Oh Grayson Pls Save Me
oh grayson pls save me
Can you do grayson with thief/criminal reader
LOVING A THEIF
Grayson x f!reader
Synopsis: You were a well known criminal, the thief or Piltover. But you were also Grayson’s partner, captain of Piltover’s enforcers. All of this caused your relationship to be complicated, but it became even worse when you were caught by Marcus, and sent to life in Stillwater.
Request: Anon 🤍
A/N: At the top of each divider, I had to add a time skip so it made sense, so just note that.
The rain was a curtain of silver needles, sharp and relentless, drumming against the stone streets of Piltover. The glow of the hextech lamps cast long, wavering shadows, and somewhere in the maze of alleys, you ran. The cold air bit at your lungs, every breath sharp like broken glass, but the thrill of it—oh, the thrill—kept you going.
A satchel slapped against your hip, full of trinkets that would sell for a fortune topside but feed a dozen orphans in the Lanes. Every step you took echoed with the soft clinking of stolen wealth, and for a moment, you allowed yourself a grin. You were good at this. Too good, some might say.
Until tonight.
“Stop! By order of the Enforcers, stop!” Someone yelled, and the single statement made you cringe. But You knew that voice. Low, rough, and full of a desperate kind of righteousness.
Marcus.
The dog that barked far too loud and bit too deep.
You whipped around a corner, feet splashing in a puddle, heart thundering. It wasn’t just Marcus chasing you—there were more, at least three other enforcers judging by the heavy footfalls. You couldn’t see them, but you heard them. Closer now.
Too close.
You knew this part of Piltover too well, knew that if you kept running, you’d hit a dead end. But doubling back was suicide. You needed a way out. A way up.
Your eyes darted around, landing on a crate leaning against the wall. Too low.
The balcony above it? Too high.
But there, a pipe running alongside the wall. Rusted, but it would hold. It had to.
You sprinted for it, tossed your bag up first, then leapt. Your fingers curled around the pipe just as a bolt of pain lanced through your shoulder, a clawing, burning ache. You hissed, fingers tightening as you glanced down.
Marcus, his baton still raised, sneering up at you. “Gotcha, rat.”
You heaved yourself up with one arm, ignoring the throb in your shoulder. Every movement felt like fire, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.
“Persistent little thing,” Marcus muttered, signaling to the others. “Circle ‘round! She’s bleeding, meaning she won’t get far.”
He was right. The wet warmth trickling down your arm was proof enough.
But they underestimated you.
They always did.
(Grayson’s Apartment—Hours Later)
Blood stained the fabric of Grayson’s shirt as she pressed it against your shoulder, her jaw set tight with a quiet, simmering rage. You sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging off the edge like a child getting scolded, biting down a hiss with every press of the cloth.
“You know,” she said, her tone sharper than any knife, “I can only cover for you so many times before it’s not just your neck on the line.” Her silver hair clung damp to her forehead, still glistening from the rain outside. “Marcus is sniffing around harder than usual. He’s not stupid, love.”
You tilted your head, grinning up at her despite the sting in your arm. “I’d argue that point.”
Her eyes darted up to meet yours, unamused but still soft in that way only she had. The kind of softness reserved for things you love but shouldn’t.
“I’m serious,” she said, gripping your chin with firm fingers. Her callouses brushed against your skin, grounding you. “You think I like playing both sides of this war? If Marcus catches you again, he won’t drag you to me. He’ll drag you straight to the Council. And I can’t help you then.”
Her voice dropped, and with it, her gaze. She released your chin and looked away, her hand braced on the counter beside you. “I hate this,” she muttered. “I hate this game we’re playing.”
Your grin faltered.
“I know,” you murmured, glancing at the door as if expecting someone to kick it down. “But you knew what I was when we started this, Gray. You knew I wasn’t ever gonna be… clean.”
“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but firm, sharp as broken glass. “Don’t act like you’re dirt underfoot. What you do for the kids in Zaun — I know why you do it. I know. But knowing doesn’t make it any safer.”
Her hand settled on your thigh, fingers curling lightly, and you leaned into her touch. There wasn’t much softness in your life. But this? This was yours.
“I’ll be careful,” you said, and for once, you meant it. “I’ll lay low for a while.”
Her fingers squeezed your leg.
“Promise me.”
You hesitated, and lying to Grayson was like cutting your own heart out.
“I promise.”
And for a time, you both believed it, but Grayson also knew you could be a bit stubborn with your words.
(Stillwater Prison—A Few Days Later)
You didn’t hear them coming. You’d been too focused on the metal lock in front of you, working it with a thief’s patience. The distant sounds of footsteps didn’t register until it was too late.
A sharp whistle behind you.
“Breakin’ into Stillwater, huh? Gutsy.”
You froze, lockpick still in hand. Slowly, you turned your head. Marcus. Standing there with a squad of enforcers behind him, smug as ever. His baton spun lazily in his hand.
“Y’know, I thought you’d be smarter,” he said, stepping closer, his boots heavy against the stone floor. “Grayson ain’t here to save you now, sweetheart.”
You braced yourself to run, but Marcus shook his head, letting out a little ‘tch’. “Uh-uh. Not this time.”
Two enforcers moved faster than you could react, hands gripping your arms, wrenching them back. You thrashed, teeth bared like a cornered animal.
“Get off me!” you snarled, feet kicking, head swinging. “You think this’ll end well for you, Marcus? You think Grayson won’t—”
“Grayson ain’t calling the shots anymore,” Marcus sneered, stepping forward, his face so close you could smell the rain on his coat. “You think she’s untouchable, but guess what? Council’s takin’ a closer look at her, too.”
That made you pause, heart sinking into your stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
Marcus grinned, baring his teeth. “Her leash just got shorter. They’re watchin’ her now. Which means you?” He laughed, low and mean. “You’re fair game.”
The crack of his baton against your temple was the last thing you felt before darkness took you.
(Grayson’s Office—The Next Day)
“You should’ve told me sooner,” Grayson said quietly, her back turned to Marcus, hands braced on her desk. Her knuckles were white from how hard she gripped it. “I would’ve handled it.”
Marcus shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Handled it how, Captain? Council said you’re too close to her. Said someone else’d be deciding what happens to her.”
Grayson’s head turned just enough for him to see the sharp cut of her glare.
“She’s mine,” she said, low and dangerous.
“Not anymore,” Marcus replied, too smug for his own good. “She’s Council property now. Best you stay out of it, Captain. Wouldn’t want them thinkin’ you’re compromised.”
He left her there, fists trembling against the desk.
(The Cell—Later That Night)
The cold stone of the cell pressed against your back, the chains on your wrists rattling every time you moved. You’d lost track of time. Hours? Days? Didn’t matter. You’d been in worse places. But it was the silence that ate at you, gnawed at you like a hungry rat.
She’d come for you. She always did.
But when the cell door opened, it wasn’t her.
Two enforcers stepped in, faces blank, eyes dull. Not Marcus. Not Grayson. Strangers.
“On your feet,” one of them barked.
Your heart pounded harder, faster. “Where are you taking me?”
The other enforcer grinned, pulling you to your feet with a yank.
“Council’s got plans for you, thief.”
Panic set in, wild and sharp. Grayson wasn’t here. No one was.
You fought like hell.
(The Courtroom—In the Morning)
The courtroom smelled of old parchment, sweat, and something faintly metallic — like blood that had dried on stone. Sunlight streamed in from high, arched windows, slanting across the cold marble floors in sharp golden beams. It might have been beautiful if you weren’t chained to a chair, beaten and bruised, with half of Piltover staring down at you like a caged animal on display.
Your head hung low, a mat of tangled hair falling over your face. The left side of your face was swollen, your eye barely open. Your ribs ached with every breath, thanks to Marcus’s baton. Dried blood clung to your lips and the corner of your mouth. But you sat upright. Pride wouldn’t let you do otherwise.
You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.
“Thief. Subverter of Piltover’s justice. A known criminal with a history of jailbreaks, sabotage, and theft,” the council elder’s voice echoed through the chamber, his words hitting harder than Marcus’s baton ever could. His gaze was cold, unwavering. “Today, the council convenes to pass judgment on one who has stolen not only from Piltover’s coffers but from its dignity.”
He looked down at you like you were already buried six feet under. “Have you anything to say before sentencing is passed?”
You tilted your head, wincing at the ache in your neck. Blood still lingered on your tongue, sharp and metallic. You scanned the room, letting your one good eye fall on Marcus, who leaned against the wall like he owned the place, arms crossed, smug grin plastered on his face.
Then your gaze found her.
Grayson.
Her silver hair gleamed in the pale light, her Enforcer’s uniform pressed sharp and crisp. She stood in the back, silent, arms folded tightly. She wasn’t looking at the council. She was looking at you.
Her face was stone, but you knew her tells. The twitch of her jaw. The hard clench of her fingers against her bicep. She hated this. Hated every second of it.
Your lips curled into a grin, sharp and bloody. “Yeah, I got something to say.” You leaned forward, chains clinking with the movement. “Your ‘justice’ is a joke.” Your voice rasped, raw from disuse, but loud enough to cut through the chamber. “You lot sit up there on your thrones while Zaun drowns. Kids starve. Families break.” You licked the blood off your lip, glaring up at them. “I steal to feed the hungry. What do you do?”
A loud bang echoed through the chamber as the elder slammed his gavel down.
“Silence!” he barked, leaning forward like he’d rip the words out of your throat himself. “This council has heard enough.” His eyes narrowed with the satisfaction of a man who’d already made his decision. “By the authority of the Council of Piltover, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Stillwater Prison, effective immediately.”
The gavel struck once more, both hard and final.
Your heart didn’t stop, but it did stutter. Stillwater. Not a month. Not a year. Life.
Chains yanked you up as guards pulled you to your feet. Your ribs screamed in protest, but you kept your face steady. No tears. No begging. You glanced up, searching the back of the room.
Grayson hadn’t moved.
Her face hadn’t changed. Her eyes stayed on you, hard, steady, and watching.
(Outside the Courtroom—Minutes Later)
The air was sharp with the crisp bite of morning mist. You stumbled forward, your feet dragging as two enforcers hauled you down the stone path toward the transport vehicle. The sun hung low in the sky, barely warm.
The vehicle loomed ahead, its iron doors wide open, a mouth ready to swallow you whole. It wasn’t your first ride to Stillwater, but it was the first ride you knew you’d never come back from.
“Pick up the pace, thief,” one of the guards growled, yanking your chain hard enough to send you to your knees.
You coughed, chest heaving, ribs burning like wildfire. But before the guards could yank you up again, you heard a familiar voice.
“Let me handle this.”
Grayson’s boots crunched on the stone as she approached, moving slow, deliberate. The guards stiffened at her arrival.
“Captain, council said—” one of them started, but she shot him a look colder than a Zaun winter.
“I know what the council said.” Her eyes stayed locked on you. “Back off. I’ll deal with it.”
The guards exchanged glances, but Marcus wasn’t here to argue on their behalf, so they let go of your arms.
You swayed but caught yourself.
“Thought you’d be happier,” you sneered, letting your head tilt to the side. “Finally got me in chains, Captain.”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. She strode forward and grabbed the front of your shirt, jerking you close. Her face was inches from yours. To the guards, it looked like rage. But you saw it. The fakeness of her present scowl.
“Oh trust me, I’m happy about your kind being set off again.” She spat, trying not to break her angered mask from that simple statement, especially since she knew it would be taken a lot differently if she meant it.
Her fingers curled into your shirt, her hand pressing firmly against your chest. Against your heart. You grabbed her wrist and growled up at her, letting it slide down until you felt the cool press of metal slip into your palm. Her voice came low, barely a whisper, her lips barely moving.
“Don’t screw this up,” she muttered.
You blinked once. No nod. No words. Just the faintest shift of your fingers, curling around the key she’d pressed into your hand.
“Stop talking and get in line, scum,” she said louder, shoving you back hard enough that you stumbled. The guards snorted as if she’d done them a favor.
But she didn’t look at them.
She didn’t look at you either.
(The Transport Stop—En Route to Stillwater)
The armored transport swayed with every bump in the road. It was cramped inside, just you and three other prisoners. The only light filtered in through the small slits in the steel walls.
Your heart pounded like a war drum.
The key pressed into your palm felt sharper than any knife. Slowly, carefully, you shifted your hands, turning your wrists just enough to feel for the keyhole. Your fingers were slick with sweat, your breathing shallow and controlled.
Click.
The cuffs fell loose.
You didn’t breathe. Not yet.
You glanced up. The two enforcers sat at the front, laughing about something one of them had done the night before. They hadn’t noticed. Not yet.
You leaned forward.
“Hey,” you whispered to the prisoner across from you. His eyes snapped to you, wide and wary. You tossed him the key, keeping your movements slow, careful, and quiet. “Pass it.”
He nodded, hands fumbling as he worked the lock on his cuffs. The others followed suit. One by one, the chains fell away, quite enough to not draw attention.
Once everyone was done, the next bump in the road was your signal.
You lunged.
Your hands were free, your body a storm of fists, elbows, and raw fury. The first enforcer didn’t even see it coming—his head snapped back, his helmet cracking against the wall. The second guard scrambled for his baton, but you caught him by the wrist, twisting until you felt the snap. He howled in pain.
“Move!” you barked, hauling yourself toward the open door. The foggy expanse of the southern coast between Piltover and Zaun lied ahead.
You didn’t look back.
Never look back.
(The Last Drop—Hours Later)
The air inside the Last Drop was thick with warmth and the smell of stale beer. Shadows danced along the walls, lantern light flickering in the dim haze. You sat in the back corner, hoodie pulled low, one eye still swollen despite Vander coming over only minutes ago to dab some alcohol onto it.
The door creaked. You didn’t look up. Didn’t have to.
“Three hours late,” you muttered, taking a sip of water.
“Had to make it look good,” Grayson replied, sliding into the booth across from you.
She leaned back, her fingers tapping the table. Her uniform was gone, replaced with a simple jacket and scarf.
Her eyes met yours. Really met yours. No mask. No stone-faced captain. Just Grayson.
“Nice escape,” she said, lips curling into a half-smile.
“Yeah,” you leaned forward, hands still aching. “Nice key.”
Silence hung between you, heavy with things you’d never say out loud.
Grayson sighed, looking toward the door. “They’ll be looking for you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Her eyes flicked back to yours, sharp and silver in the dim light. “Then I guess you’d better stay hidden.”
You smiled, blood still on your teeth. “Guess so.”
“Now, are you going to keep telling me stuff I already know, or are you gonna come over here and help me with all these injuries? Vander only knows how to heal baby cuts for this four little rascals, not bruised ribs.” You joked while leaning back again, just proving how tired you were.
Grayson chuckled and shook her head before walking over. She tugged a chair and took a seat in front of you, unfolding her scarf. “Alright, alright. Take your shirt off, love.”
More Posts from Fishbonex and Others
Jealousy, jealousy
Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader
Summary: Rhaenyra feels jealous of her lover.
Word Count: 0,4K
Warnings: mentions of homophobia.
note: this story was posted before my blog was deleted and is also available on AO3.
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
Rhaenyra watched with purple eagle eyes as you chatted and laughed with the young ladies of the court, you were surrounded by them all day long. She walked back to her quarters and waited for you to come to her like every night. She watched you come out from behind one of the heavy tapestries in her chambers, where there was one of the secret passages.
"Finally, I thought you would be surrounded by women all night." she said coldly, watching you walk over and sit down on the velvet upholstered chair next to her.
"Pardon?" you said and ran your hands up the skirt of your dress.
"I saw you surrounded by the new court girls, you weaved through them with great delight, you love it all, don't you?" she spat.
"Ah, Queen Alicent's new ladies-in-waiting, they are like seeds that have just sprouted." you said in a velvety voice.
"You like the younger ones, don't you?" she said, twirling the golden rings on her long, thin fingers.
"Maybe I can sleep with one or two." you let out a giggle. "They seem open to such a thing."
"You will do no such thing." she said, looking increasingly uneasy. "Have you forgotten who you are and your position here? You would be killed if they knew you were sleeping with women."
She was right, for sure, but you loved watching how Rhaenyra became more and more jealous of you as the years went by. You entered the court on the recommendation of your father, who was previously a member of King Viserys' council, to become the princess's lady-in-waiting. Open doors you were her lady-in-waiting, but when they were closed you were her lover, her favorite in all matters, her only one.
The two of you didn't sleep exclusively with each other, but Rhaenyra slept with Harwin to have heirs, you slept with others for pleasure, and that bothered her a lot. Since she began to disagree with Alicent, the queen began to require your presence more frequently. To talk about women's matters with her own ladies-in-waiting, she said, but you knew it was to irritate your beloved princess.
"I know I have no importance at court, princess, you don't need to remind me of that." you sighed and leaned into her. "I miss you."
You stood up and took her by the hand, making her stand up too, brushing aside her platinum hair and burying your nose in her soft neck. You gave soft kisses and raised your mouth to her chin, feeling her sigh softly.
"Do you still want me?" you asked softly.
"You're mine and I'm yours, no matter what." she said, reaching for the ties on her dress and starting to undo it.
TLOU MASTERLIST
*AO3 LINKS*
Joel Miller
Ignorance - oneshot
Abby Anderson
What's wrong between us? - oneshot
The uncertainty of coexistence
Ambessa Medarda x fem!reader
Summary: Can a warrior become the object of her general's affection?
Warning: mentions of war, typical canon violence, big age difference (reader is in her 20s and Ambessa is in her 50s), power imbalance
Word Count: 1,5K
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
To be born in Noxus was to be certain that one way or another you would end up on the battlefield. Without knowing the reason or purpose, a Noxian would do what your generals told you to do. To honor your blood and ancestry. It was better to be a warrior than a slave or a prostitute. That's what you think, at least.
You had never been to war, though. It had been less than three years since you had become a warrior. Because you were inexperienced, the higher-ranking officers were more harsh on you and the younger ones.
The training sessions led by Rictus were tiring, but they were intended to prepare you for the imminent war that your general was preparing.
Your general, Ambessa Medarda. Lady of War. You had only seen her up close a few times, but it was enough for you to know that she was impressive.
You turned your attention back to what you were doing when you felt a strong blow to your ribs, making you gasp and fall to the ground. Shooting a irritated look at Carissa, your friend and training partner, you stood up, grabbing your stick.
"We're not at war yet and I'm not the enemy, you don't need to use so much force." you complained.
"I didn't use much force." she smiled smugly. "You're weak."
You almost raised your eyebrows at her teasing, then looked out of the small training cabin, seeing Rictus distracted with his runic tablets. Taking the opportunity, you ran and threw yourself at Carissa, making a dry noise on the floor, then tried to grab her hands, which proved difficult as she began to struggle, the smug look still present on her smiling face.
"Do you surrender?" you asked, letting out a low chuckle. She let out a louder chuckle when you managed to grab one of her hands.
Distracted by your play, you didn't notice the familiar sound of heavy boots behind you, at the entrance to the cabin.
"It gives me great pleasure to see the youth of Noxus rejoice in being a part of my army." the authoritative voice spoke, causing both of you to freeze momentarily.
Quickly standing up, you lowered your head, looking down at your bare feet on the wooden floor, you saw Carissa doing the same out of the corner of your eye.
"General." you both spoke at the same time, your voices sounding shaky.
Ambessa walked in, approaching and stopping near the two of you, her heavy presence silencing the entire room. She exuded a dark power without having to do anything.
"Don't stop, go back to playing, we have plenty of time." she spoke again, her voice vibrating closer. "Isn't it?"
You swallowed hard, your hands starting to sweat. Ambessa was known for her determination and violence, she had no patience for mistakes and distractions. A thought about that ran through your head and made you breathe heavily.
She walked a few steps, starting to circle around the two of you. She stopped next to Carissa and tilted her head down.
"Out," she ordered, her voice sounding colder.
Carissa swallowed and nodded, leaving without another word. Ambessa walked a few more steps, stopping in front of you, making you feel smaller than ever, in every way.
You felt your face being held and lifted by a large hand, Ambessa looked at you for a moment before letting go of your chin.
"You looked intimate the way you were riding her." she spoke again. "I suppose I don't need to advise you on the hazards of professional entanglements."
"I sincerely apologize, General. It won't happen again." you said, your voice sounding small.
Ambessa looked down from above, let out a satisfied sigh, and left.
You grunted as you delivered two consecutive blows with the blade to the inanimate doll's neck. Carissa was no longer your training partner. Now you trained individually in the training room that had the worn-out wooden dolls.
Sighing, you pulled out the large blade of the knife that had stuck in the wood. As you stepped away to stab the doll in the stomach, you heard the door open and heavy footsteps enter the training room, followed by the deep voice you had heard from very close by a few days before.
"Haven't they ever told you not to stand with your back to the door?" Ambessa asked and you turned in time to see her pick up one of the large knives that was laid out on a table in the corner.
She wore her training clothes, the sports bra that showed off her toned belly, her arms covered by cloth armbands.
You straightened your posture and tilted your head slightly, "General."
"Leave the doll alone, let's see if you can land your blows on me." she ordered, approaching you.
"Pardon?" you frowned, confused.
"I don't like repeating myself, child," she said, her voice heavier this time. "Fight me."
You swallowed hard, knowing you couldn't disregard her orders. Biting your lower lip in insecurity, you advanced on her, moving the blade in the strokes you were used to making.
All to be knocked to the ground in almost the same second, the blade being ripped from your hand.
"You’re sloppy and predictable. Everything the enemy expects.” Ambessa hovered above you, holding both blades in her hands. “You’ll die the second you step foot in the war.”
She threw the blades to the ground and pulled you up by your arm, before starting to randomly strike you with her hands, making you put your hands in front of your body to defend yourself.
She pulled one of your arms and raised her body, passing her legs over you, hitting your face with her right foot. You fell again, feeling your nose bleed.
Training with her continued for weeks. Weeks where you felt anxious whenever the time to see her approached. At one point, you longed to be near her, her body heavy on yours when she pinned you to the ground while teaching.
Learning from a war veteran proved to be rewarding, as you improved and improved a lot. But no reward compared to seeing her almost every day.
As unbelievable as it may seem, Ambessa was patient at one point, her voice softening as she taught you something you didn't already know.
This made your heart beat faster.
Your breathing was faster and you could feel your lungs burning, but you couldn't stop. Ambessa's blows didn't slow down, she advanced violently towards you. Using one of your legs to unbalance her, you used the tip of the spear to make a tiny cut on her cheekbone, making her freeze for a moment.
Realizing what you had done, you opened your mouth to speak and reached out your hand towards her, who stood up on her own and walked towards you, leaving almost no space.
"General, what-" your words were cut off as she brought her large hands to either side of your face and bent over you, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.
You brought them to her shoulders, sliding them down to the sides of her face. She gave light bites to your jaw and chin as she pulled away from your lips.
"You have a lot of courage for someone your size," she said without pulling away. "You've proven yourself worthy."
"I want you to be proud of me." you blurted out without thinking properly.
She let out a deep laugh and pulled away, taking the heat of her body away from you.
"You left a scar on me, that is honorable," she said, pulling the gold piercing from her lower lip. "Someone honorable should wear a symbol, a symbol that shows they are on my side."
She approached you again and fitted the gold piece to your lower lip, running one of her thick fingers over it.
After that day, you no longer stood among the other warriors. Ambessa allowed you to walk beside her, as Rictus. You proudly wore the gold piercing on your lower lip.
At the moment, on her orders, the army was moving from the fixed base to Viktor's hideout, crossing the unguarded bridge that connected the Noxian installations to the rest of Piltover. Of course she wasn't going to blend in.
You turned your face and looked down, seeing how far the bridge was from the water. A fall wouldn't kill, but drowning was imminent.
You turned your attention forward when you felt Ambessa's large hand on your waist, making you look at her with a frown, to which she continued with the same stoic expression as always, looking forward.
Suddenly, you felt the thud on your legs and your body being thrown out of the limits of the bridge, the only thing that kept you from falling was the large hand that held only one of yours.
Eyes wide with surprise and despair you looked up, finding Ambessa's sharp eyes staring at you coldly. She didn't say anything for a moment, the sound of the water below was the only thing present, as the army had stopped marching.
"What-" you groaned, feeling your arm start to ache, your legs swinging slightly. "Please."
"I warned you of the hazards of professional entanglements." she said simply, her voice devoid of any emotion.
You froze, feeling your chest hurt. But of course. How could you have been so stupid?
A warrior does not grow like this in the eyes of their general.
With your delay in responding, Ambessa stared at you for a while longer before pulling you up, leaving you hanging on your own, struggling to climb up the bridge.
When you managed to get up, you were breathing quickly, your heart was beating fast and she had already started walking again, with her army following her.
Joel fanfic writers, stop tagging your fanfics with hashtags of other characters!! This is SO FUCKING annoying!! I can't stand going into Ellie or Abby's tags and the first thing that appears is some Joel fanfic. I love, love, love him, but his fanfics should be tagged with HIS name.
oh body horror i love you so much
ALLIGATORRRR
GIVE US PRED VIKTOR FIC
AND MY LIFE IS YOURRS
(Shnddnbdbs i’m so sorry-)
OKAY OKAY FIIIIIINE LOL
Glorious Consumption
Pairing: Arcane Herald Viktor x Reader
Summary: After being found and captured by the feared herald who is ushering in a new world, you realize you have met a terrible fate in which there is no way to avoid.
Word Count: 1393
I wrote this in one sitting because I was so into it and I really hope this is what you are asking for!!!
WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SOFT, SAFE, SFW VORE. IF ANY OF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE DO NOT READ.
The man who looms before you is anything but a true man anymore. Twin pinpricks of sickening gold flicker and focus upon your trembling form through a twisted mask that splits the face of what was once human in two, separating the shut eyes and the tightened lips. His staff quietly clink, clink, clinks with each step he takes; slow, leisurely, like he knows you have no chance of escaping. Yet still, you scoot backwards, a whispering plea for mercy escaping you with the breathlessness of someone who doesn’t wish to meet their fate.
“Poor little one,” the herald says, voice soft and deep, everywhere and nowhere, rumbling straight through your tiny body and striking into your soul. “So lost, so alone. Did you come seeking salvation? Redemption from the flesh?”
“Please,” you say. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?” The herald bends a knee. Despite how gradual his movements are, they still cause you to flinch. “I only wish to heal, little one. Suffering has no place in my perfect world.”
Massive fingers, dark violet and warped by magic, reach forwards. Your eyes widen and you quickly bow your head, staring down at your own curled fists. Tears drip onto the floor and your skin, heart pounding, brain screaming for you to run, run, danger, run. Yet you are frozen, unable to wrench yourself from this fatal spot. The herald has rendered you terrified beyond your capable limits of handling such extreme emotions. Such power radiates from him, Unearthly. Eldritch. Arcane.
Those fingers curl around you, cupping you in a loose hold with warmth pressing against your spine while his thumb grazes your cheek in a gesture of comfort not suiting him. Your stomach does flips when you are raised up, your face scrunching in visible discomfort.
“Shhh.” You vibrate with the timbre of his voice. “Don’t tense. You are fearing a conclusion which shouldn’t be feared at all.”
Your eyes dart around you, flickering to the beings surrounding the herald like a protective shield. Mechanical denizens of perfect abundance, gold and white with dead eyes all staring straight at you. Marks of the newborn god currently holding you are imprinted on their faces: fingerprints signifying their change into something terrifying. You don’t want that. You want to remain you. So you continue to cry, choking on your own sobs. “Don’t turn me into one of them. Please. I-I don’t want to be like them.”
The herald is silent. He moves his thumb to your chin and forces you to tilt your head up. You have no choice but to meet his gaze. There’s no emotion, no sign of anger or pity. He’s just…blank.
“Why do you fear becoming so much more than you already are?” he asks.
“I don’t want to lose who I am. I don’t want to disappear.” You begin struggling just a tad bit, clutching his thumb tight and giving him your most pleading look. “Please. Please don’t make me go away.”
Again, there’s a pause. Then he sighs. “I do not like seeing you so terrified of me. It is…saddening.” He gives you a squeeze you think is supposed to be comforting. “If you do not seek my healing, then I will not force it upon you. I fear I may end up breaking you if you are not willing.”
Relief settles upon you. You want to give him a thousand thanks for sparing you. But he cuts you off. “However…I cannot simply let you go.”
Disbelief shatters your gratefulness. “W-What?! You’re going to kill me?!”
“Did I say I was going to kill you? Worry not, little one. No harm will befall you as long as I am around.” He hums. “I…do not feel comfortable allowing you to wander unsupervised. You could be hurt. Or worse. Plus…” He brings you close, and you feel some sort of inhalation tousle your hair as he somehow breathes in your scent. “You have a tantalizing aura. I feel…I can make use of you.”
“Make use of me?” you echo weakly.
“Your energy. It will give me the necessary power I need to continue the glorious evolution.” He sees the way your face falls, and he’s quick to comfort you. “Rest assured, I will not hurt you. Nothing I do to you will end up with you wounded or dead. It may be a bit…eh, uncomfortable at first, but I think you will grow used to the feeling. I will even coach you through it.”
“Coach me? Coach me through what?”
The herald’s eyes burn. “Being drained.”
You go pale with horror when the middle of his mask slowly splits into a mouth, strings of black connecting between jutting, razor sharp teeth and saliva dripping from the roof like ugly droplets of oil. You stare into the cavern of hypnotic colors that pulse in and out like breaths, drawing you forth with whispers invading your brain, ushering you on, begging, pleading, please please come here come to us we need you we want you please. A long, serpentine tongue slithering out to lick your cheek makes you cringe back with the terrible realization of what is going to happen to you: you are about to be eaten alive.
You scream and flail. Shoving his fingers, trying to free yourself, not even caring if you drop to your death. “Stop! Stopstopstop, please! Don’t do this, I’m begging you!”
The herald ignores you. Feet first you are slipped into his mouth, tongue curling around your legs and slowly bringing you into the hot, moist maw. You grab the ends of his teeth and hold on for life, resisting the insistent tugs of the gigantic muscle. The herald sighs wearily. He brings a hand up and starts to carefully pry your fingers away. You yelp and try to latch back on quicker than he can release you, but he is smart, and quick. In a moment where both of your hands are off of his teeth, he tilts his head and slides you backwards, snapping his mouth shut. You are sealed inside, with no escape in sight.
Screaming and howling and clawing your nails into his tongue, you do everything you can to prevent what is going to happen. But you are too weak, too small, and the herald easily overpowers you. With a resounding gulp, everything is turbulent, and you are pushing past his uvula and down his throat. Psychedelic colors fill your vision, and you lose yourself, screams dying into soft whines. You feel the muscles of his esophagus squeeze you over and over, forcing you downwards, further into his body.
By the time you make it to the stomach, you are exhausted. The colors are gone and are replaced by the dull purple, near black color of his internals. Little spots resembling stars flicker as you are embraced by plush grooves that quiver with each heavy breath you take. You can practically feel the energy leaving you as you stare up at the belly’s faux ceiling. Fear grips you. Tears leak from your eyes.
The herald presses a hand over his middle, feeling you out. When he finds you, he begins rubbing you tenderly. “I can feel you in there. So wonderfully snug. So delicious.” You think you can hear a smile in his voice. “Thank you, little one, for nourishing me. This energy will not go wasted.”
“…I…don’t want to…die…” is all you whisper in reply.
The herald goes silent. His stomach gurgles sadly and moves in, giving you a tight hug. “Hush,” he soothes. “You will not die. In due time, I will release you. Though this won’t be the last time I’ll be swallowing you, I will keep you safe. I will keep you warm. I think you’ll come to love it in there. So don’t be afraid…please.”
You want to submit. You’re tired. So, so tired. His voice is lulling you, and you think you can hear his stomach talking, quietly cooing to you, telling you to sleep. You want to fight for your freedom…you really do…
“Don’t fight,” the herald. “There’s no point. Just let this happen. You are okay. I’ll hold you. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Your consciousness slips from your grasp, and you are lost in his consumption. With his presence all encompassing, you pass out.
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen looking at her children.
Flower crowns and you all
Elphaba Thropp x fem!reader x Glinda Upland
Summary: A peaceful attempt at making flower crowns with Glinda and Elphaba.
Word Count: 0,5K
Warnings: none 🤍
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
"You keep copying mine." Glinda's overly sweet voice grumbled, earning a snort from Elphaba, who was sitting next to you.
"I don't know if you noticed but we're in a field of flowers, all the flowers here look alike." Elphaba said, not bothering to lift her head to look at the blonde girl, who had an annoyed pout on her lips.
"I'm not talking about that, you know. You're braiding in the same pattern as me." Glinda held up the flower braid in production to prove it.
You frowned and shrugged your shoulders even more. The two of them had been arguing since they arrived. Uninvited. You were making flower crowns alone, enjoying the cool breeze of the late afternoon. A moment of peace, away from the typical chaos of Shiz.
But Galinda seemed to have a radar that pointed straight at you, because it wasn't long before she appeared, dragging Elphaba by the hand.
She blinked her big eyes at you and you gave her permission to sit down and join in your activity. Everything was fine, but soon Glinda began to get annoyed with Elphaba's crown.
"That's nonsense! I'm braiding them so they stay firmly attached." the green girl argued, starting to work harder with her hands.
"That's envy." Glinda hummed, pursing her lips so that her dimples were visible.
"Why would I be jealous of the way you weave flowers, Galinda?" Elphaba finally lifted her face to look at her.
"There are many reasons for this. You don't have the ability-"
With a loud huff, you stood up from the grass, dropping your flowers and brushing the dirt off your uniform. Grabbing your bag, you began walking away from the pair.
"Look what you did! You pissed her off," Glinda's voice whispered.
"Be quiet." Elphaba ordered, and turned to you. "Hey, where are you going?"
You stopped in your tracks and turned to them, "To my dorm."
"Don't you want to go study with me?" She stood up, her expression embarrassed.
Glinda hurriedly stood up and stood in front of her, "Don't you want to go try on dresses with me? Or watch me practice with my wand-"
"No, thank you." you turned around and continued walking towards campus with heavy steps.
A few days later, you buried your face even deeper into the book you were reading when you heard Glinda's melodious voice approaching. You squinted your eyes as she let out a happy little squeal upon spotting you.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, then turned to Elphaba. "I told you she'd be here."
"I'm reading." you grumbled.
"Oh, we see." Glinda continued to act excited, pulling Elphaba closer to her. "We just want to give you something."
Elphaba opened her bag and took out a wreath, making you look up from your book, "We finished yours for you, you left it lying there."
You closed the book and stood up, taking the crown in your hands delicately, it was sloppy and had some flaws, but it was closed and someone had placed extra flowers on top.
"Which one of you did it?" you asked, not wanting to cause another fight.
"Both of us! Did you like it?" Glinda asked, looking at you expectantly.
You sighed in relief, finally. They did something without fighting.
"I- yes, I love it, it's beautiful." you replied and Glinda quickly took the crown and put it on you, Elphaba adjusted it slightly so it wouldn't be crooked.
"Oh, you look like a princess." Glinda said, pretending to wipe away tears.
"It suits you very much." Elphaba said, pressing her lips together in a smile.
Oh, how you loved those two idiots.
WICKED MASTERLIST
Elphaba Thropp
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
Flower crowns and you all
Glinda Upland
If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you
Flower crowns and you all
so cute
She Keeps Me Warm - Rhaenyra Targaryen
nyrathecruel asked: Could I request Rhaenyra x handmaiden!reader where they’re drawn to each other from the moment they meet and bond over their mutual trust issues regarding losing loved ones while slowly falling in love on Dragonstone? Like Nyra is cold and distant with everyone else, hesitant to let anyone in, but she just clicks with reader and whenever they’re alone, Nyra just melts and goes all soft, all affectionate touches and sweet nicknames and tender looks? (Two of my fav nicknames she’d call reader are: my little one, and Perzītsos (little flame) Maybe even a bit of soft smut, though it doesn’t have to be smut if you’re not comfortable
Anonymous asked: Could you do a Rhaenyra x fem stark reader pls :)
A/N: I had TWO IDEAS for these requests! So stay tuned for another fic publishing soon!
They were not well-kept secrets, Daemon’s unsavory proclivities. So, in turn, Rhaenyra went to neither effort to hide her misery nor how you, a simple handmaiden from the North, seemed to be its only remedy.
“Enter, perzītsos. He has gone.”
A shiver ran down your spine at the low sound of Rhaenyra’s voice and you pulled your ever-listening ear from the ironwood door. Your hand, fumbling with the wiry giddiness of a lightning bolt, found the cool handle and pushed with a turn. Tongues of yellow and orange greeted you with licks of diminished warmth along with the sight of Rhaenyra, bathed in the same glow. She sat, body spread and extended over the plush armchair before the fireplace.
“Apologies, my Princess, I did not wish to intrude on-”
“What have I told you?”
Her voice was low still, her eyes still fixed on the dwindling flames, as she addressed you. Heat rushed up to your face and washed down like the tides of the Narrow Sea. Your mouth opened slightly before you closed it, your muscles suddenly all-too-alive. Luckily, the Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, clarified.
“You must call me Rhaenyra,” she turned to you then, light eyes darkened by the colors of fire and smiling softly. “I will not have you hiding behind formality or dutiful, Northern niceties.”
“Apologies,” you echoed, swallowing hard. “I did not wish to intrude on your lawful husband…having you.”
Rhaenyra’s smile faded, ebbed into a flatline of stone sternness you recognized from meetings with the maester. “He left before dusk on Caraxes, an hour or so before by which I told you to arrive. There was no having of any sort.”
She moved to her feet then, her shoes knocking against the heated stone floor of her chambers as she approached you like the Blood Wyrm in her crimson gown. Her eyes were squinted slightly, focused on you, your face, reading how your eyes slowly widened with her every careful step. It was the same manner in which she approached you the first time: calculated, a predator eyeing prey. The lightning returned again, sending you into a brewing storm that culminated in Rhaenyra’s lips.
When she stood full before you, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the column of your neck. Your breath hitched immediately, and trepidation caught in your throat.
“Princess,” you whispered, though it sounded more like a gasp. Rhaenyra immediately pulled away from your neck, revealing her furrowed brow and playful scowl. “I still do not understand.”
“My perzītsos, what more is there to understand?” Her hands raced up the bodice of your gown to your neck. Her hands were warm dancing along your most sensitive skin.
“Prince Daemon-” “Is off sowing dragonseed,” Rhaenyra said, though the ease with which she used the term alarmed you. “Just as my court remains adrift gathering council. All men, all cold, making me colder and I will not have that. I will have you.”
Rhaenyra pressed her lips back against your neck, closer to your jaw. You shivered again, your body knocking against hers instinctively, careening into her warmth. The tip of her nose tickled your skin as her lips went lower, nipping at your collarbone. Your hands rose to her waist, the whaleboning of her corset bodice. Beneath the fabric, you could feel her breathing grow more erratic. Your own breathing grew shallow with excitement, so much so that you pushed the Princess gently away.
She gave you a worried look, her hands caressing your flushed cheek. “Do you not wish to have me?”
White hot, dragon fire panic shot through your veins. “No, no, I-”
But Rhaenyra was recoiling despite your manic clarification, already reigning in herself, her want. She was cooling into her hardened self, the soul sent off to Dragonstone by the eyes of the critical court in King’s Landing. You had seen it too many times before. How practiced Rhaenyra was as holding parts of herself back.
You reached out, just as she had, with your lips finding her neck first and your hands on her gowned hips. She was stiff under your touch but for a moment until she quickly melted into you as your mouth moved up. You pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek before pulling away, eager to see her pleased, unworried; eager to see the Rhaenyra she only seemed to show you.
“I don’t understand what it means,” you breathed out, not entirely knowing what you yourself meant, only that whatever it was made your heart sing.
Rhaenyra seemed to reach and read the most clouded part of your mind, obscured to even you. Her smile returned in glorious full and you felt your heart tickle in your chest. In turn, you felt your own lips quirk upwards, ready to swallow the newness of it all.
“You mean perzītsos?”
You nodded, unsure at first, but, sure in how it made Rhaenyra smile.
“Perzītsos. Little flame. You burn in me. You keep me warm,” Rhaenyra softened, then, her smile ebbing ever-so-slightly. “In the darkest moments, you keep me alive.”
Without wasting another second lost in the storm, you barreled through and crashed your lips into Rhaenyra’s. It felt like you were falling until you actually were as Rhaenyra pulled you down onto the silken sheets of her bed, and the rest was warm.
Union of soul and flesh
Count Orlok x fem!reader
Summary: Sink with great delight into the arms of your lord as the night engulfs you all.
Word Count: 0,5K
Warnings: MDNI, GORE, Orlok is his own warning, bites, blood, mentions of sexual intercourse.
ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.
The wind struggled hard and tried to force its way in through the glass window that you had firmly closed hours before. The night here was silent but it screamed at the same time, an agony that only ended with the first rooster crowing.
You slid your hands down the jagged back of your lord. Your count. Your master. Your love. And your ruin.
He released the fangs that were embedded in your chest with a wet crack, blood running down in a thin line. His gray eyes met yours and you found the courage to bring a hand to the side of his bony face.
"Don't stop." you begged softly and he crawled up until his face was on top of yours.
"Foolish child." the husky voice reverberated and you felt yourself vibrate inside. "I am joining with thy flesh and thou are paying attention to the wind."
The creature moved his hips to fit inside you again, making you let out a soft sigh. He brought his nose to your cheek, inhaling deeply.
You closed your eyes. The candles in the quarters weren't enough to warm your body. But he, he somehow, even with his body devoid of any heat, was able to make you feel like you were burning alive.
It was a heat that consumed your being ever since he first came to you. Before, your tragic existence was pure agony. There was agony now, he burned you so much that you could die, but you would die with great delight at being in his arms.
You turned your head and captured your lord's thin lips in yours, "Forgive me, my lord."
He brought one of his large, calloused hands to your neck and squeezed hard, his long nails almost digging into the soft flesh.
"Thy lord?" he repeated, growling softly. "Do thou find the man whom devour thou in thy bed thy lord, child?"
You moaned audibly and your voice sounded hoarse as you gasped for air to reply, “My love.”
He let out a satisfied grunt and released your neck, moving his hips again and lowering his face to your neck to take a soft bite.
"Say it again." he ordered, thrusting once hard, making you spread your legs wider around his waist. "Say it."
"My love." you sighed, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. "My love."
He moaned hoarsely and moved his hips quickly before licking your neck.
"I had such a beautiful daydream. A night with the starry welken above our castle. Yet all I could regard about was how I wanted to tear thou apart and enter thou so we could be together."
Without any warning, he pulled out of you and crawled lower, placing his mouth on your left breast and pulling hard, a piece of skin came loose and he went back to bite you again.
You groaned loudly and your eyes rolled back, your back arched and you leaned into the evil creature on top of you.
"More." you begged. "More."
He was licking the blood from your skin and took possession of your body again with your desperate plea. He seemed to want to reach deeper with his fangs and you could no longer think straight.
"You and I..." you murmured, "we are one."
He released your breast and advanced on you, taking you in a raging, hungry kiss.
"We are."
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