#anyway we move on letting go of my RAGE towards the man

[silkhy-john]

Trying to remember why Mr M’s voice sounded so familiar then I realised

[juletheghoul]

The General

a/n: So, the Roman got me. It was to be expected, honestly lol. I am well aware we know practically nothing about this character but I couldn't help myself. I wrote reader as a slave here, if you aren't into that - no worries. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for letting me flood her with my thoughts and ideas and for helping me flesh it out🩷 Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, some dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) one creepy dude making a pass, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Series masterlist Masterlist next chapter; the baths

He comes through the tent flap late into the night, covered in blood, grime, and rage, and yet - you are there to greet him. The gods have seen it fit to bestow him with another day of victory, another day of life and with that life, comes his expectations of you.

You rush to pour the water you’ve kept hot at his fire into the basin he uses to wash, eyes scanning quickly for the clean linens he uses to cleanse himself of the gore of battle, and making yourself scarce once the basin is full.

He says nothing, but he has no need to. 

You watch from your place at the edge of his vision, every nerve and receptor in your body honed to anticipate his needs. 

His armor needs to be cleaned before first light, thank the Gods I didn’t fall asleep. I will need to mend the tear in his tunic as well–

His hand shot out, face up towards you, interrupting your mental tally of his state but your body responds quicker than your mind and you’re there in an instant, placing the clean linen into his dampened hand. Still, he says nothing. 

You move towards his table while he finishes, shuffling his maps and well laid battle plans with great care in order to set out the olives and cheese he likes, the crusty bread and the dark wine he prefers. 

“General.” The gruff voice at the tent flap scares you half to death, but you don’t cry out. You’re too well-trained for that. A few of his soldiers stand at the threshold. “We wish to share a cup, a toast to your victory.” They are eager, the red glint of blood still fresh in their eyes. 

He grunts in response, but gestures to his table before giving you a pointed look. You rush to fetch more cups, setting them down at the extra places at his table. They are all seated by the time you finish pouring for them, and with another glance from Marcus–your general–you move to fetch more food from his stores. 

They’re raucous, the heat of the battle still coursing through their veins. Where Marcus is focused on calming the blood, they are eager to stoke the fire. They are either oblivious to his dark mood, or unbothered by it. 

“More wine!” One of them cries out, despite the way the General’s jaw clenches. You hurry to comply, pouring into the younger man's cup without spilling. “You are lucky General Acacius, a pretty, young, thing like this waiting to warm your bed of a night,” he leers up at you, his gaze slipping across your body like eels in a bowl, “would you share your wealth, I wonder.” His other hand slides up the back of your thigh causing you to gasp, his touch wholly unwelcome. 

“If you would like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them to yourself.” His voice cuts through the air, “Come girl, take my cup away. I have no taste for wine just now.” You move away from the unwanted touch and towards Marcus, avoiding his eyes to complete the task at hand. “Go now, all of you. I will see you in the morning.” He moves from his place at the table, and if the others are unwilling to comply, they make no mention of it. The table is clear by the time he comes back, absent unwanted company. 

He says nothing while removing his armor, but you rush to his side to assist anyway, carefully putting the pieces aside to clean. 

The mood shifts, and his gaze now bores into you, and your heart races to feel it. Where the other man's eyes made your skin crawl, Marcus’ eyes feel like a caress. You feel them on the slit in your tunic, where your thigh is exposed. You feel them on your chest when you turn towards him to help take his chest plate off. 

Goose flesh spreads like a stain across your skin, and your cunt weeps for him, betraying any thoughts that you might not want what he quite obviously wants to give you. The proof of it tenting his tunic when the leather Pteruges are removed.

Those brutal hands, the ones that’d been covered in blood and grime not an hour past, now grab onto your hips, the grip hard enough to bruise. The thin linen shift does nothing to insulate you from his heat, does nothing to dull the press of his want against your belly. Any doubts swimming in your mind about crossing this line with him–again–are silenced when the linen is all but ripped off, leaving you almost shivering in his arms. 

The arousal is something fierce, an entity all in its own and it responds to his brusque movements with a perverse glee. It sets your nerves alight, drips down onto your thighs as he herds you towards his bed mat. His intensity infects you, it strengthens your grip, you’d swear it sharpened your nails by the way you rip at the very tunic you’re going to have to mend.

You land on your back amongst his linens and he’s quick to follow you there. It takes less than a breath for him to shrug everything off, both of you as nude as the day you were born. 

“Open your legs.” His voice is gruff, and thick with want, the same want that smears fat pearly drops against the skin of your thigh. 

Your nipples harden, drawing both his eye, and his mouth as you hurry to comply. He bites, pulling a gasp from your lips. His tongue quickly soothes it though, this is his pattern, an addictive balance of pain and pleasure. First one breast, then the other gets his attention, but only briefly, his desire burns too brightly. 

You only manage to pull his face up to yours before his cock finally slips into your wet heat, feeding a gasp directly into his mouth when you take his kiss with a force to rival his own. 

The size of him always shocks you into silence. He isn’t the first man to have you this way, your chastity had been gone long before you came into his service; you were glad of it to feel the way he molded you to accept him though. Now, and every time he’s been inside you. 

His stroke is brutal, it’s hard, and rough and all but moves you higher onto his mat. It’s perfect.

Your knees hitch high onto his hips, just as he raises one knee to press against the back of your thigh for purchase and it pays off because he finds the spot that makes you keen. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, relishing the state of you and the euphoria of your climax is far too close to feel any shame. Instead your cunt floods him, the slip of him moving so noisy and vulgar and welcome and blissful it pushes you closer still.

“More, please—“ you moan out the words, the first words you’ve spoken to him since he’d returned from a day of violence and he corrects you even now. 

“More what,” he grunts, anger and ecstasy shining on his visage, “speak correctly, girl.” His voice is clipped, his movements faltering and you know he’s close.

“More please, Dominus.” They’re a whimper, and he responds to them just how you hoped he might. He moves quickly and for a moment you can see how he’s earned his reputation, agile and smooth and within a moment he sits back on his haunches, pulling your hips up to meet his thrusts. 

You don’t know whether to scream, or weep, either way you thank the Gods for putting you in this man’s way. The pleasure is peppered with pain where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, and you know you will feel the ache of holding them open tomorrow, but it’s so hard to care when it feels so good.

The precipice looms, the shadow of the climax clouding anything and everything and when you reach down towards where you’re spread wide, it only takes a couple of quick, wet circles at your clit to float away.

He groans, hips stuttering and you know you’ve taken him over the edge with you, you can feel the evidence of it painting your insides. His eyes glaze over as he watches himself fill you to the brim, slack-jaw and drunk on his orgasm and your flesh on display for him. 

“I expect you to remain full of my gift-“ his tone is filthy, lust and victory of a different kind on his features as he grinds himself deeper, “until I take you again.” He hisses the last few words out, pulling his softening cock out to inspect his mess. “Am I understood?”

“Yes Dominus.” The words are sweet as summer fruit on your tongue, eager to please him.

He smiles, but it’s predatory and it makes you clench around nothing, your body betraying your words when you feel his spend dripping out in front of his eyes.

He tsks, pushing it back in with thick fingers.

“You are well aware I don’t tolerate such insolence.” His eyes narrow, but his mood is still playful, removing his fingers from your cunt, only to stick them in your mouth. “Now, get some rest. I expect you up at first light.” He speaks with absolute authority as you suck his fingers clean, and nod.

------

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[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 2/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 here. Word count: 5.1 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Part two! I don't usually rec music for my fics but if this fic was a song, it would be Dead can Dance’s In Power we Entrust the Love Advocated.

You wake up with a giant plastered on your back.

His bed is far more comfortable than your own, soft and cushy, and there must be flowers somewhere in the hay because there is a surprisingly pleasant odour lingering in the air as you come to. The mattress overall doesn’t reek of too much sweat: some poor slave must change the fillings often enough for König’s stench not to settle on the bed. Actually, you’ve slept quite nicely, despite being embraced by an ogre the whole night.

König has slept like a stone, too, but stirs when you start to shift. You turn on your back and find his drowsy stare on you: it’s generous and warm as he pulls you closer to him. You could roll your eyes when you notice he’s hard down there again – he’s probably hard all the time, whether in bed with a woman or raging on the battlefield, sticking his swords into some poor man’s gut.

“Gut geschlafen?” He asks, and you reckon he’s trying to ask if you’ve slept well – in his domain, in his embrace, after he just slaughtered half of your village.

You give him another pout, which is starting to become your signature expression now. He replies to your grumpiness with a smile, his own trademark move, the one that threatens to strip you from all your arms. He squeezes you fondly against his chest, and then his hand starts to wander: he plays with your tits again, then slinks further down to brush your navel. When he crosses the border and heads straight toward your womanhood, you seize his arm.

He whines softly at your refusal, but to your surprise, he actually stops. You let him go as he moves back up and stay immobile under his touch, amidst the flowery scent and the faint stench of dirt and man sweat, sighing as he cups your breast again. He doesn’t seem to get enough of them, and they’re beginning to feel sore: he gave them so much attention last night already and is now at them again.

You pull his hand away, but this time, he doesn’t respect your wishes but resists you. Trying to hinder a man who’s as strong as a bull is futile, but you have an attempt at it anyway. It turns into a play fight: you wrench his hand down, he drags it back up. Up and down and up and down, as if your breast is a hill he needs to conquer at all costs. But he’s the only one who finds any amusement in your silly game: eyes narrowing again with a smile, a few soft chuckles under that hood telling you he enjoys it when you fight him a little.

It all ends when you finally slap him.

It’s neither a good nor a hard slap, and his mask muffles whatever sound was supposed to give you at least some measure of satisfaction. 

But he stops... And laughs.

“Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige.”

His language is harsh and throaty, abrupt, and you tell him that, safe with the knowledge that he can’t understand a word you say either.

“You talk ugly,” you complain and watch him up and down, searching for a clue that would tell you that he somehow understands your insult. König simply thunders with another mirthful laugh at your morning crank.

“Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg.”

He looks down at you like he’s the Sun God now, thoroughly life-giving and kind. Then he dares to bend forward and press a kiss on your forehead.

“Go away,” you try to push him back with your hands - the hood prevents you from feeling his skin and breath and lips, but the… intimacy is still too much.

“Brute,” you want to spit the word out but end up sounding like a child attempting to quarrel instead. And he’s laughing at you again, both with his eyes and his mouth, covered by that darned hood. You don’t know why on earth you would think that such a charming laugh must come from an equally charming mouth.

He finally retreats and rises from the bed, stretching out his arms. The broad muscles on his back are exposed to the frigid air and his cock is jutting out, long and veined, completely unaffected by the cold. This beast is ripe and ready for another day, and you swallow when you see him in his full glory again, tall and wide and strong, looking like he’s about to eat an entire boar and fuck ten women in the process.

“Schön,” he comments as he turns to look down at you, lying naked and sweet there in his bed. He looks at you like you are the most lovely, adorable, difficult little thing. He even gives his horse cock a few good strokes while taking your sleepy little pouts in.

“Ugly,” you slur back, and he winks at you. 

Gods… You’re too hot and riled to even speak.

You choose to vehemently stay in bed as König starts his day: eats some fruit from the table - still naked - pours himself some wine and washes his mouth with it, tears a handful of bread from a loaf and starts to eat with his mouth open, munching loudly under that hood, walking around without bothering to cover himself and that ungodly erection that is bouncing in the air without a care in the world.

You, on the other hand, escape back under the warm covers of the furs, but your eyes never leave König. He draws the draping flap of his tent aside - still naked - giving his soldiers a good view of his morning wood, a lovely chance to get a look at their champion. Perhaps it’s his way of saying good morning, you think bitterly. Then he leaves, probably to take a piss, and you’re more and more convinced that this man is the worst beast that has ever walked this earth.

You’re still under the furs when he returns and finally gives you the grace of clothing himself. It’s stupid that you mourn losing the sight of those shoulders and feel a bit disappointed when his cock disappears under the red tunic. His manhood doesn’t look any less intimidating even when growing soft; it’s still long and veiny and thick, and you find yourself… curious. Just curious.

He doesn’t put his armour on this time, chooses to wear only his tunic and sandals and a pair of hard-boiled leather cuffs to protect the vital veins on the wrists. He does take one Gladius with him, though - a sign of distrust in his own men or a Roman custom, you can’t tell.

He’s already at the mouth of the tent when he turns and points at you, now with a good amount of sternness in his voice.

“Du. Bleibst.”

…

He’s away the whole day. Probably drawing plans at some field war council, eating and drinking and bouncing some poor girl on his knee. 

Even the thought makes your nose wrinkle and your stomach churn. Of course there are other trophies, and of course men want to show them off, pass them around, give their commanders a chance to give each woman a good squeeze. König has probably stuck that cock into a few women by now. Moaning, screaming women. 

Or then he just settles for annoying their poor senses out of them…

You can’t deny that you’re relieved he hasn’t thrown you to the wolves yet, not even after you denied him. Wondering why on earth he would even want to listen to your wishes gives you an awful headache, and the image of him laughing at - or with - some other shy captive girl is making you uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that you throw the skins away after noon, and decide you’re not going to just succumb to your fate, least of all give in to sadness and apathy. 

You eat this and that from his table like you’re not a slave girl but an honoured guest, a queen. You eat his figs and his bread and some smoked meat; you even drink some of his wine, as sour as it is. You’re a bit tipsy when you go through all his belongings, which are not as abundant or exciting as you thought they would be. 

You thought you’d find tiny chests filled with gold coins and rings. You thought you’d come by dried body parts taken as trophies, perhaps the crown of some long-forgotten Hibernian king. But there are only a few trinkets under his bed, a huge bow and some arrows, his armour and the second Gladius, perfectly stored above the ground so that rust and mould wouldn’t bite them. There are jugs of wine and some firewood and oil for the braziers, there’s water and benches and the table and lots and lots of candles in different shapes and sizes… But that’s it. There’s no hoard, no treasure, nothing to prove to you that this brute is just another Roman soldier trying to gather a fortune by raping and pillaging so that he can go and retire early from all the bloodshed.

And it makes you shiver. Does he do this just for the sake of it, only because he enjoys killing so much? What is his reason to fight?

The only item that sends an odd sting in your heart is a small wooden statue. You feel like a thief when you rummage through a small satchel you find next to his breastplate, the only place you didn’t feel like peeking into because it looked so… personal. 

Proving to yourself that you don’t care about his privacy or feelings, you end up pushing your fingers inside it anyway, meeting this peculiar carved piece of wood. There is nothing else there in the satchel, just the statue, and you feel yourself swallow a lump in your throat as you see it depicts a lush, buxom woman. Her breasts are nearly the size of her belly, larger than her head, and you realize that it is clearly the statue of the Great Mother this brute carries with him.

You put it back quickly, feeling a tingling in your fingers and a rapid flutter in your heart, as if you had just poked into something quite sacred. And it is sacred, the Mother. You wonder why, for the love of all the gods, this man would keep such a divine and fertile amulet near him. The statue is supposed to be a vessel for wishes and fortune; it is an idol of worship. König seems like the last man on earth to take up worshipping women.

You just want to get out of this place but can’t. There’s no one to go back to: your chief is dead, the people have fled, the rest of the warriors are scattered across the land. You have no idea where your brother might even be. 

You have no wish to escape this tent; you have no desire whatsoever to step a foot outside and show yourself to his hungry men. 

König comes back after nightfall and is not surprised at all to find you haven’t escaped. He’s not surprised that you have eaten some of his food either; he doesn’t even scold you. But then the eternal groping starts again as he gets undressed and lays himself down next to you.

You don’t even know why you allow him to touch you. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s better to just let him caress you if he wants; it’s better to suffer the weight of his hands on you if it means he won’t rape you with that cock. If you don’t complain, perhaps he will settle for squeezing and petting and stroking you.

But your body is a traitor: it’s hungry for him, for some ungodly reason, and always craves for more. You say to yourself that you only allow this to happen because it’s a condition, a compromise, a meeting in the middle. You never acknowledge the way your nether lips puff up like a fat flower every time he fondles your breasts. You pay no attention to how wet you get when he caresses your face, your waist, even your thighs, every part of you except the place between your legs, the place you kind of want him to touch... If only he would be gentle and didn’t get too excited, you’d let him touch you there, too, as sick and accursed as it is.

And it’s all good until he starts to hum. 

It may be some song from his homeland, the land of ugly brutes, but it’s not a crude giant song… In fact, it’s a rather beautiful, melancholy tune. Your body is relaxed and your pussy is wet; your nipples are tight and pleased as he pets you slowly, lovingly - but that song is too much. You don’t want him to see you cry, not even a single tear, and now there’s an entire flood about to occur.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper, trying not to choke on your sorrow. He doesn’t stop - of course he doesn’t. He gets bolder by the day, and he can see that you’re enjoying yourself. In a way.

"Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden?" He asks, soft and tender, so incredibly gentle that the tears are about to burst forth at any given moment now.

“Ich glaube das tust du,” he rumbles when you don’t answer him. His hand is heavy and broad on your hip as he finally stops caressing you. You squeeze your eyes shut, and it causes the glimmer in your eyes to fall. Tears roll down your cheeks and into your hair, as you lie there next to a titan, about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…?”

You want to shout at him to shut up already, to stop talking so gently, asking you questions you don’t understand, to stop trying to find a way to communicate with you through song and hum and touch. The hand on your hip moves, slowly, with devastating cunning towards your core. He’s about to touch you there, to try and feel if you’re wet... If you’d like it that he pounded you a little. You wonder if he would do that gently too, and almost laugh through your tears. It will be your undoing if he finds out that you’re soaked all the way to your thighs, aching to feel him inside you, even a finger, just something…

“No… Nein,” you rule out sternly, opening a new way of communication. You don’t know if the word is correct, but he catches it immediately and stops. 

“Nein?”

He sounds both happy and sad; happy that you try to use his language, sad that you use it to give him such a disappointing command.

“No touching,” you repeat and open your eyes, finding his hazy figure hovering above you. You barely discern the gulf of sadness in his eyes, but it is there: undisguised, trying to reach out and join with yours. Gods… How strangely appropriate it is that you are both so very alive, wanting to be devoured by each other’s hunger and lust, only to find yourselves on the brink of tears and hollow loss.

“No... No touching…”

“Verstanden.” 

He takes his hand away from you and turns, not even joining you under the fur tonight.

…

The next morning, you wake up attached to him.

Somehow you’ve managed to wriggle under his furs and, on top of that, crawled to hug his side like this. You blame the spring cold for it, of course. Your heart bangs against your ribs as you notice how tightly you’re squeezing him, breasts pressed flush against his hard middle, belly fluttering against his hip. You’ve even draped your leg across his so that your poor, lonely cunt is resting right there over his thigh. 

You swear in your mind with all the words and terms you know and can think of.

How the hell are you supposed to detach from a giant without waking him up? His arm is around you, holding you loosely in a warm, pleasing shackle. He feels so, so good - blazing, big and safe, so incredibly nice. You never knew sleeping next to a man could feel so nice. You’re half asleep still, mainly because his body and scent make you feel like you’ve had too much wine again.

You allow yourself a few more moments before you rip yourself off him. Or at least, try to: the arm snares you the instant you attempt to move. It prevents you from leaving him, and you end up hovering awkwardly there, almost on top of him, tits pointing straight at his face, panicked, doe-eyed stare guided to his unwavering blue eyes, open, and regarding you with warm love.

And the damned man smirks again.

“No touching?” He inquires with silly, completely feigned shyness.

“Shut up,” you breathe and try to get off of him, but his other hand comes to brush your cheek next, and you freeze.

“Schön… Pretty,” he tries, and you nearly whimper at the sound of your native tongue in his mouth. 

Pretty… Is that what the word means, the odd ugly word he has repeated ever since he stole you?

His eyes are warm and his hand is gentle as he caresses your cheek, and the snare around your waist tightens. Softly… Invitingly.

“Stop it,” you whisper, on the brink of tears again, because this time, your shields and armour and weapons are gone. You just woke up to a feeling of odd contentment, fulfilment, even joy. 

And it’s not right. 

He has no right to be this gentle with you.

You sniffle and sigh, and cast your eyes down to the chest that belongs to a giant. But you can’t deny that there must be a heart under there. A human heart under your palm. Your hand is right there over the strong beat because you’ve tried to push yourself away, and he won’t let you go. Another tear falls somewhere in the hair of his chest, and he rumbles with such compassion that you want to slap him again, hit his chest with your tiny little fists and bawl.

What you do instead is break down and let the ocean take you. You cry and sob and wail, right there in front of him, until he turns you on your stomach and comes to rest halfway on top of you. Through your tears, you understand that he’s trying to soothe you with his weight. It’s pure insanity how well it works. It releases a whole well of grief, and you start to shake with the cries; your whole body shudders with the sorrow as you retch it all out while König continues to caress you like a pet. He strokes your hair, pets your back, he even pats your ass as if you’re just a baby.

You cry long and hard, so long that he eventually lets out a long, deep sigh. When you’ve calmed down a bit and remain still, sniffling occasionally while squeezing the furs in your fist, trying to remember what it is to be an animal with feelings other than just sorrow, he leaves you.

He simply rises, and gets dressed, and leaves.

That is very much what you don’t need right now, much to your surprise. He was good at consoling you, as odd as it sounds.

Cold starts to creep in when there is no warm body next to you, and your skin misses the calloused gentleness of his palms. You wouldn’t mind if he wanted to hum that song to you now. But the darned bastard had to leave just when you were about to turn and cup his hooded face in return...

König comes back after a short while, but he’s not alone. You gather the furs against your chest, horrified and angry when you notice he returns to the tent with a short old man, vigorous and busy, but so tiny in stature that you doubt he was ever a warrior. You wonder if this is another foreigner or if you have the dubious pleasure of meeting your first genuine Roman.

They both stare at you, quite nonchalantly, while you sit there on the bed and try to cover your nakedness with animal skins while having red eyes and a pair of uninviting, quivering, puffed-up lips. 

The short fellow looks you up and down, then turns to talk to König in what appears to be this giant’s mother tongue. It’s a curt suggestion, muttered under his breath, and you realize König must’ve fetched a translator for you.

Oh, good Mother... Great Mother.

You watch these two men before you in a state of stunned shock, as König looks at you, then back at the old man, and nods. The Roman looks slightly vexed as if he just got up too. Then he starts to speak.

“Excuse our manners... We are men at war. If you wish to get dressed, we will wait outside.”

You blink at your own language being spoken to you, perfectly discernable but accompanied by a thick accent. You nod, and the men leave, returning only after you’ve dressed and cleared your throat in the tent.

“He asks if he killed your husband,” the translator starts immediately while König goes to sit on his favourite Roman bench. You’re wide awake now, and the nauseating feeling of being suddenly in the middle of an interrogation rises to your throat with a clot.

“He… What? No,” your eyes dart to König, who is looking at you with his undying ardour. For a man with so much sadness in his soul, he’s surprisingly carefree when he wants to.

“Do you have a husband?”

You gulp at the questions levelled at you. König keeps watching you intently, and you choose to look at the old translator instead, shaking your head slowly. The men exchange a few words, and the Roman turns to scold you with his stare.

“Master reminds you that it is wrong to lie,” he says, putting a lot more weight on his words this time. Roman or not, he calls this giant master, which means that he is just another slave in this camp. You swallow again and try to think, think, think; all the while König’s stare strips you of all your pretences, garments and words.

He thinks you’re trying to hide some imaginary husband, you understand and consider whether you should say that you have a husband: if there is any benefit you could gain from such a lie. König would only probably try to hunt him down… But what if he found out you were telling him tales? Would he feed you to his horny war dogs then?

“I’m not lying,” you say through slightly gritted teeth.

There is another exchange of words before the translator turns to you again.

“Are you untouched?”

“What…?”

“Master asks if you are a virgin.”

The translator is utterly unfazed, and mainly looks like he has better things to do than get to the bottom of whether there has been a cock inside you yet.

“That’s none of his business,” you hiss. The old man turns and starts to translate your words with a dull look.

“Wait—don’t tell him that,” you take a panicked step forward. 

Oh good Father in the Sky… Strike these men down so that I may be freed from them.

They pay you no attention; a few sentences pass from mouth to mouth, and the old man nods.

“Master says you are clearly a maiden,” he declares. You peek a glance at König, who is looking at you with hunger, and not the kind of hunger people look at their breakfasts with. Your breathing is getting out of hand, and when he opens his legs wider, clearly making more room for a rising cock, you decide to throw caution in the wind.

“You know what? Your master can go fuck himself with a stick for all I care…!”

The old man turns. He doesn’t even care to sigh; he merely opens his mouth to give your words to König.

“Don’t you dare translate that!” 

Finally, the old man sighs. He looks at the ceiling as if begging his gods to take him away from this tent. König’s stare flashes between you two, and he is evidently curious. Clearly, this is the most exciting conversation he’s ever had.

“Was sagt sie?”

“Tell him that I want to be freed,” you hurry to say before the translator can tell your insults to König. After a brief conversation, König leans forward in his chair to see the effect his words have on you.

“He says he can’t do that,” the Roman informs. “His soldiers will find you and take you.”

You close your mouth and try to even your breaths. No one says, You don’t want that. Everybody in this tent knows you don’t want that.

“He asks if he killed your brother or your father.”

You sniffle, quite involuntarily.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Then why are you angry and sad?”

There is a hint of genuine interest in the man’s voice. Both of these men are confused as to why you would bawl your eyes out after the massacre of your people.

"Because… Because he…"

“He says it is a man’s duty to die in battle. You should be proud of your fallen ones, not cry and feel sorry for them.”

“Tell him that he can go fuck himself,” you shout, not giving a single shit anymore about whether he translates the words or not. 

To no one’s surprise, he does.

“He says he’d rather fuck you,” he returns to you with König’s message.

You can’t bear to look your captor’s way, and still, that’s exactly what you do. You look at the giant as he stares at you, keen and hard and patient. But you know his patience has its limits. It’s almost like a promise, the way he leans forward in that chair and looks at you from under the hood, shameless and challenging.

“Never,” you guide your words to König now. It’s a brave little whisper, but you know that it’s a lie. Even the Great Mother knows you’re lying. You almost hear the cackle of the old woman rising from the earthen ground, from the chthonic depths, to mock you and your vows.

You hear the old man’s words from somewhere far away, from underwater, as König’s stare wrestles you down and takes away your little knife. He subdues you even when he’s sitting, and shares a string of words: a harsh promise. You hold your breath as his cock gives a pulse under that tunic, and your eyes fall, fall, fall onto it, because there’s no escape…

“He says he can make you feel good,” the voice says, and you can’t even hear who speaks. Your mouth is full of water, but you swallow it down, then shoot your way up to the surface, up, up, up into the sunlight, until you can breathe again.

You rip your eyes from König and look at the Roman translator with loathing and contempt.

“You can leave now. This conversation is over.”

Then you turn, trying not to pay any attention to the hushed conversation that proceeds behind your back. The man leaves the tent: you can hear it, and you can also hear how König rises from the chair and walks right behind you.

“No… afraid,” his hands come to rest on your shoulders, but you don’t even flinch. You knew he was going to touch you again. Perhaps you were even looking forward to it.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you start to argue, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“You like trees?”

He speaks your words, not good, but he speaks them. You wonder if he has known parts of your tongue all along and has simply concealed it. Has he understood what you’ve said to him…? All the slurs and stupid things? Mother, grant mercy…

“Why would I like—What kind of question is that?”

“Climbed a tree,” he explains cheerfully behind you. You turn and look up, yet again rendered weak. Giants are supposed to be stupid. They’re not supposed to know the language of faeries…

“Nosy,” he brushes your cheek with a smile in his eyes.

“Nosy?” 

You huff - as if you wanted to be there and witness him.

As if you had a choice after the seer pushed you on this insane, cruel path.

“Wanted to see me so bad?” König tilts his head playfully.

Gods… You can only look at him with brows curling with helpless frustration, lip trembling from how he seems to know your every little secret. He nods when you don’t say yes or no. He’s perfectly happy to read all the answers from your eyes.

“Ich wusste, dass es so war,” he changes into his own language, and you don’t need to understand the words he says.

You know he knows. He knows you, he knows you to your core, and it doesn’t really matter in which circumstances you two met. He knows far more than you, something about souls and how they’re supposed to meet, how little squirrels and giants belong together, as crazy as it is. That there is no chance in life: no, it was meant that you two meet. To him, it was no coincidence that you practically dropped into his lap from that tree.

“Did you like what you see?”

He holds your shoulders gently as you quiver and shake inside.

“No,” you peep.

“I like what I see,” he declares; a benevolent god.

…

A/N:. Thank you so much for your love and interest in this fic! As you may have noticed the fic now has 4 parts, which is because the 3rd chapter got too chunky and I had to split it 😇 Next part might take a while because I'm moving soon, but let me tell you... These guys will be put into *situations*. Oh, and a reminder that I don't have a taglist for this so please check any future updates from my pinned masterlist post 🩷

Translations:

Gut geschlafen? - Sleep well?

Ja, ich weiß. Ich habe deine Leute getötet. Ich verdiene eine Ohrfeige. - Yes, I know. I killed your people. I deserve a slap.

Es ist schön, mit dir zu reden. Aber jetzt muss ich weg. - It is lovely to talk to you. But now I have to go.

Du. Bleibst. - You. Stay.

Magst du es gestreichelt zu werden? - Do you like being petted?

Ich glaube das tust du. - I think you do.

Wurdest du schon einmal berührt…? - Have you ever been touched…?

Verstanden. - Understood. 

Was sagt sie? - What does she say?

Ich wusste dass es so war - I knew it was so.

[bingbongsupremacy]

Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: reader is able to get pregnant, pet names, argument, idk what else.

Summary: It's getting harder and harder to spend time with your husband and you have some really important news. (Pre-Outbreak)

*Not Proof Read* TLOU Masterlist

ABC List

*****

The room is silent, the only noise coming from our TV. Light bounces off of the walls, casting a small glow on the coffee table that moves.

I curl deeper into the couch, watching as the clock ticks by.

8:30....9:15....10:45....11:12...

Finally I hear keys jingling from the front door.

" You're still up? " Joel's voice is tired and raspy. He pulls off his boots, leaving them near the front door. " Is Sarah still up? "

I shake my head, rubbing my heavy eyes. " No. She's over at Gina's, down the street, for a sleepover. "

Joel wanders into the kitchen, pulling a can of beer out of the fridge. He takes a swig before heading towards the living room. For a moment, neither of us talks.

" You were supposed to be home at 6. " I glance over at the man. I take in his appearance. His eyes are dark from clear exhaustion. His shirt is covered in grime. It's obviously been a long day.

" I was. " He agrees, not saying anything more. He takes another sip of his beer. Condensation forms on the can, dripping down his hand.

His answer doesn't satisfy me. " Why weren't you? Why didn't you call? " I press.

This has been happening often. Every few days he stays out later than normal, most of the time, he 'forgets' to call.

Joel lets out a sigh, obvious frustration filling his expression. " I got caught up in my work. It wasn't supposed to go past 6, but stuff happens. You know that, babe. "

Irritation fills my body. " And you couldn't have bothered to, I don't know, check your watch and maybe call me? I was worried sick, Joel. I stayed up even though I have to be up at 6 for work tomorrow. " I push myself up, looking towards his face. Looking for something, something other than annoyance.

I was really hoping he'd be here at 6.

" I didn't ask you to do that. You could've gone to bed. Don't blame me for your decisions. I told you, I lost track of time. I don't have my phone on me when I'm working. " Joel's gaze meets mine.

Anger runs through my body. Usually I'm not this quick to anger but the hormones are driving me insane. The stress of unknowing along with Joel's careless attitude sends rage flowing through my body. " You really could give less of a shit about Sarah and me, huh? " I seethe, not thinking through my words.

Joel's eyes narrow. " What the fuck do you mean? " He starts getting defensive. " Of course I give a shit about you! I fucking work my ass off, for you two! " Joel's tone rises.

" Then why do you keep doing shit that makes us worry? " I exclaim. " You could have called at any point and it would've helped me feel better. I understand that you don't keep your phone on you while working, but is it really that hard to take a five minute break to call me? God-you need a break anyways! You'll fucking hurt yourself if you're constantly working. " My heart pounds. I stand up, trying to get some space between the man and I.

Joel stands up as well. His eyes burn into mine, sending a shiver of discomfort down my spine.

I hate when we get into arguments. My hormones and his exhaustion are mixing together to create a toxic cloud of anger and frustration.

" Like you'd even answer the fucking phone. " Joel rolls his eyes. " You've been so busy talking to your stupid fucking friends that it's nearly impossible to call you sometimes. "

He isn't wrong. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks ago, and I wanted-no I needed to tell someone. I wanted to make the announcement to Joel and Sarah important, something memorable. At the time, I just needed to tell someone else.

They've been there for me this entire time, helping me plan tonight. Helping me plan the dinner and gift for Joel.

A gift he never got to open and a dinner he never got to eat.

" Well I gotta talk to someone, Joel. You're never around anymore. " I snap.

" I'm working! " Joel lets out a breath.

" Your unbelievable. " I shake my head. I let out an angry laugh. " You know what, fuck this, Joel. You're not even listening to me. The point isn't that you're working late, it's that you don't bother to call home and tell me about it. I care about you, Joel. What-What if you got hurt? What if you got into a car crash or fucking died somehow? I'd have no idea because you don't bother to call me. All I want is one call, and that's too much to ask of you. " I push past the broad shouldered man. " Your dinner's in the fucking oven. It's your favorite. "

With that I storm upstairs, grateful Sarah wasn't here to witness the fight. I barely close the bedroom door before the tears start to flow.

Downstairs I hear Joel curse as he drops something on the ground. I lean against the door, doing my best to listen to the man below. His footsteps die off as he most likely settles onto the couch.

I just want him to call home.

_______

The next morning I leave before Joel wakes up. I send a quick text to Sarah, letting her know there's some food in the fridge.

My day seems to fly by. Piles of paperwork seem to disappear in minutes. Before I know it, it's time to head home.

An unsettled feeling wracks my stomach, surely not a good feeling for the baby. I'm still pissed at Joel. I just wish he understood where I'm coming from.

I unlock the front door and am immediately met with silence.

No one's home.

I let out a small sigh, walking towards the kitchen. My eyes widen in surprise when I spot Joel sitting at the kitchen table, a pair of small shoes in his hands.

He found the gift.

Of course he did, I left it on the dresser last night.

" Surprise. " I state while making my way to the fridge. " You're gonna be a daddy. Again. " My voice is unenthusiastic. Not the way I planned telling him at all.

" I'm so fucking sorry. " Joel blurts out. He runs his rough fingers over the small white laces, following the rhythm of the string. " I'm an asshole. "

" That you are. " I agree.

Joel finally looks up at me. His sad expression breaks my anger. Suddenly, I'm torn. Do I keep acting angry or do I feel bad for him?

" I deserve that. I-I shouldn't have yelled at you last night. Pregnant or not- You didn't deserve that. I took out my anger on you. I've...fuck I'll just tell you. I've been working late to try to make some extra money for us. I wanted to take you somewhere for our anniversary. "

I take a seat next to him, shock filling my body. I had no idea.

" You're right, I should've called you. That was a dick move. I...I don't know why I didn't. I guess I was just scared I'd be tired and I'll accidentally tell you something? It doesn't fucking matter now. "

" Oh Joel..."

He continues. " I'm sorry about dinner last night. I should've come home. " He finishes, finally setting the shoes down into the small gold box I put them in originally.

I don't say anything. I wrap my arms around the man, sinking my head into the crook of his warm neck. " Yes, you should've called, but I shouldn't have have been so aggressive. My emotions have just been all over the place. " My eyes begin to tear up. I feel a tightness in the back of my throat as I pull away from Joel. " I feel so much angrier than I usually do. "

Joel pulls me back into his embrace. " It's okay, honey. It's the baby. It's okay. " He tries to sooth me. " I love you so much, and I promise, I'm going to cut back my hours. "

" And you're gonna call, right? " I look up at him from my spot against his chest.

" Yes, I swear I'll call from now on. I have to, what if something happens to you and the baby. " He furrows his brows in worry. " I'll call you every hour. I promise. "

I let out a small laugh, wiping a tear away. " I think every few hours is okay, babe. "

" No every half hour. Who knows what could happen. Your office has steep stairs-we should see if the elevator there is fixed yet. " Joel mutters.

" Okay that might be a little overkill. " I crinkle my nose. " How about you just call when you're going to be late. Alright? "

" I can do that. "

[dynasty889]

Working on a thingy. The Time Dive but it’s warrior!Penelope. Do I like it? Mayhaps. Anyway:

Ares’ eyes glared down into the abyss as he stood upon the edge of the hour glass. He had never anticipated to be bothered with Penelope again, but her son had the same ability of convincing people that she did. So, here he was.

Ares put his helmet on. All around him, Penelope’s memories jumped out at him. “Old friend, it’s been ten years since I last saw you,” he said softly. Even so, he remembered it vividly. Those feelings of anger, frustration, and disappointment as he watched Penelope make that mistake.

“Remember me! I am the infamous Penelope!” She stood at the entrance of Polyphemus’ cave. He had just warned her not to, but she did it anyway. He was furious.

He sighed. Ares leaned forward, lifting his arms up, and fell into Penelope’s memories. “Let’s see where you’ve been!”

Penelope held a bag in her hands. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!” Aeolus sang. Too cheerful for it to be a good thing. Ares knew something had gone horribly wrong.

Next up: Poseidon. “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves!” he shouted. Waves lunged at Penelope’s fleet. Bodies and debris littered the ocean. Ares paused momentarily to watch Penelope unleash the wind bag to escape the sea god.

“One wrong move and you’re done for! Anything I—!”

“—Song of past romance. I see the—“

“—We won’t take more suffering from you!”

“Drown in your sorrow and fears!”

The next several memories whipped by him. A witch who transformed her crew into pigs, a prophet in the underworld, the killing of sirens, and a run-in with a six-headed sea monster.

“Captain?” Ares barely recognized that voice. But he knew it was one of Penelope’s comrades. Thunder roared above the crew as Zeus’ hands lingered over Penelope and forced her to look at her crew. Ares had not been so angry in a long time. To see his father’s hands on the girl he had mentored sparked a fire inside him, one full of rage.

“I have to see him…” Penelope mumbled. Tears streamed down her face. Her face and clothes were torn and bloody. A black eye and a stab wound. The anger Ares had felt dissipated as he realized what happened.

“But we’ll die.”

“I know.”

Lightning struck the boat, and it exploded into hundreds of small fragments of wood. Again, bodies and blood covered the ocean. He couldn’t find Penelope among the wreckage.

“Penelope…” he started. Ares was almost shocked by how concerned he sounded, for her of all people. “Where did you go?” One more of Penelope’s memories gravitated towards him. Perhaps this one would tell him what had happened to her…

Penelope swam until the darkness of the night made things too hard to see. Until her legs gave out. She had managed to drag herself to the shore of an island, where she passed out. The next day, Penelope awoke to the sounds of gulls crying and the waves breaking on the shore. The light of the sun was nearly blinding. Every muscle in her body ached.

A stifled, low chuckle echoed in her ears. Blinking, she looked up and saw a man sitting beside her. “Morning, sleepyhead. You’ve been resting for quite a while, haven’t you?” he teased. His voice was deep, but despite that and his gruff appearance, it carried a humorous air. It was one Penelope did not like at all.

The man laughed again. Penelope’ confusion was adorably amusing to him and he decided he would savor it as long as he could. “You know, I swore that you were dead when I found you on the beach this morning,” he mused. “Did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me, though, who’s Odysseus?”

Odysseus. That name, like sweet honey, lingered in her ears. It was like medicine to soothe her aching head. Though she was still groggy and dazed, her senses were slowly coming to her. “He’s my husband…” she murmured. It was at that same moment she realized how close the man was to her and that his hand was gently resting on her thigh.

He blinked, like he was confused. Penelope, equally confused, stared back. They exchanged stares in awkward silence before the man spoke again. He pulled Penelope up to her feet and dragged her behind him. “Anyways, I’ve got all you could want here, all you could need here. Just you and me, my dear, my love in paradise.” His hands trailed down her body and he brought her close to him, like an embrace. “Soon, you will join me in bed and we’ll spend our time.”

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 10

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

Thank you to my friend @paigereeder for helping me through my brain rot!!

“Josh!” Kiyanna called out, struggling to keep up with his long strides. Kaiden was also struggling so she let go of Josh’s hand to pick him up. “Slow down!” 

“He put his damn hands on you, Key! He lucky he not a patient in this damn hospital!.” He gruffed out as they made it to his truck with Joe trailing behind them with the stroller. “Come on, get in the car.” He muttered as he took Kaiden from her and placed him in his booster seat before grabbing Kairo out of his stroller and placing him in his carseat and turning the car on. Kiyana shook her head as she looked at her watch for the time. Josh beating Elijah’s ass had damn near taken up her whole lunch break. 

“Josh, I have to go back to work.” Josh snapped his head towards her and looked at her incredulously. 

“Key, you ain’t going back to that damn hospital. Not while he in there.” Kiyana arched one of her eyebrows and opened her mouth to most definitely curse him out but Debra and Arin running up to them stopped her. 

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” Debra asked her, grabbing Key cheeks in her hands turning her face side to side to inspect it. 

“Debra, I’m fine.” 

“We heard what happened, Dr. Daniels is on the L&D floor trying to get you fired and press charges.” Arin spoke up, nibbing her bottom lip in worry. She hadn’t been working at Pensacola Memorial for long but Debra and Kiyana were the only nurses who actually helped her and took their time training and teaching her. It would suck if Kiyana lost her job over this. Arin’s eyes quickly shifted over to the behemoth of a man standing to the side of Kiyana and the other man. She quickly looked away when he looked towards her and smiled, feeling her heart stutter in her chest. 

Hearing that Elijah was trying to get Key fired, sent Josh into another fit of rage. “Getchu’ fired for what?!” Josh grunted out, face all balled up as his eyes narrowed on the hospital. “He put his hands on you! His ass should be fired.” 

“Josh, please calm down.” Kiyana calmly said as she moved out of Debra’s grasp and moved closer to Josh, taking his face in her hands, making him look her in her eyes. “I am fine. Please calm down.” Josh nodded his head and took a deep breath, staring into her eyes trying to calm himself down. 

“Ohh, that’s Josh.” She heard Debra whisper but Kiyana paid her no mind. 

“Key, look at the damn bruise he left on you. You are not fine.” Josh said as he gently took her arm to inspect the bruise. “What he do this for anyway.?” 

“I found out about his wife, his pregnant wife.” Key whispered and Josh froze, flickering his eyes up to heres.  “His wife is my patient and she asked me to call him to the L&D floor. When I told him I was gonna go tell her the truth , he snapped and threatened me.” 

“Key..” Josh trailed off in a whisper. 

“Ironic huh?” She muttered back, flinching when he reached his hand up to wipe her tears away. She quickly gathered herself, wiping her own tears and leaning into the car.  “Mommy has to go back to work okay.” She said to Kaiden, plastering a smile on her face, that didn’t reach her eyes. 

“But, we didn’t eat yet.” He said softly, tears filling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his mothers neck tightly. “I don’t want you to go back in there with the bad man.” 

Debra, who overheard, gently placed a hand on Kiyana’s lower back. “Take the rest of the day and tomorrow off. I’ll go talk to Chuck and report what happened for you.” 

“Okay.” Kiyana nodded her head with a deep sigh. 

“I’ll see you on Wednesday. “ Debra smiled at her before doing the same to the two men before walking back towards the hospital with Arin following her. 

“I can just take them home with me.” Kiyana muttered, wanting to get as far away from Josh and Joe. 

“What? No. I said I was gonna take y’all to lunch and that’s what I’m gonna do before we have to go pick up Kamari from school.” Not in the mood to argue, Kiyana nodded her head in agreement before shifting her eyes to Joe. 

“I just wanted to talk to you.” Joe spoke up. “I don’t have to go to lunch with y’all.” Kiyana looked at Josh who nodded and got in the car leaving the two of them alone. 

“Wassup Joe?” Kiyana muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Joe put the stroller into the trunk before turning to face Kiyana, his expression a mixture of regret and guilt. 

“I just wanted to apologize.”  Kiyana arched her eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue. “I fucked up. I was selfish and -” 

“It’s fine Joe.” Kiyana interrupted him with a slight shake of her head.  “You weren’t the only one at fault. I wanted to get back at Josh and you were there. I’m in the wrong just as much as you are.” 

“I shoulda never called him though. I was being petty and vindictive.”  Kiyana shrugged, 

‘Look, it was a fucked up thing to do but I don’t need the apology, Josh does. You’re his blood and I'm just some girl y’all met twenty-something years ago. I should be the one apologizing to y’all. I feel like a slut for messing up y’alls  relationship.” Josh, who was definitely eavesdropping, called out 

“Bullshit.” at the same time Joe said, 

“You ain’t just some girl we met in highschool. You our family now and forever. Whether or not you and Josh get back together we will always look at you like family.  I already apologized to Josh but I still feel like shit and imma do everything to make it up to you and him.” 

“I mean, I wouldn't mind using the P.J whenever I feel like it.” Josh called out to them from the window he just rolled down making Joe and Kiyana laugh. 

“I’m still hungry.” Kaiden called out and Kiyana laughed again. 

“Alright I won’t take up more of y’alls time. I wouldn’t want Kai to start eating his toes.” Joe said, reaching into the window to tickle his nephew.  He then opened the passenger side door for Kiyana, who gave him a smile as she slid in and shut the door behind her. Joe and Josh stared at each other before Joe broke the silence.  “I love you Uce.” Josh nodded and started up the car before driving away. 

author's note~ : kinda a short chapter. I wanted this to be a filler with Joe's "apology". Next chapter Josh will try his hardest to get his family back.

What did y'all think if Joe's apology though?? Hopefully it came off how i wanted it too 👀

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[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Finally watched Caped Crusader and I have ✨thoughts✨.

Oswalda is straight up iconic. Loved every scene with her. I actually laughed out loud when the dude goes "Thorne got you to kill the wrong son?" and she responds "Not that!" I'd let her lock me in a suitcase and throw me in the sea. She gets a gold star ⭐

I like that we get to see Selina's origin. I like the classic suit. That's kinda it though. A bit sad that Bruce didn't feel any connection with her. Just not a huge fan of her character here. She doesn't feel like Selina (a problem most of this show faces tbh).

I was loving the Harley stuff. The bit with Renee was so cute, and I love that she really was passionate about helping Bruce move past his trauma. I really like that she's Barbara's friend. Was really upset at the fakeout death but at least she was just joshin. The villain stuff felt like fetishes which like okay. I guess Bruce needed to put in something to replace BruceBabs. Anyway, that's the final dig towards him. As much as this Harley episode wasn't my favorite, a promise is a promise. Although I do gotta ask, WHY CAN'T RENEE CATCH A BREAK IN HER LOVE LIFE >:(((

No fucking way the moral of episode 7 was "the system is totally not screwed, it's just a few bad apples and also a criminal is a criminal and should be jailed". Barbara literally says the system sucks cause the cops can do what they want and get in anyone's pockets and then nearly gets killed by a cop and then they end it with "actually, I think you do"?! I mean yeah that specific guy deserved prison but ending it on that note of Barbara feeling betrayed and confused on her morals tells a very not-so-delightful message. Glad the show backtracks on all that immediately but it's still weird and definitely could've used some revising to fit in with the rest.

Onomatopeia was awesome though. I remember people claiming his shtick couldn't work when he appeared in Superman and Lois. They said that it only worked in comics and would be too silly out loud. Happy to report that they're wrong.

I feel like I'm the only one who was excited to see Waylon but that's okay cause I got enough excitement for everyone. Love to see my mans kicking the shit out of potential perverts. You go, Waylon!

Dick, Jason, Steph, and Carrie. Definitely an interesting combination. But it's also so nice to see a Jason who grew up in a different environment and is therefore adorable with no rage in his heart. As opposed to Carrie who was ready to kick some ass. The ending to episode 8 really understood Batman, what with him saying he can't leave her there, carrying her and shielding her under the cape, and then asking about her later.

The Harvey bit is kinda cool but 1, I've always been iffy on the shotty DID stuff and 2, I think they coulda gone further. Just watch The Long Halloween for a better Two Face plot.

I like Harvey helping that guy get his stuffed animal back. That was a nice small character moment. If we had more stuff like that and Bruce being unable to confess his emotions to Alfred, I think this whole thing would be better. This one made up for episode 7's little message by having Barbara tell Harvey that it's not so cut and dry and that he deserves help too. I'm glad they went back to that after the whole "sometimes things are black and white" bit. Batman is about helping people just as much as Superman is and I feel like sending a message that "nope, bad is bad and he should just punch people" doesn't fit the entire thesis of Batman.

This finale really encapsulates how this show doesn't quite understand the character of Batman. It may be comic-accurate for him to be an asshole and put on the voice randomly, treat Alfred like crap, and randomly break character with stuff like "don't start growing a conscience now, Dent" but as I said it goes against the whole thesis. This is more along the lines of the Nolan films with the "Bruce Wayne is the mask" bit. And we all know how I feel about those films.

And then it ends on a boring cliffhanger with the boss guy and then a shitty Joker teaser. Boo.

In short, this show is good but it's not anything special. I do really like the classic Batman aesthetic, but that's pretty much it. It doesn't really understand the characters like MAWS and WFA, the overarching plot is kind of uninteresting and it doesn't feel like we're building up to something great. I feel like this show really wanted to use the episodic style to take a look at all these different elements of Gotham's world with references to existing characters and aspects. But whereas MAWS smoothly slid those into its narrative and setting, this just kinda feels like a villain of the week show instead of working towards this grand narrative. And that can be a good thing, I mean I'm a Scooby Doo fan for crying out loud, but in this scenario, it just doesn't work that exceptionally. If it gets a season 2, I'll probably watch it. But this isn't something I'd be excitedly waiting to see new episodes of.

[hyunverse]

combing hyunjin’s hair when he doesn’t have the mental capacity to do so is a love language.

the silence which engulfs the room once he walks in speaks volumes. a distraught look etched on porcelain face like a melancholic sculpture, lips unmoving. at the sight of you, hyunjin wills himself to utter “hey, my love,” before seating himself in front of the vanity.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. he was supposed to be by your side hours ago, to celebrate your wedding anniversary. he made a reservation weeks ago, a plan well constructed written in the pages of his journal. yet, it’s as though the world holds a vendetta against him. out of all days, his boss just had to conduct an important meeting he could not get out of today. a few hours prior to your supposed date, he called you, raged and saddened to inform that he wouldn’t be able to make it. “i’ll come home as quickly as possible and i’ll make it up to you,” he had told you on the phone.

hyunjin’s promises are never empty ones. as soon as he sits on the vanity, he attempts to fix his messy hair, black locks which cascade above his shoulders all tangled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through them. with a wooden brush, hyunjin attempts to brush his untamed hair. he tugs the comb through tangled knots, face scrunched in pain.

“god, just work already,” you could hear him mumble from the bed. soon, you see him hitting his head with the comb, stressed whimpers escaping from his pink lips.

“jinnie,” you say, standing up from the bed to approach him, “you’re being too harsh on yourself, baby.”

“this is — it’s all stupid,” he grunts.

you hum, gently taking the wooden brush from his hands. he looks up at you, brown doe eyes gazing into yours softly. you melt at the sight.

“come, i’ll do it for you.”

you get to work then — untangling each knot in his hair the softest you possibly could, mumbling an apology everytime you hear him hiss. if hyunjin was a cat, he’d be purring at every touch. his head moves towards you, eyes threatening to close from the sensation of your fingers going through his locks.

once his hair is detangled, you shape them with the comb. hyunjin watches you intensely through the mirror, feeling all his stress slowly dissipate because of you. his love, tenderly caring for him — a doting look on the prettiest face, humming to his favourite song. hyunjin feels as though he’s the luckiest man in the world — like everything else in the universe feels so miniscule.

"all done," you mumble, setting the comb down on the vanity table, "does it look good for you, darling?"

for the first time today, a smile forms on hyunjin's tired face.

"yes. thank you, my love," he replies, taking both your arms to wrap it around his own neck. the reflection in the mirror is what he used to see in his dreams — you, with your arms wrapped around him, chin resting atop his now neat head.

you sway a little, placing kisses on his cheeks which cause him to let noises of delight.

"hey, why don't we celebrate tonight indoors? we can make some ramyeon and watch that show you've been wanting to watch."

he tilts his head backwards, looking up at you. he blinks, and you have to suppress a chuckle at his cuteness.

"but i promised to take you out..."

you shrug, "it's fine. we can't have a cute dancing session if we celebrate in a restaurant anyway, right?" you wiggle your eyebrows.

a second smile appears on hyunjin's face today — and it will continue as the night passes by.

disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

[justheretoposttrash]

day 9 in endhawks hell (actually over a year in endhawks hell but moving on):

not one to spread apocryphal info on the internet but my very unverified source (my friend) told me that losing a right arm in anime/japanese media symbolizes shame, disgrace, some other kinda downfall, or the need to redeem oneself. to be clear i have not found an actual source on this, but it definitely would explain a LOT (tears of the kingdom, aot, fma, hunter x hunter, so many more)

and big surprise, that all 100% tracks with endeavor's loss of his arm. if we were to assume all the symbolism is true and accurately described by me (which i encourage not to assume outside of this post), it's very interesting that endeavor loses it in the afo fight protecting hawks rather than in his fight with touya.

it should be noted that him losing his temper is what indirectly places hawks (and tokoyami and jiro) in danger, bc his rage at afo opened him up to injury and being absent from part of the fight in the first place. i also appreciate that, when hawks shouts at endeavor to "keep a cool head" in the face of afo's psychological warfare and endeavor fails to do so, hawks very clearly doesn't view this as weakness, but as a natural human reaction and is mainly worried about him--whereas endeavor is furious with himself right after the fact.

he says it outright in the text--that from the beginning, the whole tragedy, even his rage at afo leading to his current injury, is all only made possible because of the wounds he inflicted on his family in the first place. it's also notable that endeavor's inability to manage his anger, rather than having anger at all, was a core aspect of his abusive outbursts in the past, and his initial fall to afo in this fight. his temper continues to be a source of problems for himself and those around him.

and while endeavor made an overt mistake, hawks made a covert one: it is confronting his own emotions, rather than shutting them away (making a "clean break", as it were), that allows endeavor to re-enter the fight in full.

in result, endeavor's struggles with his own shame create an opportunity for hawks to be killed, but in accepting his shame, he saves him. (aside: the playful echo of "keep a cool head" in the above panel is so ridiculous. non-judgmental, trusting, teasing--knowing, yet forgiving/appreciative--like hawks and his intern hadn't just nearly died, lmao. arms were lost but there's always time to squeeze in a wisecrack)

this also fits well with hawks initially thinking that it's because endeavor is in an emotionally vulnerable place that he couldn't fight touya without losing (read: dying).

hawks initially felt certain that endeavor needed his support and protection because the man wasn't shutting his emotions away--but it's after endeavor is able to resurge back with his emotionality intact that hawks reverses his decision and is the one encouraging him to be the one to confront touya. and with full confidence! (the, uh, touya fight was a hair's breadth from ~not going well~, but let's not tell hawks that right now lol)

to slightly shift back to this "clean break" moment: by contrasting himself against endeavor, who is trying to do better = still vulnerable to the past = has emotions that the enemy can exploit, hawks implies that he doesn't see himself as being the same on *any* of those counts, which is a sad thing to realize. shutting off his heart? not being a better person than he was before? this implication would have benefitted from more intentional and clear closure in the manga (i think the single tiny frame of hawks talking with tokoyami in 430 is just *fine*, ish), but at any rate, endeavor certainly sets a solid example of a person learning to open themself up to these sorts of things, and those lessons are ones hawks could very much use.

anyway, in short, thematically/symbolically/what-have-you, endeavor's work towards atoning for his family, taking more emotional accountability, and accepting emotions rather than rejecting them is connected to inspiring hawks, doing right by him, and even saving him a second time.

[blasphemousgoggles]

Miasma

Written for a friend, I suck at this game.

Warning: Gore, Threats of Violence (Nothing too bad though)

“Is something wrong?” One of the others asked. You and the remainder of people look over to Enki. He seems lost in thought, staring deeply into the Miasma sword.

“I haven’t witnessed anything like this before…” You begin to feel a growing sense of dread. Going through this hellish dungeon has caused your nerves to be shot, every sound and step you take sends tremors through your whole body. Most things in this decrepit dungeons have tried to kill you, everything in this place was beyond anything you believed was possible. Stopping now could be the death of you.

“Blood? …blood…blood. Yes.” Enki murmurs to himself.

“We need to keep up the pace.” You don’t want to stall any further. All you want is to get out of this place as soon as possible.

“No… There are more urgent matters…” He doesn’t even look over at you.

“What are you saying…?” He talks slowly. Exasperated, someone asks “What are you talking about?” It seems like the others are getting more paranoid. Finally, he looks over at you and the others.

“The blade…It wants sacrifices… Right now.” The hairs on your neck stand. 

“Guys, maybe we should go.” If the man has gone insane you are not waiting around to find out. While you would feel bad leaving him, it seems that he doesn’t care for what any of you have to say now.

“Oh do not worry. I have no emotions toward most of my companions. They can be your cattle. Sacrificial lambs.” It's too late to leave now, he begins to swing.

Now most of your companions lay dead, deep gashes are carved into their bodies, blood still gushing from their wounds. At least one person managed to run away, however sadly for you the dark priest gaunt form looms over you. is gripping your arm tightly. Despite him being weak he managed to overpower the others and you due to you all being malnourished and already injured from the previous fight with the Crow. It's truly a bit embarrassing that someone with such brittle bones was able to quickly massacre the lot of you.

He stands still clasping at your arm still, while coated in blood he continues to stare dully at you.

You glare at Enki, if you were going to die by his hands you refuse to show any fear towards him.  Now you wait for the finishing blow.

“Let's go already.” He states blandly. You falter. That was not expected  After a moment of staring at eachother your glare melts into confusion and suspicion.

“Excuse me?” The priest has the absolute gall to roll his eyes at you like he didn’t just butcher both of you companions. “We should keep moving. We have been in here long enough.”

What is he saying? Seriously, who in their right mind would leave with this scum. Either way, why aren't you dead yet?. While you were still baffled, rage grew into you like a tumor. And you couldn’t help but state the obvious “You killed the others! Why the fuck would I want to leave with you!” You attempt to shake off his hand but he grips tighter. With how hard he's gripping you, you're pretty sure if he holds any harder his nails would enter your skin. 

Enki looks unamused. “The sword demanded blood so I gave it some. The others were never going to make it out of here anyway.”

“What do you know! You don’t have the right to play god and decide who lives and dies.” You break, you had grown attached to some of the others. You felt secure with the others, it felt safe with them. This dungeon has no mercy to outsiders, death was everywhere but with your companions all of you had lived longer than expected when you all walked in here. You were beginning to get borderline hysterical. “ Do you even feel bad for what you’ve done? If you so easily slaughtered the others, what's stopping you from doing the same to me?”

His nails were now lodged into your arm the priest looks annoyed now. He grits his teeth. “I do not feel bad. I held no emotion toward them.” His eyes bore into yours. “While you are weak from your injuries, if they were healed you would be more physically adept than I am.” He states plainly. “It would be easier to travel together than alone.”

You scoffed “I do not care if it's ‘easier’ I have no reason to go with-” his other hand that still held the blade moved over to your face. 

“If you insist on talking back to me I will cut your damn tongue off.”

He pressed the sword's point to your mouth, the fresh blood of the others dribbled slowly onto your face and rolled down to your chin, the smell of metal stung your nostrils. You clamp your mouth shut lest you get the abhorrent liquid in there.

“You may be more physically capable but with how dim witted you are, you would have no hope of leaving this place. You would die here.” Weirdly he smiles. “While it would be easier, if you are unwilling I would gladly cut off your limbs and drag you with me.” You pale. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t leave. This hellish place is just too easy to get lost in. You had to stick with him unless you found another poor soul down here. While the person who ran away could be an option, there is little to no chance of finding them. Even in your dread you wonder, why is he so insistent on forcing you to follow him? And why did he have to threaten you twice.

“I simply want you with me.” His eyes twinkle like some shitty romance novel. It would be sweet if it wasn’t for the gore around you and the threat of removing your limbs. He removes the blade from your mouth.

“If you stay with me, I can ensure that you won’t die here.”

Enki looks through you. Hesitantly you nod. There was no other option for you.

“Good. Now let us leave already.”

You stand albeit shakily, he helps to support your weight from where he was still holding your arm. Finally, the dark priest withdraws his nails from within your arm. Red liquid oozes out. Despite that reprieve, you frown because now his haggard hands have moved to clasp your hands. You cast one more look at your comrades, then you leave with him.

[snoopyearss]

Here. Eren x Fem. Reader

@erenjaegerwifee

Chapter 2: Sheena Mall

Your POV

I woke up from the couch, unable to move. I turned to my left to see Sasha sound asleep, laying on my legs while Hitch was to my right, her head on the couch arm rest, snoring softly. We watched about 3 movies after we came home from the restaurant. I assumed we were all just too tired to go to our rooms.

I peeled Sasha off my legs, and gently placed her head back down. I got up and went to the kitchen. I decided I would make us some breakfast so I grabbed the pancake mix, and some eggs. I was feeling for waffles today, so I pulled out the waffle maker from the top shelf.

I had already made at least 4 waffles, but I guess the smell woke Sasha out of her sleep because she jumped up and rushed to the kitchen.

“Good morning!” She sang and stretched.

“Good morning! I made your favorite.” I gave her a plate.

“Thank you! Man, I’m eating good today. I got my bestie making me waffles, and then later I got the extra food I ordered from Marley’s last night.” She licked her lips.

“Can we talk about that for a second? That food was amazing” Hitch spoke up and walked to the kitchen. I nodded in response.

“Whoever made my meal needs their ass ate.” Sasha said. “Shit, I’ll do it.”

“Oh I know you would, Sash.” I joked.

After all the waffles were made, we sat down at the table to eat. “So what’s the game plan for today? We still going to the mall?” Hitch asked. “Yeah of course! We all gotta get outfits for the party next week!” Sasha said.

“Oh we’re still talking about that?” I sarcastically said. “Yes we are. And you’re STILL coming. No backing outta this one girlfriend.” Sasha asserted and I groaned.

“I only said yes so you two can shut up about it.” I chuckled. “You know how we are. Should I call the other girls? See if they’d wanna come with?” Hitch said, Sasha nodded. The other girls?

“A few of our other friends. Don’t worry, they’re all super nice.” Sasha explained to me, seeing my confused face. “All of them?” Hitch said with uncertainty in her voice. “..Ok well. All of them except one.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’ll know when you meet her today.” Oh great.

We all finished our breakfast and got ready to go to the mall.

 “They said they’ll meet us there. Let’s get going.” Sasha grabbed her car keys and we left.

The drive there wasn’t too bad, except for the occasional road rage from Sasha, flipping other drivers off and cussing here and there, causing Hitch and I to laugh. 

“Learn how to fucking drive stupid! Oh we’re here!” It was kinda scary to see her switch tones so easily.

We got outta the car after she parked and headed inside. “Oh I see them! Hey guys! Over here!” Hitch waved at the group of girls in front of the sephora. We all walked up to them.

“Hii! Haven’t seen you guys since the beach trip last week! I’m so excited for this party.” The short blonde girl went to give the two a hug. Soon everyone else followed.

Once again. Awkward.

When she pulled away, she turned to me, looking at me up and down. “Who’s this?” 

“This is our new friend, Y/n. She’s new around here so be nice everyone please.” Sasha ordered. “Yeah, and this is her first house party so we gotta find something stunning for her to wear.” Hitch added. 

“Oh nice! I’m Historia. You know, the mayor’s daughter?” The blonde flipped some hair off her shoulder and smiled. Yeah I can already tell you’re gonna be a problem. I awkwardly nodded. She narrowed her eyes towards me then shrugged it off. 

“Anyways, this is Ymir, Annie, and Mikasa.” I smiled and waved ‘hello’ to them. They did the same. 

“I love your shoes. Are they Doc Martins?” The girl with the jet black hair asked. Mikasa? Was it? She’s gorgeous. 

“Thank you! Yeah, they are.” I smiled at her. I love her style. “I can send you the link if you want.” “I would love that. Thank you.” We both exchanged numbers.

“Why don’t we all exchange numbers? We can have one big groupchat!” Sasha said. So we did.

“Ok, lets go shopping alreadyy!” Historia whined and grabbed Ymirs hand. We all followed her into the store.

“They have a little bit of everything at this store. One section for every style.” Historia explained to me. I nodded.

“Let’s go to this side. Last time I was here, I saw the hottest pair of demonia boots and I wanna know if they’re still there.” Mikasa took my hand and led me to the back of the store.

“Hmm. Which dress do you think Eren would notice me in?” Historia asked Ymir. “You’re still obsessed with him? Give it a rest girl. You can do so much better!” Ymir scoffed. “Shut up, I know he still has some feelings for me. You’re no help. Annie!” She called to the other blonde.

“Which dress?” Historia held up two dresses to show to her. “The white one. Makes your ass pop.” She bluntly said. “I love you. Ok, I’m gonna find some jewelry and shoes!” She scurried off.

“What are we gonna do with her?” Annie sighed. Ymir shrugged. “She’s completely whipped. It hurts to see.”

“Super obsessed. But you know who else is obsessed?” Annie smirked, making Ymir blush a bit. “When do you plan to tell her?” The blonde asked. “Well I can’t now. Not when she’s this crazy for Yeager. I’ll figure it out.” Ymir sighed and looked for some tops.

“She’s not gonna give up anytime soon and we can’t force her to. We just gotta wait till she opens her eyes.” Sasha looked over to see Historia humming to herself, looking at shoes that would match with her dress.

“Y/n, what’s your style?” Mikasa asked me as she tried on a pair of demonia boots. “Oh, um I’m not sure, just a little bit of everything.” I answered and she nodded. “Try this on.” She gave me a dress to wear. 

I walked to the fitting rooms and as I walked in, I saw Historia looking at herself in one of the big mirrors. 

“Wow,” I started. “You’re definitely gonna get heads turning as soon as you walk in.” I complimented her.

“Thanks!” She smiled then sighed. “Hopefully Eren’s.” I raised my eyebrows and quickly let them drop. She saw my reaction and started to ramble. “Do you know him? I don’t think you do. Incase nobody’s told you, we’re kind of like a thing. Ya know?” I tilted my head. Is she trying to prevent me from making any kind of move on him? “I mean I’ve heard OF him. Just never met him. Probably will at the party since he’s the one throwing it I presume?” 

“Yeah. He throws the BEST parties. That’s how we met. Obviously. We both took an interest in each other and yeah it just kinda happened.” Why is she telling me this?

“Cool.” I nodded. “Cute dress. I could NEVER pull off something like that.” She giggled. Ok, she was definitely trying to be shady. 

“Thanks! Not everyone can pull off every look and make it look good. Clearly you aren’t one of those people?” I pouted and walked off, leaving her speechless. 

I could almost feel her staring at me as I walked away. Like she was shooting daggers into my back. I just here and I already have someone I dislike. Great.

I walked towards Mikasa to show her what she suggested I try on. “You look GOOD.” She complimented me. “You think so?” She nodded. “It fits your figure so perfectly. You dating anyone right now?” She joked. “No but now I am.” I said, causing her to chuckle.

“What are you gonna wear?” I asked her. “This.” She held up a pair of black leather pants and a crossed over top to match. “Oh yeah I know you’re gonna look hot.” It made her blush. “Thanks. Let’s go get some accessories and then go pay.” I nodded.

₊˚✩彡.

After we all got our outfits, we went to the food court since somebody (Sasha) was feeling hungry. We all got our food and sat at a table. “I’m so excited man. After this you guys wanna go to sephora?” Hitch asked. 

“Hey what’s so exciting about this party anyways? It’s just a party.” I shrugged. They all turned to me. “What?”

“These parties are literally legendary.”  Annie said. “Ok, well what makes it so legendary then?”

“Each year, there’s a new surprise at the end. Last year, Eren was able to rent a yacht for the after party.” After party? 

“We partied until 7am. We were all drunk and we went to class hungover the next day.” Ymir chuckled. 

“Wow, sounds crazy.”

“Not as crazy as the time he got Saweetie to perform that one time. You guys remember that?” Historia said. “Oh yeah!” They all said.

“S-Saweetie? He was able to get Saweetie to perform at his house?” I stammered.

“Nah they rented out the venue and he made the call.” Mikasa said. 

“Damn he must be loaded. What do his parents do?” I was dumbfounded.

“Well his dad is like, one of the top doctors here in Sheena. Everyone goes to him for stuff, even people not from this town. His mom is a seamstress. Literally one of the best.” Sasha answered. 

“I wonder what he’s gonna do this year?” Annie wondered. “Me too.” I mumbled.

I’m actually kind of excited about this party.

[sugurus-fave-monkey]

Teaser pt 2

(Still a WIP but I’ve hit a block and wanna take my time with the actual smut)

So I wrote a little more and I’m just going to post what I’ve got going on for now. This has a decent amount of spice tho. Part two here

TW: MDNI/ 18+, Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto, no actual sex acts yet but mentions penis’, angst, PTSD, death mentioned, kissing, neediness, blood mentioned (taste), bro I just want them to be together, Gege when I catch you, not edited, not proofread, hoping to finish it over the weekend.

NSFW under the cut

The night air was cold on his skin as Suguru Geto leaned out his dorm window, trying to find enjoyment in the form of a cigarette. As he exhaled, his left hand came to rub at his eyes, the bags beneath them seemingly a part of him, just like his skin. Just when did everything go wrong? How much more of this could he take? After pitching away the rest of his cigarette, he adjusts the towel on his waist, and closes the window. He sits down on his bed, and runs his fingers through his still damp hair.

Maybe he’s being punished? He should have been more aware of his surroundings after him and Satoru were ambushed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have even offered that girl a life, maybe had he not said anything, he wouldn’t have watched her die. That’s all he sees whenever he closes his eyes, her, and that man, the smug look on his face. When he manages to sleep, he is plagued by nightmares, the girl, screaming at him, Satoru’s body, broken and lifeless, and that man, Toji Fushiguru, no, not a man, what had he called himself? A monkey. The only time Suguru had felt real fear in his life, was caused by none other than a filthy fucking monkey.

He felt like the higher ups were trying to isolate him. Satoru, the only person he felt true friendship with was always being sent on solo missions, while Geto was left to exorcise and consume the curses. The curses, the only form of company he had. Sometimes he would let one out, late at night, alone in his room, just to feel the presence of something. He didn’t know how to feel, he didn’t even know if he could feel anymore, he had spent so long choking back silent tears. His emotions got the best of him at first, and he turned the overwhelming sadness, the emptiness into rage, and when that didn’t help he discarded those emotions, in fact he discarded all emotions.

A soft knock on the door startled him, and he had to ground himself back to reality. He check the alarm clock on his nightstand and saw that it read 3:17 a.m. He sighed and decided to ignore the door, which only resulting in whomever was there knocking louder.

“Yo! Suguru! I know you’re in there, let me in.” Of course.

Suguru rolled his eyes before responding, “I’m trying to sleep Satoru; we can talk in the morning.”

“Nah, I can tell that you’re awake, lemme in, it’s important.” Satoru demanded. “Besides if you don’t I’ll just stay here and pound on your door all night and wake everyone else up.”

Geto stood up, and crossed the room to the door, before swinging it open. “What do you need?”

Satoru threw up his hands and smirked. “You gonna let me in or?”

Geto moved out of the way,, and Satoru walked in, kicking his shoes off before perching himself on the chair at the desk. He quickly scanned his best friend, noting his lack of clothing, and dripping hair.

“Trying to sleep my ass.” Gojo scoffs. “Anyways, we’ve go a mission together, there’s this village, and apparently there’s been some weird activity going on, so I’m tagging along with you.”

Geto turned his head towards Gojo and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by tagging along?”

“Well, I kinda overheard Yaga talking about assigning you that mission solo, and I wanted to come with, since it’s been a while since we’ve had any missions together…” Gojo trailed off.

Geto could instantly tell he was lying, and glared at him.

“Ok, maybe they actually asked me to go with you, but either way! We get to work together again!” Gojo explained.

“So they think I’m incapable of handling a mission solo, and you need to be there?” Geto questioned.

“Suguru… they think you’re a liability, and as much as I hate the higher ups, and disagree with that, I just-“

“So in case something goes wrong, in case something inside me snaps, they want you to be there to put me down?!” Geto had heard enough, the anger he thought he buried rising to the surface.

“N-no,” Gojo stammered, while he stood up, closing the distance between them, his cool demeanour lost. “I don’t know what it is, they just need someone to keep an eye on you. You’ve been off Suguru, and don’t give me that bullshit about a summer cold, something’s going on with you.”

“Tch. I’m fine Satoru” Geto spoke. “I don’t need-“

Before Geto could finish speaking Satoru’s lips were on his own, his eyes widening. He had thought of doing this many times, but was never quite sure how to go about it. Geto parted his lips, allowing Gojo’s tongue to snake into his mouth, swirling his own tongue with Gojo’s. It was as though every wall he had built came crashing down at that moment, Geto wrapped his arms around Gojo, pulling him into an embrace, while Gojo runs his fingers through Geto’s hair.

When they pull away for a brief moment, Geto swears he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He brings a hand to Satoru’s cheek, cradling it, before pulling him back into the kiss. He’s rough, taking charge this time, biting on Gojo’s lower lip, causing the white haired man to inhale sharply. Geto forces his tongue into Gojo’s mouth and groans when Gojo sucks on his tongue. Geto kisses him passionately, lustfully, hungrily, almost as though he wishes to consume him.

Geto lowers Gojo to the bed, using one hand to support himself, and he trails kisses over Gojo’s neck, feeling himself grow erect. Gojo can’t help but squirm under him, wrapping his legs around Geto’s waist. Geto trails his fingers under Gojo’s shirt, feeling his muscles contract, one finger brushing over a nipple, before his thumb joined, pinching it. Kissing was no longer enough, Geto needed to taste him, and so he sunk his teeth into his neck, and began to suck on the tender skin, relishing the taste of copper as Gojo’s skin began to bruise. He stopped for a moment, to pull Gojo’s shirt off, and continued tasting the other man. His lips found their way to Gojo’s nipple, and he started licking at the bud, smirking when Gojo whined and rutted his hips up.

Gojo could feel himself coming undone, and he hadn’t even touched Geto yet, in fact he wasn’t planning any of this at all, the kiss was an impulse he had been feeling for a while, and finally acted on. But now he longed to feel his best friend inside of him, he was usually the one to take charge, and control the situation, but he wanted nothing else but to be ruined by Geto. Gojo’s aching cock twitched at the thought of being fucked by Geto, and as he watched the man’s head going lower and lower on his body, he didn’t know how much he could take. As Geto effortlessly undid his belt, and lowered his pants, leaving only his boxers, Gojo grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him up. Geto looked questioningly at him.

“I want you to mark me.” Gojo breathed.

Geto cocked an eyebrow before trailing his tongue upwards, over his abs, and to his pecs. As Geto bit down again, Gojo groaned, he fist clenching around Geto’s hair. Gojo watched as marks formed on his body, some bleeding, others just barely bruising. He used his hands to guide Geto’s head closer to his own, before Geto’s lips came crashing down, and Gojo used his tongue to probe Geto’s mouth. Tasting his own blood drove him mad, and he needed more, so much more.

[bravo4iscool]

i just can’t let siggy and bjorn go, i’m sorry😭 (this is a song fic btw🤪)

(bjorn ironside & siggy!reader - bigger person by lauren spencer smith)

tag list - @bumblebeesfromvenus @yazt09

(masterlist | join my tag list!)

REQUESTS/ASKS OPEN!!!

When you'd yell, I would stay silent

You never noticed I was quiet

I was taught that speaking up was talking back

you focus on a point behind your father as his voice rages through the room. you didn’t know what you did this time but he was pissed again and he let you know.

you’re quiet—as always—just hearing to him yell around, insulting you for things you had no power over. at some point you’d stopped listening to him, for your own good.

you’d made the mistake of talking back one time and that resulted in ripped out hair and a nasty bruise on your cheek. since then you refused to open your mouth when he yelled at you.

Always first to say I'm sorry

'Cause I wanted you to like me

And I thought that's what it took to make it last

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, head hung low as a bowl of porridge scatters through the hut. your eyes are fixed on the ground, you’re not daring to move. “i’ll do it better the next time.”

“you better do,” your father hisses, grabbing the braid at the back of your head. “can’t even make good food, can you? what is there that you can do, huh?” he spits in your face and you want to cry. but you knew you couldn’t. it would only make him angrier…

he storms out of the hut and you collapse on the floor. you never understood why he despised you so much. how was it your fault your mother left? what were you supposed to do? you were a baby, a few months old. she didn’t even want you.

you quietly sob while you massage your scalp. you did your best to be a good daughter, to do what you should but your father was making it hard. he barely paid attention to you and when he did he usually complained or demanded you to apologize.

and you did apologize. every time the same two words left your mouth. i’m sorry. you thought that maybe one that it would be enough and he’d finally recognise you as his daughter but deep down you knew that would never happen…

It's a lose-lose

That I don't choose

But you don't always choose the ones you love

you sit at the fire, watching as your father sleeps. he’s had one horn of ale too much and was now sleeping it off. you were happy he wasn’t too aggressive tonight…

there’s a small dagger in your hand and you know, you could use it. he was passed out. you could stand up and slide it across his throat, he wouldn’t notice but you couldn’t.

any person in the right mind would’ve left him already, no matter if he was your father or not but you couldn’t.

you loved him…

your uncle sigurd offered so many times to get you out of the house already but every time you declined. if you leave now your father would break. without a doubt. he was a broken man, held together by nothing but his anger.

I shouldn't have to be the bigger person

How come I have to break to keep us workin'?

It's always up to me

Even though it shouldn't be

I will take the blame the way you want me to

'Cause that's what I do for you

“who let the sheep gate open?” aslaug questions as he walked into the great hall. “all of the sheep are gone. we’re lucky if we can find them again!”

your head perks up from your table and you look at your step-grandmother. your eyes drift towards your father, knowing he was the last to check the sheep. you didn’t understand why he always did it, you had enough slaves but he wanted to do it anyways.

you can see his eyes dart around and that’s when you realize he was drunk when he last was at the shed. nowadays he was always drunk.

you take a sip of ale before you look at aslaug. “it was me,” you say. “i went to check on them and must’ve left the gate open…”

she sighs, “siggy… you know we have thralls for that.” her tone is scolding but the look in her eyes says otherwise. she knows how bjorn treats you and—just like sigurd—she tried to move you out of his hut but ragnar refused to let her act.

bjorn was a grown man, he’d said. he needs to live with the painful reminder that thorunn left him.

you loved your grandfather, you deeply loved him; he was an amazing man but sometimes you saw where your father got his bad character traits from.

“it won’t happen again,” you quickly promise, noticing the way your father looked at you. “it was a one time thing and—”

“quit the bullshit,” sigurd then suddenly said. “we all know it was bjorn.” your uncle rolls his eyes at his older brother.

your fathers jaw tenses and you already shrink in your stool. you weren’t sitting beside or across him but that wouldn’t stop him from standing up and dragging you away by your hair.

your father grumbles something before he wipes his mouth with his hand. “if siggy said she did it, then she did it,” he simply says, confining to eat his chicken.

beside you, sigurd groans. “i swear to the gods, you’re the most terrible father to roam this earth!” he plants his hands on the table and stands up. “why are you being like that, huh? are you a child?”

“sigurd—” aslaug warns but he doesn’t listen to her.

“siggy is doing everything in her power to get you to care for her, to love her and what do you do? you treat her like a fucking thrall!” you swallow as you look at your uncle. you knew he had a softer spot for you than your other uncles but you’ve never seen him stand up for you like that…

bjorn’s eyes snap towards his brother and he slowly puts his chicken leg down. “siggy and i are none of your business,” he hisses, the threat evident in his voice.

sigurd huffs, “oh but you are! do you think i don’t notice the way she flinches whenever one of us is near her—especially you? do you think i don’t notice the bruises that litter her skin?” sigurd’s eyes narrow and you can see his body start to slightly tremble. “do you think i don’t notice that?”

at the words of sigurd ragnar head slowly lifts. he’s kept himself out of the conversation so far, he always does but now sigurd and bjorn had their fathers attention.

“what is this about? bjorn, sigurd?” his voice is calm as he speaks and leans back in his chair. his eyes land on you. “siggy, what is sigurd talking about?”

you swallow and avert your gaze. you could t expose your father like that, could you? who knows what ragnar would do to him once he knew how bjorn was treating you…

“siggy,” your grandfather calls out again. “is it true what sigurd said?” the look in his eyes is soft, his whole attention fixed on you.

“i—” you start, your voice catching in your throat. you couldn’t lie, not to your grandfather… “it is true…” you quietly say, pressing your body into the chair, afraid that your father would leave his seat and drag you out by your hair.

ragnar slowly nods, his eyes trailing around the room before they land on his oldest son. “bjorn,” he says, his voice still calm and collected. “i want you to leave.”

your eyes widen and you stare at your grandfather. did he really just say that? you turn your head to look at sigurd who looked as equally shocked as you.

“what?”

ragnar sighs, “you heard me. i want you to leave. and don’t you dare come back before you’ve come back to your senses.” he stands up from his seat, his eyes fixed on his oldest son. “this is not how i raised you bjorn. this is not how i raised any of my children.”

bjorn huffs and shakes his head. “are you really gonna do this? i’m your best warrior!”

“maybe you are.” ragnar shrugs. “but i will not tolerate the way you’re behaving towards your daughter—my granddaughter!” his voice slightly raises. “you’re brining shame over our name.”

bjorn lets out another huff before he gets up from his stool, knocking it over. “if you say so. i’ll leave.” he stomps out of the great hall, not even looking back once.

you stare after your father, not quite believing what just happened. what the hell? you feel tears gather in your eyes and while they should be happy tears, they weren’t.

you get ripped out of your trance when you feel someone embracing you and you quickly realize it’s ragnar. “i’m so sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss to you head. “if i had known i would’ve acted sooner…”

part two lol??

[elvisfatass]

ℑ𝔫 𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 1959 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔈𝔩𝔳𝔦𝔰 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔥 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔰𝔞𝔶 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔳𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰. ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡? ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔡𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔞𝔰 5 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔤𝔬, 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 107, 𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢, 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰.

August 27, 1959

It had been almost a month since you agreed to become his familiar. At first you didn’t really understand what that meant. After a few days, the vampire thing didn’t bother you that much anymore, you knew how he felt towards you irregardless if you were human and he wasn’t. but you missed your best friend and your kids. Rosalinda had been your best friend since you moved to Paris almost exactly two years ago, you had been inseparable and not knowing what happened to her was tearing you up inside, almost as much as not seeing your kids for a month. Elvis had said he would try to bring them to you, and you trusted him, but you were getting impatient.

August 30, 1959

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEYRE GONE?” you screeched at Elvis, looking around you see a porcelain book end on the top of the small bookshelf beside you. In your rage you throw it at his head, shattering into pieces as it hits the wall behind him. You had been patiently waiting for Elvis to find your children, and apparently now he’s telling you that your son was taken into custody on child abandonment charges and your daughter had moved out of your house and he was unable to locate her. Your son would be taken back to America to his father, your stomach churned at the thought. “DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD I WORKED TO MAKE SURE MY CHILDREN NEVER HAD TO SEE OR HEAR FROM THAT MAN AGAIN? AND BECAUSE OF YOU ALL THAT HARD WORK IS UNDONE, MY BABY IS NOT SAFE WITH HIS FATHER. YOU GET HIM BACK. YOU UNDERSTAND?” you throw a book at his head now, this time he’s not as fast and the spine of the rather large passage hits his forehead with a heavy thunk. “y/n,” Elvis said almost in a whisper, scared to upset you more than you already were. “I know I could never understand what you’re going through right no-“ “YOUR DAMN RIGHT YOU DON’T.” you go to throw another object at him, but he rushes towards you, catching the glass paperweight before it ever left your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m trying my hardest to get to them, hopefully soon I can have you altogether here.”

September 15, 1959

You felt like your life was over, you wallowed in your bed for what felt like months, because it had been. You had received word that your son was now back in the states with his father, your ex-husband, who by all means, was a piece of shit. Your daughter still wasn’t able to be located, right before you disappeared, she had started dating this nice boy from Lyon and had spoken a few times about going to visit his family’s estate, you hoped she was safe.

Elvis, despite your moping, had been very attentive when he was home. he felt at blame for letting your son slip through the cracks and had no qualms with you needing to take time to recuperate. You were looking at a photo of your children together for last easter when you heard a knock at the door. “don’t come in I want to be left alone.” You announce, knowing he’s gonna come in anyways. “Darlin?” Elvis muttered under his breath. “whaddaya say we get out of the house today? We can go buy some clothes and you can get lunch?” Elvis asked sweetly.

You obliged his request knowing the longer you laid there the harder it would be for you to get up. You got up and put on a clean dress, looking at yourself in the mirror you winced, your hair was so matted and tangled and your eyes were red and baggy, you looked like shit. After coffee and a lunch at your favorite café you started to feel more like yourself. as the day dragged on, you started to feel more like yourself, the reminders of your loss clouding your mind less. Until you saw her. “Rosa?” you whispered under your breath, on the opposite side of the street there she was, your best friend. She hadn’t seen you, but the longer you looked at her the more you knew something wasn’t right. You looked up at Elvis whose hand was gripping yours so hard it felt like he could pull your hand off. “I think we need to go, y/n, we need to go right now.”

February 2, 2016

Hello children,

If you ever find this diary, please know that I love you. I’m leaving it with the rest of my belongings as I don’t know if or when I will return to this country. If I do it probably won’t be in your life times, I have watched from a distance as you raised your daughters, they are so beautiful and I wish it was safe for me to meet them, but it is not. I love and adore you all and wish for bright futures for your girls. I’m so sorry about what happened and it is something I will have to live with until the end of time. From my entries here you will learn why I wasn’t able to come back to you after I was abducted.

I love you, mama

[khazadspoon]

Ooh would you be able to write some James/Thomas/Miranda just hanging out being cute together? In London or maybe an AU where Flint and Miranda saved Thomas from the plantation in season 2 instead of going to Charlestown? (yes that scenario does live rent free in my mind, why do you ask?) Anyway thanks in advance/either way! 💜

I realised I hadn’t gone down the being cute together road so tacked a new ending on which made it longer but OH WELL flinthamiltons live on!!!

———

She had noticed immediately that something was wrong. The way their old friend, the man they had counted on as an ally, had been cold and had dodged their questions at every turn. Miranda had seen the clock and then-

She had warned James in a hurried, furious whisper, rage bubbling just under the surface. She demanded he find out what the truth was.

And he did.

Peter Ashe had been their betrayer all those years ago. He had taken everything from them, destroyed their lives and their happiness. Whatever friendship had been between him and Thomas was all but dead.

“Here! Please, just don’t- don’t kill me!” The man pleaded, a ledger held out in his hands like a shield. Abigail was stood pale and unblinking as she heard of her father’s betrayal. She did not speak in his defence. Miranda was glad for that.

James, his face twisted in pain and anger, took the ledger. The dinner knife in his hand was hardly a weapon befitting the legend surrounding him, but she knew he would use it if needed. One mention of Thomas’ name and he would be willing to carve out this man’s heart.

She held her tongue. Enough blood had been spilled for now.

The ledger contained a list. Names, numbers, prices, locations and dates. Miranda watched as James’ eyes scanned the pages, frantically looking for some sign of why this was worth Ashe’s life. The moment he saw it, his body slumped. The air rushed from his lungs, colour drained from his face, the knife fell from his hand and hit the floor with a terrible thud. Miranda saw tears from in his eyes and rushed to look at the page.

Thomas Hamilton. Charlestown to Savannah, Georgia.

“He’s alive.”

James’ voice sounded like it was coming from the next room. He touched the paper, fingers caressing Thomas’ name, and Miranda clutched at him with both hands.

“We can find him, James. He can be home with us again!” She felt herself shaking, the room almost spinning as she tried to breathe through the sudden panic in her chest. James was silent but she felt him nod, felt him lean into her.

In the end they let Ashe live. It was more than he deserved. But Abigail needed a family, someone to provide for her, and they were not in a position to do that yet. Perhaps, in a year, she might…

They sailed to the mainland. The Ranger followed them, an uneasy truce between Flint and Vane struck by the knowledge they would be freeing people from bondage and claiming any riches found for themselves. The Walrus would come out with less, the only prize Captain Flint sought would be worth more to him than any gold.

When they reached the plantation it was… devastating to behold. The main house was all splendour and clean prosperity. Slaves and servants in pristine white clothes answered every whim the master of the house thought of. Even as Flint and Vane stormed in, guns raised, the slimy man kept his head. He quietly tried to bargain his way out of disaster and, to Miranda’s secret sinful joy, failed. He was slain without mercy. James’ true beauty shone through as he raided the rooms, searching tirelessly for his prize, for her prize, and Miranda wielded a sword he had given her to join the party.

They found him in the fields.

The world stopped spinning. The sun came out from behind the clouds. Birds ceased their songs as he turned to face them, confusion writ large on his aged features. The blue of his eyes seemed somehow diminished even as they widened in recognition. He moved slowly towards them, limbs long and thin as they always had been, the white of his clothes marred with earth and flecks of what might have been dried blood stains.

They approached him together, she and James, side by side, the three of them colliding like galaxies. Thomas’ arms wrapped around them and a laugh like cannon fire burst from his chest, loud and unrestrained and almost painful to hear. Miranda buried her face in his neck. She felt James sobbing against her side, felt her own sobs ripped from her, and suddenly everything was different.

It wasn’t alright, there were still ten years of hell to reconcile for all of them. But now they had the rest of their lives to do that.

Thomas pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips chapped but warm on her skin, and she gazed up at him through her tears.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, “I love you.”

He smiled at her and it was so like when he had smiled at her back in London that she had to hold her breath.

“Thomas,” she heard James say, his voice thick and utterly wrecked.

Thomas turned, his expression so open and broken, and Miranda watched as they came together again. The kiss was hard, desperate, no doubt tasting of salt. They clung on to each other, still holding on to Miranda, completely unmindful of the people around them. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had kissed in the clear light of day. Her heart broke even as it began to mend.

Someone approached carefully, and she saw Thomas flinch, his hands tightening on them. He brought them closer, protectively.

“We should leave,” Captain Vane said. “One of the guards will have made it to town by now.”

James nodded even as he gripped Thomas’ shirt in one fist. “Fine. Well- five minutes and we’ll leave.”

Back on the Walrus, Thomas was given a wide berth at James’ order. He was taken to the Captain’s cabin and James had to tear himself away to see to his duties. Miranda stayed with him, nearly constantly touching him, and he touching her, the two of them sat in near silence as they breathed in the changed scent of one another.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Thomas asked under his breath. She shook her head and kissed the bruised, swollen knuckles on his hands. “Good. Good… I don’t think I could survive it if it were.”

She cupped his cheek and turned his face to her. “It’s real, Thomas. You’re really here with us.”

Nothing, not height nor depth, not life nor death, would part them now. Thomas was home.

—

Months later they were in Nassau and Miranda’s cottage was full of life. Bread was baking, herbs were drying, and there was laughter coming from the garden.

Thomas leaned his head on her shoulder, a cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee as they watched James. The fearsome Captain Flint was demonstrating how he had managed to get out of a particularly nasty predicament. He had been tied to a chair, trying to calm a rather irate bosun’s mate, and Miranda had lost track of the rest. She was too engrossed in the sound of her two love’s laughter. James kept bursting into giggles as he described his adventures. Thomas would laugh alongside him, his body moving against hers as the laughter took him.

She laughed too, but softer. The tea she had made them had long gone cold. But, later, they would sit in front of the fire and Thomas would tell them a little about his time without them. They would share stories, cry together, and then go to bed and sleep in a too-warm pile but unable to disentangle themselves.

James wandered over at the end of his story and sat in front of them on the grass. He rested his chin on Thomas’ knee and gazed up at him like an adoring puppy. Miranda ran her fingers through his long red hair, not as long as it had been in London, but it was growing out again.

“What are we having for dinner this evening?” Thomas asked, running his fingers over James’ cheek. He didn’t seem to be really asking about food.

“Whatever you desire,” James said.

Miranda had to laugh, she couldn’t help herself. “James, my love, you can’t cook.”

“Maybe not,” he said lowly, “but I have plenty of other talents.”

She tugged his hair lightly and laughed at his grin. “None that will stop Thomas’ stomach rumbling like a naval battle!”

Thomas didn’t even try to seem offended. He knew all too well how true it was.

“We can eat bread and butter in between,” James said with another grin.

“Sounds delicious,” Thomas stroked a finger down James’s cheek and pressed it to his lower lip.

“Come on,” Miranda said, tugging at the two distracted lovers. “Before you scandalise the chickens. The hens will start getting ideas.”

They wandered back into the cottage hand in hand, Thomas between them as he so often was nowadays. Miranda squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. There were new lines on his face she had begun to memorise over the past few months - around his mouth, around his eyes, etched into his forehead, all new but none unloved. It was the same with herself she was sure, and with James. They had aged, all three of them, and Miranda was enjoying the new patterns on their skin.

Slowly, they were relearning how to be together again. Miranda was relishing the challenge.

[ckkookie]

HMM?

TOPIC - when your mafia husband gets Jealous

Part 1

" Y/N What the fuck is this? How many times should I tell you to not touch my things huh? Can't you get this one small thing in your empty head ! "He scolded while glaring at me dangerously. I bit my lips nervously while looking down. "Now we will stand like an idiot, won't we? "He spoke in his hoarse voice while gritting his teeth. "s-sorr" I was apologizing when - " jesus christ, What a women! GET OUT! " He groaned while mumbling his first words but I heard them anyway. I was so staggered right now to move but " I. Said. Get. Out. Can. You. Understand? GET OUT ! "I flinched as he suddenly howl loudly. I quickly nod my head and run out as fast as I can. I ran out and walked towards our bedroom. I sat on one edge of the bed while poking the fluffy duvet softly. "what was SO wrong in it? I just settled his mess. Wasn't that good? I just wanted to help him. It wasn't like I was going to steal anything from his office and hand it to his enemies . Oh godd! He's really such a big drama! " I exclaimed dramatically while getting up from the bed in rage "I'm a drama now "I widen my eyes as I couldn't see him as I was back facing him but I could sense the anger from his tone. I gulped as I stood frozen I heard footsteps coming closer. I was torn more now " Am I A Drama Y/n? " He whispered in my ears from back. His hard mascular chest was colliding into my back, His hot breaths were making me feel a way. " I asked something, didn't I? " He again whispered while intentionally brushing his lips over my ear I shuddered at his dominant touch. "N-No!" I stuttered while gulping. I tried moving away from him but he pulled me back harshly while engulfing me in his one big veiny arm. I widen my puppy eyes with a frown. " But this pretty mouth of yours uttered something else moments ago. "He said while cupping my face with his bare hand and brushing his thumb on my lips. I gulped as I stared into his eyes innocently yet fearful. "it uttered something else, didn't it? " "uhmm ye-" I spoke anything as I was already lost while clenching my jaw in his dominance. "Your mouth is naughty, isn't it? " i just hummed feeling blank "words y/n! " He whispered coming more closer. His lips hovering mine. I got more nervous. "so-sorr" I apologize innocently thinking he's offended and angry but "Uggh fvck! " He groan loudly while letting go of me and backing off while pulling his hairs in frustration I frown. "Can't we utter something else than this irksome word. Arggh why do you always have to ruin our romantic moment by this one word " He spoke frustrated while I gulp and bit my lips. "so he have a problem with the word sorry " I thought to myself while smiling proudly for Finally being able to figure out the reason of his drama. " Why are you smiling like an idiot now? Am I looking like a clown to you " " YES " it slipped my mouth. I widen my eyes while he dangerously glare at me while clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth. Uh i i m mea.

mean No I was thin-thinking ab about some- " I was stuttering so badly that it became more difficult for me he started taking slow calculative steps towards me while glaring at me dangerously , I step back while he stepped forward. I was so badly intimidated by this man. He stopped on his steps abruptly " That pretty

NAUGHTY mouth will pay " He spoke in pacifying way through gritted teeth.

I gulped He was again marching towards me but his phone dinged. I sighed loudly but when looked up I realised what a wrong move. He was talking to someone on call but kept his terrifying sharp glare fixed at me I quickly looked down. " we have a party to attend tonight at my father's Be ready till 7 pm" He said while I nodded looking down but I could sense him rolling his eyes. "What was I even expecting from her " he mumbled while scoffing but I heard him. He turned around and left. I frowned "what was he expecting me to do? I nodded though like a good girl " I spoke to myself when - "good girls don't have a naughty mouth " shit -