#I DESERVE DEATH FOR NOT CAPTURING HIS BEAUTY

[fandom-rants-here]

I need Mike to confess first. And I need Will to not believe him.

something something...

"Will, I promise you I am not lying. This isn't- this isn't any prank or trick or mischief or whatever you think is going on here. I am telling you that I am in love with you. I always have been."

There are audible tremors in Mike's voice and he thinks he feels tears falling down his face.

"Whatever I had with El was not love. It was coincidence and my own cowardice that brought and held us together. It was dumb luck I met her. But you know who I was looking for that day? It was you, Will. It's always been you. I chose to walk up to you on that playground 10 years ago. I chose to ask you to be my friend. I chose you. "

Even if Mike had the confidence to look towards Will, his eyes were blurred with tears and he couldn't even see the ground they were falling on.

"I'm sorry for what I said at the pizza shop. It was- I was lying. I was just saying what I thought she needed to hear again and I really don't know why cause it never works and you were right there and it fucking hurt to lie so much and you didn't deserve that, you- Will, my life didn't start the day I met El in the woods, not in the way I implied, at least. You were missing, most thought you were dead or would be soon. We were all so hurt and lost without you. Joyce seemed half hysterical, Jonathan- I'd never seen him so sad, and we, The Party, we didn't know what to do without you. I felt like death, like I'd died without you to keep me alive. But then we found El and she- if she could be lost in the woods and found, so could you. And then- then she recognized your photo and she knew who you were and she flipped the board to show you were in the Upside Down and- and meeting El wasn't my life starting. It was hope restarting it, hope that she could get you back to us."

They stood and he wasn't sure if Will was nearly as frozen as he was, but it took him several moments to regain any thoughts and then continue speaking.

"Will, I've known I was in love with you for years, now. But the love has been there far longer. You- you're amazing, Will. You're so smart, even if you suck at math. You capture beauty in ever drawing and painting you make, creating it from sheer care and adoration alone, when you have to. You consider other's thoughts and feelings before you do or say anything, no matter how angry you are. You're such a quick thinker, it's scary sometimes. Not- not really, but you get the idea. You're the most level headed person inside of a group where everyone else is about 10 seconds away from murdering each other. You're patient, gentle, honest, hilarious, and you're also, like, super handsome. I couldn't live without you, without my cleric. I almost didn't. You've saved me more times than you know. Because, Will, you are so strong and so resilient. You've survived and endured more than anyone ever should be forced to yet you remain kind. You called me the heart, in the van. And don't even try to say that's all El, you and I both know that she doesn't think that and that you're a terrible liar. But, really, Will? Me, the heart? Will, that has always been you. You bring together and unite people. You bring out the best in people, even when they're cruel or being assholes or telling you things that aren't meant for you but for themselves. You have always been the heart of this party. You've always been my heart."

The weight of their matching watches is heavy on Mike's wrist, the syncronized ticks breaking the stark silence every second. And, as he finally lifted his head up, Mike once again saw that Will had already been staring.

For once, Mike doesn't look away. Rather, he takes a few hesitant steps closer.

"I love you, Will Byers. You are my best friend, my first friend, my childhood crush, my gay realization, my tether to reality, my cleric, and you have been the most important person in my life since you entered it. Maybe even before. Maybe I had carved out a space knowing one day you'd fill it."

[muxhroom-marx-markiplier]

welcome back to rodrick drops a shit ton of extremely messy unfinished doodles of his favorite character(s) because he cannot be held at gunpoint to finish a drawing

in this episode rodrick puts his head in his hands and tears his hair out and then screams really loudly

[munsonmuses]

Emperor Geta x Fem! Reader

Warnings: smut, gladiatorial combat, animalistic tendencies, uhhhg there’s a breeding kink. This was not proofread.

Word Count: 2.3k

Authors Comments: Iiiii was a major Roman Empire nerd as a kid, so if there’s stuff you’re like “that seemed specific” about? I promise you the research was done and I had to consult my notebooks from when I was a teeny tot (like a young teen). And yes, thumbs up signified death because it represented an upturned sword for combat, and the thumbs down signified sparing the loser, by turning your sword down to sheath

The light fabric of the linen chiton you wore felt like chains, the beautiful gold brooches holding it in place and the belt that rested low on your waist like the shackles. Leading you to a life you’d never wanted. To a future you knew you’d loathe so deeply. This wasn’t the life you’d dreamt of as a young woman. Bringing peace to an empire, marrying a man who was made perfectly for you by the gods.

All of these opportunities had been ripped from between your fingers. Your life slipped away the moment you’d heard that Emperor Geta had set his sights on you. He was callous, pompous, the human equivalent of a promenading lion. He thought nothing but the best of himself, and believed he deserved things equally as good. One of those things being you.

Your finger delicately worked on adjusting the raw leather straps of your sandals. The stephane felt like it was weighting your whole body down, veil swishing against your nape, sending chills down your spine. That the earth may swallow you whole in one fell motion was a wishful thought as you carefully examined the large hall.

It was egregious, how much gold one man could have. How many statues of himself an individual could bare to own. Slowly standing from the large chaise you’d been guided too and approaching one. tracing the curve of his nose, the apples of his cheeks. The manic look they’d managed to capture in his marble portrait, captured perfectly within the massive pupils. Scoffing lightly before hearing a laugh from behind you that caused your skin to pebble viciously. Turning around to face him.

The statue somehow didn’t manage to perfectly capture his mania. Pupils so wide they looked almost entirely black. A wolfish grin. His entire body reeked of need and want.

“You, are even more beautiful than Caracalla described…just look at you-“ his hands clamped down on your upper arms. Holding you in place as he hummed. “You’ll do nicely…” he murmured as you quirked a brow lightly.

You prayed that when you asked, he’d give you a different answer than what you’d been prepared for. Not wanting to surrender yourself to matrimony with a man so viciously bloodthirsty and self righteous. “What will I do nicely for, imperator?” You whispered as he let his eyes glaze over your body. Taking in every inch of you before nodding.

“Don’t be silly, you know what I brought you here for. I have chosen you to be my empress. Not Caracalla’s. Strictly my own.” He insisted as he moved a hand up to grip your jaw while humming. “You’ll take to the role with pride. A loving and affectionate empress…and you’ll give me my sons to lead the future of my empire once my time has come. Am I understood?” He questioned as you scoffed lightly to yourself. Fixing your rings and pulling away. Pacing the large floor of the hall as he kept his eyes on you. Ready to pounce if necessary.

“I am marrying you strictly for familial agreement. Through my loyalty for my empire and my dedication to my familial name…it has nothing to do with you.” You murmured as he sucked on his teeth lightly. You weren’t afraid of him, you saw yourself as an independent being, even a possible equal. An equal amount of hatred that matched his levels of obsession. Overall, he was clearly agitated by your lack of throwing yourself at him, the need for you to desperately present yourself to him. Though he wouldn’t push it. To get you out from under Caracalla’s thumb was difficult enough, so he’d take what he could get.

“Your chambers are prepared, you’ll be dressed for our wedding and you’ll smile. You’ll be grateful.” He ordered as you nodded, allowing the two women by the doorway to follow you out as you sighed in frustration to yourself.

These women were terrified to touch you, though they attempted to feebly conceal their terror as you hummed. Hair carefully arranged with an orange veil placed atop. Slipping into the white woven fabric of your wedding tunic, and slipped on orange sandals. Careful with them as you worked on fastening the knot of Hercules around your waist. Nodding slowly as you assessed yourself in the mirror.

It felt like lead lined your stomach as you approached the large garden, eyes meeting with Geta’s own. Your family and his court clearly anxiously awaiting your arrival. Your dowry had been exchanged, and Geta grinned delightedly at the sight of you approaching. Wringing his fingers, rings loudly knocking together as you frowned in mild fury. He was childish and cocky and self absorbed, albeit a bit handsome.

You stopped in front of him as the two of you read over the marriage contract. His eyes constantly flicking up to you as you lifted your metal pen from the inkwell. Scrawling your name with confidence as he followed suit. His hand suddenly clutching your left wrist as your head whipped to look at him. Geta removing the thick red stoned ring upon one of his fingers and slipping it onto one of your own as he hummed contentedly. Clearly awaiting reciprocation for his affections.

You carefully took his face, pressing a pursed lip kiss to his own plush pink lips as he cradled the back of your head and your waist. Satisfied with his win. Cementing your future with your new husband, as empress.

Your wedding was a few months ago, and in that time you’d been growing to know, like, and even love Geta. Although shrouded in cruel mystery, he did have a tender heart when it came to you. Gifting you lavishly, bathing you in riches and praise. You’d never gone to bed on an empty stomach, and you managed to share romantic pleasantries with him regularly.

You sat beside him as you watched a battle in the coliseum. Head perched on your fist in boredom as he smiled wide at you. The folds of your brooches and adornments complimenting the rich purples of your own robes. Your stephane crooked as his hand delicately reached up to adjust it. “Isn’t this delightful my heart?” He whispered eagerly as you scoffed in light amusement. Grinning lightly at him as you kissed his rings lightly.

“It’s alright. Gladiator fights have never…settled my nerves. If anything the bloodsport terrifies me…” you murmured as his own lips pulled into a tight frown. Though unlike usual, he didn’t have a smart or cold comment to make.

You carefully watched the two men fight, though you could barely call them that. Barely older than sixteen a piece as you chewed on your lip. The larger of the two slamming his sword into the smaller boys shield. Reminding you of the kind boys you’d known in your youth who had the whole world in front of them, stolen in war. Your heart heavy at the sight.

Geta’s eyes were trained on you. Noticing the paleness in your face, watering eyes as you left your chair to look over the edge of the balcony at these boys. Heart pounding in your ears as he sighed. He was furious, he was angry…love had “weakened” him, was what Caracalla had lamented before. But in his eyes, it simply made him better for you. Being weak for one’s own wife was impossible.

Your head whipped to look at him as the smaller boy was bloodied and bruised. Whipped to the ground by his foe as Geta stood slowly for the crowd to see.

He lifted his hand slowly, glancing over at you as his thumb rested on its side. He would typically give a thumbs up, signaling the death of the weaker boy…but instead his thumb dropped. The crowd gasping at the young man being spared at the Emperors command.

Geta’s eyes flicked to you one last time. Seeing nothing but adoration in them as he dismissed his co-contributors frustrated muttering, walking off with you to your shared chambers as he hummed in your ear.

“You’re welcome…” he whispered as you rolled your eyes lightly at him. Kissing his cheek lightly as you closed the large doors behind yourself.

With your back to him, you slowly worked on unhooking the brooches of your chiton, letting the fabric pool at your feet as you worked on removing your sandals slowly. Hearing his movements stop, eyes on you as you grinned lightly over your shoulder.

“You have shown such monumental growth…and kindness…and change, my emperor…” you whispered as you stalked towards him. His breath shaky and heavy as he carefully nodded. “I am so amazed by you…” you murmured as he watched your hands making work of the fasteners on his own tunic. It slipping down his shoulders as you smiled.

“I want…to reward you,” you murmured into his ear. Geta was a man who worked on praise, adoration and reward. He needed something for every “accomplishment” he made. This time you’d give him something more.

He let himself be lied back on your massive bed, his cock slowly hardening. Pressed to his stomach. Cheeks and chest flushed as you hummed lightly to yourself. He deserved this, even if it was simple human decency…it was a major turning point for him.

You kissed along his jaw, down his neck, his chest. Lightly nipping at his flushed skin as you worked lower and lower. Pressing kisses down his stomach and licking along the light indentations of his abs before finally paying attention to his desperate cock.

Already twitching lightly, Geta was not a hard man to work up. Lightly pressing warm, open mouthed kisses along his shaft. Tenderly massaging his balls as he whimpered lightly at your ministrations. Following your movements with frantic eyes.

He shivered lightly as he felt your lips lightly wrap around his tip. Lazily sucking and stroking the rest of his shaft lightly. Having used your kisses from earlier as a bit of lubrication. Stroking in time with your slowly bobbing head. Every few moments getting lower and lower. Relishing on the velvety feeling of his thick cock against your tongue. Finally taking your hand away and placing it on his hip. The other taking his right hand and leading it to the back of your head as he trembled lightly. “My heart…please-“ his whisper wasn’t much more than a breath.

The lewd noises of you taking him deep down your throat, slowly sucking while hollowing out your cheeks. Obediently tending to his needs as you groaned desperately against him. Your free hand trailing downward to massage your own clit as he bucked his hips lightly.

“You tease me…” he growled out. “With your desperate hands, your heavenly mouth, your body on full display…you tear me into nothing but tatters of a man…and you relish in my desperation,” he hissed as you pulled your head off.

Stroking his cock lightly as you maintained eye contact with him. Your own blown out with need and want as you continued to tend to your own clit. Sensitive bud twitching under your small, circular motions. Geta’s eyes trained on simply you. Filled with nothing but love and obsession as he growled.

Taking your wrists firmly, he pulled your hands away from both of your own sensitive bodies. Working on lying you back as he pressed his lips to your ear. “You’re a temptress…and you’ll understand just how deeply I want for you…and you’ll give me my sons,” he hissed as he worked one of your legs up around his waist. Keeping one hand on your wrists, pinned above your head as he lined himself up with your wanting cunt. Slowly easing himself into you.

You could feel every vein, every curve. A desperate moan being ripped from you as you arched your back lightly. Geta’s soft laugh and heaving breaths the only other noise you could focus on. His mouth greedily kissing along your soft skin. Nipping at your shoulders and neck. Trailing down to your breasts. Lightly taking your left nipple between his teeth. Sucking and nipping at the sensitive bud while lazily rolling his hips. Breeding you on his terms.

“Fucking…mnghhh…you’re so good~” he mumbled between mouthfuls of greedy kisses. His thrusts short and swift. Though deep enough to give that knot in your stomach a bit of reprieve. Humming contentedly to himself as he watched your lust clouded eyes. “I can’t promise that you’ll be able to do much once im finished…” he murmured as he began to focus on his thrusts.

Deep and swift, pressing deep into your twitching cunt, your wrists finally free of his grasp as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. Holding him close as he fucked deeper into you. “It’s a blessing, to get to carry the future of our empire. Thank me for blessing you…” he growled out as he held your hips firmly. Your moans in time with his thrusts as you struggled to form a single coherent thought.

“Fuck!…thank you, for allow-…allowing me to carry your heirs, and the future of Rome!” Your voice cracked between moans as he laughed lightly. Working on bringing you to your orgasm as he hummed.

Your body felt like it was ablaze, each thrust causing that knot to unravel further and further. Whimpering in desperation and squawking desperately before letting your head fall back. His name spilling past your lips before feeling that knot come undone. Mouth falling open in incoherent babbles as Geta fucked you through your orgasm. Making sure you were thoroughly satisfied and gritting his teeth.

Unable to hold himself back much longer, his thrusts became short and swift before he hilted himself deep within you and came. His own mutters just broken up syllables of your name, trembling arms, and weak kisses along your skin. His body collapsing upon your own as he pressed hot and gentle kisses to your skin.

“I love you…” he murmured, allowing his eyes to close as you lightly combed through his hair. Your own growing heavy as you sighed.

“I love you too…”

[floatyflowers]

Melkor

You must have the courage to tell Melkor that, especially when you know that he is interested in you.

He would probably find out from one of his spies that you wish to give up your immortality for a human man.

So, he sends Mairon to get that man and have him tortured.

It all happened in front of your eyes, while you were being held down.

"You must always remember that your choice has consequences"

Annatar/Sauron

You didn't know that Annatar is Sauron, he befriended you to the point where you told him all your secrets.

As if he doesn't already know all your secrets.

However, you made the mistake of telling him about your human lover.

Annatar has become obsessed with you, already deciding that you will rule beside him for eternity, therefore, he can't allow you to give up your immortality.

"It saddens me to see your tears, I'm sure your lover is in a much better place now"

Maedhros

He has known you since childhood, so it displeased him greatly when you informed him that you have a human lover.

He tried to appear supportive of your relationship but deep down he was feeling pure rage.

He finally snapped when you informed him that you wished to become mortal.

Maedhros killed his own kin, what makes you believe he won't do the same to your human lover.

"You belong to me, I will take you as my wife so you don't have to give away your mortality."

Thranduil

"You would willingly choose the fleeting years of a mortal? Forsake the eternal beauty of our kind?"

The king of Mirkwood considered it treachery to choose a human lover over him.

Yes, you are not in love with him, but he is your king, and he believes that he deserves to have you whether you want it or not.

Thranduil would probably order the death of your lover in secret then blame it on Orcs.

And use the opportunity to blame you and make you feel guilty for falling in love with a human man.

Celebrimbor

He taught you everything about crafting, expecting in return your complete love and devotion to him.

But instead you only thought of him as an older brother...even a father if you dare admit.

This infuriated Celebrimbor especially when he discovers that you are in love with a human man.

You chose a human over the grandson of Fëanor who created the Silmarils?!

"Believe me, locking you up is the best option to prevent you from committing such foolishness, my dear."

Adar

His children 'The Orcs' captured you and your lover while you two were journeying together.

Adar took a great interest in you and was amused by your relationship with a human man.

And when your lover reveals that you will become a human for him, Adar only smirks in amusement before ordering his execution.

He has finally found a 'mother' for his children.

"Weeping will do you no good, my dear"

[diejager]

a Miguel x f!reader "who did this to you?" Angst fic?

Bittersweet Devotion

Pairing : Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, neglect, canon death, dead wife, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.5k

Miguel’s been distant these days, the world around him coming to a stop. His temper shortened and his patience dropped lower than it was before, but his attentiveness to his work sharpened. He divulged more of his time to the cause, to defend the multiverse from every anomaly that kept popping up in wildly different universes, at the cost of his personal life. Ever since the *Miles issue* had been dealt with (Spots was stopped from ending Captain Morales’ life prematurely, the canon was kept safe and intact, but his parents knew of his identity and his duty to New York and the multiverse.), Miguel shut himself inside the main office, closed off from the wandering Spider-people he brought over to help him protect their livelihood. 

Atop his platform, he worked tirelessly, swiping screen to screen in search of any escaping anomalies. He depended on Lyla to help him search and the rest of the community to capture and contain these anomalies before they could be sent back to their appropriate universe, closing the rifts they used to escape. The brooding Spider-Man locked himself in, imposing shoulder peering from the edge of his high-floating platform while he stayed there most nights; days even, he hadn’t returned to your shared apartment in the building. He ate when you, Jess or Peter B. brought food to him, he drank and cleaned only when you urged him to do so. 

Staying in his den meant that he rarely slept, the dark bags under his beautiful eyes growing as the days passed. Anomalies appeared left and right, Spiders were dispersed to catch them, sometimes in solo missions, and other times in teams if Miguel deemed it necessary for the anomaly (Green Goblins, Vultures and Sandman were some that were harder to deal with for their volatile attacks.). If you weren’t sent away on a retrieval mission, you’d be working around his office, keeping it clean and usable while he moved around, growling and throwing things as he went.

That’s where things became complicated, Miguel hated meddling and you were often in his space. While he was soft and caring in your shared room (the one he hadn’t been in for weeks now), he was domineering and imposing around the others. His shorter temper meant he often hissed and growled at you, brown eyes glimmering red as he sneered your way. You hadn’t made much of it, contributing his issues to the stress and anxiety he felt while shouldering all this madness. His glares and growls meant little, he was under pressure, but his words, his rants in your face hurt.

His words burned you to your core, the degrading things he screamed at you when you did something that might’ve ticked him off or the insults he’d throw your way when you did something he deemed unsatisfactory. They stung, but you ignored the pain that tore into your heart, the tears that threatened to fall and the anger you felt at his shrugs. You simply missed him. 

Didn’t you deserve some affection? To feel the tender caresses of Miguel’s hands on your skin, the loving promises of his dreams and wishes, and the adoring stares he sent your way. Were you selfish for wanting that? For wanting to have your lover back in your arms. Or were you feeling neglected from the time you spent alone in your bed, the faded scent of his musk, the coldness of your apartment and the uneaten and forgotten plates on the dining table? Were you at fault for feeling forgotten? To sacrifice one for the good of thousands. To sacrifice your love for the safety of all universes. Did one outweigh the other?

“Hijo de puta! Why can’t you do anything right?!” He’d scowl at you, talons digging into the metal of his desk. The ear-splitting sound echoed as he dragged his talons to the edge of the table, red eyes brimming with wrath. He seemed on a warpath, ripping into anything he could get his talons in and throwing the things he could lift off the platform. (Motherfucker-)

You skipped around the objects he threw in his fit, ducking under a chair he gripped and swung randomly, over the desk he kicked, and around the cabinet, he swiped at. Every object he used to vent his emotions were light, in comparison to your given strength. He’d complain afterwards about his things being broken and needing fixing, something you helped him with unless they were too technologically advanced for your time. You webbed all the things you could, aiming your wrist and quickly sticking your end to the floating platform when it stuck to the victims of Miguel’s power. 

You danced around him, catching everything without getting too close to Miguel. He acted without thinking at times in these fury-filled moments, eyes tinging red and reverting to his more animalistic side. He’d warned you before about staying clear of him, to wait until he calmed himself down and realized the devastation of his office. Then he’d apologize and kiss you in hopes you’d forgive him (you always did, you knew his biology made him different - more violent - than you and the Spiders.). You’d fix the platform up, remake the broken parts or simply forget about it, like the many cabinets he ended up buying instead of patching them up.

Now especially, his tantrums began more often and lasted longer, a common occurrence when it was rare months ago. You couldn’t fault him, you didn’t want to, even if your heart throbbed painfully at his words, shoulders curving under the immensity of his tone and actions. You loved him, so you’d bare him in his best as in his worst.

“Detente- Simplemente detente!” In his fits of rage, Miguel reverted to his vulgarity, spitting Spanish words at anyone he faced. His voice was low and gravely, body convulsing as he swung at the fizzling, orange screens, dissipating under his aggressive gesture. (Stop- Just stop!)

When his fuse popped, he’d throw words left and right in Spanish, the enchanting slur of his Mexican accent turning hellish, slamming loudly like the Hephaestus’ hammer. Along his hit came the blow, the effects following them. Whether they were positive or negative, he pushed on, frenziedly hammering the weight of his words into whoever was the nearest to him. Which, coincidentally, happened to be you at the moment when you climbed onto his platform to relay the summarised report of last week’s missions from every Spider.

You let him ramble in silence, watching him twist on the spot and walk circles before his desk, turning and gesturing arbitrarily at something that wasn’t there. He’s expressive with his love, his spite, his care, his needs and his fury. He’d make big motions with his hands, voice dipping low and sometimes rising high with the pitch of his impatience. He growls when he’s displeased. He roars when he’s furious. He spits when he’s agitated. He smirks when he’s pleased. If not his voice or his lips, his eyes shine with emotion, showing those who knew how to read him how he felt.

That’s why you ignored the sharp nabs at your person, the low jabs at your work and how you dealt with the other Spiders as his right hand, or at your simple performance of his care. He didn’t want your care when he was busy, he didn’t want your soft and soothing words when he was tracking down another anomaly with vehement hate, and he didn’t want your meddling when he was focused on important matters of the multiverse. 

He was stressed, and pressure mounted over self-expectations made him lose himself. Down went his tolerance for failure and mistakes. Down went his awareness of his needs. Down went his patience with people and Lyla. Every man and woman would buck under intense pressure, some would break and stop working, and others would submit to the fate of their failures, but Miguel persevered, he pushed and pushed, pulling at the strings he could grasp, even the shortest ones. 

“Can you just- Coño- can you just shut up for a second?!” Miguel bucked, slamming his fist into the desk. It’d probably leave a dent for you or him to fix, a hole in the shape of his fist. 

You rushed to him, hand wrapping around his upper arm, supporting his hunched body as you webbed a chair closer to him, pulling on the synthetic fibre until it was behind Miguel. You whispered encouraging words into his ear, easing him into sitting on the rolling furniture. His legs shook, falling limp when he finally sat down, back slumped over and head low. You ran your fingers through his hairline, pulling up his wild mane. His eyes were closed, bags the deepest you’d seen, and his cheeks were sunken, near sickly. 

A chill wracked your body at his deteriorating appearance, his exhaustion had finally caught onto him. You wanted to fuss over him, to berate him for letting it get this far, but his exhausted figure made you frown and rethink your words. You couldn’t let this go on, you’d have to sit him down and talk to him after you took care of him. You lowered the platform, watching Miguel from the corner of your eye until you reached the lowest it could go. 

“Miguel,” you hushed, pressing your lips to his cheek, soft and gentle for his fatigue. “We need to get you to our room, you can’t work anymore.”

He grumbled, feet weakly moving to ease the weight on your shoulders, you wanted to remind him that you were strong and that you could easily carry him back if you wanted, but he liked to keep his pride as the strongest, the boss that people could depend on. You nodded at those who gave you worried glances, shaking their helping hands for carrying him (you knew Miguel wouldn’t have liked others to touch him so casually.) and asked some to run errands for you while you two were busy. Lyla would take over for now, until you took care of Miguel.

“Let me help you, Miggy. Let me take care of you.”

He slept better than night, the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks - months - and was grounded to a week of rest and recuperation. You helped him shower, washing his back and hair. You cooked his favourite dishes, following the Mexican cooking books you had laying around. You gave him daily massages for the aches over his shoulders and back, massing the tenseness off his arms and legs. At night, you’d force him to bed, blocking his access to his office and kissing him goodnight. The sun rose with you, you rode Hélio’s chariot, turning his nights into mornings as you pulled Selena’s moon into the sky.

While he rested, you worked tirelessly to fill in Miguel’s seat, scouring the multiverse for anomalies and sending Spiders to deal with them. You had Lyla run diagnostics and simulations about the chance for future appearances, playing the game of prediction and bettering the percentage after each successful prediction. Peter B. and Jess could help you around the clock, they shared the job you had as Miguel’s right-hand and worked fantastically together when put in charge of it. They were still sent on missions if you and Lyla determined it was too difficult to face alone, they were skilled and had experience, and they would mentor those who needed help. If the case came forward, you would step away from the office and jump through the multiverse, aiding your fellow Spiders to capture anomalies while Lyla took care of the office. 

Miguel came back healthier, stronger and more energetic. He thanked you in the forms of kisses and hugs, gratified words and gestures that made your heart warm, flutter like wings. It nearly made you forget all the heartache he burdened you with within the past months. Nearly. 

Something had ticked Miguel off, his ragged breath simmering in the air, a steady stream of fury. It burned like the lowest pits of hell, ruled by the cold tone of its god, seated at the top-most throne of the Underworld. Powerful and iron-handed, Hades led with strong principles and meticulous habits, much like Miguel did. His fury and anger were dealt by Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell, as ferocious and dangerous as Miguel’s agitated state was. 

His shoulders shook, waves of unadulterated rage filtered off his back, rippling his sculpted back as metal creaked under his hands. His talons sunk into the metal, drawing lines in his anger-filled moment. He spun to face you with a roar, arms flailing until he faced you. He heaved heavily, shoulders and chest moving as his blood rushed with emotions, eyes dilated and turned deep red. He stalked towards you in all his mad glory, like the form of the Cyclops casting its dooming shadow on Odysseus’ men. Except, unlike his men, who were eaten in a blink, embraced by death in such a violent but swift way, you’d be ripped apart by it, pieces of your being torn apart for a slow and painful descent.   

He moved in big, lumbering steps, looming over you, shoulders broad and demanding. He sneered at you, in ways that would kill others but wound you deeply, to tear your heart out and throw it away like old, wilted flowers. The air seemed stuffy, hot and confining, his breath even hotter, burning you when he stopped inches from you. You gaped at him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, something crossed your mind, a flash of emotion that you never thought possible to connect to Miguel: fear. 

“Why can’t you be like-!” He started, mind dead set on breaking you down to your smallest, his force slamming into your softer one. Then he stopped, body seizing as if he was shot, but his round eyes told you he almost let himself slip, to let the name slip from his tongue in a haze. You knew who he was talking about, the memories that he related to her, that he was simply mad, but it didn’t ease the pain that ripped through your heart.

“Like who, Miguel!?” You cried back, hands clenching and rigid on your side. Your body trembling with disgust, shock and heartbreak. You couldn’t believe he would bring her up, to compare you to her and voice it out. It hurt; it drove the nail deeper into your coffin, adding another thing over the mountain of doubt and pain.

He just stared, he couldn’t finish his sentence, a starch contrast to his attitude seconds ago. It pained you that he couldn’t even say the words, to apologize to you about what he said. He knew how to run, how to ignore, and how to push things back. He did that well, and now he couldn’t face what he said to you was pathetic. 

“Like who, huh?! Like her!? Like Dana?!” Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your body crashed down with agony, sadness and betrayal. You shook this time while he looked on with desperation, body unable to make a sound or motion. 

“I- no- mi cielo, no- I didn’t mean to, I swear, ” he reached out, hand (his talons had received back into his pads) extending to touch you, to hold you in an apologetic embrace, but you stepped back, unable to contain your sobs. “Mi vida, please. Perdón, no fue mi intención.” (I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.)

You backed away from him, his warmth, his adoration, his love. His apology sounded guilty, dripping with regret and sorrow. He winced, watching you step away from him, regret gripping his heart as he moved to follow you. Every step you took backward, he took one forward, copying you, trying to approach you as if you were a wounded and unpredictable animal, to appease and soothe you. 

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from his teary ones. You fiddled with your watch, opening a portal to your world and shook off your watch. You jumped back before he could catch you, hand extended to you in a desperate attempt to stop you. He wanted to bring you back into his arms, to kiss the tears away and beg for forgiveness until you let him back in, but to leave him, to throw away the watch that connected you to him. It broke him. 

He wouldn’t be able to see you unless you wanted to be seen, the tracker in your watch left blinking before his feet, discarded as you had with him; after he pushed you away, tore you down with his words spurred by the moment’s rush of negativity and pressure. It wasn’t an excuse, he knew that, but it didn’t ease. He sank to the floor, raking it with his talons as he cried out, a pained sob breaking out of his chest as he cradled his head, cursing himself for not being careful, for not heeding your winces and frowns, and not taking your heart into consideration. 

You fell when you landed in your universe, knocking a few boxes as you crashed onto your side. Your body jerked, cold droplets pouring down on your broken figure as you sat back up on the pavement. You hissed, the downcast atmosphere making your body heave a heartbroken sob, clutching your chest - where your heart would’ve been if Miguel hadn’t shattered it - and falling into yourself. You made yourself smaller, hiding your tear-stained face between your knees as you let the rain shower over you, soaking you down to your socks. 

A relationship built on pain, need and desperation was bound to fall. The carelessness of his ways cracked the edge of your relationship, slowly breaking it down into a shell of what it was. You bled for his cause as you bled for your loss. Like Apollo - a caregiver, a watcher of the fates of the people he oversaw, all the good and evil he could do just by saying the word - Miguel loved and felt, he gave and took, but lost it all in the end. His heart was broken and his soul lost over and over, the people he loved and cared for lost to time and fate. Like the Greek god, he loved what he could not have, loved what he could not hold, loved what he could not keep. 

As would Daphne’s story, she loved as much as you did, she cared as much as you did, and she hated as much as you did. In love was the god, as Miguel was with you, heart-stopping in every aspect. He stood like a god over them all, tall, broad and caring. But like any Greek love story, yours was as tragic, the hymn of your love left to fester with hate and anger, with regret and untold pain. Run, you did as Daphne had, crossing where you hoped he couldn’t reach you; where you’d be left hidden from the heartbreaking sorrow.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the rain, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but every moment blurred into one. The once vibrant colours of New York dulled to a boring monochrome, the world was swallowed in tones of black and white. Your limbs felt numb, you could hardly feel the cold, only the drops of rain and the heaviness of your heart in your chest. You could sit here a while longer, to drown in the sensation of the world falling around you-

Then it stopped raining. That wasn’t right, you could see the water crashing onto the ground by your feet, inches from you. Your side felt warm, a calm, soothing warmth that made your body quake from the cool air. You looked to the side and saw feet, big ones. You followed their body, tracing the lines of their soaking pants, to a warm jacket, broad shoulders and to a familiar face. 

“Oye, who did this to you?” His voice dripped with worry, a calmness that contradicted his frowning eyes. It was a familiar voice. It was a familiar face. It was Miguel’s face. Your lips quivered, staring at the face of your lover - ex-lover now that you thought about it - with newly shed tears. His eyes widened, even more worried than before as he crouched down to your height, hand running down your back soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all right.”

You wished you could believe his words, believe the softness in his tone and the beat of your torturous heart that missed the Miguel you knew. This one - your universe’s Miguel O’Hara (you didn’t even know you had one in your New York, it felt surreal to your depressed mind.) - was a stranger wearing the face of the person you loved. His face was a carbon copy of your Miguel’s, but softer on the edges, calmer and more… human than Spider-man 2099. His voice was gentler, caring more warmth for a stranger in need than yours has, like a whisper from an angel lulling you into a peaceful rest. 

“Vamos, let’s get you out of the rain first.”

Next

[popamolly]

‘ INTERNAL REDEMPTION ’ LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

summary. In the fiery depths, she captures the attention of Lucifer, who senses a unique purity in her soul. With his help, (Y/N) finds herself on the path to redemption and self-discovery with dangerous trouble along the way.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE

warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, she/her pronouns, valentino exists, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder

author’s note. inspired by @punching-pentagrams and their amazing ongoing story “Love In as Hopeless Place”, it encouraged me to write my own fic about Lucifer. go check out their story, it is so good and deserves more love!

In the dimly lit, pulsating world of Club Elysium, where the air was thick with anticipation and desire, a mysterious aura surrounded a captivating figure on the stage. Under the flickering neon lights, you moved with a mesmerizing grace that defied the earthly realm. Dressed in glistening attire that caught the reflections of the vibrant hues around her, you became an ethereal presence, drawing the attention of every gaze in the room.

Your movements were a dance of contradictions – an alluring blend of sensuality and innocence. You twirled and swayed to the rhythm of the music, casting a spell upon the enchanted audience.

Unbeknownst to the patrons of Club Elysium, you were more than just an exotic dancer seeking to enthrall with her physical prowess. Your celestial grace, forgotten in the afterlife coil she now inhabited, manifested in the subtle elegance of her performance. As you moved, you felt a distant echo of a certain purpose, an inexplicable connection to something beyond the neon-lit stage.

In the hazy ambiance, Valentino, the enigmatic owner of Club Elysium, watched from the shadows, his eyes reflecting one of red burning lust, but it was more than just lust for you— no, it was something more— it was a thirst for power that had him grinning from ear to ear. Valentino knew that in this corner of Hell he owned everything, even you.

As the music reached its crescendo, your dance reached its zenith. The room held its breath, suspended in a moment where hell and celestial intertwined. You were always the ballerina in the jelwery box, the beautiful antique that Valentino had in his grasp to show off and praise. Though he may own you outside the building you made sure to show him through your dancing, that you were the one that owned the stage. He hated when you went off script or changed the choreography but you made sure to do it on purpose and on nights you knew he was watching you.

That was your little dose of rebellion, a little taste of freedom you could only wish to have. You were content with your situation though, it could’ve been worse. At least with Valentino you were paid, clothed, and feed with an overall decent place to live. Being one of his toys had its perks— you couldn’t complain. Especially when there were those who had it so much worse than you.

“You jus’ love angerin’ him, don’t you doll?” Your coworker, Angel Dust, asked as you entered the dressing room that you and the other dancers shared. The smell of makeup and cheap perfume filled your senses, calming you with the sense of familiarity, “Cause last I checked, that wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

“Well,” You chuckled as you sat on the couch, its fabric ripped and white stuffing nearly popping out the sides, “I just thought that my choreo was better, and by the sound of that crowd and the money on stage, it was.”

“Heh,” Angel couldn’t help but envy your confidence when it came to Valentino, who owned you both in more ways than one and yet you always found a way to yank on the chains without consequence. A part of Angel loathed you for it.

You could sense the mood shift in Angel, not that you cared but you weren’t exactly heartless either. With a sigh, you get up from the couch, ignoring your aching feet as you join Angel’s side, looking into the vanity mirror so you could touch up your makeup, “Trust me, if my act wasn’t purity and innocence it would be a different story. Lucky for me, bruises and marks on my body wouldn’t sell too well.”

“Yeah, count it on luck shortcake.” With that Angel left, pushing another girl out the way angrily while snatching the drink out her hand. You could only sigh, not intending on upsetting him more but as always, your intentions don’t matter when your words spoke otherwise. It had been so long since you had a decent human connection, you were just a bit rusty.

“My sweets,” The sudden sound of Valentino’s voice had the room go silent, the air becoming so thick you were sure you’d might suffocate in it, “Can I have the room please?”

With hushed scared whispers and nervous glances, you and the other girls make your way to the door. You had hoped you could sneak past him under the cover of the other women who all but rushed passed Valentino but his slender hand caught your forearm quick, gripping it with such force that you were slightly shocked by the pain he caused— it wasn’t like him to be rough with you, “Not you, darling. We have to have a chat, don’t we mio caro?”

You turn to look at him with a frown, “About what? My performance?”

“Oh I would love to talk about that little stunt you pulled but I need you for something a bit more important,” Valentino yanks you further into the room, locking the door behind him with his other hand before slinging you against the vanity, bottles of perfume falling over and onto the ground as the desk shakes violently. Your employer towers over you with ease making you shudder beneath his fiery gaze, “I need something done and I need it done right, I trust that you can accomplish this task, yes?”

What shit was he getting you into now? You were done with porn, you had paid a hefty price to alter your contract with him and you weren’t going to slip back into the void now, not when you were so far ahead, “I won’t be one of your pornstars, Val. We had a deal.”

Valentino laughs, his pointy fingernail dragging along your cheek while he licks his lips, “This isn’t about that principessa, this is a more delicate matter. Think you’re up for it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” You yank your head away from his hands, lowering your gaze into a slight glare.

“This is why I always liked you, dove. You learn quick.”

“If you were going to tell me to send in a whore Val, I wouldv’e just asked you to send Angel Dust!” Vox glitched with anger, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration as he turned around in his chair, his claw like hands gripping onto the table with such force that it left a mark, “What makes this slut is any different from him?!”

It was hard to bite back your tongue but you did, unwillingly submitting to your role as you stood before the V’s with your eyes to the ground, not daring to even look as confident at you usually were. Not because you were scared of them, no, you were scared of embarrassing Valentino. Your boss might have forgiven you for your countless stunts but when it came to matters of business with the V’s, you knew your place.

“Angel dust thinks he is on this path to redemption, let him stay in his delusion but until I can break him fully he will never be loyal to me. Not as loyal as (Y/N) here…” Valentino wraps his hand around your neck, forcing your head up to look at Vox— who for a split second was taken back by your beauty, “I have broken (Y/N) time and time again, she would do anything for me, isn’t that right (Y/N)?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Valentino.”

“Good.” Valentino pushes you toward Vox, making you stumble into him, forcing him to catch you in his arms, “Quite the vixen, she would surely catch the eyes of any overlord.”

“Even the King of Hell himself?” Vox tips your chin up with his index finger, looking into your eyes with a devilishly grin that makes you shiver.

“Asmodeus throws the biggest parties in the Pride Ring that is filled with all kinds of debauchery, especially for his birthday.” Valentino explains, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his right leg over the other, exhaling out a long drag of pink smoke, “Every one of importance will be there since it isn’t just a party but a show of status.”

“And..what? Your pretty toy is just supposed to waltz in there and get the attention of any overlord that wants to fuck her?” Velvette finally tears her gaze away from her phone, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Well it is an important party of one of Lucifer’s friends—”

“Which means he is bound to be there.” Vox grins, “Get close to the king and we get closer to controlling Hell.”

“And what makes you so sure he’ll entertain such..” Velvette looks at you with a roll of her eyes, “From what I hear Lucifer is loyal to Lilith, no one has seen him with another woman on his arm and it’s been 7 years, hashtag faithful.”

“Ah, well, 7 years is a long time to go without intimacy…I say the man is touch starved and would like some attention.” Valentino says, “Anyone can still get lonely, no matter how faithful.”

“I like the way you think Val,” Vox grips your chin as you grit your teeth. “And I think your little whore here will do just nicely.”

Before you know it was the day of Asmodeus’ birthday party. The V’s gave you the run down of the plan and how you were supposed to get close to the King of Hell himself— who you haven’t even seen in person for as long as you been hell. Which was a few years by now. You were a simple lowlife, you kept to yourself and tried to survive, only to end up within his grasp. Was he as cruel as people say? ‘What sort of question is that? Of course he was! He was the King of fucking Hell, which last time you checked, wasn’t given to just anyone.’

Of all the people, of everyone in Hell, it just has to be you. Because of your cursed deal with Val, you were stuck in a continuous limbo that you couldn’t escape from. Damn you and your loyalty, damn it all if it will end up with you dead ( again ) on the steps of Lucifer’s palace. This wasn’t fair— but then again, when has your situation ever been fair?

“Oh, you look just like a doll.” Valentino ruffled with the fake angel wings that adorned your back, fixing and prodding with whatever to make you more presentable, “Like an angel. Hell, upon just a glance mio caro you might have been able to get away with actually being one.”

And as you glance at your reflection in the mirror you felt a sudden sharp pain in the center of your forehead. Only fragments of memories came flooding your mind like a crashing wave. It was all so blurry but the word Angel held some sort of weight on you but you couldn’t place exactly what.

You held onto your head, trying to steady your breathing and relaxing your nerves as Valentino continues to add the finishing touches to your look.

“Get it together, dove.” Valentino meets your gaze in the reflection, “I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“No..” The pain in your head quickly fades away as soon as it came, “I can do this.”

“Good, because it is just about your turn to be presented for the auction.”

The auction. Asmodeus does it for sport at every single one of his parties but now that this is his birthday party, this auction is the biggest one yet. It is where he finds Hell’s most beautiful prized possessions, not limiting to actual sinners. The hope was to capture Lucifer’s attention as he would be in the crowd through this angel facade, and pray that he would bet on you. And if that didn’t work, then you would have to move on to plan B. And you didn’t like plan b.

Valentino wished you luck as you stood behind the curtain to the center stage, disappearing into the shadows to leave you on your own and this mission that was screwed from the get go.

“And last but not least, I present to you—! what is the object’s name again?” The announcer whispers, putting his microphone away from his face to get a confirmation from another employee, “Ah! The pure and innocent, (Y/N)!”

The curtain suddenly opens, the spotlight from above blinding you in away that made you shield your eyes from the brightness. You squint, looking upon a sea of red lustful eyes looking over your figure with curiosity. You take a deep breath, as you played the part of a shy girl, slowly bringing your hands to cover yourself even though the white thin laced gown left little to the imagination.

“Hubba hubba! Would you look at that boys?” Asmodeus’ eyes nearly turn into hearts at the sight of you, “And I thought nothing could even look so angelic in Hell!”

“What a beaut’” Mammon agrees.

“Indeed.” Lucifer sat beside his friends, trying to cover his boredom with peaked interest as he looks in your direction. This whole thing was pretty fucked up to him but that was just the way of life down here, there’s no changing that— no changing people when it is just in their nature. Now usually he wouldn’t indulge such things but he was the King of Hell, and he had to play the part to maintain order even though he longed for nothing but to be constructing rubber ducks right now.

“500!” A man in the crowd closer to the stage shouts.

The announcer points in the man’s direction with enthusiasm, “I hear 500! What about 550? Do I hear 550?”

“600!” Another shouts.

“600 to the gentleman in red! But do I hear a 650? 650?”

Asmodeus sits back in his seat, taking another swig of his whiskey. Mammon looks at his friend in disbelief as the unknown sinners below them begin to shout various of numbers for you, “Is she not to the Lustful Overlords taste?”

“Ah, I have so many who do the innocent act. It gets boring after awhile. But if you’re interested…you should buy her.” Asmodeus smirks, shaking the single ice cube in his glass as he signals to the waitress for another.

“She ain’t my type, but—” Mammon gets a sudden idea, “Lucifer should have her. I’m sure he gets off to the Angel shit don’t you your highness?”

Lucifer tips his hat up with his cane, “I am married.”

“To a woman who you haven’t seen in seven years!” Asmodeus rolls his eyes with a loud groan before raising his hand to join the bid, “Lighten up! Good sir, I say 2500!”

“What a doozy! 2500! 2500! Do I hear 3000!?” The announcer nearly jumps from his stool at the amount offered, “Going once! Going twice—!”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer warned. Not wanting any part in this sinful behavior.

The sound of a gavel rang through the air, finalizing the amount, “And sold to the gentleman in VIP! Your prize will wait outback until you are ready to retrieve it! Enjoy!”

Just like that the plan was working. In just less than five minutes you were sold off like some prize. Your life being in yet another’s hands that wasn’t your own, it was a bit ironic since this life is almost just the same as the one you led on Earth. It was getting harder and harder to distinguish which one was truly Hell.

© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

[anisangeldust]

Alter is my hips 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: After finally getting the meal he deserves, Panems president finds himself with an opportunity from a mistake.

Part: ← iii →

Warnings: coercion/dub-con, oral (f and m), smut, p in v, unprotected sex, Snows interesting internal monologue, dumbification, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, back scratching (all that good shit), misogyny, premeditated murderous intentions, domestic violence/abuse, slapping, punching, mentions of bruising, mentions of blood, mentions of broken bones.

A/N: DDDNE, please don’t read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable. Your internet consumption is not my responsibility.

When Coriolanus pulled away from your lips they were red and swollen, his eyes glazed with a dangerous mixture of lust and greed. He had kissed you, you had let him kiss you. This changed everything, because now he was aware that you wanted him too. The air in his office now felt thick, your dress was all that much tighter, your lips that much more plump. You were a tease, put on the earth to test his patience - a test he failed. Without another word he scooped you up and set you down on his desk, his grip on your waist was tight, and his gaze was predatory.

“So fucking beautiful, so pretty” The young president grumbled as he captured your lips again. Coriolanus’ hands traveled down and under your skirt. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties and tugged them down “hips up” he commanded as he pulled them down your legs. He broke the kiss and looked down, smirking at the obvious damp mark in your panties “oh pretty baby, so needy” he cooed and brought your panties up to his nose. The smell of your arousal almost made him cum, he’d done that, fuck he made you wet, Coriolanus balled up the fabric and shoved it in his pocket before gently pushing you onto your back and hiking up your little maid uniform.

“What.. what are you doing Coriolanus?” Your tone was almost cute, so endearing, so innocent

Young Snow looked at you like you were his death row meal. “What I should’ve done weeks ago” he growled and leaned over you “and if you don’t like it-“ he started kissing up your thighs “-you can get the fuck out of my office.” His icy blues were blown black as he met your gaze. A beat of silence went by, which he took as consent. “Oh you do want it? I should’ve known, such a patriotic whore.” He teased and kissed all around your aching pussy “so beautiful, all for me my precious dove..” he murmured as he used two fingers to spread open your folds.

The sight in front of him was almost too arousing for his already too-tight pants and rock hard length. Strings of your arousal all so pretty and ready for him to use, your swollen clit that peaked out from your pink folds, such a beautiful cunt he was about to savor. Coriolanus licked a fat stripe up from the bottom to the top of your slit, gently placing teasing kisses on your sensitive bud. One of his large fingers teased your entrance as he applied kitten licks to your clit.

“Coriolanus — oh! Mm.. oh my gods oh!” His ears soaked in the sounds of your moans, each shaky breath, every gasp and groan, all of it because of him. He used his free hand to explore up and down your bottom half, the other was prodding your desperate whole, eventually pushing in while he simultaneously sucked on your little pink bundle of nerves.

Coriolanus would never get over your taste, you were oh so sweet, a nectar of the highest quality, he thanked whatever god there was for the privilege to savor you. Every swipe of his muscle made you sticky and beautiful, as your cunt became deliciously glossy he become more insatiable. He lifted his head periodically, only to coo or groan. “Fuck me baby, taste so fucking good — feels good doesn’t it my little dove? Yes it does” he murmured as we dropped his head back down.

“Gods! Oh I’m gonna come Coriolanus!” You cried out, back arching off the sleek mahogany of his desk, nails hooked around the edge and head thrown back. This was ecstasy you could only dream of, no past boyfriend or stupid hookup could compete with the skilled tongue of Panems’ president. His fingers thrusted in and out of you, first one, then two, then three of his large and veiny fingers stretching out your little pussy and curling to hit that sponges spot inside you so deliciously.

The corners of his mouth curled up in a beautiful smirk. “C’mon, come for me, show me how much you love your president—mmmhh, patriotic slut, have you no shame? Having your pussy stretched on the presidents desk. Tsk tsk tsk” he half teased, half degraded. He slurped and sucked like you were an oasis in a desert, the words of degradation hit your ears like a pornographic tsunami, they snapped the tight coil in your abdomen, almost involuntarily making you buck your hips as you rode out your orgasm.

Coriolanus helped you through your intense pleasure, gently pulling his fingers out of your hole and using the three of them to rub soft circles against your clit. When your body had calmed, he took his fingers and gently sucked the cum off of them, groaning at the delicious taste of your release. “So sweet baby, so good” he praises and gently cupped your face in one of his hands. “But I haven’t had my fill yet..” he grumbles as he kissed and sucked on your hip bone, using both his hands to hold your thighs.

Making his way down to your sensitive cunt, he licked and kissed your throbbing clit. You whined something about being sensitive and while trying to push his head away, an action that pissed him off. He rose and caged you under him on his desk. “I decide when you’re done, I decide when you’ve come enough, and if you try to keep what’s mine away from me I’ll turn you over my lap and spank you raw.” He growled, eyes dark.

You should’ve been terrified, you should’ve got up and ran, yet something about his controlling made you even more wet. With a nod and a quiet “yes sir..” you submitted to his will. You couldn’t help but crave the danger, a fly willingly landing on a spiders web, a lamb lying on their back for a wolf. He eagerly started on your sensitive and wet pussy, drinking up every drop of you. The tenderness of your last orgasm made your next one wash over quickly, and despite your almost painful bouts of labored breaths, he didn’t stop. Coriolanus didn’t stop until it was unclear whether the thick sheen coating your thighs was your come or his spit, he didn’t stop until you were spasming in your hips and felt like your legs would fall off.

Coriolanus lifted his head once more, viscous drops that fell from his chin and a string of saliva connected to your cunt. He placed one last kiss on your puffy clit before using two fingers to scoop the wet mixture off his face. The young president then used his free arm to lift you back to a sitting position on his desk. The sight of your fucked out face with puffy lips and glossy eyes was indescribably satisfying.

He pushed his clean hand to play with your bottom lip. “Did that feel good dove? That was your treat for all your hard work, for being one of the few women I can tolerate” he cooed, almost mockingly. A small nod from you made him smile, you were so easy to please weren’t you? “On your knees now baby, I’m no where near done with you.” He urged gently. Coriolanus then carefully used his arm to help you on your knees, once again using his clean hand to tilt up your chin as he sat down in his chair, peering down at you. “Open your mouth.” He gently commanded again and he placed his slimy fingers on your tongue.

You eagerly sucked his fingers, letting out a said “mmm..” and swirling them around with your tongue, savoring the taste like it was the best lollipop on the market. Coriolanus groaned and held the back of your head with his other hand, raking your fingers through your soft hair. He let his fingers out with a *pop* and licked his lips. Such a good girl you were, following his rules so obediently, so pretty and perfect for him.

“Alright sweet girl, ready for my cock?” He cooed and tangled his hands in your hair, gently forcing you down onto his leaking shaft. You took it upon yourself to lick up the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, one hand gently fondling his balls and the other wrapped around the base. Coriolanus could have came on the spot from how good it felt to finally have someone who knew how to properly please a man, a woman who knew her place. As you took as much of him as you could, he started to really take control, giving you a few moments to adjust before he started to fuck your face. What a gentleman!

“Been dreaming about fucking those lips, you’ve got a throat made for bruising” he huffed, head thrown back and hand moving while he used you like a fleshlight. The sounds of you choking on him made him feel powerful, and the tears that pricked your big eyes aroused him impossibly more. The feeling of his fat tip bullying your throat should’ve raised red flags, but every choke, every gag, you felt yourself fallen deeper and deeper into his palm. The soft grunts of “fuck.. so.. good- ah; good fucking girl-“ drove you do take him deeper, faster, be better than Livia, though that was easy.

There was something so indescribably cathartic about coming down your throat he decided, sure he’d fucked his fist, came in an old rag, even fucked another woman all in attempt to relieve the ache that sat in his heavy dick. Finally having the real thing? Nothing compared, and nothing would compare to when he’d finally be all in the deep, wet, warm pussy. “Swallow it all baby, wouldn’t want it to go to waste now would you?” He teased and wiped up a bit of the salty dribble from the side of your mouth, forcing his tongue on your mouth and making sure you swallowed all of his cum.

Part of him, a deep, closed off part of Coriolanus almost felt guilty. You deserved soft and gentle, In a bed, as his fiancée, not as the other woman.. no, Livia was the other woman, every touch, every kiss, every look he shared with her felt like he was cheating on you, how was he supposed to touch the wretched woman after this? How are you supposed to go back to rotten fruit after being given nectar from the heavens? The more he looked down at your gorgeous face, the longer something unfriendly tugged at his chest. Love? No, he didn’t love you. He swore he’d never love another, love was a weakness. He did care about you, yes, he cared. He cared about you more than he’d ever cared about Livia, he looked forward to seeing you, you deserved to be Mrs Snow.

In a moment of weakness perhaps, Coriolanus gently lifted you up into his arms bridal style, laying you down on an adjoining sofa with a warm, crackling fire. “So beautiful..” he whispered in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, looking at you like some sort of irreparable treasure. Coriolanus sat down and started to slide his hands up your thighs, taking you by the waist so you were straddling him as he sat. “You’re gonna take me..” he started “and you’re gonna like it okay? I’ll stuff you full of my cum and then you’ll have to keep doing your job little dove” he mumbled as he slid down and gently nipped at your throat. “Words baby, I need words.” He softly commanded.

“Yes sir.. yes” you nodded shakily, your own cum still dripping down your thighs and now ruining the Presidents dress pants. You let out a soft groan as he bit and nipped at your jugular, tasting the saltiness of your delicate skin.

A satisfied smile crosses Coriolanus’ lips. “Such a good girl, I’ll make sure you get rewards for how well you listen to me.” He chuckled and gestured for you to kneel up “gonna help you ride me, don’t forget who’s in charge my little dove.” He drawled, voice laced with warning. As Coriolanus aligned his newly hard cock with your still dripping fold, he mentally shuddered. As you lowered down and the tip slid in, he growled with desire. Every inch more you took of his thick shaft was another piece of his resistance being chipped away. He fully growled out when you bottomed out, the little yelp sound was enough for him to finish right then and there. Coriolanus really had every intention of being soft, but a predator is still a predator. And what kind of lion would he be if he refused the soft underbelly of such a willing lamb? With little (no) warning, he snapped his hips up and started to fuck you hard.

“Oh! Ah! Too much! Coryo.. it’s—!” You yelped and he snickered under his breath. It would’ve taken a tranquilizer dart and a barrack of peacekeepers to pull him out of you, your warm, wet cunt. His cock buried in you was the solution to all the problems he could think of as of that very moment. Coriolanus had really never felt more peace than when he was guiding your body on and off his cock. If lust was truly a deadly sin then send him to the 2nd circle of hell, if there was a heaven then it paled in comparison to you. And if all else; this was the moment that he decided that you would take Livias place, even if it meant bloodshed.

The wet squelches and loud moans merged together in a symphony of desperate pleasure. Coriolanus shut you up with a sloppy, albeit slightly romantic, kiss full of tongues and teeth. Your nails raked down his back, so hard that if he wasn’t wearing a shirt it would’ve drawn blood, and his hands had your waist in a rib-crushing hold. His long shaft and pillowy tip hit that spongy spot inside you so deliciously, eliciting a harmony of moans from both of you. Your bodies fit together perfectly, though the scene was less romance and more sexual desperation, built up desire from over a month of unresolved sexual tension that finally got let go.

The pleasure was so good that you devolved into a thoughtless puddle of a woman, jaw hung open and head thrown back, only soft whimpers escaped your throat as you reached your climax. Coriolanus was grunting and groaning like an animal in heat. He would never get tired of this pussy, so wet and tight, all for him. Coriolanus’ climax came too soon, he wanted to spend eternity buried in your cunt, but he couldn’t deny how badly he needed to paint your insides with his seed. Deep moans turned into soft pants as Coriolanus drew closer “gonna fill you up you slut, you beautiful, sweet little slut.. gonna make you mine— have you dripping..” he croaked and landed a harsh spank to your butt, the action making you cum and squeeze around him. Feeling you grip him was what made the blonde lose it, bucking his hips as he shit ropes of his pearly cum into your eager cunt, making sure to ride out until he was satisfied.

Coriolanus felt your head on his shoulder as you both cooled down, labored breaths and the smell of sex filling the confines of his office. As much as he hated to let you go; any onlookers to this scene would mean bad press, so he gently laid you down on the couch and kissed the side of your lips. A small grumble leafy his chest as he murmured “you have to go back to work dove, and so do I..” he whispered.

“Then I’ll need my underwear back..” you mumbled and he almost growled. There was absolutely no way in any dimension that he’d give you back a pair of your soiled panties, not when they smelled so delicious. The president sighed and looked over you “I’ll go get some from Livia, don’t move from here.” He commanded while getting up and shoving his softening dick back into his boxers and, now ruined, dress pants. Coriolanus walked into his room and then closet, getting a new pair of pants and stealing a pair of Livias panties. He quickly changed and went back down to his office.

Like the good girl you were, you hadn’t moved a bit. Young Snow smiled and walked over to you, “such a good girl, didn’t love a muscle. Hips up” he commanded and slid the panties on, making sure to keep as much of his cum as possible inside your pussy. “So good, now give me a kiss and get back to work.” The words were both soft and authoritative, as you got up and stretched your muscles, he delivered a hard smack to your ass and chuckled “so good, always so good for me.”

——

As always, Coriolanus watched out his big window as you spent your lunch break in the presidential gardens. He leaned forward with brows furrowed as he watched you whiny pick up an animal by a patch of berries, he could tell by the saddened expression that crossed your face that the animal was dead. It looked to be a little white rabbit, feeding off what looked like the gardens blueberry plant. Coriolanus chuckled gently to himself, of course you’d be compassionate enough to care for an animal that served you no purpose. The young president knew that you’d run in after your lunch break and tell him how the bunny died, you always had a knack for telling him all about your day, no detail too minuet.

Just as anticipated, when you walked in with his tray of afternoon tea, you started immediately with the story. “I found a dead bunny in the gardens at lunch. Poor thing.” You shook your head solemnly while fixing up his tea “the gardener thinks it’s the berries. He grew a patch of nightshade berries and I think he accidentally planted poison nightshade instead.” Your story made him almost smile, it was very plausible, though he made a mental note to talk to the gardener to see if it was truly an accident. “And then..” you continued, setting the tea on a saucer and handing it to him “I found flowering hemlock weeds in the bed of the berries. He swore he weeded it all out last fall but he probably left some roots. So we’re both pretty sure they grew into each other and made some super poisonous deadly nightshade hemlock berries.” You rambled on.

“Super poisonous deadly nightshade hemlock berries? Well I’m glad you two caught it before we picked them. My smart little dove” He chuckled while sipping his tea “come, sit on my lap.” He patted his thigh and you complied, sitting down in his leg so he could wrap an arm around you. His large hand played with your hair absentmindedly. “I’m sure we’ll find some use for them, like a repellent to get rid of unwanted animals and keep them away from the garden plants..” he murmured. Something about that statement flickered a light in his mind. Keep away unwanted animals? Super poisonous and unassuming berries? This was perfect, almost too perfect. He looked down at you and was clearly lost in thought “What were you saying a few days ago about that flower? Baby’s breath?” He murmured at you.

“Gypsophila? It’s toxic and sometimes lethal for consumption?” You murmured back and leaned into him petting your hair “kinda reminds me of these weird hybrid berries” your smile was so cute, so innocent. How adorable. “Why do you ask?” You mumble as your face gently rests in the junction between his neck and shoulder.

What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Oh to kill my fiancée so I can marry you instead’? Though he was sure you reciprocated his feeling of lust and care, you had to. And what woman would say no to being his wife? He softly cupped your chin and kissed you softly “I refuse to spend the rest of my life with Livia.” He simply drawled between your lips. The words hung heavy with implication, he’s going to kill Livia. Coriolanus’ hand slipped down and patted your still cum filled pussy, reminding you of the days earlier activities. “I never intended for our rendezvous to be a one time thing. I don’t think you understand how deeply you’ve sunk your claws into me, my little dove. You’re mine now, but for that to happen I have to get rid of Livia.” He grumbled against your lips, looking down at you with both need and care.

Your eyes widened at his words, head lifting up to so you can look him in the face. “So.. wait. You- want.. me? To take her place? As your Fiancée?” You mumble, uncertainty painting your words. A small shiver ran down your spine, were you dreaming? This was a scenario you hadn’t dared to even humor, you could live with being his mistress, but wife? Your mouth hung open with shock.

“Yes. I do. You deserve the life of luxury she takes for granted. You’re a worker, and I care for you more than I’ve ever cared about her.” He said smoothly, hand starting to rub over your clothed cunt. “I can’t just break up with her, she’d spread some bullshit rumor about me. She has to go, and when she does I’ll make you the First Lady that Panem deserves.” His words were smooth and clear. Coriolanus’ middle and ring finger ghosted softly over your clothed pussy, making sure to get you wet and squirming again “I’d advise keeping this between us. I’d hate for you to meet the same fate I have planned for her.” He threatens as I kisses you softly, a walking contradiction with the voice of a siren. “Now get up, finish your work for the day and tell Marcus to pick the nightshade hemlock berries. Grab some hemlock flowers and babies breath too, tea and pastries with jam always pair nicely.” He leans back and continues on his work.

There was maybe 10 minutes of peace (impressive for the state of tension in the mansion) before the sound of broken glass and the screams he could only deduce were from Livia. A few quick strides and Coriolanus was met with one of his many hosting rooms, a bar area complete with his betrothed sobbing and screaming while you were sweeping up a broken champagne flute. “She.. she threw it at me! She hates me!” Livia sobbed, though any sane person recognized her crocodile tears. A quick once over confirmed that you were unharmed, which meant that 1. You had thrown the glass at her, which he wouldn’t blame you if you had. Or 2. She threw it at you and missed so she’s blaming you. Coriolanus was very much betting on the latter.

“Yes. I’m sure our presidential palaces maid threw a champagne flute at you for no reason. That sounds like something she’d do” He rolled his eyes “get up off the floor. You’re a grown woman who’s acting like a toddler.” The president scoffs and tilts your chin up to look at him “once you finish cleaning this mess just go home. You deserve it.” He mumbled gently before looking down at Livia and turning on his heel.

“You don’t believe me? Coriolanus! She attacked me!” Livia gets up and pulls at his jacket “please, fire her! She’s been nothing but rude to me since she got here!” She whines and pleads. Quite frankly, Coriolanus had been toeing the edge of insanity because of Livias lies and attitude. In a spur of the moment flash of anger, he grabbed Livia by her shirt collar and backhanded her harshly, his rings leaving an imprint and the mark already red.

“Know your place and shut the fuck up.” Coriolanus growls as he lets go and she drops to the floor, cradling her hurt cheek. He leaves before he can see your wide eyes, or before he can hear her soft cries of pain and confusion.

——

The bullshit started just as Coriolanus set out to go to bed. He shrugged off his jacket and shirt, setting his pin on a little dish and unbuckling his belt. He made sure to hide your used panties in the pocket of a different suit jacket for later, his boxers pooled as his ankles and he slipped on a robe for getting unready. Coriolanus didn’t like to be shirtless in front of his fiancee, he didn’t like having to remember that he was stabbed saving someone who would end up at the noose anyway, too vulnerable, too much. He swears he could hear her wretched voice from across the mansion as she made her presence known “Coriolanus!” She whined as he finished washing his face.

“I’m still not happy with you.” He grumbles and dries off with a towel. “Shes been nothing but kind to you and you’ve been a bitch.” He scoffs out at her pleading puppy eyes. How pathetic was she?

“I know, but I thought I could make up for it..?” She pulled the string of her robe to reveal a lingerie set. Livias eyes, full of lust and want, trailed up and down his body, yet Coriolanus felt nothing but disgust as he looked at his fiancées body. His dick, which was already semi hard the whole day due to your activities, became harder as he remembered how you looked with your uniform hiked up. His erection sat heavily on his thigh, barely visible through his robe.

“Put some clothes on. I don’t want pity sex, or sex at all for that matter.” He grumbled and pushed her out of the way, moving to their closet as he filed through potential sleepwear.

But Livia was dedicated if nothing else, coming up to him and trying to strike a sexy pose against the wall “but I can see that you’re hard, please? Let me make it up to you..” she smiled and tried to reach out and touch his hard cock.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes, scoffed, and smacked her hand away. “No. And that’s not because of you. I can’t control my dick 24/7, I’m not sleeping with you. Now get half decent and stop being a pain in my ass.” He scowled, putting on some boxers before shedding his robe.

“This is about her isn’t! She’s poisoning you against me!” Livia pouts out her bottom lip, immediately blaming you for her shortcomings, though she wasn’t completely off. “You don’t understand! When you’re away.. she— well she just hates me!” She starts her crocodile tears again. “And I’m not a pain in the ass! Shes a skank! She’s trying to make herself look good and make me look bad! She’s trying to take you away from me!” Livia cries out, acting like she hadn’t hurt you for no reason on multiple occasions, including multiple bruises and several scars.

Coriolanus was at his breaking point. “Yeah? And you’re just a saint aren’t you? God you’ve been a pain in my ass since this whole proposal deal! She’s just cleaning the manor!” He scathes while shoving Livia against the wall. “You’re trying to frame her, she’s done nothing wrong. Stop being a bitch or I’ll correct your attitude.” He growls and lets go of Livias shirt. She opens her mouth to protest and he physically can’t stop himself, he punches his fiancee right in the face. Not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough that her nose starts bleeding.

“Doesn’t feel good does it? Being pushed around. Next time I’ll crack your fucking nose. You tell anyone and I’ll ruin you.” He seethes out, momentarily remembering that he had plans to kill her on the days following. “Now get the fuck out of my room. Go sleep somewhere else. I don’t want to see your fucking face.” The young blonde let her fall to the floor and tuned out her sobs.

After she got up and left the room, blood dripping form her cupped hand and tears streaming down her face, Coriolanus shut and locked the door. He went to the closet and pulled out your used panties, god how good they smelled.. Putting them up to his nose, he breathed in and moaned. President snow sat down on the bed, pulled off his boxers, and immediately wrapped his fist around his erection. “Fuck.. mphff.. oh fuck..” he groaned out as he started to work up and down his angry cock, the tip red and oozing pre. Coriolanus took a large breath in of your panties, imagining in was your cunt sat on his large nose. It didn’t take long before her was bucking up his hips and holding your underwear against his face as he came all on his hand. Usually he would be ashamed of masturbation, but this marked a new beginning, a reality that he would no longer have to deal with Livia. And as he washed off his hand and abs, he almost let out a sigh of relief. Coriolanus had never slept better than when he knew your panties were under his pillow.

Taglist!

@daenerysqueenofhearts @caramelandvenus @yoursrosie @wearemadeofstardust0 @kay-lla @mrsriddlenott @sleekervae @ianales @qoopeeya @arzua10 @matcha-muses @jitsuki12 @nojeicintjzonfhw @poppyflower-22 @lustforrush @jefferson-in-the-tardis @aurabambi @royal-sunflower @rovckwells @rubys-rere @iydImsydxoxo @lucyisdoingfine @nyxxoxo @paradisepoisons @miserableblood @poppyflower-22 @anonymous14261703170309 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sqct @anakinluvr4ever @tmblrsexyw0man (comment if you wanna be added🫶)

[sivyera]

Dating Ekko but Vi has a crush on you...

so let's start from the beginning (from the start it's kinda boring ngl)

you, ekko, powder and vi (also with mylo and claggor before their death) were childhood friends

but after vander's, mylo's and claggor's death, after silco took jinx under his wing and after vi was put in jail, everything change

you didn't saw ekko or anyone else for a long time, so you were alone

but one night after many years, firelights found you and kinda kidnap you if i can call it like that

you had a bag over your head so you couldn't see anything, but you heard someone walking around you

that someone took the bag off your head, she squinted at the light and then you saw a person with and owl looking mask?

you frowned and you switched to defense mode, asking questions like who is he, what he want, etc..

the person didn't say anything and took off his mask slowly

you gasped when you saw ekko, but now he wasn't as cute as he was when he was a lil kid, he was hot

he released you out of handcuffs and you immediately hugged him, he hugged you back

well after that you talked for hours, telling each other what happened etc

ekko showed you what he built over those years and you loved it

and you loved it to the point that you become a firelight and you were ekko's right hand (but don't tell scar;))

and after few months you two started dating

so ekko now captured vi and had a 'little' talk with her and when they went to release caitlyn from her handcuffs, you were there

you were standing in front of caitlyn giving her some food so she can get a bit energy

vi didn't recognize you at start but when you turn to face her she was amazed, you change a lot

you walked towards her or that what she thought

you walked towards ekko, who was sitting next to her, you bend down to give him a kiss on his forehead

when you bend to kiss him, vi and caitlyn could perfectly see your ass, which made caitlyn blush and vi smirk

vi liked you for a long time but she didn't really thought about love when she was a kid

but when she realized you're dating ekko, ohoho she didn't like it a bit

she was jealous, like a lot but she could hide it well (that what she thought)

she thought that she was better partner for you, she was older and stronger, etc

she tried to restore her relationship with you, because she didn't see you for years, so ekko didn't mind at first

but ekko isn't stupid and he notice that vi is more touchy with you and she is always checking you out

so he became jealous as well

so whenever vi was nearby, he put his arms around your waist or kiss you

vi just rolled her eyes but inside she was furious

vi flirted with you, a lot

sometimes her and ekko get into a fights because of you, but nothing serious just vi picking up on ekko telling him tha you deserve someone mature or a real (wo)man

vi makes fake scenarios in her head when she sees you and ekko kissing, hugging or just holding hands, imagining that she was at ekko's place

ekko would sometimes complain when you two cuddle or are alone that vi is looking at you too much and that you gave her too much attention, i have to admit that he is also kinda insecure that you will leave him, but he just loves you with his whole heart

she would also stare at you, just admiring your beaty and ekko didn't like it, like he agree with her that you are beautiful, but you were his and his only

when he gets more jealous or just overwhelmed with things, he would fuck you all night, make you moan his name for vi to hear and he would mark your neck with hickeys for vi to see them the next day (yk let her know who you belong to)

it kinda affect their friendship because vi is stubborn and she can't give up or take a hint

and ekko definitely wouldn't give you to her, you are everything to him

I hope you like it guys, I thought this would be cool idea and in my head it seemed like it but rn idk how to feel about it:)

[crepesuzette2023]

Fave reconciliation fics?

What a wonderful ask, thank you!

Reconciliation is such an important part of many Beatles fics, especially those about John and Paul. Don't we all wish they could have...And what if...and why couldn't they...

It's interesting, because on the one hand it's an intellectual challenge to come up with a good reconciliation story (could they have reconciled? How?), and on the other hand, it's pure self-indulgence: a way to give them the ultimate warm, fuzzy, tear-soaked, slicked up, soaring piccolo trumpet catharsis they deserved. Together.

Or perhaps their reconciliation will be a small gesture? A silent agreement? A warm little spark? Anyway, enough waffling: here are some older faves and more recent stories with reconciliation at its focus. Focus is on John and Paul, with some others added. It's a long-ish list, so here's a break.

(Just like) Starting Over by dollylux. John and Paul are writing together again in 1980. Is there anything better? (I found this one on @beatlesficrecs! Thank you, recommender.)

dreaming of the past by @revollver. 1969. To deal with the Apple corps horrors, John imagines a very sexy Tiny Paul during business meetings. When he confesses this to real Paul, something starts shifting.

broken-hearted jubilee by @backbenttulips. John listens to McCartney and...understands. He and Paul meet. Dot dot dot.

where the spirit meets the bone by @scurator. All right, "reconciliation" might be a bit of a reach, but on the other hand, no, it isn't. How would you call it if a man makes peace with the lost love that haunted his life, and breaks through to the happiness he deserves? Heartbreak and one of favorite endings ever, period—all in one fic. Read it to experience it yourself.

Aninut by @pauls1967moustache. The Beatles reconcile after Brian's death, the way they should have done.

believe me when i tell you by @zilabee. John talks to Paul about the way he sings Oh! Darling. The mesmerizing sight of the elusive McCartney heart, captured but not crushed by John's beautiful hands.

Lucky You by @crumblingcookies. 1970's. On a whim, Paul answers an ad in a gay paper looking for a Paul McCartney lookalike. The person placing the ad was John. It turns out this roleplay setting helps them to...reconcile.

Running with Scissors by @unchaineddaisychain. John and Paul reconcile after John cut the dress of Paul's girlfriend in Hamburg. Blood and blades and cuts and aftercare—incredibly hot and intense.

the touch of the velvet hand by downtothelastdrop. Early days. After Paul gives John his first blowjob, things become fraught and awkward. But not for long.

Origin of Love by @scurator and @paulmcfruity. 1971. After a boring business meeting, John and Paul spend some time alone and do what they fucking should have done. Extremely satisfying read.

Stop all the Clocks by @javelinbk. Paul and John retreat to Paul's farm in Scotland after Brian's death and confront their feelings about everything, including each other. Brian is beautifully present in this story.

Adventures in Total Honesty by @merseydreams. 1975. Paul and John meet after the grammies. They talk. They drink Margaritas. They...reconcile.

Slip of the Tongue by @pauls1967moustache. Maybe my favorite reconciliation story? 1960's. Paul and John reconcile after John says Stu's name during sex. John POV, but there's also a great POV switch to Paul here!

Bonus 1: Paul and Stu

Baselines by cloudy_blue. Stu gives Paul his bass after leaving the band. Reconciliation? A kind of truce.

filling the cracks that ran through the door by @wronglennon. Hamburg. John fights with Stu. Paul can't stand Stu. And yet, sex and reconciliation and sex are possible. A comforting thought in these times.

Bonus 2: Paul and Jim

Hand in Glove (Hand Covers Bruise) by @cherrycreamtangerine. Paul and Jim have the talk they should have had.

Bonus 3: Omegaverse Art (J/P). Yes, they reconcile. Thoroughly.

I Need You by @macca-is-art. Treat yourself. Just go there.

[arminsumi]

OUR LAST SUMMER.

五夏 ⋅ reader

PART OF THE 2k SPECIAL: ur fave duos!!

NOTE: yuh this hurt to write 🥹 was solely inspired by that one abba song i'm ngl i listened to it one night and related it to satosugu and cried like a bitch

SUMMARY — You, Suguru and Satoru shared one summer of bliss before everything fell apart

WARNINGS — fluff to angst 👍, love triangle, i think it's gn reader but lmk if there's something not gn thank u!!

WORDCOUNT ≈ 1k

PLAY ME ♪ Our Last Summer

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

It had been a blisteringly hot summer. Sweat beaded at Suguru’s forehead. The sun forced Satoru’s eyes into a perpetual squint. And you took shelter in the shade of a palm tree – the two boys met you there, when they too decided to take shelter in the shade. The chemistry between you three was explosive, truly chemical; that one of a kind, once in a lifetime kind of friendship that blooms instantly like a timelapse of a flower, that artists and poets try their hand at capturing but mostly fail.

Beach walks were impossible at midday – the sand was so hot that it burned the soles of your feet. If you were riskily treading barefoot, then the boys would take turns carrying you. Satoru carried you bridal style. Suguru carried you on his back. The prior liked to pretend that he was going to throw you into the ocean (and he did a few times…) and the latter liked to steal romantic glances at you.

Come night, you three crammed together in one hotel room. Conversations, debates, arguments, flirting… those all easily carried past the midnight hour. Satoru was the first to pass out, but Suguru being the insomniac of the group managed to stay awake even longer with you. Usually, you fell asleep in the middle of expressing a thought to Suguru, and then woke up the next morning to two bleary blue eyes blinking awake on your left and abyssal black eyes blinking awake on your right. Satoru rolled on top of you and refused to let you leave bed. Suguru smiled and told him to stop crushing you to death.

Breakfasts were met with late attendance – thanks to Satoru taking his sweet time in the bathroom getting ready. Plates piled and spilled with hotel buffet food; Satoru’s plate consisted solely of sweet pastries. The custard Danishes were his favourite. The three of you broke down laughing at your inside joke about him being the custard Danish robber; the three of you couldn’t catch your breaths from how hard you laughed at your own stupid jokes. “He’s at it again!” Suguru snorted, body falling into yours, eyes reduced to strips of pure joy.

Butterflies liked Suguru for some reason. It was awful for him – he was terrified of butterflies, they really creeped him out. During walks around Okinawa, you struggled to keep up with the two giants; Satoru never missed a beat when walking in sync with his best friend. And he also never missed the opportunity to pick on your slowness or size. Suguru would patch up your bruised ego with a well-timed compliment.

When your holiday in Okinawa was drawing to a close, you three decided to cram as much exploration as possible into those three last days. Pulling all-nighters, stargazing, joking around, sharing secrets, kissing as friends until those kisses became something more. The final day of your holiday was spent ascending a hill that overlooked the glittering beaches. Such a picturesque view. One you didn’t dare to capture in a photograph, because that felt disrespectful. It was a beautiful landscape that deserved to live only in the rich world of your memories.

On that grassy hill, in that briny wind, you three thought that the present moment would never end. You held hands. You kissed. Your hands felt warm. Your lips felt tingly. They both looked at you meaningfully.

“Come back to Jujutsu High with us.” You didn’t hesitate to agree, a sparkle in your eyes. No one in your life had ever accepted you as a sorcerer until they came along.

Summer ended…

And the school year began.

In the far future, when you and Satoru would reminisce together as old Jujutsu High teachers to your students, you two would summarize your high school days with very specific memories.

“Remember when we always got caught making out in the classroom, and Yaga chased us down the corridors?”

“ – and we’d loiter around the vending machines. You know, Yuji, Satoru had such a bad sweet tooth even back then. And! He! Stole! My! Lunches! He was a menace!! Don’t deny it, Satoru.”

“What I stole from you in food I repaid in saving your ass. Remember when you almost died? No joke, Megumi, Y/n almost died during that Alleyway Incident – you know that one we talked about? Yeah, that was Y/n. Suguru and I were stronger than Y/n so we always helped – heyyy! I’m just telling the truth!”

“Who was Suguru?”

The smiles dropped from yours and Satoru’s faces. The color drained out of them, too. Just one little name, six little letters, devastated the atmosphere. That’s when the reminiscing ceased abruptly, and Satoru stood up and excused himself to a quiet place. You and him never cried together, only separately – except for on that day.

That day was the first and only day you and Satoru broke down sobbing into each other. Snot dribbled out of your noses. Your eyes puffed up. Your faces felt tightened with the dried tears.

“Suguru, don’t leave. Come back with us to Jujutsu High, we can sort all of this out.”

But he turned and walked away from you and Satoru, disappearing into the crowd of people. You yelled so loudly that you hurt your lungs, “Did our last summer mean nothing to you! What about the memories we’ve made at school together?! Suguru, don’t you walk away from us! Don’t – leave us behind, S-Suguru did it all mean nothing to you?!”

Just like that, three reduced to two. Just you and Satoru. Sat on the steps in heavy, impenetrable silence. Faces planted into your palms. Back curved because you had no energy to sit up straight after such an exhausting cry. You never thought you’d look into Satoru’s eyes and see no light. Over the years, he lightened up – especially when he became a teacher. But you could tell he masked his true expression; a deadpan. The real emotions were forcefully forgotten.

[dyns33]

In the stars and the Book

So people wanted a new Dream of the Endless story for today. I hope you will like it !

It was rare for Destiny to give advice.

For several good reasons, which his family understood well, even if they were sometimes annoyed or disappointed that he did not break the rules to help them in difficult times.

His interventions were never really his doing, but permitted by his Book, if not obligatory.

More than any other member of the Endless, Destiny was fully and entirely his function. He loved his siblings though.

He always showed a small, almost imperceptible smile when he had the opportunity to help his family, who always listened attentively.

This time, Dream was the lucky one who received a call from Destiny's gallery.

Of course he was going to answer, it was part of his responsibilities. He'd had some problems since the Magnus had captured him, freed himself, gotten his tools back, rebuilt his kingdom, and ever since he'd felt a little empty.

His brother's call could be excellent news, or the start of new troubles. But he was going to answer anyway.

As always, Destiny greeted him quickly, not leaving his book and not clearly answering his questions. This was not what was supposed to happen.

Then, when Dream was calmer, he finally looked at him.

“Y/N.”

"The witch ? What about her ?"

“You will know happiness, true happiness, until your end, after she gives you a kiss.”

Morpheus remained stoic as he knew how to do so well, despite the storm that was brewing within him. The people of the Dreaming must have been totally panicked, even if they were used to their creator being quite upset after an encounter with any Endless other than Death.

“Goodbye, little brother.” was the last thing Destiny said, already turning his back on him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His relationship with Y/N ​​had always been complicated. They had almost killed each other the first time they spoke. A real disaster. But she was still young, while he had yet to learn patience and empathy.

No doubt he was also too romantic, since he no longer even remembered the reason for their argument, but only her eyes full of passion, her hand on his cheek when she had the audacity to slap him, her perfume when she had vanished into thin air, vowing never to see him again.

They had seen each other again, several times, without ever doing it on purpose, as if fate was doing everything for them to end up together.

Over time, their exchanges had become more cordial, almost friendly. Dream had to recognize that Lucienne, Hob, his sister, many people had helped him a lot to realize the value of this little witch, who had also helped him on many occasions.

Yet he never thought he would feel love for Y/N. Admiration, affection, a need to protect her, but love ? Dream had often been in love. At least he thought he was.

It was true that each of his relationships had ended like shooting stars, passing very quickly, before burning and disappearing into nothingness.

His big brother had just revealed to him the secret of a certain, infinite happiness, a happiness that he seemed to deserve against all expectations, he who had ended up thinking that he was made to remain alone. There was no reason to hesitate.

Y/N clearly had some hesitations.

Despite his many advances, he still didn't seem to know that it was not proper for mortals to appear in a living room uninvited or unannounced.

First misstep, because it was not by scaring his sweetheart that he was going to succeed in seducing her. The poor thing even asked him what she had done, convinced that he was coming to punish her.

“I’m not here for ill reasons.” he tried to reassure her. "I needed to see you. It's been a long time, I forgot how beautiful you were, χαρα μου."

"… Is everything okay ? You need a spell and you're hoping it'll be for free ? You know, I heard what happened to you. It's not pity at all, but maybe I can lower my prices for you this time."

"Your concern touches me. But I don't need anything except you. I think we could be happy together."

"Wow. Okay, you're dying."

He was going to have to use all his wooing skills to get her to kiss him.

Certainly he could have kissed her, here, right away, but his brother had been clear. It was she who had to give him this liberating kiss.

Even though Dream was now sure of his feelings, Y/N probably needed a little more time. She hadn't received Destiny's advice.

Despite all his many improvements since his release, patience had never been Dream's strong point. Yet he was literally the expectation, the hope, all the ideas, the stories, the fantasies of humanity. Not getting the promised happiness right away shouldn't have bothered him so much.

Plus, beginnings were always the most exciting part. Observe Y/N responding positively to his advances, his compliments, his gifts. However, she remained suspicious, expecting a game or a disguised exchange of good behavior.

The witch set traps for him, to reveal his true intentions. The master of nightmares found this charming and amusing at first. Then Morpheus was a little hurt and exasperated that she didn't seem as infatuated with him as he was with her.

"… You say you love me ?"

"Indeed."

"Since when ? The last time we parted, I stole several of your books and you threatened to hang me. Fortunately your librarian likes me. I returned the books to her by the way. I don't t think we can be together, we'll end up tearing each other's heads off."

"It has to happen though. Destiny said we were meant to be together."

"… What ?"

The news did not please the little witch at all. She was making fun of him, but she wasn't necessarily having a bad time. Their arguments had become like a form of dance, a nuptial ritual.

Why did he always have to ruin everything ? He, the prince of stories, really had a problem with his choice of words.

He tried to hold her back, explaining that what his brother said had to happen, it wasn't his fault.

Seeing the tears in her eyes silenced him. The last thing he wanted to be hurt her, this vision pierced his heart.

"I can't believe I could be so stupid."

"You don't understand… We can be happy, together. Love each other."

"No. I loved you. And I thought maybe you loved me too, finally. But you're here out of obligation, like always. I never want to see you again ! I'm serious this time !"

There was no spell in the world that could hide a being thinking of Dream of the Endless. Those who thought always ended up dreaming, entering his kingdom.

Yet he left her sleep in peace, the rare times Y/N closed her eyes, trembling every night at the idea of ​​finding him in her dreams.

He wondered if she was right. If he only chased after her because his brother had put him on this path, and not by choice. By feeling. It was true that he hadn't asked himself the question before Destiny called him, and he had rushed straight to the front of his happiness.

Now that he was fully taking the time to think about it, knowing that the witch had loved him in silence all this time, that he had hurt her, that she deserved better than that, he thought that he had undoubtedly always loved her more than the others.

He loved her so much that he kept his distance, because everyone he wanted ended up leaving him, suffering, or dying. And he didn't want that for her, never for her. His tender Y/N, brave, intelligent, lively little witch. Who treated him normally, standing up to him without fear, making him see his missteps.

A whole week passed, before he showed up at her place, this time knocking on the door and waiting for it to open.

He raised his hand in a peace sign as soon as their eyes met, making no move to try and enter.

"χαρα μου… I'm sorry. For my behavior, and for my presence here, when you clearly expressed your hatred for me. But I owed you this apology, and as punishment, I agree not to see you again. Thus, I condemn myself to never knowing happiness, which I do not deserve after all. My brother did not say that you could not be happy with another. Just know that I loved every moment spent with you, and I will cherish them until the end. If it wasn't happiness, it looked like it."

"… Is this a ruse to get me to fall under your spell again ?"

"No. I still find it hard to believe that you could have loved a being such as myself. I don't think I would have ever imagined it, even in my wildest creations. My brother must have known, he who knows all."

"Hob says you're a sweet fool, full of pride, but with just as much kindness, fear and humanity deep down."

“I will have to think about visiting my dear friend very soon.” Dream said while keeping a stoic face.

This made Y/N laugh. Her magnificent laugh, accompanied by a smile that she gave him too rarely. He would populate the nights of many dreamers tonight.

But for now, Morpheus wondered if he was awake, seeing her continue to smile at him, placing her hand on his cheek. They had never touched each other like this, not once, since their first meeting.

"Don't sulk, it wasn't a criticism. I knew I could only love you when he assured me that you weren't as terrible as you showed yourself. A facade, necessary because of your status."

“I’m not sulking, I’m not…”

The kiss was quick. Morpheus would remember it until his sister took the whole universe with her. Those lips on his. All this love, for him, all this time, contained in a simple kiss.

He remained as still as a marble statue, which made her smile again. Then Y/N kissed him on the cheek this time, whispering that they could go to the New Inn for a drink, before closing the door.

"… Boss ?"

“Yes Matthew ?”

"You've been here for three hours, people on the street are starting to notice you. Are you going to stay long ?"

“Until my love came out and we went to the New Inn for a drink.”

"Yeah, I don't know if your brother helped you or not, but if the witch finds it cute and not creepy, that will be proof that you two are indeed meant to be together."

Y/N found this both creepy and adorable. The poor raven returned to the Dreaming with a sigh to announce the great news, although the bright sky was not unwelcome.

It was very often a magnificent weather in the future, and until the end.

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, Kidnapped, dark content, inappropriate behavior, captured reader

♡ English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

For months, he had admired you from afar. He was a nobleman—wealthy, desired by many—yet, for some reason, you had never turned your gaze to him. He did everything to capture your attention, but the most he achieved was to become your friend. You continued finding new suitors, and, desperate for your love, he always ensured they were removed from your path.

And now, it was no different. Once again, you had taken a new lover. A man of some standing, but nothing compared to Marcel. Why would you never look at him? He had no time to dwell on it, though; Marcel had to do what he always did. He lured the man like a bird into a trap; and, foolishly, he fell right in. Another victim; once more, Marcel’s hands were stained with red. But something within him whispered that soon, you would give him the attention he deserved.

This scene was familiar: there you were, heartbroken, beside a grave, mourning the loss of yet another beloved. And he, the perfect gentleman, approached to comfort you. "Don’t cry, my dear."

"I loved him! Why do all my lovers die?"

"Everything happens for a reason. Perhaps you simply haven’t yet found the right man for you."

"..."

And it happened again, and again. The strange events surrounding your life led the townsfolk to fear you; they began to believe you were cursed, that anyone daring to court you would meet an untimely end. Some even believed you were the one responsible for their deaths.

Eventually, you, too, began to believe in this so-called curse. You started avoiding relationships, fearing for the lives of those you held dear. But Marcel would not give up on you so easily. Not after everything he had done.

One ordinary morning, Marcel invited you over for tea. Naively, you accepted. Arriving at his mansion, you knocked gently and waited for an answer. You heard the sound of a lock turning, and then the door opened, revealing him.

"Hello, welcome."

"Hello..."

"I can see you’re not feeling any better. Come in, I’ll help soothe you."

You entered the mansion and glanced around, admiring every corner of his residence. Marcel walked ahead, leading the way, and you followed. Once seated at the grand table, you both began exchanging light conversation. Holding the teacup, you raised it to your lips, taking a sip of the drink. It was smooth, delightful. He watched you with a faint smile, "Are you feeling better?" he asked, sipping his own tea. "A little, yes. Thank you."

"Wonderful to hear, my dear," he said, his smile widening. But you suddenly felt weak, your vision blurring. "You know, I have always loved you, and you never noticed." You struggled to understand his words as your body grew heavy. "I love you deeply. I’ve done everything for you, yet still, you never looked at me. Do you know how that feels?"

"I... don’t understand," you murmured. "I am the one who doesn’t understand! What am I lacking? Please, tell me!" He rose and came closer, gripping your face with force, compelling you to look at him. Before you could answer, your eyes began to close… thinking became harder. "What’s happening?"

"Oh, that? Well, I was tired of waiting. Finally, you’ll be mine."

You could no longer resist and your eyes fell shut. When you awoke, you were bound and naked. He sat beside you, watching intently. "You’re so beautiful, did you know that?" he murmured with a smile. Your mind was still foggy, unable to think clearly—everything felt strange. "And now, you're all mine, forever." He rose, then sat beside you on the bed, letting his fingers trace across your exposed skin. "All mine tonight and for eternity."

[userslayer]

Hi! Can you recommend me your favourite spuffy fics? Any genre is welcome I desperately need the void after finishing bingewatching Buffy 😭. Thank u xx

hi! thank you so much for giving me an excuse to share my favorite spuffy works! if you read any of these, please come back and lets talk about it! okay here's the list:

these are all completed on ao3, most of them contain smut, most are oneshots, no deaths/cheating/nothing too dark, some toxic typical s6 stuff but they all have happy endings or hopeful open endings cause i cant stand them being sad!

do you wanna break bread with me?

this is fun, dawn comes out as bi to spike which spirals into everyone realizing they are queer, its pretty touching and domestic.

High Stakes

sexy fun poker smut, no plot, just vibes

Service the Girl

s6 smut but with complicated feelings

(Unintended) You Could Be

there's something about spuffy and roadtrips that hits so right plus parenting dawn, s5 set

i could've been your girl (we've all been here before)

post s7 buffy running into drusilla, starting a relationship and then spike joins them (i might be the only person ever into this pairing)

What Remains

again spuffy roadtrip, sad one cause s5 but they lost the battle and everything, but still have each other

honey and milk are under thy tongue

smut but with complicated s6 feelings plus spike reading poetry

nothing safe is worth the drive (follow you home)

i highly recommend EVERYTHING by this author, my favorite spuffy writer ever. this one is a s5 roadtrip escaping glory and its domestic, funny, sad, sexy and hopeful, felt like watching an episode (i seriously love this one but plz check them all out)

i will follow you into the dark

this one is by the same author but it deserves its own mention. its heartbreaking but healing at the same time, just the most beautiful spuffy work ever

Let's Get Lost

OH THIS ONE, s2 buffy runs away but runs into spike who has a little problem. its so so in character, captured so well both characters and their dynamic where they are all each other have and absolutely hate that

The Choice

s6 dynamic, spike starts seeing a buffy that loves him, its a choice whether he'd rather have that or the real buffy, its pretty sad but u know, they always find each other

Centering

spuffy roadtrip! s5 set, he comforts her through mourning and feeling helpless

What it is to Burn

post everything, long distance relationship that buffy can't stand anymore

What She Deserves

another roadtrip fic, i know so surprising. buffy heals by herself, runs into a spike that felt like she did in 6, she's the one helping him now with an actual healthier dynamic where they both heal

[estellan0vella]

Many More Happy Days - Kento Nanami AU Word Count: 6.6K Content Warnings: Death, Child Birth Complications, Still Birth Masterlist for Eras AU

You stand by the grand window in your father's estate, now your estate, gazing at the sprawling gardens that have been your sanctuary for as long as you can remember. The roses are in full bloom, their vibrant reds and pinks contrasting beautifully against the lush greenery. The fragrance drifts through the open window, mingling with the warm summer air. This estate, this legacy of your father, is now yours to command as the Duchess.

The title is a heavy mantle, a blend of pride and sorrow. Your father, the late Duke, was a man of wisdom and kindness, his absence felt in every corner of this vast mansion. As the sole heir, you inherited not just his title but also the responsibilities that come with it. Today, however, your thoughts are not entirely on the duties that await you but on the man who has captured your heart—Lord Kento Nanami.

Lord Nanami is a striking figure, his presence commanding and yet gentle, his manners impeccable. His devotion to you is unwavering, a fact that has been a source of comfort and joy in these trying times. You recall your first meeting at a grand ball, his quiet confidence and piercing gaze setting him apart from the other suitors. Since then, he has pursued you with a sincerity that is both endearing and refreshing.

A soft knock on the door pulls you from your reverie. "Enter," you call out, turning to face the visitor.

Your maid, Eliza, steps in, her expression respectful yet warm. "My Lady, Lord Nanami has arrived. He is waiting for you in the drawing room."

Your heart flutters at the mention of his name. "Thank you, Eliza. I shall be there shortly."

You take a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down the soft fabric of your dress, a rich emerald green that compliments your complexion. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, noting the anticipation in your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. Satisfied, you make your way to the drawing room, where Lord Nanami awaits.

As you enter the room, you find him standing by the fireplace, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering flames. He turns at the sound of your approach, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection. "My Lady," he greets, bowing slightly.

"Lord Nanami," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips.

He steps forward, taking your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "It is always a pleasure to see you," he murmurs, his voice low and sincere.

"The pleasure is mine," you respond, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence.

He leads you to a settee by the window, where the light filters through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the floor. You sit beside him, your hands still entwined.

"I have brought something for you," he says, reaching into his coat pocket. He produces a small, intricately carved wooden box and hands it to you.

Curious, you open the box to find a delicate gold locket nestled inside. The craftsmanship is exquisite, the locket adorned with tiny emeralds that catch the light. "It's beautiful," you breathe, touched by the thoughtful gift.

"It belonged to my mother," he explains, his tone gentle. "She always believed that such treasures should be given to those who would cherish them. I can think of no one more deserving than you."

Your eyes meet his, and you see the depth of his sincerity. "Thank you, Kento. I will treasure it always."

He smiles, a rare, genuine smile that softens his usually stoic features. "I am glad to hear that."

The afternoon passes in a blur of conversation and shared laughter. You talk about everything and nothing, finding solace in each other's company. Lord Nanami's devotion is evident in the way he listens, the way he looks at you, the way he anticipates your needs without being overbearing. It is a courtship built on mutual respect and genuine affection, a rarity in your world of arranged marriages and strategic alliances.

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm golden glow over the room, Lord Nanami rises, reluctantly preparing to take his leave. "I must go, but I shall return tomorrow," he promises, his gaze lingering on you.

"I will look forward to it," you reply, your heart full.

He bows once more, his lips brushing the back of your hand before he turns to leave. You watch him go, a sense of contentment settling over you. In a world full of uncertainties, Lord Kento Nanami is a constant, a steadfast presence in your life. His devotion to you is unwavering, and for that, you are profoundly grateful.

The days turn into weeks, and your courtship with Lord Nanami continues to blossom. He visits you daily, each time bringing a new token of his affection—a book he thinks you'll enjoy, a rare flower from his gardens, or simply his time and company. His attentiveness is unwavering, and you find yourself looking forward to his visits more and more.

One afternoon, as you stroll through the gardens together, he pauses by the rose bushes, his expression contemplative. "There is something I wish to ask you," he begins, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant.

You stop beside him, your curiosity piqued. "What is it, Kento?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a seriousness that makes your heart race. "I know that our courtship has been brief by some standards, but I have come to care for you deeply. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever met, and I cannot imagine my life without you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

His words take your breath away. You have always known that your feelings for Lord Nanami were strong, but hearing him speak of his love and commitment so openly leaves you momentarily speechless. The sincerity in his eyes, the earnestness in his voice—it is everything you have ever wanted.

"Yes, Kento," you reply, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "I would be honoured to be your wife."

A look of pure joy crosses his face, and he takes your hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. "You have made me the happiest man alive," he murmurs, his voice filled with emotion.

You smile, feeling a sense of peace and happiness settle over you. In this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the gardens and the man you love, you know that your future is bright. Together, you and Lord Kento Nanami will face whatever challenges come your way, your love and devotion guiding you through.

The wedding preparations begin almost immediately, the estate buzzing with activity as plans are made for the grand celebration. Lord Nanami insists on handling many of the details himself, wanting everything to be perfect for you. His dedication and attention to detail are evident in every aspect of the planning, from the choice of flowers to the selection of the menu.

Every morning, Kento arrives at the estate to discuss the arrangements. You sit together in the drawing room, pouring over fabric samples for the table linens, tasting dishes prepared by the chef, and reviewing the guest list. Kento's suggestions are always thoughtful, taking your preferences into account with each decision. You are touched by his commitment to making this day special for you.

The flowers are one of the most important decisions. You both visit the greenhouse, selecting a variety of blooms that will create a breathtaking display. Roses, lilies, and peonies in shades of ivory, blush, and deep crimson are chosen to adorn the grand hall. Kento arranges for a renowned florist to craft stunning centrepieces and bouquets, ensuring that the floral arrangements will be nothing short of spectacular.

The menu is another labour of love. Together, you sample an array of dishes, each one more delicious than the last. You finally settle on a menu that includes delicate hors d'oeuvres, a sumptuous main course featuring roasted pheasant and seasonal vegetables, and an array of decadent desserts. Each dish is paired with fine wines and champagne, chosen by Kento with great care.

As the day of the wedding approaches, you find yourself filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Eliza helps you into your wedding gown, a beautiful creation of lace and silk that makes you feel like a princess.

The gown is an heirloom, passed down through generations, and it fits you perfectly. The intricate lacework and delicate beading shimmer in the light, and the long, flowing train adds a touch of regal elegance.

Eliza pins your veil in place, her eyes shining with pride and happiness. "You look stunning, my Lady," she says, her voice filled with emotion.

"Thank you, Eliza," you reply, giving her hand a grateful squeeze. "For everything."

The ceremony takes place in the estate's grand hall, transformed into a vision of beauty. The walls are adorned with garlands of flowers, and candles flicker softly, casting a warm glow over the room. A string quartet plays a gentle melody as guests take their seats, the air filled with a sense of anticipation.

Kento Nanami stands at the altar, his tall frame and handsome features commanding attention. He is dressed in a finely tailored suit, the dark fabric contrasting sharply with his crisp white shirt. His eyes never leave yours as you make your way down the aisle, your heart pounding with each step. His expression is one of awe and love, and you feel your heart swell with emotion.

The officiant, a respected clergyman who has known your family for years, begins the ceremony with words of wisdom and blessings. The vows you exchange are deeply personal, crafted from the heart. Lord Nanami's voice is steady and filled with emotion as he pledges his love and devotion to you.

"I, Kento, take you, my beloved, to be my wife. I promise to cherish you, to honour and respect you, and to stand by your side through all the days of our lives."

As he slips the ring onto your finger, you feel a sense of completeness, as if everything in your life has led to this moment. You repeat your vows, your voice unwavering as you promise to love and cherish him for all eternity.

"I, [Y/N], take you, Kento, to be my husband. I promise to love you, to support and respect you, and to stand by your side through all the days of our lives."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declares, and the room erupts into applause.

Kento leans in, his lips brushing yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. "I love you," he whispers against your lips.

"And I love you," you reply, your heart full.

The reception is a joyous affair, filled with laughter, music, and dancing. The grand hall is transformed into a ballroom, the tables adorned with exquisite floral arrangements and sparkling crystal. The chandeliers overhead cast a warm, golden light, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

You and Kento share your first dance as husband and wife, the music carrying you across the floor in a graceful waltz. His arms hold you close, his touch reassuring and tender. As you glide together, you feel the eyes of your guests upon you, their smiles and applause a testament to the joy they share in your union.

The meal is a culinary delight, each course a masterpiece of flavour and presentation. Toasts are made, heartfelt speeches delivered by friends and family who celebrate your love and the journey that brought you together.

Kento's best man, a close friend from his days at university, speaks of his unwavering loyalty and the deep respect he holds for him. Your maid of honour, Eliza, shares memories of your childhood and the bond that has grown even stronger over the years.

Lord Nanami never leaves your side, his devotion to you is evident in every touch, every glance. As the evening winds down, you find yourselves alone on the terrace, the stars shining brightly overhead.

"This has been the happiest day of my life," you say, leaning into his embrace.

"And mine," he agrees, his arms tightening around you. "I look forward to many more happy days with you, my love."

Months have passed since your enchanting wedding day, and life with Kento is nothing short of blissful. Your love for each other deepens with each passing day, your connection growing stronger as you navigate the joys and challenges of married life together.

One morning, as you stand by the window in your bedroom, looking out over the blooming gardens, you feel a strange wave of dizziness wash over you. It's fleeting, but enough to make you take a seat on the edge of the bed. You've been feeling unusually fatigued lately, and there's a lingering nausea that you can't quite shake. You decide to visit the physician, more out of precaution than genuine concern.

Dr. Ellison, the family physician, examines you thoroughly. His kind eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, delivering the news that both excites and astounds you. "Congratulations, Duchess," he says warmly. "You are with child."

The words echo in your mind, a blend of joy and disbelief flooding your senses. You thank Dr. Ellison and make your way back to the estate, your heart pounding with the news you can't wait to share with Kento.

You find him in his study, engrossed in a book. As you step into the room, he looks up, a smile instantly lighting his face. "My love, you're back early. Is everything alright?"

You walk over to him, taking his hands in yours and drawing him to his feet. "Kento, I have wonderful news," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "We're going to have a baby."

His eyes widen, the book slipping from his grasp as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "A baby?" he repeats, his voice a mixture of awe and happiness. "We're going to be parents?"

"Yes," you laugh, tears of joy springing to your eyes. "We're going to be parents."

Kento lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in sheer delight. When he sets you down, he places a tender kiss on your forehead. "I love you so much," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "You have made me the happiest man in the world."

The news of your pregnancy spreads quickly through the estate, and soon everyone is celebrating the upcoming arrival. Eliza is particularly overjoyed, fussing over you and ensuring you are comfortable and well taken care of. She becomes your confidante and constant companion, helping you through the various stages of pregnancy with her usual grace and care.

As the months pass, Kento's devotion to you becomes even more evident. He dotes on you, ensuring you have everything you need and more. He reads every book he can find on childbirth and parenting, eager to be the best father he can be. He often speaks to your growing belly, whispering sweet words to the child within, his voice filled with love and wonder.

One evening, as you sit together in the drawing room, Kento rests his hand gently on your swollen belly. The baby kicks, and you both laugh, feeling the little one's strong presence.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Kento asks, his eyes shining with curiosity and excitement.

"I don't know," you reply, smiling at him. "But I do know that they will be loved beyond measure."

One particular evening, you and Kento are sitting in the drawing room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. The room is filled with the cosy scent of burning wood and the faint aroma of lavender from the nearby garden. You are reclining on a plush chaise lounge, and Kento is seated next to you, his hand resting gently on your swollen belly. The baby gives a strong kick, and Kento's eyes light up with joy.

"Did you feel that?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder.

You laugh softly, nodding. "Yes, our little one seems to be quite energetic tonight."

Kento leans closer, placing his ear against your belly as if he's trying to hear the baby. "Hello, little one," he murmurs, his voice gentle. "This is your father speaking. I can't wait to meet you and hold you in my arms."

You run your fingers through his hair, touched by his tender words. "Kento, do you ever think about what kind of parent you'll be?"

He looks up at you, his eyes serious but filled with love. "Every day. I want to be the best father possible. I want to be there for every moment, to guide them, protect them, and show them all the love in the world."

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. "You'll be an amazing father, Kento. I have no doubt about that."

He sits back up, his hand never leaving your belly. "And you will be the most wonderful mother. Our child is so lucky to have you."

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of your words sinking in. The future seems bright and full of promise, with the love you share as the foundation for the family you are building together.

As the months progress, Kento's anticipation and excitement grow. He attends every doctor's appointment with you, always attentive and supportive. He arranges for a nursery to be prepared, choosing soft, pastel colours and hand-painted murals of woodland scenes. You both spend hours in the nursery, imagining the day you'll bring your baby home.

One day, as you're organizing tiny clothes and arranging toys, Kento comes in with a wooden rocking chair. "I found this in the attic," he says, setting it down gently. "It was my mother's. She used to rock me to sleep in this chair."

You touch the smooth wood, feeling a connection to Kento's past. "It's beautiful. I'm sure our baby will love it."

Kento sits down in the chair, testing its gentle sway. "I can picture it already," he says, smiling. "Late nights, rocking our baby to sleep, telling them stories."

You sit down on the edge of the bed, watching him. "Kento, I love how much thought you're putting into everything. It means so much to me."

He stands up, walking over to you and kneeling at your feet. "This is our child, our family. Every moment matters. I want to make sure everything is perfect for you both."

Tears fill your eyes as you reach out to cup his face. "I love you, Kento Nanami. More than words can ever express."

He kisses your hand, his eyes shining with emotion. "And I love you, my dearest. You are my everything."

The day finally arrives. You wake in the early hours of the morning with a dull ache that quickly intensifies. The room is bathed in the soft, pre-dawn glow, the air cool and still. Kento, ever vigilant, is by your side in an instant, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your growing discomfort. "It's time," you whisper, your voice tinged with both fear and excitement.

He helps you dress, his movements calm and efficient despite the urgency of the situation. The gentle rustle of fabric and the occasional sound of your laboured breathing fills the room. "I've already sent for the midwife," he says reassuringly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Everything will be alright, my love."

The hours that follow are a blur of pain and exertion. The once serene bedroom now feels like a battlefield, every contraction a reminder of the immense effort your body is undertaking. Kento never leaves your side, holding your hand and murmuring words of encouragement. His voice, though steady, carries an undercurrent of worry that mirrors your own.

As the labour progresses, something feels terribly wrong. The midwife's face, initially calm and composed, grows increasingly concerned. The room fills with tense, anxious energy, the air thick with the unspoken fear that something is amiss.

"Kento," you gasp, gripping his hand tightly, your knuckles white. "Something's wrong."

"Shh, my love," he soothes, though his own fear is evident in the tightness of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. "You're doing great. Just hold on a little longer."

The midwife whispers to her assistant, her face pale and drawn. "The baby is in distress," she says urgently, her voice barely above a whisper. "We need to act fast."

Panic seizes Kento's heart as he looks at you, sweat glistening on your brow, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. "What can I do?" he asks desperately, his voice strained with the weight of helplessness.

The midwife shakes her head, her expression grave. "Pray," she says quietly, the single word a stark admission of the gravity of the situation. "Pray for a miracle."

Hours stretch on, the pain becoming unbearable, a relentless tide that threatens to sweep you away. Your vision blurs, the edges of the room growing dim as exhaustion and fear take their toll. "Kento," you whisper, tears streaming down your face, mingling with the sweat that beads on your forehead. "I'm scared."

"I'm here, my love," he replies, his voice breaking as he clutches your hand, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm right here."

The room is a blur of frantic activity, the midwife and her assistants working tirelessly, their movements a flurry of practised urgency. But despite their best efforts, you feel the life draining from you, a cold numbness creeping in from the edges of your consciousness. 

"Kento, promise me," you say, your voice weak, each word a monumental effort. "Promise me you'll be happy."

"Don't talk like that," he pleads, tears in his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can keep you tethered to him through sheer will. "You're going to be fine. We're going to be a family."

You manage a faint smile, the last vestiges of your strength slipping away. Your hand slips from his grasp, the warmth of his touch fading as darkness closes in around you. "I love you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, a final, fragile thread connecting you to the man you love.

"I love you too," he chokes out, his heart breaking as he watches the light fade from your eyes, the life you shared slipping away into the void.

The room falls silent, the midwife stepping back with a look of defeat etched into her features. "I'm sorry," she says softly, her voice a hollow echo of the heartbreak that fills the room. "She's gone."

Kento's world shatters in an instant, the unbearable weight of loss crushing him beneath its relentless force. He clutches your lifeless hand, his tears falling freely, unchecked. "No," he whispers, his voice a raw, anguished plea. "No, please. Don't leave me."

The midwife places a hand on his shoulder, her expression one of deep sorrow and helplessness. "The baby," she says gently, her words a dagger to his already shattered heart. "I'm afraid... the baby didn't make it either."

Kento's breath catches in his throat, the crushing weight of his grief rendering him speechless. He collapses to the floor, his sobs wracking his body, the magnitude of his loss an unbearable burden. "Why?" he cries out, his voice filled with despair and disbelief. "Why did this happen?"

Kento's cries echo through the room, a poignant symphony of heartbreak that pierces the stillness. The midwife and her assistants, their faces drawn with sorrow, step back to give him a moment with his loss. The world outside the estate moves on, oblivious to the tragedy that has unfolded within its walls.

Days blend into nights, and the estate falls into a heavy silence. The staff, once bustling with the excitement of the upcoming birth, now move quietly, their faces shadowed with grief. Eliza, her own eyes red-rimmed from tears, takes on the task of arranging the funeral, knowing that Kento is in no state to do so.

In the days that follow, Kento moves through the mansion like a ghost. He spends hours in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair, staring at the empty crib. The dreams he had of holding his child, of seeing you as a mother, haunt him in the silence of those rooms.

The funeral is a sombre affair. Friends and family gather to pay their respects, their faces masks of shared sorrow. Kento stands at the graveside, his expression blank, as if all emotion has been drained from him. As the caskets are lowered into the ground, he feels a part of his soul being buried with you and the child you never got to meet.

A decade has passed since the day Kento lost you and your stillborn child. The once-vibrant halls of the estate have become silent. The vibrant energy that once defined his every step has been replaced by a solemn, almost ghostly presence. Kento Nanami, the once joyous and devoted husband, has become a shadow of his former self.

He spends his days in a solitary routine, the ghostly remnants of his past life ever-present in his mind. Each morning, he wakes in the same bedroom, the bed beside him eternally empty. The garden outside, once meticulously tended by you, has grown wild and untamed, much like his heart. He rarely leaves the estate, preferring the company of your memory to the harsh reality of the world outside.

One fateful day, Kento feels an unusual weariness. It begins with a fever that leaves him sweating and shivering in equal measure. His head throbs with a persistent pain, and he feels a deep, unyielding fatigue that saps the strength from his bones. Dr. Ellison, the family physician, is summoned, his brow furrowed with concern as he examines Kento.

"It's typhoid," Dr. Ellison says gravely, his voice laced with the weight of the diagnosis. "You need to rest, and we must keep you hydrated. I'll do everything I can."

Kento nods weakly, a ghost of his former self. He lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the feverish haze blurring the edges of his vision. Days pass in a fog of delirium, the line between reality and memory growing ever thinner. As the illness ravages his body, his mind drifts back to you, the love of his life, the one he lost so tragically.

In his fevered state, he often speaks aloud, as if you are there beside him. "I miss you," he whispers into the empty room, his voice cracking. "Every day, I miss you."

Eliza, who has stayed on all these years, tends to him with unwavering dedication. She hears his murmurs and her heart aches for the man who has suffered so much. "Rest, my Lord," she says softly, dabbing his forehead with a cool cloth. "You need your strength."

But Kento is beyond physical healing. The typhoid is relentless, and he knows, deep down, that his time is drawing to a close. One night, as the fever reaches its peak, he feels a sense of peace wash over him. The pain subsides, replaced by a gentle warmth. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the inevitable.

Once he passes, the world around him fades, replaced by a familiar, comforting presence. He finds himself standing in a beautiful meadow, bathed in golden light. The air is warm, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of life. He looks down and realizes that his body is whole again, free from the ravages of illness.

"Kento," a voice calls softly, a voice he knows better than his own. He turns, and there you are, standing before him, radiant and serene. Your eyes shine with the same love and tenderness that filled his heart a decade ago.

"My love," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and reverence. "Is it really you?"

You nod, a gentle smile gracing your lips. "Yes, Kento. I've been waiting for you."

Tears of joy and relief stream down his face as he steps forward, closing the distance between you. He reaches out, hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish like a dream. But when his hand touches yours, the connection is real, solid, and undeniable. He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, never wanting to let go.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "Every moment without you has been unbearable."

"I know," you reply, your hand stroking his hair soothingly. "But we're together now. Forever."

The weight of the past decade falls away, replaced by a profound sense of peace. Kento looks into your eyes, finding solace in their depths. "I thought I'd never see you again," he says, his voice a mixture of relief and lingering disbelief.

"You were always in my heart," you reply softly. "And now, we have eternity."

Hand in hand, you walk through the meadow, the sun casting a warm glow over the landscape. The pain and sorrow of the past fade away, replaced by the boundless joy of reunion. Kento feels whole again, his soul reuniting with the piece that was missing for so long.

As you walk, you speak of the times you missed, the dreams you had for your future. Kento listens, his heart swelling with love and gratitude. "I promised you I'd be happy," he says, his voice steady. "But it was so hard without you."

"You did your best," you assure him, your eyes filled with understanding. "And now, we can be happy together."

The meadow stretches out before you, a realm of endless possibilities. As you walk, Kento feels a sense of hope and renewal. The pain of the past is but a distant memory, overshadowed by the love and joy that fill his heart.

"Thank you for waiting for me," he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

"I would wait forever for you," you reply, squeezing his hand gently. "You're my heart, Kento. Now and always."

Together, you continue your journey, the love you share lighting the path ahead. In this eternal meadow, you find the peace and happiness that eluded you in life, a testament to the enduring power of your love.

Kento finally feels at home, his soul at rest. With you by his side, he knows that he is exactly where he is meant to be. As the sun sets, casting a golden glow over the meadow, he looks into your eyes and smiles, his heart filled with a contentment he has not known in years.

"We have all the time in the world now," he says softly.

"Yes," you reply, your smile mirroring his. "All the time in the world."

In the afterlife, Kento finds his eternal happiness, reunited with the love of his life. Together, you walk forward, hand in hand, ready to face eternity together. The love that once was lost is now found, a bond that not even death could break.

In a grand, old classroom adorned with portraits of historical figures and tapestries depicting ancient battles, Professor Evelyn Carrington stands before her attentive students. The sun filters through the tall, arched windows, casting a golden glow on the wooden desks and shelves filled with dusty tomes. Today, she will tell the tale of Lord Kento Nanami and his Duchess, a story of love, loss, and the end of a noble line.

"Good morning, class," Professor Carrington begins, her voice resonating with authority and warmth. "Today, we delve into the Victorian Era and I wanted to start us with a tale."

She gestures to a portrait hanging on the wall. It depicts a handsome man with kind eyes and a noble bearing. Beside him is a beautiful woman, her eyes filled with warmth and grace. "This is Lord Kento Nanami and his beloved wife, the Duchess. Their story is one of deep love and profound tragedy."

The students lean forward, eager to hear the tale. Professor Carrington continues, her voice filled with emotion. "Kento Nanami was a respected nobleman, known for his wisdom and kindness. He married the love of his life, a woman, a duchess who inherited the title after the passing of her father, but her name has sadly been forgotten, lost in time, but her impact on his life was immeasurable. Kento Nanami became a Duke when he married the duchess"

As she speaks, the room seems to transport back in time, the portraits and tapestries fading into scenes from the past. The students can almost see the bustling estate, the blooming gardens, and the grandeur of the Nanami household.

"Their wedding was a grand affair," Professor Carrington recounts. "A celebration of love that brought together nobles from across the land. They were deeply in love, and their marriage was the envy of many. For a time, it seemed they were destined for a long and happy life together."

She pauses, letting the weight of the next part of the story settle in. "But fate had other plans. After a blissful year of marriage, the Duchess became pregnant. The estate was filled with joy and anticipation. Lord Nanami was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father."

A murmur of sympathy ripples through the classroom as Professor Carrington's expression grows sombre. "However, tragedy struck on the day of the birth. Complications arose, and despite the best efforts of the midwife and the family physician, both the Duchess and the child passed away."

The students are silent, the gravity of the loss sinking in. Professor Carrington's eyes reflect the sorrow of the tale. "Lord Nanami was devastated. He retreated into solitude, the once vibrant estate falling into disrepair. He never recovered from the loss of his wife and child. He lived in mourning, haunted by their absence. Much how Queen Victoria did when mourning the loss of her husband"

She moves to another portrait, this one of the estate in its prime, lush and vibrant. "The estate, once a symbol of prosperity and joy, became a shadow of its former self. Lord Nanami, a man once full of life, became a recluse."

The professor's voice softens as she continues. "Ten years later, Lord Nanami contracted typhoid. His weakened state and the lack of will to fight the illness led to his untimely death. With his passing, the Dukedom of Nanami came to an end. There were no other relatives to inherit the title, no heirs to continue the legacy."

She looks around the room, her gaze meeting the eyes of each student. "And so, the once-great Dukedom of Nanami faded into history. Their story is a testament to the fragility of human life and the enduring power of love."

A student raises his hand, his expression thoughtful. "Professor Carrington, what happened to the estate after Lord Nanami's death?"

"The estate was left to the state," she replies. "Without an heir, it was repurposed for various uses over the years. Parts of it fell into ruin, while others were preserved as historical sites. Today, the estate stands as a poignant reminder of the Nanami legacy."

Another student speaks up, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Do we know anything about the Duchess? Her family or her background?"

Professor Carrington shakes her head sadly. "Very little is known about the Duchess. Records from that time are sparse, and much of her personal history has been lost to time. What remains are the memories and the impact she had on Lord Nanami."

The golden light of the classroom seemed to flicker as the students absorbed the weight of the tale. Professor Evelyn Carrington, standing tall and composed, allowed the silence to deepen before continuing, her gaze steady and thoughtful.

"The story of Lord Kento Nanami and his Duchess is more than just a narrative of love and loss," she resumed. "It is also a window into the societal and personal challenges of the Victorian era, an era defined by its strict social hierarchies, its advancements, and its tragedies."

She moved toward a large, detailed map of the Victorian territories pinned to the wall, tracing her finger along the borders of Lord Nanami's estate. "The estate itself was a microcosm of the period. At its height, it was a bustling centre of activity, reflecting the prosperity and potential of the time. It employed hundreds of workers, from gardeners and housemaids to farmers and artisans. Each played a crucial role in maintaining the grandeur of the estate and the livelihood of its inhabitants."

A student raised a hand, his face reflecting a mixture of fascination and confusion. "Professor, how did such a prominent estate fall into such disrepair so quickly after Lord Nanami's death?"

"An excellent question," she replied, nodding appreciatively. "When a noble line ends abruptly, the implications are far-reaching. Estates of such magnitude require constant oversight and a dedicated heir to ensure their upkeep. With Lord Nanami's death and no immediate heir to take over, there was no one to manage the vast resources or the intricate web of responsibilities. The state took over, but the transition was not smooth. Mismanagement, neglect, and a lack of personal investment led to the estate's rapid decline."

The students' faces were a tapestry of emotions—sympathy, curiosity, and a newfound understanding of the historical depth behind personal tragedies. Professor Carrington allowed a brief pause before addressing another raised hand.

"Professor Carrington, do we know if there were any efforts made to preserve the legacy of the Nanami Dukedom before it was repurposed by the state?"

"Yes, there were some efforts, though they were fragmented and largely unsuccessful," she answered. "After Lord Nanami's death, several attempts were made by distant relatives and former associates to preserve the estate. However, without a central figure of authority or a unifying vision, these efforts faltered. Historical societies eventually stepped in, focusing on preserving key parts of the estate as a testament to its former glory and as a symbol of the era's architectural and cultural heritage."

She pointed to a black-and-white photograph of the estate in its dilapidated state. "This image, taken shortly before the historical societies' intervention, shows the main house and gardens in a state of disrepair. Yet, even in its decline, there was a haunting beauty—a reminder of what once was and the stories that lingered in its walls."

Another student, her expression pensive, asked, "Professor, is there any particular reason why the Duchess's name and background were lost to history? How could someone so integral to this story become almost anonymous?"

Professor Carrington sighed softly, a look of contemplation on her face. "Historical records from the Victorian era can be notoriously incomplete, especially concerning women. The Duchess, though highly influential in Lord Nanami's life, might not have been documented extensively in official records. Her personal papers could have been lost, destroyed, or simply never created with the same care afforded to her husband's records. Moreover, societal norms often relegated women's identities to their husbands, overshadowing their individual contributions and stories."

The room fell silent again as the students reflected on the poignant truth of her words. Finally, Professor Carrington stepped back, allowing her gaze to sweep across the classroom.

"Remember, history is not just about dates and events; it is about the lives lived, the love shared, and the losses endured. Lord Kento Nanami and his Duchess remind us of the human element within the grand tapestry of our past. It is our responsibility as historians to piece together these fragments and honour the memories of those who came before us, ensuring their stories, however fragmented, are not forgotten."

The bell rang, signalling the end of the lecture. The students slowly gathered their belongings, still lost in the echoes of the tale they had just heard. As they filed out of the classroom, Professor Carrington looked up at the portrait of Lord Nanami and his Duchess one last time, a gentle smile touching her lips. The legacy of the two lovers, though marred by tragedy, lived on through the stories she shared and the lessons learned by her students.

taglist: @sad-darksoul

[leighsartworks216]

What He Wants

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I was writing smth to be a second chapter to All The Gentle Things, but then I wanted to explore this further sooooo yeah. Not proofread and I am sooooooooo tired while I write this but the brainrot. You know how it is

Warnings: sex mentions, references to past abuse/trauma, loss of sense of self

Word Count: 1,067

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion, over the span of 200 years, perfected his art of doing exactly what people wanted. Specifically, he knew exactly how to manipulate people through sex. He knew just where to press, exactly when to run his tongue along their lip - everything they wished of him.

Now he had no idea what to do.

It started out exactly the same; he kissed and touched and said everything exactly as you would want to hear it. He did everything he needed to to manipulate you into liking him, into protecting him should Cazador come sniffing around. And then… you turned out to be different. You didn’t see his body as a sex object to be used and tossed away. You saw him. And, gods, if that didn’t just rewrite everything he thought he knew about himself.

You asked him once, late at night while you fought to stay awake, what he liked. He said embroidery and reading and wine, because of course he loved those things. But then you’d corrected yourself. Asked what he enjoyed physically. Touches and kisses - that sort of stuff. And he didn’t have a clue. You looked up at him through heavy lids, waiting. The best answer he could come up with was, " This. I like cuddling with you." But that was it. You didn’t press further, snuggling in closer and letting the dreams overwhelm you, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He distanced himself for a few days, turning that question over and over and over in his mind until he thought he’d go insane, before finally gathering the confidence to tell you. You, in all your grace, smiled and told him that it was okay, that you could try helping him learn what he liked, little by little.

That’s how he got here, he supposed, face held lovingly in your battle-calloused hands. The ends of your fingers tangle carefully in the curls around his ears, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and under his eyes. You lavish him with this attention without question, without any thoughts of reward… And he loved it.

Astarion was selfish by nature - he always had been, even before his unfortunate death and undeath. He’d had to be selfish for 200 years just to survive, grabbing and stealing any morsel of food he could. And for 200 years he had to give himself away night after night, unwittingly placing his body in the hands of other selfish, naive fools. He wanted to be more than just selfish with food. He wanted to be selfish for attention. Your attention. He wanted to drown in it.

You press light kisses to his cheeks, so soft it feels like nothing more than butterflies’ wings brushing his skin. He sighed, relaxing into it. In the back of his mind, he felt awful for accepting your affection like this. His hands should be touching you, not sitting in his lap. His lips should be filling your every desire, not waiting placidly for you to initiate. But every time he tried to lean forward, capture your mouth, your hands held him firmly in place. If he tried to reach out and touch you, you would push his hands back into his lap, with all the patience in the realms. He willed the guilt to go away.

You take his lip between your teeth and he can’t help himself from watching through half-lidded eyes; watching as you smile with a sort of fond deviousness as you hear the quiet breath he lets out. You don’t bite hard enough to break the skin. All you do is tug on it and let it go, before tracing over the slight indent with your thumb. His undead heart would be utterly racing at such tender care. He places a kiss on the pad of your thumb, and you smile even wider. You’re so beautiful. What did he do to deserve you?

He expects it when you lean in and finally kiss him properly. What he doesn’t expect is how uncertain he is. He has no idea what to do. How can he pleasure you? What does he want? What would make you feel good? What would make him feel good? He’s so torn, a low growl of frustration rising in the back of his throat. But you, saint that you are, pull away with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. You brush the wrinkle from between his brows, urging him to stop being upset with himself.

He has no choice but to listen. So he thinks about himself - what he would want - as you brush his hair back and kiss his jaw and thumb at one of his earrings. And when you lean back in and carefully meet his lips with yours, he begins to figure it out.

Your hands don’t hold him in place as he tilts his head to kiss you better, falling headlong into the safety you offer. He wants to taste you. So he hesitantly opens his mouth, and you follow without question. His tongue brushes your lip, slips inside your mouth to meet yours, and he loves it. You taste divine. You move in sync with him, following along like a partner in a dance. You do what he wants. It’s thrilling.

He fully relaxes into it. Into you. That damned voice in the back of his head quietens for the first time in too long. There is no quilt to be found here; no shame. He wants this, you want this. A shuddering breath of relief fills the kiss as he lets go, as he places himself fully in your hands, as he learns what is nice and what is too much.

When he pulls away so you have a chance to breathe, he presses his forehead against yours, and stays close enough your noses brush against each other. He reaches up and holds your hand to his cheek, keeping it pressed against his skin as he leans into it, like a cat vying for a scratch beneath its chin.

“Thank you,” he whispers. You open your eyes. He looks so at ease. He turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand, before kissing each finger in turn. “This is a gift.” He presses your hand back to his cheek and catches your mouth in another kiss. Shorter, but still so full of love. “I won’t forget it.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red

[immediatebreakfast]

A lot of things happened today, a lot of horrible things. A full circus of errors orchestrated by the narrative to serve the high end of tragedy. Everything thrown to this poor young lady who just wanted to get married, and live happily.

And yet it's incredible to read how Dracula practically organized the worst way possible to deliver the last blow to poor Lucy.

Every action, and horrible moment translates into a domino effect that traps Lucy in her own house, surrounded by death, and then utterly alone.

Dracula is merciless as we have known. The poor mother with the wolves, those babies only knowing pain and then death, even the Weird Sisters as horrible as they were are subjected to this man's orders and treatment. Plus, all of the locals of Transylvania being terrorized for centuries.

Then it comes Jonathan, and now Lucy.

All of Dracula's actions feel full of rage. Rage of being foiled, of seeing how his target keeps on living despite being utterly drained of blood two separate times. He was capricious with Lucy in Whitby by capturing her nightmares as he drank in leisure, but now it became about power over a life.

"but I did not fear to go to sleep again, although the boughs or bats or something napped almost angrily against the window-panes." - Lucy Westenra.

Our dear Lucy doesn't fear the nightmares anymore, she doesn't fear the darkness, nor is worried about the fog inside her head ordering to do things that cause her harm because Lucy is now surrounded by love, by medicine, by people that care about her.

She knows about the horrors, about the nightmares, about the harm that has been inflicted upon her. However, lucy doesn't fear that anymore, with her beautiful garlic wreath around her neck, healthy, and clear of mind she doesn't fear.

And what happens when it's clear to Dracula that Lucy doesn't fear his power?

"I went to the window and looked out, but could see nothing, except a big bat, which had evidently been buffeting its wings against the window."

This single moment, this tiny moment of simply looking at Dracula directly, it's probably the drop that made the glass explode. This is all speculation of course, but just imagine the miriad of emotions, questions, and decisions that traveled through Dracula's brain in that single moment.

The girl, not dead, full of life, eyes as clear as the morning sky, with a wreath of garlic flowers (mountain ash to repel) around her neck looking right at him without a shred of fear... those wretched peasants arming themselves with their knowledge thinking that they could survive him. The young solicitor with the crucifix, denying him of what is rightfully his, and striking him down with a simple shovel.

What does she deserve after this? Death. Death to her mother, death to her loved ones, death to herself... or maybe something worse.

This ancient evil got so angry that this young lady was holding so much to her life that he orchestrated a living nightmare to kill her.

Because who is this mortal human to deny the orders of a lord defeating time itself?