#Dressed in this way he makes me think about some deity of the night that envelopes you in its dark quite and calm embrace

[thedreamerstoryteller]

A-Fei is that you? 😍

A domestic Di Feisheng, after spending years beside his rival zhiji Li Lianhua.

[libraryofgage]

Life in Miniature (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedediah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One (you're here!)

There will be more Jedtavius in the next parts I promise, I just thought this would be a funner introduction to the AU lmao

I just love those little guy dudes from the museum so much hfjdks and now we get two pairs of them

Also, fun fact, I took Steve's Roman name from, like, an actual king of Rome. The actual sixth king. He seemed like a chill dude.

Anyway, there's a meme at the end and as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

---------

When Robin took this job as a night guard, she didn't think the previous guard's words about history coming to life at night was, you know, real. She thought it was a joke, a predictable and corny joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But now, after being chased by a T-Rex, getting saved by Theodore Roosevelt, and almost being taken captive by fucking Attila the Hun, Robin thinks this job definitely isn't worth $16.50 an hour. Then again, this is the best paying job she's had in a while, and she was living a nocturnal life anyway.

Robin groans, leaning against a wall in the diorama exhibit, and slides down to the floor. She lets her head fall back against the wall, her eyes slipping shut as she slides. "This is crazy. This is insane. I need to find a fucking weapon or something," she mutters.

"Pardon me," comes a voice close to her head, "but might you be the goddess Diana?"

As pick-up lines go, it's not the worst one she's heard. And, based on what she knows of Greek and Roman deities, it wouldn't be too far off. Still, she does not want to be hit on by whatever weird historical thing is trying to flirt with her.

Robin takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and says, "Do I look like a goddess to you?"

She looks to her left where the voice came from, blinking when her gaze falls on a figurine that would barely reach her ankle. He's dressed in a toga with a chest plate, wrist guards, a sword on his waist, and a deep purple cape over his shoulders. His hair is, honestly, the most impressive thing Robin has ever seen, made only more impressive by the golden laurels resting perfectly against his temples.

He's looking at her with wide eyes, more awed than anything else. "Yes," he says. "I have heard the gods are larger than life."

Okay. Fair.

"Why Diana, man?" Robin asks.

He tilts his head, studying her for a moment, looking her up and down. "You give me the same feeling as statues of Noble Diana with her Huntresses," he explains, pausing for a moment before adding, "A feeling of kinship, perhaps?"

Oh. This...this is like ancient Roman gaydar, right? Robin snorts and turns, resting her elbow on her knee. "I'm definitely not Diana. My name is Robin. I'm the new night guard."

His eyes brighten some, his smile growing wider and certainly charming enough to make the hearts of a few girls and guys flutter. "I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army."

Robin nods, letting all of the those words process in her head before saying, "Mind if I call you Steve? You look like a Steve."

The Sixth King of Rome blinks, looking slightly confused before his eyes light up with understanding. "Ah! A nickname! Yes, I am familiar with this concept. You may call me Steve, Lady Robin, as a show of our newfound friendship."

"Yeah, don't call me Lady Robin. Just Robin is fine," she says, hesitating before offering her hand to Steve.

"As you wish, Just Robin," he says, stepping carefully onto her hand and remaining steady as she raises him higher.

Robin blinks, frowning slightly and about to correct him again when she sees his smile and realizes it's a joke. "Okay, very funny, dingus," she says, carefully poking his side.

"Is dingus another nickname? It sounds like an insult."

"It usually is, but it's affectionate when I say it."

"Oh! Yes, like when Ockie calls Jed a philistine."

"Uh, sure," Robin says, nodding once as she lets Steve move to stand on her shoulder. He quickly sits, holding onto the collar of her jacket as she carefully stands up. "Hey, you know what I'm supposed to do about the dinosaur bones?"

"Rexy? Yes, he enjoys a game of fetch."

"Fetch. Of course."

----------

"What's going on in that head of yours, little man?"

Steve blinks, looks over at Jedediah, and raises an eyebrow at him. "I'm taller than you," he says, gesturing to the good inch he has on Jedediah.

"As long as you're my son, you're a little man."

Doing his best to not laugh, Steve nods once and points to the new diorama set up in the middle of the room. It's a circular diorama, centered on an equally circular stage divided into sections. A cacophony of noise echoes from it, clashing as each slice of the stage fights for dominance. "I'm trying to figure out what in Jupiter's name they're doing over there," he says.

"Well, most of it sounds like music," Jedediah says, "I think."

"It's not any music I've heard before," Octavius says, coming to a stop next to Jedediah and frowning at the diorama. "I would have assumed it the unholy shrieking of the damned."

"Perhaps it would be nicer if they weren't all playing at once," Steve suggests, hands on his hips as he tilts his head.

"Oh, boy, there it is," Jedediah says, his grin audible in his tone. "He's got the King Face."

"What are your intentions, my boy?" Octavius asks.

Before Steve can answer, Robin strolls into the room, grinning when she sees the raving diorama in the middle. She walks over to Steve, Jedediah, and Octavius, crouches down, and says, "Hey, guys. I see you're checking out the History of Rock display."

"History of Rock?" Steve asks.

"What in the sweet hell do rocks have to do with that mess?" Jedediah asks, gesturing to the noisy stage.

Robin rolls her eyes. "No, like, rock music. It's a genre. Anyway, it was sponsored by some musician, so it's a permanent display now."

"And they will be...playing every night?" Octavius asks.

"Probably."

Steve frowns a little more and nods, rolling his shoulders back. "If they are a permanent fixture in our hallowed hall, they must be welcomed. As Sixth King of Rome, this duty falls upon my shoulders. Fathers, I shall return shortly."

"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, little man," Jedediah says, moving to stand in front of Steve. "You're not going anywhere near that snake pit without some back up."

"A few centurions, at least," Octavius agrees.

"I will have Robin. What better protection is there?"

Jedediah and Octavius glance at each other before looking at Robin. She grins and offers them a two finger salute. "I'll guard him with my life," she says, "It's literally my job."

With that reassurance, Jedediah and Octavius move out of the way. Steve steps onto Robin's hand and settles on her shoulder with practiced ease, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach at greeting the new museum residents. He hopes they'll get along, but he also knows the might of his Roman army and the railroad workers can crush any who stand in their way.

Robin stops next to the diorama, tilting her head as she studies it. This close, Steve can see the bands playing on each slice of stage, the instruments and fashion shifting as his gaze travels around it. "Uh, excuse me," Robin says, raising her voice.

The raucous noise from the diorama screeches to a halt, the feedback making Robin and Steve grimace slightly. "Uh, hi. We're the official welcome crew for the Hall of Miniatures here. So, I'll need someone to represent your, like, whole display," Robin says, glancing over the bands until she finds one she recognizes. "Okay, I know you guys, so I'll be designating you the spokesband. Now, could the lead singer step forward?"

Steve watches as someone on the "Corroded Coffin" (what an odd name for a band) slice of the stage steps forward. Robin offers her hand to them, carefully lifting it away once they step on. "Great, uh, carry on, I guess. But, like, maybe play some of your quieter stuff for a bit," she says, her words barely out before the music starts up and the crowds start screaming once more.

She sighs and just walks over to the bench, letting off the person on her hand before letting Steve slide down her arm in a move they spent nearly three weeks practicing if only because they knew it would look cool.

When he hops onto the bench, Steve walks up to the other miniature, a man his age with long hair and odd clothes with tears that Robin once said were fashionable. His instrument is still slung over his shoulders, resting casually against his hips much like Steve's sword. Steve suddenly finds himself thinking that the man looks a little like a warrior. An odd one, to be sure, but a handsome one nonetheless.

He flashes his most charming smile, lets his shoulders relax, and says, "My friend here is Robin, Guardian of Brooklyn. I am Servius Tullius, Sixth King of Rome, son of Vulcan, weapons master of the gods, and adopted son of Jedediah, Cowboy King of the Wild West, and Octavius, general of the Roman army. You, however, may call me Steve."

-----

As far as Eddie was concerned, nothing mattered so long as Corroded Coffin got to keep rocking in an endless concert. The energy never waned, the set list never grew boring, and the music never stopped. He was ready to inform this welcoming crew of just that and promise Hell on Earth if they tried to disrupt the music (angry concert goers are a force of nature), when the words just died in his throat.

Because the most gorgeous man he's ever seen slides down that giant lady's arm, easily and smoothly landing on the bench. Somehow, his hair is perfectly windswept, the golden laurels glinting in the lights above them. His purple cape flutters softly as he walks closer, his toned thighs on full display with the toga hem that falls to the middle of them. There's a sword on the guy's hip, a chest plate that Eddie wants to pull off, a smile he wants to taste, and a pair of freckles right next to each other on the guy's cheek he wants to drag his tongue across.

He misses most of the introduction because he's too busy staring. He gets the important bits, though: Robin, a king, son of a god, adopted son of two dads. Eddie licks his lips nervously, a grin of his own tugging at his lips as he steps forward and playfully bows. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he says.

It's supposed to come out joking, a little poke at the guy's authority to see if he can be riled up. It actually comes out way too genuine, and Eddie has a sudden realization that he meant it. He absolutely will accept this guy as his king, actually. He'll fall to his knees before him right now if asked, and not just because it might give him a little peek under the dude's toga.

"Please, just call me Steve. There's no need to be so formal."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, hoping Steve doesn't realize that the things Eddie is thinking about (the things he wants to do to and with Steve) are just about the least formal things on this earth. "Good to know," he says, relieved his voice sounds normal as he stands up straight and offers his hand. "Name's Eddie Munson, uh, lead singer of Corroded Coffin."

Steve blinks, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine as he steps closer and clasps Eddie's forearm. "A fellow leader," he says, squeezing Eddie's arm. "Welcome to our museum."

"Y-yeah," Eddie says, his arm still tingling when Steve lets go. He clears his throat, idly tugging on a few strands of hair. "So, uh, what's the deal around here? I mean, giant women...Roman kings...cowboys, it looks like."

"Our noble museum is home to Pharoah Ahkmenrah and his tablet, which brings the exhibits to life each night," Steve explains.

"There's a few rules, though," Robin says, sitting down on the bench behind Steve. "One, no getting into fights. Two, be back in your display by sunrise. Three, no leaving the museum at night."

"What? Why not?"

"We have lost good exhibits to Sol Invictus's morning rays," Steve says, frowning slightly. "So, be careful."

Eddie stares at Steve with wide eyes as he nods, amazed at the fact that Steve seems to talk like that so genuinely. And the fact that Eddie is...kinda into it. Holy shit, that's not helping with Eddie's whole "fall to his knees" thing. He wouldn't mind some good old-fashioned worship if Steve would just smile at him again.

Maybe his prayers are heard, because Steve smiles at him again. "Wonderful," he says. "Now, Eddie, could I interest you in a tour of the museum tonight?"

"Oh, you could interest me in a lot of things, sweetheart," Eddie blurts out, his mouth running faster than his brain.

He snaps his jaw shut, relieved and horrified at Steve's slightly confused expression and Robin's "I know what you are" thousand-yard stare from over his shoulder. Before he can try to backtrack, Steve snaps, understanding in his eyes. "Ah! Sweetheart is a nickname, yes? I accept your offer of friendship."

Eddie clenches his jaw, stopping himself from saying that it's more than friendships he's offering, and smiles. "Yeah. A nickname. That's all. I'm just...a nickname kinda guy. I'll probably think of more, too, Stevie. Like that."

Steve practically beams, and Eddie feels his knees go weak. "I look forward to it," he says, turning on his heel to look at Robin, who thankfully schools her expression. "Robin, this is where we leave you for the night. You have my word that Eddie will be back in place before sunrise."

"Well, you two kids have fun," she says, grinning in a way that immediately puts Eddie on edge. "I'd better not hear about any funny business, though. Absolutely no bases should be reached tonight, and you'd better not do any conquering or pillaging."

She definitely looks at Eddie when she says that last bit. Eddie stiffens, doing his best to hold back a blush when Steve glances over at his, the confusion clear on his face. "Conquering requires more planning than this, Robin. I've told you before."

"Don't worry about it, dingus. Just have fun. Here, I'll even call a ride for you," she says, winking at them before turning, holding her fingers to her mouth, and whistling sharply.

Steve walks over to Eddie right as the ground starts to shake, easily catching him around the waist before he can lose his balance. "The shaking does take some getting used to," he says, his tone full of sympathy and obliviousness to the crisis Eddie is experiencing.

When his brain finally catches up enough to ask what he's talking about, a dinosaur skeleton slides into the room, its body wiggling excitedly as it growls. Eddie jerks back, the arm around his waist tightening some. "What the fuck?!" he shouts.

"Worry not," Steve says, leaning closer. His voice is a little softer now, his breath fanning over Eddie's ear. "This is Rexy, our steed for the evening. He's very friendly."

"Friendly," Eddie mumbles, letting himself be dragged over to Rexy and placed on the dinosaur's head by Robin. "The dinosaur is friendly."

"Many of the exhibits are," Steve tells him, grinning brightly as Rexy begins moving after a pet on the snout from Robin.

Eddie looks at him, feeling blinded by Steve's smile once more, and completely forgets about the living dinosaur skeleton.

--------

Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

(Also I know there are like one or two upcoming parent AUs that people have asked to be tagged in and I tried to see if this was one of them but couldn't find anyone for the life of me hfjdks so I'm sorry if you asked on another post and I missed you orz)

And, finally, a meme for you

[sagesolsticewrites]

Come and Kiss Me

Anto takes you as his date to the Oscars. Things get very soft and veryyyy spicy

Warnings: mature content (fingering, PinV penetration, hand kink), first time, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: happy Oscars day y’all!! Hoping our boy Anto will be there, but if he’s not… at least we’ll have this 🥰 (also. this was entirely prompted by @winniemaywebber and I losing our minds over Anto’s chest hair and then losing our minds over it again in relation to the below gif so everyone say thank you Winnie <3) edit: this was supposed to be posted on Sunday but was postponed due to extenuating circumstances!

playlist for this fic by the ever wonderful @winniemaywebber ily bestie <3

Masterlist

As you fiddle with the fabric of your dress — definitely one of the nicest things you’ve ever worn— your gaze drifts over to your boyfriend for about the tenth time that night.

Your gaze scans over him hungrily, taking in the pristine black suit that fits him perfectly, clean lines molding to his figure in a way that makes your knees weak. The best part, however, is his stylist continuing the tradition of leaving the top few buttons undone, revealing a patch of chest hair that you couldn’t look away from if you tried.

“Darling?” Anthony asks, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention, “Everything alright? It’s… I know this is a big thing, and—”

You blink back from ogling him, leaning over to silence him with a kiss.

“I’m fine, my love. It’s just the Oscars.” You joke as you pull away, sending thanks up to whatever makeup deity made your lipstick every type of water-food-and-smudge-proof; including, apparently, kiss-proof.

The Oscars. Your boyfriend was attending the Oscars, and bringing you along as his date— the first time he’d ever brought you to any kind of event like this. You were in the car on your way there and you still couldn’t quite believe it.

“‘Just the Oscars’,” he repeats playfully, brown eyes sparkling, ��Not a big deal at all. Seriously, though,” his tone becomes genuine as he smiles softly at you, ���thank you so much for coming with me, my love. I know it’s a little nerve-wracking, but… it truly means the world to me.”

“I’ll do anything I can to support you, Ant. You know that,” you reply softly, “This is an absolutely huge night for you, and I’m honored to be by your side for it.”

His face lights up with a grin and he presses a kiss to your cheek, careful not to smudge your makeup.

He squeezes your hand three times — “I love you”— as you pull up to the entrance of the Dolby Theater, a cacophony of shouting and flashes erupting as the paps note a new arrival.

He helps you out of the car, taking a moment while his back is to the photographers to meet your eyes, a silent check-in.

You take a deep breath and nod, giving him a soft smile, which he returns as he turns and leads you onto the red carpet.

It’s absolute chaos, but you do your best to smile and pose, your boyfriend effortlessly guiding you along. You step to the side when the photographers shout for some solo shots of Anto, and he shoots you a playful wink as you watch him pose, some decidedly not Oscars-appropriate thoughts coming to mind as you watch his elegant fingers adjusting his hair and fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

He’s pulled aside for several interviews along the way, and never fails to introduce you as “my beautiful girlfriend,” making your smile grow impossibly wider as he gushes about how incredible you look and how much you’ve supported him over the course of his career.

Finally, finally, the two of you make it into the theater. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You did so good, sweetheart. The hard part’s over, now.”

“I have no idea how you do that by yourself,” you tease, forcing down the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at his proximity. Not the time.

“I just think about getting to come home to you when it’s over,” he replies, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as you find your seats.

— — — 

You’re unbelievably giggly by the time the two of you finally get home, despite the fact that the single glass of champagne you’d had should’ve worn off long before. No, it’s not the champagne you’re drunk on; it’s the excitement of the night, the pride you feel being on Anthony’s arm at such a prestigious event, the way he kept looking at you as if you were the only person worth looking at in that crowd of A-list celebrities.

“Darling,” Anthony mumbles against your lips between kisses as the two of you stumble through the entrance to your apartment, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it into a corner, “Have I told you how fucking stunning you look tonight?”

You let out an utterly contented, toe-curling sigh as his lips trail down to your jaw, your neck, and back up again.

“I don’t know, honey,” you say breathlessly, fingers raking through his artfully mussed curls, “I don’t think you have, maybe you should tell me again just to be safe?”

“You look,” he begins, smiling against your mouth, and scatters kisses to every part of skin he can reach— your neck, your ear, your cheeks, your shoulders— as he showers you with compliments, “absolutely radiant, gorgeous, beautiful, stunning—” your breath hitches as he pauses by your ear to hiss “absolutely delectable.”

You can’t quite hold in the gasp that escapes you as he punctuates those words with a light graze of his teeth against your skin, drawing a delicious shiver up your spine.

“Ant—” you whine, his name the only word in your head as your senses fill with him: his teeth and lips on your skin, hands gripping your waist, his heart beating rapidly under your hand as you rest it on his chest, your other hand in his hair and the sweet, warm scent of his cologne filling your nostrils.

“Sweetheart, I know—” he pauses, pulling back so he can see your face, his voice breathless but serious as he continues, “I know we… haven’t, yet, but I— God, I want you, I want you so badly, darling…”

Your toes curl as you take in his pretty brown eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide with desire. The two of you have gotten handsy plenty of times, of course, but… haven’t gone all the way yet.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures you softly, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, “but I so badly want to show you how much you mean to me. Let me make love to you, sweet girl.”

Your hand, still lingering on his chest, toys with the soft curls of his chest hair just visible under his unbuttoned shirt, your shy gaze meeting his. You just got home from the Oscars, your adoring boyfriend showering you with affection and compliments and kisses even after one of the biggest nights of his life. If there was ever a time to act on your desires…

You pull him in for a sweet kiss, arms winding around his neck, nodding frantically as he pulls away, “Yes— yes, honey I want to, I— I want you.”

Anthony lets out a groan, crashing his mouth to yours, hands wandering all over you as if that were all the permission he needed. His fingers linger near the zipper of your dress, pulling away briefly to check for your consent before tugging it down, revealing the simple lace bra and panty set you’d chosen for tonight.

“Jesus fuck, angel,” he groans at the sight, “You’re fucking perfect.”

He mouths hot kisses in a trail from your shoulder up your neck, hoisting you into his arms effortlessly as his lips return to yours, your squeak of surprise muffled by his mouth.

He carries you over to the bed, laying you down as gently as if you were made of glass.

“How do you want it, sweetheart?” Anthony says softly, his breath hot against your cheek as he hovers over you, “You want my mouth first?” A cheeky glint appears in his eye as his fingertips trace patterns all over your skin, “My fingers?”

His teasing smile grows wider at the whimper you fail to bite back.

“Knew it,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lightly over your stomach, “You’ve been staring at my hands all night, sweet girl— don’t try to deny it,” he scolds playfully as you open your mouth to defend yourself, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.”

He scans your face for permission and, at your jerky nod, dips his fingers below the waistband of your panties.

“Oh,” you keen as his fingers brush over the coarse curls between your legs to drag through your increasingly damp folds, Anthony’s breath leaving him in a huff when he feels just how wet you are.

“Fuck, baby” he breathes, entranced by the way your eyes flutter as his fingers glide along your core, “All this for me?”

You nod, squirming against him, trying to get his fingers where you want them as he remains frustratingly just outside you.

“So needy,” he teases, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You gasp as he slides one finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out.

Anthony swears softly as he speeds up, the come hither motion making your hips arch off the bed, “You’re so tight, angel.”

His name tumbles from your lips in a moan as he adds a second finger, the tension building in your core.

“Ant— Gonna make me—”

His fingers brush a soft, spongy spot inside you, and you cry out as his thumb circles your clit gently, that simple motion pushing you over the edge.

You come down from your high, chest heaving, just in time to see your boyfriend gently pull his soaked fingers out of you and pop them into his mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re gonna kill me,” you whine at the sight.

Anthony chuckles at your dramatics, pulling you close for a hungry kiss as his hands travel along your body.

You fumble with the remaining buttons on his shirt, then move to tug at his belt.

“Wanna see you,” you gasp into his mouth, “Please.”

His breath hitches as your fingers brush the prominent bulge under his slacks.

“Fuck, okay, baby, just let me—”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to take in the view as he scrambles off you, shucking off his shirt and pants.

His eyes lock on yours as his boxers come off next, his length springing free, already leaking from the tip.

It takes you a moment to remember how to breathe in the middle of removing your panties.

“Oh my god,” you murmur under your breath as he approaches you once more.

You feel him smiling as he bends down for a kiss, your hands wandering freely over his bare skin as his lips travel down your neck.

He makes quick work of your bra, tossing the lacy thing to a corner of the room as he clamps onto your nipple and sucks, making you arch into his mouth with a gasp.

Your toes curl as he mouths at you, his tongue swirling around your nipple until he’s satisfied, then turning to give equal attention to your other breast.

His lips travel down your belly, making it clear his destination is between your legs, and ordinarily you’d love that, but…

You can’t hide your grin at the groan that escapes him when your fingers graze along his cock.

“Christ, angel—”

“Want you inside me,” you breathe, meeting his eyes as he pulls away to look up at you, “Want you to fuck me, Ant.”

You can practically see him melt as your words hit him.

“Princess,” he breathes, lips dragging along your skin as he moves to hover over you once more, “Fuck, whatever you want, honey.”

“I’ll go slow, yeah? Tell me to stop if it hurts,” he says, lining up at your entrance and waiting for your nod of acknowledgement and consent to enter into you, inch by inch.

You throw your head back, moaning at the stretch as he fills you, Anthony’s breath catching audibly as he sinks into you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your nails digging into his skin.

He lets out a soft hiss at the feeling, brushing kisses along your neck as he pauses to let you adjust.

“You okay?” He asks, pulling back slightly to scan your face.

You nod frantically, momentarily unable to form words. If he felt this good just being inside you, what in the world would it be like when he started moving…?

Anthony lowers himself down to capture your lips in a tender kiss as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you.

“Oh my— fuck—” you whine into his mouth, toes curling at the sensation.

“Angel,” your boyfriend pants against your lips, “Shit, you feel fucking amazing— like you were made for me—”

You clamp down on your lip to stifle a moan as he thrusts into you faster, dragging your nails gently down his back.

“No, no, no, princess,” he murmurs against your skin, nose nudging at your jaw, “Lemme hear you, please.”

A moan finally escapes you as he kisses his way up your neck, scattering kisses over your face as his pace increases.

“Just like that, darling,” he breathes against your mouth, his nose pressed against yours.

His name tumbles from your mouth in a sharp cry as he thrusts deeper into you, hitting your G-spot. You whine into his mouth as he kisses you hungrily, a warning.

“Anto— Baby, m’gonna—”

“Fuck, please cum for me, angel,” he groans, his eyes meeting yours, “Please, wanna feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart.”

Your hands fly to his hair, pulling him for a heated kiss to cry out into his mouth as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

“Oh my god,” Anthony gasps into your mouth, “Fuck, you’re fucking perfect, angel, so fucking good for me—”

A litany of praise falls from his lips as his hips stutter against yours, warning you that he’s about to reach his own climax.

He pulls out of you with a moan, once again meeting your eyes as he pumps his fist until, with a cry, he releases onto the sheets.

You roll over, legs still wobbly, to face him as he collapses onto the bed next to you, the two of you making a valiant effort to catch your breath.

One hand reaches up to brush away a strand of hair from your forehead, Anthony’s soft brown eyes searching yours.

“Was that okay?” He asks softly.

You cup his cheek gently, leaning in for a tender kiss.

“It was perfect, my love.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your nose before moving to stand, “I’ll be right back.”

He returns with a warm washcloth to clean the two of you, discarding it in the hamper before climbing back into bed.

You curl into him as his arms wrap around you, his skin soft and warm against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you reply.

It’s the last thing either of you hear before you’re fast asleep in each other’s arms.

[eatingjupiter]

ENTER ON  : an ornate room dressed in golds and reds .  with long mirrors that hold the eye and vixens eating out the hearts of those who did not win.  this is  the court of love - a sickly place overdressed in finery.  lacking a heart to hold itself.   here come men to shell out their morals . women hungering for the touch that would bring them back to life. a sweet lie to get you hooked.  not noticing that  it stinks of rose and death , of immolation and bone .   your grandmother told you to never  come here but alas here you are, striding along as though you’ve some chance of winning .  stopping by the dealers table to lay the coin of dional   as payment - shocking him and the roundabout of close attendees .

YOU :  “ i would like to see the king of this place -  LORD KINGSLEY  is how he goes about does he not.?  (the room  grows quite at your statement , buries its eyes onto the ground not breathing in fear that the stars would betray them to the lord of the house. ) “ oh do tell him to hurry please i haven’t all day. “  ( here a guard puts a blade to your chest . anger clouding her faces - as though her dignity was in that of her lords ) 

THE GUARD ;  “ speak like that again and i will take this spear and put it through your chest and out of  your mouth so that he can marvel at your death. “  ( she holds the spear tight - eyes seeing the coin but not allowing it to take her from her work.) “ you will not come into this court , no matter if the deity himself has given you his allyship.”

YOU:  ( laughter pools from your lips . cold and distasteful it reaches over - buzzing and grabbing all the way round ) “ oh sweetheart you’ve no idea what i’ve just done .”  ( you dazzle her a smile , a leering thing with a want to kill her in her spot.) “ you have no idea of how badly he is gonna want to collect what i am bringing around .”

THE GUARD : ( she shudders .  feels her insides turn on themselves. like a rabid dog chewing through its leg ) “ i shall not call for him.  i shan’t let you bring your mischief here .”

YOU :  “ oh how sweet - the little doll thinks she can protect him. “  ( you lunge forward and grab her neck. ) “ you all are filthy things - lying things .  infatuations and abuse . and  nothing of any of you is worth anything. “ ( your fingers grow into claws digging deep.  ready to rip the skin off , when he finally comes into vision.)

LORD KINGSLEY :  “  let her go, war .  do not think that whatever you bring will go unanswered.” ( he had smelt your venom - your strategies and the way death came to his dreams last night grinning of an upcoming feast.) “ whatever it is you bring , message or item, I will see it and deal with it  in place of this cort.’ ( he thinks over it for but a moment - what had war come to boast about?  what had you decided he needed to see that you’d traverse into the one place you hated.)  “ you take this human face and think my people would know you and bend but they do not know you as i do.”

YOU : ( dropping the girl you run right up to love . right up to his height and you pull the head from your pocket.)  “ here is what i bring -  KINGSLEY  here is what i offer .   ( you pull his hand forward and give the head to him. )  “ i told you didn’t i that if you turned me away and let the deity cast me out i would give you the one thing you’d hope to never see .”  ( you slip away - and watch him with the lion’s head.   the head of his lover beauty .  and you are so very proud of what you’ve done.) “ i give you this and will wait for whatever you will do next .”    ( you laugh again as you spill away from the place. loud and cruel it makes a mockery of his screams. ) 

for @nosebleedclub 's prompt your turn. tagging : @snickiebear @kalonkakons @smidgen-of-hotboy asked to be added or removed.

[hotchs-bitch]

Autograph

Summary: Aaron loves you in a way you've never been loved before, and you never want it to end

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff, case study brain because I'm ill, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, allusion to proposal, possessive!hotch

A/N: big big shoutout to @honeybrowne for 1) inspiring me to write this and 2) betaing (see: validating) it. You are the best <33 Find it on ao3 here, or under the cut!

Happy reading <3

I'd change your autograph

I'd put my name on you

And I'd put big gold ring on your left hand

So everybody knew

That I'm the lucky one

At work, you know that your partner deals with all kinds of psychopaths. Abusive boyfriends, men who have scratched their initials into their victims, and more scenarios that he certainly keeps to himself.

You prefer it that way; Aaron is a possessive man sometimes, and you don’t want to draw any sort of association between him and the criminals he hunts. He’s a good man in both intention and action, and he always has been.

When he’s possessive, it’s in a good way. It’s an arm around your waist at company parties when some FBI hotshot eyes the swell of your breasts in a dress. It’s a hand holding yours in public, or an arm offered before you walk up a flight of stairs together.

It’s in your sex life, the way Aaron groans louder than ever whenever you say, “I’m yours,” and the way he fills you up with grunts of “Mine,” spilling from his lips into yours. 

You’re your own person, and you both know that. You and Aaron are mature, developed adults who are well past your years of thinking that partnership is needed to complete you.

The fact that he does complete you, makes you another person- a better person- beyond yourself is really just a bonus, at this stage in your life. His possession just proves it.

He worships you, calls you late at night from hotel rooms strewn across the country, showers you with attention whenever he’s home. He respects you, supports your career, and makes every decision with you instead of for you. The two of you look at houses together, discuss the future together, and you know that your opinion is just as valued as his- if not more.

So when he gets possessive, you don’t mind. You’ve encouraged it once or twice, flirting at the bar with a stranger before Aaron returns back from the bathroom just so you can feel arms encircling your waist and a kiss to your ear, followed by “Who’s your new friend, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t possess you like he wants everyone to know that you belong to him. He possesses you as though you already do, and that anyone else in the world is at fault for not seeing how head over heels the two of you are for each other.

It’s protective, in a way. Sure, you could always stand up for yourself when you get catcalled walking down the street. But the sight of Aaron striding towards a parked car, knocking on the cracked-open window, and saying “Want to try that again?” with his badge clipped to his suit isn’t an image you’ll grow tired of anything soon.

Aaron possesses you like something more cherished and loved than a trophy, like something he can’t believe is his. He doesn’t hide you away from the world, plastered in ‘for your eyes only’ signs. He shows you off, kisses you in public, and he’ll smirk at everyone in the place- especially anyone who’s tried to flirt with either of you, women and men alike on occasion- when you inevitably pull him towards the door with both hands in his towards the end of the night. It doesn’t matter what moves they try, or how flirty they are. He goes home with you, and it’ll never be any other way.

You’re his, in every way except legally. The two of you belong together, you belong to each other. It’s an intertwinement of souls, if you’re trying to get poetic about it; you make each other better, celebrating on the good days and uplifting on the bad. You’re two whole people, combining to form some deity of love beyond what you could ever be alone. Two hearts forming one massive one, instead of two halves of the same heart.

You know how lucky you are to have him, to have this side of him. When you’d first started dating and met his team, you heard joke after joke about what a hardass he could be, and Derek had even wished you luck in drawing a smile out of him.

It’s hard for you to picture Aaron’s face painted with anything less than a broad grin.

He’s told you time and time again that you make him better; a better man, a better person, a better partner than he thought he could be. The crumbling of his first marriage, months after he joined the FBI, has certainly played into those insecurities.

You’ve always been up for the task of reminding him that you’re the lucky one; particularly because to you, it isn’t a task at all. You’ll do any work, say anything he needs to hear, in order to break down those walls of fear and resentment he’d built up over the years before meeting you.

The progress that the two of you have made has been astounding, to say the least. Still, sometimes during a late dinner or while watching TV you’ll ask him what he’s thinking about, and he’ll mumble, “Not sure how I got so lucky.” 

No matter how many times you echo the sentiment for yourself, he’s never stopped saying it.

————

You’ve talked about the future before. You’ve discussed houses, career changes, and even whether you want to have kids, but you’ve never broached the subject of marriage.

It’s Aaron who brings it up first, of course. It’s nice to think that you’ve added to his confidence, but the truth is that he just feels comfortable approaching you about anything; there’s no credit to take, and you wouldn’t take it even if he tried to give it to you.

“What are you doing?” He asks as a greeting when he gets home, pressing a kiss to your temple as he passes by the kitchen table. His gun is set in the safe, and his briefcase is stowed out of sight; work is left at the office.

“That new car I’m buying,” you answer, half-distracted. You’re not focused enough to keep your attention on signing the stack of papers in front of you, and you catch him by the tie and pull him down for a proper kiss when he moves to pass you again. “Mm. They’ve got me signing away my life, here. My hand is going to cramp up soon. How was your day?”

Aaron grabs you a glass of water, setting it down in front of you. “Poor girl. You should invest in a new pen,” he suggests, watching the inkflow falter when you sign yet another page. “It was alright. Dave has Morgan and I going over to watch the game. I’d rather stay home, but he’s got a flatscreen.”

“At this point, I might just invest in a stamp with my autograph on it.” You sigh dramatically for comedic effect, and he chuckles. “It might not be as legal, but it would be easier. When are you leaving?”

“Right away. I’ve been called on to pick up pizza and beer.” Aaron pulls his suit jacket off, replacing it with a brown fleece quarter-zip overtop of his dress shirt. The white collar peeks out of the top, teasing you until he tucks it back under the fleece. “I wouldn’t go for a stamp, by the way. That’s a waste of an investment.”

“Because it’s illegal? Ugh, I knew it,” you groan, and Aaron laughs again while he digs for his car keys in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“I’m not going to speak on the legality. That’s between you and the car dealership,” he advises. “But I’m going to change your autograph, and I’ll do it long before that stamp runs out of ink.”

Your eyes widen a fraction; that’s not what you were expecting to hear, but it’s not unwelcome. “Oh. So, uh, I’ll stick to pens, then.” Your voice is hopefully more level to his ears than it is to yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice the twitch of your lips fighting a smile.

“I’ll bring you some of the good pens from work, if you remind me tomorrow. I’ll see you later, sweetheart. I love you.” He leans down to kiss you again, soft and sweet and smiling into it.

“Love you too,” you murmur when he breaks away. “Drive safe, root hard, whatever you men do at games. Call me if you need a ride, okay?”

Aaron promises to do so and leaves with another little smile in your direction. The door shuts behind him, and your own face breaks into a grin. It feels like another door has been opened, and you can’t wait to see what’s behind it.

—————

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Tell me what you thought <3

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 : ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ — ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʀʏ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — three shots fired : two to the body , one through the heart .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — angst bug , mild dark trojan [ read at your own risk ! ]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd , constructive criticism is welcomed . reblogs and comments are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 4.1k

my demons are begging me to open up my mouth

i need them, mechanically make the words come out

they fight me, vigorous and angry, watch them pounce

ignite me, licking up the flames they bring about

jake lockley was a simple man. or at least that's what he likes to think. he was created by marc's subconscious to protect him from distress and physical harm. that was his reason for existence. nothing more, nothing less.

but the reality was that he was a broken man, much like his alters steven and marc. he was born from abuse, like steven, and his sole purpose was to shield that little boy from the horrors of his mother's pain. he shares a body with two others, needing to hide in the shadows because they absolutely cannot know about his existence nor the blood in his hands when marc's have been stained red enough that his conscience can't wash it all away.

he did not need to place the burdens he carries to his brothers, he was their protector and if staying in the dark and letting them be oblivious to his presence was the only way to protect them, then so be it.

jake was the one who took the hits for them, used his fist on those that dared try and harm the body, pounding the offender's face over and over until their face was black and blue and unrecognizable. even if it meant the boys would wake up to split skin on his knuckles. jake lockley is the system's protector, nothing is going to change that.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me i was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

when marc became moon knight, jake briefly took over the body and had confronted the 7 foot tall skeletal bird known as khonshu, the egyptian god of the moon and the night sky. he sees all and knows all despite being unknown by the other two.

at first he demands khonshu to release marc from their agreement knowing it will lead to more danger and marc, the original, cannot be harmed. he tried hard to fight for marc's freedom much to the god's entertainment before striking another deal with jake.

on the day marc gains his freedom from being khonshu's avatar, he shall take his place instead. why look for another avatar when there's a completely different person residing in marc's body that marc (and steven) is unaware of?

but jake? jake had other plans. he told khonshu he'll be his avatar then and there, to let him take on the bloodier and brutal missions to spare marc any more bodies in his hands. he'll take them for him instead. this, of course, amuses khonshu who promptly agreed. their body was never going to be free from his clutches and the egyptian deity was going to take full advantage of the man's brokenness to do his bidding.

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

the job was easy for jake. he's used to a life of violence, letting his fists do the talking to get the answers he needed. he fought until his body held a constellation of bruises that don't easily fade away because he doesn't want to wear the ceremonial suit like marc.

instead he prefers his usual clothes consisting of his signature flat cap, a jacket, a white dress shirt underneath with a black tie done neatly, pressed trousers and black belt and some nice leather shoes.

what he did accept from khonshu was a pair of leather gloves, the knuckles of them designed with a faded crescent moon, to symbolize that he was doing the egyptian god's dirty (well, dirtier) work.

jake doesn't front often, only coming out when its necessary or when his brothers are sound asleep. some days he'd wake up in steven's warm flat, other times it's in that godawful tiny storage room marc uses. either way, he'd get up in the dead of the night, taking control of the body in what little time he has before letting it rest, relinquishing control to the other two once more when the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

most missions that jake partakes in are always the same. it's either a weasley person trying their hardest to evade getting caught by this mysterious person that's dwindling the numbers of their group or a particularly difficult man to put down. on cases like the latter, jake would use a gun or dagger. if his fists can't take them down, these things surely will.

it's gruesome to say the least, the way he can only come out when he's required to by his duty as khonshu's avatar or when marc faces imminent danger. he never needed to take control over steven because the brit wasn't in any danger working at the museum.

the only time he took over steven was to ask that one coworker of his out for steak. shame she thought it was steven, but he can't exactly give himself away in steven's workplace. poor man didn't need any more confusion and mess when he's already on his boss' bad side. steven didn't need jake to add another reason to her ever growing list to hate him.

selfish, taking what I want and call it mine

i'm helpless, clinging to a little bit of spine

they rush me, telling me I'm running out of time

they shush me (sssh), walking me across a fragile line

the only time jake gets to front for a long time, say two days, is when the system is exhausted. if marc pushed himself too hard or steven tried staying up all night again, jake gets absolute freedom for a few days.

he works as a cabbie, it's a method he uses to lure the poor victims on khonshu's hit list. one day, the door to his cab opens, to lo and behold, beautiful, innocent you.

jake never believed in love at first sight, he thinks it's cringe and stupid but you, oh you just proved him wrong.

dressed in a simple yellow sundress and white cardigan to maintain decency, you were a pop of color amongst london's gray streets and brick walls. you looked like sunshine after the rain personified.

you greeted him with a smile, telling him where you were headed, a psychiatric hospital near the general hospital. he was never one to make small talk with his innocent customers, until you. you who made jake break nearly every rule he's told himself since he cannot front for long periods of time. but you? oh he had quite the fun talking to you.

on the short trip it took to take you there, he had managed to learn that you work there as a permanent staff. he also learned of your name, testing the way it rolls off his tongue and ended up sounding like music to his ears. you gladly indulged his questions, a naturally friendly person, he notes to himself as he listens to you talk in his backseat, occasionally watching you through his rearview mirror.

it's another thing he finds out he likes about you but he can't help but worry if people would dare try and take advantage of you with your sweet smiles and lovely personality. jake shouldn't really bother himself with such thoughts but he found it hard to resist, not when it comes to you he realizes.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me i was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

khonshu knows about jake's new fascination with you. he'd often remind the man to forget about you, that you'd be nothing but a mere distraction to the higher purpose he's taken jake in.

on the rare times jake fronts in broad daylight, he would wait for your morning shift to end, parked outside the psychiatric hospital's door, leaning against his car with a cigarette lit and between his lips, the nicotine burning warmth into his lungs as he puffs out the smoke to london's every chilly air.

you'd come out of the doors mere minutes later in your casual clothes, the colors making your eyes stand out more as you smile and wave at him, bounding towards him with a giggle. he'd put out his cigarette, stomp it with the sole of his shoe before opening his arms to a welcoming embrace.

more often than not he'd lead you to his car with an arm slung over your shoulders, getting as close as he can amd enveloping himself in your floral and nectarine scent. he likes how your perfume lingers on the fabric of his jacket sometimes, it makes him feel like you're still with him even if he dropped you home hours ago.

jake began to pick you up more often on the two months marc and steven's worlds began to collide. he took advantage of marc's grief of the loss of his mother and steven's apparent confusion of missing days in his work.

he used those two months to build the relationship he has with you now, still platonic but there was definitely something more. if your lingering touches and flirty quips were anything to prove.

so he waits for you in the cold london air during the end of your shifts, sometimes even takes you to work when your night shift starts if he has the chance, and you'd always greet him with a smile and wave.

one time though, khonshu decided he's had enough of jake's silly little crush on you. it's past 7 in the morning, jake's driving you home and you were sat in the back and talking his ear off about the things that happened during your shift. he'd laugh and make a comment or two but he's more focused on driving, choosing to enjoy the sound of your voice as he does so. but the god has other plans.

he materializes himself, seated next to your oblivious self, just within jake's peripheral in the rearview mirror. the sight of the skeletal bird next to you has him tightening his hold on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were definitely white under the leather gloves he wore.

he hates seeing the god next to you, his tall and boney form too undeserving of your sunshine and warmth, not that khonshu wanted either of those.

"i told you to stop meeting this woman jake." khonshu reminds him, to which he only responds with a clench of his jaw, "¡no te atrevas a tocarla!" he grumbles under his breath. "what was that jake?" you ask, curious and innocent to the 7 foot tall god next to you threatening him about you.

"do you really think she'll still love you, no— like you once she finds out who you really are?" the egyptian deity goads, thumping his staff on his car's floor.

"¡cállate, maldito pájaro!" he cusses out, a little harsher, a little louder this time. it makes your brows furrow, moving to the edge of your seat as you place a hand on the back of his seat on the driver's side.

"no, really jake... are you okay?" you were concerned for him, which warms his heart but does not ease the foreboding feeling of fear that he was about to lose you. he fights himself not to think about it right now, not while you are still around.

"estoy bien, neña. no te preocupes." you were glad to have taken your spanish classes in highschool seriously, often mingling with patients in the hospital who also spoke the language. "if you say so. but! if you need a friend to talk to, i'm always here for you."

of course, that's the type of person you were. kind, caring, to jake you were the most precious person there is in his otherwise bleak life. like a soft patch of grass and wildflowers in the otherwise dry land he calls life.

"por supuesto, cariño. ahora siéntate bien, no puedes lastimarte de alguna manera." he smiles, not wanting to worry you any further.

khonshu slams his scepter down once more, the echo loud in jake's ears as the threat of the god's words loom over him like his skeletal shadow before fading out of sight.

"stop this jake, while i am letting you or else i will do it for you."

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

he would never allow khonshu to get his hands on you. he may be the god he serves but he wasn't going to let him dictate his life. though deep down jake knew better than to go against him because he would never want you to get hurt. especially because of him. and if disappearing quietly from your life is what keeps you out of harm's way, then so be it.

it's been two weeks since jake last picked you up. he's avoided fronting as much as he could, only coming out whenever he's called in the middle of the night.

you thought he was just busy. he was a cabbie after all, he had other people to pick up and bring to their destinations. he won't always be available to take you home. doesn't mean you didn't miss him though. jake has made a small home in your heart, driving his way into your life and permanently parking himself there, a spot dedicated to jake and only jake.

he was the highlight of your day whenever he would come around the psych hospital, all the fatigue and weariness easing off your bones once he'd sling his arm around you.

so these past two weeks, your heart quietly sinks when you don't see his cab parked just outside the doors of the hospital, a cold puff of air greeting you instead of jake's warm embrace as he meets you, smelling of cigarette and leather and musk. you'd end your shift a little disheartened as you hail a cab to bring you home, always secretly hoping it was jake who would stop and take you in.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake missed you as well in those two weeks, terribly so. it felt like hell being in the dark corner's of steven and marc's consciousness where he'd wonder how you were doing, if you were okay. if you missed him like he missed you. you did, but he didn't know. couldn't know because of the risk he knows he'll put you under if he fronts to meet you.

it's half past two in the morning when he's able to grab hold of the body, his movements sluggish because none of them were getting enough rest with marc drinking his memories away when khonshu wasn't sending him off to places, steven would stay up late just to catch himself and keep himself from doing god knows what in his sleep and jake, who'd take control of their shared body at the wee hours of the night, barely an hour of sleep in their system but does he care right now? no. why? because two weeks of being away from you was hell and he won't stand another second of not being in your presence.

so he throws the sheets off their body, puts on more presentable clothes from steven's wardrobe since he was the one fronting during the day these past weeks. he found a simple gray sweatshirt and hoodie, exchanged his pajama pants for a pair of jeans and protected his feet with a pair of old sneakers the brit rarely wears.

after that he takes his time to walk to you, not caring if it would take him a while. he'd use this time to think carefully about what to say to you if he manages to even catch your attention while you work. or maybe you'd be on a quick break? he hopes so.

hold me down now

hold me down now

hold me down

jake was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't realize he was already at the hospital had it not been for your hands holding his shoulders. "jake?" came your voice, soft culverts coming out in a whisper that rings so loudly and lovely in his ears in the silence of london's empty streets. he snaps out of his trance upon hearing your voice, so sweet and kind.

wordlessly, he pulls you in an embrace, not caring at the moment if khonshu was watching his every movement, he just wanted to be as close to you as possible. at first you were surprised, unsure on whether or not to reciprocate but in the end you do.

how could you not when your heart misses him so? even if he smelled different, like old books and clean linens, there was a scent you'd recognize anywhere that belongs solely to jake.

with your arms wrapped around his form, holding his body against yours as you breathe him in. he was real and he was holding you. it soothes the yearning that settled in your body in an instant. he was real and he felt like a safety net, anchoring you back to shore, rescuing you just in time to pull you back above waters before you sink into a sea of emotional turmoil.

that night in each other's embrace, you both felt like you'd come home after a long and exhausting day of being so far apart from each other. in that silence, you had both found solace and understanding where you stood in each other's lives. he was special to you as you were to him. jake had put up a delicate white fence over the luscious green grass and blooming flowers you had planted in his heart, his own garden in his desert he calls life. you were his oasis.

i sold my soul to a three-piece

and he told me I was holy

he's got me down on both knees

but it's the devil that's tryna

after that visit, jake slips away from your grasp again. steven and marc had found themselves in cairo, quietly lending them a hand when it mattered, saving them when their life began teetering close to the edge and quietly returning to his corner. they didn't need to know about him. not yet, not while his hands remain bloody and his ledger dripping red like waterfalls.

he helped marc amd steven out of sticky situations, even saving layla a few times as well. he thinks it's nice that marc had found a safe haven of his own with the woman but jake can't help but feel a little angry and jealous because he can't have you that way. not when they share the same body and face. so he took that bubbling anger out on the poor soul that had tried to hurt him, knuckles bloody and raw from punching so their face it's almost unrecognizable with all the blood pouring from their head to their mouth.

even though he was helping the two out in stopping an ancient god from killing off millions of people, jake's selfishness can't help but think of you during your time apart. he misses you even more now, he realizes. he wonders if he'll be able to see you again after this.

hold me down, hold me down

sneaking out the back door, make no sound

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake was proud of marc from his hidden corner of their consciousness when he refused to kill harrow, against khonshu's orders. he felt happy that his brother no longer had to stain his hands any redder than they should. but deep down jake knew he would be the one to end it all. after all, he is their protector (and with his affections for you, that extended to you as well).

he knew that khonshu would call for him one day soon to finish what marc cannot, for he is, after all, the one that carries the burden of dirtying his hands for them.

that was the deal he had bargained for his brother/s after all.

hold me down, hold me down

throw me in the deep end, watch me drown

knock me out, knock me out

saying that i want more, this is what i live for

jake finds himself in front of your hospital one afternoon when they returned from their duty in egypt. harrow was sent here, an idea he had left in marc's subconscious. in reality, it was just so he'd be able to see a glimpse of you.

selfish as it was, he thinks it's the only way he can see you again. he takes hold of harrow's wheelchair from a nurse, telling her in spanish that he was there for him. she had seemed to understand and let him be, moving on to a different patient to care for.

jake walks down the halls of the hospital, hoping to see even the faintest glimpse of your bright smile but to no avail. what he doesn't know though, was that you had seen him first, unsure in the beginning but you saw his signature cap and gloves and you knew for sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you.

he was back and he was taking one of the patients admitted at the ward? throughout the time he's picked you up and took you home, he's never said anything about knowing someone in here. you followed him silently, asking one of your co-workers to cover for you a bit.

you see him take arthur harrow inside a limo you didn't know he drove, kicking the wheelchair with such anger it makes you pause in your steps just a little ways from the exit. you see him enter the driver's side, windows rolled up and slams the door shut, you took that as cue to make your way out. you approach the limo with hesitant steps, about to knock on the tinted windows when you see two flashes of light from inside the car, the muffled sound of a gun ringing so loud it has you gasping, snatching your hand back before it lands on the glass.

jake did what he had to, he sought justice to the death their body suffered from when harrow shot them within the dig site where steven discovered ammit's ushabti. it was time to repay the favor, he had shot them twice so he thought it was only fair to do the same. though this time, arthur harrow won't have the same chance to return to the land of the living the way marc and steven did. he had to atone for his sins, there was no redemption for arthur harrow.

but he hears something outside his limo, makes him roll his windows down just a tiny bit only to see your shaken form right outside, fear and shock evident in your features; from the way you held your hands, holding yourself as you took some steps back and away from the white vehicle. jake knew right there and then that he had scared you away, that he might have just lost you. the god in his backseat remained quiet, his presence like a foreboding shadow.

"i told you to stop seeing her didn't i jake lockley? did you really think she'll accept the life you live, the blood staining your hands?"

a part of jake knew that the tall bird was correct but he didn't want to accept it, he couldn't— wouldn't believe it. he loves you and he knows you do too, if that one late night visit says anything about how you two felt about each other. but the longer he stared at your scared form, the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, the more jake began to realize he had to get away.

yes marc didn't deserve to know about the red on his hands...

translations:

¡no te atrevas a tocarla! — don't you fucking dare touch her

estoy bien, nena. no te preocupes. — i'm fine baby. don't worry.

por supuesto, cariño. ahora siéntate bien, no puedes lastimarte de alguna manera. — of course sweetheart. now sit properly, can't have you injuring yourself somehow.

[anna-hawk]

🌬️ Lucky Disaster 🌬️

Sequel to this post

Pairing: BJ x Reader Fandom: Grudge Match Word count: 1471 Rating: T

Summary: The wind messes with your laundry.

A/N: I've been meaning to write a sequel for this for a long time, and this scenario has been in my head for a while, so tonight was apparently the night.

Read and/or listen to it on AO3

Alright, you had known that Pittsburgh comes with cold weather in Winter, but you hadn’t minded that. It’s all about dressing accordingly. What you hate, however, is wind. The weather had been sunny and held only a light breeze when you’d left home this morning for work. You often program your washing machine to finish before you get up, in order for the laundry to be hung up or put in the dryer right after. The weather had been so nice, that you’d decided to put it outside today. Something that you very much regret as you look outside the window of your office and see the tree branches moving around like crazy. 

Nothing you can do about it now, unfortunately. 

Some hours later, you make your way home and hope that the silent prayer that you’d sent out to any deity that would listen had been heard, and that your clothes would still be hanging on the line outside. Parking in your usual spot, you quickly get out of the car to run up the porch to your house and enter it. You’re in your backyard a few seconds later and stop mid-stride once your eyes have landed on the clothesline. The empty, except for two shirts, clothesline. 

“Fuck,” you breathe vehemently, as you finally walk closer and retrieve the two items. 

You look around your backyard, over the hedges and fences, but there’s nothing. You curse colorfully while running back inside and throwing the shirts over the back of the couch. What now? Run around the neighborhood in the cold wind and near darkness to find your… You groan as you remember that most of the clothes had been underwear. Because of course. Great, the streets of Pittsburgh currently have your panties decorating other people’s houses, hedges and probably streetlamps. 

“Great. Just great,” you mutter to yourself, as you walk to the kitchen to fix yourself something hot to drink. Running around in the cold had chilled you to the bones. 

You’re leaning against the kitchen island while slowly sipping from a mug, when the doorbell rings, making you jerk in surprise since you’d been deep in thought about what to do next. Putting the mug down, you head to the door and quickly look through the peephole to check on the person on the other side. The sight of your neighbor makes you smile fondly, while you feel warmth heating your neck. 

“BJ, hey,” you smile warmly after opening the door. 

“Hey, neighbor.” BJ returns your smile with one of his own, his hair adorably windswept. 

Your face morphs into one of relief, quickly follow by intense embarrassment as you see what BJ is holding. A large laundry basket filled with your clothes. 

“Found those in my backyard earlier. I think I got everything, but I couldn’t see if something was lying on the other side of the fence.” He holds out the basket for you, and you take it as if on autopilot. 

“Thanks,” you manage to get out, the word sounding slightly strangled. You clear your throat. “Really, thank you. You just saved me from having to go shopping,” you chuckle awkwardly. 

“No problem. That’s what neighbors are for, right?”

You can read the amusement in his eyes at the situation, but he’s clearly holding back in the face of your embarrassment. 

“Want some coffee?” You wave him in with a nod towards the inside of your house. 

“Yeah, sure.” He nods and follows you before closing the door. You put the basket down in the hallway that gives to the living room before turning to BJ and leading him to the kitchen. 

“Gotta admit,” BJ starts as you fill another mug. “I pegged you for more of a DC kinda person, and not Marvel.”  

Startled, you set the coffee pot down while your eyes widen at the statement. You close them and utter a long groan, putting your face in your palms. You uncover your face at BJ’s small laugh, only to school your expression into a fake serious one. 

“What can I say? Frank Castle just does it for me.” You shrug nonchalantly as you think of your Punisher boy shorts. 

BJ chuckles and nods agreeably, thanking you when you hand him the coffee. 

“You saw any others worth mentioning?” You ask, before you realize what you’ve just said, as does BJ considering the way he chokes on the first sip of coffee. 

Shit, what is it with this guy that destroys any filters that you might have? As if the situation isn’t already embarrassing enough. BJ is being sweet about it, only teasing you playfully, and you go and ask whether he liked some of your panties. Especially because you know that you had also put some of your fancier panties into the washer. Only he had chosen to talk about the funnier ones. 

“Do not answer that.” You lift a hand, palm up in a stopping motion, and shake our head. 

BJ clears his throat and turns the mug around a few times in his hands. 

“What if I did?” BJ glances at you from under his lashes, his lip caught between his teeth almost shyly. 

How can this man be that unbearably hot while also being so incredibly sweet at the same time? 

The heat from your face runs through your whole body as his words sink in, and you realize just how close to each other you’re standing. You bite one side of your lower lip and smile gently. 

“I’m listening,” you say lightly. 

To your surprise, color slowly rises to BJ’s face as he looks away and clears his throat. 

“The – uh – the purple ones.” 

You immediately know which ones he’s talking about. They happen to be your favorite. 

“Oh, yeah, they’re… I’m wearing the blue version today, and-” Why would you say this? Why? “I – sorry – I didn’t mean to-”

“No. No, no, it’s fine. I get it. It’s-” BJ chuckles awkwardly. 

“That wasn’t a come on, you know. I just-”

“I know it wasn’t. I shouldn’t have said-”

“Of course, if you wanted it to be a come on, that’s fine with-” Abort. Abort. Shut up. 

“It’s fine, I – What?” 

You clamp your lips together to finally stop your panicked rambling and stare at BJ with wide eyes. 

“Nothing. Never mind,” you barely manage to keep the hysteria out of your small laugh as you begin to walk out of the kitchen. 

BJ catches you by an elbow as you pass him, his grip gentle. 

“What did you say?” He asks softly, as he gets you to face him again, his eyes trying to catch yours. 

“Never mind?” You hedge slowly. 

“Before that?” His hand is still on your arm, his thumb stroking up and down gently. You’re not entirely sure if BJ realizes that he’s doing it. 

You lick your lips and look to the side, while your heart is in your throat. 

“You heard me,” you mumble, losing the courage to repeat yourself. 

BJ’s other hand moves and slowly, tentatively, slides along your jaw and to the back of your head. 

“I did,” he half whispers, before leaning in at a slow pace, giving you the opportunity to back out if you wanted to. 

You don’t. 

You let him close the distance completely, your eyes falling shut at the first press of his lips against yours. Contrary to your rapid fire exchange only moments ago, the kiss is unhurried and soft, his lips sliding gently against yours. He wraps his arms around your waist, while you clutch his sweatshirt to keep him close. He’s the one to moan as your tongue strokes against his once you’ve decided to deepen the kiss. The pace hasn’t quickened, but the sound he just made sends a thrill of tenderness and lust to mix in your belly. BJ Rose is an endless paradox to you. 

BJ ends the kiss with a small press to the side of your mouth and sighs. 

“As much as I wanna keep doing that, Trey’s waiting for me. I told him I’d just be giving you your stuff back.” 

You nod mutely, but send him a small smile. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

You let go of him, while BJ’s arms take a second or two longer to do the same to you. You silently lead him to the entrance door and open it for him. 

“So, I’ll… call you later?” BJ wonders, hands in his pockets and rolling to the balls of his feet and back. 

You nod and bite your lip on a happy smile. 

“Thanks,” you call once he has stepped off your porch. He turns back towards you. “For my… clothes.” 

BJ grins and walks backwards. “One batch. Two batch. Penny and dime.” 

You laugh brightly and watch him go back home. 

@lucy-sky, @slavic-empress tagging you girls since I know you love him too 🧡

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Gentile. | Chapter 27

Quintus’ mood swings render him ever unpredictable. Gaius displays curiosity regarding your marriage. You set sail for Rome.

Chapter list

You manage to slip under the covers soundlessly and do thus not rouse Quintus. Sleep does not come easy, though, with a raging mind that settles on anything but rest, and your eyes feel heavy in the morning, whilst Quintus loudly makes his hangover known. You draw the sheets over your body to block out the cold whilst you watch your husband dress for the day, groaning about how his head feels like it’s being split open.

“What was in that wine?” he grunts, rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes shut, and you roll onto your side to support your stomach a little better. 

“I told them to get the best they could find,” you say, “Apparently, it was heavier than expected.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” Quintus responds, adjusting his armour. He drapes an extra layer over his shoulders before turning to you, dark eyes flitting over your form.

“Don’t forget to pack your things. We’ll leave tomorrow before daybreak.”

You let out a noise. “For how long should I pack?”

“A week.”

He leans down and the brush of his mouth against yours is nothing compared to the way Atticus thoroughly loves you. Thinking back on last night, you try to not let your disgust regarding Quintus’ kiss get the better of you.

When he leaves, you lay for a while longer, caressing the itching skin of your stomach, attempting to muster the courage to pack your belongings. Had Quintus not revealed the true intentions of his trip to Rome yesterday, you would have been delighted to go. Now, you feared either you or Lucius slipping up, and you just hoped to get a word in before Quintus could speak to your brother. After all, you hope to convince him into fleeing or at least be mindful of what might come.

It feels wrong to ask such a thing of him for your own sake. 

But how will you live in eternal regret if you let Atticus go and remain in the life you have now?

You eventually manage to drag yourself out of bed and wash yourself before slipping into something comfortable. The skin around your lips is dry by the chafe of Atticus’ stubble, a pleasant memory dancing inside your mind as you start packing your belongings with mixed feelings surging through you. In light of his work, Atticus is around for a while, so the fact that you are the one to leave Capernaum by tomorrow pains you greatly. After all, you aren’t sure when you’ll run into him again.

After choosing a few garments as well as some accessories that go with them, you take it easy for the day. With grape juice and apricots at hand, you take a seat underneath the tree overlooking the Sea of Galilee. The copy of the verses taken from Song of Songs rests in your lap and you read them intently, wondering who wrote them and allowing your mind to go to the Preacher that has caused so much upheaval lately.

The image of his eyes floods your vision. The moment had been brief but long enough to know that Jesus was no ordinary Man, at least compared to all the other Jewish preachers you had seen in the streets. Jesus didn’t seem to boast loudly about His achievements, He didn’t pray loudly on the corner of the street, nor did He require any donations.

It was interesting to you. All your life, you had never really questioned the polytheism within Roman culture. When you were younger, you used to pray daily to whatever deity you needed assistance from. For every moment of the day, there was a different god you sought out. 

They had been silent despite your loyalty.

You had begged the gods to prevent your marriage, and they didn’t. You had pleaded that Quintus would start to really love you, and nothing came of it. In your desperation, you had even asked if you could fall for your husband in the hopes that being with him would be less taxing throughout life, but your aversion only grew.

Overtime, your faith dwindled, and it brings you here, feeling not an ounce of guilt for taking keen interest in Jewish Scriptures.

But what about this God is different from the ones within Roman culture? The few poems you’ve got on you are hardly enough to figure this out and visiting a synagogue was out of the question. No matter if and how you’d get that information, what you knew is that you simply had to know more. Jesus’ warm eyes had been too inviting to suppress that intrigue now.

You nearly spit your juice back into your cup as a sudden jolt goes through your belly. With widened eyes, you swallow quickly and look down at your stomach, the parchment stirring at the arch of your body as you move in discomfort.

Putting down the cup, you move aside the scroll and wonder what is going on, until that same feeling goes through you again. 

Your bladder suddenly feels tight and sudden pain surges through it before it shifts higher to your navel and– the baby, you suddenly realise, and you gasp as you lay your hand on your stomach – it takes a second to comprehend that you have just felt your child move for the first time.

Sitting as still as you can, you cradle your tummy and wait for another good minute to notice any movement, but the baby seems to have gone back to sleep. Joy shunts through you, causing the greatest of grins to spread over your face. It falls just as fast when you are briefly overcome with the urge to call Atticus’ name, for you know that he is not close to hear and seeking him out in the light of day to share the news would mean a death sentence if witnessed by the wrong people at the wrong time. 

Tears shiver inside your vision and you swallow the lump in your throat. 

With a defeated sigh, you rub your thumb over your stomach, drawing small circles as you celebrate the moment in silence, utterly alone.

_ 

Quintus returns home late, fuming. The vein on the side of his head throbs and his knuckles are white as he squeezes the cup of wine between his fingers. Even though the first words he had said when he had woken up had been that he’d never drink a single drop of alcohol again, something that had happened at work has put him in a foul mood.

“Just my luck,” Quintus grunts, nursing his drink as you enter the room. “Right when things are finally, finally starting to get sorted out, this happens. It must be a curse from the gods. Have you been praying lately?”

“Of course,” you lie, “What is going on, Quin? Has something happened–”

“Matthew quit.” Quintus hisses through gritted teeth, “He has the best job out of all the Jews in all of Capernaum. Has a mansion, more than enough money to eat like a king every night, and then Gaius comes to me telling me that he dropped everything to follow… Follow that Jewish Rabbi!”

“Jesus?”

Quintus gives you a sharp look. “Yes! Stop mentioning His name, I really don’t like that Man.” 

“Why did Matthew… Did he really just… Leave?”

“What a fool, right?” your husband huffs, seething behind his cup as he throws it back in one gulp. “Gaius is already going through the applications for a new publicanus. I trusted Matthew’s wit more than any of the lot combined. Now, we’re back at zero regarding the tax collection here. He’ll be difficult to replace.”

Chewing on his nail, Quintus puts down his cup before inhaling through his nose. “Have you packed your things, dear?”

“I have.” you respond, “Everything is in the chest in the bedroom–”

“Good, call over a servant to have it hauled into the cart. I’ll be packing my final necessities and then we’ll leave for Rome.”

Your heart drops. “Now?” Part of you had been daydreaming about Atticus climbing through your window and kissing you senseless in the midst of night. Now even the possibility thereof fades as Quintus gives a nod and heads over to the wardrobe to pull out robes and tunics to bring. 

“What about your work? You cannot leave now, whilst the town is on the verge of disarray!”

“Aren’t you just grateful , darling, that I’m bringing you with me to Rome? Where’s that whining little brat that begged to go and see her darling brother?”

Your hands clench into fists at the words. 

Quintus’ eyes meet yours. “Do what I say and get yourself ready to leave.”

“But Quintus, I’m five months pregnant, I cannot just—”

He lunges forward and stands so close that his nose brushes yours, his eyes filled with fury. “Don’t get on my nerves!” he spits, drops of saliva landing on your face, but you resist the urge to flinch. “We need to go there and be back as soon as possible! I don’t expect you to understand but I’ve got better things to do then go on a fun little family outing.”

“Then why are we going in the first place?”

He grits his teeth and blinks. “Because you keep pleading to go,” he says. “And I hope it will finally stop your annoying whimpering about it.”

Your eyes widen. He doesn’t remember telling you about his ulterior motives last night. Quintus turns away to continue packing. 

Before you can decide whether you’d do best to keep it hidden that you know about it, the words already leave your lips. “You’re going to interrogate my brother about the letter I sent him.”

He halts in his movements and slowly turns to you, something unreadable on his features. In moments like these, he scares you the most. You would have avoided his gaze if it weren’t for the wave of confidence suddenly washing over you, though it fades just as fast as soon as his eyes lock with yours. 

“Honestly, (Y/n), I don’t think I can trust you anymore. That letter was very concerning to me and apparently, you don’t want to tell me about it, so I need to investigate myself.”

“You’ll find nothing,” you whisper, “And then you’ll pout, as you always do when you don’t get your way, because then you realise that our trip would have been for nothing and you’ll make me feel guilty for not convincing you enough.”

A warning finger hovers in the air as it points at you. 

“I’m already in a foul mood, (Y/n), and you’re incredibly close to making it a hundred times worse. Shut your mouth, know your place and do as I say!”

You shrink, as you often do when your heart breaks inside your chest, for Quintus is a stark contrast of a man who you love so deeply, who you perhaps could have been with in another life. Stepping back, you cast down your gaze and exit the room to find a servant to assist you. 

Telling two men to head up the stairs, you head further into the estate as they go to do so. In the kitchen, you find Gaius, bent over a pile of applications to take Matthew’s place. You reckon Quintus must have invited him in after work so that the Praetor can keep an eye on the process even in his off-duty hours. 

“Hello, Primi.” you greet him. He looks up and gives you a tight-lipped smile and nods in response. Taking a look over his shoulder, you see a Jewish name on the scroll.

“Ma’am,” Gaius finally verbalises, “Would you believe it? Matthew was being shunned for his position yet a dozen others are more than happy to take his place when it comes to it.”

You hum. “Men are fools in the face of money no matter where they come from, Gaius.”

Gaius mutters an affirmative reply and scribbles something down. 

“How did it happen?” you wonder, “His departure, I mean.”

The Primi lifts his pen and rests it in the inkwell. “Matthew?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, that Preacher walked by. Thought nothing of it at first, until He halted and turned around, calling for Matthew to follow Him. The kid gave me the key to his house, his ledger, everything. Even got his dog.”

Your brow furrows. “Oh. Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Gaius affirms. 

You chew your bottom lip and let out a small noise. “How peculiar.”

“It is going to be difficult to find a replacement that somehow matches his competence.”

Nodding in agreement, you sigh. “He is indeed very bright. But I hope he’ll be happy wherever he goes.” At that, Gaius frowns, then opens his mouth to speak yet immediately closes it again, deciding against whatever he was going to comment. Instead, he turns to you fully, the volume of his voice decreasing. 

“Forgive me if I am talking out of turn here, ma’am, but… That sounded like quite the disagreement upstairs.”

Your face pales and you swallow hard, finding something akin to pity in his eyes. “Beg your pardon?” you mutter. Gaius shakes his head, stuttering for a moment as he attempts to find the right words, holding up his hands in defence. 

“A-As I said I mean no disrespect, I just…”

“You just what, Gaius?” The nasal drawl of Quintus tears through the room and you inhale sharply at the sudden sound. “Go on, finish that sentence. Don’t you have your own wife back home to worry about, huh?” Hurt flashes behind the Primi’s eyes but your husband does not pick up on it - you do - and an apologetic sound leaves Gaius’ throat. 

“I-I’m deeply sorry for even mentioning it, Dominus.”

“It’s none of your business, Gaius.” Quintus snaps. “I don’t think I brought you in here to talk to my wife about my marriage. Take your things and leave us alone. When we return from Rome I expect you to have found a decent replacement for Matthew, or else you and I are going to have a chat of which you will certainly not enjoy the outcome.”

Gulping, Gaius bows his head in shame and whispers: “Yes, Dominus,” before taking up the scrolls and scurrying out of the house. 

“Can you believe his nerve?” Quintus scoffs, “And that from one of the best men around Capernaum. I mean, his performance is far from perfect, but I had expected way better from him.”

You step forward and put your hand on Quintus’ arm in the hopes it will calm him down. He sharply pivots but softens as soon as he realises that it is you and you force a smile on your features, giving him a reassuring look. “Perhaps that Gaius is having a hard day, too. After all, he needs to quickly find someone of an unmatched calibre to take over the booth. It must be stressful for him.”

A scowl spreads over his face. “Are you pitying him, (Y/n)? Come on, now. Don’t be stupid. Anyways, I’ve finished packing as well. We’ll leave after dinner. That way, we’ll be in Rome within two days, stay for three and leave again. Be back before the start of next week, hm?”

You keep your head down for the rest of the evening, eating in silence and listening to him ramble on about whatever keeps him busy. The slander about Jews as well as about the Preacher with the kind eyes slips off of you like water off a duck’s back, for you’ve already had your fill of your husband’s whining. Every so often, your gaze would go to the door, hoping that Atticus has found an excuse to come by regardless.

He does not, much to your dismay.

Quintus helps you inside the carriage before climbing in himself. It’s another kind of wagon compared to the one you previously travelled with, one with curtains on each side that you can pull shut around the roofed carriage, and memories flood back on your previous trip outside Capernaum. This one, however, was of way less delight and showed no trace of your wonderful lover whom you yearned to catch but a glimpse of. 

You travel through the dark with a decent amount of security around you. With the baby moving inside of you every so often, you feel exhaustion creep up. Once your eyelids are heavy, Quintus pats his shoulder so that you can rest against him. It is the first truly genuine domestic thing he has done for you in a long time and you accept his offer, for there is no other way to sleep.

The ride to the harbour is long, with drivers taking turns so that they can rest next to one another every so often, and at the crack of dawn, you watch how your belongings are loaded into the ship that carries goods for trade on the other side of the water. Quintus has arranged a decent hut for the two of you as you travel overseas, and you first snooze there for a while before starting to explore the upper deck, a scroll of parchment under your arm. 

The vessel has already departed when you finally sit down with your back against a barrel overlooking the vast expanse of the Mare Magnum . With the wind positively in its sails, the ship tears across the water easily. Under its salty scent and the pad of sandals around you, you gaze out over the waves with narrowed eyes, an almost genuine smile tugging at your lip upon the sensation of warm sunlight stinging your face. If Atticus had been here, would he be sitting next to you, holding your hand as he’d tell you countless stories about his adventures at sea as a Cohortes Urbanae? You aren’t even sure if his work entails him partaking in such environments, but you like to think that he can tell you something interesting about everything .

Quintus appears in your field of vision and blocks the sunlight from you so that you are now cast within a shadow of his form, and you look up at him with an expression that shows indignance. “Darling,” he greets, way softer than the way he had regarded you earlier today, and he holds out his hand. “Walk with me.” It is not a request but rather an order, so you allow him to help you up, an involuntary grunt leaving you at the discomfort of your belly. 

The Praetor holds out his arm and casts an expectant glance your way, and you don’t have any choice but to cradle your fingers around the inside of his elbow. The pair of you head over to the bow of the ship in silence, patrolling and working guards stepping out of your way with cautious frowns on their brow, before halting at the railing to look out over the water. There is sea for as far as the eye reaches and you wonder how long it will take to reach the other side, even though you’ve gone on this same route months ago, albeit to Capernaum that time, and you realise that a whole year of living there is steadily closing in on you. 

You rest your hands on the wood and sigh, inhaling the fresh air that makes your mind feel at ease, as if the wind rips away the intrusive thoughts of what would happen if you were to push Quintus over the edge of the ship into the unforgiving waves below, or if you’d be strong enough to do so. It drifts away to Atticus instead so that you can block out your husband standing so close to you, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“You look very beautiful like that.” Quintus says. He’s worlds apart from where he was yesterday evening and it takes you aback every time just how fickle he is. “I… I apologise for yelling at you yesterday.” Warily, you look at him, awaiting the catch regarding his pardon. “I trust that there is no reason to address this to your siblings nor your father, hm?” There it is. He is attempting to convince you not to mention his abusive behaviour to your family. 

Although, you are certain that if your father knew, he wouldn’t even care to begin with. Even worse, you’re convinced he’d take Quintus’ side. In hindsight, he treated your mother in the exact same way, albeit with less bruises on her limbs and brow.

“Okay,” you reply after a long silence, not exactly promising him to keep your mouth shut yet enough for him to smile and put a hand on the small of your back. 

“I do not tell you often enough that I love you. You know that, right? That I love you. Sometimes you might think that I do not, but I say these things for your own good. You’re a woman. You don’t know how the world works.”

You force back the nausea that builds up inside your throat. Whereas you’re surprised that you’re not struggling with how much the ship is teetering across the sea, your husband’s words seem to evoke that same bodily aversion altogether. Thickly swallowing, you force a smile on your face. 

“I felt the baby move yesterday.” It is a successful attempt to divert his attention from the fact that you haven’t replied to his statement and his eyes widen. A rare, genuine smile spreads across his features and you are filled with immense grief at the notion that you’d much rather share this news with Atticus instead, and you wonder how his face would have lit up upon said news.

“Truly?” Quintus mutters with an ajar mouth, “That means my son is healthy. Praise Juno!” He laughs and a few soldiers cast curious glances your way at the sound. His hand settles on your tummy before you can shy away from it and you gulp at how tightly he grips you – how possessive he still is – and his other hand cradles your jaw. “Everything will be alright.” he tells you, “We are going to raise such a strong soldier together. He’ll be a Governor one day. I’ll be remembered as the father of a great asset to the Roman Empire.” 

It is always about himself. 

“Come, come darling.” Quintus says when you don’t reply, and he ushers you in front of him so that you can look out over the water. He wraps his arms around you from behind and his kiss that lands against the side of your neck makes you want to hunch over the railing to throw up, but you force it down. 

As he embraces you, your heart breaks inside your chest as Rome draws ever closer. 

Luckily, he doesn’t see the tears that leak across your cheeks, disturbed by the wind.

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[eclecticethan]

Hi! I'm considering becoming a devotee of Apollo but I'm not sure where to start. Over the past couple of weeks, we have grown closer together more than ever before and I feel so much closer to my spirituality and I want a lifelong bond with him. The only issue is, I'm worried that I won't have enough time for it. I'm not sure if I need to have a daily practice or anything like that. I think about Apollo every day and try to incorporate him into my life all the time and even dedicate nice things I find to him, but I don't want to be unfair or disrespectful by not being a good enough devotee. I just love him so much and I don't want to let him down. I'm also not even sure how to become a devotee or if there is a certain ritual I have to do or if I'm supposed to make up my own ritual for it. What do you think?

Thanks and have a great 2023!

Eli :)

Let me start off by saying I, a priest of Apollo, did not do any rituals, even to Apollo, from November to January due to depression. Did that mean I was a poor priest? Did Apollo hate me or was he disappointed in me during those months? Nope! He understands entirely that I'm mentally ill or even just busy and don't always have time to light incense/candles, give offerings, and read hymns all the time. The gods are very understanding of the fact that we're humans. We don't always have an hour every day for full rituals.

With that out of the way, there are lots of ways to incorporate deities into your daily life besides full rituals. You could dedicate listening to music or doing an art activity to him. Dedicate drinking coffee or tea or water to him, even for five minutes. Even dedicating morning divination to him would work!

An easy daily "ritual" you could do is simply saying "Good morning/night, Apollo"! I found that just greeting the gods, even without hymns and offerings, was a very effective way to stay in communication with them on a daily basis, and it's easy enough to remember.

You could also purchase some jewelry and dedicate it to him and keep it on yourself throughout the day. (I have a sun necklace I try wearing regularly.)

As for a dedication ritual, there are probably a bunch available online. You probably know Greek specific ritual outlines (cleansing, procession, incense, offerings, hymns), you could recite the Orphic or Homeric Hymns or write your own (Apollo is the god of literature and poetry so writing your own would be 💯 in his opinion.)

For a dedication ritual, I'd recommend giving a bigger offering than you'd give regularly (so say you give water on a daily basis, I'd recommend going to water plus a food). Remember to cleanse away any miasma you've picked up beforehand, and dress nicely.

I hope this helps! If not, you're welcome to DM me with more specific questions.

Happy 2023 to you as well!

[shoyoist]

thinking about the blue lock boys buying you a necklace with their jersey number engraved on it :( and writing your initials on their clear but specifically their dominant foot cause they just feel closer to you that way :( like you’re helping guide him to the goal :(

content: gn reader. fluff !! — competitive and possessive dynamics. pro football player! characters (they all made it out of blue lock alive alright). + i added a little bonus section at the end, hehe<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ the whole world watches, while he shows you off as his own <3

BACHIRA, REO, YUKIMIYA, AIKU, KAISER.

a necklace with his jersey number dangling on it, like a charm. he gets it custom made for you, in sterling silver or 24-carat gold, depending on your tastes. but he doesn't let you know that he has it, waits for the perfect moment in which he can surprise you with it.

which happens to be right before his team lines up for a final match, on live TV at the big arena, with all lights, cameras and eyes pointing right at you both.

he's getting in line with the rest of his teammates — the commentators and cameras paying full attention to him, the star and powerhouse of the team, going “there he is. the deity of the field!” as he walks onto the field, smile already on his face when he looks up, for the world to swoon over.

he's handsome. you think, standing at the very front row, dressed in the pretty clothes that he'd got for you just last night, matching the colours of his team. he looks the best when he's on the field, fully confident in the fact that he's going to be going home with a new medal around his neck.

what you don't know is that you're about to get something around your neck too, before he wins his game.

“excuse me,” he says smoothly, to the coach and the few staff members that surround him, glancing knowingly at the cameras recording him (and looking into the eyes of all the fans that are watching him on live TV) before he saunters off, heading to the edge of the field where you're standing behind a display board.

it's clear that he's staring at you as he walks over — gaze softening as he meets your eyes, watching how your own eyes widen with surprise and a hint of shyness, as the surrounding audience erupts into whispers.

“sweetheart,” he grins at you, stopping on the other side of the perimeter board — and you blush when the audience gasps, blush when he gives them all another glance, before smirking down at you. “got something for you.”

he holds his hand out and shows you what he has hidden in his fist — a necklace with his jersey number on it, spelled out on a charm.

the crowd continues to get louder, and you can make out some people's cries; are they dating? god he was taken this whole time? and the commentators join in, declaring into the speakers that your boyfriend seems to be taking a minute to give a gift to a little someone special—

and you blush harder as you stand there, almost frozen as he gently puts the necklace around your neck, the metal chain and charm cold but somehow blooming warmth on your skin as it touches you.

“with that outfit, you're matching the whole team, hm?” he smiles at you, so overwhelmingly charming. “so you keep this necklace on for me. let's everyone know you're here for me. yeah?”

“y—yeah.” you try to look down, so fucking shy under his bright gaze and gorgeous smile, but he grabs your chin and lifts your face back up to give your lips a little kiss.

the whole stadium erupts into cheers and screams. he kissed you on live TV. your face feels hot, you think you're dizzy — but you manage to hear him faintly over the buzz in your head and the screaming of the crowd as he pats your cheek before jogging off back to join his team in line. “cheer for me, won't you? i'll win this game 'n take you out for dinner after.”

SHIDOU, KUNIGAMI, ISAGI, RAICHI, BAROU.

has your initials written on the side of his cleats, on his dominant foot. even better actually — he got you to write it for him. he wants it done with your pretty hands and in your pretty handwriting, that's so much better than his own.

thanks you and gives you a kiss on the side of your forehead, when you finish it and hand the shoe to him. you're both knelt together on the floor of your shared place, and the look in his eyes when he kisses you is so tender. “i'll score every goal with you in mind, a'right?”

and every time he's on the field, fire in his veins and the never ending lust and hunger for a full victory in his soul, he gives you a glance as you jump up and down in your special spot in the stands, cheering for him with all you've got — and that's when he zeroes in on the ball.

the look in his eyes is anything but tender then — hyper-focused, bright and vicious is how he watches the ball as it slips from the opposing player's dribble, and it's impossible for anyone, whether from the other team or his own, to make it to the ball before he does.

he lunges forward once he gains control of the ball, a sort of heat already spreading through his dominant leg as he advances towards the goal to shoot — and with your initials on his cleats and your pretty smile on his mind, he thinks he can break the limit.

he's never scored a goal from this distance before. with the game about to close, it's crucial that he doesn't take any risks and ensures that his shot scores a proper goal.

otherwise, his team might lose. failure was not an option.

but with your presence — both physical and emotional — fueling him, he takes the chance. he takes the chance, puts all the force he has in that sculpted, trained body of his, and he shoots.

he shoots and he scores.

the commentators and crowd go wild alike, screaming in joy over the secured win, because with five minutes left on the clock there's no way the other team can catch up any more — and your boyfriend ignores the cheers of his teammates, turning in place to face you.

“he scored! god, he's undefeatable!” the commentator's voice echoes through the stadium, and he thinks yeah, that's right. he cannot be defeated — not when you're there to guide him to the goal every single time.

he turns to you, and you wave your arms in the air, calling out his name and yelling out an i love you! — and with the TV overhead showing the scorer off we he stands on the field, you can't miss the way the corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

i love you, too. he mouths back to you, with every other person watching the game in the world to see it.

NAGI, CHIGIRI, RIN, OTOYA, SAE.

he kisses you after every game that he wins. and he makes sure he scores the final goal.

it's an elaborate contest that he has with himself, and the rest of the world has joined in on it. you sit and wait in your reserved seat in the stands, the smoothie he had ordered for you sitting empty in your hands as you watch your boyfriend weave past defender after defender — the audience and every other player all focusing more and more on him as time ticks by.

the match is currently at a draw — and the other team is fighting with everything they've got to guard him, trying to prevent him from breaking through and scoring that final goal.

but your boyfriend isn't so easily countered.

even when he's playing laid-back, he's a demon on the playing field. he's fast, agile and he doesn't take any chances. and now? with only a few minutes left before the penalty round, he's set to score the winning goal.

“will he break through? will he be able to make it this time?”

he almost spins around to scoff at the camera. of course he's going to make it. he always does. the other team nearly swarms him as he closes in on his shooting range, but what they aren't aware of is that he doesn't need to be in range to make his shot count.

his play style is all about breaking limits. which is what he does, when he shoots from nearly the other side of the arena and watched the ball curve smoothly yet maintaining an impossible speed, past the goalie's reach and into the net. the timer buzzes only seconds afterwards. “and he scores the final goal yet again!”

the crowd cheers, and while the commentators remark to eachother that they all know what's about to happen next, your boyfriend walks over to where you're still seated expectantly, hopping easily over the perimeter boards to get to you.

you get up then, and he curls a hand around your waist and pulls you in, pressing a kiss into your hair as the audience coos in response to the show all around you. (he'd kiss your lips, but he's sweaty right now and he's not sure you'd appreciate a mouthful of salt).

and he sighs, unresponsive when you chide him for being arrogant, and mutters into the shell of your ear, “mhm. let's go home, baby. 'm tired.”

[ariluvsusm]

Could you do a azriel x reader were reader was in love with some one That azriel had killed as the Shadowmaster then a few decades go by then azriel see reader at a ball in day Court and the mating bond clicks for him

I do not care how it ends as long as it's a good ending

yes!! thank you so much for the ask :)

warnings: angst?!?!, reader is spiteful ASFFFF, a few sexual implications, reader is female/fem presenting, reader is giving aelin galathynius vibes,

description: you’re an assassin and your partner is killed by azriel. 20 years later, you’re at a ball, and azriel realizes that you are mates.

a/n: PLEAAAASSSEEE PLEASE give me requests!!! i would love to write literally anything your heart desires 😭 i write for other acotar and tog characters, also!! go check my first post for the list of who i write for, there’s shows too :) (girl and boy!!). anyway, this one is shorter but i really enjoyed writing it. please give me feedback and advice- i’d appreciate it!

wordcount- 2.3k :)

———————————————————————

“i am going to kill you,” you snarl at the spymaster, drawing your daggers from their thigh holsters under your dress.

“i’m going to kill you. i’m going to burn you alive; i’m going to take the air from your lungs and turn your heart to ice; i’m going to burn his name into your skin and brand your bones,” you growl savagely, slowly making your way towards him. magic flickers at your fingertips.

the male in front of you was drained from his duel with your boyfriend. even if he wasn’t, you would still take him on. you circle eachother, blades drawn, staring eachother down. your boyfriends body lay on the other side of the dark hewn city alley, a lake of blood around him.

“stop,” the spymaster’s shadows hiss at him, “don’t hurt her. you’ll regret it.”

“i have no issue with you,” the man snarls back, “stop now, or i will have to fight you.”

“oh, but i have an issue with you,” you laugh cruelly, “you killed my boyfriend.”

“i am a spymaster,” he growls, “i must obey my high lord. do you know what activities your boyfriend was partaking in? the crimes he committed?”

you try not to think about what he might have been hiding. you don’t let your shock show on your face, but the shadowsinger can tell that you didn’t know anyway.

“of course i knew. i’m an assassin,” you snap.

“oh yes, i know you. the dragon of the dunes.” he drawls, stating your old nickname. he backs up, cornering himself. you laugh cruelly once more, your magic begging to be released.

“good,” his shadows whisper. “leave.”

and then he disappears. he disappears into the shadows.

fuck. fuck. he’s a shadowsinger. how could i forget? he can travel through shadows. gods, i should’ve attacked while i had the chance.

but he wasn’t gone; he was still watching you, hiding in the shadows. you yell in frustration, throwing your dagger to the ground. you turn around, and your sight falls upon your lifeless boyfriend. making your way to the other side of the room, you wipe your bloody hands on your skirt and then fall to your knees at his side

the mysterious shadowsinger watches while you attempt to revive him. for 20 minutes, you perform various attempts to save his life. and then, he watches as you fall apart, weeping, your entire body shaking. as you kneel over him, sobs wracking your bod. begging, praying, for some deity to resurrect him. before he can feel any guiltier, he leaves.

he doesn’t sleep that night. for some reason, the images of you weeping haunt his very soul and being. a sorrow that doesn’t fade.

——————————————— 20 YEARS LATER

you slip on your silky, white gown and gawk at yourself in the mirror. it’s a long, white, almost bridal dress. although, weddings are a human tradition, so white gowns have no significance to fae. the dress is sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline that shows off your chest. it’s almost iridescent; so shiny and silky. it compliments the body glitters and oils you applied. you do your hair, before putting on a beautiful headpiece. you rim your eyes with kohl, apply a sultry mauve lipstick, slip on your heels, and drape yourself in silver jewelry. finally, you are ready to attend the ball.

you’ve been invited to a winter solstice ball at the moonstone palace, a very formal but fun event. you can’t wait to eat and dance with your friends, to let go for one night. you slip out of your apartment and into the city, walking to the palace.

when you get there, festivities are already starting. you dance with your friends, eat night court delicacies and drink faerie wine. you’re heading to get another drink, and that’s when he spots you.

the spymaster. he’s watching the crowd- looking for enemies of the night court who might try to cause trouble. when he sees you walking towards the drinks, he recognizes you almost immediately, despite the 2 decades of time between your first and last meeting.

but it’s when you see him- make eye contact with him- that it clicks. and he knows that he is fucked.

because when you recognize the inky hair and golden skin, the shadows and tattoos, and you begin to storm towards him with simmering rage and hatred in your eyes, and he doesn’t feel anything towards you except… except a primal kind of… protectiveness.

his senses are going wild- he can smell you. your scent. the scent that he smelled for 5 minutes- 5 minutes- 20 years ago.

you look absolutely livid. but all he can see is beauty. and you draw closer, the same stride in your step, the same look on your face as that fateful night all those years ago. but it’s as if he’s in a trance- just gazing at you. and it makes it all the more enraging, his reaction. or his lack of one, more like.

“spymaster,” you spit. and then you are shoving past him, making sure to hit his shoulder as you storm past him. he doesn’t know what to do. if he tells you he’s your mate, you may not believe him. you may hate him more. it may ruin you. but evsr primal instinct in his body urges him to follow you.

he’s thought of you and the male he killed a surprising amount. his dead haunt his dreams- every one he’s killed. but for some reason, the memory of you weeping and begging over the male’s lifeless body is a recurring one. but- he’s killed so many before. it never made sense why your face appeared in his dreams so often; until now. your promise to him- to kill him- echos in his head. even now.

you stomp out of the giant french doors and into the large garden of the palace, lit by moonlight and surrounded by nature. you sit on a brick ledge, staring at your lap, tears threatening to spill out. it’s been so long since you thought about your promise. for the first two years after his death, you searched for the spymaster. you armed yourself to the teeth, asking anyone who would listen, anyone who would help. you managed to find him a few times, but you never got close enough. after that you decided that you would climb the ranks of the court, and then you would kill him. so that’s what you did. and you got pretty close, but never close enough. the high lord didn’t need an assassin- so you were always stuck a level below, stuck in hewn city, not wherever the high lord and the spymaster spent all of their time. but as the years passed you by, you realized that he would’ve wanted you to be happy- to move on and do what you really wanted to do. so you did that too. you put vengeance on the back burner, and you wrote. you wrote poems of love and loss, grief and the great. you wrote stories of him and you wrote songs of life. and then you returned to become an assassin, and decided that when the opportunity presented itself, you would keep your promise. and kill the spymaster.

however, eternity is a long time to hold a grudge, and over the years your rage flaked off bit by bit. but when you saw him tonight, it awoke. and so you were grateful for the daggers under your dress and in your bodice, for the sharp pins in your hair. you just had to collect yourself enough to kill him now.

when you heard steps behind you, you jumped up. quickly drawing your daggers from your thigh holsters, as you had all those years ago, and turning around.

“old habits die hard, huh?” the shadowsinger chuckled.

“what are you doing here?” you spit.

“this happens to be my court too.” he says.

and then… you just stand there for a few minutes. staring at eachother.

“well?” he says.

“well?” you snap.

“say something.”

you draw closer to him, twirling your daggers. memories of your past lover echo in your mind- including the one of him writhing in pain, falling to the ground, mouth open in a horrible silent scream.

“i’m going to make you regret ever nearing me or my loved one. i’m going to make you die a horrible death. just like him.”

but it was the sight of him- his eyes- that made you stop dead in your tracks. he looked like he was in pain. genuine regret and sorrow danced in his eyes.

“it was quick.” he says quietly. “it was quick- as all of the deaths are of the ones who don’t cause direct harm to the court are. your beloved was killed because he was a threat to the court. but he never directly did anything to hurt me- or hurt the high lord. and he never hurt any young ones, any children. no matter how many he killed.”

faces flash in his eyes. the ones that haunt him. the ones that he’s killed. the ones that he’s hurt. he can feel your pain. down to the depths of his bones. his instincts tell him how hurt you are- how much he’s made you hurt.

“oh.” you just say. “oh.”

“i-“ he takes in a breath, shuddering. “i’m sorry. i really am. i know how dear he was to you.”

“why do you do it? why do you kill if you hate it so?”

“that isn’t my whole job,” he says, looking down at his feet. “i’m a spy. i help people, too. i save people. but this part of my job- the duty i must fulfill- i do because i am most loyal to my high lord. he is my brother. he knows how demanding it is- but i am the only one he trusts for the job. the people i must kill- they are the ones who it is absolutely necessary to. he wouldn’t ask me to unless they were.” he says, still looking down.

and it is when he looks up, when your rage has calmed and simmered down to a spark, when you can see something other than red- that you feels it. a feeling so ancient, so old. older than time itself. but so wonderful, so fulfilling and brilliant, that warmth spreads throughout your body. he is your mate. your daggers clatter to the ground.

your eyes meet his hazel ones, and you can tell he knows too. he opens his mind to you and you drink it in. see his memories, his experiences, his side of the story. his scars. his everything.

it’s all you can do not to fling yourself at him- embrace him. you understand. you understand why he had to do it- you see his childhood, you see his parents, his family, his scars. you see his abuse. you feel his pain, his agony. his childhood. you see his really family- the high lord, the inner circle. you see his job- the good parts and the bad parts. and you see his regret. his guilt. you see him, for years, waking up from terrors greater than you have ever felt.

you step forward. the feeling inside of you- this light- it consumes you, consumes both of you. this joy, this life.

you take another step forward and grasp his hands, tears finally escaping your eyes. his shadows cloak where you connect- swathing your arms in night.

“what about-“ he whispers to you, tears running down his own face.

“he would’ve wanted this for me. for me to be happy.” you whisper back. and you know it’s the truth.

for these last 20 years, through the spite and hurt and need for revenge, you knew deep down that he would’ve wanted you to move on and be happy. but you couldn’t let go- not until you got him justice.

but you let yourself feel it now. you let yourself let go. and those feelings escape; you open your mind to him too. let him in, let him see the good and the bad. let him see your past lover, who he was and what he meant to you. your childhood and your life. everything.

he drops your hands and cups your face with his hands, so you cup his in yours.

“i am so, so sorry. for everything that’s happened to you. for what’s happened to me. but i’m so grateful- that i found you again. that you understand. all of it- i have someone to share it with.” he murmurs

“me too.” you whisper.

you stand like that for another few minutes- all sappy, crying, cupping each others faces.

“i’m so glad i didn’t kill you.” you say through laughter.

“me too.” he laughs back.

and as he looks into your beautiful, moonlight filled eyes, he sees no trace of the hatred, the pure loathing that once drowned them. he sees understanding and love.

[helliontherapscallion]

pspspsp can I just request an immortal reader who's life is just dull/sad as hell since they've seen their loved ones leave or die in front of them so many times

but when they meet SBI or anyone, their life just suddenly brightens up? (Platonic and it can be any type of fic!)

(A/N): I got waaaayy too carried away with this. Star god reader my beloved (also, I’d imagine that your cloak looks like this guy’s but on the inside with the outsides being any color of your choice (credit goes to original artist))

If you want more god!reader content with the dream smp, @wooloo-inc has a really good series about a male!nature god!reader (aka, the god of dilf collection)

In the beginning when DreamXD created you (which if you think about it, that makes him your father, but I digress) from stardust and meteorite shards, you were a ball of fun loving sunshine (well, starshine?)

You loved watching over all of humankind, admiring their determination and bonds with other humans (both romantic and platonic)

Your older brother, the god of the moon, told you about how they viewed you and you were amazed

“Oberon?” You ran up to your older brother and tugged on his cloak making him hum in question, not looking up from his parchment scroll. “What- what do the humans think of me?”

He scoffed and glanced at you with his lily white irises, “why are you on about them again? They are lowly creatures compared to us, filled with greed and misfortune.”

“They worship us and that’s how you speak of them?”

“(Y/n) believe me, you have not seen the brutality they are capable of. War, famine, greed, plague, genocide, it’s all something you have not witnessed before. You have only seen the good in those things.” 

“But Oberon, I wanna-” he lightly smacked the side of your head, “use proper English. We are gods and you will behave as such.”

You huffed, “I want to know about how they view us! I do not care about the bad things they have done! Plleeeaaassseeeeeee Beri?” You willed the stars that constantly gleamed in your eyes to shine brighter as you fluttered your eyelashes at him. He may seem like he hated everyone and everything (especially his siblings), but he had a soft spot for his youngest sibling. He just stared at you for a bit before he sighed and shifted in the massive throne so that you could hop up onto his lap. With a wave of a slender pale hand, he conjured up various images of humans with stardust gazing at the stars and the moon with carefree swipes of his hand. 

“They view us as… poetic of sorts. They compare us to romance,” an image of two human males kissing then gazing into the stars laying down on a cliff came into view, “fortune tellers,” an image of the Aquarius and the Capricorn constellations popped up making you squeal in happiness. He chucked and changed the picture to a mother and son standing over a grave looking up in amazement at a shooting star, “and most importantly, as a sign of hope. 

“They see us as complementary, the moon and the stars cannot be as beautiful without the other. We hold the power of the night and everything it touches, (y/n). This is our kingdom, do not forget that,” the image changed to the moon surrounded by stars and swirling blues and purples of nebulas.

You looked at the images with awe, absorbing every word that fell from his mouth. “Beri?” He once again hummed, his deep baritone voice sending vibrations along your back. “Will we be together forever?”

His lanky arms wrapped around your much smaller frame, “for all of eternity. The moon is nothing without the night sky and all of the stars it holds.”

Centuries passed and your fascination with humans only grew from there

When you eventually asked if you could meet a human Oberon reacted angrily and forbade you from speaking of humans again in your shared palace, worried for your safety

When he caught you attempting to sneak out, he locked you in your room for months on end

Humans wondered why the stars hardly appeared in the night sky anymore, forming the theory that they had somehow angered you

They prayed to you more and more, begging and groveling for forgiveness

They left more offerings at shrines

You heard their every word, feeling your heartbreak with sorrow and guilt for your lovely humans

You snuck out of the palace that night determined to make it up to the humans

You quietly snuck past the main room where you and Oberon used to sit on your thrones together and control the night. The large doors were cracked open showing your older brother watching the night with boredom. As you passed, his voice startled you, “I just cannot stop you can I?”

He appeared in the doorframe looking at you emotionlessly, his eyes glinting with hidden pain. “Do you realize how cruel of a place that world is? How cruel humans are?”

“I do not care, brother! They are in anguish because they think I am angry with them! Because you locked me in here!”

“I have told you time and time again, they are ruthless creatures. Humans are constantly clashing with their own kind for the slightest bit of power, they’re greedy creatures! Have you forgotten what happened to Arachnia?”

A shiver went down your spine at the mention of your fellow deity. She wanted to be with humans but they stripped her of her grace and virtuosity, torturing her when the moon would rise. That is the reason spiders attack humans in the night when the moon and stars show themselves and are dormant in the daytime. However, that did not deter you. 

“I have not forgotten what happened to Arachnia, her tale fills me with grief. But not all humans are like that! They are compassionate, loving, and sweet creatures deep down, each and every single one of them!”

“They were not showing compassion or love when they tore Arachnia limb from limb! When they languish in riches while millions die around them! What part of that is compassionate?”

“Sure they do bad things sometimes, but have you forgotten the love they hold for each other? The determination and hope shining from within them when they pray to us? Have you forgotten that?”

“THEIR ACTIONS ARE NOT JUSTIFIED IN ANY WAY!”

“AND OURS ARE? YOU ARE BLIND, OBERON. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THE CRUELTY THE GODS HAVE SUBJECTED HUMANS TO? WHEN OUR FATHER TOOK YEARS AWAY FROM THEIR LIFESPANS SOLELY BECAUSE THEY STOPPED WORSHIPPING HIM AS OFTEN AS THEY USED TO? WHAT PART OF THAT IS JUSTIFIED?” 

He just stared at you with angry irises and his chest heaving before he ran a hand through his long ivory hair and turned around, the flowing white cape flowing wildly behind him with unseen air. He walked back into the observation room and back to his throne. Without a second glance to you, he worked on the transition of power between the sun and moon. You could imagine your sister Aelia grinning brightly as she rose the sun for the day.

“You are to never return here if you step foot out that door. You will still have control of your duties of the night. However you will never return. Do not come back groveling for forgiveness when I have given you constant warnings of their cruelty. If I see your face show up here, I will make sure father smites you down. Now get out of my sight.”

You huffed and whipped around to the front entrance, the stars that constantly twinkled and the nebulas that constantly swirled in the inside of your cloak illuminating the white floors below you as you ran. You left the palace without a second thought, leaving your old life behind in favor of spending it with the humans.

When you came crashing to the Earth in a shooting star, you were amazed by the beauty of it up close and in person

It was everything you expected and then some

You heard the humans cheering and thanking you in their prayers when the stars returned brighter than usual

You being completely enamoured by all of the humans, even if they recognized you or not you loved them all unconditionally

You set up a little cottage in the tundra where you could see the night sky clearly with the occasional aurora borealis 

From the roof, you controlled the stars

The tales of you defecting from the heavens was a popular one, and you became somewhat of a symbol of the hope that humanity should hold for themselves and compassion

Occasionally sending shooting stars over humans you knew were stargazing

You have met many lovers, friends, and even your own adopted kids over the next millenia, all of them accepting your immortality and everlasting duties

But it’s all the same in the end: they come, they leave, and they die

With each death of your loved ones, you could feel your will to keep going dissipate

The stars grew dimmer gradually in the night sky

The humans gradually stopped worshipping you as you disappeared from the night skies

You became a distant memory for elders to tell children 

Disappearing from the face of the Earth for a few centuries when you could not take the constant deaths any longer

Nobody knew where your cabin laid so you were undisturbed for centuries on end, left to your grief

That was until a knock sounded at your door

The knock startled you out of the comfort of your bed. Reluctantly, you left the warmth of the multitude of blankets and donned your cloak to hide your unkempt appearance. When you passed the mirror hanging in the hallway, you could see that your face was shrouded by darkness with the exception of a single glint where your eyes were caused by the lone star that was a constant reminder of your position. Before you fell into a deep depression, the stars would illuminate your entire face if you put your hood up. 

You opened the front door without a care in the world. If the beings on the other side were humans that would take you away and torture you, you didn’t care. You’re long past the point of caring for your own well being.

On the other side was a man of average height and long shaggy blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. He was dressed entirely in green with a green and white striped bucket hat placed on his head. Past you would’ve been cooing at the object, but now you dully looked at the man in front of you. You glanced behind him and your eyes widened at the huge black wings sprouting from his back. You know who he was the second your eye caught the black feathers; he was the Angel of Death.

“Hello, Angel of Death.”

He tried to peer into your shrouded features, only seeing two pinpricks of light where your eyes should be. He gave you a friendly smile, brushing off the snow that gathered on his shoulders. “(Y/n), the God of the Stars and the Night Sky. Giver of compassion to the human race, it’s an honor to meet you.”

“Why are you here? Last time I checked, my last lover died centuries ago.”

“Yes, my condolences. They were lovely when I guided their soul to the afterlife.”

“You still have not answered my question, Angel of Death. Why are you here?” You grit out the last sentence through a clenched jaw. He has no right to talk about them when he assisted in taking them away from you. Him and your cousin, the Goddess of Death Kristin. They took everybody you loved away from you. You knew that their deaths were unavoidable since they were human and you were immortal, but you still couldn’t help but resent them.

“The Goddess of Death sent me. The God of the Moon and the Goddess of the Sun sent her a request to send me to check on you.”

You stared at him for a few moments before you saw him shivering slightly and sighed. You always had a soft spot for humans, even if the being in front of you was not a human in the slightest. He reminded you of an old friend. You stepped aside and gestured lazily inside the house, “come in.”

He started to visit more and more over the next century

He eventually befriended you about half a century into the visits

It was extremely difficult to do because of how guarded you were, but he managed to break you out of your shell

You realizing how kind he was and how much he cared for you

You quickly came to the realization that he was immortal as well after reading up on the Angel of Death

After another fifty years, he became your best friend

You both opened up and comforted each other about everybody you both lost over the years

When he adopted Technoblade and then Wilbur not long after Techno, you were extremely hesitant to get close to them

Even going as far as telling Philza that you thought that it was an extremely bad idea

Mortals always end up leaving in the end anyways, it’s best to avoid the endless cycle of hurt that came with having mortals around

You told him about your own adopted children that have died over the years

You refuse to meet them, cutting off all communication with Philza for a year or two

Eventually meeting his three adopted kids when you reluctantly accept a dinner invitation one day

You attempted to appear cold and uncaring, but your love for humans (especially baby humans) shone through when an infant Tommy started to play with your cape

It seemed that the stars and the moving nebulas within the fabric entranced him

From then on whenever you visited Philza, you always held Tommy until he was too old for you to do so

Becoming very attached to the blond with your strong innate parental instincts

You introduce Techno to mythology, sharing stories of your personal interactions with certain gods and entities throughout the years

You teach Techno how to cope with the voices as you constantly hear multiple prayers to you from humans at the same time

You arrange a meeting for Wilbur with the Goddess of Music when he asks you about her

Arranging for her to start giving him lessons in exchange of a favor that will be cashed at a later date

You help raise all three of them, often taking them off Philza’s hands for a night or two 

Their favorite activity with you is watching you raise the stars and turn the sky dark

They always loved to watch you move the stars and summon shooting stars for them

The stars gradually returned to your eyes and a constant ecstatic smile slowly became synonymous with your face again

Humans started to worship you again when the stars in the sky became brighter

You became your old self again after centuries of feeling lost 

To repay them for everything they’ve done for you, you decided to rearrange the stars for one night 

One night of having a different star pattern couldn’t hurt 

Sure, it’d make a few theories pop up among the humans, but those are fun to overhear sometimes

The young boys and Philza behind you watched in awe as your eyes started to glow brightly and you slowly moved your hands gracefully raising the stars with the moon, your cloak starting to flow with nonexistent winds. They’ve seen you raise the stars thousands of times, but it never ceases to amaze them. It was just so… entrancing. 

You broke into a slight sweat and started to move the stars from their original positions in the sky. Shaking slightly, you pushed back against the strain and slight pain that it brought you. You’ve never done this before, so you really didn’t know what you were expecting. You felt someone put a hand on your shoulder.

“What’re you doin, mate?”

“Uh Dad?”

“Not now Techno. Mate, are you alright?”

“Dad, look up. They’re rearranging the stars,” Wilbur breathed out.

You could hear Philza gasp slightly as he watched star after star move until they locked into place. There in the twinkling night sky was each of their names gleaming brightly in small lettering. When you were done, you fell into a kneel onto the ground and rubbed at your aching head panting lightly. 

You could hear the boys around you panic slightly as you regained your breath. As you heard them approach you you looked up at them and smiled, the stars gleaming brightly in your irises. “Do you like it?”

“Y-yes but gods, (y/n) are you alright?”

“I am fine, but stars, I have never done that before. Are you four ready for stargazing?”

“That was so pog, (y/n)! How’d you do that?”

“I hold the power of the stars and the night sky in my hands. My brother once told me that the night is our kingdom.” You laid down onto the grass and took off your cloak to cover up a shivering Tommy and Wilbur next to you. You sighed as you thought about your siblings; you wondered how they were doing. 

“I will gladly move the stars themselves for you four. You are my family.” There was a stretched out moment of comfortable silence as you five watched shooting stars blaze by. Eventually, you saw an aurora borealis materialize above you. Furrowing your brow, you looked at it in question. They don’t appear this time of year, so why-

“Aelia,” you breathed out as you watched the greens flow above you. She must’ve sent a gust of solar wind your way. 

“Isn’t Aelia the Goddess of the Sun?” Wilbur asked you.

“Yes, she is my oldest sister. She must have redirected the solar winds over here.” 

“Damn, what’s with the gods changing everything tonight? You guys need to fuckin chill.”

“Tommy!” Philza scolded and was about to continue before he heard you start to laugh. They’ve only heard you genuinely laugh only a couple of times, so the sound that left your mouth immediately brightened the mood. 

“Yes Tommy, I suppose we do need to ‘fucking chill’.”

“You swore! Fuckin pog,” Tommy cheered to himself as the others looked at you in slight shock at your words. If you’re being completely honest in all of the years you spent alive (which is since basically the beginning of time), you’ve never sworn once. You were raised differently than that. When you realized that the others were staring at you, you smirked at them. The stars twinkling and giving your eyes even more of a mischievous glint, “what? Have you never heard a god swear before?”

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[rocorambles]

What Is Love?

Pairing: Gojo x reader (Main), Nanami x reader (Side)

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Rape, Sacrilegious, God Complex and Delusional Gojo, Somnophilia, Slapping, Choking, Humiliation, Coercion, Non-Con Infidelity

Summary: Gojo learns what love is and unfortunately, you're the object of his newfound affection.

A/N: Thank you as always for beta-ing @sawamooora and dedicating this to my dear @lets-go-datehoe. Thank you for sending this request, Yuli~

Love? Gojo Satoru doesn’t believe in love. Love is for hopeless, lonely souls. Love is for miserable pathetic wretches desperate to fill an emptiness in their hearts, in their lives.

When everyone in the world is already falling head over heels to serve him, to be with him, when he's given everything he's ever wanted and more on a silver platter, why would he need love?

Gojo Satoru is already at the top of the world, with or without love.

Now lust? Gojo understands lust.

Carnal pleasure is never unwelcomed and unlike his elders, his head isn’t shoved so far up his ass to deny that he adores the feeling of his cock inside a slobbering mouth, a sopping wet cunt, an exquisitely tight ass.

But more than that, his arrogance and ego thrives and swells as women throw themselves at him, the feeling of being desired only fueling the prideful monster inside of him, only fueling his borderline delusion.

Of course everyone wants him. He’s Gojo Satoru after all.

And so he lets himself be worshipped, lets woman after woman praise him, reveling in the way they chant his name like a prayer as he returns their devotion with thick sticky white blessings. He smirks at the way they kneel before him, staring up at him in reverence, their pretty mouths and throats stretched wide across his cock.

Gojo Satoru is a god, and gods do not chase after mere mortals. So when he meets and you barely give him the time of day other than a polite bow, he shrugs his shoulders.

You’re just another disbeliever. Another silly lamb he needs to convert. Nothing more. Nothing less. Definitely nothing to get worked up about.

It’s almost amusing how you’re playing hard to get, sinning by spitting such crude and crass remarks at a deity like him every time he tries to speak to you. And it’s almost infuriating how you turn your nose up at him, as if you’re qualified to have an opinion of him, let alone think of him as beneath you. But he hides the pleased smile on his face when he sees your gaze linger just a tad too long to be mere coincidence the first time he reveals his eyes to you, a look of awe slipping past your scowling countenance.

See? They all come around eventually.

And so he lays it on thicker, draping his tall figure over yours, letting his warm breath grace the back of your neck, murmuring coy words in your ear. His long fingers find themselves tangling in your hair, brushing against your hands, touching every part of you as much as he can get away with.

You’re so close. He can feel your walls slowly crumbling away, can see the unsureness in your eyes as you half heartedly nudge him away after unconsciously leaning into his touch. Just a little more…

Except something, or rather someone, stops him.

Gojo Satoru isn’t usually caught off guard, especially not by the likes of Nanami Kento. The ex-salary man is a good man, but just a man nonetheless, no matter how you dress it up. But Gojo grudgingly admits at least surprise, if not something more, when he hears you’re in Tokyo and decides to pay your apartment a visit, only to find the Grade 1 sorcerer’s tongue shoved down your throat, your naked bodies entangled in rumpled bed sheets.

He tells himself it’s just a one night stand...maybe a friends with benefits relationship at most when he happens to catch both of you holding hands in broad daylight, a carefree smile he’s never seen before stretched across Nanami’s face as he sits at a cafe table with you, watching you happily munch on some pastry his underclassman has purchased for you.

Nothing he can’t handle.

But if you were a bitch before, a snarling ferocious wildcat whenever Gojo was around, you’re even worse now. Your apathy, the nonchalance with which you politely smile and nod in acknowledgement at Gojo before promptly ignoring him for the suited man by your side, gets under his skin like nothing ever has before. For once, Gojo is at a loss.

Ahh, so this is what denial feels like. This is the rejection and emptiness that he’s seen drive others to madness. This is love.

Gojo Satoru experiences his first heartache, but he doesn’t break down into pitiful sobs, he doesn’t mope around in self-pity.

He laughs.

He’s lost the battle, but he hasn’t lost the war. And when others would have turned tail and fled, he stands his ground, icy blue eyes sparkling in glee at the prospect of a new challenge, the prospect of his sweetest victory yet.

Gojo Satoru is a dangerous man. You know that with all your heart and soul, so it only makes sense that your hackles raise anytime he’s in your proximity. Maybe you take it too far, disrespecting your senior to an extent that would bring shame to you if it were anyone other than the Special Grade sorcerer. But in hindsight you’ll wish you did more.

You’ll wish you hadn’t caught the attention of the world’s strongest sorcerer. You’ll wish you hadn’t found yourself mesmerized by his sheer power, by those damning, dazzling eyes. You’ll wish you hadn’t begun to be ensnared by his allure, a trap you’ve heard the consequences of far too often from your heartbroken and weeping fellow female sorcerers. Maybe you’ll even wish you had just let him have a taste of you, use you before tossing you out like trash, like every other woman who’s fallen in bed with him, instead of whetting his appetite only to deny him of his feast, only to have him fixate on you even more.

But like Gojo, you know love and lust are two different things. And when Nanami shows up in your life, like a knight in shining armor, you feel Gojo’s spell on you shatter, your heart fluttering and thawing the ice that had begun to creep up your body, trapping you in endless blue.

Love is blinding, and really, you should have known that normal boundaries don’t exist in Gojo’s world. But your adoration for your lover has you hesitantly, but politely, letting the cheerful sorcerer into your shared home with Nanami — even though your boyfriend is overseas for a mission, not due back for at least another week.

It would be a lie to say you’re completely relaxed and fine with the circumstance you’re in, alone with Gojo Satoru with no chance of anyone being able to help you if something were to happen. But for whatever reason, Nanami respects the man, even considers him a friend, and in turn you feel an obligation of sorts to at least be cordial. And besides, Gojo isn’t a good man, but he’s not a bad man…right?

You find it difficult to believe that Gojo didn’t know Nanami was out of town, that his pout is sincere when you tell him that Nanami won’t be back anytime soon. There are only so many Grade 1 sorcerers in Tokyo and even less that Gojo actively keeps in touch with. But what’s the alternative? Believe Gojo came to see you? Unlikely.

Gojo is a womanizer, a slut, whatever other word you want to use. But a homewrecker? Especially of a dear friend? Never. (Frankly, you think it would just be too much of a bother for the emotionally stunted man.)

And you’re glad to see that your theories are proving to be true as the night continues, wondering if maybe the white-haired man is just lonely.

He’s strangely pleasant as he keeps a respectable distance from you, no suggestive comments spewing from his mouth, even his obnoxious arrogance kept to a tolerable low. You feel your guard drop, your smiles feeling more natural, genuine laughs slipping past your lips as he tells you about his latest adventures and missions.

But as a yawn interrupts your conversation and you stare askance at how late it is before urging him home to get some rest, apologizing for keeping him so long, your heart drops as you feel an overwhelming presence caging you against your living room couch, long limbs on either side of your body.

“What do you see in Nanami that you don’t see in me?”

The question is so jarring you almost forget the panic rising in your chest, mouth moving soundlessly as you try to process the meaning of his words. But instead of an answer, all that bubbles out of you is a shaky plea for him to leave.

Gojo’s never been good at following orders or commands. Why would he be? Since when has a god ever needed to listen to mortals? And you’re no exception.

You whimper as you’re suddenly transported to the bedroom you share with Nanami, struggling to no avail as Gojo easily tears your clothing off, positioning you on all fours in front of the floor-length mirror that decorates the corner of the room. Bile rises in your throat as he takes his blindfold off, blue eyes seemingly piercing your soul even through just a reflection and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to imagine you’re anywhere but here, with anyone other than him, trying to grasp at every fond memory you have of your blonde lover. But Gojo has a point to make and you gasp, eyes snapping wide open as a large hand wraps around your neck, choking you until you’re forced to stare at your joined bodies on the mirrored surface.

“Look at how perfect we are together. Look at how perfect you are underneath me. You chose that instead of this?”

You sob when he twists your head and forces you to look at a framed photograph on your vanity, a photo Nanami and you had taken together when he had brought you overseas with him for a mission.You regret not insisting that you go with him this time around, wishing more than anything else that you were wrapped in his strong arms.

There’s something irritating about your wailing and blubbering, your little hiccups and sniveling only fueling something dark and twisted inside of Gojo. Maybe it’s the way he knows that you’d never act like this if he was Nanami. Maybe it’s the way he knows you’re lust incarnate whenever Nanami has his hands or mouth on you. Maybe it’s the way he knows that you despise him and his touch so much, that you’d rather die than let him have you.

Ungrateful bitch.

Well if you’re going to cry, Gojo might as well give you something to cry about. A crazed grin slices his handsome face as your screams reach an all-time high, a frenzy, as he shoves his cock inside your unprepped hole, his shaft twitching in interest when you desperately wail his name over and over again as if that would do anything other than have him intensify his pace. But as pretty as his name sounds from your mouth, he tires of your useless pleas for him to stop. Gojo uses one hand to shove your face into the floor, your garbled cries muffled by the carpet as he chases his end, moaning at how perfect your tight, gummy walls feel around him. He’s dreamt of this for far too long and with a grunt, he cums inside of you, draping over your body and pressing his lips against the back of your neck, affectionately marking and tasting you as he empties his balls.

Through the pain and shame, relief floods through you, hope that this is finally all over, that he’ll leave you and your battered body alone. And you play dead, letting him do as he pleases, only occasionally wincing when he leaves a particularly intense mark on your skin, momentarily cringing when he pulls out, thick liquid trickling from your abused hole.

But you should have known better, should have known this was just the beginning.

You weakly paw at the strong arms easily cradling your exhausted figure, trying to wriggle as much as your aching body allows you to, sobbing into his shoulder when you see the direction you’re headed in. You wonder how it’s possible to feel even dirtier as calloused hands lather you with soapy suds, as Gojo takes his time scanning every inch of your body, intimately caressing and mapping every line and curve. And you plead for forgiveness from Nanami when slick begins to pool between your legs, as Gojo gently kneads and experiments with your breasts, rolling your nipples, long fingers expertly circling your clit and slipping inside of you.

Your orgasm shatters you and you stand there like a rag doll, body convulsing and eyes rolling back in your head as you drench Gojo’s digits with your arousal, the sticky strands of betrayal staining his hand as he brings it to your mouth. He gently peppers your neck and shoulder with encouraging kisses as you submissively suck him clean, tugging you along as he dries you off before tucking the both of you in bed, holding you in the mockery of a lover’s embrace. It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s chosen to sleep on Nanami’s side of the bed and shame has you curling into a fetal position, has you burying your face in the bedsheets, hoping for at least a whiff of Nanami’s familiar scent, a reminder of his presence.

It works, and you let yourself fall into a restless sleep, your lips twitching every so slightly upwards despite the tears still trapped in your lashes as you think of a tall blonde man, a yellow spotted tie wrapped around your hands as you teasingly pull a spectacled face in for a kiss. You writhe and twist in your sleep, heavily panting as you imagine Nanami’s hands roaming on your figure, his lips tenderly kissing a bold line down your neck and in between the valleys of your breasts. And as you imagine his fingers carefully rubbing your clit, you sigh his name, only to be abruptly woken as a lance of pain shreds through you.

Eyelids still heavy with sleep, body still groggy from being so suddenly roused, you can’t piece together what’s happening, one of your hands instinctively cupping your smarting cheek. But you frantically claw and bat in the dark, knowing exactly who’s on top of you despite the fact that your eyes haven’t fully adjusted to the blackness, the way your body is ripped apart once more, a telltale sign of whose cock is penetrating you.

“It’s very rude to say another man’s name when I’m the one making you feel so good. Let me teach you the only name you need to know."

There’s something horribly intimate about the position you two are in, the way he’s tainting the very sheets and mattress Nanami had made love to you on countless times. You wish you could force yourself back to sleep, could gouge out your eyes as you begin to make out the man pistoning in and out of you. But it’s no use and you know even sightless, those icy blue orbs are branded in your mind.

You vow to at least not give him the satisfaction of hearing his name from your mouth, pressing and biting your lips until a copper taste assaults your tastebuds. But Gojo has always been talented at everything he does, those gifted eyes seeing far more than they should. You shake your head side to side in denial as a knot quickly begins to form in your gut, body tensing as you feel another wave coming over you, only to let out a confused whimper when everything suddenly stops.

“You get to cum when you say my name and the magic word.”

The playful lilt and childish tone have you seeing red and you sneer in twisted pleasure when a gob of your spit hits him squarely in the face, a litany of curse words and insults spewing from deep inside of you, uncaring of how you’re more like a raving madwoman than a victim.

But you’re not the first brat Gojo’s had to tame, and he just smirks condescendingly down at you before playing you like an instrument, easily bringing you to that narrow brink where even a single breath of air, or a simple flick of a finger seems like it would have you toppling over the edge, only to relentlessly snatch you right back before you can fall.

You don’t know how long he goes on for, your shattered and denied mind barely cognizant of the beginnings of daylight creeping through the window. But as the rays of light make it to your bed, you break.

“Gojo-”

You howl when he pulls out, hips wantonly thrusting in the air for more friction as he crudely slaps his tip against your clit, a frown on his lips.

“That’s not the name I want to hear.”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Where’s your fucking backbone? How could you even entertain the idea of screaming another man’s name in your lover’s bed?

But when he steps away, your eyes zero in on how his cock separates from the sopping wet mess between your thighs, an unbidding distressed whine clawing up your throat at the thought of being left high and dry, mind hazy with lust and arousal.

“Sa-Satoru…Satoru, please.”

There’s work to be done and he’s not entirely pleased by the note of hesitancy and reluctance he still hears despite the hours he’s taken out of his time to educate you. But a promise is a promise and fuck if he doesn’t love the way his given name sounds in your mouth. And with just a few more meticulously placed thrusts and practiced twists of his fingers, you come undone, your lewd sex-crazed appearance and dopey smile from finally getting your sweet release dragging him down with you.

But it doesn’t end there and Gojo makes good use of your empty house, of the week he has alone with you.

There’s not a single surface in your home, not a single hole on your body that isn’t used and marked thoroughly. And even he briefly wonders if he’s being too rough with you, a flicker of concern crossing his mind as he pouts at the idea of his new toy breaking so soon.

But you prove your resilience and a strange concoction of pride and irritation festers inside of him as you determinedly clamp your mouth shut, a spark of defiance lighting up those lust-clouded eyes whenever he urges you to say you love him back, despite the way you practically ride and hump his face as he kneels between your legs and eats you out in the kitchen, despite the way you slur and babble his name over and over again like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

You’re adorable and he wishes he had all the time in the world to break you fully without using his trump card, to see just how durable you really are. But time is ticking and Nanami is due back any day now.

“Say you love me.”

He coaxes you by gently holding you in his arms, peppering your face with butterfly kisses, endearingly observing the way you seek the little comfort you can get despite the fact that he’s the giver, so deprived of anything other than frenzied arousal. But steely resolve hardens your eyes and you turn your face away.

“I love Nanami.”

You brace yourself for a cock slamming inside of you, a hand wrapped around your throat, but you aren’t ready for the endless galaxy that suddenly surrounds you, and blood-curling fear washes over you.

Unlimited Void.

You’d have to be living under a rock not to know of it, and yet, seeing it in person, you can safely say the rumors and tales don’t do it justice. Gojo laughs at how you frantically cling onto him, your arms wrapping around him, your face burying itself into his chest, voice trembling as you beg him to release you, beg him to get rid of his domain expansion, beg him not to let you go. You’ve seen the aftermaths of his technique, seen curses and sorcerers much stronger than yourself reduced to brain-dead husks from mere seconds in his domain.

“Say you love me.”

The words are on the tip of your tongue, fear making you docile. But a flash of blonde, a glimpse of a tailored suit in your mind keeps your saving grace stuck in your throat. You tell yourself it’s okay, you don’t mean it, it’s just a means to save yourself, surely Nanami will understand. And you begin to open your mouth, only to break off in a scream as you’re roughly shoved away, your hesitation speaking volumes to the white-haired sorcerer who sighs in irritation.

Not that you really notice or maybe you notice too well. You aren’t sure. You are sure. You can feel your sanity rapidly slipping as everything and nothing slams into your senses at once.

“Satoru, I love you!!”

It’s barely comprehensible, a shrieked frantic wail muddied by anxiety. But it’s enough and you sob in relief when Gojo ruffles your hair like you’re a well-behaved pet, leaning into his touch and digging your nails into his wrist, keeping his contact on you still and steady, dry heaving as you come back to your senses.

You don’t even realize that the repeated mantra is still coming out of your own mouth as you fling yourself onto the sorcerer as his artificial universe fades away, curling up in his lap, heart pounding as you chant “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over again like it’s your holy scripture.

Gojo is on cloud nine watching you finally come to faith, finally worship him and praise him. You were lost, and now you’re found. And he has no intentions of ever letting you stray again. It’s not like there’s anywhere else for you to go, anything else for you to do other than warm his cock anyway.

He crashes his lips against yours as he easily slips inside your well-used cunt, walls molded and shaped perfectly after countless rounds. It’s sinful how good you feel, how good you sound, and he can feel his balls tighten, his own end quickly approaching as you shatter to pieces over and over again around him, quivering walls milking him, clamping down on him as if you can’t bear the thought of being empty.

But there’s nothing to worry about. What god would leave his faithful disciple unrewarded? What declaration of faith comes without a baptism? And he cums inside of you, hot spurts filling you up, branding you, marking and claiming you as his, the sticky white trails leaking out of your stuffed cunt a public declaration of who you belong to.

There’s silence as he lets you collapse on top of him, grinning at how blissfully fucked out you look, cock already twitching in interest again as he spies the mess of tears and drool dripping down your chin. But there are matters of business to attend to first and he nudges you to look at him, cooing down at vacant eyes still hazy with pleasure.

“Nanami is returning tomorrow-”

Blinding pain shocks you as a large hand tangles with your roots, pulling your head back so far you think your neck might snap.

“What are you so happy about?”

There’s a lightness to his question, the silence before the storm, and you wipe the smile off your face, hissing as he tugs harder.

“I know you like me more, but I didn’t think you would be heartless enough to be so excited about breaking up with your boyfriend. Poor Nanami.”

Even through the pain, the unspoken weight of his words registers in your head and you snarl at him with a vengeance.

“I’m not breaking up with-”

Your throat goes dry as he relinquishes his hold on you, one hand raising to eye-level, pointer and middle fingers beginning to cross, and you go still, mouth snapping shut.

“Good girl. Now you’ve experienced Unlimited Void for yourself. What do you think would happen to Nanami if I left him in there for even a second? Do you think he’d ever be the same even if he were to somehow survive, even if he were to go through months of rehabilitation?”

The inquisitive tone makes it sound like just a bunch of theoretical questions, but you know better, know the ramble for the threat that it is.

Love is about sacrifice, and you’re willing to give it all up for the man whose contact Gojo is pulling up on your phone, whose number is being called. And as the ringtones finally stop and a familiar voice greets you over the speaker, you seal your fate.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

faded

part 2 of haze

pairing: mean!frat boy!eren x fem!reader

tw: dark content, not proof-read

—

even if you’re writhing in his arms, eren isn’t stupid. he knows by your fast breathing, dilated pupils, and inability in speaking a proper sentence without blushing that you’re attracted to him.

you could hide it all you want. you could curse him and call him a pig, but the truth is, you could be fighting just a little harder couldn’t you? your dress is hiking up from all that struggling. it’s a soft periwinkle and exposed your velvety thighs, and all night the dark-haired boy was thinking about how you were wasted on boot-licker pocco.

do you think he doesn’t notice your little sighs of pleasure when he’s kissing your neck and fondling your breasts? do you think it’s simply something he’ll never notice? because right then and there Eren could make a vow to commit all your little noises of pleasure [and paid] to memory.

you press a hand to his chest, "s-stop."

his eyes are half-lidded, orbs rimmed with red because of the wax.

"do you really want me to stop?"

why does he talk so low that it sounds shivers down your spine? he's way too comfortable as you find yourself cuddling with the boy who quite literally destroyed your relationship.

but it's hard to forget the blatant disrespect he doused you in. when you try to detangle yourself, eren merely grabs the back of your hand and gives it a chaste kiss, "don't leave." you don't expect him to let go of you so easily, catching you off guard as you nearly fall to your ass.

his hand hovers your waist like he was debating something, "don't leave" he repeats, "i won't touch you anymore."

the corners of his lip tug upwards and his industrial piercing catches the light, "unless you want me to."

you should leave. you should. he blatantly disrespected you, clasped his hand on your mouth when you tried to defend yourself, provoked your boyfriend (ex-) to hit you. he's awful, utterly awful, a menace to women.

but you're a mess and have always been predisposed to bad decisions, haven't you? maybe that's why you dated porco even when the red flags were abundant. chose to focus on his good and glaze over all the rotten parts.

the room is lit up those led strips that primarily occupy the bedrooms of tiktok obsessed teenagers. you've always thought they were tacky but right now, as they alternate from dusky red to dark blue, eren looks like a deity.

"i have to go." you take a step backward.

"wait" he takes a step forward.

he breaks into an easy smile, "let me smoke you out, yea? least i can do."

he offers his wax pen like a peace offering. it's a pretty little thing, all shiny like a polished instrument. the liquid glows amber from within the glass. a halo of white surrounds the tiny silver button. and the thought of relaxing after constantly feeling like your heart jumps out of your throat is taunting and tempting.

he watches as your nervous fingers take the device and he appreciatively watches the way your lips encircle the silver mouthpiece. such a pretty dainty mouth you had.

he's impressed the way you cheekily blow out little rings of smoke. he had been expecting you to cough, not perform a little trick.

the clock strikes on 12 and it's your cue to leave but you're not cinderella and eren is no prince charming. instead, you find yourself doubled over in laughter, finding it hard to remember what you found so funny in the first place.

"w-what strain is this?" you question between breathless giggles.

eren gives a non-commital shrug, "some hybrid."

he's having a good time observing you. he's brought you to the balcony because you had complained it was too hot, but now he can see your shoulders shivering.

he unzips his hoodie and wordlessly pulls it over to your frame, you look up in such surprise, he wishes he could take a picture.

"i can be a gentleman." he winks.

it smells like him, pine and woodsy and vaguely of alcohol

he's even prettier under the night sky, the moon glowing like a bowl of warm milk.

"can i touch you?" there's a delirious impatience to his words, latching on to his tongue.

you don't know if you shook your head or whether you nodded because he's dragging you upstairs, all the gentleness previously exhibited gone.

he lays you flat on the bed, lips searching and seeking. but he's impatient, he just wants to be inside of you already. maybe that's why his fingers are so rough and abusive when they're rubbing your clit, intending to make you just wet enough for his pleasure. his fingers dig into the meat of your inner thighs as he maneuvers you to his comfort, legs over his shoulders.

you're pliant, head feeling like it was full of cotton balls while your body was absorbed in sensations.

he's even prettier with his hair down you think.

"c-condom." you croak.

eren starts laughing.

taglist: @drownedbytears @nafi-2007 @forwardpair @hi-rubi @bakubimbo @faerishima @mooniseren @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @cinnamon-n-roses

*lol i tagged general list & anyone who rb'd part one of haze...*

[blzzrdstryr]

A silent plea

Yandere!Kujou Sara x gn!reader

Wordcount:1366

CW:Yandere themes, death and torture mention

Kujou Sara knows her place. It’s always beneath and at Raiden Shogun’s beck and call. Some may think it's humiliating, to dedicate so much time and energy for the tyrant, yet Sara disagrees - Baal may be a cruel goddess, but she is a goddess nonetheless, meant to be praised and obeyed and Sara is nothing but a devoted worshipper, willing to commit any atrocity if it will please her archon.

She doesn't indulge in it, preferring to endure the cruelty of her own hands and telling herself that it is needed for Baal's eternity. All who resist and defy have deserved their fates, no matter how grim and bitter they are. How many rebels did she strike herself? Electro archon’s heart holds no mercy nor pity for her enemies, so Sara’s shouldn’t either. And it did, for a time, allowing Kujou Sara to fight and torture and interrogate, all in the name of her Goddess, until she met you.

It happened on the battlefield. Sara was aiming at someone, all her attention consumed by the distant figure and the tension of the bow in her hands as she heard a rustle of the leaves and then sensed a blade pressing down her jugular.

“Order your men to retreat”, you demanded, adding a bit more pressure. She couldn’t see it but felt a small trail of blood trickling down her neck and staining the clothes. It was an awful and dangerous situation to be in and for the first time in months she experienced fear so clearly and brightly.

“I don’t comply with the requests of traitors”, she kicked you, focusing the electro energy around her body. It was enough to give her time and protect Sara from your weapon, leaving just a shallow cut on her neck.

You gasped then, from pain and shock, eyes wide as you grasped the injured hand, and dropped the weapon. And then it was Sara’s turn to get surprised - you didn’t flee and she couldn’t see your vision. Were you that stupid or desperate? Did you really think that you could defeat her in a fair fight?

Sara took a stance, preparing for a quick victory, which it wasn’t. She had to claw it out, deflecting your blows and kicks - you were like a wild animal back then, feral and forceful, seemingly just a step away from lunging at Sara and biting a chunk of her flesh out. But unlike the beast, you were smart and tricky too, throwing small metal trinkets to redirect her lightning, leaping at her only when you were sure she wouldn't attack. If it wasn’t for her approaching men who knows for how long you would drag out this battle, using lowly tricks and stunts to make up for your obvious disadvantage.

You fled then, pulling out a smoke bomb to create a distraction, and something inside her changed. At first Sara thought it was respect, keeping her up at night and making her return to the place of your “fight”, replaying your moves in her memory again and again. Respect for your resourcefulness and loyalty to your cause, despite the opposite allegiance.

Nevertheless, the dreams, wet and messy and too dishonourable to be said out loud, made her change her perspective - she didn’t respect you, no, she wanted to be at your mercy again, to feel herself helpless and powerless as your figure looms over her vulnerable form.

Those were sick perverted fantasies, not to mention traitorous too. As the loyal servant of Raiden Shogun she couldn’t allow herself to fall victim to the animal urges and sinful lust. Who knows, what if her arrow falters and blade dulls because of the same craving and shameful desire? How can she allow herself to live further after such failure?

That’s why her efforts in capturing and neutralizing rebel camps doubled, despite the slowly rising wave of hesitation inside her.

The early morning greets Kujou Sara with the cold breeze of grey waves and the news she has both dreaded and anticipated. Her men finally located and captured the small insurgent group, hiding among the lush forests of Kannazuka, roughly dragging the rebels back to the Kujou encampment.

“Bring them here”, Sara says to one of the troops after she exits her apartment, her battle regalia already on. The soldier bows and quickly hurries to the furthermost nondescript building - a makeshift cell for all prisoners before they’re sent to the capital.

Sara trails his figure, feeling how her own heart thumps, head aching from the sudden tension and anxiety and she doesn’t know whether she wants to see your face or not. “A moment of truth”, she whispers to herself as one painfully long second is replaced by the other.

Turns out, you are in that group too, as the mentioned soldier leads you out with the other prisoners, your hands tightly cuffed by a long chain. Kujou squints as she looks over all of you, your frame being her main focus. You are tired and dirty, she notes, but also defiant and full of fight, just like that fateful day.

Sara orders her men to lead you to the interrogation room, and put the rest in the cells, she accompanies the soldier, eyeing your form as he tugs on your chains - you don't want to go, it's obvious, but in the end fatigue and simple weakness win and your legs buckle.

You have new bruises, she notes, purple-bluish they stand out in a stark angry contrast against your skin. Maybe her men got handsy, maybe they weren’t careful with transporting you enough - no matter the reason she needs to punish them.

“Out”, Sara says, once you’re tied and secured in one place, defiant eyes burning right through her. The soldier quickly bows before exiting the room and leaving Sara with you alone, and that’s when she feels it again - the wave of longing and carnal desire so strong that she yearns to touch your body no matter how dirty and battered it is.

“Why am I here?”, you ask, voice low and scratchy after days of complete silence, snatching Sara from her thoughts, and by the archons the sound of your voice is enough to awaken something in her, pink dusting her cheeks.

"You don't have a vision", she says instead of answering you, feeling how her heart speeds up from those words alone:"but you still defied Raiden Shogun's eternity and you will be punished accordingly"

A crooked smile makes it to your face, resignation mixing with pure hatred boiling in your eyes. Sara wants to shiver and turn away, hide from your gaze, yet she endures it, not a single muscle betraying her.

"You will be tortured regardless of you knowing anything about resistance plans", you don’t stop smiling, yet your expression grows even more tense. Like a deadman, Sara thinks to herself - she had seen it of course, the face, the resignation, and she doesn’t like it. The mere idea of you suffering and screaming under someone else's hands enough to make her taste a sour bile on her tongue.

"Then why are you telling me all of this?", you raise one brow.

"There’s a way to avoid that. Aid me in my service to Raiden Shogun and your crimes will be forgiven". Sara leans closer to you, her golden eyes transfixed on your face. "Please agree", she wants to say: "It's for your own good".

“I don’t comply with the requests of traitors”, you spit back at her and she jerks away, remembering your bestial nature. If only you were more obedient Sara would worship you like a second deity, her love and devotion to you surpassed only by the reverence she holds towards Baal. She would dress you in silks and kiss every spot on your body, ripping out the most pleasurable and desperate moans out of your lips. She would fall on the knees before you, patiently awaiting your command.

But she can’t - deep down you’re an animal, feral and ungrateful and rabid beasts deserve nothing but death.

“I will come back tomorrow and ask you again. I suggest you take back your words”.

Kujou Sara knows her place. She wishes you knew yours.

[random1amfics]

Demon Tyrant of France (2)

Lila had a great week. The class was wrapped around her finger and that baker's girl can't do anything about it as Adrien seemed to be keeping her in line with that promise. Poor girl was desperate to do anything for her crush. Today, she will spin some tales of how Marinette was really mean to her offer of friendship and maybe get her so call 'friends' to punish her bad behaviour by destroying the girl's phone for her awful texts. As she skipped to the school, she didn't notice the tense air the other students seemed to have. She saw Alya, her ticket to increasing her fame, arguing with her boyfriend, Nino. He could be useful when she needs music for a party.

"I don't care if this Demon Tyrant person is powerful. We don't need another Chloe Bourgeois in our class. I am not going to stand for her tormenting us."

"Babe, listen, the Demon Tyrant will mostly ignore us because according to her, we are just mere insects. As long as we don't provoke her or anger her, we will be fine. The only thing I am worried about is whether or not you would get into trouble, you did some bad things to her recently and I really hope she is feeling generous."

"I couldn't have done things to someone I have never heard of until today."

"Oh, she had been in our class for the past 2 years. Apparently, she and a friend of hers had a bet on who can be kind for the longest. The bet was over last night. Chloe sent us about it last night."

"I never read what Miss Bully says."

"Excuse me," Lila cuts in, "What are you talking about? Who is the Demon Tyrant? She sounds bad."

"I will tell you on the way. Classes are about to start. But whatever you do, under any circumstances, do not, I mean, absolutely DO NOT talk to her unless she permits it."

The more Lila hears about the Demon Tyrant, the more she begins to envy the power she has over the school. Lila wondered which of her classmates was the Demon Tyrant. Could be Chloe but she can't be it, she had not been nice to their classmates at all. The one with the Roller Skates? She seemed to fit the Demon Tyrant name with the pink hair and roller skates but sometimes she didn't act nice. The Pink Blondie? She acts so nice and sickeningly sweet that she wouldn't be surprised if it was a facade.

She walked into the classroom, as confidently as she can to impress the so-called Demon Tyrant. Whoever she is, might want connections to spread her sphere of influence and they can rule together.

Lila and Alya saw Marinette with a complete makeover wearing a golden 'crown' that looked legit, looking down on the class like they were peasants from her high seat in the back. Their mouths hung open as Kim and a few others came, bearing offerings which they presented to her.

Lila gritted her teeth. Of course, that goody-two-shoes were the Demon Tyrant who ruled the school. At least now it will be easier to take all her friends away. She plastered a concerned face.

"Marinette, what are you doing? Demanding things from your friends? Friends shouldn’t expect things from their friends like that, especially something as expensive as that crown.” “First of all, Rossi, don’t call me by my name, I only allow certain people to call me that and you are not on that small list. Second of all, I didn’t ask for anything from them. They are called gifts. It was rather hypothetical of you to tell me not to expect free stuff from ‘friends’ when just last week, you basically demanded free pastries from the bakery. And lastly, this diadem ”-she gestured towards it-“is actually mine. I paid for it full price with my hard-earned money. I have a receipt if you don’t believe me. Since you are still new, I shall let it pass this time. But you will not speak to me unless necessary or with my permission.” Marinette said with a cold, icy voice.

“I can’t believe you are so mean to me. I just want to be friends and I am so worried about you when you are dressed like that.” Lila faked a few tears to sell the act. It’s perfect. She didn’t have to try so hard now that Marinette is doing a nice job by herself.

“I believe I have told you not to speak to me. Another word to me and I will make you deeply regret it.”

Alya spoke up, not liking Marinette’s new attitude, “Girl, Lila was just looking out for you. Don’t brush off her concerns and stop being so mean. I will admit I am worried about this new look too.”

“Cesaire, I will give you the same warning as Rossi there. You aren’t allowed to speak to me unless I say otherwise. Why should I change based on some people’s opinion of me? I am not mean, I am indifferent and cold to people. Haven’t you heard I am the Demon Tyrant? It’s part of the package. Life isn’t a fairytale and they all live happily ever after. Lila should be used to hearing cold, hurtful truths. After all, the famous deal with them all the time.” Marinette said with a bored expression on her face, already deeming this a waste of her breath.

Lila burst into tears and Alya was the only one to comfort her as the others were frozen in their seats and made no moves. Terrified for the backlash of helping the 2 girls. Even Nino, who loved Alya very much but prayed to every deity he knew to grant his headstrong, stubborn, justice-seeking girlfriend some common sense. She was playing with fire now and she was going to get burned badly.

Lila sobbed loudly, ”But I am not lying.”

“Marinette! Stop this at once. You can drop the act now. I don't know what you are trying to prove. Being a better Chloe? And we are best friends, we don’t need permission to speak to each other. Lila doesn’t lie. How could you say those things? Just because you are jealous, doesn’t mean you should do it. She is very sensitive.”

The Demon Tyrant grinned. It instinctively made everyone move away from her and Alya, who took a step back.

“Oh. Alya. Alya. Alya.” The first name means that the reporter had poked the Demon too much and now, she was annoyed. The Tyrant walked down, towards the two girls.

“You poor naive girl. With your strong sense of Justice and morals. I thought that we could have actually been friends. But you chose the wrong side when the time came. You should have listened to your boyfriend’s warnings when you had a chance. Let’s hope this one will get through to you. When I started this year of college, I had put up the perfect act of a sweet, kind and selfless girl all for a bet. You saw Chloe bullying that girl whom you protected and befriended. I remember many of our classmates pulled you aside to warn you of my true nature to spare you the heartache when the time came. I also told you one myself. That girl back then was not me at all and I tried to ease you into understanding that. But you were too excitable. You immediately put yourself into the category of ‘my best friend’ even though that title already belongs to my dear thief. You saw the various pictures of Gabriel’s design with Adrien as the model on my wall and decided that I have to get together with him when my heart had already been stolen by another. (Chloe fist-bumped the air. It was confirmed that her ship had sailed.) When Lila Rossi came with her grand stories, you chose to believe her over me. I will usually not admit something like this because I am too proud but it hurt when you went to her instead of me. The point is that you never stopped and listened, just going on ahead. Because if you did, you would have known that I was never your best friend. That I was never jealous of Lila over Adrien because I don’t even like him. That Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t even my real name and she doesn’t exist. And the lying. I haven’t accused her of anything like that. I am just calling her out for assuming the worst of me.”

The Demon Tyrant’s voice was like snow. Soft and melted easily. And so very very Cold. So much of it will knock one’s breath out. The room felt colder after the speech.

Alya stood as still as an ice statue, face-to-face with the Demon Tyrant. Her eyes averted as the blue eyes were so piercing like it could tear her soul to pieces. Lila had stopped her fake crying, thinking about who exactly had she declared an enemy of. She didn’t know if she wanted an answer or not.

“Cesaire, Rossi, I have many connections before I was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have even more now. With a word from me and your careers will be destroyed before they even take off. If you have common sense, you will stay out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?” Lila asked.

The Tyrant lets out a laugh and meets their eyes, “No. It’s a promise.” She turned around and walked back to her seat like a regal Empress after giving out an execution order.