#shrunken!reader

[aventurineswife]

May I please request a reverse of the little shrunken reader with characters: Ayato, Sunday, and Kaeya?

That drabble with a little shrunken character is so cute. I enjoyed it a ton, snd I'm so curious how you'd write it if it were reversed, and reader was tiny and shrunk. I imagine some panic, some teasing, and some really cute moments. ^^

Held Between Heartbeats

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Ayato x Reader, Shrunken!Reader, Size Difference, Comfort & Fluff, Gentle Giant Dynamics, Protective Behavior, Soft Romance, Slight Angst (Sunday), Teasing & Banter (Kaeya), Elegant Caretaking (Ayato), Platonic/Pre-Romantic Feel (can be read as romantic or not).

Warnings: Mild existential/philosophical themes (Mentions of guilt, trauma, and introspection), Non-graphic panic reaction (Reader is surprised by their transformation, mild stress implied), Emotional vulnerability and introspection, Mentions of past trauma, Mild swearing or sarcasm.

A/N: I'm so glad you enjoyed that one!! :DD

When Ayato first sees you curled up in his tea cup—his tea cup, of all places—his hand pauses mid-reach, eyes widening just a fraction. For anyone else, that look might seem placid, unreadable. But for those who know him well, the slight parting of his lips and the stillness of his breath speak volumes.

He sets the cup down gently.

"Ah… I see. You've taken the phrase 'small presence' rather literally today."

You squawk at him, trying to stand up with your arms flailing—only to slip on a porcelain groove and land on your back. He chuckles, but it's soft, careful not to startle you.

"Forgive me. That was unkind of me," Ayato says, extending his gloved hand with the grace of a practiced dancer. His fingers hover near you, palm open, waiting for your consent.

The moment you're nestled in his hand, he lifts you with a reverence most reserve for relics or flowers, eyes glittering with fascination.

"I’ll have Thoma check the estate for any mysterious substances or artifacts. Though… this might be your doing, hmm? Some kind of experiment gone adorably wrong?"

You pout, crossing your arms.

Ayato smiles. "Don't worry, little one. Until you're restored, you’ll be my most important guest. I’ll ensure you have all the luxury of a full-sized diplomat—miniature meals included."

And he does. From custom-made cushions to a teacup hot spring, Ayato turns your misfortune into a carefully crafted sanctuary. But sometimes, you catch him watching you with an unreadable look—half playful, half wistful—as if wondering how something so small could matter so much.

Sunday finds you when he’s alone in the Astral Express observatory, the golden glow of his halo faint as he reads an old book of dream symbols. A flicker of movement near his scarf draws his attention—and then his breath stills.

You're curled against the fabric, smaller than his palm.

For a full minute, he says nothing.

Only after confirming you're alive—your tiny chest rising and falling—does he speak. “A dream, then… no. You’re real. And small. How… curious.”

He cups you carefully in both gloved hands, his wings flicking in concern.

“This… wasn’t your intention, was it?” His voice is soft, but you hear the turbulence in it. Worry, guilt, perhaps even self-blame. “Another punishment for chasing paradise too eagerly? Or have I brought this upon you… again?”

You squeak, shaking your head—trying to assure him it’s not his fault. He watches you for a long time, eyes glinting with sorrow and awe.

“You're even more fragile like this,” Sunday murmurs, brushing a single silver-blue strand from his brow. “And yet… you trust me. Still.”

He builds you a safe nest of fabric and memory foam, using one of his scarves as a canopy. At night, you sometimes wake to find him watching you, whispering fragments of old lullabies in Halovian tongue, as though protecting you from nightmares.

Yet in moments of quiet, he also speaks to you—not as protector, but as man.

“You remind me of what’s worth saving,” he admits once, when he thinks you’re asleep. “Even in a world that’s too large. Too cruel.”

And you know, then, you’re not just a burden. You’re a tether—to hope, to healing, to the parts of Sunday that still dare to believe in dreams.

When Kaeya opens his drawer expecting reports and finds you—tiny, flustered, and clearly panicking—he almost drops the stack of papers.

“Oh. Well. I didn't expect you to be this small... but you're still just as cute.”

You're too stunned to react, and he’s already gently scooping you up with one hand, holding you up to eye level with a lazy grin.

“Did Albedo do this to you? A. experiment gone wrong? Or perhaps you're just trying to get out of sparring duty,” he teases, thumb brushing lightly across your back.

You kick at him—not that it does anything. “Kaeya!”

He chuckles, warm and amused. “Okay, okay. Sorry, tiny terror.”

But you can see it—just a flicker—in his eye. That concern buried beneath the charm.

“I’ll get you help. But until then…” He places you inside his coat pocket, the warm fur lining becoming your snug haven. “You’ll be safe with me. Promise.”

And so you spend your days nestled against Kaeya’s chest, enduring endless teasing and affectionate pokes. He offers you crumbs of cake like feasts, lets you sleep in his scarf, and even tries (badly) to sing you lullabies.

But sometimes, when he thinks you're dozing, he whispers things he’d never say otherwise.

“I know I joke a lot… but seeing you like this?” His voice lowers, suddenly serious. “Makes me realize just how much I want to protect you. No matter the size.”

You stir, and he smooths a finger gently over your head.

“Don’t worry, snowflake. We’ll fix this. But, uh… don’t grow back until I finish building your miniature wine glass. I think you’ll love it.”

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Two of Cop Simon Riley!

When Simon starts putting on his uniform, he recognizes immediately that something is not quite right. He wears the damn thing enough to know exactly how it fits, but now the collar feels just a little too tight, and the sleeves don't reach his wrists. The pants thankfully seem ok, long enough but perhaps a little snug in the thighs. But it's clear that somehow he managed to shrink it a bit. Not enough to make it unbearable, but enough to make him annoyed.

It's his last clean uniform before a few days off, and it's not like he's a stranger to being in a bad mood at work, so he just acknowledges that he might be a little more of an asshole than normal and hops in his squad car to start his day.

After a while of cruising around, writing tickets and being generally grumpy while he waits for a good call, finally something pops up, something about a bar fight, and he's on it.

He hightails it to the bar, and when he strolls in, he hears yelling. There's a man by the bar with a bloody nose that catches his attention right away, finger pointing and curses flying, and when Simon looks over to find the focus of the man's fury, he can't help but chuckle.

Because it's you.

"—Little fucking bitch," the man seethes, apparently on the tail end of some rant, and you laugh.

Simon scans over you quickly, not seeing any injuries, but he does see that fire in your eyes he saw the first time he met you, wasted and indignant at another bar. He steps forward, making his presence known, and when you see him, you groan.

"I didn't do anything," you tell him quickly. "This asshole —"

"The fuck you didn't do anything!" the man interrupts, taking a step closer. "You probably broke my nose, you fucking cu—“

Simon moves in front of the man, putting a hand on his chest to stop him, muttering, "That's bloody well enough of that."

But he doesn't seem to have any sense of self-preservation, because he presses forward in his anger, trying to get around Simon to you. There's another name, another threat, and with more force than necessary, Simon slams him against the bar, slapping his handcuffs on him.

"What the fuck?" the man asks. "I get assaulted and I'm the one getting handcuffed?"

"Didn't see any assault, but I did hear you making threats," he says. He thinks about pulling the "assaulting a police officer" card again with the way he tried to shove past him to get to you, but he doesn't want you to think he's only got one move.

"I need medical attention," the man insists. "You have to get me medical attention."

Simon smirks, then radios in for backup. On most days he'd have a little more fun with an asshole like this, but he's got a different plan in mind tonight.

While he waits for another officer to arrive, he turns to you, eyes sweeping over you again. You stay put, but your jaw is clenched, obviously still heated. He sees you flex the fingers on your right hand a few times. It’s an in, and when he unloads the guy you hit off on another cop, he takes it.

“There’s the little troublemaker,” he taunts softly. “Let’s have a look at that hand.”

“My hand is fine,” you scoff, but you don’t argue when he takes it and lifts it to inspect.

Your knuckles are swollen, he can tell they’ll bruise. He tuts, then drops your hand and says, “Come on then."

"But I didn't do anything," you say quickly, and he laughs.

"Didn't bloody that poor bastard's nose? You'll have to do a bit better than that."

You roll your eyes, and it's clear than even though you're not as drunk as you were the last time, you're still just as bratty.

"I did," you admit, "but he deserved it."

Simon smiles, a bit warmer now, and says, "I don't doubt that. But I'm not arresting you, pet, just want to get some ice on that hand."

He takes you to his car, letting you sit in the front this time, which you seem suspicious about. It's fair — he’s obviously giving you special attention. But the way you look at him, a little nervous but ready to lunge if needed, like some cagey animal with its teeth bared, it does something to him. So he presses on.

He takes you to his place.

Your hackles are still up when he unlocks the door, holds it open for you to enter first then locks it behind him — a habit, nothing more, but your eyes are trained on his every movement. Without commenting, he leads the way to the kitchen, opening the freezer and pulling out an ice pack. He takes your hand again, then holds the pack to your knuckles.

“Hold it there,” he says quietly, though he makes no move to let go.

After a moment of silence, your eyes scan up his uniform, then you meet his eyes, just a bit shyer now that he has you alone.

“Why do you look like that?” you ask him.

“Like what?”

“Like a stripper version of a cop.”

He laughs, a bit surprised by your commentary — he’d forgotten about the shrunken uniform. But looking down at himself now, how the buttons of his shirt seem to be holding on for dear life as the fabric stretches across the muscled expanse of his chest, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, he can see what you mean.

“Nobody ever taught you to respect authority figures?”

You snort derisively, and his cock actually twitches in his too-tight pants.

“I respect people who earn it,” you tell him. “Not people who think they’re owed it just because they have a dumb shiny badge, Officer Riley.”

The way you address him with his title is rude, undoubtedly, but there’s a twinkle in your eye now. A challenge.

Simon loves a challenge.

Without another word, he backs you up until you hit the wall, and when you don’t pull away, he presses his free hand against the wall, leaning down and caging you in.

"This seems unprofessional," you tell him, your voice just above a whisper. "Like an abuse of power."

"You ever shut up?"

"Not really."

He likes the honesty, but what he likes even more is thinking about all he ways that he could be the one to shut you up. He has a few solid options in mind, but he starts off simple: by closing the distance between you with a kiss.

It's not exactly soft, just a bit tentative, but when you slide a finger between his belt and his waistband, yanking him a little closer, he stops holding back. The kiss turns consuming, and he drops the ice pack, barely registering the heavy thud of it hitting the floor as he brings both hands to your hips, holding you in place.

Simon moves his kisses towards your neck, pushing your head back to run his tongue over the column of your throat. He wants to taste you, feel you all over him, so much that he —

"Quit slobbering all over me," you mutter, tugging him by the collar back to your lips.

"Fucking hell," he chuckles, kissing you again. "Somebody ought to teach you some manners, pet."

"Wouldn't take."

"You don't think so?" he murmurs, his hands moving down to bunch your skirt up around your waist, slowly. "Don't think you can be trained up to behave?"

He can see it in your eyes, how much you still want to mouth off, but still, your legs part, just slightly. Enough for him to fit his hand in the space between, cupping you firmly as he speaks, his lips brushing against yours as he does.

"Lucky for you, I've got a little bit of faith in you."

[cherryxblossxms]

OKAY WAIT WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

endeavor?? and all might??? at the same time?????

endeavor is desperately aggressively greedily fucking you, degrading you, spouting all the filth known to mankind as his breeding instinct takes over. he has to be number one. he has to be the one in your tight pussy. hissing cruel words at his rival, making fun of him bc his cock isn't as impressive as his muscles... you like him best, baby, yeah?

meanwhile all might is sensual. intimate. he doesn't need to prove anything but god if that bastard isn't pissing him off a little. so he starts to get riled up and aggressive too, it's just his competitive nature. he's fine with your mouth. your ass. wherever you want him. but if he gets a little rough, don't take it personally. he spits vitriol at endeavor but you? you're his sweet angel and you deserve better cock (his cock to be specific)

sobbing crying i need to be sandwiched between these two hunks of meat for real...

BABE YOU DID THIS TO ME FIRST

RIP to my holes after taking them both, it'll be a week before I can walk again 😩😵‍💫

Like just imagining their competitive nature against each other. Endeavor showing you All Might isn't shit compared to him, knows you like it rough and nasty, knows you like it when he turns you into his filthy little toy and fucks you dumb. Gets so hard when he sees the tears rolling down your face but he knows it's from all the pleasure he's giving you. When you cum, he wants it to be his name you cry out. He's the bad cop with you, you'd think he hates you if he didn't seem to love your pussy so much.

And oooh yes I can see it both ways.... his need for a powerful heir and breeding instinct having him claim your pussy first, especially making sure to fill you with his seed first too. BUT, I can also see him wanting to be the first to claim other firsts for you. All Might might play it safe with just your pussy or maybe your mouth, he's a romantic in sex and likes being close to your face (though if you ask him for something, he certainly wont refuse you). Endeavor doesn't give a shit about that, he just wants to prove a point. If All Might wants to be sappy with you up front, that's fine by him. He's happy to be the first to claim your ass, and even if he's not truly the first, he's going to mould you to his specifications.

And then All Might is acting as good cop the whole time. For every degrading term Endeavor uses for you, All Might is praising you, calling you sweet names that warm you up, cooing at you as you choke on his cock, as you struggle to fit him, fit both of them. As mentioned above, he loves having you in the most intimate position, having you facing him is his favorite. But if you ask him for something, even if it's dirty, he's happy to make your dreams come true. And agreed, he might get a little rough and heavy as he competes with Endeavor, but he'll take care of you and your sore, fluids-covered body afterwards. <3

[lulubelle0318]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Medic (Team Fortress 2)/You, Medic (Team Fortress 2) & You Characters: Medic (Team Fortress 2), Reader Additional Tags: G/T, sfw g/t, gentle giant, Fluff, gender neutral reader, tiny!reader - Freeform, shrunken!reader, No use of y/n, you and Medic are married, Medic is not in character, there isn't really a plot tbh Summary:

After shrinking down to tiny size, your husband gives you cuddles.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Bunny that you rescued from a lab.

Yandere m. x gn. Reader

Dead Dove Do Not Eat! MDNI ! Tw. Dubcon, Yandere, Nfsw themes, Implied animal abuse, codependency

2.2k words

He was small. His bones jutted out under his skin, his frame shrunken and his red eyes empty and wide: he looked like he’d been locked in a box and had only been let out seldom. His arms and legs were covered in small, tiny scars that looked far too precise to be done by himself. He was like a ghost, sitting there in a tiny room while not focusing on anything.

You were an intern, only supposed to be there for a few weeks at most. Your tasks usually boiled down to running files all over the various halls and floors and helping whenever a spare hand was needed. You weren’t meant to do more than pass through and get a recommendation before leaving never to speak of what you saw ever again.

But you didn’t. No, you took one look at the bunny sitting on the edge of a medical table and felt the urge to get him out of there no matter the cost. You begged your supervisor to let you take him home that evening.

“Who? Him? Number 23? I suppose he’d been here for a while… well, there’s always more of them I guess.”

You got the go ahead almost immediately. They didn’t ask if you had the space back home, or if you even had any experience owning a Demi-human. They just handed you a bunch of papers that would absolve them of all liability as he sat there, staring at the ground as you signed quickly. The whole decision was impulsive, utterly unplanned, and you hardly blinked before you were standing in your apartment with the rabbit standing there.

“Uhm so…. So this is your new home!” You said nervously, spreading your arms out wide. He didn’t react. You flinched at that, your smile faltering a bit. You didn’t know what you had expected in all honesty.

Yandere Bunny who is quiet and withdrawn for the first couple weeks you have him.

You hadn’t figured out what to call him yet. You asked for his name once, but based on how the lab was run, he didn’t have one to begin with. You hoped that he would eventually choose one if only to make things a bit easier.

He didn’t really like to be in the same room as you if he could avoid it from what you noticed. He would hardly eat if you were watching him, so you made a habit of leaving his plate out (All healthy, steamed veggies with some fruits on the side. He seemed to really like the latter.) before walking to another room under the guise of some random chore. It was the same for sleeping. He seemed to not like the idea of you finding him when he eventually succumbed to his tiredness, nor did he seem to really be comfortable anywhere out in the open. You would find a little nest of blankets and pillows in different cupboards, closets, and tucked away corners from day to day. He would never pick the same place twice in a row. Honestly with how small your place was, you were impressed that he even managed to do so at all.

Yandere Bunny that only seemed to open up when you assured him that he wasn’t going back to the lab.

It was an odd conversation. Meaning, it wasn’t a conversation at all. It was mainly you doing the talking; you explained that yes, this was his home now, and no, he wasn’t going to return to his old one. His eyes had widened, and he parted his chapped lips as if to say something before he cut himself off and turned to the side. It was about a week after that when you heard him speak for the first time.

“Thank you…” He mumbled quietly, his ears perked up and twitching in alert as you set down his meal on a nearby table. You blinked. He was halfway across the room, peeking up at you from behind the back of the couch.

“You’re uh… welcome,” You said before turning to leave, your heart filling with a bit of hope.

Yandere Bunny who started to become more interested in you as time went on.

It started small with him starting to stay in the rooms you were in, or with him coming out of his hiding spots more often. He liked to watch you do your daily routine, and you started to leave the bathroom door open when you were doing your skincare so he could see what you were up to. It was a silent thing, with him becoming more and more comfortable with being around. The day he sat down on the couch with you, you nearly jumped out of your skin in surprise. It had taken everything to not jump up with joy.

He even followed you into the living room while carrying his meal, almost as if showing off that he was eating. From then on, you lingered after leaving food out, and he would start to dine while you were there. It even got to the point where you could eat in front of him as well. He’d gained a healthy amount of weight ever since he started living here, and his skin and fur looked more shiny and bright now too. It brought a smile to your face knowing that he was getting better, and he always blushed when your gaze settled on him for too long.

Yandere Bunny that likes to have his hair brushed. 

Not his ears. Never his ears. He was shy when he asked you for help one day, holding out the comb as he stood sheepishly. You both sat on the bed as you gently worked the teeth of the brush through his powder white locks, his little cottontail twitching happily while he stayed facing away from you. He was making a habit of grooming himself around you more, being more vulnerable. You didn’t want to push him when he was finally settling in, but you couldn’t help how excited you were.

It didn’t help that he was starting to build little nests on the couch and on the bed. You asked him if he would like to have his own place to sleep, but he just shook his head. 

“I like how it is… it smells like you,” he mumbled and fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweater. You didn’t press him on it. It was nice to wake up with someone snuggled up besides you, anyways. 

Yandere Bunny that gets upset when you leave for the day. 

After he was used to being around you, he would stamp his feet when you grabbed your keys.

“Please?” He said anxiously as he followed you from room to room. He had been more nervous now that you had gotten your new job, and this begging routine had been a fairly recent development. “Why do you have to go with them? It’s safe in here…” he pouted, looking nearly in tears. He hovered near the door like it was going to stop you. You felt bad, you really did. Especially because your absence during the day really seemed to stress him out.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured him. “I’ll be back later tonight. You know this is just for a little bit, right? I’ll be working from home soon enough,” you smiled, but he frowned and kept silent. 

Having to actually leave him alone for most of the day made you feel bad as well. He was extra clingy and touchy when you would come home. It was a huge leap forward compared to how he was before, so you couldn’t exactly complain even if it was just a bit suffocating.

Yandere Bunny who becomes excited to tell you his new name.

“It’s Vasco!” He blurted out when you walked through the door. He had gotten all dressed up, brimming with excitement. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, glancing around as he tried to hide how eager he was. “I’ve been able to think about it while you were gone and… and I want you to call me Vasco,” he repeated with a little nod. You were tired from work, but his bashful demeanor had you relaxed and in a good mood in no time.

“That’s a perfect name. I’m glad you shared it with me,” You beamed and walked into the kitchen. You pulled out a little container of food from your work bag and placed it on the counter. It was a little box of strawberries, his favorite. “It’s a good thing I got these then,” You smiled, practically grinning from ear to ear. “Guess I just had a feeling that today was gonna be special.”

Vasco, as you now knew him, suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, his face buried against your shoulder and back. You could feel his soft ears brushing against your scalp, and you blinked before you relaxed and reached back to gently pet his head. The sun filtered in through the window, casting everything in a hazy, perfect glow.

“You’re the only one who knows it…” he whispered, his long lashes fluttering against your skin. He was practically melting against you, and you hummed softly to comfort him. After a while there, you realized he wasn’t going to move from your side. You reached forward and grabbed the fruit, running it over with water before holding it up from him to nibble on. 

Yandere Bunny who’s very dramatic when you actually start to work from home.

When you sat at your desk, he made it a point to shove himself into your lap and whine for your attention. It was slightly exhausting, but he was so damn cute that you couldn’t say no. 

“You’re such a brat,” you teased, no real malice in your words. You really had been spoiling him to no end. He got everything he wanted, whether it was either your affection or food, but you didn’t mind. Not that you didn’t like Vasco when he was skittish, but it was a relief to know that he felt safe and comfortable enough to even be demanding of you in the first place. Your hand settled on his lower back, rubbing circles into his skin while you worked with your other. 

Yandere Bunny who steals your clothes in order to snuggle with them. 

You didn’t really know why he did it. After all, you’re usually right there, but it’s like he needs more somehow. He rubs his cheeks against the sleeves of your jacket when you actually have to focus on your busywork. You tried to put your foot down and take them back on occasion, but you let him have what he wanted. If it made him feel comfortable while you're not paying attention to him, then what's the harm?

Yandere Bunny who has… certain tendencies that become harder to ignore as time goes on.

You really didn’t want to think that Vasco would ever do anything to hurt you. Not when you had done so much to help him and understand what he was going through, but he was doing things when he thought you weren’t looking. At night, he would wrap himself around you and make odd, breathy noises before falling still. 

During the day, he didn’t act any different from what you could tell, but for all you knew he was being sneaky. It felt odd to suspect your beloved rabbit, but you couldn’t deny your stomach twisted oddly when you found a little stash of your underwear in one of the cabinets one day. You said nothing. How could you when he was looking at you with those big, trusting eyes?

You found white stains on your sheets and blankets all the time now. It escalated to the point where you had to buy another couple of sets of bedding in order to not have to wash them every day. If Vasco noticed your growing unease, he didn’t choose to mention it. In fact, he only seemed to be emboldened by your lack of reaction. His cheeks started to become flushed nearly constantly, and he liked to nibble on your fingers and shoulders whenever he could. It was cute and relatively harmless, so you let him and just kept petting him while his little tail bobbed happily. He would smile and snuggle up against you while begging for fruit or for you to brush him once again.

Yandere Bunny who you just can’t refuse.

You were honestly hopeless. Every time he looked up at you with those big, needy eyes, you were reminded of how he looked back when you first rescued him. Back then you had promised to do everything you could to make him happy and to get him to trust you. You wanted him to feel like this was his home, and that you would always be there to give him what you needed. So when he was pulling at the waistband of your pants, his ears all perked up and eager, you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no.

“Please, please [name],” he whined, tears dotting his eyes. He pressed his nose into your crotch as he let out a little sob. You jumped at the sudden contact, your hand flying down to stop him before his breathy pleas reached your ears. “It hurts… I realllyyyyy wanna put it in you,” he panted and tugged down your clothes. You stumbled back, falling onto the couch with a little gasp. He crawled forward, the flat of his tongue dragging along your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered. “You’ll help me, right?” Vasco’s mouth hovered over your pelvis, a bit of drool slipping from his pink tongue. He didn’t really need to ask. Not when he knew you’d spoil him no matter the cost.

[darkbluekies]

Stay close to me

Yandere!mafia oc x reader x kind of yandere brother?

Summary: You and Silas have been invited to his parents summer house ... but that also means dealing with his little brother

Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of crimes,

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: FINALLY. It only took a year to get this oneshot done.

He's tenser than you have ever seen him before, looking angry and troubled, muscular arms crossed over his chest, black brows deeply furrowed. Almost making you scared. You keep your eyes on the islands in the horizon, admiring the beauty around you. The motorboat jumps over the waves. The poor hired driver has shrunken under Silas’s murderous gaze.

“Silas”, you say in a desperate try to get him to have better thoughts before you reach the island. “It won't be that bad …”

“‘Won't be that bad’?” he repeats and scoffs. “Spending a week with my ass of a brother with you in his reach ‘won't be that bad’? He's going to be all up in my ass while we are there.”

“Then ignore him. And you should probably not use those words in front of your parents.”

“They disowned me, I have the right to talk however the fuck I want. They should just be happy that I decided to fucking come.”

“Silas …”

He sighs, lifts your hand and kisses it.

“Fine”, he mutters. “I'll behave.”

“No violence. Please. At all.”

He rolls his eyes. “I won't do anything, Ares-”

“You are a thirty five year old man, you should be able to control your emotions when your little brother nags you.”

He gives you a warning gaze. “Such a smartypant you are when you're let out.”

For once, you’re not intimidated by that look. You know that Silas would never ever step foot in his parents' summer house while they’re there if you weren’t by his side. From what you know, their house on the small island is their vacation home, their actual residence is an apartment in Athens, where Silas grew up. 

You can tell by the way that his jaw is clenched that he's not looking forward to meeting his family. They had disowned him when they realized what kind of business he's doing. You wonder what they would say about Ares who's scamming poor old people out of their savings.

The hired driver offers a hand to you when getting out the boat, but Silas snarls at him in a foreign language before helping you himself. You thank the driver in english as Silas drags you away.

“You couldn't have thanked him a bit more flirtatiously?” he mutters while starting to walk. “Asked him if he wanted a kiss while you're at it?”

“Silas …”

He groans and sighs. “Yes, yes, I know. I didn't mean that. I'm not thinking clearly. I legit think that I'm going to throw up.”

Their house is situated further up a mountain, in a small village of white stone houses, surrounded by extraordinary views. Silas stops a few meters away from the house, hesitating. It wouldn't be too late to turn around and go home. He sighs and pulls you into a hug, sighing heavily as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“If they do as much as make you the slightest uncomfortable you let me know, okay?” he mumbles. “I will take you away from there in an instant. I will never let them hurt you.”

“Why would they hurt me?” you ask. 

His voice grew harsh. “My parents don’t like what I’ve done with my life … they disowned me and started to treat me coldly. I don’t care if they treat me as if I am a cockroach, but I will not let them do that to you. You haven’t done anything.”

“They invited us, why would they be mean?”

Silas sighed frustratedly. “I don’t know.”

He lets you go and cups your cheeks, kissing you as if it will give him the strength he needs. 

“Alright, let’s get this shitshow on the road”, he mutters and grabs your hand, turning to walk towards the house.

He opens a short white gate for you and you find yourself in the front yard of the white stone house. Silas walks before you and knocks at the door. His hand finds yours again. It takes a few moments before the door opens and a woman stands in front of you. Silas’s brother is a complete copy of their mother, you realise. The woman smiles, her eyes sticking to you. You smile and holds out your hand, presenting yourself. Silas’s mother shakes your hand before turning to her son, suddenly hesitating. The says something and Silas replies, but it’s all in a language you don’t speak. You can only imagine what they’re saying. 

“It’s been a while”, she says in Greek. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me”, Silas answers in Greek.

The woman gestures for the two of you to come inside. Silas leads you into the house by your shoulders. In the living room you see two men situated on couches opposite each other. One you recognise and one you haven’t met before. The older man is an older version of Silas and the other one … Ares. Upon seeing him Silas tenses behind you and is quick to switch your positions. Ares smirks and rises from the couch. 

“Silas, my brother”, he smiles. 

“I’m not going to pretend that we’re friends for mom and dad”, he says in english, sounding monotone. “We can be civil at most.”

Ares looks at you, smile widening. “Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

“Ares”, Silas warns. “While we’re here you’re not going to talk to them.”

“They’re my sister/brother in law.”

“They’re nothing to you, because I don’t consider us family.”

“Silas”, you whisper in an attempt to stop the situation from escalating. 

Silas glances at you and sighs, letting his shoulders fall. 

Their father rises and shakes your hand. You smile at him. When he starts to talk to Silas, you feel a pair of hands on your shoulder and turn to see his mother wanting you to follow her. You come with her out to eh garden where she shows you around the well kept bushes and flowers. You use your limited Greek to tell her that it’s beautiful. Because it is. You can tell that the family takes good care of the house. The woman claps her hands together and gives you a bright smile, thanking you. Even though you don’t speak the same language, you feel like you understand her fully. 

“Y/N, come”, Silas says with his arms crossed over his chest. “We will have to decide the sleeping arrangements.”

You walk over to him and Ares. Their body languages are stiff, the air thick.  

“We are taking the guest room”, Silas says coldly to his brother, “and you are staying out of it.”

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” Ares questions. 

“Fuck do I know? With mom and dad?”

Ares scoffs. Silas grabs your arm and pulls you upstairs before any of them have time to say more. He opens a door and lets you go inside. He closes the door behind the two of you. The room lacks pretty much a personality, the only thing in here being a bed and a wardrobe. There are a painting of the sea and a succulent, nothing more. Silas sits down on the bed and runs his hand through his black hair. 

“Fucking hell”, he breathes out and looks up at you. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive a week with him!”

“It’ll be fine”, you reply and stand in front of him. “He’s probably winded up because it’s been a long time since you’ve met. He’ll probably calm down.”

Silas rolls his eyes. “I doubt it.”

He grabs your waist and pulls you down towards him. He stretches his neck to let his lips meet yours. His hand moves from your waist to the back of your neck, trying to bring you even closer, although he never seem to be close enough. He kisses you in his usual steady way, as if you ever could forget who was in control. 

The door suddenly flings open. You flinch away from Silas and bump into Ares who’s standing in the opening. Silas is quick to shoot up from the bed and snatch you right back to his body.

“What the fuck, Ares?” he almost shouts, unable to contain his anger any longer. 

“Mom wants you downstairs”, he says. 

“Fine”, Silas mutters and turns to you. “Wait here.”

You notice a certain anger in Ares eyes that you very well recognise from Silas when he’s jealous. You shiver. Maybe staying at the house isn’t such a good idea after all?

Your first night in the house is fastly approaching. You sit on the side of the bed in your pajamas, watching Silas walk around the room without a shirt, ready to sleep, fixing the blinds and turning off the ceiling lamp. 

“Why are you looking like that?” Silas asks and walks over to you, crouching down in front of you. “Like a lost puppy. Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Yeah”, you say. “I’m just tired.”

Silas cups your face and kisses your cheeks, nose and lips, never too soft, always steady.

“We’ll sleep”, he promises you between kisses. “And when we wake up tomorrow, I will show you around. How about we go swimming?”

You nod. Silas smiles. He seems to be unable to take his hands off of you, hands drawn to your body like they belong there. You hope that he is not going to try anything filthy now that they’re in the same house as the rest of his family. You could never live with the shame if he did. Maybe it is a good thing that he is disowned. If anything happens … you’ll not have to look them in the eyes again. 

“One day done”, he mutters. “Six days of hell remaining.”

You lay down in the bed with Silas closely nearby. His arms are around you in an instance, laying you on top of his chest. He moves you around like a doll, his personal teddy bear. 

The hours go by, but you can’t fall asleep. Your mind is filled with worry. This might be the only opportunity for Silas to reconnect with his parents, but you're afraid that Ares is going to ruin it for him. You're worried that Ares is going to try something, knowing how much it'll irritate Silas. You're also worried that Silas is going to lose his mind thanks to everything. 

The clock beside the bed says one am in red glowing digits. You grab Silas’s shoulder softer, shaking gently.

“Silas”, you whisper. “Please wake up.”

He groans before opening his eyes. He rubs them tiredly and lets his sleepy eyes wander around in the darkness until they lay upon you.

“Hm?” he mumbles with a newly awakened, raspy voice. “What's wrong, little thing?”

“I can't sleep, you say quietly. “I think I need fresh air.”

“Come here.”

Silas throws the blanket to the side and reaches for your hand. As he takes it, he pulls you close to him and leads you out of the room. He signals for you to be quiet as you walk down the stairs and holds his rough hand over your mouth when you pass Ares who's knocked out on the couch in the living room. Silas opens a glass door to the garden and lets you out. You sit down on a patio made of stone and hug your legs to your chest.

“What is wrong, baby?” Silas asks concernedly and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Why can't you sleep? Do you want to go home?”

“No, no, no …”, you reassure him. “I just feel weird. I’m worried.”

Silas frowns in concern. 

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

“Everything”, you say. “That you and Ares will do something, that your parents will be mad at me for some reason, that this is the only time you actually have time to reconnect with them …”

“What have I said about that, hm? It is not your responsibility to be worried about that.  I'm the one that takes care of things, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You should just stay by my side.”

“I don't want anything to go wrong so that you can reconnect with your family. ”

“Oh, baby, you shouldn't think about that. I couldn't care less about them. You are my one and only priority.”

“But you should—at least your mom and dad.”

“They disowned me. They told me—to my face—that I was no longer their son nor a part of their life. I don't know what they think that they're going to achieve this week, but I'm only here because you insisted.”

“I like your mom. She is really nice.”

“I'm glad you think so. I think she likes you too, think that she invited me just to have an excuse to meet you. Maybe she's happy I didn't marry someone like me.”

Silas turns his head up towards the starry sky and sighs. He sits still for a moment, admiring the constellations.

“Let’s go for a walk”, he decides and gives your back a gentle pat. “It’ll help you sleep.”

He takes your hand and leads you through the silent house, out to the front yard and out the white gate. His hand never leaves yours. 

“It’s beautiful at night, isn’t it?” Silas asks. 

You nod. The stars twinkle above you, like they do in fairytales or children’s movies. The wind is warm. For the time being you can pretend that Silas is someone else, someone that doesn't hurt people or live in the shadows. The thought perplexes you. You almost feel bad for wishing it. 

“Did you spend much time here?” you ask. 

“Every summer in my childhood”, Silas answers. “It was nice to get ot of the city and come out to this island. It’s so peaceful. It has its fair share of tourists too, but they’re respectful.”

“Are we safe here?”

Silas stops in his tracks and gives you a confused look. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

“You never travel without your second in command or bodyguards … do you really trust no one to find you here?”

“Yes, I do. No one has ever found me here … and I know that Ares wouldn’t leak this location because it would put our parents in danger, and he doesn’t want that. We are totally safe here.”

He squeezes your hand. You continue to walk for a few more minutes before returning to the house.

“Where are you going?” his mother asks the following morning.

“I'm going to show Y/N around”, Silas replies. “Give them some real food.”

“Take your brother with you.”

“What? No.”

“He has no one to be with, just bring him along.”

Silas opens his mouth to protest, but you tug at his arm, giving him a look. If you talk back you'll ruin your relationship even more. Please, just this once. 

Silas clenches his jaw hard enough for you to hear a popping sound.

“Fine”, he mutters.

You squeeze his hand just a little tighter than normally. His hand grips yours painfully.

“But we won't babysit him”, he tells his mother. “If he doesn't keep up with us we'll not go get him.”

Ares follows the two of you out to the car parked in the driveway. There’s something lazy in his walk that seems to piss off Silas even more. 

“I call shotgun”, Ares smirks. 

“Like hell, you do”, Silas grits back. “Be happy I’m not stuffing you in the trunk.”

“I don’t fit there.”

“No, your fat ego would spill out.”

You roll your eyes. How could Silas become a mob leader being this easy to annoy. Silas holds the front car door open for you and you sit. He slams the door shut, making you flinch. He walks around the front of the car and you can see him growl something at Ares, but the closed windows drown it out. Two pairs of doors open. Silas sits down behind the steering wheel and Ares in the middle seat behind the two of you. Silas turns on the car, fixes the mirrors and turns on the AC while Ares smirks, leaning back in his seat. 

“I could get used to this”, he says. 

“I don’t want to hear a single word come out of your mouth until we’re there”, Silas growls. “And when we’re there, you’re not going to bother us.”

“But mom said I had to be with you.”

Silas turns around in his seat, glaring at him. “I'm going to bash your fucking skull in.”

“Silas”, you say quietly.

It seems to bring him back to reality. He sighs and sits down right, starting to back out of the driveway.

“You're a good thing to have, Y/N”, Ares says, way too pleased. 

You keep your eyes out the window as Silas drives, admiring the beauty of the island. Silas glances at you from time to time and smiles fondly. It’s weird, somehow, to see you here. In a space that his old life has been. But he likes it. Likes to rewrite his memories. 

The car stops in a more touristy area. More people, more reason for Silas to be pissed. He grips your hand tightly as you walk.

“There's a market I want to show you”, he says. “You'd love it.”

“Can we buy fruits?” you ask. “I'd love some in this heat.”

“Yeah sure, we can buy multiple. Make cocktails.”

“Cock-tails”, Ares snickers behind you.

Silas twists his neck backwards. “What are you? Five?”

“Just ignore him”, you whisper.

“Sometimes I think he grows on me like some kind of devil on the shoulder thing.”

“Can we buy watermelon? I want to make one of those watermelon baskets i saw online. You cut it like a basket with a handle, carve it out and fill it with fruit salad.”

Silas nods, liking the idea. Maybe a bit too much.

“Why don’t we pour some vodka in it and make a fruit drink thing?” he suggests. “I fucking need it.”

Silas leads the two of you through the market with his hand in yours, Ares trailing off behind you. He talks to women and men, both locals and tourists in both Greek and English, flirts and exchanges numbers. 

“Maybe you should tell him to stop”, you whisper to Silas. 

“I’ll talk to the poor victims and tell them not to meet up with Ares”, Silas mutters. 

Silas helps you buy the fruit you need for your work of art. You listen to him talk Greek to the sellers, smiling at them. He carries the plastic bag for you, his other hand clutching yours. He decides to buy you a soda to make sure you get some sugar and hydration in the Greek sun. 

“Silas”, Ares says and switches to Greek, making sure you wouldn’t understand. “You feel really superior, don’t you? In a place where your precious little spouse can’t understand what you’re saying and has no choice but to rely on you? Your shoulders are as high as your ears.”

“Keep your fucking mouth shut or I’ll shove your face down into the rocks outside”, Silas answers in Greek, hissing. “Mom won’t even be able to recognise you.”

“Ohh, I’m so scared. You wouldn’t dare do a single thing as long as Y/N’s here. Keep playing happy family, big bro.”

Silas stops and turns to him. “I knew it’d be like this. You think I want to be here and play civil? The only reason I am here is because Y/N told me to come, because they’re so good hearted they want to fix the relation our parents messed up.”

“I think you did that by yourself, actually. They didn’t tell you to go to jail.”

“Normal parents don’t disown a teenager for that. At least I don’t lie to mom and dad. How about you tell them about your scamming business and see how loved you are after that? How you trick old people into giving you their entire life savings and then have them die because they can’t afford what they need? You have no spine, Ares.”

“And you do?”

“I don’t hurt innocent. That’s all you do.”

Your voice cuts their conversion short. “What are you saying?”

Silas clenches his jaw and looks down at you, your confused innocent eyes that doesn’t understand what they're saying. His heart breaks. Why did he bring you here? Into a place that none of you should have anything to do with?

“Nothing”, he replies shortly, now back to English. “Ares’s just being dumb. We’re going home tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m done here.”

You don’t say anything, you can already tell that something happened between them, more than just normal bickering, and you don’t want to make it worse. 

Back home, Silas lets you do the watermelon basket before he insists on packing and going home. He calls a childhood friend asking him to get them to the mainland so you two can catch the next flight home. 

Silas doesn’t say anything to his parents as he puts the bags in the car, but his mother comes over to you and gives you a hug. You hug back, sighing. She turns to Silas, and what he says hurts his heart. 

“Take care of them, Silas”, she says in Greek. “I see how they make you softer. Gentler. Cherish them.”

Silas nods, sighing. “I know, mom. I do. I try.”That’s the last words he tells her for a long time. As you get into the car to make your way down to the harbour, you see that his dark eyes are glassy. Maybe he got in worse contact with his brother during the week, but maybe—just maybe—there’s still a chance to repair the relationship between him and his mother.

[iydiamartinx]

THE TODD-LER PROBLEM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader ft. batfam

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 2.9k synopsis: Jason gets hit with a magical regression spell during a mission and ends up… five years old. Still foul-mouthed. Still somehow armed. a/n: Don't ask me how or why I wrote this, it just happened... warning: This is utterly unhinged, its a crack fic

There were many things you expected when you opened your apartment door at 3 a.m.

Your boyfriend, Jason Todd, in full gear. Shrunken to approximately three feet tall. And trying to pick your lock with a paperclip. was not one of them.

You blinked once. Twice. “…Jason?”

The tiny figure looked up, scowling, with his tiny leather jacket zipped to the chin and a modified red helmet under one arm. His helmet was clearly a custom fit because you were almost certain someone on the team had taken the time to resize his gear. Probably Tim. Or Alfred. Or Jason even himself after he’d been cursed into a fun-sized menace.

He tilted his head. “Took you long enough.”

You stared. “You’re three feet tall.”

“Yeah?” he snapped, voice high-pitched but filled with all the rage of a war vet denied his nap. “Well you’re late I've been knockin' forever! an’ I’m cold, and some guy in a sparkly cape turned me into a—” he waved a tiny hand wildly— “a frickin’ gremlin!”

You stared in mild horror.

“I mean child!” he corrected, stomping past your legs and into your apartment like he owned it. “A frickin’ child. I have to use a stool to pee. I’m livin’ in hell.”

“Excuse me—”

He pushed past your legs like an angry little linebacker. “Also, someone tried to feed me carrots at the manor. Carrots. Like I’m a damn rabbit. I had to escape.”

“Jason, are you seriously—”

“—And Alfred was this close to making me take a bubble bath.”

You raised a brow. “You love bubble baths.”

“Adult me loves them. Toddler me has dignity.”

You shut the door with a sigh, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “Fine. One night. But if you pee on anything, I’m calling Bruce.”

30 MINUTES IN...

You stared at the miniature version of Jason Todd standing dead center in your apartment. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact he was now a child.

He stood with his arms crossed. Eyebrows furrowed. Scowling so hard his little nose scrunched up. The resized red helmet was sitting crookedly on his head, and somehow, somehow, he was still wearing a tiny leather jacket like it was battle armor.

“Jason,” you said slowly, kneeling down to his eye level, “where did you get the gun?”

His eyes narrowed, suspiciously smug. “Trade secret.”

“Jason.”

He pouted. “You left your sock drawer unlocked.”

You blinked. “My sock drawer doesn’t have—”

Realization dawned.

You groaned, standing up and rubbing your face. “You hid weapons in my sock drawer?”

“Of course I did,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if you got mugged doing laundry?”

You turned on your heel, already pulling out your phone. “Zatanna needs to reverse this spell immediately. How is his five year old self more dangerous than his adult one.” You muttered to yourself. 

From behind you, Jason stomped his tiny boot. “I am not five! I’m five-and-a-half!”

You didn’t even look back. You just sighed and started texting Alfred for backup.

And possibly restraints.

Or duct tape.

Maybe both.

ONE HOUR IN...

You found him in the kitchen standing on the counter—barefoot, wild-haired, and determined. His tiny arms were stretched high above his head, fingers pawing at the top shelf with the sheer willpower of someone who believed they could reach it if they just tried hard enough.

“What,” you asked slowly, “are you doing?”

“I want Oreos,” he said, like it was obvious.

“There are Goldfish crackers right there,” you offered, gesturing to the open box on the counter beside him.

He looked at you like you’d insulted his ancestors. “I’m not a toddler. I have standards.”

He took them with both hands, giving you a small, pointed sniff of derision—as if your earlier suggestion of Goldfish had been not just offensive, but a personally insult.

Then, without another word, he hopped off the counter and disappeared down the hallway like a sugar-fueled cryptid preparing for war.

TWO HOURS IN...

You finally managed to corral him in front of the television, queued up some harmless cartoon with talking animals, and tiptoed into the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed snack.

When you came back, the cartoon was gone and you found him watching John Wick 3 with unblinking intensity.

You stared in horror. “You are not allowed to watch this.”

He didn’t flinch. “Too late.”

You snatched the remote from the armrest. “You’re five.”

“Five an’ a half!” he shouted, voice pitching up in outrage. “An’ I know all ‘bout vengeance! I lived it! Lemme watch Keanu!”

“No.”

“I will bite you.”

“You already did!”

He smiled. “And I’d do it again.”

You lunged for the remote.

He let out a feral shriek. The sound pierced the air like a banshee’s war cry. There was a flurry of motion, limbs, and one elbow jabbed directly into your ribcage. The remote went flying.

Somehow… you lost.

And there he was, not ten minutes later, curled in a blanket like a smug little gremlin, happily finishing John Wick 3.

You sighed, already pulling out your phone to call in reinforcements.

Alfred picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me patrol is over,” you whispered, glancing warily toward the living room. “I need backup. Immediate. Preferably armed with sedatives and maybe a priest.”

There was the soft clink of a teacup on saucer before Alfred replied, calm as ever. “Master Grayson and Master Drake should be available in a few hours.”

You groan, “Anyone sooner?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said.

You hung up and returned to the living room.

Jason was kicking his feet now, reclined like royalty, humming the John Wick fight music under his breath. Every few seconds he’d mutter something like “yeah, get him, Keanu,” or “double tap, baby,” as if he were part of the director’s commentary.

By the time 300 started, he had risen.

He stood on the couch with all the solemnity of a war general addressing his troops, fists clenched at his sides. Then, with zero warning, he let out a piercing battle cry—“SPARTAAAAAA!”—and began hurling Goldfish crackers across the room like they were flaming javelins.

You didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You just slid slowly down the wall, sat on the floor beside the fridge, and accepted your fate.

THREE HOURS IN...

You were gone for five minutes.

Five.

You’d left him watching Love Island.

He’d finally—finally—fallen asleep, sprawled across the couch. The soft drone of British contestants filled the apartment, and for a precious, fragile moment, there was peace.

Just enough to sneak off for five minutes. That was all the time it took to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face in the vain hope that you could survive another hour of this gremlin-sized Gotham menace.

When you returned, Love Island was still playing on the TV and Jason was nowhere in the living room. 

“Jason?” you called out.

You heard a noise come from the kitchen

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed in, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway.

The drawer was open.

That drawer.

The one that held the scissors.

The duct tape.

Your spare burner phone.

And, apparently, your last shred of peace.

You turned around slowly—already feeling the weight of regret in your bones.

Tiny Jason stood proudly in your hallway wearing a cardboard chest plate, duct-taped shoulder pads, and your colander on his head.

He raised a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m Red Hood 2.0,” he declared in a voice that was both too high-pitched and far too serious. “Call me… Lil’ Death.”

You stared at him in exhausted horror.

“…Where’s the rest of the duct tape?”

He gave a wide, toothy grin.

“In mah hair.”

Of course it was.

FOUR HOURS IN...

Alfred had finally sent backup.

It was Damian.

By that point, you didn’t care—anything to give you ten minutes of silence and the chance to remember what breathing felt like.

And for the first ten minutes, it was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

You froze in the hallway, a familiar sense of foreboding slithering down your spine.

Then came the scream.

“YOU LITTLE DEVIL!”

Tiny battle cries echoed from the living room, followed by the unmistakable clang of steel meeting something very much not steel.

You ran in to find Damian standing on your coffee table, sword in hand, while Toddler Jason swung at his legs with a plastic baseball bat wrapped in duct tape and thumbtacks.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“He challenged me,” Damian snapped, breath steady as he parried a wild swing with the flat of his blade.

Jason bared his baby teeth, eyes gleaming with chaotic glee. “He tried to steal my Oreos and called me a baby!”

“Because you are,” Damian barked, deflecting another spoon-wrapped strike. “This is undignified!”

“I’m a toddler, you rich goblin!”

You slapped a hand to your forehead. “Jason, drop the bat.”

“NEVER!”

“Damian, he’s five!”

FIVE HOURS IN...

Damian was still on the windowsill, arms crossed, radiating hatred like a heat lamp.

He hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour. Not a single word since the incident—the one where he lost to a sugar-crazed toddler wielding a thumbtack-wrapped baseball bat and unyielding vengeance.

You knew that silence. Knew it too well.

He was plotting something. You just didn’t know what.

Not that you had time to dwell on it—because that was when backup number two finally arrived.

The door swung open and in walked Dick and Tim, both dressed down but wide-eyed, scanning the wreckage of your apartment like first responders to a war zone.

Jason—still pint-sized, still radiating the unholy combination of espresso and anarchy—lit up like a demonic Christmas tree at the sight of them.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” he chirped, spinning once in his little leather jacket and cardboard armour. “The Backstreet Boys of Disappointment!”

Dick froze mid-step. “I—what?”

Tim looked at you with the tiredness of a man who’d seen too much. “Is he still feral?”

“Worse,” you muttered. “He’s refueled. He ate three cookies and found my instant espresso jar.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “You gave him caffeine?!”

“I didn’t give him anything! He’s a damn toddler who still retained his lock picking skills!”

Across the room, Jason twirled dramatically and pointed at Tim. “Timmy,” he sing-songed, “wanna play hide and seek? I’ll hide… you seek therapy.”

Tim blinked slowly. “You’ve created a monster.”

You pointed at him with your coffee. “He was with you all when this happened.”

Jason pivoted toward Dick, eyes glinting. “Hey, Disco. How’s that permanent sidekick gig goin’? Still doin’ flips no one asked for?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You wanna go, tiny man?”

Jason smirked. “Bring it, Jazz Hands.”

And that’s all it took.

Two minutes later

Jason darted between them like a pinball on fire.

Tim lunged with a blanket like he was trying to trap a wild animal. Jason bit straight through it.

Not metaphorically—actually bit through it.

Dick went in next, trying to cut him off with a broad lunge, but Jason hurled a half-full sippy cup at his face with terrifying accuracy. It burst on contact. Sticky apple juice everywhere.

From the windowsill, Damian observed the descent into madness with narrowed eyes and smug silence. Like an evil cat waiting for the moment to pounce.

He chose his moment well.

With a cry of, “FOR HONOR AND BLOOD!” Damian vaulted from the sill into the fray.

He mostly landed on Tim. But the intent was there.

You stood in the doorway, clutching a first aid kit in one hand and your last shred of sanity in the other. It was unclear which would run out first.

Jason popped up from behind the couch like a goblin jack-in-the-box, eyes gleaming with the unholy thrill of chaos. In one hand, he wielded his modified bat like a sword. In the other, a full roll of duct tape, raised like a grenade.

“I DECLARE A BLOOD FEUD!” he roared.

Tim yelped and ducked just as the tape roll whizzed past his head and smacked into the wall with a dull thunk. “He almost took my eye out!”

“WHO GAVE HIM NEGAN’S BAT?!” Dick yelled, backpedaling fast as Jason swung in his direction with surprising force for someone who barely cleared three feet.

“He made it,” Damian grunted, trying to deflect the strike with a throw pillow.

The swing knocked the pillow clean out of his hands.

In the scramble to dodge the next blow, Dick and Damian collided—feet tangled, limbs flailing—and crashed to the floor in a graceless heap.

“WHO’S THE SIDEKICK NOW, SUCKERS?!” he cackled, arms thrown wide like a gladiator demanding cheers from the crowd.

On the floor below him, Damian and Dick groaned in tandem, still tangled in a heap of limbs and wounded pride.

You stood safely behind the armchair, one hand gripping your phone, filming the chaos. Might as well have some blackmail for later.

“You’re going to regret this when you’re big again,” you warned, deadpan. 

“I’LL REGRET NOTHING!” Jason howled, launching himself into Tim’s back like a rabid possum.

Tim shrieked, flailing. “GET HIM OFF! HE’S IN MY HAIR—HE’S IN MY HAIR!”

“He’s like a feral koala,” Dick muttered, as he untangled himself from Damian.

Jason clung tighter, teeth bared, voice giddy with power. “Say sorry for the replacing me and I’ll only ruin your eyebrows!”

“Are we seriously doing this now?” Tim, flailing, shouted, “I didn’t replace you! You died!”

Everything stopped.

For half a second, the air went dead silent.

“TIM!” you and Dick shouted in unison, horrified.

Jason’s response was to let out a piercing shriek of righteous indignation.

“YOU VOTED ME OFF THE ISLAND!”

“WHAT DAMN ISLAND?!”

From the floor, Dick wheezed, “We need to start a support group.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You’re all weak.”

“I don’t see you winning against him, demon spawn!” Tim barked, still trying to dislodge Jason from his spine. “You surrendered three minutes in!”

“I did not surrender,” Damian snapped.

Tim finally managed to pry him off with a desperate twist and a shove, sending Jason rolling back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Everyone froze.

Jason huffed, catching his breath where he lay sprawled on the couch. His curls were tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering with unspent mischief. For one brief, shining moment, it almost looked like the storm had passed.

Dick rose to his feet slowly, warily, hands lifted in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, breathless but hopeful. “Can we finally all just… relax—?”

You took a cautious step forward, narrowing your eyes as you noted the look on his face. “Jason. What are you doing now?”

He turned to you slowly, far too slowly, a smile already creeping onto his face.

Dick glanced over, confused, just in time for Jason to pivot on his heel.

“THIS! IS! SPARTAAAAA!!!”

And then his tiny foot shot up and kicked Dick square in the jewels.

Dick dropped like a sack of bricks, letting out a high-pitched strangled wheeze as he crumpled back onto the floor.

“…Who let him watch 300?” Tim groaned, not even pretending to be surprised anymore.

You winced, trying not to look at Dick who was curled into a fetal position.

Jason raised his arms, victorious. “TONIGHT, WE DINE IN—WHAT’S THAT PLACE WITH CHICKY NUGGIES?!”

“…McDonald’s,” Dick croaked weakly from the floor.

Jason nodded solemnly, his reign unquestioned.

“McDonald’s.”

SIX HOURS IN...

You were exhausted.

The apartment looked like a toy store had exploded. There were still thumbtacks embedded in the coffee table, juice stains on the ceiling, and possibly a spoon lodged in the bookshelf. You didn’t want to know.

The others had practically fled—limping, muttering, and swearing.

And Jason? Jason had finally agreed to get ready for bed after a long, drawn-out battle of wills that involved one timeout, two bribes, and exactly ten minutes of him growling about how “Peter Parker wouldn’t last five minutes in Crime Alley.”

Now, he sat on the couch, arms crossed and sulking in a pair of oversized Spider-Man pajamas—the only ones you’d been able to find. His curls were still slightly matted from duct tape, and there was a Band-Aid on his cheek from another brawl he’d got in with Damian.

He glared at you over the rim of his sippy cup.

“This not over,” he mumbled darkly. “I know where you sleep. I’mma get payback.”

“Sure you will, Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll put ketchup in your shoes.”

You tucked him in on the couch, pulling the blanket around him as he curled up like a tiny, angry cinnamon roll.

He muttered something else under his breath, unintelligible, mostly grumble. “…Night-night,” he muttered, already half-asleep. 

THE NEXT MORNING...

Jason woke up full-sized, shirtless, confused, and sprawled across your couch.

 He blinked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, throat dry.

“…What the hell?”

You strolled in, far too cheerful for someone who had survived a toddler warlord just a few hours prior. You tossed your phone into his lap.

You strolled in, tossing a phone into his lap.

“Morning, Lil’ Death. I made a slideshow.”

He looked down at the photos. There he was—pouty, covered in crumbs, mid-battle with his brothers, wearing  cardboard chest plate held together with masking tape and colander strapped to his head like a war crown. One had him dead asleep with his face smashed into a pillow, cuddling a stuffed penguin.

Jason groaned into his hands. “Kill me now.”

“I’d rather show Bruce.”

His head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

You grinned. “Wanna bet?”

[gremlingottoosilly]

Monster!König whose first course of action after the monster uprising was to find his missing bunny wife!Reader who has no idea he even considered them married in the first place. König who is clueless when it comes to societal norms or concepts and learns about marriage through picking up conversations from scientists back when he was locked up. (Still doesn’t have the greatest grasp on it even after getting his hands on human books and media) Reader is just happy to be free from being used as a breeding machine and had no idea her cell?mate thought their relationship ran that deep and wants to get legally married now. :/

Some of the scientists laughed, calling you Konig's little bunny wife. A packmate, someone to get his stress dumped in so their captive monster could be less of a killing machine and more of someone who can actually be controlled and sated. Throw him a bitch with a leaky hole and whiny voice, and he'd be satisfied until the end of time. Konig doesn't like the sound of laughter that comes from the scientists, but he likes the word "wife" forced on you. Wife. Pretty, cute, adorable, small, and fragile thing that needs him to survive - it's basic biology. Needy bunnies like you can't survive in a world filled with humans and certainly can't do it in the new reality, where the strongest are getting all the cards. When Konig eventually gets out, he reads - to his surprise, really, and to the surprise of all of his comrades who would much rather burn everything the old rulers of their world have left. But Konig reads - romance novels, human courting rituals, the true meaning of the word wife and the word husband. He thinks of ways he can put together a wedding worthy of his precious little bunny - when he would finally get her with him, of course. He finds you, of course - it's not that hard to find a bunny in this shrunken world when he has almost all of the power he could have. A colonel in the monster forces, somewhat of a hero waiting for his mate to arrive - you're given to him as a gift from his comrades, a pack of soldiers eager to please their commander. Yes, the little bunny was crying and squirming in his grasp when she was delivered, but it's hardly his fault, is it? Konig just isn't quite sure on how to go about this whole marriage thing and what to do when your pretty wifey is desperately trying to get out of his grasp. He squeezes your throat a bit until you stop trashing in his hold and then spends the rest of the evening exploring your precious needy holes with his tentacles and his hands. God, he missed the feeling of your pussy clenching on his cock, desperate for him to release his seed. You're a bad little thing for denying him, but it's okay, he can work with that. He doesn't care if you're dumb or ungrateful - he will just press further, push his cock as deep into you as possible, squeezing your soft breasts until he swears the milk will come. He will have to breed you for this, of course - as thoroughly as possible until you can't help but cry and moan in his hold. Scientists never allowed him to actually dump his eggs in you, always afraid that he would get too possessive and territorial protecting his clutch and the pregnant mate - but oh, no one is there to stop him now. You would forget all about resisting in a bit - it would be much easier to push you around once you're getting the role of his pretty little wife, just like you were intended to.

[marvelouslymarly]

So I saw something that said you’re taking requests? If that is true, can I request a Bob Reynolds x reader where reader is perpetually cold and uses Bob as a heater?

Warmth [Bob Reynolds x female!reader]

“Hold me in this wild, wild world - ‘cause in your warmth I forgot how cold it can be”

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x fem thunderbolts!reader

Requested: Yes✨️ (requests are open!!)

CW: none, it's just fluff!! (well, maybe some awkward!Bob but idk if that needs a warning)

Masterlist

Word count: ~5k

[A/N: [y/nn] = your nickname]

[A/N #2: I'm sorry it took me so long to write this one! Uni's been quite stressful lately, and apparently, it's much harder for me to write when it's for someone else🥲 but I loved the challenge, so I'm looking forward to getting more requests!!! Hope you enjoy😊]

This is not beta-read oopsieee

Ever since you moved into the Watchtower, you’d been freezing perpetually. This wasn’t something that was new to you. Not entirely. The heating at your old place had always been set to a cosy 71°F because, even in a thick hoodie and fuzzy socks, you were used to constantly having cold hands and feet. In school, people used to make fun of you for wearing sweatshirts well into June when most of them had long put away their long-sleeved clothes. Now, in the Watchtower, you were lucky if someone turned the thermostat up to 65°F. John and Bucky - but especially John - would go on about how they couldn’t handle it if the apartment got too warm, arguing that they tend to run hot because of the serum. But Bob and Alexei never seemed to be too opposed to leaving the thermostat set to a temperature that didn’t have the rest of you feeling like you were living in a cold store.

“Why can’t you girls just put on a hoodie if you’re cold?”John moaned and turned on the AC before sitting down in his usual armchair, sweat stains on his shirt from his morning jog.

“Because having the AC on full blast is bad for the environment. Just get over yourself,” Ava tried to reason, getting up from the couch and turning down the AC again.

“It’s four supersoldiers living here. And three women. That’s clearly a majority. If you’re cold, you should put on some warmer clothes,” John retorted, joining Ava at the thermostat once more.

“John, you cannot play the ‘I am a supersoldier’ card every time you’re losing an argument,” Yelena rebutted, her Eastern European accent thick, and rolled her eyes. “Bob and Alexei don’t seem to have a problem with setting the AC to a temperature everyone feels comfortable with.”

“Alexei basically loves to sit around in his robe and tighty whities and Bob’s probably just too much of a wuss to say anything,” John snapped and looked at Bob who had been really quiet this whole conversation. Hearing his name caught Bob’s attention, having him look around the room, trying to figure out what he’d done.

“Hey, there’s no need to get personal, Walker,” you interfered, looking up from your book. You met Bob’s eyes and sent him a soft smile. He relaxed a little, his shoulders dropping back to their usual level. You stretched out your leg and poked his side with your foot, getting a small smile from him in return.

“I’m not the one who’s making this personal, Yel-"

Walker quickly shut up when he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway and turned to see Bucky walk into the living room, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Okay, what’s going on here, and who started it?”

“Walker!” The four of you said in unison, and Bucky sighed loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his right hand.

Walker looked around the room, an exasperated look on his face, and his finger pointed at his own chest.

“How is this my fault? Besides, Bob, are you fucking kidding me? You can’t speak up for yourself but then you’re ready to throw me under the bus the second you get a chance?” There was an angry sneer on John’s face and when your gaze fell on Bob once more, you realised that he’d shrunken into the couch cushions, seeming considerably tinier than he actually was.

“Sorry, Walker, but I’m on the girls’ side on this one.”

“Of course you are,” John muttered, rolling his eyes again and turning to walk to his room, when Bucky’s arm landed across his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky asked, his voice filled with frustration.

After the discussion that ensued, you’d all agreed to keep the temperature of the common rooms to a more agreeable 69°F, still very much to John’s displeasure. Eventually, everyone seemed to get used to the temperature in the shared living spaces. Well, that was everyone but you. You blamed it on bad circulation and an iron deficiency that you couldn’t quite seem to shake completely. So, you put on a sweater and some fluffy socks most times you left your bedroom and tried to tell you that it was ok - that, maybe, you just took longer to get used to the temperature shift between your bedroom and the living room or kitchen.

But then there was that one day where the AC malfunctioned, and none of you could figure out a way to shut it off. God, that was probably John’s favourite day of the year because he finally got what he wanted all this time. After desperately trying to stay warm in your room, you gave up and figured that maybe you’d be warmer in the living room with the afternoon sun streaming in. Yelena and Ava were sitting in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, trying to warm themselves in the sun, quietly bickering about John who was lounging on the couch, wearing a tank top and shorts, his bare feet on the coffee table. He had a smug smile on his lips when he saw you come into the living room, wearing a thick cardigan over your oversized hoodie and sweat pants. You’d shoved your feet into the warmest pair of slippers that still fit over the thickest socks you had, but yet, you still felt cold.

“Where are you going? The Arctic?" John laughed, sitting up straighter to get a better look at your outfit while you walked around the back of the couch, looking for a cosy spot to read. You didn’t reply, just sent him an annoyed glare and then pulled your cardigan tighter around your frame.

“Guess it’s not just the temperature that’s freezing in here,” he muttered under his breath and slumped back down in his seat.

“You know, you can just shut up. You get that, right?” Ava countered and closed her eyes against the sun, leaning back onto her elbows.

"What did I say now?” His arms were stretched over his head, completely oblivious that his joke from before wasn’t funny at all.

“John Walker, if a woman tells you to be quiet, you should really be quiet,” Alexei told him, shaking a raised index finger into John’s direction and looking at John over the edge of his newspaper, his head cocked forward.

John didn’t say much after that anymore, just mumbled a few words into his beard. It got quiet again in the living room, everyone going back to what they were doing before you entered the living room. But you couldn’t concentrate on your book, annoyed by the way your cold toes touched each other inside your socks and how there was a constant flow of cold air coming from the exposed vents hanging from the high ceiling. Even the throw blanket you’d grabbed from the edge of the couch a few minutes after sitting down in the bean bag by the window didn’t seem to keep you warm enough. You put the bookmark between the pages of your book and then set it aside on the floor before pulling the blanket up under your chin, shivering slightly.

“God, it’s so cold,” you muttered, rubbing your arms under the blanket and trying to generate some heat. “Did Bucky say anything about when they’ll come around and fix the AC?” you asked, looking at Yelena and Ava.

They shook their heads, Yelena telling you that Bucky had tried to get some people down here but didn’t have any luck. With her face turned to the window, she look like a cat basking in the sun.

“Apparently they’re all too busy with installing ACs all over New York,” Ava added and shrugged her shoulders, a sorry expression on her face.

“Hey, [y/nn], if you want, you can come and sit with me. I give great dad hug! Yelena can confirm. Right, Lenochka?” Alexei opened his arms invitingly and let his eyes wander between you and Yelena, whose face pulled an embarrassed grimace.

“Dad, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I don’t think [y/n] wants a dad hug from you, right now.”

“That’s really nice of you, Alexei,” you thanked him, sending him a kind smile.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping a little, but his bright grin didn’t falter. “Always! You are family now!”

It was then that Bob and Bucky walked into the living room, carrying seven cups of hot cocoa, whipped cream in a can, a packet of mini marshmallows, and some cookies between the two. They set the mugs down on the coffee table and told us to get together.

“OK, Bob and I have made the executive decision that we’re gonna drink some hot cocoa and have ourselves a lil movie night.”

“Bucky, it’s 4 in the afternoon,” John noted, looking at his wristwatch, and Bucky sent him a glare.

“If you don’t wanna join us, then suit yourself, Walker. I bet Valentina still has some paperwork you can take care of, if you really wanna work,” Bucky schooled him, sitting down in his usual spot on the couch.

“No, no. It’s fine! Movie time it is.”

The team all cosied up on the couch, leaving a spot between Bob and Yelena for you. You plopped down, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs, hoping you’d stay warmer this way.

“Want some blanket [y/n]?” Bob offered and lifted the blanket he’d put over his legs a second before. You reached over to him, your fingers brushing against his as you pulled on the fabric a little. His fingers were warm, toasty even, and your eyes went up to meet his gaze.

“How are you not freezing?” you asked him, your fingers staying wrapped around his for a moment, hoping to coax some of his warmth.

“Well, I kinda run hot…” His voice wobbled a little, and he gulped, his cheeks turning pink. Bob averted his gaze, his eyes moving down to your hand slowly slipping into his, but you could still see him bite his lip nervously.

“Wish that was me right now, to be honest,” you mumbled and put his hand on your cheek, leaning into his palm. “I feel like I might actually turn into a fucking ice cube every second now.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a perk in situations like these…” His thumb swiped over your cheek instinctively, a soft smile on his face, and then his eyes sparkled a little, going wide. “You could… come a little closer. Maybe I can help you warm up?” Bob motioned his head for you to move on over and put his arm out for you.

You didn’t have to be told twice, quickly scooching over to him and putting your head on his shoulder. The second his arm wrapped around your back, it felt like a warm and cosy blanket being placed around you, the citrusy-yet-earthy scent of his cologne enveloping your senses. You got a little more comfortable, putting your feet between his crossed legs. Bob’s hand dropped to your knees, rubbing up and down your shins, the friction creating a soothing warmth on your skin.

“Wait, I wanna cuddle, too,” Yelena exclaimed, scooching over, too, and throwing her arms around the two of you. Her head came to rest against your back, and she hummed as her fingertips drew lazy patterns on your knees.

You stayed like that for a while, Yelena eventually lying down in the space that you’d left vacant by moving to basically sit in Bob’s lap and falling asleep, soft snores rumbling behind you every now and then. At some point, your knees had fallen against Bob’s chest, and you’d cuddled up closer to him, his cheek resting against your temple.

“Are you getting warmer?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes, and you nodded, the comforting warmth of his embrace slowly lulling you to sleep as well. His hand moved from its resting place on your ankles to your cheek, and he ran his thumb over it again.

“If you wanna nap, I’ll keep you safe from turning into a popsicle, ok?” There was a certain easy playfulness to his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded drowsily and burrowed your face in his neck, closing your eyes against the flickering lights emanating from the TV. With the hot cocoa warming you from the inside and Bob’s arms wrapped around your frame, it didn’t take long for you to get swept off to dreamland.

Bob’s voice woke you up a little later, his breath hot against your ear: “Hey, we’re ordering take out, you want something?” His thumb was caressing your cheek again, and your eyes fluttered open, trying to blink away sleep. “What are you getting?”, you mumbled groggily and wiped at your eyes, slowly pulling away from him.

“Chinese. We’ve already gotten mini spring rolls and wontons but we weren’t sure what you’d wanna eat,” Bucky told you, looking at you from behind Bob. He smiled at you and then handed you his phone. “Get yourself something nice, Val’s paying.” Bucky sent you a wink and then leant back against the couch, his eyes back on the TV.

~~~

You were tossing and turning in your bed, the covers pulled up under your chin in a futile attempt to stay warm. The cold had crept into your very bones, and nothing seemed to help anymore. You’d tried tea and more hot chocolate and even made a cup of hot milk with honey, hoping that it’d warm you up enough to fall asleep. But it had been almost an hour of tossing, and you were getting fed up with each tick-tock of the clock hanging over your bedroom door.

You turned on your phone and looked at the lockscreen, a too bright 1:47 am glaring back at you. You sighed and locked your phone again, turning onto your side and pulling your legs to your chest. Images of earlier that day ran through your mind like a film through a projector, the only thing missing being the rattling noise of the cooling fans and the motor. Memories of Bob’s arm slung around your shoulder, his hand rubbing up and down your upper arm. His blue eyes flashing over to you every now and again as if checking to see you’re still you and haven’t turned into a human icicle. His other hand was drawing loose patterns on the bare skin from where your joggers had ridden up above the thick socks. You hadn’t even noticed at first. It felt too natural for him to hold you like that. Especially after having yearned to feel his hands on your body in any way for so long.

His touch had sent tiny sparks through you, like bursts of electrical currents, and with them came a pleasant warmth. A warmth that made your insides heat up in a way that the hot chocolate couldn’t. You ached to feel this warmth again. To feel the childlike excitement that ran through your veins while being in his arms. To have his delectable scent cloud your senses with every inhale.

You longed for his warmth so much that you hadn’t noticed yourself get up out of bed. You only realised when the cold of the door handle crept up through your fingers. You pushed the handle down, trying to be as quiet as possible, knowing that your door tended to creak when opened too quickly. Not that any of your other team members should’ve been awake at this hour, but still, you wanted to ensure that no one knew about your night-time stroll. Deep down, you were scared that Bob would open the door. That he’d be awake to find you standing at this doorstep, shivering from the low temperatures in the Tower.

Once you reached Bob’s bedroom door on the other side of the apartment, you let your hand hover for a second, your blood rushing in your ears and your heart skipping a beat or two. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his door as softly as possible, barely making any noise. You could hear faint shuffling from the other side of the door, the groan of the bedframe under Bob’s body. You waited, quietly counting in your head. Then there were footsteps but they stopped again. You imagined Bob standing on the other side of the door, unsure if he’d imagined the rapping at this door. You inhaled, held your breath for a second, exhaled. Then again. The tips of your fingers rested against the cool wood, tingling. You wanted to knock another time, but your brain didn’t seem able to send the signal to lift your hand and knock again.

Just as you found yourself turning towards the door, the door handle moved downwards. The door opened a smidge, and your eyes travelled upwards, slowly, like those of a scared animal. Blocking the warm glow of the lamp on his bedside table, Bob’s eyes met yours, and then his eyebrows hitched up, just for a split second before a smile took over his features.

“[y/n]?” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoping to protect the serene tranquillity of night. He opened the door a little wider and you realised that he was only wearing a pair of boxers. They sat low on his hips, and there was the tiniest trail of hair running down from underneath his belly button and disappearing into his underwear. You shook your head, trying to peel your gaze from his hips and remember why you’d come here. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, your hand brushing away a strand that had fallen into your face. You tried to come up with an appropriate explanation, one other than ‘hey, I’m cold, can we have a cuddle?’ but you found yourself at a momentary loss of words.

“Oh no, I think you’ve turned into a popsicle, after all.” His words were followed by a soft chuckle, and your eyes went to the floor. You suddenly felt incredibly stupid for leaving your bedroom and walking to his in the middle of the night.

“I… I think I should go back, uh, to my room,” you murmured, your hand lifting to have your thumb point in the direction of where you came from. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” You turned again, and just as you were to take the first step, Bob came up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. Warmth radiated through your arm and chest, and you felt yourself lean into his touch a little.

“[y/n], wait. You didn’t wake me up.” His grip on your shoulder tightened a little, and he added: “God, you really are freezing…”

“Yeah, well… you run hot and I run cold…”, you murmured and you let your head fall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of you… Do you… I mean…”, he stammered, trying to find the right words. “Do you wanna come inside? I could… I mean, we could… you know…”

You looked over your shoulder and saw his Adam’s apple bop up and down as he gulped, unease taking over his face in the shadows.

“Do you want a hug?” He finally offered and scratched the back of his head.

“Yes, please.” The words fell from your lips before you had the chance to stop them, so you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stop any more from escaping. You rolled your eyes at yourself, took a deep breath, and then turned back to him, your mind getting hazy from all the back and forth. “Yes, I would really like a hug right now?”

The softest ‘ok’ came from Bob, and he opened his door to let you step into his bedroom. He opened his arms, and you walked up to him. The second his arms wrapped around you, you felt the tension fall away, and you melted into him. Into the warm glow that enveloped you. You buried your head against his chest, closing your eyes, and wrapped your arms around him, too. His muscles tensed and then relaxed again under your fingertips, getting used to the cold of your touch.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled and looked up at him, pulling your head back a little.

“No, you’re good, sweetheart,” he put his head on top of yours and pulled you even closer. Your heart bloomed at the pet name, adding to the warmth taking over your body with every second he held you close. He closed the door, pushing at the wooden slab with his foot, and let his fingers run through your hair.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Your words were hesitant, barely audible in the darkness of his room. You hoped that the darkness would just swallow them. That Bob couldn’t feel the way your heart was racing and how it skipped a beat whenever his thumb brushed over that one spot on your back. “It’s just that it’s so cold in my room and I can’t fall asleep when…”

You could feel his head bop in affirmation before he even uttered the words: “Of course you can stay here tonight.” You didn’t know just how badly he tried to suppress the urge to add ‘you can stay here every night’. The words were on the tip of his tongue, threatening to burst free. Instead, he pulled away from you and then motioned to his bed.

Bob walked over but you stayed in your place at the door, watching him lift the covers and then climb in. That’s when he looked up and frowned for a split second before he patted the mattress.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” He sent you a sheepish smile and winked at you, earning a breathy laugh from you.

Mustering up every little ounce of confidence, you shuffled over to him and climbed into bed next to him. You didn’t plant yourself right next to him, no, but left a little gap, suddenly feeling like you were a teenager again and sitting in bed with your crush for the very first time. You clasped your hands over the covers and tried to hide the smile at your own nervousness. You might kick ass on a daily basis, but sitting in bed with Bob seemed to be your very own final boss.

“You can come closer, I don’t mind,” Bob assured and opened his arms again, inviting you to scooch over.

“I don’t know why I am so nervous,” you lied, looking over at him and biting on your bottom lip anxiously. “I mean, we literally cuddled earlier… in front of everyone else…”

“Right? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t done this before,” he agreed and you could see his cheeks turning pink. “I could, uh, put on a shirt if you want. If you feel more comfortable then.” He pointed at his wardrobe and shrugged his shoulders.

“No, that’s ok.”

Your eyes travelled down his face. Over his throat. Stopping to watch the vein flutter under his skin quickly for a second. His chest rose and fell with every inhale and exhale. Your gaze moved further down, following the trail of hair that disappeared under the blanket and then to his hand.

“I'm sorry, I tend to… freeze when I'm nervous.” When you realised the unintended pun you laughed at yourself, and then looked back at his face. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes, and you realised the nervousness abate.

You scooched closer to Bob and let him wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to bridge the distance. He put his head against your temple, and you cosied up against his chest, your hand resting on his pectoral muscles.

“Did you have another nightmare?” You asked him, your gaze travelling up to him slowly.

“Why do you ask?” His voice was filled with confusion, and he met your eyes.

“Well, you said you were already awake when I knocked… it's quite late, so,” you explained and let your fingers trail up his chest, running along the edge of his collarbone.

“Oh! No… I just couldn't get my mind to quiet down,” he revealed, his eyes following the movement of your fingers. The vein in his neck started to pulse more quickly, and you let your finger run over it slowly, carefully.

“I'm sorry…Anything in particular?” You looked at him from underneath your lashes and smiled at him.

His eyes wandered to your lips and stayed there for a second before he looked away, over to his bedroom door.

“Uh, no,” he chuckled, and then his eyes flitted to you for a brief second before leaving your gaze again. He did this often when he lied to John or even to Yelena. “Just this and that, you know.”

“Yeah, I get that, too, sometimes.” You put your head on his shoulder again and tried to hide the smile from spreading. “We should probably try and get some sleep, though.”

You could feel Bob nod his head again, and then he scooted down, pulling you with him. Your leg snaked over his thigh, tangling itself with his legs and his left hand found your elbow. He started drawing loose patterns on his skin again, and you could hear his heart skip a beat with your head resting on his chest.

“Are… are you warm enough like this?” His hand left your elbow and he made to pull up the covers.

“Yeah, you're pretty hot, so…” You could hear him choke on his spit a little, his body turning away from you while he tried to catch his breath again. “I mean, you're pretty warm. Body temperature wise…” You sat up, your hands clasping together in your lap while the heat rose up your neck, making your cheeks burn.

When he caught his breath again, he ran his hand over his face and chuckled softly.

“Yeah, of course,” he looked at you from over his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Of course that's what you meant.” He coughed once more and then turned back to you.

“I mean, why would you mean anything else?” Bob shrugged his shoulders, and there was a sorry smile on his face.

“Why wouldn't I? It's not like you aren't hot, you know… It's just... We're teammates, right?” You were scrambling for words, your hands getting clammy with every passing second. “And just because I think you're hot doesn't mean… that doesn't mean you feel the same about me, so…”

His eyes went wide, and suddenly, you were scared he'd choke again. He turned around fully, his hands moving all over the place nervously.

“Please don't choke again,” you begged him and moved back on the mattress. Your feet were on the floor as the regret set in. “I think, I… I’m just gonna… Go back to my own room.”

You stumbled back, readjusting the shirt you were wearing, and tried to make your way to the bedroom door in the dim light.

“Wait. Stay, please!” Bob hurried after you and stopped you, his right hand resting on your left arm. His left hand cupped your cheek, and you closed your eyes, scared to find pity in his gaze. “Please, look at me.”

You obliged him, meeting his eyes, and you were surprised when you found no pity in them. Only the softness radiating off of the smile that was spreading on his lips.

“You don't even realise how wrong you are about me not feeling the same way about you…” There was a certain something about the way he said those words. Like he'd wanted to get them off his chest for a long time. “And I don't care about us being teammates.” He puffed out his chest a little, and you snickered at the image in front of you.

“Bucky would kill us, if he knew,” you laughed and he shrugged, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Last time I checked, I'm kind of invincible. But still, it'd be a good reason to go, you know.”

You nodded at him, a big grin on your lips. There was a flutter in your tummy, like butterflies from being in love for the first time. When he leaned down to you, his fingers on your chin to pull you closer, your breath hitched, and your eyes flitted to his lips.

“Can… can I kiss you?” His words were soft and so quiet you weren't sure if you'd heard him right. But you found yourself nodding anyway, turning your head upwards a little and closing your eyes. The kiss was timid at first. Slow and tentative. Barely there.

But when he realised you wouldn't pull away, he sighed quietly and deepened the kiss. You melted against him. His arms wrapped around you, and your hands went up into the hair at the back of his neck. And suddenly, you felt a warmth spread through your whole body, making you think that you'd never felt warmth before.

_____

Taglist (if you want me to add you to future projects, just let me know):

@flaneurpastel

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture

♡ FEM reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him. 

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed. 

You're all alone with him—half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day. 

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out—made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts—a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries. 

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in—only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed—skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream—so instead, you start heaving—then crying.

“Oh—I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him—or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face—clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what– what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up—casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor—its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else—like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit—you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before—the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says—casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball—then clicked his tongue. 

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.” 

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew—wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police—maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed—maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things. 

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you—caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles—as though he’s doing you a favor. 

He’s taken off his usual tunic—showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches—and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not. 

“I didn’t know what size you’d want—they were all so different—but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach. 

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you. 

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold—you realize, though you don’t understand it—Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend. 

Whatever he is—he’s neither friend nor imaginary.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more—his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch—swelling up into something fatter than your wrist—weighty and twitching atop you. 

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse. 

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds—bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort—drilling his digit inside you despite it. 

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls—making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free—but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering—but then his eyes widened. “Wait—oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours—more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue—which felt so much longer than it should be—winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you—and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in—making you squeal out a sob in his mouth. 

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct—dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips—having felt the change—also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him. 

He chuckled—the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue—you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs—its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice—nothing could—to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole—looking a little confused while he did so—though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you. 

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed—thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded—as though you were keeping him waiting. 

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you. 

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it—worse than amateurishly—rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good. 

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck—only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead—and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter—change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound—kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest—and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…” 

His hand stroked your stomach—like he was petting something you couldn't see.

“Feels good.”

♡ MAHITO masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[umikawa]

a/n: this was actually the first senku thing I wrote but I didn’t like it but now I do kinda, was gonna be a whole thing where he revives reader during the car building part but I got lazy 😇

senku ishigami x gn!reader | ~1.5k wc | small injury near the end, nothing too graphic. reader is in mechanics club bc I said so. senku is not subtle but also not obvious enough. No actual confession or romance, just senku pretending he’s not in love

Before he’d entered the arts hallway, the loud banging and clattering had already clouded his hearing, irritating him almost instantly.

Senku never liked coming down this hall; it never served him any other purpose than the mandatory art classes he had to take. But at the end of the hall, an extended part of the school was the mechanic's classroom, bearing the one person he would go out of his way to see.

“Oi.” Senku stands with an agitated grin when you don’t hear him the first time, raising his voice slightly and throwing a towel at your head. He takes in your reaction: a jolt and mouth ready to curse whoever dared to disturb you, grease and oil swiped across your forehead. He grimaces at the sight. “Jeez.”

“Senku!” You grin, picking up the rag that was thrown at you. “What are you doing here?”

He waves dismissively, taking the rag from your hands to wipe your face. It was a simple—affectionate— gesture, one that Senku thought nothing of because that’s what it was. Nothing.

He wipes the grease on your forehead first, watching your eyes flutter shut happily as he holds your head in place. Then he goes to your cheek, being mindful of the skin under your eyes. Red and sensitive due to your barbaric rubbing when washing your face, fearing the dirt and grime left under your skin will leave blemishes.

Senku thought that was ironic. How someone could jump head-first into car fluid but freak out about a pimple forming on their skin.

His hand falls from your face, taking your hands and wiping your palms and fingers one by one. You hum happily when he throws the rag down on your workbench. “Thanks, Senku.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. “How long have you been holed up in this noisy hell?”

You tilt your head, tapping your finger against your chin to show you’re thinking. “I started installing new brakes at twelve… then a tachometer at two… tweaked the engine around three…um.” You trailed off when you caught his eye, glancing at his cell phone that shined a bright seven-thirty-six in your face.

“You haven’t eaten in seven hours. I’d bet ten billion yen you’ve had nothing to drink either.” He scolds. Based on your shrunken self, he figured he was right about everything he just said. He sighs, rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

Taking care of himself was a hassle enough. Taking care of both of you was even worse.

“Let’s go.”

Senku patiently waits in your chair while you clean up. He notes how you put things away: wrenches go in this drawer, sockets in this one, and sockets in this one. Hell, even your rags were sorted by type.

That was one thing Senku appreciated about you—your attention to detail and organization.

“Where are we going?” You ask, hanging your coveralls in your locker.

Senku rises from the chair to stand beside you, holding you by the elbow. “We’re going to go eat.” He says, looking at you from the corner of his eyes with a smirk the moment your stomach growled. “Your treat, of course.”

“Of course.” You muttered with a quick roll of your eyes. Senku almost missed it.

The walk to the ramen shop was quiet. A serene silence wafted over you two like a veil, a warm embrace that held you like an old friend. A bell jingled above you as you held the door open for him, and a snide remark about chivalry spilled from Senku’s lips.

He waits for you to sit and occupy yourself with the menu, then takes his stool and teeters it to complain about its imbalance. But you know it’s just a guise to move the chair closer to you. He does it every time, but you wouldn’t dare point it out.

His knee was against yours, shoulder brushing against yours ever so often, any other person sitting at the counter was sitting evenly spread out. It was an obvious ploy to be closer to you.

This was another thing you did that he appreciated. You let him play his unbalanced chair act, never shied away from his touch, never complained when he did it, and never called him out for it.

You don’t talk during dinner. Other than the question of how the food tastes, possible seconds, and the near-obnoxious slurping, it was silent.

Then, during the walk back home, Senku strikes up a conversation.

“How’s your build going?”

It amazed him how shocked you were by his question. Was it really that uncommon of him to ask about you? He’s sure he’d put forth interest in your work time and time before, but now he wasn’t sure.

“It’s going amazing.” When your shock wears off, you say, “I’m thinking about changing the interior again.”

“Yeah?” Senku laughs, shaking his head. It'll be the sixth time you’d change it. “What are you thinking now? New lining wasn’t enough?”

You laugh lightly, scratching the side of your cheek. “Actually, I was just thinking about swapping out the seats. You don’t like leather seats, right, Senku?”

He pauses, staring at you as he stops walking. “Huh? Why does my preference of seats matter to your car?”

“I just thought…” you trail off, feeling your face warm under his stare. “Maybe we could go to new places together– with Taiju and Yuzuriha too, of course!” He laughs at your attempt at a save, placing his hand on your head.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m ten billion percent certain you’d only ask me that kind of question.”

Another thing Senku appreciated about you; your attention to detail when it came to him.

“Well, am I right then?” You ask, turning once he begins walking again. “You don’t like leather seats?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling to himself. “I don’t.”

The next time Senku visits you, he has a banana milk in his hands. You’re busy installing your new (not leather) seats whilst he waits and spins in your chair, threatening to drink the milk if you don’t stop to take a break.

“Senku, I just need ten more minutes, please.” The sound of exasperation fills his ears, he could tell even with your back to him that the frustration was starting to get to you. And if he said the wrong thing, that bubbling emotion would spill over like an experiment gone wrong.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, almost in an uncharacteristically timid tone.

He wonders why he’s sitting here in the first place; there are experiments to be done in the science club room, beakers, and test tubes waiting to be used. But he was here waiting for you.

That’s one thing Senku can classify as a thing he hates– dislikes– about you. How you make him wait and how he does it without a problem or protest.

And how you were the only one he’d wait for.

Ten minutes go by painfully slowly. He can hear a string of curses falling past your lips near the nine-minute mark, making him rise from his seat to come to your aid.

“What happened?”

You slide out of the car, holding your shaking hand, blood trickling down your now torn knuckles. “Wrench slipped, and my hand went straight down.” You wince, hastily walking to the sink with him trailing close behind. “Can you get me the alcohol under the sink?”

He abides by your word, quickly grabbing the bottle before he takes hold of your hand. “This’ll hurt.” You nod. You already knew that.

When Senku pours the liquid over your knuckles, a wince fills his ears, and guilt fills his heart at the sound. Note that as another thing he dislikes.

“I’m sorry if I sounded rude earlier.” You say suddenly, brows knitted. “You were looking out for me and I snapped at you.”

He clicks his teeth, of course you were worried about him instead of yourself. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m sensitive to that kind of thing. I don’t give a shit if you yell at me.”

You hum, protesting lightly when he opens up the first aid kit. “I can do it myself, Senku, it’s alright.”

“I’m aware that you can.” He laughs, placing a gauze pad over your knuckles before he wraps bandages around your hand loosely enough for you to still move it. “But you’re letting me help you anyway.”

“That’s because you tell me I’d ‘ten billion percent cut off my circulation’ when I try to do it.” You imitate his voice, scoffing at the light swat he gave you. “Besides, this is how I know you love me.” You laugh. It was intended as a joke, but Senku knew you thought it was true.

“As if.” He scoffs, catching your gaze. He knows you see right through him. “I do this because you’d die without me.”

When you don’t say anything in return or rebuttal, Senku supposed that statement was true.

[aerynwrites]

Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do. 

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint. 

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you. 

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least. 

Can’t risk marking up the wares. 

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor. 

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch. 

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband. 

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too. 

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you. 

The king. 

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill. 

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric. 

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him. 

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat. 

You don’t feel anything. 

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle. 

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome.  You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard. 

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house. 

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard. 

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil. 

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better. 

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you. 

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together. 

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him. 

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own. 

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais. 

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun. 

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention. 

And once again, it’s those damned hands. 

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you. 

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you. 

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes. 

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate. 

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions. 

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one. 

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife. 

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you. 

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom. 

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells. 

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away. 

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end. 

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat. 

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently. 

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past. 

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity. 

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one. 

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband. 

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more. 

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks. 

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway. 

You do perk up at that. “A library?” 

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again. 

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier. 

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name. 

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of  wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance. 

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more. 

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass. 

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip. 

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet. 

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress. 

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you. 

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion. 

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze. 

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles. 

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind. 

You’ve never been asked what you want. 

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong. 

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise. 

The latter wins out. 

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. 

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more. 

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him. 

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words. 

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something. 

But it never comes. 

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly. 

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think. 

“And if I’m never ready?” 

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips. 

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place. 

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline. 

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point. 

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls. 

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees. 

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you. 

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles. 

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you. 

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey. 

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight. 

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back. 

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.” 

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin. 

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that. 

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal. 

Maybe you are one. 

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation. 

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more. 

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you. 

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork. 

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals. 

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding  John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something. 

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force. 

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went. 

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could. 

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way. 

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth. 

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though. 

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only  seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true. 

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight. 

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John. 

But he isn’t here. 

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime. 

You miss him.  

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty. 

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away. 

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist. 

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away. 

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips. 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision. 

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about. 

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. 

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair. 

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst  each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest. 

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse. 

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again. 

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing! 

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head. 

You wake up screaming. 

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind. 

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?” 

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces. 

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear. 

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak. 

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked. 

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip. 

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day.  His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you. 

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber. 

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

[whokilledsamara]

hello my lovely!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

i figured since you sent me a request i'll send you one too if that's okay?! i see a lack of mr hood on ur acc so maybe some headcanons for him if you have any!!? anything cute or anything filthy!!

MR. HOOD N/SFW HCS

a list of Mr. Hood x reader hcs {an: ofc my love, hope you like!! 💋💋}

warnings || smut, tentacles, monster fucking, soft dom, slight violence, black goo

{an || ah hello!! i hope you enjoy these, i dont have much Mr. Hood and i wanted to write for him soon so thank you!}

SFW

Mr. Hood is a difficult lover, as expected. he cant quite grasp the concept of love- or he just doesn't want to. it will take forever to even convince him to admit his feelings.

he is known to bring gifts, or anything he comes across that would seem to interest you. he just really likes seeing you happy!

he is a very monotone guy, rarely any emotion noticeable from him honestly. he prefers to keep things leveled out and little to no affection.

even if you aren't "shrunken", he still likes having you inside of his coat. he says its for safety purposes, but you know its more than that.

when it comes to the others- he doesn't mind letting you hang out with them! he isn't controlling whatsoever and allows you to pretty much do as you please.

usually he is gone somewhere, but don't worry, he is always watching. even if you cant see him per se, he has his "eyes" on you.

he wont admit it, but he enjoys your company. his biggest fear is loosing you. therefore, if you call for him- he will always be there.

cold? he will either stuff you inside of his coat with him or he will just take it off and hand it to you. something about seeing you in it does something for him.

NSFW

he is a very gentle lover. while yes, he has a lot of pent up tension, he wont be rough with you unless explicitly asked. if you do however allow him to be rough, he will still have restraint.

he doesn't have a penis, he has tentacles. they work the same, and act the same, just don't look the same. {feels better too}

he is terrified of harming you, so any negative noise you make will cause him to halt his motions. just tap his arm or something to make him resume.

not a greedy or teasing lover. will give you what you both want, and do it efficiently.

his favorite position is missionary. he gets to use all of your holes at once with his multiple tentacles.

his cum is black and translucent, but has the consistency of human semen. tastes like literally nothing.

noises aren't very frequent with him. you might hear a grunt or two every now and then, but nothing loud or anything.

his hands feel very cool against your body, often groping and grabbing whatever flesh he can. specifically your neck.

very few limits on what he will do. anything you ask, he will do silently and immediately. very obedient.

he is a very soft dom. will please you and will be quiet without degradation or roughness, but always on "top".

hehehe,, might make more...

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[quietstormxr]

Found You Again

You'll Survive - Part 2

Garrick Tavis x Reader

Angst/Violence/PTSD

Minor Iron Flame spoilers

Summary: After Garrick finds you still alive, you both have to deal with the consequences of torture, the coming war, and your relationship.

Word Count: <10k

A/N: Get a beverage and get comfy, this is going to be a long one. Got a little carried away with this one, so it's going to be three parts. I have a few more scenes I want to add and didn't want to cram them all here! Hope y'all don't mind.

Part 1 - Part 3

All it takes is a moment and you are shooting up from the bed that you had apparently been laying in. A scream still tearing from your throat as you scan your surroundings frantically. There are beads of sweat pouring from your temples and you can feel your heart beating a rapid staccato that you can’t seem to control. 

As you continue to heave breaths in and out you wildly search from left to right for any threats, the lingering phantom of hands holding you down ghosting across your skin. 

Your eyes finally snag on another pair staring at you with agonizing sorrow. You can’t help the way you scramble back out of the bed and as far away from the figure as you can. Your brain tries to remind you this figure won’t hurt you, but you can’t seem to connect the thoughts with the remnants of your dream that felt more like reality.

Your back finally hits cold stone and that makes you turn and jump again; memories of your head being smashed into the same type of stone only days ago vivid in your mind.

As the present slowly comes into focus and your dream fades away, your heartbeat slowing to a more reasonable rhythm, you finally begin to process the room in front of you. 

There’s no longer the smell of rotten earth and the metallic iron of dried blood, the floors are clean and there’s a large window showing the beginning cracks of sunlight rising from the horizon. You try to continue taking deep breaths as your gaze finally sweeps back to the pair of eyes that had you scrambling back before.

You meet the hazel gaze that shines with unshed tears and a sorrowful look on his face that you had never seen before. No one could miss the way that he is holding himself to the chair that he has been sitting in, obviously an effort not to move or scare you. You can hear the wood of the chair creaking under the pressure and his knuckles turning his pale skin even whiter.   

You both stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, neither one of you speaking seeming to not want to break the spell that you’re both in. 

You slowly begin to straighten yourself from the shrunken in shape you had taken when waking from your nightmare. As you do, you notice that you are no longer in your torn and shredded flight leathers you were tortured in. Now, you are in oversized training clothes that you know must be Garrick’s. Your hand moves to your hair and the strands slide through your fingers. Someone must have bathed and changed you after you were mended.

You continue to look around the room you are in and take in the way that it looks lived in and has notes of Garrick all around. There’s a tapestry over the large inner wall that has a desk in front of it and a weapons rack right next to it. You can’t help the way you notice the number of swords that are littered on the other wall making rainbow of glittering sharp weapons.

Out the corner of your eye, you can see Garrick’s form slowly move from grasping the chair with a death grip to relaxing his hands in his lap. You swallow, noting the scratch of your throat as you do. The memory of the scream you awoke to striking in your mind. You bring your hand up to your throat and tap, hoping that he will understand the gesture and get you some water. 

Garrick gives you a short nod before he moves to the small table that is beside the bed. You watch as he pours a glass of water before turning back to you and slowly making his way to where you stand. Neither one of you deigns to speak as if either of you do the spell will be broken. 

As he hands you the glass, you give him a curt nod before taking a few steps out of his reach. His eyes continue to look pained, and his arm falls back to his side as if in defeat. 

You slowly take sips of the water trying to relish in the way the liquid quells the scratch of your throat. It doesn’t escape your notice that something that was so trivial now seems to be such a luxury. The use of your hands, a mended body, the ability to move away from someone whether a threat or not. You hold onto the glass with both hands as you continue to drink the water while walking back to the bed. You sit on the side and let your body drop back in relief of not being restrained. 

Emotions hit you hard suddenly and you look at your hands noticing the way they’ve begun to tremble. You let yourself slide from the bed onto the floor carefully placing the glass at your side. As you finally make contact with the ground, you clasp your hands together trying to steady them. Leaning your head against the mattress, you can’t control the gasp that leaves your mouth as your throat constricts and tears begin to stream down your face. You continue to take gasping breaths as the tears fall and your head stays firmly planted against the mattress. 

As the fog of emotion slowly begins to clear, you hear carefully measured footsteps come towards you. Turning your head slightly, you watch as Garrick comes towards you slowly. He crouches down not far from where you’ve melted into the floor, and you notice the tear streaks that mar his pale cheeks. Your gazes collide and there’s nothing but raw, charged emotion hanging in the air. If the last week had never happened, you would be laughing at the way the mountain of muscle before you had become so tentative. Gone was the bravado and over-confident air that seemed to follow him around.

“C-Ca-Can I touch you?” He questions stammering, his tone quiet and reserved. 

Your mind is suddenly a cacophony of thoughts. The anger that you’d been clinging onto burning bright, the fear of anyone touching you in any way, and the undeniable want to be held close and safe by the man in front of you waging a war on every front. 

“P – Please don’t.” You whisper as the fear and then anger win out over the softer emotions roiling within you. 

You know that the fear you’re feeling must have leeched into your voice, because it’s almost as if you can see the heart of the man in front of you breaking as the words leave your mouth. 

“What can I do?” He mumbles as he seems to waver on how exactly to move forward. 

You look at him with a mix of sadness, resolve, and anger in your features before replying. “Nothing.”

The fear and helplessness you were feeling moments ago morphing into the relentless anger that you had harbored for the man sitting next to you. It’s with that spark of fire that ignites in your body that you find yourself getting up from the floor and marching towards the door.

“Wait!” Garrick calls from behind you as you go to open the door. You’re immediately met with a barrage of sounds that cause you to shrink back. Your eyes wide with pure fear, darting back and forth among the cadets that seem to be milling about wherever you are. 

You immediately close the door again, your breaths coming in ragged pants as you plaster yourself to the back of the door. Terrified eyes look back up at Garrick before the questions start rapid firing in your mind.

“Wh-where are we?” The question coming out with pure confusion laced in your words. You knew you couldn’t be at Basgiath, but all those people couldn’t possibly be lieutenants. 

“You’re at Riorson House in Aretia.” He says in a calm tone.

“Who are all those people?” Your brows furrow trying to make sense of everything that’s happening all at once.

“They are all the cadets that defected when Riorson and I came for Violet.” As he continues to explain, you watch as he slowly moved forward. His hands are fisted at his sides and look as if they are trying to hold him in place. 

“When I finally found you again.” He continues as if the thought of getting to Basgiath for anyone but you wasn’t worth his time to dwell on. His hand starts to reach out for you of its own accord, but he finally realizes, and it falls back to his side.

As the facts start taking shape in your mind, you can’t help the confusion that seems to blanket you as well. 

“Defected? Are you telling me that you took me, injured, from the little protections that Navarre does offer?” You incredulously look back at him, your eyes boring into his soul.

Garrick seems taken aback by your phrasing of the question and rage flashes in his eyes. “What protections?” His voice starts to raise slightly as the anger builds.

“Do you really think torturing you within an inch of your life is much protection? Of course, I fucking took you! I wasn’t leaving you with those sadistic fuckers.” He hisses, the switch to anger turning palpable as you see memories haunt his face.

He stops just a few steps from you and brings his face down to be level with yours. “And I would fucking do it again if it means knowing you are safe. I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not.”

Your face contorts into a sneer as the anger you felt before being taken roars back to life. But you aren’t complaining because at least the anger can drown out the fear. With that knowledge, you turn again back to the door and fling it open while Garrick tries to grab your arm, the fear you had shown him forgotten as he tries to catch up with you. 

You have no idea where you are going, you are just moving down the hallway trying to get away from the man that is yelling your name. You slink through the cadets that are milling about as fast as you can, using your smaller agile frame against Garrick’s herculean form. You descend the stairs and find a door open to the left and swiftly enter trying to escape. 

Unfortunately, it seems Zinhal has other plans for you today. As you suddenly come to a halt you look around and see that you’re obviously now in a training room that regrettably contains Bodhi, Xaden, and Imogen. The three of them turn to you with slight shock on their faces before you can hear Garrick’s voice burst into the room.

“Y/N.” He breathes in an exasperated breath before looking at the other three gathered as well. His eyes seeming to zero in on Bodhi.

You watch as Garrick stomps over to Bodhi with deadly intent. His uncertainty on how to handle the situation with you crumbling all the restraint left to his anger, fear, rage, and powerlessness to fix the torture you had to endure.

“You.” He growls menacingly while staring at him with a murderous gleam. 

“You knew she was fucking alive and didn’t think to tell me!” He roars. “I never thought my ‘brother’ would keep something like that from me.”

Bodhi’s face falls completely and that’s when you know that you must step in. You may not be overly friendly with Bodhi, but he doesn’t deserve to be treated badly because of the spot you put him in. You walk in between the two right before Garrick goes to grab Bodhi’s collar. You push Garrick’s hand aside and look up at him with a fire dancing in your own eyes.

“I made that decision for him.” You utter coldly. 

Garrick finally removes his gaze from Bodhi and looks down at you, the anger in his eyes softening in some of its sharpness. 

“Bodhi told me to write you the minute he saw me land at Basgiath, but I tied his hands.” You explain with no hint of remorse. “You left me behind, all while your little pink girlfriend smirked at me in smug satisfaction. You showed your cards to me, remember?”

Garrick’s anger seems to evaporate, and his entire expression turns into regret, but this time you aren’t swayed. 

“Then I went to Eltuval and found myself alone on patrol and learning that venin and wyvern were real. Alone. Something I believe you know a little about.” You add sarcastically as you gesture to the expanse of Riorson House. 

Your anger at the whole situation and what you had to face alone comes rushing back. A derisive laugh bubbling up at the predicament you find yourself in.

“You left me behind, told me I would survive without you, then I was left alone on watch and became the number one target for a massive wyvern doing its own patrol of Navarre’s borders.” You revealed while the anger and level of your voice began to rise. 

The expression on Garrick’s face is laughable to say the least. You watch as his regret turns to disbelief back to anger and finally lands back on regret. 

“That – That’s impossible.” A female voice stammers from behind you.

You huff a humorless laugh and turn towards the voice. You narrow your eyes in a glare at the girl staring back at you in disbelief. 

“Tell that to the scars on my back from the wyverns razored feathers.” You say as you stalk towards Violet with an ominous look in your eyes.

“Did you think that your little group was the only one who found themselves the victim of the cadre’s wrath? Did you think they were only after your precious Wingleader?” You spit the derision in your tone obvious as you gesture towards the brooding shadow wielder.

“You are more naïve than I thought if you believe that Colonel Aetos was only going to go after the marked ones alone.” You asserted as you walked into Violet’s space, looking down at the girl who was a few inches shorter than you.

You couldn’t help the mocking laugh that slipped past your lips when you noticed Xaden step up to her back as if you intended on hurting the girl in front of you.

“Don’t worry, Riorson. I have absolutely no intention of hurting your dear girl. I just want her to realize that you weren’t the only ones that the cadre had an issue with.” You sneered with boredom lacing your tone. 

“Now if your little family gathering will excuse me.” You gesture towards all the ones gathered there making a circling motion with your hand. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

You take three steps away before you feel a large, calloused hand wrap around your upper arm. You can’t help the way you flinch and your eyes flash at the touch.

“You can’t go out there by yourself. It’s dangerous and anything could happen to you.” Garrick explains sounding like he’s trying to reason with you. You forcefully pull your arm from his grip before turning around.

“No, see here’s where you’re wrong.” You purr with conviction while thrusting your finger into his chest forcefully. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I die,” you shrug your shoulders conveying your nonchalance “then so be it. At least I won’t be haunted by the nightmares any longer.”

“I will not let you put yourself in unnecessary danger.” Garrick barked blocking you from your path.

You take your time looking back directly into those hazel eyes. “You, my dear Garrick, lost your fucking privilege of caring about what I do about five months ago. Why don’t you go rut with one of the other mares in your stable and leave me the fuck alone.”

As you swiftly turn your body and continue your walk, there was no way to avoid hearing the shocked gasps at the words you said. Even though you knew you still loved Garrick, your heart was walled off to him after he became just another one of the men who continued to disappoint you. 

Right before you closed the door, you couldn’t help overhearing Garrick’s loud curse and a roaring bang that you surmised must have been a punch to the nearest punching bag or possibly a wall. A small, satisfied smirk crawled across your face when you realized that you could successfully still get under Garrick’s skin.

As soon as you were outside the heavy wooden doors of the fortress, you looked down and noticed the shifting of shadows.

“Leave me the fuck alone Riorson.” You spit while stepping over them. 

As you kept walking, you found yourself entering the small, reconstructed town of Aretia. You had heard stories of the burning and due to your interest in geography and history had more knowledge than your average cadet. However, you had no idea where you were going; you just knew that you needed to get away. 

You continued along the path, but still noticed the wisp of a shadow that followed you. Clearly Xaden wasn’t going to let you be alone, so you knew what you would have to do to throw off your wisping tail. Without much thought, you walked into the nearest shop that was bustling with townspeople trying to do their daily shopping. 

The minute you stepped in, you changed your entire appearance with the aid of Diomat’s power. You made your hair shorter and darker, your eyes a shade of sapphires you hadn’t seen anyone else have and reduced the look of your height. As soon as your looks were fully disguised, you walked back out of the shop. Taking a deep breath when you were finally away from the crowd, and you stepped into the shade of the nearest tree. Looking around for your unfortunate addition, you were happy to find that you must’ve slipped the shadows notice. 

When you confirmed there was no longer a wisp following you, you proceeded to continue your walk into town.

You couldn’t help the smile that immediately lit up your face as you watched children playing and mother’s going about their days. Something about seeing this domesticity made your resolve about fighting in the coming war harden. You knew there was no way that you would let these people suffer if you didn’t have to. Especially after experiencing what torture could be doled out from your own cadre, let alone an enemy. 

After walking a while, you found a small café and ordered a hot chocolate while sitting at one of the small tables. You sat there watching the calm lives of the civilians outside and continued to smile in your revelry of the small things. You were so engrossed in your own daydream that you startled when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Looking up in a swift turn, you are surprised to find a pair of liquid silver eyes staring back at you. You couldn’t help the way you appraised the stranger. You had never seen a man with such mesmerizing eyes. You continued to stare at the man in front of you, now noticing his raven hair and warm honey skin. 

“Can I help you?” You asked as you continued appraising the stranger in front of you.

“I’m sorry to bother you. But I had to ask as I was unsure if I was hallucinating. Did you change your appearance in that shop across the road?” He queried you while giving a slight tilt to his head indicating the shop you had left. 

You turned a little sheepish not really knowing how much you should reveal to the man in front of you.

“I don’t mean to catch you off guard.” He continues with a placating tone. “I’m a guard at Riorson House and by the clothing, I assumed you were a rider, and obviously noticed you before the hair and eye color change.”

You shake your head in acknowledgement before giving him a reply.

“Yes, I did. I was just trying to shake a little shadow and have some time to myself.”

He nods in acceptance obviously realizing what exactly you are insinuating. 

“Ah, yes. The real question is why Lieutenant Riorson is needing to follow you around.” He added pure curiosity in his face.

“If you’re asking if I’m a threat, I can assure you I’m not. After days of torture, I’m not sure how much of a menace I could be right about now.” You muse not afraid to share your misfortunes. 

“So, are you the Sorrengail or Lieutenant Tavis’ interest?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the remote possibility you could be Violet Sorrengail. 

“I’m not naïve enough to be Sorrengail. Besides, do you really think Riorson would let her out of his sight?” You criticized seeing that you can’t imagine how someone who was hailed at being so smart couldn’t imagine that the cadre of Navarre wouldn’t just take out anyone they saw as a threat in any way.

“So, you’re the one that Tavis thought was dead.” He surmises. 

Your eyes widen slightly and then narrow in suspicion. 

“And exactly how do you know that?” 

He gives a small smile before continuing. “I promise I mean you no harm and I don’t report back to Riorson or Tavis if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“If that’s the case. How exactly do you know all of this? I can’t imagine that the love lives of mere lieutenants are the subject of gossip.” You can’t help but question this man that has seemingly popped up out of nowhere.

He nods in understanding and gestures asking to sit at the table that I’ve taken residence at. You offer the seat, and he immediately sits down across from you. 

“You’re right in one instance. People aren’t normally interested in the love lives of the Lieutenants. However, I’m guessing you are aware of why people would be concerned with Riorson’s life.” You give a slight shift of your head confirming your understanding.

“Being that Riorson is the most important person to the Tyrrish people, it does not escape them that Tavis is his right hand. Therefore, both of their lives are heavily scrutinized from the Assembly, hence my knowledge on the subject.”

He goes on to continue to regale you with stories of both men, including Bodhi in the bunch. He takes time to explain how the Assembly learned of your existence since you were apparently a wrench in their plans. No one expected Garrick to be entangled with anything more than physical, let alone a first year.  

You also learn that this man’s name is Fabien, and he has been a guard at Riorson House since about two years after the Apostasy. His family owns the café that you are currently sitting in, but they had previously been servants at Riorson House as well. 

Oddly enough, you begin to let your guard down and find yourself being drawn into the grey eyes and warm personality of the man in front of you. It has been a while since you had met someone so open and willingly trusting. 

You could only think that a person like Fabien would be torn down immediately at Basgiath. The sad reality that the thought even crossed your mind crashing into you.

Soon enough, the light of the sun began waning into the horizon beyond the cliffs. You looked out at the setting sun and something in the shift of your facial features must’ve given away your decision to get back to Riorson House. 

“I know it’s getting late, and I imagine that you need to get back. Would you mind if I escort you back to the fortress?” Fabien asks as you both rise from the table. 

“I’d hate to be a bother, especially if you weren’t planning on going back today.” You say giving him an easy out from his ask. Although you were hoping he would still want to as you were slightly unsure of how to get back to the fortress.

“I insist. I’m more than confident you can handle yourself, but I will feel better if you’d allow me to escort you.” He declares.

‘I expect you to accept his offer, Bold One.’ Diomat slithers into your mind, reminding you that she’s watching out for you as well.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ You sass back, smiling at the exasperated huff you hear down your bond.

You nod your head in agreement and push in the chair that you had been relaxing in all day. As soon as you step into the night air you can’t help the shiver that crawls up your spine, the oversized training clothes not doing much to shield from the chill of the October air. Fabien must see your discomfort because not even ten steps later, he has thrown his cloak over you and closed the middle clasp. You give him a small thankful smile before you both continue your saunter back towards the doors of the fortress.

As you walk with him, you find yourself continuing to fall into conversation and chat about anything and everything. He takes great care to point things out around the town and let you know little stories from both his childhood and the ‘three musketeers’ that ran terror around the town growing up. In return, you tell him stories of your childhood growing up on the coastline and the scuffles you got yourself into with your siblings. 

As you both get to the gates of Riorson House, you can’t hold in the boisterous laugh that tears from you at a particularly funny story involving three small children and a two-tiered chocolate cake. As you round the corner, you see a tall, muscled figure pacing back and forth in front of the wooden doors. The minute the sound of your laugh touches his ears, you watch as he turns to look directly at you. 

Garrick’s eyes twinkle at the sound of your laugh before his gaze follows to the person that is standing next to you. His eyes immediately harden at the man standing next to you. You watch as he strides towards you with clear purpose.

Without giving him too much attention, you turn to Fabien and go to unclasp his cloak. However, before you can undo the clasp, Fabien touches your hand stopping you.

“Please keep it.” He says while looking out the corner of his eye, obviously watching the mountain of muscle that is marching straight towards you.

“You don’t have to do that.” You go to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I know I don’t have to, but I’d like if you would.” He states. “I’d also like to see you again sometime, whenever you aren’t too busy.”

You go to respond to him, but you are cut off by a gruff voice replying before you. “She’s too busy all the time.”

You turn a glare at the man that has decided he needed to put himself between the two of you. You step around Garrick and give him a glare that he doesn’t acknowledge.

“We’ll see each other again.” You say looking at the man who has treated you as more than a beautiful annoyance all afternoon. “I’ll make sure to stop by when I get some free time. In the meanwhile, thank you so much for the wonderful afternoon, stories, and the cloak.”

Fabien gives you a slight bow and nod with his smile before he turns on his heels and you watch as he walks outside the fortress walls. You spin on your heels and head towards the doors. As you go to open the door, a large hand covers yours and turns your body to face them.

You look up at Garrick with a face of exasperation your eyes turning tired. 

“How did you slip past Xaden’s shadows?” He questions. 

“That’s none of your business, Lieutenant.” You snap at him.

“Why won’t you just talk to me? I’ve been sitting next to that bed for three days waiting for you to wake up. Praying to any gods who would listen to make sure you’d be alright.” He explains while running a hand through his hair. 

“Will you ever give me another chance?” He says quietly. 

“What chance do I need to give?” You snarl back harshly. “You made your decision and told me that I would survive without you, didn’t you? So here I am, surviving without you.”

You watch as he rakes his hand through his hair again and blows out a growl of utter frustration.

“Yes, I said that, and I was a fucking idiot.” He starts as he moves closer to you. “You don’t know how much I regretted those words the moment you mounted Diomat and left me behind. Hell, the moment they left my mouth.”

His hand rises to your face and cups the side of your jaw, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over your cheek. 

“Then I flew back to Basgiath after Resson and the only bright light I could think of was your face.” A faraway look clouds his eyes as the memory fizzles inside his mind.

“When everyone was trying to play their part to make sure no one knew the truth, I kept searching formation for you. I looked up and down every row, every face looking for your eyes.” He recounts. “I was standing there trying to breathe and keep my composure so that we could sell our story. But the only thing I wanted to do was run down to your squad and ask every single person where you were.”

You take a deep breath as you stare into the worried hazel eyes that seem to dart all around your face as if cataloging every detail. 

“What do you want from me Garrick?” You ask tiredly not knowing whether you’re willing to give the man in front of you anything anymore.

“You.” He says breathlessly while bringing his forehead to rest on yours. “I fucking want you.”

You can feel how tense his body is from holding himself back from rushing to crush your body to his. Every muscle in his arms seem to sing with want to move and not let go, but you aren’t convinced.

You push yourself back from him and take his hand from your face. You bring it down and let it fall limp next to his body. 

“You of all people knew how many men in my life have let me down.” You reply, drawing your gaze down with the tears that are beginning to fill your eyes. You lift them back to Garrick and let him see your eyes shine with held back emotion.

“I was expecting better from you. I was expecting to be your priority, but I wasn’t. Not to mention you were keeping secrets. I feel like I don’t even know you.” You tell him as a single tear slips down the side of your face. 

Garrick’s face becomes a whirlpool of emotion as your words crash around him. He knew all the ways men in your life had failed you, yet he let himself do the same. 

“I was tortured because of your secrets that you didn’t see fit to tell me.” You can’t help the small shake of your head in disbelief and the haunted look of your eyes. “You knew that I would keep any secret and take it to my grave before putting anyone in danger, especially you. However, you chose to take my agency. You chose what you thought was best, with I’m sure some assistance from your friendly shadow. But, at the end of the day, you made your decisions.”

You begin to walk towards the heavy doors again before turning back towards the man that held your entire heart. 

“Now it’s time for me to make my own decisions. It will be on my terms if anything else happens between us.”

As you enter the fortress, the realization that you have nowhere to go dawns on you after remembering it was Garrick’s room you woke up in. As if in answer to your question, Xaden steps out of one of doorways in the hallway in front of you. With purpose written on your features, you walk up to your previous Wingleader. 

“I need a room to stay in.” You say unceremoniously to the man standing in front of you.

He looks at you with a hint of confusion on his face, before nodding his head and walking further into the fortress. You follow him and hope that you’ll be able to keep the talking to a minimum. 

“Are you sure that you don’t want to stay where you are?” He asks while continuing to walk forward, though he does turn to glance back at you. “The rooms in the family wing are significantly larger than those in the barracks.”

“I’m sure.” You can’t help the terse way you respond. 

Suddenly he turns and faces you. The quick way he moves and turns towards you has you retreating and running into the wall. You can feel the way that your face has twisted in fear at his movements and watch as the brooding man before you softens uncharacteristically. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He softly says while taking a few steps back. “We’ll get you assigned a room, but you should know that Garrick isn’t going to like being separated from you after everything.”

Your eyes roll at the statement and Xaden looks at you with a sad understanding. 

“Trust me when I say that both of us have said and done things in the past year that we deeply regret.” He starts in a rare moment of vulnerability from the hard man he usually is. “I’m not going to try and convince you to be with Garrick, but I do want you to know that it wasn’t Garrick’s call to leave you for War Games. It was mine.”

“I know that.” You argue. “It wasn’t the not being taken, it was the way he handled it and the words he said.”

You huff a cynical laugh before continuing. “I’m sure even Violet would admit that every girl wants the man that she’s with to show a little fight when it comes to her.”

It was then that Xaden blew out a huff of his own. “You may think that he didn’t fight for you. But you didn’t see him after he saw you in that chamber. When Aetos caught you after you fainted,” He stops shaking his head while recollecting the memory. “I’ve never seen Garrick move so fast to get to you and wrap you in his arms. When flying back here, he wouldn’t even let anyone else touch you.”

“Not to mention, you need to realize that sometimes a man makes a decision purely on the thought of keeping the woman he loves safe.” He catches me before I can open my mouth to argue back. “Whether or not she may like what that decision is. Sometimes he may prefer her to hate him if that means she’s safe.”

You look into the eyes of the man in front of you and his face is nothing but open and serious. You give him a curt nod noting your understanding before he turns back around, and you both continue down the hallway. 

Good to his word, Xaden finds you a room and even though you expected to be in the barracks, your room ends up being on the floor underneath the family rooms. You thank him for helping you and close the door to your room. 

You heave out a large breath before unceremoniously dropping yourself onto the bed. You turn and let your eyes drift to the ceiling of the room trying to quiet your churning mind.

______

Due to the amount of mending that you had to have after Varrish’s particularly brutal forms of torture, you were given some time off before having to join in with the rest of the cadets. However, after learning of your fate in Eltuval, you were summoned to the Assembly to explain exactly what you saw.

As you walked into the large room, you couldn’t help but notice the long table that ran the length of the room with several members lining each side. However, the thing that really took your attention was the large chair sitting slightly higher than all the rest and not just the chair, but the man lounging in it. 

There was Xaden sitting in the half-burned chair, legs stretched out in front of him with a bored look on his face. And if there was any question left in your mind about where Garrick fell, it was answered today. There he was stood behind the chair with his twin swords strapped to his back, arms folded across his chest looking as if he was assessing each and every person and the threat they may pose. 

A General guarding his King.

Garrick’s eyes met yours and you watched as his stance softened ever so slightly, the same way it always would at Basgiath. A sad smile sprawled across your lips as you shook your head slightly at the memory. 

“Cadet L/N.” You looked up as a man with auburn curls called your name and motioned you to take a seat at the middle of the table. “We appreciate you talking to us about your experience in Eltuval. Feel free to begin whenever you’d like.”

You make your way to the seat and tentatively sit down. You heart begins to flutter in your chest and nerves begin to make you stomach tighten. You place your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking and take a deep breath to try and steady yourself.

“I’m not sure how much information that I have to share that will enlighten you more than what you already know.” You start, suddenly feeling very self-conscious with all of these older riders.

“I was given orders to patrol a specific area within the borders of our position at Eltuval. Diomat and I proceeded to the area and began our patrol as normal. About a half an hour into the watch, there was a large roar from the northwestern part of our patrol.” You take another fortifying breath before the assembly seems to fade and your eyes become your memories.

“As I looked towards the sound, blue flames erupted from the mouth of the beast. I consulted with my dragon, as I wasn’t sure what exactly I was looking at. Diomat confirmed that it was a wyvern and confirmed that I could kill it with a blade that Lieutenant Tavis had previously gifted me.” As you finish your sentence, your eyes involuntarily flick to the man in question.

“Diomat then flew towards the wyvern as it headed straight for us in return. As we made our way there, I utilized my signet to be able to get down on the wyverns back. Once there, I slammed the blade in and was able to slash through half of its neck while it flailed.”

“Regrettably, I was thrown into its razored mane before I was flung into the air. Luckily, Diomat was able to catch me, and we returned to the outpost. From there, my wounds were tended to, and I told the cadre that I was hurt from falling from Diomat’s back.” As you finish, you look around the room at the eyes staring back at you. A mix of disbelief and astonishment fixed on all their faces, all but one. Garrick is looking as if he might be sick from the recounting of your tale. 

“Are you saying that you jumped on the back of a wyvern and killed it with your own hands?!?” A man with a hawkish nose barks out incredulously.

Your head immediately whips to him and your eyes narrow. “Why the hell would I lie?” You challenge the man.

“Why should we believe this tale? The whole thing sounds of fairytales.” A woman with an axe strapped to her back argues back.

“I thought venin and wyvern were fairytales, yet here we are in an Assembly room that is trying to figure out best way to beat them.” You fume as you gesture to the people sitting around the table while standing up from your seat. 

“And even though I shouldn’t have to fucking qualify my story for you to believe me, how about I fucking show you.” The anger at their accusations has turned your body into a raging wildfire. 

With that fire burning in your veins, you turn around and lift the back of your shirt. There’s no way to ignore the gasps of horror that leave the mouths of the people in the room. You know what they’re seeing, large scars that bisect through the part of the relic that Diomat placed on your back.

“So yes, I jumped on the back of a damn wyvern and killed it. And no, it wasn’t a fucking fairytale.” After you finish speaking you bust out of the room, the fire in your veins still burning brightly.

You know from experience there are only two ways to burn the fire licking at you. You decide that its been too long since you’ve seen Diomat and find yourself immediately making a beeline for the large front doors. Just before you are about to grab one of the handles and swing the door open, a large hand wraps around your arm.

You are immediately tugged around and enveloped in large arms. Your anger is still burning hot on the surface so thankfully the fear of being restrained hasn’t bubbled up. 

“Gods.” Garrick breathes as he holds you tightly. “It’s so much worse than I thought it was.”

“What did you think I was making it up too?” You huff out cynically. He moves one of the hands from the hug and pulls back slightly to grab your chin in his hand. 

“Of course, I didn’t. I was just hoping it wasn’t as bad as I thought. But apparently, it was worse.” He answers his eyes serious with a hint of sadness. The next thing you know he’s huffing out a small laugh. “I don’t know whether I want to be angry with you for risking your life so recklessly or just be in wonder at how astonishing you are.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “You can be both, but I need to get out of here.” With that you turn from the man and make your way outside of the fortress.

You’re thankful that Diomat shares your mind, because without you even having to ask, she touches down in the large courtyard upsetting the guards and garden below. Without caring, you mount your dragon and immediately take to the skies. 

After a few hours, your lack of flight leathers begins to wear on you as you become colder and colder.

‘Diomat, how close to town can you get me?’ You ask your dragon hoping that you can finish of this tiring day with a warm cup of hot chocolate. 

‘I can take you to the edge of the woods. Due to the civilians, they ask the dragons not to get too close and scare them. If you walk the path, then you should be at the town in about ten minutes from what Chradh says.’ She confirms down your bond.

You look down giving the back of your dragon’s neck a raised eyebrow as you hear her mention Chradh.

‘Why are you speaking with Chradh all of a sudden?’ Your eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

You hear a huff of amusement in your mind before she replies. ‘I suppose because his rider keeps pestering him about my whereabouts, and therefore yours as well.’

You can’t help the snarking laugh that you let out while Diomat begins to descend into the woods. ‘Well how about you just let him know you’re going back to the valley and leave me out of this one.’

As you begin walking away, Diomat huffs a blast of steam at you before nudging you with her maw. You glance back at her and give a wide smile.

As you begin your walk into town, the anger seems to bleed out of you again as you enjoy the day-to-day activities of the people around you. Soon enough, you find yourself outside of the café again and a smile breaks across your face as you see Fabien wave you in from the window. 

“Come in.” He says as he steps out from behind the counter. “I didn’t expect to see you in here so soon.”

“I didn’t anticipate a visit today, but I’m in need of a warm beverage.” You admit. “Preferably, one of those delicious hot chocolates.” You say sheepishly.

A genuine smile breaks across Fabien’s face.  “Of course, that’s no problem at all.”

You watch as Fabien disappears behind the counter to make your hot chocolate. Settling into the chair, you let your head fall to stretch your neck muscles from the flight and take a deep breath. Suddenly you feel someone tapping on your shoulder and you go to move your head expecting to see Fabien looking back at you.

Looking up, you are met with a pair of light green eyes. The snarl that formed on your lips was purely instinctive. Why couldn’t this little group just leave you alone when you wanted to be alone?

“Why can’t you all just go the fuck away?” You sighed exaggeratedly.

“Because you are going to stay seated and listen whether you like it or not.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at the commanding tone that Imogen takes. 

“Well, I don’t like it. So how about I don’t listen.” You were in no mood to listen to anything the girl in front of you had to say.

“Look, I’m not here for you. I’m here because I love Garrick.” You can’t help the way your eyes widen and look back at Imogen when she finishes her statement.

“Oh-kay.” You say unsure on how to proceed. “We aren’t together, so I’m unsure as to why you need to talk to me about him. If you want to tell him you love him, shouldn’t you be saying that to him.”

Imogen rolls her eyes at you while beginning to sit in the seat across from yours. 

“The bastard is more than aware of my feelings.” She replies tersely. “But that doesn’t matter when he only has eyes for you.”

“I know that Xaden has already talked to you.” She goes on to explain and you quirk your eyebrow at the girl in front of you. “Don’t look so surprised, we all talk. Besides, its time to get off your high dragon and forgive the man.”

“Excuse me.” You say incredulously. You honestly can’t believe Imogen would have the gall to say that considering she wants to be with Garrick.

“Look, I get it. He was an asshole. Welcome to Garrick and his best friend Xaden for that matter. If you wanted the sweet one, you should’ve gone for Bodhi.” She continues. “I know Xaden told you that Garrick was doing what he thought was best, but it wasn’t only that.”

“He was doing what he wished he could’ve done for his own family. His mother. He’s always pushed women away because of losing his mom, but you somehow broke through that barrier. You’re the only girl I’ve ever seen him care about as more than just a friend or good fuck.”

“I’m not saying you should give him a free pass.” Imogen admits. “But I am telling you to let him in. Let him grovel and work for you. He needs that, needs you, just like Riorson needs Violet.”

You let your gaze bore into Imogen’s and see the hard set of her face and eyes, even though she can’t hide the flash of pain. In that moment, you can’t help but hate the whole situation that seems to have formed between the three of you.

“Imogen, I’ll give what you’ve said some thought.” You say seriously. “But I want you to know I am sorry. I never meant to show up and take anything from you, regardless of if you believe me or not.”

Pale green eyes look straight at you and a sad smile crosses her face fast before it falls, and she moves to get up. 

“Don’t throw away a chance at happiness over some heated words.” She urges before sharply turning and walking out of the doors. 

As she walks off, Fabien shows up with your hot chocolate and a small smile. You thank him and take a sip relishing the way the warmth of the drink seems to flow through your body. 

As you finish your drink and bid Fabien good night, you begin your walk back to the fortress and let Imogen’s words ruminate. Between her and Xaden, you could feel the anger in your heart for Garrick lessening day by day. 

As soon as you arrive back at the fortress, you look up to see the man with the auburn curls from the assembly looking back at you.

“Ah, just who I wanted to see.” He says and you look around checking to see if anyone else is there. 

“Yes, Cadet L/N. I’m speaking to you. I just have a few more questions to ask.” He explains as he beckons you back into the same room you were in earlier. 

You look around and notice that now you are the only two in the room that was previously filled. He turns back around to look at you and motions to a chair.

You sit as he begins to speak. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. I know we didn’t get to introductions earlier.”

“No, he’s my brother, Brennan Sorrengail.” A female voice breaks in from the doorway. You watch as the man in front of you rolls his eyes as Violet moves into the room as well. 

“Either way, I wanted to ask you about your signet.” Brennan continues. “You said that you used it to drop onto the wyvern but didn’t explain what exactly it was.”

You look around at both people in the room and can’t help the uncertainty you feel at revealing your secret, even Carr wasn’t privy to all that your signet could do.

“I can change my appearance.” You begin to explain. Both of the faces in front of you widen in shock as you begin to detail the fact that you can change your entire body and clothing to replicate anyone. 

“With encouragement from Diomat, I – uh – I shifted to look like a venin I remembered from a book that was read to me growing up.” You say tentatively.

“Tha -That’s incredible.” Brennan speaks up after the shock begins to wear off. “And the wyvern didn’t think anything of you being on top of it while shifted to look like a venin?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think so, but I wasn’t there long before I sliced the blade into it.”

As you look back at the man in front of you, you can’t help as you watch the gears in his head turn through his eyes. 

“Could you show us?” He asks curiously.

“I can.” You reply in turn. “But – “

“But, what?”

“You have to remember that it’s me and not an acutal venin.” You croak worried that you’re about to be seen as a threat.

“Understood.” He confirms as Violet goes to stand next to him. 

After taking a long deep breath, you reach for Diomat’s power and let it flow through your body. You let your mind drift to the illustration in the book and feel as your fingers tingle. When you look back up, you see two sets of eyes as wide as saucers and know what it must look like to the people standing in front of you. 

Before anyone has time to speak, the door to the Assembly room opens and you can sense two people have entered. 

“Violence, I –“ The voice stops and suddenly you feel yourself being hoisted up by your throat, your hands reflexively going up to try and grab at the obstruction. However, when you try, there’s nothing to grab onto and you’re left kicking and flailing your arms. As the fear of being held begins to grip you, the hold on your power leaves and you’ve changed back into yourself.

“Xaden! Stop!” You hear Violet shout a second before you are dropped to the floor. You try to take a breath, but the fear has you in a cloud you can’t escape. You hear footsteps rushing towards you as you continue to take gasping breaths, your hands wrapping gently around your neck. 

“Y/N. Love, are you alright?” You shrink back as inescapable fear comes barreling in and your eyes blow wide. You look back into hazel eyes, seeing pure concern laced there. 

After what feels like hours, your heartrate finally slows again, and you can take full breaths. Looking up, the room around you feels frozen in time. Looks of horror and sorrow gracing each person’s face. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Xaden breathes quietly as if afraid to speak. You sit there with your hand around your neck and stare straight back at the man not really registering his words. 

“I – I’m going to go upstairs.” You croak through your abused vocal cords. You try to slowly get up on your feet and as soon as you’re standing, you feel your legs giving out. Before you can fall to the ground, you can feel a strong arm grip you around your waist. 

Looking to your side, you see Garrick looking back at you cataloging each blossoming bruise on your neck. His brows furrow as his concern grows. You can feel the bruising already and know that they must be turning a mottled shade of purple. 

Before you can think much more, you find yourself being scooped up into Garrick’s arms as his face turns hard and he begins walking up the stairs. Even though you are tense, you try to let yourself settle into his arms. You close your eyes for a second and before you know it, you can feel Garrick dropping to a bed with you still cradled close. 

“Why does it always seem that my family and I are always hurting you?” He rumbles lowly while dropping his head.

“It wasn’t Xaden’s fault.” You rasp, your voice feeling like its grating against sandpaper.

Garrick looks back at you and brings his hand to your chin, tilting your neck up. Soon the blue green of his hazel eyes disappears, and they become a molten shade of gold, hard and angry. 

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” He seethes as you watch him catalog the bruises along your neck. A sad smile blooms on your face and you bring your hand to his jaw, moving his face to look directly at you. You shake your head no before swallowing hard to speak.

“It wasn’t his fault. I knew it would be a risk to show them. I just didn’t think anyone would walk into the room before I could change back.” You finish before you end up coughing trying to coat the damage to your vocal cords.

As you finish, you feel the way Garrick’s face nuzzles into the hand that is still placed along his jaw. You look up to see his eyes closed as if he is trying to drink up every moment. A lost man wandering the desert for a drink of water.

Something about the gesture causes a crack in the wall that you’d built around your heart for the man that still has you cradled close. You realize that this is the first time you’ve seen the worry, tension, and stress melt from his face since War Games. 

A sudden knock at the door brings you both out of the moment. Garrick looks down at you and as if he can’t resist, brings his lips to the side of your head and gives you a quick kiss. He then sets you down gently on the bed and goes to open the door. 

“I thought Y/N could use some mending.” You hear a male voice call from the other side of the door. You watch as Garrick nods his head slightly before opening the door and letting Brennan in. Brennan shuffles in and with sad eyes looks at the bruises across your neck.

“Would it be okay with you if I mend you?” Brennan asks tentatively. You give a curt nod before he is standing before you and you tilt you head back for him to get a better view of your neck. You shut your eyes tight as the tears silently flow down the side of your head, the burning sensation of mending filling your head. 

Almost as soon as it begins, the pain seems to lessen slowly, little by little. You finally blink open your eyes and slowly lift your head back. 

“Better?” Brennan questions as he rises back up to his full height. 

“Much. Thank you.” You confirm.

“I know after what just happened, you may want to say no.” Brennan starts. “But I think it would be beneficial for everyone to get the visual of what they may be dealing with on the battlefield.”

You know where he’s going with his comment and your immediate response is to shake your head. However, wading through the panic, the logic starts to win out and you take a deep breath. 

“Would you mind doing the same thing when most of the Lieutenants and all the cadets are present? The Assembly all agrees that it would be best for everyone to have a real feel of the enemy.” Brennan finishes in a tactician’s voice.

You go to open your mouth, but you’re immediately cut off. 

“NO. You can fuck right off if you think she’s going to do that again.” Garrick growls while stepping into Brennan’s space. “Did you not just see what fucking happened? And then you want to put her in a room with untrained cadets who don’t even know how to use their signets and hope someone doesn’t have a bad reaction.”

Undeterred by Garrick’s reaction, Brennan calmly responds to the threat in front of him. “I understand your reservations Garrick and hers as well, which is why Bodhi and Mira will be on hand to make sure that no one responds the same way.”

You stand from the bed you were seated on and walk up to the two men that are still looking at each other trying to calculate who is going to make the next move. Instinctually, you raise your hand and place a comforting hand on Garrick’s forearm. You can’t help but feel the tense set of his muscles and crack a soft smile to reassure the hulking man.

“Gare.” You say and his eyes immediately dart to you as you use the nickname for the first time in months. “Brennan is right. Everyone needs to see what they’re going to be facing. It’s better than sending everyone out without having any idea.”

Garrick’s eyes search yours looking for any hesitation, seeming to hope that you aren’t really considering this. Immediately his shoulders sag when he realizes that you’re serious. 

“I’ll just need some forewarning to get myself in the right headspace, so maybe not the next couple of days.” You confirm with Brennan as he shakes his head in agreement.

“You’ll wait until I’m back here.” Garrick asserts as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Brennan. “You’ll do it after I’m back from patrol. She isn’t going to do it without me being present.”

You roll your eyes at his protective demands but you’re grateful that he’ll be there, if only for a sense of safety. 

“That can work. We will do it during a battle brief class and will catch the lieutenants while they are switching patrols.” Brennan affirms while he begins to walk towards the door.

You both watch as Brennan leaves and closes the door behind him. Garrick immediately moves forward to you lifting your chin to check for any lingering bruising. 

“I’m fine.” You say quietly to try and quell the anxiety burning in his eyes.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He quips back.

“You do realize that we’re both about to be thrown into a war that most likely will take both of our lives, right?” You sass back, getting irritated with his hovering. 

“Not if I can fucking help it.” He grumbles at you. You snort and roll your eyes at the over-confident man that he’s turned into again.

“Promise me you won’t do that again, unless absolutely necessary.” The earnestness in his eyes a plea for you to listen. “I don’t want you to be a victim just because someone can’t decipher you from friend or foe.”

You sigh and let your gaze soften. “You don’t think I already know that shifting myself to look like a venin is dangerous? You can ask Brennan or Violet, but I was hesitant with them both before I did it. And what followed just proved why my theory was correct.”

“You of all people should know that I’m smarter than that. I wouldn’t shift into that form unless absolutely necessary. Brennan just asked to see why the wyvern didn’t react to my landing on its back, so I showed them.”

Realization dawning on him seems to do nothing to quell the fire in his eyes. Fire to protect and shield evident on every line of his face. You realize that no words seem to be cracking through the thick skull of the man in front of you, so you utilize your best weapon, your touch.

You bring your hands to his face, cupping each side and rubbing soothing circles on his stubbled cheeks. He takes a deep sighing breath and his gaze bores deep into you. 

“I don’t think you understand how terrified I am of the actual reality of your death.” He divulges as both of his arms snake around your waist tugging you to him. “Ever since I laid eyes on you again, I wake up every day busting through my door to search for just a glimpse of your form.”

“Having to face a reality again where you aren’t there is the absolute worst thing I can honestly imagine.” He brings his forehead to yours leaning in and breathing a deep, calming breath. 

A sad smile begins to crawl across his face. “And being so close to you, but far away at the same time is eating at me more than you know.”

You give him a sad smile back in return. “I know.” You whisper, your walls cracking even more with the tenderness and vulnerability seeping from Garrick’s every fiber.

“I need you to know that I’m working on it.” You tell him while bringing your hands down to grab his own, rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. “We aren’t there yet, but I can promise you the more you let me in, the more you show up for us, then eventually maybe we can get back to before.”

Garrick’s eyes search yours, probing for an alternate meaning. You just look back at him with the honesty you feel at his words. You’re unsure of what you’re looking for to be able to let him completely in again, but you know that you just aren’t in the right space at this moment.

__________

Taglist: @smashee0789 @batboygirlie @gayandfairycore

[chrissssssmut]

yandere karina when male reader go to fan meeting but suddenly he shrunken down around 10 inch. he saved by karina but she obsessive with him. How will karina treat him ? I need you imagine this,please?

SMALL ENOUGH

Yandere Karina x Male Reader

It started with a line. And a dream.

You bounced on your heels, ticket clutched in a shaking hand, surrounded by a sea of other fans screaming about their biases. But none of them mattered—not really. Not when she was in the building.

Karina.

Aespa was holding a fan meet just a few cities away, and you scored a ticket by sheer luck. You didn’t even think you’d make it past the website crashing. And now? You were inside the venue. In the line. One of the last ones in your batch. Your mouth was dry.

Your phone vibrated with a DM from your best friend:

[hope u get to touch her hand or smth LMAO]

You couldn’t even type back. Your head was spinning with rehearsed words. Compliments. Gratitude. Worship.

The line moved. One by one, you passed by Ningning (super cute), Winter (playful smile), Giselle (she winked??), and finally…

Her.

“Hi~” Karina greeted, voice as smooth as silk, eyes like obsidian. “Thanks for waiting. You’ve been patient.”

You nodded dumbly, knees a little weak. “I—Uh—I just wanted to say… your music means everything to me. I listen to it when I wake up, when I sleep. Especially your parts. I mean… you.”

Her lips curved up slowly. “Really?”

You nodded harder. “You’re my bias. My ultimate bias. I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel the way you do, even just by performing. You’re…” You swallowed. “Perfect.”

A small silence. Her hand brushed yours across the table. A spark?

And then—

Your vision spun. You gasped as the world exploded in brightness, your body pulled inward, folding in on itself. Your voice shrieked into nothing.

When your vision cleared…

Everything was huge.

The table. The chair legs. The pen she held like a tree trunk.

And her eyes—wide, shocked, then slowly smiling.

“...Oh?” Karina whispered, glancing left and right. The staff was distracted. No one noticed.

You stumbled backward, only ten inches tall now, your shirt falling off your miniaturized frame.

“W-What… what the hell—?! What’s happening?!”

Karina leaned down, lips curling as her hair fell around you like a curtain.

“...I don’t know,” she murmured. “But I like it.”

You were shoved gently—yet possessively—into her purse. You tried yelling. Begging. But the noise of the fans drowned you out.

All you could hear was her heartbeat as she whispered above:

“Shhh… It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. Don’t move too much, baby. You might get crushed.”

DAY 1 – Hotel Room, 1:13 AM

You tumbled out of her purse onto the massive hotel mattress, dizzy and still disoriented. She locked the door behind her with a soft click.

“No more fans. No more screaming,” she sighed, stretching. “Just me and you.”

“Karina—what the hell?! What happened to me?!” You shouted up at her.

She crouched down, resting her chin on her arms at the bed’s edge.

“I don’t know…” she said sweetly. “You were just… talking to me so sincerely, and then poof. Like fate sealed you up. Like you were meant to belong to me.”

“Belong? No—no, this is insane! You have to fix this, take me to a doctor or—or—!”

Her smile didn’t break. “But you’re so cute like this…”

She reached for you, and you tried to scramble away—but her fingers wrapped around your body easily, bringing you up to her face.

“Do you remember what you said earlier?” she whispered. “That no one makes you feel the way I do?”

You stammered. “I—I didn’t mean it like—”

“Yes, you did,” she said, tilting her head. “And you meant every word. And now look what the universe did for us. You’re small enough for me to keep. Safe in my hands. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Karina—”

“Shhhh.” She pressed a finger gently to your lips. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything but be mine.”

DAY 2 – Hotel Room, Late Afternoon

At first, you tried to resist. You tried being angry. You tried negotiating.

But Karina was patient. Gentle. And so careful.

She would cradle you in her hands while lying on the bed scrolling through her phone, giggling at memes and reading you comments from fans.

She would lower you into a shot glass of warm water to help you bathe.

She even made you a little nest of tissues on her nightstand.

“See?” she cooed one night. “I told you I’d keep you safe.”

You looked up at her from the tissue bed. “Karina, I really… I need to go home.”

Her expression shifted. A pause. Her smile dimmed.

“You want to leave me?”

“No—I just—my family, my job—”

“But you said I was your everything,” she whispered, crawling onto the bed. Her hair pooled around you. “You said I was perfect. You said I was the one.”

You stepped back.

She leaned in further.

“You lied?” Her voice was softer now. Darker.

“I—No, I didn’t lie! I meant it—but—”

“Then why would you leave?” Her smile came back, eerily sweet. “You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got me. Just me.”

She scooped you up again and placed you on her chest, right above her heart.

“You hear that?” she said. “It beats for you.”

DAY 5 – Obsession

She stopped letting you near windows.

It didn’t happen all at once — it was subtle. A curtain pulled shut here. A casual shift of the blinds there. Then one day, you woke up and the hotel room was cloaked in perpetual twilight.

"Natural light is bad for your skin anyway," she hummed, placing your tiny body on the vanity as she did her makeup. "Besides, I don’t want anyone accidentally seeing you. You're mine."

You stared at your reflection in the mirror behind her foundation bottle — a ten-inch version of yourself. Dressed in the miniature hoodie she made you. Hair a little messy. Eyes tired.

You barely recognized yourself anymore.

When the other members knocked on her door to hang out, she'd glance at the door and smile a little too long before answering.

“Oh… I’m feeling tired today, unnie. Rain makes me sleepy,” she’d say sweetly to Winter, who was always the one to come check on her.

Then she’d turn back to you.

“They don’t get it,” she’d murmur, sitting cross-legged on the bed with you on her thigh. “They think I’m being distant. But how could I focus on them when you’re right here?”

You tried to speak, tried to suggest she maybe just tell the truth. That she found a magically shrunken fan and was harboring him in her room like a living doll. But you already knew how that conversation would go.

She wouldn’t even entertain it.

At night, she’d curl up beneath the thick hotel duvet with you cradled in her palm, her long dark hair sprawled over the pillow like a shadow. Her other hand would move gently, rhythmically, brushing your tiny hair with a mascara wand she cleaned obsessively.

“You’re so soft,” she’d whisper. “Like a little pet I can hold forever.”

You didn’t answer. You were afraid your voice would tremble.

That night, as the air conditioning hummed and distant city traffic echoed below, she spoke again.

“I used to be scared of being alone, you know?” she murmured, eyes on the ceiling. “Even when I was surrounded by people. Members. Managers. Fans.”

Her fingers stilled. You felt the subtle tremble in her hand.

“But now that I have you… I don’t think I’ll ever feel lonely again.”

You stirred against her fingers, finally finding your voice.

“…Karina, please…”

Her thumb brushed gently against your chest. “Please what?”

You took a breath. “Please let me go.”

Her fingers twitched. Just slightly. But you felt it like thunder.

“No.”

Your heartbeat quickened. “Karina—”

Her tone sharpened. Just one word, firmer now:

“No.”

She sat up slowly, placing you gently on the pillow beside her, and leaned over until her face loomed above you — massive and elegant and terrifying. Her long bangs framed her cheeks as shadows cut across her doll-like features.

“You were mine before you shrunk,” she said quietly, her voice soft but chilling. “You worshipped me. I saw it in your eyes.”

You shook your head. “That’s not the same—”

“You said I was your everything. You stood in line for hours just to see me. Don’t act like this is new.”

She exhaled slowly, and you felt the warmth of her breath wash over your body, making you shiver.

“You were obsessed with me,” she whispered. “And now I’m obsessed with you.”

Your legs backed up until you bumped into the pillow edge.

Karina leaned even closer, her eyes glassy now. Too wide. Too still.

“And now…” she said, her lips curling into something more dangerous than a smile, “…you’re small enough to never leave me.”

Her hand came down like a gentle cage around you. She wasn’t holding you tightly. But it was enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere.

Not unless she wanted you to.

And from the look in her eyes…

She never would.

DAY 7 – You Try to Escape

You waited until she went to the bathroom.

You climbed down her nightstand using phone cords, made it to the floor, and sprinted to the door, heart pounding.

You were so close—

Click.

She was standing there.

Wet hair. Robe. Bare feet. A dark smile.

You froze.

“…Baby,” she whispered.

You turned slowly.

She took one step forward.

“Were you… trying to leave me?”

“No—no, I just wanted air—!”

She knelt, eye-level with you, tilting her head.

“You know what they do to liars in fairy tales?”

Her voice was syrupy.

“They shrink them.”

Your blood ran cold.

“…Wait. You… you did this to me?”

She smiled wider, eyes glinting.

“I didn’t mean to… but now that you’re mine, why would I undo it?”

She scooped you up again. You struggled. She didn’t care.

Back onto the bed. Into her lap.

She pressed a kiss to your head. “You’re mine. Mine. Mine. You said it yourself. I’m your everything.”

And then, softer than ever, she whispered:

“So now, you’ll be mine forever.”

DAY 12 – Acceptance?

You don’t fight her as hard anymore.

Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s the way she looks at you — like you’re the center of her world and the thought of losing you would destroy her.

Every morning, she wakes up with you curled in her palm. She lifts you to her cheek before even checking her phone, whispering a sleepy, “Good morning, baby. Did you sleep okay?” like this is all normal.

You nod. You always nod. It’s easier.

She feeds you from the edge of her spoon, careful and precise, like you’re something delicate she’s afraid to break. She giggles when you get sauce on your chin and wipes it gently with a Q-tip she cut down just for you.

She talks to you — for hours. About her rehearsals, the members’ drama, her dreams. The kind of things idols never say out loud.

"You know what Winter said to me the other day?" she murmurs, braiding thread into a tiny scarf for you. "She said I've been glowing lately. Isn't that funny? I didn't tell her it's because of you."

She giggles. "My little secret."

She dresses you in little outfits made from old socks and makeup pouches. Sometimes she strips one of her dolls for the clothes. She even sewed a hoodie for you with little initials on the back: JK.

"You look so handsome like this. Don't give me that look," she says sweetly, adjusting your tiny sleeve. "It makes my heart hurt in the best way."

At night, when the lights are low and her voice softens to a whisper, she cradles you close to her chest and tells you things no one else knows.

“Sometimes… I used to cry in the shower. Just so no one would hear.”

Her fingers trace slow circles on your back. “But now I don’t need to anymore. You’re here. I don’t feel lonely now.”

You listen. You try not to cry yourself.

Because even though she smiles and laughs and treats you like glass, you can feel the steel underneath. The obsession in her gaze. The way her pupils dilate when you so much as shift away from her hand.

You want to believe you still have a choice.

That one day, maybe, she’ll realize how wrong this all is.

That she’ll set you down on a table somewhere, smile gently, and say, “Okay. You can go home now.”

But every time you even try — even start — to say the words—

“Karina… I need to—”

Her eyes always darken. Her lips twitch into that same eerie, gentle smile.

And she cuts you off with a whisper, brushing her thumb over your face like she’s petting something fragile:

“You are home.”

And you never get the words out.

Because the way she says it…

You start to wonder if she’s right.

And that scares you most of all.