#X-Men the exalted

[pacing-er]

Still in shock that this is a canon look we got for Professor X. Storm trooper armor with a gay exposed-shoulder cape and a fuck-ass bob... Insane

[samalbro]

Sam Albro 3D Modeler Demo Reel - January 25th, 2024

[eraenaa]

Gold Rush

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Jealousy ¿Simp Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Face Sitting, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 7, 912 (I may have overindulged) 

Beauty worth their weight in gold, and it’s the greatest blessing from the gods that you have both. The only child of Lord Lannister. Spoiled and sheltered, you had never known hardships or troubles. Pampered in the halls of Casterly Rock or anywhere you go. You leave a trail of mystification, enchantment, and adoration. Suitors line up and beg to pay you tribute. Songs and sonnets are made just to entertain and encapsulate the beauty and purity you have for centuries to come. Commoners and Lords offer their lands, riches, and allegiance just to have your hand, and now, a certain prince dared to join. 

When the words slipped out of your uncle’s lips that you should join your father in his visit to the capital, the Red Keep was abuzz with curiosity. The Golden Beauty of the realm shall grace their presence. They shall finally see and admire the being that has been coveted and praised for years. Prince Aegon was excited, to say in the least. He has been curious and titillated by your said charms ever since poets decided to write nothing about the allure and trance you placed upon men by just one look of your emerald eyes. His brother found it as a hoax. He frowned at how they exalt your name and praise you as if you were The Maiden Herself when, in reality, they only read or hear of you. He would scoff to himself every time his brother would reread the songs made in your name. He would roll his eye every time he heard gossip and talk about you from the maids and knights. He was certain that this popularity and recognition had only made you egotistical and vain— a judgment made and solidified in him despite not having known or met you. 

When the day of your arrival came, his older brother was the first to greet you, whilst Prince Aemond stood by the window and watched from afar. He frowned upon Aegon’s actions greatly, paying recognition to a girl whilst ignoring his wife, but alas, his brother could not be reasoned to nor be persuaded to do his duty. Aegon was always easily swayed and distracted by a pretty face, and with beauty such as yours, the queen’s first son had turned simple. Aemond rolled his eye as he stood by the balcony, watching his brother tour you through the gardens. Aegon displayed a beaming smile and an odd blush on his face as if he were the maiden and not yourself. You simply kept a small, pleasing grin on your lips as the eldest prince kept on speaking and offering you flattery and compliments, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze following you ever since you entered the palace walls. 

You set your gaze above, catching the lone lilac eye of a second silver prince. You held his gaze, which showed contempt and agitation you did not know the reason for. When Prince Aegon had noticed your attention had shifted, he cast his eyes above only to see his brother with his brooding demeanor, almost scowling at the two of you. “That is only my bitter brother, Aemond. Pay him no mind, my lady,” Prince Aegon stated and offered his arm for you to take. Your eyes shifted between the two princes, quickly curtsying towards the one who stood above and the took hold of his brother’s arm before he hurriedly escorted you out of sight of the younger prince. 

You were soon introduced to the princess, the wife of the elder prince. The princess’ presence you then favored instead of her husband, who had a gown quite… touchy and clingy. You stood next to the princess, who introduced you to her adorable children, babes tugging at the hem of your gown and pleading with you with their big violet eyes to carry them. Your heart grew soft and took the little Prince Maelor into your arms, smiling widely as the babe clung to your neck and buried his adorable face into your hair. “My son has taken quite a liking to you… he is most fastidious to other’s presence, my lady,” The princess smiled. “He is simply adorable, Your Highness,” You say and brush the silver hair of the babe. “He is… he quite reminds me of my younger brother when we were children,” The princess mused, her voice afar with nostalgia. 

“Have you been introduced?” The princess then asked, “To whom?” You inquired, distracted by the babe who shifted in your arms. “To—Ah, Aemond! We were just talking about you,” the princess then exclaimed, the silver prince standing by the door. You turned your gaze to the prince you had not been introduced to yet formally. “Lady Lannister, my brother, Aemond,” The princess introduced, and you curtsied since more at the one-eyed prince while having his nephew in his arms. You hindered your frown as he said no word, only simply giving a nod and the action of his lips thinning. 

“I was just telling Lady Lannister how much Maelor resembles you when we were younger,” the princess smiled. You turned to the prince, who tried to give his sister a small smile but looked more like a grimace. “The young prince is quite charming,” You smiled and turned to the prince, who stood before you, stiff and brooding. Aemond clenched his jaw as his eye caught yours once more; you are not at all chaste nor demure in the presence of royalty as any young lady should ought to be. You were perfectly comfortable taking a member of the royal family into your arms as if you were equal in rank. Aemond seemed to stand uncorrected with his early judgment of you. 

“She is quite handsome… I always thought the songs they made were an exaggeration, but it seems to not do her justice,” Aemond heard his mother whisper to his sister, quite entranced by your beauty, and it would seem as would everyone present at the dinner table. Princess Helaena generously invited you to their intimate family dinner. His hand clenched around his chalice of wine as his brother shamelessly leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear to cause a sweet, amused smile to play on your lips. “Are you not bothered by this?” Aemond could not help but as his sister. “About about what, brother?” Helaena asked, clueless and concerned by the agitated state of her younger brother. 

“Lady Lannister, we are most glad that you are finally here to accompany your father,” the queen said, not allowing Aemond to answer his sister’s query. “Thank you, your Majesty. You have all been so welcoming to my presence.” You smiled and could not help but let your gaze travel to the one-eyed prince, whose contempt had been nothing but plain and quite obvious. “Of course, the golden beauty of the realm is most welcome here indeed,” Aegon then chimed in. “But may I ask why it is only now that you join your father to the capitol?” The queen inquired; your gaze flew around the table, eyes expecting your answer, except for the lilac gaze of the younger prince, who stared steely and harshly at his plate. “Oh… it is because my father and uncle wishes for me to be acquainted with the court… for they are planning for me to marry soon, your Grace,” You said truthfully. That is when you feel a lone eye finally place itself upon your frame. 

The queen hummed and looked not at all shocked by your admittance; her children, however, shared different expressions from what you could read. The princess simply nodded with a ghost of a smile on her lips. The prince beside you seemed surprised and, dare you say, disappointed by your purpose of coming. And the prince across from you seemed… you could not decipher his reaction through his hard gaze. 

When morning came, you were pleased to receive an invitation from the princess to join her in the gardens to break your fast. You followed a squire, and you were led to a table surrounded by flowers and greenery, three children of the crown waiting for you. A pleasing princess and her brothers, one stoic, the other drunken. “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” You greeted and bowed, surprised as the young prince stood and matched your curtsy, moving to assist you to assist you to a seat across from him. You try not to over-analyze his actions; just hours before, he seemed disinterested in you— animosity was heavy around him. However, now, there seemed to be an air of civility surrounding him. 

“What are your engagements today, my lady?” Princess Helaena asked as she sipped on her tea, you stirred yours and replied. “My father was planning to introduce me to some of the members of the court,” You say and turn to acquire the last piece of candied lemon. “Some suitors?” The princess asked, her brothers not at all joining in the conversation, merely sitting around the two of you as if they were dolls. “I am not quite certain, princess,” You say and let your gaze travel to Prince Aemond, who stared at the candied lemon on your plate. 

“Do you have a favorite among them?” Prince Aegon then inquired; you frowned at his question. “I beg your pardon?” You asked for clarification. “Does any of your suitors hold great favor with you?” He said and took a chalice into his hand so early in the morning. “I have still yet to meet them, my prince… but I was told that Lord Arryn’s son was quite handsome, and many ladies of the court seem to favor him,” You answered but was turned to the princess, the topic seemingly more appropriate for the two of you. “Ah, yes, handsome Lord Henry,” Princess Helaena said in recognition, “It is true that he is comely. However, I heard he is one to wander,” The princess said delicately. Confusion painted your face once more, and it was the second prince who clarified, 

“Lord Henry is quietly known for his depravity,” Prince Aemond said, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like our brother Aegon,” he added, smirking as that earned a giggle from his sister. “I think it would best if you stay far from the son of Lord Arryn,” The princess said, and you nodded along. 

You spent the day being introduced to Lords and Ladies of the Court, but more specifically, their sons. You felt the constant drone of a gaze following you as you conversed with the prospects of your hand. Their faces seemingly merged, and their names eluded you, so you could only offer them your pleasing smile and mindless small talk and keep your hand on their arm. 

“Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena then appeared beside Aemond, who was hidden behind a pillar, as he observed you being acquainted with the eligible sons of the court. Helaena held a cheeky smile as she caught his brother’s actions. You had only arrived yesterday, and the princess was already certain that you had caught the attention of her enigmatic brother. It was plain to her the attraction and curiosity Aemond harbored for the golden beauty of the realm, even long before you arrived. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would scoff when his eye would catch anyone reading a pamphlet containing the written songs in your name. Still, Helaena noted that he was the first one to acquire the said pamphlets, religiously reading them until Aegon caught wind of a lioness whose beauty was hidden in Casterly Rock. As a result, the one-eyed prince hindered himself from admitting that he and his brother were attracted to the same girl. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would roll his eye in annoyance whenever he heard gossip about you in the halls, yet he still stayed and listened to all of them. 

“Should you not be joining the line of her suitors?” Helaena teased, amused by the way her brother’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Helaena waited for his reply, but none came. It was a rare occurrence for Aemond to not find words. “I shall see you at supper, sister,” Aemond gritted and walked off, leaving Princess Helaena amused and with new ammunition to lovingly tease her brother. 

Supper came, and to Aemond’s displeasure or satisfaction, you were there. Seated next to his sister, whispering and giggling as if you were the oldest friends when, in reality, you had only waltzed into their life just the other day. He supposed that he should find joy that his sister had finally befriended someone, but must it be you? 

Must it be you who had to join them in supper and be in his constant presence? Seducing and tempting him even though you merely just sat there— making him question himself and his honor as he watched wine stain your lush lips or the way you would let out a low moan at the taste of the pie placed on your plate. You were too much of a temptation, a trial sent by the gods to test his patience and honor, in which he was seemingly failing, for all he wanted to do earlier was cut all the suitors who dared touch you and now taste the wine on your lips. 

When supper had come to an end, Aemond was quick to stand and had a great wish to retire to his rooms, but his mother had different plans. “Aemond, will you escort Lady Lannister to her quarters? A young lady cannot be left alone in the halls at such an hour,” You turned your expecting gaze to the prince, watching as his jaw ticked and his tense form turned rigged. It was alarmingly clear that he had no wish to extend such generosity to you, but still, he obliged his mother and offered his leather-clad arm for you to take. 

You walked out of the dining hall in exchange for the corridor. Tense, suffocating air surrounds you and the second-born prince, whose reluctance was nothing short of obvious. You tried to make polite conversation with him as he walked with you through the never-ending, dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, but his replies were only a nod and a grunt. When you reached the door of your chambers, you let go of the prince’s arm, pride wounded as you were completely ignored and could feel unaccounted animosity towards you. “Good night, Your Highness,” You drawled, growing annoyed by the moment but still had the respectability to lowly curtsy before the prince. 

Aemond gulped as you curtsied before him once again, giving him a heavenly sight of your bosom that made him stiffen in his spot. He knew that your actions were a sign of respect; he should take it as a compliment that you had bowed before him lowly, but every time you did so, all you did was tempt him more. You were shameless as you fashioned a dress with such a neckline, giving every man a sight for their desires to only fester. Now he knew why every man who had encountered you had been left entranced and obsessed; you were a vixen, a true lioness. 

Days passed as you stayed in the Red Keep, and you could feel the constant and growing animosity and disapproval Prince Aemond held for you. You had no idea the reason for it; you could not recall what you had done for him to grow so callous and mean towards you. You would hear his scoffs of derision whenever someone paid you a compliment, and he was within earshot to hear it. You would catch him as he would roll his unique lilac eye whenever you spoke or offered your opinion or even when you laughed. It was such a shame that such a handsome and attractive prince was so vile and rude. You were growing impatient and irritated with him. On any other occasion, your course of action will be to avoid and not put yourself in situations that would require you to be near the prince, but somehow, the gods were cruel and had twisted fate to have you in each other’s presence constantly. 

When night finally came and offered respite from the bitter prince, you sighed in your chambers and tried to find a reason for his contempt towards you. It was an odd feeling you did not wish to fester; all your life, everyone you met was quick to grow fond of you. You were quick to leave them enchanted by your beauty and charms. You named it as your greatest gift— your greatest power was how well beloved you are by anyone… how you could wrap them around your pretty little fingers, which is why the prince’s dislike for you had left you entirely unnerved and bothered. You were growing scared that perhaps your charms were slipping and soon, all too, would feel the same animosity the prince harbors for you. You could not find rest that night, fear trickling into your system. The prince had unraveled your deepest fears with just his quiet distaste.  

You step out of your guest chambers and threaded the halls of the Red Keep, walking the darkened halls and trying to find distraction in the library. You walked straight and paid no mind if any soul was in the library because you were certain that no one else would be present at this hour. You were mistaken. 

Prince Aemond frowned to himself, thinking his mind had placed a trick upon him. The image of you haunted him even in the dead of night when he thought he could finally escape your beautiful torment. But as he heard books being retrieved from shelves and the way your scent wafted to where he sat, he grew aware that the image he saw was no apparition. You were there, with him, alone in the quiet room. 

Aemond took quiet steps towards you, the moonlight bathing you in its light. Your frame aglow, making you look more ethereal as the silver light lights your golden mane. Aemond clenched his jaw as the same prominent desire for you only bloomed tenfold. “You should not be here,” He gritted, standing at arm’s length. It was concerning that he was standing at such a close proximity and you have yet to notice. It only solidified his theory that you were so enveloped in only yourself that you care not about the world around you. Aemond bit his tongue as an amused smirk threatened to escape to his lips. You jumped in your spot and turned to him wide-eyed in fear. He had never seen a lion frightened. 

“My prince… I— I apologize, I did not know that the libraries are restricted at these hours,” You said and closed the book in your hand. “It is not,” comes the reply of the prince, making a frown of confusion paint your face. You turned your entire frame towards him, peering up at the prince who looked at you with nothing but resentment in his cold lilac eye. “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” You asked with a tilt of your head.“You should be in your chambers.” Aemond gritted and removed his gaze from you because looking at you illuminated by the moonlight made him feel too much. He stepped back, but you matched his actions and stepped forward. He took a step back again, and you only mimicked his steps. It was an odd scene, a dragon being toyed by a lioness. 

Watching Prince Aemond’s nostrils flare and his jaw tick again made you smirk, as he was clearly annoyed by your presence. “You do not like me,” you suddenly announced, making his shielded gaze cast itself upon your eyes again. “You do not know me, yet you do not like me… why is that?” You asked and stepped forward once again, leaving just a sliver of space between you and the prince. Aemond gulped thickly as you were just a breath away from him. Your scent evading his senses, your enchanting eyes assessing his every move. 

“Oh, I know you,” He spat but felt his knees weaken when you raised your brow, painting a fake confused look on your pretty face. Siren eyes mockingly turned into doe ones, and plump lips parted in fictitious shock. “You do?” You asked. “You know me? I apologize, my prince, but I do not recall our first encounter. Please, tell me how you know me,” you rolled your eyes and finally let your annoyance slip, for you had enough of the prince’s judgment. The prince and you stared each other down, him not finding words as you had your expressive, scathing gaze upon him. He did not know how to handle himself— he was always silver-tongued and quick-witted, never one to be speechless, but apparently, that changed when it came to you. When pitted against you, he felt like the quiet, dragon-less little boy he once was. His raging fire weakened and turned to mere flickers. 

You scoffed and shook your head, not wavering or stepping away from the prince, ready to retire back to your room, but he took hold of your arm and pulled you even closer to him. “I know you. You’re a spoiled… vain… flirtatious little brat,” He spat, and watching your eyes widen and fill with offense brought back Aemond’s confidence, and he once again gained his silver tongue and towering, imposing demeanor. He watched as your cheeks flushed and wondered how it would feel to touch them. Would it be as hot as the fire that burned in his veins? 

“My father and uncle used to always speak highly about you… about how cavalier, genteel, and dutiful the second prince of the realm was— it is disheartening to be faced with a mean, calloused boy who had shown me nothing but animosity since I’ve arrived— animosity which I do not understand the reason of!” You retaliated and pried his hold off you, Aemond trying not to grow amused as you said the words with a stomp of your foot as if you were throwing a tantrum. “You want to know the reason?” Aemond hummed as you glared at him. “Yes.” You said and crossed your arms across your chest. Aemond caught the action and reminded himself not to let his eye linger upon the deep live between your bosom. He was certain you did that on purpose. You were calculated; you did each of your actions, knowing fully well that it would elicit a reaction from those around you that would only selfishly serve you and your vanity. 

He could see it in how you interacted with the lords and other men, flashing your coy smile, batting your eyelashes, and seducing them with just a mere movement from your graceful frame. He could see it in how you toyed with Aegon, letting him whisper things to your ear, leaning in closer when the older prince spoke, and laughing at whatever meaningless word came out of the prince’s wine-smelling mouth. And you did it with him as well, the way your eye would hold his gaze, seeking him out during dinner and distracting him whilst in training. You were a shameless flirt. Someone who craved attention, and everyone seemed to be grateful to give you what you sought— except Aemond.

“Because you are a flirt— a tease. You toy with men because you were gifted with beauty,” Aemond seethed and that only brought a deep furrow on your brows. “I am no such thing!” You defended yourself, and the prince only scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are. It is plain. You have them wrapped around your fingers— you know how easily an attractive face persuades them,” the prince said but frowned as he saw your lips twitch upward. As if his words and insults were a jest. “Tell me, my prince… do you agree with their sentiments? Do you find me attractive as well?” You asked and tilted your head, smirking to yourself as the dragon’s fire stuttered and backed away once more. It was a battle, each opponent taking their hits and reloading in time just to fight with the other again. 

The prince gulped and felt heat rise to the tips of his ear; luckily, the reddening flesh was covered by the curtain of his silver locks. “I— I don’t,” He said and stood his ground, forcing his voice to be steady and scathing though he told a plain lie. “I do not find you attractive,” He said more firmly and slightly more convincing this time. “You don’t?” You asked and watched as he curtly nodded and thinned his lips. “That is good,” you mused and backed away from the little space you had given him. The prince’s brow twitched as you said your sentiment, as he heard relief from your voice. “Why is that?” He curiously asked his turn to step closer to you. 

“Because your mother had proposed to my father that a union between us would be well suited; well suited to whom I do not know, but that is what she had proposed. Telling my father that she had needed to bring the subject to you to see if you agreed.” It was a nice scene to see the prince’s whole body turn to stone in shock. His thin lips parted, and his eyes held cluelessness and disbelief. You took the moment of silence from the prince to speak once more. “Well, it is most fortunate that you clearly don’t agree— it would save me from having to be in the presence of such a… prejudiced and bitter prince.” You relished the way you caught his hand clenched around nothing and the way you were certain he was ready to turn violent by your words. However, you still continued to speak.  

“Though the title of princess is quite tempting, and I am certain I’d look exquisite with a tiara— I’d rather run off with the stable boy and live in squalor than live in a place with you.” You finished with a satisfied smirk on your lips at the murderous look on the prince’s face. When his lips parted and tried to speak, he flailed on what to say. That only added to your triumph. “Good night, my prince, Aemond,” You said in a sickly, sweet tone and lowly curtsied again before walking your way back to your chambers. 

It should greatly shame the prince. His actions would haunt him for moons to come, but the moment you exited the library, and he was once again left alone, he succumbed to his desires and undid the laces of his trousers. Pulling his painfully hardened length and pleasured himself with the thought of you. Your scent still hung in the air, and your voice still rang in his ear, but what pushed him over the edge was the image of you curtsying, almost going to your knees before him. His mind was made then. Whatever act he had portrayed the past few days will quickly come to an end for he shall certainly agree with his mother that a union between him and you would be most suited. 

You sat in disbelief and utter confusion as your father announced to you that a union between you and the prince shall take place. “Why? Wh— did the queen ask his thoughts on this? Or was it just your and Her Majesty’s decision?” You questioned as you recalled the night in the library with the prince. It had only been two days since the heated and angered scene transpired, and you had done your best to avoid him and his raging lilac gaze. “The prince came to me and asked for your hand. And given the conversation I had with the queen, I assumed that his proposal has her blessing.” Your lips agape, and you try to work out your objections, but your father cupped your cheeks. “You, my darling, will be a princess just like you had always dreamed of.” He said softly, recalling how you ran the halls of Casterly Rock with a tiara atop of your head when you were younger— always begging your septa to tell you stories of princesses and their princes finding 'happily ever after.’

“I shall leave you to get ready— it will be announced to the court later today, and the wedding shall take place in a week’s time.” He announced, making you stand in utter surprise. “What?! Father— Why so soon?” You asked in disbelief. “The queen wishes his son to be married before the king meets his demise. He wishes for the king to witness Aemond joyously with his bride,” You were stunned and were certain that joy would not appear from a union between you and Aemond, making the Queen’s wishes moot. “Now, make haste as you shall be presented with your betrothed!” Your father smiled and kissed the top of your head, and hurriedly left the guest chambers. 

Aemond observed as your proud gaze was planted on the floor as they announced the upcoming union between the two of you. He was certain that news had left you in quite a state of confusion. The prince passed his eye at the sea of people, mostly on the men who had lined up for years and courted you, only to witness that the beauty they coveted was then promised to the dragon prince. Aemond’s look turned to his brother, whose jealous gaze was upon him, and Aemond couldn’t help but smirk. He then returned his gaze to you again, finally having looked up and locked your eyes upon him. Nothing but confusion in your orbs, and perhaps anger that Aemond simply found endearing. 

“I do not understand.” You gritted as you and Aemond were given a chance of privacy to get to know more about each other before the wedding. You two were in the room of the small council, the queen, your father, and the lord commander standing by the other side of the door lost in discussion as you and your betrothed were about to thread towards an argument. “You and I shall marry each other; what is so hard to understand?” The prince retorted. “I suppose the saying is true… the more comely the woman is, the more she is simple,” Aemond quickly added, grinning at how quickly you were to grow red in rage. Your cheeks match the scarlet of your gown. 

“Why, in the name of the seven, would you agree to this?! You and I are not suited for each other!” you whispered harshly, not wanting your parents to hear you quarrel. "And what makes you think so?” The prince hummed, stepping closer to you, tightening in his trousers once more as your plump lips were agape. “I haven’t had a civil conversation with you. All our interactions have been arguments— do you truly think that a marriage between us would work?” You asked incredulously, mind spinning at how abrupt, incomprehensible, and inexplicable the fates were. “You wish for a civil conversation? Let us have one then,” he simply replied and took a seat in one of the chairs housed in the long table separating the two of you.

You took in deep breaths and studied as he sat calmly, his hands placed atop the wooden table. You eventually took the seat across from him. “Why did you agree to this union?” You asked, your mind still replaying the scene in which he stated plainly that he dislikes you greatly. “Because I am in need of a wife,” he answered. You licked your lips and shook your head. “Why me, then? When you are perfectly aware of our shared… distaste for one another,” You said and watched as the prince shrugged. “Because…” the prince trailed, licking his lips as he was certain you would not believe what he would utter because he himself would find it hard to believe as well at how he had treated you since you had come. “I want you.” He finally said after a long moment of steely silence. The prince clenched his jaw as he heard you scoff, and a sardonic, melodious laugh soon followed. “You want me?” You asked, “What? You want to punish me? Make me miserable with a union with a man who hates me?” You added. “I do not hate you,” the prince sighed and rolled his eye as you stubbornly shook your head. 

“Ever since I have arrived all you had done was glare at me, pick quarrels and squabbles. You had offended me right to my face, and now you say want me?” You asked incredulously. “They say Targaryens are mad… but I had hoped your mother’s blood had leveled your and your sibling's heads.” You mumbled and did not expect to see an amused look on the prince’s face. A beat of silence surrounded the two of you, staring each other down. A lioness with a confused scowl on her face, and a dragon who had amusement and content on his. “I still do not understand,” You said, and the Prince sighed once more.

“It was all an act,” he sighed. My animosity towards you—all of it was an act. A facade to protect me because when I saw how you interacted with the other prospects for your hand… how obliging you were with them, I could not stomach the fact that you would not be mine,” he admitted, letting himself be vulnerable for the first time in years. I… I do not like sharing,” he then added. 

“I was five and ten when I read the first poem written for you,” he started. “I have not seen you… I have not a clue of who you were except that you were Ser Tyland’s kin, and you were of great beauty as they have written, and you already managed to make me grow curious,” You stayed silent as the prince continued on to explain. “I waited every week for new poems to be published… the songs in your name still did not receive much recognition— you were still unheard of by the others. I was certain I was the only one who bought those pamphlets; you were a secret for me alone.” You nodded along and rested your back against the chair, observing the prince intently as he spoke. “Aegon found the pamphlets and began to grow curious too… along with the entire kingdom, and I just did not enjoy the thought that I have to share the desire to know you— to be with you with other men,” He finished, and you bit your tongue as you did not know how to take the prince’s explanation. Was it flattering or puzzling? You had no clue. All you knew was your heart was beating loudly in your chest and your stomach was filled with butterflies. 

“My uncle often shared stories of you and your siblings…” You spoke, your turn to share an anecdote. “As a child, I have always been enthralled by the idea of royalty. So he would oblige me and tell me stories of the Dragon Princes.” Aemond nodded along as your eyes were cast upon the wooden table. “He would always go into great detail about your brother, Aegon… seeing he will be king, but I was always more curious about you,” You admitted. “But he said you always kept to yourself, so he could not truly tell me stories about you, so I would make him repeat the anecdotes already told time and time again. On how kind you were with your sister and how dutiful you were to your mother… how you were brave and determined— ceaselessly training with the sword even if you had lost your eye. And if you were not training, you were adding to your scholarly knowledge.” You turned your gaze to the Prince’s exceptionally beautiful lilac eye, “I have been fond of you long before I have met you, my prince. Ask my father and uncle… or anyone in Casterly Rock, for that matter,” You said truthfully, watching as Aemond’s lips twitch into a smile

“I would admit; I came here with the hopes of getting to know you… that perhaps a match between us would fall organically and not one that our father and mother made.” You said and fisted the fabric of your scarlet gown as your heart beat loudly at your admittance. The prince licked his lips, “Should it matter how this union was made?” He asked, “Either way, in the end, we’ll still get what we both want,” Aemond stated, his whole being satisfied as he was not the only one who pinned over a person he was still yet to meet. “I suppose not,” you smiled as your impending nuptials with a prince you had dreamed of since you were a child was to come. The door then swung open, revealing your father along with the Queen.“I hope the both of you had gotten the chance to grow more acquainted with each other,” The queen smiled, already excited with the prospect of your marriage and for you to be her daughter. You were most fitting to their family; not only will her son gain an incredibly charming and comely wife, but her daughter too will gain a friend. 

“We have, your grace,” You said with a small smile. She gave a pleased nod, and her smile widened, “That is good. Come with me, child. Plans have to be made, and you still have yet to be fitted for your gown!” She said and held out her hand for you to take. You stood and turned briefly to your betrothed; you once again curtsied before him. Now, a smile intended for him was placed on your pink lips, and Aemond’s longing gaze followed you as you walked out of the room with his mother. 

The day of your wedding was quick to come, and you felt entirely giddy and excited about marrying Prince Aemond. Your father escorted you down the aisle, the eyes of the kingdom following you as you gracefully walked to your soon-husband, who had a rare smile on his lips. When your father gave your hand for the prince to take, you felt gooseflesh scatter throughout your entire body. Aemond looked at you adoringly throughout the entirety of the ceremony, not at all paying attention to the Maester who blessed your union. 

Aemond was entirely impatient for him to announce you as his wife and for him to finally be able to kiss your lips. To mark you as his in front of the gods and the entire kingdom. And when that moment finally came, the desire that burned brightly inside the both of you only grew. Aemond was not one to show affection publicly, but he could not hinder himself as he cupped your cheeks to deepen your kiss that was witnessed by all present in the hall. Their screams and cheers faded and turned mute as both of your lips intertwined. 

Suppressed desires could not be contained any longer as you and Aemond had finally had a taste of each other. There was supposed to be a banquet to celebrate your union; the Queen had organized the feast to perfection, and your father spared no expense for the celebration. But it was unfortunately missed by you and your husband as Aemond quickly led you to your shared bed chambers, both of you unable to wait for nightfall to be in each other’s arms. 

“Aemond,” You mewled as he pushed you up against the stone pillar in your chambers. His lips kissed your neck, leaving his mark with every kiss, and his hands quickly untied the laces of your gown. You hear him growl as you boldly move your hand to cup his hardened length against his trousers, hesitant as you move your hand. “We should be in the feast,” You said but made no move to halt your pleasurable actions. Aemond shook his head, “Do you want to attend the feast, or do you want to be pleasured, wife?” He asked and watched with dark eyes as the sleeves of your dress draped down your arm and revealed more of your milky skin. “I want you, husband.” You breathed, and Aemond let out a pleasurable sound as your hold on his length tightened. 

“Kneel,” Aemond gritted, and your eyes widened at his command. “Kneel and show your devotion to your lord husband,” Aemond demanded and clenched his jaw as you did as he asked, slowly going to your knees, your eyes still locked upon him. You licked your lips as you were eye-leveled with his bulging length, “Take it out,” Aemond commanded and tightly closed his eye as you did the action, your skin finally touching his. You bit your lip at his massiveness, at how well-endowed he was and how beautiful he fully was. You swallowed thickly as you recalled the books you had read in the dead of night, detailing how man and woman should be. 

Aemond let out a strained sound as you placed a ghost of a kiss upon the tip of his cock, your name spewing from his lips as you peppered light kisses along his length. “Stop being a tease, little wife,” he gritted and felt his stomach tighten at the smirk on your lips and the view of you kneeling before him. Your dress had dropped lowly, and he could see most of your bosom that had been tempting him for days on end. 

You let out a breath and to him to your mouth. You half expected yourself to be repulsed, but with each moment you had his length between your lips, bobbing your head, sucking harshly, hearing the moans your husband spewed, and looking at his pleasured etched face, you felt your cunt drip with want and anticipation. Aemond groaned louder as you fondled his other parts, thanking the gods for blessing him with you as his wife. Thanking them for their favor to let him be bound to the Golden Beauty of the realm. The prince breathed in harshly as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the need for release in him loudly pronouncing itself, making him abruptly pull out. He could not be so selfish and let himself succumb to pleasure whilst you were still filled with need. 

Aemond pulled you to stand, fervently meeting your lips once more, and guided you to bed. Your dress finally fell, and Aemond greedily took one of your tit into the hot cavern of his mouth. He bit the bud and elicited a sweet whine from your lips, and he quickly soothed it with his tongue and felt you clung to him tighter. Taking his other hand and guided it to you other needing tit to pleasure it as well. Aemond smirked upon your bosom at how in need you were of him. Aemond moved his lips to your neglected tit, and his hand trailed down south, your eyes rolling back and your hands fisting the back of his head as you finally felt his cold hands upon your needing heat. 

“So desperate for me, little wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction. Your moans echoed throughout the chambers, along with the sound of your wetness as Aemond slipped his finger in you, his thumb circling the pearl of your cunt, earning more of your sweet moans. Aemond moved to kiss your lips again, feeling how tightly your cunt clenched around his finger. You parted your lips as you felt climax nearing, your wide, lusted eyes locked in with your husbands, but before you could even succumb to ultimate pleasure, Aemond stole away his finger. “Aemond,” You whined, but your husband only smirked and pecked your lips. Making you watch as he brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean. 

Your mind was dazed and frustrated as he denied you pleasure. Your eyes followed him as he removed his tunic and lay nakedly on the silk sheets of your feathered bed. “Come here,” He ordered, and you hesitated for a moment. You took your bottom lip between your lips and did as told, moving to straddle him as he lay. His hands found home on your hips, urging you to move forward, and you furrowed your brows in confusion as your core threaded farther away from his length. “Aemond, I—“ Words were lost as the prince’s lips were met with your cunt. His hands forcing you down upon his face. Your head tilted back in pleasure as you rolled your hips upon his face, his prominent nose perfectly aligned with your nubbin and his tongue darting in and out of your tightness. 

“Aemond,” You cried as your thighs were quick to shiver; release was finding you once more. “Aemond… Aemond…” You uttered his name like a prayer. With one flick of his tongue, you came undone, your moans ringing loudly that you were certain that it was heard in the halls but could not find care. Aemond had a slight smirk as he moved you closer to his length. Your eyes were still glazed from your climax, and your mind was so disoriented that you did not even realize that Aemond had positioned his length at your entrance. The sharp pain of your maidenhead being taken was the only indication you had that you had now sunk upon his cock. 

Aemond relished at the sight of you atop of him, your cunt taking and squeezing his cock. Your breast was heaving, and your eyes were welling with tears. Aemond reached out and took your bosom into his calloused hands, kneading the taut, soft flesh— earning a pleasured moan through your pain. Aemond gave you the liberty to move whenever you felt comfortable doing so. He was an impatient man, but he savored every small movement you made as you clenched along his cock. 

Your furrowed brows dissipated, and your mouth parted as the tip of cock perfectly hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars. Aemond’s breathing labored as you rolled your hips, seeking further friction. He moved his cold hands to your hips and guided you to bounce upon his cock. “Aemond!” You cried, and Aemond could only marvel at your pleasured face and bouncing tits; you squeezed him so tightly that slight pain mixed with his delight. “Are you going to come, my wife? Will you come at your husband’s cock?” Aemond hummed and sat up, placing his head between your ample breasts, greedily inhaling your scent. “Yes… gods, yes!” You cried as he harshly thrust inside you. Both of you meet your peak, Aemond spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and you clawing at his bare back and leaving your own marks. 

“My wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction and nuzzled his nose against yours, a smile on your lips as your foreheads pressed as the cheers from the feast that you two disregarded were lowly heard in your chambers, “My prince,” You smiled and kissed his lips, your heart full. Your being wholly satisfied as you were bound to the prince that your young heart had wanted long before. 

[artethyst]

~ Shadows Bathed In Moonlight ~ Pt.1

Azriel x Youngest Archeron Sister! Reader/OC

“Azriel we have been over this,” Rhysand brought a hand to his face, slim digits ghosting across his jaw in deep thought. “It is out of my hands- you are forbidden from telling her. Do you understand?”

“Even you cannot forbid me from such a thing,” he let out a dark chuckle is disbelief. “Tell me, High Lord, why is it that two of my brothers have found their mate- free to accept the bond, and it is I left alone- in the dark? As usual.” The Shadowsinger’s voice dripped with venom, an uncharacteristic snarl on his face as his primal instincts took over, having no outlet for such scathing carnal desires- having been barred from even spending time with his Mate.

“Azriel, you know it is not the same.”

“How is it not the same?”

“She is still coming to terms with what happened to her- her powers are still out of control-”

“Then let me help her!”

“That is Cassian’s job.”

The two men became silent as a soft rap on the door signified them of a presence- her presence, Azriel noted, her soothing scent of fresh lillies and the first rain of spring overwhelming him as her angelically golden head poked through the door nervously.

He felt his lips tug at the corner at the sight of her, Rhysand giving him a warning look at the almost unnoticeable gesture.

Azriel. The familiar voice was strained. Leave us.

“I…I apologise for interrupting,” came her gentle voice, twinkling blue eyes apologetic as Azriel was forced to tear his own away, the golden thread that only he could see taunting him in glittering ocean of her iris.

“You have nothing to apologise for,” came the Shadowsinger’s smooth reply, bowing in such a way Rhysand knew his infamous patience had been worn thin. “High Lord.”

~

Azriel had not ventured far, his shadows, uncharacteristically disobedient, willing him to stay close enough to her- his Mate in an onyx haze of longing he was beginning to suffocate under.

He watched Rhysand leave first, jaw ticking as the male rounded the corner, anticipating his sister-in-law to follow in tow, her gossamer gown and its iridescent scintillation billowing around her like a halo.

He heard her gasp as one of them curled itself around her pointed ear, cursing beneath his breath, only to hear her giggle- a liberating sound that might have exalted him from the depths of his own hell, an angelic noise that could have him repenting on his knees just to hear a single note of.

“Azzie…” she smiled up at him, as he remained still- as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t- he had. “Your shadows are loose again!”

Only for you- ever for you, he wanted to say, words turning to ash quicker than the breath was stolen from his lungs at the sight of her.

He wished he could ask Feyre to immortalise the moment as she stood- tendrils of him dancing across her unblemished skin, their dark illimitability neither scaring nor disgusting her as her rosy cheeks widened, their vaporous talons ardently skimming over her guiltlessness.

“S-Sorry,” was all that came out, low and stuttered, his bronzed countenance flushing at his own weakness- thanking the mother Cassian was not around to tease him for it.

“Do you think they like me?” She teased, unaware of the true weight of her words, “they never seem to latch on to anyone else…” She trailed off as he called them back, unable to stomach the sight of her- so close and yet so far from him, in such a cruel display of fate.

“It is hard for anything not to.” He mused gently, not missing the way her rosebud lips parted, the saccharine scent of her own innate longing drifting up to him in taunting waves of arousal.

“Azriel-” She had not used his name- called him that for such a long time, her fair face falling as he stormed away, wondering what she had done- had said for him to treat her so callously.

Her hand was splayed out in a fruitless attempt to stop him from abandoning her and prevent him from vanishing entirely- a frustrating habit he adopted had as of recent, baring its ugly, wilted head whenever their conversations has begun to blossom beyond anything other than formality.

In the few years she had known him he had never acted in such a way, making her slowly retreat back into the self-loathing girl he had once culled from her self inflicted cage. His own heart lurched as he felt her through the unclaimed bond- suffering, again, because of him.

He had been the one to make her feel like she was home- that he might have even been it. Yet the retreating coils of his own darkness reminded her that he could never love her.

That she would never be enough for a man such as he.

And as her soul cried for him in a manner she had yet to recognise, his own howled back in a melancholic crescendo as he cursed the Mother for always deafening his heart’s symphony.

[coolestork]

Of Mortal Grace and Divine Devotion.

Lorgar Aurelian x Reader

-

Lorgar Aurelian had long believed that his purpose was to exalt the divine. He was the voice of faith, the messenger of the gods, a vessel through which the sacred flowed. But now, as he watched you move through the halls of his flagship, something stirred within him that no god had ever inspired.

-

It began as a whisper, a fleeting thought he could easily dismiss. You were human—mortal, fragile, a being destined to wither in the span of an eye blink compared to his eternal existence. And yet, something in your presence unsettled him. Perhaps it was the grace in your step, the quiet dignity with which you carried out your duties, oblivious to the grand destinies unfolding around you. Or perhaps it was the way you spoke, your voice soft but unwavering, commanding his attention in a way no mortal had before.

Lorgar had seen thousands, no, millions of human souls pass through his gaze. He had spoken to emperors and beggars alike, his words shaping their beliefs, their futures. But none had lingered in his thoughts the way you did. None had made his heart quicken with this... unholy longing.

And unholy it was, of that he had no doubt. He, the bearer of divine truth, the prophet of the Word, was now ensnared by a mere human. Worse, he found himself glorifying you in secret. You became, in his mind, a creature of rare beauty, a being not of flesh but of divinity—perfect, sacred, untouchable. He told himself it was wrong. He was a primarch, a god among men, and you were... mortal. But the more he fought it, the more you grew in his mind, a figure of reverence, an icon to be venerated.

-

In the stillness of his private quarters, Lorgar would let his thoughts run free, untethered by reason. His hands, which had once penned scriptures and crafted holy symbols, now traced your form in the air, committing to memory every detail he had seen, every expression that had crossed your face. He began to weave his own scripture around you, though he never wrote it down. In the depths of his mind, you became something sacred, something he could worship in secret.

He knew it was madness, but madness had always walked alongside faith.

Every time you spoke to him, whether in passing or when reporting to him directly, he felt himself pulled deeper into his obsession. It was blasphemy to desire you so intensely, and yet he could not stop. Your words echoed in his thoughts long after you had left, and your image haunted him in the spaces between prayer. The gods, he told himself, had sent you to test him, to see if he could resist this temptation. But the more he thought of it, the more he twisted that idea into something else. Perhaps you were divine. Perhaps you had been sent to him not as a test, but as a revelation.

-

Could he—should he—court you? The idea gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day. The rational part of him screamed against it. He was Lorgar Aurelian, a primarch, an immortal, the chosen one of the gods. To desire a human was beneath him. And yet, the faith in him, the part that glorified the divine in all things, whispered that this too was part of his destiny.

And so, he began to contemplate the unimaginable. What if you were meant to be his? What if the gods had woven your paths together, intending for this moment? It made sense, in a way only faith could make sense. You had been placed under his command, working closely, moving through his life like a subtle grace, unnoticed until it became overwhelming.

It was absurd. It was perfect.

-

The day he finally approached you, Lorgar felt the weight of a thousand thoughts pressing down upon him. His mind, usually sharp with theological debates and philosophical ruminations, was now clouded with uncertainty. As he stood before you, towering in his golden armor, he found himself, for perhaps the first time, unsure. How does a god confess his desire to a mortal?

His words, when they came, were halting, awkward in a way that did not suit him. "I... have watched you. For a long time." His voice, though rich and deep, faltered slightly. "There is something about you... something that stirs in me a reverence, a devotion I cannot explain."

-

You stood there, eyes wide, your breath caught in your throat. This was Lorgar Aurelian, the prophet of the Word, the one who spoke for gods—and now, he spoke to you, of you.

"I feel... as though you were sent to me," he continued, his words growing heavier with each syllable. "By the gods themselves. There is something divine in you. I have fought against this feeling, this... obsession. But I can fight it no longer."

He looked at you then, his amber eyes searching yours, seeking understanding, seeking... forgiveness. "You are mortal, and I am not. Yet... I wish for you to be more than what you are to me now. I wish for you to be mine."

Your heart raced. For a moment, the words hung in the air, unreal. The man you had admired from afar, whose very presence had always felt like standing in the light of something eternal, was now laying bare his own adoration for you. It was too much to process. But then, you found your voice, though it was soft, trembling with disbelief.

"I... I have always admired you," you whispered, unable to meet his gaze fully. "Since I first came under your command... I never thought... that you might feel the same."

The surprise in your voice startled him. You had always admired him? Lorgar, who had feared that his affections were one-sided, felt his faith shift, a new truth revealing itself. The gods had not only blessed him with this feeling, but they had ordained it, weaving the two of you together in ways neither of you had foreseen.

He bowed his head, the gesture heavy with both reverence and humility. "Then... perhaps, we are both meant to worship what lies between us."

-

For the first time in millennia, Lorgar felt the stirrings of something beyond divine purpose. It was something fragile, something mortal. And yet, as he looked at you, he knew it was sacred all the same.

-

AGHHHHHHHGHHH, I LOVE THE IDEA OF LORGAR FKING BEIGN A TROUBLED RELIGIOUS SIMP

this is the first of many fics to come, I'm afraid.

[yeoja-dream]

Found/Fated/Forever

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader Content Warning: Y/N in danger Word Count: 3.6k

Jungkook’s vision went white and he felt the air pulled out of his lungs as in a flash, he was again in the hospital room, Namjoon hovered worryingly over your body. He looked up as you arrived, obvious relief relaxing his features as his eyes landed on Baba Yena. 

“Baba Yena,” Namjoon greeted with a bow. “I was only able to do a cursory search, but her kind isn’t listed or documented in any infernal records I was able to get my hands on.” 

“Of course, because she is not from the hells, my child.” Baba Yena said, walking to your bedside, and shooing him away. “She is indeed a rare sight to behold, but you will have to ask her about her heritage, she has taken considerable lengths to conceal it.” 

“So you will save her?” Namjoon asked, hopeful. 

“Yes, horned one. Your mate has sacrificed sufficiently, and this child has suffered greatly as it is. It is not yet her time to die.” Baba Yena said, beginning to pull several black, oily drawing implements as well as a bottle of bright blue, glowing liquid. 

Without much regard for the others standing in the room, Baba Yena began unceremoniously undressing your body, causing both the men in the room to turn their gaze elsewhere. Perhaps in a different time or context, it would be embarrassing, exciting perhaps, but they felt it perverse to see you unclothed in such a state. Fully nude, Baba Yena began using the black, oily, drawing implements to draw intricate symbols all over your body. 

“What are you doing?” Jungkook asked, back still turned. 

“Her body is too weak to house her soul, so it is lost somewhere in the Astral Sea. The water from the Elu Spring in the Fey Wild will heal and strengthen her body. The markings are the spell that will call her soul back to her body.” 

With that, Baba Yena sat you up, popping the cork of the blue liquid, and carefully poured it down your throat. Immediately, your almost grey skin flushes with color, and your rapid, shallow breaths begin to even out. Namjoon watched the monitor carefully, breathing a sigh of relief as your heart rate became stronger and faster too. Baba Yena then closed her eyes, extending her arms out straight, palms down. Her palms began to glow with a bright, white light, and as they glowed, so did the markings on your body. Baba Yena’s face scrunched with concentration. “Come on, child. It is not yet time to go.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You came to, opening your eyes, rubbing them harshly as to clear your blurred vision. You feel yourself to be weightless, immediately, as if floating on water. All around you, horizon to horizon, were breathtakingly vibrant and clear night skies, completely lit up with stars and nebula as far as the eye could see. Below, was a massive and never-ending sea of the purest, molten silver, opaque and mirror-like, the gentle waves that broke the surface capturing the starlight with such luster you wondered for a moment if the water had been made of the cosmos, perhaps from the tears of the other stars, crying for the fallen. 

It didn’t exactly take a scholar to figure out you had found yourself in the Astral Plane, the plane souls found themselves in before continuing onto an afterlife fitting of whomever they worshiped in life. Legend has it that the Astral Sea is what waters the Tree of Life, and drinking from its waters will grant you all knowledge and power akin to a God in your own right. Others said those with enough hubris or guts to try are simply driven stark raving mad, cursed to roam the endless abyss with nothing but the voices in their head to keep them company. Considering that you had yet to hear of a God exalted by this water, you were more inclined to believe the latter. 

How the fuck did I get to the astral realm?  You asked yourself, anxiety and panic prickling at your skin. You combed through your memories, you woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, and… you hit a wall. You try to push forward, but the more you do so, the more your brain shoots with pain. Something or someone was blocking you from remembering something important, and you judged. Whether or not that was simply a symptom of the situation you found yourself in or a direct action taken by someone, you had yet to discern. 

There was at least one thing you knew about the Astral Plane, that in order to travel it, you only had to think, to will yourself in one direction or the other. You started by willing yourself into the vertical, upright position with the sea 10 meters below. What you did not know, however, was how magic functioned in this plane. The first obvious solution was to attempt to plane shift back to your reality, but when you mentally cast your consciousness out looking for laylines to dip into, you couldn’t find any. You willed yourself forward then, continuing the mental search. 

Time in the Astral worked differently than in the prime material plane. There was no day or night, time simply did not pass, so it was impossible to gauge how long you truly spent looking, but you only stopped when your head throbbed from the exertion. Could it be possible that the Astral had no laylines? Or perhaps your magic had been cut off somehow, rendering you blind to any laylines that might exist? If that was the case, had you actually died? The thought raised your blood pressure. 

Without the ability to dip into the magic, you were certainly not plane-shifting out of this shitty situation. You patted yourself down and only now realized that you were entirely without your personal effects, now wearing a rough spin, off-white tunic, brown pants of the same fabric, and a pair of worn leather boots. More importantly, without your stuff, you had returned to your true form. The realization was not helping the actually dead theory. You willed yourself forward, hoping to run into another soul, maybe someone who could help you figure this situation out. 

You floated for what felt like years, decades. You didn’t need to eat or sleep, and with no time reference, the monotony alone would drive anyone mad, you didn’t even need to drink the seawater, you decided. Sometimes you saw people, mostly in the distance, however, and when you’d try to call their attention, they would flee like their lives depended on it. Other times the Sea itself would open up, portals of different shades of light would flash, dropping off newly departed souls, or more often, yanking an older soul into one afterlife or another. No one spoke to one another, and certainly no one spoke to you. That is, until mercifully, you hear your voice called by a friendly male voice behind you. 

“Y/N?” The voice called out. The tone was friendly and definitively male, but there was a quality about the timbre that called out to something deeper and forgotten inside of you. You turned around hesitantly, seeing a tall, human man in his 20s. His hair was curly, his features dark and his skin a tanned olive. There was a familiarity to his look, and as he approached closer, it finally clicked. 

“Fareed?!” You asked with a mixture of shock and surprise. 

“Long time no see!” He said with a friendly wave. 

When you had first escaped from the Fey Wild, Fareed was your first friend as a young child. Fareed was a bubbly but fearless kid whose hobbies appropriately included talking to strangers and jumping off the highest places he could find. He often slipped extra portions of his lunch out of the house, but you always suspected his mom knew and was giving him too much food deliberately. His fearlessness got him taken away far too young, and when our country began conscripting soldiers for some war in some faraway land, he was the first to volunteer. We received news of his passing only one month later. 

To see him in his current state, alive, well, and sane choked you up and you found yourself fighting back tears. 

“It’s Y/N! I must look considerably different now than when you last saw me.” You said gesturing to your true self. “Why are you still here?” You asked. Fareed had died at least 200 years ago, and you had always hoped that he was living it up in some cushy afterlife. 

“I could recognize your energy from across all the planes.” He said with a light laugh. “The Astral has guardians and protectors like any other plane,” He explained. “I dedicated my afterlife to guiding and protecting the lost souls that wander here, and when it is time for them to pass on, I help them find that passage.”

“That sounds like an incredibly noble cause and absolutely something you would do,” You said with a laugh. 

“Speaking of which,” He began, “I have gotten a sudden influx of souls complaining about a weird, noisy soul wandering around, harassing folks. Which, in turn, leads me to you. What are you doing here, you don’t seem dead?” He asked. 

“About that,” you sighed “I woke up here and I can’t remember how or why I got here, and I would have simply teleported back but I can’t seem to use my magic.” 

“That is strange, considering that the Astral Plane is incredibly magically potent, equally if not more so than the Fey Wild.” He stated. “Come here and let me touch your forehead, let me see if I can’t get this sorted for you.” 

You willed yourself closer to him, and in response, he stuck his hand out, fingers tented, and placed them on your forehead. You feel nothing, but you watch Fareed’s eyes dart around rapidly, making negative vocalizations. After a moment, he drops his hand and focuses his vision back on you. 

“Life certainly hasn’t been very kind to you, Y/N, and for that, I want to express my condolences.” 

“Fareed the years have made you so well-spoken!” You exclaim with a laugh. “Thank you.” You said, more seriously. 

“You have a powerful curse on you, but I think you already knew that. It is strange but refreshing to see your true form.” He stated. You nodded in confirmation as he continued, “You are not dead. You almost died. That is how you ended up here. Someone extremely powerful wanted you to forget what happened to you, so they blocked your memory and your magic. Fortunately, I am also someone extremely powerful and I was able to remove the block, but not the curse on you as a whole. That is a complicated and difficult endeavor not even I can do.” 

With that information, you think back again, this time with crystal clear acuity. You remember the club, rescuing the woman, meeting Jungkook, his preposition. You remember being in his embrace, heat and lust and euphoria taking over every one of your senses, you remember begging him not to stop despite fading away slowly, and then darkness. 

“I think I have a soulmate, Fareed.” You breathed. 

“I am inclined to agree. All things do.” 

“He has mates already though, 6 of them!” You exclaimed. 

“Then you also have 6 additional mates,” Fareed said matter of factly. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know those people.” 

Fareed cocked an eyebrow at you. “Y/N, do you know how soulmates work?” 

“Love and magic and shit, no?” You asked with a shrug. 

“Not quite,” Fareed explained. “Souls as most people like to refer to them are actually called Fragments. They are the broken-up pieces of Soulias. When the gods created all sentient living things, they made a center of power, into which they put all knowledge, power, emotion, experience, and condition, and they named that power center Soulia. The problem occurred when the gods tried to plant these Soulias into vessels, the power would overwhelm the vessel and tear it apart, and the ones strong enough to withstand were monstrous creatures of pain, chaos, and violence. The Gods decided to fracture the Soulias. The larger Fragments would go into the vessels they were creating, and the smaller Shards, remnants of the fracturing process, would go into all other living creatures. Fracturing also ensured that no two vessels would live an identical life and that only true harmony could be attained when you shared your piece, your life, your soul, with others around you. It was usually convenient to break the Soulia into two, so often you will see soul mates in pairs of two. But for larger Soulias, smaller Fragments are needed, so it is broken up into smaller pieces, so soulmate groups of more than two are certainly possible. The Soulia inside the vessel will spend its whole life pining after its other pieces. Many people never find their true other half, but a good deal will find love nonetheless and find satisfaction in that. Many here found their Shards in life inside beloved plants and animals.” 

“I never knew all that,” You stared at him mouth agape. “So my soul, fragment, fits in with all of theirs?” You ask, gripping at your chest. 

“Precisely.”

“What happens when all the parts of a Soulia are bought together?” You asked. 

“Well, as I said before, the fracturing process is extremely imperfect, and in the creation of Fragments, a great number of shards are also produced, so getting every part of a Soulia back together is practically impossible. You can, however, tie the pieces together somewhat, bonding or mating as you likely know it, which affords all persons a metaphysical line to one another. Through that line, you can pick up on how your partner is feeling, you can send short messages or emotional sentiments. If they allow you in, you can enter their mind, they can share memories with you as they saw them, and they can allow you to feel exactly how they feel, understand how they actually think. It is a powerful connection, and allows for deeper intimacy and connection possible by other non-soulmate or non-bonded pairs.”

“That sounds… intrusive.” You mumble, arms crossed. 

“It can be, but everything is done with the consent of both parties. You can ignore the call of your mate down the bond, even after you’ve let them in you can push them out of your mind at any time, and you can block anyone from entering. Just takes a little practice.” 

You frown at that, “It sounds like you are selling it to me.” 

“I guess you could say that I am. You seem upset, why? Most people are delighted to meet a soulmate.” 

“I’m mad that my soulmate almost killed me, I’m mad that I have a soulmate, I’m mad that I have 7 soul mates. I’m mad that I’ve lived the last 50 years of my life in relative solitude because I was sick and tired of getting fucked over and suddenly 7 of potentially the deepest and most intimate connections a living thing can experience is dropped onto my lap so yeah, color me upset! I can’t do loss anymore, Fareed. It’s too painful.” 

He looked you up and down, contemplatively. “If I may, one old friend to another?” 

You nod in response. 

“Look around and tell me what you see.” He said, making a wide sweeping gesture. 

“I see endless and endless nothing dotted with lonely, lost souls, hoping that someday they’ll be called to something better.” 

“Time may not pass in the Astral, but what I quickly learned is that this is the summation of a human life, Y/N. They live, and most days are bleak, boring, and mundane. Occasionally, another lonely soul will cross their path, and for a time, they find comfort in one another. Ultimately, they part, and at the end of it all, they pass on hoping that whatever next is someplace better, and yet for many this is what they have to look forward to.” 

“I’m not sure I understand what you are getting at, Fareed.” 

“You have lived a long, brilliant life Y/N, many times longer than many of the souls that wander here. You have suffered more than much more than many of these souls, but you have been gifted the chance to love and be loved much more than many of these souls. So go, Y/N. Set yourself free from grief, worry, and suspicion. Do not shy away from love for fear of pain, love despite it, and love fiercely and unapologetically. When you are called to join us here again, come with joy in your heart from a life fearlessly spent, or be doomed to eternity searching the silver sea for your salvation. You are your own salvation.” 

You pursed your lips tightly, looking down at the Astral Sea as you processed his words. 

“It isn’t that easy,” You began, your voice wavering. 

“For you, it won’t be,” He admitted. “It is true some come into this world full of light and for whom trust and love come easy. But for those who have been hurt as you have, it is going to be hard. Just because things are hard doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing or that they are bad for us.” 

“You know what I am, what I am made of. You see the ticking bomb I am, and yet you insist I allow people to get close to me to what... hurt as many as I can? I will never be free, Fareed. They will chase me to the ends of time and take from me what they feel they are owed. We both know that.” You finish your rant, a single tear running down your cheek. As you do so, a bright white portal opens on the top of the Astral Sea, slowly dragging you closer and closer to its event horizon. 

“It seems our time together has run out,” Fareed said. “If you would allow me to leave you with a parting thought before you go. The only memories they blocked from you were of him. They wanted you to forget him so desperately they blocked your magic essentially confining you to a realm where they would never be able to touch you again. That is worth considering.” 

As your feet began to hit the portal, Fareed grabbed your hand holding it close. 

“Make the world tremble at you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you here for a long, long time. Good luck-” The end of the word was clipped as your vision went white, your hearing went silent, and like you were being flushed down a toilet, you felt yourself being yanked at lightning speed by your feet, and suddenly everything was again dark. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baba Yena pulled up her arms suddenly, and in response, your body involuntarily arched. When doing so, you let out a sudden, loud gasp, causing all present to breathe a small sigh of relief to themselves too. 

“The child was very deep, so it took me a while to find her.” Baba Yena said, redressing you in a spare hospital bed and tucking you in gently. “Both of you,” She said, turning to the men who had huddled together for comfort during the spell. “Kneel.” 

They looked at each other, but rather than piss off a supremely powerful being who just did you a massive favor, the pair concede, sinking to the floor on their knees. Once in position, Baba Yena approached the pair. While kneeling, Baba Yena was at eye level with the boys. She approached Jungkook first. 

Thwack!  She cracked him across the skull with a walking cane. “What are you doing bleeding girls dry like you're some poor changling with no control of their thirst? You are over 200 years old, act your age! You had no business testing out a connection you had no idea if you could control without supervision.” Baba Yena scolded him thoroughly. 

“And you,”  Thwack!  This time she cracked Namjoon over the skull with the cane. “What the hell kind of doctor are you? You were in such a rush to do nothing you didn’t stop to see the blinding, gold amulet that she wears? The very same type you and several of your mates wear? If he almost killed her, you were signing the death certificate with your negligence ink. You ought to be ashamed.” She finished, brushing nothing off her petticoat, and gathering her things to leave. 

“She will wake in 3 days fully rested and back to full health. There will come a time when she has questions about herself, and when she does, find me. Until then, leave me alone. You kids have caused me enough trouble as it is. Oh and, be careful with that one. She has been through enough.” And with that, she flourishes the very same cane, vanishing. 

The silence that hangs in the air after Baba Yena leaves is long and heavy, but mixed with relief as the pair approach both sides of your bed, staring at your sleeping form. It was amazing how starkly opposite you looked now to even just an hour before, knocking on death’s door. 

“I think you have a lot of explaining to do, Kook.”

“Later,” The younger one pleaded. “I just want to sit here for a little while.” 

“Later.” Namjoon agreed, excusing himself. Not but 20 minutes later, he found himself back in the room, second chair and laptop in hand. Jungkook was too guilt-ridden to say it, but he was immensely grateful for the company. He hoped you were too. 

_____________________________________________ Tags @luvlykyy ---------------------------------------------------------- Big lore dump this chapter! Some of you may be noticing some inspiration from DnD to lend me some framework for world-building! That is absolutely true, but as I also mentioned I have been using it as a framework, and as such it may or may not veer violently off the Forgotten Realms cannon, so don't get too twisted about "Hey, that's not how that thing works!" It's just a work of fiction I'm writing for funsies at the end of the day so don't take it too seriously. I hope you are all enjoying~

[xxplastic-cubexx]

excuse me, what universe where he looks like a gender bent Emma frost? this I gotta see!

he's referred to The Savior in this universe (Earth 12245) but here you go !!!

[Astonishing X-Men #45: "Exalted Part Two" and Astonishing X-Men #46: "Exalted Part Three"]

[eelnoise]

seraphim

roronoa zoro x afab!reader c/w: bloodlust, consensual bloodplay, zoro bites, you scratch, religious themes, body worship, slight breeding kink, piv sex, creampie, manhandling, praise, post-murder sex (reader and zoro just killed a bunch of marines), public sex a/n: ? idk what even to say. i like my men bloody and i like when they bloody me. this is a rewrite of a previous fic which you can find here so if ur like "ive read this b4..." its because you kinda have banner by the lovely @buggyandthebartoclub!

Zoro isn’t a religious man.

No, he finds the very notion of reverence visceral.

Though as he turns back toward you, he’s dumbstruck. You face away from him, pulling the blade of your sword deep from the torso of a fallen naval officer and watching as the light fades from his eyes. Both of you had emerged victorious after a merciless and surprise assault from a group of marines in the middle of an open town square on some island that neither of you can remember the name of, where a large statue stands tall in honor of some long-forgotten hero at its center.

The scene is heavenly, you there - surrounded by the wages of spilled blood that pools beneath your feet, the remnants of singing steel permeating the now hallowed ground upon which you stand. There’s a certain beauty in chaos, and never has Zoro felt it quite as clearly as when he watches you tear into your foes with reckless abandon. The image makes him shiver - not in fear or revulsion, but something far more primal, deep within his gut.

He’s speechless as he observes you wiping the excess carnage from your blade, a sensation akin to delight igniting in his veins and fixated on you like a hawk. It’s beautiful, truly, a stunning vision that he couldn’t even dream up. 

“Well, we took care of that little rat problem, hm?” Your words are heavy with pride and exertion, but the sound of your voice only spurs him from a daze that he didn’t even realize he was in.

Then you turn to him, visage tattered and torn and stained with crimson. Zoro’s mouth goes dry, and words fail him, tongue tied tightly in a knot that he can’t seem to unravel. You’re immaculate, and for the first time in his life he’s fighting the urge to exalt, to sing your praise, to deify you.

He mutters something that’s beyond your field of hearing as he continues to stare at you like a starved man would a feast. Zoro’s seen you wield that blade countless times, watched on as you cut down enemy by enemy without effort or ailment, but never have you looked as angelic as you do now. Standing amid a symphony of battle and gore, covered from head to toe in splattered blood that’s both yours and that of the deceased around you, the look of delight and self-satisfaction twinkling in your eyes as you grin at him from across the square, fuck, it’s all too much. 

You’re right, of course, the two of you can and did handle these sin and sinew wrapped rats with ease, but the more pressing matter is the effect that you’re currently having on his heart. Zoro takes a step forward, taking in the beauty of your face, bloodied and bruised but not conquered.

Curiously, you leer at him, head tilted in question as you sheath your sword along your back, taking note of the lack of the usual snarky remark from the swordsman. “Zoro?”

His eye flickers to yours, lips parted in what could only be described as awe. He looks at you as if you’re a muse, descended from on high to grace him with your presence, one that’s stunned him into near silence. “Yeah?” Zoro manages to reply quietly, tone raspy and voice a barely audible whisper against the breeze - a timbre you only hear from him when he’s injured or exhausted, a weak and feeble inflection that almost has you questioning if the man was actually hurt.

Zoro’s jaw visibly tightens, his one open eye alight with the same burn that he eyes an opponent with, expression twisting into one that you know all too well. The face he only makes when -

He wants you.

Your war-torn, bloodthirsty appearance has overwhelmed Zoro, the innate desire etched on his expression like a fool in a daze. Lips twisting into a devious smirk, you’re keen on taking advantage of this rare opportunity of power that you’ve been given over him, and you know exactly how to proceed. With a step toward him, you do something he doesn’t expect, something that has his nails digging into his palms.

You lick blood from your lips.

Zoro’s blood blazes, a carnal, raw emotion swells in his throat with urges he cannot fight - will not fight. Ever a man of action, he’s upon you faster than you can react. Large, calloused fingers envelop your waist, pulling you close in an instant and slamming his lips onto yours in a starved, feverish, messy kiss. The metallic tang of blood on his tongue mixed with the taste of you drives him increasingly wilder each second you stay locked together in the embrace, hastening him further into devoted bliss.

You writhe as he leaves your lips to trail down your neck, lapping up the viscous liquid that coats your flesh in his wake. Zoro is fully prepared to kneel at your altar, to partake of and rejoice in each beautiful proverb that befalls from your sweet tongue, to bathe in every hymn you bestow.

Zoro's hands roam over your body, feeling the contours of your curves beneath the fabric of your torn clothing, tracing the delicate lines of your collarbone and shoulders before coming to rest on the small of your back, holding you firm against him. He feels like he could drown in this moment, in the warmth and passion that courses through his entire being.

Zoro grins wildly, a feral expression on his face as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of your breath against his neck, and the sound of your voice washing over in melodic harmony. He wants nothing more than to revel in this moment, to lose himself completely in the intensity of the connection that you share.

“You wouldn’t believe how good ya look like this,” He growls into your skin, his chapped lips dancing across your collarbone and up to your shoulder. “I feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to see ya. Feels…” words wane into a series of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent of blood, sweat, and battle on your flesh, “...wrong.”

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” You purr, allowing a soft, pleased sigh to slide from your throat when he adds his teeth to the wet assault upon your skin, gently nibbling and grazing at you in a manner that grows hungrier and more sporadic with every passing moment. 

“We both know I ain’t much of a rule follower.” Zoro’s husky voice is hot on your ear, his warm breath sending a jolt of longing right through your nervous system. The hand low on your back begins to wriggle its way through tattered tendrils of threads that once made up your shirt, fingers spread wide as it skims up your pliant softness, tracing along your waist and up between your shoulder blades.

Zoro's touch isn’t quite tender, a clear indication of his burgeoning lust you suspect, but there's honesty, sincerity in his newfound charge. He knows that you aren't fragile, the evidence fresh and red around you speaking well enough on its own, so why stay the hand that plys the sword? 

Men fall to their hands and knees in prayer to gods they’ve never seen, begging for mercy and crying out for deliverance that will not come.

But you - he can see you, he can hear you. 

He can touch you.

Taste you.

You're divine. A paragon of a twisted and bloodied form of justice. It's you that's stupefied him, luring him into a deistic high that has Zoro practically foaming at the mouth with innate desire.

His painfully hard cock strains against his thigh with means to worship you wholly, to partake in his own ideals of perverse, distorted devotion. He breathes in your salty-sweet scent once more and groans in longing, the taste of your crimson essence on his lips makes him feel like an offering to an idol., and every drop that drips down his chin only serves to heighten his senses even more.

He looks up at you through an eye glazed over with depraved adoration, and all he can think of is how good you look, how delicious you are on his tongue, how much he wants to please you, be consumed in your immaculate presence, and to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the darker and more nefarious desire within him.

The urge to claim, to take what he wants from you and find salvation surrounded by your benevolent hold. To act upon the impure aspiration that pulsates in his mind in ways that would make even the most vileindividuals gawk. He yearns to clean the blood from your sacred, championed skin, a lust filled ritual to send you both into sacramental euphoria. 

He’s in a frenzy, feeling and touching each curve and crevice across your body while pulling you impossibly closer to him. Before Zoro can even think, he’s sinking his teeth into your shoulder, overcome with enlightened debauchery and biting down until that deathly addictive taste of your blood is fresh on his tongue once more - a testament to the depth of his obsession and the power of your shared experience.

The pain burns hot, but brief - quickly dissipating away into a cry of raw pleasure, a moan so salacious and so absolute that Zoro feels the very last of his will slipping through his fingers. He laps over the decently deep mark, his saliva mixing into the cuts like kindle to flame and earning him another woefully delightful wail of exasperation.

He thinks himself safe for the interim, that he’s pulled some sense back from the brink - until you say the one thing that shatters him to pieces.

“Do that again.”

He doesn’t deny you, and without hesitation he obliges by drowning his teeth back into your shoulder, pressing deeper into the wound and savoring the way your blood flows across his lips and into his mouth, painting his face red in the process. He grinds his hips against yours in a primitive display of dominance, while his fingers dig into your flesh with bruising force as you dig your nails into his back through his sweat and blood damped shirt.

Despite the danger posed by your actions amidst the threat of more marines, there is something undeniably beautiful about this dance of life and death. In this fleeting moment, Zoro and you find a kind of transcendence - a place where boundaries blur and limits vanish, leaving only pure, unadulterated passion in its wake.

His lips return to yours, and soon enough you feel yourself being whisked off your feet. The open air of the square leaves little room for privacy, but you know he doesn't care. Zoro walks with you in his arms, lips locked together in a messy, bloody, passionate kiss, your legs tight around his waist before he eases you down onto the lip of nameless hero's memorial upon which he plans to ravish you.

Zoro releases his hungry attack on your lips and rips the remnants of your shirt in two, leaving you bare to him as if an offering of communion. To feast upon your body, to drink upon your wine.

You gasp, wincing just a little from the shock of the fresh air upon your chest. “Zoro-” you begin, his name emanating from your breathless lungs as you watch the fabric fall to the ground around you. 

“Y’can have mine,” He replies, leaning forward to pull one of your nipples into his mouth. “After I’m done with ya.” Zoro’s mouth suckles greedily, teasing your sensitive nub with his tongue before biting down hard enough to make you squeal and arch your back, but not draw blood.

His free hand traces down your side, finding respite upon your inner thigh and squeezing tightly onto it, growling as the fresh wound on your shoulder trickles down your chest and right onto his lips and eliciting an absolutely lewd groan from Zoro as he laps it up.

He gazes up at you with an intensity that borders on madness, his eyes burning with an unbridled lust that has you keening. “Ya taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls between his assault on your chest, “God, I can’t get enough.”

“Then take as much as you want.”

And fuck, he does. In an instant does he pop his lips from you to slide your pants away, somehow careful enough to not rip them to shreds - something you’d have to thank him for later. Without even removing his swords from his hip, let alone his own pants - Zoro simply rushes to undo the clasps and push the waistband down enough to free his length, thick and leaking, to bounce out against your pelvis. 

You can feel it even through your underwear, warm heat radiating from what you desire most in this world at this moment. Zoro looks at you, gaze lingering on yours as he slides the fabric shielding your sex to the side and grips your hip with one hand and his cock in the other. He teases it over your slickness tantalizingly while sliding it between your folds and inch by inch are you filled so wonderfully, stretched and stuffed so marvelously full that each tense or twitch of him inside you makes the edges of your vision blur and has you wailing in pleasure.

As soon as your hips are flushed against one another, he gives you but a moment of adjustment before rutting his hips into you quickly, a rhythm so ruthless and wild that leaves you able to do little more aside from gasp out breathlessly and brave his savage ruin. You’re not even sure when your nails crept up his shirt, or when they burrow sharply into his shoulder blades until they’re etching down his back, the crescent shaped lines running his skin raw and bloody, scathing scores fueled by ferocious, crude passion.

He folds you then, one of his hands coming to grip over both of your wrists to pin them above your head as an arm forces your thigh downward. Zoro leans over you, your ankle now bouncing wildly next to his ear while he plows into you at a newer, deeper, more luscious angle. 

Skin slaps against skin in company with brazen indulgence, a foul yet righteous lament for the fallen mere feet from you. From this more cramped position, you’re all but forced to keep eye contact with him - and he’s looking nowhere else but at your face, enraptured by every sound and move you make as you squirm in his hold.

Your desperate pants mix, leaving patches of sweat to pool between your chests. Zoro’s increasing gasps and snarls of ecstasy ring loud in your ear, the sounds echoing through you like a quake and causing you to flutter around his cock. He hisses, harsh and shrill in your ear and with a throaty grunt he pulls out of you, letting your legs fall to the stone pavement and releasing his grasp on your wrists to firmly twist you by the shoulders, spinning you around and sprawling his hand on your lower back to shift you forward into an arch.

He’s sinking into you again, fingers tight and stinging at your waist and burying himself fully inside of you once more. There isn’t even a moment given for reprieve, the man continuing to fuck you as if he hadn’t even left your dripping heat and making you cry out in hypnotizing delight. 

Zoro smacks your ass, relishing in the ripple effect in your pliable flesh left in the wake of his blow. “Shit,” he exhales, adjusting his machinations of impurity to wrap his arms around your waist and lifting you from the ground, holding you in place mid-air and thrusting into you with less and less fluidity by the second. “Feel so fuckin’ amazin’, always do but god damn do you feel so fuckin’ incredible right now.”

You reach back to lock an arm around his neck seeking any leverage to keep yourself upright amidst his onslaught. You’re moaning something incoherent, words neither of you recognize due to the lust-filled haze that fills your minds, feeling the pull of release pit low in your belly as his balls slap against your clit at a rapid pace. 

Delirium bids its toll upon you, tears prickling at your eyes as the climb to your closely approaching high reaches its limit. Drool slides down your chin and onto your neck, and in an instant Zoro catches it with his mouth, once again dissenting on your flesh and gnawing his incisors into your neck - sucking and biting with brutal obsession and marking your angelic skin in devout defiance. The growing familiarity of the warm flow of blood trickling from the bruised indents in your skin makes you crack, flying over the edge with a scream of his name.

He doesn’t slow as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body, still slamming into you a breakneck speed. You twitch and twist in his arms, the hard beating of his cock keeping a state of hyperstimulation over you, the whimpers and cries of weak will and breathless joy beginning to tip him over the edge. 

The only thing in Zoro’s fogged head is his need to flood you with his spend, to pack you to the brim with his cum until it drips out of you and onto the stone below. He doesn’t even care if you’re bred full of his brats after this - if anything it would show just how he reveres you, claiming you as his own personal magnificence. 

His jaw tenses, still attached securely on your neck, as he cums. Loud groans and grunts and sighs of relief vibrate against your skin, Zoro’s dick leaking and draining into you as your walls milk him for all that you can manage. 

A few final, slow motions and he slides out of you, gently placing you on the ground and instantly rolling his shirt from his shoulders to hand it to you. “As promised,” Zoro says, a deviously weak grin on his face, moving to wipe his brow after you’ve taken the clothing from his outstretched hand. “Want me to patch ya up when we get back?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.” You reply as you toss the shirt over yourself gently, minding the wounds that line your body as you do so.” Would rather not be asked any questions I don’t want to answer.” Zoro nods, chuckling softly before helping you clean up, using scraps of your ruined shirt as makeshift bandages and rags before he lifts you into his arms for a third time, though this one with the intention of carrying you safely back to the others - a soft apology for his brutality on your flesh, but one he knows he doesn’t need to say.

[jacevelaryonswife]

Kneel to the Empire or die with the Republic

A woman cannot be left alone to her own fate. After the fall of what you used to know, your only option was to kneel to him.

pairing: Young!Gaius Julius (Augustus Imperator) x Fem!reader

warnings and a note: angst, grief. This story is based on Domina (tv show), I don't have so much knowledge about the historical facts that involve Augustus, so, for those who have more baggage I'm sorry if something sounds wrong from what happened, please be kind, or just don’t read. English is not my first language. 3,8k

In addition to grief, other factors tightened your chest after your father's death. A good man, a faithful supporter of the Roman Republic and power of the Senate, a patrician descended from an important aristocratic lineage, and the most aggravating: one of those responsible for orchestrating the assassination of Gaius Iulius Caesar.

When the military forces of Gaius Julius, born Gaius Octavius, great-nephew of Julius Caesar, began to act in Rome, you knew you had few certainties and much to fear. Perhaps you were executed with your family, dying in an honorable way and with your head held high against a dictator (in the words of your older brother), or just having your traitorous blood eliminated by the defended cause of the heir of the most important man in Rome. They said he was different, a restorer of the Republic, a supporter of power in the hands of the people and the Senate, a middle ground between Caesar and the most avid Republicans. In those days, nothing was clearer to you than your death, however, Gaius Julius' stroke of mercy in sparing women and children from those considered enemies was at the same time a breath of relief and a punch in the lung.

Relief to the fact that you would have a chance to live, since the fear occurred when your brothers did not have the same luck when they were sentenced to death.

"What are we going to do?" You asked scared.

The two looked at each other for a considerable time, with Nero lowering his head before answering: "you will stay here and we are going to fight.”

“What? I can't stay here! There must be somewhere where his men don't find us."

"And how would you live? Running away forever? It's not the fate our father wanted for you." Claudius said.

"That's exactly what he would do instead of kneeling to a dictator, what do you expect me to do?"

“We are trying to protect you! There is no gentle future beyond these walls and I’m sure that Julius' men will still be less kind if they capture you," Nero said, exalting himself before holding your hands: "we cannot risk your life beyond ours, our father is not here, our allies are almost all dead, there is no hope for the three of us, but there may be for you."

The fall of tears marked your face until they flowed into the union of your hands. “I don't want to be alone,” you whined.

"You won’t”

It wasn't known at the time, but that was the last time you were with your brothers. The soldiers of Gaius Julius broke into your house the same night, looking closely for any fresh trail of male presence. The soldiers responsible for your safety were murdered without any chance of defense, with the exception of those who submitted quickly, fearful for their lives. You didn't judge them, how could you, after all?

When a man pressed you incisively on the whereabouts of your blood, shaking your shoulders rudely, an authoritarian voice interrupted him with a short message:

"Not her."

With wide eyes and irregular breathing, you were released immediately. The violence on the inside was mirrored on the outside, being the clearest reminder of those destined to die with the Republic. Your inert body remained in the sights of the man who guaranteed your release, the same facing you a few seconds after his order.

“My men will do your protection tonight,” he said.

The confusion in your frightened face was clear on the tip of your tongue when you asked a simple question:

"Why?" That didn't happen to other women.

"You'll know at the right time."

That's all the man said.

You remained static for long minutes after the departure of those who vandalized your home, with your father's servants — ordered by them — to remove the corpses from the house and sanitize the rooms to their original. Impossible. Doesn’t matter if the blood is removed, the death will be marked forever in each piece of furniture and corridor. One of the soldiers responsible for "your protection" approached with fear and touched your arm with delicacy, hitherto unknown to you, to get you out of the trance.

“We will assume from here, go back to rest,” he said.

"What's going to happen?" Your question was weak, almost like a meow.

"The house will be cleaned and the perimeter protected."

"From who? Why do you want to protect me?"

He remained silent for a few minutes before answering: "I'm not allowed to say."

Permission? What was going on? What was being planned for you? And by whom? Gaius Julius himself or one of his trusted men? Would you be held hostage? Would you marry any of them? Would it be sold as a slave or prostitute?

The rest of the night was spent in torment, with you pushing the internal lock of your door hard and putting on a clot to try to hide some jewels and coins with you in case you needed it and managed to escape. Sleeping was not an option, but a part of you wished that sleep would erase the horrors experienced and the departure of his brothers, so nervousness and fear partially succumbed to sleep. You allowed yourself to stay in the room a little longer that morning, ashamed of facing your servants and guards (no longer yours, but of the men of Gaius), only to receive a knock on the door of the same man you spoke to for the last time.

“I would like to sleep a little more,” you said through the door, afraid enough to open it.

His breathing was perfectly audible, followed by a moment of silence. "You will have some time, but you will need to leave soon to feed yourself and receive the lady Octavia's visit."

Octavia? Octavia Minor? Brother of Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus? What the fuck was going on?

If there was any pretension of tiredness in you it was in a distant past, your mind had just been set on fire with what was going to happen, with what that woman might want with you. She was no stranger, visually speaking, since the glimpse of her red hair and elegant posture were seen by you at the wedding of Livia Drusila and Tiberius Claudius Nero. She, Scribonia, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and him, the reason for everything that is happening, with his hair and eyes dark as the night, with cheap charm and indecent actions.

You didn’t forget how you caught him having inadequate relations with Cicero's wife during the celebration, how he didn’t seem intimidated or embarrassed by his wide eyes, or how he went to you discreetly after your escape, so calm and carefree that it seemed unreal.

It's too unreal to have him by your side. Too unreal that he approached the daughter of one of the men responsible for the death of his great-uncle.

“I'm sorry you saw that, I should have chosen a place with a door,” he said when he settled comfortably standing next to him.

Your breath froze when you heard such a lack of respect, was he making fun of you?

"Don't worry, the time will come when you will do that for your husband," he provoked again, not receiving silence in response.

"Have you finished yet?" Your question was irritated, although low, without looking him in the eye.

"Yes, I did."

You didn't notice his pertinent choice of words, keeping yourself in the same place while waiting for him to leave.

“A beautiful thing like you deserve a better husband than Livia's,”

And so, he left your side.

Everything that preceded your departure from the room to the bath and to the food resulted in a constant tension in every room of your house. You felt eyes accompanied by you at all times, both from the soldiers of Gaius and from your father's slaves. It seemed that another series of murders would happen and was only prevented, for the time being, by the visit of the dictator's sister, which happened in the early afternoon.

A comforting smile directed to you was present before and after the hug given. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday, the war usually gets the best of us."

That couldn't be said to her, you thought.

“Thank you.”

One of the guards guided the way to his father's conversation room, where there was some fruit and wine waiting. Quick flashes of happy memories made you walk slower before sitting next to her, it seemed like an eternity from full happiness, and maybe you would never fully recover it.

“Your house is quite beautiful,” Octavia began, looking around, “I always imagined it was, but it's different when being inside.”

“Has had better days,” you said apathetic, looking down.

Holding your hands, she held your chin to face her. “Again, I'm sorry for what happened. It has been a difficult period for all of us, on both sides, and I imagine that being alone in a world of men is more aggravating. That's why I'm here." Your silence made her continue, although she did not mention of stopping. "I believe you follow your father's ideas, perhaps not because you understand what a republic means, but because you accept what your blood believed-"

"I know what the republic means, just as I know what your brother is doing, but I don't think he came here to ask for my opinion," you interrupted her.

“Not an opinion, but a decision,” she rectified.

“And what decision is that?"

She looked down, displaying a strange smile as she took a deep breath. Her response took a while, as Octavia calmly took a bunch of grape in her hands and picked up a berry before resuming the subject.

"Your father's decision to delay choosing a suitor for you was quite risky for your reputation, rumors could have been made about your purity instead. I like to think he was kind, to the same extent as a fool. But maybe, all this time serves a greater purpose,” she took another break, waiting for you to guess, but everything seemed too absurd to unravel.

"What purpose?"

"A woman cannot be alone in the world, especially one with your birth. When the news that your brothers are gone is spread, men of all regions and ages have prowled your carcass and will force a marriage to get your dowry. Maybe some of your uncles or cousins, or any of them. I come here today to offer a better proposal than any of them: Gaius."

The self-control over your expressions was not well executed, since your eyes frowned and your mouth opened. No, it couldn't be. It was a fucking joke. How... how dare she?

"What?" You asked out loud. “Gaius? Your brother Gaius?"

"Yes, he in person." Octavia answered.

“Why? Why do you want me to marry him? Why me?"

“Although many claim that Gaius intends to end the Senate and Republic, this has already proved to be a fallacy. In his trajectory, he showed that he did not conquer power alone. In fact, the Senate is on its way to deliver this power to him, because it recognizes his virtues. He is a merciful man, who wishes to restore the Republics to their glory days.”

“Merciful?” You asked. “Where is the pity in sentencing my brothers to death? How nice would it be to marry the heir of the man my father helped kill? How good would it be to marry the man who is the reason why all this is happening?” Your voice came out exalted again.

Octavia, in turn, restricted herself to looking down. “All the men who remain in Rome will be supporters of Gaius, maybe yes, some dissatisfied rebel can remain, but in the end, their opinion will be worth nothing, so any husband they arrange for you will be loyal to my brother, it’s no less worse.”

“Gaius decreed the death of my brothers, that’s bad enough,” you answered.

“But what will be worse for you: to be unhappy with a bad stranger or to be the wife of a young sovereign leader? My brother was not very favorable to your family, but he would not do the atrocities that could happen to you being alone and vulnerable at this time.”

No answer was formulated by you, maybe a punch in the stomach would be preferable when facing your reality.

“Gaius himself suggested this idea,” she added.

Before or after declaring your brothers as enemies? How could he think of something like that? The memory of your family and your dignity was insulting! You would become what you wouldn’t like to say and that your father would vehemently deny.

“It’s a lot to assimilate, I know, so you have until the rest of the day to think about, tomorrow one of the soldiers will take your answer in writing,” Octavia said.

“No,” you said. “I’ll come to you. Papers can be tampered with, not my word. But I ask you to order your brother’s men not to touch any woman in this house during my absence.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

It was a deal. A marriage proposal by Gaius Julius Caesar. Not a request, an agreement, that’s what it was, an arrangement to improve his image. That was your function, to improve the lives of men, and unfortunately, even if you don’t choose it, there is no way to get out of this situation unscathed, because Octavia didn’t lie when she referred to the fate that awaited you. But that was worse, he was to blame for the chaos and violence that Rome witnessed, the reason why your home was destroyed. You were truly scared between choosing such options. They were all bad in many ways, but Gaius’s was disrespectful and humiliating. And yet you were still considering it. Was surviving so important?

Or was it that you were too cowardly to face your destiny. Between running away and getting married, you preferred death, but you were too cowardly to cut your throat. Maybe one of Gaius’ men could do this after you rejected the proposal, or Octavia herself could meet someone who messed with poisons. By the Gods, you were desperate.

“I don’t know what to do,” you told a personal servant while bathing.

You still didn’t know what to do when you went to sleep, when you woke up the next day, when you ate nothing more than a few grape berries, when you were taken to where Octavia was and when you faced her. You believed that years could pass and you would not yet have a concrete answer to that situation, but even so, the known evil (Gaius) seemed less worse than what could happen if you rejected it.

Even though it is a simple word, it has never been so difficult to make a statement before.

“Yes.”

You accepted him as yours.

Gaius’ sister’s smile was warm, wrapping your body in a hug while saying that from now on you would be sisters. Your dresses and goods would be sent to your new home, and a few maids could be taken too — at your insistence.

“We have our trusted servants, no need to worry,” Octavia said.

And then it became clear that the evaluation of his company was not only for capacity, but for loyalty and security.

“Gaius will be back soon, I’m sure he will be pleased with your presence here,” she said next. “You couldn’t have chosen better.”

Choices. No, you didn’t want to keep torturing yourself by thinking about the other options.

However, a curious fact was noticed by you in the days that followed in Gaius’ house, under the company of Octavia and other ladies: they would die to be in your position. Or rather, they would kill to be the wife of the next leader of Rome. It was one of the certainties you came to believe, Gaius Julius would not lose the war and those women would do anything to be in youe place. The feeling of danger that filled you on the other days was terrifying, restless and too tense to remain surrounded by other people. Turning to Octavia about the possibility of being poisoned, she eased your fears by saying that everything that arrived on your plate was tasted by others noticed. It wasn’t so comforting when you realized that people could die for you. No, that was insanity. Everything related to what you were living was insanity.

Long days and long nights were bathed in fear in your new home, but nothing compared when the news of his return echoed through the walls. Next to your faithful friends, men, family and servants, there you were, in the center, next to your new sister. The smile that stamped his front was raised when he saw your serious and nervous figure waiting for him. The son of a bitch looked like he had won the biggest of the prizes. And in fact, he did it, after all, his image was built for that.

For the reconstruction of the Republic.

No word of his speech was heard by you, just waiting for such torment to end. But the celebrations were just beginning. At first, he did not go directly to meet you, but in the middle of the night, when you were away for too long in a distant room, he approached surreptitiously with gentle steps.

“Even though it was a generous proposal, a large part of me thought you would refuse it,” he said, calm with a breeze.

A sigh was your first reaction.

“A large part of me thought about refusing.”

He stood next to you, or in front of you (depending on the perspective) in the hallway.

“And what made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know,” you replied.

“Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“So why are you here?”

“I was afraid of being alone, not that I’m not at the moment. Not that the other option was less worse, in fact, both were bad enough.”

“And what was the other option?” He asked with a mixture of humor, surprise and curiosity with his sincere answer.

“Your sister can answer that.”

He didn’t hold his smile this time, even if weak and nasal. After that, he was silent for a while, posture changing up before speaking even lower:

“I’m sorry for your brothers.” Perhaps it would have been better to have been silent since your only reaction was to walk in the same direction that he came, leaving him behind, or trying. “Wait, wait! I’m sorry, it was something stupid to say.” He held your arm firmly, but without being rude, as he got even closer.

“Yes, it was,” you agreed and showed the frown you fought so hard to disguise.

“There was nothing to do about them,” he confessed.

“No? Did your supporters say that or was it your idea to declare them as enemies?” You asked (accused) him.

“Would they accept to be loyal to me?”

Of course not.

“I thought you was doing this for the people and the Senate, to restore the Republic,”

“And I am, but would they accept this if it was done by me?”

You smiled with mockery, looking the other way and leaving him unanswered.

“I know you have enough reasons not to trust me, or hate me, but I don’t intend to fail as a husband, and I don’t intend to disrespect you,” he said, trying to soften.

“Just like you disrespected Cicero?” You remembered the incident at Livia’s wedding.

It was his turn to sigh, releasing your arm to hold your hand.

“Cívero married her because her family is rich. That’s why everyone gets married: money, power and family. That the only thing that’s matter.”

“That’s why we’re getting married. Money, power and family,” you said bitterly.

“Yes, it’s. But I know it wasn’t an easy decision fot you to make.”

If your conscience wasn’t trying to push him away, you could have noticed a certain compassion in his beautiful eyes.

“No, you don’t know. You don’t.” That was too much, no, it was an excess of what you could handle. “You have no idea what it’s been like to live with this burden. The people I loved are dead and I feel that at any moment I will be next, and I will still marry you. No, you don’t know how I feel. My father would bitterly deny me if I were alive, my brothers too, because I’m going to marry you, because I’m a fucking traitor!” Tears collapsed violently from your eyes. “Because I have nothing else, there’s nothing left.”

Oh no. He advanced on you with a tight hug, holding your head against his chest. “It’s ok, it’s ok, you’ll be fine, I promise, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all this. I promise I won’t betray you, I promise, I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how many tears you had saved for that moment, for him. Because of him. You couldn’t imagine leaning over to seek comfort in him, squeezing him so hard to prevent him from running away. But he wouldn’t go anywhere, no, he wouldn’t. He wrapped you in a cocoon while holding the back of your head. The inconvenient thought that incriminated him for your situation was unpleasant to deal with, for him, and unconsciously, for you, a small relief was present in the back of your mind because no one was around.

“I promise you, nothing less than respect. I can’t get back what was lost, but I can guarantee new things,” he said when you calmed down.

“I don’t need jewelry, Gaius, or dresses, or maids. I already have that, I’ve always had it,” you countered it.

“I’m not talking about material goods. Some things need interference to be solved, others can be remedied by time, or mitigated. I don’t intend to put pressure or do little of you, I know it wouldn’t work, and that’s not how I want to solve things between us. I hope one day you can forgive me, I’ll be waiting for that.”

Taking a risk by kissing your forehead with affection was dangerous, but touching your lips was off limits. He has waited so long for you, since he saw your wide eyes and beautiful face at Livia Drusilla’s wedding. A beautiful girl from an important family, the same family involved in the size of her great-uncle, yet a beautiful girl to have by his side. He knows it was cruel to have made such a proposal, but it would be even more cruel to leave you for your luck. He could not allow this, not when your fragility was exposed to him in a more frighteningly palpable way, not when even in suffering you confronted him. Call him a fool or hopeful, but he believed that eventually, taking time or not, you would be totally his.

The confusion was evident in your eyes when he felt for the first time the slight landing of soft and gentle lips against your own. His lips... kissing you. Your eyes closed in the final seconds, before a whispered statement was sworn to you in a serious and masculine tone:

“Everything will be fine.”

————————

I didn’t like this as much as I imagined.

general taglist: @chompchompluke

tag for this fic: @lovelykhaleesiii @arcielee

[rogunetocentral]

It is the height of hypocrisy to make a call-out post about fanon Rogue vs canon Rogue when you're staunchly part of the faction of the fanbase that exalts the fanon version as the true Rogue.

Back when Rogue was without Gambit in the 2010s, those fanon lovers hated Rogue on her own and hated that she flirted dated ANYONE who was not Gambit. Magneto, Johnny, Deadpool all were dragged no matter how cute or respectful those connections were. Rogue was hated for having a solo book in XML and leads in X-MEN and Uncanny Avengers without mentioning Gambit every 5 minutes.

There were always complaints that Rogue was boring without the Carol Danvers powerset, complaints about her costumes, complaints about her hair or artists not making her pretty enough.

All of these complaints came from the same group of people and specific individuals within that group. All because Rogue was not the Rogue they created in their minds or the one who catered to their 90s cartoon/comic nostalgia. The poster honestly does not care about Rogue if Rogue doesn't meet their specific requirements, so that whole angry canon vs fanon post is ridiculous.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

If these are men

(Published in Italian on La Stampa website, 25 Jan 2025 h 01:00)

Written by Caterina Soffici

Illegal immigrants in chains, heads bowed, lining up to board a plane that will deport them. In chains, like slaves on plantations, like prisoners of a dictatorship, like deportees in war.

We don't know anything about these people. All we know is that they picked them up in the raids that Trump promised on the campaign trail and they are not eligible to stay in the United States. They may be criminals. Or they might not. We don't know and we don't care. They always deport them like that, handcuffed. Maybe for law and order issues. Or for security. In chains one guard is enough to control several. We don't know and we don't care. Because in civilized countries, in democracies that are honored to bear that name, there is a rule: you don't show people handcuffed. Because handcuffs are a synonym for guilt. They are a disgrace, an infamy. In France, the media are not allowed to show pictures of handcuffed people until they are finally convicted. Ditto in Italy. In Japan, even the hands of the person in handcuffs are blurred in photos. In Hong Kong, to preserve the dignity of the handcuffed person, police offer a head covering or screen.

Instead, the White House displays the chains as a trophy and does so from the official account on the “X” platform. The message this photo wants to send to the world is clear: there they are, we caught them, look at these criminals. The image is not one of Elon Musk's craziness or one of Donald's late-night tweets. It would still be bad, but we've gotten used to it by now. The photo is an official image of the Trump 2.0 administration and is designed specifically to be taken up and discussed. This is how people communicate now: threats rather than messages, warnings entrusted to the network. What is new is the nastiness exhibited. Before, it was just done and people tried to deny it. Such an image, seized by an enterprising photographer, would have embarrassed the U.S. administration. Justifications would have been sought, excuses made, misunderstandings invoked. Remember the scandal over the treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo? Here, now it is the other way around. They are exhibited as a weapon of power.

In the age of Trump 2.0, not only are terrible things said. But they are done (or attempted to be done, consistent with judges ratifying their constitutionality). And they are flaunted to the world as evidence of how incisive the president's actions are. “Promise made, promise kept. Deportation flights have begun,” is the overprint. “President Trump is sending a strong message to the world: those who enter the United States illegally will face serious consequences.”

Hit one to scare a thousand. This is the new philosophy of this right wing that wants at all costs to “épater le bourgeois,” to corner the hated political correctness, to crush the hypocritical liberal elite. Little does it matter if in this triumphant march of nastiness, humiliation of the weakest, exaltation of wealth as a single and universal value, where no pietas is contemplated, rights are trampled upon and the very foundations of democracy are undermined. In fact, I tend to think that's exactly what the project is.

[nahoney22]

The Right Guy***

Crosshair X F!Reader X Tech

word count: 5k

With two guys fawning over you, you’re left in the difficult position of picking the right one for you. But, something tells you that you always knew who.

warnings: NSFW so 18+ only. Female reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, mutual pining. Mentions of jealousy, brother rivalry, love triangle trope (no clonecest), Tech is rejected, slight bitterness, embarrassing moment, fluff but angst, swearing, aftercare, not proofread. This is primarily a Crosshair centred fic.

authors note: request for my incredible friend @raevulsix - love u so much and everything you do. Enjoy. ♥️

Never in a million lifetimes would you fathom the notion of two people fighting for your affections. Yet, as you inadvertently eavesdropped on Crosshair and Tech engaging in a heated exchange one night within the cockpit of the Marauder, you realised the gravity of the predicament rather quickly.

Initially, a glimmer of satisfaction twinkled within you. It was almost as if you were exalted, relishing the fact that two men who were more or less polar opposites were locked in a contentious rivalry over you.

However, that moment of self-smugness swiftly vanished, replaced by a profound sense of dread as you comprehended the complete unintended consequences of your actions. To the best of your knowledge, you had not deliberately misled anyone. You had maintained a civil and friendly demeanor towards all the Batchers, but evidently, certain emotional attachments had formed with two of them.

Rather than revealing yourself upon hearing their argument, you stealthily retreated to your bunk, resolute in addressing the situation in the morning. However, the dawn couldn't arrive quick enough. You lay awake, restlessly tossing and turning for hours on end, fixating your gaze upon Crosshair's adjacent bunk and Tech's elevated one directly above yours.

“This is so stupid.” You grumbled to yourself in a huff, not meaning to speak aloud which is why you let out a small shriek when a voice replied.

“And what would that be?” You sat up abruptly, narrowly missing hitting your head off the bunk above and stare over at Echo’s form at the end of your bed.

“Crap, sorry Echo. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head dismissively, “dumb and dumber however…” his voice trailed off, hinting that he was well aware of the cause behind your restless state.

You sank back into your bedding, rubbing your hands wearily over your face. "Echo, I honestly had no idea any of this would happen," you lamented, frustration seeping through your voice.

Echo chuckled lightly as he settled himself at the end of your bed. "It ain't your fault. Those two have had their sights set on you for quite some time."

A warmth spread within you at his words. "Really?" you couldn't help but inquire, finding no reason for Echo to lie to you.

Despite the tumultuous nature of two brothers currently turning against each other in the cockpit, again comes a self-centered thought as part of you couldn't help but revel in the fact that one of them, in particular, held feelings for you.

He had captured your attention from the very beginning, but you knew it was best to remain silent about your attraction. After all, you were simply stationed as their medic, and forming attachments was frowned upon and of course, complicated. However, there was something undeniably magnetic about him.

"Yes, really," Echo affirmed, drawing you out of your thoughts. Both of you trained your eyes on the cockpit door as it suddenly hissed open, revealing Crosshair stealthily making his way to the opposite end of the ship. Before disappearing from sight, he cast you a - dare you say - meaningful glance. You exhaled deeply, relieved that he hadn't overheard your conversation. Turning back to Echo, you posed the question that weighed heavily on your mind, "What should I do?"

Echo appeared equally perplexed, finding himself at a loss for an answer. While he had witnessed the occasional squabble over girls during his time with the 501st, this situation seemed to transcend just mere disagreements over a girl at 79’s.

"I don't know," he admitted, a hint of uncertainty coloring his words. "Perhaps you should talk to both of them. Express your feelings about the situation and make it clear that you want no part in their rivalry."

Observing a flicker of apprehension in your eyes, Echo's own widened slightly. "Unless... Do you feel differently?"

Preferring not to disclose which of the two had captured your feelings, lest rumors being spread, you thanked Echo for the chat. Settling back into your bedding, you willed your weary body to succumb to sleep, hoping that dreams would offer respite from this mess.

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

As the morning arrived, you awoke to Hunter gently shaking your shoulder, urging you to prepare for the upcoming mission. However, all movement ceased as the familiar sounds of another altercation erupted from the cockpit.

Furrowing your brow, you composed yourself and secured your hair tightly in place before cautiously approaching the scene.

"I'm simply stating that she would be better off accompanying me on this mission. I'll require her assistance,"

“Oh yeah? And why is that, Tech?” Crosshair snarled at his brother, who remained engrossed in his datapad, visibly annoyed by his younger sibling's persistent questioning and obvious jealousy.

"There are numerous tasks for which she is highly capable. Sending her with you to scout the area is a futile strategy and a waste of her abilities," Tech replied matter-of-factly. Both of them were aware of your presence, yet neither bothered to turn and acknowledge you.

You sidled up beside Wrecker, whispering up to him, "What's happening?" His response came in the form of a chuckle.

"They're fighting over ya."

Shifting uncomfortably, you observed the ongoing bickering about who should be your partner. "Again?" you muttered to yourself more than to Wrecker.

Eventually, you reached your limit and stepped in between the warring brothers. "Can you two please speak to me as if I'm actually here?" you asserted, your gaze shifting between them. Their mouths snapped shut as you glared at each of them with equal intensity. "And to answer your questions, I'll be partnering with Hunter," you huffed and walked away before either of them could utter a word.

"Nice one," Crosshair grumbled to his goggled brother, who merely sighed and shook his head.

"I believe she's irritated with both of us. It also hasn't escaped my notice that she overheard our argument last night as she was going to bed," Tech mumbled, adjusting his goggles on his nose before ensuring he had all the necessary equipment before the departure.

Crosshairs frown remained etched on his face as he watched you storm off, accompanied by the rest of the team. His heart pounded in his chest, a foreign sensation that revealed his nerves—a feeling he was unfamiliar with. He understood that the odds of winning your affection were slim, especially with Tech as his rival. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if you wanted nothing to do with either of them.

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

"You want to talk about it?" Hunter's voice broke through your thoughts as you scouted ahead together, lost in your own world. His words resonated, not requiring his enhanced senses to detect the tension in the air.

"There's not much to say," you grunted, pushing through some bushes. "Other than the fact that things are incredibly awkward for me."

Hunter chuckled, parting some foliage and helping you through. "Why don't you just tell both of them that you're not interested? Simple."

If only it were that easy.

Hunter swiftly picked up on your sudden silence.

He stopped and looked at you, unscrewing the canteen attached to his hip and passing it to you. "Unless you feel differently?"

"Funny," you replied, mouthing him a quick thanks as you took a drink. "Echo said the same thing."

"So, you have feelings for them?" Hunter's surprise was evident, yet not entirely unexpected. "Don't you think it's best to tell Crosshair and Tech that?”

You sighed, "Of course I like both of them," you rolled your eyes, aware that the time had come to address your true feelings. "But... I like Crosshair more, okay?"

Hunter's reaction was a mix of surprise and understanding. "Why don’t you let him know?”

“But what about Tech? How do I tell him I prefer his brother?” You groaned, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on you, more stressful than the war itself.

Hunter hums thoughtfully, attaching his canteen back to his hip as you both proceeded ahead, “Tech would not take it to heart. He may be a little bitter but not as much as Crosshair would be.”

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better," you muttered miserably.

As you both crouched down, surveying the settlement you were tasked to infiltrate, it became clear that it was too early to approach without detection. Deciding to wait it out until nightfall, Hunter informed the rest of the team via comms to exercise the plan.

"So," Hunter began, getting comfortable on the ground and removing his helmet, placing it aside. "Why Crosshair?"

Blushing, you found it difficult to put your feelings into words. You shrugged nonchalantly. "Are you really asking me this?"

“Yeah,” he smirks, “it’s kind of interesting that out of any of us, you settle on the one who doesn’t really speak.”

You chuckled and nodded, understanding his point. "He's just... different. In a good way," you said simply, not wanting to delve into the depth of your emotions and explain why you believed he was the most remarkable person you knew.

“Sure he doesn’t talk much and he’s a stubborn git, but I just like him, y'know? He’s always been nice to me and I just feel a type of way around him.”

“I’m aware,” Hunter replies coyly which only adds a heat to your blush. Of course he knew. He probably heard the way your heart rattled against your rib cage when Crosshair walks on by.

You're tugging at the grass on the ground, almost like a small child when she’s feeling bashful about her feelings. "And he's quite attractive," you whispered quietly, more to yourself than to Hunter, but he heard and stifled a laugh.

"I'm sure he'd love to hear that," Hunter chuckled, playing with his knife idly during the wait.

"What, and boost his ego? I don't think so," you replied, joining in the laughter. However, your amusement quickly faded when a snapped twig caught your attention. Mortification washed over you as you looked up to find none other than the subject of your conversation leaning confidently against a tree.

"You can't boost my ego about something I already know," Crosshair smirked from behind his helmet, his voice modulated, further unsettling your already unsteady heartbeat.

Hunter looks between the two of you, his frown deepening as he scolds his comrade, "And why aren't you at your post?"

Crosshair pushes himself off the tree and strides toward you, standing in front of you and causing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. He then crouches down, intensifying the intimacy of the moment. "Well, Sarge, I would've stayed if I hadn't overheard a certain someone confess their feelings for me."

Your brows furrow, attempting to suppress the sinking feeling of being overheard. "How did you hear?" Hunter inquiries on your behalf, relieving you from the need to find words that seem to escape you.

Crosshair nods towards his wrist, directing your gaze to his device. Horror washes over you as your eyes widen. "Hunter! You left your comm on?" You slap at his wrist, disconnecting the transmission, and feel a sense of despair at the turn of events. If Crosshair heard, then... Oh no. Tech.

"So, you have feelings for me?" His helmet hissed as he removed it, while Hunter discreetly walked off, leaving you two alone to have a brief conversation and is likely hitting his head against the tree at his stupid mistake.

You fidget with your fingers, feeling a mix of nervousness. "I really didn't want you to find out this way... I'm sorry."

He chuckles, a dark and captivating sound that sets your heart ablaze. Must he be so enchanting while you're in the midst of embarrassment? "Do you not think I feel the same about how you found out about me liking you? Arguing with Tech?"

"I suppose not," you respond, averting your gaze, finding his intense stare too much to handle. But then his hand gently brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. We don't need to hide it," he whispers, his face now just inches away from yours.

Your eyes flutter closed instinctively, embracing his closeness and the warmth of his minty breath. "No," you sigh shakily, filled with eagerness at the prospect of Crosshair possibly, finally, kissing you, "I suppose we don't."

He inches even closer, his nose grazing against yours as his breath intertwines with yours. His composure remains steady, displaying his calmness amidst your own trembling knees. Thank goodness you're seated.

His lips ghost over yours, but suddenly, a pang of realization hits you. "Wait, no." You pull back, meeting his concerned gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks, a tinge of nervousness evident in his expression at your sudden rejection.

"I... I should really talk to Tech first. I owe him that much," you explain, grappling with the weight of your decision. It doesn't feel right to fully embrace Crosshair when another man is vying for your affections. You want to handle this situation with honesty and fairness. "I need to talk to Tech before moving forward."

Crosshair observes you and absorbs your words. "You know, that's one of the many things I like about you, kitten," he compliments, his finger gently grazing your chin. "Always so selfless."

You mentally moan at his touch, the subtle gesture melting your resolve. However, you know you must focus on speaking with Tech and hope that he doesn't resent you. It doesn't feel right to leap into a relationship with Crosshair while another man's emotions are still at stake. "Thank you," you rasp, watching as he stands and readjusts his helmet on his head.

"When you're ready, you know where to find me, princess.”

»»————-　🌙 　————-««

"Tech, can I talk to you?" you ask, trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn't immediately look up, engrossed in his work. It's hard to tell whether he's avoiding eye contact with you or simply immersed in the task at hand.

"Is this in regard to what was said over the transmission?" he replies, still not lifting his head to meet your gaze. Your stomach swirls in guilt as there was a mix of disappointment in his tone. Though, there was also a heavy sign of acceptance too.

You’re somewhat relieved to find that Tech is willing to have a conversation with you, despite the tension that had hung in the air between all of you since the awkward revelation. He remains focused on his task under the control panel as you approach him.

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry that you found out this way. I wanted to tell you to your face, but-"

"There is no need for the apology," he interrupts, finally sitting up and wiping his hands against his legs. He looks up at you, holding a spanner in his hand. "I am not entitled to receive an apology when it is I who should be saying sorry."

You tilt your head in confusion. "What for?"

He starts twirling the tool around in his hand, speaking calmly. "Well, Crosshair and I arguing about our feelings for you is not how I would have wanted you to find out about my own unexplainable feelings for you. Although you prefer Crosshair, and I fail to understand why he has captured your affections more,” he trails off with a subtle eye roll but notices the look on your face.

“I... I am simply happy if you are happy. I won't be distant from you, aside from keeping my feelings in check. You are still, and always will be, my friend."

You decide not to delve into the reasons why you like Crosshair, as Tech is already aware of them. Instead, you express your gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness and understanding. You're a good man, Tech."

He responds with a touch of modesty, twirling the spanner in his hand. "That is subjective, depending on the person... but thank you nonetheless. I hope Crosshair treats you the way you deserve to be treated." A small hint of a smile graces his face, and thankfully, you detect no signs of hatred or bitterness, aside from his genuine confusion about your preference for Crosshair.

You stay and chat for a while, engaging in casual small talk that eases the tension between you. It feels good to have a normal conversation with Tech, reaffirming the friendship that underlies everything. As for Crosshair, you held back for a while.

Just because you cleared the air with Tech doesn't mean you’re comfortable enough to jump into Crosshairs arms straight away. So with a few flirtatious gazes between the two of you, it isn’t until a week or two (you can never tell when you’re away doing missions) when the two of you get a chance to talk. Alone.

The Marauder is quiet, the others having left to do something or other when you decide to stay behind. It had been a hectic few days and even though there was still a small amount of tension left between Crosshair and Tech, overall it was better than before.

As you sat on the steps of the Marauder, gazing up at the scattered stars, a familiar noise caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Crosshair emerging from the distance, his talon frame unmistakable. The thrill of knowing he had come back just to see you coursed through your veins, but a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, wondering if there was something more serious driving his return.

"You're back early," you commented, your voice steady as you tried to maintain a cool demeanor.

"Problem?" he replied, stopping at the foot of the steps, a playful smirk gracing his features as he towered over you once again.

"Not at all," you smirked back, though you couldn't help but hold your arms over your chest, attempting to conceal the unsteady rhythm of your heartbeat. "But why are you back?"

His gaze locked onto yours, studying you intently as he slid his rifle off his shoulder, letting it thud onto the floor. With a toothpick hanging between his teeth, he plucked it out and held it between his fingers. "I had to see you."

You gulped, feeling your shyness overwhelm you as his presence grew closer. "Oh yeah?" you managed to say, your voice betraying your nerves.

Crosshair chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes as he sensed the mix of excitement and nervousness radiating from you. Flicking the toothpick to the ground, he slowly leaned in, causing you to slide back against the steps as his hands landed on either side of you. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the intensity of your connection.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice laced with desire and a touch of vulnerability.

Your heart races as Crosshair leans closer, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. The space between you feels charged with anticipation, and you find yourself becoming acutely aware of every breath and every beat of your heart.

You maintain eye contact with him, a mixture of curiosity and desire in your gaze. The tension between you both is insane, and you can't help but feel a surge of excitement deep within you. After all, you felt like you had been waiting for this moment forever.

His voice, deep and velvety, sends shivers down your spine as he continues, his words laced with a hint of playfulness. "I couldn't resist the thought of seeing you again."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you feel your own nervousness dissipating, replaced by a growing sense of comfort in his presence. "Well, I can't say I'm disappointed to see you either."

Crosshair’s hands, strong and steady, remain planted on either side of you, creating a tantalizing closeness that makes your heart flutter. His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, his own breath mingling with yours.

As the air crackles with unspoken desire, you gather the courage to speak. "What really brought you back, Crosshair? Is everything alright?"

His smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Everything's fine, darling. I just couldn't stay away any longer."

The electricity in the air is palpable as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. His pet names he gives you make you weak and excited. Your breath hitches in anticipation, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling within you.

But instead of closing the gap, Crosshair surprises you by pausing, his gaze filled with a newfound tenderness. "Do you still want to wait a while?”

You melt at his words, despite his intense demeanour he is effortlessly so soft and courteous of you. You reach up, gently placing a hand on his cheek, your touch warm against his stubbled skin. "I don’t think I can wait any longer. I can’t get you out of my mind."

He leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding and closes the remaining distance between you, capturing your lips.

His kiss is soft and chaste, pulling back to see your dazed eyes. “Kitten, do you truly want me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, leaning up to kiss him, “I want you. I need you.”

He kisses back with urgency, your fingers tangled in the short tuffs of his silver locks. The steps you're leaning on are uncomfortable but you didn’t care as long as it was him you were kissing on them. He positions himself between your legs, knee pressing accidentally to your core that emits a soft moan from you.

He smiles against the plumpness of your now slightly bruised lips, “Did that feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” you sigh, not at all embarrassed at obvious signs of your arousal.

He leans down, kissing the softness of your neck as his hands find your waist. “Have you ever been touched down there?” His words are raspy and sent shivers down your spine.

“Not for a while,” you admit, breathless. “You can touch me...”

Crosshair is slick, his hand coming down between both of your legs as he gently cups your pussy through your pants and groans in satisfaction at how he can feel how aroused you got so easily. “You’re dripping already, aren’t you? You’ve been wanting me for the last two weeks haven’t you?”

You cracked a short laugh, “try the last few months.”

Something snaps in Crosshair at your words because in a second your pants are being ripped from your body and tossed caressly onto the ground. He pulls away from the trail of kisses he was planting along your neck and down your body. He lowers himself on the steps and you shudder at the cool night air fanning against your exposed body.

Slowly, he hooks a finger in your panties and pulls them to the side. The look on his face is no better way described than enamored. “Oh kitten, you’ve got a very pretty pussy.” He sighs softly, his breath fanning against your sex that has you chewing hard on your lower lip.

“It’s all for you, Crosshair.” Anticipation lingers in the air until he begins to slowly stroke a digit against your soaked lips, collecting your slick on his fingers that he admires with his trained eyes. You were about to tease him, wondering if this had been a fantasy of his when he curls a finger inside of you.

You gasp at the sensation, Crosshair looking up from between your legs with fire in his eyes. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes,” you moan, propping yourself on your elbows to watch as his wrist turns and starts to pulse in and out of you simultaneously, “fuck that feels really good.”

He smirks in satisfaction, continuing to dip his finger in your wet heat prodding bluntly at your soft insides that have gone slick and trembling. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you clumsily try to rock back onto his dexterous hand. “Eager, sweetie?”

“Can you blame me? I’ve w-wanted you - this - from the start.” Crosshair smirks, the waver in your beautiful voice causing a small bead of precom to leak from his cock. He crooks his finger, stroking your special spot.

Crosshair's whole body was shivering as you, someone he had adored for so long, cries out in pleasure and drips down his wrist. You’re being perfectly responsive to his touch. “That’s it darling,” he whispered, inserting another finger as he looked up at you, seeing your head tilted back, eyes closed, “I want you to look at me.”

You obeyed his order and looked back down at him, hips rocking vigorously as his fingers stretched you out. You lock eyes, something that felt more intimate than what he was doing to you. Or so you thought until he started to lick your pussy. “Oh Crosshair, baby…” you whine at the sensation of his warm, thick tongue.

He revels in your whimpers, moaning against you himself as he laps up your juices, slick glossing over his chin but he didn’t mind at all. “You’re delicious.”

Reddening at his words, your hand lands on the back of his head, gently guiding him as you eagerly ask for more. He was right, you were eager. His tongue flicks violently over your clit, causing you to curse and moan loudly that echoed around the mountainous region. “That’s it kitten, don’t be shy about expressing your wants.” He chuckles, vibrations tickling you pleasantly.

“M-more, please.” You beg, eyes glossing with tears as your release starts to teeter on the edge, the pleasure being too much.

“As you wish,” Crosshair mutters, curling a finger back inside you all the while lapping at your little pearl. “You’re mine, I’m so glad you’re mine.”

If it wasn’t for the feeling of his tongue assaulting your cunt, you’re certain your legs would be shaking at his words and not his actions. “What if the others see us?” You whisper, caring but also half not caring.

He pulls back, looking up at you with sopping wet lips and a smirk, “Then they’ll witness my princess cumming on my tongue,”

He grips your thighs, burying his face back in between your legs when your orgasm hits. Your climax shook your entire body, stars blurring your vision and not just the ones above you both. “F-Fuck, crosshair!”

He pulls away, teasingly sucking on your clit and retreating with a small pop as he watches you come down from your high, caressing your legs gently before picking up pants and gently sliding them back on you.

Both of your breathing is shallow and rough, especially yours, as you find solace in each other's arms. "Are you okay?" he whispers into your hair, his voice filled with concern and tenderness. He lifts you, settling you into his lap and wrapping his arms securely around you.

"Yeah," you reply breathlessly, feeling a wave of exhaustion washing over you. "That was amazing."

He grows quiet, the weight of the situation hanging in the air. Sometimes after such intimate moments, silence speaks louder than words. Eventually, he breaks the silence. "I know the others will be a little confused about us being together."

"Oh? So there is an 'us' at least," you muse, trying to alleviate some of the tension you sense in him. "But can I ask why you think that?" You approach the topic with sensitivity, aware of the serious undertone in his voice.

He blinks, his gaze shifting from you to the stars above. "As they say, I'm not much of a 'conversationalist'," he begins, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "So they're gonna wonder what exactly it is we have in common."

You nod slowly, understanding his concern. But you're not bothered by others' opinions. All that matters is the connection between the two of you and how you can nurture and build your relationship. "I've always enjoyed our chats, even when you didn't speak to me for the first week."

He huffs in amusement, retrieving a toothpick from a small pouch and placing it between his teeth. "I have to admit, I was shy."

You raise an eyebrow in slight shock. The idea of Crosshair being shy seems almost unimaginable. It's as if he can read your thoughts because he playfully nudges you. "Yeah, yeah, odd right?"

Shaking your head with a smile, you lean in and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "That's quite sweet, knowing you were all shy and cutesy around me."

"Cutesy is not the word I'd use," he rolls his eyes playfully, gnawing on the toothpick, "but I think it shows how willing I am to open up to you. Or how easy I find it, anyway."

Your heart flutters at his words, appreciating his willingness to show moments of vulnerability. You watch him, captivated by his features. Despite their sharpness, there's a softness in his eyes that melts your heart. He's truly beautiful.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, not turning to you but sensing your gaze upon him.

"Can I have a toothpick?" you inquire, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

Slowly, he turns to look at you, his gaze lingering on your lips and then returning to your eyes. "You know I don't share."

Yet, he reaches back into his pocket and retrieves a toothpick, handing it to you. "But I suppose I won't mind sharing one or two of these with you from time to time."

The two of you continue sitting under the starlit sky, locked in each other's embrace.

Masterlist

tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr r @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone e @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @agenteliix @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @imalovernotahater @the-good-shittt @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions

[samalbro]

Sam Albro 3D Modeler Demo Reel - July 10th, 2023

[countessravengrey]

My dears, my darlings, my exalted X-Men fandom peeps...

It's Rogue, not Rouge.

(so many posts tagged as #rouge)

(rouge is makeup, as in blush)

(how can I find you if you're tagged wrong?)

[eretzyisrael]

by Dion J. Pierre

Columbia University’s most strident pro-Hamas organization distributed literature calling on students to join the terror group’s movement to destroy Israel during this year’s convocation ceremony last week, according to various reports on social media.

“This booklet is part of a coordinated and intentional effort to uphold the principles of the thawabit and the Palestinian resistance movement overall by transmitting the words of the resistance directly,” says a pamphlet distributed by Columbia University Apartheid Divest (CUAD), a Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) spinoff, to incoming freshmen. “This material aims to build popular support for the Palestinian war of national liberation, a war which is waged through armed struggle.”

Other sections of the pamphlet are explicitly Islamist, invoking the name of “Allah, the most gracious” and referring to Hamas as the “Islamic Resistance Movement.” Proclaiming, “Glory to Gaza that gave hope to the oppressed, that humiliated the ‘invincible’ Zionist arm,” it says its purpose is to build an army of Muslims worldwide.

“We call upon the masses of our Arab and Islamic nations, its scholars, men, institutions, and active forces to come out in roaring crowds tomorrow,” it adds, referring to an event which took place in December. “We also renew our invitation to the free people and those with living consciences around the world to continue and escalate their global public movement, rejecting the occupation’s crimes, in solidarity with our people and their just cause and legitimate struggle.”

This latest exaltation of violence was followed by a disturbing act of vandalism on Columbia’s New York City campus. On Tuesday, a masked man poured red paint on the Alma Mater sculpture located in front of the Low Memorial Library, symbolizing the spilling of blood. A protest broke out elsewhere on campus, with a young woman, whose face was concealed with a keffiyeh, waving a sign cut into the shape of an inverted red triangle. It said, “Long live the intifada.”

[sumerianlanguage]

Hi! I once asked you a question and I absolutely loved your answer, so I am coming once again to you for some advice. Is there a word in cuneiform for loyalty/devotion? Or some line from a text/poem of this? I've found that this is a beautiful subject through human history, but I can't find anything about it with the (little) knowledge I have. Thank you so much!

Hello! The basic word in Sumerian I know for "loyal" is zid 𒍣, the same word as "proper, accurate, right". It's used, for example, in the Lament for Sumer and Urim: Enlille e-zid gulgullude, lu-zid turrede... "Enlil, in order to destroy the loyal households, in order to decimate the loyal men..." A more positive quote might be from Išme-Dagan X: Ngidru shumshum, aga-zid halla, mumahbi sasa "He assigns the scepters, and distributes the loyal crowns, and announces their exalted names."

The other term is shudimma 𒋗𒉽𒉽𒈠 "loyal, prudent", from the phrasal verb shu dim "to be loyal, be subservient" - specifically loyalty by a lesser person to a greater person. This is what appears, for example, in the proverb Nirngal kugzuam, ukur shu dimmam, shu ngar ngalla Arattaka "When the authorities are wise, and the poor are loyal, it is the effect of the blessing of Aratta." I wouldn't use shudimma for, say, loyalty to one's friend, spouse, or other equal, however.

As for "devotion, devoted", etc. all the examples I can find are just alternate translations of clearer terms. For example, this proverb includes dumu Utu kuggakam "a devotee of Utu is among the holy", but dumu "devotee" actually just means "child".

I hope one or more of these are helpful to you!