#one strawberry to rule them all

[darkstalker-void]

Rest in pieces

[neon-danger]

I don’t always read fics, but when I do I go down a rabbit hole, read a bunch of stuff by one author, find one (1) supernatural type fic that changes my entire worldview, and then think about it for thirty years

Go read Echoes rn

[icewindandboringhorror]

misc photo diary stuff.. also this unintentionally all matches sort of lol.. warm toned photos?

[connormoving]

ok now im being truthful when i say im going to lay down in the dark and not look at my phone and possibly go to sleep depending on a multitude of factors. so good night loves u all and all of the normal things i say 💚💚

[foldingfittedsheets]

Truly, one of the greatest love language is someone agreeing to eat something atrocious for your benefit.

My first experience with this was in college. My friend Charlie invited me to a jazz club. One would think he’d learned his lesson. I thought nothing of this and agreed to a fun night with a guy friend. We arrived and I saw nothing romantic in the outing.

The menu at the club was very traditional date food- steak, oysters, romancey food. But still, I didn’t catch on. This food didn’t sound like what I wanted. In fact, what I wanted was a hummus plate. Charlie took this turn of events with a slight wince but ordered one for us.

The hummus plate arrived. Sitting politely on the corner of the garlic bomb was a spicy pepper. Laughing, I teasingly dared Charlie to eat it. You see, this kind of rough humor was common among buddies. I thought we were in Buddy Rules. But Charlie was operating under Date Rules; eating the pepper would be a romantic test of his bravery.

He bit the pepper.

His skin was almost as pale as mine and he went bright red instantly, tears stood in his eyes as sweat broke out across his whole body in protest. He barely managed to swallow as he began coughing, his body reflexively trying to spew forth the poison in his mouth.

I was doubled over with laughter and didn’t feel bad until a few days later when Brendan informed me it had been a date. I scoffed initially and only slowly realized Charlie had been intending it as a date. I repented the pepper and promptly dated Brendan in self defense.

Charlies act of romantic heroism went unappreciated but the spirit was there.

Many years later when I’d given up on boys I was dating my beloved wife. Together we took a trip to Taiwan. One of the wonderful things about new places is the food. I still dream about the food in Taiwan. Even the humblest train station cream puff was several orders of magnitude better than any I’ve ever had in the states.

But one place we went was like. Italian food as interpreted by Taiwanese cooks. Some of the combos were as bizarre to me as many Italians probably feel American Italian food is. Specifics escape me, but it felt like I was dreaming some of the menu at the time. At the end we decided to get a chocolate fondue, because why not. We were on vacation.

The liquid chocolate was served with all the things one would normally expect, strawberries, sweets, the usual chocolate accompaniments. And then we saw the tomatoes. Tomatoes and chocolate. We all stared at the tomatoes in horrified fascination.

Now, I hate tomatoes. I can stand a tomato sauce but raw tomatoes and I have nothing to talk about. So I knew that if I tried it I’d find it as repugnant as I’ve always found tomatoes. But I was haunted by the idea that someone who actually liked tomatoes would like tomatoes in chocolate.

My beloved loves tomatoes. And chocolate. I turned the biggest puppy dog eyes on them and begged to know if the combination was actually somehow delicious. My wife insisted that it would be heinous. Still, they speared a tomato sacrifice and coated it in chocolate, for me. For me, they ate it.

It was so wretched that their face collapsed into instant regret. But they didn’t spit it out. They knew I got sick if people spit out half chewed food. So they soldiered on and swallowed the cursed chocolate fruit.

Their devotion utterly delighted me, and even years later I adore that they suffered that tomato to reassure me that indeed, it was bad.

[tinysunshine]

‎ 𝐃𝐀𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 & 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 ━━━ ✧˖°

‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘, 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐓?

‎ part one + dbf! rick and daryl masterlist

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” Daryl asks, holding back a scoff at the expression on Rick’s face. As close as they’ve gotten over these last few years, like brothers, and even closer now with everything involving you, Daryl still doesn’t like to feel on the spot. He’s uncomfortable with the way Rick’s looking at him. 

Like he’s smug. Or a little pissed. Or jealous? Shit, maybe the reason Daryl hates it so much is because he can’t read Rick at all. 

Rick shrugs. They’re sitting in the living room, and Rick’s drinking a beer while Daryl holds your glass of water while you grab something upstairs. He could set the cup on the table, sure - but it didn’t even cross his mind. You were cuddling against his side, tucked up all nice and snug under his arm, and then you got up and pecked his cheek when Rick told you to go get ready for dinner, asked if he could hold your water for you since you’d been sipping on it. 

Daryl follows rules really fuckin’ well. He’s not the rebel people make him out to be, not even close. But now he feels a little embarrassed about it, with Rick looking at him and all, so he puts the cup down and wipes the condensation off on his pant leg. He grunts, while Rick laughs and shakes his head. Daryl scowls. 

“Nothin’, man,” Rick promises, although it’s obvious now that he’s teasing Daryl. He always does, whenever he sees how far gone the older man is for you. How in love he is. Which is funny, because Rick still thinks he plays it cool around you. Still thinks nobody can tell that he’d ask how high if you told him to jump, that he tries to satisfy your every whim as long as it doesn’t jeopardize your safety - pretends he’s all dominant and Daddy and whatever else, and that might be the case in the bedroom…

But it ain’t the case in regular, day to day life, that’s for sure. 

Daryl’s the same way. He just loves you, is all. You’re like an Apocalypse Barbie, all pink and soft and cute and sweet but tough when you need to be, in a world where women like that don’t exist anymore. Daryl never realized how much he missed femininity, until you came along with all your frills and princess demands and pink panties and makeup, keep trying to put blush on his cheeks just to See, Daryl, you’ve got great cheekbones. Look! 

Don’t even get him started about what he saw the other day, when he walked in on you tying a purple ribbon around the handle of an axe.

Daryl wants to tell Rick that it’s obviously not nothing, and to stop fucking teasing him because he hates that shit, but then you come down the stairs and you plop yourself down next to him again, looking to your water glass on the table. There’s strawberries in the glass because you wanted fancy water so you cut them up and added them to the pitcher in the fridge, and it must be for decoration because Daryl tasted those strawberries and they tasted sour. They taste like ass, except - 

Well, Daryl’s only tasted one ass, and it was yours, and truth be told, you didn’t taste bad at all. Better than those strawberries at least. God, he’s blushing, so he turns his focus on you, except you’re glaring at him. 

Like an angry kitten. Big eyes, nose sort of scrunched up. You still look cute, even when you’re pissed. He’s confused, until you poke him in the chest with your little finger, nails painted with something sparkly. “I told you to hold my water, Daryl,” you’re pouting, and you’re upset over something so stupid that Daryl just kind of wants to kiss the pout off of you. He tries to, but you pull away. 

So you’re doing this game again. The brat role, where nothing is good enough for you until Daryl or Rick forces you to take it. Which is fine, he supposes. Daryl can work with that. 

“No kisses. I told you to hold it, and you put it on the table. You never listen to me, Daryl. I swear, it’s like,” but Rick cuts you off, as he always does when you start your little filibuster of fake crimes either one of them committed. Sometimes Daryl hates that Rick always cuts you off, because he likes to hear the bullshit you’re spewing because it’s just so damn ridiculous. You’re smart, the way you can make mountains out of molehills. Actually takes some brains to be so ridiculous. 

But Rick cuts in. “Leave him alone, would you?” Daryl thinks Rick is standing up for him, but instead he says, “I could’ve held it for you. You didn’t even ask.” 

It’s been like that lately. Petty between the two of them, and Daryl hates it. As close as he and Rick are, nothing can really prepare a man for sharing the woman he loves. 

Daryl’s just glad Merle’s not alive to see him like this - sharing a bed most nights with Rick and you. The other night his foot accidentally brushed against Rick’s and it was so uncomfortable. Somehow even more uncomfortable than the way their dicks accidentally touched when they were both inside of you a few weeks ago. Daryl’s face is definitely pink from the memory of double penetrating you with his best friend, but your bickering with Rick stops his boner before it even starts. 

You roll your eyes, one of your favorite things to do around them. “I’m just teasing him, Rick. Just wanted him to put me in my place,” Daryl actually lets out a laugh at that. You’re so funny. So honest. “You’ve both been neglecting me so much lately,” you whine, and while you’re definitely being a little dramatic, especially since one of them is almost always somewhere around you if not physically with you, the both of them have had their hands full with duties in the community. 

On the walker front, things are stable. The community has enough supplies, and plenty of trustworthy, able bodied residents. Every job is filled, every person has a place to sleep, and things are good. Better than ever, although sometimes Daryl wonders if that’s just because he’s in love. 

Maybe everything looks better with you in his heart. 

But that sappy shit still makes him feel weird, so he just replies to you. Places a hand on your thigh. 

“Just busy, you know. With all those threats. You know we’ve all been on guard, tryin’ to figure out what we saw out there,” Daryl doesn’t say as much as he planned to, because Rick shoots him a look that reminds Daryl that they talked about this. Disagreed actually, because Rick doesn’t want you to know about the potential danger outside of this community, and Daryl thinks you deserve a right to know about everything. You’re grown. You’re smart.

But Daryl’s kept his mouth shut to avoid any drama between him and Rick. He already hears enough bullshit from him about making your hair smell like cigarette smoke whenever you join him on a smoke break (and you still won’t admit to Rick that you like to smoke too), or from keeping you up too late when you play cards with him and Abraham over at Abe’s place that he shares with some of the others from the group. Shit like that.

Daryl doesn’t need anything else to create tension between him and Rick. So he’s kept the secret from you, about the dead bodies that they’ve found when they’re on runs, bodies that have been brutally murdered, and the people they’ve met that have tried to harm them.

Alexandria has been doing great, but there’s shit scarier than walkers out behind the gates. Rick doesn’t want to worry you, and neither does Daryl, but - 

He supposes it’s a worry for another time. You’ve all got to get to dinner, remind the rest of the group that Daryl and Rick aren’t a pair of perverts that keep you locked up in the house. 

Your brows furrow, and then you place your hand on top of Daryl’s and lean up to kiss him. “Alright,” you grumble against his lips, surprisingly agreeable. Daryl’s focused on you, but he can feel Rick staring, probably a little tipsy from his beer and maybe even a little turned on, watching the two of you together. He’s admitted he likes it before, watching, but it still feels weird to Daryl. 

He’s into this whole thing because of you. He loves you, and he wants whatever you want. Sure, it’s hot, watching you blow Rick, or call him Daddy while you ride the cock of a man that was already grown before you were even born. But that’s just because he’s a man, and any man seeing that shit would pop a boner.

But it’s not the main thing that turns him on, the two of you together. You turn him on, and it’s not because of Rick, or what you two do together. What the three of you do together. Daryl realizes that he’s so into you because he trusts you, has bonded with you emotionally, which is why he’s able to get intimate with you in more ways than just fucking you. He loves you, and it’s the first time in his entire life that he’s ever felt this way. 

“Good girl,” they both praise, accidentally at the same time - although Rick’s has a tone of something degrading and mocking, while Daryl’s good girl is genuine. The silence that follows them saying the same thing at the same time is long, and you freeze before letting out a laugh, standing up and taking Daryl’s hand. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you say, and it sounds innocent coming out of your mouth, but it’s far from it. When you say it, you look directly at Daryl, and maybe you just really want him right now, because you get like that sometimes, horny for just one of them, which is understandable. Daryl can’t believe you’re even able to walk with the amount they both fuck you, honestly.

Or maybe you're just trying to piss Rick off - which you do, every damn day. Daryl doesn’t know your reasoning.

What he does know, is that his dick starts chubbing up almost immediately as the name leaves your pretty mouth, and he lets go of your hand to rudely re-adjust himself in his jeans before smacking you on the ass on the way out of the door. 

He doesn't have to look behind him at Rick to know that he’s jealous. 

Rick says that he doesn’t get jealous, but Daryl knows that he does. Doesn’t know why Rick even pretends like he doesn’t, because it’s natural and it makes pretty damn good sense why he’d feel that way. 

Daryl feels it all the time. When Rick gets you all to himself some nights, when he hears the headboard pounding against the wall and neither one of you invited him in the room. He feels it, burning hot in his chest, when people say you guys are such a cute couple when they see you and Rick together, and a million more examples he could think of that hurt. 

But Daryl takes it out on you in bed, in the way that you like, with his tongue or his fingers or his cock, sometimes with a hand placed carefully around your throat. And sometimes he gives Rick a taste of his own medicine. Daryl planned to do that tonight, but you beat him to it, calling him Daddy when that’s a word meant for Rick. 

It’s just that - you’ve been doing it more and more lately. Calling Daryl Daddy. For a long while, he had a feeling that he was just the third wheel in whatever romantic adventure you and Rick were on. He thought that you liked Rick but you didn’t want Daryl to lose feelings for you, so you let him hang around. You assured him that wasn’t the case, but still - it was hard not to feel that way. But as time has gone on, he’s starting to believe you. 

Daddy. The most special word to you. You call Daryl by that name all the time now, but it’s less about sex and dominance with him like it is with Rick, and more about the feeling of safety. Being taken care of.

Daryl loves it. 

Daddy, open my soda can? I got a scratch on my finger, you’ll say, as if those things are correlated in any way, as if you need to make up reasons for Daryl to dote on you, but you’ll hop on yout tip toes for a second, looking all cute and innocent, or your tits will jiggle when you bend over the counter to hand the can to him - and, fuck. Truth is, you ask and Daryl always delivers, so he does whatever you need and kisses the tip of your nose. 

Sometimes you get scared at night, because the world is a fucking scary place, and sometimes you just want some extra comfort. Will sit on his lap on the couch and ask him to hold you (as if you have to ask) or pull the covers halfway up over your head when you’re in his bed, head on his chest, just seeking some comfort with the soft murmur of Daddy leaving your mouth. 

And, yeah, okay - it’s sexual too. Whining Daddy and damn near ripping his hair out when he’s between your thighs with two fingers curved inside your tight pussy and his tongue on your throbbing clit, or when you’re bouncing on his cock like a fucking bunny. 

The jealousy that Rick feels is valid, and Daryl understands. In a way, that feeling just goes straight to his dick. Makes him horny and angry and fired up when the roles are reversed, but for right now? He enjoys the feeling of Rick’s eyes on your hand that’s interlocked with his. ‘S what the fucker gets anyway, for hogging you the entire night last night. 

Rick’s just jealous ‘cause Daryl’s got himself a title now too.

Daddy. Yeah, Daryl’s pretty sure Daddy is better than boyfriend any day.

────

When the community is doing well, it usually means that Rick is exhausted. 

Granted, he’s been exhausted every single day, every single second, for the last few years - and he’s pretty sure everyone still alive feels the same way. If there’s ever a day, or a week, where things feel hopeful and exciting and good - he can pretty much guarantee a storm of shit will follow soon after, a pattern he’s starting to recognize by now. 

Rick’s a little scared at what he’s discovered outside of the gates. Miles and miles away from home base, sure, but seeing the bodies of people strung up to trees, gutted like fish, branded and hurt and just - 

He doesn’t really want to think about it at dinner. Told Daryl he’d put those thoughts away for tonight, because the likelihood of anything happening over a plate of Deanna’s shitty brussel sprouts and Carol’s potato salad really isn’t likely. So Rick’s trying to enjoy himself, taking whatever alcohol is offered and keeping his eyes on you. 

Everyone wants to talk to him, because he’s the leader, so he listens and answers and tells Deanna he doesn’t care if the chicken meat she’s serving is white or dark, but he’s not really paying attention to anything except for you. Nothing else matters when you’re around - and that’s amazing, but it’s also really fucking dangerous, but it’s not your fault. You can’t control how lovable you are, but sometimes Rick wishes he could go back in time and kick your dad’s ass for making such a perfect woman. 

He has those thoughts in his more insane bouts of anger and frustration, but. You know what? He’s going to drink to that. Takes a big sip of wine and pretends like he's a normal boyfriend. That he doesn’t share his girlfriend, who’s young enough to be his daughter, with his best friend who’s also old enough to be her father. That he’s not going to take you home after this and fuck you until it hurts to walk, just to take all his frustration out on you. Sexually, that is.

Because you love that shit. It’s never hard enough for you, never rough enough. And maybe you’re just a brat, trying to get Rick to go deeper and faster to get a rise out of him, but sometimes he feels like he can’t keep up with you. 

Little Miss Virgin, his ass. You might’ve been a virgin when he first fucked you, but you were far from sexually inexperienced, and Rick feels jealous all over again just thinking about you with other guys. 

And a little turned on, which further irritates him. Maybe what you said is true - told him you learned, in a psychology course, that men deal with anxiety by getting angry. You’re a little smarty pants, and Rick loves you so much, but.

He’s just in a mood today.

Daryl always tells him to stop being so rough with you. Left fuckin’ bruises on her man, he said the other day, flipped out about you limping after they fucked you at the same time, and he really hates it if he’s around whenever Rick gives you a little slap on the cheek. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell Daryl that you want it, it still upsets him to witness you getting hurt. Because Daryl can be rough because that’s just who he is. It’s accidental. He’s big, a little uncoordinated, whereas Rick really does try to make you take more. 

It’s hard sharing you, but Rick knew it would be. But he also knows Daryl, and he knows you, and for a situation like this, he quite literally couldn't pick a better man to share his girl with. Daryl’s such a great guy, such a good friend, and he treats you so damn well that it feels nice to know you've got someone else. In case something ever happened to Rick, or even the other way around. 

He and Daryl have talked about it, what it would be like if something happened to either one of them. At least you’d still be taken care of, because the likelihood of one of them getting hurt isn't zero. Not in this world. It feels nice to know that no matter what, you’d be okay.

And, both Rick and Daryl tell themselves that to feel better, to push away the guilt of double-teaming their dead friend’s daughter. To keep her safe. But, hey. Whatever gets them through the day.

Maggie asks Rick something too serious for this dinner, so he brushes her off as nicely as he can, but then he sees you from the corner of his eye giggling with Spencer, and Rick wants you to have friends, but come on. What could you possibly talk about with Spencer? Rick just doesn’t like the guy, never has. Even before you said he looked like he could be a model for a surfing brand one night to Rosita. Whatever. 

Rick is not having a good time tonight. Just internally. He feels edgy and he feels like he wants you, all to himself, with a lock on the bedroom door and his dick buried so far inside of you he could get you pregnant in just one shot, but. Here he is. 

When you laugh a little louder, Rick hears Daryl call Spencer’s name to take his attention off of you, and he does it so smoothly that nobody else probably realizes why he did it. Or maybe they do, because the entire group does know about the three of you. They think it’s weird as shit. Rick knows this, and has had people in the community question just how reliable and trustworthy and good both him and Daryl are, but the other man set them straight. 

Really, people are more afraid of Daryl than they are of Rick. 

“The fuck you care for? Don’t needa tell anyone who I’m stickin’ my dick in. Rick don’t have to tell you shit neither,” he snapped at the first person to voice their concern, and then followed it up with, “‘And ‘s not gay, before one of you fucks tries to say sumthin.’ More gay to worry about who I’m fuckin’, if you ask me.” 

And, yeah, that shut people up. But both Daryl and Rick still try to keep the PDA to a minimum around you, although you make it impossible. It’s why he’s sitting across from you, and Daryl is a few people down from you at this large table, because they both want to give the group space from this. They know it’s weird. Saw the looks on people’s faces when they were leaving for a few days on a run and you hugged and kissed them both, practically sandwiched between them in front of everyone.

People think it’s wrong, or they don’t want to think about it at all. They don’t like it. Rick gets that. If he wasn’t apart of it, he’d probably think the same thing too.

But for right now, he’s just glad that Daryl hates Spencer just as much as he does. 

Without Spencer to talk to, you finally focus on eating. Rick watches you push a pea around your plate, thinks the way you tease Eugene and try to take a bite of his mashed potatoes is funny, until he retaliates and grabs your bread roll off your plate, and since Gabriel is sitting next to Rick, he notices when the man almost falls out of his chair, making a scene until someone says there’s cake. 

Rick doesn’t even have to hear him say it to know you fucked up with a game of footsie. Which sucks, because Rick would’ve had fun playing with you right now. Too far to the right, sweetheart, he wants to tell you, but you brush it off rather well, stick your tongue out at Daryl who shakes his head like you’re crazy, and Rick just feels sorry for Glenn and Eugene who’re sitting between you two. 

Finally, when dinner is about to end, when Rick starts to feel some relief - 

It happens. 

It starts with Deanna offering someone the last scoop of mashed potatoes, and then you say you want it, are about to split it with Tara, and everything is fine. Rick doesn’t even know he’s supposed to be bracing himself for what’s about to happen. The mashed potatoes are on your plate, you’re bragging to Eugene that you got the last serving, and then -

“Daddy, can you please pass the salt?” 

It’s like he’s on autopilot. The name is just so familiar, Rick’s trained to answer to it. There’s some salt in the middle of the table, a cute little ceramic shaker that Deanna must’ve paid a lot for before, handpainted, and he reaches for it while in a conversation with Carol when his fingers brush against Daryl’s, and -

Fucking hell.

Rick’s never felt so awkward. And in all the time he’s spent with Daryl out on the road, seeing terrifying things - the look on the other man’s face when they both realize what happened has more terror on it than Rick has ever seen before.

He swears his entire body turns the color of a tomato, and his neck starts heating up, so much so that he jerks his hand away from the salt shaker and starts pulling at the collar of his shirt. Daryl clears his throat, but he does hand you the salt, all the while Abraham hoots with laughter at the end of the table, slamming his hands down so hard his plate almost bounces off.

“Oh, shit,” he teases, shaking his head like he’s proud. “You know what they said. The prettiest girls got the worst daddy issues. It’s in the Bible or something,” and he’s drunk, and he’s wrong, and Rosita smacks him so hard on the back of the head that Rick’s actually a little concerned, but you seem just jolly.

Pouring your salt and complimenting Deanna on the potatoes, while Daryl literally gets up and walks outside, grumbling something about never coming to another dinner again, and all Rick can think about is the fact that you could’ve easily grabbed the salt shaker yourself. Spoiled brat.

You know what?, Rick thinks. Fuck it. The truth is out, he can’t take it back. So much for no PDA or keeping your bedroom activities and the dynamic of the relationship on the down low. He stands up, says he’ll see everyone bright and early tomorrow, and fixes you with a look. You’re familiar with it.

It’s the same one he wears when he tells you to get on your knees or lectures you about running off. You’re well trained, and you show it by quickly standing up, no longer the playful little minx that had Rick walking on eggshells during dinner.

Rick walks to you and grabs your hand while you say a quick goodnight to everyone, then he tugs you along back to the house you share.

“You need to be more fuckin’ careful,” he warns, dropping your hand to pinch at the back of your neck while he leads you to the house. Not too rough, but enough to get you to know that he’s serious. That it’s not cool to pull that shit, although something like pride is starting to rear its head inside of him as you both make your way up the porch steps, where Rick can see Daryl, already in the living room with the lights on, from the window.

“You’re so grumpy today,” you complain, but Rick ignores you. Doesn’t want to start bickering before he gets to fuck you.

Mine, he thinks, knowing you pulled that whole stunt on purpose. Mine, mine, mine. Everyone knows that you’re his. Daryl’s. Theirs. What’s he got to be embarrassed about? Rick’s done enough for this entire community to have what he wants without judgment, hasn’t he? Daryl too. ‘S what he deserves. What Daryl deserves. A pretty girl like you, even when you’re an attention seeking little brat.

And a pretty girl like you deserves two men who know how to give you what you want. They’re better for you than some idiot guy around your age. Better for you than someone like Spencer, who couldn’t be the man you needed him to be even if he tried.

Rick’s not jealous. Seriously. He just hates that guy.

Rick’s in a significantly better mood now that he’s away from everyone, knowing that he can charge you with some petty crimes to punish you, and hopefully this time - get Daryl in on it, instead of that good cop, bad cop shit. If they tire you out enough, maybe you won’t make such a big fucking fuss when he tells you they’re leaving tomorrow to go investigate the threats outside the walls.

But tonight is for fun.

“Can’t have two Daddies, you know. Gotta think of sumthin’ else to call Daryl,” Rick says. He leads you up the stairs, and he follows with Daryl following him, and he can’t see it but the other man just shakes his head.

“Think I earned that title fair and square, man. Made her cum six times the other night,” a little pause, when they get to the door of the Rick’s bedroom and block the doorway while you get on the bed. Your dress is slipping off your shoulder, and later that night, Rick will tell you he knows you did that salt thing on purpose, because you’re an exhibitionist little brat. Could see how wet you were, from the spot on your panties as you took your clothes off for him and Daryl while you were on the bed.

But for now, in the present, Daryl takes his shirt off. “She can have two Daddies if she wants. Can have anything she wants,” he promises, walking closer to the bed.

Rick’s already taking his belt off. He laughs, loves how much Daryl loves you, before shutting the bedroom door. And just in case, he locks it.

“Whatever you say, Uncle Daryl.”

“Fuck off,” Daryl replies, and then you whine, tossing your panties in the direction of the both of them.

“No, fuck me already!”

‎ just a little oneshot bc i missed my bfs 🩷 part two coming soon!

[star-sim]

plushies and pouts ☆ riki nishimura

☆ non-idol! boyfriend! riki x fem! reader ☆ summary: that one time that riki punched your plushie and you got mad at him. ☆ genre: fluff!! riki has beef with your plushies #loser ☆ warning(s)? n/a!! ☆ word count: 1.2k ☆ can't get bf! riki outta my head good lord

"Look, Babe, I'm sorry—"

The silence was piercing. You didn't even spare him a glance, only ignoring Riki as you quietly snuggled up into your pillows (and not him, who was laying mere inches away from you).

Riki wet his lips. 

"I didn't mean to," he continued, reaching for your hand. You shot him a glare and jerked your hand away before he could even touch you. 

"Don't say that to me," you snapped, your tone harsh and cold. "Say that to the person you hurt."

With that, you turned back to your phone, scrolling away and ignoring your boyfriend, you lips painted with a small pout.

Riki sighed.

Just minutes ago, the two of you were all over each other, lips connected as you hungrily kissed each other. 

Today was supposed to be one of your lazy days spent with Riki. The moment that Riki texted you that he was here, you pounced on him, crashing your lips against his almost immediately. He loved it when your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling it gently as your plush lips pressed soft kisses along his jaw.

Riki hadn't seen you in a week or two, courtesy of grueling schoolwork. 

How was he supposed to stop himself from getting too eager?

Riki eyed the Strawberry Rilakkuma (aptly named Kkumi) plush strewn across the floor, its round body faced down.

You had two policies for Riki when it came to hanging out in your room.

Policy #1: Respect all your plushies. That means to not hit them, to not call them mean names, and to treat them with kindness. 

Policy #2: If you and Riki were going to do anything on your bed, whether it be making out or cuddling, you had to turn every plushie around so that they wouldn’t have to watch. According to you, you and Riki were your plushies’ parents, so it would be traumatizing for them to watch you and him make out.

Listen, Riki usually followed your rules perfectly. He treated all of your plushies with kindness.

But with his hoodie draped over your shoulders, with the way that your perfume was filling all his senses as you pulled his hair, with the way that you were all pressed up against him giggling into his ear while pressing sticky kisses against his neck— How could you expect him to stop all of a sudden just so that he can cover your Rilakkuma plush’s eyes?

"Riki—" you had murmured against his lips, your hands sliding down to his shoulders to give them a squeeze, "Riki, wait—"

He had ignored you, only gripping your waist to pull you even closer. 

"Ri—"

Riki cut you off with his lips, relishing in the way you let out a squeak. You melted at his touch, rendered completely helpless, something that made him grin against your lips.

And just as he thought he successfully shut you up, you swiftly pulled away from him. You were breathless, your pupils blown out yet filled with desperation. 

"Kkumi's watching," you breathed, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip as if that didn't make Riki's stomach do flips. Who was Kkumi again? Oh, it was your Strawberry Rilakkuma plush.

Riki clutched your chin, leaning in to kiss you, but you pushed him away. 

"Kkumi is a plushie," Riki rasped, bringing up his large hand to cup your cheek. "He can't see a damn thing."

"Kkumi is our child," you furrowed your brows, poking him in the chest. "Imagine if you saw your parents making out."

Riki shrugged.

The next moments were a blur.

Riki reached across your lap and grabbed Kkumi the Strawberry Rilakkuma plush. With one hand, he threw the plushie into the air, and with the other, he smacked it down to the floor, sending the plushie across the room. 

A shrill scream ripped from your throat as you watched in horror, your beloved Rilakkuma plushie wallowing on the floor below you. 

"Riki, how could you?!" you immediately jumped to your feet, picking Kkumi off the floor and cradling his poor face against your chest. 

"He's a stupid plush," Riki murmured, frowning when you shot him an offended look.

You scoffed. "He's not stupid!"

"He is."

And that's how Riki found himself you-less, all cold now that you were ignoring him.

Fine, maybe he went too far throwing and punching your plushie, and maybe he shouldn't have called it stupid, but it simply wasn't fair! Your plushies got to see you everyday and sleep with you every night, and he didn't.

He glanced at Kkumi the Strawberry Rilakkuma, his eyes hardening at the darn thing. Was he seriously going to apologize to it?

Riki's eyes flickered over to you, the upset pout on your lips. Oh, how much he wanted to kiss them right now. You'd whine and push him away, but Riki knew that you'd melt. Still, he knew you were serious. You took every and all matters related to your plushies very seriously.

Riki sighed. Making sure that you were looking, he got up to his feet, stalking over to Kkumi on the floor. He grabbed the plush's face and held it by the ears, taking a good look at its fabric face.

"I'm sorry," Riki said through gritted teeth, (not-so-)sneakily peeking to see if you were watching. "I'm sorry for hitting you and calling you stupid, Kkumi."

He waited a few seconds. Surely you'd let him kiss you again after this, right?

"Kiss his forehead," you ordered, your arms crossed over your chest.

"W-What?"

"You heard me," you rolled your eyes. "You've been a bad father. That's your child there."

Riki stared at you incredulously. You only stared back with a quirked brow, almost as if you were testing him. Riki sighed once more.

The things that he did for you.

Riki brought the bear's forehead to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. Riki could hear your judgy eyes, so he took it a step further. 

Awkwardly petting the plush's head, Riki robotically, though gently, said, "I'm sorry for being a bad father. I'll do better in the future."

Riki whipped his head over to you for approval. You narrowed your eyes quizzically, before you took in a deep breath.

"Do you forgive me—"

"Fine," you muttered, opening your arms. "I forgive y— Ack!"

The moment that those words came out of your lips, Riki jumped on you, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"I missed you," he murmured against your skin. 

"It's been ten minutes," you flicked his forehead gently, though your hands took their place in his hair.

"Well, it was the worst ten minutes of my life."

You didn't say anything else, so Riki took that as a sign to snuggle up even further against you, his large body draping over you. You were so warm, and soft, and comforting, Riki couldn't imagine living another moment not close to you. He felt so calm. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if he just closed his eyes a little bit, after all, you were with him, engulfing him with your warmth.

Slowly, Riki drifted off, with nothing but the image of you in his head.

(Though, a few hours later, when the both of you woke up, you went to grab a glass of water for the both of you. Riki made sure that you were nowhere to be seen as he raised his fist towards the many plushies lining your bed, punching them square in the face. Sorry, he loved you, but his beef with your plushies would be endless.)

[starmaidengarden]

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬|𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥 !

contexts: just some adorable headcanons about the Heartslabyul boys

— Riddle : Trey : Cater : Ace : Deuce: x gn!reader. no cw/tw. cute headcanons. pt1! Pic: Leo08ph on twt, dividers: uzmacchiato

riddle rosehearts ༉⋆｡˚

First, I don't think this is a surprise to anyone but he gets flustered very easily. he doesn't know what to do with his hands when you hold them. practically going into full shutdown mode if you kiss him on the cheek.

Riddle tries to come off as strict and respectable, but when he relaxes, he says things like, “You did well… I’m proud of you,” only to instantly stiffen as if to say, “Oh no, was that too much?”

He makes tea for you every morning and you can bet he'll pack you snacks. He'll give you some excuse like, “I thought you might need a boost today,”

He organizes perfect tea parties with fresh scones, fruit tarts (thanks to Trey), and your favorite tea at just the right temperature. preparing everything and acts like it’s no big deal.

He overthinks everything you do. If you brush his hand while walking together, he’ll spiral for the rest of the night wondering, “Was that on purpose? Were they cold? Should I have offered my coat?!”

He’s not so big on PDA. He will probably allow hand-holding but only that. If it's inside then he will give you all the affection you want.

You might be his S/O but you aren’t exempt from being punished accordingly if you break any rules but maybe he’ll go a teensy bit soft on you.

He will be on you 24/7 to make sure you are doing okay in classes. He’s only strict on you because he loves you and wants you to succeed.

trey clover ༉⋆｡˚

He makes special desserts just for you based on your preferences. If you casually mention liking strawberry shortcake once, congratulations! That’s now your official treat.

When he's flustered or stressed, he bakes to calm down, and you're always the first person he shares the “test batch” with.

His touches are so gentle and sweet, like the lightest caress, as he playfully brushes crumbs off your face or gently pats your head in a quiet moment.

He notices when you’re tired or when you just need a break from people—he'll helps you without making a fuss.

His gaze lingers longer than you'd expect; he looks at you as if memorizing every detail for later—your eyelashes, your smile lines, all of it.

He quietly does things to make your life easier, like carrying your books, adjusting your schedule, or making your snacks. Yet when you thank him, he just shrugs it off with, “I don’t mind. I like doing things for you.”

He’s like a pocket-sized survival kit, always prepared with tissues, bandages, or spare pens; essentially, he's a walking “prepared boyfriend.”

He listens incredibly well; you mention something just once, and he remembers it months later.

He always walks you home after late club meetings or dorm activities—always.

cater diamond ༉⋆｡˚

Deep down, he’s a bit worried about being forgotten or replaced, so when he falls, he falls hard.

At first, he flirts casually, but when he realizes his feelings are real, he pauses for a moment and then says, “You… really mean a lot to me. Like, seriously. A bit scary, huh?”

If you tell him he doesn’t have to put on a show around you, he’ll show you his softer side, resting his head on your shoulder in comfy silence.

He’s somewhat into PDA, he’s not necessarily against it and he wasn’t one to deny you whenever you get the urge to touch him. Holding hands? Okay! A kiss on the cheek? Okay! Hugs? Also Okay! He would accept all of that with open arms. And maybe he’ll put in a little kiss here and there when he can, he can’t help but feel a little bit mischievous whenever you’re near.

Sends you sweet random texts like “Thinking of you right now” (Translation: he’s missing you and hoping you’re having an great day!)

He created entire playlists and claims it’s just for fun, but you know it’s special!

Surprises you with flowers or little trinkets saying, “Saw this and thought of you~!” because he loves making you smile.

Personalizes your contact in his phone with cute hearts, sparkles, and a picture of you laughing—his absolute favorite, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

Always capturing candid moments of you—your camera roll is filled with adorable shots labeled “cutie caught off guard!”

ace trappola ༉⋆｡˚

Constantly teasing you, dropping half-hearted pick-up lines just to see you roll your eyes—but if you ever return the energy? He short-circuits. “You’re blushing!” — “No I’m not, shut up!!”

Give you snacks he “just happened to grab two of” even though he clearly picked them because you mentioned liking them once.

He secretly sketches cute little doodles of you in his notebooks—but denies it if you happen to find them.

He'll lend you his hoodies saying, “Just make sure to give it back!” But deep down, he loves seeing you wear them.

If you’re having a bad day, he won’t make a big deal out of it—he’ll just find some dumb ways to make you laugh.

He’ll argue with you over stupidity things like “who gets the last cookie” just to be bratty… and then sneak some cookies into your bag later.

Loves inside jokes. He’ll start referencing that one moment from two months ago just to make you smile when no one else gets it.

Late-night convos while lying upside down on a couch, Sneaking snacks into class, Mock arguments about who’s cooler (he always says it’s him—but still smiles when you insist it’s you). Him doing dumb magic tricks with cards just to impress you, Secret, soft forehead kisses when you’re half asleep.

He tries. Like, he really tries. And sometimes he messes up because he’s immature or overthinks it, but he always owns up to it. “I was being kinda dumb earlier, huh? …Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

He cares a lot about you! SOS him and he’ll come running as fast as he can to help you with everything you need. He wants you to rely on him whenever you need help.

deuce spade ༉⋆｡˚

Not much changes after you start dating. You still hang out with friends, go to classes together and still get into some trouble together just like always. However, he feels happier and more at ease now that you two are dating.

He's excited to explore all the romantic couple activities he's seen in films or read about, enjoying them with you without Ace and Grimm around.

Will walk you to class like it’s a knight’s duty, even if it makes him late.

Tries to act chill when he’s flustered, but ends up stumbling over his words and laughing awkwardly. It’s adorable.

He enjoys hearing you talk about your interests, even if he doesn’t grasp every detail—he loves seeing your excitement and energy.

Loves doing small favors for you. most of the time, he shows his care through acts of service. Carrying your books, walking you home, making sure you eat—but always brushes it off with, “It’s nothing, Just being helpful.” (But then he glows the rest of the day.)

Gets ridiculously excited over small thank-yous or praise—it fuels him for the whole week.

He’s incredibly soft with animals. He’ll crouch down to help a baby bird or carry a caterpillar off the path so it won’t get stepped on.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Strawberry Shortcake

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!baker!reader

♥ synopsis: your mother owned a bakery in australia and oscar, your childhood best friend was your favorite regular until he had to move away for his racing career. you've since become head chef and people are beginning to wonder where or who oscar got his impeccable baking skills from.

♥ smau + written - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive jokes !!!

♥ a/n: literal tooth rotting fluff

-Australia, 2024-

liked by user26, user7, user14, and 18,302 more

y/n.pastries getting ready for spring with some new cupcakes <3

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user14 looks yummy 😋

yoursister do I get a family discount?

yourusername no 🥰

user7 face card is insane

user21 looks good! i’ll stop by and pick up some things soon 😊

user25 you’re gorgeous

user23 your cupcakes never miss

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Webs Most Searched Questions-

"Is Lando Norris..." he peeled off the thin white strip. "Related to Chuck Norris?"

"Yes," Lando jokingly admitted, gazing straight into the camera as Oscar tossed the card aside.

The team walked up to the two men and handed Lando another card of questions to ask his teammate.

"Does Oscar Piastri... really like pastries? I dunno, do you Oscar?"

"I do like pastries," Oscar nodded. "I like making them more, though."

"You know how to bake?" Lando questioned.

"An old friend taught me." he admitted.

"You’ll have to bring some treats in for the team one day, then."

"Maybe one day I will. Cupcakes are my specialty."

"Oh are they?" Lando raised a brow. "I'm gonna need some proof of that."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, mclarenracingf1, logansargeant, and 1,482,053 more

oscarpiastri made some cupcakes for the team like i promised

view comments

user2 oh he cooked 😮‍💨

user1 the piping >>>

user3 i’m not surprised that he’s good at piping

user7 he can pipe me any day

user10 OSCAR CAN THROW DOWN

user6 no bc why do those look so good

landonorris i expect you to bring these every day now

user4 now whom exactly did he learn this from

user8 flavor?

oscarpiastri vanilla cupcake with buttercream, some with a lemon custard filling and some without for varied pallets

user9 get this man on a baking show asap

user11 and then Oscar opened a cupcake shop and him and Charles did a Collab birthday cake ice cream

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Your Bakery, March 12-

The golden bell on your bakery’s door chimed late in the afternoon as you swept, getting ready for closing.

Your back was facing the entrance as you spoke up, “Perfect timing. I was just about to lock the door. What can I get for ya?”

“A strawberry shortcake.”

You spun around, recognizing the man’s voice instantly.

It was Oscar.

You hadn’t seen him in about a decade, but you still occasionally took time to follow his racing. You were hoping that one day he’d find his way back to you.

“Hi,” you greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hi.”

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he responded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You reached down to grab the small cake from the cold display case, “You know, your mum reached out to me.”

“She did? What’d she say?”

“Just how she wants us to reconnect and all. She visits me pretty often.”

Oscar hummed, as you set the cake on the counter.

“…To-go?” you asked.

He shook his head no, “Would you like to sit down with me?”

You nodded, plating the treat and walking out from behind the check out. You locked the door and he grabbed two small pink forks, handing one to you as you took a seat across from him.

“My mum, she would uhm…” he stabbed the utensil into the cake. “At every race she got to see in person she’d bring me a pastry from here. She’d make sure to tell me it was made by you and how your business was doing and all. I always performed better when she brought me them, too. It was always nice to know a piece of you was with me everywhere I went.“

You practically melted at the confession.

“That’s really sweet,” you dragged the tongs of your fork through some of the icing.

“I see that you’ve made a name for yourself in the Formula 1 baking community.” you both laughed.

“I had a great teacher.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, both taking bites from the cake.

“I’m sorry i didn’t visit sooner,” Oscar apologized.

“I’m just glad you’re here now.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 23,847 more

y/n.pastries race weekend

view comments

oscarpiastri ferrari cookies really?

y/n.pastries i’m making mclaren ones too relax

charles_leclerc @/oscarpiastri is that any way to treat your father’s team?

user4 spectacular give me 14 more of em right now

user6 take my money 💳

landonorris so THIS is who taught @/oscarpiastri how to cook 🔥

y/n.pastries perhaps

user3 guys she’s so pretty

user1 @/nicolepiastri what’s the lore here

user8 obsesseddd

user10 hear me out she should sell these at the melbourne circuit

user7 this !!!

liked by oscarpiastri, arthur_leclerc, landonorris, and 100,583 more

nicolepiastri it was about time you two reconnected

tagged; @/oscarpiastri @/y/n.pastries

view comments

oscarpiastri mummm

y/n.pastries 😅

landonorris what's up with that second picture

oscarpiastri no comment

user7 the amount of times i've seen f1 drivers dressed as nintendo characters is uncanny

user4 paul aaron and dino core

user1 AWWWW

user8 this is so cute

logansargeant @/oscarpiastri how come i’ve never heard of this? don't tell me you fumbled this bad

oscarpiastri 😐

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Australian Grand Prix-

At your bakery Oscar insisted that you attend this year’s Australian Grand Prix. You finally got the privilege of meeting so many amazing people such as Leo the famous paddock puppy and none other than Oscar’s best friend, Logan.

You stood in the Mclaren garage with Oscar’s parents as the team prepped for the race. You brought some cookies for Lando to which he complained that he wouldn’t be able to eat them until after the podium ceremony.

-

The two made their way back to you a few hours later, Lando in p3 and Oscar in p4. Lando snatched the tin of cookies from your hands.

“You know you’re supposed to share that?” you said as he took a seat, devouring the treats, but he just waved you off.

You gave Oscar a hug and he pulled you off to the side.

“So I was thinking… maybe I could take you on a proper date tomorrow?

You smiled, “That sounds great.”

liked by landonorris, logansargeant, georgerussell63, and 1,394,623 more

oscarpiastri morning

view comments

user1 you don’t have to soft launch we all know you’re with y/n

user2 there’s only one person who can make those croissants and it’s y/n

user5 the third picture 😨

user3 she’s so lucky 😭

user4 @/yourusername how does it feel to live MY dream?

georgerussell63 @/alex_albon who takes all the shirtless pictures now

alexalbon still you mate

-F1 Winter Break-

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, f1, and 1,492,053 more

y/n.pastries I am very pleased to announce three new limited additions to the bakery’s menu! Carlos Sainz’ pancakes, Yuki Tsunoda’s Fruit Sando, and the LEC Vanillove ice cream sandwich.

The fans have been dying to try my boyfriend Oscar’s (basic) vanilla buttercream cupcakes, so I’ll be keeping them as a year round pastry.

It has been an honor to work with the four of you <3

tagged; @/carlossainz55 @/yukitsunoda0511 @/charles_leclefc @/oscarpiastri

view comments

oscarpiastri im so proud of you ❤️

y/n.pastries i love you osc

oscarpiastri i love you too

oscarpiastri also my signature cupcake is not “basic”

y/n.pastries whatever you say 😉

user1 guys yuki is slowly starting to accomplish his restaurant dreams

pierregasly no creds?

y/n.pastries for?

pierregasly helping yuki

y/n.pastries yea… no

pierregasly helping charles?

y/n.pastries 😐

user2 yukierre and piarles are so back

user7 the childhood friends to lovers is melting my heart 😩

user8 theyre so adorable it makes me physically ill

user3 i’m pretty sure nicole is jumping up and down right now

oscarpiastri oh don’t worry she is

[moonlit-imagines]

warnings:

a/n: sorry guys…this will be the last request i accept for a baby/toddler/child (agewise) reader!! it’s been added to the rules but do not fear anon!! this one goes out to you 💕💕

requested by anonymous

Tony only left for five minutes to take a shower, and in all those five minutes, you got loose.

“What are you talking about, JARVIS? Y/N’s two, they couldn’t have opened the door! You let them out?” Tony yelled, running through the halls with wet feet and shampoo in his hair.

“No, sir, they seem to have figured out a way to open it themselves.” JARVIS replied. “Please be careful, sir. You may slip.” He added, but Tony was only focused on wrangling you. “Y/N should be in the kitchen now.” And as Tony turned the corner, he found you with your toy wagon full of building blocks, a stack of “stairs” you’d created with them, and your head in the fridge with all sorts of food on the ground.

“Strawberries?” Tony asked you, in awe of your invention—not original by any means, but impressive for a two year old.

“Stwahbewwy?” You replied in an innocuous baby accent and your dad put you safely on the floor, reaching into the drawer that contained your favorite treat. “Tank you.” You grabbed your fruits and wandered over to the couch.

“If that wasn’t the proof you needed to know y/n’s yours, I don’t know what is.” JARVIS commented, beginning to pull the video feed from your adventure and adding it to the “Baby Book” file in Tony’s experiment collection.

“You think I ever doubted it? Y/N’s got my perfect facial hair, duh.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[softness-and-shattering]

Why on earth are they *mandating* they become outdoor cats?

Lowkey grossed out by the Cats Protection Society branch in Leeds having so many entries that say "this cat was previously an indoor cat, but you have to make them an outdoor cat now, and we won't adopt them to an indoor home"

I love sacrificing the cats i rescue to be hit by cars i guess

[darkstalker-void]

Why are you running? WhY aRe yOu RunNiNG??

[tasteracha]

strawberry cake

word count: 1.3k

warnings: afab!reader, reader x jisung, consensual somnophilia, smut - MINORS DNI.

synopsis: jisung fucks you in your sleep idk there's no other plot here

i’m wet and you’re not home to help me 

i’m going to bed 

don’t wake me up when you get back

(i’m wearing the shorts)

11:09 pm

these are the texts jisung was met with when he finally got a chance to look at his phone. it was almost midnight, his muscles hurt beyond compare and his eyelids felt like lead when he tried to blink, but the simple message that you had sent him made his entire body sing in excitement. 

it wasn’t often that you allowed him this - you liked to be awake to watch his features morph in ecstasy when he first sank into you, wanted to witness the way his eyes rolled back into his head when he came. today was a different case though; you genuinely were tired, and you knew that even if you tried to stay awake for him that you would fall asleep halfway through, and wouldn’t that be a kick to jisung’s self esteem?

so you created this system of sorts. a pair of sleep shorts that you bought that was in a color you never usually wore, just so there was no chance of confusion. a signal that jisung was allowed to do whatever he wanted to you, whether or not you were awake - when you first brought it up to him he was apprehensive, but neither one of you could ignore the way his cock jumped in his boxers at the idea.

just like it was now, as he was rushing through packing his bag so he could make it home to you. he makes it home in what must be a record breaking time, nearly sweating in excitement the entire way. if he got any judgemental looks from the way he bumped into people as he sped by, he didn’t notice, too focused on his goal to give them a sparing thought.

your body was a lump under the comforter when he finally approached you, blankets pulled around you like a cocoon so only your face was still visible. he almost felt bad at the thought of having to remove you from the warmth, but his neediness won over it. 

he takes his clothes off hastily, shivering when the cold air hit his feverish skin, but he paid it no mind - there was one thing running through his thoughts right now and it was making his dick harden at an alarming rate. 

he kneels on the side of the bed, peeling back the comforter just to make sure the shorts were still on - they were, of course they were. you wouldn’t tease him like that, but even when you were asleep your consent was important. he wouldn’t do anything to betray your trust. 

you weren’t a light sleeper, which worked to his benefit. the cold air didn’t cause you to stir at all even though you were clad in a old bralette and skimpy shorts. he could see the outline of your nipples hardening through the fabric of your bralette, though, and he couldn’t resist from reaching towards them to rub at them with his thumbs. if awake, you would have shivered and whined, sensitivity ruling over your impulses, but now you don’t react at all. it was like you were a doll, and if your chest wasn’t rising and falling with your breaths he might believe that you were. 

if his cock wasn’t hard before, it certainly was now. 

he couldn’t resist from stopping to look at you, a rare thing that you don’t usually allow him to do when you were awake. his eyes roamed from the curve of your nose to the dark circles under your eyes to the plush bow of your lips, features completely relaxed. you’re beautiful. his hand moves up to your face, cupping it gently and moving it towards him so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. even though you didn’t feel it, he wanted you to know that he loves you. 

god, he loves you so much.

you let out a soft snuff of breath when he grazes his hands over your hips and he freezes, watching your features carefully until he was sure that they remained soft with sleep. while he wouldn’t mind you being awake, that wasn’t part of the plan. you had said not to wake you up, and he was nothing if not obedient. 

he pulls your shorts down to reveal your bare pussy, panties left off and a wet patch glistening on the crotch of your shorts. had you touched yourself before going to bed, thinking of him? did you come, moaning his name and wishing it was on his dick? or did you edge yourself, priming your body for him, making it ready?

either way, the evidence of your arousal was enough to make him snap as he crawls over you, a dangerously possessive look on his face as he finally takes his cock in his hand. he runs the tip of it through your folds, collecting your slick on him, and the feeling of it makes him let out a groan. he lowers his head to your neck as he pushes in, the slide easy from how lax your body was. He let out a shaky breath as he pushed fully into your tight heat as he moves his lips to your pulse point. the slow, rhythmic rush of blood follows through to his hips as he thrusts in small motions, holding himself back from taking you the way he so desperately wanted to. 

he took your limp hands in his, intertwining your fingers together before pressing them to the mattress above your head. holding you down, even though you weren’t awake to move regardless. he backs up a bit as he picks up his rhythm, focusing on the tiny furrow of your brow and the way your mouth twisted up in pleasure. 

you were clenching around him without restraint, like your body was unconsciously trying to keep him inside of you. he let go of one of your hands, wrapping his fingers around both of your wrists to keep them in place as his free hand wandered down your body to your clit. he rubbed at it experimentally, gasping when your hips jerked up to meet his automatically. he started a slow rhythm with his fingers as he continued fucking into you. your breaths was coming out in short huffs, lips parting again and again with every one, your body responding to the stimulation in a way your mind likely wasn’t. he wonders what you were dreaming about, if you were; he hopes that it’s about him. 

without warning, your body shakes through a helpless orgasm but you remain asleep, eyes fluttering behind your lids. jisung barely has time to spare a thought of how that was even possible before he was hurtling towards his own, the rhythmic clenching of your cunt milking everything out of him until he was barely able to hold himself up over you. he collapses next to you, pressing kiss after kiss to whatever part of your body he could reach, whispering praises to you in between that fell on deaf ears.

when he could stand without his legs feeling like jelly he cleans you up, gently wiping at your dripping hole with a warm washcloth, fixated on the way you clenched on nothing when he passed over your swollen clit. he throws the rag to the side, climbing back over you so he could settle himself at your side and when he looked at you - 

your eyes were open. 

“how long have you been awake?” jisung asks, blinking at you.

“since you started panting into my neck,” you giggle, reaching for him so you could pull him into your side. “you seemed to like me being asleep though, so i pretended.”

“god, it was so hot,” he says, looking up at you with shiny eyes, embarrassingly fond of you. “what did i do to deserve you?”

“well,” you take his wrist, guiding his hand down towards your stomach. “i can think of a few things you can do now.”

[obeymeluv]

How You Spend the Night Together [Riddle, Leona]

Featuring: Leona, Riddle

Romantic, fluffy blurbs. I know I have other stuff to put out but this just came easier.

I do want to note that I have an ask/fic request from a real user but that'll take more time to research/think/put out so I'm not super sure on a timeline for that yet. Just want to acknowledge that I've seen it. Might answer that one privately.

Had to cut Vil because I have to go to bed early (work in the morning). Leona's was supposed to be fluffy but I'm kind of feeling him out still. Let me know what you think.

As much as he must follow rules, he is also at the mercy of his own habits. Riddle insisted you freshen up in his private bath (perks of being a Housewarden) while he prepped his uniform for tomorrow. It seemed a little unusual--maybe a little creepy--but he had such a scheduled existence that it's comforting. He's pressing down lapels and analyzing the cuffs for lint and stray threads when he hears you humming in the bathroom. Riddle's careful to keep his back to the door, as you have it cracked instead of closed, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about peeking.

Only natural, right? He could never forsake the gift of your friendship, or how it had unexpectedly become more. You were the first unplanned, unscheduled thing in his life and you were wonderful.

Quite the gift.

Much like how Heartslabyul was surely a gift from the Sevens compared to Ramshackle. He didn't think Ace and Deuce would lie about the lack of hot water and such.

Riddle moves to his undershirt, ironing board waiting patiently just in front of the mannequin where the pieces of his uniform come together. He sets it up and begins smoothing it over the shirt. A small smile twists his lips as he hears the water drain. You'd scrimped and saved for some bath products and he's secretly delighted that you smell like strawberry.

He can smell it wafting gently into the room, riding on a kiss of heat.

Ooh he could just--

"You're fixing to burn your shirt," you smother a laugh into the towel, shutting the door to change. Riddle squawks, turning off the heat and flapping the shirt out to save it. Good, no burns, he sighs. You come out in a black and red ensemble and he's touched with pride because he bought those.

Those are his colors on you. And you look lovely.

"Ready for bed?" you watch him put the undershirt on the mannequin, button the vest, and hang the coat. The hanger holding the bottom half of his uniform is hooked on the hollow neck.

"After a small stretch, my rose." Riddle goes into some light stretches, pausing midway towards the ground, bent at the hip, when he realizes you'd already fluffed the pillows and pulled the comforter back.

Something shy and warm flutters in him. It's all very cozy. Riddle muffles a laugh with his arm as he grabs his elbow and leans to the right. You've decided to skip the stretches and root around for the comfiest spot in the bed.

Darling, really.

Satisfied but peering at him curiously, almost calling him, you wait for him. Riddle kisses your forehead as he slides in next to you. "Goodnight, my rose."

"Goodnight, Riddle."

-----

Malleus would usually send a few fireflies into your room or have them blink against the window so you weren't sure who was knocking. It could be Ace or Deuce but they'd give you a heads up at NRC if they were being kicked out for the night. Suspicious, you grabbed a broom from the kitchen on your way to the front door. It wasn't the best plan to swing the door wide open and jab but what were you going to do?

"Really, Herbivore?" Leona scoffs at you, broom handle in an impressive grip. He's got one hand in his pocket, broom handle pointed firmly over his left shoulder. You try to tug it back subconsciously but he doesn't relent, the leather of his glove squeaking around the wood.

"What did you expect me to do?" you ask in the small voice that stirs something in him. He could see your brow wiggle in that 'give me some credit, I'm trying!' way.

It's tough trying to be mean when you're meant to be soft, isn't it?

Soft and his.

"To remember I was coming over to get you, at least." Leona moves past you to jam the broom back in the first corner of the kitchen he laid eyes on. You barely hold back a sneeze as his tail flicks up under your nose when he passes.

"You were being serious?" you lock the door back and follow him into the kitchen. His ear flicks so you know he heard you. Leona was a beastman full of surprises that you were slowly unwrapping as he let you. Behind his lazy facade was a literal genius and someone very interested in infrastructure and architecture. He's giving Ramshackle the side-eye and identifying weak points at the same time.

"Yep," Leona turns away from his assessing and scoops you up, putting you over his shoulder. You give a surprised yelp but he pays no mind, free hand stuffed in his pocket as he climbs the stairs effortlessly. You're comforted by the firm, corded muscle keeping you balanced on his shoulder. "I told you I was going to."

Crewel would often slide you a handful of thaumarks for 'on-site maintenance and collection' of potion ingredients after seeing Sam pay you in similar fashion for the shop and not get any flack from Crowley (not that he paid enough attention to you, in his opinion). While picking different things and updating your 'tips and tricks' notebook, you'd disturbed Leona.

Easy to do.

You were basically done and literally shushed him when he started to complain, saying it was his own fault for staying awake when he could be rolling over and going to sleep. Leona was mildly offended and intrigued. You had a mouth on you, didn't you?

Sometimes he hated that you were pretty, smart, funny, and self-sufficient. How was he supposed to make himself useful? It was hard enough since all of his reflexes revolved around him being a sarcastic ass. "Instead of shushing me, you should listen to my offer." he looked up at you with one eye, the other smashed closed since his face was pressed into his hand.

"Oh? Go on then," you gestured to him, one hand on your hip.

"I give you the money in my wallet and you let me nap. Keep an eye out so no one wakes me up again." he yawned.

That sounded easy and Leona wasn't the type to leave you empty-handed because you WOULD show up and royally screw with his sleep. He knew this, you knew this. "I'll bite. I could use the break," you sighed, flopping down beside him.

Leona was out in less than five minutes but he moved in his sleep. He rolled, growled--all kinds of things! You were surprised to find he wasn't a loud snorer. His hands were very active, often digging in the soil or scratching lines in it and you wondered if he was hunting in his sleep. Maybe fighting or wrestling some meat off of something. With a snort and muddled roar, he rolled over and plonked his head in your lap.

It scared you and you froze.

It was the first time you'd seen him up close, his tanned skin complimented by the rich chocolate of his hair. You'd never noticed the tiny braids scattered throughout, just the bigger one at the side. He had beads and tiny things woven into his hair. They must be from the Sunset Savanna, you thought, pulling the tail of a braid away from the corner of his mouth. His mouth curled in a snarl, relaxing as he snuggled down in your lap.

Your alarm went off twenty minutes later. Leona sat up, his eyes bleary with sleep, and leaned forward just enough to fish his wallet out of his pocket. "Don't look too much into it," Leona was suddenly looking away at anything and everything in the garden, "but that was a good nap. I'd pay for another one later tonight."

Was he blushing?

Your back hit your bed, snapping you out of your thoughts. The money he'd slapped into your hand--A LOT!--was still on your dresser from where you'd emptied your pockets and changed into pajamas. Leona did his best to slide into your bed smoothly but, to be frank, the sheets were shit.

Kind of scratchy. His eyes had already adjusted to the dark and he was pretty sure he saw stitches where you or the ghosts had patched up some holes.

"You don't have to pay people to love you, you know." you tell him quietly. There's uncertainty in your voice, like you didn't know if you should say it. "You do have things people admire, Leona. And it's not the money."

He didn't want to think about that right now. It was nice to hear it though. You had no idea how precious, how rare, you were. A little hidden gem in this sad excuse of a dorm.

"I'm a man of my word, Herbivore." Leona realizes your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness when you try to figure out where he's at and accidentally brush against his right ear. You've got a stunned gentleness about you as you feel your way around his ear, tracing the shape and rubbing circles into the fur cautiously. He inhales the smell of your warm skin against him, tempted to skim his teeth over the soft spot on the inside of your elbow. "Now gimme my nap." Leona pushes his head against your throat until you've settled on your back.

He settles over you like a warm blanket. Leona smells faintly of musk, sun, sandalwood, and something that reminds you of cinnamon. "You gonna sleep in your clothes?" you laugh and it tickles his ears.

"I'll pay you an extra fifty thaumarks to shut it." he yawns. You flick his ear. "Please." he adds.

"Only if you buy me breakfast in the morning." you joke.

I'd buy it forever, Leona snorts and shushes you.

"Get some rest, Leona."

He knew his sleep wouldn't be as deep as when he was in the garden. He'd never slept in Ramshackle and he had to learn the sounds. Keep an ear out to make sure your territory was safe. It wouldn't be the most restful sleep, but it would be the most cherished.

[sheepwavehdg]

some HDG story recs out that aren't the most super popular stories you'll easily find by asking anyone or easily find via metric ranking. all are on the shorter end, and readable in a day if not a single sitting! a great list for some hidden gems.

Reading the Leaves by Kanagen: a tea shop romance story about a mostly mute protaganist trying to make the perfect cup for an affini she is down bad for.

Behind the Veil by shitpostleft: IMO, the hottest oneshot in the entire setting. It follows rebecca trying to talk to her affini boyfriend about why he put a notice of intent to domesticate on her.

A Beast At Bay by Raeisteria: Affini beat each other up! this one starts as a shonen battle arc and then changes. you should read it, and do so blinndly, you will not regret it (but you will probably cry)

Strawberry and Willow by immaterial_vivi: the typical HDG rebel capture scenario is turned on its head, in the sense that the story is mostly from the affini's perspective.

Core Carving by Stimulacrum: a second person affini POV story about coming home and letting your floret be the one to take care of you for a bit.

A Part of Who I am my MoonFloret: its hdg romance, but transmasc yaoi instead of transfem yuri! it rules!

Last Man Standing by Tsunmene: the single funniest HDG story I have ever read, about a seed desperate to get forcefemmed who keeps barely missing getting captured by the affini no matter how hard they try.

Force Majeure by ashinbloom: the most devastating gut punch of a story ever put to the page in HDG, about a very autistic girl and the woman who wishes she could take care of her like she wishes. this one hurts real good.

Florets of a Feather by Promilie: a biology student who was forcibly drafted into the navy gets domesticated and must learn to live with her connivent, a feathered catlike xeno called a khetari. has illustrations in many chapters! (Promilie is one of the settings absolute best visual artists.)

A Date with Miss Laburnia by PyxxieStyxx: a bratty terran goes on a date with an affini in chastity and things escalate.

Mistress's Imperative by mirrorgare: submissive affini/dommy floret vignette series

Growing Periwinkle by belenen: a depressed terran volunteers for domestication and becomes part of a very kinky social circle.

Pencil by sheepwave(me): a comedy-hypnoerotica adaptation of the "mistress can you turn me into a pencil" meme into a full oneshot its my list i can include one of mine

Thought I'd See You Again by fluxom: an escaped floret has been on the run for a year, but now an affini just won't leave her alone...

Puppy Paws by Moonchild: actual petplay! in hdg! i know, its crazy. also this story is insanely hot.

The Place Where We Can Stop Running by Dame Harmony: ok I lied about them all being short. this one is long, but its so good. you need to read it, you need to read it blind, knowing nothing, and you will not regret it. it's one of the best stories in the entire setting.

[megalony]

Merciless Wrath

This is a new Emperor Geta imagine requested by anon, thank you all for the lovely feedback on my Gladiator fics so far. I hope you will all like it.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05

Main Masterlist

Part 2

Part 3

Summary: Geta loves how timid his wife is when it comes to watching the Gladiators. But Hell rises when one of the fighters decides to shoot an arrow and hits the Empress.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was one thing Geta knew would get the people's spirits up and gain both Emperors some favour with their people, it was his wife.

The people's Empress.

Geta had never seen the people rejoice so much as when he married (Y/n). The people loved her; they admired her and her calm nature and philisophic words and how she could settle any argument and bring a sense of calm to Rome.

Which was one of the reasons he had asked her to come to the colosseum today. The people were rejoicing, Rome had expanded her victories and gained another country to govern and rule over. This was a week of victory games of all makes and sizes and extravagance and Geta knew the people would be even more hyped and excited if their Empress showed up.

It hadn't taken much for Geta to convince (Y/n) to come to the games. He knew fighting wasn't something (Y/n) enjoyed to watch. Seeing blood spill over the sand and limbs being torn and discarded. Guts being exposed and spilled onto the floor, screams of anguish and the stench of death. It was all overwhelming and disgruntling for (Y/n) to witness.

She didn't see the pleasurable side of watching men fight to the death and maim and torture one another. She didn't feel that pleasurable ecstasy that her husband and brother in law did when they watched the games.

But (Y/n) didn't want to oppose her husband. He had asked her so sweetly if she would attend the games and be there by his side. How could (Y/n) refuse? When Rome had just expanded her victories and both Emperors were celebrating and being praised, it was (Y/n)'s place to be here beside them. She couldn't stay back in the palace and miss out on the games when she should be showing her support and appreciation.

Which was why she was now stood in the viewing box in the colosseum, her hand entwined with Geta's and her cheek resting comfortably on his shoulder while she tucked herself close into his side. Her right hand curled around his exposed arm and she leant into his side as they overlooked the arena.

She couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips when she glanced up at her husband. The smile he wore was somewhat wicked but devilishly so and it made his eyes narrow and crease as he looked onto their subjects. His lips were painted a pale shade of red and his features were the colour of milk with dark circles drawn around his eyes like a lunar eclipse.

His golden hair was neatly framed around his forehead and ears and the glittering crown he always wore was nestled neatly into his hair, making him every inch a God amongst humans.

(Y/n) liked the way Geta's rings flashed in the bright sunlight when he waved to the people, and the cuff on his left wrist which shone and sparkled like a twinkling star in the middle of the day.

Once the cheering of the crowds simmered down, they each took a step back towards the chairs set out for them. As always, (Y/n) took the centre chair so she was in between both Emperors.

It was so eerily strange to see the way Geta would sit straight with his chin pointed out and a stoic expression. Whereas when (Y/n) looked to her right at Caracalla, he sat like a child. One leg crossed over the other, slouched down in his seat with that sweet smile and his hands tapping away on the arm rests or clapping, depending on how exciteable he was.

Once she was sat down, (Y/n) leaned towards the left so she was nearer to Geta. She liked how, without taking his eyes off the colosseum, he slid his right hand towards her until his fingers curled around her own. He began to glide his thumb along the side of her hand and he squeezed every now and then while his other hand began to run along his chin and down the side of his neck.

"Okay?" He muttered and cast his eyes to the right to look over at (Y/n). Her smile dazzled him and he loved the feeling of her other hand moving so her fingers could trail up and down his arm that she was leaning against.

"Hm." She nodded and leant over to peck his cheek, an action that caused blood to rush to the surface beneath his painted skin.

(Y/n) wasn't going to be watching the games today. She would sit here and show support, but she would only be glancing down at the scene every now and then. She didn't mind seeing the start, the men gearing up to attack and the beginning of them toying and playing the part. But once the blood splattered and wounds were inflicted, (Y/n) would be looking away.

"Did I tell you that you look beautiful today?" Those words, whispered against the side of (Y/n)'s temple took her by surprise.

She could feel her heart igniting in her chest, especially when Geta kissed her temple and nudged his nose against her skin before he leaned back in his chair again.

She turned to face him, noticing that his gaze was trained dead ahead as the first gladiators were being announced, but he spared her a glance when he felt her staring. And the sight of her smiling bashfully made Geta's lips quirk up to one side.

"You might have mentioned it once or twice." (Y/n) was sure he had told her at least four times already, but each time he did he made her heart fluctuate and had adrenaline swarming through her system.

When the first game began, (Y/n) tried to watch. She clenched her hand around Geta's and sat forward in her seat to try and see properly. She may as well show an interest until the wounds started to become inflicted and she would have to look away.

It was soothing to feel Geta's hand periodically squeezing hers and how his fingers would dance and tap against her skin like he had far too much energy or as if he wanted to join in the games. That would be too dangerous, of course, but (Y/n) had seen Geta when he trained. He was a vision with a sword and even more so with that devilish smile and his opponent on their knees begging for their life.

It didn't take long for the blood to be shed.

A few minutes, if that, of prancing around the arena, taking little jibes and swipes at each other. That all came to an end when the shorter fighter made a move and sliced a cut against his opponent's arm.

(Y/n) was okay for the first minute or two, being in this viewing box game the perfect angle and view of all the colosseum, but it did have the advantage of being high up and far off. She didn't have to see the wounds up close or see the damage clearly.

But being up here did mean that when one man struck his sword right through the other's abdomen, (Y/n) saw the blade come out flush the other side of the man's back.

Her stomach churned and she did her best to steel her expression while she turned to look at Geta instead.

He was used to it by now. In fact, Geta loved that whenever they witnessed the games, he would always find his wife staring at him. It was enticing and invigorating to watch the games knowing that his wife had decided to study his features instead.

He would often turn and see her smiling at him or find a lost, dazed look in her eyes. Sometimes he felt (Y/n) lean her chin on his shoulder and she would begin to trace the scars, marks and freckles on his skin. She would draw patterns across his skin and leave little kisses here and there and simply get lost looking at him until the games came to an end.

(Y/n) shuddered a little when Caracalla's excited chanting of "Kill him!" broke through the air, but she managed a smile and kept her eyes on Geta. Who leaned forward to watch the gladiator's demise.

(Y/n) kept drifting her eyes around the arena and then looking back to her husband as the next game began.

These two opponents were more rugged and ruthless than the last. They began by roaring and baring their sharpened, blackened teeth and they wasted no time in using the instruments they had been given to beat one another.

She found it interesting how easily these men were willing to fight, knowing they had a high chance of death. Their morals were very disgruntled, in (Y/n)'s opinion.

She turned her head at the wrong moment.

Her eyes cast down to the arena at the precise moment one man sliced his sword through the other's arm. His hand and wrist fell to the floor in one swift movement and a large splurt of blood began to paint the sand.

A gasp broke past (Y/n)'s lips and she quickly spun to the left as a tremor rattled through her. Both hands surged up to deadlock in Geta's robes and she buried her face into his chest, not caring how childish it made her look or who saw her.

A crooked grin spread across Geta's lips and he took the time to look down at his cherished wife before he looked back at the arena. He slouched back in his chair just a little and moved his right hand until his hand was cupping the back of (Y/n)'s neck and he could weave his fingers into her tendrils of hair. His touch was light and soft and he tilted his head down to peck the top of her head while his other hand began to glide up and down her arm.

It pleased him how she stuck to him and burrowed into him when she didn't want to witness the massacre. It made him feel loved and protective over her, how she sought comfort in him like this.

His fingers continued to stroke through her hair and his thumb brushed the back of her neck. His other hand remained on her arm, drawing patterns and creating a distraction for her to focus on while his sights remained on the game.

Although Geta's eyes did glance down towards his wife when he felt her move. She finally pulled her face up from where she was burrowed into his chest so she could stare up at him with her chin pressing lightly against his sternum. His hand remained still at the back of her neck and he inclined his head to the side, silently urging her to speak.

"I- I'm sorry, I can't watch-"

"Don't apologise for not having a violent heart. It's endearing." Each word was murmured against her temple and it caused (Y/n)'s stomach to jump with delight.

He found her lack of violence endearing. He loved how she shied away into him and couldn't bear to watch the torment and slaughter. He loved how compassionate his wife was and how she was being herself so freely before him and their people.

Once the fight finally ended and what was left of both men were dragged from the arena, (Y/n) pushed up from Geta's chest, but she stayed close to his side. She sat with one leg crossed over the other and her body leaning to the left so she was able to move both hands and curl them around Geta's arm.

Her eyes flitted about the arena and the colosseum, taking in the sights of the people cheering, leering and sitting forward in their seats to witness the next game with vigor.

Her fingers began to tap and parade across Geta's arm in an attempt to keep her mind off the next fight happening down in the arena. Every now and then, (Y/n) snook a glance at the fighters. There were more of them this time. Six gladiators, all with different weapons.

They were spaced around the arena, clearly trying to perform a longer fight to gain more attention from the crowds and create a more sumptous fight.

Some had shields, a few had swords or small thin blades. And one had a bow and arrow. That seemed unfair. Such a unique instrument needed distance to be used, but if the other gladiators got too close, it wouldn't be easy to hit them with an arrow. The instrument would have to be used like a spear instead and impaled by hand to make a difference.

This game seemed to be fuelled by chaos. (Y/n) pulled away from Geta a little so she could look down on the gladiators. They were moving too fast to keep an eye on who was who and which one had which weapon.

Blood painted the sand but the wounds were inflicted too fast for anyone to see who had been hit and where.

There seemed to be confusion around the colosseum, but (Y/n) couldn't make head nor tail of anything that was happening. She could hear Caracalla's fingers drumming away on the wooden arm rests of his chair, clearly becoming impatient and possibly a little riled up. And she knew Geta was sat up straight once again with his head tilted forward so he could try and decipher the game and who the victor might be.

Raised voices started to brood within the arena, but (Y/n) couldn't work out why, and she wasn't so sure anyone else in the colosseum understood either. No one knew why people were shouting from within the tunnels and windows within the base of the arena. No one knew why people were trying to open the gates when only one gladiator had fallen so far.

But then it happened.

An arrow, shot from one gladiator in the arena which wasn't aimed at any of his opponents.

The glimmering silver arrowhead pierced the sky like a bolt of lightning but it was so fast no one really saw it move. They only heard the wind breaking apart as the arrow broke through the amosphere.

(Y/n) had no time to move or gasp or even see what was happening before it was too late. The arrow hit her. The sharpened metal arrowhead pierced through her skin and hit her with such force that her body shifted and her back slammed back into the chair.

Her head slammed back into the wooden chair with enough force to cause her vision to blackout. Her body trembled but somehow stayed rigid in place and her heels slammed down into the floor as if to steady herself.

She screamed. A horrible, deafening sound that cut Geta right to the core as if the arrow had impaled him instead.

Geta twisted to the right, both hands grappling with the arm rest as he leaned over his chair to look at his wife. It was hard to keep his eyes on (Y/n) when he could hear everything else going on around them and he was desperate to look around the colosseum. He wanted to see the gladiators, to work out which one had stepped so far out of line that they were already dead. He wanted to see if people were trying to move and get closer or if they were trying to evacuate the colosseum.

But when he forced his darkened eyes to look at his wife, all the air seemed to block Geta's throat and his chest convulsed as his nose crinkled in unbridled horror.

Someone had shot his wife. An arrow had been aimed at them, right at the viewing box where no one was supposed to be able to reach or harm them from up here. An arrow had been aimed with such precision that it had pierced (Y/n)'s skin rather than simply passing her by or hitting the chair or the glasses of wine beside them.

Had they been aiming for (Y/n), or simply trying to hit anyone in the viewing box? It didn't really matter. Whoever shot this arrow had sealed their own fate. Geta would take heads for this.

He could hear Caracalla screaming and it only enraged him further. He didn't need people screaming, he needed them to help.

(Y/n) emmitted another scream before Geta even dared to reach his hand closer to the wound. Her body began to tremble but all Geta could do was stare at the arrow impaled in her skin.

It had gone completely through and come out the other side and the end of the arrow was imbedded in the wooden chair. She was pinned; skewered like a piece of butchered meat. It was two inches below her shoulder, just above her collar bone.

The sight of the blood was what made Geta's stomach churn. Blood and guts never bothered him, it was a sight he somewhat craved to see. But never like this. A droplet of his wife's blood being spilled in such a manner made him feel sickened. It was abhorant.

When (Y/n) screamed again and her body broke out in trembles, Geta scrambled out of his seat and moved so he was hovering in front of her. Slightly hunkered down until their knees were touching and he was all that she could see. Becoming a protective shield in front of her, just in case any more arrows or weapons were shot their way.

"G-Geta… oow…" A broken whine left (Y/n)'s wet lips as she looked from her husband to the arrow imbedded in her skin.

It hurt. It hurt so much. All the blood pumping around her body seemed to be circulating to her shoulder and no where else. All she could feel was the trickling of blood slithering down her chest and the agony that was throbbing in her shoulder and throughout her chest.

She couldn't stop the shaking that was making her rattle back and forth against the chair.

Had this ever happened to anyone before? Had any other Empress or Emperor been subjected to such cruelty whilst watching the games like this? She was supposed to be safe up here, protected. The gladiators shouldn't be aiming up here, they knew better, they knew they would be tortured for even attempting this. Let alone managing to wound anyone of royal blood like this.

"Okay, okay stay still. Shh, love."

Geta reached a tense, cold hand up so he could cup the side of (Y/n)'s face that was stained with tears and becoming flushed and glistening with sweat with each passing second.

His other hand gripped her right arm with fever and he tried to look at the wound.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to help her? He had no knowledge of this. Geta was trained and brought up on how to rule and govern his people, not on how to treat fatal wounds such as this.

"Get a healer!" Geta's voice boomed and echoed off the stone walls and his face started to turn scarlet, rising through the painted white make up that became almost non-existent compared to the amount of blood rushing to the surface.

His lips began to blush and his teeth sank down into his lower lip until blood was sticking to his teeth and welling up over his lips.

He was glad when everyone in the viewing box began to dissipate. Caracalla was guided out with Acacius and his wife while the two Senates at the back of the box left almost immediately, trying to push their way out first as if they feared a stray arrow aiming for them.

Only two guards remained in the box and Geta found the urge to dismiss them. They had been rendered useless. They hadn't helped stop the gladiator from causing this or stopping the arrow from hitting the Empress. They couldn't do much help now.

Another wave of tears poured down (Y/n)'s face and she tried to lean her cheek into Geta's palm, but she couldn't focus on anything but the pain. Her vision was starting to blurr before her and she could scarcely make out the golden hues of Geta's hair and robes. He was starting to look like a mirage in before her.

Geta scanned his eyes around the box, looking in vain to find something useful but he wasn't even sure what he was searching for.

How could he help her? What could he do? What was here that he could use to his advantage to make this better until the healer arrived?

There was a cloth resting on the table beneath a bowl of dried fruits and a pitcher of wine. With one swift pull, Geta tore the cloth from beneath the bowls and pushed up higher so he was level with the wound that was making him sick to his stomach.

"Okay, sweetheart I need to stop the bleeding."

(Y/n) seemed to both understand and confuse what Geta was saying at the same time. For when he scrunched up the cloth and pressed it down around the arrow, her mind seemed to short-circuit. Her body writhed as much as she could with her upper half pinned to the chair and her body turning on fire with each passing second.

A dribble of blood trickled past her lips when Geta pressed down hard on the wound and something feeble and croaky whined at the back of her throat. Both her hands moved to grip Geta's wrist and she tried in vain to push him back, to get him to relent because the feeling was agony. The pressure was too much, it felt like he was forcing the arrow further into the wound.

She didn't care if she bled out, she just needed everything to stop.

Her nails scratched into his wrist and she tried to push forward until the searing pain caused a white noise to blister in her ears.

"Shh, shh I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to." The last thing Geta wanted was to hurt her, but he couldn't just sit here and let her bleed out.

He could feel tears welling in his eyes as he moved his right hand to press down on (Y/n)'s good shoulder while his other hand tried to keep the cloth pressed around the arrow that was making him feel infuriated with each passing second.

The cloth was turning red. The same shade as the silk woven into his robes. What was once crystal white was now splotched red and soon the entire cloth would be one big mess or crimson. It was a sight that churned Geta's stomach.

The harder he pressed, the more blood he could feel coating his fingers and becoming stuck beneath his nails like tar. And the more blood that coated his hand, the worse Geta began to feel.

He was going to lose her.

He was going to lose the most important person in his life simply because he didn't know what to do and someone had decided to hurt her. She didn't deserve this. That arrow should have been impaled into Geta, not her. Not his Empress.

When the word "Hurts," spluttered past (Y/n)'s lips, a choked sound emmitted from Geta in response. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing beneath his skin as he moved his hand back up to cradle the side of her face now that she wasn't thrashing or moving in her chair.

Instead, (Y/n)'s right hand was shakily clasped around Geta's wrist and her other hand was now gripping his other elbow. Her feet were scraping into the stone floor to try and steady herself while her back merged up against the back of the chair. Her chin tilted down as blood and saliva froffed past her lips and tears drenched her face.

Each breath she took made a horrible gasping, wheezing sound and her chest rose and fell so shallow Geta barely noticed the movements.

"Where's the healer?!" His voice raged out as his head snapped to look behind the chair his wife was now pinned against so he could see the two useless guards.

Why wasn't a healer here already? Why wasn't his wife already being seen to? What were they even doing?

"Emperor we- we don't have those kind of healers here in the colosseum."

The only healers they had at the colosseum were the basic ones. It wasn't in their interests to try and save every gladiator that got mortally wounded here in the colosseum. They patched up those who were fit to fight another day and they sent those who weren't down to the cells to live out their last hours.

The kind of healer the Emperor needed was one that would usually be on standby at the palace for the Royals or those who had enough money to pay for that kind of healing. Healers like that didn't wait around the colosseum, no one here had the means to pay for them.

"Then get one!"

They needed to speed up. They needed to get that healer now or heads were going to roll down the steps of the palace if the Empress wasn't saved. Geta would burn down all of Rome if his wife wasn't healed in time. Either they saved her or many of Rome would lose their lives.

When (Y/n)'s hand tightened around Geta's wrist, he looked back up at her with furrowed brows. He was met with frightened, watering eyes that made his stomach clench and had his chest tightening and wavering.

A bubbling cry left (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to tilt her head forward more towards Geta. Her fingers were leaving bruises on his wrist, but he didn't relent from the pressure he was applying to her wound. He couldn't. He wouldn't let her bleed out here and now. Not like this.

Pushing forward, he moved his hand round to cup the back of her neck and he attached his lips to her temple as he tried to think. He hushed each breath against her flushed temple, trying in vain to calm her down just a little while a thought came to his mind.

He tightened his hand around the back of (Y/n)'s neck and gently inched her head forward until her temple was pressing into his shoulder. It allowed him to look over her back and see the back of the wound. Blood was already soaked into the back of her dress and leaving a trail down her waist.

He couldn't let her bleed out in this chair.

He finally released the pressure from her wound so he could hold his hand out at his side and click his fingers towards one of the guards.

"Knife, now."

When one of them handed him the thin knife that had been resting by the fruit bowl, Geta moved it down towards the arrow.

He heard (Y/n) mutter his name in confusion, each strangled breath fanning against his shoulder so he could feel her hot breath on his skin. Her lips were burrowed against his shoulder, dampening down her cries as she was too distressed and dazed to try and lift her head to find out what her husband was trying to do.

A howl left (Y/n)'s lips and her body began to tremble and writhe when she felt the arrow move. It was only a small jolt up and down but it was enough to set fire to her nerves that felt like they were shrivelling up into nothing.

But she was surprised when she flopped against Geta and felt no resistance. Her body wasn't being pinned back anymore. When she leant forward, her body followed her head and she fell into Geta's chest with a thud and her left arm weakly curved around the back of his neck. While her other arm stayed pinned between their chests, too agonised to lift the limb very far.

Geta cut the end of the arrow. He couldn't care less about the arrowhead that was still imbedded in the chair. He just had to free his wife so he could remove her from here and find a healer.

He had to move her now.

"Find me that healer." His words were dangerous and one guard automatically bolted to try and source out any kind of healer. One had been sent for, but there was no telling where said healer was or how long it would take for them to get here.

Geta's attention moved back down to (Y/n) as he cocooned his left arm around her waist and his right arm pinned over the back of her thighs. He slid her off the chair until she was leant into his chest and slumped over his lap, allowing him to pick her up bridal style.

He had done this a few times, but never like this. Never when his wife was on the brink of death.

Her face burrowed into his shoulder, but she could still see the arrow sticking out of the cloth that had been wrapped around the wound to try and stem the bleeding. She could see the shaved feathers on the end of the wood to help it soar through the air like a message from the Gods.

Had she done something to offend them? Was this some kind of punishment? Was (Y/n) truly going to die from this affliction?

If that were so, then (Y/n) wanted to stay in Geta's arms. She wanted to stay in his embrace if she was dying. She wanted to die with him as close as possible, guiding her into the next life.

That thought had tears trickling down her features and soaking into Geta's robes and the moment he felt her tears, his brows furrowed and he glanced down at her. She didn't need to be crying. She shouldn't be afraid, he was going to get her help. He was going to make sure that she was okay. He had to.

He did his best not to move (Y/n) too much as he stormed out into the corridor and followed the guards urging him their way. Hopefully they had a healer nearby or some destination in mind that would help.

It was hard to control himself, to not start screaming in torture and to stop from digging his hands into (Y/n)'s flesh and leaving marks and bruises in his wake. He didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing on his mind, but he felt like if he didn't hold her tight enough, then she might slip away from him forever.

When he turned a sharp corner, he let his gaze fall down to his wife when he realised she wasn't crying or sniffling into his shoulder anymore.

"Hey, hey you keep those eyes on me. You hear me?" There was something authoritiative in his voice that sent shivers coursing through what was left of (Y/n)'s nerves. It made her do her best to blink and try to look up at him, but it was hard.

Her left arm that was loosely draped around the back of his neck twitched and her fingers tried to move and brush against the back of his neck.

Geta began to shake his head from left to right when he realised where the guards were taking him.

They were guiding him out of the colosseum. There was no healer nearby. They would be trying to usher him back to the palace. If that was their plan they'd better move at lightning speed because Geta was willing to kill everyone who failed to help save his wife, no matter how little their roles were in this trifling day.

"(Y/n)!" He seethed through gritted teeth the moment he stepped out the doors and was faced with a carriage waiting to take them back to the palace which was thankfully nearby. "Sweetheart, please, please stay awake."

Tears glistened in his eyes and he almost screamed when one of the guards tried to help him. He didn't want help carrying his wife, he wanted help finding a healer and arranging help.

He eased down into the carriage with (Y/n) laid across his lap, her cheek still resting on his shoulder and his arms encased around her body to hold her close. He didn't want to let her go. Not for a moment.

"Hold on for me, hm? I love you." His words were hushed against her temple as he began swaying them both from left to right.

And he tried to make sure she was stable with his left am propping her up against him so that his right hand could try and apply pressure to the wound once again. He hated the little mewl that it caused her to emmit but at least the pain was keeping her somewhat conscious and alert with him. His lips attached to her burning temple and he tried to close his eyes.

But all Geta saw when he closed his eyes was the vision of blood. He could see the blood painting her golden dress that she only wore to match him and show her support of her Emperors and of Rome. The beautiful golden thread and silk were tainted with so much blood that it looked positively black.

As insisted and expected, it didn't take long to get back to the palace which was only a short trip away. Any longer and (Y/n) might not have made the journey back.

The moment the coach pulled up and the door opened, Geta clambered down with his wife still tucked up in his arms.

The words "I love you," were whispered against the top of her head over and over as at least six guards surrounded him to provide assistance and guidance as they stormed into the palace.

It surprised Geta to find Caracalla and General Acacius already here in the palace, but then again, they had been ushered out first. And they looked so fragile and out of breath that they couldn't have been here very long. A few minutes at most.

"This way, Emperor."

Geta's steely eyes tore away from them both and he looked ahead to where the guards were guiding him.

Each step felt like a step closer to Hell. He felt like he was guiding his wife personally to her demise. All he wanted to do was save her but Geta wasn't so sure anymore that it was possible.

Tears streamed down his face, slithering and melting into the make up that was starting to fade and run down towards his neck. Allowing streaks of bright pink and red to light up his features like scratches where the blood was rising to the surface.

He followed the guards down another corridor, sure that he could hear his twin somewhere close behind them. Geta's sandals echoed and stomped against the marble floor that was littered with droplets of blood like breadcrumbs to find their way back to the carriage.

But just as he neared the room all the guards seemed to be surrounding, Geta's steps faltered and his eyes snapped down to look at his wife.

Her cheek was still pressed against his shoulder, but her eyes had rolled to the back of her head.

And he couldn't feel her breaths on his skin anymore.

His rabid eyes scanned across her face and chest a million times, but she wasn't breathing. He was sure of it.

"No, no don't do this to me!"

A rendition of "You can't do this!" And "You're not allowed to leave me!" Roared past Geta's lips as he stormed towards the room that felt like his last beacon of hope. His last glimpse at salvation before he lost himself into oblivion.

His body was shaking, seething with anger, betrayal, panic and absolute desperation as he barrelled into the drawing room and collapsed down on his knees on the floor. He laid (Y/n) over his lap, refusing to move his arms from around her. He couldn't let them take her in case he never got her back again.

"She isn't breathing- do something!"

Everyone in the room flinched at his tone and his barbaric expression which told them that if the Empress didn't live, then none of them were going to leave this room. Their only chance at salvation was to save (Y/n).

Guards posted either side of the door which slammed closed right after Caracalla and General Acacius hurried inside.

Two healers were stood at the far table, concoctions and remedies laid out before them that they were trying to perfect with trembling hands. And Caracalla moved so he was stood close enough to his twin that his presence was felt, but not close enough to reach out. He didn't know what to do. One arm bound around his waist and the other pinned his hand against his mouth so he could bite down on his thumb anxiously.

A third healer knelt down in front of Geta who he looked to for permission before he dared to reach out and touch the Empress.

He seemed to agree that she wasn't breathing- as if Geta was stupid enough to mistake something like that.

There was no time for Geta to question or ask what was on the rag that the healer was now pressing over (Y/n)'s mouth and nose. Or the tonic he dripped into her mouth and the salts he wafted beneath her nose. The utter concoction seemed to do the trick in shocking (Y/n)'s system as a strangled, desperate breath caused her chest to inflate and her head pressed back against Geta's shoulder suddenly.

With his hand cradling the side of her face, Geta held (Y/n) close and attached his lips desperately to the top of her head. He pressed kiss after kiss against her temple and hairline and did his best not to start rocking back and forth as that would disrupt the healer before him.

Tears streamed down his features as he tried his best to control his own breathing and settle his system. But (Y/n) was frightening him. He had never been this frightened of anyone dying before. He had been saddened when his mother passed, joyful when his father died and slightly inconvenienced when any servants passed who he was close to.

But Geta knew if he lost his twin or his wife, then his world would end too. He would burn down all of Rome and then kill himself if he lost them.

"On the sofa, if you will, sire."

Geta didn't need to be told twice. He slipped his arms back around (Y/n)'s frame properly and eased her up from his lap so she was properly in his arms once again. His lips glued against her temple and he moved to lay her down on the sofa in the corner of the room.

Once she was laid out, he moved to sit behind her and laid her head on his lap wit his hand brushing up and down her arm to try and keep her soothed and calm.

He hated each whimper and mewl that she let out when the healer touched the arrow and tried to assess the damage to know how to treat her.

"The opium; a lot of it." The healer waved his hand at one of his fellow colleagues behind him but he didn't like the look he was faced with when he glanced up at the Emperor.

"Is that wise?" Geta didn't want to contradict a healer, he truly didn't because this wasn't his forte. He wasn't sure how this could be treated or how they were going to save his wife. But he knew what opium would do. Geta knew it would render his wife unconscious in a deep sleep that would be hard to wake her from.

That wasn't the problem. The issue was that she had just stopped breathing. Giving her opium might induce that breathless state again, Geta didn't want her to be sedated and then needing to be woken up by strong substances again or by lethal forces if she stopped breathing.

"I have to remove the arrow, Emperor. The opium is necessary, I fear the pain would kill her." He hated to be so blunt, but if they didn't sedate her and she stayed conscious, the pain might be too much for (Y/n)'s heart to take.

She was already close to death as it was. Another burst of pain, another bout of bloodloss and she could die and they would have a hard time bringing her back round again.

Geta silently nodded his head and moved his hands down to rub up and down (Y/n)'s arms. He felt the way she writhed on his lap and he leaned over her so he could press his lips to her forehead.

He was sure she tried to murmur his name and he hummed against her temple, trying to keep her calm while the healer got a vile of opium ready.

"Take this, sweetheart, and you'll feel better. I'm not leaving you, I promise. I won't go anywhere."

Geta knew she hated being alone, much less being alone and in agony like this. But he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't leaving her for one single moment until he knew that she was out of harms way and the Gods weren't going to try and claim her.

He would pray. If that's what the Gods demanded, Geta would pray right here and now. He would take pilgrimage down to the temples and pray to each and every God in Rome if they would spare his wife. Once she was better, he would pray and leave gifts and sacrifices at their temples if they would do him the honour of sparing his life and letting him life without a broken heart. He couldn't lose her.

She was Geta's heart and soul and if anything happened to her, then all of Rome would suffer under his merciless wrath.

His thumb glided across (Y/n)'s cheek while the healer held a vile of opium to her lips. Geta coaxed her to take the drug while his lips stayed against her temple and his thumb moved to brush along her lower lip that was smeared with blood as she coughed once the drug was in her system.

It didn't take long for her body to go lax and still against him and the sight was horrifying because there was on guarantee that she would wake up.

Geta didn't even know what her last words had been to him. Had it been his name? Had it been a cry of agony? Had it been her telling him how much torturous pain she was in?

The thought had him in tears once again and he brushed his arm beneath his eyes and across his face. Smearing make up across his face until streaks of white, red and black smudges were painted across his face.

Another healer came to hover by for added assistance and watched with a little too much eagerness for Geta's liking.

Geta rolled his lips together and braced himself when he watched the healer checking the arrow. He seemed to make sure the cut at the back of the arrow was clean and it was a clear cut through (Y/n)'s skin. He checked for any bone damage, none of which could be found.

He then braced one hand on (Y/n)'s right shoulder and the other gripped the end of the wooden arrow that had caused so much anguish in Rome today.

Geta couldn't help the way he grimaced and coughed in despair when the arrow was yanked free from his wife's skin with one swift tug. The healer examined the stick of wood which thankfully hadn't broken or splintered, making their work much easier. But when he went to discard it, Geta surged across and took it.

He set the arrow down behind him on the small table. Geta needed that. When the gladiator was caught who had caused this disgrace, Geta would be using that arrow on him. He would show him where it could be impaled to cause the maximum amount of pain. He would make the gladiator see his Empress's blood and see why his death would be so very painful and enduring.

"If you could, Emperor."

Those words brought Geta out of his thoughts and he frowned, unsure what he was being asked until he looked down at the healer's hands.

He nodded and helped to turn (Y/n) onto her left side so her cheek was pressing into his thigh. One hand stayed on her chest and the other held her lower back to keep her in place, allowing the healer a clear view of both sides of the wound that was now pouring blood down her dress.

A grunt of disproval left Geta's lips when the healer slid the strap of (Y/n)'s dress from her shoulder to expose the wound properly. He restrained himself from digging his fingers into her flesh again and from pushing the healer away from his wife. He didn't want anyone touching her, but he didn't seem to have a choice.

Geta was rather relieved she had been given the opium now. As much as it made him fear her eyes never opening again and her breaths ceasing to exist, they were right. It was better for her this way. Tearing the arrow from her skin would have sent her into shock.

And now, with the healer slowly stitching up the small circular wounds on her back and chest, it would have driven (Y/n) into maddening agony if she had been awake or somewhat lucid for this.

The skin was already starting to swell once the thread was binding her skin together which had gone tight like a canvas being pulled too tight over a wooden frame.

"This paste should prevent infection and quicken the healing." The thick herbal paste the healer lathered on both wounds looked sickly and gut wrenching, but Geta didn't care as long as it worked.

He watched with growing distaste as the paste was lathered onto (Y/n)'s bruised skin and a roll of bandage was carefully applied to her skin. Two thick bandages were wound over and under her armpit and across her collar bone to cover the expanse of the wound and it looked rather tight, but Geta supposed that was the point.

"When she wakes we will give her some tonic, and she shouldn't move her arm too much until the wound heals."

"You'll stay to observe her." It was more of an order than a request, but there was a sense of vulnerability in Geta's voice that caused the healer to smile softly. His Emperor looked fragile rather than frightening when he spoke just now.

"Of course, sir." None of the healers would be going anywhere until the Empress was out of danger. They would be here for the next few days, they suspected.

Geta wanted them nearby just in case anything were to go wrong or (Y/n) took a sudden turn. But he would be the one applying the paste to her wounds and changing her bandages when she needed them. He wasn't going to be leaving her sights, he would be the one caring for her. None of the maids or servants were going to get close to the Empress for the next few weeks.

The healer retreated to the corner table, busying himself with preparing some tonics and more paste for when the Empress would stir.

General Acacius took a step closer to the Emperor, his hands bound in front of him and a sense of panic on his face when he looked at Geta. The Emperor looked like he was starting to shake. He had one hand carding through his wife's hair, but his other hand was clenched into a fist which was pressed against his mouth as if to stop himself from screaming.

And when Geta's head snapped towards the general, a fiery vengeance could be seen burning within his darkened pupils.

"Find the one who did this! I want to string up the barbaric hound myself for what he's done to her!"

He wanted the gladiator responsible brought to the palace so Geta could deal with him personally. He would bleed him dry and quarter him and burn him and throw him to the dogs. Geta would do anything and everything he possibly could to inflict the worst pain onto the barbarian who thought he could get away with trying to murder the Empress.

He wasn't going to get away with this.