better. Even from prison, she dictates your every move. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, outings, and even your clothes. Forces her men to pick out lacy bras and panties and skimpy babydoll tops. Paired with heels that don't really match, mini skirts that are a little too tight, and bangles that clink and shine with every minuscule movement.

Today, unfortunately, you were presented with one of Ellie’s textbook-american-dream-girl-Priscilla-Presley fantasy outfits. The full get-up. The black smoky eye. White water lines. Eyeshadow dug into the creases of your eyelids. Greys and blacks and glitters. Layered over heavy bags concealed with thick layers of the latest makeup fad. Color correctors, skin tints, foundation, concealers, primers, bronzers, blush. Everything. Strategically caked on, just how Ellie likes. Not too noticeable, but not too subtle. Perky eyelashes, elongated by thick, cloying mascara, just barely tickling underneath your eyebrows (those were perfectly plucked and waxed, too.). Natural lip. Ellie hates lipstick. Despises it.

You wore it for her once. Her first birthday she ever spent with you. Laid in her bed, face heavy and glammed with a dark red lip. Body bared in lacy lingerie, all while sprawled over her bed. Pretty rose petals scattered over, dim light protruding from the scented candles meticulously placed over the dressers. When Ellie came in, she stopped and stared. Thirty seconds maybe. Walked into the bathroom. Came out with a bottle of soap and her rag. Threw it at you and walked out.

“Wipe that shit off your fuckin’ face.”

You went to bed that night alone. Bruised and cold. You had a black eye for three weeks. A Van Gogh of vibrant yellows, reds and purples fading off into nasty greens and blues. The first few days were horrible. Battered skin forming heavy eye bags, eye nearly swollen shut. She didn't sleep with you for a month. Holed herself up in her office. Couldn't stand to look at you. Forced you to eat alone. Left the room every time you walked into the same room as her. You never did it again.

Your heels are smaller than usual. The impact of your heels on the ground is dull where usually loud and magnetic. It's subtle. Like they’re a pair of baby’s-first-high-heels. The ones from magazines for teenagers, ones that are barely off the ground. Heels worn by divorced mothers and budding teenagers who are vying to be the newest heartthrob’s controversially young girlfriends- spoiler alert: Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles are definitely not into young girls, hope this helps- but you don't complain or question it. Ellie enjoys it and that's all that matters.

You feel like you’re in the wrong decade, though. Lace-trimmed slip dress, white tights, and a little baby kitten heel. There are tiny bows at the thigh of the skin-tight fabric on your legs and the crotch is cut out. Thin cotton panties underneath, though. They don't cover much. More of a scrap of fabric than a pair of panties. The ones Ellie favors- with the little heart where your most sensitive, intimate spot is. The inmates stare as your tiny little heels click and clack over the cement floors. You feel bare. Like they know you’re barely covered and ready to pounce. Your stomach roils uncomfortably.

–

Ellie’s conjugal visit room is tiny and suffocating. You don’t like it.

The walls are painted a dull gray, peeling in places where the dampness has seeped through over the years. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, their buzzing relentless, like the hum of a broken promise. There’s a stale odor in the air, a mixture of bleach, something metallic, and the faintest trace of sweat. It’s oppressive. Every inch of the space seems to press in on you, from the small, uncomfortable couch in the corner to the tiny table that’s barely large enough to hold a glass of water. There’s nothing romantic or even remotely comforting about this place. It’s just a sterile, functional space for intimate moments that were never meant to exist here, at least not in this form.

The walls- recently painted, you note- are cracked and peeling, tearing away to reveal the layers previously there. It brings about the thought of all the others who may have experienced this room, time and time again. With every withering spec of crackling, sterile white paint, bore the stories and etchings of past visitors- all of the heavy feelings cloying to the small, boxed room. Four walls. One bed, dresser, and a depressing, tilted wardrobe. A half assed kitchen and a closed off shower, toilet and sink. Sad excuse of a bathroom. Nothing like any of Ellie’s residencies, opulent, large, and stiff.

You stand at the entrance of the room, back to the heavy steel-reinforced door. She’s wearing the prison-issued uniform—a faded, worn-out set of white, pasty scrubs that cling frustratingly good to her body. Her tattoo seems so much more stark against her skin. She looks too fucking good. She’s looking at you, but not really seeing you, eyes tearing you apart, analyzing and judging.

You don’t like it. The walls, the smell, the space itself—it’s too much. Too small. Too harsh. Too confined. It’s suffocating in a way that makes you want to claw at your skin just to feel like you can breathe again. It makes you want to scream, but you won’t. You can’t. Not here. Not in front of her.

Even though Ellie’s been in jails and prisons more times than she can count, you've never stepped foot in one until today. Bleak, scary. The walls tremble and quiver whenever the inmates throttle and thrash at their steel bars. It's a smaller size of people- a decent women's prison, but they still intimate you. The abundance of cat calls thrown at you in not even thirty seconds? Vulgar. Nasty. A little flattering, admittedly. (some girl had told you that your ass sat up better than two bunk beds? Whatever that means. You hope it's good.)

Ellie shifts, her eyes still on you, but now there’s a hint of heavy unbridled desire in her gaze. Her hands are folded in her lap, as if she’s daring for you to move, to step any closer. The silence between you stretches longer than it should. You want to reach out, to close that distance. You want to grab her hands and hold them in yours. She’s eyeing you down like a piece of meat. But something stops you. Fear? Hesitancy? You’re not sure.

“Stand up straight when you’re in front of me. Look me in the eye. Not the time to be gettin’ shy, mama.”

You comply immediately. Eyes forward, head high.

“Are you okay?” Her voice still has that edge. Faux concern.

You’re not fine. None of this is fine. The sound of the guards’ boots echoing down the hall outside, the cold metal of the door that separates you from freedom, from normalcy—it all feels so far removed from the life you shared before. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do. The walls seem to close in tighter the longer you stay, as if the very room is swallowing you whole. But, you’re sopping wet in your panties. Just from looking at her.

Ellie watches you closely, her brows furrowing. “Answer me when I talk to you. Matter of a fact, bring your ass here.”

You stop, locking eyes with her, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I hate it here,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

The words hang in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. She raises her eyebrow at you before scoffing. A disappointed shake of the head. You’re embarrassed and a nasty feeling coils in your gut.

“I know,” she says, her voice curt, rough and jagged-edged. “I know. Not what I fucking asked for, though.”

There’s a lump in your throat, something that aches with all the things you want to say but can’t. You want to tell her how much you miss her, how much you want her to bend you over this sad excuse of a dining table and set you straight, or you feel like part of you left when they dragged her out in those cuffs, lost in the red and blue siren lights of it all. Most importantly? You want to tell her how bad you want her right now.

But instead, you just nod, closing the distance between you two submissively. She’s unraveling the deepest parts of you with a measly glance. You drop to your knees involuntarily, in between her legs. Your brain feels like it's starting to fizzle. She didn't even ask you to do that. It feels like second nature. Barely conscious, in between her muscled thighs, just staring up at her.

“Good little girl, hm?,” There’s yearning and arousal and desire all laced into three words. You’re dizzy.

The distance between you seems impossible to cross. None of her body is touching you. You’re so close. You can practically taste the Dove bar soap wafting off of her. She reeks of sweat and soap and cigarettes. She finally glances down at you. You moan. Loudly.

In the sterile confines of this visitation room, on your knees in stark white tights, you realize just how much you need her. Not just her strength, but the suffocating aura she has.

Ellie wasn’t just your wife. She was your protector, your guide, the force that shaped your world. She had been the one who took care of everything—made the decisions, set the tone, kept you safe, even when that meant locking away pieces of you that she didn't enjoy.

You just stared at each other—her, with that calculating gaze, the one that made everyone else tremble. And you, with your softer, more tentative yearning gaze. You had always been the one who sought her approval, the one who wanted to make her proud. But here, now, you felt exposed, unsure of where to place your hands, how to sit, what to say.

Ellie’s eyes softened just the slightest bit, and her lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “So well-behaved,” she says, her voice low but laced with a comfortable warmth.

You blinked, startled by the tenderness in her words. Her smile widened just a bit further, and you felt the tight knot in your chest loosen just a fraction. In this cold, unforgiving space, her affection was like a lifeline, one you had been starved of for far too long. Seventy-two hours? Far too much

“Only for you,” you warble, trying to keep your voice steady. The words came out quieter than you meant them to.

Ellie lets out a breathy chuckle, a subtle exhale of her chest, as if she was dismissing the statement with the same frustrating nonchalance she had always carried. “I’ve just got you under my thumb, don't I?,” she said, but you could hear the faintest trace of something underneath her words—a hint of arrogance, of being proud, almost. It wasn’t rare for Ellie to let that possessive, sick part of herself slip, but it still whisked the air from your lungs all the same. Every single time.

Your eyes flickered to the guards standing nearby. One of them was watching you, his gaze sharp, but Ellie made a quick, subtle motion, and he stepped back. The other guard, who had been leaning against the wall, followed suit, leaving you both alone in the small space. The air shifted once more, and though the glass still separated you, it felt less like a barrier and more like a reminder of the limits placed on both of you.

Ellie leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart. And that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Those words, the ones you had waited days to hear, hit you harder than expected. You had imagined this moment a thousand times—what you would say, how you would feel. But the reality of it, of seeing her sitting there, sitting in the middle of a conjugal visit room, yet still so her, caught you off guard.

“Please,” you mumble, your voice catching. You didn’t care that you were being vulnerable. In this moment, you didn’t care about anything except the need to be close to her. “Just want to be good for you. Please, momm- miss- uhm- sorry.”

Ellie’s face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she reached out—slowly, deliberately—placing her palm flat against the top of your head.

“I know,” she said, her voice huskier now, tinged with something that wasn’t power, wasn’t business, but something else. Something more carnal. “I know you do, baby. You wanna show me?”

You nodded, swallowing down the lump that had formed in your throat. Ellie’s eyes drifted to the side for a brief moment, and when she spoke again, her tone shifted- something more animalistic. “You dressed in those cute little bottoms I like?”

You nodded again, your heart swelling in your chest. You knew Ellie. She liked familiarity. Control. Power. Nostalgia, maybe.

Ellie pulled her hand back from the top of your head, but her gaze remained fixed on yours. “Take this shit off. The dress, the tights, whatever you got on underneath. Leave the heels on.”

Her words were firm, commanding. Demanding silent obedience. She got it, extremely quick. Stumbling over shaky legs, tugging at straps and waistbands, nearly tripping over yourself. Trembling hands lacing straps of heels off and back on again. Clothes laid in a pile beside you. Completely bare.

Your nipples pebbled at the cold. Almost naked as the day you were born- except for the kitten heels. Ellie was staring at them, so you hoped they were cute enough for her.

Ellie’s eyes softened again, the edges of her mouth curving upward into the faintest of smirks. She looked away for a moment, and when she returned her gaze to you.

She stood slowly, thumbs pressed into the waistband of the prison scrubs. She backed up on steady feet until she met the foot of the bed, pulling them down all the way until they pooled at her feet. She unbuttoned the top painfully slow, tattooed fingers intricately tugging at each button with finessed seduction. It's easy for her. To get you going.

Like it's second nature, you kneel between her manspread thighs. A practiced dance between two souls, intertwined and carved into each other. Her hand tangles into the back of your head, pulling you closer to her boxers, fabric dampening by the minute. All you can smell is her.

Your nose brushes against her and you hear her breath hitch. Her eyes are boring into you. Your gazes meet as her hand forces you even further into her.

She’s suffocating you.

You struggle. Thrashing in her hold. She’s way stronger than she looks. The fabric of your panties dampens even more. Pathetic.

Somewhere in your lightheaded daze, her fingers dug into your scalp and tugged you back. Her hands frenzied as she tries to pull off her boxers, just far enough to let you get close.

Barely conscious, face first into the unruly auburn curls beneath her pubic bone. Leg propped onto your shoulder, spread to accommodate you.

She tastes so *fucking* good.

Ellie is rough and particular in the way she likes things done. Eye contact. No hands. Use your nose.

Your tongue flicks at her heavy, protruding clit, peeking through the mess of sopping wet curls. She pulls your head back, glances down at you, and spits. A fat glob dripping down your lips, before shoving you back in.

Your lips latch around the over-sensitive bundle of nerves there, sucking and lightly dragging the bottom of your front teeth as you suck her in. Ellie’s leg jerks from where it’s resting on your shoulder and you’re rewarded with a breathy noise.

Her cheeks are flushed and her head is thrown back. Beads of sweat trickle down her throat and down the crevice and valley between her tits and into the divots of her defined stomach.

You want to lick it off so bad.

She glances down at you and pulls you away again. A sharp smack against your cheek. Fingers prodding at your mouth. She forcefully pulls your tongue out as far as it can go.

Not even a breath is granted before you’re tangled into her again, not even freely moving your tongue, just staring up at her desperately as she takes what she wants. As she uses you. Works you up to the top of your peak, just from being of service to her. Making her feel good.

Your soaked panties drags against the hardwood floors, leaving a slick of arousal behind. You’re not concerned with your own release, only Ellie’s. She’s close. You can taste it.

“So fucking pathetic. But- *shit*- you’re good for somethin’. Being so obedient and pretty.”

A flood of sickly sweet arousal coating your mouth, nose, and practically your entire face. She’s all you can process. Ellie. How she tastes. How she looks when she’s close. How she sounds when you do something she likes. All engraved into your hot wiring. Like you’re a robot waiting for her every command. A robot that doesn't even think of autonomy.

Why would you need autonomy anyway? She makes every single decision for you. No need to *think*.

-

once again, not proofread, ever. xoxo

- jadieee

taglist !! @bambiaches @mabermaple @starrdelight @vahnilla @elliesfavtoy @sulliefimmie @oneinamelian @eriiwarii2 @azteriarizz

cmnt to be added / removed !!

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Seven: to you, Aelin

tw: minor violence and gore, miscarriage, abortion mention, infidelity

“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.”

It’s the first thing John’s father says about Aelin Gilroy. Using one long, crooked finger, he points her out in the thick crowd of parents and students attending their Year 8 science fair. Projects and standing boards obscure her as they tower overhead on rickety folding tables, but that blinding smile and incandescent teal eyes shine through the crowd like a lighthouse leading a ship safe to shore. 

Trouble. He often disagrees with his father, and this instance is no different. He does not think Aelin Gilroy is trouble. She’s never disruptive in class, and he once saw her give another student her cardigan two years ago when she couldn’t stop shivering in class. It isn’t until her father steps into view that he realizes the meaning of this warning—crisp police uniform, hat held in front of his stomach, giving a firm handshake to the science teacher. An officer. An inspector. An adversary to his father in the most wretched of ways. 

Police officers always make the family business difficult. 

For many years, John heeds his father’s warning—if not for his own sake, then at least for hers—until Year 11. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat Aelin Gilroy next to him in that small, two seater desk. She smells like roses freshly woken by morning dew after a spring shower. He learns she likes to doodle in the corner of her notebook during lectures, and she can’t stop tapping her foot against the floor while taking an exam. John finds that he likes the way her pale brows knit together in concentration, scrunching her forehead, and how soft her voice is when whispering answers to the table on her left. 

But he doesn’t have time to think about her. Not that he should. John Price is unfortunate enough to come from a long line of brutal patriarchs who often condition equally as cruel heirs. Once he turns sixteen, his father’s petulance only grows as he forces him to join him on escapades in the night after lectures have concluded. Bodies crumble. His fists split on begging faces pleading for the mercy that has long been snuffed out of his father’s chest. Each night his cheek grows tender with the force of his father’s hand, and his eyes droop with the weight of the secret life of a killer—of a true son born into the family business. 

“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.” 

It takes John several moments to realise Aelin Gilroy is talking to him, but even then he doesn’t fully believe it until he turns to see her already staring at him. She’s lazily leaning forward on the desk, hand propping her head up beneath her chin as her tongue darts out to wet her rosy lips. John’s pencil ceases its dance across his worksheet. 

“Color corrector?” he repeats. 

“Yeah, you know. Makeup. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles.” Her brows raise as she silently motions to his eye, bringing his own hand to touch the tender spot on his face. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’ll have to find your own shade of foundation. I think you’re a bit too warm toned compared to me.” 

Her bluntness and unabashed reference to the shiner on his eye leaves him chuckling, transforming her coy smile into a small smirk. “You sound like an expert.” 

“I am,” she quips before grinning. After a quick glance around the room, Aelin carefully pulls the collar of her shirt to the side, exposing the side of her neck. At first, John finds nothing of any importance until she points out a line of covered hickies just above her collar bone, fingers tracing it as if lovingly. They grey beneath the concealer and foundation, blurring them to the point they’ve almost vanished. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.” 

John likes her humor. Appreciates it, anyway. Maybe there’s something comforting about knowing a girl like her gets in trouble; albeit, much less violent trouble than himself. A small flicker of hope ignites in his chest at the idea that perhaps there’s something in common between him and Aelin—that he has the possibility of even resembling something that’s normal. Something not drenched in blood.

It’s a short lived fantasy. When the end of term comes around, and they no longer share classes together, they drift. Aelin keeps her smiles polished while John continues to do the only thing his father ever bothered to teach him. By the end, Aelin’s A-Levels are enough to earn her a trip to anywhere in the country. Opportunities are thrown at her feet and offered up on dainty silver platters that glisten bright enough to reflect the future ahead of her. As for him, his father dies when he’s twenty. Murdered, and in a way that’s eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, ruthless—his father’s existence is snuffed out by a single bullet, leaving behind nothing but a bloodstain coating the pillow that covers his face. 

The torch is passed down—the handle is still bloody. 

Over the years, he grows rigid and battle-hardened thanks to the business of violence that was bequeathed to him by his late father. He builds upon a decrepit empire until it’s thriving with sharp teeth and hired guns. It’s the only thing his father taught him; how to be dangerous. How to collect teeth and grind them to dust beneath the sole of his shoes. The Price family rises to power. The name forces people to tremble. John Price has nothing to lose but his own life, and even that pathetic amount he can scarcely get himself to care about. 

The only thing he holds close to him is the ghosts of his past. They always lurk in uncomfortable places, whispering into the shell of his ear, biting at the nape of his neck. It finds him at all hours of the day—it torments him. Slithers beneath his skin. Even now as he stands in line at the florist’s shop his skin itches, eyes flickering to the exit, fingers twitching for the knife stowed in his pocket. 

The only emollient he can find in this place is the voice of the woman in line before him. Demulcent and fleeting, he notes the way his heart slows. How the pathetic muscle quivers in his chest as she sweetly thanks the shopkeeper. When the redolence of roses reaches him, he tells himself he’s hallucinating, but when she turns to leave—small bouquet of flowers in her hand—he realizes who it is. 

Aelin Gilroy. 

Even after all these years he can still recognize her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint, bouncing curls in her flaxen hair, and her grace. How her chin is held high. How confidence exudes from every pore in her body as she floats toward the exit. Somehow, she’s even more perfect now than she was when they were children. He steps out of line, forcing the shopkeeper to stare at him with narrowed brows as he follows after her on uncertain feet. 

“Aelin?” 

All the air leaves his lungs when she turns to face him. She’s grown into her features now. Rosy cheeks and full lips, but her eyes are still the same. Crystalline like a low tide, filtering golden sunlight into fractals. Those eyes stare at him blankly, hands uncomfortably adjusting the bouquet as she traces him without a shred of familiarity. 

“Yes?” she asks tensely. 

Chuckling, he slaps his hand on the nape of his neck, rubbing out the tension there. “It’s John. John Price.” 

There’s something about the light igniting in her eyes that has him feeling warmer than he has in a long while. A precious grin breaks out on her lips as she steps closer, now comfortable with his presence. “Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you! It’s been years… staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” John counters. 

It’s as if no time has passed at all. She’s still that star pupil. Still that girl that had every boy tripping over their own two feet. Even now he can still hear her feet tapping against the floor as her pencil fills in test answers. 

“What’s the occasion?” he then asks, gesturing to her bouquet. 

“Oh,” she says. Her voice trips. Fractures. “Well, it’s—erm—the anniversary of my dad’s passing.” 

John blinks. He can vaguely recall the news. Rolling clips of the police station and the accident that stole his life away. Somehow he never put two and two together. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologizes. 

Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, she still smiles. Always graceful. Always poised. “It’s alright. I’m… making my peace with it.” She pauses, throat clearing with a tense cough. “What about you?”

“Oh, just some flowers for mum.”

His response makes Aelin smile something small and bittersweet. “How lovely. I bet she’ll love them.” 

“They’ll make for good decoration.”

Something settles between the two of them—something that had never been there before. Not while they were children, growing up with one another in different corners of the world. It’s unfamiliar. Suffocating. It leaves John floundering, but the warmth it brings is intoxicating. 

“Well, I ought to get going,” Aelin excuses politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But really, it was good seeing you again, John.” 

This is the part where he should say goodbye. Wish her farewell just for her to vanish into a life of fortune where he’d never see her again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, but instead he finds his hand diving into his pocket where he retrieves a pen before quickly stealing one of the shop’s business cards to scribble down his number in the negative space. 

“Here,” he says, holding it out for Aelin to take. “I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there.” 

To his surprise, she takes the card without hesitation, aqua eyes scanning his rushed handwriting while quietly thanking him. As she holds the card in front of her, something catches John’s attention. There’s a glint on her finger, one that reflects the light so brightly it nearly blinds him. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it’s a large, gaudy ring. Something given in poor taste. Something that attempts to steal the spotlight of Aelin’s beauty rather than compliment it. 

“Did you get married?” John asks in what he tells himself is mere curiosity. 

“Oh. No, not yet. Just engaged,” she says with an odd tone. Aelin glances at the ring—at the small band and large diamond that looks heavy enough to weigh her down. As if she can’t stand to look at it any longer, she shoves the card into her pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you again, John.” 

As Aelin exits the store, she tries not to think about how this interaction with a long lost classmate of hers has her feeling lighter than she has in years. That’s all she feels these days. Heavy. Weighed down by a stony gaze that used to look at her with adoration as the looming nature of her own failure hangs over her head as if each step she takes brings her closer to the gallows. 

There is little reprieve to be found in the cemetery where her father lays. Knees digging into the fresh grass, trembling fingers propping the flowers against his headstone, she does not pay attention to the tears streaming down her face. She’s learned to ignore them, if not welcome them. The wind picks up, cooling her feverish face as she traces the engraving of her father’s name letter by letter with her index finger. 

“I miss you so much,” she whispers. “Everything’s gone to shit since you left. I dunno what to do without you.” 

Her days have been foggy. Each waking moment leaves her stumbling through the dark all while she pretends she’s still the radiant girl she’s always been. It’s difficult to keep up the facade when her bed is cold in the mornings, and her fingers itch for the card John Price gave her. Ghosts follow behind her in the bedroom, her rearview mirror—the toilet. 

So then, it should not come as a surprise when she returns home from her mother’s to see the lamp on in the living room. The television drones but no one is listening. A hand on a thigh. Unfamiliar lips pressed against ones she should have memorized but hasn’t felt the touch of in months. The woman looks nothing like Aelin. Inky locks cut into a short bob that her fiance weaves his fingers through as his nose kisses her cheek. 

“Adam?”

Aelin’s stomach drops when they jump, heavy eyes now on her as she stands in the entryway. When Adam’s chest heaves with a sigh, she’s suddenly in the bathroom again. Hands clutching her stomach as she waddles out. Eyes full with tears as she sees him sitting on the couch, focused on the football match. It’s the same thing all over again.

She doesn’t wait around long enough to hear his excuses. The front door slams shut behind her but the sound is muffled on her ears as she slips into her car and speeds away. 

Night has long since fallen by the time she reaches the park. When she was a child, her parents used to own a home in this neighborhood and she often came here with her dad. The swingset is painted blue now instead of red, but she makes no effort to approach it as she seats herself on an algid, metal bench. 

During times like these, Aelin would often go to her dad for comfort. His office smelled like leather and Earl Grey, and he always kept a recliner in the corner of the room for her to curl up in to do homework, or cry about boys at school. He always knew what to say. What to do. Guiding her with a soft hand and sweet heart—she always wished she was more like him. 

Now—without the luxury of paternal comfort—she does something stupid. 

Fingers haphazardly digging through her bag, clutching the florist’s card, shakily punching in the numbers into her phone; Aelin knows she’s insane. Insane for thinking John Price is the person to call for something like this. Insane for thinking he’d even do anything at this time of night. Still, he answers. His voice bleeds through the speaker next to her ear like lukewarm wine. Intoxicating. Comforting. 

The only greeting she can choke out is a sob. 

By the time John finds Aelin, all of her tears have run dry, having been replaced with a brutal fury instead. A thick numbra clouds the park as the halogen lights hardly hold a torch bright enough to fight off the darkness. Still, he approaches her, noting how her knees bounce just like they used to all those years ago during exam season. Her bottom lip is bright red—irritated and cracked, abused by her teeth. 

For as much effort as he puts into looking calm on the outside, there is nothing in the world that can settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing her cry, hearing her beg for him to come and get her scared him more than he cares to admit. The tear stains on her cheeks make his fists curl. If only she knew the dangerous power she holds. The power to say bite and for John Price to respond where. 

It doesn’t take long for him to coax out the truth. The rage swirling within Aelin nearly erupts as she spews every brutal detail. How Adam had been acting strange the last few months, how he used to show her off but has been keeping her locked away like a dirty secret, or something he’s ashamed of. 

“Two fucking years, John,” Aelin seethes, teeth gritting so hard that they nearly crack. “Two years of being with him just for him to do… to do that? He moved me into his home, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me, to take care of… of…”

Terrified that you’ll disintegrate before him, John reaches a careful hand out and brushes it against her shoulder. The tension melts beneath his touch, and if he wasn’t so concerned, pride would swell in his chest. “Easy, love.” 

“I could’ve been great,” she continues, voice cracking as she leans into him. “I was able to go to any school in this country. I got my degree. I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them, and I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I’m not, and it fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”

She crumbles like dust. The kind that’s so thin and fine you can only see it in the air when sunlight hits it. John’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close, palm cradling her head as she shakes in his grasp. 

“Fuck, I’m so stupid,” she babbles. 

“You’re not stupid,” he attempts to persuade. 

“Adam only proposed when we found out I was pregnant,” she says. Her voice shatters. Fractures. Each syllable catches in her throat, slices the tender flesh. “T-Then my dad died and… It was stupid to think he’d want to stay after I lost it.” 

John’s blood runs cold. His vision clouds with ichor—vermillion and thick. It’s so close he can nearly taste it. A violent man to a violent end, he craves it now more than ever. Instead, he holds her closer and gathers enough bravery to kiss the top of her head. 

“None of that was your fault, love,” he assures. “You’re brilliant. Downright brilliant, and he’s a sorry sod for not seeing it.” 

It takes a little convincing to get her to agree to stay at his place for the night. Really, there’s something comforting about being somewhere else. Away from her mother and that house that’s still haunted with her father’s ghost. John gives her an old t-shirt and a pair of joggers he’s been meaning to throw out for some time before ensuring she’s comfortable enough in his guest bedroom. 

When he’s certain Aelin’s asleep, John sits in his office, hand over his mouth, teeth grinding as he stares at his phone. It takes only five minutes of deliberation before he’s dialing up the only man he knows he can trust. 

“Yeah?” Simon Riley. His blunt greeting cuts over the line over the sound of thrumming club music and a cacophony of chatter. 

“Riley, I need a favor. I’m sending you an address and I need you there as soon as possible,” John says, voice rumbling low and dark as he taps his desk with the tips of his fingers. 

“What for?” 

“A friend,” John excuses. “I need any items that seem like they belong to a girl. Clothes, toiletries, things of that sort.” 

There’s a pause, and John can already see the expression on Riley’s face. A raised brow, tight lips, and a small huff. “Somethin’ ya can’t get yourself?” 

“If I go myself, I’m breaking the jaw of the bastard who lives there,” he growls. 

Inhale. Exhale. “This have somthin’ to do with the girl earlier? The one cryin’ on the phone?” 

“Yeah.” 

A hum. “I’ll be there in an hour.” 

Much to John’s surprise, Aelin doesn’t ask too many questions when morning comes. She doesn’t push when he gives a vague answer about how he got her items, and she doesn’t question where her engagement ring vanished to, or why Adam hasn’t bothered to call or text her since she stormed out of the house. He tells her to stay as long as she likes—as long as she needs.

But she doesn’t leave. 

Aelin Gilroy lingers in his home—not as a ghost, but as a dream. Something drifting between his fingers, just out of reach, that he wants so desperately to hold. He finds residuals of her in the shower with her golden hair stuck to the wall and the silage of rose toying with his nose. She’s there in the kitchen when he comes home, cooking up a late dinner, asking him to join her for a movie. 

There is no effort on her end in leaving, just as there is no effort from him in getting her to leave. He would keep her forever if he could. Hold her in his arms like he did that night in the park, cradling her head against his chest. All she would have to do is ask him. 

But as the weeks meander on, John finds himself sitting next to her on the couch. There’s too much wine in their bodies, ichor red and brimming full in his stomach, diffusing the light of the television as it illuminates her skin, her smile, everything. He decides that he likes this. Her. Enjoys the warmth of another human in this too-large house, always a void greeting him when he gets home, a black hole waiting to crush him. He doesn’t know how his father could have ever treated his mother so cold when the touch of a woman seems to make this home flourish. 

She feels his gaze. Heavy lidded and murky with alcohol. She stares back, aqua hue bleeding into something darker, like the depths of the ocean instead of the mere tide lapping at the shore—unknowingly profound. He has yet to scratch the surface of Aelin Gilroy. 

Yet he gets close to it when she places her glass on the coffee table and swings her leg over his lap. Bum resting on his knees, her hands steady her swaying body as she grips his shoulders, curls cascading down her back like a waterfall of sunlight. John stares up at her with awe blurring his vision. She smiles like she knows the mess she’s making of him. 

“Kiss me.” She does not ask. She demands it. Requires it. 

He leans back until his skull hits the cushion, then shakes his head. “You don’t want me to do that.” 

Her eyebrow quirks. “Why not?” 

“I’m not a good man.” 

“I know.” 

Those words are a baton to his diaphragm, forcefully expelling a chuckle from his throat before he can stop it. She tilts her head and he nearly grabs the nape of her neck to devour her whole. “How do you know?”

“I’ve always known,” Aelin insists. “I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. Besides, if you were a good man, you’d be dead by now. The good ones are always quick to go in your line of work, aren’t they?” 

John wants to pretend that he’s surprised she knows, but of course she knows. Aelin Gilroy, daughter of Sean Gilroy, Chief Inspector, top of her class, the looks to kill and a brain to go with it. It does not take a genius to sniff out the blood that stains his hands. Dirty hands. Soiled hands. Ones he can’t help but place on her waist. 

“If you know that much, then you know that you don’t want me to kiss you,” he insists. 

“Why?” Her turn with the questions. 

“Becuase I’m not dragging you into a life like this. I’m not letting you get hurt because of me.” His admission comes with plaguing visions that are so noisome they sting his eyes. Rose pink brains soaking into a mattress. Fingers plucked free of the palms they used to call home. His mother, dead and left to rot like a warning. “You don’t want this.” 

“No. I just want you,” she hums. Aelin’s hands begin to wander, fingertips brushing against his hairline as she tilts her head, curiously inspecting him, spinning eyes hardly able to focus on one part of him before moving to the next. “You’re not your father, John. You share his name but not his mistakes. You are not a bad man.” Palm to cheek, warmth swelling together against his feverish skin—she presses her thumb to his lips. Drags down over them until they’re parted. “You might not be a good man, but you’re too kind to be a bad man.” 

It isn’t until her lips meet his that John Price realizes that he’s been caught in Aelin’s trap for quite some time—she’s just now decided to rein him in. It’s the closest to heaven he’s ever been. Even as her teeth sink into his flesh, even as her nails rake across his back, even as she drowns him—nothing but a corse floating among stilly water—he knows he cannot starve himself of this one desire. 

After so many years, he finally has something to live for besides the circle of life and death. Besides being a slave to his family name simply because paternal law decrees it. Now, he has something to build. Someone to love. A future that holds more than decrepit bones. A ring covers the old scar on Aelin’s finger. His bed is always warm in the night when he returns home and in the morning when he can’t bring himself to wake with the rest of the world. 

The room she slept in during her first night with him now holds a crib. 

It’s made of wood and engraved with pumpkins and rabbits, a project Aelin took upon herself and has been whittling away at with a small carving tool. Hunched over, stomach swelling quietly but still enough to be noticeable in her sundress. The image has been burned into his mind all night while he’s been away at work, hunched over his desk, listening to pathetic excuse after excuse. 

He leaves early tonight, hands buzzing too much to quiet, fingers screaming for his wife. To hold her face and smooth over her stomach. She’s gotten more emotional these days; crying at any kind gesture, or any time she looks at the crib for too long. John hates to see the tears that stream down her cheeks but doesn’t mind the excuse to hold her close, to chuckle into her ear, to toy with the ends of her hair. 

When John steps inside, there’s nothing but blood to greet him. 

Watery. Bright red. It stains the couch in the very spot Aelin curls up in at the end of the day with a warm cup of tea and something quiet to put on the television. John stares at it. It spreads, ichor floating through the veins of the couch similar to the way it spreads on a mattress, soaking deep—too deep to get out. Deep enough to scar. 

He panics. Her name rings through the house as he trips down the hallway, following the sparse trickle of blood like breadcrumbs. There is no answer, but he hears her quiet, muffled sobs. Hand clasped over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut as if that could ever stop the tears; she’s on the toilet. He doesn’t even knock before entering, but she doesn’t have the energy to chastise him for it as she sits curled over herself, sundress bunched around her waist, arms cradling herself as if she can hold the remaining bits of her child within her shattering womb. 

“Love,” John breathes. Within an instant he’s on his knees before her, but she won’t look at him. He reaches forward, cups her face in his palms, wipes his thumb at the never-ending flood of tears. She’s feverish to the touch. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Aelin sobs. Her arms press further into her stomach as she leans forward, head attempting to bow, but John keeps her head above water—keeps her from drowning. “I really thought it would be different this time, I just… ah… John, it hurts so bad.” 

Her sobs come unheeded now, and each rattling reverberation that cuts through her shatters his newly mended heart. John holds her with trembling hands. His own eyes squeeze shut, faint tears wetting his eyelashes as he rests his chin on her head. Even against his neck he can feel how warm her forehead is—how it nearly blisters his skin. 

After fifteen minutes of his world ending, he takes her to the hospital. Ultrasound visits turn sour now that there is no baby to look at. The bleeding stops. Their child is gone. When they arrive home, all they do is lay in bed with nothing but the sound of their hearts shattering to break the silence. 

It is the first time, but it is not the last. 

It happens again. 

And again. 

Eventually, after the years, they give up. Their hope flickers and wanes, but the desire still lurks in their eyes every time they pass a stroller during date night or they look at that empty nursery-converted-to-guest-room. John puts that love into the men who work for him instead, and Aelin gives it to her adopted sister. But at the end of the night, no matter how long they were out laughing or chuckling, they come home to a warm bed, desperately searching for the grubby hands of what could have been. 

But it comes back. It barrels like a bullet into their lives, embedding into deep tissue, nestling too far to rip it out without doing more damage. It arrives as a phone call. A sob. A begging to be free of this torture. John finds it in the bathroom with Aelin, curled forward, ripped boxes strewn across the floor, along with three positive pregnancy tests. 

She looks up at him as he enters the bathroom, eyes red and irritated, her usually neat hair now frizzy. “John, I can’t do this again,” she chokes. 

Wordlessly, he joins her on the floor with an arm snaking around her back. Aelin collapses into his chest, legs slung over his lap, head resting against his collarbone as he cradles her. For a long time, he is silent. Neither of them speak as the weight of the situation begins to crush them under impending pressure. It squishes the blood clean from their bodies, suffocating their brains of all helpful thought. 

The world is ending all over again. 

“I’ll support whatever you want to do, love,” John murmurs against the crown of her head. 

Brows furrowing, she stiffens. “What do you mean?” 

His words get caught in his throat for a long, aching moment before he’s able to choke them out. “If you… want to terminate, then we can do that. Or if you want to keep it then we’ll do that, too.” 

Aelin is quiet for a long time. There is nothing but soft sniffles and the occasional pule that slips from her lips, but John doesn’t rush her. Instead, he holds her until her muscles relax, and she’s nothing but a limp mess against him. 

“One more time,” she decides, malice slipping into her tone as she wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “One more time, and if it doesn’t work, I’m getting a hysterectomy. I can’t keep doing this b-but… I just… want to pretend to hope for a little while.” 

Nodding, John places one more kiss on her head. “Okay, love.” 

For the first few weeks, Aelin is near unconsolable. Nesting on the couch, blankets obscuring her body, hugging a pillow to her chest as her glassy eyes watch flashing images on the television. She attempts to distract herself with the company of her adopted sister, but the connection feels severed. Smiling and pretending to be happy when she’s harboring a secret that will surely demand blood before she has the chance to sing its praise. 

But that secret keeps growing. And growing. 

Each passing day that Aelin wakes and there’s no blood to follow her throughout the day, a glimmer of hope roots in her chest. It burrows and whispers. It promises love and fulfillment. It promises something she’s never been fortunate enough to achieve previously. It’s enough to make her skin glow, rosy and golden like the sun kissing the horizon before bed. It’s enough to make her cheeks swell as shiny, opalesque teeth peek between glistening lips. It’s enough for now, and then—

“Oh my god.” Hands on her stomach, smiling through the tears, bottom lip trembling. “John, it’s twenty-four weeks. It’s viability week.”

—and then it’s everything. 

Time rolls backwards as the guest room is once more turned into a nursery. Bunnies and pumpkins, soft oranges and fluffy whites, and a perfect hint of peach. A changing table with ribbons along the side. A rocking chair for the long nights when none of them will get rest, and it will be worth it to have a sleepless night due to love rather than turmoil. 

But joy is a meal that tastes better when it’s shared. 

So, Aelin stands in the kitchen. Film refracts the light above her through the sonogram in her hand, thumb holding the picture so firmly as if she’s afraid it will slip through her fingers. Heavy feet rattle the floor behind her before she feels warm palms smooth over her stomach and a chin on top of her head. 

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

Smiling in agreement, Aelin scans every little feature. The curve of the baby’s nose, how her lips part as if already babbling, hands squished up to her face like she’s trying to chew on her fingers. “Just over halfway there.” 

Just as she lowers the sonogram, the baby kicks against John’s palms. His chuckle hits her, warm and dripping with adoration. He squeezes back, pulling Aelin against him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he questions. 

“Yeah, I think it would be better this way,” Aelin nods. “I feel… a little bad. Having been sort of ignoring her these last few weeks. I know Simon is taking good care of her but… well, it’ll be nice to have dinner with just the two of us.” 

She turns her attention to the card before her. The outside is plain. A simple white background with frilly lettering asking Guess what? On the inside, there’s that same lettering with the triumphant announcement of It’s a girl! followed by enough space to put a sonogram. Then, there’s a mini calendar of August, with a circled due date. She shoves everything inside of a light peach envelope before sealing it shut with the tip of her tongue, but as she stares at it, she feels it doesn’t quite look right. 

Inspiration strikes her, and she quickly retrieves a pen from the junk drawer before scrawling Auntie Chip on the envelope. Smiling, she sticks it in her purse. 

And with that, she is ready for dinner.

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[odoraful]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓

wriothesley has been hesitant to tell you about his past, afraid that it will tarnish your view of him. reconciling with this is no easy task, but he has you by his side to guide him

content: wriothesley x gn!reader; established relationship; 'baby' pet name; reader and wriothesley live together; nightmare sequence; mentions of blood; spoilers to wrio story quest!; reader doesn't know the full truth of wriothesley's past; wriothesley worried about how good of a partner he is :( ; hurt/comfort; reverse comfort; 4k words

a/n: i just wanna gently hold wriothesley and tell him that he's doing so well <3 also i give full credit to critical role and the wonderful talisen jaffe for the quote "pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people"

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Before opening his eyes, Wriothesley smelled iron. Pungent and pervasive. It filled his nostrils and sunk unpleasantly in his churning stomach. He knew he was lying on his back on a cold, hard surface, but that was about as much information he was certain about. Where he was or how he ended up in this state escaped him.

He tested his other senses. Every swallow of saliva went down like sand in his throat. His fingers were limp as he tried squeezing them into fists, the strength siphoned out of him. Slowly regaining some sense of himself again, he could finally label what the scent was. Blood.

At that realisation, he peeled opened his eyes, dreading the scene he would find himself in. A scene he knew that would be painfully similar to memories he quashed a long time ago. He grimly thought whether the blood would be trailing from his hands, or already dried up beneath him, a red dye stained on the floorboards. The lights above accosted him, dazzling his vision. Fontainian households were always so bright, and it didn’t help that the walls of them were white too. But, even then, there were always nooks and crannies shrouded in darkness. Wriothesley found that the more glittering lights there were, the darker the shadows they casted.

He sat up with a groan, his body the weight of bricks. Looking around, there was no such scene he imagined before him. The room he was in was… ordinary. Pristine white walls lined with book shelves against spotless light timber flooring. A fireplace was tucked between two shelves, where the hearth held blackened remnants of burned wood. Wriothesley was situated on the floor between the fireplace and two brown cushioned sofas facing each other separated by a low table. He swore there were other furnishings in the room, but for some reason he couldn’t focus on them. The edges of his vision blurred and he couldn’t make out any other details besides what was most salient.

It wasn’t necessary though.

He knew where he was.

He was almost even in the exact spot they found him slumped in when he was a boy. Back rested against a bookshelf, hollow eyes gazing into the distance. The officers were unable to hide the pure shock on their faces at the grisly tableau in front of them.

Bile rose in Wriothesley’s throat. Despite there being no evidence of violence, the scent of blood lingered in the air, filling his lungs. He went to stand, the movement ungraceful and slow, as if he were swimming in the ocean with thick layers of clothing on. Lying on the floor wouldn’t do well for his nausea. He walked towards to sofa to sit and assess this situation. Sinking into the cushions, he rubbed his temples with his hands.

He thought this house had long since been torn down. How had he been taken back to his old home? His mind sharply retracted those words. No, he wouldn’t call it that. Home was a place of safety and love, but the place he grew up in was built on a foundation of lies and malice. The only small glimmer of home he could recall was his bonds with his siblings.

“█████.”

A voice whispered from just beside his ear, as if speaking a secret.

Wriothesley’s skin prickled. His head snapped around, but he was only met with empty space.

Impossible, he thought. No one who should know that name. He buried it a long time ago when he was handcuffed to the bed in that emergency ward. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Digging up memories of his past.

“█████, where did you go?”

This time, a different, more louder voice came from the opposite direction. Wriothesley could make out its qualities—young and wistful. It was that of a child.

Wriothesley was not often scared. When someone like him had seen both the worst and best of what life had to offer, he was seldom caught off guard. Even backed into a corner, there was always a way out for him. A few carefully chosen words was his preferred method, but now, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Hearing that name being said aloud chilled him to his bones. The colour drew from his face, skin turning ghast-like. He was terrified.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

A young girl sniffled, sounding on the verge of tears. Wriothesley scanned the room frantically, trying to find the source of the voices.

“Why did you leave us?”

A young boy this time. Familiarity clawed at the back of Wriothesley’s mind. His eyes bulged in horror.

“█████, we miss you.”

“You said we would play together.”

“They took some of us away.”

“█████, will you ever come back?”

Wriothesley covered his ears, but it did little to quiet the ceaseless voices. Multiple of them spoke at once, rising in urgency, surging around him. Overlapping and defeaning, burrowing into his skull no matter how hard he squeezed and squeezed his ears shut. He was backed into a corner with no way out. He screamed in his head, roaring in agony. He couldn’t stay here, he needed out.

Hearing the pleading of his own mind, Wriothesley jolted awake.

Like a conductor ending a symphony with the close of their hand, the cacophony of voices abruptly stopped.

Void-like silence met him in the waking world.

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He felt his heart lodged in his throat, as if he had been pushed off the tallest point of the Palais Mermonia. Steadying his shallow breathing, he pushed his back further into the bedsheets, trying to ground himself.

Just a dream, just a dream. He repeated, sighing loudly. His bedroom had never been a more welcome sight as he sat up, careful not to awake his resting partner. At least, that’s where you should have been. There was no weight of your body beside him. He swept a hand over the bed, and made contact only with the sheets and crumpled quilt blanket.

Still reeling from the terrors of his dream, Wriothesley’s mind drew the worse conclusions. Had you been taken? Had you left him? Panicked, he began to call out your name. His voice was hoarse, but he was glad he could speak after being robbed of it in his dream.

A triangle of yellow light cut into the darkness of the room as the door cracked opened. Relief flooded him seeing you standing there, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair ruffled.

“Baby, is everything alright?” You asked softly, approaching the bed.

Wriothesley’s chest rose and fell in quick intervals. His body arched over like a crooked branch, shivering ever so slightly. Alarms blared inside you. You had never seen him in this state before.

“I- I thought you had gone somewhere,” he said, voice quavering.

The mattress dipped as you sat atop, kneeling beside him. “I didn’t leave.” You lay a hand on him, watching closely at his expression with a furrowed brow. “I’m here, I’m here,” you soothed gently, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

He gave into your touch, his posture easing. Seeing him slowly relax, you raised your hands to cradle his face. Warmth radiated through him, expelling whatever anxieties had possessed him. His breath shuddered. Immediately, he nuzzled into your touch, burying his face in the faint scent of soap and lilies. He could stay here forever. It would be all he needed to revitalise his senses and keep him alive. He covered one of your hands with his own, encompassing it completely. His calloused fingers slid between yours—a sensation that contrasted against the softness of his lips as he kissed the inside of your palm. A feather-like touch that caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter.

“I was just in the bathroom.” You reassured him. Wriothesley hummed in response. “Did something happen?”

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell you.

“I just had a nightmare.” His voice was muffled, lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “It was nothing, really.”

You gently turned his head towards yours, prompting him to focus on you. “It doesn’t seem like nothing to me.”

His heart stung at the pure concern on your face. Different from the times when you tended to him when he injured himself whilst boxing, or when you saw him passed out at his desk from his persistent workload. There was desperation layered in your knitted brows and parted lips.

“Let me get you a glass of water.” You said, caressing his face. Hints of stubble brushed under the pads of your thumbs. “You’ll feel a little better after being hydrated.”

Coldness returned to his cheeks as you pulled away. You couldn’t even turn around before Wriothesley’s hands were on you once again. He snaked his arms around your waist, embracing you tightly.

“Don’t go.” He rasped. “Please, stay with me.”

His pleading tugged at your heartstrings. As much as you wanted to stay in his arms, you could tell from his voice just how dry his throat was. “I won’t be far from you. I’ll be gone only for a moment.” You kissed his forehead, sealing your promise.

You waited until he loosened his hold on you (albeit begrudgingly), and hurried out of the room to fetch some water. Wriothesley leaned against the bedhead. His head was clearer now, and he tuned his hearing to the far-away whir of machinery in the Fortress.

He was glad to have a shared room with you away from his working environment. This was an entirely new floor he had extended above his office. The design of which began after he had seen you curled up in sleep on one of his chairs, waiting for him to finish his duties for the day. Resting somewhere backgrounded by piles of administrative paperwork didn’t make for the most relaxing setting. And so, he swiftly drafted plans to create private quarters for the two of you.

After a long day, he would head straight upstairs to meet you. You’d be there snuggled on the lounge with a novel, and his footfalls would be enough for you to abandon your book on the table and rush over to the door. Now, while the sun could not be seen in the stronghold beneath the waves, it found its place with you. In the way your smile beamed and eyes twinkled as you greeted him. You were so, so bright, and yet he could never look away. At first, it almost startled him how easy you gave your love to him. There was no ulterior motive with you. You loved him wholly.

He sadly wondered how quickly your glimmer would fade if he revealed parts of him that had never seen the light.

The tapping of your slippers approached the door, and you entered with a glass and pitcher of water. Placing them both on the bedside table, you poured water into the glass and handed it to him. Wriothesley didn’t realise how parched he was until he took the first sip. Eagerly chugging the rest down, he you in the corner of his eye, chewing on your bottom lip. You were on the cusp of saying something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, taking the empty glass from his hands and putting it to the side.

“Your dream that is…” You faltered through your words. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you seemed upset when you woke up.”

More than upset, you thought to yourself, afraid.

Wriothesley reached out for you wrist. You let him guide you into bed, slipping under the blankets. He pulled you in closer, arm draped around your waist, until your bodies were flush with each other. Your expectant gaze fell on him. He plastered on an assuring smile, but couldn’t quite draw the corners of his lips up to reach his eyes.

“I was only a bit shaken,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “It had things relating to my past. My subconscious must have it out for me for not letting me get a good night’s rest.” Hopefully that was enough to mollify the true contents of his dream.

You toyed with the edge of the blanket. Wriothesley’s past was something he didn’t divulge in too much detail. Even after being together for some time, all you knew was that his childhood was a difficult time, and he had to run away from his foster parents home. You had a good sense that he no longer wished to recall these events from the way he was quick to brush off the topic. It was hard for you to balance between wanting to know more, and also respecting his privacy.

“You know that you can tell me about anything that’s bothering you, right?”

Your eyes never left his, watching the way they brimmed with fondness as he answered.

“Of course I know that baby, it’s just that…” His eyes casted downwards.

In his line of work, keeping up a poker-face meant keeping things under control. However, with you, he never hid his true emotions, and you saw conflict dance across his features.

“I’m worried it might change how you see me,” he confessed, fidgeting with his fingers as if he were itching to move.

“Wriothesley,” you covered a hand over his, halting his movement, “nothing will make me change the way I see you now. You aren’t the same person as you were back when you were young.”

Those words settled in his mind, prodding at the uncertainties he had about opening up. You continued,

“You can share anything about your past with me. And, what is it they say…” You tried to recall a line you had read recently. “A burden shared is a burden halved?”

He couldn’t fight back a smile, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “Putting those philosophical books you’re reading to use?”

“Actually, it’s a collection of poetry from Mondstadt.” You corrected, pursing your lips smugly.

He breathed a laugh, spirits lightening at how endearing his partner was.

From the day he selected a new name for himself, he chose to begin anew. Although he knew that nothing in his past constituted any part of his life now, it still clung to him. A fog clouding his mind during moments of solitude, drawing out doubts that stumbled into the open. If he did tell you the full truth, would you see him as nothing more than someone raised in a loveless place? Who was pushed to do what many considered unthinkable? Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled slowly—ruminating.

You calmly awaited his next words, knowing that you would accept both if he chose to tell you or not.

Wriothesley spoke again,

“I mentioned to you before that I didn’t have the most… peaceful childhood.”

You nodded, grim at the thought of what those adults had done to those innocent children. “Mmm, you told me about your foster parents, and how you ran away from them.”

“Yes, but that’s not the whole truth.”

Pausing, he steeled himself. He caught on a thread that had long since been loose and began to unravel his past.

“After I escaped, I couldn’t shake off the guilt of abandoning my siblings, but there was also no way I could stay in that household after what I had learned.”

He recounted the story in the same way one would read aloud an article published by The Steambird. So separated from his past that he had little inflection in his tone. Even so, you saw a flare of emotion in Wriothesley’s eyes.

“So, I tried to keep myself alive and tried to get stronger, so that I could return and protect them.”

“Archons,” he bowed his head, dark hair falling over his brows, “I don’t even know how much time passed out there, everything seemed to blend together.”

You felt an ache in your chest, like someone had tightly gripped your heart. “I can’t imagine how tough it must have been.” Picturing a younger Wriothesley in your head, frightened and alone, made you shiver.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “It was.” He returned a sad smile to you, though regret laced his words. “I wouldn’t wish that life for anybody, but I did learn a lot.”

“I snuck back into the house after a while of being on the streets. I-“ He rubbed his temple with his free hand, unable to find the right words. “One of my siblings told me that while I was gone, a few of them had been… adopted into other families.”

Your skin turned cold, knowing exactly what that meant.

“I-I think I heard their voices in my dream.” His voice wavered, face scrunching up as he remembered those ghostly voices in that empty room. “They were asking why I left them there, wondering where I was.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you did return. You swore that you would come back for them and you did,” you asserted.

Shaking his head, he turned his hand over to interlock your fingers with his. “Perhaps I was too late.”

“I found my foster parents sitting happily in the drawing room, and suddenly, I felt so, so angry.” His expression turned sombre, staring down at the blanket covering you two. “At them, at myself, at the world, and something snapped in me and I did the only thing I felt I could do in that moment.”

A heaviness tugged down on his chest as if in protest at the continuation of his sentence. But, there would be no hiding it now. He swallowed thickly.

“I killed them.”

The words left his lips in a whisper, and hung in the space between you.

You stilled. The faint beating of your heart could be felt between your hand in his.

Sensing your stiffness, Wriothesley forced himself to look at you, searching your face in the hopes of finding any kind of reaction. He half expected you to pull away in terror. Disillusioned at the fact that your partner was a murderer. But, he found no such revulsion. Instead, your eyes glossy with tears captured a sadness so sincere and profound that his heart shattered into pieces, piercing him from the inside out.

“It was a long time ago.” With every word he spoke, the shards seemed to dig deeper. “And I definitely don’t associate myself with that person anymore.”

“But, I understand if this changes how you see me. If you need time away-”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted, shaking your head fervently.

You blinked, tears lining your lower lashes. The sight of your partner blurred slightly in your vision, his face contorted in pain. You understood. The distance he wanted to put between you was merely a façade. Buried beneath it was a wordless plea for you to stay. He had bared everything to you, and you would not let him hurt by himself any longer.

“It doesn’t change how I feel towards you.” Determination rose in your cracked voice. “You were so young. No child should ever be placed in a position like that.”

Surely, there must be some part of him that agreed. Some part that would allow forgiveness. Wriothesley’s gaze flicked between your eyes, lost in your expression, as was you in his. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I-I can’t be the one to say whether it was the right thing to do,” you continued, “but what I do know is that you were just a child who needed to survive and wanted to protect those you cared about.”

How many people had treated him with kindness as a child? It upset you to think of all the adults that turned their backs on him. Reducing his character to only what they saw on a case report. Likely considering him to be nothing more than a psychopath. Your pulse thumped in your ears at the injustice of it.

“You are not who you were in the past.” You said slowly, enunciating every word. “Pain doesn’t make people, Wriothesley. It’s love that makes people.”

His expression melted softly. The creases between his brows smoothing.

“And I know that you love and care so strongly, you’ve shown me that every single day.”

Icy blue eyes held so much affection as he stared back at you—transfixed. Now more than ever did he believe you were the sun to him. Basking in your warmth, feeling the comfort of it tingle his skin. What you had said to him had begun to sink in. However, while he couldn’t refute your words, the mindset he had formed could not be altered in a single moment. Perhaps he would not completely believe your words now, but that was alright. You would be there by his side every day to remind him.

Clearing his throat, Wriothesley tested out if his voice was still fit to speak. Though this room was private to the two of you, he spoke quietly, as if he craved only your attention.

“When I was serving my sentence here, I always dreamed about what my new home would be."

He recalled the confinement of his cell, and how his mind would drift from counting the bolts in the metal wall to imagining a new life for himself. Wanting a place that was safe and people he felt at peace with felt like a mirage to him. However, if he could go back in time and speak to his younger self in that cell, he would tell him that things would turn out alright. The journey would not be without difficulties, but he would finally be in a place where he no longer had to look over his shoulder, fearing for his safety. And, he would be with someone who would be proud to call him their love.

“I think I found it here, with you.”

He took the chance to close the distance between you two. His forehead rested against yours. You closed your eyes.

“I love you, Wriothesley,” you whispered, instinctively.

His breath caught in his throat. How fortunate he was to have you in his life. Not only to receive your endless love, but to learn just how capable of loving he is.

He whispered back in reply, his breath gently fanning across your cheeks. “I love you too.”

Neither of you broke away, staying in this position for a moment. Everything had been untangled before you, and a odd mixture of both sorrow and solace stirred inside you. Sorrow at listening to what Wriothesley had gone through as a boy, and solace at how tender the man before you was, his hair tickling against your forehead.

You continued to speak softly to each other for a while longer. The conversation floated from his time at the Fortress to how he became its administrator. As he spoke, the accuracy of the quote you shared before was confirmed in the inexplicable lightness he felt in his chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, he recited to himself.

Time drew on, and you both sensed that if you didn’t sleep now, you’d be up until the Fortress’ inmates began their morning shifts. Curling up beside each other, you asked to play big spoon this time so he could fall asleep easier. Though he was taller in stature to you, you insisted on it. If it were a different day, he probably would have put up a greater fight, but there was little argument in him now at the chance of being wrapped up in your arms. He was lulled to rest by your rhythmic inhales and exhales. The night quietened, and no more voices followed him in slumber.

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post a/n: thank you for making it to the hidden easter egg author note haha, i appreciate you greatly, and i hope it was an enjoyable read!!! 🥺 i just wanted to yap about my thought process writing this piece. you definitely don't have to read all this, it's primarily for my own notetaking! <3

i felt like this was probably one of the hardest pieces i've written so far (?) i found it tough to build up that tension of reader not knowing wriothesley's full past and him still grappling with his actions as a young boy, and even what that dialogue would look like! i had to step away and come back a few times just so i could look at this with a fresh pair of eyes. it may not be perfect but i'm glad to have finished this! :')

[fromchaostocosmos]

If there are two main things that you notice pretty quickly when studying antisemitism it is this:

1] Antisemitism is not original. Everything we see is something else just reworded. It is all the same patterns repeated over and over to ad nauseam. There is no creativity. Everyone is just using the same thing with slight updates for the current era and events. Every is just copying someone else's homework only changing a few words here and there.

2] After a certain amount of time passes from a very antisemitic period in history those who did the antisemitism, those who were party to it will do their best to erase it all. To pretend that it either never happened and/or they were apart of it. So for example: Christian love to pretend they have nothing to with christian antisemitism and the antisemitism of the Middle Ages has nothing to with them. Because well they are Modern Christians and also that was the Catholics. But if you point out that antisemitism is fundamental to Christianity and is the foundation on which it is built or the antisemitism of Luther and in Protestantism or the gospels or Modern Christian Antisemitism it is excuse after excuse.

The same goes for any discussion of antisemitism in atheism, antisemitism in the USA, antisemitism in academia, scientific antisemitism, antisemitism in the media, literature, and entertainment, antisemitism and misogyny, antisemitism in feminism, and on and on.

We also really see it when we talk about the history of MENA and Jews and that history has been totally whitewashed and twisted into this utopian world where everything was sunshine and roses.

That Jews were under dhimmi laws which for all that it means "protected person" in reality means second class citizens and paying a tax to have basic rights. That is was under Muslim rule that the color yellow, mustard yellow in fact, was introduced as the color to mark Jews as Jews because that was the first place that the color yellow was used for a marker that Jews had to wear to for the marker they wore to signal that they were Jews. This is something that we must never speak of or acknowledge.

The Farhud and the question of "where are all your Jews" is the prime example when it comes to the MENA region of things that are forbidden to discuss and things that ignored and erased.

So I know that somewhere down the line what is going on right now will be downplayed and erased. That it will turned into it wasn't that bad. And that there wasn't that many of these groups it was just really fringe. A couple of hundred. No one was really a part of them most of us ignored them. And all posts on social media that say otherwise will be deleted, all evidence that says contrary will be hidden, all social media handles that had the inverted red triangle will be changed and the lies will be told.

Just like the world lied so much after the Holocaust until they started to believe their own lies and that their own children and grandchildren never knew the truth. "We didn't know what was happening" even though it was being reported in newspapers all over.

"We would have let them in if we knew" you knew and you purposefully turned us away because you didn't care.

We, Jews, however will know, remember, and tell the truth. And each generation after us and each following generation will know, remember, and tell the truth.

Because that is what we do.

So that even if you no longer here we will still remember just as we remember the Ancient Egyptians and all they did to us even though they are no longer here. But we are. We have not forgotten. It is not what we do.

Am Yisrael Chai

We live and we remember.

[aureum-cordis]

Lost & Found, Part 6

A/N: I’m so sorry for vanishing for so long there! I’m going to try to be more active and definitely won’t just vanish off the face of the Earth again. Chapter 4 certainly gave me some motivation though, thankfully! Other parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5!

_________________________________________________

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when his eyes opened again, startled awake as he felt you shift in his lap. Your small eyes were still closed and your chest rose and fell with each breath that left your mouth.

As much as he wanted to let you and the others rest for longer, he knew that he couldn’t. In a place like this, anxiety and paranoia was the way you survived.

Gently, he nudged Crafty and Bobby to stir them awake. The bear flinched upon waking, to which he felt guilty for being the cause of, while the unicorn simply stretched as their unconscious state was disturbed. After muttering an apology to both, he turned to look down at you and carefully nudged you with just enough force to wake you.

Your bleary little eyes opened in a panic, clutching onto him tightly and balling your little fists with handfuls of his fur.

He watched as your heart quickened and could see how heavily you started breathing in an instant. “Kid, you’re okay. It’s just us, you’re safe. I promise.” DogDay’s voice was laced with sadness but his tone was strong and in your moment of fright, that was what you concentrated on.

Slowly, as your eyes focused and you were able to realize where you were then your grip lessened substantially but refused to let go. CraftyCorn placed a hoof on your small back, feeling your heart still race due to your moment of panic before.

“Poor thing.” Their voice was somber and sullen, sharing DogDay’s unspoken sorrow at just what you had been through before being found by them.

The red bear was quiet but gently placed a hand on your leg and allowed her eyes to soften for just a moment, trying to spare you from the melancholy air that settled in the room.

After a moment of hesitation, you removed a hand from being bundled up in DogDay’s fur and placed it on the back of Bobby’s hand. Your breathing wasn’t quite back to normal yet but had slowed, a positive sign for all of them. 

The unicorn had stood and walked over to the door, listening quietly for any sounds that might’ve been alarming. Wordlessly, the orange dog made a mental note to thank her for it later.

Allowing you to calm down for a few more minutes, he gently helped you stand before rising himself. He offered a hand down to Bobby BearHug, who accepted it and pulled herself onto her own feet.

With the way your eyes darted between all of them, it was clear that you were confused and didn’t understand why they were all so quiet. The two joined Crafty by the door while you followed closely behind. While staying close to DogDay, you also turned and looked up at Bobby, reaching out a hand.

The red bear seemed puzzled for a moment but met your hand as you held it out to her. Your hand was dwarfed compared to hers, but that only convinced her to be even more ginger with you.

As you squeezed her hand firmly and turned back to look at what Crafty was doing without letting go, she realized that you were holding her hand. At that moment, she felt as if she might’ve wept. From joy, sadness, or a longing for how things once were, she didn’t know.

DogDay was about to speak when he turned around and looked between Bobby and you. For a moment, he lost any semblance of words as he met her gaze. There was a warmth in her eyes, a vibrancy that he was afraid that he would never see again.

There was hope. Not a hope dimmed by falsehoods or built on an unsteady foundation that would topple with the slightest breeze of challenges not yet faced. But a true hope. A hope that there was a chance for a better future.

He cleared his throat for a moment, allowing himself to focus on the situation at hand. While he was welcoming of optimism in the best of times, he knew that he needed to be realistic and not allow his mind to wander to scenarios that might not occur.

Shortly after he had cleared his throat, the others as well as yourself turned to look at him. 

“We should get going, I fear we might be cutting it closer than any of us would like.”

DogDay looked between each of the remaining Smiling Critters and nodded, a certainty in his gaze as he opened the door and waited several long moments. His plush ears shifted in tandem as he pushed the door open further and stepped out into the hall, his form tense and alert as he gestured for the others to follow after him.

You clutched Bobby’s hand as she let you leave the room before she did, but made sure to remain close to you. The air was tense and you could pick that up even without a word being spoken, to say that you were afraid was putting it mildly.

Your other hand grabbed onto the arm of the red bear, wanting her to stay close to you. Crafty had since followed after the others and closed the door of where they had previously been hiding out.

They walked over to you and Bobby, placing a hoofed hand on your shoulder as the two of them essentially hid you while the leader made sure the area was clear. He was nearing the end of the hall by this point, looking over his shoulder at the others every now and then while his senses remained on high alert.

However, when the orange dog stopped suddenly before he had the chance to check the winding wings of the orphanage. His nose caught the scent before he heard a sound, the smell of lavender mingling with horrid chemicals that stuck to the walls like mold.

His fur bristled and immediately he turned to look back at the others that shielded you and the panic etched in his features made his permanent smile falter. The last thing he cared about was drawing attention to himself at this moment, the only thing he cared about was the safety of those that remained under his care.

“Get them out of here, now!” The desperation in his voice rang out in the halls as he shouted back at the others, the sound of large footsteps following the sudden announcement of their position.

Crafty was the one to pick you up in an instant, the tone in DogDay’s voice was enough to send the two of them running. He looked back at you as the others ran, stumbling and trying to not trip down the debris filled hall.

The last thing he saw of you before the three of you was your hand, outstretched to him as a frightened cry left you. It sounded much louder in his ears, a heart wrenching sound really, but he had far bigger issues than the desire to be by your side.

It was exactly why he braced himself as the footsteps grew louder as CatNap rounded the corner, barreling into him in the process as he darted into the hall. The impact sent DogDay stumbling, sliding into a quadrupedal defensive stance as his orange fur bristled and his hackles raised.

“You,” The word sounded almost accusatory as it left the cat’s gaping maw, the red smoke unfurling from his Cheshire grin and creeping slowly across the rotted wooden flooring. The sickeningly broken sound of the cat’s voice matched that of the decayed state of the Playcare, fitting for the one who had once been the attendant.

DogDay remained in his defensive position, snarls leaving him with a ferocity that even he wasn’t aware he possessed. His body was lowered and his ears were as far back as they could go, his tail tucked between his legs as he glared at the purple cat that stood before him.

He was fully prepared to stall for time, to allow for the others to get as far from here as possible. “Do you not see what that thing is doing to your mind?” He growled, eyes watchful of the other’s body language as the words left him.

At any other time, he would’ve never dared to challenge CatNap or the word of his “god” but this wasn’t just any time. The red smoke inched closer, spreading out amongst the floor as the cat took a step toward him and his claws pierced the wooden flooring, a clear sign of his intent. 

The leader flinched, backing away hurriedly but he hadn’t been able to move fast enough, the claws of the cat raking across the right side of his face in his retreat. They left four jagged marks in the flesh across his eye, tearing through fur and drawing blood upon making contact.

DogDay wavered for only a moment, the warm metallic scent of blood rivaling that of the suffocating red smoke as it ran down the side of his face in steady streams. A grunt left him as he shook his head, the crimson liquid falling to the floor as loose orange fur gathered near his forelegs.

His vision was blurred through his injured eye but he had familiarized himself with the building enough to traverse it regardless of his newly garnered setback.

Before CatNap had the chance to land another blow, he flung open a nearby door and hurried in, pulling a nearby locker down to block it to allow for some time to be bought.

His eyes searched the room for anything of use to defend himself, ignoring the toys that remained plastered to the floor in a pile of dried blood or the cribs that were overturned and long since abandoned, he finally found something of use.

Thankfully, it was a larger room and would keep him from getting pinned in a small and confined space. He had taken notice that the hall directly outside of the room he had entered was closed off with a pile of boxes and other miscellaneous junk. 

As CatNap clawed at the door and peered into the room, DogDay knew that he needed to find something to defend himself and fast. The wooden bed frames wouldn’t be effective nor would a crib. Blood still ran down his face and matted his fur from the lacerations caused by the beast that had nearly knocked over his haphazard barricade by this point.

There was an iron radiator in the corner but it was far too close to the door, a growl of frustration left him as his luck was dwindling and he was at a loss. Frantically looking everywhere and shaking his head to try to avoid the red smoke from affecting his mind, it was then that he noticed a metal bed that had been tucked into the far corner of the room.

It was rusting and falling apart but happened to be exactly what he needed. Scrambling over the splintered wood, dismantled toys, and shredded pictures of the children who once inhabited these halls, he reached the frame. Ignoring the fact that one of his hands was slick with his own blood, he grabbed onto a piece of the headboard that had broken over time and pulled.

The metal groaned in protest, creaking heavily but refused to give way immediately. However, he pulled once more, shifting his lower body to allow for him to use more of his weight as he yanked, forcing the bar to snap from its already deteriorating position amongst the others.

At that same moment, the door behind him had fragmented from the force of CatNap’s body slamming against it as the locker fell away helplessly to the floor. DogDay reacted quickly this time, swinging the bar with the full extent of his weight and putting as much force behind it as he could.

The pole made direct contact with the cat’s head and a sickening crunch echoed throughout the room, a heavy thud following shortly after as CatNap collapsed in a heap before the dog’s feet. He knew he wasn’t out of the clear though and didn’t take time to worry about the wellbeing of his assailant. 

The leader stepped over the body of the cat, the blood trailing down his face in steady streams and leaving red droplets in his wake on the rotting flooring. He stumbled slightly, adjusting his hold on the pole to use it as more of a crutch in the moment as he steadied himself.

It was firmly planted on the ground beside him as he scanned the room for anything useful, sticky red tracks already matting his orange fur. He needed to be quick, he knew that. Which was exactly why his attention was focused on finding something to stop the bleeding fast.

Wiping his eye with the back of one of his hands as he desperately tried to stop the blurring of his visions before he finally noticed a piece of fabric. It was just a glimpse, an edge of what seemed to be a bedsheet or a blanket.

It was stuck under a mess of broken beds and toys but it was better than nothing. Still leaning on the metallic piece of what once was a bed now turned crutch, he approached the mess of debris and reached out to grab the corner.

Glancing over at CatNap, who thankfully still seemed to be unresponsive, he set the metal pole down beside him and then lifted some of the larger pieces up to reveal more of the blanket.

It was dirty and covered in stains, several of which were a brownish red color that he had unfortunately become far too familiar with, but it would work for the purpose he needed it for. He realized that it had been white once and was covered in a myriad of paw prints that were all sorts of colors, almost in a sort of rainbow pattern.

A somber realization but a sobering one, he needed to regroup. DogDay wasn’t on his own, he had people depending on him. Crafty, Bobby, and you. This wasn’t the end, certainly not now. 

He tore at the fabric, ripping it into a strip that was thick enough to cover the wound and to tie it as a makeshift wrap. It wasn’t great and certainly wouldn’t be sterile but it was all he had at the moment.

It would have to do, for now. His sun pendant was a firm reminder of his dwindling time, the quiet sounds of protest it made against the metal clasp as it swung from his movements was enough to draw him out of his thoughts.

He wrapped the temporary bandage over his right eye in an attempt to staunch the bleeding before his attention shifted to the next task at hand, getting out of here in one piece.

With the way the floorboards creaked behind him and the presence that he felt approaching, that suddenly seemed like it was going to be a lot more challenging.

_________________________________________________

Taglist: @urminebutidontwantyou @rabiddogmax @jelapos @bloobewy @permanently-nothere @chibiduck @dead-sane-stuff

[onlyangel4]

red, white and ruin. final part. cody rhodes.

dark!cody rhodes x make up artist!reader.

synopsis: on the surface, cody is everything clean-cut. honour, legacy, gold. but you saw the mask slip once, and now you can’t unsee it. he wants you because you see him, the ambition, the darkness, the violence under the white light. and when he decides you’re going to be his, he wraps you in red, white, and ruin.

warnings: 18+. cursing. ownership kink. smut. p in v. oral (fem recieving).

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five// part six

the lights in the makeup room buzzed overhead, soft and steady, but the tension underneath your skin was anything but.

you were used to this part, the ritual of getting him ready. brushes lined up, foundation palette balanced on your hand, cody sitting tall in the chair in front of you with his eyes trained on your face instead of the mirror. always the same. always calm.

but tonight, something about the air felt charged.

he hadn’t said much since walking in. just grunted a quiet "hey, baby", and dropped into the chair like the weight of something was pressing into his spine. his hands were clasped between his knees, white-knuckled.

you leaned in with your blending sponge, dabbing across the ridge of his cheekbone. "you okay?"

"mhm", he said, but it was distracted. like his mind was already ten miles ahead.

you didn’t push. you knew better than to force it when he got like this. still, you watched him through your lashes as you worked, the set of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth.

you reached for the translucent powder, brushing it across his face with light sweeps, and finally, he broke the silence.

"don’t miss my promo tonight."

your hand stilled for a moment over his temple. you blinked, brushing the last bit of powder into place. "okay, why?"

he looked up at you then. really looked.

something burned behind his eyes, quiet but sharp. heavy with intent.

"i’m gonna say something", he said, voice low. "just for you."

your chest tightened. not from nerves. from knowing, from the slow, curling certainty that whatever was sitting on his tongue, it wasn’t something light.

"you’re not gonna give me a hint?", you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

cody smiled, just a ghost of it. then his hand came up, cupping your jaw, thumb grazing under your chin with the softest drag.

"you’ll know when you hear it."

and just like that, he stood. he didn’t kiss you. didn’t say anything else.

just turned and walked out of the room, leaving you standing there with your brushes in hand and your pulse pounding like thunder in your throat.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you stood just off-camera, tucked behind a black curtain near gorilla, the way you always did when he was out there.

but tonight, your heart beat like it had never done this before.

the crowd was already wild, chanting his name, calling for him like he was a war god returning home. cody stood in the centre of the ring, microphone in one hand, spotlight cutting sharp against the black of his gear. He looked massive under it, controlled and composed. but you knew him too well. you could see the way his fingers flexed around the mic. the way his chest rose a little harder than usual.

he wasn’t nervous.

he was holding back something huge.

the opening part of his promo was normal enough. standard. a nod to the crowd. a few jabs at whoever he was feuding with. they were eating it up.

and then.

he paused.

right in the middle of it, he stopped talking. lowered the mic for a breath. looked out into the crowd, but you knew that look wasn’t for them.

it was for you.

when he spoke again, his voice was softer. but it hit harder than anything he'd said all night.

"there was a time when i thought i had to carry everything alone. that to be strong, i had to be what they wanted me to be. that i had to be untouchable. but i was wrong."

"i’m stronger now than i’ve ever been. ten times stronger. and it’s not because of a title. it’s not because of a match."

"it’s because of her."

pause.

"because when you find someone who sees you exactly as you are, who doesn’t flinch from the darkest parts of you, you stop fighting the world and start fighting for them."

"i fight better now because i know what i’d lose if i didn’t.”

the arena exploded.

cheers. shouts. a sea of faces roaring back at him, but your body went still. quiet. cracked open.

because it wasn’t just for the show. it wasn’t for the crowd.

he was declaring you like a victory. like a weapon. like you were the reason he walked through fire with a smile on his face.

your hand came up to your mouth without thinking.

and the tears hit.

not hot or frantic like before, but slow, sweet, unstoppable. you cried because you loved him. you cried because you’d never been wanted out loud before.

you stayed there, fingers pressed to your lips, watching the man in the ring claim you like it was the only thing in the world that ever mattered.

and for the first time, you felt it in your bones.

you were his.

but more than that

he was yours.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you didn’t wait.

the second he came through the curtain, you were there , moving before you could think, before you could breathe. his adrenaline was still humming through the air like static, and he was glowing, sweat-slick and smiling, but the second he saw your face, everything stopped.

he didn’t even get a word out.

you surged into his arms and kissed him.

hard. deep. fierce with all the things that had lived too long in your chest. cody dropped the towel from his shoulders instantly and caught you by the waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing, like he needed you closer.

your hands threaded through his hair, anchoring, trembling.

when you finally pulled back, breathless and heart pounding, he looked dazed. like he’d been hit over the head. like his brain was short-circuiting from the sheer force of how fast it all hit.

and then you said it.

"i love you."

your voice wasn’t loud. it didn’t need to be. it was calm, certain, like the truth it was. like something you’d always known.

"i love you, cody. i love you so much it scares me."

he froze.

and then something in him broke.

not in a bad way. in the best possible way.

you watched it happen in real time, the breath hitch in his chest, the way his eyes went wide, wet, wild. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, then cupped your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you right.

"say it again", he whispered, voice cracking. "say it one more time."

"i love you."

it barely got past your lips before his forehead dropped to yours, a sound ripping out of him low and raw. a choked laugh. a noise too full to be anything but emotion.

and then

tears.

real ones. big ones. falling fast down his cheeks as he laughed again, incredulous and overcome.

"oh my god", he whispered, pulling you impossibly closer. "you love me. you love me. you..."

you kissed the tears off his cheek as they fell. one after another. His hands were shaking.

"i’ve loved you", you whispered against his skin. "i didn’t know it until tonight, but i have. for a while now."

cody’s whole body was trembling, arms locked around you so tight you could barely move, but you didn’t want to. you didn’t want to breathe if it meant being anywhere but there.

"you have no idea what you just did to me", he said, voice low and wrecked. "no idea what you just gave me."

you smiled, soft and sure. "everything, if you want it."

cody kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

and when he finally pulled back, red-eyed and breathless, he said it back like a vow.

"i love you. i’m so fucked for you. i love you so much it hurts."

you rested your forehead against his again, and everything went quiet.

you were both trembling. both grinning like idiots. both completely and totally ruined.

together.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you were almost done packing up the station. brushes cleaned, palettes closed, zippers half-drawn. the dressing room was half-lit and quiet now, the buzz of the show long gone, leaving behind only the hum of neon bulbs and the echo of your own heartbeat still heavy from the night.

lena hovered nearby, pretending to sort lip liners. you felt it before she spoke, the tension in her silence.

and then, gently.

"can i ask you something? off the record?"

you looked up, already bracing.

"sure."

she hesitated, eyes flicking toward the door like she wanted to make sure no one else would hear.

"i’m worried about you."

you blinked. "what?"

"i’m not trying to be a bitch", she rushed. "i just, i’ve been watching it happen. watching him, cody’s intense. and i know how that feels at first. i know it can feel like being worshipped. like finally being seen. but there’s a difference between being loved and being consumed."

your breath caught.

"he’s not dangerous", you said softly.

"i’m not saying he’d hurt you", she replied. "i’m saying i’ve seen girls fall into men like that and forget how to breathe without them."

you stared down at your hands. you could still feel the ghost of his touch there. his voice in your ear. his tears on your cheeks.

you didn’t feel lost.

you felt found.

"i know what it looks like from the outside", you said finally. "i know it’s intense. i know he’s intense. but he’s never made me feel like i’m too much. or not enough. he doesn’t ask me to change, he just shows up."

lena looked pained. "you don’t think it’s a little much? the way he watches you like he’s going to eat you alive?"

you smiled, actually smiled.

"god, lena. i love that."

she looked stunned.

and just then, because of course, the door opened.

cody stepped inside.

you hadn’t even heard him approach, but he was there now, calm and golden and quiet, leaning in the doorway like he’d been listening the whole time.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t shrink.

you turned toward lena, steady as stone.

"i know what i’m doing", you said. "and i don’t want to be saved. not from him. not from this."

lena glanced between you both, unsure, lips pressed tight. "okay", she said finally. "just be careful."

she left with that, gently shutting the door behind her.

you turned to face cody fully, your pulse fluttering like wings in your throat. he hadn’t said a word. not yet.

you opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

"goddamn", he whispered.

you blinked. "what?"

"i love you" his voice cracked. "jesus, baby, i love you so much.”

he crossed the room in three strides and pulled you into his arms, hands gripping your face like you were made of light.

"you stuck up for us", he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "you stuck up for me."

you nodded against him. "of course i did."

"you have no idea what that does to me", he growled, voice low and full of something dangerous. "what that means to me."

"i don’t need anyone to understand us", you whispered. "i just need you."

cody kissed you then, hard and deep, one hand fisting in your shirt like he couldn’t wait a second longer.

and you knew, without a doubt, what was coming next.

you weren’t afraid.

you were ready.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you barely made it through the hotel door before he had you pressed up against it.

cody’s mouth was on yours the second the lock clicked shut, hot and demanding, all tongue and teeth and hands that couldn’t stop moving. he kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been holding it back for hours and finally cracked.

"you stood up for me", he groaned against your mouth, dragging his hands down your sides, gripping tight. "fuck, baby. you don’t even know what that did to me."

"i meant it", you gasped. "every word."

that broke something in him.

cody spun you, slammed your back to the door with a thud, both hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in. his chest rose and fell like he’d just run a marathon, eyes dark and blown wide.

"you said you don’t want to be saved." His voice was low, dangerous. "so don’t you dare try to stop me now."

he kissed you again, brutal and possessive. no softness. just heat and want and that overwhelming claim he never tried to hide. he bit your bottom lip and swallowed your gasp, dragging his hand down between your bodies, gripping your thigh and hiking it up around his waist.

"up", he growled, and you jumped, wrapping your legs around him instinctively.

he carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing, dropped you onto the mattress with a thud, and peeled off your clothes like they offended him. your top was gone in a second, your bra yanked down with a muttered curse. he stared at your chest like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"mine", he growled, leaning down to mouth at one breast, then the other. his teeth scraped, just enough to sting, then he sucked hard until you cried out.

"you love me", he muttered, kissing a hot trail down your stomach. "say it again."

"i love you", you gasped, fingers twisting in his hair as he yanked your pants off and dropped to his knees between your thighs. "god, i love you, cody"

he growled, like the words lit something wild in him. then his mouth was on you, tongue hot and relentless, licking into you with zero hesitation. one hand gripped your thigh tight, holding you open, the other pressed against your stomach to keep you pinned down as he devoured you.

it wasn’t sweet.

it wasn’t soft.

it was a claim.

he licked you like he needed it, like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t taste you completely, if he didn’t leave you wrecked and soaked and shaking just from his mouth.

you came fast and hard, sobbing his name, body arching off the bed as your legs trembled. he didn’t stop. didn’t even slow down. he chased your orgasm like it wasn’t enough, like he wanted more, like you weren’t enough unless he completely ruined you.

when he finally pulled back, his face was slick, eyes dark with obsession.

he didn’t say a word as he shoved his jeans down, climbing over you, kissing you like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. you were still shaking, still wrecked from his mouth, but you wrapped your arms around him anyway, desperate for more.

"need you", you whimpered. "please"

he lined himself up and slammed into you, one brutal, perfect thrust that had you crying out again. he didn’t give you time to adjust, didn’t tease or ease in. he just fucked you. deep, hard, claiming thrusts that knocked the air out of your lungs and made your back arch off the mattress.

cody buried his face in your neck, panting harshly.

"you love me", he whispered, like he still couldn’t believe it. "you really love me."

"i do", you gasped, clinging to him. "i’m yours."

that broke him completely.

he gripped your hips and fucked you harder, deeper, every thrust slamming into the spot that made your vision blur. he muttered broken things into your skin, praise, obsession, possession, promises he had no intention of ever breaking.

"you’re mine", he growled. "i’ll kill for you. burn down the whole fucking world if i have to. you don’t cry alone. you don’t walk alone. you belong to me."

"yes", you sobbed, eyes rolling back. "yes, yes, cody"

he reached between you and pressed his thumb to your clit, rough and perfect, and you shattered.

you came again, harder this time, body going tight and slick around him, pulling him deeper, tighter, holding him hostage with your pleasure.

cody groaned, deep and guttural, slamming into you once more before spilling inside, heat flooding you as his whole body jerked and tensed.

he didn’t pull out.

didn’t move.

just collapsed on top of you, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight around your body like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go.

you were both shaking. sweaty. marked and gasping and overwhelmed.

and still, he kissed you.

soft now. reverent.

"i'm never letting you go", he whispered against your lips.

you smiled through the aftershocks, eyes glassy and full of love.

"i never asked you to."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

you woke to the steady rhythm of his heart under your cheek.

the same way you had that first night, tangled up in a hotel bed with your body sore and your heart cracked open.

except this time, everything was louder. deeper. final.

cody was already awake, fingers stroking through your hair, the touch soft in contrast to everything the night before. you felt him shift a little, then kiss the top of your head like he always did, like it was his instinct, not a habit. like breathing.

you kept your eyes closed, not ready to break the spell.

"still mine?", he whispered against your skin.

you smiled.

"i was always yours."

you felt the breath he let out, shaky, disbelieving. like he still didn’t quite understand how this had happened, how you’d gone from the girl crying in a hallway to the woman who stood up for him without blinking. who loved him without fear.

"you said you’d burn the world down for me", you murmured into his chest. "maybe i want to watch you do it."

that earned a low, dangerous chuckle. the kind that made your thighs clench under the sheets, even now.

"baby", he said, voice still rough from sleep, "i already started the fire the second I met you.”

you laughed softly, not because it was funny, but because it was true.

he had.

you could still feel the heat of it in your bones.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, at those wild blue eyes that had terrified you and comforted you and ruined you in equal measure. he looked a little ruined himself now, beard scruffy, lashes damp, a lingering pink at the corners of his eyes from the tears you’d pulled out of him the night before.

no one had ever cried for you before.

no one had ever fought for you like this, not in whispers, not in violence, not in vows.

"i was scared at first", you admitted. "backstage. the way you looked at me. like you already had me."

"i did", cody said, no hesitation.

you nodded. "i know that now."

you laid there in the quiet for a few long seconds, feeling the weight of everything that had passed between you.

the first touch.

the first tear.

the first time he pulled you into his arms like the world was ending.

the night you gave him your body.

the moment you gave him your heart.

and now, this, morning light on his skin, his arm draped across your waist, his breath steady and even, grounding you like nothing else could.

"you told me once i didn’t have to be perfect with you", you whispered. "that all i owed you was my heart beating."

he nodded, thumb brushing your cheek.

"i still mean it."

you reached up and curled your fingers into his hair, holding him close.

"well", you murmured, "my heart only beats when you’re here."

that broke him again, not into pieces, but into something softer. something dangerous and sacred.

"you’re mine", he whispered, voice cracking again. "all of you."

and this time, you didn’t just nod.

you kissed him, slow, deep, full of everything you couldn’t put into words, and then whispered against his lips.

"always."

you weren’t scared anymore.

not of him.

not of the world.

not of the darkness.

because the truth was, you were never lost.

You were just waiting to be claimed.

and cody?

he had never let go of what was his.

[rayveneyed]

continuation of this au

cw: mentions of cheating/infidelity/disloyalty; vague allusions to sex

“so, like, what’s his deal?”

two months into your relationship with sukuna ryomen, you’re personal-assistant-turned-friend carries a bouquet of a hundred red roses into your dressing room. they’re so large that they eclipse her entire top half, and she pants as she sets them down on the table, cursing to herself.

it’s the first night of your mini-tour, your first performance in a good few months, and you don’t bother pretending that the sight of the flowers doesn’t soothe your nerves immediately. there’s a little note attached to the pale-blue cellophane that hugs the flowers; in his chicken-scratch, a love letter. i already know you’ll knock it out of the park. blow their minds, baby.

you read it over and over again, mind flitting between the set list for the night and where you’d been just days earlier — in his home, in his bed, in his arms. he’d sent you off well and truly satisfied, called you almost every day since, and hadn’t missed a single good morning text. and now, this. you fight a swoon.

hair laid — 1940s pin curls — and makeup done (a deep, oxblood red lip, really selling the whole vintage aesthetic), you lift your head to peer at her in the mirror. karmen really would kill you if you got foundation on your neckline — the first dress of the concert is white, glimmering with rhinestones and embroidery, a more virginal jessica rabbit moment. you force yourself to hold your chin up and away from it. “hm?”

“you know.” unscrewing the lid of her water bottle, nina waves it in a vague shape in front of her. “sukuna. ryomen, that is.”

“is there any other?” you joke. she sends you perhaps the most unimpressed look she’s ever bequeathed you with.

“i just never thought he’d be your type,” she continues, casual. “like, real oil and water vibes. i don’t know. but the roses are a nice touch.”

you hum. you’ve known her long enough to not take offence to most of what nina says -- she's wonderfully blunt, and you value that greatly. instead, you pick up your phone and open the camera app, zooming in and out to snap a couple of pictures of your flowers. exposure up, down, up, down -- should you take one at an angle? “oil and water?”

“yeah, i guess." there's a moment of silence, and then: "like — you’re always talking about how you wanna settle down and get married and, like, be loyal to someone, y'know? and he’s just — look, i’m not saying that he’s not loyal to you, i’m just—”

she makes a noise of frustration, and you snort. "he's just, like, a little bit of a whore, right? sorry, i don't mean to be mean -- but has he had a serious relationship in the past 10 years? and all of a sudden he’s talking about you to anyone who will listen — allegedly. allegedly.” she pauses. “how are you taking this so lightly? i'm literally bagging on your man."

finally, you set your phone down, and actually take a second to heed her words.

in truth, you had been extremely cautious when sukuna first showed an interest in you -- sat beside each other at a fashion show, never having met before. you'd be stupid to call it mere coincidence -- nothing in this industry ever really is, and the organisers had definitely gotten the photo op moment they'd hoped for. you're almost 100% sure they hadn't expected for him to stare at you like an idiot, or for you to shoot him your most demure smile, or for the actor to pull out his most casanova-esque moves.

you're not stupid, and what nina says isn't wrong. you're not into hooking up, or one night stands, or being another notch on someone's bedpost -- you weren't before you got famous, and you sure as hell aren't now, when there are cameras around every corner and gossips at every table. and sukuna isn't exactly known for his long-standing relationships or his monogamy -- it's almost like a rite of passage, you think, for a girl to have a shadowy nightclub picture taken with sukuna. if not a shadowy nightclub picture, then a steamy pool shot, or a sensual beach picture, with his hands up her t-shirt and her's down his pants.

despite his general bad-boy appearances in the media, you'd heard that he was quite… kind, if that’s the word. brash, but kind. a little hardheaded, but hard-working, and not too difficult to work with. you've met music video directors that had sung his praises and trusted producers that had called him a good friend. maybe that's why you'd spoken to him when you caught him staring, instead of sending him a smile and continuing on.

"is this your first time at a mugler show?" because it had been yours, and you didn't know what else to say. you wouldn't call yourself shy, but you're certainly not the most adept at small talk -- and you're not ugly, but sukuna is intimidatingly pretty for a man. and the tattoos, and the hair, and those smouldering eyes and long lashes...

"not my first,” he'd replied, seemingly unbothered that he had been caught staring. "y’know, i don't think we've met before."

"no, i don't think we have.”

and yet, there’d been no need for introductions. you were both aware that the other knew who you were.

"you, uh — you doin' somethin' after this?" the question had come out of nowhere -- at least, to you it did. what you didn't know is that he'd been repeating the question to himself from the moment he'd sat down beside you. and while his face didn't betray anything -- his jaw set and his eyes in their usual half-lidded state -- if you'd reached out and placed a palm over his chest, his heartbeat would have rabbitted against your hand.

you had allowed yourself a smile, and tilted your head. of course, his reputation proceeded him — but you were nothing if not a risk taker. maybe that’s why, instead of outright denying his invitation, you said: “i don’t do casual, darling. sorry.”

his eyes had been almost piercing. that wasn’t a no. “who said anything about casual?”

you’d quirked an eyebrow. “really? you want to go steady with me?”

“why not?”

“you don’t even know me.”

“i want to.”

and fuck. it wasn’t the smartest decision in hindsight, leaving the show so openly with him — but you did, arm in arm, and he hadn’t yet broken your trust. perhaps stupid of you, you didn’t believe he would.

“y’know,” you say, snapping out of your memories. you’re back in your dressing room, clutching his card in hand, staring at your reflection. “i don’t know what it is. i don’t know why he suddenly changed his tune. i don’t know why it was with me. and — well, i know he won’t, but if one day he leaves me for some waify scandi model, i’ll know he didn’t really change at all.”

nina nods, slow, like she finally understands. “you’re going in headfirst.”

“yeah, i guess.”

“that shit’s scary.”

“yeah.” you lift the card to your face again, thumb smoothing over where he’d scrawled your name, the little heart where he signed his love. your cheeks feel hot. you know there’s a facetime call waiting for you when you’re back at the hotel, tucked into bed and sleepy. “it’s really not so bad, at the end of the day.”

[softcursechoso]

Memoirs from a Gilded Cage: CH. 1

Attack on Titan x Reader

Masterlist

MDNI! FROM THIS SENTENCE ON YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE 18+

FROM THIS SENTENCE ON NO SPOILERS ARE OFF LIMITS!

Black!Reader

Levi x Reader

Erwin x Reader

Eventual Romance/Slow Burn

CH. 1 Warnings: None

Summary: As a privileged member of Mitras' elite, your life has been one of comfort and prestige—until your father’s sudden illness unearths a shocking revelation buried in his memoirs. What you discover shatters the foundation of your world, drawing you into the shadowy depths of the underground. Driven by a hunger for answers, you embark on a perilous journey through unforgiving streets. Along the way, you uncover not just buried truths, but the strength, love, and self-worth you never could have imagined.

Words: 5k+

CHILD OF THE SUNRISE

High above the sky you were. The moonlight reflecting off of your skin like sunlight against the finest jewels. A gorgeous red dress flowing behind you. No wall to hold you back, as you could soar over it with ease. Freedom alas. A premonition begotten.

“My lady, we have arrived.” A gentle voice called to you.

Your eyes cracked open, and certainly you were not above the sky. No. You were grounded right where you always were. Hm… what an interesting dream…

Greville Estate : 1:35pm : Mitras

Your black heels clicked softly against the freshly polished marble flooring, and echoed in the vast hallway. The long royal blue curtains were pulled open and let in the balmy afternoon rays. Fresh poppies lined the windows outside, which caused a lot of little visitors to stop by. You loved the butterflies and the bees, maybe even envied them. They had freedom that you didn’t. 

The Greville Estate was a sight to behold. Even amongst the wealthy here in Mitras, this home still turned heads. It was grand. It was gaudy. It was… your childhood home. A place you grew up and lived most of your days until recently. 

“Oh! Goodness! You scared me!” A young man of high class nearly ran into you as you were turning the corner. “You can’t be walking around here looking like that.”

Dark brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and a smug ass grin that you just wanted to slap right off of his face sometimes. Your brother; Cassius Greville.

“Looking like what?” Your eyebrow rose. 

You were certain he wasn’t actually talking about your appearance. As the most revered seamstress in Mitras, there was no way he had anything to say about your clothing. A long sleeve, hand beaded, open back, form fitting, black dress. You were light years ahead of your time in terms of fashion, and he knew that. Maybe he was talking about…

“Your hair.” He shrugged, “It’s just- so crazy today.”

Of course he was talking about that. You were what people called a medical anomaly… if they were being nice that is. One of one. Brown skin, curly hair, and features like none other. You looked nothing like your late mother Celeste Greville, nor did you look like your father. Was the world really so cruel to curse you with this diseased brown skin? Yes, though you’d word it a little differently.

“It’s not crazy idiot.” You rolled your eyes, “This is just how it looks when I don’t straighten it. How’s father anyway?”

“Asking about you again. He swears you’ll leave him for good every time you get up to take a piss.” Cassius brushed past you, “Go say hi, favorite child .”

You stood slightly sideways as your brother shoulder bumped you. He really was in a mood today. It’s true, you were always your father’s favorite, but now that he was on his deathbed the genuine feelings about his kids were coming out, and Cassius was on the bottom of that totem pole. 

Finally you fully turned the corner, faced with two massive double doors. You’d pull it open and walk into your father’s room. There he lay sick and frail in his grand oak bed. Canopy pulled open for his visitors to see him. At his bedside in a white high back throne chair was your sister. She stood up to greet you.

Dark brown hair and blue eyes just like your brother. Pale skin and pink cheeks. The epitome of beauty. Tinsley Greville.

Her hand fluffed your curls before she gave you a hug. “It’s cute.” She smiled. “Father is sleeping now, but I’m sure he’ll still want you at his bedside.” 

You nodded, “Okay.” 

Your sister closed the door and you’d walk to your father’s bedside, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. As you did, his pale, sickly blue eyes cracked open followed by a weak smile.

“My little angel.” He grabbed your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smiled softly as you attempted not to give way to the sadness of the moment.

His eyes closed once again, and you could tell that he was at peace just from having you nearby. In fact, all of the things he loved were nearby. Your father was a top engineer for the royal government before he fell ill, and he wanted to be surrounded by all of his inventions.

Perhaps that’s why you picked up sewing. Watching your father create masterpieces made you want to make some of your own. Well, in your own way of course.

You walked around the room, your perfectly manicured fingers lightly grazed the showcases displayed about. You looked at them a million times, but it still held intrigue.

In the back of the room was a bookshelf. It was your favorite part of the room, because it held so many books about towns just outside of Mitras. Villages that stood beyond wall Rose. Places that you could never visit beyond just looking at a book, but it was nice to dream.

Ever since you were born you were never allowed to leave the walled capital that is Mitras. That was an order from your father and the royal government that was carried out by the Military Police. Due to your rare condition, they deemed it best to keep you here so it wouldn’t spread to anyone else. Seemed a little unfair. You’d been around your family your whole life and they never got it, but an ordinance is still an ordinance. 

As your eyes traced up the bookshelf, you noticed an unremarkable black book hanging out just a little more than the rest. You’d reach up for the book and pull it from the shelf. Weird. You hadn’t even seen this one before.

Your delicate fingers slid the hard cover open, and just as you did.

“Stop!” Your father yelled in his raspy, sick voice. “P-put that back right now!” He coughed vigorously, “Don’t t-touch that!”

His yelling startled you, causing you to drop the book. Your father never yelled at you even once. Never rose his hand to you. Never said a bad word about you. Why did he snap at you for pulling the book? You were always more than welcome to read anything on the shelf, but why not this?

As you knelt down to pick up the book, your eyes fell on the page it landed on. You skimmed as quickly as you could. A tribe called Kuremi. A group of people with brown skin forced into the underground. A woman named Abeni? A daughter? Wait, what?

“Put it back-k!” Your father nearly choked as he coughed. 

“Sorry father. My dress got caught.” You rose with the book in hand and placed it back on the shelf.

You felt breathless. That book was not a fairytale or some forged documents. That was…  your father’s memoirs. You had to read it again. No. You didn’t have enough time to look at it. Surly you misread it. 

You couldn’t face him. You felt hot, scorching even. You needed to act like everything was fine until he fell asleep again. 

The nurses came in right on time with your father’s medicine. An elixir of herbs that would put him to sleep soon. 

You spoke now attempting to shake off the nervousness in your voice, “I think my father needs another dose of that. His cough is worsening.” You turned around to look at the women, “Please.”

“Of course.” They bowed at your grace.

You’d walk over to the seat your sister formerly occupied and sat with a delicateness that showed no hesitancy, but inside you were all nerves. 

It felt like hours you waited for your father to sleep. The sun was lowering more and more, and all you could think about was getting that one little book off the shelf again. Your hands felt clammy and there was nothing to do but wait. You were in your head. 

Did you read that right? Of course not. You were skimming. 

The time to act was now. Your father was out cold, double dosed on who knows what concoction those nurses gave him. You’d slip out of your heels in order to make less noise as you approached the bookshelf once more.

You reached for the black book and slid it out as best you could. Seemed easy enough. Okay, now where were you? You looked over your shoulder as your father snorted in his sleep. 

With your back turned to him, you flipped quickly and quietly. Aha!

The Kuremi or People of the Sunrise is what they called themselves. Father was there when they were forced underground. Corralled like cattle and shoved into the deep caverns below Mitras. Men, women, and children whose names would be lost to the sands of time.

Their mere existence challenged the belief of what existed beyond the walls. These brown skinned settlers appeared seemingly from thin air and forced underground to be forgotten. Father took an interest in one though. A woman with dark ebony curls and skin like earth after a summer rain. Her name was Abeni. He was in love with her. 

He dug a tunnel from his workshop that reached the underground so he could be with her without causing suspicion. She was terrified of him. She was married to a man, and by the time father met them they were the last two of their kind. All others had been wiped out in a single generation from famine and disease. 

She hated him, but father dragged her up to Mitras anyway and kept her there in secret. The royal government found out and father said he was running experiments so they allowed it. Months later her belly grew round with child. Father knew it wasn’t his. The timing was too quick. The baby was born the same day as Tinsley. Both mothers died in childbirth. 

The Royal Government allowed father to keep this child on the condition that she never leave Mitras. Abeni’s people may have died in the shadows, but their legacy will live on through her daughter. His daughter. The last child of the sunrise…

You clutched your chest as you tried to accept what you just read. There’s no way. There had to be more, right? Your fingers flipped through the pages, and as you did you saw that some were missing. The beginning pages, perhaps about where these people came from.

There has to be answers for this. It was absurd! Father’s old workshop was your current tailoring shop. If that were true, then that meant…

You quickly and quietly put the book of memoirs back in its place. You slipped your shoes back on and sped walked out of the room. Nearly running, you were until you reached outside. The dusk sunset began to settle on you, and you were greeted by a carriage driver and two Military Police escorts.

“I need to go to my shop, now please.” You wanted to make it sound urgent without it being dire. 

One man grabbed your hand as he helped you inside the carriage. Your mind was spiraling. So you weren’t even related to these people you spent your whole life with? You were the child of a woman that your father was obsessed with and tormented until the day she died. He was a monster. Not at all the man you thought you knew. 

If his memoirs were correct, that would mean there should be evidence of something regarding the Kuremi still lingering in the underground. Your father did not see Abeni’s husband, or rather, your biological father, die. It just said he was very sick. Maybe he was still down there, or any evidence of them.

You needed to know the truth. Who were they, and where did they come from? 

As the carriage stopped, you were right in front of your shop. Refurbished from your father’s old workshop. It was beautiful now. Adorned with many windows so customers could see the gorgeous handmade pieces you crafted. 

The door opened for you, and you yawned fictitiously as you were helped out of the carriage. 

“I’m gonna call it a night, okay?” You smiled at the men as you stepped toward your shop. “Sorry, don’t mean to put you on guard duty this early, but I’m kind of tired.”

Yes, the Military Police were tasked with watching over you. When you said it’s time for sleep, that meant it was time for one of them to guard the front of the shop, and the other to guard the rear. 

“Goodnight guys.” You reached into your bag and handed each of them a large bill.

It was the only way you could ever gain an ounce of autonomy in your life. Pay off the guards, and they loosen your leash a bit. Meaning, you do what you do, and they don’t ask questions. Be it inside or outside of the shop. They were your alibi. You were here all night according to them. So long as you didn’t leave Mitras of course.

It wasn’t one of those going out type nights though. No, tonight you were staying in.

As you entered your shop the smell of roses filled your senses. It was nice. Bolts of fabric lined the walls. Mannequins dressed to the nines, and your little workshop in the back behind a closed door so no one had to see what a mess you really were.

You’d draw the thick black curtains of your shop together to give yourself some privacy. Okay, your father said he built a tunnel under his workshop so that he could sneak a woman who didn’t love him up here and hold her captive. With that knowledge this shop didn’t seem quite as homey anymore. 

Obviously the tunnel had to be in your back room. You began to head in that direction. It was the only place that- your thoughts stopped abruptly as your foot walked against something hollow in the flooring. No way you walked through this hall thousands of times and never noticed. Why in the hallway? 

You pulled back the rug and still found nothing remarkable about the floor. It wasn’t until you tapped your foot again that you were sure. You grabbed a pair of shears from a nearby table and placed it in between the cracks. Slowly it lifted, but not just one board, it was a cutout big enough for a person, and a ladder that led into a dark tunnel that seemed to stretch on forever.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Underground : 7:48pm

It seemed like you were descending for hours, though it wasn’t even close to that long. The smell got worse and worse as you lowered. The underground was not for the faint of heart, clearly. 

Your black heels settled onto the craggily floor, and you were in complete pitch blackness. Your hands pressed against the walls, and only one side felt different, wooden. 

You pushed it forward, and that stench hit you like a thousand sand bags. It was awful. As you pushed it more, you stepped in. You were in a room from what it looked like. Damn, you should have brought some candles with you because it was hard to see. 

You would be absolutely beside yourself if you climbed all the way up for some candles, so you figured making a quick trip to the market wouldn’t be too bad. They had markets down here, right?

One of your hands clutched your bag packed full of essentials for your first trip underground. The other hand felt around for a doorknob. Didn’t take too long to find it. You’d twist and walk out into the city of forgotten souls for the first time.

It was so vastly different from Mitras up above. The people down here seemed kind of to themselves. Mean scowls on their faces and ready to act at the drop of a hat. 

“Hey!” One man yelled to you. “The exotic lookin’ broad!”

“Hi.” You said nervously, walking in the opposite direction.

“What’s in the bag?” Another stepped in front of you.

“Fancy clothes.” One laughed in an eerie manner that caused your blood to run cold.

“Thanks.” You smiled quickly and attempted to walk past him.

The first man’s arm stopped you and pushed you into the wall. His hand tracing your waist down to your hips. “You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?”

“Don’t touch me!” Your eyes were fierce like a woman who no longer had the option of flight. “Get the fuck away from me!” 

The screech of metal piercing stone sounded and you looked above. A man with blonde hair was swinging by with ODM gear. 

“Whoa! Looks like that girl’s in trouble.” Furlan looked over at you. His eyes narrowing as he’d never seen anyone like you down here before. 

You were like a diamond peeking out from the dirt. Your masterpiece of an outfit was a stark contrast to the world around you. Your eyes were quite the trap, able to lure anyone in with just a glance. A testament to your strange mystique.

“We should help.”

“Not our problem.” The uninterested voice of Levi spoke. Yes, not his problem and yet his curiosity couldn’t help but look back not once, but twice. Who the hell?

As the man pulled you closer, a voice sounded behind him. “Let her go. She doesn’t want it. You don’t take no for an answer?” 

As your head tilted a bit to the side, you saw the sandy blonde hair of Furlan, followed by his big blue eyes and a smug grin.

“Leave.” He speaks again, voice like ice.

The man in front of you snarls, shoving you aside. You stumble, catching yourself against the wall. “Think you can tell us what to do? You don’t even belong over here. This ain’t your business.”

“We’re making it our business.” Furlan speaks again.

Levi hops in beside him, he pulls out a blade, twirling it lazily in his hand. “I don’t have the patience for this.”

The gang doesn’t take the hint. They charge. The fight is swift and brutal—a blur of blades and limbs. You press yourself against the wall, heart pounding, as the two strangers dispatch the men with terrifying efficiency. Seemed like it was over in an instant, but you could still describe every brutal second of it.

The sandy haired man wiped his blade clean on the gang leader’s shirt. “Still think you’re tough?” He turns to you, smiling softly. “You alright?”

You nod, hands trembling as they clutch your bag. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Where ya from?” Furlan follows up.

“Hmm, how about- far enough to keep you curious, but close enough to make it dangerous.” You make a joke to cut the tension.

“We don’t have time for this.” Levi spoke. “The MP’s are still on us.”

Your eyes widened, “The MP’s? Wait!” You held your hand out as the two were getting ready to take off.

This wasn't good. Not all MP's were paid off by you so you could wander the streets of Mitras. That being said, even those that were wouldn't hesitate to drag you back topside and snitch if they saw you down here. This was no place for a woman of nobility.

“What?” Levi’s sharp eyes cut in your direction.

“Take me with you, please. I’ll pay you. I can’t get caught.” You rose the bag in your hand, “I stole and I’ll b- ah!”

You let out a sharp squeak as your little spiel was cut short from Levi grabbing your wrist. He’d then hoist you up with surprising ease and take off. Pretty strong for a man of this stature.

Your arms were holding on around his neck for dear life. He fires his ODM gear and the world tilts as you’re suddenly airborne, soaring above the streets.

The wind whips past your face, and for a moment, terror grips you. You clutch Levi tightly, your arms wrapping even more snug around his neck as you bury your face against his shoulder. You tremble, both from fear and exhilaration. The underground spreads out below you. It’s a sprawling maze of shadows and ruins, but from up here, it almost looks beautiful.

Despite the grime and decay, there’s something mesmerizing about the view. The flicker of torchlight, the distant murmur of voices, the labyrinthine alleys that twist and turn like veins beneath the city. It’s awful, yes, but it’s alive. Something stimulating to the eyes that you’d never seen beyond your cage in Mitras up above.

Levi doesn’t say a word as he swings between buildings, his movements smooth and practiced. But you can feel the tension in his frame, the careful control he exerts over every motion. You hold on tighter, feeling a strange rush of euphoria as the two of you glide through the air.

“Wow.” Your voice is soft. It’s as if you were able to pluck the beauty from this unsightly town.

You feel your body jerk as Levi lands on the ground. He releases you, and you feel dizzy as you release him too. Hard to get your footing actually.

“You good?” Furlan asks with his eyebrows upturned with a tinge of worry. 

“I am.” You reach inside your bag and grab some bills you brought with you. You’d give one to each of them. “Thanks for that.”

“Wait, you’re really giving us this much just to get away from the MP’s?” Furlan’s eyes amplify.

You didn’t really think it was all that much, but perhaps it was for the service provided? 

“Inside. Quickly.” Levi rushed the two of you as he placed the fresh crisp bill in his pocket.

You step into the dimly lit room, your eyes adjusting to the shadows. The place is sparse but clean. There’s a small table with mismatched chairs, a worn couch, and a collection of neatly stacked papers sitting atop a makeshift desk. It’s utilitarian, yet it feels lived in. The faint scent of leather and ink lingers in the air, mixing with the smell of bleach and water.

Furlan closes the door behind you. “You’ll be safe here.”

“Thank you.” You smile softly, smoothing the fabric of your gown. 

The black velvet feels out of place in such a worn down space, but you carry yourself with practiced poise, aware of how closely both men are watching you.

Levi crosses his arms, leaning against the wall. His gaze hasn’t softened even a little bit. “Why are the MP’s really after you?”

You hesitate, considering your words carefully. “I don’t leave home much, and there was a bag I saw just sitting there... It’s complicated.”

“That’s an understatement.” Furlan mutters, glancing at your gown. “You stand out like a sore thumb.”

You force a smile. “Yes, the reason I stay inside so much.”

Silence stretches between you until you clear your throat. “Do you mind if I stay for a few hours? Just until the MP’s are gone. I’ll cook and clean.”

Furlan raises an eyebrow. “Cook?”

You nod. “I have ingredients. I was going to use them for myself, but…” You shrug. “It’s the least I can do.”

Levi exchanges a glance with Furlan, then nods once. “Fine, but don’t touch anything else.”

You set to work, tying your curls back with a silk ribbon before gathering your supplies. Fresh vegetables, herbs, and spices. All virtually unknown treasures in the underground. The vibrant colors of the produce seem almost otherworldly in this dim space. You move with practiced efficiency, chopping, stirring, and seasoning with care, the rhythm of cooking soothing your nerves.

The scent of the meal fills the room, drawing Furlan closer. He watches you with open curiosity, leaning against the table as you work.

“Where did you get all this?” He asks, his tone incredulous. “These don’t have a speck of mold, and none of them are squishy from being rotten.

You smile faintly. “I grow what I can. It’s a little hobby of mine.”

“Underground?” The blonde follows up, a wave of shock in his voice.

You shrug. “I told you I’m a shut in. I get a lot done at home. Sometimes all you need is a touch of care.”

Levi watches you silently, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t trust you at all. The way you look, the way you dress, the way you act, the items you possess. It’s all too perfect to be from slums like this. 

“I probably should have asked earlier, but what are your names?” You look up from the boiling food with curiosity.

“Furlan Church.” The man grins widely. “And that’s Levi.”

“Oh.” You nod, “Nice to meet you. My name is-”

“On your bag, right?” Levi cut’s you off. 

You move to grab the bag that’s on the table and sure enough there is your name on a steel plate attached to the bag. Fancy.

“The bag you stole from the MP’s has your name on it?” Levi’s voice cuts with suspicion. 

“Of course not.” You roll your eyes, “I wasn’t talking about the bag I’m carrying my things in. I was talking about the bag of money inside the large bag.”

It was quick thinking on your part. You definitely were talking about the larger bag that you completely forgot was encrusted with your name. Shit! You just knew this Levi guy wasn’t going to forget that either.

You’d reach for some bowls and set them down at the table as you prepared to serve the dinner. The aroma was so nice. It was like absolutely nothing else in this world.

“You guys are really good with that ODM gear, huh?” You brought the pot over to the table using oven mitts. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some lessons?”

Furlan rose an eyebrow, “You wanna learn?”

“Could be fun.” You grinned.

“If it’s just for fun then you don’t need to learn.” The dark haired man took a seat at the table, his eyes practically burning a hole into you.

“I say fun, but really it’d be an escape.” You put the pot back and joined the two men at the table. “Let’s just say I never get out much because the door to my house is locked from the outside. You understand?”

Furlan was scratching his head on that one. “Not… really?”

“I get it, but I don’t know you, and I’m not gonna teach someone I don’t trust.” 

Damn, Levi was straight to the point, though the tension did ease as the men took their first bites of food. 

Furlan’s eyes widened. “This is incredible. You really grow your own vegetables down here?”

You offer a cryptic smile. “Anything is possible.”

They eat in silence for a while, savoring each bite. You watch them carefully, noting the way Furlan devours his meal with enthusiasm, while Levi eats with quiet precision. The contrast between them is striking, yet there’s an unspoken bond between the two that speaks to years of trust and shared hardship.

As the meal winds down, Furlan leans back with a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a meal that good.” 

“Really?” You smile, “Well allow me to extend my courtesy a bit further. I did say I would cook and clean.”

You’d collect the empty bowls from the men and place it into the sink. 

Levi watches you with a critical eye as if he is just waiting for you to miss a spot, and strangely, you don’t. Far be it for him to say someone's cleaning is on par with his… but maybe. 

You wipe down the table and wash the dishes. Sweep, mop, clean the baseboards, dust and wipe down all surfaces. It smells fresh in here.

As you are finishing the last bit of cleaning your fingers brush against a folded map on the desk. Curiosity piqued, you open it. It’s a plan for a heist- routes, schedules, and escape points marked in ink.

Your brows furrow. “This is just sloppy work.”

Furlan stands up from his seat. “Excuse me?”

You trace a route with your finger. “You’re planning a heist, yeah? You’re going to get caught here.”

Levi steps closer, peering over your shoulder. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel the weight of his scrutiny.

You continue, “The patrols overlap. But if you adjust your timing…” You grab a pen and make a quick correction, drawing a cleaner path. “You’ll avoid them entirely.”

“Who taught you that?” The shorter man asks with that deep scepticism in the back of his tone.

“No one.” You shrug lightly. “It’s just common sense.”

Furlan chuckles. “Common sense, huh? Well, you’ve got a sharp mind.”

Levi doesn’t laugh, but you catch a small glimpse of something. Approval maybe in his eyes?  He takes the map from you and studies your corrections silently.

“You’ve done this before?” He asks less skeptical and more curious.

“Not exactly, but I know how to plan.”

You turn to them both. “I could help you. Be your formulator. In exchange, you teach me how to use the ODM gear.”

Furlan grins. “Deal.”

Levi doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll see. After the plan goes through.”

You nod, slightly frustrated it’s not an instant yes. “That’s fair. I will be back here after the heist. If it’s a success, which it will be, then you teach me. If it goes left… then, fuck it, rob me.”

“We’re not gonna rob you.” Furlan laughs.

Levi on the other hand was not joking at all. His expression remained the same. A bit unsettling. Yeah, it seemed like robbing you wasn’t off the table. 

“See you in a couple days. Thanks for the hideout.” You say with a gratuitous smile.

It was time to resurface now. You had no idea what time it was as the concept of said thing seemed to fade down here. Was it still night? Was it morning? The walk back to your secret shack wasn’t too far. If you hurry, maybe you won’t get harassed this time!

Shop : 4:49am : Mitras

It’d been hours you spent in the underground, and now you were able to slip out unseen. The dark rooted town faded below you as you made your way back to the surface. Your tunnel remained undiscovered, and you emerged in your shop without a soul noticing. A sigh of relief.

Your hand grabbed onto the hanging latch that was used to shut the door behind you, and pushed it open. It was like a breath of fresh air, but you still had the stench of the underground laced all throughout your clothes.

The gown comes off as you head for the bath. The fabric carefully folded away. You wash the grime from your skin, each stroke of the cloth wiping away the memory of the underground. The tension in your shoulders slowly eases, but your mind keeps wandering back to the two men you left behind.

As you sit in the warm lavender scented bath, your thoughts linger on Levi and Furlan. Their world is so different from yours, yet you find yourself drawn to it. You learned nothing about your family, but you found something else. A spark of something you can’t quite name.

Perhaps the underground had a little more for you than unearthing the past. 

[nexus-noxsangonomiya]

Beginning of a potential Spirits/seafoam Tobirama AU fic <33

Credits to my dear @mattemilkao3 for the AU and inspiration! I borrowed quite a few things from your original fic :)

NOT PROOFREAD YET! Sorry for any mistakes!

Madara knew a spirit once. An unusually present one, who’d happened to visit the mangroves growing along the strait between their island and the mainland. They’d been childhood playmates, running through the trees and brush without a word spoken, just laughter.

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure his wooden friend could speak.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was that he had recently received news of said playmates marriage.

Apparently a nomadic clan had passed through, and their heir had accidentally proposed to the mangroves spirit. Apparently there was some confusion at first, and with his friends habit of bursting into tears or attacking people into hugs, he didn’t doubt that for a second.

He’d only met them once, on a trip to the mainland, and they both seemed so happy together. But more than that, the village had flourished.

The mangroves on the mainland were larger than on the island, but since their marriage the villagers had been able to harvest three times as much, as the whole area bloomed with his happiness. The village chief had been so happy he had given the two of them an estate a little ways from the village, closer to the mangroves themselves, and had hired Mito into the government for her technical mind.

Which brings him back to his current issue. For generations the sea had been slowly swallowing the island, and recently it had been even worse. They’d hardly brought any fish in, their main source of food and income, and the shorelines had been getting dangerously high durring the tides.

They had tried just about everything. And that was perhaps why he was even considering this. He had a whole island to look out for, his clan alongside a few other small clans and a whole village of civilians.

With a heavy sigh he closed the ring box in hand, holding his mother’s ring. It had been his grandmother’s before her, and on and on since nearly the foundation of his clan. And he was gonna throw it into the sea.

“For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Izuna had been very supportive thus far.

“I know you think this is the only way, and the elders can be very pressuring, but come on.”

“What do we have left to loose Izuna.”

And with that, he stood up and set out for their clan’s private section of the beach.

He felt a strange combination of silly, and bone-achingly serious. He supposed it all depended on whether this worked.

Nevertheless he settled himself onto the beach, and set the box down just within the waterline. He watched the waves crest around it, six, seven waves. Then the water washed over it, and the box was gone.

He waited nearly until sunset, the sun dipping just below the horizon, when he finally got his response. He looked up at the sound of a particularly harsh wave, his eyes widening as the water rose up.

The wave rose and swirled into a column, before fading to seafoam in the shape of a person, neither distinctively male or female. They stood still for a moment, before turning their bone-white gaze onto him.

They moved slowly, almost drifting along the water, their feet never passing below it. The closer they got to shore, the more they visibly struggled, and Madara rushed forward to help, the two of them almost-embracing in the seafoam-edge.

He watched in muted awe as they reached for his hand, his mother’s ring fitted to their finger, and pulled it up to their mouth. They had two rows of fine, sharp teeth, which promptly bit into his hand.

The pain started him, and he tried to pull back on reflex, but they held fast, pulling his bleeding hands up to their eyes to color them red, like his mouth now was.

He stood there, eyes wide, transfixed as they filled two cuts on either side of their face and one on their chin, before pulling their hand to their skin, his blood diluting to give it just the barest hint of color.

When they were done, their other hand brushed over the wound on Madara’s, and the cut vanished with the sting of salt.

They looked at each other for a long moment before he cleared his throat,

“Hello. My name is Madara Uchiha. I’m…” he hesitated a moment, “your husband.”

The spirit’s icy expression softened ever-so-slightly, and they gave a small nod. Madara made to lead him back towards his home, only for them to stumble once out of the wet sand.

Madara carefully set his hands around his bride, waiting long enough to see any hesitation, before sweeping them into his arms and carrying them the rest of the way.

Izuna was in the living room when he got home, eating dinner. He gaped at the sight of Madara and the spirit in their doorway.

Madara carefully set them down on the couch,

“Izuna, can you grab them something to wear?”

The seafoam had made them a light underlayer, but they would need something more substantial for the night.

Izuna nodded and ran off, and Madara took the chance to sweep into the kitchen and plate up some of the fried rice his brother had made, and a glass of water (did his bride even need water? Since he was kinda made of it?), and presented the plate to them.

Izuna came back with some of his clothes, which would hopefully fit his bride’s slighter frame better then his inevitably wouldn’t, and he helped them get it on before they turned back to the food. (They didn’t drink the water.)

After that, their eyes began to drop, and after his long day on the beach, Madara himself was tired too. He found feel Izuna practically vibrating with questions, but he ignored him.

He held out his hand,

“Would you like to retire for the night?”

His bride gave a small nod, and he helped them to the bedroom. He gently settled them onto the bed, and felt their eyes on his back as he readied himself for sleep.

He settled into bed, fighting himself on whether or not to reach out. In the end he decided against it, and settled into a light sleep, those blood-colored eyes still watching.

[shimmeringsilverrr]

Everything We Know About Maldonia

Ah, Maldonia. It's mentioned a few times in TPatF and despite Naveen literally being Maldonian, we know very little about it. Or do we? In this post I will summarise everything we know about Maldonia and I hope to, in follow -up posts, propose a location for it, as well as a cultural foundation for it, based on everything we currently know

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What Do We Actually Know

From the Movie:

-It's a "small yet golden kingdom in an obscure unheard of part of the globe" as stated in the newspaper we see. Also the same newspaper features a photo of Naveen on a background which perhaps could be Maldonian architecture

-Naveen "[comes] from two long lines of royalty" - Dr Facilier during Friends on the Other Side, it is unknown whether the union between the two lines created a brand new kingdom of Maldonia or Maldonia was a preexisting kingdom that became enlarged

-The (possibly simplified) royal crests for the two royal lines are as seen below, one with a teal wall with a red looking sky and perhaps red outlines of mountains, and the other with also a teal wall but with a grey sky and a grey outline of waves. Both as seen on Naveen’s first tarot card from Dr Facilier's reading

-The princes are named Naveen (a name common throughout all of India and its many languages) and Ralphie (a diminutive of Ralph which has a common usage in the Germanic languages)

-Naveen has a unique accent (in meta, a combination of his voice actor's natural Brazilian Portuguese accent with French), due to being a native speaker of Maldonian

-Naveen, in addition to Maldonian and English, also has a proficiency in French as seen in Ma Belle Evangeline

-"Across the sea" - Dr Facilier during Friends on the Other Side, so definitely not part of North America

-Here is a potential gross (not gross like ew gross) structure of the castle, also seen on Naveen’s first tarot card, this also potentially implies that Maldonia is on an island as it looks to be surrounded by water

-Lawrence, Naveen’s valet, is British

-Some Maldonian words eg Di Fraggi Pruto, a constructed language with strong surface level similarities to English and romance languages

-"East of the sun and west of the moon" as stated by one of the directors in the commentary, aka it could be anywhere

-Polished marble is part of the Maldonian castle's architecture

-In the Stop and Smell the Roses deleted scene, Naveen states that between 28 and 29 in Maldonia (referred to with its earlier name Maldakesh) there exist two numbers twenty-badini and twenty-caldonsez. However it is unknown whether this is actually true, still considered canon, or if Naveen was simply messing with Tiana

From the Books:

-In Tiana's Perfect Plan, a servant of Maldonia who aids Tiana is named Raha, which is an Arabic name

-In the Something Old, Something New, we see that the Queen's helpers are of various ethnicities

-In Tiana's Winter Blues, Naveen confirms that there isn't a cold winter season in Maldonia and we can see some Maldonian architecture in a photo

-" In Maldonia, we always left a little plate of cakesbout for Grandfather Frost" - Naveen in the Pocket Princesses comic In with the New

-In the Palace Pets story (yes, yes I am going to use Palace Pets) Bayou, the Little Pony Who Lovee to Rance, we can see what appears to be part of the Maldonian royal garden and hills of palm trees

From the Ride:

-In the Tiana's Bayou Adventure ride's queue, we can see a Maldonian cookbook Meals of Maldonia authored by someone called Nio/Nia/Nib Maldonado, a surname which seems very Portuguese/Spanish

-As confirmed by the ride's character model sheets, the Queen wears a sari and in other appearances such as the wii game she commonly wears a brooch

-The imagineering team refers to Maldonia as a "country of likely of mixed race"

From Miscellaneous Sources:

-According to Randy Haycock in an online interview, he looked at various South American, Mediterranean and Indian models to design Naveen’s appearance

-In the first and only concept art we publicly received from the now scrapped Disney+ Tiana series (rest in peace), in the reflections of the puddles on the ship that Tiana's on, we can see more of the aforementioned palm trees

...and that's all I've got!

If you're curious about any of the sources, be sure to message me however you want, and also be sure to add anything that I've missed!