#'Fallen' by Proof Of Burden

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[pretzel-box]

The Third Month

Words: 3,2k

Tags: Lots of fluff, comfort, affection, established relationship, seabunny hybrid reader, reader is FEMALE, DO NOT READ WITH A FAINT HEART I WARN YOU

status: NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED.

authors note: Thank you all for 100 followers!!♡

It's been a month since the lockdown began, and your life took a drastic turn when you were picked up by none other than Sebastian Solace himself. Before that day, you had been on your own, treated like nothing more than a lab rat by Urbanshade—a mere experiment in their endless quest for progress. Your memories of the world outside the Hadal Blackside were foggy at best, but one thing you knew for certain: you were different now. A sea bunny hybrid, with soft, pale skin, black freckles and delicate, fluttering appendages on your head that set you apart from the rest of humanity. You had always felt out of place, even before the experiments, but now, you doubted society would ever accept someone as strange as you.

When the lockdown happened, and someone—no, he—freed all the experiments, including you, it felt like a new beginning. With nowhere else to go, you found yourself gravitating toward the one person who had shown you kindness in this forsaken underwater facility.The sea-serpent merchant, had opened his shop to you, offering you more than just shelter. He gave you purpose. Over the past four weeks, you had thrown yourself into helping him run his little store, finding comfort in the routine and the company of the mysterious man who had saved you.

During that time, something unexpected happened. Your cheerful, excited nature, a trait that had once felt like a burden in a world that demanded seriousness and submission, became a source of warmth in Sebastian’s otherwise cold and calculated life. You didn’t notice it at first—how his glances lingered longer, how his touch became gentler, or how his voice softened whenever he spoke to you. But he noticed. The walls he had built around himself began to crumble, and before he knew it, he had fallen hard for you.

And now, here you were, sitting side by side in his shop, the dim lights casting a warm glow over the two of you. Your days had become a blend of work and stolen moments of affection. The once-stoic sea-serpent was now your partner, keeping you safe and secure in all this giant mess.

You ran up to him, your heart pounding in anticipation, arms outstretched for the embrace you had been longing for as if you hadn't seen him in years. Every step you took was fueled by the yearning that had built up during your time apart, a craving for his touch, his warmth, his affection. When you finally reached him, it felt like everything inside you lit up, a warm, comforting feeling spreading through your chest as your emotions surged, deep and intense.

Sebastian caught you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off the ground. The way he held you—his hands gently cradling your waist—was so tender, so full of care, that you felt an immediate sense of belonging, like you were finally home. It was a sensation you cherished, one that you had come to associate with him alone.

“I’m back!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement. As you looked at him, your eyes couldn’t help but trace every detail of his face, illuminated softly by the glow of his anglerfish lure. The dim light highlighted his sharp features, and you marveled at the way it brought out the depths of his fluorescent blue eyes. Those eyes, which had once seemed so distant, were now a comforting ocean in which you could easily get lost.

“Welcome back,” he replied in that deep, soothing voice of his, and as he leaned in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant everything to you. This forehead kiss had become a cherished ritual, a sign of his affection that greeted you every time you returned from one of your little expeditions. The moment felt timeless, as if the world outside the two of you didn’t exist, leaving just the warmth of his embrace and the comforting familiarity of his presence.

As he set you down gently, his hands lingered on your waist, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. The bond between you had grown so much over time, and it was moments like these that made you realize just how deeply you had fallen for him. The affection you felt was almost overwhelming, filling every corner of your heart as you looked into his eyes, knowing that he felt the same way too.

"Hey, Sebby," you called out, using the nickname that had taken him some time to get used to. "Are you ever going to admit that you love my company as much as I love yours?"

He looked up from his work, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "You're insufferable," he grumbled, but the slight curve of his lips betrayed him.

"And you wouldn’t have it any other way," you shot back with a grin.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his task. "You’ve turned my world upside down, you know that?"

"Good," you replied, moving closer to him. "Because you’ve done the same for me."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. The simple touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder of how much you cared for him. In the dim light of the shop, with the familiar scent of sea salt and old files around you, everything felt perfect—like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

One of the many things Sebastian adored about you was your genuine curiosity for the things he did. He appreciated how you made an effort to understand his hobbies, so you could spend more time with him without disrupting his work. One of these hobbies was the skill of repairing broken devices, like flashlights and codebreakers. Fixing them for his shop was a crucial task, and you took on the challenge with excitement, eager to earn his praise.

“Like this?” you asked, sitting at the table with his tail serving as your seat. His head hovered above yours, casting a warm glow over your workspace with his anglerfish lure and guiding you. Two of his large hands rested on your waist out of habit, while his third hand assisted you in repairing the blacklight in front of you.

“Hold it steady, bunny,” he murmured with a smile, leaning his chin gently on top of your hair.

“I almost have it—” you began, but were interrupted by a sudden cough, quickly raising your arm to cover your mouth.

Sebastian’s focus shifted immediately as he heard your cough. The sound was soft but sharp enough to cut through the peaceful atmosphere of your shared workspace. His tail tensed slightly beneath you, and his hands instinctively tightened their grip on your waist. He had grown accustomed to your energy, your excitement, and the way you threw yourself into learning his trade. But lately, there had been small signs—moments of fatigue, occasional coughing spells, a distant look in your eyes—that he couldn’t quite ignore.

He leaned down closer, his anglerfish lure casting a gentle glow over your face. “Are you okay?” His deep voice was laced with concern, even as he tried to keep his tone casual.

You nodded quickly, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a bit of dust in my throat, that’s all.”

You were so determined, so eager to help, and he loved that about you. It made his heart swell with pride every time you managed to fix something on your own, the look of accomplishment on your face more precious to him than any treasure in his shop.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Just be careful. You don’t want to damage the circuit.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his patience and guidance. “I got this,” you assured him, turning your attention back to the task at hand.

Sebastian watched you work, his chin still resting gently on top of your head. He couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt to have you there, sitting on his tail, leaning into him for warmth and support. The way you fit into his life so seamlessly was something he hadn’t expected, but now that he had you, he couldn’t imagine things any other way. Your curiosity, your determination to learn his skills, and the way you always seemed to know just what he needed—these were the things that made him fall for you, deeper every day.

“Almost there,” you murmured, your focus back on the blacklight. You carefully soldered the last connection, and with a satisfied smile, you held it up for Sebastian to see. “I think it’s fixed!”

He grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming in the soft light. “That’s my girl,” he praised, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “You did great.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you leaned back against him, basking in the warmth of his approval.

Two months had passed, and it had become a personal ritual for you to gather every blanket, pillow, and soft item you could find in the facility to create a giant, cozy nest to sleep in. The Hadal Blacksite was hardly known for its comfort, especially after the lockdown, so you took it upon yourself to transform the back of Sebastian’s shop into a haven of warmth and peace.

Wrapped in layers of blankets, only your head peeked out from the mound, your sea bunny antennae twitching slightly. Sebastian often glanced over at you with a mix of amusement and affection.

“You sleep a lot lately, bunny,” he chuckled, setting aside the file he had been reading. “I might start to think you love that pile of blankets more than me at this point.”

You responded with a soft hum, barely lifting your head from the sea of fabric. The words were true; you had been spending an increasing amount of time resting and lounging around. Sometimes, you sprawled out on the floor like a starfish, and Sebastian had to gently pick you up to avoid any mishaps, like an expandable accidentally stepping on your delicate form.

Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in his eyes every time he looked at you. He cherished these moments of quiet companionship, even if they were punctuated by the gentle, playful banter.

The sight of you, nestled in your cozy pile of blankets, was so inviting that sometimes Sebastian couldn’t resist closing the shop earlier than usual. He’d join you in your fortress of softness, slipping into the pile of fabric with a contented sigh. Laying beside you, he would hold you close, his tail gently wrapping around your body as he settled in. His hands would drift to your antennae, where he’d softly massage the space between them, eliciting a delighted hum from you.

The two of you would lie there, not quite sleeping but basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Occasionally, Sebastian would lightly brush a stray strand of hair from your face or press a soft kiss to your temple, the gentle touches filled with affection. Your fingers would intertwine with his, and you’d both enjoy the peaceful silence, simply resting and savoring the comfort of being close.

In those moments, time seemed to slow down. You’d share lazy smiles, exchanging barely a word and just stay in a comforting silence. Sometimes, Sebastian would rest his chin on top of your head, and you’d sigh contentedly, your body relaxing further into the embrace...

Three months into your time together, on what seemed like an average day, Sebastian was out scavenging for supplies. He moved through the abandoned corridors with practiced ease, his eyes darting around with a sharp, attentive gaze. Each room he passed was briefly examined, every locker and shelf scrutinized for forgotten treasures and useful items.

As he rifled through the remnants of the old world, his attention was suddenly caught by a flash of something pristine—an untouched pillow, perfectly intact and just waiting to be added to your growing collection. For a split second, the sight of it seemed almost like a beacon, calling out to him with a soft glow of potential.

Sebastian had developed a little habit during these scavenger runs. He wouldn’t admit it, but his gift-giving had become a personal love language. While his primary goal was to find useful items for the shop, he also kept an eye out for anything that might make you smile. The way your eyes would light up with delight over even the simplest of things he brought back was a source of pure joy for him. It motivated him to turn part of his shop into a mini-storage of items he thought you’d like.

He carefully picked up the pillow, examining it with a satisfied nod before tucking it away in his bag. As he continued his search, he found himself thinking of you, imagining your reaction when you’d see this new addition to your cozy pile. The thought made him smile, his heart warming at the idea of bringing a bit more comfort to your world.

Returning to the shop, Sebastian's thoughts were occupied with the joy of seeing you unwrap the pillow. He could almost hear your excited gasp and see the way you’d curl up around it, adding yet another layer of softness to your makeshift haven. This small act of thoughtfulness was his way of showing you how much he cared, a tender gesture that spoke louder than words.

But then, amidst his searching, a sound shattered the fragile calm of the room. It was your voice, but not the cheerful, soothing tones he was used to. No, this was something far more harrowing. It was a desperate cry, a soul-wrenching scream that cut through the silence with a visceral, agonizing intensity. The sheer pain in your voice twisted his insides, making him feel as though his heart was being torn apart.

His ears twitched uncontrollably as he followed the sound, his steps becoming erratic and frantic. Each groan, each whimper, seemed to resonate with a chilling echo down the empty corridors. It was a haunting, relentless reminder of the suffering you were enduring. When he finally reached the source, he was met with a sight that stole the breath from his lungs. There you were, writhing in unimaginable pain, a tormented silhouette against the wall, your body contorted as if it were being torn apart from the inside.

Sebastian's vision blurred, and he felt a deep, gut-wrenching sorrow clawing at him. His mind raced back to the harsh truth he had desperately tried to suppress. He had known this day might come, had seen the ominous warnings in your medical file, but he had held onto a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t turn out this way. The file had warned him: your body was rejecting the sea bunny DNA.

The brutal irony of it all struck him with the force of a physical blow. All those scavenging trips, all the time he spent gathering trinkets and comforts for you, now seemed like a cruel, pointless exercise. The pillow he had so eagerly picked out for you, an innocent symbol of his affection, now felt like a mockery of your suffering.

As he reached out to you, the sight of your anguish was more than he could bear. It was as if his heart was being shredded with each cry of pain that escaped you. The agonizing truth was undeniable: you were slipping away from him, and no amount of love, no matter how fiercely he gave it, could alter the cruel fate that was unfolding.

Tears streamed down his face as he just stared at you, the pillow he had hoped would bring you comfort now a stark reminder of his helplessness. The realization that he was losing you, that he had to watch you suffer with nothing he could do to alleviate your pain, left him paralyzed with a sorrow so profound it seemed to stretch on endlessly.

He had been aware from the start that your time together was limited, but the crushing weight of that reality was more devastating than he had ever imagined. Seeing you in such excruciating agony, coupled with the crushing despair that his efforts to provide you comfort could not change the inevitable, left him feeling utterly and irrevocably shattered.

The thing that must have pained him the most was the cruel illusion he had woven around you. From the very beginning, you had been blissfully unaware of the full extent of your condition, shielded from the grim reality that had been kept from you. Urbanshade had long marked you as a lost cause, a waste of resources. They had kept you alive with medication, but the moment the lockdown had sealed off your lifeline, your fate had been sealed.

And it was Sebastian Solace, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, who had become the unwilling cause of your cruel reality. He had rescued you from the clutches of Urbanshade, pulling you into his life and making you live in these bittersweet conditions. He kept you at his side, sheltered you from the harsh truth, knowing full well that you were slowly, agonizingly, slipping away. He watched as your body rejected the very essence that made you unique, watched as the vibrant spirit he had fallen in love with was gradually consumed by pain.

The agony of it all was compounded by the facade he had maintained. To you, he was a beacon of love and stability, the one who had given you a new home, a new life. He had filled your days with small joys, with gifts and affection, all while knowing that each moment with you was a stolen fragment of time, a fleeting respite before the inevitable. He loved you too much to shatter the fragile world you had come to depend on, too much to burden you with the unbearable truth of your condition.

Every smile he saw on your face, every look of contentment in your eyes, was a dagger to his heart. The pain of watching you suffer, coupled with the torment of knowing he had to perpetuate the lie to keep you at peace, was a weight he carried in silence. He had given you comfort, affection, and a semblance of normalcy, all while knowing that it was a temporary reprieve from a fate that he could not alter.

The most excruciating part was the knowledge that you had been kept in the dark, living out your final days with an illusion of safety and love. He had chosen to be your protector and your companion, even as he knew that every moment he spent with you was tainted by the reality of your suffering. And in the end, the pain of watching you slowly succumb to your condition, while desperately trying to shield you from the truth, was a torment more profound than he could ever articulate.

Sebastian Solace set you free, on the one way or another.

[genericpuff]

What do you think about Reachel's new redraw?

I feel like the characters look good but the background is too gray compared to the original one 😕

It's pretty rough, ngl. Not even necessarily because of the art itself, but because it's not a panel she should have ever redrawn to begin with.

The whole point of that scene was to showcase Persephone bringing life into the Underworld, a place where only death existed, but in this redraw it completely lacks that messaging, resulting in a scene of Persephone and Hades simply hugging each other in the dark with very dead-looking foliage surrounding them.

On a structural level, the composition has gone from vertical to horizontal, giving us way too much empty space around them which, again, is failed by the background being so dull and lifeless; Persephone's somehow become even smaller; and worst of all (though I'm sure some people will think I'm overreacting) her hair isn't tucked up in Hades' arms anymore, it's just sort of falling perfectly over his shoulder as one solid goop of pink, strangely changing shape as if it's resting on something but there's clearly nothing there.

That said, my opinions should be taken with grains of salt because I also have a lot of personal beef with a redraw like this - that original panel was my phone background for like, 2 years, and the episode it came from is still one of my favorites of all time in spite of all the criticisms I now have of the series, with art that originally inspired me to want to learn how to draw like Rachel.

There's been a lot of evidence over the past year or so to suggest that Rachel has "fallen out of touch" with her own work and these redraws that she's been making lately feel like tangible proof of that. The context in which she created those original panels no longer exists so to try and redraw them fundamentally misses the point of why they were so iconic to begin with.

I can understand that feeling of falling out of touch with your own work, to the point of not even seeing the appeal of it yourself anymore, but that's all the more reason to keep moving forward, not back. The fact that she's still just muddling around with LO stuff despite announcing two more projects and seemingly not making any progress with either the TV show or Rachel Smythe Presents... it really does seem like she's stuck in limbo. The deadlines and contractual obligations aren't there to motivate her anymore, and while that may now have freed her from the burden of creating LO in such a cramped and unhealthy space - now being able to create it simply for herself - I think the years of working on it have definitely taken its toll on her ability to create the way she used to and so we're seeing those growing pains now.

The real bummer about it is that it's being celebrated as "growth" but it's about as much growth as the illustrated environment above - dead and bleak.

[scarfacemarston]

Abigail should be allowed to say she wasn't prepared to have Jack or did not want him at the time.

TW: Pregnancy, abortion mention, child mortality mention, death during pregnancy mention. People criticize John for not caring for Jack --- as they should! However, when it comes to the idea of whether John wanted him or not, he gets a free pass in comparison to Abigail, who is always demonized. This leads to how women are viewed in society. Why is it so evil that a woman says that she's not ready to have a child or didn't want one? Because of 1950s and earlier notions that women HAVE to be in the home? Ideas that conservatives still try to force down women's throats? Abigail was 18, for God's sake. She was JUST rescued from a brothel. She finally had freedom for the first time in her life. (She was literally either in the orphanage, living on the streets, or working in the brothels.) Most 18 year olds aren't ready to have children ----even if times were different back then. Just because women did have children back then at 18 or younger, doesn't mean they were ready or that they wanted to. She had just fallen in love, she finally had people that cared for her. She was doing what she was GOOD at. Hosea canonically praises her as the best thief/conwoman and actress he has EVER known. I have the audio link as proof if anyone wants it. That was all taken away from her the second she found she was pregnant. Massive amounts of women died, and by 1900 - 30 percent of children died before their first birthday. (hence what likely happened with the Marston baby, but I have my theories on what happened there in another post.) Those numbers would have been WORSE in 1895 and Abigail was living in a TENT most of this time. Can you imagine being pregnant, constantly on the move and giving birth with only the possibility of a roof above your head? Abigail would have grown up seeing the women in the brothels handle pregnancy. She would have seen the fear in those women's eyes. The hopelessness. She would have seen those try to perform abortions or women die during childbirth - or be kicked out of the brothel for becoming pregnant in the first place. Also, Abigail lost her status once she became pregnant. She couldn't provide for the gang in the same way. She didn't have John's support. Grimshaw canonically doesn't like her and Bessie is dead at this point. She has no woman who cares about her. Then Jack came and she was treated like a burden - a charity case to everyone but Hosea and probably Arthur. Single women in the 1890s, especially illiterate ones with zero prospects were almost never accepted. Abigail also might have dealt with post partum depression, too. Abigail talks about how she's always wanted a family, but she also talks about how frustrated she is with Jack and how she wishes she had help. She talks about how the gang views her and outside of Tilly and Hosea, hardly anyone ever talks to her...at all. Sadie is extremely busy and there aren't any conversations between them outside of chapter 2. Most of the camp doesn't. She's completely isolated and considered a source of drama. Abigail had everything to lose, including her life. So why is she demonized?

[dross-the-fish]

"Do you know the story of Genesis, Adam?" Dr. Watson asked as he swept away the fallen locks of hair from the floor around the creature's too small chair.

The being nodded, "I know it well...though perhaps not as you should understand it."

"No? As I understand it God created Adam and then Eve and gave them dominion over the Earth," Watson was not an overly religious man but he made it his habit to attend church once in a while and on rare occasions he would even absorb the tired sermons recited with comfortable hollowness by a priest who knew them to the letter but had never in his half-a-lifetime in the pulpit stopped to consider their meaning.

"Oh no, Doctor Watson. That is not how it goes," rasped the newly christened Adam. He propped his elbows on his bent knees and brought his joined fists to rest under his chin, unblinking yellow eyes staring hard at the old man before him, "Not at all. The version of events as I have come to understand them are thus: God created Adam, despised and cursed him, and when Adam fell he dragged God by his wax wings into Hell with him."

Rage, such potent rage and depth of despair the likes of which Watson had never seen on a human face twisted the aberrant features before him and the old man halted.

"That is blasphemous," he whispered.

Adam leapt from the chair, toppling it and seized Watson's hand laying it against the Y shaped stitching on his chest where a heart beat so sluggishly it was nearly imperceptible, "Touch and feel then Doctor! I am blasphemy! I am heresy! Mark thou that I am the very proof that man should not think himself God lest he damn all he touches! If thy heart is too craven to accept the burden of a Godless Adam then revoke my name and cast me back into the wilderness. I shall return to haunting my barren rock and trouble man no more nor it trouble me!"

Summoning whatever steely nerve he could find Watson shook his head and set his shoulders, "No! No, you are here dash it all! I have taken responsibility for you and I say are a man, Adam. Once we make land back in England I'm going to find you a tailor and a tutor. You will be not merely a man! I give you my word that I will make you as fine a gentleman as ever there has been."

The creature took stock of himself, eight feet tall, sewn of animal and human corpses and stubbornly alive after one hundred and thirty years. Then he looked to the man before him, significantly shorter, rotund and bearing every sign of mortality from the wrinkled face sporting a broken nose never property set to thin greying hair, combed in a vain attempt to hide a receding hairline. But it was Watson's eyes that struck Adam, a deep blue that seemed to defy the weight of age, brimming with vitality and such boyish earnestness that Adam could not help but feel a little humbled under their gaze.

"If that is what thou would make of me then so shall I be. A civil man of culture and education."

Watson dared to reach out to pat him, "Precisely! Civil, cultured, educated and modern! Your peculiarity of speech, for one, will need to be corrected. Once I finish giving you a physical examination that will be the first thing to teach you."

Adam did not protest as Watson pulled out a roll of measuring tape and recorded the circumference of his chest. Watching the doctor work in his confident and diligent manner Adam couldn't help but allow himself to feel the barest spark of excitement. Perhaps Watson would finish the work Victor had started. Perhaps with fine clothing, good manners and an education to go with his new name Adam could finally be the one thing he had craved for all of his life.

Human.

[ficarcheologist]

୧ ⊹₊ ⋆ between us 💭 feyd rautha

WARNINGS ⁞ smut, 18+, profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns

OPs NOTES ⁞ a/n: from an anon request. just a fun lil drabble // Summary: Feyd gives you a gift that you won't soon forget, proving nothing will come between the two of you.

MY NOTES ⁞ This is not my work. If you are the owner of this work and would like it taken down, please provide proof of ownership and I will take it down/redirect where necessary! Link to the fic reblogged on one of my other side blogs.

It’s late when Feyd finally comes to your shared bedchamber. His days have grown longer ever since taking up the title of Baron. He resents that it takes him away from you. You’re the only thing that’s ever made him truly happy. But this burden is his honor and his duty as his uncle’s chosen heir. Though he spends so many hours away from you, he always makes sure to return to your bed and only yours every night. He had his fun with his concubines, memories that he looks back on with fondness, but now? He can’t imagine being with anyone but you. His pets have fallen to the wayside ever since the first time he had you. 

Nothing and no one else could ever satisfy him the way you do.

Feyd expects you to come running into his arms, embracing him as you always do. He is a cold man, bloodthirsty and cruel, but your love and affection softens him. He frowns when he opens the door and sees you standing at the balcony, wearing your nightgown. The moon lights up your skin, making you look like some sort of ethereal goddess. He approaches you, moving your hair off your shoulder to press a kiss to the soft skin of your neck. You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice.

He turns you around to face him, hands cupping your face as he questions, “What troubles you?”

As if waking from a trance, you blink, meeting his gaze with a melancholy smile, “Nothing, my lord. Everything is fine.”

Your answer comes a moment too quickly and Feyd shakes his head, “I know you well enough to know when you’re lying to me.”

You pause before sighing, “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

The way you ask is so endearing that he can’t help but nod, “I promise.”

“One of your… Concubines…” It’s as if you struggle to say the word, your innocence bringing a smile to his face as he forces himself to hold back a chuckle, “One of them approached me and…” You shake your head, cutting yourself off, “Never mind. You’ll think it’s stupid.”

Feyd narrows his eyes, gripping your chin in his hand, squeezing slightly, “Tell me.”

You gaze up at him through your lashes, the sight of which has never failed to make his heart, which he once thought to be nonexistent, melt, “She said a weak little thing like me could never satisfy you the way the three of them did. That you’ll grow bored of me and come back to them. That you don’t…”

The way your breath hitches, tears pooling in your eyes…

Rage fills your husband, fire in his veins, “That I don’t what, little one?”

“That you don’t love me. That you never will,” comes your anguished whisper. Feyd lets out an animalistic growl, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Feyd, please don’t be angry with me, I shouldn’t have said anything-”

He quickly realizes that you’ve mistaken his anger as being directed toward you and loosens his grip, shaking his head though his expression is still furious, “I’m not angry at you. I would never be angry at you. You are the only one who brings any sense of calm into my life, little one. You are my wife. I chose you.”

He releases you from his grip, stalking past you toward the door. 

Your lips part in surprise as you stare after him, confused, “My lord?”

Feyd pauses, turning to look at you, pulling his dagger from its sheath, gritting his teeth, “I have to take care of something, my love. I’ll return soon.”

“FEYD?!”

His grin is bloody at the sound of your shriek, the heads of his three concubines thrown at your feet. Feyd chuckles as you scramble backward on the bed, staring at the disembodied heads with shock. He crawls over your body, feeling pleased when you calm at his touch, your hands resting on his cheeks, still stained with blood. He traces your lips with his thumb, watching as your eyes flutter shut at his touch.

“I will never let anyone come between us, little one,” he rasps, pressing his lips to your jaws, the blood of his concubines staining your skin, “Never. You are the one I love, the one I chose. I never went to see them after I took you as my own because I know their touch could never satisfy my lust, my love the way yours can.”

You kiss him, your legs parting to accommodate his frame as his tongue moves against your own. He’s eager tonight, you muse, feeling the bulge in his pants pressing against you. He moves your underwear to the side, fingers stroking at your slit, a wicked smile on his face.

“Seeing your lord husband painted in blood made you so wet,” Feyd whispers, “It seems my little wife isn’t so innocent after all.”

You bite back a smile as he spreads your thighs, mouthing at your wet cunt. And when you close your eyes, your head falling back against your pillow, he lands a slap against your center. A reminder that if you don’t keep your eyes locked on him, what he’s doing to you, he won’t allow you to reach your peak. He moans, pulling you in close, burying his face between your legs, inhaling your scent as he continues lapping at your folds like a man starved. Your fingers twist in the silken bedsheets, losing yourself in the pleasure he gives you, reaching your peak against his tongue, pulling him into another kiss as he crawls over you.

“No woman could ever taste as sweet, mewl my name so perfectly,” he vows, slipping his pants down to reveal his pale cock, already achingly hard, leaking from the tip, “It’s only you, my love. No one will ever come between us. Not even death.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, feeling him rut against you, his cock brushing against your sweet spot every time he slams back into you, your nails raking down the pale skin of his back, leaving an angry red trail in their wake. Feyd bites down hard on your neck, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark. You take his hand, bringing it to your throat, and Feyd immediately knows what you wish of him. He squeezes, restricting your airflow, smirking at the way it makes your body tense, your peak quickly approaching once again. Your eyes roll back as he spills himself inside you, his hot seed filling you.

Perhaps you seemed a sweet, unassuming little thing to your husband’s former lovers. But they didn’t realize that the longer you spent with him, the more your tastes began to mirror those of your husband.

He presses his lips to yours in a kiss, uncharacteristically gentle and yet still so very passionate as he vows to you once again, “I love you. Nothing will ever come between us.”

You grin, moving to lay on top of him, raking your nails down his chest as you whisper, feeling his cock already beginning to twitch against your thigh, “I believe you, my husband.”

Feyd chuckles, hands moving to palm at the flesh of your ass, groaning slightly as you continue your ministrations, clearly not wanting tonight’s fun to be through, “What a greedy little monster I’ve made of you, little one.”

[princessfantaghiro]

GALADRIEL'S GREATEST, MORTAL SIN.

Or the dirty truth. The dirtiest. 😇

Warning! This theory may not appeal to ROP viewers who consider our main character to be a flawless woman, "the holy Virgin Mary."

Because I'll be honest...Galadriel never was saint. She's not in "Rings of Power" either. She's a born rebel who has always loved to push the boundaries. "Touching the darkness" in every sense of the word.

ROP!Galadriel is a repentant sinner.

In season 2 she wants to redeem herself so fiercely from her mortal, biggest sin. [From season 1] She resist to be Sauron's queen, yes. In the end. But she didn't resist "the power over flesh", first...

That's why Galadriel's greatest sin is not killing the most orc "children of Adar", probably numbering in the thousands...

This is about something much worse. [tbh not in my shippers eyes!😈😇]

Galadriel's greatest, deadly sin is a true romance with the Lord of Darkness.

Haladriel Sex.

They did it.

She made love with Halbrand. [ in season 1]

The one who Galadriel saw as her fuc...ng Disney!Prince:

[Yes I know, we didn't see any sex scenes with them. Because Simon Tolkien said:"NO SEX SCENES CAUSE PURISTS!!!" And of course the creators and Charlie&Morffyd never will admit it officially, lol.]

So...WHERE IS THE PROOF?

Right under our Eye. Here:

This particular scene is [for me] ultimate proof they did it. For me, the symbolism and message behind the piercing with the crown is very clear...It's not only "blood/bonding"! She slept with the [Second] Devil before. He marked her as 'his", first by flesh [Halbrand in season 1], and then by spirit.[Annatar in season 2] When he gaved Galadriel some part of his Ainur powers and shared with his beloved Queen...

And this is a sign. Bloody mark of Cain.* [Sauron - in that case].The proof of Galadriel's greatest sin. She make love with the [Second] Devil. I mean...Not exactly!

She did it with her actual love, with Halbrand = repentant Sauron, the one Form of Sauron with the greatest amount of Light. [Knowing by us in ROP, until now.]

*The term "Cain's Mark" means a sin or burden weighing on the conscience (soul) of a given person. The feeling of guilt is so strong that a person cannot live with it calmly and forget about it. "Cain's Mark" - is the burning mark of a sinner.

Mark of Galadriel's mortal sin.

And her best friend Elrond knows about this sin:

"...the lost king who could ride you to victory. You gave him everything he wanted and then thanked him for it."

I can repeat it even louder. 😉

"YOU GAVE HIM EVERYTHING HE WANTED."

And Gil Galad knows, too.

This is her pain. This is her sin.

That she carries in her heart.

First, Galadriel wanted revenge for her brother's death. She wanted to complete the mission, to uncover the secret. To learn the answers. But above all to quench her thirst for blood. Instead, she touched the darkness. Figuratively and very literally.

Friends will not crucify her for this because she was tempted by a fallen maia Angel. Sex demon with 60,000 years of experience in the devil's school of seduction.

They forgive her.

Besides, Galadriel thinks for [and she had very good reason to] her husband is dead. She is alone, in celibate for +- 1000 years. Sauron, the sex demon was celibate for 3000 years. [Science! 😇]

[Valar!Prison in the cave after the murder of his "redhead Form".]

There was almost impossible for them two to resist the temptation. 🤷‍♀️

#sorry not sorry

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to past Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Shunsui Kyoraku;

Format: multi-chapters story;

Warnings for this chapter: nsfw, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, spitting kink, possessive behavior, slight degradation kink, hair pulling, scratching, touch-starved Sosuke, manhandling, creampie, both the reader and Sosuke are bad at feelings;

Plot: The ache between your thighs and in your head were all that was left about the previous night. A quick shower and more than a mere goodbye kiss were the proofs everything was over. Leaving Sosuke’s quarters, you accidentally bumped into the Captain Commander. Fooling Shunsui was impossible and this gave the man the idea of burdening you with a particularly hard task.

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

𝐀 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.

The warm rays of the sun seeping through the window lunged over the bed, making you stir. The headache greeting you as you came back to your senses was the unequivocal sign you were experiencing a terrible hangover. Lazily lifting your eyelids, you rubbed your eyes and tried to roll over your side, hoping to indulge into the bed for some more minutes. Something weighing on your waist, however, prevented you from moving. Furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your eyes wider, letting your gaze drift downwards, only to spot a muscular arm draped over your body.

Connecting the dots, you felt your cheeks heat up, flashbacks of the lustful night you had spent with him resurfacing in the back of your mind. You truly had no idea how to deal with this. The ache between your thighs made you let out a stifled moan, as you gently grasped his wrist and tried to lift up his arm from your waist. Bad move, undoubtedly.

The disapproving guttural sound coming from the man beside you made you flinch and you turned your head to the side to peer at him curiously. Handsome as a fallen angel, Sosuke was resting closer to you than you remembered yesterday night. His soft, longer brown locks were delicately dangling over his visible eye, still closed. In moments like this, it was hard to believe he was a criminal, homicidal mastermind. On top of that, it was kind of unsettling you had let him ravage your body the night before. Physically, you surely did not regret it. Mentally, you had felt free, good, after so many months spent in crying your eyes out for the horror of the war, fearing of not making it out alive. What was now troubling you was thinking of what would have happened if someone found out about this.

“I’ve heard showing empathy to a partner the morning after is commonly appreciated. — Sosuke’s hoarsely said, causing your stomach to somersault, as you were absent-mindedly goggling at him — I was not expecting you to shove me off of you so cold-heartedly” he reasoned, his hand tracing the outline of your hipbone as you rolled your eyes at him and hid your face behind your hands to get a grip of yourself.

Having a soft spot for him was not an option you were willing to contemplate, but he was doing his best to make it hard for you to detach yourself from your feelings.

“I needed to go to the bathroom” you blatantly lied, hoping his brain was still not functioning correctly, considering it was early in the morning. Then again, Sosuke Aizen was not a mere human like you, nor a mere Soul Reaper.

“Ah, now you turned to the childish tactic of lying. That’s intriguing”.

“That’s simply trying to mark the line between us”.

Sosuke grinned, sitting up and hovering over you faster than you had anticipated. His hands latched around your wrists, pinning them together above your head. The warmth provided by his body, the way his abs grazed over your bare stomach and his cock was poking at your inner thigh was enough to set your body on fire and send your morals flying out of the window.

Dipping his head down towards your ear, Sosuke hummed and nosed the curve of your neck “Oh really? You know, this attitude of yours has got me thinking I should have probably fucked you harder yesterday night. — he cooed, inhaling deeply, as he now buried his face into the crook of your neck — Maybe, unable to walk straight, you would have had no troubles in admitting the already blurry line between us is no longer existing”.

You had almost forgotten how good he was at getting under the skin of his interlocutors. You had never been an exception. His charm, his way of making you question yourself and your own decisions, even bending your morals for him, were all signs you had never found the strength to build a wall between you two.

Therefore, staring up at him now, helpless as the bruising grip on your wrists did not loosen up, you snorted “Let me guess, you won’t let me go until I confess I enjoyed what happened last night?” you asked him, eyes narrowing as he ghosted his lips over your jawline, earning a sigh from you.

“Maybe I just want to fuck you again. — Sosuke replied, leisurely letting one of his hand glide down your body, tracing your belly, until it cupped your sex — Stuffing you so full of my seed it will dribble down your thighs, while you talk to your brother. What do you say?”.

Your lips parted, eyes widening even so slightly as you instictively tried to close your legs, unable to control the effect his lecherous words had had on your body. This time, you had no excuses, you were sober, you would have been convicted murderer of decency, if you let him in again. Still, as your legs were squeezed together, his hand did not move. His fingers, instead, spread your labia, his thumb searching for your clitoris and flicking it to watch the way your foreteeth sank onto your bottom lip not to moan. The signs of your arousal were crystal clear, though. From your labored breath, to your half-lidded eyes. Not to mention your juices seeping onto the pads of his fingers stroking your folds.

“I say you should let me go. — you breathed out, glancing at the sun raising outside — I need to make it back to the Inn, before my brother finds out I have not spent the night there” you reasoned, but the moment his finger eased into your core, curling, you gasped and a low moan fell from your lips.

Sosuke was staring at you intently, his free hand cupping your cheek “Look at me and tell me that you want me to stop” he stated calmly, your brows knitting whilst you struggled to steady your breath. The truth was you wanted more and you would have been damned, if you said you did not wish to experience the same overwhelming bliss you had gone through last night. Now that you were fully yourself, now that the sun was still not wholly up, nobody would have known about it. No one. No one, but you two.

“I should reject you” you murmured, nuzzling your cheek into the palm of his hand. You wondered why it always felt tender, why he was not imposing himself arrogantly as he always did.

“But your body can’t refuse, can it? Or, perhaps, you don’t want to at all” he whispered, easing a second finger into your sappy cunt. Thighs quivering, you gave up. Spreading them wider for him, you cupped his cheeks, cradling his face into your hands, and you knitted your eyebrows together.

“Promise me you won’t tell a soul” you blurted out through gritted teeth, cheeks heating up, as he bit onto your lower lip, tugging at it to assert his dominance.

You did not really need him to speak and assure you this défaillance was going to be your secret. Somehow, you knew he had no reason to spread the rumors around. Aizen Sosuke loved to watch people covet what was his, but he lurked in the shadows, keeping a low profile unless it was strictly necessary to make a scene, showing his cards.

Involving you into a passionate kiss, Sosuke groaned scissoring his fingers into you, as his tongue slipped into your mouth. There was something enthralling about his sinful hands on you, about the way he was so hungry for your flesh he almost trembled. You could not let it slide this time, not as you kissed down his jaw and brought your mouth to his ear.

“Why are you shuddering?” you whispered, hooded eyes fluttering close as he curled his fingers into you once again, stimulating that spongy spot that made your body shake in violent waves of pleasure.

He glared at you, teeth sinking onto the crook of your neck to leave the umpteenth mark since the previous night “Years go by, but you still run your mouth like a impudent toddler” he deadpanned, lapping at your now bruised skin before leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your cleavage, between the valley of your breasts.

You writhed beneath him, your hand gliding behind his neck, gripping his neck as he flicked his tongue over your right nipple. You could not take it anymore and he knew it, he could feel your inner walls tightening around his fingers, before he denied you your orgasm once again. He seemed to draw immense pleasure from torturing you. It was only now, as you opened your eyes again, watching how he grabbed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes to line it to your opening, that you connected the dots. He was, without the shadow of a doubt, touch-starved.

Caramel eye glimmering in wanton, his tip rubbed down your slit, collecting your juices meticulously.

“You’re touch-starved” you breathed out, softly, a pang of pity in your voice that visibly irked him.

“Shut up” he growled, before pushing himself deep into your core, pulling a loud moan from you, as your back arched in sheer pleasure. Your legs, hooked around his hips, tightened around him and squashed him even closer to you.

While the sting of pain caused by the sudden intrusion was already fading away, you instinctively let your nails dig onto his shoulderblades, crescent moon marks appearing on his flesh like a tattoo. Smoothly, he witherdrew slowly from you warm channel, only to thrust back inside vigorously. A breathy moan was ripped from your throat, while you lolled your head back and exposed your neck to his vicious mouth. The snaps of his hips were something out of this world. Never in your life you had ever felt such a pleasure, such a passion and mastery among the bedsheets. Sosuke was greedy, grunting softly next to your ear, making sure you could feel him wholly.

Toes curling, you let your thoughts run free “Is that what Muken has done to you?” you asked him, only for Sosuke to wrap one of his hand around your throat, firmly, but not enough to hurt you.

“That’s what you did to me”.

The meaning behind his words was unknown to you. Did he mean he had longed for you for so long he had eventually lost his mind? However, you knew Sosuke enough to confidently say he did not care about anyone, or anything in this world except for himself. Maybe you were a whim he had finally satisfied, or maybe he was in denial upon ascertaining himself he was indeed touch-starved. He was smart, you were one-hundred percent sure he perfectly was aware of his own feelings and emotions. Admitting them out loud, though, was out of discussion.

When he felt your inner walls spasming around his cock, he gritted his teeth and sat back on his heels, hands sliding up your thighs and taking a hold of your ankles. Pushing your legs up, he buried himself into you until the hilt. The action stole the air from your lungs, as you just lied there, hips uncontrollably bucking up, while he pinned you down with a lustful glare.

“You should have not told me a fellow shinigami had fucked you before me” he rasped out, pausing only to give you a few rough thrusts that made you go in a frenzy.

This feeling, the way the tip of his cock bumped against your cervix, causing winces of pain to erupt from your throat should have been illegal. The pleasure, mingled to that numb pain, was too go to exist. All you could do was staring up at him, watching how his hips smoothly snapped upwards towards yours. His body was perfect, resembling one of those marble statues carved by a greek sculptor.

“I want him to see you struggling to walk, after you leave my quarters. I want him to smell me on your body, to taste my seed when he goes down on you and realizes you will not be satisfied ever again after me” he affirmed, nostrils flaring as he ravaged you at a breathtaking tempo.

His words ominously echoed in your head, as the face of Shuhei appeared before your eyes. You were not his girlfriend, you had never been, but you had promised him to talk about what you two might have had in the near future. If only he knew how you had spent the night and the early morning, he would have never looked at you the same way. Your fists clutched the white blankets at your sides tightly, a shameless moan leaving your lips as you felt him twitch into you. He was close and so were you. Stopping was pointless, by now. You had already made up your mind. You would have done what you did best, the very thing you had done with Shuhei: disappearing for a while. But could you really play your same old game with Sosuke? The way he now spread your legs wider, settling them onto his shoulders as he fucked you stupid, were suggesting you a different ending.

Sweat beaded his forehead as you tightened around him, earning a grunt from the man above you. The way he held you, the way he fucked you, it was possessive. The way he had expressed how much he would have liked to see Shuhei’s world crumble upon tasting his sperm into you spoke volumes. Then again, you refused to believe Sosuke was obsessed with you. No matter the deep conversations you two had had in the past, or the fact that he had saved your life more than once in Hueco Mundo.

You two were not meant to be.

You shuddered, you could feel his balls slapping against your ass, as he lunged over you and folded your body in half “Look at me. Look at me, while I make you come” he ordered, breath ragged as you stared deeply into his eye.

“It’s so fucking weird, Sosuke. — you stated, as his thrusts got sloppier — You… You craving my attention is not something I had forseen happening in my whole life”.

“Then it means you never paid attention to our interactions. That’s disappointing” he huskily replied, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Whatever. It’s not like I’ve ever cared about failing your expectations” you breathed out, before he reached his hand up and pushed his fingers into your mouth, forcing it open while he gave you a brutal thrust. And just like that, he spat into your mouth.

Your eyes grew round as his saliva slided over your tongue, his hand closing your mouth forcefully as he chased his orgasm with more urgency now. Degraded by the very man you had once hoped to destroy, you swallowed, too proud to belittle yourself with a row. Huffing, you just tugged at his hair harsher than you ever did, your eyes locked with his as you tightened around him and reached your climax with a strained moan.

Sosuke glared at you, before finally giving you a last thrust and finishing deep into your core. His warmth flooded in your gummy walls, your thighs quivering at the feeling, as he stayed still to make sure not a single drop was wasted. You were panting and he was too, when he slowly pulled out and proceeded to spread your labia to contemplate his work.

Still oversensitive, you flinched and tried to swat his hands away, but eventually you gave up, as he shot a cold glance at you.

“What’s your deal?” you queried, whilst he watched his cum ooze out of your core with sheer interest.

He smirked “Just wanted to carve in my mind the sight of my seed in your pussy, before you leave” he cooed, as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. It was time to clean up and leave that room and the hellish man inhabiting it behind. As soon as possible.

Sitting up, you found the strength to push his hands off of you. Sosuke did not put up a fight this time, eyes merely following your movements as you attempted to stand up on your wobbly legs. Bending down, you collected your clothes from the floor and scowled at the thought of wearing them again, at least, until you could finally sneak back into your room at the Inn.

“Aren’t you going to gift me your underwear?” Sosuke spoke out from behind you, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“Excuse me?” you quipped, whipping your head back towards him.

“I thought it was a ‘human thing’ women did. — he casually replied, albeit you could tell he was clearly feigning ignorance to mess around with you — I saw it in a couple of movies”.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him on your way to the bathroom “Don’t be ridiculous. Still, I didn’t think you were the type to sniff them in the dead of the night”.

You had not anticipated his comeback, though. The smug grin on your face dropped as quickly as it had stretched your lips, upon hearing his words.

“I don’t need to sniff your thong to smell your pussy. — he declared calmly, cocking his head to the side as he eyed your body — If I want to eat you out, all I have to do is ask you to spread your legs and I know for sure you’d do it without hesitating” he bantered, causing you to mentally curse yourself and dash into the bathroom.

Sliding the door shut, you rested your forehead against the smooth wooden surface and closed your eyes. You had a talent. An incredible talent at screwing up your already chaotic and messed up life. Sosuke was right. Even though your rationality suggested you not to let him touch you ever again, you perfectly knew that, after what had happened between you two, you would have not been capable to push him away if he touched you. But this toxic attraction was not healthy. Sosuke had been poisoning you for years, gradually, drop after drop. You knew that too. Nevertheless, you had let him do that, feeding you that insatiable thirst for his venom until you had let him own every inch of your body in the most visceral way imaginable.

You hated yourself for having played with Shuhei, for having let your relationship sink. Not even the war was an excuse for what you had done. If you want someone, you fight for him, you ignore the adversities life throws at your face. Through pain and blood, you do anything you can to get them. But the real question was: did you want him as much as he wanted you?

Now, letting the warm water cascade over your naked body, fingers rubbing your scalp gently, you felt like a bubble in the wind, waiting for an angular rock to pop you and let you explode in your misery. You needed to leave this place, to leave Sosuke’s barracks, go back to your room in the Inn to collect your belongings and find Shuhei. After that, you could finally go back to your ordinary life in the World of the livings. Or so you thought. Washing away quickly any trace of your misconducts, you lost no time in hopping out of the cubicle and wrapping a towel around your body. Drying your hair at the best you could, you did the same with your body and put back your uniform, before taking a deep breath and going back to the bedroom. Upon entering, you were not shocked to spot a still very naked Sosuke sitting on the edge of the bed. A silky black dressing gown was draped over his shoulder, his lips grazing the rim of a cup of a tea as his right leg was crossed over the other.

He reminded you of a bohémien artist, at first. But he was anything but that. Passing by him, you grasped your zanpakuto and secured it on your hip. Then, you halted and clenched your fists down your sides nervously.

“That’s the end of the road for us, I guess” he spoke out, saving you from babbling out idiotic phrases you would have regretted on your way out of there.

“Yes, it is” you shortly mumbled, nodding your head imperceptibly.

“I see. — he replied, pausing just to settle the now empty cup on top of the nightstand — Let me say my goodbyes properly, then” he chimed again, standing up and approaching you.

You were frozen in place, unable to move as he grasped your chin delicately between his thumb and forefinger. His hot breath fanned your cheek, as his lips ghosted over the skin leisurely, sending waves of electricity through your veins “I keenly look forward to seeing you again” he whispered, before capturing your lips with his in a demanding kiss you could not refuse.

One last kiss, one last taste of his sinful lips as you reciprocated it, as you let his tongue invade your mouth and strip you of your last shred of dignity left in you.

When it ended, you flicked your gaze up to meet his. Your breath was labored, your heart thrumming against your ribcage so violently you thought it was going to break the bones and jump out of your chest. Breathless, you shook your head and slided the door behind you open rather clumsily.

The still cool air of the early morning nipped your skin, as you glanced at him from the porch one last time “See you” you mumbled, before sprinting down the same path you had drunkely taken yesterday night.

You could have used the flash-step to get to your destination faster, but your legs were still kind of numb. The dull, steady thump of your feet hitting the floorboards was the only audible sound accompanying you, as you tried to concentrate on your task: getting to the Inn as soon as possible. Cussing under your breath, you turned to the left to get to the staircase, but your head was so in the clouds you had not even been capable of detecting the strong and familiar reiatsu coming from the that direction.

Your nose colliding with a broad, hairy chest and your ass landing onto the floor were enough to halt your run. Groaning softly in pain, your gazed up to see who was the man you had bumped into, only to gawk at the sight of the Captain Commander himself. You blinked, ascertaining you were far from being still drunk. He was there, grinning down at you amusedly as he immediately offered his hand to you to get back on your feet. Shunsui Kyoraku, the kindest shinigami you had ever had the pleasure to meet.

“Isn’t it too early for you to be up?” you nervously chortled, taking a hold of his hand and getting back on your feet.

The man in front of you sighed, head turning to the side as he clicked his tongue “At least someone remembers I am not an early bird. Being the Captain Commander is harder than you could ever imagine” he stated, rubbing his chin listlessly.

Fixing your uniform, you smiled at him and glanced up at the sky. It was still early, definitely too early for your brother to be roaming down the streets. But you needed to make enough time to take care of the various issues caused by your tendency to gum up your efforts of living a peaceful life.

“And what about you? All alone, disheveled, black circles under your eyes, hickeys on your neck… — Shunsui noted casually, your eyes darting on him as your hand instictively gripped the collar of your uniform to tug it up to cover the bitemarks — I can only think about a thing, miss Kurosaki” he stated, blessing you with one of his characteristic smiles.

Fooling Shunsui Kyoraku, a man who lived the life of a laidback lothario, drunk most of the times, someone who had no qualms in showing the world how much of an hedonist he was, was the equivalent of dressing up as a clown and pretending not to work in circus. You were toasted, as a matter of fact, but you still tried to push your luck. There was nothing wrong with having sex with someone, right? And you probably did not even expect him, out of everyone you knew, to give you the speach. You were a grown up woman, living up to the idea you could make your own decisions, when it came down to your body.

“And you’d be right. I drank a little too much yesterday night and I loosened up” you stated casually, already trying to turn your back at him, vainly hoping you had washed away Sosuke’s reiatsu and that his chamber was not the only one located in that direction. But Shunsui was not naive.

As his hand latched around your wrist, stopping you, it was clear he had got the hint of what had happened “How was it? Did he hurt you?” he asked, a concerned undertone echoing in his words as you twirled around to face him again.

Cold sweat collected behind your neck, your breath hitching as you gaped and stammered a simple “Who?”.

“I’m not here to judge you. I’m the last person who could do that anyway. I just wanted to check on you” Shunsui explained, this time sounding serious. His single grey eye was looking straight into yours, showing empathy as his grip on your wrist loosened and you dropped your arm back down your side.

Why lying now?

“Shunsui, promise—” you started, warning him with a glacial glare in your eyes as you took a step closer to him, checking the area as if you were looking for a possible passer-by.

The Captain Commander smiled, lowering his hat over his head to shield himself from the sunlight “Your secret is safe with me” he said and, in that very moment, you trusted him. How could you not, after all?

Straightening your back, you huffed and leaned against the wall at your back. Your eyes downcast, as you eventually decided to confirm his suspicions “It was consensual, if that’s your concern and… He has been actually exceptionally kind to me. I fainted in front of his room and he brought me in. I don’t think I need to explain what happened next” you replied, cheeks heating up, as you reminisced the actions that had led you to moan Sosuke’s name, as if your life depended on it.

If you closed your eyes, you could still feel his touch lingering on your skin, smell his cologne as he held you close to his body. But it was wrong and, now that the thrill had expired, you had no reason to think about it ever again.

Shunsui nodded, folding his arms against his chest “You know, it’s actually funny how the first person he talked about when I unsealed him was you. He was awfully concerned about your whereabouts”.

His words piqued your interest this time, your brows furrowing as you tilted your head to the side, inviting him to go on with his narration. After being unsealed, the first person that came to his mind was yours. Why? What did he want from you? Except for your body, obviously.

“What?” you quizzically asked him.

“That’s right. He wanted to know if you were alright. He told me he had sensed your reiatsu getting feeble. He wondered what had happened to you, but he obviously did not give away to me too much of his mind. I think I know why he was so invested into you now… — Shunsui said, scratching his stubble, as he eyed you up and down with a thoughtful gaze that did not promsie anything good — Which is giving me ideas”.

You blinked a few times, mostly puzzled by the informations you had just received by the former Captain of the Eight Division. Sosuke had sensed you had gotten badly injured and he had gone to the extent of asking Shunsui about your well-being. What was going on inside his mind was a mystery you were not capable of figuring out. Not yet, not even in the vulnerable state you had seemingly seen him at that morning. His solitude and his yearn for human touch were getting the best of him, even if he strived to carefully hide the truth.

“Ideas? I know that face and I really have no time to put up with your shit” you jabbed your finger at the man, arching an eyebrow up expectantly.

Shunsui, however, had already made up his mind. While he smiled at you, he did not reconsider even for a second his decision “Well, you can go to pack your stuff and say your goodbyes for now. But, unfortunately, I need your help with our special threat” he stated, earning a resentful look from your behalf.

He needed what now? Your help with who? With the very person you were avoiding to meet ever again? You thought he was jesting, at first, but when he did not join your soft chuckle, you realized he was serious and your smile dropped from your face instantly.

“Whatever you are thinking about, erase me from the list of people involved in your plan” you flatly said, but Shunsui shook his head.

“Ah, my dear Y/N, I am afraid I can’t. Not when you are the only person in the whole world he does not completely despise. Also… Come on, you guys are pretty close now” he started, subtly smirking as you stared at him horrified.

“Shunsui—”.

“I need someone to watch over him and…”.

“Awesome, ask someone—”.

“…You are going to let him live rent free in your house”.

“What?!” you snapped, colors draining from your face as you clasped your hand over your mouth in shock. You could not believe what you had just heard him saying. He was out of his mind, clearly.

But the moment you both sensed a powerful and tremendously strong reiatsu raining down on you, Shunsui chuckled and you had no other choice but to come to terms with the fact that you could not abandon your friend like that. Gritting your teeth, you stood back up and your eyes met with Sosuke’s ones. Fully dressed, he was standing a few feet away from Shunsui and you, his appearence radiating a sense of superiority that almost nauseated you.

“It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs. — Sosuke chided you both, as Shunsui huffed at his remark — Care to tell me what’s the deal with you two?” he asked you, his gaze lingering on you for way longer than you expected.

Shunsui raised his hands apologetically, taking a single step closer to Sosuke, his tone of voice uncharacteristically serious “How does it sound sharing a roof with this beautiful girl, Aizen-san?”.

And, God, the way Sosuke’s eye gleamed in mischief upon hearing those words was enough to make you realize how bad your situation was.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Here we are with the third part. The things I have planned for this one are scrumptious, I promise!❤️ Hit me with a feedback, if you want! Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @seireiteihellbutterfly @pseudowho @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01

[gaysindistress]

Never Love an Anchor

Pairings: gn!Tav x Zevlor

Summary: a ship can never love an anchor so Zevlor cut you loose but kept the love he held for you in his heart, hoping that maybe that might change.

Warnings: talks of cannon violence in bg3

Word count: idk man I wrote this in my notes and it’s more than a Drabble but not a fic so somewhere between? 🤷🏻‍♀️

I highly recommend listening to ‘never love an anchor’ by the crane wives. I read something from @gnomishcunning awhile back about the things that Zevlor deserves and that’s what inspired this so give them love too 💕

Bg3 mastlist

The great Hellrider Commander. The new leader of the exiled Tieflings. An old and broken paladin with no faith to draw strength from. A man who’s been charged with the protection of his people and expected to do right by each and every one without fail.

Commander Zevlor.

Or simply Zevlor as many of his people call him.

You’ve heard many stories about this famed man but never have you laid eyes on him. Elturel isn’t far from Baldurs gate so it wouldn’t be completely unimaginable to say that he somewhat of a hero to you. What happened to the city struck both fear and sorrow into your heart. The worst part, however, is knowing that the tieflings would be the ones to suffer the consequences of actions they had no part in. It takes a selfless soul to take on the duty that Zevlor has and this only adds to the respect you have for him.

The first time you meet is during the fight in front of the Grove. Arrows and spells are flying around as you battle the goblins with people you don’t even recognize. One goblin in particular has evaded your attack almost every time and has moved into a lethal position. Their arrows are landing successfully every time on the tiefling guard above the stone door, nearly sending him to an early grave.

Vaguely you hear someone shout his name as he stumbles backwards when an arrow lands in his shoulder,

“Zevlor!”

Shadowheart is doing what she can to protect you as your world seems to slow. Lae’zel ’chk’s at you when she notices your faltering movements and cuts down a worg coming for you while Astarion sneaks behind the remaining 2 goblins. The one that shot at Zevlor and has been dodging you also notices this and makes to attack you next. Your blade is faster than their bow.

They fall to the ground as you throw your last healing potion at the fallen tiefling and order Shadowheart to use her last spell to heal him.

The battle is won soon after and you’re finally able to meet this hero of yours for the first time. Rather than reducing to a star struck mess, you keep yourself composed as you approach him arguing with Aradin. Somehow you manage to convince them to stop fighting before yet another battle breaks out. You direct Aradin back with a simple point of your finger before turning to the Hellrider. It’s then that you realize there was one important detail missing from his legends; his striking beauty.

His horns stretch and bend far beyond most tieflings indicating both his age and wisdom. The infernal ridges that line his cheekbones and forehead bring attention to his entrancing eyes. Glowing like the enteral torch, Zevlor’s eyes study you with caution as you marvel at his appearance. Moving from his face you take in the worn but cared for chain mail armor that sits upon his strong shoulders that carry the burden of thousands. His chest, board and equally strong as his shoulders, seems to move in time with your own breath; adrenaline filled but calming all the same. It’s a testament to the seasoned paladin that lives within him, his reassuring strength that does not waver in the face of danger. It’s proof of the well trained commander within him that strategizes his every move as well as others.

Whatever words you thought might aid you in introducing yourself seemed to disappear and all you can offer is a half smile. Zevlor thanks you for your help but it’s not without a lingering gaze that cuts through your confidence. It seems he’s mistaken your shyness for indifference towards his people. Regardless he still asks for your help in getting his people to Baldur’s Gate. Your immediate acceptance causes several of your companions to be upset with you. Frankly Shadowheart is the only one who has an inkling about what’s truly going on. That night at camp, she brings whatever wine she could find to your tent and slowly drags the truth out of you.

“I couldn’t help but notice your fascination with Zevlor,” she muses from behind her chalice before adding, “well I could but there’s no fun in that.”

You chuckle at her as you take a sip of your own wine. It’s bitter and foul but it’s something to sooth your nerves no less.

“My fascination? And what exactly did I do for you to notice such a thing?”

“You stared at him as if he were the most beautiful piece of art work you’d ever seen. That or he was a feast after starving for weeks on end.”

“I did no such thing!” You try to defend yourself but it fails horribly when neither of you can stop laughing. “Fine maybe I did but can you blame me? He is a beautiful man.”

Rolling her eyes, Shadowheart finishes her chalice and turns to face you. It’s startling to have her full attention on you like this but the wine has lessened your concern.

“Tell me truly; do you have feelings for him?”

You stare back at her and hope that her goddess might have mercy on enough to smite you where you sit. Alas you have no luck and are forced to answer.

Your eyes find the empty chalice in your own hands as it dangles from your fingers between your knees.

“I think..,” you start with a sigh, “I think that my feelings are irrelevant in our current situation. A relationship, a romance has no place among the fight we’re facing. Matters of the heart have no relevance when making decisions the lives of many.”

Your strangely beautiful yet sobering confession renders the cleric speechless for once. She glances to between the moon and you before nudging you with her shoulder.

“Do not be so quick to cast your feelings aside. You never know when matters of the heart may take precedence.”

Some months later after the nether brain fight, everyone has settled into their lives and gone their separate ways. Wither’s gathering has already passed and this would be maybe a few weeks later. lakrissa and alfira have gotten married and theres to be a small reception in the city at the Elfsong. Of course the heroes of baldurs gate are invited seeing as without your party, the couple wouldn’t have survived this far.

Zevlor and the tieflings have made amends following the finale battle so he’s in attendance as well. He’s still cautious and honestly probably a little scared that they will change their mind and shun him for what happened at Moonrise so he’s a wall flower. He makes his rounds and keeps up polite conversation but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome so he plans to leave pretty early on. The rest of the party has arrived; Karlach and Wyll are the current stars of the hour as they tell fabulous tales of their time in Avernus. Gale and Lae’zel have sent their regards while Astarion and Shadowheart keep their chalices full and their gossip hushed. The only ones missing are you and Halsin.

Everyone knows that the two of you had something special but no one could ever figure out what. Shadowheart swore herself to secrecy and Astarion charmed the conversation to something entirely different. As for the others, no one knew why you chose to follow Halsin to the former shadow lands, only that you had and seemed to be content. Zevlor hasn’t seen you since the last fight and it created a deep rift within himself to think about it.

On one hand, he had nothing more than your conversations and the one near kiss to use as evidence of your affection for him. On the other, he remembered your tears when you found him the mind flayer colony and how you whispered a promise of forgiveness to him before you left to fight Thorm. He recalled in excruciatingly vivid detail the feeling of your tear soaked lips pressing to the corner of his as you pulled away and the utter devastation that filled your eyes.

“They will understand and they will forgive you if you give them the chance, Zevlor. You are their commander, their leader, their champion. You are not at fault for this and they will see that if you let them. Promise me that you will try. Promise me that you will not forsake yourself.” You whispered to him in a cracked and pleading voice, “promise me you’ll try. You deserve it.”

His heart pounded against his ribs as he forced himself to look at you in the eye. His knees buckled as your lips brushed against his. His voice wavered as he agreed to your promise. His strength cracked as you smiled at him and left to face almost certain death.

Zevlor isn’t so foolish to believe that you would’ve chosen to follow him after the finale battle but his heart yearned to think about that possibility. The chance, no matter how small, still felt real even as he anxiously waited for your arrival.

Like a goblin’s arrow, the sight of you walking into the Elfsong arm and arm with Halsin pierces Zevlor’s heart. You do in fact look content; your skin is glowing from being able to eat your fill and sleep as long as your desire. Your hair has been released from its strict hairstyle; bouncing around your face back in soft waves and shines in the pale evening light. Your eyes, while they’ve always been stunning, have a new spark of warmth and joy. No longer are you clad in armor but instead you’re wearing a white and blue patterned outfit that flows around you like water. Your figure has also changed but in this new attire, it becomes even more apparent that you are healthy, happy, and a feast yourself. The smile that blesses his dreams widens as you begin to notice your companions and former allies.

Zevlor casts his gaze to the ground when Halsin presses a kiss to your hairline. This confirmation is too much for him to bear and he finds anything to occupy his mind.

As the gathering quickly turns into a celebration, Zevlor attempts to make his exit. He quickly bids the couple farewell and congratulates them before trying to slip out without being noticed. A deep sigh leaves him as soon as he’s outside the doors and it’s not one of relief.

Frustration maybe.

Anger perhaps.

Or is it shame that forced him to leave without even acknowledging you?

“I knew you were not one for crowds but this I did not expect.”

He halts and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s been caught.

“The city has been treating you well, I take it. You look…” you trail off as you allow the tavern doors to close behind you, “good. Not that you didn’t before but… a life of ease agrees with you.”

Zevlor doesn’t face you, a choice that pains you more than you’d like to admit. He’s almost frozen in place as you approach him.

Coming to stand just beside him, you murmur his name and all but beg him to look at you.

With great effort, he does. A hint of blood woven pain flashes in his infernal eyes as he gazes down at you.

“But how have you been treating yourself, hm? Have you forgiven yourself or have you forsaken yourself to a life of solitude?”

He says nothing but it’s an answer enough; he’s not kept his promise to you. He crosses his arms over his chest and attempts to look more casual about the whole situation.

You begin to say his name but he cuts you off, “go on and enjoy the celebration. There are many people who have been waiting for a chance to speak with you.”

“what about you?”

His thick brows knit in confusion, “me?”

“Is there anyone else out here?” You tease for a moment, “I did mean you, Zevlor. What about you? Were you one of them?”

He wants to pretend that he wasn’t but he can’t, not when he’s been agonizing over this moment for months now. A particularly loud shout draws your attention back to the tavern and when you’re not looking, he can’t help his gaze. Almost immediately he finds himself staring at your revealed chest and the way your shirt does little to conceal the vast plains of your torso. A lump grows in his throat at the thought and he barely swallows it before you look at him again.

“I’ve thought of little else but what it would be like to see you again these last few months,” you say after taking a deep breath, “Halsin finds it difficult to not tease me about how ‘preoccupied’ I seem most days. On our way here, he told me that I better say the words I’ve been pondering all this time or he would do it for me.”

At the mention of Halsin, Zevlor unintentionally stiffens and looks over your shoulder towards the tavern. You follow his line of sight and step in front of him once more. It’s a bold move but no bolder than what you’re about to do.

You place your hands on his folded arms and gently pull, asking him to step closer and to give his attention.

“I know of the rumors about Halsin and I. I’d hoped that you hadn’t heard of them but it appears that you have and now I fear you won’t hear what I have to say.”

Zevlor stares at your hands for a moment before letting his eyes flutter closed. “Speak plainly, y/n.”

His words are uncharacteristically short and cold, a stark contrast to the person you’d come to know. You go to drop your hands and step back but one of his shots out and grabs your wrist, keeping you in place.

“I need you to be clear and precise right now. There cannot be any doubt or confusion from this moment forward.” he tells you in a low tone, one of authority and of a Hellrider Commander.

The hand on your wrist shifts to grip your bicep and pulls you impossibly closer. Your own breathing quickens when your feel your chest press against his and you find yourself leaning into his grip, relying on his strength to keep yourself upright.

Your voice, usually strong and confident, wavers as you whisper, “Halsin and I….we are no more than friends.”

Zevlor stays silent, only searches your face for any tell that you could be lying. The hand on your bicep flexes and his claws press into your skin. You hold back a hiss from the sting, pushing aside the pain to become fully absorbed in his presence. He goes to apologize however your lullaby words silence him, “He is not the one I’ve longed for since we first met.”

His hand tightens and tries to hold you in place but his strength fails him. Your hands drift from his arms to his chest and come to rest on his jaw. The tiefling’s eyes flutter closed at the contact and he takes a deep, sharp breath.

“Y/N,” he warns.

“I’ve admired you from the moment I first heard your story. I’ve known that you were going to be someone deeply important to me from the moment we fought side by side in the grove. I’ve yearned to learn everything about you since you reject my advances at the celebration, claiming that I could have anyone I desired. I’ve cared for you since learning of your fate in the Shadowlands. I realized that I loved you when I found you in moonrise in that awful colony but I’ve loved you far longer. I’ve loved you all of this time but yet I couldn’t find it within myself to tell you for fear that you wouldn’t feel the same.” Tears begin to flow from both of you as you whisper your confession to him and he keeps his eyes closed, “Zevlor I’m in love with you and I want nothing more than to be with you if you’ll have me.”

His tail wraps around your waist, keeping you close while his hands slid up onto your neck and tilt your head up. With a shaky deep breath, he musters the strength to open his eyes and look at you. The old paladin has forsaken his forgotten god many months ago and promised to live in your honor. He’s swore an oath to you that you know nothing about but it would seem that you have done the same.

“My love for you knows no bounds and no rivals,” he whispers as his lips brush against yours, close but not close enough. “I’ve waited long enough to hear that you feel the same. Promise to me that this is not some cruel joke, a drunken confession but the truth. Promise to me that you truly mean that you love me.”

“I love you,” you hastily whisper before finally capturing him in a passionate kiss. A groan slips from him at the feeling of your desperation to convey your feelings but it’s returned tenfold.

It seems that Shadowheart was right all those months ago.

[bisexualcage]

If it’s not a problem, can I request a fluffy MK1 Johnny Cage x male reader fic where reader suffers from a lot of chronic pain? I suffer a lot from it and I’m just really in need of some comfort from my bbg Johnny. I’d greatly appreciate it if you did do this!

-🦇 anon (idk if this was taken but if not im now bat anon)

(Sorry this took a bit long!! I hope you enjoy ❤️)

A Rising (Fallen) Star ⭐️ | Johnny Cage x Male Reader

Warnings: no warnings, just very damn tooth rotting fluff!

Relationship: Johnny Cage x Male Reader, MLM

An: I didn’t really proof read so rip

It was nearly 7 pm, Johnny had a busy day but you decided to stay in while he worked. He insisted on staying to pamper you all day but you basically forced him out, he wasn’t gonna miss a directing opportunity because of you. Or at least that’s how you saw it. Every time your chronic pain flared up you felt like hell warmed over, you didn’t want to burden anyone else too much with it and that included Johnny even though he consistently told you otherwise. That didn’t stop him from spamming your phone with texts which you’ve missed in your deep pained slumber.

“Babe, u feeling better? Take ur pain killers. U looked so tired b4 I left”

2:03

“I’m gonna buy u some stuff as soon as

I’m out of this building, I think they like my script idea! Watch out! Director Johnny Cage incoming 😎 no but seriously, u ok?”

4:48

“Hello? Honey???”

5:11

“They accepted my pitch! You’re worrying me. I’m heading over to the pharmacy to pick up some knick knacks for u stud😚”

6:19

Of course, your phone was left accidentally on silent and by the time you read these with guilt on your face you already heard the front door opening and closing, heavy steps approaching your bedroom door. You groan and yawn, sitting up weakly from the bed and rub your sore back. “Ah shit…” you mumbled under your breath.

The door clicks open and you see a worrisome Johnny with bags of stuff hanging from his hands. He takes his shades off as he spots your tired pained figure on the edge of the bed and walks over dropping the bags immediately on the floor.

“Babe, are you okay? You weren’t answering me.” He kneels in front of you and kisses your nose, his eyes so big and soft.

“My back aches so bad. I’m so sorry- as soon as you left I knocked out and-“ you rambled in guilt.

“Shhh, nonsense. Now, do you want me to start a warm bath for you?” He mumbled and caressed your jaw with his hands. “Get those muscles to relax a bit?”

You blush and nod, standing up with a wince.

“Atta boy’.” Johnny smirks and guides you to the bathroom slowly, getting the bath water going immediately.

“I’ll take it from here, okay?” You said softly, you didn’t want him to see you as weak. This has happened one too many times. It was stupid, he insisted that he didn’t see you as a burden and that he liked caring for you when you were in pain yet you just couldn’t stop being stubborn about it.

Johnny made a sigh, looking over you one last time before nodding and then peeping through the open crack of the door one last time, “Shout at me, I’ll be right outside if you need anything okay, honey?” He said tenderly.

The actor had a knowing expression, the way you were trying to act tough all of a sudden and able. You knew that he could see through your facade. When the door closed you started stripping and then submerged yourself in the warm water, you sighed in pleasure as your sore muscles relaxed. About 15 minutes passed while you were soaking in there, you winced in pain as you pulled yourself up from the bath. Carefully leaning over to get a towel, you were practically shaking.

“Christ-“ you sigh tiredly as you rubbed the towel down your torso and legs. Once you were done drying and dressing up, you started to smell something as you made your way towards the kitchen.

Johnny never cooked, not if he could help it.

Oh no. He’s cooking.

“Johnny wh-“

“Don’t worry baby, I ain’t burned the house down yet.” He turned around from the stove to face you, something simmering in a pot. Johnny looked at you up and down in your cozy pajamas and wet hair, walking over to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. He started rubbing the back of your wet head as he held you in his arms and talked.

“How was that bath? Warm enough?” He mumbled against your neck with his eyes closed, very at peace to be in your arms.

You grew warm and smile softly for the first time all day, “It was good, very nice.” You whisper, overlooking his shoulder and seeing the food being cooked. “Is that…soup?”

Johnny chuckled and pulled back, “It’s canned soup I got you from the pharmacy. Among other things.”

“Are you sure you’re cooking that-“

“Honey, I ain’t gonna stink up the house like last time I promise. It’s just simple soup I’m warming up for my, baby boy.” He smirks at you and walks over to the soup, turning the stove off.

You grow warm, whenever he called you baby boy he knew it sent you over the moon. He was being purposeful.

“Before you eat…” He looks back at you briefly and starts pouring the hot vegetable soup in to a bowl, your stomach already grumbling, “…I’m gonna give you some pain killers alright? You haven’t drank any right?”

You scratch your head, you could have sworn in your painful delirium earlier that you planned on taking them but you just knocked out immediately. “No I haven’t…damn it.”

Johnny chuckles, walking over to you with the soup in hand and places it on the kitchen island, motioning for you to sit. As you do, he takes out a painkiller bottle and gives you two pills with a glass of water. “Drink BOTH.” He said a bit sternly but with the upmost care in his eyes.

You groan, “Johnny-“

“Don’t Johnny me, I know you hate pills and swallowing them.” He crosses his arms, waiting for you to swallow them.

He was right, you hated them and you always had trouble downing them. But you took a deep breath as he rubbed your arm and swallowed them easily. It’s like his presence alone made things easier.

“Good boy! Woohoo!” He kisses your cheek, “Nothing The Cagester can’t bring out of people.” He jokes and winks at you.

“Alright alright- settle down movie star.” You smirk at him as you start practically downing the soup at a crazy pace. “These are good, no burn flavor.”

Johnny rolls his eyes and watches you eat with a small smile on his face, he was like a hawk. “I know you didn’t eat all day or take your pills.”

You look at him with shyness, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know honey, I know. I can’t imagine what’s it’s like to hurt all the time. You start to loose the energy to do basic things.” He says with an understanding face, yet he was holding something back. Biting his tongue.

“Johnny, I thank you for all of this. I know it’s not easy sometimes and I sure don’t make them easy.” You say lowly, looking down at your lukewarm soup.

Johnny looks at you with glassy eyes, or maybe that was the dim lights in the kitchen, you couldn’t tell. Nonetheless he swallowed heavily and walked between your legs on the chair you were sitting and placed both of his hands on your cheeks— looking deep in to your tired eyes.

“When I’m with you it’s like I’m a damn lovesick puppy, you make things unbelievably easy for me. I’ve told you before, I don’t care about what you got going on. You’re not a burden-“

“I didn’t say-“

“But you’re thinking it. You’re constantly thinking it. I saw it back in the bathroom. I see it now. And if I need to reassure you a billion times that you’re nothing but a star in my life then I will. I like taking care of you. I like doing these things for you. You’re my guy, you’re my boy.” He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, his eyes filled with nothing but care.

Suddenly, he leans in and crashes his lips on to yours, you’re engulfed by his warmness, his proximity, his love. He shifts his lips softly against yours, taking his time, your noses rubbing against one another. A small grunt leaves your throat and you reciprocate just as passionately. You then both pull back slightly, breathing heavily and trying to catch your breath with him. He keeps his arms around your waist, rubbing lightly at your sore back in circular motions.

“Someone’s passionate today…” you chuckle.

“For you? Always. Now eat up. After that you’re gonna lay down for me and we’re gonna try the new heat pad I bought you.” He grins with excitement.

“Another one?! I have like 5 heating pads from you already!” You laugh.

“But this one supposedly has some cotton flex technology that helps muscles or some shit, isn’t that cool?” His eyes are shiny.

“Is this what you decide to buy with your big new director money?” you laugh more with a blush.

“Hey! This big new director got his script approved today. Green lit baby! So more heating pads coming your way.” He says playfully, loving the banter between you both.

“Congratulations!” You say lovingly with a huge smile on your face, “I’m so proud of you ahh.” You squeeze him closer to you.

“Thank you, sweetheart! I told you, that Karate Zombie script was gold- wait a second are you trying to distract me from you eating your soup cause it’s cold now?” He says teasingly.

You snort loudly, clearly being caught a bit. But you were still proud of him regardless.

“Eat the soup! I will feed it through your nose if I gotta!”

[tiramissyoucake]

Hidden Bride

Sae itoshi x reader, royalty x commoner marriage au, characters are 18+, Sae is a little ooc, reader is female, Shidou being gross cameo, reader has a considerably younger sibling, approx 2287 words

CW: none, maybe very VERY slightly suggestive towards the end? No proof reading

Note: I’m so sleepy waaa blew off studying to finish this lol sobs, not super proud of this but I was gonna explode if I didn’t write prince Sae related thingy so enjoy !!

news spread like wildfire in the kingdom when the Royal family announced their oldest son was looking for a bride, everyone had assumed that Prince Sae would marry a woman of similar status however he had refused any offers and suggestions of who he should marry and insisted that he would choose the woman who would become his bride. 

His parents tried talking him out of it, they introduced him to a wide selection of women who were of age to marry and yet Sae didn’t spare them a glance, most girls were either after his family’s wealth and status or they had fallen for his mysterious nature without actually knowing a lick of information about him to which he found pathetic. No matter who was presented, he would be filled with irritation and would discard the suggestions with a disgusted frown.

Sae’s denials echoed in the palace hallways to anyone who dared mention the topic to him, insisting that if he’ll marry a woman then he’ll make sure she’s worthy of him and not just because of the coincidental similarity of their blood being royal.

No one knew what method he would go about for choosing a bride, his routine consisted of finishing his daily responsibilities and he would head out with a single guard (a hand-picked guard he decided was fitting to stand with him after monitoring a training session, although he could do without his blabbering and lewd comments), the guard had told him his full name but he’d only caught ‘Shidou’, not caring enough to remember his full name.

For weeks, Sae would follow his usual pattern of searching: walk around the marketplace, study the civilians who would sell, purchase or just peruse and then go home unsatisfied. His search would be unsuccessful every time he went left, no one displayed behavior that promised an obedient queen, all he saw was nonchalant faces or slack-jawed surprised expressions at his presence, as if his people couldn’t believe he’s a real person and not an unreachable deity of some sort.

Every time he returned to the palace, Everyone around him nagged him that he can’t just stare at civilians and hope to magically find a bride, to which he’d always reply: “as if you have the capacity to understand”, these advisors, his parents, no one understood the vitality of the issue. He believed his parents’ marriage was sheer luck, that their marriage and the fact that they loved each other was the outcome of some bored wager made by fate. As for his advisors, what do they know anyway? They were all old men that cupid himself would be repulsed by, either divorced or destined to die alone.

The one time he leaves palace walls to unwind in the fields beyond the town borders he finally saw a chance of ending these foolish theatrics of bride hunting.

Sae walked down the path trying to think of his current options, either continue his needle-in-a-haystack search for a bride or accept some air-headed rich girl. His main goal out of wedlock was to simply produce an heir and mold them to perfection, he figured he should be able to find a tolerable lover to make this burden less bothersome.

before his mind could even reach a conclusion, he felt something hit his back, he froze in confusion and slowly turned to find… a child? with what he assumed was an angry face, the child’s attire seemed to imply it was from one of those families that preferred to stay on the outskirts of the territories for god knows what reason, the fabric and cut looked different than the ones civilians would wear deeper in the town. A wooden carved toy was on the ground near him, so that’s what hit him.

“Go back to your dumb palace, royal scom!”

‘Scom’? …Did it mean to say ‘scum’? Sae’s guard, Shidou who had been quietly following behind him approached the child with an irritated expression telling him to back off, he was almost tempted to stop his guard to see what this child was raving on about.

Sae knew there were people who opposed the ruling family but he hadn’t known that the influence would reach kids like this, how did this child even recognize him? Before anything could escalate, he saw another figure approach

The figure looked to be near Sae’s age, their features and clothes matched the child’s save for the fact that her features were more feminine and her outfit was best described as a common everyday dress, one that a family with decent savings would give their daughter. He watched her hold the child’s hand and reprimand them softly yet sternly, at least that’s what he assumed from her expression and whatever words his ears had caught

“Where did you go?! You know better than to run off!”

“But he was-“

“No buts! You’re in big trouble! Do you know who this is..?!”

Her voice was laced with concern, she didn’t have the cruelty to be angry at a child for their simple curiosity yet she couldn’t let this child frolic away from the situation without proper lecturing. Sae stopped his over-analyzing as his eyes met hers, Shidou moved forward.

“Listen missy, get that kid of yours on a leash! Or else-“

“Shidou, back off.”

The prince stepped forward, he approached the girl and as he did, the child lifted their small fists as if ready to fight, the girl immediately ushered the child behind her legs stuttering excuses.

“Its.. an honor to be in your presence like this, your royal highness! I apologize for my sibling’s behavior- they’re very wary of strangers.“

‘Sibling’? So this isn’t her child, Sae assumed that she was unmarried then as usually commoner families children would not be married off at this age, unlike royal families that rushed to build family trees and secure heirs.

“What is your name, maiden?” He examined her as he spoke, she acted like a cornered wild animal, worried that she and her sibling would receive punishment for the child’s careless words. She responded with her name.

“I see, I’d like to have a word with your parents.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your parents wouldn’t believe you if you told them the prince himself was in the fields outside town, its a good thing he’d insisted.

Your mother pulled you aside to help prepare a meal for the prince even after he assured he wasn’t hungry, you could hear your father try to interrogate him discreetly and Sae replied smoothly to everything he threw at him. You could feel Sae’s calculative stare as you tried keeping busy assisting your mother at preparing the meal.

You were called over by your father, you mentally thanked the gods for their discussion ending, you could not have prepared yourself mentally enough.

“Your daughter possesses the proper attributes to be my wife, I will be marrying her.” the prince’s utterance sounded more like a command rather than a question.

Your heart fell to your stomach, immediately a look of shock was evident on your features, Sae didn’t know whether to laugh or awe at it. Your father had a look that did not hide the murderous intent, he wanted you to hear this directly from the supposed ‘honorable prince’.

After your parents took a moment to discuss this seriously, the prince waited outside your home ignoring his guard’s rambling about you. Your family decided to allow you to choose, they didn’t want to throw you to the prince however they were worried about what would happen if they denied him a bride. 

You thought about how this position as the prince’s bride would help you help your family directly, at least you would be able to live in the town instead of making those exhausting back and forth trips, even if the prince would move the small home you lived into town as it is you would be happy.

Opening the front door after your parents had a tearful last discussion with you, the prince turned away from his guard.

“And I’m telling you- those hips? perfect for-“

“Shut your mouth, horny demon.”

The prince swiftly silenced the guard, you suspected what they were talking about given the smug look on the guard’s face but decided against thinking about it. The prince approached you, waiting for your answer.

“Well, maiden? What is your answer?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You felt out of place, like a doll made of wood among porcelain figures, Sae had hired trainers and tutors for anything and everything he deemed necessary for you to learn as his wife. An etiquette consultant for dinners, dancing instructor for balls, to top your busy days off the tailor regularly visited you in your quarters to drop off dresses and such you were expected to wear around your husband or in the ‘comfort’ of your new home.

The change was exhausting to deal with and even now, a month after the overly extravagant wedding, you found yourself struggling to keep up with Sae’s expectations although he seemed lenient enough towards you.

Speaking of your husband, he rarely showed you any affection at all. he had small ways of showing you he did care but it takes a sharp eye to notice.

on your wedding day Sae kept his hand over your shaking one as a silent way to comfort you, in a moment of privacy during the wedding he had whispered to you lowly and smoothly as if you were an antique fragile doll: “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you”

he would reprimand your instructors if he received word of them being cruel to you, Sae was usually calm and collected but you had wondered what happened for your ballroom instructor to apologize so earnestly to you the next time you had a lesson.

The last thing you can think of that reminded you of Sae’s genuine feelings was his cool gaze, if his eyes were to sweep a room and briefly stop at you- you could feel it. an enveloping feeling overwhelms you whenever he stared at you, even if you were in your deepest sleep you could feel it. You never felt threatened or scared of his observance; it made you feel safe in this foreign setting, as if a constant reminder of your wedding day.

Another day in this royal hell has been completed, you recently bid farewell to your tailor who had dropped off the final batch of clothes for you, the newest garments were nightgowns soft to the touch made of the smoothest silk Sae could find. as you examined one of the many nightgowns you felt flustered at how revealing they are, some were translucent others were a bit short- you had no idea how royals were able to indulge in these.

You heard the room door open and close, turning away from the clothes you saw your husband removing his baroque-patterned vest allowing his white shirt to flow off his chest, you heard him putting away the vest while you were putting away the nightgowns and that familiar feeling would wash over you; he was examining you.

The room was quiet and you could hear him slowly approach, Sae took his sweet time examining the view, you looked adorably clueless trying to act oblivious to his movements until he settled his hands on your shoulders. He had to hold back a smile at the way you squirmed at the feeling of his cold hands contact your skin.

“They look lovely,” he muttered, looming over you to examine the clothes. He leaned down to your ear as if to coax you out of your shyness that you harbored so closely when you were around him “would you like to wear this for the night?”

“.. Are you sure? Is it not too revealing..?”

“Nonsense, you’re my wife and I am your husband, I would love to see you in any and all appearances.”

His suggestion made you more flustered than you already were and yet for some reason you found yourself nodding slowly, he took the liberty to help you out of your dress unable to keep his eyes from wandering across any newly exposed parts of your body. He found you divine, a hidden gem in this cave of boring rocks who weren’t even worth a second glance.

You knew your place, he loved that about you, you kept your head down when you needed but you weren’t completely submissive to the point of being pushed around easily by equals.

Removing the dress fully, he took this chance to glide one hand down from your shoulder to your arm and slipping to your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he let out a sigh that made your heart quicken.

“You’re radiant, whether fully dressed or completely bare.”

The nightgown he chose from the collection showed off your shoulders, he landed a kiss onto your exposed shoulder, his hold on your waist returning after he’d helped you slip on the silk comfortably. This is the first time he’s been this openly affectionate with you, the stress of his search and the relief of finding a bride were the only two things he could think about right now.

He kissed at your neck, featherlight kisses tickling your skin as he resisted the urge to continue, he didn’t want to force you into intimacy so early into your marriage as to not scare you off. he snapped out of his lustful haze when he felt your hands settle over his that were around your waist as if to assure him that you’re here, his bride, his queen.

This night would bestow another sound slumber to the newlyweds.

[stormsthatrage]

AU Concept where the Winter War was a thousand times worse.

At the end of it all, Ichigo rips the Hogyoku out of Aizen's chest and uses the power to send himself back in time. As soon as he arrives in the past (the past, back when Kisuke was still a captain and the Visored weren't Visored and none of all that tragedy had happened yet), Ichigo kills Aizen. He doesn't beat around the bush, doesn't wait for the perfect moment, doesn't try to be sneaky.

After all, why would he? Ichigo is powerful enough to attack straight-out, the tragedy he is trying to prevent is so immense that it truly feels too risky to wait, and he's broken enough that he doesn't care what will happen to him -- an apparent Ryoka -- after killing a Gotei 13 vice-captain for seemingly no reason.

What happens to him is this:

Ichigo is found, kneeling beside Aizen's cooling corpse. Ichigo has Aizen's blood spattered up to his elbows -- it wasn't a clean kill, nor a quick one.

Ichigo lets himself be taken into Gotei 13 custody. (Again, he no longer cares what happens to himself.) He is spared execution for two reasons. First, they need to know who he is and how he did it. It is a scary thing, for a Ryoka to be powerful enough to murder a vice-captain. Second, the Shiba Clan has used their influence to petition for clemency, at least for a time. It is obvious that Ichigo must be a Shiba, and Kaien is desperate to find out where Ichigo came from, who his parents are, and how one of his own family managed to fall through the cracks like this. (Kaien sees it a bit as a personal failure -- what happened, that someone who is clearly his cousin went unclaimed for so long, and became so lost as to murder a vice-captain?)

Cue a series of interrogations (there's no actual torture, it's just verbal questioning, thanks again to that Shiba protection) where Captain Urahara tries to figure out who, exactly, this powerful Ryoka is.

Ichigo -- who is broken in so many ways -- sees how much happier this younger version of Kisuke is, and decides not to reveal anything. Ichigo isn't exactly thinking straight at this point, and he sees no future for himself. So, naturally, he decides that it's best not to spread the suffering around, that it's best to keep the horrors and burdens to himself, and so he keeps his mouth shut about all the important things.

Meanwhile, in the background, Aizen's web of illusions are starting to unravel. Slowly, members of the Gotei 13 wake up. Shinigami begin to realize how far the morals of their institutions have fallen. People realize how much weaker the Court Guard has gotten over the years.

And then people start remembering specific moments where Aizen ensnared them, or made them forget something, or influenced them to take an action they never, not in a million years, would have voluntarily done.

They realize that the Ryoka murderer saved them from an incredible catastrophe.

Ichigo's sentence is mostly lifted, but thanks to Central 46 influence, he's still in a parole-type situation. (Kaien could only do so much. Even with proof that Ichigo had saved them, the Central 46 is still uneasy that Ichigo was able to kill Aizen.)

Ichigo's interrogations continue. It's just that instead of questioning Ichigo in a cold cell in order to find answers in order to protect the Court Guard, Urahara starts subtly prying for answers over, for example, a cup of tea in the Shiba family gardens -- so that he can better understand Ichigo's situation and more effectively help the idiot. Because it's clear Ichigo has saved them all, but it's also clear that Ichigo only knew they needed saving because Aizen had, at some point, broken him.

When enough of Aizen's illusions have unraveled, Operation Help-Ichigo becomes a group effort among the Captains and the Shiba family. (Of course, Kisuke was the first person on the operation, and he's not giving up his lead role, not even now, when everyone else has finally gotten on the same page.)

Cue the bonding with Ichigo. Kaien, Shinji, Kyoraku, everyone, they're all trying to help him.

Ichigo, of course, thinks this is all part of the interrogation routine. He thinks they're trying to manipulate him into opening up, and then once he talks, they'll throw him into a cell to rot for the rest of eternity. It takes a while for people to notice this miscommunication, and even longer for Ichigo to believe them when they try to rectify it.

Thanks that happen at some point:

Someone realizes that Ichigo is actually really, really young. This revelation has all the expected consequences.

Kaien holds it together in the moment, when he realizes that Ichigo thinks his attempts to bring him into the family are just a prolonged interrogation method. But once he's alone with Miyako, he cries his heart out.

Kisuke uses a specific onmitsukido technique to trick information out of Ichigo, but Ichigo knows Kisuke too well to fall for it. Even if Ichigo can't tell exactly what Kisuke is doing, he can recognize Kisuke's "I'm up to something" body-language.

Shinji and the other Visord start noticing a strange connection with Ichigo. (Pack is permanent. Turns out, that holds true both forwards and backwards temporally...)

Ichigo, in his state of emotional numbness, frequently says or does things that betray a high-level of familiarity with people he has no reason to be extremely familiar with. It's through this sort of slip-up that the time travel is eventually discovered.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Great things

TP!Link x reader but of @acrossthegalaxyau’s Beast. A lot of this isn’t proof read because my god it’s a long one.

Tw: depictions of gore.

The hand that held his sword was tired. In both a very literal and metaphorical sense. Long ago, he had begged his father to let him hold a blade, to learn to fight. To protect that which was precious to him. Now, with all he longed to protect kept at a healthy arm's length, he wondered when his hands had gotten so tired. When had his wrist become so sore from the burden it held?

To him, his burn out, his loss of drive within the world was an infection of sorts. The title of Hero was a burden that in many ways he wished he wasn’t bestowed. Well most certainly an honour, seeing that which he loved, which he fought so hard to protect, be harmed and disregarded was not a motivation. The responsibility wore at his bones until they cracked and ate at his energy until he passed out, only to be shoved back into him the second he awoke. The title of hero outweighed his own name. No longer was he Link of Ordon, But Link the Hero of Hyrule. He was no more than his deeds. Then the safety he was tasked with bringing to their feet, begging like a dog for any award. In some sense, he was awarded. With titles and land and money and publicity— but none of it mattered. To a hero, perhaps these things were valued. But to Link if Ordon, such prizes were worthless. They were gifts of obligation, not of any true thankfulness or appreciation. And so, he viewed his task as obligation, and their gifts without any thanks or appreciation.

He stood now, a group of lizalfoe in front of him, without much a feeling of fear. Not in such a sense of bravery or courage, but simply the absence of feeling. His sword sunk into flesh with no discernible difference between the monsters. Corpses were Corpses. In the eyes of fate and history, enemy was enemy. There was no concern for where they came from or what lives they might’ve led if he hadn’t come into their lives. It was his obligation to kill. To lay waste the creatures of evil. Four were downed, one last left standing among the bodies of its allies.

Clouds parted from the gibbous moon, letting its silver light steam down. Once upon his past, he would’ve spent such a night by fireside, you cuddled up against his side as some idle story filled your minds. Further back than those memories, you both would’ve snuck out to run along the river. Younger then, the two of you would’ve curled up in some quiet field after dinner and fallen asleep. Within those memories were gifts. The peace of domesticity he could no longer afford. Love of another which he now can no longer, lest you be ripped from him too. Contentment, something he can now only find within his memory. He could read between the lines of his life and surround himself with yes men, convincing himself its love, but contentment cannot be fabricated. It is a measurement only knowable by oneself, their enjoyment of simply being alive. And it was in the cold days that followed the abstractness of his journey that he is unhappy with the idea of simply being alive anymore.

Pain struck, washing over his network of nerves, his sword sinking into the wet dirt. Gnawing fangs latching to his flesh. He was only awake then long enough to see an arrow pierce the vile thing. He was only conscious long enough to scold himself— this is what comes of closeness. Pain. Suffering. Loss.

Staring down at the mixture of splintered bones and ripped skin didn’t affect you as much as it should’ve, but goddess knows how many hours into your nights at the ward meant you couldn’t scrounge up any more energy to be panicked. Night bleeding into cold night sapped out the care and individuality of each patient down to a cot number. The whole process got methodical over time— healing people. There wasn’t much of a difference within the bodies after enough time. It didn’t matter to you whether the patient was alive or dead, biologically a man or woman, or whatever arbitrary things society dubbed someone as ‘different’. Red potions and fairies worked their magic all the same on Zora as they did with Goron, so on and so forth. A needle pierced flesh no different from a child than it did an adult or elderly. Sure, there were minor differences in anatomy and function, different needs of each individual, but they were all just people in the end. It didn’t feel different to operate on one than it did another.

But there was something you found odd in the way you felt when it came to healing Link. All things considered, he wasn’t much different from any normal hylian. A little on the lean side, sure, but nothing apparently extraordinary at a first glance. Of course, with a little more information readily accessible, you knew a few quirks. Strong as the hero was foretold to be, he was littered with scars. A few on his back from fighting, the worst from the night the village was destroyed by the wakes of twilight. A nicked lip he’d received from a scuffle with a drunk man who lunged at you. A few lining the inside of his arm, which he didn’t need to define and nor did you force him. A long slice in his forearm from when he was trenching you how to shoot a bow. A small scar on the inside of his ankle from when he fell in the river when you’d both snuck out in the dead of night, his young body unable to balance on unsteady feet. Each one you’d bandaged and stitched and monitored. Each wound of his recklessness was eased by your hand.

Well, now you supposed, it wasn’t each. Now the man in question lay hardly living and hardly dead on your makeshift operation table, it seemed there was yet more to uncover when it came to Link. You were met with a familiar hollow burn beneath your ribs, seeing the angry red gash on his left wrist. Not even that he’d gotten such a wound in the first place, but with your offer to heal the wound being met with stiff silence. It would’ve been easy. Some gauze and disinfectant. It wasn’t even deep enough to warrant stitches. It was, however, deep enough to warrant infection in its neglect. Sure, To this alone you would’ve been only slightly frustrated. But seeing the flesh falling from bone on the right half of his abdomen was enough to convince you that said negligence happened to be enough to affect his ability of wielding his blade.

The sun was rising by the time you were done. Nearly eight hours it had taken to close all his wounds. Another spent on treating his infection. Changing his bandages over for the second time that… evening? night? You decided to let yourself question the possibly most apparent difference of your Link since you’d last been aloud to treat him. There was something embedded in his chest. About a palms length from his collarbone, embedded in his sternum was… something. And from it sprang magic. It discoloured his skin to a black geometric patch with teal lines crawling over his chest. It hummed slightly, in tune with his heart, and that hollow feeling rested within you again. It was more corrosive this time, eating away at you in a way you couldn’t begin to express. It burned within whatever soft place it settled in —your heart most likely— and for the first time that night you felt something other than bitter isolation. You believed it to be jealousy in one of its many wicked forms.

The thing with dead bodies was you knew from their lack of pulse and cold skin that there was no soul to connect with. There was no one there. Those who were alive provided a sense of warmth. Physically and emotionally. Once, Link too was the same. He was warmth. Your very own sun. He’d make sure you were safe and drag you up from the depths of whatever dark hole you’d crawled into with no expectation of a return. Now, Link was more akin to the former. He regarded you with unresponsiveness. Cold in every way but literal. You gave him space when he asked for it upon his return. You don’t question when he stopped showing up to events. You tried not to take it personally when he stopped talking to you. You tried to convince yourself he hadn’t walked out of your life without a second glance. You tried— you really did. And for a while it worked. You managed to fool yourself that he didn’t mean to, or that he’d be coming back. And maybe that’s the cruellest part, that you wholeheartedly believed your own lies. But looking down on the wounds he’s collected, you can’t help but be hit with the realisation that he doesn't want you anymore. He had seen the world outside of what Ordon had to offer. Through his heroism he’s travelled the highs and lows of Hyrule, met all its variations of people and became their Hero. A person of their creations. And with it, with their creation, you weren’t dubbed a necessary piece of him anymore. You weren’t the only one that loved him anymore. So how foolish could you be to assume that he was still yours?

Your trance was broken by his eyes fluttering as the sunlight streamed in. He blinked a few times before sitting up, you didn’t have the heart to usher him into laying back down with soft mutters. His slitted pupils adjusted to the light, growing thin and sharp as they met your own. His mouth fell slightly agape seeing you framed by the sunlight, an angel sent to him, surely. Your hands felt stiff as you grabbed his neatly folded clothes and other items, setting them on his lap.

“Your- Your service total is 300 rupees. Feel free to pay at the front or discuss other financing options.” Your voice shook as your routine line spilled from your lips. Your heart shook from the gasp that came from him, his weak lungs drawing in a cold, shuttered breath.

You turned on your heels, leaving the examination room with a heart beating as swiftly as your feet in the ground. Your world would wither without the sun. Perhaps it’s already started. Link, not your Link as you’d been used to referring to him by— that implied a connection you hadn’t had in a while, would be fine. Unbothered. After all, Heroes were meant for a life greater than what Ordon had to offer, what you had to offer. He’s meant for great things, you comfort yourself with the words you once would’ve assured him with. You just never assumed ‘great things’ didn’t include you.

[munsonsreputation]

I Wish You Would

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: [2.7K] I did my best to proof read

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, miscommunication, reader and eddie have been broken up, missing each other, stupid teenagers too scared to act upon their emotions, a lot of remembering, mirrored emotions, fluff at end. REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED <3

summary: when you're back in your hometown for winter break, you anticipated crossing paths with your ex-boyfriend eddie, but you just never expected it to be from seeing his headlights in your window and him seeing your bedroom lights on. there was so many things you and eddie wished you'd done differently...so now here you two were at 2am...would stop wishing and finally do it?

_

He drove through this neighborhood on a daily basis, frequently to pick up and drop off the little twerps of Hellfire that lived on this street and other times to do deals with Steve, who lived on the next street over. But Eddie used to drive down here for another reason…

The girl who he had fallen for living just a few houses down from Dustin Henderson. Her bedroom window facing the street where she’d always be on the lookout waiting for her favorite metal head to come skirting down the street and parking in the driveway before making his dramatic entrance by climbing up the roof like her real life Romeo and laying a tender kiss on her lips. 

But that was the past. The last time he had been down this side of town to see you was last summer before you headed off to college, and that was before he lost you. Now the only thing that connected Eddie and you were the roads traveled, but paths never crossed again. 

Tonight, however, was the first time in the last year that the light in your bedroom had been on. He had driven down this street countless amount of times since the two of you had broken up, but that light always stayed off because of your absence due to school. Still, he always turned his head as he passed by, just to check if you’d be there. 

Half of your body out of the widow, arm waving excitedly, shouting his name like it was the first time all over again. 

But you weren’t. 

He knew you were back home for winter break not only because Nancy and Jonathan were back in town also, but because Dustin and Lucas had told him the second they let themselves into Eddie’s trailer. The kids were always rooting for the two of you to get back together, but Eddie knew better. 

You hated him. Or at least that what he would feel if he were in your shoes. 

It was a stupid argument over the phone that caused it all. He was trying to rip the bandaid off before you had the chance to, knowing it would probably add to your stress of traveling to a new state, leaving behind your family, friends, and especially him. Eddie just didn’t want to be a burden to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to worry about him while you two were in different time zones with only a call connecting keeping you together. Maybe he could’ve gone about it differently, like talking in person instead of resorting to a five-minute phone call that ended a year's relationship. 

However, a good chunk of him couldn’t bear saying it to your face because, in reality, he didn’t want you and him to go your separate ways at all. It was the absolute last thing that he wanted. The love he had for you was out of this world and if anything, he pictured you two together against the universe, leaving Hawkins in the rearview and starting a life of your own together somewhere in the city like you guys always wanted. 

The broken cries that echoed through his receiver was the tune that replayed in his mind over and over again. You were puzzled, trying to piece together what Eddie was saying, let alone thinking. He tried telling you, explaining to you his stupid selfish reasons, but you kept sobbing the same phrases that had his heart ripped up into little pieces.

“What are you saying?”, “Do you not love me anymore?”, “I don’t understand.” 

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve. It was far too late to change what happened a year ago, so he drove past your house, with his window down, trying to shake the memories that were starting to play in his head. His knuckles were stiffening against the steering wheel and he clenched his jaw, keeping his sights set ahead where he would ride off into the night alone. A part of him wishing you were in his passenger seat or him in your bedroom. 

But most of all, wishing he never made that call. 

Being back in your childhood bedroom shouldn’t have felt so strange. After all, you grew up here and created a good deal of memories within these four walls. There was something in the air this time of year that made it feel lonelier—it was too quiet and the full-sized bed felt smaller than usual. The holidays should’ve made you feel a sort of nostalgia that had you yearning to be home with your family and friends, yet you felt like a never ending pit of hopelessness.

You had tried to distract yourself from this overwhelming feeling, going through your closet to get rid of old things, but that only seemed to make you feel worse than before.

Old band tees, oversized pullovers, and club t-shirts that didn’t belong to you filled a corner of your wardrobe, the same pile which you used to find yourself grabbing from on a daily basis. Now they all just sat untouched, with the memories embedded in every fiber and thread as its rightful owner and favorite borrower lived different lives now. 

For the last three nights since you’ve been home, you’d slept in the living room, falling asleep to reruns of sitcoms until your mother would wake you, offering help to walk you up to your room. You just couldn’t handle the loneliness in there, surrounding you like some sort of punishment, but it was about time you faced reality and gave your parents their couch back. 

You laid awake on your side, watching the curtain pull in and out with the wind while the moon played peek-a-boo. At this hour, you should’ve been hopping out of bed, flinging your curtains wide open and staring down at the metal head parking in the driveway and make his way up the side of your house and clumsily into your bedroom without trying to cause a ruckus but failing miserably. 

But that was the past. There were no more comical Romeo and Juliet reenactments in the middle of the night, just you halfway across the states with your nose buried in a textbook and the memories of Eddie buried in the back of your mind. 

However, tonight, the familiar yellow glow of brightness that cascaded your room through the thin drapes passed by for the first time since your return. You knew who it was driving that beat-up van at a speed that should’ve gotten him pulled over, but never did. No matter how much time you had spent away from your hometown, you’d always recognize his lights and the way he drove. So you waited, watching to see if he’d turn in with those high beams before finally shutting them off. 

The jingle of his keys and chains hanging from his jeans while he shut the car door, cursing at himself for wearing the wrong shoes to get up the siding, and taking an overdramatic deep breath once he finally made his way up to his Juliet like the first time. 

But he didn’t. 

You imagined that you’d run into Eddie, eventually. After all, you two did share the same small town, but you didn’t expect it to be from the confines of your home without even seeing his face or hearing his voice. Maybe you had expected to see him at Steve’s annual Christmas party or maybe at the Wheelers for New Year’s Eve, but even then you wouldn’t know what to say or even how to feel. 

You didn’t hate him. You never could. 

There were so many things left unsaid between the both of you, which always led you to wonder what would’ve happened if either of you picked back up the phone that day and called one another back. But Eddie’s actions came out of nowhere, just days before you were leaving for college and you were in a complete state of shock. There were so many thoughts running through your mind once you realized what Eddie was trying to say without actually saying it.

You didn’t understand where all of this was coming from because in your mind, you and Eddie were happily in love and he was accepting of the fact that you would be away from home a couple of months out of the year. He even made proposals to take his first plane ride ever just to come spend a week or two out of the semester at your dorm and explore the city. 

Clearly, Eddie was having a challenging time over the phone, trying to piece together his words in a way that didn’t seem too harsh or sad, because this never was supposed to end like this. If anything, it was more like a suggestion to you, asking if you were going to be ok while in school and dorming. That he didn’t want to invade this new chapter in your life and that he would understand if you wanted to branch out and saw what was out there. 

“I know you’ll probably be busy—studying and making new friends are gonna take up a lot of your time. I just…I don’t want you to feel like I’m holding you back or feel like you need to miss out on opportunities for me. I—I understand if you want to end things.” 

You were a mess, utterly beside yourself as you sobbed into the phone, asking him why this was happening and if you had done something wrong for him to say something like this. This wasn’t the turn you were expecting to face right before your first day of college, and if anything he was the person you wanted to call the morning of initial instruction, to give you the encouraging words you needed to get through the day. And tonight a part of you wished he was climbing through your bedroom window and filling the empty space beside you. 

But most of all, wishing you never hung up the phone like you did.

Eddie didn’t know why he was stalling at the stop sign when he should’ve been turning right, exiting the neighborhood, and making his way back to his trailer. But his eyes were glued to his side mirror, the window to your room just a few houses behind with that annoying flickering light from your ceiling fan pushing past the cream draperies that he always wanted you to replace because they were so thin. 

He should’ve just hightailed it out of there without giving it a second thought, but he just took a deep breath, drawing a moment to shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to shake the everlasting image of that familiar bedroom window where his favorite girl would be waiting. 

It was a crooked love now—simply winding in two different directions. 

How you found yourself up out of bed and standing directly in front of the window was beyond your every thought. You don’t know why you were here, pushing aside the flimsy curtain and sticking your head out to the other side of the street where his van was stopped longer than legally required. Eddie had a thing for driving off, but not when it came to parting ways with you. Every time he had to leave your parents’ house, he’d stall at this stop sign, turning his head back with a whistle as he hollered an “I love you!” before finally driving off because the car behind him honked noisily. 

Your feet should’ve been taking you back to bed where you’d find solace under the covers and pretend none of this was even happening, but yet you lingered in place. Imagining the scenario in your head, as you shouted back out an, “I love you, too!” with one hand clasping over your butterfly swarmed heart and the other hysterically waving see you later, while you watched him drive off with his left arm flipping off the impatient car behind him. 

But the love was never broken—there was still a straight line down from here. 

When Eddie opened his eyes, fully prepared to run and hide without a second thought, his breath caught in his throat as if he was winded. His insides felt like they were tangling themselves together. And his heartbeat felt like it was echoing in his ears. The loud “thudthudthudthud” getting stronger with every second he spent gawking at your figure watching his car. 

Your legs were trembling beneath you as a bated breath left your mouth in urgency. His eyes were set on you now, and you could feel them practically boring into you, the same way you were doing it to him. The sweat began beading across your forehead and forming among the palms of your hands while the antagonizing seconds ticked by like torture. 

He wanted to turn right back around. 

His fingers convulsed violently as they maneuvered themselves over and under the wheel, turning it like it was the last thing he’d ever do while his foot pushed the gas, thinking he’d be too late. 

You wanted him to hear what you never said. 

Your fingers abandoned the drape, feet thudding vociferously against the floorboards as soon as you pulled your bedroom door open and sprinted down the stairs like he’d get away. 

Both of you wanted to remember what you were fighting for. 

He was hyperventilating, trying to stabilize his breath when he shoved the car in park, grasping that he had found his way to the acquainted driveway in a sudden blur. 

Both of you missed each other too much to be mad anymore. 

You were trying to hold back tears, with your jaw wobbling uncontrollably, hands just barely twisting the knob of the front door. 

There he was. 

The man who gave you everything. All the love you could’ve asked for and the whole world if he could give it to you. Then again, he was the same man who gave you nothing…no phone call back, no further explanation, no communication. 

There you were. 

The girl who gave him everything. Every ounce of your love and all the dreams that he never would’ve imagined for himself. But you were the same girl who gave him nothing…no phone call back, no further explanation, no communication. 

Each of you knowing how to push each other’s buttons, but that time the wrong ones. 

There was a reason why you two stood where you were right now, because at the end of the day, there was more to you and Eddie. It wasn’t about who was right or wrong anymore. There were no such things as sides in this situation because it was nothing but a losing game when the two of you were apart. This love was rushing with electricity too strong for any of you to fight and history too rich for you to forget. 

You saw his face before you heard his voice.

The head of unruly hair still bouncing from his footsteps and his chest rising up and down rapidly. He still wore the leather jacket you gifted him for his birthday. The patch of your initials in an arrow heart remained stitched across the chest. And the shiny silver ring that was a promise still adorned on his finger. 

“H-hi…”

He heard your voice for the first time in a year, staying still in the dark.

“Hey…” 

Tears swelled down your cheeks the second you two made eye contact and whimpers left your lips. You were wearing his favorite band tee, the one he had bought at his first metal concert and forever let you keep the first time you stayed overnight at his trailer. And the matching silver ring dangled down your chest with his red guitar pick strung onto the beaded chain.

Right now everything was all good…no other words needed to be spoken in this moment where the both of you just stared. Taking in the sight of one another after being deprived of stolen glances and adorning eyes for way too long. That is before you and Eddie walked into each other’s arms, holding each other with a touch and feeling that neither of you would be able to forget, as long as you lived.  

The both of you wished you could back in time to change the past, but there was no more room for blame, just promising that you and Eddie would do it differently now. 

A/N: I had this idea come to me in the middle of the night while listening to 1989…. I think this song beautifully encapsulates what it would feel like if Eddie and the reader went through something like this. There’s the painstakingly obvious idea that they should’ve communicated better before reader went off to college, but we can all admit that sometimes in the heat of the moment there are things we regret saying and regrets of things left unsaid. I wanted this little fic to focus on the idea that Eddie and reader still love and care for each other despite their time away, but neither of them had the guts to make that phone call back because they were both terrified of what was going to happen. Each of them feeling different yet similar emotions to one another until finally something just as simple as seeing his headlights through your window pane and him driving past your street and seeing your bedroom light on sets something off in the both of you. Now there’s no more wishing, just doing things the way you always wanted to.

I HOPE YOU LIKED MY INTERPRETATION OF THIS SONG AND ALL CREDITS TO TAYLOR SWIFT FOR BEING THE ABSOLUTE SONGWRITING AND MUSICAL GENIUS THAT SHE IS!!!!

[cocomintcat]

Hazbin Hotel x Seraph! Reader (platonic)

Info and get to know her

My first small oc idea that I'm making an x reader type deal! Info:

Reader: angel name Eliora, fallen name (y/n) || 150 years old? (aka 15 in human years ?? I'm guessing cuz Charlie presents like a 20 year old while being 200+ ) aka child seraph that is smaller than emily and around a few inches shorter than lucifer || blended Blush on the cheeks and nose, little heart nose

Angel form looks: gold halos around her neck, wrists and ankles along with above her head, eye on her collarbone area and one on the back of her hands, pastel/soft colors for this form, dress is a flowy yet comfortable gown with ballet flats || 6 wings from her head, can transfer them to be bigger wings on her back

Fallen: horns sprout from her forhead like Charlie and lucifer (because she's not acclimated properly to hell she can't hide them) || her gold halos are now black and slightly broken/bent) || she now has a heart tipped demon tail || more red colors but still light, colors darken with anger/negative emotions || main outfit is an sweetheart topped a-line dress with a black headpiece with an attached veil (your imagination to what you want the headpiece to be), for shoes she has simple black heels over some black tights || has both set of her wings (head and back) showing most of the time, her head wings act like ears now moving to her emotions

More notes: sweet, innocent but not necessarily naive (she knows things but is more innocent as inexperienced), shy, kind, sometimes there's not a thought behind those eyes (innocent puppy look), affectionate, can fight only to protect others, She is aroace (because I am and I said so)

Likes: chocolate, Saf, animals, Lucifer and Charlie, red and purple, lemon rasberry soda, hugs, seeing those she cares for happy

Dislikes: cruelty, unfair punishment, pure evil, the dark, being alone, the cold, others crying, herself crying in front of others, burdening others

Readers angel pet: a small seraph (just an eye with wings, basically acts like a bird + a puppy) named Saf (short name for a small seraph, get it, I'm not sorry)

Eliora is known as God's little princess, she's favored among the elders as she is very innocent, Adam likes her too (takes on older brother role). Though everyone thinks she's too sympathetic towards sinners and hellborns (alongside lucifer).

The fall, it wasn't really a fall as much as it was banishment. She got wrongly accused by a jealous winner who wanted to rise in ranks, she befriended Eliora only to betray her and frame her. Unfortunately no one believed Eliora's innocence even with proof that she was (fearing she had become too much like lucifer). She was banished to hell, she can't become too demonic since her sin wasn't true nor actually done that's why it lightly affects her appearance but the longer in hell she is her body will change to adjust.

When she was sent, Lucifer witnessed it, immediately taking her under his wing. He gave her the name (y/n) to help her try to move on. After a while of taking care of her he let's Charlie know of her existence. Of course this becomes found family and well you get it... It's a new adventure of reader joining the Magnes family to bring sinners to redemption!!

I'll do a more indepth Prologue but for know this is your summary and info to know!!

Spoiler-ish but the dynamics I plan:

Heaven

Adam- older brother

God- "bio" dad type feel (daddy issues anyone)

Lute- kinda mean cousin but cares deeply about you

Sarah- motherly friend

Emily- 100% big sister vibes

Bia (bee-uh) treh (tre-ey)- BFF (not for long)

Hell

Lucifer- adoptive dad that made everything better (actually her brother but acts more like a dad to her)

Charlie- she adopted (y/n) no choices allowed you are her sister now anyone who hurts you gets a first or second death (she's also technically ur niece but is that really a big deal?)

Vaggie- sister in law to the rescue (she knew you in heaven and is pissed for you)

Angel dust- big brother (he treats you like Molly ain't gonna let anyone forcefully take your innocents)

Husker- same as angel but more of a 2nd father figure (he got claws that he will use)

Alastor- weird uncle that becomes like a distant father figure (he trying to avoid soft spots but it seem you happen to remind him a bit of his mother [in the loving kindness sense])

Sir pentious- Weird cousin that is also weirdly a younger siblings that's actually older than you (immature older person with mature and caring younger)

Nifty- she is like a young aunt that acts like your older sister in a weird way and we love it

Rosie- Mom (need I say more lol)

Cherrybomb- your her Lil sister and she is going to bring you into all the chaos

(That's all I can remember atm I'll add more later)

Hopefully I feel motivated to do the prologue and parts soon (struggling rn)

[ackerifle]

Captain Levi x prisoner of war reader please 😊 🙏

spoils of war!

yan. captain levi ackerman x fem captain. reader (ft. special operations squad)

+ CW. — au: canon adjacent, war crimes, treason, imprisonment, abuse of power & authority: mistreatment/abuse of pow, non-sexual nudity, choking, restraints & hot iron branding, uncharacteristically long post because it’s combined with another work i was making; not proof-read.

it came as no surprise that paradis island was capable of producing and preparing such an overwhelming abundance of competent and proficient soldiers. even if many civilians had initially criticized their old-fashioned choice of weaponry, their contentious plays on the battlefield, and even their morales as a stand-alone concern in itself; their doubts would soon be long forgotten once the soldiers had returned, claiming their first victory that would soon become countless victories. the war may still have yet to be won, but it is no secret that lady luck certainly favored the survey corps’ soldiers with all she had.

and that is precisely why levi had so easily been able to whisk you away with not so much as a glance from his subordinates and superiors alike, during an attack no less. in retrospect, you should have adamantly defended your right to fall back on this particular mission to your commander, should have let this great burden fall onto the shoulders of one of your fellow captains, and have been done with the whole situation entirely. but there was much more for you to prove to your commander and newfound nation than your other marleyan peers.

even if you had demonstrated your worth as a valuable asset time and time again, had gotten your hands dirty for the sake of marley’s name and conquest, serve your own motherland and its peoples only to turn your back on them halfway through the war; you would remain the only ‘foreigner,’ in power, a potential traitor in the eyes of soldiers who were your supposed comrades. if you could betray once, you could betray again— and those who held such leery and low beliefs of you simply could not be reasoned with.

but the judgment and distaste that was made very well clear to you by the marleyan military was nothing in comparison to levi's contempt. actually, it was captain levi now, although that isn’t such a shocking revelation when you take into account that you had also been promoted to captain status during your years away from home. however, your title was a gift from marley, not paradis, and that alone made all the more difference.

you hadn’t remembered him when the two of you came face to face after half a decade. when all of your soldiers had either met their final fates or been broken down with wounds beyond repair, captured and detained; you too, had fallen with them. and when levi had stormed down the ghastly corridor of deadmen and far worse to reap his reward of the fight well won, he had found you. the first thing he noticed was that you looked better, happier. far happier than he could’ve ever dreamed to see you when you were still in paradis— even with the absolutely disgusting mud, grime, dirt, blood, and shit smothered onto your raw and tender skin, with injuries that were likely already infected and guaranteed to last you a lifetime of scars, and well over half of your comrades-in-arms deceased. for someone who was just about to lose everything, you seemed so alive.

at the time, he had approached you wordlessly. slowly trekking his way down to your pathetic and forlorn figure, limp with lassitude and slumped in defeat in a messy pool of your own blood. given enough thought, levi thinks he must’ve looked angry back then. teeth grinding together behind a disturbing sneer, and eyes left wide open until they felt dry enough that he may as well have cried; levi acted far quicker than even his own thoughts could. as the end of his blade dipped beneath your chin, experimentally tapping the sharp side against your neck before raising the entire weight of your head until you could face him.

for but a moment's time, something vulnerable had flashed through levi’s eyes, and he remembered this feeling from his youth, that of a scared boy. his relentless heart wouldn’t stop in its persistence to beat out of his rib cage, and his sentiment, his fondness for you had resurfaced with bone chilling ardor. he was rendered completely, and wholly speechless. mouth agape and stunned into silence, but levi must have let your name slip from his lips in a voiceless whisper, because you finally opened your eyes, “do- do i, know you.” and so you had forgotten all about him.

you truly had done something so utterly unforgivable. leaving him all alone and abandoned while he remained under the unanswered pretense that you were taken; only to have been double backing on paradis the entire time, while he was the only one suffering, left in egregious shambles over your absence. so now he was going to do something unforgivable to you.

“get up.” levi always finds a way to announce his presence before making his way down to your cellar— as if the sound of him (unnecessarily) slamming the rickety door open and stomping on the the concrete steps wasn’t enough for you to catch the hint. a faint window of yellow light from above could be seen framing his silhouette on the uneven stone ground, and you brace yourself for whatever words of wisdom levi has so graciously decided to enlighten you with today, “it’s your lucky day.”

biting back a mirthful huff and an equally incredulous leer, you study his next words carefully, “we’ve got visitors coming today.” you’re quite observant of how he intentionally takes his time when it comes to unlocking your cellar door, his eyes don’t leave you, as if he enjoys seeing you imprisoned behind bars, and it makes your skin crawl, “visitors?”

your copycat repetition was intended to be silent, though you can’t help but ponder his statement aloud. there is something odd here, levi slides the door open and enters the caged room with you, you don’t know what it is, he grabs you by the arm far too intimately for someone holding a hostage, no— you know what it is; his voice, levi doesn’t bother to close the cellar door as he guides you down the ill lit, damp and dreary hallway, he almost sounds like he’s looking forward to having these ‘visitors’ coming today.

“you’ll be happy to see them.” as if reading your mind, levi offered his ominous words of assurance, if one could even call them that. opting to ignore his response in favor of studying your surroundings, partially because you weren’t conscious for the trip down, and partially to soothe your nerves, you have distant memories here— “familiar to you yet? the old headquarters’ basement.”

levi bites his tongue to refrain from adding in a sardonic jab about how you would have been there to witness the construction of the new headquarters, the symbol of paradis island’s first victory in the war, if you had simply stayed. but levi trusts that he’s spent enough time re-indoctrinating your pasts together with the days he’s been granted leave to tend to his war trophy. but his heart still aches every time he remembers your neglectful memory was due to your own carelessness, nothing to do with marley brainwashing you, or any sort of militaristic torture into subservience. was he that insignificant to you that over the span of five short years, you would think no more of him?

the two of you seem to recall your trainee days on paradis very differently, and the notion itself puts levi in a sour mood, “hurry up, the ropes don’t make you fucking immobile.” he barks with a shove in between your shoulder blades, “cuffs with enough leeway for me to move a single centimeter at a time? how accommodating!” levi shoots you a dark glare, “behave.”

it leaves your body sore when you come to a standstill atop the steps, vision straining at the introduction of an unhealthy combination of natural and artificial lighting on your luminescent-deprived eyes. levi takes advantage of your poorly adjusting eyes, suavely escorting you into a new room. there is something that you notice immediately upon entering the unrecognizable area, it is the smell of smoke. instinctively, your eyes frantically search the room to locate the source, landing on a small coal fire, all the while levi continues to usher you forward until you bump into a wooden surface.

peering down, you’re greeted by a low, yet unusually and unconventionally capacious table. each corner holds an individual ring of rusted metal, hooked to the ends with suspicious purpose. but before you can dwell on it too much, the force of levi’s hands on your shoulder and waist have you coming to your senses. with one calculating motion, he swivels you around, turning your body until you’re faced towards him, and although your hands are tied together behind your back, you struggle like you can touch him. levi is unfazed by whatever attempts you can bring yourself to muster to aid in escaping his grasp, dropping his hands to your torso with dangerous constriction before slamming you down onto the table with all his might.

your lower back takes the brunt of the force, and by god does it hurt. the edge of the table digs spitefully into your back and spine, causing you to momentarily scream in agony. and in an instant, levi distracts you from the pain when his hands start roaming your body, starting with your shirt. when he gets closer, the severity of the situation finally sinks in, and you only hope you’re wrong about what will happen next. wildly moving in his hold does little when your limbs are bound, and your legs are lifted too high from the floor for you to even do anything, and despite still maintaining full control over your movements, levi lets out an annoyed grunt either way.

his right hand quickly descends down onto your neck, enveloping your airway with a firm squeeze, enough to get you to stop violently staggering about. levi is more concerned with the position this has now put him in, only a menial worry, really; unbuttoning your shirt with one hand proves to be rather difficult, so he’ll have to tear at the fabric. like it was an ordinary sunday morning, he is more worried with the tattered frays and cloth pieces your blouse will discard, than you, a literal captive, scrambling to get out from beneath him. he decides he will both unbutton and rip the shirt, using his thumb to sloppily shove the buttons through while also dragging the article further down your body.

“fuck, don’t. this is inhumane, even for an enemy soldier!” it hadn’t crossed his mind that you may have taken this the wrong way, his intentions that is. but you did give him an idea for another day, “well, you aren't quite a soldier— no, not even a civilian of paradis anymore, now are you?”

levi halts his movements, but doesn’t release you, instead, feigning a thoughtful pause before continuing, “but that doesn't matter, even if you miraculously find your way back to marley, they won't want you back, not after i'm done with you.” your heart drops, and your thrashing increases tenfold, causing his grip on your throat to loosen with every move, but levi is able to ignore it with his determination to get those insufferable buttons undone.

the sound of a door and hurried footsteps interrupt any frenetic and hysterical thought you’re having, even levi tilts his head in the direction of the clamoring, “hm, it seems they’ve arrived.”

casual chatter could be heard nearing the two of you, and when voices were revealed you were horrified. gathering at the open doorway was a group of four soldiers, or so you had presumed, as they had the same matching uniform as levi. there were three men, and one woman; all of which who are holding something. two with the same rope that had your arms and legs tied together, one with a singular iron rod, and the lady with a water basin and a washcloth resting halfway inside the bucket and halfway on the outside. and what terrified you even further was that they seemed unperturbed by the sight before them, it’s almost as if their smiles grew wider.

“sorry we’re a little late, captain!” the woman chirped, lowering the water basin in her hands to a more comfortable position to allow gravity to uphold its weight, rather than her arms, “it’s about damn time you all finally show up, restrain her.” levi was blunt and to the point, glossing over greetings entirely, and aiming his index finger in your direction.

there was a lot going on, and levi disappeared behind the three figures approaching you in the midst of it all. the short-haired woman must have placed the basin on the floor, because her hands were definitely free when she reached for your shirt, “it’s been so long since we’ve last seen you, you know.” how she had managed to keep such a cheery tone and face while also single-handedly witnessing your torment and anguish was beyond you, and you leaned away from her touch.

“yeah, captain said you forgot all about us.” it seemed that distancing yourself from the chipper lady had landed you into the trap of another, this time, a blond man with a blithe though hurt grin on his face, “we’ve got so much to tell you.” the tallest of the three added, carelessly placing a hand on the buckle of your belt.

entering your peripheral vision was the final soldier of what you presumed to be levi’s squad, he had been the one carrying the iron rod in his hands, now absent, as he made his way towards you, finding a spot next to the woman, “a lot happened while you were away.”

that’s right, you remember them. these soldiers were of the plethora of cadets that had enlisted in the military when you and levi had graduated. you had only encountered them a handful of times, but they were recurring guests in your life thanks to levi preparing for his promotion, the one you never had the chance to witness for yourself due to your leave. who knew they would be the same people to disgrace your pride and dignity by stripping you naked, even if they were much gentler than levi ever cared to be with you, there was no greater comparison than a pack of hungry wolves. and it was so draining to fight them, you tried and tried, but when the ropes had come out, you gave in.

and their names, they were: petra, eld, gunther, and oluo— which you had only picked up thanks to their small-talk with one another as they defiled you. shutting your eyes to avoid dwelling on the feeling of having your arms and legs strewn out, wrists and ankles bound by the rope that had been threaded through those worn out coils. all attention was focused on your shallow breathing, praying to disassociate hard enough to block out their jovial conversation. but you had picked up on something else, the burning coals. expectedly, the room was airless and sultry with a running fire and six people confined to such a small room. but this scent was different, like you could smell the heat, and that heat smelled like iron.

snapping your eyes open, you raise your head as much as your neck would allow it in your pitiful position, desperately scanning the room for answers. and you get them when you finally hear levi’s voice, “grab her arms and legs, i didn’t get this shit custom made for her to fuck it up.” readily, as if anticipating this specific command, petra and oluo had taken hold of your calves, while eld and gunther grabbed the inner side of your elbows. when levi leisurely drew near the side of the wooden table, the only thing you could see was the iron bar in his hands, the black metal now a light ash grey, emanating heat even with the distance levi was holding with you.

“wait, stop. get that fucking thing away from me!” the only control you had over your own body seemed to be your mind and mouth. even when you banged against the table, pulling away from the left side of the table where levi menacingly stood, recoiling as much as you could through the grip of the four soldiers and the ropes.

if it was forgiveness you wanted, you wouldn’t get it. that much levi would make sure of. if you wanted to run away? to be disobedient? then he’d reward your bad behavior with a deservingly bad punishment. carefully, levi lowered the scorching iron pole to align with the left side of your hips, though he wasn’t cautious for your sake, of course not, you deserved this and much more, but because he refused to let your little tantrum screw this up. you could feel the metal before it even touched your skin, burning away any body hair that may have been there to a crisp, and the sheer radiating from it had you screwing your eyes shut. you braced yourself, preparing to feel the searing iron, but it never came. levi contemplated whether or not he wanted to do it slowly, or to startle you after letting fifteen seconds pass, he fancied the latter.

it was so much more painful than you thought it was going to be. the sweltering hot iron rod blistered your sensitive skin, and you shrieked and cried in pain. it was scalding hot to the point it felt as if the metal was actually ice cold, and it pressed stiffly against your side, sinking into the fat of your hips. you had screamed until you couldn’t no more, until your voice cracked and your vocal cords bled, something the soldiers restricting you seemed to ignore. but the smell, the smell of your flesh being burned to the point it would leave a fresh, bloody mark. it was nauseating, and you gagged and heaved, but nothing to come of it. and despite how hellish it was, how it caused you unfathomable pain, caused you to convulse and spasm in your restraints, the pressure of the iron rod only lasted five seconds.

levi had counted, retrieving the metal pole and alleviating the pressure of its marking on your body after five maliciously counted seconds. you couldn’t tell if it hurt worse when the cold air nipped at the new wound than it did when it had been applied to your skin. tears fell from your eyes, and you don’t recall when you had started crying, but your face was wet with those salty droplets. shuffling resonated within the room, and the weight on your limbs was released. how tired you were, defeatedly laying your head until you could feel the rough surface of the wooden table. eyelids getting heavier by the second, you dared glance at the brand on your hip, the two letters ‘LA,’ bold and clear.

if you had the energy to, you would have flinched when a hand holding onto a lightly wetted rag came into contact with the new marking. the hand was tentative and mindful, applying little to no pressure on your hip, but just enough to cleanse the burn. you could have sworn you heard the sound of humming, but you knew you heard levi’s voice, “if you so much as think of betraying me again, i’ll do more than just mark you with my initials.”