#griffith x you
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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!queen!reader, sex on command, degradation, Griffith is lowkey misogynistic, titty fucking, spit kink, cum marking, all characters featured are aged 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3
𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day two [ griffith + tit job ]
“I can be the most perfect gentleman that a lady could require, but I have an sneaking inkling that Her Majesty wants a scoundrel, instead. A dirty mercenary, a ruthless animal, to fuck her the way her king never could.”
you should’ve had him apprehended the moment he murmured those words, close enough to your ear to kiss the shell of it. you should’ve seen him in shackles, whipped and tortured, for daring to speak in such a way to the Queen of Midland, but you didn’t. you stared, straight ahead, and bit your tongue to keep from expelling a breathless moan. you allowed him to leave your side after that, melting into the crowded ballroom, mingling with the other nobles. his eyes lingered on you only for a moment, before they drift away, to keep from being overly suspicious. you had merely stood there, in shock, as you process his willingness to approach you in front of the Courts and your husband, and whisper something so heinous.
something so true.
it had been at your own behest, after all, that the young mercenary would become your plaything whilst fighting for your country, but it had been an arrangement brought to him in secrecy by your ladies in waiting, and he was meant to act discreetly. you glanced around, and realize that no one had been any the wiser. not even your husband, whose sharp eyes seemed to always watch you with disdain, had noticed Griffith whisper to you.
when you look back at him, he’s no longer focused on you, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face that you knew had to be for you, and not the generals he was conversing with. he must’ve caught your flustered seeking from his peripheral vision, and it must’ve amused him to no end.
damn him.
you managed to sit through the majority of the festivities, pretending to be enthralled by your husband’s banter with his retainers, but every so often, you would carve a line of sight directly to Griffith. you would stare at him, admiring each flawless detail from the plumpness of his lips to the long, heavy lashes that fan the apples of his porcelain cheeks, to the silvery curtainous tresses that were so carefully secured in a low ponytail to cascade down his back. he was so beautiful, and you began to fantasize about what his silken locks would feel like if you were to grip fistfuls of them, how his velvety pout will feel as he presses it flush to your sex, the way your back would arch if he pushed his tongue inside your hole, aching and clenching for him…
when you started to shift in your seat, rubbing your thighs together, you knew you had to make an escape. you couldn’t go another moment without Griffith in your bed, and so you promptly excused yourself, and several of your servant girls followed you up to your bed chamber.
Griffith’s sapphire gaze was keen enough to notice you leave, and he waited several more minutes, inching towards the exit until he could slip away, completely undetected.
Griffith’s let in to your bedroom before he can knock, and the ladies are swift to leave the two of you alone before he can close the door behind him. “Have you considered my counter offer, Your Majesty?” he asks with a soft tinge of amusement in his voice. he pushes the heavy, wooden lock in place against the door, his glacieresque gems focused only on the way you approached him, staring up at him with sparkling awe in your eyes. “Would you still prefer to have me as you wish, or would you find more pleasure in allowing me the honor to use your body?”
“I don’t want the obedient gentleman,” you blurt out, grasping the thick lapels of his coat, to pull yourself closer to him. “I want the scoundrel. The beast.”
“Is that so…?” Griffith grabs your shoulders, halting you in place as you speak, the ghost of a smirk tickling his lips. “Then the beast is what you shall have.” it’s a whisper, heavy with desire as both of his hands glide down to envelope the shape of your breasts through your gown. the fabric is thick, but as both fists reach up for the neckline, your breath catches in your throat. a swift yank, and silk screams as he tears at the neckline, stretching and ripping until your breasts jiggle free. your nipples harden almost instantly as they’re exposed to the cool atmosphere, and your back arches— the force and carelessness he exhibits in order to expose your chest pulling you off balance. he swoons at the sight, cradling your breasts with both hands. your nipples slide along the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, before he experiments with pinching the hardened buds. you let out a soft whimper.
Griffith’s hands are almost unnervingly soft for a mercenary general, and they’re warm as he kneads your breasts. your head tilts back and you expel a long, heavy breath as he tilts his head to watch your countenance closely. “I’ve hardly touched you, Your Majesty, and you’re already mewling for me.” his pupils are blown out as he tugs on your nipples, and watches in delight as you squirm and moan. “I suppose these pillowy tits of yours are sensitive enough to make you cum all alone…” his knee worms under your multitude of skirts, to press against your sex. with a surprised gasp, your thighs clamp around his leg, but it was already too late. his digit tips roll over your nipples in smooth teases, pressing them like buttons as you squirm and gasp, and grind your slick against his knee. “The king must not appreciate them. But I will.”
groping thick handfuls of squishy flesh, a groan gurgles at the back of his throat as he pushes your tits together, smashing them against each other, and his icy gaze flickers up to you. “Do you know what I love the best about a woman’s tits?” he asks, in a soft baritone that seems to send a quake straight to your core. you moan, breathless, and shake your head, before his own dips low enough to run his tongue in a thin stripe that creeps up the length of your cleavage, before he expels in a whisper, “They’re soft and warm, and when pressed together like this, create such a delicious hole to fuck.”
your head was spinning already at his words, so when his hands glide upwards and grip your shoulders, forcing the Queen of Midland to her knees in front of him, breasts jiggling and exposed and dress askew on your frame, you bent to his will without protest. “There we are. A pretty, obedient queen. Are you so awestruck by the visage of my peasant cock sliding between your royal breasts that you fold so easily?” there’s a faint smile on his kissable pout now, a powerful one, and he grasps hold of your chin with one hand, using the other to undo the complexity of his breeches. he forces your face up, to stare at him directly, and you swoon at the hard grip on your chin. “I will enjoy defiling you, little queen. But what’s even more exciting is that you will enjoy it so much more.”
your face was flushed of its usual tone, eyelids fluttering as they struggle to stay open. the heat between your bodies was almost too much to bear already. “Use me…” you plead, quietly, needy. “Use me, mercenary, degrade me. Do so and I will see to it that you climb the military ranks to your heart’s content.”
this pleases Griffith, and he runs his thumb over your trembling bottom lip, looming over your kneeling frame as he pumps his cock to attention. as it swells, and hardens, your eyeline drifts downwards and you become entranced at the thought, your mouth hanging open in expectancy.
“Such a beautiful mouth, warm and wet,” Griffith purrs, pushing his thumb in to anchor it against the fleshy inside of your cheek, “you know well a woman’s duty and where and how to take a cock, and I’m certain your mouth has been well trained by your husband.” your cheeks heat up with humiliation as he teases your gag reflex with his fingers, you cluck and try to push his fingers out, but they remain, and you only end up dribbling drool out of your mouth with an embarrassed whimper. “But I will need you to save these talents for him, your lovely mouth is your weapon, and you’ve just become my greatest ally in my war for my dream. You will use it so efficiently, pleasing your husband and whispering those persuasive words in his ear, until I have surpassed every general in his army. You will do this for me, yes?” you nod, batting your eyelashes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. Griffith was so breathtaking, and in this moment you were so aroused and at his mercy, that you would’ve agreed to do anything for him. “Very good, my desperate little queen. Now, save these lovely lips for their task, and I will fuck your luscious tits, instead.”
both of his hands find their way to your breasts again, and he takes a step forward, his stance wide imposing as his feet plant themselves on either side of your poofy skirt. the way his thick, hard cock lays against your chest is almost as if it had sought out its new home, and he pushes your breasts to mold around it, forming a tight canal as he teased a couple of strokes. with a slow rock of his hips, his cock tunnels between your breasts, the puffy, pink tip peeking out by your chin, and he rolls his head on his shoulders, eliciting a soft and pleasured sigh. “Very soft.” he croons, closing his eyes, his fingers digging into your squishy tits as his pace starts to pick up. “The perfect sheath for my cock, don’t you agree?”
you were too busy staring at the display, watching his sex glide between your breasts, that you simply elicit a quiet babble of a yes, your arms bent up by your sides, your hands balled into fists.
“My dear queen has never been degraded quite like this, her body used by cock in ways her sweet, little brain couldn’t even imagine,” he all but moans at the realization, working his jaw for a moment. “Look up at me, little queen. Let me see your mouth hanging open, the desire to suck what’s just out of your reach.”
you do as instructed, but you hardly so much as peek before you hear the sound of him expectorating— his spit splattering against your top lip and dripping down into your waiting mouth, mixing with your own that had gathered in a thirsty pool. you flinch, surprised, but then look up at him, wide eyed.
no one’s ever spit on you before.
and you liked it.
a lot.
Griffith’s grin is loose, his lips parted as he starts to pant, bucking his hips more forcefully, faster, fucking your titties with reckless abandon, kneading them roughly.
“You liked that, did you?” it was as if he could read your mind, his icy blue irises seeming to glow in the dim candlelight of your bedroom. “You are more and more fetching, the filthier I discover that you are.”
“A—again,” you whine, only to be graced with another shower of spit, and you moan, gratefully, before blurting out, “Thank you!”
the depravity in your voice was something you’d never heard before, especially not from yourself, and it should’ve been humiliating. but it wasn’t. it was exhilarating and liberating.
“Close,” Griffith grunts, his chest heaving, still adorned with his ruffled tie. the fact that he was still mostly clothed made this encounter all the more promiscuous, “I’m right there… right… there…” he was grinding his teeth, because you’d tucked your chin, pressing your lips together in a lazy O, letting his tip kiss the shape over and over. each time he drew back, you could taste the sticky sweet precum he left stamped to your lips. “Ah,” Griffith releases a sound, a croak as he grabs your hair at the root, pulling your head back and allowed his other hand to fall from your breasts, taking hold of his cock at its mighty base. his fingers rub against the fluffy, silver pubic hair his cock sprouts from, before starting to pump up and down wildly. “I will paint those beautiful tits of yours, my whorish queen. So you can smell of me. And remember how thoroughly I’ve fucked them—“
he hardly gets the words out before his release erupts from the swollen head of his cock, casting long, warm white streamers over your heaving breasts. your hands scramble to push them together, mimic the way he had to fuck them, so you may gather the entirety of his semen upon their expanse, and you peer up at him with wide, happy eyes. “G—Griffith…”
his ragged breath starts to slow, his platinum bangs damp and sticking to his forehead and his temple when he finally releases your hair with a heavy, satisfied sigh, “Did you enjoy that, Your Majesty?”
watching him come undone and quickly recover had your mind going blank, and your thighs sticky with your need, but you thoughtlessly nod, attempting to form the words themselves, but none came to your lips.
it’s all right, though, because Griffith pulls you to your feet. “Lovely, because now I will bend you over your vanity and tend to that sopping wet cunt of yours.”
#berserk griffith#griffith smut#griffith x reader#griffith x you#bersek#berserk smut#berserk x you#berserk x reader#berserk anime#kinktober 2023
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⌕ berserk - griffith.
like or reblog if you save/use.
#berserk#berserk manga#berserk icons#berserk layouts#berserk spoilers#berserk griffith#berserk icon#berserk packs#griffith#griffith icons#griffith icon#griffith berserk#griffith x reader#griffith x you#manga#anime and manga#animanga#fyanimegifs#fyanimanga#anime layouts#anime icons#animes layouts#manga icons#twitter layouts#manga layouts#anime packs#anime icon
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#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ
CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE
𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.
𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! reader)
𝖈𝖜: RAPE/NON-CON.
𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:
Finally finished the fic after months of procrastinating.
This fic is not proofread or beta read.
Don’t try this at home, kids!
….And some rape down there. I don’t condone any of this irl (no shit). It is to note that it is part of the story’s progression and I only intend to explore such dark elements like the series always intended to do so in canon.
The “don’t like, don’t read” rule applies here. Kindly heed the tags one more time before proceeding.
“Griffith…I…” you paused as you caught your breath. You were failing to fake self-confidence at this point in time, your legs shaking as you could only watch yourself give into the fear that made its way through your head and heart.
“I…wasn’t expecting your presence here…I….”
Griffith’s eyes narrowed in response, letting out a low hum. He was getting closer this time, giving you less time to react and run for your life.
You took a step backward, pressing your hands against the dresser for some support. You knew you’d hit a dead end the way you clumsily hit the wall, groaning softly in response. You waited and waited for a sign to attempt running past Griffith and escape the palace with all your will’s might. You still had your bathrobe on, which made you partially vulnerable to him, but you didn’t care. You just had to run away from the man who has been invading your personal space.
“Worry not, princess. I came not to disturb your slumber. What I ask for is one simple thing that I believe you and I could share. If I’ll allow you to do so, that is.” Griffith said.
“Who are you to tell me what to do with my Kingdom? This is my lair, as bestowed by my father before me. The fact that you’re trespassing does not make you worthy of seeing me at my-“
Your words were cut off by Griffith, his cunning tone making itself clear in the dead silence. “And who told you that this kingdom was entirely yours? Remember, your induction to queenhood was only taken into consideration because of your father’s sudden death. Besides, it’s not as if you have any experience in leadership whatsoever.”
“Are you underestimating me?” you asked, slightly annoyed with his attitude.
“Why, of course not.” Griffith said as he took brisk steps forward, making it almost impossible for you to escape. “Want to know a secret?”
You nodded in response.
“I killed your father.” Griffith said, shamelessly. He walked three steps forward, caging the both of you within a small distance.
“You son of a bitch! Why….why would you do such a thing?! My father has been-“ you were interrupted once again.
“I had to do it. There could only be one way to test as to whether Midland is fit to be led by a Queen all on her own…..and turns out, the ‘Queen’ in question has no experience.” Griffith said.
“How dare you insult me in my own palace!” you exclaimed. “I’m leaving!”
“Not when you’re barely dressed like that.” Griffith smiled deviously. “Now…..come here….”
“What….what are you implying?” you asked, attempting to charge your way to the exit of your bedroom. “N-never mind….I’m fucking leaving.” As you charged your way to the exit, you felt two hands wrap around your waist from behind. No, it was too late. Griffith caught you. Pulling you backward, he lifted you to your own bed and started stripping down until he wore nothing but his Behelit.
You attempted to escape once more, only for Griffith to pin you down to the bed and press his lips into yours. You fought against the sheets and turned your head to break the kiss, but your attempts were rendered futile as it only prompted Griffith to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Griffith kissed you harshly, and it frankly felt like kissing an untamed beast cornering its prey. You never knew Griffith was ...quite an expert at this, his mouth slightly nibbling at your lower lip everytime he retreated.
After finally pulling away from you, Griffith latched his face onto your neck, positioning himself next to your right ear. “Give yourself to me, Princess. After all, your Kingdom….will soon be mine.”
“No…NO!!!!” you exclaimed.
“A little stubborn, are we?” Griffith asked, tilting his head. “Well, it’s not like you’ve stood a chance. We’re taking off this one, okay?”
You kept tugging at your bathrobe’s ‘belt’ to keep it away from the filthy man on top of you. “Griffith, I don’t want this, please…..”
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Too stubborn.” Griffith said, his touch growing angrier as he grabbed your bathrobe by the waist, curling his hand to a fist. Using his other hand, he slid a sleeve of the wardrobe off your shoulder, revealing your bare shoulder and right breast. Griffith dug right in, his lips kissing your hardened nipple as he engulfed his mouth to suckle it whole. While doing the do, he used his right hand to slide off the other sleeve of your bathrobe, exposing your other breast and stripping you down to your naked form. Griffith pulled away from your nipple, impressed with how he rendered the Queen of Midland helpless under his touch.
“Mmmm……what a pretty little thing you make, just for my kingdom.” Griffith let out a satisfactory hum. “This will be a rather fun time showing them who’s deserving of the throne.” Next thing you knew, Griffith was about to go down on you, positioning himself around the area of your waist.
“Don’t resist, Princess. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs wide open.” You hesitantly obeyed, up until Griffith grabbed you by your inner thighs, spreading them wider and raising them. Finally, he slipped your legs up his shoulders. It felt dirty having someone’s face right up your pussy, especially since this was your first time. Your mind wandered as you closed your eyes, hoping everything you just witnessed was just a dream. But no, it wasn’t. You fought against Griffith’s clutches, tugging at his hair and pushing him away.
But this just prompted him to dig right in, lapping at your fluids as he used his hands to part your lips for better tasting. You muffled a moan from the pleasurable feeling, covering your mouth with one hand. Griffith’s tongue worked you in fast, yet practiced motions—the tongue moved swiftly and curled just the right amount to send you shivers down your spine, earning muffled whimpers from you.
Granted, vibrators didn’t exist in the Medieval Era of Midland, so you might as well indulge in that feeling of someone’s tongue right up your pussy.
Griffith withdrew from eating you out for a while, his breathing and humming loud enough to send you goosebumps. “Mmmm…. You’re already this wet from a little kissing and heavy sucking. I wonder how it would be like to have you sing while having myself fully inside you, to have you clench around me while I slowly take what’s rightfully mine.”
“L-let go!!!!” you screamed. “I don’t want this!!!”
“You’ll take whatever’s been given to you, Princess. After all, you’re something…..” Griffith said, strict and unwavering. “Magnetic.”
Griffith moaned as he dug right back in, his tongue hovered over your clit. He started tracing small circles in a slow pacing, which left you impatient and begging for more. You tugged into his hair trying to fight him off, but as previously stated, you were left with no defenses against his strong grip.
“Griffith!!! Oh God…..!!!! I’m gonna…..!!!”
The feeling gave you that guilt, guilt for enjoying this man’s advances on you, and guilt because you just couldn’t believe your sense of authority was being challenged by a man of common birth.
But Griffith refused to stop. No, he didn’t stop suckling at your clit gently to give you a break. Griffith was merciless in the bedroom, leaving you with no choice but to accept the fate you’ve been accustomed to.
“Agh! Griffith!!! Stop….!!!!” you moaned out loud.
Griffith’s tongue kept going, and it wasn’t long before he inserted two digits inside your entrance without warning. He just didn’t care. His tongue slowly picked up the pace, speeding up and finally making you reach that sweet, sweet climax you’ve been waiting for. You fucked back subconsciously against his tongue, riding out your orgasm until it was ready to subside. After coming down from your high, you suddenly realized Griffith was looking down at you icily with his bright blue eyes, his body towering over yours despite lying down in bed.
You were screwed. What was about to happen next?
“Hmmm…..perhaps you are ready to take all of me. I’m going to fuck you so good you’d actually forget being the Queen of Midland.”
“No…..NO!!!!” you exclaimed, attempting to get up and reach for the door. You were stopped dead by Griffith once again, leading him to push you back to the mattress and grabbing you by the legs. Spreading them wider, Griffith let go of your legs, only to stroke his length before initially inserting it in your entrance. Slight precum formed through a pearl-like shape at the slit of his cock, adding lubrication to the process of entering you. Before you knew it, Griffith made efforts to adjust and bury his length within your vagina, though you ached in retaliation.
“Aghhh!!! It hurts! It burns! Let go!”
“Hush, princess. I know what I’m doing.” Griffith said as he spread your legs open for a better view. He adjusted himself by taking slow yet sure steps in burying his length into you, filling you to the brim. You were at this point begging to be freed from his grasp, though your fainting strength was no match for him.
Placing his hands on your wrists, Griffith pinned you down and started thrusting his hips in a slow, yet ambitious pace. You bit your lip to hold back your moans, but it was all for naught. You let out a small “uh” while he rocked in and out, sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air as he leaned closer to your ear to speak.
“You don’t stand a chance against ruling Midland.” Griffith muttered at an intimate distance from you.
“What…..Huh…..?” you whimpered, your breasts being grabbed as it bounced from Griffith’s thrusts. “What….do you me-ngggh!” you grunted, trying to resist him by trying to get up. “I owe you nothing! Just please, let me rule my Kingdom in peace! I’ll do anything…..anything….but this…..!!!”
“Surrender your pride, little one.” Griffith said as he caught his breath. “I want you to dream of this.”
As a means of defending yourself, you attempted to grab Griffith by the hair to pull and tug on it roughly. However, your efforts to distract Griffith failed. You had to take responsibility for what had to happen next, and it was all because Griffith wanted a taste of your kingdom.
“I have every right to follow my dream, princess. And I want you and your kingdom surrendered to me. That is the pinnacle of achieving my dream.”
“You’ll…..you’ll never…..have my kingdom…..” you fought your way to speak in the midst of denying the pleasure Griffith gave you.
“You’ll take whatever I deem right to give you, princess. After all, your kingdom and this body will be mine.” Griffith said.
You screamed as loud as you could that the servants and every guest would hear you. The walls were soundproof, but you didn’t have a choice.
“Please!!!! I don’t want this! Please get off!!!”
“You do know screaming out for servants to assist you won’t do your kingdom justice, right? Mmmmm…..”
Right on the dot, Griffith stopped thrusting, pulled out, and aggressively flipped your body over that you were facing the bed. With one fell swoop, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pinned your head to the pillow to muffle every moan and protest you had up your sleeve. Without warning, he repositioned himself right up your entrance, taking you from behind.
“This is a far better idea to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.” Griffith commanded.
“Mmmmmhhhh…….mmmmhhhhh!!!!”
The sounds of lewd clapping resumed, Griffith’s cock milking every last bit of your pussy’s juices with fervor. There was no turning back now, and he was truly getting at it, without any form of warning or informing you of any discomfort felt. It was like Griffith only cared for his own pleasure and never left crumbs of remorse for your wellbeing. This left you scarred—physically, emotionally, and most significantly, spiritually.
“Mmmmmm……I’m getting quite close.” Griffith smirked as he leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it, princess? Squirm? Run away?”
Your eyes widened at his remark, your body telling you to escape as he was nearing his release. You certainly did not want to carry his child, nor want to do anything with the monster who pounded on you animalistically.
“Noooooo!!!!!!” your voice protested while being muffled by the pillows where your head rested.
“As I said, you’ll take whatever’s been given to you. Now….”
It wasn’t long before your body betrayed you. You felt your climax approaching despite being against the thought of Griffith fucking you. Subconsciously, you fucked back, trying to get Griffith’s cock deep in you before you could feel his fluids leaking straight from your soaked cunt.
Three.
Two.
One.
Your moans and grunts filled the pillow, adding to its warmth while Griffith bit down your neck out of extreme pleasure. His thrusts sped up as he began to feel ropes of cum shooting itself inside you before pulling out. And the feeling was mutually GOOD. You let out a groan as your muscles relaxed, Griffith moaning as his cum began to leak out from your newly filled cunt. You were soaking wet and drenched in sweat as Griffith stayed inside you for long.
You were now marked as his. You didn’t know what to do at this point as you were deflowered after your coronation day.
“Sleep well, princess. Provided you are to raise a child from our time together, just let me know. We can build a kingdom where you could rule by my side.”
You couldn’t respond, which prompted Griffith to flip your body back to lying on your back. It was truly a tiresome night, filled with intensity and passion as Griffith stole everything from you.
You just never stood a chance.
Your eyes suddenly admitted defeat, staring up at Griffith as he looked down at you with a look of an angel. He was charming, so to speak, but heavily dedicated to what he promised to achieve.
And he achieved it.
He achieved his dream.
#griffith x you#griffith x reader#berserk griffith#yandere griffith#griffith berserk#griffith#berserk anime#berserk manga#berserk x reader#smut#berserk#fanfiction#x reader#yandere x reader
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Imagine being married to Griffith😭
It would be a LITERAL guessing game 
But don’t get me wrong I do love me some Griffith x you Contant and I’m not gonna lie.. it be making me blush a little bit. But still you cannot tell me that if he actually showed you the time of day, got married to you🫵 that you wouldn’t be questioning why he’s suddenly…I don’t know like adamant or is OK with marrying you in the first place because usually he has ulterior motives😭
You are going to be questioning if he actually likes you or if he’s just literally playing you/using you as a steppingstone of sorts 
Like literally, how would you even tell? he’s so good at acting that you probably wouldn’t even know what’s real from fake
And this is all considering, if you have some steppingstone potential 😭
But um anyway…
I believe in Griffith supremacy!!!!😡
He is a kind and gentle soul, and he can do nothing wrong in this world!!!!🤬
Make more Griffith X you Contant!!!🤬
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LUCAS ADAMS & SIMONE GRIFFITH
GREY’S ANATOMY: 19.06, Thunderstruck
#greysedit#greysanatomyedit#gaedit#grey's anatomy#lucas adams#simone griffith#lucas x simone#usertelevision#useroptional#usermedical#usermorgan#userlolo#tuserjen#useryoshi#addys-beth#*#*gifs#I NEVER LOSE I HAVE NEVER LOST A DAY IN MY LIFE#now when i tell you i screamed#also his hand on her face...my cause of death
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you know i just had a thought. i might be misremembering or forgetting details, but i don't think guts was that much taller than griffith when they first met?
i'm not seeing that much of a difference in their build or their height here. granted the angle is sort of finicky and neither of them are standing straight up on an even, equal surface but still, they look roughly similar give or take
then contrast that with the final years of the golden age
guts is very obviously significantly taller and significantly broader than griffith. and it makes sense, since they were teenagers when they met and they're adults now, even though only ~three years have passed; growth can keep happening into people's twenties.
so. what i'm saying is, these two spent phases of their puberty together. griffith probably witnessed firsthand guts' transformation into the beefcake he is in adulthood. he definitely glanced at him and got hot under the collar sometimes
guts definitely also glanced at griffith and got hot under the collar too. it's just not fair that someone can continue to get more beautiful by the day
#a totally important serious and critical topic if you ask me#now i want to write a fic. just best friends being best friends obviously. 'you've grown so much since we first met.' platonic behavior#griffguts#guts x griffith#griffith#griffith berserk#berserk griffith#guts#guts berserk#berserk guts#kentaro miura#berserk tag#berserk#berserk rambling#i ramble
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TIGmas Day #9 – Mediation
This fic is dedicated to @thedeadsingforme, and will be posted in at least a few parts (currently 8!) because I got carried away (you’ll likely understand why as soon as you read the summary). This one is going to be interesting, and while it’s a bit of a stretch (more like not compliant with the canon of either movie), I think it’s in a fun (or at least kinky!) way. Hope you all enjoy!
Summary: You are assigned as Terry McCain’s new partner after his previous partner – Cash Ewing – goes to prison for the crimes he has committed. Cash returns to Chicago years later, after his release and rehabilitation, and while he can’t be a cop anymore, he wants to make amends to those he has disappointed with his actions, most of all his former close friend Terry. Terry isn’t receptive to Cash’s attempts at reconciliation, and warns you to stay away from him, having grown very protective of his “work wife.” But you find something of a kindred spirit in Cash and want to help him get a second chance at life, deciding to do what you can to support the man and bring the two friends back together.
Pairings: Reader x Terry; Reader x Cash; … Terry x Reader x Cash
TW (For the whole fic, not necessarily in every chapter): Deception, stalking, sketchy police business, references to crime, flirting, teasing, dirty talk, M/F sex of all kinds (no M/M though)
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Mediation
Prologue: Acclimation
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- 1991 -
Terry's POV:
“No. Absolutely not.”
“That’s funny, McCain – I don’t recall asking if you were okay with it.”
“I don’t work with a partner. Not anymore, you know that. I can work with Dylan and Frankie if I have to, but –”
“How many different ways do I have to tell you this is non-negotiable before it gets through that thick skull of yours?” Captain McLaren bellows, spittle flying past his bushy moustache.
“Do I or do I not get the job done on my own?” Terry asks flatly, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.
“That’s not the point, McCain. It’s departmental policy to work in pairs; keeps officers safe, and keeps them from stepping out of line, being rougher with suspects than they need to be,” McLaren replies, his voice think with implications.
Alright, so maybe he had been a little excessive with his use of force lately when handling perps, but so what? He was trying to clean up the city. And it wasn’t as if these people didn’t deserve it; they were criminals, they all did.
“I’d rather take things on alone than have to worry about someone stabbing me in the back instead of watching it.”
McLaren sighs deeply, looking across his desk at him with a weary expression, and Terry stiffens. He was not going to tolerate another unwanted, fatherly discussion about his last partner.
“Officer Y/N has a spotless record –”
“Anyone can be crooked, Captain.”
“Y/N is fresh out of the academy, McCain – no opportunity to go crooked yet. You could make sure she stays that way.”
Terry gets out of the chair, angrily shoving it back into place, his large hands gripping the back of it tightly as he stares down at the older man with a furious expression.
“A rookie?!” he snarls incredulously. “You want me to be a fucking babysitter? Why are you punishing me?”
“Maybe because you’re having a tantrum in front of your superior officer.”
Terry whirls around, having not heard the door to the Captain’s office open; who the fuck had the nerve to talk down to him like this? He lowers his gaze to look down at the short woman standing at the door.
Your arms are crossed and you have an unimpressed expression on your face as you look up at him. His temper is somewhat quelled, and he feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment – his mother would have his head if she knew that he had spoken disrespectfully about a woman, rookie or not.
Terry opens his mouth to speak, but you look past him to the Captain. “I apologize for the behaviour of my partner, Captain McLaren. Hopefully we can settle into our new roles quickly and get to work with fewer disruptions,” you say, your tone cold as you glare daggers up at Terry. Before he can get an apology in, you’ve whirled around, leaving the office and closing the door behind you. Through the blinds of the office windows he sees you take a seat at your assigned desk, right next to his.
A low chuckle from behind him makes him turn around to face the other man.
“What?” he snaps, irritated once more.
“Devlin said he thought L/N might be able to keep you in line. Looks like he was right,” McLaren explains, still laughing.
“So, what? Now I need a babysitter?”
“Don’t be an idiot, McCain – no one is babysitting anyone. You’re partners, you take care of each other. It hasn’t been that long, you still remember how it works, right?”
“Yes.” He gives the answer reluctantly, through gritted teeth. Looks like he wouldn’t be able to get out of this.
“Good. Now go play nice with Officer L/N – I don’t want to hear any complaints about your conduct, understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Looks like she’s rubbing off on you already. Dismissed!”
Biting his tongue instead of responding, he turns and exits the office, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him. Lashing out at McLaren for enforcing a rule wouldn’t change anything, and he supposes that taking out his frustrations on you wasn’t fair either.
He hesitates as he approaches the workstation you two will be sharing, staring at your back. No one had sat at that desk for months; no one had dared to. Seeing you there, taking the place intentionally left empty fills him with trepidation. Would you screw him over too? Show your true colours, abandon him, make him feel like –
“What the hell are you staring at, McCain?” you bark, eyes narrowing suspiciously as you catch him staring. He swallows, trying to tamp down his temper as it threatens to flare up once again, and takes a deep breath.
“Look, I… I just wanted to apologize. It’s not that I have anything against y–”
“You know, the only thing worse than hearing you make assumptions about me before we even met would be you changing those assumptions just because I’m a woman,” you interrupt him crossly, closing the distance between the two of you to avoid raising your voice.
“I get that you don’t want to work with me, McCain – you’re a big, bad tough guy who’s too good for a partner. Well, guess what? I don’t really have any interest in working with you either, no matter how good a cop everyone says you are. So why don’t we agree to just stay out of each other’s way and cut the crap?”
His nostrils flare; you really know how to push his buttons. He wonders what he could have possibly done to Lieutenant Devlin to make him seek revenge by partnering him up with you.
“Fine,” he seethes, scooping up his current open casefiles and looking for an empty interrogation room to work in instead.
---
Reader’s POV:
Your so-called partner Terry McCain had stormed off hours ago, presumably to sulk in solitude, and hadn’t returned since. That was just fine, in your opinion. You doubt he could teach you anything valuable anyway – you’d had enough experience dealing with whiny, temperamental man-children at the academy.
Still, this behaviour is just unprofessional, and certainly not a great start to your career as a police officer. You had overcome so much, earned the respect of your fellow trainees during your training by graduating at the top of your class, making them come to terms with their prejudices and recognizing that they had been wrong about you. You had landed your dream job, working at one of the busiest precincts in Chicago alongside one of its – apparently – finest detectives. But his reluctance to work with you has you feel like you’re starting your training all over again – down at the bottom of the totem pole, judged and looked down upon by all the men.
Your frustration with McCain fuels you throughout the day as you set up your and your computer, intermittently filling out paperwork as it is brought to your desk. You would not be scared off by the man’s childish antics.
The precinct is relatively empty, everyone out working cases or walking the beat, so you don’t feel guilty setting up your radio and turning the dial to your favourite jazz station, the music soothing your bad mood.
“You listen to WNUA?” The speaker’s voice is filled with surprise, and you turn, seeing that Terry has returned from his self-imposed exile.
“Yeah, is that a problem?” you ask, arching an eyebrow challengingly, but the tall man’s lips twitch in an almost-smile.
“Not at all, it’s actually my favourite radio station. I just never met another cop that liked smooth jazz,” he replies, his mouth giving in and stretching into a pleased smile that lights up his face.
“Well… good then,” you finish awkwardly, turning back to your desk. As you root around through the last few desk drawers you have to sort through, you hear him settling in at his own desk behind you, and bite the inside of your cheek. Perhaps there was hope for an amicable partnership after all…
Taking a seat, you sift through the papers, seeing if there was anything you needed to keep. A lot of the documents seem to belong to the same officer, someone named Cash Ewing. Could this have been Terry’s previous partner?
“Did you used to work with someone named Cash Ewing?” you ask, frowning at the thick stack of papers that belong to the man. “He left a lot of random crap in his desk…”
You lower the documents after a moment to see why he hasn't responded and see that Terry has stiffened in his chair, his jaw clenched shut as he glares off into the distance. After a stretch of silence his eyes flit over to you.
“He’s no one. He got fired. I can take those for you,” he says tersely in a hoarse voice, standing up and taking the papers out of your hands, walking out of sight before you can protest. You look after him, your brow furrowed, wondering at what had happened between Terry and this other cop to have him so angry.
Everything within you wants to ask Terry – ask anyone – about what exactly went on with Cash Ewing. You were the type of person that hated an unsolved mystery, possibilities swirling through your head as you try to put the pieces together.
But this man was meant to be your partner, and clearly didn’t want to discuss the topic. Swallowing your curiosity, and resolving to get to the bottom of things without him, you let the issue go for now.
Terry returns some time later without the documents and wordlessly retakes his seat beside you, typing up a report on his computer.
“Hey,” you say softly, trying to rekindle that brief spark of camaraderie you’d had before the subject of Cash had come up. Still, you watch Terry stiffen before he looks over at you with guarded eyes.
“What?” he asks, and you can tell that he’s bracing himself for the questions you desperately want to ask.
“Are there any good jazz clubs around here?” you ask, giving him a small smile. Terry’s shoulders sag slightly in relief at the change in topic, and his gaze is filled with warmth as he looks at you now, returning your smile.
“My friend Jake owns the best in town.”
---
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
[Future parts will be added here!]
#Thomas Ian Griffith#Cash#Cash Ewing#Black Friday#Black Friday 2007#The Kidnapping#The Kidnapping 2007#Terry McCain#Excessive Force#TIGmas#12 Days of TIGmas#Smut#Romance#Suspend your disbelief please and thank you#Cash x Reader#terry mccain x reader#terry mccain x reader x cash
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"Whatever you are, save me from my suffering!! If you do, I'll give you anything!!"
"And we promised you...that we would make you into a supernatural being who would never know sorrow or despair".
"The life you couldn't take by your own hand..."
"The life of the person you loved the most and hated the most!!"
"You gave it to us!!"
"So that you could bury your fragile human heart."
The guardians of desire, chapter 5
#You know it's gay when you're making parallels between a husband and wife#i see what you were doing Miura#griffguts#griffith#guts berserk#gay#happy pride 🌈#griffith x guts#manga
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Berserk fans, does Casca ever go back to girlbossing?? I’m too lazy and busy to read a hundred chapters only to find out that she’ll stay broken for the rest of her life
#I know that hoping for pre eclipse casca is too much but#and before anyone tries to start a fight no I don’t think you have to be a fighter in order to be strong blah blah blah#and if by some malheur a guy tells me to read and find out like they do on Reddit I’m afraid I am the one who will start a fight#casca#berserk#guts berserk#griffith#manga#casca x guts
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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!princess!reader, king!stepdad!griffith, stepcest, cuddlefucking, reader is a griffith simp and also a brat, griffith is brutally honest and also kind of misogynistic, griffith calls reader ‘ little girl ‘, implied age gap, all characters featured are aged 18+
𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3
𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day nine [ griffith + stepcest ]
“Look at me.”
you don’t.
“Look.”
poking your lower lip out in a childish pout, you purposefully avert your eyes. turning your face down into the pillow as if refusing eye contact was punishing your stepfather in some way. he sighs, albeit softly, and you feel his long, slender fingers grip your chin, before forcing your face back towards him. you close your eyes, instead, but only do so for a millisecond.
“Look. At. Me.”
you have no choice now. even though Griffith’s tone rarely raised ( and was, in this moment, a soft whisper ), the edge of his baritone was a sneaking growl that rumbled in his throat, but you’d learned to pick it out and understand when he was at his wit’s end with you. his grip firm and squeezing your chin, holding you in place.
finally, you obey. your eyelids flutter as your vision comes back, and you blink a few times until the blur goes away. almost tears, but you’d managed to push them back.
your bedchamber was dark, except for the pale moonlight spilling through the open curtains that catches Griffith’s figure and casts a silvery glow against his flawless features. your face is inches from him, lain on your side with your breasts smushed against his chest, your eyes more than willing to drink in every inch of his countenance. he isn’t smiling, but he’s not scowling, either. his stoic expression is all too familiar.
“What an insolent little girl you’ve become.” he mutters, and you pout even more. “That’s my doing, isn’t it? I spoil you too much.”
you scoff at that— you want to disagree with him. hell, you want to argue that the king doesn’t give you enough attention as it is, he’s much too occupied with your mother and their marriage to give you any kind of real affection, and the time he did spend with you was always under the guise of night time. when no one was awake to witness him tiptoeing into your bedchamber to fuck you.
“Stop your pouting,” he instructs, angling your face toward him. he moves closer, and for a moment you think he’s doing so to kiss you. your lips part, your eyelids droop, and you wait for that sweet, sweet kiss you yearn to taste. the feeling of his plush lips caressing yours. but he doesn’t kiss you. his breath is a soft wave against your tiers as his own linger, close enough to tickle yours. “And move your hips more. I know you love it when I’m deep inside you like this. So show me.”
“Can you sleep in here tonight?” you ask, biding your time.
but when one, graceful hand careens downward to grasp your thigh and hook it up around his slender waist and he answers a simple, “No.” you huff and puff, but obediently wind your hips in slow strokes. feeling every inch of him fill you, you let out a pleasured sigh.
you wished you could have this all the time.
you wished he would stay, so you could wake up in the early morning, when the sun was just starting to rise, and wrap your lips around the cock you loved so much.
you wished he would hold you like this until you fell asleep, with his and your own body joined in a way that was meant only for man and wife.
“Please? Just this once?” both of your hands rest on his shoulders, keeping yourself close to him as you fuck yourself with his cock. slow and deep. a mine-melting rhythm. “Hnnnn… please—“
Griffith cuts into your begging with a low moan, allowing his hand to fall from your face and glide between your body and his. fingers dipping between your hips, the pads rub slow circles around your swollen button until you swoon, your walls fluttering spastically as he stimulates your clit. “Tighter. There you go. Good girl,” he mutters, his eyeline dropping to your lower body rocking back and forth as his breath catches, “clench for me. Let me feel you milk me.”
it was hard to stay mad when he praised you— though you knew he did so simply to placate you, you cling close to his chest and whine. “Why— why couldn’t you have married m-me?” you were starting to pant, now. the passion of the moment overtaking your senses and tightening every muscle in your body.
“Oh, love.” Griffith croons, but you can hear not a single ounce of real emotion behind the term of endearment. his lips graze yours, his voice a husky whisper. “Marrying your mother has given me my own kingdom, an army, and hundreds of loyal subjects. What could you possibly offer me other than a tight, wet cunt?”
a stunned silence befalls you, and humiliation screws your expression into one of pathetic submission, realizing that he would never care for you the way you care for him. it would be something you would have to live with, after all. being his set of holes when he needed his balls drained, but an afterthought any other time.
his sapphire gaze flickers back to your face, and though he doesn’t smile, there’s an aura of satisfaction and victory that engulfs him, washing over you, too. “Being your father allows me so much more power. Over Midland. Over your mother. And over you, my pert, little plaything.”
#griffith#griffith smut#griffith x reader#griffith x you#griffith imagine#berserk#berserk x reader#berserk x you#berserk smut#griffith berserk
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Catch Me If You Can - Griffith/Reader
Masterlist
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 7.3k
Warnings: None, just good ol’ fluff and some angst (don’t worry the ending is happy)
Summary:
As the crown princess, you're expected to behave every bit like a lady. Except you frankly don't care and live how you want much to the dismay of your parents. When Charlotte visits your kingdom, a banquet is held.
Somehow you manage to get yourself grounded a few days prior, but it's no big deal, you'll just sneak out like you always do. Except Griffith happens to foil your plans every time.
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"I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping."
"I wouldn't call it escaping," you mutter under your breath.
"And what would you call it, dear Princess?"
"I'm simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle."
"As far as I recall, walks don't usually involve scaling buildings."
"What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—
Note:
This was requested by @Bravo6_go_in_dark on Wattpad and I am so sorry for taking forever to write this. I've been writing this on and off for about a month and a half but it's finally done! (Note my username on Wattpad is @Parascythe- )
Request: "Can u do griffith with a fem reader who is Charlotte's royal best friend from another kingdom who is very chaotic childish bold and a trouble maker and once the king and queen of her kingdom has to drag her by the hair and keep her in her room but her multiple tries of escaping didn't work cuz griffith is outside her palace"
I will say that I do not like Griffith for obvious reasons, but I can respect who he was before a certain point in the manga/anime. I think some of my bias leaked into my writing, and as a result, this is not pure fluff. The realist in me demanded something more realistic.
I also never intended for this to be super long, but here we are at around 7k words. Maybe the long fic will make up for the amount of time spent waiting lol.
I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. On with the fic! ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
You never were the ideal princess your parents wanted. Some find it hard to believe that you’re royalty and would say so if it didn’t mean treason. While your parents made every effort to raise you properly, there was always your brash attitude that none of your tutors could tame. Etiquette and grace were drilled into you. You acted like a perfect princess—diplomatic and reserved—at events and official settings. Outside, however, is an entirely different story.
“Princess! Please come back! Her Majesty says you must look presentable for your upcoming betrothal meeting!” Your maid shouts, failing to keep up with your running.
You toss your head back with a laugh and continue gleefully dashing through the castle. “If he really wants to marry me then he should accept me as I am,” you refer to your pants. “Having to dress up to impress some man I might not even like is foolish.” As you run, you pass by a familiar white knight—viscount now—and meet curious blue eyes. Griffith is here to guard Charlotte while she’s visiting your kingdom. Flashing a cheeky smile, you wave and continue on your path to meet your potential fiance, unaware of his lingering gaze.
You stand in front of the drawing-room and enter unannounced before any of the servants can stop you. “Princess! It’s a pleasure to meet—” a man immediately stands up to greet you, pausing mid-sentence when he notices your attire. If you remember correctly, he’s the prince of a neighbouring kingdom. You also recall that your parents were adamant about signing a trade treaty with them, hence the sudden need to join the two kingdoms through marriage. The slight furrow of his brow already puts you in a bad mood. “Is the princess not able to come? I must say that I have never seen such a rude maid barge into a room, let alone one dressed so inappropriately. Are those pants?” You swear you see red but the diplomatic voice in your brain begs you not to cave his face in to avoid instigating a war. Instead, your fingers curl into a fist and you can feel the sting as your nails dig into your palms. You school your expression into something neutral and not at all the seething rage boiling underneath your skin.
“You’re speaking right to her.” His face pales. “I wasn’t aware that they skipped lessons on proper etiquette in your kingdom. How barbaric.” You look at him with disdain, already deciding that you wanted nothing to do with this man. His complexion quickly flushes with colour. He takes quick, angry strides towards you and grips your wrists tightly. Where were the guards?? You glance around the room and notice that it’s only the two of you and that there’s no commotion from outside. Part of you is scared, but another part of you is furious—furious at this man who looks down on you because he thinks you’re an easy target.
“Listen here, Princess,” he spits out your title with venom, “I would watch my tone if I were you. Your kingdom needs mine, not the other way around. My parents have left the decision up to me whether the treaty is signed or not.” His other hand drifts uncomfortably low and you glare murderously. “You should smile more, otherwise you’ll ruin that pretty face of yours; after all, that is your only redeeming quality.”
“To hell with the treaty.” Deciding that you’ve had enough, you rotate your wrist and pull your arm out of his grip. Taking the efficient route, you deliver a swift kick between his trousers and he crumples to the ground like a puppet that had its strings cut. “Don’t you ever threaten me again.” You rest your foot on top of the area you kicked, noting how he winces. “Do you understand?” When you receive no response you add pressure to your foot. “Do. You. Understand?” You emphasize each word. The question of whether this man would be able to continue his family line lingers in the back of your mind.
“Fucking bitch!”
Before you can stomp your foot down, your parents enter the room.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Your father demands as your mother drags you away from your fiance—ex-fiance now.
“He started it!” You say, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
“Honey, we have talked about this,” your mother tries to soothe you, “you cannot keep making such childish excuses.”
“He threatened me! H-he tried to touch me!” you sputter, voice rising as your shoulders go rigid with tension. You whip your head and see his cocky smirk that immediately changes into a tearful expression when your parents glance over.
“She just suddenly attacked me!” He sobs pitifully, his acting even worse than that jester your parents hired. “I went to greet her and she kicked me without hesitation. What will my parents do when they hear their only son may never be able to produce heirs?” You feel one of your eyes twitch in annoyance, but the look on your father’s face keeps your mouth shut.
“We can still sort this out.” Your father sighs and turns to you. “You are grounded, young lady. You are to stay in your room until the upcoming banquet.” You open your mouth to begin protesting. “Not a single word from you. Guards!” At his command, a group of guards enter the room. Where were they when you needed them?? “Escort the princess back to her chambers.” His tired eyes look over you once more. “Drag her if you must.” The guards salute and nudge you out of the room. Eventually, they do end up dragging you because you insisted on going back and reasoning with your parents.
You spend the next day locked up in your room, grateful that you were at least allowed visitors. And so here you were, sitting with Charlotte as she listened to you over a cup of tea. She frowned when you mentioned the man’s rude behaviour, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when you got to the part where you kicked him in the balls.
“I mean, honestly, Lottie. How could they expect me to marry such a pig?!” you exclaim indignantly. She pats your hand as a comforting gesture. “What’s with that look on your face?” You lean back in your chair and try to analyze her expression.
“I am surprised and envious of your boldness,” Charlotte admits. She is a lot more demure compared to you, something you assumed was a product of her father’s doing.
“And look where that boldness got me.” You gesture to your temporary confinement and the noticeable increase in guards around and in your room.
Charlotte laughs, and it’s what you would expect a princess’s laugh to sound like—melodic and light. “When has that ever stopped you?” She raises a brow and her lips lift softly into a smile.
You clamber out of your seat and rush to give her a hug, adoring the way she squeals joyfully in your arms. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You grin at her, already planning an escape in your head.
There are three more days until the banquet, which means three more escape attempts. On the first day, you decide to try climbing out of the window. Your room was only on the third level and you managed to gather enough silk sheets to form a rope. During the day there were guards inside your room, so you decided to wait until the evening to put your plan into action.
Once the pale moon rises into view, you walk to your closet and pull out the pile of ‘rope’ and quietly carry a chair to your door, wedging it beneath the doorknob. This way you could give yourself more time before they realize what you’ve done. Tiptoeing to your window, you secure one end of the rope around the lantern hook next to the frame and carefully lower the rest of it. A light breeze brushes against your face and you shiver as you stare at the dark abyss below. You’ve read in books about heroes and heroines doing this countless times. How hard could it be to execute in real life?
Not as hard as you thought, but a lot harder than you expected. You never considered what would happen if you were to slip or fall before reaching the ground. But to be honest, this is a fanfic and you’re feeling fairly confident in your plot armour.
With the fourth wall broken, you begin your descent towards freedom (hopefully). Thanks to all the horse riding and swordsmanship, it takes you less than half an hour to reach the ground. You internally sigh with relief when your feet come in contact with solid ground.
“I believe you are supposed to be under room arrest, Princess?” A familiar voice shatters the small moment of victory and your shoulders immediately tense up—your back straight as a rod. Lucky for you, there’s a layer of amusement in his tone, so you’re probably not completely fucked. Turning your head, a small gasp falls from your lips. You already thought he looked handsome during the day, but the moonlight did wonders for his ethereal beauty.
“Is your hair made out of moonlight?” The words escape before your brain has time to process them. Your eyes widen and it feels like you’ll snap in half if your body becomes any more rigid. “Shit—I mean, pardon me.” Your breathing quickens and heat flushes from the crown of your head to the base of your neck.
“I can practically see the steam rising off your head. And no, Princess. My hair is simply just hair. Although the colour seems to intrigue most people.” He comes closer and makes an attempt to grab your arm. His fingers send a jolt of electricity and you jump back, the castle walls trapping you from behind.
“I’m not going back, not yet at least,” you refuse, flinching away from his touch again. His lips turn into a small frown but it disappears when you blink again. His expression is more neutral now and that polite smile is back on his face.
“I am afraid your parents have ordered everyone to escort you back to your room should they discover you escaping.”
“I wouldn’t call it escaping,” you mutter under your breath.
“And what would you call it, dear Princess?”
“I’m simply taking a walk away from my room and out of the castle.”
“As far as I recall, walks don’t usually involve scaling buildings.”
“What can I say? I like to take the scenic route—
A squeak escapes from your throat as the ground suddenly vanishes beneath your feet. Instinctively your arms cling around his neck. You glance up and notice that Griffith’s face is significantly closer to yours now. When did he get so close?
“W-what are you doing?” you ask, unsure whether to faint from excitement or embarrassment.
“I am escorting you to your chambers,” he responds in a matter-of-fact tone, carrying you with ease.
“I figured as much, b-but I’m capable of walking. Y-you don’t need to carry me like this.” You stumble through your words, oblivious to the way the corners of his lips curl up.
“I believe you and Charlotte called this the ‘princess carry’ during one of your book discussions.”
You furrow your brows and think back to all your recent interactions with Charlotte. Had he been paying attention all those times? Your heart skips a beat and you begin to sweat. If he remembers this then he probably remembers how the two of you drooled over the male leads in the romance novels you’ve been reading.
“I didn’t expect you to eavesdrop, Sir Griffith.”
“One can hardly call it eavesdropping if the entire conversation consists of loud screams and squeals over fictional men.”
“Touché.” You look around and notice that he’s walking away from the main castle. You unconsciously tighten your grip.
“Not to worry, Your Highness. I am still under orders to escort you back to your room.” He squeezes you gently in reassurance. “The length of time, however, was not specified. We are taking—what did you call it?” He flashes you a dazzling smile. “The scenic route?”
Blood rushes back to your cheeks and you turn away bashfully, hoping he doesn’t notice the dopey grin on your lips. “And pray tell what the scenic route entails?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation.
“Through the gardens. I hear the flowers are lovely this time of year.” You reach the familiar archway with ivy woven between its frame. He sets you down gently and offers his arm. “M’lady.”
You accept and hope the lighting is dim enough to hide your glowing cheeks. “Thank you, for—“ you try to find the right words “—for everything tonight.” You admire the petals of the peonies nearby. “You could have taken me straight back to my room, but you didn’t. So, thank you.” Shyly, you tuck some hair behind your ear and smooth out your blouse.
“Terribly stuffy, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him. “The aristocrats and nobility.”
“As difficult as it is, it’s a responsibility I was born with.” You shrug. “One I hear you hope to also carry?” Your question was innocent enough but his expression falters for a second.
“I do aspire for my own kingdom.” He looks down at you with a serious gaze; there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “It is a lifelong dream.”
You nod thoughtfully. “Is that why you and Charlotte…?” On numerous occasions, the two of you have gossiped over Griffith and his godly appearance. Lately, you’ve noticed the two of them growing closer.
“Charlotte is lovely but I do not care for her as a lover,” he admits without hesitation.
“Are you sure you should be telling me—her best friend—this?” you tease, nudging him playfully.
He bends down and you can feel his warm breath tickle your ear. “Perhaps I wanted you to hear it.”
“Is that a confession?” You tease him, not expecting a serious reply.
“Would you accept it if it was?” His words cause your steps to falter and you have to tightly grip his arm to steady yourself.
“In your dreams.” You try to deflect your embarrassment. Griffith raises a brow; your flustered appearance does not go unnoticed.
“Well, in my dreams I would present a flower—“ he plucks a rose from the garden “—like this and—“ he tucks it behind your ear “—and proceed to claim how no other flower is more beautiful than the one blossoming in front of me.”
The blush on your cheeks puts the rose petals to shame. “I wasn’t aware you were such a wordsmith, Sir Griffith.”
“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me, Princess.” He flashes you a smile that borders on a smirk.
“And do I get the pleasure of learning about them all?”
“That depends.” He stops walking and you realize that you’re back at the main castle. Bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Goodnight, Princess.” He leaves as swiftly as he appeared. You begin to process what just happened tonight and the familiar warmth returns to your cheeks. Shaking your head, you realize the only way back to your room undetected is to climb up again. With a sigh, you begin your journey back to your window.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
The security is laxer the second day and there are no longer any guards inside your room. So when the guards rotate for their shifts, you pull out a spare maid uniform and change into it. For good measure, you put on a wig and remove any makeup you had on. Using the pretense that you’re a maid the princess called for earlier, you manage to walk right past the guards. You tell them that the princess ordered you to pick up her favourite pastries from the capital for tea later. With a solid excuse, you are free to venture into the capital. You even make it past the gates until you’re hit with a sense of déjà vu.
“We meet again, Princess.” You don’t dare look behind you, opting instead to increase your pace into a brisk walk. He matches your speed with ease since he’s on horseback. He tilts his head curiously. “Taking the scenic route again?” The grin in his tone is evident. “A walk through the capital this time?”
“If you’re here to stop me, it won’t work,” you stubbornly say. The fabric of your skirt bunches between your fists and you force yourself to let go before any damage is done. Griffith smiles and shakes his head slowly.
“I am simply here to escort you back to your room again.”
“Like you did last night?”
“Precisely.”
“Does this include a complimentary tour on your horse?” you cheekily ask. While the capital isn’t too far, riding a horse is much quicker than walking.
He extends an arm to you and hoists you onto his horse. You sit in front of him, caged between his toned arms. The rhythm of riding a horse is unfamiliar to you, but you quickly pick it up, comfortably swaying in tandem with Griffith. He doesn’t speak for the rest of the way and neither do you. You lean into his chest, missing how he tenses slightly, and close your eyes to enjoy the warm sunlight. In your oblivious state, you remain unaware when he brings his arms closer until they hover just beside your waist.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
This was not what he planned for, not at all. He had meant to take you back straight to your room, just like how he meant to last night. However, if someone were to ask him to explain why he didn’t, he would simply have no answer.
At first, you were just Charlotte’s friend—her obnoxiously outspoken counterpart. But something has changed during the past few weeks. It’s gotten to the point where even those around him have noticed a difference.
There was something refreshing in your behaviour. He was used to lowering his head, spewing false words of compliment to please the nobility. Despite being the crown princess, you were humble and kind, but stern and level-headed when necessary—someone fit to stand by his side. He always knew that he would need someone to rule beside, an equal if possible. However, from his many encounters with noble women, the chances were close to benign.
He honestly didn’t think there would be a woman who would catch his eye. Most of them reeked of perfume or were trying to sleep with him to bolster their husbands’ reputations. And on occasion, he would accept their advances if they benefit him enough. But you, you were different. The first time you met, you were dangling from a tree branch to get a laugh out of Charlotte, hoping to make tea shoot out of her nose. When he saw you scaling the castle wall last night with leaves littered throughout your hair, it reminded him of that time.
You’re honestly everything he would want in a partner, as difficult as it is for him to admit. Maybe it was your warm smile that sent his heart palpitating or your flustered appearance that made his chest puff with pride. Maybe it was because he found you so damn lovely that he unconsciously wanted to spend more time with you. And he didn’t know how to feel about it all. He was always in control, there was nothing he couldn’t sway in his favour, no person who could shake his calm exterior. Well, you came in and obliterated all those beliefs. Destroyed them with your sparkling eyes, the way your lips twitch when you hold back a laugh during meetings, and…
Fuck he had it bad for you.
A small movement breaks him out of thought. You were squirming in front of him, trying to match the rocking of the horse. He could have turned back and handed you to the guards. But he didn’t, and he doesn’t know why. If he moved his arms any closer, they would be resting directly on your waist. A small feeling of pride swells in his chest when he notices how you ride the horse with ease now. He tries to ignore how you’re at the perfect height for him to plant a kiss on the crown of your head. Impulsive thoughts like these scare him with their unfamiliarity.
The outskirts of the capital come into view and he decides to break the long silence.
“What brings a princess to disguise herself?” He asks, noticing how your wig is starting to slip off.
“Pastries.”
A deep belly laugh wracks through his entire body, and he feels you tense between his arms. “My apologies.” He manages to pull himself together after a few moments. “I wasn’t expecting such an answer.”
You giggle, snorting a little. The sound sends pleasant tingles through his body, and he ignores the urge to squeeze you tight. “You’ll find that my priorities are rather different than most princesses.” You turn your head back and smile in amusement. “What were you expecting?”
He shrugs and meets your eyes, mirroring your amused expression. “More scandalous novels about forbidden love and status gaps.” You let out a noise of indignation.
“I would never!” you deny, lips lifting into a smirk. “Not without Charlotte, anyway.”
“Yes, you have been a wonderful influence on her.” And he genuinely means it, but you seem to take it the wrong way when you snap at him.
“Look, I already know it’s disgraceful how my ‘unconventional’ behaviour has rubbed off on her. I don’t need another person to chew me out on it.” The bite in your tone stings, wounding him unexpectedly. Why did it upset him so much if you were upset?
Why did he care?
All he knows is that this growing affection for you will be the death of him.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
The bakery quickly comes into view and you sigh with relief, desperate to get away from the awkward atmosphere. You feel Griffith flinch at your remark and dread instantly punches you in the gut; he meant it as a compliment. He was trying to be nice and you bit his head off after misinterpreting his intentions. You mentally scolded yourself for being the biggest idiot in the kingdom. Suddenly the space behind you is empty and you notice that Griffith has dismounted and is offering you his hand. You gnaw on the corner of your bottom lip and hesitantly accept his help, unable to look him directly in the eyes.
“Hey—” a million words go through your mind but none of the combinations you create are good enough “—I’m….” Whatever poor excuse you scraped together dies in your throat. “Shit, why is this so hard,” you grumble to yourself. Griffith remains the perfect gentlemen and waits patiently for you to say your piece. Running your fingers through your wig in an attempt to fix it, you clear your throat and flick your gaze up to his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say except I’m sorry. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier; it was undeserved. I understand you were trying to praise me, but I misinterpreted your words.”
He smiles, although there’s now a warmth that you don’t normally see behind it. “Sometimes ‘sorry’ is all that is needed to convey what you mean.” Bringing a hand up, he hesitantly pats your head. His smile gently curves at your wide eyes. You were panicking. If you got this embarrassed with a wig on, what would it be like if he patted your actual hair?
“A-anyway. Shall we head inside?” You avert your gaze again, cursing yourself for acting like a love-struck maiden.
“Certainly, I hear that the princess is often impatient when demanding items from the capital. I hear she sometimes sends guards to storm the local bookstore to obtain new books that are popular amongst women.” His teases do little to rile you up.
“I’ll have you know that gossiping about the royal family can be seen as treason.” Your face hurts from smiling so much. “Besides, that only happened once and I would have had to wait another month if I didn’t do anything.”
“M’lady.” He offers his arm to you again. You become aware of the increasing attention the two of you—mostly Griffith—are drawing.
“I am but a humble maid, Sir Griffith.” The last thing you wanted was to have your identity exposed. Your father would most likely increase the duration of your punishment and then you would really die of boredom.
“You are a lady nonetheless.” To avoid further embarrassment, you grab his hand and tug him into the bakery. The timbre of his laughter sends your heart racing. Your hands begin to feel clammy and you release your grip, praying he doesn’t notice. “I underestimated your enthusiasm for baked goods.”
Your lips turn up into a wry smile and you wipe your palms on your skirt. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good tart.” You head to the owner, Sadie, and greet her. She’s one of the few people who know your true identity. When Charlotte isn’t visiting, you are often in the bakery helping Sadie. She has voiced her disappointment many times that you would be a great baker if you didn’t have a kingdom to run. While she heads to the back to retrieve the order, you tell Griffith that he can pick out anything for himself. “My treat,” you insist.
“I can’t say I’m a fan of sweets,” he admits, browsing the displays of various cakes and other desserts.
“Then how about a muffin? Or maybe some cookies?” you suggest, unsure of what he would like. “Of course, I can always offer you something else for your trouble?” Your bottom lip feels raw from the abuse it endures as you worry it between your teeth periodically. Flinching when a metallic taste fills your mouth, you swipe your tongue over the wound, hissing quietly at the sting.
“I sense that this is causing you distress.” His brows furrow and concern fills his gaze. He walks over to a shelf lined with bags of cookies and picks an assorted mix. “This will suffice.”
“Are you sure that’s enough?” There’s a tinge of doubt in your voice and the corners of your mouth tug down. Griffith ponders for a minute. You fidget under his calculating gaze.
“Then perhaps the privilege to call you by your name.” You suck in a breath; will you really allow this man to have such power over you? Your heart already nearly combusts when he calls you ‘princess’. Hearing your name fall from his lips will surely cause your heart to stop. On the other hand, you feel guilty seeing the simple bag of cookies in his hands. He offered you a ride to town and his protection instead of handing you to the guards.
“No titles?” You start biting your lip again, yelping when the forgotten wound reopens. Griffith rushes over to you and takes out a handkerchief, pressing the fabric firmly against your bottom lip. “I-I’m so sorry,” you stutter, the cloth impeding your ability to talk a little. Griffith’s face is close, his eyes are focused on your lips and you swallow nervously.
“You should be more careful, Princess.”
“You can say it.” You avert your gaze.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My name. I’ll allow you to call me by my name—but only in private. Father and Mother will kill me if they find out I let a man, especially one who isn’t my betrothed, address me informally.” Your eyes flicker back to him and they widen at the smile that spreads on his face.
And so he does. He says your name in a gentle whisper, testing it on his tongue. Hearing it sends fireworks exploding in your rib cage; your heart pounds loud enough that you’re afraid he can hear it.
“Then please just call me Griffith, I insist.” His kind smile sends the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.
“G-Griffith,” you hesitantly say. The pure joy in his expression is worth all the embarrassment you feel. Your lip has stopped bleeding by now and you stare guiltily at his handkerchief that you’ve stained. “It seems you’re always there in my time of need.” Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a question that’s been bothering you the past few days. “Why are you so nice to me?” His expression falters and the handkerchief scrunches up in his fist.
You aren’t stupid. You’ve seen how he interacts with other women besides Charlotte. Disingenuine. Similar to how all of high society socializes, where smiles hide sneers and insults are disguised as compliments. Sure you’re Charlotte’s best friend, but that shouldn’t mean anything to him. And so you tried to ignore the little voice in your head, telling you that he’s treating you nicely because he wants something from you.
He pulls away and smiles ruefully. “Indeed. Why am I nice to you?” Only one side of his lips curls up, and his tone is melancholic. You fold your arms and hug yourself, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
“I asked you first,” you whisper. The silence in the store is deafening. Now would be a really good time for Sadie to come back—
“Delivery for the princess coming up!” Sadie cheerfully strides back into the room with an elegantly wrapped box in her arms. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to take so long. It turns out that nobody packaged any of the sweets despite my reminders.” She shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “Here.” She presents the box to you and you thank her profusely—grateful for the interruption—and hand her the payment along with a generous tip. You look around and deduce from Griffith’s absence that he already left and is waiting for you by his horse. “He left a few minutes ago.”
Your head snaps back to Sadie and you smile sheepishly. “Am I that obvious?”
“Honey, you have no idea.” You consider Sadie as an older sister. When everyone scolded you for your unladylike behaviour, Sadie encouraged you to find healthy outlets to express yourself with. She is also incredibly perceptive much to your dismay.
You fiddle with a stray thread on your sleeve, unable to bring yourself to look her in the eyes. You already know that she’s looking at you with concern. “I like him—maybe a lot more than I want to admit.”
“But?” Sadie asks, sensing the hesitation in your voice.
“But I know his type and I know what he wants to accomplish.”
“And you think he might be playing nice to get what he wants?” Her blunt words sting with the truth. Your shoulders slump and she steps around the counter, taking the box from you and setting it aside. She gently grabs both of your hands and squeezes them, and it takes you every ounce of control to not break down in the middle of the bakery. You nod, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears, and she wraps you in a hug.
“I’m worried, Sadie. I’ve seen ambition and greed corrupt souls before. What do I do if he becomes a monster? Or what if he already is one?” You feel Sadie tremble, but then you look down at your arms and see that it’s not Sadie. It’s you. When did you start trembling? These unfamiliar feelings scared you. You were always in control, the person with the highest status in a room. Hell, a few days ago you made a grown man whimper like a baby.
Sadie pulls away with a frown and her hands are on the sides of your face. “Then if you like him so much, you make damn sure that he doesn’t stray down the wrong path. And if you fail and he becomes a monster, I’ll break his damn kneecaps and we’ll run away together and start a bakery in another kingdom.”
You choke out a laugh, your vision becoming blurry. She tuts and brushes away your tears with her thumb. “I will never understand your obsession with kneecaps.”
“You don’t have to be tall to reach them.” She grins, relaxing when your mood noticeably brightens. “Listen, you don’t have to make anything official or label what you have with him.” She drops her hands to your upper arms and squeezes them affectionately. “Your decision isn’t permanent, so just see how it goes for now.” You soak in her words and nod slowly, your gaze drifting towards the door. “Hey.” Looking back at Sadie, her expression is solemn. “I mean it. I’m always available for some kneecap busting.” Her face breaks out into a grin and you start giggling. The two of you laugh until your sides ache and your lungs beg for oxygen.
“Sometimes I wonder how you’re not an adventurer or in some job that requires physical violence.”
The Cheshire grin on her face sparks some curiosity. “Who’s to say that I’ve only done baking my whole life?” Before you can ask questions, she pushes the box against your chest and steers you to the door. “Your knight in shining armour is waiting.” You stick your tongue at her over your shoulder and she returns the gesture before waving goodbye.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
Griffith is beside his horse, feeding it a nice, shiny apple he bought while you were inside. You can’t help but notice the large group of girls admiring him from afar and the small few that gathered the courage to go up and talk to him. You lean against a wall and observe. His smile never reaches his eyes. His actions are all polite but he doesn’t go above the bare minimum. You could sense some irritation from his body language, which was so subtle that you almost missed it.
“Lord Griffith, what brings you here to town?” One of them presses up against his arm, purposefully sticking out her chest. He smirks and grabs the woman by her chin, brushing his thumb over her lips.
“To admire lovely ladies such as yourself.” You have to push down the bile rising in your throat as you watch the woman swoon and faint.
She literally passes out. It takes two men to drag her to the nearest doctor.
The group continues to gush over Griffith in hushed whispers, their incessant giggling begins to get on your nerves. Deciding that you were fed up—and most definitely not jealous—you push off the wall and walk over to Griffith. He immediately notices your presence and a more genuine smile appears on his face. “As much as I would love to stay and chat, ladies. I’m afraid duty calls.”
The group of girls glare at you. You beam a sweet smile at them, trying to convey with your eyes how little fucks you give. It seems to work as a majority of them wither under your gaze. “What would Lord Griffith have to do with an ugly harlot?” one of them says. If you weren’t holding a box of your favourite pastries right now, hands would be thrown.
“The princess urgently requires some desserts for her afternoon tea and I was sent to escort her maid to pick up the delivery,” Griffith replies, emphasizing your title. The girl pales immediately. Insulting a direct servant of the royal family was like insulting their master, and insulting a member of the royal family usually ends with someone’s head being lopped off. Without another word, he mounts his horse and helps you up. He grabs the reins and signals his horse to start walking, easing into a trot. A loud thud behind you signals that the number of fainting women today has increased by one. Although you would faint too if you thought you were surely going to be decapitated.
“Thank you,” you say, watching the scenery pass. “For standing up for me. I could have handled it—” you interrupt him before he can interject “—but I’m thankful for the assistance.”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t let them slander you like that.”
“Do you think I’m pretty, then?” you tease him, silently chuckling at how his chest tenses behind you.
“I won’t deny that you are,” he answers, his voice lilting. “I have to make sure my head remains on my shoulders.” You guffaw and smack his arm, leaning back harshly and ramming your head into his chest in hopes of winding him. He grunts and tightens his arm around your waist. “It’s dangerous to move around so much on a horse, Princess.” His warm breath tickles your ears and your face is ablaze. You simply huff and adjust yourself until you’re comfortable, trying to ignore the tingles running through your body. His arms are still around your waist, resting on them and almost holding you in an embrace.
You stare straight ahead, not wanting to see Griffith’s expression when you continue the conversation from the bakery. “You never answered my question.”
“If I think you’re pretty? I thought we already established that you’re exquisitely beautiful.”
“W-what! No, not that!” You smack his arm again out of embarrassment.
“Careful, Princess. I can’t swing a sword if you maim my arm.” You retaliate by smacking his other arm, but he grabs your hand before the blow can land. He doesn’t let go and you secretly don’t want him to, so you don’t mention it.
“I was talking about earlier when we were in the bakery,” you say
“Are you always so violent with men?”
You frown. “Why are you trying to change the subject?”
He squeezes your hand and flashes a smile. “I see my attempts to steer the conversation are futile.” He leans forward and sighs. His warm breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. “You have become far more important to me than I intended,” he admits in a hushed tone. You struggle to process his words, the only thing grounding you is the brush of his thumb across the back of your hand.
“Is that a confession?” you squeak out, struggling to keep your breathing steady.
“That depends. Would you accept it if it was?”
The familiar response brings you back to last night in the garden. Your heart nearly leaps out of your ribcage and it takes you every ounce of self-control to not jump off the horse and run away. Could you really trust his words? Did he genuinely like you? Or is he just like that prince you nearly made sterile this morning?
“And if I did?” You turn around, looking up at him through your lashes.
He breathes in sharply and dips his head down, nose bumping against yours.
“Then I would say your standards are considerably low if you call that a confession,” he whispers. His eyes flicker from your lips and back up to your eyes. Feeling bold, you straighten your posture. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning against your skin.
“Then how about—” you brush your lips against his “—I show you a proper confession?” and you close the gap. He doesn’t move at first. He seems to freeze behind you and this makes you pause in hesitation. But he quickly reciprocates, moving his lips in tandem with yours.
Kissing Griffith is everything you imagined and more. His soft lips are gentle and he doesn’t try to push you further. But you want more. You want to feel more of him. He’s been the subject of many embarrassing dreams and you didn’t know if you would ever get the chance to kiss him again. Taking the initiative, you slip your tongue out and swipe it across his bottom lip. You hear him curse quietly as he opens his mouth and lets you explore. Before the kiss can get any more heated, he pulls away. There’s a soft blush dusting his cheeks and you stare. You stare until he ducks his head and buries it into the crook of your neck.
He laughs joyfully, and it sounds so carefree and happy. The butterflies in your stomach flutter in response. “You’re killing me, Princess,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.
“I can’t help it. I’ve never seen you look so…” you trail off.
“Weak? Vulnerable?” he says and adds more suggestions, each word more venomous than the last. “Stupid? Effeminate?—” you cut him off with a chaste kiss.
“I was going to say lovely, Griff.” You tug on the necklace he never takes off to pull him down, resting your forehead against his. “I was staring because at that moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you because you looked so lovely.” The pink on his face flushes into a deep red that reaches his ears and down his neck. His eyes look over your face as if he’s searching for something. “What are you trying to figure out?” you ask with an amused grin, unconsciously watching his mouth when he licks his lips nervously.
“You,” he answers simply. “How a wonderful creature such as yourself can exist in this dreadful world.” His arm around your waist pulls you closer to him and he basks in your presence. For a rare moment, you see his mask disappear and marvel at how innocent his expression looks. A desire to protect this Griffith is born and you open your mouth, but the horse suddenly stops. You’re back at the castle.
You didn’t even notice that he had taken you all the way back to your own section of the castle. He demounts the horse and you accept the familiar offer that follows afterwards. Clasping his hand longer than what your etiquette teacher would deem appropriate, you look up at him. His expression is back to that neutral smile that’s always plastered to his face like a shield. You shuffle your feet and look down at the ground.
“Thank you again for escorting me. I really do appreciate it.” You can feel your neck straining but you refuse to look up, to look up and see the mask on his face again.
“Princess,” he whispers softly. He gently tilts your head up and cups your cheek in one hand. Out of instinct, you nuzzle into his touch, eyes wide. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Well, that depends.” The corners of his lips twitch up in amusement.
“On what?” You hum and pretend to be lost in thought, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face.
“On whether you can catch me again.” Your grin quickly becomes smug. “The banquet is tomorrow evening.” Understanding flickers across his face. “If you can catch me escaping again before then, I will grant your request and you get to be my escort for the night.”
Mischief sparkles in his eyes. “Do my escort duties end at the banquet? Or are you requesting that I be your escort for the duration of the entire night?” You catch his suggestive tone and pull him into a passionate kiss.
You leave him stunned in silence, flushed with swollen lips; it’s a good look on him.
“Why don’t you find out?” You peck him on the cheek and skip merrily to your room with the box of desserts in your hands, eager to spill all the juicy details to Charlotte over tea. You giggle and glance back at him over your shoulder. “Catch me if you can!” He’s still rooted to the spot like a lovestruck fool, but you can clearly see the determination in his eyes.
You can’t wait for tomorrow night.
And neither can he.
─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───
End Note:
Wasn't that a wild ride! I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing. Originally, I thought three was a good number of escape attempts, but as I was writing the first one, I realized that three would end up being way too long and settled for two. The plot kinda developed on its own and became the giant fanfic you just read.
If you're ever reading one of my works and want to make a request, feel free to leave a comment! I can't guarantee I'll write or finish it quickly though if this request was anything to go by lol.
Until next time! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ
Reblogs are appreciated!
#berserk#griffith x reader#fluff and angst#angst with a happy ending#no y/n#pre-eclipse#reader is a princess#banter#escape attempts#bamf reader#Charlotte is a supportive friend#Griffith is psychic I swear#How else does he find you every time#Gender neutral reader other than the use of 'princess'
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#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; ᴄᴏʀᴏɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ
(Cross-posted from my AO3)
CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE
𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.
𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! Reader)
𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:
Having been spoiled by your father as an only child after your mother’s death, there existed you, a young, yet rebellious maiden known amongst Midland as Princess Scarlet. Being the subject of envy by commoners who wanted nothing more than to overthrow the kingdom, you were rather…..indifferent. As a princess, you exercised pride in your achievements, deeming you fit for the role of succeeding your father on the throne.
Even after your father’s death caused by poisoning, your dream to have your own kingdom never faltered in the slightest. In fact, ruling over Midland with an iron fist has been made easy and simple considering your royal blood.
Subsequently, your ambitious demeanor and philosophy attracted none other than the military genius who led a group of mercenaries known as the Band of The Hawk. Sir Griffith; a man who never fell short of what were to be defined as a noble, if it were not for his common blood.
To put it simply, Griffith never planned on building his empire overnight. Instead, he harbored ulterior motives where he would rather…..bend you, the Queen, to his liking before taking over Midland.
….And the consequences of YOU having a fragile ego never ceased to reveal itself.
𝖈𝖜: none as of now.
𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:
No smut for the first chapter!
To minors: this space isn’t for you. Berserk is a warning in itself. Go away. Do not interact.
Anyways, I’m back with a new fic and it’s basically my own version while still keeping the canon verse of Berserk clear.
In this verse, expect certain things:
— Princess Charlotte does NOT exist.
— YOU are the Princess/Queen of Midland.
— The story will mainly focus on Griffith, not Guts.
Before commenting, I would like to caution you for potential rape/non-con elements (it’s Griffith we’re talking about here) to be depicted in later chapters of the story.
What I write is pure fantasy, and is mostly just me projecting on my original character (in this case, Queen Scarlet) who has a rather peculiar relationship with Griffith.
Anyways, grab some popcorn, and chill a little while we watch our original character slowly get taken advantage of by the devil himself.
The Kingdom of Midland. Such is a name given to the central region of the Physical World where nobles dominate and savages eliminate. One had the luxury of resting within the comfort of their own home while dining with only the finest cuisine made known to man. The other had to hustle and kill for the sake of money and survival…....while for potential evildoers and traitors, the sake of achieving their dream.
It was your coronation day after all, one of the most awaited events in all of Midland’s history. Following your father’s death caused by an incident of poisoning, the nobles immediately turn to you as a successor to the throne. You were a bit nervous, so to speak, but ready to accept your new role and give your speech as the newly appointed ruler of Midland.
It was already sunset, the halls decorated with red roses, bushes, and your favorite type of flower, the Amaryllis. You just loved the sight of red the way you liked your tea. Red, so to speak, was your favorite color. It just looks and feels powerful, like the way sunlight pierces its way through your eyes. You liked shoving your presence down people’s throats, to make them remember your name as you rejoiced in your own superiority as the new Queen.
Red was the visual embodiment of your dream—to rule and render yourself capable of building your own empire. Because of that, the King, your very own father, feared for your safety. And boy, was that prediction true.
Not only was your safety compromised, but prior to meeting the White Hawk who was addressed as Sir Griffith, things went downhill after that encounter as a sudden number of royal guards dropped dead. Not only were you disgusted by the smell of blood that filled the hallways the week before your coronation, but the five words whispered to your ear was what sent chills across your spine. Those five words made you shiver in questionable fear despite you taking it as just an empty threat.
“You belong to me, Princess.”
And then came the surge of mysterious events such as your father’s death.
Supposedly, you were expected to be excited for such an event like the coronation ceremony as you longed all your life to become Queen, but something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. You were at a loss for words, being unable to understand why your father was poisoned in an instant and how planning the ceremony felt rushed.
You shivered at the thought of meeting the Band of the Hawk once more, immediately suspecting that one of them killed your father.
“Our beloved guests, our crowning guests, respected parents of the nobles, and that of the civilians. Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon.” announced the event speaker of the ceremony. “Once again, we have gathered here to witness the coronation ceremony of the Royal Family to be headed by Queen Scarlet and the rest of the officials appointed to serve her Majesty. Kindly rise for the ceremony proper.”
A huge audience of youngsters stood to give thanks towards your family for a job well done in leadership, singing songs of praise as time passed by. You were, of course, getting quite the goosebumps knowing your time is up as a princess. However, you can’t help but falter, thinking of your father’s untimely demise just about two weeks ago.
You were lost in thought, unable to pay attention to the songs sung in honor of you. Something was very wrong. You sweat and panted hard, not because you didn’t know what to say or do given the situation, but because you didn’t want to actually meet up with Griffith and the rest of his comrades due to some suspicions about the leader’s motives.
“Before we start, may I request everyone to observe silence as the ceremony begins to maintain its solemnity. Reserve your ‘hoorays’ for the latter part of the coronation. Thank you very much for your full cooperation.”
The rest of the coronation ceremony followed. You were nervous, biting your nails as you slowly prepared your speech in front of thousands. You knew Griffith would be watching
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
Alas, it was your turn to give out a speech that serves as a public declaration of your aims, intentions, and actions to be taken to further improve the economic and sociocultural growth of Midland.
Standing up, you could feel the eyes of crowds searching you from head to toe, but none of them ever gave you the impression that someone was truly watching you.
At the exterior of the venue, there sneaked a young man with white, flowing hair and a pair of blue eyes. It was him. Griffith. He didn’t make his own presence clear before you, he covered his tracks very well. But, little did he know, you could peek at his silhouette from afar. Knowing he made his way past the guards with extreme caution showed his prowess in strategy and disarming opponents with great ease.
Yes, he just wanted to hear your speech. After all, knowing how someone would open up about a fraction of their lives would be crucial in undergoing one’s plan to achieving their dreams, yes?
This was your moment. You let out a deep breath and spoke clearly as you cleared your throat.
“Greetings, my beloved fellowmen. It’s been a pleasure having to meet with you all to this very moment.” you greeted the audience with a friendly, approachable tone. “Throughout this memorable day, I was able to discern all your prayers dedicated to me and my family, especially in honor of my father’s passing. As an inherent successor to the throne, I have maintained a significant awareness through the years that my people, spread far and wide throughout every continent and ocean in the world, were united to support me in the task to which I have now been dedicated with such solemnity.”
The muffled voice of your speech was rendered audible to Griffith from the outskirts of the palace. He was perhaps….fascinated by your rather….pushy attitude on things. It didn’t take long before he palmed the area between his hips, hiding such an unsightly appearance as he began to fantasize about you under his control. He wanted nothing more than to dissect you in every detail possible, to know your deepest fears and motives of having to rule such a flawed kingdom. But little did you know, was that he wanted this kingdom all to himself.
“The ceremonies you have seen today are ancient, but some of their origins are hidden in the mists of the past. Their spirit and meaning still rise from the flames of finiteness. Perhaps, they still shine more brightly than we’ve expected them to do so. I have pledged allegiance with all my heart that I shall lead this kingdom, uplifting it further to claiming a thousand more victories than you would ever anticipate. Throughout all my life and with all my heart I shall strive to be worthy of your trust.”
Griffith’s eyes narrowed as he hid behind the doors alongside the two guards who were apparently slain before they could even fight back.
He wanted you.
And there was nothing more satisfying than breaking one of the strongest, most powerful women who once took an interest in the art of swordsmanship. But he would rather not challenge you to a duel; not because he underestimated your capabilities, but because he saw such barbaric acts to be unbefitting of a lady with high status.
An hour later, trumpets played as the Grim Reapers of the Battlefield were to be promoted as bodyguards, yes, bodyguards, of your kingdom. The King trusted you to this group of mercenaries who promised nothing short of protecting your integrity and wellbeing as the princess. But one thing’s for sure, it’s that their leader was bound to be missing.
You stepped down from the stage to observe your audience for any problems which may arise from the White Hawk’s absence.
“Wait, where’s Griffith? But he was just here about minutes ago!” Rickert exclaimed. “He can’t just be wandering out in the open like this! Griffith! Hang in there! We’re on our way!”
“Cut the crap.” Guts said, alerting his fellow comrades. “There must be a way to proceed with the ceremony without Griffith being of any concern.”
“But Guts-”
Recognizing and appreciating your bodyguards (or perhaps, some new friends) wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps you were intimidated by some of the mercenaries, but they played an integral part of your big day.
It was only one moment within that band that spooked you, it was the White Hawk revealing himself—it was Griffith. By that moment when Griffith claimed you to be his, you began to not take those words lightly and managed to develop a slight sense of fear. What did he exactly mean by that?
You brushed off your thoughts on the matter and shook hands with nearly all the members, with Griffith being an exception (obviously). Rumor has it that he’s still hiding where the sun doesn’t shine, covering his tracks in order to reveal himself before you in the very end.
And God forbid what kind of plans he had for you that night.
#yandere griffith#x reader#griffith x reader#griffith berserk#berserk x reader#berserk griffith#griffith x you#fanfiction#griffith#berserk#berserk anime#fem reader
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Cobra Kai Dad!Silver
So when Terry Silver realizes he will have a legacy by blood the excitement in the Silver household will be immeasurable
The mother of the child will be checked up daily and given the best foods and things available to keep the pregnancy running as smooth as possible and both health of mother and baby equally well
The fixation Terry has with his legacy will most definitely be a contributing factor for an intense child - parent relationship
There are upsides to it
Such as Terry spoiling his child mercilessly
It deserves only the best of the best available as a true silver
Will invest a lot of time in his child unlike other business people who often struggle coping with family and work Terry will always insure to have enough time for his kid
That also means that the child would be brought up with karate and probably will be trained as early as it can walk on its own and make a proper fist
The young Terry might have been more agressive with childcare but I feel that Terry in Cobra Kai has mellowed out in that sense as he genuinely craves for something to see himself reflected in something alive and growing and he does in some point genuinely believe in bettering his students by giving them strength (so that they can transit from Twig to Terry)
Therefore I believe that with his own child Terry would be way more patient
He enjoys them partake in other activities as well
This is one of the downsides though
Terry demandes respect and absolute focus
That not only entails his person but putting effort into everything, perfecting where possible and if not at least striving for it
There always has to be a goal beyond the goal
Ambition, as I said in a post before Terry is the perfect Slytherin
That means if his child would tend to just look into the pathway of Anthony for a second there will be punishment
Other interests aside it is never ok to miss out on training or classes. Thats why Terry let's his assistant Margaret make timetables and orders of tasks to be completed
If child behaves there will be rewards to keep up the good work
The most important thing for Terry is probably to bond with his child deeply. In that sense they have to be somewhat like him. If they aren't, he will simply mold them into himself. After all a life can be shaped on multiple occasions as he knows just to well
If they for some unknown reason turn out not to be blessed with his cunning witt or interlect oh god
He will try to make them into a better, loyal and submissive version of John then ?!
I honestly don't want to entertain the thought
Might be conscious about his age, will also look after himself even more if that is possible to ensure he will not die before his child is a "fully trained" and self existent Silver.
But let's say his child is exactly like him in this scenario
He is someone that would take their child (as a teen) to wine tastings yum
Talking. Deeply. Hours at a time
Going out for dinner or culture trips to do so
Terry wants to know everything that is on his childs mind and life, what they are interested in, what moves them,what company they keep
He will possibly even make charts of behaviour and (dis-)likes
His child will have the privilege of being multi cultured as Terry will hire teachers and language tutors from all over the world to ensure that his child will receive the best prospects of education available and will be able to walk through any door they wish
Teaching to appreciate the luxury but to work for it too
Sure Terry has a lot of money and will spoil his child in the ways he deems fit but that does not mean that his child may take it for granted. After all only a strong leader can take over his companies and Cobra Kai after him. A strong leader is only made through pain and work. After all he was too.
Will tell other parents indirectly how stuiped/ugly/annoying/misbehaved their children are in comparison to his angel
In Terrys eyes his child is his world. It's a part of him so obviously its the most beautiful thing there is
If Terry is with a partner he will be intrigued of seeing them reflected in this mini me of theirs
Eventhough Terry can be steelen his heart will always melt when his little/big one comes for company, hugging him, wanting to spend time with him exchanging ideas
Quite literally if they are on the same interlectual level Terrys child is the most important and precious thing that he owns
I can absolutely see him and his child sitting in the opera with spectacles and making some remarks about other people
Deep interlectual exchanges No 2222222 Terry will teach them everything he knows. They might even philosophy about things, even if the conclusions are kinda dubious
Cheating ? Pah So what. The kid learns that one fast
See it as a saving of resources. Only something worthy of full investment and soul is left out of that equation
Oh yeah speaking of which
Terry will absolutely flaunt his kid around especially in front of Johnny who is about to become a dad
If Terry would receive the news of the pregnancy during the same time you can bet your ass this is going t escalate into a competitive sport.
Ofc Terry wins Terry always wins in the end.
Terry will be the one watching his kid enter a karaoke standoff, play in a theatre piece, or make their own first Sand castle with the same pride as he will watch them beat their opponent on the mat - every good competition they take part in no matter how small is important and they are ofc winning because that's what Silvers do
Please don't ask me how Terry would react to his kid in their teens asking about the "Daddy" kink
He will probably have that smirk face of s5 ep.2 (when keeps on looking at chozen bro Silzen it's reaaalll)
Quote on quote "Let's just say it worked out with your mum/dad"
😭😭😂🫣
#cobra kai#terry silver#thomas ian griffith#im so tiiiiired#but hope you like it#why is it kinda dark when i read it#but lol it's terry silver so ....#not my best but i hope you enjoy#answered#thank you for your request <3#originally posted to retrosimp on tumblr#terry silver x reader
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Anything you need, I’m there for you. Your whole life. You hear me, Johnny? Your whole life. I owe you.
#just wanted to make a little quick moodboard my precious ship#hope you like it#cobra husbands#terry silver#john kreese#terry silver x john kreese#terry x john#martin kove#barrett carnahan#nick marini#thomas ian griffith#cobra kai#cobra kai season 5 spoilers#cobra kai season 5#the karate kid 3#karate kid#the karate kid#cobra kai s5#cobrakaiedit#terrysilveredit#johnkreeseedit#not showing in the tags for some reason :(
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concept: griffith flirting with guts dressed like this. that’s it that’s the post
(this is shen lanzhou from the cnovel qiang jin jiu for anyone who’s curious)
#you simply can’t look at griffith and think that he doesn’t want to be obliterated#guts x griffith#griffguts#griffith#guts#berserk tag#berserk rambling#berserk#berserk manga#kentaro miura#berserk guts#guts berserk#berserk griffith#griffith berserk#i ramble
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Mediation - Chapter 3 - TIGmas Day #9
I SAID I'D GET IT TO YOU TONIGHT AND I DID (well, it's the same day in my timezone, at least).
Please rate your experience of reading Cash on a scale from zero to Max Parrish, and post your answer with an explanation in the replies! :P
Previous Parts: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
---
Mediation
Chapter 3: Investigation
---
- One month later –
Reader’s POV:
Your footsteps crunch loudly at the gravel underfoot as you push yourself to run even faster.
You’re in hot pursuit of a suspect, running through the junkyard where you had caught him scrounging around for scrap metal. You’d been tailing him and his associates for quite awhile; taking from junkyards was one thing, but these guys had been breaking into warehouses and autoshops in the city, stealing copper wiring, catalytic converters, anything they could get their hands on that they could quickly turn around for a profit.
“Stop! Police!” you command loudly, though you know it’s a futile effort. The perp doesn’t even falter, turning to run around the corner of the abandoned warehouse and out of sight. Cursing under your laboured breath, you sprint as fast as you can, not wanting to lose sight of him long enough for him to escape.
As you approach the corner, you hear the sound of impact and a sharp, pained cry. Rounding the corner, you see your perp flat on his back at the feet of a tall man, his face concealed by a welding mask. You stop in your tracks, briefly bending over with your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.
“Thank…you…” you wheeze up at the man, moving to stand in front of your suspect. “You, roll over onto your stomach – hands behind your back.”
The man, still dazed by his surprised attacker, obeys your instructions, as though afraid the masked man would knock some sense into him if he didn’t. You quickly cuff your perp, pulling him to his feet.
“Happy to help, little lady,” comes the teasing reply from behind you.
You shouldn’t recognize his voice so easily after just one brief meeting, you know you shouldn’t, but your mind had latched on to that one conversation and run wild over the past month. Cash Ewing had, for some infuriating reason, been far too present in your thoughts and your dreams since you saw him last, and now he was appearing during your work as well, apparently.
“What did I say about calling me that, Cash Ewing?” you hiss over your shoulder. To your extreme annoyance, he has pulled off the welding mask, revealing sweaty hair, flushed cheeks, and a wolfish grin, sending an indecent tingling through your veins and a blush to your face.
“Awww, I’m surprised you could recognize me without seeing my pretty face,” he leers, his words echoing back to your last meeting, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s been thinking back to your conversation as much as you have been. And you were only doing that because you were so concerned with how to get him and Terry to mend their relationship; that was all.
Right.
Rolling your eyes, you march past Cash without dignifying him with a response, rattling off the Miranda Rights spiel to your suspect as you walk him back to where you’d parked your squad car. To your immense irritation, you can hear the crunching of gravel as he follows after you.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Ewing?” you snap at him, refusing to turn around or slow down for him.
“No,” he replies casually, quickening his pace until he has caught up with you. “Where’s your partner?”
“On vacation for the week, renovating the farmhouse,” you answer in a clipped tone, before stopping you and your suspect suddenly, frowning at what you’d let slip. Somehow, it was far too easy to fall into comfortable conversation with the man; you choose to blame it on Cash’s utter lack of decorum and how it takes you off guard. “You’d better not misuse that information, Ewing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says innocently, giving you some space as you approach your squad car.
“Should I leave you two alone?” your suspect cuts in snarkily, though he pipes down when you and Cash both turn your gazes onto him.
“Shut up, get in the car,” you snap at the suspect, shoving him into the back of your squad car and slamming the door with more force than necessary. Leaning back against it, you cross your arms across your chest, glaring up at the other man. “And what are you doing here?”
“Working,” he replies as though it were obvious, and you notice for the first time that he’s got a bag of equipment with him, the welding mask protruding from the top. Excellent detective skills, Officer L/N, you chide yourself in your head.
“You’ve been hired to do welding at a junkyard?” you ask skeptically, and he gives you a patronizing look.
“No, I’m looking for some spare metal to use; we’re a little short on it these days with all the break-ins,” he shrugs his broad shoulders before raising an eyebrow at you. “I’m glad to see the police are finally trying to do something about it,” he teases.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve found something productive to do with your time; Terry hasn’t given me any reason to believe you’ve gone and bothered him.” You’re determined to ignore his incessant flirting and bring the focus to Terry; it’s the only reason you bothered speaking with Cash in the first place.
“Oh, I’ve thought about it. Someone said they were going to help me, after all.”
You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “Cash, I told you: Terry needs time. And he needs me to be someone he can trust. I can’t keep pushing him on this, or I’ll lose him too. But I haven’t given up, okay? He’ll get there.”
Cash nods curtly, his own arms folded as he stares you down. You arch a brow at him challengingly, unimpressed at his attempt to intimidate you, if that is indeed what he’s doing. Again, you barely know the man; he could just be pouting.
“So, they have you working by yourself while McCain is gone? No offense, but you didn’t exactly seem in control of the situation before your perp ran into me.”
You scowl at him, offended. “Well I’m sorry my work isn’t being done to your satisfaction, Cash,” you snarl. Sure, you weren’t as physically strong or fast as Terry, but you had a bright mind and excellent intuition. “Still, seeing as I’m the only one of us currently employed by Chicago PD, you’re unfortunately going to have to deal with me getting the job done, at least until Terry’s back. Now, don’t let me keep you from your important digging through garbage!”
The last insult was a little immature, sure, but you can’t find it in yourself to regret it as you turn up your nose at him, stalking over to the driver’s door and throwing it open.
“Feel free to give me and the boys in blue a call if you need more help, big guy!” you say cheerfully, giving him a mocking salute as you hop in and drive off with your perp.
---
The next morning, you’re awoken abruptly by the sound of someone pounding on your front door. Forcing yourself upright and peeling your eyes open, you stare at the alarm clock. It’s 10:30 in the morning, and you had only gotten to bed just before 9:00, having survived your first solo night shift. You’re exhausted, and need to sleep this morning to adjust your sleep schedule before doing it all over again tonight. The first few days of a shift change were always the worst.
This had better be good.
Throwing a robe on over your pyjamas, you stumble out of your bedroom and over to the front door. Standing up on your toes, you take a peek through the peephole to ascertain who is harassing you at this hour; you aren’t one to take chances. Seeing who it is, you let out an aggravated huff, unbolting the door. Before you can even reach for the doorknob, Cash has swung the door open, barging in without waiting for an invitation.
“Cash! What the hell are you doing?!” you whine at him, your hands at your temples. You are far too tired to deal with this overgrown buffoon invading your home. You watch him take a quick scan around your quaint apartment before he moves to a table, setting down a tray carrying two cups of coffee and some brown paper bags.
“Morning, Sunshine!” he greets you cheerily, his voice far too loud for this time of day. “I brought breakfast. I didn’t know what you liked, so uhh… here!” he announces, rummaging through the pockets of his jeans and producing a variety of creamers and sweeteners that he forces into your hastily cupped hands. You follow him awkwardly back to your kitchen table.
“Coffee and doughnuts, Cash? Seriously?” you tease with a snort, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Old habits die hard,” he murmurs solemnly, biting into a powdered doughnut. You roll your eyes, but quickly grab one of the travel cups of coffee, quickly making it to your liking and taking a long sip. Your need for sleep was clearly going to have to wait.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask tiredly, barely moving the cup away from your lips as you speak, immediately taking another drink.
“Ah, not a morning person, I see,” he says, looking down at you with amusement. You’re sure that between the bags under your eyes and your tangled mop of hair that you make quite the picture.
“I did first and third shift yesterday, Cash; the Captain needed to make a switch. I had just started sleeping when your noisy ass showed up.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes, looking sheepish, and it’s a bit strange, watching the massive man hunch in on himself. He feels so much smaller, even as he continues to tower over you. Your gaze softens at his seemingly genuine remorse, before the caffeine starts to work on your sleep-deprived brain, jolting you to a sudden realization.
“Wait a second – how do you know where I live?”
He straightens to his full height, giving you a cocky grin before moving to make himself comfortable on the couch.
“Just because they took my badge doesn’t mean I stopped knowing how to be a cop. You were easy to track down.”
“So what, you’re stalking me now?!” you ask, outraged, stomping over to him. Cash appears completely unbothered, not moving an inch as you approach him.
“Sweetheart, if I wanted to stalk you, do you really think I would come knocking on your door?” he asks airily, and his ability to look so casually arrogant as he lounges on your couch has you seething. “With breakfast, mind you, which you haven’t so much as thanked me for.”
“Okay, that’s it. Get out, now!”
He makes no move to follow your instruction, giving you a look of exasperation as though you’re the one inconveniencing him right now.
“I’m here to report a crime, as a concerned citizen.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m off the clock, go to the damn precinct if you’re so concerned. If you want to wait until tonight to harass me, fine – at least then I’d be getting paid for it!”
He purses his lips, looking at you with an unfathomable expression.
“I really bug you, don’t I?”
“Just catching onto that now, are you?”
“Then why don’t you hear me out so I can get out of your hair?” he asks with a cheeky smile. You let out an aggravated sigh, running your hand down your face.
“You know what? Fine. But I’m getting dressed first, so that if you don’t get the hell out of here the second you’re done talking I can kick your ass out my door and all the way down to the precinct to report you for breaking and entering. Don’t touch anything,” you growl – the last thing you want is for him to start snooping around your home.
“I’ll be waiting right here with my hands in my pockets,” he promises, his blue eyes wide and bright with mock innocence.
You storm into your bedroom, hearing Cash’s low chuckle through the door once you slam it shut. You dress quickly, keeping one eye on the door, though you don’t expect he’ll be stupid enough to try to sneak a peek at you changing. You hear the TV turn on, some daytime game show, and when you come back out into the main part of the apartment Cash has made himself at home, lying fully on the couch with one hand behind his head.
“Get your feet off my couch,” you demand, scowling down at him.
“Yes ma’am!” he says, quickly spinning himself to sit upright on the couch. As he does, he grabs you by the upper arms and pulls you to sit beside him. You let out an indignant squawk, kicking him in the thigh as you scramble to the far end of the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing him.
“Your feet are on the couch,” he points out petulantly, and you give him your most piercing glare.
“It’s my couch,” you snap. You’re feeling on edge being so close to him – you feel drawn to him, and the fact that Terry would likely explode if he knew that you and Cash were sharing the couch in your apartment right now is unfortunately only adding to the appeal. Forbidden fruit, and all that.
Cash looks over at you in your tense, tightly wound position, and sighs.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he says softly, a pained look flashing across his face briefly. “I don’t want you to be.”
“I’m not scared of you!” you deny shrilly, and he chuckles.
“No? You look like a cornered animal about ready to fight to the death,” he points out, calmly taking another sip of his coffee.
“I guess I can understand why; you’ve only heard about the worst parts of me, and from a very biased perspective at that,” he adds gently, placing his cup on the coffee table. He turns back to you with a piercing stare, and you take in the immense vulnerability expressed in his pretty blue eyes.
He has Terry’s eyes.
“But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me; I want you to trust me, given enough time,” he continues, his tone growing increasingly desperate. You fight the urge to reach out and comfort him; you can’t.
But maybe explaining yourself a bit more would help.
“Cash… I’m not scared of you. I find you more annoying than anything,” you joke, happy to see him crack a smile in return. “It’s just… Terry would be really upset if he knew that we were talking, let alone that you’d barged your way into my apartment. And I don’t want to have to lie to him.”
“That’s exactly why you’ve got to help me out, Y/N! And that’s why I’m here. I have an idea.”
“Scarier words have never been spoken,” you reply wryly, and this time he’s the one rolling his eyes at you.
“I think I know where those thieves are taking all of the scrap metal.”
Well, that certainly has your attention and interest. You find yourself sitting up straighter and actually taking the large oaf across from you seriously for once.
“I’m thinking that if I help you take down the crime ring, it would go a long way towards showing Terry that I’m not a bad guy. Plus, y’know, less crime in the city,” he tacks on for good measure. “C’mon, whaddaya say?”
The hope and excitement radiating from him are practically tangible, making your heart melt. He may be obnoxious, but Cash’s earnest desperation to have his friend back in his life was unbelievably sweet.
“Cash, I… I really want to help,” you begin, trying not to wince as you watch his face fall. “But I’m working alone, and Terry is only gone a few days. I’d have to be working around the clock for the next week straight to even have a chance at getting enough evidence together to get a warrant for wherever you’re saying the base of their organization is.”
“I’ll help!” he insists, hopping up on his knees and looming over you like a giant, enthusiastic child. “I’ll do whatever you need, I’ll find intel and give you everything, I can work while you’re sleeping, we can bounce ideas off each other, anything!”
You have to say, you’re a fan of this pleading, needy look on him – it’s giving you a heady sense of power. No, focus. He was giving you an incredible opportunity to demonstrate your worth to the precinct; it wasn’t easy, being a tiny woman in a world of big men, and this would really help prove yourself in the eyes of your colleagues.
“You couldn’t do anything illegal,” you inform him seriously, and he perks up again at the sign of you considering his request.
“Didn’t I tell you it’s not like that with me? Nothing illegal, just legally doing things officers can’t do when pursuing a case. Cross my heart and hope to die!” he promises, and you get the sense he’s barely refraining from bouncing on the couch.
“But what if we can’t do this before Terry gets back?” you ask weakly. It was a very real possibility; sure, you’d been working on this case with Terry for awhile and had some preliminary work done, but this would be a massive undertaking even without the time constraint.
“Then I’ll have to hope that the progress is enough for Terry to consider forgiving me,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, though his eyes are blazing with determination. “But I have to try.”
You know that you’re going to give in, but you still hesitate to the point that Cash assumes he needs to do more to convince you. He slides off your couch and onto his knees before you, quickly snatching up one of your hands.
“Please, Y/N?” he asks quietly, and you’re not sure if he’s intentionally smouldering or if its an unconscious effort on his part. Either way, it takes you completely off guard, and you have to fight to keep your face from flushing or your palms from sweating in his warm grip.
“I would be forever in your debt, regardless of whether or not it works with Terry. Please, please do this for me?”
“Ugh, fine!” you exclaim, yanking your hand out of his before you can dwell on how his skin feels for too long. “Enough with the theatrics, please.”
“YES!” he crows, whooping in his victory as he gets to his feet. “Thank you, Y/N. I promise you won’t regret this. I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want it done; you’re the boss.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, trying to appear unaffected by his exuberance. It’s difficult – his happiness is infectious, and you find yourself smiling at him before long.
“Alright, why don’t you go and gather your intel and any information you have and bring it back here? I need a shower.”
“Can I help you with that instead?” he asks coyly, and you scowl at him, refusing to acknowledge the blush you can feel heating your cheeks.
“Don’t make me change my mind about helping you, Cash.”
“Yes, Boss.”
---
You don’t sleep much over the next week.
Cash is basically living on your couch these days. He sleeps at night while you’re at work, trying to gather as much evidence on the crime ring through the proper legal channels and bringing it home with you for the two of you to work on together. You give him a brief update when you get home in the morning, then crash while he leaves in pursuit of his own intel. He’s always back in your living room by the time you wake up, and the remaining hours of the day are spent colluding, trying to get all your ducks in a row so that you can apply for an expedited warrant to search the not-so-abandoned warehouse that Cash believed their base of operations to be. Then, you head to work, and the process repeats itself all over again.
You’re exhausted, but the thrum of excitement at the rate you’re moving through this case is keeping you going. You haven’t felt this way since your first year working on the force, working with Terry.
And Cash is…
Well, he’s an incessant tease, constantly pushing your buttons for his own amusement, but beyond that, he’s a surprisingly good partner.
He’s focused, he keeps his notes and the case files in order, and beyond that, you’ve woken up more than once to your apartment looking cleaner than it had been when you’d gone to bed.
Still, it had been an interesting few days to say the least…
– Tuesday –
You let yourself into your apartment, the sounds of snoring hitting your ears as you walk inside, carrying a large, heavy box full of case files and notes. Setting it on the kitchen table, you look over to Cash, stretched out on your couch with a blanket far too small for his tall frame; you’ll have to dig a larger one out of your closet.
You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face as you look over at him, arms curled around one of your throw pillows with his fists tucked under his chin. His brow is still furrowed, even in sleep, and you only hope that it’s still a restful sleep; the poor guy had been through enough these last few years.
You tiptoe around the apartment, hanging up your coat and putting a few things away, but eventually you find your eyes drifting back over to Cash. As your eyes trail up his body, you notice that he’s sleeping in his jeans; that can’t be comfortable.
Your eyes skim past the woven blanket covering most of his torso, up to his face…
…and see his pale blue eyes staring back at you.
“GAH!” you shriek, stumbling back and away from him, feeling your face heat up.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks in a voice raspy with sleep, his hands clasped behind his bed as he surveys you with amusement.
“You almost gave me a heart attack!” you exclaim, pointedly ignoring his question.
“Imagine how I felt, waking up to someone gawking at me like I’m something to eat.”
“I was not!” you insist shrilly, your hands balling up into fists. You feel the urge to childishly stomp your foot, but manage to resist. “I was just amazed by how much more tolerable your presence is when you aren’t talking.”
“Don’t worry, Boss – I forgive you,” he says, standing up and stretching, cracking his neck a few times before he looks down at you with a patronizing expression. “Besides, you’re not a bad sight to wake up to.”
You hiss in anger and he chuckles, ruffling your hair with a large hand as he makes his way to the bathroom. You gnash your teeth, infuriated, and set about making up the couch, pummeling a pillow back into shape with more force than necessary.
Terry might have to forgive Cash at his funeral – at this rate, you are most definitely going to kill him.
“You’re really beating on that pillow, little lady. I bet criminals tremble with fear when they find out you’re after them.”
You whirl around, having not heard him approach.
“Fuck it – get out, now,” you growl, brandishing the pillow against him.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop!” he says, pouting at you through his laughter and raising his hands in surrender.
You manage to land a couple of good hits to his head before tossing the pillow down and laying out the evidence for him.
---
Just when you thought you had him figured out – namely, that he was a shamelessly flirtatious man-child, he did something to surprise you…
– Wednesday –
You’re cautious when you open the door to the apartment the next morning, determined to not give Cash any reason to humiliate you. However, the apartment is quiet, and you see no sign of him anywhere.
What you do notice is the giant corkboard in the middle of your living room, blocking the TV. Curious, you walk over to it, recognizing snippets of the intel you had brought home the day before. It’s been simplified and organized, with Cash’s notes scrawled on sticky notes and stuck all over the board; it’s clear he’s been busy.
You don’t miss the fact that this is exactly how Terry organizes your thoughts when the two of you are working a case together.
“Oh good, you’re home!” Cash says, barging through the front door. He certainly seems to have made himself at home, and is definitely taking advantage of your spare key. He sets his take out bags and coffee tray on the kitchen table, holding out a bag to you. “I figured you wouldn’t want coffee before bed, but I got you a sandwich.”
You accept the food gratefully; you’re starving, and really didn’t want to have to cook something after a long day at work.
“Thanks. You want to run me through all of this?” you say, gesturing to the board with the brown paper bag. “When did you have time to do all this, anyway?” you ask, sitting down to eat.
“I couldn’t sleep much, so I figured I’d make myself useful. And there’s not much to run you through; this is pretty much all your notes, I just organized them.”
“You work like Terry,” you comment with a small smile, and he rolls his eyes as he sips his coffee.
“I work like him? Please. I taught him everything he knows,” he corrects you, looking proud of himself.
“Do you miss it?” you ask softly, hoping you’re not overstepping. He looks down at you with a sad expression.
“Every day,” he whispers longingly, and your heart goes out to the man. He lets out a deep sigh, turning his attention back to the board. “This is all really good work though; I can’t believe you put all this together so quickly.”
“Oh uh…thanks,” you stammer, taking a big bite of your sandwich as you process the thrumming of absolute delight that courses through you at the praise.
“Looks like something good came out of me going away, after all,” he jokes, looking down at you with a lopsided grin. “Chicago’s been in desperate need of a brain like yours on the force for far too long.”
You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face at the compliment; it feels sincere, not like his usual ridiculous flirting that he does just to rile you up.
“Careful – don’t want your ego getting so big that little body can’t support it.”
And we’re back.
---
But then he would go back to being a pain in your ass, making you question your sanity for willingly working with such a big, dumb idiot…
– Thursday –
“Cash, are those my spring rolls?!” you ask, having scoured the boxes of takeout that scatter the table in search of them. It was your lunch – his dinner – and the two of you had ordered a bunch of Chinese takeout, too focused on working the case to worry about cooking. You’re making really good progress, your evidence showing that the businesses the thieves were hitting all converge around the warehouse. There’s a good chance that you’ll actually be able to justify the expedited warrant on time for the bust to take place before the week’s end and Terry’s return.
Cash freezes, looking over at you for a moment, before stuffing the spring roll into his mouth.
“Maybe,” he says, voice muffled through his mouthful of food.
“What the hell?! I asked you what you wanted before I ordered!” you complain, scowling at him. Cash swallows before giving you a bright smile.
“Oops. Sorry, Boss!”
“Don’t ‘Oops’ me, Cash Ewing. You ate them on purpose!”
“Do you have any evidence to support that accusation, Officer?” he teases, looking utterly unrepentant.
“How about the three days straight of you pissing me off as evidence, you neanderthal?” you snap, grumpy at the loss of your favourite treat.
“Yeah well, you snore,” he retorts, sticking his tongue out at you.
“Only when I’m dead tired! And whose fault is that, again?” you hiss, crossing your arms as you glare across the table at him. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
“I thought we were sharing stories about the other person being annoying,” he jokes, and you huff and pout for all response. “It’s frankly a wonder that I get any work done with you sounding like a chainsaw in the next room.”
You refuse to engage with him, sulking silently in your chair.
“Oh, stop your pouting. There’s still one left,” he says, holding the box out to show you. You perk up, practically lunging across the table for it, but he pulls the box out of your reach. “Ah ah ah! What’ll you give me for it?” he asks, leering at you.
“Are you seriously trying to make me barter for my own food?” you ask, positively infuriated. It’s truly a miracle you haven’t murdered him…yet. You’re unsure if Terry would be proud or disappointed at your patience.
“Maybe, but if you’re not interested…” he trails off, slowly bringing the roll towards his mouth. You whine wordlessly, sounding like a petulant child, and he laughs, tossing you the spring roll. You snatch it out of the air, cradling it gently in your palm.
“Did Terry ever have to put up with this shit when you two were working together?” you ask grumpily, taking the bite of the spring roll and savouring it.
“Terry wasn’t nearly as fun to rile up.”
---
Eventually, you decide to just stop trying to figure him out or anticipate what he’s going to do. You choose to just be in the moment and let whatever is going to happen, happen…
– Friday –
Cash’s hands are everywhere as he holds your body close, his lips exploring the side of your neck thoroughly and making you moan needily for him. He starts to pull away, and you whine in protest.
“No, wait!” you plead, trying to clutch his head back in place, your fingers tightly gripping his short grey hair. You hadn’t expected being with him to feel quite this good.
He laughs, and it’s a familiar sound, but it doesn’t belong to Cash.
You blink, and now it’s Terry looking down at you as he lowers you to the couch, his dark hair tickling your cheek as he leans down to pepper kisses all over your face. What is going on?
“Y/N,” Terry groans your name huskily, nuzzling into your hair as he kisses your temple affectionately. “Y/N!” he repeats your name urgently, and you find yourself tangling your fingers in his curls, tugging him up so you can look deeply into his pretty eyes.
“Y/N!”
You bolt upright in your bed, your eyes flying open and your head nearly colliding with Cash’s as he looks down on you with concern. You freeze for a moment, your eyes darting around the room and trying not to linger on him as you catch your breath.
“Sorry,” he says curtly after a moment of silence, getting up from his seat on the edge of your bed and running a hand through his hair. “You sounded like you were having a nightmare.”
Well, the nightmare had started now that you’d woken up. What was that dream?!
“Oh… sorry,” you say awkwardly, trying not to feel flustered about Cash being in your bedroom, especially after the dream you’d just had. You can’t even look at him right now; you’re worried your face is flushing as it is.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming in here to check on you. I just thought a neighbour may have gotten annoyed with the snoring and snuck in to kill you – I figured I’d come in and thank them.”
“Caaaash!” you whine, considering throwing one of your pillows at him, but you decide against it. A pillow fight was far too flirtatious, especially in your current state of mind.
“I’m going back to sleep. You probably want to get out and close the door before I deafen you,” you joke, and his lips quirk in a smile.
“Fine, send me out to do the work while you sleep the day away,” he sighs deeply, making his way to your bedroom door.
“Sweet dreams, princess,” he coos, giving you a wink and slipping back out, closing the door after him. You flop back onto the mattress, clutching a pillow to your chest.
You don’t manage to wipe the smile off your face before you fall back asleep.
---
But ultimately, dealing with all of this – whatever this might be – is worth it, as you rush home early Saturday morning to give him the good news…
– Saturday –
You practically kick your own front door in in your haste to get the door open, sending it slamming into your wall with a thud. Cash whips around quickly at the noise, relaxing once his eyes land on you.
“Cash, I got it! We got it!” you shriek, throwing the door closed and kicking off your shoes.
“The warrant? Already?!” Cash clarifies, watching with unconcealed amusement as you struggle to take one of your boots off.
“Yes!” you say, tossing the offending footwear carelessly to side. “We did it!” he cheer, rushing him and throwing yourself at him. He takes a step back, bracing himself to take your weight as you wrap your arms around his neck, his own coming around you quite naturally.
“I can’t believe it,” he whispers in disbelief, his voice an octave lower than usual. You repress a shiver at the sound, at how comfortable and natural it feels being in his arms like this. He sets you on your feet after a moment, stepping away from you and running a hand through his hair. You’ve picked up on it as one of his nervous habits over the past week, and wonder what he’s thinking.
“So, uh… when’s the bust?” he asks, moving to the ever-evolving cork board and surveying it.
“Tomorrow, early afternoon,” you say, looking at the back of his head instead of the work you’d done together. Why was he acting weird? Why were you feeling weird?
“I’ve put a team of a half dozen guys together – we’ll get them,” you continue, trying to push past the awkwardness. “Then you can do your precious welding in peace!”
He looks over his shoulder to give you a sad smile before turning back to the board, fingers brushing a photograph of the warehouse.
“I wish I could be there with you…” he says quietly, and the longing in his voice is enough to make your heart ache. It does feel unfair – he’d handed you this case on a silver platter, worked tirelessly (for free, no less) for an entire week, and now he didn’t get to see it through to the end.
“But I guess that’s what McCain is for, right?” he asks, giving you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s back tomorrow?”
“That’s what he said,” you say weakly, somewhat sad that your time together was coming to an end. You’d developed quite a strong connection over the past week, and you don’t know when – or even if – you’re going to be able to be around him like this again. It would all depend on Terry.
“I’m not sure what time he’s back, though. Hopefully after the bust is over and done and all that’s left to worry about is paperwork. But I’m gonna make sure this is done right and that Terry knows how much of it hinged on you, Cash. I promise.”
He gives you a fond smile, before abruptly pointing at your bedroom door.
“Off to bed with you, young lady. You need to be well-rested for your mission tomorrow!” he orders you, and for once you obey him, heading off for a power nap.
When you wake up, a few hours later, Cash and all of his stuff is gone. Your apartment has never felt so empty.
---
Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
[Future parts go here!]
#Thomas Ian Griffith#Cash#Cash Ewing#Black Friday#Black Friday 2007#The Kidnapping#The Kidnapping 2007#Terry McCain#Excessive Force#TIGmas#12 Days of TIGmas#Smut#Romance#Suspend your disbelief please and thank you#Cash x Reader#terry mccain x reader#terry mccain x reader x cash
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