#but i will do my best to carry on your legacy

[littlexlioness]

His heart was lead. His arms and legs dead weight for him to drag about when he infrequently dared to leave to his room – doing so only on his days to cook. It has been two months since she disappeared. Two months with a gaping hole where his heart has been.

He was empty most days. Hallow. Which, he supposed, was better than the raging blackouts of sorrow and despair he had experienced the first few days she was gone. Spite has taken over then when the feelings became too much. He hadn’t been able to hold the demon back, when he felt the earth slip out from underneath his boots. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. Felt reality being to fade away, again. It has been months since he’d felt darkness like this. Since the Ossuary, when he’d last lost all hope.

But back then, there had been Rook. Her high cheekbones and shinning green eyes had blasted part every dark cloud he’d surrounded himself with. She has been the light he had so desperately needed. Had been the light he’d been begging the Maker to bring into this life, his hope. And now she was gone. Swallowed into the Fade, never to be heard from again.

He knew better than to hope now. Knew nothing good would come of wistfully waiting around for her to storm back in through the pantry door and declare that she was fine. Never again. His chest ached with a familiar emptiness that, for a while, had felt foreign to him. But heartache could not change reality, and the reality of the situation was that Rook was gone. For good.

No matter how much he raged, how he shook, screamed, and sobbed – nothing would bring her back. And the idea of seeing her again, holding her the way he had dreamed of one day doing – would have been enough to end him right then and there.

So he didn’t hope. He couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine her fighting back, tooth and nail, scrappy till the very end – like she always had been. He couldn’t imagine her laughing with the team or rejoining them for dinner. Because any more hope for happiness would likely be his last.

Compartmentalize. That’s what he’d been taught as a Crow. Shut down your feelings and finish the contract– no matter the cost. And right now, that meant taking out the Gods and finishing Rook’s final mission. It was the least the team could do, having lost her in the line of duty. Carrying out her legacy would be his greatest honor. His most important Contract.

He heard a loud clank of pots and pants on the other side of the door, and knew Bellara should be done cooking any moment. He cringed at the thought of having to pretend to be fine in front of the team. He’d taken to eating alone after the first few days. He still cooked when it was his turn, and when it would have been Rook’s but taking his meals in the pantry, alone. Trying to put on a brave face inspite of Spite’s constating roaring had become altogether too much for him. And unless the team wanted to watch him try to leash the demon and fail horrifically, he wouldn’t be joining them.

He felt most guilty on Bellara’s days. She was the only other member who could manage to put together something actually edible, and those big, brown eyes of her staring up at him when he murmured, he would be taking his meal alone only furthered the pit in his stomach. Too soft, too fragile. They all were. And damned lucky to have even made it this far alive and in one piece. At least, most of them had.

A soft knock at the door had him turning over in his cramped cot and facing the door. Only to see the small elfhen he  been thinking of.

“ I know you prefer to eat on your own. But I tried my best to make crow feed, and I’d really like it if you’d join us for family dinner tonight.”

He could tell she was nervous, her eyes darting around the pantry trying to look at anything other than the shell of the man he was – lying lifelessly in the corner.  She had a small, sad smile and a tried her best to laugh at the last part- referencing Rook’s joke about them being a family. Rook always called mealtime, “family dinner” and demanded they were all present. No Excuses.  

She’d told him once, in confidence, that she’d dreamt of finding her own family someday. After growing up as an orphan and being taken in my the Mourn Watch. She’d dreamed of finding her place, her “people” someday. It had been a quite night, after a mission to Nevara with Emmerich that she’d told him. They’d sat closely together that night, sharing a cup of coffee in her rooms as the fish swam around.

Now, he’d do anything to get those quite moments back. To feel her warmth against his skin again or hear her voice whispering secrets to him in the early morning hours, too raw to speak to anyone else. The hollowness in his chest throbbed, and he felt Spite thrash against his control shouting at him

“ROOK. SHOULD BE HERE. FIND ROOK.”

He shook his head, trying to clear away the voice of the spirit, as best he could. Spite was getting louder, and angrier with every passing hour. Holding the demon back had begun to physically pain him. It took everything ounce of control he had to not relinquish his restraint.

Taash had been the one to find him, the first night after Rook disappeared. He’d spent hours searching the area, looking for clues, daggers in hand, eyes frantic and glowing,  all but begging the power-hungry Gods to let him join her. To let him trade places with her, to do anything to bring her back.

But there was nothing to be done.

Rook was gone.

That night they had barely crossed the threshold of the eluvian before Spite had snapped the withering leash of control he’d held over the demon and broken free.  There wasn’t much he could remember other than the overwhelming darkness of it all, the pit in his stomach overtaking him, his heart shattering time and time again, as wails he couldn’t control broke from his lips. He could feel his limbs trashing, as Taash held him close to their chest ( either in comfort, or to restrain him from hurting himself – he’s still not sure).  Spite had taken over for hours, hours of screeching and shouting unable to accept she was gone. Unwillingly to accept that there was nothing more to do to rescue her. It seemed Spite and he had very different ways of handling her loss.

He’d tended to his injuries in solitude and shame later, when he woke up.

“…..- Anis?”

He’d lost himself in thought. It had been happening more often lately, more often that he would like to admit. He looked up at Bellara with a sheepish, soft, smile.

“I’m sorry. What was that?” He was sorry. Bel had the softest heart of their team, and he knew she was hurting just as much as he was. He hadn’t meant to get lost in his head again – had meant to let the memory of losing control distract him.

“It’s okay! I asked if you needed anything. If I could do anything to help?” This time she looked him in the eye, honest and direct. He knew it was difficult for her, putting herself out there just to be shot down. The least he could do was throw her a bone and offer up a conversation.

“I’m as well as I can be Bel. But I could use the comforts of home, crow feed is perfect.” He said with a sigh, as he willed him legs to a standing position. Bellara’s surprise was palpable, and a grin broke across her face with satisfaction. He smiled back at her, halfhearted and empty – it was better than nothing.

“ Everyone is already at the table; we were just waiting for you to pick which wine we should have.”

She was trying to butter him up, and he knew it. Knew had it been any other night, Bel would have picked the first bottle she found and announced it good enough. Or worse even, Neve would have brought out that horrific box of “wine” swill from Minrathous and insisted it was “just as good”.

He trudged to the door, holding it open for the small elf and peering into the stagnant dining hall. Dinners used to be lively, with Rook and the team. They’d telling stories of their most recent adventures, or read letters from the members who were out on mission and making up stories about what they were facing.

But tonight, just like every night since she’d disappeared, it was quite. Too quiet. It made the hair on the back of his neck rise – he’d walked into a trap. And it was too late to turn back, as he head the soft click of the door behind him and saw Bellara walk towards the table where the head seat still sat painfully empty.

He took his seat, the seat everyone else had purposefully left for him. Ever since the night they’d caught him baking, and rebaking, and rebaking again the hazelnut Nevarran torte for Rook. He’d never admit how much effort he’d put into the dessert - but the team knew. He’d never outright told them about the conversation that followed that night. But, it felt as if they already knew something had been growing between him and their fearless leader.

He took his seat to the right of the head of the table. The seat still empty, no place setting laid out for its occupant.

He could feel their eyes on him, drilling past his defenses, staring daggers into his soul, as he looked anywhere else. Compartmentalization was one thing. Confrontation was another, and he was not ready for that discussion just yet. Not today, after a particularly long fight with Spite that had landed him with a particularly bad nosebleed, and a splitting migraine.

“YOUR FAULT.”

The demon shouted.

“YOUR FAULT. ROOK GONE.”

“FIND HER. FIND HER!"

He would do anything for 15 minutes for true, uninterrupted silence – without the team, or the spirit demanding something of him. With a relegated sigh, he looked up catching the eyes of the team boring into him.

“I’m fine” Even he didn’t believe himself.

“That’s not what people who are fine would actually say.” Taash threw back at him, without an ounce of careful caution.

Not like Bel who had been walking on eggshells around him for the past few weeks. Taash was always like this. Brash, but honest. He liked it, usually. They were an open book to read, no games to play, or mind tricks. Another other day it would have been refreshing.

But today, they was a nuisance..

“You’re right Taash, I’m not fine. But I will be – with time” He kept his tone even, his responses short and to the point. No need to get emotional, no need to let the team how badly he was falling apart, or how frayed his control had become.  He needed to put his feelings aside, in order to complete the contract. That was all he could focus on.

“Why not just be just be honest, for once.”

His head snapped up at that, of course it was Davrin who felt the need to make a dig at his behavior. He’d had a hard time letting go of his grudge against the warrior ever since the siege at Weisshaupt. They may have shared a drink together, but that didn’t erase their strained history.

“What would you like me to say, Davrin? That I’m upset? I’m sure you’re all more than aware of that by now”

No need to be subtle, the whole team has watched Taash restrain him as he clawed at his own skin. Spite desperate enough to take out it’s anger on anyone or anything. It was a moment of weakness he’d tried hard not to think about, embarrassed at the glaring weakness and shame of having to be held against his will like a child acting out.

“ So that’s it? You’re just going to give up? You’re not even going to bother fighting for her? Bother trying to find her? You claim you love he---“

The warrior was sharply cut off as a knife soared through the air, grazing across his left cheek, and embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“You know nothing of what I feel. Don’t’ you dare speak of it again!” He shot back his tone razor sharp, eyes subconsciously flashing midnight as his restraint faltered and Spite snuck into control.

The elfhan face was apparent with shock, morphing into a grimace, and then nothing put pure, unadulterated rage begin radiating from him.

It happened in quick succession, Davrin forcefully pushing back his chair, the flipping of the neatly made dining room table, and then the shouting as the elf charged at him eyes full of ire.

“WE ALL LOVE HER YOU COWARD, AND YET YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO’S GIVEN UP ON HER”

He grabbed at a chair that had been haphazardly thrown to its side. Needing something to use a weapon as the warrior charged at him. Ready with a steely look in his eye for a fight. He could feel himself give in, let go of his tether on Spite as his eyes glowed dark and wings appearing behind him. If Davrin wanted a fight, he’d give it to him.

That hardheaded idiot knew nothing, NOTHING, about how he felt! What had been racing through his mind every day, every moment since Rook had vanished. Davrin knew nothing about the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be, how he would never feel the same, never smile the same, never think the same without her by his side. He’d rather the Fade take him, than lose someone as precious as her. At least someone like him deserved to disappear. All he knew was death.

He barely heard Bellara suck in a gasp, and the two men went at each other. Nothing but wrangled limbs, and rage as Davrin threw a solid punch, connecting with his left eye and he brought the lone chair down hard, against the elf’s head – shattering it to splinters. It seems Davrin really was as hardheaded as he seemed. His face throbbed, but it was a dull pang compared to everything else. He felt the wind knocked out of him as the elf rushed at him again, locking his arms around his waist and taking them to the ground. If the warrior wanted a brawl, he’d be more than happy to oblige. Sprawled out on his back, he reached around him searching for anything to use as a weapon. Smirking, he his hand connected with cool silvery metal. He grabbed the instrument and jabbed down, hard and fast into the other man’s shoulder stabbing the utensil deep into covered skin.

Davrin let out a howl, hollow and angry as he began throwing punch after punch into his stomach, his chest, anywhere the elf could make contact. He could barely heard the horrified shouts of his team mates around the sound of Spike finally being let loose.

“BREAK HIM.”

“KILL HIM.”

“HE THINKS. HE KNOWS ROOK BEST. END HIM”

And for once, he agreed. Davin thought he knew everything, thought he deserved to know everything – when really he didn’t know when to let things go and admit defeat. He wasn’t a leader; he was a fool. A hopeful, childish fool who would only have those hopes crushed when he realized there was no getting her back. They couldn’t. She was stuck in the Fade with no way of making contact, no way of freeing her.

The sooner Davrin learned to accept reality and cut his losses the sooner the team could move forward on their mission. The sooner he could complete the last contract he had, the last piece of Rook he had to hold onto.

As he reared back his head, ready to bash the elfhen man square in the face – he felt a chill. Something cold and foreign holding him in place, holding him back. He looked up to see Taash had quite literally picked Davrin off the floor, holding him like someone may hold a misbehaving kitten by the scruff. Davrin trashed at the restriction, and Taash let out a strained grunt as the man struggled against them.

He whipped his head to see the source of the chill holding him in place, came from none other than Neve as she stood Infront of a horrified looking Bellara and a disappointed Emmerich. She’d had to use magic to freeze him in place he realized with an annoyed grimace. But at least he wasn’t being held at bay by Taash, again.

The shouting continued, getting louder and louder as each man hurled more colorful swears than most of their team had ever heard. Davrin being especially creative, and his being mostly in Antivan. He could make out the sound, in the back of his mind, of Bellara begging them to stop. Emmerich holding her close to shield her from the sight of the fight.

But it wasn’t until a green rip opened in the middle of the dining room that the two men went silent. It was a fade tear. Totally uncontrolled, and random. Something the team had been trying to conjure on demand for the last few months to get back to their leader.

He could feel the heat creep red hot up his neck, across his cheeks as his heart pounded so wildly he was sure the elfhen in the room could hear. This----this was impossible. The only thing that could tear into the fade was the dagger, and the dagger was last with……..

No.

It couldn’t be.

And yet there it was. The rip opened wider, growing until it was the size of a doorway, big enough for an adult to walk through – and through the rip he saw a shadow. Short in stature, with same tell-tale red curls and a mischievous grin slashing across her face. And with one step, out of the green haze and into the shaken dining room – she was there.

It was her.

Out of now where, like an angle she just – appeared. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t process what was happening, as the feel the cold around his arms and legs melted away as Never lost concentration on the spell.

He couldn’t think straight. His heart thundering– hard and fast like he’d been running for his life. Some part of him recognized he was shaking, hands quivering as he reached out to her like she might disappear again if he were to touch her. Reverently, as if she were too pure, like she would break if he was too rough, too good for this world.

“I’m home! Did you miss me?” Was all she had time to get out before he was on his knees, and then rushing across the room.

Unbothered by what the team thought, unbridled by what a Dellamorte should act like, inhibitions running lost as he threw himself around her – wings blazing bright in the soft light of the Fade tear, before wrapping around her gently. Cocooning her in a shield of protection. He would never let her go. Never let her leave, never go another day without seeing her, hearing her, holding her. Never again.

His shaking worsened, and his face felt wet and he gripped her tightly around the middle – arms locking in place. Gingerly, he felt her arms raise up and hold him in return. He let out an uncontrollable sob, wet and loud. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, not since he lost his mother. But today, here- seeing her again? This was worth it.

She laid her head gently against his chest, and likely heard how deafening his pounding heartbeat was. He was fighting for control now, eyes flickering between purple and brown as Spite pulled at the fraying tether of restraint. He knew the spirit was just as excited as he was to have her back- to have her in their arms once again. But he couldn’t give up, couldn’t give up this moment. He’d rather die than lose this.

“I’m sorry” She whispered in his ear, softly enough that only he could hear, and another sob wrecked his body. He’d never live this down if Viago or Teia heard.

“shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.  I’m home now. I’m safe. We’re safe.” She continued rubbing his back gently, as she repeated the soft words to him. As his grip tightened, and ratcheting around her until he thought for a moment that she wouldn’t be able to breath. But she let him continue, knew he needed this just as much as she did.

“ROOK.NEVER.LEAVE.AGAIN”

“Never leave us again, not like this”

He begged softly, words heavy on his tongue as he held her tightly in their cocoon. No one could see them, they were safe, protected here. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t disappear into the Fade, couldn’t fall through his fingers into nothingness. He drank in the embrace, the feel of her short frame against his, the smell of her messy curls against his cheek, the feel of her heart matching his thrumming in his chest. If it were his choice, he’d never leave this moment. Never let her go again.

“….Love.”

It took him a moment to realize she was talking to him. She’d never called him that before, and it added a warmth to his chest that was sorely needed. Love. He loved her. He’d always known, he could tell he was falling for her weeks ago despite how badly he wanted to distance himself from the feeling – he’d known. And when she’d gone missing? The largest regret he carried was never telling her, never being a brave enough man to accept the fear in his heart and tell her the truth. He’d never let that happen again.

“I love you, Rook. And I’m never losing you again”

He shook, out of fear or overwhelming joy he couldn’t be sure. He’d never said those words to anyone, not since he was a boy saying them to his mother. He’d never expected how terrifying it could be to say aloud to another person. But today, for now, he could be brave. He had to be, Rook deserved it. She deserved honestly, she deserved truth, and even if she deserved more than the love of a broken man – he would still offer all he had and more to her.

“I love you too, sweetheart”

She carded her hands through his hair softly, bringing a hand down to rest a warm palm against his cheek, eyes raising up to meet his wet gaze. She was beautiful, perfect, deadly. Everything he could want in partner, everything and more than he deserved.

“May I?"

She asked softly, not needing to even ask before he gently leaned down to meet her lips. It wasn’t perfect, his cheeks still wet with tears, his breath ragged with fear as his heart was still thundering in his chest. It was messy, and imperfect. But it was him, honest and present – everything he could offer to her.

He’d once told her that a good coffee tastes like a kiss goodbye, bitter and then sweet. But this, this was better. This was a welcome home kiss, a reuniting kiss, and kiss of endless opportunity and hope. Like honey and lavender cream, and so much more than he could have ever imagined.

A cough rang out from somewhere in the room, and it took him a moment to notice that Spite’s wings had disappeared – leaving the kissing lovers exposed to the rest of the team and the disheveled dinning room.

“Well, I supposed that settles that.” Never said as she let out a chuckle, at the sight of the embracing couple, both wearing matching pink cheeks.

Rook was mindful enough to let out an embarrassed chuckle, as she loosened her arms around his shoulders. She stepped to move out of his embrace, only for him to tighten his grip around her – he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anyway.” Rook whispered to him softly, reaching to grasp his hand in hers tightly. He reflexively reached out to grab hers, squeezing tightly, not wanting to be separated from her yet.

“Sooooo, so wants to tell me the story of why our dinning room looks like a war zone?” She quipped softly, trying to lighten the mood in the already awkward hall.

“You’re boyfriend was acting like a kicked puppy, I told him to grow up, and then he stabbed me with a fork” Davrin tossed out casually, pulling the offending cutlery out of his shoulder blade as proof of the indiscretion.

“And the chair. Don’t forget about the chair he broke over your stupid thick skill” Taash added in, with a look of amusement and a chuckle.

“ Ah yes, a true assassin’s way of showing affection. I should have known. If only I were so lucky.” Rook laughed disbelievingly, not quite sure of the statement had Davrin not been ready to show her the blood-tinged fork for herself. But she supposed there had to be more to the story, there always was.

But for now, she was content to laugh at the antics of her lover and their oddly mismatched family. Perhaps they weren’t prefect, or well behaved. But they were hers, and she loved them – no matter what.

[tardis--dreams]

It's a weird feeling to be officially called my beloved ex-colleague's successor in his last emails and his absence note. Like. People are Actually gonna contact me regarding this journal now huh,

[qunaricatnip]

I’m sure it’s been said before but I still think it’s very interesting that Duncan waits to recruit Alistair until after Maric dies like what’s that about

[lokischocolatefountain]

home in three days, do not wash

Fandom: Gladiator II Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Wife!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: age gap, mild choking, mentions of child death, hurt comfort, breeding kink, lactation, reader has children, taboo for the time oral sex, talk of war. Word count: 3.6k words Summary: Your General returns home ravenous for you and you cannot decline him, even if any exposure of his act would bring him great shame. A/N: Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the awesome graphics. Napoleon said 'be home in three days, do not wash' and what was I supposed to do? Not use it for our big thicc roman general returning home from war to fuck us? I did research and shit and came to know that eating pussy was a big no no back in the day. dj Khaled would love to be an ancient roman ig. also learned that rich ladies didn't breastfeed and used a wet nurse but they knew that breastfeeding could help and some women did it. Outside all that research, it's just depravity, baby. Anyway, validate my depravity with some comments pls.

Laughter echoed through the hallways of your palatial home and you stood at a balcony with the best view from atop the hill. The campaign that had taken your husband away had finally come to an end with victory for Rome. Far from the hustle and bustle of the city, you were always one of the last people to receive the latest news of importance. This time was an exception to the rule. 

Home in three days. Do not wash.

All you wanted when you received the message was to run in the direction of the roads that would bring your beloved home. Three days were too long. You wanted to curtail the long wait, run to him so you would be in one another’s arms in a day and a half. 

But you chose the more realistic path and prepared the home for his arrival. The servants polished every surface, your handmaiden ensured you had all your most preferred clothing— that which he loved to see on your body. The kitchen was busy preparing every meal that the master loved. Your two older children with your general busied themselves recollecting everything they learned from their private tutor to impress their father. 

Your youngest, your first son, was still so young he had never met his father. He was the child your dearest had longed to have for so long. For all the luck the gods had given him in the battlefield, they had given very little in the way of children to carry his legacy. In his heart, he was father to seven daughters and six sons. The gods had only allowed four daughters to live. Two of his sons passed in infancy, one passed in birth, taking his mother with him. One other was taken by disease and another killed in battle. 

He now had only one son and he hadn’t yet the joy of holding him in his arms. Everyday that Marcus was in the battlefield was torture. Babe on your breast and fear in your heart over whether his father would live to see him. Fear sometimes subsided for anger to have its way. That very anger remained in your chest, prepared to unleash on him the moment he stepped into the home. 

When the sun dimmed, night crept in and so did Marcus. You refused to greet him at the door. A warm welcome was reserved for men who told their wives where they were going before they left. You had half a mind to ask for a bath to be prepared. To wash yourself with milk and fragrant oils in front of him so he could see your defiance in action. 

But you remained in the balcony, eyes set on the moon who served as your companion when he left you. For all the fury you had for him, there was also an ache of sympathy. You wouldn’t sour his mood the moment he entered. He must see his son first. Then you would see to that he groveled at your feet for his cruelty. 

Just as you thought, you had a long time to relax on the settee. He always went to his children first. Be it after months away on the battlefield or a mere day in the city. You asked for your son’s crib to be moved to your daughters’ room so he would be able to see them all at once, saving him the battle of choosing between his great loves. You’d sent word to him on the battlefield after you gave birth, sent him the name of his son so he would know to include him in his prayers. 

You heard whispers of his voice conversing with a servant. Your heart quickened its pace, each thud against your ribs matching the thuds of his feet against the floor. Oh how you wanted to turn around. It had been so long since your eyes were blessed with him. His towering height, broad frame, the pink of his lips and the curls you so loved to comb through with your fingers. You trembled, the cold breeze reminding you how devoid you’d been of his warmth. Yet you were resolved to not give yourself up to him so soon. You stayed in place and closed your eyes.

He stopped behind you and your name spilled from his lips like honey. It had been so long since anyone spoke your name so… The servants called you mistress and your children called you mother. Your birth family only wrote your name in their many letters. He was the only one who spoke your name, leaving you without hearing your own name since his departure. But you stayed, did not turn, did not open your eyes. He spoke it again, his voice gentle but louder as he stopped at your side. 

“Open your eyes, dearest.” 

“Where have you come, General?” You asked, your voice cold enough to be the envy of the winter breeze. 

“General?” He asked, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. 

“Are you not a General?” You taunted, finally opening your eyes. He looked weary from battle and travel. You longed to take him to your chambers and strip him of his armor to count his wounds, kiss each one be it new or old. His hair was grayer than when he left, his skin duller, but his eyes were still the soft brown that gave you peace when you first saw him as his young bride. 

“Your General,” he said with a small smile as though his words were supposed to make you forgive him at once and shower him with kisses. It only strengthened your resolve. If he wouldn’t treat you as a wife, you wouldn’t give him the respect of a husband. 

“You have a son,” you said, stretching your legs out in the settee just as he made to take his seat there. His hand wrapped around your ankle and you kicked it off, daring him to make another attempt at moving your legs so he could sit. He smiled softly, conceding as he moved to stand by your head. 

“He is beautiful, mellilla,” he said, caressing your cheek. You slapped his hand away. All of Rome may fall at his feet and welcome him back with praises of his victory. He was deserving of course, not only for his achievements but for his undying loyalty to Rome. If Rome were a woman, she would be his principal wife and you— you would only be a tavern whore he fucked and left in the dead of night. 

“You block the moonlight, General Acacius.” 

“Marcus,” he said, moving to allow you sight of the moon once again. He sat in the little remaining space on the settee and looked down at you. Despite the toll war had taken on him, he was incredibly handsome. Bold nose, pink lips and graying curls that only made him look ever so slightly more distinguished. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You did not return the kiss, but you did not push him away. There was an limit even to your anger. You placed a hand on his shoulder, the act of denying yourself the joy of your lover weighing heavy in your heart.

“I’m afraid I haven’t such an honor.” You bit down on your lip, annoyed at yourself for the trembling of your voice as you spoke. Your anger for him had a foundation of pain after all. 

His face fell and he sighed. He looked down at his lap and you hoped it was from shame.

“If you have nothing to say, you may leave. If you need it, you may summon the servants for your meal. But I am sure the emperor did not send his best general hungering for food or cunt,” you spat, rising to sit up on the settee. Hand as strong as iron wrapped around your wrist, coupling with his strong torso that trapped you in place to keep you from getting up. You squirmed in his grasp, but he did not budge.

“Listen to me.” 

“Is that an order?” 

He wrapped an arm around you and held your cheek in his hand. You looked up at him, giving him biting fury to his firm yet gentle gaze. “If it is the only way I will have your obedience, then yes. It is an order.” 

“You may speak, but you cannot make me listen and you most certainly cannot make me respond.” 

“I am your husband.” 

“A husband doesn’t leave for a year long war at the dead of night with no explanation to the woman swelling with his child,” you screamed, fist slamming against his chest. It didn’t affect Marcus. Nothing affected the great General Acacius, you thought with derision. You hit him in the chest again, tears brimming in your eyes and clouding your vision.

“Forgive me,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You ceased your attacks as his apology coupled with the pain in his eyes reduced you to tears. You’d kept everything in for so long, put on a brave face for your daughters and hid your heart in your letter to your father. It was only with Marcus that you didn’t need to hide. He always tore your fears down and pulled you into the safety of his arms.

“I wouldn’t have been able to leave had I said goodbye.” 

“I was so afraid,” you confessed, leaning into his chest. Every pretense of strength and composure left your body as you let him hold you to his chest. The gold earrings you wore to please his eyes pressed cold against your skin under his hand. He moved next to your hair and then you neck, the hand that held swords and spilled blood only to return home to love you. 

“Carissima…You were all I could think of after I left. Forgive me,” he begged, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to each finger. 

“Later. I have missed you. Marcus,” you whispered, craning your neck to kiss him. He returned your kiss in an instant, arms cradling you as you devoured each other. He smelled of war— blood, soil, sweat, and leather. It was far more pleasing to your senses than any fragrant oils and flowers. Your Marcus and his distinctly masculine scent was above all but the fragrance of your newborn. 

You whined as he retreated. He laughed and returned to scatter kisses along your jawline like Rome scattered rose petals along the steps of the Colosseum for his feet. He reached under your layers of silk and linen, making you tremble and press yourself closer to his chest. 

“So soft…” 

“I need you, please.” It was all he needed to hear before he walked up to the doors of the balcony and slammed them shut. What he did with you, for you, wasn’t for anyone else’s eyes but your own. 

He unlatched the gold clips that held your palla to your shoulders and set them aside. Your stola and tunic followed, piling up on the marble floor. Cold air caressed your bare breasts, bigger and fuller now as you nursed your son yourself. You traced your hand up his arm, feeling his vambrace before finding his muscular arms. You whimpered from just how big he was in your hands. You squeezed, feeling the hard muscle and rough skin. 

Your General knelt before you and you sat up straight, confused by his action. He couldn’t be… You sought his apologies and regret, but by no means would you ask him to humiliate himself for you. Such a man, superior to you in every way. 

“Dominus!” You shrieked, reminding him who he was even when he came home. 

“Shh…” 

“Are you going to—?”

“Lick you cunt? Yes. Sit back, now,” he said as he guided you to lean back on the settee. You shook your head from side to side, appalled by the circumstances and confused as to how you were supposed to stop him. He spread your legs wide, planting your feet upon the seat. He licked his plush lips and looked up at you, his eyes those of a ravenous beast. 

“You cannot. I only want you to understand the torture you put me through, not debase yourself in front of me. It’s not right.”  

A corner of his lips curled up slightly. He spat on his hand and rubbed it into your cunt. You arched into his palm, your cunt chasing any contact you could have with your beloved. “Tell me, who do you belong to?” 

“You.”

“Speak fully and speak my name.” 

“I belong to you, Marcus.” 

“Correct. Why do you think then, that you can tell me what I can and cannot do with you?” 

He parted your cunt lips and slid a finger inside you. “You belong to me. All of you. This cunt belongs to me. Does it not?” You nodded as he pumped his thick finger in and out of you. It had been so long since you’d been touched that even his finger felt a little much for you to take. You shuddered as you thought of his cock, promising the virility that came with such a size. 

“Speak,” he commanded, every bit the fearsome General who led men into battle. When even warriors couldn’t defy him, how could you? 

“It belongs to you, Marcus.” 

“Mmm,” he rumbled, curling his finger inside you, making you whimper. “If I want to lick this cunt then, do you have any right to stop me?” 

“N-no,” you cried, grabbing his wrist and imploring him to slow down for you couldn’t take such intoxicating pleasure. “If peo— Marcus! If someone knew—”

Then he dove into your core and licked the nub above your cunt, eliciting a squeal from you. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still licking you as he smirked. It was sinful, the sight and the act of a man serving a woman. You shook your head, your senses already addled from being so close to him after a long year. It was wrong. Wrong. But oh gods, he made all the wrongs feel right and who were you to deny him? 

Tears rolled down your cheeks, no longer from the agony of separation from your dearest but from the building pressure in your core. 

“Marcus…” you said, unable to say anything else. You reached your hand towards him, needing to be anchored to the Earth as he flew you to the heavens. He enveloped your hand in his and gave a small squeeze. His other hand and his lips were unrelenting, giving him new ways to torment you. 

How did anyone deem it submissive for a man to kneel and lick cunt? Your Marcus still looked as majestic as ever. The picture of victory that Rome worshiped. The Marcus Acacius who slew and killed was home and ruthless in his conquest of you. Even as he licked your core, he was the one with all the power in hand. This was but a new way for him to take you. 

You gasped inaudibly as he inserted another finger in your cunt, stretching you in preparation for his cock. You felt your unraveling come closer. He pulled you deeper into whatever spell he had you under whenever he touched your cunt. You squeezed his hand tighter, saying everything your lips couldn’t. Hold me, keep me safe, never let me go.

The waves crashed against the rocks on the shores of the beach as you came crashing down from the heavens. Marcus kept his wordless promise. You tightened your legs around his head yet he held you in place and kept you safe. 

When you came to, you found your fingers tangled in between his dark curls. You loosened your grip on him but did not let go, needing to feel him even if it was just his hair. 

“I should not have liked that.” 

He laughed and gave your cunt another lick, smirking as he watched you shudder. 

“But you did,” he said, getting up at last. “I knew you tasted divine, but having you directly from your cunt is something else, melilla.” 

“I have not washed in days because of you. I am sure I taste horrendous.” 

“Good girl, following orders well. But you are wrong. You taste and smell like a woman. Not a perfumed woman. This,” he said in a low voice as the tip of his nose traced up your neck. He inhaled your scent and moaned. “This is nothing you can find in a vial. This is your true scent,” he said, stopping at your ear and placing a kiss. 

“I would recognize it anywhere.” He reached under his pteruges and toga and retrieved his cock. Your cunt clenched at the mere sight of him. 

He was far too covered. As much as you loved to see your General in his armor, you loved more to see him bare. You needed to run your fingers over his bare chest and dig your fingernails into his shoulders as he wrung his pleasure out of you.  You found the ties that held his armor in place and began to undo them. 

“Impatient girl,” he chided as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

“Help me out then,” you snapped back as you struggled with the knots. He ignored your request and continued on his path of destroying you, plunging his length inside you much too quickly. You cried from the pain and pleasure of being stretched out by him once again. 

“Marcus!” 

He bent forward and whispered your name against your lips before claiming them. You moaned into the kiss as you rubbed yourself against him for friction. You were loath to pull away from his cock even the slightest as you ached for him too much to part from him. You wrapped your legs around him and pressed your heels down on his back, pulling him deeper inside you. 

He wrapped a hand around your throat, tightening and loosening every now and then. “Day and night, I longed for you,” he whispered, his breath mixing with yours. “Dreamt of the day I would be inside you again.” 

You echoed the sentiment, but he quickly silenced you with a hard thrust that you felt in the deepest part of your core. He wasn’t the gentle Marcus who treated you like you did your fine silks but the General who conquered every land he set foot on. He rammed in and out of you, reclaiming you as his. Your cunt opened up to take its master, molded itself around him like it did each time since your wedding night. He had taken you, his young bride, and shown you a world only he could. He’d taken and taken, made you a woman by showing you what your body could do for you. 

He licked up your neck, growling like he was tasting the finest delicacies from the emperors’ table after being starved for months. “You smell sweet, Carisimma.” 

“You lived in tents with men for a year. I’m sure a pig would smell sweet to you now,” you said, making him laugh even as he wrecked you. He reached down to your breasts and grabbed one in his hand. He pinched your nipple between his fingers and tugged, making you cry out in pain. 

“Marcus!” Drops of milk trickled from your breasts and he swiped it with him thumb before licking it. 

“I only regret that I could not see you grow bigger with my seed.” 

“You ha- you have seen it before.” 

“Yet I am not satisfied. I need more, I need to fill you up with my seed, keep you full with my children in perpetuity.” 

“Marcus! Please…” 

“What do you beg for, girl?” 

“Give me sons, Marcus. Let me give you heirs,” you cried, overcome by the need to become his in that primal way. It was more than just your duty as his wife. It was an innate desire. As frightening as pregnancy was, you wanted it again and again at the hands of your husband. To give him sons carry his name and daughters who would control the great General with their laughter. 

“Give me sons,” he repeated, the hand around your neck squeezing tight. This time, he did not relax, holding your air hostage as he used your cunt for his carnal desires. You gasped for breath. Your cunt squeezed around him, keeping him in so he would give you his seed and refusing to let go even for a moment. 

Every thrust after sent delicious ripples of pain. You knew that you would wake the next morning unable to walk as usual. You would hear your servant girls giggle when they thought you couldn’t hear. He would wreck you day and night, make you scream for all the house to hear. He would take you to high places in the city, an arrogant smile on his lips as he showed you off, rounded again with his child. 

As though he could read your thoughts, he spilled inside you with a cry of your name. You held him close, afraid he would part from your body and rob you of his warmth. 

He showered you with kisses, beginning as a downpour and ending with a drizzle. You melted into his arms, the tension in your muscles leaving now that you had your Marcus home. You were no longer alone, he was here and he would take care of everything. 

“Am I forgiven now?” 

You smiled, burrowing into his chest as draped your discarded silk over you and picked you up in his arms. “I will consider it if you make sure I don’t bleed this cycle.” 

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed. A kiss on the top of your head.

“As you say, melilla.”

Fic notifications blog

[scary-grace]

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

[superectojazzmage]

Just back from Alien Romulus and hoooo boy oh boy. Review/analysis.

Easily the best Alien movie since the first two, which isn't saying much, yeah, but it is legit a really cool and well-made movie, competing with Late Night With The Devil, Longlegs, and Cuckoo for title of my favorite horror movie this year.

In a lot of ways it's about harvesting the few good ideas from the post-2 movies that were squandered and doing them right, plus getting the series back to it's healthier roots, kinda the movie equivalent of someone doing physical therapy to get back in the saddle after an injury. This means it's not quite brand new ground like some may hope for and I've heard some people feel it gets a little derivative at points because of it. I can kinda agree and certainly understand that criticism, but I feel it does what it's aiming for really well and sets things up for future works to go in even crazier directions. Furthermore, it takes a lot of time to try and weld together the disparate post-2 movies in a way that brings the series back to a little coherency.

The atmosphere is really intense and cool, swinging between lovecraftian dread and build-up and high-energy chaos. The aesthetics and special effects are gorgeous, taking full advantage of the progress that technology has made since 2 plus really digging in to the used cassette future vibe of the older films. The characters are likable and actually intelligent (or at least understandable) in behavior like in the first two movies, so you care about what's happening to them instead of just waiting for them to get munched. The action and kills were really cool and creative, the cinematography in general was off-kilter in an awesome way - there's a definite attempt to make the movie feel claustrophobic and intimate. Fede Alvarez did a fantastic job in general, I'd love to see him do more with the series.

It REALLY cranks up the series' psychosexual, freudian, and sexual assault subtext, arguably to a point where it's just plain text. So if you're sensitive to stuff like that or if this is your first go at Alien, be warned for that.

More specific notes go under the header for spoilers. Highly recommend you go in as blind as you can.

Andy and Rain were wonderful leads, their dynamic was fantastic and Calie Spaeny and David Jonsson both turned in great performances. I direly hope they join the first two films' casts as "major" characters for the series going forward.

The effects to make Daniel Betts look like Ian Holms were quite possibly the one and only time the special effects failed. It looks very wonky, which is sad because Betts does a really good job copying Holms' mannerisms for Ash while still making Rook feel like a distinct character.

In addition to the usual themes of sexual unease, genetics, and parenthood, this movie adds in some really interesting themes of familial legacy, the rise of new generations, foundations, etc.. Andy and Rain are like Romulus and Remus of myth, orphaned and left to fend for themselves but growing into founders of a new age - both in-story with their carrying the XX121 substance and evidence of Weyland-Yutani's misdeeds to Yvaga and out-of-story with them being the protagonists of a new era for Alien. Likewise, the Offspring is the first example of an entirely new species, neither human nor alien but taking from the lineages of both through Kay and Big Chap, a Romulus-like founder of it's breed that will later bear fruit in Resurrection with the Ripley clone and Newborn.

I'm really not kidding when I say above that the psychosexual undercurrents are taken to the extreme here. This movie basically sees the ways the original film subtly pin-pricked at those themes, says "fuck that", and deliberately rubs it in your face in a way designed to make sure you can't ignore it. It wants you to be grossed out and to squirm in your chair and it knows exactly how to make it happen.

Alvarez noted in the lead-up to release that he took a lot of influence from Isolation and you can definitely see that in how he depicts the Xenomorphs and the general aura of the film. He further described it as a kind of halfway point between the first and second movies and you can also see that; it has the Lovecraft-style tension and horror of the first, balanced with the energy and action of the second, and it does a really good job finding a middle ground between Ridley Scott and James Cameron's styles while also doing it's own dance.

I mentioned way back at the start how the movie basically harvests the good ideas from 3, Resurrection, Prometheus, and Covenant and gives them the room they deserve while dumping the bad. It does that in both terms of themes/style and continuity/lore. Concepts that those movies bungled like xeno-human hybridism, the black goo, genetic engineering as a focus, and so on are done here more creatively and competently. Themes that those films tried and failed to tackle are handled with significantly more grace. It has the atmosphere and characterization of 3 but none of it's baggage and needlessly depressive tone. It has the body horror and weirdness of Resurrection without taking it to the zany, embarrassing areas that movie went. The effects and creativity of Prometheus and Covenant without any of their awful writing and clumsy messages. Alvarez takes on kind of an Al Ewing-esque "repairman" writing style here.

The Xenomorphs are absolutely deranged in behavior compared to most portrayals, attacking like either cruel sadists or raging chimps and rarely bothering to take hosts. I'm not sure if such a reading was intended, but I got the vibe that the idea is Xenos raised without a queen or hive grow to be basically sociopathic like how real world predatory animals grown without parental figures become feral and dysfunctional. Which would also explain a lot about how the Xeno in the original movie, Big Chap, acts there.

The Offspring's design is fucking wicked and I love it.

One of my few major criticisms is that Big Chap died off-screen instead of getting more to do. What was the point of having him be alive at the start if he wasn't gonna be used beyond a backstory point to set up the main story?

All in all, a very impressive effort and a great return to form for the series that I recommend highly.

[moonlight-prose]

How Logan and sore shoulders 🙈

I love your writing btw! The way you write just itches the perfect scratch on my brain ESPECIALLY for logan 😩

note: thank you so much!! it makes me really happy to know my writing itches people's brains. cause that's the best feeling when reading. i went with old man logan for this, because i feel like he'd have sore shoulders the most. just a man who needs to rest for a year and a day. this is based off the song your needs, my needs and i swear i just wanna build a whole universe around it with this old man.

Noticing has always been your love language. Small fractions of a second that play across his grim face weathered by pain. He does his best to never let it show. A small insight into the layers of grief he carried like a cross over his shoulders - enough agony to bring even you to your knees. But on nights when the whiskey was low and his body begged for relief, you caught it.

The wince, the stifled groan he bit back with a thick swallow. The ache in his shoulders coated in scars and muscles you clung to throughout the cold nights. He was hurt...and you could see it.

Even if he didn't want you to.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered into the hot mug of tea he struggled not to pour whiskey into.

"Don't you love me?"

The narrowing glare of his eyes drew a smile across your lips. "'Course I do. Doesn't mean I gotta put up with this."

"Oh fuck off Howlett," you snipped pouring the oil across your hands.

"Fuck off. Who the fuck are ya talkin' to like that-"

Your fingers dug into the taut juncture of his neck, wrenching free a hoarse groan that echoed in the hot air. The snide remark died on the back of his tongue with ease, eyes falling shut with another soft noise of bliss you felt curl into the base of your stomach. He'd never admit to enjoying a massage - ever the man who denied his own needs for others.

But tonight he allowed you to divulge in this small act of love. Domestic, gentle, and built on trust.

He gave into your touch, purring like an overgrown cat finally at peace after so much pain. Digging into the right shoulder blade, you worked free a knot built there through two centuries of fighting. Years that weighed on him - baggage he never asked for.

A legacy he could barely carry on his own.

"Feel good?" you asked softly, lips finding a spot on the back of his hot neck.

He grunted, hand sliding to the back of your thigh behind him. A silent thank you from the man who didn't know how to be taken care of. The caretaker, the giver, the hero who ravaged the world to protect those he loved.

The man who deserved to have his needs met just as he met yours.

[cherbexr]

Sentinel's Conjunx HCs

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Sorry I love this sick sick man </3

For anyone who doesn't know, Conjunx Endura means spouse

Warnings: Mentions of R*pe, bad language, Slight Spoilers, Mean Sentinel

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You could have gotten paired up with this mech in two ways. Either he threatened to kill your family, or you willingly wanted to be with him (if you're continuing from the meeting headcanons).

He announced this to all of Iacon and every bot seemed to welcome you with open arms! Sure, some bots weren't happy to hear that their crush got mated to some random bot. Before this he made you polish up and look all dolly and stuff.

I feel like he might act like a good mate for the first couple of weeks, maybe months. Yeah, he has to go to the surface for a bit, but he'll probably call you or something during his "mission to find the matric." You don't know that he's actually meeting with the Quintessons.

He'll hand feed you, bathe you, make sure you have all the latest upgrades, a good paint job, hold you, kiss you, all that nasty lovey-dovey stuff.

That's only during the good times, after maybe two or three months that's when it starts to go downhill. I see him starting to ignore you, dismiss you, take his anger out on you, etc. He doesn't let you leave his golden tower unless accompanied by one of his trusted guards.

I feel like at first he'd be hesitant to let you work. He wants you to stay pretty and polished because he needs to keep up a reputation that he has a pretty Junxie. After some thought, he would allow you to work because he feels that if the people see that his Junxie works, so will they!

On the topic of sparklings, this guy would HATE having a kid. What do you mean he has to give his attention, time, and money to this dumb brat? What do you mean he can't recharge cause this stupid sparkling is too busy bawling its optics out?

!!!This is the disturbing part!!!

When he gives it some thought, he believes he should let his legacy carry on. Now what about you? He doesn't give a fuck about what you think. He expects you to just bend over and do as he says. He may even force you to do it against your will. It's one of the things he expects from his mate, to bear his children.

Yikes. Sorry.

Now if you do end up bearing his children, expect you to take care of the thing 80% of the time. The other 20% is one of his NPC guards or maids. Arachnid is damn well not taking care of that thing. If you're with the sparkling and he wants to be with you, he probably would shoo the thing away and make you wash your servos.

If you choose not to, he would get a little upset about it and keep trying.

If you're right in the mind (and not like me) you'll probably want like a breakup or something. He'll look at you and be like, "Yeah no."

And you'll be like, "Why?"

He'll look at you again and show his sweet and caring side and be like, "I just love you too much, how could I let the love of my life leave me?" (yeah we know this is bullshit)

An argument may arise and he'll bring that nasty side out we all know and love.

"I said no. End of discussion."

You'll have no choice but to just shut up and not bring it up again. Plus you have a kid, so it may not be the best decision anyway. Just know, after that conversation you're not allowed out anymore.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Remember, these are my headcanons! You're free to make up your own or disagree with my headcanons!

Not proofread!

[2-dsimp]

Any of the guys with a pregnancy kink?

On the father, the spirit, and the son, pregnant people are fine as fuck. I always be looking respectfully.

- 🤰

【The H.S.M Scenarios; Pregnancy kink edition】

—————;———-;———

Cw: MDNI NSFW 🔞 Fem reader, pregnancy kink

————;—-;————

“Atta girl, taking in every single drop like a good mommy~ Just lay back on me wife. I wanna get that cute tummy of yours all plump n full of me again and again—Fuck!”

Nokka the husband, this guys a no brainer. He’s so confident in his seed that he doesn’t even need a pregnancy test to check if he had knocked you up with his baby. But Your husband will let you do so if only to prove that his elite sperm had done its job well. in making his wife’s belly swell up beautifully with his potential son. And hence the moment you started showing a baby bump, your meager time alone at home would diminish. As this man is constantly on you like white on rice. He’s rubbing your belly possessively with his big hand. Watching football while having you warm his cock. Of which he complained got so rock hard that it was borderline uncomfortable for him to even sit wearing his baggy sweats. All because of how his wife was lookin too damn irresistible in that pregnancy glow. (And just in general… this man’s a bonifide caveman simp for his wife)

“Awe my poor player 2~ is our little player 3 acting up too much? Don’t worry! I’ll tell em to take it easy on you mkay mamma? Just spread them legs wide for me so that lil bugger can get the message”

Soma the Zombie, always dreamed of having a team of professional gamers to carry on his legacy of being number one in the world. He often joked around saying that 3 kids wouldn’t be enough. Since he’d never get enough of seeing that radiant glow you’d possess when you’re heavy with his child. And ever since he got infected his obsession with keeping you full got even more demanding. The Zombie had his tentacles that sprouted from him squeezed and kneaded your breasts for any source of milk to suckle on. while his thick gelatinous tendril cock squirmed itself inside your well used cunt. His suckers messaged against your love cannal trying to cease the baby’s incessant kicking by giving them a taste of their own medicine.

“B-but sunshine won’t this u-upset our little starshine? N-no? Then I guess it’ll be f-fine. Just don’t p-push yourself too hard, I only w-want you to f-feel good my love”

Moros the Torturer, would be considering himself blessed to even be able to have such happiness in raising a child with you. He’d always make sure to cater to your every need during your pregnancy. You’ve got a craving for baked goods? He’ll bake enough for a whole football team. Need a deep tissue massage? The Torturer’s on the case, after consulting with Koji the medic what would be the best spots to soothe for his pregnant darling. You’d have to be the one to try and initiate any sort of intimacy to get his gears going. Since he’s a timid gentle giant who’d cry if under the impression that he somehow hurt you. By delving his thick uncircumcised cock so deep inside your wet snatch that its fat tip was kissing languidly against your cervix. With each gentle but jerky buck of his semi inexperienced hips. His scarred hands would always subconsciously find themselves on your stomach. As he’s just so grateful at how now he’s got two stunning guiding lights that’ll brighten up his day.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Your Arranged Marriage Series

Part 2: Geto Suguru

Word Count: 3k

Synopsis: You’ve always carried the weight of the Zenin name, struggling to live up to a family legacy that crushes more than it elevates. When your father demands you marry one of the few special-grade sorcerers at Jujutsu High or suffer a punishment too brutal to consider, you almost give up. Until Geto Suguru makes that decicion for you...

Warnings: reader is a member of the Zenin family so a lot of trauma lol, physical abuse, so much drama but a ton of fluff in the end, Suguru is our husband y'all

„(y/n).“

It started out like any other normal day at jujutsu high. Going to the classroom with Nanami and Yu, giving it all you’ve got despite the fact that you didn’t make it past grade 3 since you’ve started studying here, meeting up with Suguru and Satoru during break.

It’s been a comfortable life, more than you could have ever asked for. After all, you are none other than the daughter of the Zenin clan’s leader. The one who’s supposed to carry on a family of strong jujutsu sorcerers.

You. A grade 3.

“I gave you more than enough time to develop. Fuck, I even arranged you attending that cursed school!”

A rough slap that doesn’t even hurt anymore, your skin so adjusted to the sting that you felt nothing but numbness.

“Are you too dumb to understand the whole clan relies on your lousy self?”

He grabbed your hair and yanked you upwards again, forced you to stare straight into his dead eyes.

“If you aren’t capable of becoming a decent jujutsu sorcerer, you’ll have to marry one. Maybe your children will be of use.”

Your…children? Marrying someone back at jujutsu high? What a ridiculous thought, after all, you’re still way too young for something like this-

“I’ll give you three months. Three months to find a man who is a special grade jujutsu sorcerer. Three months until you have to get married.”

“But…There are only three special grade sorcerers!”, you protested out of instinct, only to get your mouth forcefully shut by another ruthless slap from your father that felt like breaking your nose.

“Seduce them. That’s the least you can do.”

Seduce them. Your gaze drifted towards Satoru and Suguru more than once, wondering if you’d ever dare to make a move on them. They greeted you so friendly, supported you as good as possible. Suguru started giving you training sessions after each and every rough day, taught you on a regular basis in order for you to become stronger.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, (y/n). Even though you’re a Zenin, you don’t have to be a special grade sorcerer”, he spoke softly while lifting you off the ground.

“Easy to say when you’re a special grade yourself…”, you muttered, careful to avoid his gentle gaze.

Suguru has always been to good for this world. Looking out for you when no one else does, supporting you through everything the best he can. Yes, Suguru Geto is the kind of husband every girl you ask for, the boy you’ve kept you’re eye on since the first time he spoke to you.

But asking him out, let alone proposing to him for the sake of your own well-being and your lousy family? You could never do that.

No, Suguru deserves way better than you. What if he thinks you only want him because of his title? What if your father digs his mighty claws into him? There’s no way in hell you’ll ever allow that.

Even if this means directing your father’s anger towards you.

“I’ve been waiting long enough, (y/n).”

His cold voice cuts through the cheerful air and interrupts even Satoru from saying another playful word. All pairs of eyes are suddenly set on you.

Those of your father included.

“Why didn’t I hear from my daughter those past weeks, huh?”

The blood in your veins freezes immediately, all color draining from your face. This is bad, very very bad. You thought you had more time, one more weeks until you’re due. Your father made it more than clear that he’s expecting a husband from you the next time both of you meet.

And you have to offer nothing but yourself.

“I didn’t make it”, you finally mutter.

“You disappoint me all over again. You’ve had one job, (y/n). Only one job.”

He steps towards you, cold eyes glaring you straight into the ground. No, not in front of your friends, not when Suguru stands right next to you-

But before you’re even able to protest, your father grabs your uniform and yanks you towards him, your feet dangling in the air.

“You useless piece of shit”, he screams on top of his lungs while shaking your, forcing every little bit of air out of your lungs.

“Too dumb to get better than grade 3 and finding a husband who’s a special grade? Maybe I should kill you right here on the spot, huh?”

Your father’s grip on your uniform tightens, his furious eyes darkening. The world starts to blur as you gasp, struggling to breathe, but then-

“Let her go.”

The command is quiet, cold. Suguru steps forward, his face calm but his eyes blazing with a determination that makes your father pause. Suguru's hand is on your father’s arm in a flash, prying his fingers off you with a force that leaves no room for resistance.

“What do you think you’re doing?”, your father hisses, venom lacing his words.

Suguru's gaze doesn’t waver.

"If you’re so insistent on a husband for her, then you’ll have one. I’ll marry her. I’m the special grade you’re asking for."

A hush falls over the room, even Satoru, who usually has a comment for everything, is left speechless. The weight of Suguru’s words hangs heavy in the air, settling over you with a mix of relief and fear. This isn’t what you wanted for him. This isn’t what he deserves. But no word of protest escapes your lips, not when your father’s eyes still linger over you dreadfully. What a coward you are, ruining Suguru’s life to safe your own.

After what feels like forever, your father scoffs, but there’s a glimmer of approval in his gaze. Of course, he’s aware of Suguru Geto’s status, the boy who isn’t part of the big jujutsu sorcerer families but still holds breath-taking skills. A pretty good match, a promise to the future.

“Fine,” he sneers.

“But if I see her slipping, she’ll answer to me.”

With that, he storms away, leaving silence and a chill in his wake.

You don’t even dare to look at Suguru, embarrassment now swallowing you whole. This can’t be true, has to be one of your countless nightmares. Your father basically forcing Suguru to marry you while you stand next to him, doing nothing but watching? 

“Hey, are you alright?”, he questions before gently placing his hand on your shoulder.

“You…You don’t have to do this. I need to find another way-“

“By marrying another special grade sorcerer? You know that Satoru and I are your only options here at jujutsu high? I can allow him to hurt you.”

“I…I just need to get stronger”, you press out.

“You need to accept my help. Please, let me do this for you. I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt by your father.”

“But that means marrying me. That means marrying into that family, that you won’t be able to leave. I…I can’t ask for something like this. We can’t do this.”

You feel like throwing up any given minute, the sudden wave of emotions making you feel dizzy. What are you supposed to do? Why didn’t you try harder? There has to be a way out of this, a way to avoid ruining Suguru’s life together with yours.

But to be honest, your head is empty. There isn’t a single potential solution you didn’t think through already, no way out you didn’t try over those past weeks.

You are too weak to meet your father’s standards on your own and Suguru is the only way for this arranged marriage to involve someone decent. What if your father decides to find a husband for you?

A dry cough escapes your lips while you try to stop yourself from puking.

Is marrying Suguru really the only way?

-after the ceremony-

The evening is still, blanketed in a quiet Suguru and you can feel as the last traces of daylight fade from the sky. Soft candlelight fills the room, casting a gentle, muted glow on the walls - a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of the ceremony. Despite the festivities, the muted joy, and the unspoken words from family and friends, the reality of this arrangement sits heavy in your chest, and a kind of emptiness clings to you like your skin.

Suguru stands across from you, his tall frame outlined by the flickering light. He looks so calm, so composed, as he usually does, but the gentleness in his eyes now holds something deeper, something unreadable. He’s here, bound to you, tied to the Zenin family and all of its darkness and expectations, and it’s a thought that makes your stomach twist with guilt.

You can barely look at him as he steps closer, and the silence stretches, each heartbeat a drumbeat of regret echoing in your mind. How you could let things get this far, why did your weakness led you to this night where Suguru is forced to bear a burden that should have never been his? And all of this while he looks so handsome in that dark blue suit.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you finally murmur, your voice small, almost inaudible.

The words tremble out of you as a flood of emotions swells within, too much to keep contained. Your voice breaks as you continue.

“Suguru, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t want this for you.”

“(Y/n),” he says softly, reaching out to you, his hand hovering just above your shoulder as if asking permission to comfort you.

You close your eyes, ashamed, willing yourself not to break down, not to let him see just how torn apart you feel. But his hand gently settles on your shoulder, and it’s enough to dissolve whatever flimsy resolve you had left.

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and the weight of everything, your father, the impossible expectations, the years of feeling like not being good enough and now this forced bond, comes crashing down. Your knees start to give way, and you sink to the floor, unable to hold it in anymore.

“I never wanted this for you,” you whisper between shallow breaths, looking down as you feel tears streak down your face.

“You deserve…you deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t drag you into this horrible family, into this endless cycle of cruelty and control. I should have stopped you, I should have trained harder, should have been…better…”

Suguru kneels beside you, one hand gently resting on your back as the other moves to tilt your face up to his. His touch is tender, his gaze unwavering, and he watches you as if you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“I chose this,” he says firmly, his voice steady, a calm assurance anchoring every word.

“(Y/n), you have to understand that I’m here because I want to be here. I’m not doing this because of your father, or even for him. I did this because I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering any longer. Because I… I’ve wanted to be by your side for a long time.”

The intensity of his words shakes you into a completely different direction. You blink hasty against the coat of tears in your eyes, stunned as his confession begins to sink in. Him…wanting to be by your side for a long time?

“I’ve loved you for years, (y/n),” he continues, his voice softer now, but still steady.

“I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was the way you never gave up, even when everyone seemed to be against you, or maybe it was the way you always cared about others, even if they couldn’t see it. You have this strength that you don’t even realize. And I fell in love with that strength, with your kindness, your resilience. I fell in love with you.”

Suguru’s words hang in the air, filling the quiet with an overwhelming warmth. Your mind races, trying to comprehend what he’s saying, how he could feel that way, how he could possibly think of you with such admiration. Is it a cruel joke, a nightmare, maybe? How could a man like Suguru Geto ever love someone like you? You can’t meet his gaze, your heart pounding, his confession echoing in your mind.

“You…you’re saying that you…”

The words falter, disbelief woven through them. You’ll never be good enough for a man like him. You, the lousiest member of the Zenin clan, a grade 3 sorcerer while he’s a special grade. Him who is popular wherever he goes, who has countless girls secretly keeping up with his tracks while you always lived in the shadows back at jujutsu high.

He…he loves you?

“Yes,” he whispers, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

“I’ve dreamed of being with you, (y/n). I wished for a future together, one where we could be together without any of this mess, without your father’s interference, without any expectations from anyone but ourselves. I wanted us to grow into that future slowly, to experience life together on our own terms. But maybe fate had something else in mind.”

His words are steady, but there’s a hint of sorrow in them, an echo of the hope for something simpler, something kinder. You can see that he had imagined a different path for the two of you, one free of constraints and family legacies, a journey that would’ve let him show you his love in its purest form.

“But Suguru,” you begin, choking back the tears.

“This family, my family, will try to use you. They’ll see your strength and skill as a means to control, a way to fulfill their ambitions. They’ll tie you to this name, weigh you down with the same expectations they forced on me. The only reason for our marriage is the fact that they expect my future children to fill the void my uselessness left.”

Suguru’s gaze hardens slightly, a flicker of defiance breaking through his usual calm.

“Let them try. I’m not afraid of the Zenin family. I don’t want you to worry about that. And if they think they can manipulate me, they’re wrong.”

His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together with a gentle squeeze.

“I am here because I want to be here. Not because I owe them anything, or because I’m part of their plan, let alone because I pity you. And no matter what they say or do, my loyalty is to you, and you alone.”

A wave of emotion surges up in your chest again, but this time it’s not guilt or shame. It’s relief, gratitude, and a kind of hesitant joy that Suguru’s love is real, not just something forced by circumstance. You gaze down at your entwined hands, gaping at the warmth of his skin, the reassurance in his touch and a new sense of calm fills the room.

“Can you forgive me?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“For dragging you into this mess, for… everything?”

Suguru’s hand lifts to cup your face, his fingers tracing your jaw with a softness you never experienced before.

“There’s nothing to forgive. If anything, you gave me a way to protect you, a chance to stand beside you. I can’t think of anything I’d want more.”

Slowly, he leans forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, and you close your eyes, feeling the weight of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing matching your own. The world outside slowly but surely fades away, leaving only the two of you, together in this fragile, newfound peace.

“(Y/n),” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“Let’s make this ours. This life, this future… we can shape it however we want. Let’s find happiness on our terms, not theirs.”

Tears spill over again, but this time, they’re different - softer, lighter, filled with joy instead of dread. It’s as if Suguru’s words have lifted something from you, a burden that you’d carried for too long. For the first time, you allow yourself to imagine a future without fear, a future where you and Suguru can build something beautiful together.

You nod slowly, still overwhelmed, but there’s a quiet strength blooming inside you, the beginnings of hope.

“I’d like that,” you whisper.

“I’d like that a lot.”

Suguru’s arms wrap around you ever so gently, pulling you close, his embrace steady and unwavering. You allow yourself to relax against him, finally surrendering to the comfort he offers, allowing yourself to feel safe in his arms. Oh, it feels so much better than it did those countless times in you imagination. Not even in your dreams, you allowed yourself the dangerous thought of being by his side. And now? Now this man is your husband, not because he has to, but because he wanted to.

Minutes pass, the silence comfortable, his fingers gently running through your hair as he holds you. Finally, you pull back slightly, meeting his gaze, and you can’t help but notice the faint smile on his lips - a smile that seems to hold promises, a shared understanding that goes beyond words.

“We’ll take this one step at a time,” he says. We’ll face whatever comes our way together. I don’t care what your father or the Zenin clan throws at us. They don’t define us.”

You nod, a faint smile breaking through the lingering sadness.

“I think I’m starting to believe that too…Maybe.”

Suguru’s smile widens, and he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls back.

“We’ll make it work,” he assures you, his voice a soothing balm to your soul.

Tags:

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@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

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@risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

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@maximumuzuamy @sparklykeylime

[haikyu-mp4]

The Guess Monster legacy

Your son wants to play volleyball, like his stepdad Tendo, for my Parenting event<3

requested by @sharkissm. word count; 504 – gn!reader

There was only one week left until your son was going back to school when he announced:

“I want to play volleyball.”

He looked surprised when you and Satori gasped simultaneously and turned to him. Satori was already tearing up, thinking of the summer he had spent getting to know his stepson even more after moving in with you two.

Satori could be a lot, so he did his best to tone it down while your son got used to having an extra person in the household. Even if they got along well before the wedding, he didn’t want the kid to think he was trying too hard to be a father figure to him just because they lived together now.

However, he found one thing to bond over: Passing a volleyball in the yard. Obviously, a volleyball lay amongst the things Satori brought when he moved in, and it awakened a curiosity in the active young boy. Spending time together like this gave Satori the opportunity to teach him some technique, while also giving them time alone to talk.

You would typically be off doing something else when this happened, lending your two favourite people some guy time.

Halfway through the summer vacation, they got to the point where a cheap net was put up in the yard, and Satori started giving some pointers on blocking.

So now, as your son expressed that this shared time had indeed left its trace on him, Satori couldn’t contain himself when he abandoned the laundry he was folding with you to squeeze your son in a hug.

They immediately started researching places that offered training after school, which then led to seeing which middle school he should pick for next year. You’d watch them sit huddled together, Satori’s excitement equal to his stepson’s, and nothing could have made you happier.

Few parents would attend volleyball games, but you and Satori came to as many as possible. Sometimes, you had no choice but to stay late at work instead, but Tendo would be just as insistent on coming to watch his stepson.

Let’s just say there’s a new Guess Monster around and he’s wearing that same purple uniform, because you learnt a few years later that your dear husband started saving up the very same day your son told him he wanted to play volleyball, so that he would have the option of going to any school he wanted when the time came.

In his first high school game, someone on the team asked your son who that red-haired guy singing in the bleachers was. “That’s my stepdad. He was a starting player, and middle blocker for Ushijima when they went here. They’re best friends,” he answered with pride, and you had to hand Satori the napkins much earlier than expected to dry his tears.

His stepson isn’t embarrassed of him at all. That little weirdo on the court who sang teasing songs for his opponents was happy to be a Tendo, carrying on his stepdad’s legacy.

masterlist

for the requester: this was one of my favourite requests for this event, I hope I did it justice<3 thank you for participating!

[missnxthingg]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬, 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫 . (𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵) - 𝐹𝐼𝑉𝐸 (𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 - We're close to an ending 😭 I really hope this is a preview of real life, because I NEED to see Lando win this year. Also, don't forget to check part one and the original chapter of the story.

original chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist | pt 1

landonorris

Marina Bay, Abu Dhabi

landonorris One last challenge this year, this time with the entire family by my side ❤ LFG!

yourusername Avengers, assemble!

↪landonorris Ur such an idiot, I love you ↪yourusername Learned it from the best

maxfewtrell Good to be here, brother

username1 Ollie is here! Omg, daddy Lando content incoming

username2 This is so cute! They are all reunited to see if he's going to be a world champion

↪username3 praying for it to work! He deserves it so much ↪username4 just the fact that they are all there for him makes me sob 😭 they are so cute

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: One more sleep until the big day

f1

f1 LANDO NORRIS IS YOUR 2024 WORLD CHAMPION!

tagged: landonorris

username1 oh my god, we got to see lando win his first race and first championship in the same year

username2 him as a world champion was NOT on my bingo card back in january

username3 LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

username4 LAST RACE KING, WE DID IT!

yourusername YES! 🧡 that's my man

↪username5 the best wag we have now! ↪username6 THE KISS YOU SHARED AFTER THE RACE, OMG! ↪username7 please lando ask her hand in marriage soon 🙏

yourusername

yourusername Everybody knows I'm not someone to give off big ass texts on the internet, especially for something I've been particularly saving for myself for a really long time. But today is a special day, and I couldn't wait until I wrote this open letter to you.

Lando, my world champion, I remember the first time we ever met. I was barely anything about a mere intern on the social media team, and you still didn't have a single hair on your face. Look at how far we've come.

This win will forever be unforgettable. You deserve every moment of glory and happiness from all the hard work you've been doing for this. You're the world's best boyfriend and godfather. Ollie and I love you very much, and we are beyond proud of you. We'll always have your back. And we'll always be here to cherish, cheer and take care of you.

Proud to be LN4 and papaya on the heart 🧡

tagged: landonorris

comments are limited

landonorris My love, this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. I love you and I'm so glad to have you and Olivia in my life. To many more conquests in our lives from now on.

landonorris

landonorris Celebrated it properly ❤ A little party never killed nobody

tagged: yourusername

username1 I'm glad to see DJ Lando didn't die when he became a boyfriend

↪username2 we all know he'll never stop partying ↪username3 maybe we'll see more of y/n out partying with him from now on

username4 Living for the second picture omg

username5 the love of his life, truly

yourusername Same place and same reason to celebrate next year?

↪landonorris Bet

yourusename

London, England

yourusername Future world champion in the making. First classes: road driving

tagged: landonorris

landonorris I need someone to carry on my legacy in the future

↪yourusername Your F1 goat!

username1 now that he's world champion, time to teach someone else to be that as well

username2 Back to his family ❤

↪landonorris The best place in the world

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

[f4ll-for-you]

jealousy, jealousy

warnings: smut, degradation, slightly dark! rafe?, overstimulation

Three months you’d been dating Rafe Cameron, your best friend's older brother. After a year of pining after you, you’d finally given in and let him take you on a date, which of course, ended up with you in his bed the next morning. It took a month for you to believe he actually cared, given his fuckboy reputation that he needed to uphold. Luckily, you were happy to keep your relationship secret to avoid hurting Sarah’s feelings, she didn't get along with her brother, and if she knew you were dating him you were sure she would feel betrayed. 

However, that was only the tip of the iceberg with Rafe's family. Rich, well connected, always throwing fancy dinner parties, nothing like the life you’d experienced growing up. To earn extra cash while at university, you’d often waitress at the parties, tending to Rafe's family and friends whilst they looked down on you, treating you like you were nothing and constantly forgetting your name. Yet another reason to keep your relationship secret.

Tonight, both you and Rafe were getting ready to go to the annual ‘Cameron Family Gala’, both to attend in very different ways. You arrived at the house, through the ‘staff’ entrance, dressed in a white shirt and short black skirt, your apron basically covering it. You smirked to yourself, knowing Rafe's eyes would likely be on you most of the night. You wished Sarah could be there, even if she was ‘one of them’ she always made things more bearable, but as usual she’d escaped to see the pogues.

As the party began to liven up, you circled the guests, handing out champagne from the tray you were carrying. You watched Rafe in the corner with his father, Ward watching him talk at Rafe as if he were a child whilst rolling his eyes, looking up to the ceiling as if to ask for help, anger coursing through his veins. Making your way over, you offered them both a drink, smiling politely at the pair of them, Rafe’s cheeky wink going unnoticed by his father. 

You continued gliding around the party, slipping in between slightly drunk, wealthy men and women. Readying another tray of drinks, you recognised two familiar voices speaking in a hushed tone, angrily going back and forth in conversation.

“Rafe look, you are twenty now, you are to carry on my legacy and you must have someone suitable by your side to do it with,” you heard Ward whisper-shout. 

“I don’t want to settle down, I’m enjoying myself,” Rafe said nonchalantly, enjoying winding his father up as usual.

“Anyway, there’s far too many options out there to settle for one,” he joked, making Ward scoff in disgust. 

“There’s one now,” Rafe spoke, looking a tall blonde girl up and down, “I’ll be off.” He turned to smirk at his father before walking away, he was tired of doing everything his dad asked, and tonight, he wasn’t going to let Ward get to him.

Your heart dropped in your chest, you knew Rafe liked to keep up appearances, but you’d never had to watch it firsthand. A wave of anger filled your system, seeping through your body as your hands began to shake. You took a deep breath, two can play that game, you thought to yourself. 

For the rest of the evening, you flirted with each and every boy you came into contact with. You smiled innocently at Rafe every time he noticed, watching him clench his jaw at your actions.

Once his friends took an interest in you, it was game over; Rafe stormed over to you, grabbing your arm tightly. He didn't care about the eyes of his family and friends staring at him in confusion as he dragged a waitress out of the large ballroom. “What the fuck was all that,” he growled at you, not even stopping to look at your expression before pulling you into the nearest room. 

He let go of your arm, walking further into the room, running his hands through his messy blonde locks. “Are you going to answer me Y/N?!” he shouted this time, still with his back to you. You smirked, enjoying how riled up he got because of your actions. 

“What did I do?” you shouted back, your anger from earlier refuelling. “What did you mean, Rafe, when you went off to ‘get to know’ that beautiful blonde earlier?” You asked, your words laced with jealousy. 

Rafe turned, meeting your eyes, looking shocked for a moment, before his usual cocky attitude resumed. “We agreed to keep this secret, I was merely acting the part,” he remarked, smirking at the redness in your cheeks caused by your rage. 

“As was I,” you spat, “so if you don’t mind, I’ll be getting back to my job.” Spinning around where you stood, hand reaching for the door handle. 

Before you could turn the handle, a rough hand grabbed your ponytail, pulling you back into his chest. “You’re not going back out there until everyone realises you’re fucking mine,” Rafe whispered into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, as wetness pooled between your legs. 

Keeping one hand tightly around your ponytail, his other hand grabbed your hip, guiding you towards the back of the sofa and bending you over it. Your cunt clenched with anticipation as he palmed your ass, ripping your skirt up in one motion, making you almost bare in front of him. “Already wet for me, little slut,” he purred, looking at the damp patch of your panties. 

He slid one finger lightly up your clothed slit, making you stifle a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction he craved. Rafe pulled his hand away in response, quickly coming down to slap your bare ass. You jolted at the action, only making you soak your panties more. “I will do this until you moan for me” he threatened, you clenched again at the thought, rubbing your thighs together for some much needed friction. 

“So desperate, so stubborn,” Rafe crooned before landing another heavy slap to your reddened skin. 

Two, three, four more came before you broke, whimpering at his touch. “Are you going to be a good girl for me now?” he asked, leaning down towards your ear as he spoke. 

“Yes,” you whined, barely louder than a whisper, your eyes glassy with desperation. 

Before you could even think, you felt Rafe shove his fingers into you and began to pump them into and out with precision. The familiarity of his touch brought you close to your first high and you bite your bottom lip to try and stop the noises you desperately wanted to make.He released his harsh grip on your ponytail to your throat, lightly squeezing each side. The combination of his long fingers curling into you and his hand around your neck had you seeing stars, your first orgasm approached as you moaned loudly, tightening around him, his hand dripping with your juices. Rafe brought his fingers up to his mouth, savouring your taste like fine wine.

He then knelt behind you, barely giving you enough time to recover before attaching his mouth to your centre, licking up the juices he’d missed. “Mhm no, Rafe, too much,” you whimpered in response, trying to pull away from the overstimulation.

Rafe moaned into you as he grabbed your hips, pulling you back into his mouth as he dipped his tongue inside you. You were sure his fingers would leave marks, just like he wanted. “Fuck Rafe,” you couldn’t keep your moans at bay as he kitten licked you clit, brining you towards yet another orgasm. 

“So, fucking, perfect,” he spoke against you, the vibrations of his voice making you scream out in pleasure. 

He added two fingers into you once more, curling into your sweet spot as he lapped and sucked at your clit in unison. Your body began to shake as you came, screaming his name as you clutched onto the back of the large sofa. “That's it baby, let them know who owns you,” Rafe spoke as you rode out your high.

Rafe unzipped his trousers, his cock slapped up against his chest, his tip leaking precum. You looked back at him, eyes wide knowing what he was about to do, already feeling exhausted from your previous two releases. 

He pushed into your dripping cunt, giving no time to adjust to his size. The grip on your hips tightening as he pounded into you, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. “Fuck, so tight, you were made for me princess,” Rafe moaned and his hand returning to your hair, pulling you back into his chest to find a deeper angle. 

The new angle allowed him to once again reach your sweet spot. You could feel your cunt begin to flutter around his length. He moaned, relentless to chase his own release with a desperation to fill you with his pearly spend. Trembling, your climax washing over you, coaxing his own as he spilled into you. The pair of you scream each other's names in pleasure, forgetting the party down the hall. 

Rafe pulls out of you gently, caressing your cheek. “Do you think now is a bad time to tell my father we’re dating?” he jokes, looking into your eyes. You look wearily up at him, a wide grin appearing on your face, “at least you’ve settled down.”

[froggybells]

Sign of the Times (2)

part 1 —> here!!

Kyojuro Rengoku x wife!reader

a/n: guys i am so sorry i am so angsty lately and harry styles is also just stuck in my brain!!!! there is a spoiler warning in place and this chapter is a bit short. idk if a part 3 is needed but ive been thinking about this 😭😭😭

word count: <800

we can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here

The infinity castle was, well, infinite.

The stories passed down within your family really didn’t depict the magnitude of the situation.

Going into this battle, you had one thing in mind. Well, two things. Your son, who was nestled safely in the company of the former Flame Hashira. The old man grew into an amazing grandfather, after realizing the mistakes he made with his own children.

The other thought was of your husband.

‘What would Kyo say if he were here?’

In all honesty, you wanted nothing more to go home to your son. A living reminder of the beautiful life you once had.

So as you lay on the floor of the Infinity Castle after defeating Muzan, you look up to the ceiling.

You’re sure you can hear Tanjiro calling your name, or maybe it’s Giyuu? Definitely not Sanemi, as you two constantly clash. Then again, you have been getting along lately-

Your thoughts are stopped once you see a figure hovering over you.

The unmistakable yellow-red eyes and corresponding hair.

You blink once, twice, and a third time, yet he is still there.

Surely, you must be dead? Why else would he be here?

“K-Kyo?” You say as you sit up. You look around at the battlefield before you. Destruction is the best way to describe it. Observing the people in the distance who seem to be frozen in time, you turn your head back to your husband, standing there in all his glory.

“Kyojuro? Is this death?”

The man let out a hearty laugh. “No my dear, I’m afraid you aren’t ready for that yet!” You couldn’t stop the tears as they started flowing.

“I want to be ready! I want to be with you again!” Broken sobs come out of your mouth. “I know it’s selfish! I know our son is at home waiting for me! I don’t think I can do it without you, Kyojuro! I-I’m struggling so much and I need you to come back to me! Please come back to me!”

The man kneels forward, and gently places a calloused hand on your cheek. “My gorgeous flame. I understand what you are thinking. Your eyes meet, and for a fleeting moment, everything else seems to vanish. You lean into his hand and savor his warm touch, feeling as if he were really there with you.

“I’m so scared, Kyojuro.”

“Y/N,” you’re shocked by the sudden movement of him pulling you into his chest, “You are the bravest, and strongest fighter that I ever had the pleasure of knowing. You completed our goal, my flame. You kept the fires burning long enough to support your allies. And they are going to need you after this. Our son is going to need you.”

Having your ear up to his chest, you swear you can hear a faint heartbeat. “What about what I need?! You- You left me! Alone!” You began trying to escape his grasp, which only got tighter.

“And I will forever hold that burden, Y/N. It wasn’t an easy decision, but for our son to know his father died protecting others is enough closure for me.”

“Where is my closure?” You say, looking up at your husband. He smiles as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m right here. I needed you to know how proud of you I am. Watching you play with our son and grow as a mother has made me swell with so much pride.” You sniffled into his uniform.

“Y/N. I am so grateful that you are the one to carry on my legacy. You have so much love to give in this world, and I will be waiting for you in the next one.”

Kyojuro finally let go, and stepped away from you.

“Be brave, and be strong. I know you can. And once your time comes, I will be there.”

“Please don’t go yet!” You scream, hand stretching out. He swiftly turns around and pulls your lips to his. His skin is just as warm as you remember it to be, and he rests his forehead on yours.

“It’s time for me to go. But remember my words, Y/N. I’ll always be here for you, even if you can’t see me.”

[buckleyx]

OBSESSION C.L

Summary: How far is too far? What if Formula One’s loving heartthrob comes entangled with the bitter taste of success? And what if you threaten to take it all away from him.

Author’s note: This has been in my drafts for a looong time, I guess I was never sure when to post it but because of last weeks race in Vegas and Charles snapping about the Carlos overtake I decided to try and post Part 1! It just fits so well with the story! I hope you enjoy!

Charles Leclerc x Driver!Reader

masterlist

It was no secret how much Charles loved to win. He liked the thrive, the attention, the indescribable feeling in his chest. He yearned to feel it, to experience it. It was like an addiction, a thrill that he couldn't get enough off. And after winning his first Formula one race in Spa, he knew that the taste will forever leave him yearning for more.

Winning was like poison to him but a good poison. A poison that he wanted to come back to no matter the cost. So you can say that after Ferrari kept letting him down, kept taking him away from tasting that bitter beautiful drug, that something inside of Charles switched.

Hushed whispers in the garages called it an obsession, an obsession towards perfection. Something that now with Ferrari seemed almost impossible to achieve. But that didn't stop the Monegasque. You see Charles kept a promise. And he was eager to live by it. He wasn't doing this for himself, atleast that's what he kept telling himself, he was doing this to prove to the people around him that he could live on a legacy.

The longer Charles was being held back from winning his championship the more impatient and infuriating he became. Charles had a great image. Had. He was caring and kind, threated people with respected and love but that version of him was long gone, he burried it six feet under together with the idea that you could ever get something done by being nice.

And then there was you. A freshly new driver. Not yet aware of the heartbreaking, money hungry world you were about to enter because you were so blinded by promises and ideas that you blissfully ignored every sign screaming towards your direction. Just like any other rookie.

After two successful starting years at Mclaren. You were quickly the new 'hot topic' for paddock talk. Your contract was coming to an end and you were being tossed around from team to team, being offered irresistible promises and big numbers left and right. "Championship talent." Is what they called you and everyone wanted a taste. Of course they did. If you were to win a championship you'd go into history as being the first woman to ever do so and everyone wanted it to be their name that you did it with.

But the best promises seemed to be coming from the red Ferrari garage. Their iconic age old logo shinning proudly on the side, reminding you off it's legacy and power. Ferrari was a dream since your early karting days. So after the winter break you traded your old orange papaya suit in for a bright new red one.

Here you were, Ferrari's new champion. New life full of ambition and joy. Just what the team needed. You were at the top of your game, ready for your new adventure. But your happiness left as quickly as it came because no one was better at bursting bubbles than your new teammate Charles Leclerc.

He mocked the term "championship talent" with so much disgust that it almost made you embarrassed to carry it. Every person could tell he felt intimidated, afraid that the team would shift their newly found focus completely on you. You had as much ambition to win as Charles and that scared him. You were not there to play second driver, no. You demanded equal pay and every little benefit the Moneqasue got too. You knew your rights and you were not afraid to remind every one of them, especially Charles.

Your first official introduction with Charles was during a guided tour of the Italian Ferrari headquarters back in December. You got shown around and recieved all the necessary information. A group of people were busily crowded around you, reporters, interns, assistants and ofcourse the big bosses of Ferrari themselves. Flashing you charming smiles and a handfull of information about the team and it's eventful history in Formula one.

"Here we have our championship wall." One of the technical directors pointed out, proudly refering to the timeline Infront of them with framed pictures and reminders of all their wins. Year numbers marked their past victorys together with accessories of their previous drivers: Schumacher's racing gloves, Lauda's helmet, Ascari's racing suit, enc. It was beautiful looking at the people whoms footsteps you were about to follow. "Soon that will be you." He nodded, watching as you stepped closer to the end of the timeline, inspecting the picture of Kimi holding the last championship trophy for Ferrari above his head.

You looked in awe, feeling a sense of pride and confidence wash over you at the trust the team so generously put into you. The group of people chatted their way into the next room, so big into their own world that they payed no mind to your short absence while you admired your early childhood heroes.

"Beautiful, no?" A familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around, seeing your new teammate admire the wall for himself. His arms were crossed and he had a concentrated look on his face. "Very." You smiled sincere. There was no need for first introduction, since you both were well aware of who you both where. You've seen Charles countless times on the grid but this was the first proper conversation you had with him alone.

"I admire your courage." Charles remarked after a minute of silence, sarcasm dripping clear in his tone. The peaceful tension in the room suddenly shifted to a hostile one. "Not a lot of people want to be my teammate." He said cockily as he made his way towards you. You could tell from his tone that he had the intention of intimidating you and by the way you uncomfortably took a step back as he got closer he could tell it was working.

A slight nasty smile covered his lips as he looked down on you. His eye contact was strong and uncomfortable. "I'm not afraid of you." You stated out, still taken back by his rude persona but you weren't in the least bit surprised.

Carlos warned you about him, everyone did. You met Charles before, talked to him before, but that person he was 2 years ago was nowhere near the same as the one towering over you. The Monegasque was indeed unrecognisable. His shimmer was gone. The shimmer everyone fell in love with was replaced by a heartless and mean one.

"Very cute." He mocked. "I'm sure you wont last long so I'm not worried about you. Most rookies never do. And since they only hired you to make their team more diverse, I see you more as a walking mascot, a fucking joke to promote their perfect reputation. Just,-" Your teammate laughed coldly, moving his head closer to your face before whispering: "-don't get in my fucking way."

He threatened, looking you dead in the eye before flashing another fake charming smile and leaving you again alone in the room.

[chenlesfavorite]

you will never be forgotten, my dearest. park jisung.

— summary : jisung is an artist who got kicked out by his family due to him not wanting to follow his family and become a doctor. it just wasn’t what he wanted. he wished to tell stories with his paintings, though that changed once he fell in love with you.

— pairing : artist!jisung x fem!reader

— genres : romance, angst

— extra : regency era, death, illness, marriage

— author’s note : one of my friends suggested this artist idea to me and i was like… “yes” (ty maggi) so! here we are! if there’s any mistakes, please lmk so i can fix them!!

— word count : 2.0k

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

“Jisung, you shall never succeed if you continue as an artist. Do you not realize how bad this is? Our great family name of doctors will be ruined, because of you.” Jisung’s mother’s voice was faint as she spoke to her eldest son, her expression carried a worry.

“I’m very aware, mother. But this is the path I wish to choose. It is my passion, to tell many tales with my art.” Jisung replied as he stood in the hall, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he looked at his parents, knowing this would be the last time he would ever see them.

“Very well, Jisung. From now on, you are no longer part of this family. Survive out there in the best way you know how to.” Jisung’s father spoke harsh words, ones without any sorrow in them. No sorrow that he was losing his eldest son. The son he was always proud of growing up, sharing with everyone that he will one day, become a great doctor.

Though, that wasn’t what ended up happening. Jisung fell in love with art, and art is what he desired to do, he would do it until he couldn’t no more, until the end of time. Art was the most beautiful thing to him.

A beauty nobody understood. A complex beauty that only he understood. He wished people could see art the way he saw it. The stories they told— the emotions they were expressing.

Nobody understood.

Until he met you.

One year has passed since he was disowned by his family. However, his passion for art never died, he was praised, admired by others. Even earning the respect of well-established artists whom he has long admired.

He was marking his presence in society, leaving behind a legacy of his artworks. His pieces were already beginning to inspire the younger generation, motivating them to achieve the same greatness as Jisung.

Due to his impact on society, he was invited to a ball, hosted by the L/N family. The L/N family carried a high name, one that was highly respected, people lowered their heads even at the most distant sight of the family. Nobody would dare to turn down an invitation from them or even utter the words no.

Jisung was hesitant to accept the invitation, but alas, he eventually found himself standing at the entrance of the L/N family estate, a grand manor that oozed of an important presence.

As he stepped inside— he was greeted by the grand chandelier above which was casting a soft, golden glow over the room, his footsteps echoed on the smooth marble floor. The air carried a hint of a jasmine smell.

“Welcome to the L/N manor.” A woman’s voice was heard— Jisung stopped his glancing of the entrance and looked to where the source of the voice came from and once his eyes found the voice, he was starstruck.

The only daughter of the L/N family— Y/N.

He was deeply captivated by your beauty. The way you shone in the light and carried yourself with grace charmed him. He felt truly enchanted. From that initial meeting, he knew you as his muse.

Upon the arrival of all the guests, the ball commenced. You were quite a popular pick for dances throughout the evening— you finished one dance with a potential suitor only to return to the ballroom floor with another partner almost instantly.

Jisung, being the wallflower that he is, took notice of your every move. His eyes were unable to stop following you, to him, you were the piece that he was missing. That his art was missing.

The way every step you took was with the utmost elegance, your polite demeanor adding to your grace. Why, Jisung was absolutely mesmerized by you. You were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. You reminded him of flowers, blooming in the spring. Like beautiful forget-me-nots or azaleas.

As the violinists slowed down their playing and the music began to fade, Jisung knew what to do next. He approached you and extended his hand, asking, "May I have this dance, Lady L/N?"

“Yes, you may.”

Though, you aren’t exactly sure how you and Jisung ended up in the gardens of your manor right after the dance. Perhaps it was the way he led you throughout the dance, his elegant moves, and the way his hand held onto yours. Your hands fit perfectly together as if they were carefully sculpted for the other.

It wasn’t exactly ladylike to lay on the grass while in a ballgown but you’re alone with Jisung, who had no intention of judging you or calling you out for it, as he does not mind it anyway.

You didn’t understand why you felt so connected to him despite you meeting only today. Only hours ago. But he felt so familiar like you’ve known him for years. Perhaps this was the work of fate? Was this a fated meeting? You didn't know but you sure hoped it was because you weren’t able to get him out of your mind.

“You look quite out of it, do you have something on your mind?” Jisung spoke in a soft tone, turning his attention from the stars above to you, letting his gaze fall onto you. “Guess you could say that. You... don’t feel like a stranger to me at all, Jisung, it feels as if I’ve known you for years. Does that make sense?” You replied, turning your head to face him.

Jisung chuckled, placing his hand on your cheek. “Mhm, ‘course it does. I feel the same, Lady L/N.” You giggled, a twinge of blush creeping up on your face. “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“As you wish, Y/N.” He whispered, taking back his hand that was resting on your cheek. The two of you return your attention to the stars above you. You sat up once you noticed a specific alignment of stars— you pointed to that constellation. “Look, Ji! It’s the Lyra constellation. The constellation that tells the story of Orpheus and Eurydice!” You exclaimed, your lips forming into a smile.

As Jisung gazed up at the night sky, he noticed the constellation glimmering above. But, his attention quickly shifted to the bright smile on your face. Your smile had a magical quality that seemed to make his heart skip a beat. “Orpheus and Eurydice? What’s their story, I’m intrigued.” Jisung asked, sitting up.

“Orpheus was the son of the muse Calliope and the god Apollo, he was very skilled in playing the Lyre, he could enchant any wild beasts and even the rocks would soften to the melodies he played. But once his wife, Eurydice died, he was overwhelmed by grief. A grief so strong that he went on a journey to the Underworld, convincing Hades and Persephone to allow Eurydice to return to the world of the living. But they set a challenge for him, Orpheus must not look back at Eurydice until they have both reached the world above. As you can guess, Orpheus surrenders to doubt and casts a backward glance, losing Eurydice forever. It’s rather tragic.” You explained the full story to Jisung, who carefully listened to every single one of your words.

“Ouch, I can’t imagine what Orpheus went through because he lost the love of his life.” Jisung replied, his voice lowered.

From that meeting at the ball, you and Jisung continued to have regular promenades or you’d watch him paint new artworks. You loved it when he explained to you why he painted that or why he added that specific detail to the work. It wasn’t long before Jisung started to court you— he earned the approval of your father rather quickly.

And one day, he showed you an artwork that he worked on for a long time. It was a portrait, of you. You were stunned once he showed you it, your hands slapped to your mouth as you looked at it. He got every single detail of yours down, the art piece looked exactly like you. The work he put into it was astonishing. He captured your beauty perfectly.

“Ji, it’s... wow, I don’t even have the words to explain how beautiful it is.” You said, your eyes getting watery. “This is the most special thing anyone has ever done for me.” You couldn’t hold yourself back as you hugged him tightly and brought your lips up to his, exchanging a short but sweet kiss.

"I have one more gift for you, Y/N," Jisung said with a warm smile, causing you to slowly release the embrace. You were both confused and curious about what more he had planned, to you, that portrait was more than enough.

To your surprise— Jisung got down on one knee, took out a box, and held it up towards you, opening it to reveal a dazzling ring. “My dearest, I truly believe our meeting was fate, that the stars aligned us and we were made for each other. You have made me enjoy my life more than ever, so now I ask of you, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

That’s when the tears started to roll down your cheeks, but they weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of happiness. “Yes! A thousand times yes, Jisung!” He got up from the ground and gently took your hand, sliding the ring on your finger.

"I love you, so, so much," Jisung whispered as he gently cupped your cheeks, drawing you closer to him. His lips met yours, and the kiss was filled with nothing more than the pure love the two of you share for one another, your hearts bound together.

But, the wedding never happened.

Just two weeks after you got engaged to Jisung, you caught an illness. Your fate was sealed. Death was at your doorstep.

You were bedridden, unable to do anything. You couldn’t get up and you could barely speak, half of the time you weren’t even conscious but you were asleep. Jisung was by your side the entire time, praying to whatever deity he could to heal his soon-to-be wife.

He knew you could barely speak so he didn’t wish to hurt your voice by making you talk to him, instead, he wrote letters to you. Each one of them described what he did today or how the day was, even asking you questions in the letters— if you’re feeling better, what you dreamed about, etc.

However, one letter specifically made your heart burn. It read,

“Y/N, my dearest. How are you feeling? The doctor said your body is slowly recovering and perhaps there’s hope that you’ll be well again. Hearing those words come from the doctor made me so unbelievably happy, I can’t wait to stargaze with you again, water the flowers with you, and do all the stuff that you like that you haven’t been able to do because of your illness. I sincerely hope you recover before our wedding that’s in just a week! I can’t wait to see you in a beautiful white gown, walking down the aisle, looking stunning. I will never forget that day, believe me. I’m going to cherish every second I have with you. Just imagining that day makes me so excited. Well, I won’t bore you any longer, rest well, my dearest.”

And rest well, you indeed did.

“It’s done.” Jisung says, as he brushes the final stroke of the painting. A sad smile on his face as he admires it. “You’re still painting her?” His friend, Jeno, speaks up, standing behind Jisung with his arms crossed.

“Shouldn’t you move on, Jisung? She’s with the angels up in heaven now, not here anymore.” Jeno carries on, placing a hand on Jisung’s shoulder as he stares at the painting of you. It’s been years since you died, but Jisung’s love for you did not die.

He still captured every single detail of you in his paintings, each one of the paintings including a small hint of a thing you liked. In this painting, he painted you in a beautiful white wedding gown, walking down the aisle with your favorite flowers in your hand— and with your smile that made him fall in love so deeply with you. That bright smile you always carried.

“As long as I’m alive, she’ll never be gone.”

After all, when an artist falls in love with you, you never die.