#pre-attack indicators

[historyofguns]

The article "Dead Giveaways You're About to Be Attacked" by Steve Tarani, published on The Armory Life, emphasizes the importance of mental awareness and preparedness in identifying potential threats. The author points out that society is divided between the unaware and the prepared, and he stresses that situational awareness is a vital tool in recognizing potential dangers, which can ultimately prevent harm. Key indicators of imminent threats include body posture, eye contact, and intercept courses, which should be monitored closely. Tarani advises that recognizing and acting upon subtle threat indicators can help individuals protect themselves and others, highlighting the significance of environmental awareness in maintaining personal safety. The article underlines that being alert and aware can deter potential attackers by eliminating the element of surprise.

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

starscream got himself a harem in earthspark? im pissing myself

genderbending like half the cast is interesting. i wonder why they decided that? just for fun?

well, i like it. ive been thinking about harems a lot so it was funny. and also i want to draw it. fundamentally im never in favor of this but im not taking it seriously anyways

usually i prefer genderbending just starscream and leaving sw and tc as male. reverse harem. but like this too. idk why i never thought about it before

[hayatheauthor]

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[sayruq]

On April 6, Hamas fighters launched a complex ambush against Israeli soldiers patrolling the Zanna neighborhood east of the central Gaza city of Khan Younis. The area, lying around two kilometers from the boundary fence that separates Gaza from Israel, had been under the control of the Israeli military since it was invaded five months earlier. Hamas claimed that nine soldiers were killed in the attack; Israel admitted to four dead and several injured. Hamas later released an eight-minute video documenting its fighters planning the attack, setting up the ambush, and carrying out the elaborate, multistage operation. A day after the attack, the Israeli army withdrew from Khan Younis, having destroyed much of the city but not, it seems, Hamas’s ability to fight there. On May 6, Hamas announced that it had accepted a cease-fire proposal drafted by Egyptian and Qatari mediators with the involvement of President Joe Biden’s personal envoy to the cease-fire talks, CIA Director William Burns. That night, Israel responded by beginning its long-threatened invasion of Rafah. As of today, at least 100,000 people have already fled the city. (The United States has indicated that it does not consider an invasion to have officially begun, and Biden told CNN on Wednesday that he is prepared to pause weapons transfers to Israel if the situation escalates.) The Zanna operation, Hamas’s approval of the cease-fire proposal, and Israel’s attack on Rafah together explain the dynamics prolonging this war—one that, no matter what Israel says, it has comprehensively failed to win. There is a myth, propagated by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his allies, that a “total victory” against Hamas is only one invasion of Rafah away. In this story, the bombardment of the Gaza Strip and the destruction of its civilian life is conflated with the destruction of Hamas itself. There are doubtless many people who do not see a contradiction there. For them, Rafah, whose pre-war population of 250,000 has quintupled with refugees from other parts of Gaza, needs to suffer the same fate as Gaza’s other cities. But the Zanna operation, among others, tells a different story: Despite Israel’s causing so much devastation that the UN estimates it may take decades to rebuild Gaza, Hamas and its allied groups have continued to function across the ruined Strip. Following its withdrawal from Khan Younis, the Israeli army carried out an incursion into the Nuseirat refugee camp and neighboring Mughraqa. But resistance on the ground was stiff. After several Israeli soldiers were killed in an ambush in Mughraqa that reportedly utilized an unexploded US-made Israeli missile, the Israelis withdrew. Meanwhile, the east-west corridor that the Israeli army has set up to bisect the entire Gaza Strip has been under frequent mortar, rocket, and sniper attacks. And on Sunday, rocket fire from southern Gaza killed four Israeli soldiers at a staging area in the Kerem Shalom military base. Palestinians are not just continuing to fight in Gaza; there is clear coordination, command, and control—and, with many of the attacks filmed, a coherent media strategy.

In retrospect, it seems obvious that, despite Israel’s bluster, Hamas has been confident for months in its ability to survive. One key piece of evidence for this is its handling of the cease-fire negotiations. The group has insisted on several conditions for a potential cease-fire: that Gaza’s displaced population be allowed to return unfettered to the north, that Israeli forces withdraw from Gaza, that any cease-fire lead to a formal end to the war, and that the Israelis in Hamas custody be released only in exchange for Palestinians in Israeli prisons. Back in February, for instance, Netanyahu called the group’s cease-fire conditions “delusional.” In the following weeks, the Israeli army raided Shifa and Nasser hospitals. The army’s chief of staff, Herzi Halevi, told soldiers the raids were meant to put pressure on Hamas during negotiations. By the time Israel pulled out, Gaza’s two largest hospitals had been reduced to burned-out husks, their courtyards the site of mass graves. But the pressure did not appear to work—Hamas did not budge from its demands.In fact, if anyone appears to be rattled, it’s Israel. With negotiations underway in Cairo last week, and reports indicating that an agreement might be in the works, Netanyahu announced that he would order an attack on Rafah “with or without a deal” to free the Israelis held by Hamas. A cynic could be forgiven for thinking the Israeli leader prefers to prolong the war over securing the freedom of his citizens. Other Israeli officials kept pounding the drum for a Rafah invasion. Shimon Boker, a deputy mayor of Beersheba who is tied to Netanyahu’s party, went on Israeli TV to say, “I think we should have gone into Rafah yesterday. There are no uninvolved [innocent] civilians there. You have to go in and kill and kill and kill.” There are 600,000 children in Rafah.

Perhaps Netanyahu was banking that his threat would torpedo the talks. Indeed, by the weekend, it seemed like the potential accord had fallen through. Hamas’s negotiators flew back to Qatar, but so did Burns, and indirect talks continued there. Hamas’s announcement on Monday that it had accepted the cease-fire proposal seemed to take the Israelis by surprise. Within hours, they were messaging that the deal wasn’t what they had been led to believe it would be—an interesting approach, considering the central role of the head of the CIA in drafting it.On the other hand, the Biden administration seemed warm to the development, before reverting to form. From the officials who first brought us “UN Security Council resolutions are not binding” came “accepting the cease-fire proposal is not accepting the cease-fire proposal.” But while Burns, the Israelis, Egyptians, Qataris, and Hamas resumed talks in Cairo—though they have apparently now broken up—Israeli tanks rumbled into Rafah under the cover of intense air strikes and artillery shelling that have killed dozens already, including many children. For months, world governments, the UN, virtually every humanitarian organization, and even the Biden administration have warned that a full-scale assault on Rafah would result in a bloodbath. With that in mind, it could be that the Israeli leadership truly believes that such a massacre could be what it takes to force Hamas to back off its demands. Or maybe it’s a last roll of the dice for a government that has little to show for this war other than tens of thousands of Palestinian corpses and millions of tons of rubble. This is a leadership that has failed catastrophically; its strategy of “managing the conflict” has failed, its attempt to integrate with the broader Middle East by bypassing the Palestinians has failed, and the way it has prosecuted this war has led to global revulsion even among allies. It is on trial for genocide at the International Court of Justice, the International Criminal Court may issue warrants against it, and it is unlikely to survive whatever political transition occurs in Israel after the war. This might be the last chance to bring this horror—a mass slaughter of children on a historically unprecedented scale—to an end. The US president has been the one person in the world with the leverage to force Israel to stop. If he decides, as he has many times before, to defer to the murderous whims of Israel’s fanatical, right-wing government, we may find ourselves witnessing new levels of savagery.

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Are LaDS Men V!rg!n Pre-Relationship with MC in LaDS present timeline?

Note: This is a personal take and observation in the LaDS men memories, short stories, phone call, messages, and etc. Nothing is confirmed by Infold and I maybe wrong/missed something from their memories. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Zayne - Yes

This is easy and Zayne confirms it himself. He mentioned that MC is his only experience. Although they are not romantically involve when they were still kids, (I strongly stress on this one as some creep send an anon message to me before that it is creepy to think that they have relationship pre-LaDS present timeline. Well They are not in a relationship. So hold your horses) I feel like he is strongly bound to her emotionally.

The need to protect her is strongly etched to him. Remember the wonderer attack when they are still kids?(Source: Nostalgic Sweetness) He wanted to cheer her up by freezing her melted popsicle. It maybe a crush or puppy love (whatever you wanted to call it) But this is his pure affection towards MC and he take it until he is an adult.

By the time they are reunited, they were awkward with each other but MC is the first one to show affection. She told him to not disappear again and constantly look up for him. I firmly believe that MC has crush with Zayne too because she remembers him well even with a blotchy memory.

Xavier - NO!!!

Before you kill me, just hear me out. Xavier's age is virtually unknown. For one, they never revealed it and two, Jeremiah was even uncomfortable about the topic of Xavier's age (source: Celestial Message). But who do I think he is been with? I Highly suspect that it is MC herself.

So how is his age and MC been related on him not to be a virgin, you say? Think about it this way, back when they Philos, it seems like (I feel like) he was already in a relationship with MC. That star ornament that MC is bothered about was from her (again not confirmed). And this previous/forgotten lifetime (by MC) they have already done it. Why else will he be so comfortable having very spicy and intimate time with her?

One of also the indication of them being intimate in the previous life was his being territorial with MC. He sometimes get a bit of Yandere vibe (I not really sure it its the correct type of dere to label him) but he kinds of a little bit rough when handling people who got overly close to MC. (Source: Myth and Celestial Message.)

Among all the LaDS men, he and Sylus shows sign in knowing what to do during the intimate moments.

Rafayel - Yes

Despite his flirty and confident demeanor, this baby is really a big baby! Don't get me wrong, he is not that innocent, he knows the deed (Source: gem Affection, Omnipotent perception, Your Fragrance, and Ebb and Flow) But he does not do the did, at least not yet.

Unlike Zayne and MC, who clearly hinted spending the night together (Source: Business Trip, Snowy Serenity, Hidden Motive and Moonlit Dream) Rafayel and MC after the kindled moment seems to be sleeping apart or Rafayel was out of the room or was fully dressed already (source: before Sunrise)

Some may argue that they already did it on "Gem Affection", they perhaps did, but what I'm infinitely having a debate with myself is, how Rafayel is kinda Distant again by "Into the Canvas". I don't mean distant physically, but him and MC is still do not seem in a relationship. They do not communicate well to establish plans in meeting up and he was just kinda following her around.

In the "Tailwag Moment" he was shocked and shy when he nuzzles MC. True it was kinda heated, but if you are already physically intimate with someone (specially guys) the awkward moment and hesitation to touch your lover disappears.

I also don't believe that Rafayel is a friends-with-benefit type of guy. This man is so devoted to MC and search for her when she disappears.

Sylus - Not Sure

Since Sylus was still fairly new compared to the other men, I do not have a strong assumption on whether he is a virgin or not. But if you ask how I personally feel about him, I will say yes, he is a virgin.

From here on out is just assumptions base on his current known memories.

Despite being rough and how he manhandles MC, he is actually giving me an Edward Cullen Vibe (OLD SCHOOL VIBE) Oh my gosh! I am old. Like Edward, Sylus have some heated moments with MC (mainly on Secret Times). Yes they are spicy, but it never really hinted that they pass more than heated make out.

We are also yet to see him kiss MC on the lips. And although, he already kiss her in the head, this is after he gave her a ring. (Thinking about a Victorian Type of Courting) He take her to dates, bring her food, give her flowers, and going on rides. I applaud Infold for creating Sylus as a guy who is mostly rough but he definitely have a sweet side.

He worries about MC, hum while cooking, and taking selfies with her.

I have mentioned this before in my previous entry, But Sylus never inappropriately touch MC. True he like to carry MC but never lays a hand in any parts of her other than her wrist. He also doesn't initiate her or gauge her into touching him.

His relationship with MC is Definitely HOT but not yet intimate.

As for previous partners, I don't think he have any as he is looking for MC as well.

[queers-gambit]

The Risk

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

prompt: after your wedding, you and Elrond embark on your honeymoon touring Middle-earth. your company is attacked on the road by Orcs. help comes from an old friend.

pairing: Elrond x shy!female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.1k+

note: internet researched Elven wedding customs, i don't want to hear it. keep the Elrond requests coming.

warnings: pre events of TROP, the "shyness" more so conveys as inexperience, romance, little bit of fluff, Gil-galad is a girl's girl, and Elven weddings! also cursing! violence! angst! character injury! Orcs! blood! literal hurt and comfort! emotions are hard! abrupt but happy ending, not edited, wonky brain went wonky, and intentionally misspelled words to indicate accent.

You spent a year and a half planning your wedding.

Due to your status amongst the Elves and their court, it was declared the event of the century and the High King himself demanded it be planned to the highest of exquisite detail. Granted, you and Elrond were content to marry in a quicker fashion, leaving it between family, but Gil-galad loved a good party and who were you to refuse your King?

So, you spent about 18 months (on and off) in Lindon, going over details and specifics with Gil-galad while Elrond did the King's actual work. You're positive Elrond was content to escape the wedding planning and honestly, you didn't mind as much as you feared you would because the King was opinionated, decently funny, and decisive. He spared no expense. He encouraged you to branch away from your usual humble taste. He wanted the whole of Elvendom to come together to celebrate. He wanted this occasion to be...his.

You had no objections.

You were honestly relieved someone else wanted to plan such an extraordinary event for you - but were beyond you ready to be married! Several times in the last several months, Elrond actually offered to elope - run away to the Gray Havens and marry before your beloved grandfather, Elrond's old master, Círdan - but the King was putting so much effort into your wedding, you didn't accept. It was nice, though, how mutually anxious Elrond appeared to be to marry you, too.

However, the past three moons, you've been absolutely inconsolable. Your wedding was only days away, Elrond had traveled to Eregion for "business" months ago, and Círdan had yet to arrive! You felt overwhelming panic consume your very being, becoming slightly more irritable as you couldn't help but feel (wrongfully) abandoned - should it not of been for your best mate, fellow Elleth, Bôril. She held your emotions in check, posed as buffer between you and emotional ruin, and was the voice of reason when your rationality vanished.

"What if something happened?" You worried during one of your late night, last minute sessions. "How would we know? What if - while traveling - something went awry?"

Gil-galad sighed gently, "Herald Elrond was sent with some of my most trusted warriors."

"Elrond is warrior enough by himself," Bôril smirked, "you worry for nothing - "

"I am supposed to get married in a matter of days and neither my grandfather nor my intended can be found. I think I have plenty to worry over!" Gil-galad and Bôril shared a knowing look while you wiped your face clear of frustrating fear. "I am not accustomed to not knowing. It's this unknown, the lack of answers that pushes me towards insanity."

"Well," Bôril smirked, her eyes casted towards the hall, "fear no longer, sweet friend, all your answers approach."

In confusion, you turned in the seat you had been slumped in, seeing Elrond and Círdan heading down the hall towards the room you were gathered in. With a gasp, you leapt from your chair and rushed into the causeway towards your dearest loved ones. "Thank the Valar! Elrond!" You gasped first, flinging yourself into his arms; which coiled around you tightly and lifted you, his face burying in your neck. "My love - where were you? What happened - why the delay?" Your voice cracked as your whispered, "You said you'd be only 6 weeks, you were gone twice that! I was so worried!"

"I'm so sorry for worrying you, my star," he whispered back; breath hot in your ear. "I'll explain it all," he promised, lowering you back to your feet to pull back only to instantly take your cheeks in his hands. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I promise, it was for a good reason," he told you softly, thumbs sweeping over the apples of your cheeks; then glancing over pointedly at your grandfather.

"And you!" You scolded playfully. "We expected you weeks ago! Yet you sent no word!"

"We were delayed," Círdan smirked, approaching you as Elrond released his hold; confirming they were together this time. "C'mere, sweet one," he chuckled, bringing you in for a tight embrace. After releasing, he gently tapped the button of your nose, "I am here now, ready to help where I can."

"Oh, please," you chuckled, taking a half-step closer to your betrothed, "there's nothing left to be done, our generous King has planned it all for us. I'm just relieved you are both safe."

Elrond smiled and wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you in to place a sweet peck on your cheek. "Come," your fiancé encouraged, and when you reentered the planning chambers, you realized others had followed you in.

Evidently, Elrond had gone to Eregion on "business", yes, but it was personal. He had gifted you a ring to symbolize your engagement; modest, silver, simple, gorgeous, and so perfectly "Elrond" - but he wasn't satisfied with it, apparently. As per Elven customs, the engagement rings would be exchanged at the ceremony for wedding bands, and Elrond was determined to give you something extravagant - to prove his adoration. So, he went to Eregion and forged with the Greatest of the Elven Smiths, Lord Celebrimbor, a wedding ring he thought suitable for your finger. Círdan met them to aid in the creation of this gorgeous ring Elrond crafted - insisting you couldn't see it until the ceremony. The trio also crafted Elrond a matching wedding ring that would only accentuate yours; another show of his devotion to you.

Hence their collective delay. Lord Celebrimbor arrived with them, greeting you with mirth; truly excited and honored to have been involved with your wedding band creation.

You were just relieved everyone finally safe and gathered in Lindon. That night, you laid in bed with Elrond; deflated by relief, just staring at him, hand on his cheek, caressing his flesh. "Next time, send word if you're to be late," you requested in a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "we were so focused, purely driven by creating something that you'll have forever - we lost track of so much time."

"How many rings did you make?"

"Too many. Though, Celebrimbor will have now options to gift others."

You both snickered, sighing with contentment. Then you whispered, "I fear I might owe a few people an apology..."

"Why? What happened?"

"I was... Operating on a short fuse while worried about you. Might've gotten a little snappy."

"You were rude?" He gasped comically. "I didn't know you even knew how to be."

"Hush," you breathed, leaning closer, "I was worried."

"But I'm here now," he promised, hand to your neck encouraging you to kiss him.

After that, the days passed in a breeze, as if a collective sigh of relief had been heaved by all of Lindon.

And then, the morning of your wedding finally arrived and it was like chaos struck. You never knew, but apparently, outside the chambers you used to prepare in, Gil-galad had everyone rushing around to perfect final details; prepare food, set tables, water and arrange flowers, retrieve whatever was requested by other guests. However, you were none the wiser (as he intended), being fretted over by all types of Elves who were impassioned to make you and your day as flawless as possible.

The High King ensured Elrond was taken care of, the young Herald quiet and seemingly concentrated on his thoughts; lips moving without words, repeating his vows to himself silently. Before it could've been questioned, Círdan arrived with a velveteen jewelry box; appearing ready for the day's events, as if awake for hours.

"Here," Círdan smiled, shooing away the attendants so he could sit beside Elrond, "this is for you, my boy."

"My Lord?" Elrond questioned softly, accepting the gift.

"It's customary."

"What is?" He wondered, opening the lid and revealing a gorgeous, glimmering broach. "Lord Círdan - "

"It's custom for the bride's mother to gift her new son-in-law a gem to be worn as a boastful show of the joining of two families," the craftsman explained. "This... This sapphire belonged to my daughter, and now, I'd like you to have it."

"I don't think I could accept - "

"It is customary," Gil-galad stepped in, seeing the refusal ready on Elrond's tongue.

So, Elrond swallowed his nerves and nodded to Círdan, "Thank you, my Lord. This stone is... Beyond words, surely, only it's previous owner could rival it's beauty."

The tears were bright in Círdan's eyes the rest of the day.

Due to the lack of conventional family, the ceremony was kept between only the High King Gil-galad as officiant and Círdan as witness. The King had designated a private overlook for your ceremony, standing at the cliffside under the golden glow of the Great Tree with Elrond in fine velvet tunics; gorgeous sapphire glittering on his chest, keeping his father's cloak in place as his own special tribute. Just as the sky turned heavenly, sun in position to set, Círdan began to lead you down the pathway - towards your forever.

Elrond choked on air, tears slowly filling his eyes.

You were draped in the finest of silks, a thin veil covering your face; hair in long ringlets, pinned back from your face in an elegant updo. It was like the Light of Valinor itself was shining through you, nearly blinding Elrond with sheer bliss. It was almost as if time slowed, nearly stilling completely; as if your form was moving in slow motion. Even under the sheer veil, Elrond could see your grin and suddenly, he couldn't hear, see, smell, feel anything but your love and light.

With a gentle sniffle, Elrond glanced at Gil-galad, who was beaming with pride already; his own growing, which nobody realized was even possible. Upon approach, Elrond instantly met you at the base of the stone stairs; watching Círdan give a watery smile while hugging you sweetly. He pulled back, gently lifted the veil to flip over your head, and sighed while caressing both cheeks.

In Sindarin, he whispered, "They'd be so proud of the woman you've become... And the man you're marrying. Just as I am."

Now, Elrond choked on his emotion.

"Thank you for everything," you managed to whisper, your grandfather sighing gently before guiding your hand from his into Elrond's. He joined Gil-galad on the platform, both watching proudly as Elrond was at a loss for words - only able to look you up and down.

Finally, he breathed in Sindarin, "Gorgeous."

Before the Elven High King and under your grandfather's loving eye, you and Elrond exchanged vows during sunset. It was intimate and private, either of you slipping your engagement rings off as Círdan presented your wedding bands. You gasped when you saw the ring Elrond crafted for the first time, looking at him with wide eyes, voice gentle as you asked, "You made this?"

"I did."

"For... Me?"

Elrond smiled, "Of course. A wife as beautiful as you deserves a ring that could only strive to embody your shine."

"Don't make me scold you for being so cheesy on our wedding day, my love, please," you giggled, Elrond chuckling while he took your hand to splay before him. He slid the ring onto your index finger, allowing you to do the same with his matching band. Neither of you were able to contain your glee when Gil-galad pronounced you officially as man and wife - Elrond all but lunging forward to hold your cheeks, swooping in to sear your lips with his kiss. You were just as excited, holding onto his biceps to keep him close; feeling warmth swell and burst in your chest as you realized... You were finally married.

After, at the feast Gil-galad had planned, the whole of Lindon was decorated and celebrating your union; hosts of food on long banquet tables, live bands entertaining the crowds, lanterns and candles glowing, conversation turning boisterous as Elves indulged on the castes of wine gifted or collected by the King.

Who, if you were wondering, was hosting the entire affair and having a splendid time as Bôril danced with Camnir - seemingly to Vorohil's chagrin, which Elrond pointed out to you first.

You were just happy to bask in your husband's glory; unable to believe he was yours, that you get to spend your life with him, that you were bound together. He seemed... Youthful in this setting; a young lad that was forced to grow up too quickly, finally able to appreciate the attention directed at him while gracefully accepting words of congratulations everywhere he turned. It was so simple, something decently mundane, but you found it impressive; the way Elrond could accept conversation from just anyone.

It simply intimidated you; content with your written letters and accounts, never truly needing to interact with people on this level. You were better, not quite as shy as before, but old habits die hard and overcoming social anxiety was a lifelong profession. Speaking of, your anxiety spiked from the sheer number of attendants, but Elrond was both sword and shield - intercepting people left and right, saving you from any "on the spot" moments.

The party went deep into the night, and while it was a fun time - complete with Bôril challenging the High King to a silly drinking game, Celebrimbor teaching the steps to an old dance, and Vorohil getting shot down by several Elleths - you were beyond exhausted. Perhaps you didn't hide it as well as you thought because Elrond slid into his empty seat and instantly leaned into your ear to ask, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah, 'course," you answered, setting the glass of First Age wine (a gift from Celebrimbor) aside to focus on him. Gently caressing his chin, you asked, "You all right?"

"Perfect, actually, just look at my wife," he mused, "though, you look tired, my star."

You hummed, "Can't fool you, can I?"

"It's my job now," he chuckled, letting you lean in gleefully to peck his lips. "How about we slip away? Hm?" He whispered softly, glancing around dramatically - like he was conducting a secret mission.

"Yes, please," you hissed, both snickering lightly. Like a couple of randy youths, you stood with the gifted First Age bottle, hands tangled together, 'sneaking' away to your rooms; thinking you were pulling it off, being so sneaky.

"Oh, bless their hearts, look. Look! I love those idiots," Bôril giggled to the King, "they're so obvious! Look at them go!"

"They're in loooove," Gil-galad teased, refilling his goblet.

"Guess they just can't wait to consummate their marriage, huh? Good for Elrond," Camnir snickered, freezing when Círdan's blank stare registered. "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord, I did not - I misspoke - I didn't think you, uh... I'm sorry."

Círdan just groaned lightly, his friend, Lord Celebrimbor, leaning over to top off his glass and encourage it closer to him; patting his shoulder in sympathy. Bôril and Gil-galad truly tried to hold back, but the scene was truly comical to witness and the two laughed so hard, they ended up leaning on each other and slumping in their chairs.

The party continued without you and Elrond, but it's safe to say, you were engaged in a party of your own.

"You've been quiet, love," you noted softly, one hand held tightly by Elrond's, the other holding your horse's reins; walking to give them a break on this leg of the journey. For weeks, you've been on the road together, touring Middle-earth as part of your honeymoon.

Never having been anywhere other than the Gray Havens and Lindon, you were like a new born fawn in the wilderness - but it was exhilarating to travel.

"Hmm?"

"You're pensive," you amended.

"I am simply in thought, my star, nothing of concern," Elrond assured.

"You're sullen."

"I don't mean to be," he sighed.

"What's troubling you?"

Elrond was quiet for a long moment, stepping carefully as neither of you noticed thick, dark clouds beginning to fill the sky. Finally, he admitted quietly, "We are not far from Khazad-dûm."

You hummed in understanding, then pondered while stepping around overgrown tree roots, "Remind me why we did not extend Prince Durin a wedding invitation?"

"We did," Elrond informed, sighing deeply, "he just... Did not respond..."

"That does not sound like him, based on your account."

"No, it was truly... Odd," Elrond admitted, "perhaps being why I feel strange being close to his kingdom now."

"Do you wish to visit?"

"We don't have the time - "

"We can make time, Elrond," you insisted, squeezing his hand with a grin. "And as far as anyone is concerned, the great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm is part of Middle-earth, and therefor, part of our tour. I'd like to meet your friend, my sweet. Now, which direction?"

"We don't have time, starlight, we are expected by Lord - "

But Elrond came to a sudden halt, pulling you into his side as both your horses stamped and whinnied loudly; tossing their heads and snorting, the whites of the eyes flashing as ears flattened as they suddenly stopped in place. You flinched into your husband's side, the horses restless, guards circling around the pair of you quickly. Darkness descended.

"What is it?" You asked in concerned confusion.

"Something is amiss," Elrond rushed, looking confused and concentrated. "I-I do not know what, but the shadow has stretched. C'mere, mount up, my love, quickly, please."

"My Lord," Vorohil, one of your guards and a friend to your husband, directed his horse between yours while Elrond ensured you were safely seated, "there's a darkness to the path ahead, the horses - they are refusing to go forward. It grows darker, my Lord."

You had to reseat yourself as Elrond mounted; the horses backing away as there sounded a ghostly moan from the woods surrounding you.

"This darkness?" Elrond repeated, "Where did it come from? 'Tis midday - "

"Look around us!" Vorohil barked, Elrond sending him a sharp look before looking up - realizing there seemed to be a sort of dark cloud covering the sun, your path, and the woods surrounding you.

You gasped when there came a sudden, horrendous, guttural screech in an echo, making it impossible to locate the origin; and suddenly, a force bodied into your side. It knocked you from your horse, but due to the sudden nature of the attack, also took your beast down with you.

You were lucky your leg didn't shatter on impact.

You heard Elrond scream your name; body hitting the dirt and rolling a few feet before being halting by a boulder. Your sight cleared, evened out, gasping again and shoving yourself against the jagged rock in an attempt to create distance when you saw the horrid, gangly creature made of pure, tangible darkness - pure evil - muddy and growling while surging towards you with gnashing teeth.

A sword decapitated the creature before it could reach you, making you flinch at the show of violence. Your name was spoken in a rush, but you couldn't comprehend hearing words yet; staring at the dead creature, twitching from the severed nervous system at your feet - spewing black blood. Your eyes caught sight of it splattered up your skirt.

Boots hit the ground, a pair of hands caressing both your cheeks and making you gasp in panic. But Elrond's worried face was in front of yours, speaking soothingly in Sindarin, "Easy, easy, be calm, it's me, my love, it's just me. I'm so sorry, but we have to go - now, my love, please, get up for me, come with me - "

"My Lord!"

"Elrond!"

Elrond was forced to stand over you and use his bloody blade to defend you both; choking back tears as you realized this was an ambush by Orcs, creatures of pure hate; something Middle-earth thought extinct after not having been seen in an age. And you were defenseless.

"NO!" You gasped when a hand came around your throat, hoisting back into the boulder; holding you in place as two Orcs ravaged your body for anything of value they could've taken. When they tried taking your wedding ring, you fought back harder - struggling in their putrid arms, sobbing, trying to stave them off. "ELROND!" You begged, gagging when the hand around your throat constricted to close your airway.

"Just cut the bloody thing off!"

You whimpered when you were overpowered, hand flattened to the rock forcefully; fingers spread, the Orcs snarling as a dagger was brandished and stabbed directly into the boulder through your pointer finger.

"Y/N!" Vorohil was heard struggling, your cries muffled from the lack of air and tight hand. The gem-glittering belt you wore was yanked from your waist just as the Orc holding you hostage was ripped away, making the other react by stabbing your lung with his dagger between your ribs.

After Elrond killed the first Orc, he instantly engaged the second; only Vorohil catching sight of you freezing before slowly collapsing against the boulder and sliding down it. He noted the smear of blood you left on the rock before the blade protruding from your ribcage.

You were in shock. The pain was insurmountable, yet you felt nothing at the same time. Numb. Confused. Overwhelmed. Paralyzed.

The fighting lasted several long minutes after that, your dress now properly saturated as you knew enough survival skills to not pull the blade free of an injury; it acted as a plug to keep the blood from pouring OUT of your body. You were left on the ground, slumped, weakly holding your wound and feeling unable to react when an Orc leered closer to you.

Elrond's blade emerged from the Orc's chest and was yanked free, the body dropping to reveal your husband; bloodied, panting, caught off guard, but obviously fairing well enough. He was in the heat of the moment, battle turning his blood hot, eyes catching something glittering in the mud and only thinking how out of place it looked. When he blinked, Elrond realized it was your wedding ring - complete with your severed finger still in it.

Elrond snatched the digit from the mud, eyes raking over you, needing to do a double look when he realized the extent of your injuries. Your finger was lost but your ring was secured in your husband's belt.

"No," he whimpered, rushing forward and dropping his sword to take hold of your cheek; blood gently leaking from your nose at a slow but steady pace. "No, no, no, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, stay with me, stay awake for me," he begged, sniffling emotion as his other hand laid over yours around the dagger's handle, "just let me see, let me see the damage, my love, c'mon, I've got you. I need to see to help."

You were too weak to fight him anyways, letting his muddy hand pry yours away to reveal the weeping wound. His eyes widened, nodding as he assessed the situation; wanting to get you out of here, but the Orcs weren't yet vanquished.

In fact, Elrond was tackled off you by another Orc, crying out when the momentum yanked the dagger free. Ironic timing, perhaps, because an injured Orc was clawing at your legs; biting at your flesh; making you grit your teeth, pick up the dagger, and drive it into the Orc's eye. You were relieved when the creature stopped moving; adrenaline instantly draining and making you slump back once more.

You didn't notice when the Orcs were fully killed off until Elrond was propping you up again, sprayed in blood and mud, tears in his warm brown eyes. "No, my starlight, no, you have to stay awake, you must," he reminded, getting one arm around you, the other first laying to your openly bleeding wound, then shoving the dead Orc off your legs. Elrond cursed in Sindarin when he noted the bite marks, how dirty nails left deep streaks after clawing up your body. "Please, stay awake," he hissed, cradling you into his chest before calling out, "Vorohil!"

"My Lord!"

"We need to get her to a healer - where? Where?" He begged, sniffling as you were shifted into his arms and lifted; few surviving horses being wrangled in.

"I don't - I don't know - "

"You are the cartographer!" Elrond snapped, "Tell me where to take her, where are we closest - !?"

"My Lord," Vorohil sighed, "t-the closest civilization to these parts is-is Khazad-dûm - "

"Hurry!" He barked, situating you sideways on his horse before swiftly mounting; settling you into his chest with a secure hold. The others were left in the dirt as Elrond spurred his steed onward, knowing the way to the Great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm.

Upon arriving at the gates, he was a frenzied mess. Elrond doesn't even remember the procession of events; he just knows his men showed up at his flank, he was holding your limp body, begging for aid, and someway, somehow, was then lead into the Kingdom's healing quarters.

"Elrond?" A voice questioned softly, a few nurses and healers checking over the remaining company as you were laid on a surgical table. "Is tha'... You?"

He looked over, eyes void, dead, still splattered in the blood and grime of his enemies. "Durin," Elrond whispered.

"What happened?" The Dwarf Prince asked carefully, taking a slow step forward.

"We... We were..." Elrond looked back at you, hating how many healers surrounded you, "We were attacked - just less than a league from here."

"I see. Who... Who attacked you?"

"A pack of Orcs," he whispered, stumbling back into a wall as his breathing turned ragged, "while we were on the road."

"She's not breathing!" It was announced, Elrond sliding to the floor as horror struck his face. Panic seized his heart, short circuited his brain.

"Elrond?" Durin worried, Disa rushing into the room after him. "Hey? Can yah hear me?" The ginger asked, hand to Elrond's shoulder. "Elrond? Elrond, can yah - "

"I need help! Hold here! She's bleeding!"

"I can't see the wound - cut the corset!"

" - the finger's been lost - "

"She's got bruising on her neck, help me save her windpipe!"

Elrond's breathing became erratic, knees pulling into his chest as his men stood firm in support. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, Durin asking his name again, then, "Who is she?"

"M-My wife - she's my wife, Durin, she's my wife - "

"Okay, okay, okay," Durin comforted, kneeling to the ground at Elrond's side; keeping themselves separate as Disa neared them slowly. Durin shot her a look, silently saying 'close enough', and she stopped - heart aching for the devastation on the Elf's face.

"What's this? An Elf!?" Another Dwarf was heard barking.

"We do not deny aid!" A different Healer Dwarf barked, quickly shedding your dress and revealing your wounds to the room; making a few avert their eyes and hiss as ebony poison had taken to the veins around the wound.

"Do what needs done!" Durin barked, "To save her life! Use any means necessary!"

"You heard your Prince!"

"C'mon," Disa encouraged the Elves, "we should let the Healers work, we do not want to get in their way."

"Is there... Somewhere we can wait, nearby?" Vorohil asked nervously, glancing at you, who was being fussed over as blood splattered onto the ground; wound raging, blood covering your side as they seemed to aggravate the wound in order to clean it of the infection. "What if they need us?" Vorohil whispered.

"We have somewhere close-by for yah's," Disa assured. "Durin?" She asked, "Perhaps Elrond would like t'wait with us?"

"We'll be along," he agreed, knowing Elrond was like a rock in that moment. Disa lead the others away, leaving Durin to sigh and take a seat beside Elrond; just watching the Healers at work. "So, uh, how long yeh been married?"

"We... We sent you, um, a, uh..."

"Oh, right, yeah, yeah, of course. So... Only a couple months, then?"

"Seems like no time at all."

Durin chuckled, "Nah, two months in? You's two are still in that blissful state."

"And when it ends?"

"Oh, yeh'll see, married life becomes all yah know." Durin sighed, hating himself but needing to ask, "What happened to her, Elrond?"

The Elf shook his head, the tears never ending; suffocating him. "The horses," he managed to choke out.

"What of 'em?"

Elrond gulped. "They picked up on it first - that's what I noticed. They didn't want to go down the path, then this sort of darkness came... It was quick... It happened so quick, Durin, I did not - I did not see nor hear them. We were unprepared."

"What else?" Durin was unusually soft.

Elrond shook his head, "I got her on her horse, something didn't feel right. I thought - I just thought to get her out of there, get to safety - you know?"

"Just in case?"

"Yes. But the darkness - it brought them, let them move in the daylight. They tackled her from her horse - I tried to get to her. I swear, Durin, I tried, but it was all so fast - I didn't even see her get hurt. I just found her like that, holding on. What kind of husband can't even defend his own wife? By the end... She was... She wasn't..."

Elrond melted into sobs, folding in on himself, Durin's frown deep and concerning. Despite his own feelings of malcontent towards his old friend, he reached out and let his arm wrap around Elrond's neck. This allowed the Elf to lean into the Dwarf's neck and absolutely lose his shit. Not like anyone heard him, though; the Healers all yelling over one another as they rushed around in an effort to pull the blackened poison from your body.

You don't remember much. Just pain.

Then you remember voices. They were all around you, yet hazy; like you were underwater.

You remember smells - like alcohol and disinfectant.

You remember warmth in your hand; a weight, a constant presence that you squeezed when you felt ready to open your eyes. The twilight had passed, you were awake, a soothing voice cooing and encouraging you back into reality. It was just hard to pull yourself out of the tarpit your mind was seemingly lost in.

Upon regaining consciousness, you were greeted by Elrond's tearful expression of relief. "My love," he spoke clearly, "can you hear me?" You nodded, trying to open your mouth, but he rushed, "No, no, do not - don't do that, don't try to talk. Save your strength, please. You're okay." You nodded again, watching his watery smile warble before dissolving into sobs. "I thought you wouldn't make it," he admitted through his emotional breakdown, hovering close to you if only to feel your warmth and be assured that blood still pumped freely through your body.

"I had reason to come back," you whispered, earning a stony look of reprimand before he sighed and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

"Here, I have something for you," Elrond sniffled, reaching for his belt, "and I cannot keep it any longer." Your brows furrowed when your husband retrieved a bright gem, quickly realizing it was your wedding ring. Elrond saw your confusion, lifting your hand to place the ring on your pointer finger - making you lift the other, finding it bandaged with only four fingers. Your head snapped towards Elrond, but he begged, "Please, just rest, my star, you've been through enough - "

"What happened?" You demanded in a gravely voice.

"Do not - "

"Tell me."

Elrond sighed and situated himself at your side, careful not to jostle your form. "Well, first... We are in the Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm." He descended into the tale of how you lost your ring and obtained further injury, then rushed to get help, being reunited with Prince Durin, and ending on how you've been asleep for 'too long'.

You croaked, "I'd like to thank our hosts..."

"That can wait until you've rested longer. You've been unconscious for days."

"Then I've rested enough."

"I almost lost you," Elrond growled, "you will not move, not until you are cleared to do so. And I have the best authority to ensure you follow the rules."

You chuckled, "Oh?"

Elrond went to answer, but frowned in a panic when you started coughing from the dry prickle in your mouth and throat; quickly fetching the cup of water from the side stand. "Easy, my star, here, carefully, carefully," he whispered, holding the back of your neck, helping you sit up only slightly as to not irritate your abdomen, and tip the cup to your mouth to fill it with cold, fresh water.

"How's our patient doin' today, Elrond?" A voice asked cheerfully, "I'm tellin' yah, I can feel it, she'll be awake in no time, real soon, and then you'll actually sleep - "

"You have not slept!?" You asked sharply, looking to Elrond and noting the contradiction to his flesh; how pale he appeared with dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sunken.

Yes, Elves didn't need sleep like humans or Dwarves, but still, they needed some - and it was evident Elrond had none.

The Dwarf gasped and whirled around to spy you awake and conscious on the stony bed they had layered with fluff, furs, and blankets for your comfort. She dropped the tray of nutrients to another table, looking like she wanted to rush you. "You're awake!" She squealed.

"Disa - "

"DURIN!" She bellowed, hiking up her skirts and rushing from the room, "SHE'S AWKAE! DURIN! DUUURIN!"

You couldn't help the laughter that burst forth, wincing when your side seared in pain - making you choke on air. Elrond muttered to himself in Sindarin, finding a wet cloth and approaching your injury, carefully lifting the thin sheet covering you and peeling the bandage off. You heard Elrond hiss between his teeth, you trying to glance at the mark - but your husband would not let you. "Just stay still, my love," he whispered, "this won't take long, but it might sting - "

You grunted and whimpered when Elrond began soaking your wound; the cold water feeling nice in the hot infection, but making you squirm from discomfort. "Elrond," you begged, hand slapping to his wrist, "please."

"I know, but it needs cleaned - it won't hurt forever, my love."

"Oi," the Dwarf, Disa, snapped as she reentered the room, "get away from there, Elrond, go, go, go, shoo, let me through."

"Disa - "

"No," She now scolded Elrond, pushing him to stand straight and take the cloth from him, "your only job is to be a husband, not Healer - that's my job. You stand over there, hold her hand, and - DURIN!" She suddenly shouted towards the door, where a ginger Dwarf revealed himself sheepishly.

"Oh," you breathed in interest, trying to sit up a little, "Prince Durin, what an honor - "

"Oh, no, no, you don't, lassie, you lay back - just lay back."

"Listen to Disa, starlight," Elrond worried, both their hands reaching out to try to gently encourage you back down.

"It's customary to greet royalty on your feet - "

"Not in yer state, dearie," Disa comforted softly, patting your shoulder; Elrond gently caressing the top of your head. "Just rest - Durin will come to you," She shot her husband a look, who slowly entered the room.

"I just - I want to thank you, Prince Durin," you stuttered, wincing as Disa started tending to your wound again. "For saving me - or saving us, so I hear."

"Ah," Durin cleared his throat, nodding with pursed lips, "'twas nothing, uh, my Lady, we just... Couldn't say no to the state of things."

"Still. Thank you," you breathed. "And for your friendship to Elrond, it's been - "

"Starlight," Elrond quietly discouraged you with a small head shake, looking just as uncomfortable as the ruddy-faced Dwarf.

"What? What's wrong?" You asked, but neither man could meet your eyes. So, you looked to Disa, "What did I say?"

"Oh, you said nothin', dearie; 's just two stubborn mules refusin' to speak of the boulder in the room," she tisked with a small smirk.

"Do you think this boulder has to do with your absence from our wedding? I must admit, I allowed myself to feel excited, thinking we'd finally meet; and was entirely saddened by your lack of attendance."

"I know, sweetling, me too," she assured with a sigh, "but their boulder is truly suffocatin' - prevents them from speakin'."

"Oh-hhhh," you hitched the word to exaggerate, both your husbands stunned into silence by the quickly casual conversation, "so, like most men?"

"Mhm," she hummed sassily. "Friends for decades, Durin even considers Elrond a brother - "

" - So does Elrond - "

" - And yet, the fools cannot bear t'speak few words t'mend the bond! Oh, it's absolutely pigheaded!"

"What exactly needs mending?" You pondered softly. "I thought..." You looked over to see Elrond's head bowed, both hands resting in your single one; looking ashamed. "Elrond?" You asked, squeezing his hand.

"It's nothin' of note anymore, my Lady," Durin stepped in, making your suspicion grow, "just... A little, uh..."

"Distance," Elrond supplied finally, lifting his head and nodding, "our tension stems from a matter of distance."

"Hm," you noted, turning to Disa - who was already offering you a tired, pointed look. "What do you know of this boulder?"

"Oh, aye, it's distance," she nodded, frowning, "some... 20 years of it? Or just about."

"Has it been only 20?" Elrond questioned softly, looking earnestly to his friend; who stiffly looked away, but you saw the cracks in the ginger's foundation.

"'Only'?" You repeated, Disa sending her husband a look. "Prince Durin, my Princess, you must forgive my husband - he can forget how... Long life is. 20 years is a mere blink to an Elf, but to the other races, Elrond, it's a lifetime."

"I did not mean to offend," Elrond told you.

"I know, love, but you speak to the wrong person - I am not the one who deserves to hear your apologies," you said, pointing at Durin with your wedding ring firmly in place.

Elrond agreed and turned to his friend, admitting, "I'm sorry for the offense I've caused. I did not realize so much time had passed." Durin scoffed, Disa growling his name. "Is there more I've done? I do not understand, I have missed my friend - "

"Missed!? Yah missed my weddin'!" Durin snarled in a shout, your head resting on the pillow under your head and deflating in pain as Disa worked to fix one of the stitches.

"You missed ours - "

"And the birth of my children! Two of 'em!" Durin tacked on. "You cannot barge into my mountain and demand I welcome you with open arms! You cannot claim that which you discarded! I did yah this favor because of the obvious threat to life, and I comforted you in the wake of yer wife's injury! I ignored my own woes and bygones because that was the decent thing t'do! I mean," he chuckled without humor, "even when yeh wrong me and refuse to even take ownership - accountability - for yer wrongdoings, I still comfort yah!"

"'Discarded'? 'Refuse to take'..." Elrond repeated, "Durin, I - "

"It's as yer wife said!" Durin growled, "20 years might be the blink of an eye to an Elf... But I've lived an entire life in that time!" Emotion caked Durin's tone. "A life you missed! So, yeah, yeh know what? We missed yer weddin', yeah... But you've missed the past 20 years..." There came an awkward sort of silence, the group stewing in their tension. The Dwarven Prince scoffed a couple times as Elrond processed his words, asking with attitude, "So what do yah have t'say to that... 'Friend'?"

You smirked gently as Elrond did not respond, instead slowly approaching his friend as if a skittish, injured deer. Slowly, in a fluid movement, Elrond laid his hand to Durin's shoulder, squeezing as he spoke with sincerity, "Congratulations." Disa laid her hand in your bandaged one, both smiling as she paused her cleaning session to watch and listen. "On your wife, your children," Elrond elaborated. He slowly retracted his hand, "And thank you for your help, the aid that saved my wife's life. Thank you for comforting me, too; I hope you can come to forgive me."

You cleared your throat, the two turning to find their wives watching them smugly. "I think you might owe someone else an apology, my love," you whispered.

"Disa - "

"Don't even," she beamed, "yer already forgiven."

"Ah, don't let him off easy," Durin grumbled.

"His wife almost died in front of him, I think that's reparation enough."

Durin paused for a long moment, then nodded, "Yeah, all right, fair enough."

"Now," Disa announced, standing, "I think the Lady's wound is as good as it'll get for now - it's up to you for the rest of the healing," she patted your shoulder.

"On the morrow, we shall - "

"Oh, no, you mistake me," Disa smirked to Elrond, "there's no leavin' yet. She's not ready - she can't sit on a horse, one awkward bump on the road and she'll pop a stitch, start bleeding, risk worse infection - "

"How long?" Elrond worried, magnetized to your side again with one hand in yours, the other caressing the top of your head to stroke your hair in calming motions.

"Just a few days, until the stitches come out," Disa assured. "Yeh'll stay with us!"

"No, they will not," Durin argued.

"They're staying."

"They're leaving."

"They're staying!" Disa scolded her husband, who huffed and shook his head before pacing in a circle. "Now, yeh wanna try t'move around a bit, love?"

"Please," you begged, "losing my mind just sittin' here."

"All right, just be careful - your legs took a beatin', too. Them buggers got you good with their teeth - easy, easy, there's a good girl." Once on your feet and both hands in Disa's, she distracted you from the pain by asking, "So, go on, lass, tell us 'bout yer weddin', hmm?"

You chuckled, stumbling a little into her arms before rightening yourself while answering, "Oh, it was lovely. 'M pretty sure my best friend hooked up with the High King, too."

"No!"

"I know! I knew the King wanted the party of the century, but there's other ways to achieve such status."

Durin snickered, thinking Elrond looked like he was going to have a stroke as Disa helped guide you around the room to earn your bearings. Behind you, Durin's hand held Elrond's shoulder to keep him in place; letting Disa assist you as the two men appreciated the obvious relationship blooming before them.

And years from now, when your daughter rescued the Ring Bearing Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, your husband would heal him; a direct result after nearly losing your life that caused him to study the art.

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[no1onepiecefan]

i adore how zoro and luffy are oftentimes put on an equal level.

like initially, their main parallels exist in shanks and mihawks. even if you remove their connections to zoro and luffy, both interpersonal and as their heroes/fated rivals/some indescribable in between, and how eventually both of zoro and luffy’s narratives will circle back to them respectively; they are blatant parallels to one another on even a character trait level. mihawk and shanks, who were always equally matched in combat, are zoro and luffy's counterparts.

next is how they are each other's weaknesses. luffy is famously, and terrifyingly, susceptible to cutting attacks. after the strawhats have achieved their goals, in concept, luffy's ultimate weakness would be zoro; the world's greatest swordsman. luffy's first mate is his achilles heel. but of course that will never matter, because what would have been his ultimate threat is his strongest companion, his most devote follower, of whom there is no one he trusts more to eternally stand by his side. zoro is equivalent; he is a power focused fighter, strong and fatal, and luffy is agile and inventive, his natural opposite.

additionally is how their dreams balance. luffy, the captain, and his dream that yearns for unparalleled freedom. zoro, the swordsman, who's dream aches for untouchable power. zoro facilitates and protects luffy's dream of ultimate freedom, using his drive of power to be his dearest soldier. while luffy catalysed zoro's direction and puts him in positions to closer attain ultimate strength every day, whereas he existed in limbo without him. luffy's drive of freedom rid zoro of his aimlessness.

lastly, there are so many small moments where they are intended to be viewed as coequal, something closer to partners. them both dying in onigashima then waking up in the same moment, them both being supernovas, kuma accepting zoro's life instead of luffy; equating them in value in thriller bark, them both having supreme king haki, etc. is there nothing more indicative of being equals than two conquerors, harmonious together?

i think a lot of it stems from how zoro's devotion is an outlier. zoro's devotion, at it's foundations, is something so precious because he doesn't need to be luffy's follower, but he wants to be. every enemy pre-timeskip is confused that zoro is the one taking orders, his sheer power and 'kingly qualities' could make him an infamous captain in his own right, and that's a constant theme in his worship. zoro wants to follow, he loves answering to and trusting luffy to make the decisions that's best for them. if zoro had the gnaw for leadership he would thrive doing so, and that makes his loyalty all the more momentous. they could be equals, and there are so many subtle moments where they are shown to be as such, but zoro doesn't want that. he happily stands on the stair beneath luffy just to have the privilege of being allowed to look up at him.

i adore how zoro and luffy are oftentimes put on an equal level, but zoro chooses to revere and follow regardless.

[and-the-times-we-had]

One thing that I think gets overlooked sometimes when we talk about the SoF during the time period in the text between the Nirnaeth and Sirion (especially when we talk about the Third Kinslaying) is the fact that they have also been displaced from their lands and homes ever since the Bragollach for some of them and definitely entirely so since Maedhros lost Himring to Morgoth's forces during the Nirnaeth. We have little to no indication in the text that they have any sort of home base/settlement/fortress/etc at this point in the story aside from a brief mention of Maedhros at Amon Ereb just post Nirn in the geography chapter. And I'm not sure if the text specified a fortress/building or if he was just in that general area. Point being that any time they are mentioned, the text describes them as "gathering from their wandering hunting paths" or something similar. It doesn't give me "we have a strong place that we are based out of to draw back to" vibes. I'm pretty sure they just spend like 60+ years just being nomadic post-nirn, pre-sirion. Honestly, I'm surprised they even had enough followers left to mount attacks at Doriath and Sirion at all.

It really just makes the Third Kinslaying sadder to me. It's two groups of people who have lost everything (from their perspectives) aside from the Silmaril and the hope it provides them and yeah one of them is the cause of that loss for the other but the desperation is so so clear in both of them. I'm just sad about it.

[raingems-blog]

Oh doctor my doctor

Summary: Having a wife with hemokenesis has its benefits; you have a personal doctor on hand.

Warnings: afab reader, mentions of blood, mentions of smut, period mention, mention of bad eating habits (not eating)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Being married to Victoria Neuman had its benefits, for one, the security that she provided both emotionally and financially was nothing short of astounding. She was grounding, a woman who could calm a storm with the right words and a couple of well placed touches, soothing any concerns or anxieties that plagued your mind. With Victoria, you've never had to worry about whether she loved you. She showed it constantly and consistently, going out of her way to make it known that you were more than just loved. That you were treasured and appreciated. You've never had to worry about a bill, a note, or the price of anything you've laid your eyes on. If you wanted it, she'd get it for you, no questions asked. You were well taken care of, not to mention she came with a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed daughter who was the light of both of your worlds. Safe to say, the life that you had built with Victoria was nothing short of secure.

The other benefit included her hemokenesis. Victoria could tell when you were sick before you could and would immediately circumvent it before it had the chance to as so much as make you cough or sneeze. Forget to track your period date? No problem, she was more accurate than any app. Clocking the rising and falling levels of estrogen coursing through your body like clockwork and adjusting her behavior accordingly, knowing that she'd need to give you extra loving during that time.

"Hey babe when is-"

"Next week Friday." She answered without so much as missing a beat. Your favorite treats and meals were already pre-ordered before you could even blink, and products stashed for the date. She'd even help alleviate cramps when she could and would indicate when you'd need to change your preferred method of product.

Other times, you'd feel a skip in your heartbeat and immediately assume your time has come, much to her mild amusement.

"Am I having a-"

"Heart attack? No, love, it's a heart palpation. You're not dying." She answered before you could even finish the sentence. Frankly, you've asked many a question a few times before over the course of your marriage and knew exactly what you'd say. Sometimes, you'd wonder if she was a mind reader too, which resulted in such conversations as:

"What am I thinking of right now?"

"My love," She'd say with a sigh. "I don't know, I'm not a mind reader."

"Right we'll how did you know know what I was going to say?"

"Because you've asked me that a few times before."

"Oh...... I'm still watching you."

Victoria also had the ability to know if you've eaten or not. The way your blood sugar levels would drop when you had gone without eating was enough for her to chide you while ordering your favorite meal as she reminded you of the importance of a good hearty meal.

Other times, she could tell when you were stressed, tired, irritated. When your cortisol levels were high, she'd draw you a bath, put on your favorite show, and give you all the affection that you needed as well as giving you a safe space to vent when you needed it.

Her favorite, however, was when you were turned on or in the mood. One minute you'd be talking, and the next she'd have you tangled in the sheets, panting and moaning, using the very hormones traveling through your system to bring you to ecstacy time and time again. Paying extra attention to the way your body would react to her touch.

In a crowded room, the flurry of different heartbeats would sometimes overwhelm her, but the very distinct sound of your own would always cut through the noise, blocking it all out, save for yours. She loved to listen to the steady rhythm as it beat in your chest. It was a reminder that you were alive. The sound of your blood rushing through your veins was a comfort to her, the way your heart rate would pick up when she'd kiss you, talk to you, hell even look at you. The rush of oxytocin that she'd sense every time you were near her would only melt her further, causing her heart to flutter and her face to flush as she looked at you softly with those brown eyes that you've lost yourself in so many times before.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You would ask softly.

"Because I love you." She replied back. The intensity of the look would be enough to make your heart skip a beat.

"I love you too."

"I know."

[nasty-quillz]

KIITF: The Downfall of Enji Todoroki

ao3 mirror

tags: pseudo-incest, daddy kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, womb fucking, summary: The events that lead up to Enji Todoroki, fucking his adopted daughter a/n: prequel to Keeping It in The Family

Enji had thought it was just natural protectiveness. 

The unprovoked anger that bubbled forth, when he saw some boy staring at you too long.

You’d drag him and the boys out to do “family bonding”. To the zoo. The aquarium. Hell, even a few carnivals and fairs. 

And at each one boys and grown men alike stared at you. Enji watched eyes rove over your curving frame, with lust and want. More than a few times he brandished a fireball at some poor civilian, that let his eyes linger on your ass a little too long.

He knew it’d only get worse as you got older, growing into a gorgeous young woman, as you were.

He sat through many dinners with boys who thought they were good enough for his Babygirl, glaring with the help of his sons. Send you out with a loving hug and a text to whoever had the district you were going on your date with full knowledge that no one would risk the virtue of Endeavor’s daughter.

He comforted you, when you got increasingly sad about your love life, with “quality time”. 

It was you and him going out to the family beach house when your brother’s were busy.

And really, Enji should have picked up on it then.

He’d woken in the middle of the night to use the bathroom down the hall and had walked past your room.

The door was slightly ajar so he heard you whimpering and thought maybe you had a nightmare about the attack again, but when he’d gone to console you, he froze in the doorway.

He saw you, illuminated dimly by low lighting, face buried in your pillow as you rode a dildo attached to your headboard.

He stood there in shock listening to the loud wet squelching of your juicy cunt as you fucked yourself on the fake cock, moaning into your pillow. Enji was horrified to find himself chubbing up, watching your ass ripple against the headboard.  

His hands were palming his dick, before he knew what he was doing. Slinking under the fabric of his night pants, he grasped himself in hand roughly, wincing at the dryness of his palm. He discreetly spit into his palm and stroked himself harshly to the vision of you riding your dildo.

Enji panted softly as he jerked off in your doorway, breath coming out as steam. He listened to your quick breaths and quiet moaning as your hips flexed and small hands clutched at the pillow under your head. 

You were muffled, but the sweet wanton sound of your voice made your adoptive father’s dick twitch in his hand. You were captivating, there under the dim light. The wet sound of your pussy was enrapturing. It filled the space around you, loud and gooey as you fucked yourself.

Enji’s fist sped up on his now dripping dick. The sticky wetness of the man's pre-cum slicked his way as he bit his lip, staring greedily at his own daughter. He stood there imagining what yor wet gooey walls would feel like, as he pressed you further into the mattress and fucked your sloppy pussy. 

He grunted as he imagined your voice begging underneath his hands, his tongue. 

On his dick.

Caught in the height of his fantasy, he failed to notice you shift your face out the pillow, until he heard your voice more clearly. 

“Fuck Daddy!”

Enji’s eyes snapped open, turned on and scared you would notice him. 

What he did not expect was seeing your earbud’s  blinking light indicating you were on the phone. Scanning your bed, Enji can see your phone screen now lit up.

Hre felt a flare of protectiveness as he realized you were clearly on the phone with some… boy.

He watched as you moaned, clearly reacting to whatever was being said. Whatever the little bastard was saying to you, made you fuck yourself faster.

“Yesyesyesyes— Fuck yes, I’d let you cum in me ��”

Enji watched as you seized up, keening softly as you came on the dildo. Your whole body went rigid before you slid off the toy, flopping over onto your side. 

“Uh huh, yeah. No problem, good night.” Enji watched as you ended the call and moved to get off the bed. He ducked back quickly out of sight , hoping to the gods you didn’t see him. He stands there, listening quietly, as you walk across your room to the bathroom.

He waited there with baited breath. The sound of the toilet flushing could be heard and soon after the sound of the shower. 

Enji waited for several minutes before he heard the tell tale sound of music, signaling you were in the shower.

He pushed the door open, lightly, Glancing at the white door, before walking cautiously over to your bed. He caught sight of the dildo still suctioned to your headboard and had to ignore the way his dick throbbed in his thin night pants.

He looks around the room of pastel purples and greens, as if waiting to get caught.

It was still glistening with your cum. Slick and creamy as it dripped off the tip, making the man’s mouth water. 

Enji was hit with the sudden shamefully damning realization that he wanted to know what your pussy tastes like. Wanted to taste it on his tongue while he fists his fat dick in the dark of his bedroom. The need took hold of him and before he knew what he was doing, he’d swiped a finger through your cum.

He hesitantly brought it to his mouth, licking it off with a moan, left hands moving to pull his leaking dick out again. He savored the sweet musky flavor on his tongue, wishing he  could lick it out of you instead.  

Enji’s hands stroked quickly over his dick, as he stood next to the side of your bed exhaling plumes of smoke. He reaches out his fingers again, swiping up more of your juices. He sucked on his fingers as he stroked feverishly at his heavy dick. The way you’d looked, ass jiggling on the toy. How you sounded panting out “Daddy” while you fucked yourself,

He groaned, imagining you. His dick dripped pre-cum and before he could stop it, it dripped onto your bed. Enji swore looking to see if it was noticeable, but groaned again when he saw he pre had dribbled onto your discarded panties. 

He swiped the cute things up, holding them under the leaking tip of his dick. He pressed the wet seat of them to the head and admired how his pre dirtied the fabric. He loved knowing he bought you these. That you’d asked for his card, because you needed more “lady items” as you called them, as to not send him into a stammering fit again, like the first time you asked him for pads,  and got yourself these lacy things. 

He’d loved to see you in them, bent over your bed, pulling them to the side to show off wet brown pussy. How wet and juicy your cunt would be for him. How it would feel as he fucked into you. How you plump round ass, swallowing up your panties, while it ripples at the firm rhythm of your thrusts. 

Enji wanted to see your cunt cream on his dick, like you did on your toy. Wanted to see your pretty brown pussy take him, until you were filled with his seed. Lips thick and gooey where they’d clutch him inside you

A picture formed in his head. You looked over your shoulder, pussy spread open as his cum leaked out. Your face contorted in pleasure and worry.

“D-Daddy you came in me, what if I get pregnant?”

God Enji could see it now. You freshly fucked crying over getting bred by your Daddy. Worried about carrying his child, with his fat cock still lodged in your pussy.

He’d hush you and push your head into the mattress as he slowly drilled his dick in and out of your hole. He’d watch his own cum be dragged out on his dick, as he held you there. Smack your round ass, watching it jiggle and bounce with each impact, with a hand on the back of your neck.

“Shh baby, let Daddy breed this pussy.”

The nasty words were whispered to the still room, as his big warm hand stroked furiously over his flesh. Pre dripped heavily from his length, making the seat even messier. He briefly glanced at the door to your bathroom, before snatching your panties up wrapping them around his dripping girth,

He bit into his fist as he moaned. Thinking of how sweet you’d sound sobbing on his dick, gasping, giving shaky pleas for him not to cum in your pussy again. Of your pussy squeezing him tighter as he fucked you deep.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl, lemme have this tight lil’ pussy. Give it all to Daddy. I’ll leave it nice and full.”

His heavy sac tightened and he moaned as he came into the wet crotch of your panties, clinging lewdly to his tip.

He watched as the delicate fabric was dirtied with thick spurts of cum, seeping through and dripping onto her sheets.

He stood there panting, steam escaping his mouth as he came to terms with what he just did. He stared at his softening length still wrapped in your panties, when he heard the shower turn off.

With reflexes honed through over 20 years of Hero work, he hastened to your bedroom door, slipping out, and creaking it back to being nearly closed. He sprinted back to his door, tucking his dick away and clenching your soiled underwear in his fist. 

When he made his way back into his room, he leaned against the door heavily.

He moved fast enough for you not to see him. To know your Daddy had just jerked off with your  panties while you showered.

It was all just a fluke and he knew whatever had provoked him to do and think such depraved things would pass.

It had to.

It did not, in fact, pass.

After that night Enji became acutely aware of you. Your presence. Your proximity, the way you smelled. The way you moved. How you dressed yourself when you went out. 

He had asked if you had wanted to go off and get some of your necessities without him, but you simply smiled at him. 

“Why would I do that, when I can have you carry all my things Daddy?” The mischievous way your eyes twinkled made his dick twitch in his pants.

After you’d both gotten home that evening, he’d locked himself up in his office, knowing you wouldn’t disturb him there. It had taken less than 30 seconds before he leaning against his office door, dick firmly in hand and jerking off to the memory of your voice saying “Daddy” over and over.

To say he was ashamed was an understatement.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

Especially when he had you still soiled panties, stuff away in his desk drawer. On his most depraved lapses in judgement, he’d bury his nose in them, while he fucked his fist in the safety of his study.

Sometimes if he was unlucky, you’d shout at him through the door, asking after something like if he needed his Hero suit sent to the cleaners or if he wanted you to just bring dinner to him.

On those horrible occasions, he’d steady his voice to answer you, but the entire time, his fist moved over his fat dick, as he came with a silent groan. 

Those were his most ashamed. He couldn’t go any lower than that. Or so he thought.

One day he’d come home, early, not being needed for the recent villain attacks as of late. You’d both been staying at the beach house, him having been stationed in Miyako for several months. 

When he came home the house was silent. He made his way through, looking for you, to see if you wanted take out that night, only to realize the faint music he could hear coming from the back of the house was probably drowning him out. He figured you may be in the kitchen.

Imagine his surprise, when he saw the curtains open to the sliding door and your topless form, sunbathing in a lawn chair. 

His mouth went dry as he stared at your ample breasts out for the world to see. His eyes roved over you greedily, taking everything in. Your bikini top is pooled on the table next to you, the dark yellow thing laughing at him. Your skin glowed under the sunlight, shining with a golden sheen. 

He licked his lips as he caught sight of your dark peaked nipples. The deep contrast of your areola against sable brown skin was so beautiful and tempting, that the man couldn’t stop himself from subconsciously leaning close to the spotless glass.

To his shame, his heavy dick pressed against the glass, through the thin material of his Hero suit. He’d removed the cup in the car, and now the thick line of his dick was easily visible in the immodest blue fabric.

It jumped at the sight of you rubbing sunscreen over your skin, loving the way you paid your tits extra attention.

Before Enji knew what had come over him, he was unzipping the hidden zippers on the front of his suit, to let his dick flop heavily against the glass. The cool sensation made him wince, but didn’t deter him at all. He stood there, fat dick dirtying the door with his messy pre-cum, as he slowly rutted against it.

His eyes scanned the tall privacy fence around the perimeter of the yard, ensuring no one could see either of you, before he braced his hand on the frame and began a slow grind against the door. Enji just drank in your nude form. He thought of his own large hands running over all that smooth skin, spreading sunscreen across your shoulders. Down over your tits. He groaned at the thought of teasing dark nipples. Getting to twist and tweak until you whined, before he kept going. 

Just as he thought of sliding his hands under your bottoms, you moved. He paused, as he watched you, look at the fence briefly, before you wriggled out of your bottoms. 

His breath caught in his throat as you spread your legs on the chair and  your hand disappeared between them. He licked his lips as you circled your clit, watching as your mouth opened in a moan drowned out by music. 

His hips moved faster now, pre-cum slicking his way, as he watched you touch yourself in broad daylight. 

Enji braced his hands on the door frame and pressed the underside of his dick against once spotless glass. He gently began humping the smooth pane, as he watched you writhe in pleasure in broad daylight. Precum dripped heavily from the tip, he fucked his gith against the door.

He imagined how soft you’d feel under her. How lush your thighs would be when he grabbed them in large hands. How warm you’d be after resting in the rays of the sun.

How wet you’d be when sank his dick deep in your pussy.

The plaster and metal of the door dented and cracked under the force of Enji’s grip. His hips grew more feverish in their rutting. He puffed out smoke and grunts as he imagined how you’d look spread beneath him. How puffy brown lips would stretch around his dick. 

The image stayed with him, as he watched you work your pussy from afar. He kept the image of your juicy cunt wrapped around his dick, as he watched your body seize and watch a torrent of thick fluid shoot from between your legs.

Enji swore as he felt his balls draw up and his fat dick twitch as spurt after spurt of thick white steaming cum. He grunted loudly as he watched you squirt, making a mess of the lounge chair as he dirtied the glass door. Taking hold of his still twitching dick, he stroked himself until the last of his nut dotted the glass.

He stood there panting, body zigging as he calmed his breathing, already thinking of cleaning his mess and making a hasty escape, until the sharp sound of cracking filled the air. 

Enji watched as the glass under his cum slowly fractured and the fissures spread up and across the pane. 

Enji scrambled to put his dick away and zipped his Hero suit, while panicking. He watched as the glass cracked and crumbled from the frame loudly.

The sound overwhelmed the music from the yard and He watched as you scramble to drape a towel over you and turn around to look over the back of the chair.

“Daddy?”

Boy if that word didn’t make Enji’s dick twitch in his suit.

“Y—Yeah Sweetheart, just me. I may have walked into the glass thinking it was open. Don’t worry I’ll clean it up, use the side door for now.”

You beamed at him sweet and innocent. Big sweet eyes shining as you nodded at him. 

As if you didn’t just make yourself squirt in broad daylight where God and everyone could see.

“Ok Daddy, whatever you say.”

“Hmm.” Enji made a quick escape to find the broom and dust pan, hoping to every god that she didn’t see the splatter of his cum on the broken shards of glass.

Enji sat in his dark living room while his boys piled on the couch, flopping over and stretching out on all surfaces in preparation for Movie night.  

Enji found himself slumping on the love seat, ready to spend quality time with his family. Tonight you were watching some very American slasher flick from pre-quirk Era. Something about a ghost’s face. And it was six movies long!

You came out with Shoto carrying snacks and drink, already gnawing on a peach ring that was hanging out your mouth. He watched you set down the trays with your brother, and tried not to focus on the fact that you were in only an oversized t-shirt.

Touya wasn’t though. “Is that Natsuo’s shirt?” 

Across the room, Natsuo blushed, but it went unnoticed.

You ignored the snark in your older brother’s voice, knowing by now to just act like he wasn’t trying to goad you into an argument. “Mn, I have to do laundry tonight, but needed to shower today after Sunbathing.” Your cute nose bunched up, “I smelled like outside.”

Touya narrowed his eyes at you clear confusion at what that meant, but Shoto interrupted.

“Nee-chan needed clothes and Natsuo’s the only one whose frame is built wide enough,” Shoto said with a shrug. 

"So that erases her need of pants?" Touya grumbled, but Enji finally interrupted.  

"Touya leave Y/n alone. This is her home, she can wear what she wants. Like all of you can." 

He looks away, grumbling. 

Seeing the clear argument that was ready to breakout among the men in your family and Touya, you moved to diffuse it. “Daddy can I sit with you during the movie?” You asked, grabbing your weighted blanket from the couch Natsuo was fighting with Touya over.

“It’s a lil’ chilly?” You appeased smiling toothy sweet smiles you knew your Daddy couldn’t resist. Enji made space for you and you gave a cry of triumph before joining him on the big plush loveseat. Shoto turned off the lights as Touya pressed play on the movie.

A classic scene started with a strawberry blonde with a fuck ass bob answering her  house phone alone in the house and Enji sighed, settling in for whatever this was. 

Time went on and Enji found himself actually enjoying the movie, surprised when it turned out to be a murder duo. He was engaged as Shoto started the next one. Slowly though they started to tire out. Natsuo and Shoto nodded off by the end of the second film. Only you, Enji, and Touya remained conscious as the third film started.

You subconsciously maneuvered yourself against  him and Enji was surprised he didn’t notice until your soft supple bottom nestled firmly on his lap, under the blanket. Enji peaked at you to see if you noticed where you were, but he saw you were asleep.

Enji reached for your hips under the blanket, only for rough hands to meet bare skin.

He froze and cast his eyes to Touya, only to realize his eldest son had fallen asleep. He took a deep breath savoring the scent of you, while feeling thoroughly at your hips. Running his large hands around your hips, he found no cloth. Taking a chance he let his hand trail lightly over your backside and found you to have no panties on.

Enji felt himself grow hard immediately. 

His sweet little girl was laying against him, her bare ass pressed against the thin material of his sweatpants, where his erection strained against the fabric.

He glanced at Touya again, confirming he was asleep along with your brothers. He looked back down at you, maneuvering you so he could bury his face in your curls, that peaked out of the top of your scarf. He inhaled deeply and reveled in the soft warm scent of you.

You smell so good. Like cinnamon rolls and a smell that was so uniquely you that he sat there huffing it in, more than watching a movie. He  felt himself chubbing up underneath you and he had one terrible thought.

He wanted to feel you.

The bare wet brown folds of your pussy, on his dick. It’d be so easy like this. Just pull his long thick girth from his sweats and let it have one sinful abhorrent feel of your cunt.

Enji looked at his son’s sleeping form on the couch, face slack with sleep and bites his lip as he eases himself out of his sweatpants., holding you up with one hand. His dick twitches outside the confines of his pants, against his lap as his thick fingers separated fat brown lips. With a steamy exhale he sat you on his dick, where it lay between his legs.

With bated breath he holds you in place by your hips, while he thrust gently. Your pussy is hot against him, making him swear under his breath. The tip of his dick nudged into your clit on each stroke and your hot cunt slickened at the sinful stimuli.

Enji groaned as your juices eased the way for him. The slick sound of your pussy is muffled only by the blanket but, it was loud and clear for Enji. He looks down and can’t help the filth that leaves his mouth at the sight of your pussy cream staining his fat dick.

“Christ Y/n. Look at what you're doing to Daddy’s dick. So fucking nasty—Shit!”

On the forward stroke his head caught and nudged into the gooey tight opening of your pussy and fluttered around him and just his tip penetrated you.

You stir in in arms and he takes no heed as he continues to rock forward, savoring the way you contracted and dripped down his dick.

"This is so wrong. I’m violating my baby girl in her sleep. I'm a monster," Enji thought and it just made his dick jump where it rested inside you, spurting hot precum into you. “Fuck I’m sorry Sweetheart. Daddy’s so fucking sorry,” he whispered as he continued to fuck you on the tip of his dick.

The pleasure of your hot cunt made the man forget his initial hesitancy and resolve to just feel your pussy, as he rutted shallowly into you. He bit into his lip to muffle his moans from his son who he darted a guilty look at.

Touya lay sleeping on his side, blanket covering him from head to toe. From the shape of him he’s facing them, so Enji knew he had to stop soon…

But your pussy was heaven.

Against his better judgement, he kept shallowly stroking into your pussy, savoring the gooey heat that cradled the tip of his cock. He could cum like this. Just from the wrongness and taboo of violating you, in your sleep. In front of your family.

He shuddered, resolving to stop before he got caught. He pulled out of you, preparing to right you. If he stopped now, you wouldn’t wake up.

He looked down at where you were joined and savored the wet gooey strokes of your pussy. He let his tip catch on the entrance at your pussy enjoying the way his precum bridged the gap between your bodies. Enji knew he could cum just from lightly fucking your pussy so he gathered his resolve and what little sense he had and pulled you off his dick and rested you on his thighs.

He was ready to put his dick away, when your hips rolled back on his dick. Gasping as you sank back onto his long thick girth. He gasped and scrambled to muffle his moans in the back of your neck.

“ Fuck!”

On the couch Touya shifted and Enji’s eyes darted to him, watching him until he stopped shifting, before he turned his attention back to you. Your walls were clenching as you ground back into him. Wide hips winded and he could do nothing as your wet pussy fucked back onto him, but wheeze to keep himself from waking your brother

“Daddy, why’d you stop?” 

Enji froze at the sound of your voice, the soft whine stretching through your words, making him twitch inside you. “Y—Y/n?!” He whisper shouts into the silence.

You moaned and kept winding on in dick. “Mmph Daddy why’d you stop,” you asked as you turned your head to look at him. “It felt so good Daddy. Wasn’t I wet enough?”

Your hips moved faster, fucking your pussy down on his dick in a gooey loud staccato rhythm, that had him clutching hotly at your hips to stay sane. 

“I’ve been trying so hard to get your attention, Daddy. I left my door open. I fucked myself in broad daylight. I listened to you beat your dick almost every day in your office. I even drugged the boys, because I was tired of waiting.” You panted out and you planted your feet and worked up a steady pace of fucking your father.

Enji was flabbergasted. 

“Y/n! Y—You mean to tell me, you’ve known this w—whole time and you’ve just been—” He was cut off when you allowed yourself to fully sit on his dick and the full tightness of your previously virgin cunt, cradled him.

The moan he let out was loud and obscene, but the drugs you fed your family were clearly working, because no one stirred.

Enji’s head spun as you threw the blanket off and exposed both of your sex to the warm air of the room. He looked over your shoulder, at where he sat inside you, gooey white cream coating him and already sliding down his balls.

 Your brown hand reached up and cupped his jaw, and pressed your back flush to him. “You feel so good, Daddy,” you whined as your pussy rippled around him.

He gripped your hips for purchase, mentally reeling and physically tortured by your revelation. 

“B— Babygirl, you’ve been t—trying to get me to—To fuck you this whole time?” It’s a choked out question and accusation. How could he not know his darling daughter was this devious sinful thing. So desperate for her Father’s dick, she’d plot scheme and drug her family to get what she wants.

“Mmph yeah,” you sighed out as you began moving your hips again. The feeling of him inside you was euphoric. He filled you to bursting, a thick hot sensation you didn’t you needed until that moment. “Been wanting this dick for years Daddy.”

Enji grunted as you began riding him again. Your hand was an anchoring force as he tried to breath through the act, but it was proving futile. The need you’d been apparently cultivating in him was too great. His hands moved from your hips, to your thighs, taking away your ability to ride him as he hold you aloft.

He he held you like that as his control finally snapped.

He drove into the wet grip of your pussy, with abandon. Let that sweet forbidden heat cradled and hug him while he kissed along your neck, exhaling steam from his excitement. “This what you wanted? This what you’ve been desperate for all this time? Go on Y/n, tell Daddy what a desperate pussy his daughter has.”

Keening you obliged.

“Had my first wet dream of you Daddy. You’d been going to the spring at the other vacation home. I don’t know what was happening, but your dick was hard under your towel and I saw the tip leaking,” You moaned out. “I went back to my room and pressed my pussy against my pillow to relieve the pressure and fell asleep.” You paused at the fat tip of his dick touched your cervix and your eyes rolled back.

“ Yesyesyes! Daddy don’t stop!” You were so full, the bliss of finally being fucked by him, was like anything you’d ever expected.

But your father was not letting you off easy.

“No one told you to stop talking, Y/n,” he groaned out. “Keep talking.”

Whining, you had no choice but to continue. “I dreamt of you, calling me into the hotspring. You were already jerking off, on the bench by the pool. I was still in my UA uniform and you told me to take the blazer off and come kneel at your fee—”

You were cut off by Enji pulling you off his cock. It left you feeling empty and unsatisfied, until he manhandled you into facing him. He sat you on his lap, and you were allowed to see him in all his flushed glory.

His face was sweaty as blue eyes started lustfully at you. You watched big strong hands reach up and tear Natsuo’s shirt right down the middle, exposing ebony skin. Your wore no bra and your father’s eyes locked onto the fact as he incinerated the shirt in his hand. 

Ashes fell but you paid it no mind as took your hips in hand once more and held you aloft, so your titties were level with his face.

“Keep going,” he growled out before latching onto your nipple.

Your breath hitched as his hot mouth latched on. A hot tongue teased your hardened peak, before he started sucking. Still you had to go one.

“You poured the basin sitting beside you down my shirt and watched it become translucent. When you could see the bright red of my bra, you started beating off over me. You made me watch as you leaked and dripped onto my shirt and I was so wet. You were so close to coming and the pleasure was building for me,”you panted through the pleasure. “I woke up just as you came, and realized I’d been humping my pillow in my sleep.”

He groaned into your soft flesh as you spoke, turned on by the fantasy and the taboo of you grinding your sweet pussy on your pillow. He swapped tits, licking and sucking the other as he’d done it’s twin.

“I stole one of your sweaters and fucked myself like that for the rest of third year,” you whimpered. “Please Daddy use my pussy again. I’ll be good, just put it back,”you begged wanting the feeling you desperately fought for.

Enji, complies, pulling away from your chest, with a single wet strand of drool between you. A hand leaves your hip, to take hold of his own turgid flesh and hold it up to catch on the gooey lips of your pussy. 

He’d heard enough and is ready to give you exactly what you want. 

He pulls you down on him, readjusting his grip on you with both hands. You both swear as he bottoms out, before the real fun begins.

Enji drags you up and down his dick mercilessly. Holds your wide stretch mark covered hips to bruising as he strokes you out to tears. It’s glorious as he pounds your cunt out the frame. All the while panting filth.

“I never expected to have raised a slut, Y/n. Daddy could never have known that you needed me this bad.” His lips find your jaw, kissing and sucking a purpling hickey there. “I’ll be sure to make sure this pussy never forgets me now, Y/n. Just keep you home, so you can be split open on Daddy’s dick as soon as my Patrol is over.” 

He pulls back to look into your dark eyes. They’re hazy with lust and your plump mouth is open in a desperate continuous moan. He knows he’ll slide his dick between them later. Watch you gag and gasp  around him, as he uses your throat to empty his balls over and over.

“God Sweetheart, this pussy is euphoria personified. Such a perfect gooey thing.” Steam exhales through his nose. “I can’t wait to fuck it to the shape of this dick.”

You shuddered, wanting the filth he spouted more than anything.

“We’ll go to the vacation house first chance we get. You’ll put on your old uniform suck Daddy’s dick, like the good obedient girl I raised you to be and I’ll violate your pretty mouth until I’m satisfied.”

You keened at your father’s assertion, body hot and pussy spasming. He fucked you earnestly now, drilling you down on his dick, until the sound of your gushy walls drowning out the movie still playing.  It was obscene and wrong and hot . You were so close to cumming. You just needed something else.

Your legs clench around where they rest on your father’s waist, as you held on to him on the downward stroke. You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck and look feverishly into his eyes. He’s dick is seated in you, all the way to your cervix. The entrance of your womb kissing the tip in that way that electrified your body.

“Daddy, like this. Fuck me just like this. Make me sit on it, while you fuck me deep,” you plead, needing that overwhelming pressure as he dug you out.

Understanding what you meant immediately, Enji growled and held your pelvis flush to his as he fucked you with abandon. 

All his frustration and shame went into the act, pleading with the part of himself that knew this was an awful thing to do, to forgive him. His palms were heating and he knew you’d be marked when they finally came away, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry out in pain. Just leaned into him and moaned better than any whore he’s ever seen. He felt the soft fleshy entrance to your womb give as he destroyed your cunt.

He looked over your head and saw his sleeping sons. Natsuo and Shoto were dead to the world, but Touya?

He was staring right at you both, blanket gone, hand around his cock. He furiously stroked as he watched you get fucked and Enji felt a renewed wave of lust wash over him.

The enthusiasm of his thrust grew more ardent as he battered his way inside you. Touya’s seem to match and he let the taboo of that slide down his spine and power his desire.

To you it  manifested as the feeling of his dick pummeling it’s way inside you, The head pressed in in in until the hot euphoria of completion wracked your nerves. It seared through you as you gripped onto Enji and cried out long and loud.

“Daddy! Oh Gods Daddy yes!” 

Enji swore as you creamed on his dick, babbling into his chest, as you found nirvana in his arms.

His orgasm hit him like a mac truck, and he groaned as he filled your womb with one hot spurt of cum after the other. He caught sight of Touya spurting over his own fist, before the feel of your pussy wringin him dry to the last drop, made his eyes roll back.

When he finally finished, he realized he had fallen back against the chair. His eldest son panted where he lay prone on the couch and he glanced down at you, to find you snoozing on his chest softly.

He sighed, taking a moment to figure out how to proceed. When his brain could string together more than half a sentence, he spoke.

“You gather your wits and clean yourself up. I’ll take your sister to my room and clean up. Then we’ll come and carry your brothers to their room.”

Touya made a face, but didn’t argue. “Yes Father.”

Enji nodded and stood, holding you gently. He nodded to his eldest and carried you out of the living room. He’d handle everything quickly now. 

That way, when you woke up, he’d be back to you and ready for round two. 

[snazzynacho]

— When in Rome

Chapter 1/?

Emperor Caracalla x female oc

Words: 2.9k Read on ao3. Main masterlist

Summary: Willow somehow wakes up in Ancient Rome. Caracalla likes what he sees…

Chapter summary: Caracalla wakes up to find a beautiful woman he does not remember bedding last night in his bed. Alas, he has to correct this. Luckily, for her, he seems to have awoken in a good mood.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Smut, explicit, Time travel, dirty talk, mental health issues, Caracalla doesn't have an STD but he is schizophrenic and has severe PTSD and memory issues, references to concubines, manipulation, possessiveness, period-typical attitudes, angst and hurt/comfort, murder, treason, canon-typical violence, romance, fluff, implied/referenced smut, forced marriage, falling in love, pregnancy, canon divergence, pre-gladiator 2, Implied Consent, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Nipple Play, Mommy Issues, Cock Warming, Cock Rings, Light Dom/sub, but Caracalla is too much a switch fr, Panic Attacks, Mental Breakdown, Body Worship, Praise Kink, Possessive Behaviour, Possessive Sex, Caracalla eats pussy like it’s his job, Cunnilingus, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Predator/Prey Roleplay, Pubephilia, Caracalla has a thing for women with an outie labia, okay? Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

A/N: This is part 2 of my fanfic 'Emperor of Time'! You don't have to read that first but it is recommended even though it is unfinished. Basically, these two fics coincide with each other. Bold = in Latin. Miiiight be getting ahead of myself with the smutty tags bc I’ve attempted to write smut before but failed BUT I WILL try because this is CARACALLA😭😍

Waking up to the sound of snoring is not a common occurrence for her, so she jumps up on her feet and frantically details her unfamiliar surroundings even through the pounding throbbing in her head. 

The room is ornate and simply breathtaking. Beautiful paintings line the walls, and the floor has a large, intricate, square mosaic pattern in the middle. Against the back wall is a bed raised high on golden legs. However, it is different from any kind of bed she is used to. It looks more like a sofa. 

Upon closer inspection, she realises the snoring is coming from over there. She peers and sees a male figure dozing away, wrapped in the silky covers. He has bright orange hair and rosy cheeks, and his brows are slightly creased but not enough to indicate a bad dream. 

That’s more than she can say when a booming voice rips her from her trance. Bounding footsteps mixed with shouting are moving closer and closer to the door. She internally panics. She needs to hide—but where?! Her body is rigid. Her hands are clenched in anticipation. Her head whips from the door—where the handle rattles, it being opened—to the bed several times. Finally, she decides the best thing she can do is hop into bed and hide under the covers as best as she can. Her legs leap across the room to the bed. Peeling the covers back, she climbs into bed. The man stirs in his sleep a little and then resumes snoring. She notices a bit of dribble down his chin and finds it strangely endearing. 

Just when she’s about to hide her face under the covers, the door bursts open, revealing another young man with the same fiery hair. “Caracalla, you must make haste! The senates are waiting, and you are already biting into my private leisure time!” He exclaims something in a language she does not recognise, waking the other man up by shaking his shoulders. He then glares at her and rolls his eyes. “Hm. Whatever. I will go to the meeting on my own and leave you with your...concubine,” He grumbles and turns to leave, slamming the door shut behind him. 

To which the man in the bed grumpily responds with an audibly confused “huh?”. He rolls over to eye the woman in his bed. He does not recognise her face at all, though he can recognise a beauty when he sees one. “I do not remember bedding such a beauty last night…That must be corrected at once,” 

Before she knows it, his lips are on hers. Wow, now this dream is talking! His lips are surprisingly soft but firm with desire. His hands grab at her waist, and she moans into the kiss. She can feel his smirk on her mouth. She feels his hand travel up to her breasts, rubbing at her nipple through her clothing. Moaning again, almost sounding annoyed, she rips her lips from his, immediately tearing her upper clothing off. She will not be needing that. 

He giggles ardently. His lustful, bright blue eyes stir something deep within her as they’re now fixed on her exposed breasts. His mouth immediately attaches to one of her nipples, and the bud quickly responds to his licking and sucking, growing into a hardened peak. She moans as his mouth deliciously toys at her nipple while the added sensation of his fingers trailing up to flick her other nipple sends tingles straight down to her wet core. She squirms, her hips involuntarily rolling upwards, rubbing against his, desperately seeking that sweet, sweet relief. 

Roughly, he pushes her hips down, grunting something. His fingers grab at the waistband of the fabric covering her legs. He does not think twice about why she wears such foreign clothing, yanking them down. Her legs wiggle, hurriedly attempting to ease the removal. Once they're gone and chucked on the floor somewhere, along with her other garment, he palms her thighs, spreading them slightly. His eyes tentatively travel down to the patch of curled hair on her perfectly plump and round mons Venus. He would never say it out loud, fearing mockery in Roman beauty standards, but he loves that bush of hair on a woman. It is simply concupiscent…a glimpse of natural womanhood. An erotic, animalistic drive would take over him every time he saw his pubes rub up against another’s pubes with each thrust. He smirks at the thought of that happening with this captivating lady he woke to find in his bed as if she were an angel—a goddess sent down from the gods just for him. Soley for Caracalla to indulge in. Not Geta, his brother. Only Caracalla. 

Feather-light strokes brush up and down her thighs, sending shivers all over her. His cock twitches in his sleep toga at the sound of her whimper and the glistening wetness of her folds. He cannot look away. His cock twitches again, leaking pre-cum. Her folds are exquisite, peeking out and forming the most intricate large petals. He licks his lips again, looking her in the eye—an unspoken agreement. She responds by biting her bottom lip and shoves his head towards her, connecting their lips heatedly. 

His pelvis jerks up against her, and she groans as the fabric of his toga pleasantly rubs against her clit. His tongue slips into her mouth, swirling saliva around messily and hungrily. Their hands palm at each other's bodies, hers running up and down his back and resting around his neck and his tickling along her thighs and up the side of her body. Giggles bubble up her throat and into the kiss, and he decides now is the best time to quit kissing and get down to dirty business. 

A line of saliva is the only thing that connects their lips as they part, and it should be gross, but it is far from it. Feeling relieved since he finally rids himself of his toga, he leaves light pecks and bites at the crook of her neck, down the valley of her breasts, and along her stomach, stopping at her mound. She feels his hot breath on her folds, and she revels in the goosebumps it leaves her in. His thumbs press on either side of her cunt, slowly running along the slick skin, spreading it open gently. It squelches as a string of wetness across her hole comes into view and plays with his desire, almost beckoning him to come closer. His warm wet tongue obliges, broadly licking up her cunt, and his mouth sucks at her folds while she moans, tilting her head back. After a few more licks and sucks, he suddenly stops, and she whines at the missing contact. She's about to protest and beg for more when his hand roughly grasps the back of her head, gripping her black, wavy hair. He harshly yanks her head forward, so she's forced to look down at him. Before she can say a word, he spits. A fat wad of warm saliva lands directly on her clit, and she whines in the shockwave it sends to her nerves, taking pleasure in the tingling. He watches her wet cunt clench around nothing, and that tips him over the edge. 

Diving straight in, his tongue scoops up her juices and flicks up her cunt, swirling hers with his saliva. Her hands move to grip his hair, pushing his face even closer to her core. Throbbing, her clit reacts to his tongue faultlessly toying at it, sucking and kissing like it is the sweetest treat. He lays his tongue flat on the swollen bundle of nerves, moaning at its pulsing sensation detonating up his tongue. Her hips roll, wanting more. 

Groaning, he equally wants more. Resuming darting his tongue around in patterns, he pays close attention to her clit, and occasionally pushes his tongue in her wet hole, collecting more of her sweet juices. She notes his beautifully hooked nose teases her clit pleasantly when he does this, moaning louder for him to let him know. He slips his fingers inside, feeling the soaked walls of her tight cunt, curling and pumping in and out. Her moans and cries almost drive him to orgasm, but he refrains. He must feel her sopping cunt around his cock first. There's no way he will miss out on that. Speaking of orgasm, he feels she is growing close. He sucks at her clit again and pumps his knuckle-deep fingers faster, and she lets out a precious cry, spasming around his fingers, arching her back, and convulsing at the inconceivable pleasure, climaxing hard. His tongue darts down, lapping up her juices, and he pulls out his fingers, placing them in his mouth, sucking her essence off with an audible ‘pop’. 

Her grip on his fiery hair loosens, and Caracalla moves his mouth to her thighs, kissing up her body until he reaches her plump lips—juicy and red from climaxing—snogging her so she can taste how delicious she is. 

His thick hand pumps his cock a few times, preparing himself, and pulls the foreskin back to expose the head. Pre-cum squeezes out, dripping onto the bed below. Unexpectedly, her thumb grazes against his tip, collecting the rest of the pre-cum, and presses the salty essence on her tongue. She sucks it off, as he did with her juices, with a ‘pop’. 

His breathing hitches in his throat. Letting out a shaky breath laced with incredible desire, he roughly seizes her thighs, making sure they're spread as wide as they can—as if they haven't been this whole time. He lines his hard length to her cunt, and plunges in. They moan at the same time, his girth stretching her soaked hole so defiantly. He sets an unrelenting tempo, it is almost painful at first, but pain turns to pleasure, and she soon finds herself driving against his thrusts. The lewd sound of smacking flesh and sticky skin fills the room, along with their moans. She covers her mouth to silence her loud noises but he rips her hand away. “No, mea vita. I want to hear you,” he commands, his voice low, almost sounding cruel. 

He starts to move his body forward, pushing downward into the mattress instead of deeply into her. His cock is now in greater contact with the back wall of her cunt. Instinctively, she wraps her legs tighter around his waist, wailing at the new pleasurable angle his cock is in, feeling that coiling tension and fire in her abdomen. “Yes, that’s it. Let me hear your slutty wailing,” Holding a hand under her waist for an even better angle, his pubis rubs against her clit, the prickly hairs stimulating the bundle of nerves, building up her arousing more. Her legs tremble, and her throat burns at the constant erotic noises that spew out. That coiling tension becomes stronger, her cunt tighter as it spasms. With a loud cry from her lips, and a sharpness from her nails digging into his back, her hips snap and she comes undone. 

“F-fuck!” Hips stuttering with one final powerful thrust, he, too, orgasms and empties himself inside of her. She feels his warm release coat her walls as his body slumps on her shoulder. He pulls her in an embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck while their frantic pants and the heady smell of sex refill the room, completely and utterly blissed out. She hums in delight. After a few moments, he rolls onto his side, leaning on his elbow, his slicked cock still inside of her. His clammy hand grabs hold of her waist, pulling her onto her side like he is. 

Placing a finger on the side of her face, he caresses her flushed cheek and moves a strand of her hair that is stuck to her forehead away. His voice is much lighter, sounding in love. “What is your name, my beauty?” Usually, after sex, he falls asleep or pushes the concubine away. But there's something different about this woman. 

She gapes at him unreadably. 

"You are teasing me, aren't you? You let me hear those pretty moans of yours, but now the cat has got your tongue?” he cracks a smile, flashing his gold tooth before his brows furrow and his head tilts to the side. “Oh, don't tell me you cannot speak Latin,” he sighs hard but cackles…Either she does not know Latin, or he truly fucked her brains out. 

“Emperor Caracalla,” he points to himself, smug as he refers to himself as Emperor. He then points at her, motioning her to give him her name. He recalls doing the same when he got his monkey Dondas, though she didn’t respond because she is a monkey, after all. 

“Willow,” her soft voice says, a bit croaky from crying out during sex. 

“Will-ow,” the name is foreign on his tongue, and his mouth moves unfamiliarly. He shakes his head and grimaces slightly. “No, no, no. I ought to think of another name for you, my beauty,” he runs his thick fingers along her forearm, intently watching the hair on her arms raise at the touch. 

"Tell me. What does your odd name mean?" Willow blinks at him. Her wide, brown, doe-like eyes oddly tug at his heartstrings. “I bet it means sweet like honey,” he smirks, placing the two fingers he touched her with on his lips. His red tongue darts out quickly to lick the remnants of her essence. He hums in pleasure at the taste. Even though she does not know what he is saying, Willow can tell it’s something erotic. She gasps softly at his action, and if she is not already as wet as the Nile River, she’d be as wet as the ocean. 

“Your new name must not be any old name but something truly special. I’ll get back to you on that,” At that, his cock slips out and he hops out of bed. Caracalla seems to have entered a completely different realm. He doesn't look back at her—a sharp contrast to the intimacy they shared mere seconds ago. Instead, he wraps himself in a silky red and gold robe, tied dangerously loosely around his pelvis. He might as well be wearing nothing still. Willow tries to avert her gaze, but heck. This is her sex dream—a mighty one at that—and if she wants to ogle at this hot emperor her brain mustered up, then so be it! 

Willow looks at him again, slightly sad, feeling his cum dribble out of her used cunt. This is her dream. Surely, she can direct it. She sits up in bed, her perky breasts slipping out from the silky covers, now on show. She hopes she looks as seductive as she felt moments ago.

Caracalla turns around, casually holding onto the robe’s cord that’s knotted loosely around his pelvis. The weight of his hand lowers the knot, revealing more skin, and making his pose more provocatively risky. She eyes the patch of red hair trailing up from his pubes and up his stomach, crossing her legs together to wear off the returned throbbing of her core.

He’s looking at her indifferently before something changes in his eyes. He smirks and states, “You shall begin to learn Latin. I will have the finest tutor in all of Rome come here just for you, my sweet,” he steps closer, holding her gently by the chin, and then moves his thumb up to stroke her lips. “Just for you.” There's a daring twinkle in his eye, and though Willow cannot understand his Latin words, she cannot help but be swooned.

Seemingly saying goodbye, he leaves the room. Willow is left feeling butterflies in her stomach.

This wet dream has been the best she's had in a long time—maybe even the best she has ever had. She strangely felt everything. Willow was amazed at how well her brain conjured up every feeling and sensation, every tingle, every rush of lust in her lower belly she had not felt for a long, long time, revelling in how his hard cock pumped in and out of her wet cunt, making her walls clench and spasm so ridiculously much... 

She needed this dream. She loves her job. She has made a career out of singing, mostly operatic, while her best friend, Diana, plays the harp or the violin with the orchestra—but it is hard work. And a sex dream once in a while is nothing to complain about. Especially one with a Roman emperor… 

Now, she can relax and let her eyes close, and she'll wake up in the (stressful) real world again. Albeit slightly more relaxed than before. It is better than nothing, Willow supposes. 

This is until she feels a light tap on her shoulder. She opens her eyes a tad grumpier than she would like to and sees a young woman in a cream tunic, with others standing in the room, waiting. She says something in Latin, but Willow has no idea what, staring at her blankly. The servant takes Willow’s hand and guides her to her feet before leading her elsewhere. The palace is incredible, with white stone pillars and marble floors. 

Willow can get used to this, but it is only a dream, after all... 

A/N: Mae vita = little honey.

Hawktuah on that thang (sorry).

Wow so this is really ambitious of me to post. I haven’t fully written smut in a long time, if ever, because I’ve never been able to write it properly and I always thought it turned out bad. So, let me know what you think… Eeek I’m nervous.

Also, I made Willow in the sims!! Well, technically I found her on the gallery by @ m1w4k000 but I did change her nose, body, and hair a bit. :)

Tag list: (comment to be added/removed)

[redwolfxx]

twin dragons

CHAPTER ONE

lin lie x reader x danny rand

iron fists x reader (strategist)

context: marvel rivals

a/n:

idk where this is going to go yet so here we are

tagss: none

series

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

You materialize in a shimmer of light. Your shoes land on the once pristine and polished floors of the Baxter building.

Around you, several others spawn.

Groot, Storm, Hawkeye, Rocket, and Iron Fist - Lin, that is.

Then a voice cuts through the quiet um of pre-battle tension, Galacta.

"Thirty seconds before you attack. Get ready!"

The team begins strategizing, tension palpable. Groot’s barked limbs flex, Storm rolls her shoulders, static building around her. Lin says nothing, just flexes his fingers. His chi glows like a smoldering ember.

"We push together. Groot takes point, I'll look for high ground, Lin flank behind, Storm fly up, rain chaos. And the two of you-" Hawkeye nods to you and Rocket, "support where needed."

"I'll never understand what Quill sees in this lousy planet..." Rocket mutters to your left, already flipping through his gear with a disgruntled growl.

Then Galacta speaks again.

"Help get that vehicle to its destination!"

The heavy doors slide open with a hiss of pressure and steam.

Your shoes hit the fractured pavement of Midtown—cracked concrete, scorched cars, storefronts turned to ruin. Above, the sky bleeds red, pulsing as if it breathes. The payload looms ahead, waiting for movement.

You fall behind Groot, light on your feet, eyes to the sky, waiting for attack. Your role is clear: heal, buff, reposition.

The first attack hits hard.

Psylocke drops from a broken fire escape, blades glowing with psionic force. Groot intercepts her with a thundering shield of branches. You respond instantly—support pulse fired, your HUD lighting up with movement indicators.

Lin streaks forward like a thrown knife, clashing with Hela at the front. Her blades slice clean, catching him across the side. He drops back a few feet and you’re there, healing energy threading through the chaos to knit his wounds.

He nods, expression unreadable, before launching forward again—his fists blaze gold, and with a clean strike, Hela drops.

Metal creaks violently. Magneto tears a billboard from its place and slams it down. Groot groans, bearing the brunt of it.

Rocket skates beneath the debris, gun blazing.

Storm arcs high above, throwing bolts with pinpoint precision. Hawkeye darts past fallen scaffolding, angling toward the enemy’s backline.

Lin splits off to the left flank.

And then—Danny.

He lands light-footed in the nearby crosswalk. His hair is tousled, his fists glow gold. Not the controlled stillness of Lin's chi, no, his is hotter, more volatile. He grins, as if the chaos around him is just another day at the office.

His eyes find yours instantly.

"Strategist," he drawls.

You grin as you raise a brow. "Didn’t expect the multiverse’s golden boy to be playing in the shadows."

He laughs—bright and smug. "Cute. Let’s see if you’re still smiling in sixty seconds."

Lin hits him from behind mid-sentence.

Golden chi meets golden chi—blow for blow, fluid and brutal. Danny blocks, counters. Lin twists around the strike and retaliates with the precision of a blade.

You can’t look away.

They move fast—too fast. You lose them for a breath, then see Lin stagger, caught in the ribs.

Danny doesn't gloat. He just exhales through his nose. "You're good. Not me, but good."

"We'll see who's standing by the next checkpoint," Lin replies coolly.

You sprint forward to provide support, but Magneto yanks a rusted sedan into your path. You duck under it, firing a burst heal that skims Lin’s shoulder as he rolls upright.

Storm streaks overhead, lightning scorching down. Emma Frost glides through it unfazed, turning crystalline to absorb the hit.

Hawkeye's arrows whiz past, meeting Hela's blades mid-air.

The payload is stuck.

"Get that vehicle moving again!" Galacta quips from her perch above, lounging, safe from the danger.

"Down to thirty seconds" comes her voice once more.

"We're running out of time!" Rocket shouts, appearing beside you.

Smoke still lingers, the acrid scent of burnt metal and ozone thick in the air. The payload groans beneath a fresh barrage of attacks, inching forward with agonizing slowness.

When Danny drops between you and it.

His punch hits your side hard, knocking you off your feet. The air tears from your lungs.

The second blow slams into Lin, sending him crashing into a burnt-out car.

Your pulse races, hands steady as you send out healing pulses. Lin is back up and moving with a relentless precision—darting in, striking fast, then pulling back to avoid counterattacks. You catch the slight grimace as a glancing blow grazes his side and immediately flood him with your healing.

The two teams continue in battle, meeting each other blow for blow, but with no progress on the payload, your team begins to get pushed back.

Rocket’s snarky commentary echoes beside you, “Earth’s worst security system.” His machine gun sings, pinning foes momentarily, buying precious seconds.

Danny moves with fiery grace—each strike a brilliant flare, each dodge a blur of golden light. His eyes lock on you briefly, and the unmistakable spark of challenge gleams in them.

His gaze goes back to Lin with a cocky grin gracing his features,

“Still standing I see, let's change that”

Lin doesn’t answer. He’s laser-focused, weaving through enemy fire, the heat of his chi barely contained. But when Danny launches a surprise attack, Lin reels back, the air whooshing as Danny’s fist grazes his ribs.

You rush forward, throwing a burst of protective energy just in time to soften the impact.

The battlefield fractures around you—the ground cracks, flaming wreckage smolders, and the team fights like every inch is their last.

Seconds stretch into an eternity. Every heartbeat is a gamble. With a coordinated push, Lin and Danny continue their clash, fists sparking as their golden energy floods the street.

Behind them, you cover Groot as he shields Storm from a sudden ambush by Psylocke. You throw beams of healing energy, reinforcing your allies just as Emma Frost storms through in an attempt to snare you with psychic binds.

"That was close," You mutter to nearby Rocket, focusing your ability to break free of the binds, just before Hela’s blade shoots towards you.

“Too close,” Lin’s voice cuts through the noise, knocking it away before it reaches you, and he flanks left, drawing attention away from you.

Your eyes flick to the payload—it shudders, then slowly inches forward, pushed by your team’s desperate efforts.

Galacta’s voice crackles again, “The final ten seconds!”

Your breath catches as the timer ticks down.

Just as Magneto’s steel barricade slams down between you and the payload, the battlefield seems to hold its breath.

With a powerful surge, Groot's limbs flare with raw energy—branches thickening, thorns sharp and gleaming.

Storm calls out from above, her voice steady and commanding, “On my mark—give it all you got!”

Hawkeye’s arrows whisper through the smoke, each one tipped with a pulse charge Rocket rigged on the fly.

Lin’s golden chi flares wildly as he readies a flank.

You feel it, too—a surge of energy in your hands, warm and steady, ready to pour out.

“Now!” Storm’s cry shatters the air.

A blinding storm of electricity cascades down, accompanied by Groot’s spiraling roots. The charged arrows streak through the air, explosive pulses detonating among the enemy ranks.

Lin darts in, fists blazing, carving a path through stunned foes.

You unleash a wave of healing and buffing energy, knitting wounds, heightening reflexes.

Magneto grunts in frustration, his control faltering as his metal begins to fall from the sky.

The enemy team stumbles, pushed back into disarray.

Emma Frost’s crystalline form cracks under the relentless assault, and Psylocke falls back, clutching a wounded shoulder.

The payload jolts forward, crossing the glowing arc of checkpoint one, Grand Central Terminal.

Galacta’s voice rings through your comms “The vehicle reached a checkpoint. Keep up the momentum!"

The team regroups briefly, breaths heavy, eyes blazing with renewed fire.

“Keep it moving,” someone shouts. “We’re not done yet.”

Storm launches into the sky, thunder booming.

Groot steadies the payload with a steady grip.

Hawkeye takes aim for cover fire, while Rocket revs his gear.

Lin and Danny exchange a tense glance, then push forward in tandem—two flames lighting the path.

The city around you trembles under the assault, but the payload moves closer to the subway station, checkpoint two.

Then—

A sudden, brutal counterstrike.

Magneto, rallying with terrifying focus, rips a twisted wrecking ball from a nearby crane.

Hela and Psylocke flank from either side, their attacks synchronized and deadly. Loki not far behind, providing critical support to their team.

A massive explosion sends debris flying.

Lin is slammed into a wall, gasping as his golden glow flickers.

You’re thrown off your feet by a surge of psychic energy, vision blurring.

Groot’s massive form is crushed beneath a barrage of metal shards, his roar echoing in pain.

Hawkeye is caught by Hela's unrelenting blades and falls behind a wall.

Storm falters in midair, lightning sputtering as she is caught in a telepathic trap.

The payload shudders, grinding to a halt just feet from checkpoint two.

You hear a faint "You got them all!" come from the comms of the other team as light envelops you and your teammates, sending you all back to the spawn.

Materializing in the spawn once more, you and your teammates make a mad rush for the payload, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Down to thirty seconds! Get that vehicle moving again!"

The payload sits between Grand Central and the subway station, the second checkpoint only meters away.

The enemy forces have already regrouped and are continuing their assault on your team.

Hawkeye signals sharply. “They’re pushing back hard. Watch your backs!”

The air fills with the clanging of metal debris, humming of psionic blades, and crackling lightning.

You throw out healing pulses as Lin darts forward, golden fists igniting.

Storm’s lightning pierces the darkening sky.

Rocket zips through debris, firing at anyone who gets too close.

Still, the enemy pressure doesn’t relent.

“The final ten seconds!” Galacta warns sharply.

The payload shudders, inching forward as your team fights tooth and nail.

But then—a devastating counterattack.

Magneto’s iron grip bends steel like paper, sending debris flying with deadly precision.

Emma Frost and Psylocke coordinate from the shadows, striking from unexpected angles.

Your team is pushed back, step by agonizing step.

The payload halts just outside Grand Central, stalled.

“Keep that payload moving, you're nearly there!” Galacta’s voice shouts above the chaos.

You grit your teeth, readying your arms.

Groot plants his massive limbs firmly, shielding the team.

Storm’s eyes flash electric fury as she unleashes a storm surge.

Lin meets Danny in continued battle, fists glowing in green flames.

But the enemy doesn’t yield.

A final surge of coordinated attack forces your team back once more, the payload still motionless.

With every ounce of strength, you throw your energy into healing and buffing your teammates, but the enemy’s relentless onslaught proves too much.

The timer on your watches all flash red, the round is over.

"Final score: one to zero! Time to switch things up! Including which side you're on." Comes Galacta's voice over the tension of the battle.

Smoke hangs in the air. Danny stands alone in the rubble, blood on his lip, fists still glowing.

He looks down at you, victorious. Smirking.

You rise to one knee, meeting his gaze without flinching.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

[goawaypopup]

Look Outside Posting Part 6

The health and safety of the public, those afflicted and the unaffected alike, depend upon difficult decisions in handling unresponsive and dangerous Cursed individuals as we work towards reestablishing more infrastructure over the coming years. It's important to remember that all those who were Cursed are fundamentally still human,* and we have evidence to suggest that even the most hostile and bestial of them may show improvement over the long term. Their dignity and best interests need to be taken into consideration, if at all possible without putting others at risk.

*During the time shortly after the Cataclysm, the term "human" was most often used to indicate a person regardless of physiology, and was sometimes deliberately applied to Cursed who are today considered nonhuman in order to emphasize their personhood. This was due to the lack of need for a distinction between "human" and "person" in casual conversation pre-Cataclysm. Additionally, almost all Cursed at the time were formerly human.

In the interest of spreading awareness of best practices to those who may unexpectedly encounter strange Cursed individuals without the possibility of bringing in a professional, we offer here a brief guide to assessing their immediate threat level and needs in an emergency situation.**

**This focus on the wellbeing of the Cursed was not the norm everywhere. 4 years post-Cataclysm, a Cursed approaching one of the common human settlements of the time, where all Cursed had been cleared out by armed bands, could expect no such kindness. This document comes from the territory of the god Layth, whose protection meant its subjects had the resources (and the necessary acceptance of Cursed as community members) to attempt to rehabilitate the deranged. Cursed are highly unpredictable and can be extremely dangerous in ways you never anticipated. Unless the Cursed is an imminent threat or likely to become one before help can arrive, or is clearly in immediate need of assistance, your best option is always to leave the area and report its location as soon as possible so it can be handled by professionals. If this is not an option, first, start by checking your surroundings. Does the ground seem unstable at all? Are there any holes or dark places where something could get close to you without you noticing? Does the air have any strange odors or particles? Are you experiencing any unusual thoughts or shifts in mood? If so, it could be dangerous to approach. Next, observe the Cursed itself. Is it alone? Can you see its entire body, or is part of it extending outside your view or covered up? Does it have any obvious dangerous parts, like sharp claws or teeth, stingers, or spines? Does it visibly exude any substances, and does it appear that it might be able to attack from a distance? Are there signs nearby, like blood or body parts, that the Cursed is predatory? Pay attention to its movement in particular. Does it move suddenly or more quickly than you could get away? Does it seem to move erratically, as if it might have more than one brain directing its body? Is it doing something that doesn't have a clear purpose like aimlessly wandering, or is it behaving animalistically? (Remember that none of these are necessarily indicators that a Cursed is insane or a danger to others. However, they can help you decide whether it's worth the risk to approach and predict possible avenues of attack if you do.) The next step is to attempt contact. From what you determine to be a safe distance, signal to the Cursed, using whatever method best fits the environment, distance between you, and your observations. The objective is to determine the degree of responsiveness and communication you can expect if you choose to initiate further contact.

Some "universal" signs have been coined that can be used in a variety of formats, like the "tap-tap-turn" and "SOS". Using any of these that you know is worth a shot; however, none of these has become accepted or known everywhere, so don't take a lack of response to these as a sure sign that the Cursed is noncommunicative. Some Cursed become isolated for long periods of time as well, and will almost certainly not be familiar with any signal coined post-Cataclysm.

A matching response to one of your signs, or any sort of clear verbal or visual communication, are signs that the Cursed is responsive and communicative. However, you should still remain cautious and attempt to guide the Cursed to a more stable location to be checked by a professional, if possible; although rare, some Cursed that are lucid and outwardly amiable may be concealing malicious intentions. If at any point, the Cursed signals or tells you to stay away, or that it is a danger to you, heed it.

It is best to check multiple avenues of communication before declaring a Cursed to be noncommunicative, as they may lack the senses to notice or understand you at first, or the ability to respond in kind. Try verbal speech, signing, and (if safe to do so) offering a writing tablet, at minimum.

Be polite and nonthreatening, and continue to observe for signs of distress, instability, or aggression as you converse. Beware if the Cursed attempts to physically touch you or lead you to another location.

If a Cursed is noncommunicative, it is best to assume that it might try to harm you if you get too close. Some Cursed can speak, but will scarcely, or not at all, respond to queries; these are effectively noncommunicative as well, but what they say can provide clues to what they want and how you might be able to pacify them.

An unresponsive Cursed, one that mostly ignores you entirely, is more likely to be safe to leave alone. Try not to push too far to get a response out of it; if you have to try hard to get one, it's likely to be in the form of forcing you to stop it. Check whether the Cursed is sessile (rooted in place, or otherwise immobile) and report its location as soon as you can.

Openly aggressive Cursed are much less common now than they were in the immediate aftermath of the Cataclysm, but there is always a possibility that you will be attacked, and the best case scenario there is fending off a large, dangerous predator. If you're not so fortunate, you could be infected or merged with the Cursed, severely injured or killed in a way that you cannot defend against, or even affected by a rare reality-warping power. Strange Cursed individuals are dangerous. Be careful.

If a loved one has been Cursed, you are likely worried for their mental state. If this is due to a recent infection, you can help by supporting them and keeping them calm for the duration of their change, helping to prevent rapid shifts that tend to cause a loss of mental stability and provoke a runaway loop of sanity decline. The common wisdom to keep a transforming person away from touching anyone or any object to prevent merging holds true to some extent, if someone is undergoing rapid change, but it is much less of a concern now that witnessing the Visitor directly is not a possible avenue, and does not apply for weeks- or months- long changes unless the victim is holding an object for a majority of that period.

If a victim does not lose their mind on transformation, they are more at risk for certain mental health problems moving forward and will likely experience some personality changes, but they will not lose their mind after the process has completely run its course. If they become unable to safely remain in their community, but housing and feeding them is still feasible, they may be brought to a sanctuary to be taken care of and kept away from others they might harm.

The current consensus is that the mental symptoms displayed by the newly Cursed are, on a physical level, due to the generation and alteration of brain matter to adapt to new body parts and senses. Thus, a more drastically altered Cursed form is correlated with loss of sanity, but is not directly the cause, and the two are not always connected. Some Cursed maintain remarkably unaffected mentally, but have new brain matter form partially or entirely separate from their existing brain, which can instead cause problems controlling their own bodies.

A noncommunicative, aggressive Cursed may be a challenge for family members. An estimated 50% of this group dating back to the Cataclysm have become only conditionally aggressive (likely to flee rather than attack) or generally safe to be around, living in the wild, ruins or even alongside others as companions. Some who presented in this way have since recovered some memory and control over themselves. It is believed that this indicates the remaining vestiges of the individual's brain may sometimes survive the abrupt rewiring process "under the surface", and reestablish connections given a long enough time, much like how patients with brain damage can form new connections to access missing functions through new pathways.

Cursed who are infected today seem to have statistically slightly better outcomes and longer, more gradual transformation periods than during the Cataclysm, likely due to a more stable and supportive environment.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

Hiii! could you maybe write a Grayson x reader fic with a reader who doesn’t feel she is lovable cos her parents were abusive and taught her that?

hi!! thanks for your request, I realise it’s taken me a while to get around to writing it, so very sorry about that. It was a little dark but I’ll gave it a go. pre-warning I’ve never written anything like this before, so if it’s inaccurate or insensitive, I’m very sorry.

title: never good enough

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: a make out session brings back some unwanted memories that you’re forced to face

warnings: really heated make-out session, suggestive themes (but nothing bad bad), lots of past trauma, swearing, panic attack, abusive parents

a/n: if any of the warnings trigger you, please do not read on, I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s pain!! I’d feel so guilty!!

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @heartwithsimplenotes @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual

I like the way he tastes and the feel of his lips on mine. It’s not something I see myself getting bored of. It feels nice. But what feels nicer is the feeling of someone desiring you, someone wanting you, maybe even needing you. The feeling that someone chose you for a reason, because you matter to them. I like that feeling the best.

With each kiss I imagine that he actually feels something for me. It’s easier to play pretend. If you play pretend for long enough it can start to feel like reality. Growing up, I used to create things in my head all the time. Fictitious fantasies to fill in my empty voids of emotion. I suppose the habit had bled into my adult life.

He moans against my lips. The sound of pleasure indicating I’ve done something right, something he enjoys. My heart swells at this symbol of approval. Why do I thrive off of approval? I shake the feeling away in another deep kiss, burying it under a mound of other things I was ignoring. If I can’t see them they’re not there, if I turn my back, if I close my eyes.

These kisses are meaningless really, my brain knows it, actually it keeps attempting to remind me but I’ve gotten quite good at discarding things people say. They hurt my heart but not my head.

Grayson isn’t one to display how he feels for me publically. He’s mentioned before that he feels he doesn’t need to display how he feels to the world, he’s doesn’t care what the world thinks, he only cares what I think. It’s a beautifully designed excuse to tell me secretly that he doesn’t want to show affection in public because he doesn’t want me. I’m an embarrassment to love. I always have been.

But I don’t care. Our private moments together are bliss because I get to escape the truth and I like that. The truth is bitter like the cud, it’s harsh, it’s cruel, it’s painful. I’ve had too much of that already. So in the moments where I can I indulge so much I blind myself from it, I revel in the occasion. For the while.

His hands are firmly on my hips and I can feel the warmth of them through my clothes. They feel strong and supportive. They might be the only thing holding me together right now or it feels like it anyway. My hands are buried deep within his hair but I’m too caught up in the moment to think about it much. His kisses are quick and sweet, a little gentle. Sometimes he’d draw one or two out into longer, more passionate kisses. I didn’t care, as long as his lips were on mine, my memories would be forgotten. He begins to slide his hand up my body, tracing the curves of my bodice and up all the way until his cupping my face in his hands.

“I love you,” he pants, cheeks rosy and flushed, as we pull apart for breath, “more than you’ll ever know.”

Every time he says those words it ignites yet another fragment of my heart, that burns into ash in my chest. He’s killing me softly and I’m sure he’s enjoying it. He’s just telling me he loves me so I’ll stay with him, give him what he wants until he’s bored enough. That’s fine. I don’t mind. I know this, I’ve always known this. But getting to live in these moments, these moments laced in fierce passion and licked with flames of lust always made the harsh reality easier to swallow.

I don’t reply. Instead I kiss harder, more intensely. Maybe if I kiss with even more vigor, even more passion I can completely forget my pain. Maybe my mind will go blank and won’t be able to fill it in this time. I want the piercing sensation of white light to hit me and if it does I will let it burn me. Until my memories are incinerated and I no longer have to live with the weight of fear on my chest

He registers my sudden serge for more and begins to deliver. He matches my yearning for something deeper, something more. We’re caught up in heavy breathing, racing hearts and profuse sweating. Neither one of us cared. My hands find the hem of his shirt and I am tempted to tug down on the fabric but I don’t trust myself. My mind is too hypnotised by the sweet poison of his persuasive lips, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t make decisions like these. We’ve never gone further than kisses and I’m not sure if going further right now would make me feel better or worse. But who cares right?

No. I don’t let myself get that carried away. Not yet anyway. Even though I’ve previously been stripped of my dignity I will not be the one to do it to myself now. I take my hands away and slide them around the back of his neck.

We stop. Suddenly. And for a moment the standstill is uncomfortable. The absence of married lips is eerie almost. My mouth is tingling and I crave his taste already, it hasn’t been two seconds. It’s worse than drugs. I don’t want to stop kissing, every time we stop it opens a window for me to remember. A window I’ve been trying to avoid for far too long now.

He looks into my eyes and for a second I actually believe I’m wanted. Pools of gray, like a clear lake glistening in the moonlight. Pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty lips. But pretty doesn’t get you love. He smiles at me gently, a quiet kindness sparkles in his eyes. Sometimes I wonder how he is so perfect at forging this tenderness, how he claimed these masterful acting skills.

He trails his fingers gently down my face. It feels like he cares, the tentative manor misleading. Then suddenly I’m no longer in the apartment with Grayson. I’m back in my old house. No. I couldn’t be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. I don’t want to be back here. I escaped, I ran, I left, it was all over. I made sure it was over. I, I, I -

I’m back.

Sat on the living room sofa, that horrible itchy dull grey sofa, that appeared in my nightmares frequently. It even smells the same. The sour smell, that makes my stomach flip and my hands begin to shake. These four walls still haunt me. It looks as if they’re closing in, slowly, slowly. Like the room is getting smaller and I’m trapped. Claustrophobia seems to be my only companion.

My hands shake uncontrollably and no matter what I try and do to calm down, nothing works. I thought I was getting better, I thought I was coping well, I thought that it was going away. But this is proving otherwise.

I’m reliving a memory. A memory I’ve always wanted to forget. A memory scorched into my brain that tended to replay over and over like a relentless broken record that could never be smashed. I feel sick. I know what’s coming. No. I know who is coming.

His footsteps are an immediate giveaway and the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. I’m curled in a ball down, small, hiding like a helpless animal in a hole. If I curl up maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he won’t see me.

“What are you doing?”

A shiver runs down my spine. Every note in his voice is exactly how I remember it. The question echos around my head but I say nothing in reply. My words won’t form in my state of paralysis.

“Answer me girl!” my father barks. His voice venomous, dangerous.

“Nothing,” I reply quickly.

He grabs my arm, his fingers so tight around me that I’m sure that they’ll be bruises forming soon. He yanks me up as I attempt to cower backwards.

“Don’t take that tone with me you whore,” he spits in my face, the pungent wreaking of alcohol on his breath as he throws me to the floor.

I hit it with a thud. A dull aching thud. Just like the dull aching monotony of this scene that was just a part of every day life back then. I don’t move from the ground, I’ve learnt not to fight back. That only landed me in hospital last time. I lay there so still I hope he thinks I’m dead so he’ll leave me alone. He does not. He knows better. Unfortunately for me, he knows his daughter.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit,” growls the voice that makes my blood curdle, “you hear that?”

I thought I’d left him far behind. I thought he was gone. I thought wrong. I am naive and I’m the idiot I have always been. I don’t reply again. There’s nothing to reply with. Of course I heard.

“I said, you HEAR that?” he screams it louder.

I don’t reply. Stupid mistake but he doesn’t give me time to undo it. He’s already standing over me. It had already begun.

***

He beats my body until my brittle bones long to snap. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Those four words repeat over and over in my head. They might be the only thing keeping me conscious. No matter how much it hurts he cannot know he’s won. I refuse to hand him that victory of a silver platter, decorated in my jewels of agony.

And for a split second I wonder where my mother is and I don’t even know why. She would’ve do anything, she never did. She just stood there, emotionales, detached. Mothers are meant to protect and defend their children against anything in the world, it made me wonder why mine did not. It made me wonder if I were born to different people or maybe not born at all if things might be better off.

It’s not the time for thinking, I’m reminded. Another kick. I will not cry. A punch. I will not cry. My lip splits open. I will not cry. A twist of my left arm. I will not cry, I think my nose is broken. I will not cry.

“Stubborn little bitch won’t even shed a tear,” he snarls, bitterness so evident on his tongue I was surprised it hasn’t dissolved yet.

Yes I am stubborn. No I will not cry. Not for him. And then it happens. All over again. Beaten, bruised, battered, broken.

I can’t breathe. I’m in so much agony there’s no way I could even scream. So tears roll softly down my face as I’m curled up on the floor in defeat, desperation and humiliation. My body is nearly motionless, my limbs lay slack at my sides. I can’t help myself and no one is coming to save me. I let myself cry, broke the only promise I had to myself. I’m even betrayed my own brain for him.

I look up at him, tear streaked face. Is he happy now? Is he finally happy with me? Am I finally going to revive some sort of approval? Stupid questions to be wondering when I know exactly how this story ends.

As my eyes meet his, my father trails his fingers gently down my face. It still stings from the slap, the cells on my cheek screaming in agony. There’s the faint tinge of metallic blood in my mouth. My father trails his fingers gently down my face. Grayson trails his fingers gently down my face. My father trails his fingers gently- Grayson trails his fingers- My father trails- Grayson tr- my father Grayson my father Grayson my father Grayson my father.

SNAP.

I shiver and jerk away suddenly standing up. I try to back away as Grayson’s eyes fill with concern.

“What’s wrong,” he asks me, trying to reach out to me. I recoil at his attempt of a touch, like a frightened animal.

“I need to leave,” I barely get out, through my shallow breathing as I turn to find the door.

Where is the door? I couldn’t find the door. Breaths come in quicker and faster. Suffocating. I am suffocating. An invisible man has a plastic bag over my head and he is choking me slowly with it. I’m losing oxygen, I’m losing the things that keeps me alive.

Grayson is on his feet beside me, careful not to touch me, “did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you,” I pant, so breathless I wonder if I’m still breathing at all, “it’s all me.”

Dizziness rolls over me and I close my eyes. I feel my body sway slightly, my sense of balance robbed from me. A pair of strong hands catch my waist and pull me upright again. I try and focus my eyes but the room is spinning.

“Woah, hey,” it’s Grayson’s soft voice, “come here.”

That’s when I realise his hands are touching me. I try to pull away but can’t see where I’m going. I can’t see anything as black dots dance across my vision.

“No!” I yell, my ear beginning to ring.

“Hey, stop,” he says gently, ”sit down and take a breath.”

“No I can’t, I can’t, you don’t understand,” I hyperventilate, my chest in so much pain.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs rhythmically, extending his hand out towards me for me to take if I wanted.

I flinch away. His eyes are deep with realisation, he knows, he understands. I’ve given my secret away.

“Who hurt you?”

His voice is almost ragged, almost angry. His eyes are blazing, the soft grey hardens into cold steel. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The words are unable to be spoken, they feel to forbidden. I don’t think I’d ever admitted my childhood out loud. I need air, fresh air. I can’t breathe. I need to breathe.

I feel like I’m drowning. Water blurring my vision, my heat pounding in my chest, my lungs screaming at me for the oxygen I cannot give them. My limbs frozen in a state of paralysis, heavy as lead, dragging me down. I can’t kick myself to the surface, I’m helplessly lost. All I can do I stare up and watch the last sight I’ll probably ever see. Sinking, sinking, sinking. I think I can feel my lungs fill up. They burn as if eager flames are licking the internal organ in pleasure. I can hear someone’s voice, it’s muffled, like there’s water in my ears. I can’t make out what they’re saying. I wonder if this person will haul my body from the water or they’ll give up on me like everyone else.

“It’s okay,” the voice is soft and sweet, it becomes clearer by the second, “don’t say anything, just focus on breathing for me, okay?”

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. I take one look into his silvery grey eyes and in this second trust him with my everything. My heart is racing and I can hear my sharp intakes of breath. I manage a small nod as he helps me back down onto the bed, propping pillows up behind my back. I’m sweating, profusely and I feel revolting. The tremor in my hands is slowing slightly as he clasps them in his.

“I need you to breathe,” he tells me, making direct eye contact.

My chest is so constricted it physically hurts. The aching only grows the more I think about it but I can’t seem to stop. Hair is stuck to the back of my neck and the side of my face. I slick it back using my own sweat.

“I… can’t…” I manage to get out in breathless gasps.

“Yes you can,” he murmurs, “look at me, focus on me.”

I do.

“Yes you can,” he repeats, his voice strong, confident full of faith. Faith for me.

I close my eyes and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. I feel his fingers around my wrist, squeezing a little to check my pulse. He is warm against my cool skin. I reach for his hand with my other one and guide it slowly to my chest. I want to feel his hand on my heart. I want him as close as possible. His hand is on me with my hand pressed firmly against it. I open my eyes and stare at him, wondering if he could read my pleading eyes as well as I could read his compassionate ones. Mellow grey stares back at me in understanding. He keeps his hand on my heart.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, “please.”

“I’m not letting go,” he murmurs back, “don’t worry, I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

In and out. In and out. In and out. I try to calm myself. It’s not like I’ve ever faced something like this before, I’d just never faced it in someone’s presence. The fear of him seeing me in this state of vulnerability, stripped of my many masks that tell the world I am okay when I’m not, that made it all worse.

But with some time, that could’ve been two minutes of two hours, my breathing slows, becomes more regulated. Things begin to calm down. I’m no longer sweating uncontrollably though my body is still wet. My shaking hands grow stiller by the second as I fiddle with the ring on my middle finger. Finally my heart rate begins to go down. I hear it less in my ears and feel it less in my chest. But it’s still there.

Grayson’s hand has still not left my heart, just like I asked. Gently I place my hand on his, and guide it back to his lap, letting him silently know he’d done his job. I take a hair tie and throw my hair up into an abomination on my head that I’m too tired to care about.

Grayson’s features have twisted into a way that almost makes him look worried. His eyes are larger than usual, his pupils dilated, swallowing up the comforting concrete grey. His eyes brows are pinched inwards slightly, only just and his lips are parted as if he wants to ask a question but can’t find the words. I want to pretend this look is real, I want to pretend he’ll still want me even after seeing me in my state, I want to pretend that this time it’s different. But I can’t afford to pretend anymore.

“Better?” he asks quietly, after a long period of silence.

“Better,” I rasp, my voice so hoarse it’s unfamiliar to me.

I rest my head back and close my eyes. Breathing in and out normally feels like a luxury now. I’m suddenly more grateful than I’ve even been for a steady flow of air to my lungs. Once I’m completely back to normal I make eye contact with Grayson. His face is difficult to read.

“What happened back there?” he asks me quietly, almost looking guilty for the question.

“What do you mean?” I reply, confused. Hadn’t he been there, hadn’t he seen?

“Why did you start to panic,” he clarifies, “what did I do to set it off?”

I want to shoot the conversation down there and then. Absolutely not. I am not ready to tell him anything, I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to look at me different because of it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, averting my eyes.

“Of course it does,” he presses further, “sweetheart I love you and-

Oh those three words. How the act as another knife to my chest every time. I love you is not meant for girls like me, I love you is meant for people who are worthy and special, I love you has never once been said to me with any true meaning behind it.

“Stop,” I snap, the word louder and harsher than I intended. It silently echoes through the empty space and takes a moment to sink in.

“What?” he asks after a few beats, confusion distorting his features.

“Just stop that,” I almost yell, as I go to get up, “stop doing that.”

“What am I doing?” he asks quickly.

“You’re lying to me,” I say, my voice wavering when I really didn’t want it to.

“What?”

“Every time you say those stupid words and I can’t afford to believe them,” I exclaim, welling up with this sudden surge of emotion.

“Slow down sweetheart,” he says slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“I know you don’t love me,” I shout. I’m exhausted. Exhausted of living this lie and now I’m at my breaking point and I can’t afford to continue. There are too many lies, in my head, in my heart, in my life. This one I want to be rid of.

“What?”

“I know it so you can stop pretending I matter, that I mean something to you,” I sob.

Great. Now I’m crying again. Again. Pouring out my weaknesses for him to see. I’ve never felt so unbelievably helpless.

“What are you talking about? Of course I love you,” he says it as of I’ve said something stupid or in gibberish.

Of course. Why of course? It isn’t obvious and I’m not an idiot. I’m stood here crying and he has the audacity to tell me this. I look him dead in the eye, my vision blurred a little due to the heaviness of my heart.

“No one can love me.” My voice is low and laced with the agony I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Who told you that?” he asks.

How did he know? How could he see through my mask so easily? Was it cracked, had it slipped or was it just all transparent now?

“I didn’t need to be told, it’s just how I am,” I spit back, hoping my bitterness might deter him.

“No,” Grayson replies, his voice so sharp it cut dangerously through the air like a knife.

“What?”

“No, that’s not how you are,” he says, “because I love you.”

He digs a finger into his chest in attempts to prove his point, it looks hard enough to hurt but he doesn’t wince.

“Stop saying that!” I yell over him, “it makes it more painful, every time you say it, it’s like a stab in the heart and I can’t take it anymore.”

I expect him to get angry, to stand up and hurl insults at me. We’ve never argued before. But instead his face softens. “I’m not lying,” he tells me gently, his voice like caramel, “how could I lie?”

He’s not lying? Or at least that’s what he’s telling me. But the softness of his eyes look like he means it. No. I can’t let myself be so naive, I can’t believe everything I’m told, I’ve learnt that the hard way.

“Everyone who I’ve ever trusted has lied to me, why would that make you any different?” I ask bitterly.

“Because I do love you,” he tells me, “with all of my heart. You don’t understand what you do to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, even when you’re not around, you’re the main character of all my thoughts and dreams for that matter. Not a moment goes by without a thought involving you. You are the other half of my heart, you have it, you stole it from me the day we met. And I don’t even care because if I were to meet any thief I would choose you every time and I’m so glad you took it. I mean goddamit, you mean everything to me, everything. I would die for you without thinking twice, without even blinking,” he says, “I just wish you could see yourself how I do. And whoever made you feel this way never deserved a fraction of you. Your beauty, your kindness, your love. They truly didn’t.”

I don’t say anything for a long while. I’m too awestruck. He loves me. He really actually loves me unconditionally. He always did and I always pushed that notion away.

I’ve never said anything about my past out loud. It makes it less real, I can forget if I bury it. Except I can’t I’ve tried and tried desperately to do so but relentlessly as ever my brain has never let it go.

“My father,” I choked horsely, “my abused me physically from when I was young. I thought it was normal.”

Something twists in Grayson’s stomach, I can see it all over his face. He looks ill, all the colour has drained from his face and his eyes are sorrowful, mournful even.

“But the bruises, they were okay,” I murmur, “even the scars, I could deal with them. It was my mother who cut the deepest, without even laying a finger on me. Her words were…” I attempt to pull myself together, “…her words left scars no one will ever be able to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words are so quiet I can barely hear him. He looks mortified.

“It’s not your fault,” is all I can reply with. There’s nothing else to say.

“No one should have to-“

“But they do,” I choke, my voice getting shaky again, “and you know what, I’m tired.”

I wish I didn’t feel this weak, this powerless. Tears start free flowing down my cheeks, uncontrollably. Salty droplets leave glistening trails on my cheeks like in some sort of abstract painting in an art museum.

“I’m tired of this pain,” I sob, “I just want it to go away, I just want to be normal.”

The pain wracks my body. Grayson takes me into his open arms and holds me to the warmth of his chest. I nuzzle into him, seeking comfort I’d never received from anyone else. I cling to him like a frightened child to their mother, my knuckles white. I’m almost scared to let go, incase that means I have to let go forever. I can hear his steady heartbeat against my ear. I sob louder, my body physically beginning to ache from the crying.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, stroking a soft hand down my hair, “you’re going to get through this and I’m going to help you.”

“How?” I wail. I’m hysterical and I hate it, but it’s taken control of me now.

“We just are, I promise,” he says, so much passion, so much faith behind the words. I want to believe him but I’ve had too many promises broken.

“I thought I was getting better,” I laugh bitterly, the tears flowing thicker and faster and harder, “I thought that I was coping better with all of this and now this is just proof that I’m not.”

I get it all off of my chest, words I’ve longed to speak for so long, the ones that have been locked away and avoided. I can say them. Freely. The caged bird is remembering she has wings, remembering she could once fly.

“Listen to me,” Grayson says, his voice clear, defined, “what you’ve been through isn’t something you just get over overnight, it’s not something you can wash away.”

“Why can’t it be?” I ask, snivelling in an attempt to gulp back my tears that seemed to be endless.

“It doesn’t work that way love,” he says, his voice so soft it could melt butter but instead it melts my heart.

“But…” I trail off into more sobs. I can’t carry on. Words are not enough to describe what I’m feeling, they’re not deep enough, the they aren’t raw enough.

I sob uncontrollably feeling more humiliated by the second. Loud, ugly, horrible sobs. When things are buried you don’t realise that they’ll eventually resurface. My body jolts backwards and forwards each time I let out a cry.

He pulls me close to his chest and whispers sweet nothings to me to comfort me. He doesn’t say anything the whole time. Somehow he knows that’s what I need. He just holds me, lets me know he’s there with the melodic rise and fall of his comfortable chest. He’s so gentle, so soft, he makes me feel fragile and delicate like a sharp of glass. I cry until I’m so dehydrated that there are no tears left and I’m so exhausted that I want to pass out.

And even then he stays holding onto me, supporting my broken body. He holds me, holding all my dilapidated pieces together, keeping me from falling apart. He cradled my head in my arms and tentatively strokes my hair. I feel myself relax a little more, I feel myself shut my eyes. Suddenly I’m aware of a sensation in my chest. At first I think it’s the panic coming back to prey on me some more but the feeling is too calming. It’s spreading across the left side of my chest, tingling a little but in a ticklish manor. It’s almost a warmth.

Is this what love feels like?

I open my eyes and sit up. What am I roping him into? He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be held back by someone like me. He could have anyone, any body in this whole world. I’m the last person he needs in his life.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say trying to pull myself free of his arms but his grip is tight, oddly reassuring. He’s not going to let me go, he’s not planning on leaving, he wants to say. To take care of me.

“Do what?” he asks, brushing some loose baby hairs out of my puffy face.

“The door is wide open, feel free to walk out on this,” I explain with an elaborate hand gesture, “you don’t have to deal with me.”

“The door is firmly bolted shut and no one will be walking out,” he tells me slowly, “you’re not a problem to be dealt with, you’re a person. A wonderful, beautiful, spectacular person, that I have the pleasure of loving.”

Tears well up in my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, I’ve never cried so much in my life. The recurring lump in my throat makes another appearance. I don’t mean to get so emotional, but I do. I’m so used to being strong I suppose there’s only so much one person can take before they burst. I feel loved and wanted and needed and cared for, everything I’ve always wished for. Here is a man giving me all of that and more.

“And what if I don’t know how to be loved?” I whisper, fear clamouring up my throat.

“Then I’ll show you,” he whispers, pulling me closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get it wrong,” I panic, “I don’t know how to love.”

“Yes you do,” he soothes, “I know you do because I can feel it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, I hurt people when I love them,” I tell him as he gently caresses my hair, running his fingers through it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” he says, “look at me sweetheart, I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever. We’re going to get through this together, okay?”

I nod, my heart not feeling so heavy. I lean further into Grayson and let him kiss the top of my head. The small gesture meaning mountains more because I know he loves me. And for the first time in a long time I smile, a real true smile. And it feels nice.

a/n: again, I’ve never written anything like this before so idk if it did it right 😭😭 anyways so sorry for it taking so long, hope you enjoyed

TIG masterlist

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Here you will find the full list of my works for Daryl Dixon and other characters portrayed by Norman Reedus. [Main masterlist]

Requests are OPEN

⬇️ Masterlist under the cut! ⬇️ [My Ao3]

★ indicates smut, 18+ content.

Series

Paintings & Picture frames [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7]

No apocalypse AU. Daryl and reader are studying at the same college and are assigned orientation project parters. [ONGOING, HIATUS]

Wings [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

Judith plays matchmaker by stealing your jacket and making it match Daryl’s

Oneshots

Records of forgotten times

Digging through old music brings back sad memories, but also happy talks of the future.

Sinful ★

Father Daryl enjoys some private moments with the not-really nun.

Ruppel

You're chilling on the couch watching your favorite show. Daryl joins you because he wants to learn about your interests.

Shielded (Fantasy AU)

Everyone openly shows and uses their powers, except for Daryl. Until you get hurt.

Bad ideas ★

During a laundry round while home alone you find some ..'used' items of Daryl's to fuck yourself with and now have to work through the concequences.

Girlfriend [Pt.1] [Pt.2]

Daryl is in a sucky relationship but doesn't see it at first. Reader helps him see and later shows him how a good partnership works.

Hunters Ink

One tattoo leads to many more when you fall head over heels with the artist.

Creep (modern AU)

Finding an apartment in this new town was easy, but now you needed a job.

Daisy chains

Daryl gets separated after the prison attack. He comes across a home for him and his kid to hole up in. Your home.

Beef

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?"

Rough times

Requested: Hi! Would you be willing to maybe do a one shot with Daryl x reader in a pre established relationship but the reader is pregnant with a child that doesn't belong to him and she isn't proud of? (non-con if you're comfortable with that) Some angst about the reader being worried he won't love her once he finds out 👀

The fun has just begun

Two men snatch you away for some fun. Before they even get anywhere you and Daryl have turned the tables and have some fun of your own. CW: Torture

Forest Guardian [pt.1] [pt.2]

You plan a week long vacation to a luxury cabin. Luxury is nowhere near what you find.

Not your usual undead Vamp!AU

Which undead do you choose? The ones outside, or the one in front of you?

Breakfast ★ Vamp!AU

Locked in a bathroom stall with a hungry vampire was not how you planned to spent your time hiding from a herd.

Drabbles

Period cramp relief

Photographer Daryl

Different kinds of sex w/ Daryl

You needed Daryl for something

"Hey buddy, what are you doing here?"

"Carol gave me some cookies to share!"

Rick and Daryl go out on a run

Old man Daryl

Showing Daryl how beautiful he is ★

Worshipping Daryl's worn body

Daryl read you like a book ★ Vamp!AU

🐺Were!Daryl 🦊Were!Reader

🐺Series🐺

Shared interests [Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] ★

Grimes!reader. Your father shares information about the man he considers his brother in support of your interests. Those interests take a different turn than he expected..

🐺Multichapters🐺

🐺Monsters among us [Pt.1] [Pt.2]

Your water breaks in the middle of nowhere but you find the prison in time for them to help you. There you meet the man of your nightmares. CW: childbirth

🐺🦊Feral for you [Pt.1] [Pt.2★]

Request. Daryl develops a crush on a soft and sweet lady, afraid to ask you out and ruin your sweetness, only to learn later on your have a feral side as well,

🐺Oneshots🐺

🐺 His girls (xOFCs)

Alexandria's new residents find a dog. And his very handsome owner.

🐺 Full moon meetings

You get stuck in the woods, surrounded by walkers and are saved by ..something.

🐺 Night shifts

During a night shift with Rick he sends you to investigate movement in the woods, knowing it would end with two of his group members coming home together.

🐺 Dog person ★

You’re Dog’s new favorite human and Daryl gets jealous. Lucky for him you’re also good with his dog-side.

🐺 Creature Feature ★

After overhearing your spilled dirty little secret of old world fantasies, Daryl suddenly feels like he does have a chance to get you into bed with him.

🐺 Unexpected

This can be read as a continuation of Dog Person. Reader is pregnant with Daryl’s pups and has to hide it from the community until they can leave for Daryl’s cabin. CW: childbirth

🐺 Roses for the ones left behind

Daryl gets taken and leaves a pregnant reader, not knowing her child and partner aren’t human. CW: childbirth

🐺 New comforts ★ alt. ending ★

No one needed to know that sex between the two of you was for human Daryl only. Alt.: Rick now knows.

🐺 Witch hunt

Thanks to an emotional slip-up you almost risk your home in Alexandria.

🐺 Arrows & Rags

You help a wounded creature who leads you back to its den, where you find the one person you thought you had lost in the walker attack.

🐺 Why didn't you tell me?

You follow Daryl into the woods on the one night he asked you to stay away.

🐺🦊 The softer the skin, the sharper the teeth

Request. WereDaryl and Glen find a she wolf (in human form) out and talk to her about coming to the prison. She and Daryl are mates

🐺 Shame

Your most private moments are shared with the intent to drive you away. And it amost worked.

🐺 Not a monster

Request. Beauty and the Beast inspired fic. Set during Alexandria times.

🐺 Domesticated

Request. Cuddling in bed, like mundane little moments in their relationship

🐺 Bath time

Daryl's distaste for showers rubbed off on his children.

🐺 Forbidden ★

Strickt parents and werewolves don't mix, so you run.

🐺🦊 Found

Daryl finds a young girl and takes her home. He adopts her and learns she's a wolf too.

🐺 Savior ★

You show a little too much interest in Negan's new prisoner so he uses you as a test subject. CW: Non-con, forced impreg

🐺 King of the cage

In the apocalypse, entertainment is hard to come by. Until you hear of underground groups fighting with anything nonhuman.. CW: Descriptive violence and murder.

🐺King and his Queen ★

[KING series pt.2] After Daryl's match he gets treated like royalty by his loving partner.

🐺 Instincts [Pt.1] [Pt.2]

Daryl finds a woman with her newborn pup, taking them into the group. Slowly their bond grows stronger.

🐺 Rules of Nature

Daryl gets hurt on a simple hunting trip and reader patches him up.

🐺 Get rid of it

You and Daryl never fought, until you did. Daryl relives old traumas while you stay at Hilltop.

🦊 The bridge home

Daryl has to introduce his exraordinary girlfriend by accident. (teeny bit of smut at the start)

🐺 Monster outside the walls

A warning about a monster outside of the Alexandrian walls takes a weird turn as new residents turn out to be trouble.

🐺 Demons are a girl's best friend ★

You hide from the rain in a church, not knowing a very interesting beast already claimed the place as his home.

🐺Drabbles🐺

🦊 Daryl was out on a hunt > Daryl liked being around her > Daryl has never been so proud

🐺 Daryl hated full moon these days.

🐺 You, Carol and Daryl go out on a run.

🐺 "Man, 's colder than a witch's tit."

🐺 You and Daryl had a great life.

🐺 Daryl came home early today.

🐺 Daryl saves you

🐺 You were all sitting around the bonfire

🐺 Daryl came home from a run. (xOFCs)

🐺 Cramps

The adventures of Daryl the werewolf and his witch girlfriend.

Inked Sigils. ★

Fate brought you together. Spells finally brought you family

Bored ★

You tagged along with your boyfriend who ‘just needed a minute’, but you were so bored..

Momma's boy ★

You find your boyfriend all alone and desperate in your apartment, so you help him out. Again.

Help wanted ★

Request "Fuck me if I’m wrong but scud just being pounced on by a desperate werewolf girl in heat would kinda be hot"

Warm & fuzzy

You just love him. It doesn’t matter what the others think

Much fun indeed ★

A summary of what being with the biker has thought you over time.

A biker's true loves ★

Request: can you do a story with funny sonny before his teeth got all messed up, younger and with female reader. super smutty. then maybe time jump and they are still together even after his looks have changed?

Coming soon??

Double Stuffed ★ Daryl/Scud/reader

It's your birthday so you get to have twice the fun!

[serpent-of-hope]

I've been having a lot of feelings thoughts about the first two episodes of the Murderbot show and I think I've finally figured out how to articulate a core piece that feels very different from the books.

I think Dr. Mensah's panic attacks are the indicator of what I'm picking up on. In the books, these are introduced post-Exit Strategy and are evidently triggered/exacerbated by/ a response to the traumatic events she experienced in the previous books (especially the kidnapping). Whether she is predisposed to mental health concerns, I read this characterization as some form of PTS. But in the TV show, because she has a panic attack in episode one, even granted that it follows the "animal" attack, to the audience this reads more as a pre-existing character trait. Though character is dynamic, to new viewers this can come across as something more inherent or stable rather than the nuanced fluid reaction to a corporate hellscape that is so obviously crafted in the books.

I think this shift from response to characteristic is also acting on Secunit's translation from book to show. From the book, I have seen interpretations of Secunit open in multiple directions, reading to different people as an allegory for: disability (reading into body function, repair, reclamation, and visible difference), racialization (reading into the way corporations in the TMBD universe ascribe differential value to bodies), PTS/depression (reading Secunit's behaviors in response to its history), and neurodivergence. In the books, all these readings are simultaneously possible. I think the show has thus far canonized a neurodivergent reading but foreclosed all others. As with Dr. Mensah, these behaviors, in the show so far, are made to feel inherent to Secunit's character rather than a response, a pre-existing always already truth as compared to the book which did so well to mark Secunit as a product of its environment and history. This isn't bad and isn't a far leap from the books, but it may be the prompt for viewer responses of "That's not my Murderbot. I don't recognize this Secunit."

So, when asking why there are some polarizing takes on the show, I think that might be one inflection point: if you are coming to the show looking for a trauma-informed indictment of capitalism, so far it not only hasn't delivered, but has scrubbed some of the elements that offered that in the books. If you were looking for anything else, you might be sitting happy.

That's just my ramblings, though.