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winterarmyy · 7 months ago

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Steal Me Away

Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.

Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 2.6k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)

P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.

Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.

The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.

Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.

Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.

Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.

His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.

Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.

His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.

Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.

But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.

“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”

The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.

Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.

The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.

The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.

The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.

Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”

The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.

Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”

Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.

They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.

Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.

Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.

His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.

As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.

Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.

Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.

Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.

Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.

Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.

And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.

He missed her deeply.

The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?

Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.

As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.

The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.

Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”

Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.

Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.

“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.

Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.

A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

Her arms clung tightly to his nape, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.

The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.

Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.

Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.

Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.

He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.

Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.

“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.

Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.

But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.

The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.

The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.

As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.

Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.

The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.

Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n would steal him away more often.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #alpha!bucky x reader #alpha!bucky #and you're mine au #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic

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littlemisspascal · 4 months ago

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Creature Comfort

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Female Reader/OFC

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary:

Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

Rating: M / 18+ only

Warnings: Language, at least a million historical inaccuracies, referenced smut, references of blood + war + death, weapons, too many lion/animal references and metaphors to count, reader has self-esteem issues, arranged marriage, domestic life, cameo of reader's parents, switching povs,

- Reader has no name and no physical traits described in detail. Reader wears clothes such as a toga + wedding outfit

Author Note: This started as me simply wanting to write a fic where Acacius is compared to a lion and Reader's his wife and then it quickly led to me having a complete emotional breakdown that caused me to quit writing entirely for several months. Not one of my finest moments, but 🤷‍♀️ that's life I guess. It's nice to finally toss this fic out here, hopefully someone somewhere enjoys it 🧡

Special thanks to @wheresarizona for putting up with my emotional highs and lows and answering some questions about Rome for me and for just being an overall too-nice-for-this-world person I'm lucky to have met on here 💗

The morning of your wedding you can barely stomach your breakfast. Nerves are natural, your mother assures you, watching with a critical eye as the female servants of the house help dress you.

Your impending ceremony has severed your protection of your family’s household gods, leaving you spiritually defenseless until you’re officially wed to your husband. Maybe that is the true source of your worries, dark spirits playing wicked games with your heartstrings. Or maybe it’s your mother’s looming presence coupled with her stubborn determination to see you safely married off, analyzing every inch of your bridal outfit to root out the tiniest of imperfections, that has your stomach tied up in knots.

The wreath atop your head is thick with summer blooms, their scent potent and almost sickly sweet, tickling the inside of your nose. You’d sneeze if not for the veil covering your face, attached to a headband beneath the tangled greenery, its deep yellow color identical to the slippers donning your feet.

You’d personally woven your tunic on your family’s loom, a task expected of every new bride, intertwining every fiber into tangible proof to show your husband you were ready for the responsibilities of managing his household. Linen had been your initial choice, but your mother insisted wool was the better material to repel the forces of evil. The garment is heavy beneath your matching white stola, but rather than irritating there’s something oddly comforting about the weight. Almost like a warm embrace.

It’s tradition for weddings to take place in the home of the bride’s father. You can hear the arrival of guests now outside your room. Friends and relatives and other miscellaneous people here to witness and celebrate the union. Every minute brings you closer to a new stage of your life, and if not for the servants’ steadying hands, your weak knees might send you crashing to the floor. Fainting would surely be interpreted as a bad omen, derailing the whole ceremony before it even truly began.

You suck in a quiet breath, shoving down the worst of your anxieties. This day–your wedding–has been on your mind practically your whole life. You’d learned from a young age the importance of marriages arranged between families for political and financial purposes. You’d also learned you wouldn’t be the one choosing your future husband, that decision would be made by your father alone.

Of course, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine marrying someone who was your own choice. Someone kind and handsome and as loyal as your household’s guard dogs. Someone who loved you above all others.

But waiting for you out there isn’t the imaginary stranger who's starred in your most intimate dreams. Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

When the pronuba arrives to accompany you to the ceremony, the servants disperse but your mother lingers a beat longer, running her fingers over your shoulders to smoothen out non-existent creases. Neither of you mention the shiny gleam of her eyes or the trembling of your hands.

Then, with a firm nod of her head, your mother declares, “She’s ready,” and leaves without another look to join your father’s side.

Your mother is not prone to lying. If she says you’re ready, then ready you must be.

You take another deep breath before linking your arm through the elder matron’s, but it’s the gentle patting of her hand on yours which calms you most. A reassurance of good things to come.

Stepping out into the atrium, you’re met with a packed crowd, locals and soldiers mixed as one, craning their necks for a glimpse of you. Their clothes resemble yours and the groom’s, another tactic to confuse evil spirits, but human eyes only need to spot your yellow veil to recognize you as the bride. And as for Acacius…

Well. To mistake the Atlas Lion for another would be as foolish as mistaking fire for water. He is unique in all the world.

You see him standing at the altar with the high priest, clad in a purple toga embroidered with a lion’s head in golden thread. A reward in honor of the general’s triumphs in warfare. The placement of the lion above his heart is deliberate, you suspect. A warning of what lies beneath the surface. A guarantee all the tales of his savagery and blood lust passed from mouth to mouth from the battlefields to the city streets are true.

Is it terrible that a part of you–an inane, minuscule scrap of a thing you’ll never verbally acknowledge, not even under oath–is fervently captivated by the notion? You should be listening to the high priest’s prayers to Juno, paying attention to the omens he reads in the entrails of the sacrificed ram upon the altar. But Acacius’ brown eyes, burning with the radiant June sunshine and something else distinctly dangerous, put a flame to your focus and narrow your vision to one central, all-encompassing point.

Is it terrible that you can meet a lion’s stare without a modicum of fear? You wonder how many have been able to say the same, if anyone else at all.

The priest deems the relationship blessed by the gods, carrying on with the proceedings, oblivious to your state of mind. He asks Acacius to make certain his intentions, if you are an acceptable wife.

Acacius draws himself up to full height, an immovable mountain firm in his convictions. “She is mine to me,” the timbre of his gravelly voice drags over you, eliciting a shudder down your spine you pray the elder matron does not notice. “I will want no other.”

Then it is your turn, and your voice is only a little hoarse when you confirm, “He will be my husband. My only choice.”

The slightest quirk of a smile curls the corner of Acacius’ lips. Instinctively, you return it with a small grin of your own. And even though he can’t physically see your face behind the veil, you think, somehow, he does see you.

It’s only after signing the marriage contract with crimson seals that the pronuba places your right hand in Acacius’, officially uniting you as one. The general’s palm is callused, fingers thick and gnarled from past wounds, but you can’t find it in yourself to hate them, or recoil, or do anything else than keep holding on.

“Raise the veil,” the priest says.

You swallow, the fingers of your left hand spasming against your side, then slowly reach for a fistful of the yellow fabric. Pulling it up over your head, you carefully watch the lines of Acacius’ expression, heartbeat fluttering at the way those brown eyes widen, taking you in for the first time. Absorbing everything like it might be his only chance. Like you’re something wondrous worth memorizing.

Acacius starts leaning forward, sending every last thought in your head scattering with his nearness. He’s massive, radiating such intense warmth, thumb stroking a line of heat along your wrist. There’s a fire igniting in your chest, lungs choking on the smoke, yet you’re trembling when he cups your face, the quietest of whines escaping your parted lips.

Please, you start to beg, the whooshing of blood thundering in your eardrums, plea–

Acacius swallows the silent plea with his own mouth, kissing you like a starving man. This isn’t love–no, it’s too soon for such sentiment–this is carnal passion, roaming tongues and clashing teeth like you’re no better than animals committed to the hunt of this new territory, this new taste.

The eruption of applause yanks you back to reality. You tear yourself away with a choked gasp, and it’s satisfying seeing the heave of Acacius’ broad chest with each ragged inhale as you both struggle to catch your breaths. You did that. You’re the reason for the flare of lust in his eyes and smear of spit across his bottom lip.

You’ve heard people say no man’s looks can compete with Adonis’ striking beauty. A fallacy, you realize in that moment upon seeing General Marcus Acacius in purple and gold, dark curls caressed by the gentle breeze, a constellation of freckles along the tendons of his neck, hardened by violence yet holding your hand so heartachingly sweet.

The rest of the world can have Adonis.

And as for you–boldly and selfishly, you’ll keep this man. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband.

The wedding feast afterwards is a blur of lavish food and wine, the jovial notes of flutes accompanying fescennine songs with interjections of salutations shouted from inebriated lips. Every touch of Acacius’ hand against your arm, your waist, everywhere sends sparks skittering along your nerves. It’s as bewildering as it is thrilling, like you’re balancing on the edge of a precipice, and you wonder if this is what Icarus felt moments before he flew too close to the sun. Falling, falling, falling…

You can only hope you meet a different, kinder fate.

When the sky begins to change and darken with the promise of encroaching evening time, you find yourself standing in the middle of your childhood home, trying to etch into memory everything from the slope of the roof to the tiny cracks in the stone floor. All the noises and voices seem to fade away, granting you this moment to yourself.

Once you step outside, there will be no familiarity to cling to. You’ll be escorted by the crowd of guests to Acacius’ secondary home—smaller, but no less grand than his main domus in Cosa. A port city to the south you’ll have to learn to navigate from square one—and then, once alone with the general, taken to his bed. His body will be another, far more intricate labyrinth you’ll need to learn and recognize the details of.

A new city, a new spouse, a new chapter of life with new expectations…

It’s overwhelming to say the least.

Your eyes cut to Acacius across the room, widening when you catch him already watching you. Something in your chest aches upon realizing you don’t know him well enough to read his face. If he’s angry, pleased, or just totally indifferent. But you can’t look away. Caught and cornered.

Like prey, you think, loathing the thought as soon as it forms. A lion cannot have a mouse for a wife. Imagine the shame of being an unworthy partner of one of Rome’s highest-ranking generals. Your name dragged through the mud, an embarrassment to your family and a blight on Acacius’ esteemed reputation—to say nothing of how the gods would react to your ruining of a blessed union. You’d be as insignificant as the fleas on a dog’s pelt in their eyes.

You must be stronger. Braver. Better.

Where Icarus fell, you must fly.

Maybe Acacius senses this change stirring within you, or maybe he grows impatient with this lengthy staring contest, either way he suddenly draws closer, weaving between bodies until he comes to a stop in front of you. Purposefully within grabbing reach. The ache in your chest lessens at that, replaced by a spike of adrenaline as awareness dawns.

“Is it time to leave?” you ask.

“It is,” he answers. Then, quick as lightning and just as unexpected, he pinches your waist.

You jerk away at the teasing touch, gaping like a fish. “Do you touch all women in that manner?”

“No.” A smug smirk spreads across his handsome face. Relishing his next words. “Only the woman who belongs to me.”

Possessive brute. Your eyes narrow even as heat envelops your body, toes curling in your shoes.

“You haven’t taken me yet. My body has no claim.”

Acacius’ jaw clenches at that. Like he’s holding onto his restraint by a mere thread. It’s practically tangible, a siren song tempting you to flex your claws.

“Answer me this, general, because it remains unclear to me.” Tilting your head, exposing the column of your neck for his hungry gaze to feast upon, your tone is deliberately provoking. “Are you a passionate man of action? Or merely a man of empty words?”

“Bite your tongue,” his tone is low, closer to a snarl than actual speech. You almost believe he’s angry, if not for the glint in his brown eyes, aroused and impressed by your antics in equal measure.

“I’d rather you bite it.”

The fragile thread snaps.

Acacius is on you at once, his large hands seizing hold of your arms. You wrestle against his grip, delivering a solid kick to his shin that draws an irritated hiss. He puts up with your struggling for a bit longer, unaffected by your inexpert blows to his torso, then ends it with a harsh tug, pulling you flush against his brick wall of a body. He sticks his face in your neck, breath hot and ticklish, mouthing at your thrumming pulse with blunt teeth. Oh gods. You slump against him, letting his thick muscles take the brunt of your weight, mind sinking like a stone in the overflowing well of new and overwhelming sensations. Desperate for more, more, more.

The deep rumbling of his chuckling vibrates through your bones, and you have the deliriously greedy thought of cutting out a piece of yourself to store the sound there.

“You’ve caused quite a scene,” he murmurs into the underside of your jaw, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. But beneath the raspiness, you detect the unmistakable lilt of amusement.

“It’s tradition,” you breathe, conscious of the numerous stares watching your every move, including your mother’s. Your pretending of resistance must have been satisfactory enough for her to not intervene.

Acacius leans back just enough to look at you, cradling you in the cage of his arms and chest. You place your hands upon his waist, absently clutching the purple-dyed wool between your fingers.

“Tell me how to call you.” It’s not a request.

“What?” Yet another tradition to appease household gods is meant to happen later after you had arrived at the threshold of Acacius’ home and smeared the doorway in oil and fat. He would ask you your name, to which you answer, taking your husband’s and modifying it: where you are Marcus, I am Marcia. And at last, excluding the event of a bad omen occurring, he would carry you inside. Your brow furrows, not understanding why he’s changing the order of things. “Shouldn’t we—”

“Not the name tradition wants, nor the one your parents and the gods assigned you,” he interrupts. “Tell me how I will call you when we’re alone.”

Oh.

You bow your head to hide your smile, pleased to have a choice. Your eyes fall upon the golden lion head.

Oh.

“Where and when you are Leo,” you tell him, trailing a finger along the perfectly stitched mane before tapping the spot where his heart resides. “There and then I am Leaena.”

{His bride is too innocent, too unaware of the ruthless nature of the Empire’s politics to endure what is expected of her as a general’s wife. This marriage should never have been blessed by the gods.

Still, Acacius can’t stop his gaze from following her every movement, intrigued to know the thoughts running through her head. Can’t stop himself from touching her either, drawn to her warmth, the rightness of her body in his hold. The ceremony was mere hours ago, yet seeing her in his bed, flesh bare and soft and trembling beneath him, the woman has already become the most important treasure of his life. His to worship and protect for the rest of his days.

“Gods, you really are massive all over,” she blurts out, seemingly without thinking, feeling the press of his hard cock against her. Then immediately averts her eyes with a nervous giggle, insecure of her own inexperience. “Could–could we take it slow?”

“That’s fine, my leaena,” he assures her, kissing the corner of her mouth, addicted to her taste dangerously fast. She won’t last, he thinks, scraping his teeth along her neck. They’ll swallow her whole. “I’ll make you feel good. I’ll take care of you.” And he sees it, the exact moment the apprehension slips aside and trust rises to take its place in those big, expressive eyes. She wants this—wants him.

It’s an impulsive, raw need that has him leaning down to kiss her, licking deep into her mouth, craving something he doesn’t know the name of. Repentance, maybe, for the hell coming her way in the coming months. Or maybe he’s just a selfish man who wants this, wants her, more than he deserves.

She rips him out of his thoughts by grabbing fistfulls of his curls, tugging until they’re even closer pressed together, opening up for him impossibly wider.

Maybe he’s wrong in his initial assumptions of his bride.

Maybe she’ll be the one to take care of him.}

Cosa matters a great deal to the Empire. A strategically defendable port with close connections to sources of timber and other supplies necessary for maintaining a vast army of fleets. The city itself was built upon a hill, high enough that on a clear day one could see miles of the Tyrrhenian Sea’s coastline. The crashes of the blue-green waves against the limestone cliffs.

Accompanying Acacius into the forum provides you with opportunities to observe the city’s layout. Enclosed within an imposing circuit of walls, the community has put careful thought into every corner of limited space, separating private houses from the sacred temples and civic buildings. Necessary architecture only, no spare room for the entertainment of a theatre.

Cosa is significantly smaller than the size of your birthplace, drenched in the scents of sea salt and fish, yet there are elements of opulence if one looks close enough. Pearl necklaces adorning necks and solid gold bracelets fastened around wrists. Chairs carved from precious woods, embellished with touches of silver or bronze. Acacius’ curule seat in his tablinum is made out of pure ivory, its legs resembling a lion’s paws. A gift from the Senate after a successful military campaign.

The majority of Acacius’ hours in the public square is split between the basilica, the curia, and the comitium speaking with the aediles and magistrates. Offices of elected officials which exclude women from entry–not that you have much interest in politics anyways.

The marketplace quickly becomes your favorite place outside of your domus. A variety of stalls clustered together bustling with activity. Haggling becomes second nature to you, and when you can’t get the price you want you make trades with your weavings.

Still. Cosa is a small enough city where you’re easily recognized as someone new by the locals. More than once you’ve experienced lingering glances, examining everything from your clothes to your hair. More than once those eyes have made your shoulder blades curl with the instinct to somehow fold into yourself like the little crabs that occasionally wash up on the sandy coastline.

A week after settling in, a man in the bathhouse grabs at your palla before you can enter the women’s section, pulling harsh enough to send your mother’s brooch clattering to the ground. You press a hand over your pounding heart, scrambling backwards a few steps, all too aware of the heavy veil of silence that has fallen over the room.

Acacius calmly appears at your side, soundless in his approach, filling the whole place with his commanding presence.

A blink. That’s all it takes.

One blink and suddenly the man’s blood spatters the stucco wall as Acacius slams his skull against it repeatedly until he no longer resembles anything human. Just a gruesome muddle of scarlet and bone, life thread severed by the jaws of death.

Acacius releases his hold, then points a bloodstained finger at you. “She is mine. Anyone who touches her will face my retribution. And I won’t hesitate to add another soul to Dis Pater’s realm.”

Living under the roof of your parents, you’d thought of home as a physical structure. A place to stay in a world full of constantly moving parts.

Marriage has taught you home is so much more. It’s the soft notes you hum as you spin and weave wool. A kiss pressed to your temple as Acacius moves past. The scent of fresh citrus each morning for breakfast and the sweet taste of fine wines. Plans to visit the coast. A bowl of seashells. Gazing up at constellations when the moon is high. Feelings bubbling up, spilling out, casting shadows on the walls and slipping beneath the bed sheets. It’s the warmth of another body, touching, feeling, familiarizing, until two halves become an inseverable one whole.

Home is learning to be loved and to be in love.

Acacius doesn’t receive many guests in his tablinum, preferring to settle his business affairs in the public offices, yet he still keeps a cushioned stool in front of his desk. You sit there, elbow propped on his desk and chin resting upon your fist, watching your husband search through his shelf of scrolls. The mosaic floors have been recently cleaned, colors popping vividly in the patches of sunlight sneaking in, and the painted scenes of nature adorning the walls are masterfully done, but you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere else except him.

“Where did your name come from?” you ask, breaking up the quiet.

Acacius pauses, glancing back with a raised eyebrow. “It was my father’s name. And his father’s name. And his father’s father’s name and–”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Your scolding is softened by the smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. Acacius keeps looking at you, smirking like he finds the whole thing amusing. “The Atlas Lion. A moniker as frightful as that, it must have an origin.”

He chuckles that deep, rumbling laugh of his. “Wondered when you’d finally ask.”

His tone is light, still smirking, but you see through the cracks of the facade. See the hesitation in the lowering of his eyes to the floor, see the slight furrow in his brow that only appears when he’s worried he’s upset you. He’s nervous—it’s so obvious and so dearly human that it aches. It looks absolutely wrong on the face of a man known throughout the Empire for his larger-than-life confidence.

You watch him warily, unsure what to do, what to say beyond his name. “Acacius.”

Your husband faces the scrolls again, and for a moment you’re afraid the fragile moment’s broken, but then he tells you the story behind his name. ‘Story’ is too soft a word though. Stories are for parties and entertainment, full of humor and unfolding drama and moral lessons. Acacius doesn’t tell you a story. No, he tells you his truth.

Acacius doesn’t mince words, describing the hellish months of military training in grueling detail. He tells you, in an almost detached manner, how he’d been a different man back then. Scrawnier, unused to bloodshed, restless, but above all else, near feral with the need to prove his own worth.

“It was General Meridius’ idea for soldiers to train as bestiarii.” There’s something about the way he says the name—full of respect. Admiration for a superior. But you think you detect a note of something else laced within the syllables too. Something almost…sad sounding. Grieving, perhaps. It’s gone in the next breath. “Face to face with wild beasts, you either become an expert with your weapon fast or you die an unglorified death in the arena.”

For all the nights you’ve traced meaningless patterns along the large scars gouged into Acacius’ shoulders, you didn’t ask about them. Assumed they were the result of a too-close enemy with a too-sharp weapon. A blade or spear, something man-made. Never occurred to you to think of fangs and claws as weapons too.

Blinking sharply, you sit up straighter, stuttering, “W-wait, are you…is that where…” There’s a swarm of questions buzzing in your head, stinging the back of your throat when you try to voice them. Finally, you manage to choke out, “So, that’s how you got your name? You actually fought lions?”

Acacius finally turns around at that, only to surprise you by shaking his head. “I did fight lions—and bears, boars, even a pair of hyenas once. But that’s not why they call me the Atlas Lion.”

He trails off, tension in the wrinkled lines of his expression your hands itch to smoothen out. You hesitate to rise from your seat, unable to tell if drawing closer would lighten your husband’s mood or worsen it. Moments like this–where he’s loosened the reins of his tightly controlled emotions, offering a glimpse of an ordinary, flesh and blood mortal man who’s been chewed up and spit out a dozen times over– are few and far between. Delicate like fine glass, requiring just the right handling.

“To prove I was ready for the army, I had to pass a test,” he explains. “I fought everything that attacked me. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling. Nothing mattered except the next stab of my gladius. And when they started throwing men into the arena, I didn’t even notice.” Acacius exhales a ragged breath. “I stopped seeing people as people.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur.

There’s another pause, time seeming to slow down, seconds stretching lazily like a plump housecat, and then Acacius crosses the distance, close enough your knees graze each other, head tilted back to peer up at him. He says nothing, even as his thumb brushes over your chapped lips.

“Acacius.” Your body trembles, edges of your vision starting to blur. You lean into his touch. The center of your universe.

“I mean,” Acacius says, eyes on your mouth. Your lips part unthinkingly, letting his thumb slip inside, pressing lightly against your bottom teeth. “We’re all just animals, my leaena. Red tongues and hands.”

The air is cool this time of night, seems to press against your skin like a damp washcloth. Cleansing you from the inside out with each deep inhale.

Acacius stands in the courtyard, bronze skin painted in streaks of moonbeams and starlight, hair tousled by fitful hands. His absence from bed had stirred you awake, and a part of you wonders if these midnight musings are a regular occurrence you’ve only just now become aware of. Not all dreams are sweet after all, especially for soldiers.

“A nightmare?” you ask, a hushed inquiry disrupting the still of night.

“A memory,” is all he offers.

“Oh.”

He hasn’t looked at you yet, brown eyes boring holes into the distant moon. Maybe you should return to bed, give him space and privacy to sort himself out. But your bare feet stick to the floor and you can’t pull your eyes away. Noting the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hands, the rising and falling of his chest with each breath.

You try to ignore the disappointment gnawing at your heart, hurt that Acacius won’t share his internal burden with you, even in the cover of darkness where it’s just you and him.

He’s revealed the truth of his name with you. Encouraged you to lick and bite and mark every inch of his flesh as your own. But tonight he’s put up a wall you can’t climb over.

Maybe that’s why you stay. You’re a glutton for punishment.

Somewhere else in the city, a dog begins to bark. It’s a harsh sound, all teeth, defending its territory from a threat, and you flinch despite the distance. Unsurprisingly, Acacius doesn’t so much as even twitch.

What is surprising though, is that he chooses then to finally speak.

“There are victories yet still to come,” he mutters, a tremor to his voice you’ve never heard before, like he’s standing on unsteady ground. And there’s this look in his eyes that unsettles you, haunted by something only he can see. “That’s what they always say.”

They?

Stepping closer, you gently bump your hand against his. A knot unravels in your chest when he blinks back to himself, pinky hooking onto yours. A tether securing him home with you.

“Who says that?”

“The Emperors.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Don’t know what words will build his wall higher or what ones will knock it down–if that’s even possible.

“What are they like?” Your mouth makes the choice for you. “Geta and Caracalla?”

You’ve never been to Rome, never seen the ruling brothers in person. All you really know about them are the stories and rumors from the mouths of travelers gossiping in the marketplace. Sometimes nice things are said, sometimes…not so nice things.

“They’re…” Dark brows draw together, mouth pulling downward in a frown. Acacius finally looks at you, the brown of his eyes lost in the dark, but not the sharp glint of fear. Tumultuous and excruciating, you feel it cut deep. “They’re fire and water. Two opposing forces unfit to inhabit the same space. It’s only a matter of time before one prevails over the other.”

You swallow, nervousness swelling in the pit of your stomach at the flat, doomed sound of certainty he speaks with. “And then what happens?”

“The Empire will either burn or drown."

“And us?” you ask tentatively. “What will happen to us?”

Acacius doesn’t have an answer.

A Roman naval ship is spotted just as dawn breaks, drawing a sizable crowd by the time it docks in the harbor. There’s a sense of wrongness associated with the lack of an official fleet, and that unsettling feeling is multiplied tenfold when it’s announced there are numerous injured soldiers aboard.

Acacius attends to them, ensuring each gets medical attention while also gathering information from the head officer in charge. You stand at the back of the crowd, heart in your throat, seeing but not truly processing. Blood, so much red. Expressions of young men scrunched in pain. The grim, motionless bodies of those who didn’t last the final hours of the journey.

“Steel yourself.” A feminine voice warns, and you turn with a blink of surprise upon seeing the high priestess at your side, unused to encountering her outside her temple walls. The sea breeze ruffles the red and white ribbons in her braided hair as she holds your gaze, calm in an almost preternatural way compared to the surrounding commotion. “You are a general’s wife. To express your fear in public is to express doubt of the Empire’s dominance and your husband’s own prowess.”

Her words sink like a stone in your stomach. “I’ll be better,” you promise, the acidic taste of shame burning the back of your throat.

“Stronger,” she corrects, fierce blue eyes rivaling an ocean storm. “You must be stronger than your greatest fear.”

You can only nod, imagining one of the corpses wearing your husband’s face.

{With every inch of territory the Empire gains, its list of bitter enemies grows exponentially longer. Not every threat rising up in defiance stems from foreign soil though, Acacius was forced to learn that the hard way. He’s seen the effects Rome’s constant warfare and rotting politics have had on its subjects, witnessed people turn against their masters’ hands like rabid dogs hell-bent on stripping flesh from bone.

Rebels are dealt with just like rabid dogs, too. Caught and decapitated in a public spectacle. Crimson rivulets flow from their remains, discoloring the city’s streets reminiscent of a spilled wine stain, seeping into the very foundation itself.

Then come the speeches in the comitium from Cosa’s magistrates. Addressing the huddled masses with sickly sweet, empty promises of better times to come. Lying through their teeth, scared the next outburst of internal strife will end with their own severed heads tossed into the sea.

Acacius’ attendance is mandatory, yet he only pretends to listen while standing on the stone steps behind the speakers. His wife’s shoulder presses against his, their hands firmly locked together, unbothered by the harsh ridges of his battle-hardened palm grazing against her smooth skin. A simple comfort he’d long believed himself unworthy of ever indulging in.

“It tears you up inside, doesn’t it?” His wife’s voice is just a faint murmur, so quiet there isn’t a chance anyone else hears her, but the knowing note in it has his chest tightening with a stiff exhale. “Like a thorn in your soul. Even from Rome, Geta and Caracalla control your tongue.”

“There is a time for a general to speak his mind and there is a time for him to keep his head,” he reminds her frankly, careful to maintain his facade of blank detachment. “It’d do you good to remember your place.”

Her sharp inhale is torturous to his ears. She reacts to his blunt discipline like a physical blow, shoulders sagging, lips pressed together in a thin line, practically rolling over and exposing her vulnerable underbelly. Acacius hates that look. Hates even more he’s the cause of it. He thinks impaling himself with his own blade would hurt less.

Nudging her shoulder drags her gaze reluctantly back to him. And this is not the appropriate setting for levity, Acacius should bite back the smile curling at the corners of his mouth—but for his wife, his divine leaena, he’s a sinner on his knees desperate to be in the warmth of her good graces again. “You are fond of this general’s face, yes?”

It’s not the offering this goddess deserves, but it’s enough to begin mending what he’d torn, soothing the worst of the sting. She smiles, an amused, uneven little twist of her mouth she once confessed being insecure about before he kissed away all worries from her mind. There’s something undeniably perfect about it, like the first rays of sunlight after a bleak winter.

“Of course I am. But…” She bites her lip, caught on something. He squeezes her hand, and it seems to be the needed boost to force the words out from the cage in her throat. “Even the Atlas Lion must want to roar sometimes.”

Acacius should be annoyed with her ability to read him–it’s a weakness, and any weakness in his personal experience is a promise of death’s swift arrival. It isn’t safe, for either of them. But she’s done the unthinkable, worming her way into his ugly, greedy heart, treating it like something tender, something lovable. And it was too damn easy how quickly she filled up every vacant space in his head. From the moment she lifted her veil he’s been enraptured by her essence. Starving for every scrap of attention she’s willing to give. His wife has become a critical piece of his life, as vitally essential as the breath in his lungs and the sword hanging at his hip.

It’s dangerous, what she’s done to him.

But it’s far, far more dangerous, what he’d do for her.

Her eyes widen with surprise when he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, but he feels the way she relaxes against him with easy acceptance. Believing she’s safe with him, ignorant of the threats closing in on all sides. Every day drawing nearer and nearer still.

That will have to change, he swears to himself. Her survival depends upon it.

“Yes,” he says at last, and it’s the most honest he’s been with himself in years. “Sometimes he does.”}

Acacius places one hand on your shoulder, the other settles on your hip. There is nothing delicate about his touch, no hesitation about maneuvering your body into a proper defensive stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, pugio held in a strong grasp.

“Lower your arm, always aim the blade at your opponent,” Acacius instructs, slipping into his alternate persona as a leader on the battlefield like a second skin, his critical eyes zeroing in on all the mistakes that will get you killed in a moment of danger. “When you hold that dagger, you must hold it with the intent to spill blood, my leaena. Words alone aren’t enough to protect you.”

You swallow, fingers flexing around the hilt. It’s a daunting experience, learning to sever someone’s life thread from an expert on the subject. You’re grateful for the privacy of your domus’ courtyard, concealing your clumsy movements from outsiders who’d undoubtedly laugh at each ungraceful slash and lunge. You resemble a fool, sweaty and fledgling, undeserving of your husband’s calling. The only women you’d seen fight with weapons were gladiatrices at festivals, an exotic and unusual form of entertainment which never failed to attract large crowds. Your mother claimed they brought shame upon womankind, yet when Acacius had asked you to learn, you’d accepted without delay.

She’d disown you immediately if she could see you now. The thought has your stomach churning, a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

“We’re wasting time,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll never be strong enough to pose a threat to anyone.”

Acacius clicks his tongue at you. “Never say never, my leaena. You’ll tempt the Fates.”

The courtyard is quiet besides your breathing, and the streets beyond the domus’ walls are empty this time of day. You’re keenly aware of Acacius’ nearness, the slight frown pulling at his lips, like he’s trying to understand your thoughts, and you want to fight him. Howl and claw and lash out like the beast he seeks to bring to light from your depths. But there is nothing there.

“I’m not like you. I can’t be.” His head tilts, still uncomprehending. You gesture at him with your empty hand, the rippling muscles straining the fabric of his sleeveless tunic. “The Atlas Lion. Devourer of the Emperors’ enemies. Ferocity unmatched amongst Rome’s army of warriors.” You then gesture at yourself, forcing the ugly words past your teeth if only so he’ll give up this futile endeavor. “I’m just me.”

The air shifts between you and him, a thick, cloying tension weighing heavily upon your shoulders. It’s only the knowledge that there’s nowhere in all of Cosa you could hide from your husband that keeps you anchored in place even as your heartbeat gallops away. Acacius’ brown eyes darken, thunder clouds blocking out the sun.

And then his callused hands are on your face, palms rough along the underside of your jaw, fingers pressing into the skin, squeezing. Claiming. An inescapable hold.

“Do not,” he starts, voice low and gravelly, a snarling darkness you’ve never heard before and never want to again, “ever speak so poorly of yourself again. How can you think of yourself as anything less than magnificent? How can you not know of the power you wield over me? You’ve made me live again. My heart, long cold and numbed by the trials of war, beats again only for you. There is nothing more valuable to me than your wellbeing–not wealth nor fame, nothing. Is it clear to you yet? You have tamed the Atlas Lion body and soul. This general heeds your every call.”

You shudder, dazed and captivated by his close proximity, his devotion. Intoxicated, that’s what you feel. So caught up in a fog of mindless pleasure you fail to notice him guiding your hand up, up, up until the pugio’s blade is put to his throat.

“All that I am is yours,” Acacius says, hushed now, a secret between lovers. The dagger pierces skin, a thin trickle of blood oozing. You flinch, eyes widening, but his hold remains firm. “Which makes you the most dangerous creature of all. And for that reason, my leaena, you will and you must learn to fight.”

He shoves you backwards a step. It’s not his full strength, more surprising than hurtful, but something inside you uncoils, teeth gnashing. A feeling sparks in your bloodstream, erupting into a wildfire at the look of pride in Acacius’ eye when you reflexively point your pugio at his heart.

You swipe at him, again and again, driven by this new source of power. And through it all he holds your gaze, the brown of his eyes as sharp as the blade in your hand. Neither one says I love you, I’d take a bite out of the world for you but neither one needs to.

Actions have always been louder than words.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask one night in bed together. Acacius reclines against the headboard, staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you drag your fingertips over his bare, scarred skin in meaningless patterns.

Would anyone believe this man was the Atlas Lion? A wild, virulent beast compliant and disarmed beneath the gentle stroke of your touch?

No. You think not.

“Out where?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, thumb catching on a particularly rough patch of damaged skin left of his hip bone. Every battle he fought, every combatant he faced—Mars laid fresh claims to his body with each fresh cicatrix.

Claims you challenge the only way you know how. Scrapes of your nails breaking skin and tender presses of your mouth licking up the crimson pearls of blood.

“Beyond the Empire’s borders. Somewhere without war.”

Acacius’ brow creases, gaze alert now, looking at you as if you’ve spoken a different language. “Without war…” he repeats slowly. “My leaena, there is no place such as that. Discordia’s reach is far, farther than the Emperors could ever conquer in their combined lifetimes, stirring up strife deep in the hearts of even the mildest of men, and it will always find an outlet one way or another.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat. It’s not the response you had hoped for, but it’s the one you should have expected. Acacius isn’t the type of man to indulge in far-fetched fantasies of softer living. Can’t be, not with all the horrors he’s witnessed and played a part in crafting.

“But,” Acacius pauses, and his hand covers yours. Not holding or moving it, just staying there. Feeling. “If somewhere without war did exist…” he smiles, a soft and little thing reserved just for these quiet moments. “I’d do whatever it took to get us there.”

The wool for your new palla has been carded and spun into yarn. It stretches and winds around the teeth of your wooden loom, weighed down by terracotta scales.

You’re alone in the domus. Acacius had been summoned by the magistrates for an urgent meeting, and you try not to let fear interfere with your work, an aggressive wasp buzzing at the back of your mind. Your touch remains light when pulling at uneven sections, its intended shape coming together bit by bit. The whooshing of a racing heartbeat echoes in your ears.

So long as there is land outside the Empire’s borders, the Emperors will expect Acacius to conquer it in their names. His time in Cosa is trapped in an hourglass, never quite knowing when the last grain of sand will slip away, summoned back to the front lines for another campaign. Another brush with death. Another chapter added to his legacy.

You feel the sand’s effects sometimes, a sinking sensation threatening to drag you down when you walk with him through the market. Coarse and gritty, scratching your skin as you fall asleep in his arms. Piling so high it chokes you, the cursed inevitability of it all.

Another loop of wool around teeth. Tension taut and held firm. The muscles of your arms burn with effort, left foot tingling uncomfortably from sitting too long with little movement. Cosa’s awake and thriving in the warm weather, echoes of voices drifting in with the breeze, but you’ve never felt more alone. A feeling you dread becoming intimately familiar with sooner or later.

Later, you pray selfishly, desperately, achingly to the Fates. Make it later.

So long as Acacius breathes he will always walk two paths—the path of a general and the path of a husband. And it’s a priority of yours–a requirement as his wife–to find a way to be okay when those paths split and you’re truly left all alone. You must then nurture the tiniest flame of hope one step, one trial, one lonely night at a time. Burning fiercely until every last shadow of doubt is purged from your mind, and the only thing that remains is the steadfast belief he’ll return to your side.

Then you must prepare yourself to do it all over again and again and again…too incapable of challenging the Emperors’ insatiable greed, too mortal to stop the sands of time.

You roll your shoulders once finished, scrutinizing the piece for errors. Later you’ll detach the palla from the loom to cut and tie off the loose end-threads of dangling wool, and later still you’ll take it to the fuller to be washed then to the dyer to be colored. You wonder if Acacius will like the shade of golden yellow you have in mind. If he’ll even be in Cosa to see the finished product or a thousand miles away in the heat of battle. A tremor racks your spine at the thought.

But then the front door opens with a quiet groan, and the cheerfully hummed notes of Acacius’ favorite song float through the house. You smile, heartbeat settling into its natural rhythm with the knowledge he’s here with you. The war has not stolen him away just yet.

“Come, my leaena,” he calls out, and you can hear the grin in his voice without having to see it. “It’s a beautiful day. Should we spend it by the coast?”

There’s an urge to close your eyes, to sink into this moment for all its worth, but sand is rising around your ankles. A reminder of all temporary things.

Your legs can’t move fast enough, drawn to your husband’s side.

Just a little bit longer. Another hour, another day.

You reach for Acacius’ hand, tangling them together, pulling him closer. Always closer.

Another call of my name.

“Let’s not waste a single second.”

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius #my fic #pedrostories

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atinyniki · 1 year ago

Text

atelophobia.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!bangchan x f!reader x idol!lee felix

genre: angst, fluff

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, proposals, insecurities, crying, mentions of sex but no smut, suggestive jokes, lots of kissing, y/n is neglected

authors note: omggg my first fic for the 'making @miuracha happy' event !!! i really hope you love it <3 this fic really spoke to me because i guess... its just people being people. relationships have problems, but communication is so so important in order to keep it alive ! this has a happy ending, dw... this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 1771

atelophobia - the fear of imperfection.

“baby? we’re home!”

you quickly check the time from the clock above the stove, cursing yourself for not finishing earlier and rushing to the door to greet them. “hey loves…”, you smile tiredly. they share a look before wrapping you in a hug, dirtying their clothes from the contact with your messy apron.

you relax in their warmth for a bit… its been a long day. “missed you, my baby…”, chan whispers. felix hums in agreement from your side, leaving tender kisses across your cheekbones. they finally pull away from you, and you assess the damage done to their clothes.

you don’t mean to make your frown so noticeable, but it’s inevitable. “what's wrong love?”

before you can answer, you crouch down and use your hands to dust off the rice flour from their clothes, apologizing profusely for ruining them. the truth is, recently, it’s felt like you’ve only made things worse for everyone. it’s thrown you into this bad mental state, thinking that your boyfriends deserve so much better.

“hey, it’s really not a big deal. we’re gonna wash up soon anyways, yeah?”, felix shoots you a tired smile.

you nod, standing back up and smiling sheepishly. “um… dinner will be ready soon. it should be done by the time you’re out.”

the both of them nod, making their way into the bedroom and then the bathroom. you rush back to the kitchen to check on the tteok, but you frown once you realize you must have boiled it for too long. the rice cakes look a little too mushy, but you hope that it’ll taste good in the tteokbokki.

about ten minutes later, you hear the two giggle as they walk into the living room. “gosh, i thought you’d have more stamina baby…”

he rolls his eyes playfully, placing another kiss onto chan’s lips. regularly, you’d be happy about it. it’s nice to have a loving relationship and be able to see their love progress alongside them, but the sight of them now makes your heart clench.

it’s different now than it was a week ago. you feel undesirable, unwanted. why can’t you ever be intimate with them? why don’t they kiss you like that? the questions run through your mind at a sickening pace, and it takes everything in you not to cry.

chan turns his head to look at you, but you look away before he notices you staring. “gosh what are you making? i’m hungry as hell…”, he giggles.

“i’m sorry… it’s taking longer than i expected”, you mumble out. felix is the first to notice your uneasiness. “no y/n, i think he just meant… because it smells so good, you know? don’t apologize, there’s no need to rush, yeah?”

you nod, smiling at him and turning back to the pot of simmering tteok. only a couple minutes go by and you’ve plated all the food nicely, setting their meals down onto the kitchen table. “food’s ready!”

the boys rush to the table, smiling once they’ve seen the food. it pushes you further to your breaking point, seeing them smile so widely at the food, but never at you. you regularly don’t need constant reassurance, but right now it feels as if everything’s breaking apart in front of you.

to make things worse, they sit opposite to you around the small circular table. your body seems to be betraying you, your bottom lip slightly quivering, and you quickly bite it to hide your pain.

they each take a bite of their food, quickly eating due to their hunger. you smile at their eagerness, finding their puffy cheeks adorable, until you see their faces go red.

“oh my gosh… what did you put in this?”, chan asks incredulously. he obviously doesn’t mean it in a rude way, but it seems that way due to everything else that’s been going on.

“i- im sorry…”, you whisper.

you pour him some more water, and refill felix’s too. “it’s so fucking— augh —spicy!”, felix groans.

“i’m sorry.”, your voice gets even quieter with every apology, the tears brimming in your eyes. “i can’t even eat this…”

“i said i’m sorry!”, you yell.

and you break.

the tears brim over your lash line, now spilling over your cheeks, and the boys finally look up from their plates and at you. the way their cheeks are filled with water makes them look incredibly stupid, and yet it doesn’t make you laugh like it normally does.

instead, you cry even harder, knowing that you’ve put them in pain. you cover your face with your hands, not wanting to show how truly vulnerable you are.

“baby…”, chan gasps out. the two of them stand up, immediately rushing to your side. the burn of their tongue can’t even compare to the pain in their heart at this moment.

“my pretty girl… what’s wrong?”, felix coos at you. you shake your head, “i’m okay, i’m sorry…”

you feel chan’s breath ghost over your neck while he whispers in your ear. “can i touch you?”

you nod, and you’re immediately picked up by chan and set down onto the couch in felix’s lap. “what’s wrong, love? did we do something wrong?”

“i just… i don’t know. i guess the feelings have been there for a while now, but it’s never gotten this bad.”, you sigh out. the boys share concerned looks, only making you want to cry even more.

“i’m fine, really. i don’t need to be babie—“

“tell me what’s wrong, y/n.”

“chan i- it’s not that simple… there’s a lot.”

you hear felix sniffle from above you, and you pry your eyes open to look at him. you feel upset, yes, but nothing would prepare you for this guilt. “how long?”, he rasps out.

“what?”

“how long have you felt like this? you don’t have to keep it from us… you can tell us everything…”

“i just…”, you sigh, covering your face again. chan grabs your wrist loosely, running his lips over your knuckles. “don’t hide from us, baby, please… tell us what’s going on.”, chan begs.

“i just… i don’t feel like your girlfriend anymore… i just feel like a roommate that you occasionally kiss at this point. you and lix have been out so much more than usual and you… you never bring me anywhere. i just want to be loved… i want to cook with you guys… and i want to sit next to you while we eat. i want to be intimate with you like you are with eachother… and i know that sounds crazy… but i just feel so… out of the loop.”

“y/n… that’s not—“

“felix… please… i just- just a little love is all i ask for… hold me, hug me, spend time with me… just don’t make me feel invisible.”

“i… i’m so sorry…”, he whispers. you open your eyes to stare at chan, who’s basically bowing on the floor, looking away from you so that you can’t see the pain in his eyes.

“there’s no reason to—“, before you can finish, he pulls you up from his lap to wrap you in a hug.

“there's a reason, y/n. you don’t deserve that from anyone… and definitely not from your boyfriends. you mean the world to us, you really do… we were just… dealing with some things.”

“then tell me felix! i don’t mind that you two love eachother of course, i want you to. i want you to be in love with eachother and care for eachother but i just want to be in the picture. so tell me… am i still in the picture?”

“you will always be in the picture, my love…”, you hear chan whisper from beside you.

you turn your head towards him, and you almost jump when you see the dark red velvet box. his head is hung low in shame, and all you can hear from felix and chan are harsh sobs.

he flicks open the box, the three gorgeous trio rings glimmering in the light. “chan i- i—“, felix interrupts you before you can even get another word out.

“we wanted to make it special for you… that’s why we were out so much… so excited and happy all the time. it’s because of you.”

your voice gets caught in your throat, your tears suddenly fading away. the weight on your heart seems to be lifted, and yet it’s like these two are acting like the entire world is falling apart.

but that’s because it is. you’re their entire world, and they’ve hurt you. “we don’t need a special proposal, y/n. we just need you… so what do you say?”

felix pushes you up closer to his back so that you can feel his heartbeat against it. “will you marry us?”

you clamp a hand around your mouth, trying your best to suppress your sobs, but you can’t. you nod frantically, unable to say any words. nothing could have prepared you for this moment.

chan slides the silver band onto your finger, leaning over to kiss away your tears. “oh baby… don’t cry…”

“i- i didn’t mean to ruin it… i’m sorry.”

“you don’t have to apologize, my love. i’m sorry for putting you through so much pain.”

chan finally makes space for himself on the couch, pulling your legs over his lap. he lightly strokes them up and down, felix threads his fingers through your hair. all of a sudden, your stomach starts rumbling, eliciting giggles from the boys.

“you hungry baby? we can go back and eat”, chan smiles.

“i’ll just make something else… it won’t be too long, i—“

“baby, listen. it doesn’t taste bad i swear… it’s just… so spicy.”

he kisses over your eyelids, trying his best to soothe you. “it’s okay…”

“hey… we love you, you know that right?”

“i love you both too…”

you hum in satisfaction at the feeling of their hands on you. even when it’s not in a sexual way, there’s something so grounding about their touch. “eat later… i missed you guys”

“awh baby… you’re so cute. i guess we can wait a bit, yeah?”, felix coos. you lean up to leave a peck in his cheek. a simple gesture, and yet it’s so innocently sweet.

chan leans over to swipe another tear away from your cheek, and that’s when you know you’re okay. they care about you. you don’t have to be perfect for them to love you. they want you for the person you are and nothing else.

and you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with them.

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shewrites444 · 9 months ago

Text

fire [coriolanus snow x reader smut]

[Hello! It has been awhile. I wanted to switch it up and try out a fic on young Coriolanus Snow’s character from TBOSAS after hearing about the new Hunger Games movie! Please let me know if you enjoy his character. I also apologize if this story has some imperfections, I did not edit it.]

WC - 4.3k

SUMMARY - The reader is a prestigious pianist and composer for the Capitol. She finds herself in a mental, and physical, battle against her attraction to President Snow throughout his dictatorial rule and loveless marriage as months go on. Attempting to get under his skin through a rather bold encounter, she finds herself back to where she started as he reminds her of their similarities, but she holds more power above him than anticipated.

WARNINGS - Cheating, angst, cursing, choking, fingering, detailed & unprotected sex. Coriolanus is a bit sexist and also doesn’t know how to shut the hell up, so fair warning on that.

Coriolanus had spent the past few months focused on nothing but his political reputation, and the power he only continued to gain in the Capitol, along with the Districts. Well, it was more of a submission than anything, fear spread through Panem as his reign as President, or as many called him, a dictator, was unveiled.

He had no focus on his chosen wife, Livia Cardew, knowing that she was solely a prop for visual acceptance, a showcase of a wife that he was able to find someone who supported him through his political career, and the most important time of the year, of course, The Hunger Games.

When the games were approaching, the Capitol organized several socials and meetings throughout the upcoming weeks in order to network Coriolanus with his political and social allies, the game-makers, the Academy students that were interested in working with Dr. Gaul and the rest of her associates, and any other connections that were essential to the duration of a successful season.

I found it disgusting, and inhumane, just like those in the Districts, but I, just like everyone else who was ranked underneath President Snow, had to find ways to cautiously approach such a season of brutality.

Serving the Capitol as a pianist and musical coordinator by trade, I found ways to avoid the Districts and remain in a fairly comfortable lifestyle as the years went on. I had been working mainly for Coriolanus’ wife, Livia, for her social events held with other women of the Capitol on weekends, typically. I had assumed Livia told Coriolanus of my talents, and the orchestra I would often accompany, so that’s when he had me perform before a meeting with several of his associates. That’s when it all began.

Was I just ashamed? Yes, but I was more disgusted with myself than anything. That was the best way to put it.

It was shameful, and quite out of character for me to be a mistress, for one, but it was worse to know the same man I often slept with was the reason for so many innocent and unforgiving deaths across Panem. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this entanglement, though? If I left, or even expressed that I was thinking about it, I’d be as good as dead.

I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, but when the buzz amongst the games began to pick up, I knew he’d be in my vicinity soon enough. Livia had asked me to perform for a social before the Reaping Ceremony, which I obviously obliged to. Something in me felt that she knew of my arrangement with her husband, but something else told me she didn’t even care. She had all the power in the world, and Coriolanus wouldn’t dare harm her; it would forever damage his reputation. She had nothing to lose. She knew I had everything to lose.

“You were wonderful, as always.” Livia chimed, handing me a glass of wine as I walked onto the marble floor soon after my performance. I returned a gentle smile, sipping lightly from the clear glass before clearing my throat to speak up. I was used to being rather quiet, given my nature as a pianist. I spent most of my time practicing and playing in solitary, so I was not much of a talker, especially now that things had changed over the course of the past few months, but I kept my composure, and I remembered who I was conversing with.

“Thank you, Mrs. Snow. I find it an honor you allow me to perform for such special occasions.” I say, my eyes scanning the room as I watch men and women of heavy rank socialize throughout the floor, some already dining, some already on their second drink of the night, maybe more..

Livia looked me up and down briefly, watching my nervous demeanor unwind. She watched me stand still, glancing around the chattery room, my fingertips lightly tapping my glass. A small smile wrinkled onto her lips. “Well, I will leave you be, Miss [Y/N], I’m sure you are quite tired.” She reached to gently hold my shoulder, sending a cold shudder across my bare skin. “Have a wonderful evening, alright?”

“Yes, of course, you as well, Mrs. Snow.” I watch her walk away, feeling as if I could finally breathe again.

I felt faint, nerves stemming from Livia’s appearance sending me over the edge, and the usual guilt I felt only more demanding as seconds passed. I set my glass down before walking out the ballroom’s door, which led down a dim hallway stacked with offices, and a bathroom more towards the back. I had been here plenty of times before, so I knew a spot where I could cool off and freshen up for a few moments.

Opening the bathroom door, I felt a hand press against the wall beside me, to stop me. I glanced up, his pale, slim fingers planted to the side of my head, making my face turn white. I slowly let go of the door, turning to face Coriolanus. He looked down at me, a sly look on his already smug expression, no shame in his blue eyes. It made my stomach turn.

“President Snow.” I said, my eyes averting to each side of the hallway, scanning the wide space to assure that no one was around, before looking back up to meet his gaze. “You startled me. I was just going to freshen up before heading back to the party.”

“Please, spare me the formality, [Y/N].” He grinned, taking his hand off the wall before moving it to my cheek, making my face heat up. “Come with me, hm?”

“Your wife is not even two doors down, Coriolanus.” I drip his name out in a cautious whisper, which he had given me permission for ages ago. He struck me as the type of man who’d prefer a formal reference, maybe even find attraction in it, but I suppose he’d rather something else from me. I didn’t question it. “And the rest of your business partners, might I add.”

Coriolanus laughed, almost mockingly, at my seriousness. “You think she is not aware of you and I, [Y/N]? She is not a fool.” He patted my flushed cheek before he grabbed my hand. “Now come with me.”

I didn’t argue further, just nodding silently before following him down the hallway. I recognized where he was leading me, just from a different direction. The Capitol was like a maze, at least the inside of it, but I had memorized much of it from Coriolanus, and my work. We head to his bedroom, the sound of my heels clicking against the glossed floor while he walked me further.

I hear him close the door, mentally preparing myself for what was to come. It’s not like I didn’t want him, because I did, it was more that I didn’t want the reprimands of being caught, or feeling so dirty for what I was doing. There was an underlying guilt each and every time I slept with him, or even as much as I spoke to him, no matter what the circumstances were.

As the door locked, Coriolanus turned to walk towards me, before I took a step back, much to his surprise. He raised one of his light eyebrows, a confused, yet intrigued look on his face. I never denied him, and who’s to say that I was? I didn’t even know what I was doing, other than thinking out loud, which only made my blood run colder.

The tension in the room was tight, and could be cut from a string as thin as the threads that held what was under my gown together. I could hear myself breathing, and my thoughts racing to spit out of my shut mouth. My eyes lifted up to his own, and I stood straight, and firmly.

“Out of all the women in the Capitol, out of everyone you could have in the ways you have me, why did you choose to tangle me into your mess?” I ask, rather impressed with my own forwardness. “Why must it be me?”

Coriolanus shared a similar look as my own, but his expression curated itself into some sort of cheeky grin, almost as if he enjoyed my slight rebellion. He knew I didn’t take orders, so he never bothered ordering me around. He didn’t have to ask, he knew I liked it, and he knew I’d comply, and he also knew I felt guilty every time, but I never posed such a question, until now.

He tucked his hands into his slacks, stepping closer, his slim, tall build hovering before me.

“It is you because I find everything I prefer in you.” He answered flatly, following my questions. “My wife has no regard for anything but her own status, which I can admire, but she does not have any reason to achieve anything more. The women who seek to improve their status, say, by sleeping with me or attempting to, seek to achieve more than they ever will. Then there is you, who is firmly placed in between all of these women, who holds prestige, who holds respect, yet, in every way possible, feels that she is less deserving of it because she holds attraction to the one man she cannot have.”

His words frustrated me beyond my usual measure, and I couldn’t contain the pressure pent up in my chest, eagerly awaiting to push through my quivering lips. He angered me, and he made me feel lesser, when this entire time, he was the one who took out his frustrations on me, and he was the one who ran from every ounce of affection he was once offered, and threw it at me. It was always in the back of my head, yet I found myself in a delusion, one where I would never allow myself to see the truth, but it all came to me as he spoke.

“You are the one who cannot have me. How could I make that anymore clear? After all this time, all these months of you thinking your usage was one-sided, how could you not see it, Coriolanus?” I loosened up my posture, and stepped forward, nearly closing the irritable gap that was between the two of us. “You are the one who finds me after my performances, you are the one who pursues me, time and time again. I comply, yes, but I am not the one who soughts after you.”

He blinked. I could read it as clear as day that he was taken aback by my words. A satisfying feeling burned in me, yet the tension geared towards the uncertainty of our conversation never left. I spoke up, and I was not pretty about it. What would he do now? Surely a pianist disappearing wasn’t common, but I wasn’t Capitol royalty, so it’s not like he couldn’t disregard me if he wanted to. Would he do that? No, I was too valuable to him in more ways than one. How worked up he got over this affair showed me that.

“Seems we both have our issues.” He hummed. Another foot stepped closer to me, the tip of his shoe nearly stepping on mine, but he knew that. He reached forward after pulling his hands out of his pockets, and cupped my cheeks with both of his cold, large hands. His thumbs pressed against my lips, and I could feel my lipstick brush against his fingers. “Yet neither of us have ended the arrangement between us. Why do you think that is?”

“Don’t make me answer that.” I shake my head, reaching my hands up to pull him off of me, and lightly push him away. “I will not engage in such a conversation.”

“You’re the one who started this conversation.” Coriolanus grabbed my wrists, yanking me forward. He leaned down to press his lips against my own, causing me to gasp, and attempt to fight it, but I couldn’t.

He knew I liked it, and he knew how to use it against me. I sunk into the feeling for a brief moment, before I pushed him off me, my hands planted against his dress shirt as I gripped the material, holding him in place while he looked down at me, his once slicked back curls falling forward, a few loose hairs against his forehead as he grinned, my lipstick against his pale lips. He tilted his head, his hands moving to grip my waist rather harshly, just enough to keep me still.

“Do I have to remind you how crucial this arrangement is to you? To make you answer my question, hm?” He held me, walking me closer to the opposite side of the room. Aggressively, he kissed me once more, flipping my body to face his vanity, while still keeping my face turned to his own.

He ran his hands down the side of my gown, bunching it up enough that he could push it underneath my chest to remain upright. “You claim to despise what happens between us so much, and you hate that you are what stands between my marriage, yet you cannot seem to walk out the door. Come on, [Y/N], you and I both know you are a bit afraid to fully defy me, but you don’t even try to, until now. But it’s all talk, you’ll never really break anything off.” He reached between my legs, which nearly trembled at his touch, as his fingers slipped into my underwear.

“And you’re already wet.” Coriolanus mocked, looking at me in the mirror as he slowly slipped one of his fingers into me. He watched my mouth open, a pleased, and frankly, egotistical grin on his face, knowing he had gotten to that part of me so quickly. “Is this why you have not ended what continues on between us? Because no man can make you cum the way I do? Am I really so vital to you?”

“You are insufferable.” I gasp, closing my eyes as he began to work his fingers into me, the sounds of my pleasure much more relevant in his room than I’d prefer them to be. “There are many things you refuse to admit to me, too.”

“Exactly.” Coriolanus looked between my legs as I stood before him, the pressure in his pants brushing against the back of my gown. “We are two different people, yes, but we both have secrets that we strongly refuse to admit, yet we can read it on each other’s faces. You know I’m right. I see you more than anyone else, and you hate it. You hate that I can see you.”

“Then why do you treat this with such amusement?” I chime back, opening my eyes to glue them to what was occurring before me. I could feel his free hand move to begin sliding my underwear down. “Why do you mock me, when the scenario applies to yourself?”

“Because I have nothing to lose.” He returns, shooting me a glare as he drops my underwear to the floor as they pass my hips. “My wife is aware of my distaste for her, and for much of any affections. The Capitol will never question me because they know their lives, and their families, are at stake. No one will question me, [Y/N]. They have too much to lose.”

I feel him move his hand behind my back, tugging at the zipper that restrained him. He keeps his rhythm, and he keeps his eyes against my figure. He knew he had the upper hand, it would be impossible for me to overturn his rank, and his power, and nearly everything he had that I did not. I was constantly reminded of it, especially like this.

“Then why entertain the idea of me holding any sort of power over you through our affections? Why bother administering mockery upon me, Coriolanus?” I hiss through clear annoyance, struggling to hide the pleasure that wouldn’t seem to brush away from my core. He wasn’t giving up any sort of competence.

Coriolanus lightly pulled his fingers from me, grazing them against my inner thighs before turning me around, and holding them to his mouth. He licked his fingertips, causing my stomach to drop at the sight, while a smirk cracked onto his tinted lips.

“I have never been with a woman who tastes as good as you.” The sound of his tongue swirling against his fingers made me weak, and the way that someone so manipulative, so cruel, was licking a part of me, felt wrong, yet it didn’t. It was a confusing battle with oneself. “You hold that power, if you must know.”

He pulled his fingers away from his lips, wiping his hand against my dress before tugging it out from under my covered chest, standing straight as he began to pull it off me, and I just let him. Fucking hell.

“You think I’d fuck a woman I didn’t hold any sort of value to? You think I would waste my time with mindless affairs filled with women whose sole purpose in life is to please me, and to please their husbands? The only pleasure they gain from me is validation, nothing more.” He moved my dress down my shoulders. “You want me to fuck you, [Y/N]. Not just any man of rank, me. It makes you sick, doesn’t it?”

“You fancy me just as much as you do anything else you do for yourself.” I feel him move my gown above my head, over my long, slicked ponytail. “You do this for yourself, no one else. You like that I feel such a way.”

He shook his head, dropping my dress on the floor beside my underwear. “Power and value are different. If I wanted to have power over a woman, I’d be fucking my wife, not you.”

My eyes widened at his words. What was his angle here? This argument was endless. “Then why do you act like you have so much power over me? You want to talk to me about value, yet you show none of it. You only exert power, and your ego, against me everytime I feel your touch. You fuck me like you own me, like you hold such a rule, yet you claim that I hold some sort of power. You baffle me.”

He took my hands and moved them to his length, in which I nearly shivered upon touch, reminded of each and every time he came close to me, and how large he felt when he was inside me. I lightly stroked him soon after I spoke, watching his bottom lip slightly fall at my fingers. He began to unbutton his shirt.

“Am I supposed to make this easy for you?” He teased, sliding his shirt off his shoulders, now standing in nothing but his unzipped pair of pants and boxers that rested just above them. “Must all you women figure things out without assistance for once?”

“Oh, god,” I scoff, my eyes rolling off irritable instinct as I continued my actions against his stiffened cock. “You are-”

“Insufferable?” Coriolanus cued, raising his brows, his hands moving to guide me towards his bed, as we mutually climbed onto it. “I don’t imagine my cock is insufferable, at least, given your generous duration of touch.”

I groan, watching him lay as I motion my body on top of his. If I had some sort of power, as he seemed to suspiciously claim I do, surely I could show it? I glance at him, feeling his hands reach below to grab my ass, toying with the loose flesh as his instinct brought me above him.

I don’t respond, rather slide on top of him in a swift motion, causing the both of us to moan rather loudly, nearly echoing across his lavish suite of a bedroom. I watched his eyes fall to my bare chest, before gliding down to the movement between us, as I began to move my body forward.

“If you claim that I am of such value to you… and you give into submissions at times, then you’ll allow me to control you… hm?” I speak between heavy breaths, feeling his thick, restless cock bury between my thighs as I create a rhythm above him.

“Like I said to you before, [Y/N], I’m not supposed to make it easy for you.” His eyes never left our bodies while he guided me down. “You’ll see.”

I lean down, his cock angling itself at a curve as I reach to slide my hands to his shoulders, gently kneading at his flesh before resting both palms against his pale neck, my nails digging into the back of it, sliding into his blonde locks. A grin tugs at my lips while I press them against his own, feeling his tongue slide into my mouth and muffle the moans I made with each stroke.

I squeeze at his neck, my thumbs pressing against his adam’s apple while I ride his cock. Thrust after thrust, I could feel him twitch, knowing he was growing weaker and weaker as I went on. He liked the dominance, but he’d never admit it. Instead he’d toy with me, attempt to make me feel as if I had to work for his value, when I already had it. I had him, and I had all this time. I had nothing to lose.

“What if it melts?” I ask vaguely, looking down at him amidst the loose hairs against my face. “What will you do then?”

Coriolanus released his hands from my ass, moving them higher to my chest, his thumbs toying with my hardened nipples as he held me up, but my hands remained on his throat. I could feel it move as he spoke. “What if what melts?”

“Snow.” I breathe heavily at his stimulating touch, while I begin to pick up my speed between us. “What will you do if the snow melts?”

Coriolanus scoffed, pressing his thumbs down. “It won’t.”

I press down and lean down simultaneously, shaking my head as I laugh, the feeling of my physical position never leaving, only growing as I mocked him further. I knew how it felt now, to toy with the one who peaked your interest so high. No wonder he enjoyed this.

“If I hold such value, such power over you, Coriolanus, it’s bound to melt. Snow cannot be on top if something is to compromise it, hm? Must I remind you of what occurred the last time you allowed someone to hold power over you?”

I couldn’t believe I brought her up. Yes, I knew of Lucy Gray, just as many of us musicians did. I never knew her personally, but I was aware of what lengths Coriolanus went to erase her from existence for his political, social, and mental gain. Is that part of the reason I feared walking away, even if I wanted to? Yes. But I knew he wouldn’t kill me, or send me off. He’d have no one if not.

“Shut the hell up.” He moved his hands to hold me by my face. “This is different.”

“In some ways, yes.” I feel his hands move my hair behind my ears, his eyes locked against mine. He was angry, but he was allowing me to speak further, so not angry enough. “In other ways, it is quite the same.”

“Damn you, woman. Experiencing quite the power trip, aren’t you? Why don’t you do so after we fuck?” He growled, one of his hands reaching past my face to grab the end of my ponytail, yanking it down to cause my head to rise up, my back arching in the process, gasping as he thrusts upward, sending volts through my stomach.

Don’t lose control, [Y/N]. Don’t you dare let him fuck you into submission.

“If you think for just a second that this is not changing things for you, then you are a fool.” I spit, opening my eyes to stare down at him, fighting his grip against my ponytail. I feel his other hand move from my face to my jaw, holding my face down to face his own. “You can’t do this without me. You spend far too much time with a mistress to disregard her, and you fucking know it. That’s what makes you sick.”

All he could do was curse under his breath, his grip on my hair, and on my face, loosening. Was he admitting defeat? Was he finally showcasing some sort of disadvantage?

I leaned down to pull him into a sloppy kiss, my tongue sliding into his mouth as he lightly pressed his own against mine, yet allowing me to hold the dominance. The feeling was strange but enjoyable, knowing that I was able to hold mental and physical assertion over such a man.

I could feel him grunt underneath me, his body limp as I fucked his restlessly, until I could feel myself tighten against him, and his cock pump into me, lightly thrusting upwards to ride out the high that he pushed into me. I watched his face as I held his neck still, his eyes closed and his mouth agape while he came. His cheeks were flushed. I knew he felt defeated, and I knew in some way, he enjoyed it. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

I slowly got off of him, feeling his cum lightly stick between my thighs while I motioned to lay aside him. My hands were warm from their grip, and I rested one against his cheek, turning him to face me.

“Do you know what makes snow melt?” He asks through a horse tone, looking up to me. He knew I wouldn’t give him the answer he was looking for, so he watched me silently shake my head. He reached forward to hold my own cheek, pulling me down to his lips, but not for a kiss. He let me hover, before he spoke quietly, his hot breath against me.

“Fire.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #x yn #x reader #smut writing #president snow #coryo snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow imagine

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otherone12 · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! Can you write a Gerard x Chubby!Reader smut?

Maybe readers feeling a little self conscious so Gerard shows them how much he loves her?

Afab!Reader preferably

Thank you! -Anon

You Are Perfect

Gerard Way x Chubby!Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! Sorry for took that long! I wasn't sure if i shoul post this yet, cause im not the best smut writer, but here it is! Well, hope u like it! <3 (If it turned out too different from what you imagined, let me know and I'll try to fix it :) ) (i'm also working on a christmas fic!!)

Summary: You felt insecure about your body, but Gerard did his best to make you feel loved, pretty and enough. (this is basicly a fluf smut... there was no much backstory)

- Word Count: 1.820

- Warnings: AFBA SMUT

- Ps: I'm kinda awful writing smut...

- Ps2: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps3: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

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1st Person POV (reader)

It was the third dress I put on and nothing seems to fit. Looking in the mirror I only see my imperfections, my arms are not as thin as I wanted, my stomach feels even bigger than the last time I checked.

I didn't want to go out, I didn't want to have to see my boyfriend, the only thing I wanted was to be alone and hide.

I dont always feel like that, I mean, I normally don't feel like this. I'm comfortable the way I am, but those last few days I just hated the way I look, and worse, I started to doubt Gerard's feelings for me.

Why is he still with me? He is so gorgeous, so kind, so smart, talented… he is all perfect… and I cant even be pretty enough to deserve him.

And there I was… sitting on our bed, with my hands on my face, trying not to convey my feelings, I took a deep breath and adjusted my posture. Just in time, because as soon as I did, Gerard walked in.

- Hey, babe… - he looked at me and I saw his smile fading when he noticed something wasn't right. - What's wrong? Are you okay?

- Yeah, I'm fine, Gee… - It was a lie, and he knew it. I can't hide anything from him.

- C'mon, sugar, you don't need to hide anything from me… - he sat by my side, placing his hand on my shoulder.

- It's not important, Gee… seriously - Damn my fake smile is awful - I'm fine…

I turned my face to avoid his look, but he held my chin gently, forcing me to look at him.

- Hey… If you’re like this, it is important - The concern on his eyes made tears form in my eyes - Tell me… we can solve this and-

- There's no way to solve this, Gerard. - I spat it out all at once, maybe I raised my voice a little, but then I felt a knot on my throat, and now my voice started to break - I'm… like this… and I can't change it…

I pointed to my body, and that tear ran down my cheek.

- I tried, I swear I tried… - My voice trembling while I still tried to pull myself together - but nothing worked…

- Wait… is this about your body? - he furrowed his eyebrows, turning really serious, his hand reaching for mine - Because if it is…

- of course it is! - my breaking voice just turned into a barely whisper when I pronounced the next sentence - I can't understand why you are still with me…

His eyes widened, and he got up from the bed, standing in front of me and gently holding my hands.

- Don't you dare talk like this! - He didn't raise his voice, but the confidence in his speech silenced him. - You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen! not just this, you are funny, smart, kind and, in my eyes, perfect. I love you… more than I ever loved anyone.

His words were sincere, so sincere that I almost believed them, but I couldn't shake the feeling of not being enough...

- Gee, I love you too… - i sighed, looking deep in his eyes - but you don't need to say this things to make me feel better-

- I mean it. Every single word. - He cut me off, seriously again, with a look of defiance, as if I was doubting him and he needed to prove to me that he was right - But if you can't believe me, I will have to show you.

Before I could do anything, he leaned into a kiss, a kiss that I didn't refuse. His soft lips pressed against mine, while his hand was still holding my chin, while the other made its way to my waist. I gasped when I felt it, parting the kiss.

- Gee… - our foreheads touched, and I felt his breath on my face. Looking at his hazel eyes i whispering with uncertainty - You really don't need to-

- I want it. - His voice was firm, but kind at the same time, a soft smile appeared in his lips- Let me do this, babe…

His lips found mine again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up to the back of my neck. I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shirt as his kiss grew more urgent. His tongue brushed against mine, sending a shiver down my spine, and I let myself get lost in him.

He trailed kisses along my jaw, his breath warm against my skin as his hands slipped beneath my shirt. His thumbs brushed over my sides, his touch reverent and unhurried

- you're so pretty… - he murmured against my skin, making me shiver.

His touch was tender when his hand slipped under my shirt, pressing his thumbs on my skin. His kisses went down my neck, and my fingers tangled up his hair.

It felt good, even though I still couldn't shake the feeling of not being enough. The warmth of his lips sucking softly on my neck, and he ran his hands on my back.

- So beautiful… - my skin trembling with his voice.

I gasped as he lifted my shirt over my head, leaving me espoused before him. My instinct was to cover myself, but Gerard caught my hands, his eyes locking onto mine

- Cmon, babe… - he was really close to me, and I couldn't avoid his gaze. His tone was calm and sweet. - Don't hide yourself… if you want me to stop, just tell me.

- I… I don't want you to stop. - my voice was uncertain again. I knew I needed this, but I didn't wanted to admit it.

- Good, cause you deserve it…

His smile was soft and reassuring as he leaned in to kiss me again, his hands brushing along my sides, sending shivers through me. He unclasped my bra with practiced ease, his lips trailing down my collarbone as the fabric fell away.

- You’re incredible, - He murmured.

His hands cupped my breasts as his lips kissed the sensitive skin just above them.

My breath hitched, a soft moan escaping as his kisses grew deeper, more insistent, and going down to my stomach.

In normal circumstances I would probably blush, or push him away, but all the tenderness on his moves made me want more and more.

My heart raced when his hand affectionately sllipt to the waistband of my jeans, tracing a line to the buttons. He took his time unbuttoning it, then his gaze met mine, Gerard gas a sweet grin on his face while he put it down, making sure to run his hands all over my thighs.

Once my pants were on the floor, he sighed.

- I wish you could see yourself the way I see you… - there was a slight disappointment in his voice, but at the same time I could feel the affection in the way he said it.

Soon, I felt the warmth of his lips on my thighs, pressing soft kisses and savoring every inch of my skin. Gerard's hands gently pulled my legs apart, and I shivered with anticipation.

When his lips reached the inner part of my thigh, a soft moan escaped my lips, the sensation of his mouth sending ripples of heat through me. His kisses moved higher, making me crave him closer. My fingers tangled again in his hair, pulling him toward me, needing him more than ever.

Soon, he took off the rest of my underwear, and looked up at me, i cupped his face, his eyes with an genuine desire that i refused to believe for a while, but without esitation, he said:

- You are so, so gorgeous…

And I believed. But I couldn't say anything, my words were replaced by a gasp when I felt his tongue on me, my hands went back to his hair, and his grip on my hips were really tight.

He knew exactly how to move it to make me feel good. My breath hitched, and I felt that sensation on my lower stomach, he reached my clit and I whimpered loudly, pulling him even closer, and then my orgasm washed me over.

Gerard pulled back off between my thighs, and leaned up over me, kissing me deeply. I could taste myself on his lips while his tongue danced with mine.

- Sugar, you're so perfect. - he murmured on my lips - I love you, more than you can imagine.

- I love you too, Gee - I replied, still out of breath.

His hands up on my waist, pulling me closer. My sweat body pressed against his clothes. your thumbs making circles on my skin.

- Good, cause I'm not done yet. - a mischievous smile appeared on his lips, which soon reached my neck - You are too pretty to stop now.

Gerard started to undress himself, and when his pants were off, it was obvious how much he wanted that by the evident bulge on his boxers, which soon reached the floor.

His lips met mine one last time, before I felt him thrusted carefully inside of me.

- Damn, you’re so perfect. - He groaned - And you feel so good.

- Gee… - was the only thing I managed to say between some gasps. - Yeah…

It wasn't too long till I needed to cum again. The feeling of him inside of me was nothing but perfect. All those insecurities I've had in the last few days, just disappeared. His sweet words filled the room while his touch showed how much he cared.

We both came together and I couldn't feel more loved. He has this way to make me feel better, even when everything seems wrong.

We laid back on the bed, my head in his bare pale chest, my arms around his waist. He pressed a kiss on my forehead, his fingertips tracing my skin. I looked up at him.

- Thank you, Gee…- a sheepish smile appeared on my face - you didn't need to do this…

- Of course i needed, - he let out a small chuckle - You’re perfect. And you need to know that. You need to believe it.

As we lay there, tangled in the softness of the blankets, I couldn’t help but smile. The weight of my insecurities felt lighter, almost like they were being lifted by every tender word, every loving touch that Gerard had given me. My heart still raced from the intensity of everything, but now, it was a sweet, content kind of racing.

His fingers traced idle patterns on my back, soothing me in a way that made everything feel... right. His breath was steady, calm, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath me, reminding me that I was not alone. The space between us was warm, and it felt like it was filled with more than just physical closeness, it was filled with a quiet understanding, a love that made me feel seen, truly seen, in ways I hadn’t thought were possible.

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~ So.. thats it! Lemme know if u liked <3

(U guys think i should do a tag list?)

#my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #gerard way x reader #gerard way smut

54 notes · View notes

shycoconutt · 11 months ago

Text

A Future With You (Gojo x Reader)

Summary: It's been a long time since Satoru and you talked, and there are some feelings that are threatening to come to light. Can you both move on from your tragic past?

Content Warning: MDNI (18+) smut, penetration (unprotected sex, finishing inside, oral fem receiving), fem reader, some angst, porn with some plot, praise, past betrayl. Takes place post night parade, pre season one.

WC: 5.8k

Notes: I did it! First semi-long fic for JJK! Requests are open, fyi :)

“Why do you do that?”

Saturo Gojo's voice pierced through the room, interrupting your focus on your paperwork. Ignoring him, you continued ticking off points on your mission checklist, frustrated by the tedious task mandated by the higher-ups.

Ugh, it’s so annoying that they make us fill these out every time. It’s pointless, they never even read them.

“Hellllllloooooooooooooooo,” Satoru sings in your direction.

Glancing up, you find Satoru leaning forward in his chair, his white hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights of his office in one of the main buildings of Jujutsu High. His eyes are covered in thin, black material. To his right, Nanami is sprawled out on the sofa with his head resting on the armrest, one leg hanging off the side and his foot on the ground. He’s passed out, finished paperwork resting on his slowly rising and falling chest, oblivious to the world.

"My bad, I thought you were talking to Ken," you apologize, turning your attention to Satoru.

“Oh yeah, suuuuuuuure,” he pouts, “You always ignore me.”

“Not always, but most of the time,” you smile teasingly.

You were so used to Satoru’s presence, that ignoring him was one of the only ways to keep you sane. 80% of what he babbles on about is nonsense, and he knows it. He lives to tease you. The truth is, you’ve grown up together, faced death, lived and loved together. You don’t technically ignore him, you couldn’t if you tried, you just tune him down a little, like the radio.

After a brief pause, you relented, "Why do I always do what?"

Satoru smiles and leans back into his chair, pressing his fingers together.

“That thing with your feet,” he smiles, pointing towards them.

You draw your attention to your feet crossed on the coffee table in front of you. You only had your socks on, for comfort. Your brows furrowed in confusion, not exactly sure what he was getting at.

Satoru scoffs, reading your face. “That thing!”

“What thing?!” you ask, bemused.

Satoru sighs and tilts his head back in frustration. Bringing his hands together again, he begins to rub them into each other in a haphazard manner.

“This whole thing you do,” he continues to demonstrate, “It’s like your feet are making out!”

You begin to giggle as he becomes more aggressive with his hands. Your joy comes in waves throughout your body, thoroughly amused. Satoru knows how much you love his physical comedy, so he really hams it up for you.

Suddenly, he springs up from his chair and explodes like a firework, “You’re doing it again!”

“Argh, why are you yelling?” Kento grumbles from the couch, papers crumpling under his grasp as he sat up from his sprawled-out position.

“Oh, sorry Kenny,” Satoru puts a hand up to his mouth and grins. Giggles are still escaping from you as Kento grunts in frustration, gathering his papers and brushing himself off from his slumber.

“I was just over here trying so hard to complete my important work,” Gojo continues, "but we have a little cricket in the room," he quipped, looking over at you with a playful glint in his eye. It’s a look you are all too familiar with. It’s a look that gets you out of bed in the morning.

God, he’s so pretty.

Satoru is the type of pretty that transcends human – part of you swears he is extraterrestrial. His skin was born without imperfection. His white hair, although sometimes wild, is shiny and smooth. His teeth look like they are made of pearls. His body is sturdy, yet aerodynamic. Then, of course, there are his eyes.

His eyes are like mirrors facing a partly cloudy sky. Often you wondered if they would suck you in, spit you out, and watch you freefall.

Terrified of hitting the ground, you never fully give yourself over to him. You never released all of what was inside of you. If he was the sky, you were a single raindrop resting in a storm cloud, waiting to fall if the pressure of it all became too heavy.

But with him, at least on the surface, it rarely got heavy these days, so you were always able to float around in the bliss of ignorance. Maybe one day, the cloud would pass by, or evaporate altogether. Part of you hoped it would, part of you didn’t want to experience the pain that it could cause. A life without him seemed empty – a desert void of life.

But what came next threatened a downpour.

“Well, I’m out of here,” Kento huffs, “I don’t know why either of you let me fall asleep. You both know I hate staying here past five.”

“Sorry,” you start, “you just look so peaceful when you sleep. It’s a nice change of pace.” You smile, throwing him his jacket that rests next to you.

Kento let out a small hum in thanks, putting on his jacket in one quick move, swiftly exiting the room without a goodbye.

“Bye, my love! I’ll miss you every second you’re not in my arms!” Satoru cries out, running to the doorframe to wave Kento off. You scoff at his antics, turning back to your work, you finish off the rest of your checklist with disregard. Feeling the couch dip, you feel a familiar warmth on your side as Satoru makes himself comfortable.

“You know what’s funny?” he starts, “I’ve always noticed they way you mush your feet together. You do it constantly, you know that?” Taking his blindfold off, he loops it around his pointer finger, pulling the fabric back with his other hand. With pinpoint accuracy, he slingshots the band around your crossed feet. “They release a tiny amount of cursed energy when you do, it’s almost like you have a pilot light.” Obviously pleased with himself, his lips spread in a tight smirk, making your face feel warm.

God, you loath Satoru Gojo. The way his single observation makes your stomach do flips. Knowing that he perceives you. That he recognizes your patterns.

Suddenly, your hair is being pushed behind your ear by Satoru’s long fingers, his arm stretched across the length of the back of the couch.

“So soft,” you hear him mumble, barely audible. His fingers linger on the back of your ear, slowly gliding down to lightly pinch your earlobe. You watch him intently out of the corner of your eye, at a loss for words. Although his touches were light, they feel like they burn.

“Satoru…” the noise that leaves your mouth is barely a whisper.

“Hm?” he muses, fingers leaving your ear to grip your shoulder. His grip is firm, almost uncomfortable as he turns you to look him in the eyes fully.

This is one of those moments – he is sucking you in and you don’t know where you are going to fall.

That is how you two always seem to navigate, pushing the limits of what defines your relationship with moments like this. You were friends, colleagues even. You work tremendously well together, which both you and the higher-ups discovered after the death of Haibara, then the following departures of both Geto and Nanami. With just you, him and Shoko left of your former teams, and Shoko staying behind on campus to further advance her reversed curse technique, both of you were usually sent out together on missions.

At first, your missions were always done in silence, both of you trying to heal your traumas internally. In both of your defenses, navigating without verbal communication went on without a hitch. You danced around each other, synchronizing your attacks and defending the other’s back. You didn’t mind him taking the lead in most cases, because you were always exactly where you needed to be when the moment struck. You hate to admit that his looks of approval are what kept you going during that dark period of your life.

It wasn’t until you were at death’s door when feelings bubbled up to the surface. What seemed like a routine mission turned for the worse when a gaggle of special grade curses were congregated in your area. You were cornered, and with no way out, Satoru was forced to use his domain expansion. You knew it well, understanding the rules of the infinite domain. As long as you were touching, you were safe.

But Satoru cracked. In the fight leading up to the point of his release of the technique, he became high off of the feeling of exorcizing strong curses. He hates to admit it now, but his vision tunneled, and he forgot about you.

At that moment, you were not observed. You were not perceived. You were not recognized. You were an afterthought – a casualty.

As quickly as the domain exploded around you, it released. Satoru realized his mistake in a quarter of a second, but at the time, he thought that was all it took. Barely escaping the area, he raced back to Tokyo with you in his arms, your body breathing but lifeless. You couldn't respond to his cries, his profuse apologies, his pleads to the gods to let you live. Satoru Gojo thought he killed you, and he swore to you that he couldn’t, and wouldn't, move on without you.

Turns out that over the course of your time together, your roots were intertwining – hope for a new life manifesting in each other's strength to continue forward, despite everything.

You were out of it for weeks in a bed tended by Shoko. She cared for you, studied you. She took note that you were conscious, but unresponsive. It wasn’t until after where you told her that you were, in fact, conscious – all your senses worked, but you couldn't get your body to move. It was like you were frozen, much like how it was inside Satoru’s domain.

Satoru was banned from seeing you, although he often broke that rule. Every night you could sense his presence at your bedside, his delicate fingers tracing softly over your exposed skin. Those fingers always happened to make their way to your earlobe, pinching you softly there – a small plea for you to come to life. For you to sit up and slap him across the face for being so damn stupid.

And he would let you. He wanted you to leave him bloody and bruised. He wanted to experience pain by your hand. It was what he thought he deserved. That over you not talking to him ever again. Undoubtedly, that would kill him.

He received punishment from the higher-ups for being careless, to which he bore with no complaint. To this day he states that he is unsure what he would've done if you hadn't made a full recovery. Maybe it would have all been too much.

But you recovered, and you forgave.

You understood completely, knowing it was an accident. Yes, it hurt a little bit to know that he forgot about you, even for less than a second. Truth is, you forever want to hold a permanent residence in Satoru Gojo’s mind. Quite selfish of you frankly.

After your recovery, time went on and your plates began to fill. Satoru gained students. Nanami came back. New roles were filled. Expectations changed. Your relationship with Satoru continued strong, but it plateaued.

You were stuck in romantic purgatory.

Or so you thought.

“What are you doing?” you finally ask. You struggle to find the emotion hidden in his eyes. They seem excited, playful, yet serious. His brows are furrowed together, hair now fallen in front of them due to the absence of his headband.

Satoru’s lips pursed for a moment before speaking, “I-” he pauses, seemingly going over the words in his head, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while.”

His hand has yet to leave your shoulder, his thumb slowly rubbing circles in the small divot located in the muscle there. It feels heavenly. Something about his energy seems so calming to you in this moment, and you acknowledge how respectful it is that he waited for a natural minute where you two would be alone. It was very rare these days. Whatever he wants to talk about, you know it’s important to him.

“Satoru, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about anything,” you say with sincerity, placing your hand over his own.

Satoru gives you a soft smile, “I know,” his eyes travel and find their way to your hand on his, “but rarely does anything we talk about revolve around us.”

Us?

You can’t help the fluttering feeling that gathers in your lower stomach. Satoru was right, you barely had any moments to talk about anything other than work. Nanami and you were always away on missions, and he was always preoccupied with his students and Megumi. You had a moment together after the trials of the night parade and the aftermath of Suguru Geto’s death. You consoled him, took care of him for a short while. But, again, he was quiet. He was in mourning.

After that, when things turned back to normal, you asked Nanami if you could do your mission paperwork together in Satoru’s office from then on out. Any chance you had to check in on him was one you wanted to take. Nanami, being the angel that he is, agreed to this, knowing your intentions without even having to ask.

You have feelings for Satoru Gojo. You care about his well being more than you care for your own. The man labeled famously as God’s Favorite is simply just a man to you. No matter what he or anyone else thinks, you know Satoru is not invincible. He deserves to be protected too.

After a few beats, your stomach settles, and you continue on with more confidence than even he expected.

“Yes,” you begin, “we should talk about us.”

Satoru’s eyes widen by a millimeter, just enough for you to catch.

“Okay,” clearing his throat for a moment, Satoru continues, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you because I’m tired of just letting precious time pass by. You know I care about you deeply, right?”

You nod in reassurance.

Satoru's eyes darken slightly. Taking his hand off you, he slumps forward in his spot, placing his hands under his chin, propping his head up. You watch as he looks forward out the school’s window, watching the pink skies as the sun begins to set.

He continues.

“You say so, but I don’t think you truly understand. When I thought that I took your life that day, like a dumb fucking idiot, I was prepared to rid this world of my presence completely. I know I’ve screwed up in the past, but I couldn’t screw up this.” Satoru gestures his hand back and forth between your space on the couch. “If I did, and I almost, I wouldn’t forgive myself. Things would have turned dangerous quickly.” The frown he bares hurts your soul completely.

“But we’re okay, Satoru,” trying your best to reassure him, now it was your turn to place your hand on him. Without much thought, your hand found its way to his thigh, gently rubbing the area with your palm. You felt his quad flex slightly at the touch.

Your hand is soon taken away to be held by both of his own, bringing them to his chin as well. His lower lip grazes the skin of your knuckles, sending a rosy flush to your cheeks. He pauses again, obviously finding it difficult to communicate his thoughts.

“Satoru, please,” your tone is soft, encouraging, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

What happens next feels like a whirlwind. One moment, you're sitting across the couch from Satoru, hand against his chin. Next, you are pinned underneath him with your head on the armrest, both his hands planted on either side of your face to hold himself up. Your legs are spread, the cold air touching the warmth of your panties under your skirt. His knee is in between them, pressing against the flesh of your inner thighs. Looking up, obvious shock sketched on your face, you meet his eyes.

Even in the shadow underneath his white hair, they shine with intensity. In the pools of blue, you can see that he is yearning.

You don’t try to move, you don’t protest his advancements. The closer he is to you, the more content you feel. Slowly, he brings his head down to yours, his forehead resting against your own. His breath is warm, smelling of sweet mint. With a lick of his lips, he continues again.

“I thought that you being alive was enough for me. That I could watch you go on, and just merely being in your presence, able to help when you needed me, would satiate my feelings for you.” You can feel the intensity vibrating off of his form. Satoru looks like a man who has starved for days finding his first meal. Is it terrifying? Yes. Do you love it? Yes. You can’t help the playful smirk that dances on your lips.

You don't know if you are going to regret the angle you are about to take.

“Then what happened, baby,” you purr, eyes challenging his own with a flash of pure lust. His eyes widen in what you can imagine is excitement.

“What happened?” Satoru chuckles, darkly, “What happened is I realized that I cannot go on if you are not mine.”

Satoru’s lips crash into yours with ferocity. Although somewhat aggressive in his movements, his actual contact with you is soft and sensual. His kisses are unleashing his secrets, one’s that seem hard to keep. Parting your mouth slightly, you push your tongue forward to invite him in. Your tongues begin to dance slowly, mixing each other's spit to create a lustful potion.

One of his hands comes down from the couch to under your shirt, tightly gripping your ribcage. Your hands come up to wrap around the back of his neck, your fingers playing with the short, velvety hair of his undercut. Satoru allows himself to come down slightly, resting his hips over your own. The corners of your lips turn up slightly at the feeling of the hard bulge in his pants against your core. A small moan escapes his lips at the contact. His body was reacting this way because of you.

How fun.

You take it upon yourself to start undressing Satoru. You start by unpinning his uniform jacket, opening it and pushing it off his shoulders. Bringing your hands down under his white cotton shirt, you take a moment to press your fingers into his hip bones, then you slowly lift up the fabric. Satoru, in compliance, sits up and lets you lift his shirt over his head and up his arms. Shirtless in front of you, you can’t help but admire his long torso. He is lean, but strong. You notice one long scar that starts where his shoulder meets his neck and ends around his belly button.

Around his neck, there is a thin silver chain with a small pendant at the end. Instinctively, you take it between your fingers and notice that it is a small raw amethyst crystal. Hm, the crystal for the sign of Aquarius, I wonder-

Oh.

Your eyes move up to meet Satoru’s, and you give him a knowing look. The small smile he gives to you hurts your heart, as you can sense the obvious pain behind his eyes. He removes your hand from his necklace and lays it on his chest where his heart is. You know that this is his way of telling you that he is okay.

Your breathing hitches in your throat as his hands come down to the top of your blue work vest. He quickly unbuttons the three buttons holding it together, opening it up, then grabs the bottom hem of your shirt and lifts it over your head, exposing your bra to him.

Satoru comes down to gently nip at the squishy flesh of your upper breast spilling over. You hear him deeply inhale your scent, a small hum in satisfaction leaving his mouth. He quickly grabs the lace of your bra, tugging it down so your nipple is exposed to him. Trailing his warm tongue down the side of your breast, he latches on to your bud, giving it a small suck.

The first gasp of the night leaves you, your legs tightening around his midsection in response to the stimulation. Satoru grabs both of your breasts in his hands, kneading them together while continuing his ministrations. You let your hand trail down his abs, passing under his waistband to find what you’re so desperately looking for.

You make contact with the hard tip of Satoru’s cock, a bit of pre smearing across your fingers. You let your hand trail down further, wrapping your hand around the base of his length, giving it a small squeeze. Satoru lets go of your nipple with a pop, letting out a strained hiss at your touch. His hips instinctively buckle forward, causing your hand to stroke towards him.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” he swears, tightening his grip around your chest. Not without protest, he shifts off of you, your grip coming back out of his pants. You give him a small pout, one he finds adorably sexy.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, but not yet,” he coos, cradling one hand in your hair, “I want to taste you first.”

Without hesitation, he quickly finds the zipper of your skirt, hidden in a fold on the side. In one quick swoop, your skirt and panties are off your body, down your legs and discarded to the floor. You are completely exposed to Satoru, now wearing nothing but your bra pulled off your breasts and your stockings. Kneeling on the couch in between your legs, you watch as he stares at your dripping cunt, a blush quickly forming on his cheeks. Now, you know Satoru is not the type to be bashful.

“What is it, Satoru?” you ask, shaky concern in your voice. Was something wrong?

“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he stares at your pussy in awe, his tongue slowly coming out to lick his lips.

You look down at yourself and your eyes go wide. Oh my god, I forgot.

Your hands come up to cover your face, your cheeks now burning hot. Of course this would be the case, of fucking course.

“I forgot,” you confess, barely a whisper, “my wax girl was always encouraging me to try something new. So when I went last week, I decided to go for it,” you gulp, “she told me all the different designs she could do for a landing strip, and I thought the heart one was the cutest.” You slowly begin closing your legs in sheer embarrassment, but Satoru quickly stops you, grabbing you by your knees and spreading you apart like a book.

If it was possible to Olympic-dive into a pussy, that was what Satoru just did.

Satoru Gojo is sloppy. He is messy. Going straight for your hole, he snakes his tongue in as far as it can go, lapping out your juices and spreading them all over yourself. Wrapping his arm underneath your thigh, he brings it around to the top of your pussy to grab your mound, lightly pulling it back so that your clit is jetting out of your folds. Once satisfied with your wetness, he wraps his lips around your bundle of nerves, sucking rhythmically and flicking it smoothly with his tongue. Satoru’s other hand makes its way underneath him, coming out from under his chin to insert two digits into your heat. Once he finds the rough patch at the top, he makes a ‘come hither’ motion with his fingers. Your loud moans escape from you relentlessly. If this was a video game, Satoru Gojo knows all the lethal combos.

You can feel the coil in your stomach tighten. Oh my god, you had no idea someone could make you cum this fast. Of course, Satoru Gojo is good at eating pussy, of course he is.

Hands coming down to grip his soft, white locks, you tilt your head back in pleasure. Satoru in between your legs feels natural – it feels right.

“Satoru! Oh-” you cry.

“Yes, baby, yes,” he says into your folds, not stopping the work he's doing to make you snap, “you going to cum, princess?”

“Yes! Satoru-” words escape you as you reach your limit. Cunt pulsing around his fingers, you fully give yourself to your release, crying out in pleasure as your juices spill over. Satoru grinds his hips into the cushions as your cum drips out of you, moaning himself, he makes sure to savor every last drop, scooping some out with his fingers and sucking them clean. His cock is throbbing in the confines of his slacks, begging to be inserted into your pretty folds.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as Satoru comes up from in between you, mouth and chin glistening with your juices. His face is flushed, hair in disarray from your grasp, chest heaving as he breathes in air after suffocating himself inside you. You feel yourself pulse again at the sight of him. He looks like an animal, and it sets off something primal inside you.

Sitting up from your position, not knowing exactly what is coming over you, you grab Satoru by his neck and guide him to a sitting position on the couch. Once he’s seated, eyes wide in shock, you swing your leg over his lap and straddle him, hand still remaining around his throat. His hands come up instinctively to wrap around your waist. His mouth is slightly agape, looking up at you with lust and, maybe, a little bit of fear.

At this moment, you don't give a damn if you look crazy. You need him.

“Satoru Gojo,” you begin, your voice laced with arousal, “I am going to fuck you so well, you’re going to go blind.”

All he can do in response is nod. Dipping your head, you bring your mouth to the crook of his neck, sucking and nibbling at his skin there. He moans, tilting his head away to let you explore further. Taking your hand off his neck, you work to open and unzip his slacks. Tugging at the waistbands of his slacks and boxer briefs, he lifts up his hips so you can pull them down to his thighs. You look down to watch as his cock slides downwards, caught in the band until you bring them down far enough for it to snap upward and smack his abdomen, Satoru letting out a pained hiss as it does. His member is long and thick with a pretty-pink tip. It’s quite beautiful, really.

You look up again to meet Satoru’s eyes with a devilish grin. You can’t fucking wait to feel his member inside you. With a couple of long, drawn-out pumps down his length, he tilts his head back over the couch to let out a long moan. It’s music to your ears. Bringing your hand to your cunt, you gather some of your juices and coat your fingers. Wrapping your hand around him again, you pump harder and faster this time, gliding with ease when adding your slick. Satoru can only grip harder into your sides.

“Oh, you’re going to kill me, baby,” he gasps, “please, sit down on my cock. I don’t know how much more I can take.” He brings his head forward again to rest on your chest, and you take the opportunity to kiss the back of his neck.

“Okay, okay, baby,” you comply, taking the fat tip of his cock and positioning your entrance on top of it. Satoru quickly looks up again, wanting to watch your expression as you take him in. Slowly, you lower yourself onto him, letting his tip enter the first ring of muscle. You can't help but let out a moan, bring your hands to Satoru’s shoulders for support.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Satoru coos, “take as much time as you need baby,” rubbing his hands in circles across your hips, he brings his mouth up to yours and slips his tongue in, to which you suck sensually. You can taste yourself on him, and it turns you on.

You lower yourself a bit further now that you have adjusted, and it feels euphoric. Although you know it’s probably best to wait a bit more, you can’t help but push yourself to the limit to fully feel all of him. You need him. Gradually, in one continuous movement, you take him to the hilt. Not breaking away from his kiss, you wrap your arms around his head and completely relax yourself. Satoru’s tip was resting on your cervix, and you decided to start off with a couple pulses for good measure.

Once he realized what was happening, he broke free from your lips and gasped, “Oh, you naughty girl. You could just do that and you would milk me for all that I have.”

“Another time,” you smirk and lift yourself about halfway up his shaft to then quickly slam yourself back down again. Satoru cries out, thighs flexing in response. “I want all of you.”

“Yes,” he cries out, “you have me, baby. You have me now. Forever.” Bringing his hand down to your heat, his fingers swirl around your clit. You let out a gasp as he takes your juices and brings it to your nipple, covering it with your slick. Satoru then leans down and sucks on it ferociously.

“Oooo, yes, baby, yes, I love that,” you moan out, allowing yourself to start riding him fully. “You have all of me too, baby. Forever.” You quickly find a good pace, the sounds of your bodies slapping together sends you into overdrive. You can hear your pussy squelching over his cock, making you more aroused at the lewd noise. Satoru’s hands have found their way to the plush underside of your ass, helping support your weight as you move up and down on him.

With his member pounding your cervix, his mouth working wonders on your breast, and his hands spreading you apart, you can't help but feel yourself starting to tense up, coil threatening to snap. Satoru recognizes this, feeling the familiar sensation of your pussy clenching much like it did around his fingers. He can feel himself starting to let go, but forces himself to hold it together long enough for you to explode.

And that's exactly what you do. Holding him closely and shutting your eyes, your movements turn sloppy as you ride him to your release.

“Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, yes, Satoru…” Crying out his name, you let go completely, giving yourself over to him.

Satoru moans out as well, and you swear you feel him twitch inside you, but nothing spills over. Opening your eyes and looking down towards him, you can see that he’s fighting to keep it together.

“Satoru-” you begin to question, but let out a yelp as he lifts you off of him effortlessly. The world spins, and you find yourself thrown over the armrest of the couch, head dipping towards the floor with your ass up in the air. Not more than two seconds pass before he’s grabbed you by the waist and is slamming into you from behind.

“Ah!” you scream, tone somewhere between shock and pleasure, “Satoru!”

“Sorry baby,” he apologizes, but you can tell he's grinning from ear to ear, “but it’s my turn to fuck you.”

Satoru begins to pound into you without restraint. You can tell that he has one goal: to cum hard and fast. You’re obsessed with the way he lets his inhibitions go, knowing he can only be this vulnerable with you.

“Fuck, I-” he chokes out, “I- I love your smile. I love your eyes. I love your body. I love the way that you feel around me. I love your voice when you cry out my name. I love how-” his voice breaks again. You can tell that he’s reached his peak.

“I love you, god, I love you,” Satoru grabs you by your shoulders, lifting you up to him so your back is now to his chest. His arms wrap around you, engulfing you in a tight embrace and burying his face into your neck. His thrusts were not letting up, but they were getting sloppier.

“I love you too, Satoru,” your heart swells, “You know I’ve loved you for a long time, baby.” You can feel tears brimming in your eyes and you quickly grab onto his forearms, craving more of his touch. You feel him nod into your neck. He knew, he always knew.

“You wanna cum baby? You wanna cum inside my pussy?” you coo at him. “Give it all to me, I want to feel you fill me up so good.”

You felt Satoru tense for one last time. Slowing down slightly, he pauses every time he hits your wall. Bringing one of his hands down to your lower stomach, he presses into you to feel the sensation of him inside you. With one last thrust, he’s spilling over, and you can feel thick ropes of his seed coat your insides. If you felt full before, you were even fuller now.

Satoru came, but he didn't want to leave just yet. Very carefully, with him still inside you, he picks you up to bring you to spoon him on the couch.

You laid there for a while, just enjoying the feeling of each other while you drifted in and out of sleep. While watching you intently and grazing the outside of your arm with his fingertips, Satoru decided then and there that he would formally ask you to be his girlfriend tomorrow, although he already wanted to call you his wife. He never thought he would allow himself to see a future with you, never thought he could forgive himself for putting you in danger. But now that he has made that step, there’s so many possibilities. All he knows is that he never wants to do anything without your support and love, and he will do anything to protect you. No one was going to take him away from you. He loves you, in every sense of the way.

“Satoru?” you call out to him, still in a sleepy state.

“Yes, my love?”

“You wanna sleep over at my place tonight?” You ask, a little shyly.

Satoru chuckles softly, “Of course, baby.” You feel him smile, hand coming up to pinch your earlobe.

The sensation sent you back in time. A time where you witnessed Satoru Gojo pleading for your future everyday at your bedside. You know now that he was pleading for something more – a future with you.

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

A/n: Aye! Let me know what you think! <3

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satoru smut

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void-my-warranty · 11 months ago

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Void’s Guide to Writing Smut (18+)

This may be obvious, but have sex and orgasms. If you can’t do one, do the other. Nothing compares to personal experience, and you really need some kind of base knowledge to expand into things of the imagination. Try a variety of things if you can. You know, for the plot.

Pay attention to the limits of your own body, what you’re uniquely able/unable to accomplish, what you like/dislike. All bodies are different, and you may find that typical smut doesn’t line up with how your actual body works. THAT IS GOOD. Write that. There will be people who have the same experience and they will appreciate the representation. Even if they don’t share your experience, the realism will build trust with your readers.

Watch other people cum (not in porn) and pay attention to how their bodies flex, the types of noises, cadence of breathing, areas of trembling, etc. For a lot of people, finishing is a deeply introspective action, and there won’t be “screamed his name” anywhere in the vicinity. Realism is more interesting than cookie cutter smut, because real life offers variation. Lean into imperfection.

Know your character, their backstory, their trauma, and think about how that affects what they enjoy. Think about what they might not be brave enough to ask for, embarrassed about, expecting, proud of, or self conscious about. Let something unexpected happen, force them to communicate or adjust to their partner in a new way.

Have your characters talk during the scene. If dirty talk feels forced, have them talk normally. Have them flirt, confess, beg, argue. Have them stutter, or use the wrong words, or let something slip that they didn’t mean to say. Silent smut is boring smut. Sex is a unique opportunity of vulnerability for your characters, take advantage of it.

Emotional intelligence is what takes smut to the next level. In what way is each character feeling connected? Feeling adored? Feeling understood? Feeling affirmed? Feeling safe? Write the intangible and the messy tangle of thoughts and tiny ways that your lil guys relate to each other. Smut is where (imo) too many writers zoom through the scene without lingering on the details. The details are sexy.

Switch up the expected sequence of events. If you can’t think of any reason X might want to stop mid (act) to do (act) to Y, invent one. Create plot through disruption. Have someone accidentally finish. Have someone be unable to finish. Have the power dynamic flip. Have someone refuse to do (act) in favor of (more kinky act). But always know why X made the choice, and how it made Y feel. Make your characters play while they play.

Be aware of what needs trigger warnings. You can literally write whatever you want (on AO3), but please TW it responsibly. I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve been upset at finding unexpected coercion in the middle of smut because the author doesn’t understand what qualifies as non-con. People live through all different kinds of SA, and more “socially acceptable” breaches of trust can be just as triggering to survivors as overt non-con.

If you’re not confident on your grasp of consent, it’s a great opportunity to educate yourself. Your writing will vastly improve, because understanding consent will solidify your character’s motivations, and allow you to dip into dub-con or non-con intelligently if you so choose. I’ve made a guide here for writing and tagging non-con.

I like to be specific with my trigger warnings because often times people’s triggers are specific, and it allows readers to make an informed decision. Yes, it can spoil the plot. Make the fic so interesting that they forget what’s going to happen.

If there’s something you don’t like writing, it’s okay to gloss over it. Kissing is hard to write. If you know how to write prolonged, detailed frenching that isn’t gross… I’d pay for that information so hit me up.

Decide what’s important to you as a writer. Explicit consent always? Feeling of safety? Loss of control? Pushing boundaries? Forced enjoyment? Power dynamics? If you’re not sure, think through the spicy scenes you’ve written or want to write. Typically there is some theme that will be present, and that can say a lot about what you as a writer find interesting and important. That’s your niche, so to speak.

Sex is mental. People fuck with their brains. All you have to do is write it.

Part 2 - telling a story through sex

#I wrote this instead of writing my fic #smut writing #writing tips

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mediumgayitalian · 10 months ago

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fic rec friday 12

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Physician, Love Thyself by Ryuuto

Will tries not to let on just how high his standards are for himself or how they're slowly crushing him under their weight. It's hard for him to open up about it when he's afraid that at any moment, it'll all come crashing down on him. Yet, perhaps it's time for this son of Apollo to bleed a small portion of that pain off.

will's whole thing of never believing himself ENOUGH.....like he works and works and never stops pushing the target farther away huh. i don't think he ever lets himself rest in the satisfaction of grasping something. it aches. and the ambiguousness of this ending....weeping fr

2. Sick Day by Ryuuto

Will is not a fan of the winter. Sadly, this year, the winter isn't a fan of Will Solace, either, and is especially spiteful by making Christmas Eve the worst day of this season. Stupid winter, ruining his plans for a romantic Christmas Eve stroll through New York City with Nico di Angelo.

crying and the quiet intimacy. the satisfying ordeal of being known....of being LOVED......of them loving each other with all the magnetic poles of each other. god. i will never not be insane for established relationship fics and will having seasonal depression is so desperately important to me like

3. once more unto the breach by orphan_account

He is Atlas, and he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he is also Will Solace, a fourteen-year-old boy with blood on his hands and ghosts in his hollowed-out heart.

weeping and crying because i am never not thinking of this. the weight of the healer. no rest for the wicked. and this line in particular actually knocked me fckn flat:

At fifteen years old, Will Solace falls apart with as much grace as he does everything else, and he very nearly gets away with doing it alone.

Until Nico, that is.

UNTIL NICO THAT IS!!!!! EXCUSE ME!!!!

4. Of Rotten Liars and the Taste of Truth by @theroyalsavage

Three times Will Solace lies to Nico di Angelo the summer after the war with Gaea, plus one time he tells the truth.

me and 5 (3, whatever) plus ones. you know the drill. "will is a dork and nico's an idiot" correct. will “if i lie i throw up” solace so real. and awkward but determined nico my beloved

5. Between the Shadow and the Soul by @theroyalsavage

Of snow, fumbling kisses, Valentine's mornings, and the imperfect science of falling in love.

SO soft they are SO SO SO soft i am going to LOSE MY MIND....the teasing the comfort the LOVE!!! THE LOVE!!!!

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

#this is the last fucking straw omg i cannot believe it is saturday AGAIN #im doing them all in advance. thats it #anyways.#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #fic rec #fic rec friday #FRF #longpost #will solace angst

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akkpipitphattana · 25 days ago

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Your post about Babe makes me think this is a safe space to vent briefly! I love this show dearly, it's hands down my fave show of last year, I foresee much rewatching in the future, and though it's clearly imperfect, up until now those imperfections haven't interfered with my enjoyment. But - and maybe it's because there's only one ep left so the prospect of certain things/conversations happening is looking increasingly unlikely, or maybe it's because for the first time I felt the screentime/writing apportioned to each couple this ep felt noticeably unbalanced - post ep-11, I'm feeling a little wistful/frustrated at opportunities missed. Babe is a super obvious one - it feels like Style's dad has had more screentime than him, and even though Style's dad is awesome, in terms of importance to plot/character motivation, Babe clearly comes out on top, and yet as you mentioned, the writing hasn't really reflected that. But I think Kant and Kant/Bison in general have sporadically been curiously underwritten - in their post-truth scenes, imo, they've never really been given the space to explore their feelings to the same depth that Fadel has. And I think I just sort of ignored it before cos all the other stuff (not just the kissing!) was so delicious, but then in this ep, the contrast tween the burger joint scene and the tattoo scene (which seemed almost truncated) just felt so stark that it thwacked me over the head. The obvious exception is the beach scene (and maybe the swing scene?), the meat of which we now know was improvised. Which makes me wonder if it's partly because they think they can get away with it or don't feel they need to write as much detail cos FK are there to do the heavy lifting for them? And yes, FK can speak volumes with eye contact alone cos they really are That Good, but some stuff DOES actually have to be verbalised!!! And I'm not necessarily saying their scenes needed a lot more dialogue, but maybe just to be given a little more time to breathe? I remember thinking that about the opening of ep 9 with the memory box - yes, the deflection and flirting is probably in-character to a degree and most definitely the latter is a lot of fun to watch, but even just giving them a moment longer to reflect on their pain/loss before they diverted to daddy kink would've made a big difference imo.

Again, I can't necessarily point at anything in particular and say that's what should've been cut out to make room for xyz, so maybe it really is just a matter of not quite having enough eps to fully cover all the material they were working with (think that's definitely the case with Keen and Lilly, but they are fundamentally side characters, and it's side characters who always get shafted! Whereas Kant/Bison...). And yes, again, that's what fic's for, I know that. But still...the what ifs are always the worst! What if we got actual onscreen acknowledgement from another character that Kant, too, has been a victim of grooming/coercion/exploitation/whatever you want to call it, and also deserves to engineer a reckoning for the person responsible (and I'm not counting the blackmail scene cos he's still not in a position of power there given the stakes)? What if we got Bison bringing up their first encounter (since there's absolutely no reason for him to think it wasn't part of the scam) and Kant getting the chance to reassure him that night was 100% real? What if we got recognition from Fadel that Kant is basically just another tired older brother doing what it takes to protect his nong? What if we got actual follow-through on the Captain's threats after Kant returned from their torture island getaway? Imagine the parallel we could have had tween him coming home in ep 7 to find Babe with Bison vs. him coming home in ep 10 to find Babe with the Captain! What if we got just one scene where Kant finally gets to be the one who breaks down and is comforted? What if we got anything explicitly BDSM-related (okay maybe still holding out hope for this one!)? Now I'm more than happy to eat my hat if any of that comes to pass in the finale, and don't get me wrong, I'm still very much enamoured with the show and with these characters and am delighted at the prospect of prison hijinks cos I thought we'd be getting a time skip! And tbh the main reason I want to vent is just to get it out of my system so I can return to my previous state of blissful indifference to the niggles and the quibbles! ...Which is really unfair on you, I am realising at this late stage in the game! So apologies for the (tempered, not full-blown!) negativity and if you'd rather steer clear feel free to delete and ignore! I do think part of it is just the risk you run watching a show week to week when there's SO MUCH TIME to speculate and analyse and headcanon - you're virtually always going to be disappointed in one aspect or another, whereas when you binge-watch there's just no time for expectations to even be formed let alone undershot! But then of course you lose out on the sheer bananas entertainment and mass hysteria that is the collective experience of watching something real-time, and, after all (at least for those of us on tumblr I suspect!) the obsessive speculation/analysis/headcanoning is a large part of the fun!

first of all, i'm glad you consider this a safe place to vent and i totally get having frustrations about certain choices and what not, i obviously have vented my own about the whole situation with babe and the way it could have been very easily handled differently. which, my main gripe with that is that it was a very easy change to make, and a lot of my other complaints about this show i feel in general just come from them not having enough time. the babe situation would have been very easily solvable had they thrown in even ONE line referencing that kant had called babe and he was fine. no need for a whole scene or anything that would take up too much time! just a brief mention, maybe in the scene when kant checks in on style in ep9, and style asks if he's gotten to call babe. that is literally all i would have needed to feel better about that situation.

however, truthfully i don't feel like there's actually that much of a disparity in terms of how kantbison are written versus how fadelstyle are, especially not in ep11, but i have seen this take a couple of times now! i can understand why it may come across that way because fadel and style were having a lot of vulnerable conversations, whereas kant and bison weren't as much, however, i also think it comes down to what each of the brothers needed on that last day. fadel does not trust as easily as bison does, he has a LOT of self doubt and fears that style will leave. what fadel needed on his last day was the reassurance that style was gonna be there and that he wasn't gonna leave while he was in prison.

whereas bison, i feel like he needed the hope of them having that future outside of that one night. it's why he and kant talked about getting married and traveling and talked about their dreams when they were younger. we also have to remember that bison and kant reconciled a whole episode before fadel and style did, so of course they had more time to have those conversations - which we do get to see between ep8, 9, and 10. they have plenty of conversations about their past, about their future, plenty of moments reassuring and affirming their relationship. fadel and style i think are kind of playing catch up before they have to be separated in that regard, which is why it seems more unbalanced. i'm sure if you asked someone that was more into fadelstyle, they'd probably say that ep8 and 9 felt unbalanced but for fadelstyle in that regard. we have to remember these couples and these characters are not only different from one another, but in different places.

and look, that's not me saying that there aren't things i DO wish we'd gotten to see kant and bison talk about more, and i do certainly have my complaints about the fact that firstkhao had to improvise most of the reconciliation scene. i just also think because kant and bison had a lot more lies and deception between them, it's going to feel more like we're missing things when they DON'T talk about things on screen, and i again think a lot of the things we haven't seen have been an unfortunate fact of them not having enough time for everything. cause like i would have loved to see everything you mentioned here, especially kant getting the chance to have a proper breakdown cause he deserves it. i do think it's possible we'll get some of those things next week, though, as i am for sure holding out for another proper bdsm scene until the final moments

i think in general final judgements do kind of need to wait until the show is over because if we don't have a full picture, how can we really judge? that being said, i do adore this show even with the complaints i have and what i would want to see, and while watching live can be stressful and lead to some disappointment and fandom wars, it is VERY fun to get to watch and analyze and theorize live so i really wouldn't change it for the world sjdskjf

#hope getting all that out made you feel better <3 #the heart killers #kantbison #fadelstyle #my analysis #mine #asks #nonnies

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chdarling · 1 month ago

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Hello darling,

I hope you're all right and everything's going well for you. I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I just finished the second book of The Last Enemy (and because of the ending I'm kinda dying to see what the hell is coming next). I'm not gonna ask you when you're planning to release the third book, as I'm sure many people already delight you with such question. I just wanted to say that your fic became, in a few weeks, very important to me.

I started reading the first book around mid-December, when I was still in London. I've been a marauders fan since 2019, but obviously when I got the chance to study a whole semester in London I became obsessed with them again (that city is magical, I swear). The point is, now I'm back at home in Italy, and it's so strange for me to think about the fact that I started this story when I was still in my uni dorm. Leaving London has been very difficult, but somehow, this ff has really helped me go through it and made it easier. I really miss reading it already, and it's only been two days. I swear I don't know what to do with my life now.

I grew to love your characters deeply, they have a special place in my heart. What I really loved about your writing is how canon they are, as an old fan I kinda struggle to appreciate the characterization of the marauders in the new fandom, and it's really not easy to find someone who writes about them in such a canonical way. I loved how you managed to give all of them complex traits, making it clear how none of them are perfect human beings, how sometimes they can be clueless, cruel or hurt people without even realising it. How they all have their fears and imperfections. That really makes you a good author, as young as you might be, it's admirable.

Besides the characterization of our beloved teenagers, reading this ff was an amazing experience. I had so much fun, I swear I cannot remember how many times I laughed. I loved all the funny moments of friendship, relationships and events in general, as I said before it really helped me going through a hard time, and I'll always remember that.

I wrote all this just to thank you for this piece of writing, it made my heart lighter. I can't wait to read how it goes on, and I'll be there to support you. In the meanwhile, I hope you're okay <3

There’s something so beautiful to me when people tell me about how TLE has been with them through different transitions in life. Perhaps it’s because I have been reflecting lately on all the different (and occasionally turbulent) life stages this story has seen me through, but it really touches me. Thank you so much for sharing, and thank you for the kind words. ❤️❤️❤️

And I agree — London is a magical city!!

#ch answers #tle #🥲❤️

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doetic · 2 years ago

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What Lingers - Dark!Edward Cullen x F!Reader (18+)

Plot: Edward Cullen doesn't know how to handle his crush on the new clerk at his favourite book store. Warnings: NSFW, Dark/yandere Edward, unhealthy obsessive thoughts, sexual thoughts (Edward descends into being a bit of a weirdo perv), Edward gets himself off Word count: 2436 Part 2 (coming soon, send in reqs/ideas!)

A/N: My first fic on this account! I haven't written in a while so I may be a little rusty, please bare with me! I didn't have much time to fully proofread this because I just wanted to get it out, so it may be a little awkward and have some mistakes, sorry! If you like this, feel free to send in requests for a part 2 (I'm thinking of writing it in in reader's pov?) or just any requests in general!

At first, Edward Cullen had thought he was dying. His throat had tightened more than he had thought possible, his mouth dried of all venom, he suddenly couldn't remember how to fake the motions of breathing, and despite knowing that it was impossible for his heart to do anything, he couldn't decide if his heart was being squeezed by some otherworldly force, or was kickstarted into a rapid beating that reverberated throughout his body and sounded in his ears like a drum. He quickly ran through his knowledge of vampiric bodies and health, but came up with nothing that could explain what was happening to him, nothing that could clarify why the mere sight of you had elicited such a visceral reaction from him.

Initially, you didn't seem like anyone particularly special. From your thoughts he discovered you were a writer, daydreaming about the draft you were working on as you were leaned against the wooden book store counter, head lazily rested upon your right hand while the left absently drew shapes onto the antique surface. Occasionally, the thought of your cat would interrupt your brainstorming daydream. A chubby orange tabby that was intelligent in all the wrong things and stupid in the rest, who seemed to cause you endless trouble. You were worried he had turned on the tap to drink from it again, an irksome habit he had that often ran up your water bill as he didn't know how to turn it off. None of your thoughts seemed to stick out to him as something of importance, but admittedly being present in your mind brought him a sense of peace he hadn't felt before. With shy hesitation he would even admit to himself that it somehow felt endearing.

Edward did have to give you credit, you certainly were beautiful by human standards. However, after spending decades around Rosalie and other vampires that had been blessed with an unnatural level of beauty made you seem more mundane to him than you would have appeared to a regular human. The more he thought about it though, the more he found he liked that about you. The pimple that lay just underneath your cheekbone, the natural reddish flush to your lips from a functioning circulatory system, the slight frizz to your hair, the rhythmic sound of air being pushed in and out of your body, and the oh so human eyes that looked up from the desk and met his. You were imperfect, flawed, starkly different from himself who had been biologically engineered to be irresistibly perfect from the first bite Carlisle inflicted upon him. You were intoxicating. Suddenly, Edward understood.

"Oh- Uhm- Sorry- Ah!" You jolted up, quickly shifting from your relaxed lean into a stiff, well postured, standing position as you tripped over your words. Edward could hear your heartbeat speed up. With your thoughts a current incoherent jumble, he was left to wondering if it was out of shock from his presence, or a flustered reaction to his appearance.

You cleared your throat, "Y/n. Hi. I work here now, just moved into town a week ago. Can I help you with anything?" A smile appeared on your face, but one that seemed to come from a place of general kindness (and a little embarrassment), rather than the normal customer service mask people put on. It was a scene Edward wished could wrap around his whole body, holding him tenderly in a sea of gentle warmth.

Thousands of replies appeared in his head, things he could say to charm you, things that could make you swoon, words that could make you laugh (a sound he was certain would be an imperfect crackling melody he would play on repeat in his mind), but when he opened his mouth, none of the above came out.

"Machiavelli." Edward wanted to disintegrate into the floor. He was supposed to start off with a smooth line to make you want to talk to him more, not the first author to appear in his head. Who even randomly thinks of Machiavelli anyways? "Sorry, I'm Edward Cullen. My family was the newest ones in town until a week ago I suppose. I'm looking for anything you might have by Machiavelli." He recovered, playing it safe but still flashing you a dazzling smile that always seemed to charm those who saw it.

You looked away from him. He tried not to clench his fists in frustration. He decided that he enjoyed when you looked at him, he liked looking at the many flecks of different hues and shades that made up your irises. So sweetly imperfect.

"Machiavelli..." You pondered, a finger pressing itself into the plush, slightly chapped surface of your lips. You were running through the layout of the store in your mind, trying to remember where it would be located. Edward felt a little bad for wasting your time, he knew the book store's layout in and out. He didn't actually ever come here to buy anything (although he did so quite often to ensure it would stay in business), but rather the usually empty store was a haven for him where he could pretend to be human again while escaping the constant barrage of other beings private thoughts.

"Okay! I think I remember where it would be, follow me!" You looked back at him with a smile. You didn't have to tell him twice, he would stay on your tail as long as you would let him (and perhaps even longer after that, if he was being honest with himself), your presence being a strawberry scented sirens song that he couldn't seem to want to pull himself away from.

"Of course, lead the way," Edward spoke with a slight grin, finding the words ironic. In reality it was him, the covert apex predator of the animal kingdom, who would be herding you like a sheep wherever he wished.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

As he stared at your phone number in his hands, the sheet of paper growing softer and more fragile while he toyed with it, Edward Cullen tried to decide that he hated you. It wasn't your fault at all, you had been nothing but perfectly pleasant and kind to him while he was in your presence, but instead it was his own.

You were kind, sweet, caring, imperfect. Those traits flowed through your veins, they even wafted in the air around you, pulling people close to you. After his first slip up with his words, everything between you two went exactly as he wished it would, and your feelings of curiosity towards him combined with the innately biological pull to his honeypot of inhuman beauty led to him getting your phone number. Everything went perfectly in his favour, and that was the problem.

Out of his family it was Rosalie who resented humans the most, and Jasper who kept the most distance from them, but even though he didn't fall at the extreme end of the spectrum, Edward wasn't a big fan of them either. He looked down on them as weaker life forms, sheep disgustingly careless around wolves, a sentiment he was smart enough to know came from a place of jealousy and sorrow, but still not something he harbored enough strength to get over and befriend one... that was until he saw you.

You made him selfish. His hand trembled as the ten endearingly messily inked numbered stared back at him tauntingly. You made him selfish and he hated you and he had to stop being around you. Something about you, your simplicity, your messiness, every imperfect mannerism that overflowed with life drew him in. Edward couldn't deny his nature when you clouded his senses with envy and awe. It was like the scorpion and the frog, Hades and Persephone. He was a hunter designed to lure you into false security before inevitably striking. He knew he couldn't be pure around you, you were a lamb and himself a lion, not a domesticated dog and cat. Biology and the food chain would triumph over his wishes soon enough, he would be an idiot to not know it.

But even so, a voice in his mind nagged at him, making him weak at the knees with bliss at the thought of giving into it. Hadn't he earned the right to be a little selfish? Aside from his rebellious stage, Edward had been so so perfect, a word he grew more sick of by the day. A word that seemed to wrap itself around his throat and tighten oh so slowly as time went on, now an unbearable pressure he was sure could snap his neck. You were everything he wasn't, everything he needed, you were ambrosia while he was on his deathbed. Could he really be faulted for just a sip?

Of course he didn't mean that literally. Although he knew that being close to you would surely end up with his lips stained crimson with blood and sin, there were ways around it. A junkie always finds a way.

Edward Cullen entered your number into his phone, staring at the blank space for him to type in a message for what felt like an eternity before turning it off completely. It wouldn't be the same to communicate digitally. He wanted you in person, laid bare in front of him, your thoughts not even kept private. He wanted to worship you softly, to expose himself to you fully, for his need and adoration for all that you are as an imperfect, truly human, life filled being. And as his thoughts delved deeper into all that you were, his thoughts took on a double meaning.

Edward had never done this before. He knew he was repressed, he was a religious boy from a much more conservative time that had long passed, and he was fine with that. But, he deserved to be selfish. He had never truly indulged himself, who could blame him for what he was about to do? Especially when it was your fault, you were making him imperfect as well.

His porcelain hand brought the now fragile sheet of paper to his nose, and as he breathed deeply he deluded himself into believing a trace of your aura still lingered on it. His hand hesitantly trailed down to his crotch, his fingers lightly touching the bulge through the fabric of his khakis. The foreign sensation made him let out a small whine that he quickly stifled by biting his lip. He was home alone, his family gone to visit the Denali's for a few days during the schools spring break, but it wasn't because he feared being heard that he stopped himself from making noise, but rather a nagging feeling of shame that faded more and more into the background as he slowly rubbed his bulge harder and faster.

He wondered if God was watching him as he undid his pants, pulling down his boxer-briefs with a hesitancy that seemed to flow away the more he melted into the nagging desire to indulge. If he was being watched, Edward decided God had no right to be angry. It was he who decided to put the most tempting creature in the world right where Edward would meet her, he should have known this would happen. Edward wasn't to blame, he was doing what any person would have done in his situation, and what was life anyways without indulgence?

With another deep inhale, Edward grew more confident. Using his leaking tip as lubricant, he began to quickly stroke his length. There was no point in taking things slowly, he had spent his whole life pent up and teased, why would he do it to himself?

Edward thought of what you would do to him. Your deep pink tongue licking from his balls to his tip, your utterly indecent and irresistible eyes, oh so filled with life, gazing up at him tenderly. The thought made him let out a small groan he couldn't stifle in time. Edward thought of how your skin would feel under his touch, smooth and warm with the occasional blemish. He wanted to slowly run his hand up your bare thigh, watching you squirm with need as he showed you just a fraction of what his life was like.

His hand moved faster and faster and he thought of earlier that day, the way you stumbled upon your words when you first saw him. He decided he would coax you into talking during intimacy, wanting to see how you tripped and fumbled the words of praise for him that would flow out of your mouth as he showed you that drinking blood wasn't the only thing his mouth was good for. He would be a bit clumsy in the beginning, but that would be okay for you, wouldn't it? You don't demand perfection, you're soaked in the opposite, and that is perfect to him.

One more inhale had his brain melt, his hand speeding up as much as he can take as he wonders if he'll be your first too. Surely he will be. If this experience taught him anything, it would be that you were made for him, and as he had never felt this pull to anyone else before, he was inclined to believe he was made for you too. He let out a growl as he thought about someone else laying a hand on you, deciding he should just claim you when the opportunity arises, painting your skin with his-

His loud moans turned to heavy pants, not from lack of air that he doesn't need, but from the intensity of what he had just done. The white liquid flowed down his tip and fist, and a sense of freedom rushed over him. He wasn't bad for this, he was doing what anyone else would do. You were rubbing off on him after just one interaction, making him oh so perfectly imperfect.

He grabbed a tissue from the box that had been placed on the table beside his couch for show, and wiped himself off, tossing the soiled tissue into the trash. His eyes went to his phone, which he turned on with a soft click. He felt better about everything, about himself, about you. What was life without indulgence?

Hello, It's Edward Cullen from the book store. Would you like to get coffee together soon?

He smiled to himself after typing out and sending his message, his hand bringing the piece of paper to his nose one last time, craving your essence, not wanting to miss even a hint of what lingers.

#dark!edward cullen #yandere!edward cullen x reader #dark!edward cullen x reader #yandere!edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #dark!twilight x reader #yandere!twilight x reader #twilight x reader #alyssia writes

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qtboni · 2 years ago

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#.QTBONI‘S — RULES & MASTERLIST !

the curated collection of my written works, organized by fandom and characters. these stories feature mature adult themes and content, and every character depicted in the works is written as an 18+ individual.

「 this is a multi, n/sfw content blog <3 minors & ageless blogs dni! 」 + please read all tags and content warnings before reading!

SERIES

1000 followers event

FICS

⋆៹ SIMON RILEY ᵎᵎ

love language ꒰ despite his difficulty in expressing his emotions, he still finds ways to show his love for you ꒱

melting into your arms ꒰ him melting into your arms after a rough day at work ꒱

shattered hopes ꒰ he lashes out on you and was very dismissive over your efforts for him ꒱

rebuilding hopes ꒰ after an argument with you, he feels a deep sense of remorse for the pain he caused ꒱

loved imperfections ꒰ he reassures your insecurities with loving words ꒱

sweet dreams, my love ꒰ he woke up to you sleeping far away from him in the bed so he pulls you back to him ꒱

a lil' vampire you are ꒰ you bite him with your canine teeth and he gets feral for it ꒱

wild cowboy ꒰ he indulges you in your pretty lil fantasies of him being a cowboy ꒱

shying away ꒰ he encourages and guides you on what he wants to do to you ꒱

atrapada ꒰ kidnapped and tortured in front of him, he has to endure all of it until he gets his hands on your captor ꒱

⋆៹ KÖNIG ᵎᵎ

rest well, mein liebe ꒰ he lets you rest on his shoulder, and him also resting on top of your head ꒱

love in the emergency room ꒰ you were brought into the emergency room and he was your emergency contact ꒱

bloodstained love ꒰ yandere slasher au, he comes home to you after killing someone and asks you if you're proud of him ꒱

⋆៹ CAPTAIN PRICE ᵎᵎ

cocoa kisses ꒰ he craves warmth and safety, which he finds whenever he comes to you, the person he loves ꒱

what'd u call me? ꒰ fatherfigure au, where you accidentally calls him dad ꒱

⋆៹ VARIOUS ᵎᵎ

hug me close ꒰ having cold hands for cuddles ꒱

our journey begins ꒰ their reaction to the news of your pregnancy ꒱

💬 | hi bb !! i love sharing my thoughts and hearing from you . so , please feel free to reblog and engage with my content as much as you like ! ur interactions are always appreciated . thank you <3 alsk please read the rules thoroughly b4 you interact or send in a reqs . extra note , my prev username was @tsunagi | person in pfp is not me , it is @/yuprntae on ig .

˒ ៸៸𓂃 RULES ! 彡 ·˚

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read the warnings (cw/tw tags) first if you’re going to be reading my works ! some of them may contain sensitive topics or any type of topics that might trigger you . i don’t intend to cause any kind of harm to my readers so please, don’t forget to read through it .

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want to be mutuals w/ me ?? sure sure !! js send me a msg in my dms or inbox <3 as long as you're 17+ & also an ff writer ofc , it should be no problem (exceptionally when i follow u and u follow me back 🤗)

i put my heart and soul into the stories that i write, and i work hard to fulfill your hunger as quickly as possible HAHA /hj .

as an aspiring writer , i get my inspiration from my daily life occurrences . sometimes, it can be challenging to find motivation to write, which is why i've made the decision to start ( somehow ) share my personal stories as a way to practice and improve my writing skills . i've found that writing about my experiences and feelings is cathartic and healing, and i hope that my stories can provide comfort and inspiration to others who can relate <3

pls respect me as i am a human person like you & continue on showing love to everybody pls :)) my blog and my works are wholeheartedly dedicated to my fellow fanfic readers and writers . thank you guys for the endless support !! you guys make my days feel worth it sm . not kidding :((

#ily all #(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) — [bonnie’s navi]#👾 — [bonnie’s wk]#💌 — [bonnie’s convos]#(⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾) — [bonnie’s favs]#call of duty

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hsvh-hp · 1 year ago

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You know I agree with you that fanon paints Lucius as a much worse father than he was and I don't like that either, but do you not think indoctrinating your child into a genocidal cult + coldly demanding that he be the best in class and publicly humiliating him about that ("if [my son's] grades don't pick up, a thief or a plunderer] may indeed be all he is fit for") is bad parenting?

Like I'm not saying "he is a bad parent" or "he is a good parent", I'm very hesitant to label parents (real or fictional) in such a one-dimensional way because parent-child relationships are so incredibly complicated. But at the same time it is very important to me to acknowledge even little things parents can do that can really have a negative impact on children. And indeed in Draco's case they do, leading him to want to be a Death Eater, to seek validation from Voldemort (when he disarms Dumbledore he talks about wanting to be the Dark Lord's favourite, he doesn't want help from Snape because he has a need to prove himself etc) and contributing to his general insecurity and need to be better than everyone & getting upset when he's not, because if he's not the best all the time then he feels really bad.

One big reason I dislike the fanon tendency to make every morally questionable parent an extremely physically abusive monster is precisely because that erases the representation of how the smaller, psychologically/emotionally damaging things they do can still be traumatising.

It goes without saying that there’s nuance. I would never say nor claim that Lucius did nothing wrong or didn’t make mistakes. By mere virtue of holding bigoted beliefs, he signaled to Draco that there were things he could do or be that might undermine his father’s love. To me, it doesn’t even matter if Lucius is otherwise perfect as a father. That small thing, in a kid as needy for love and validation as Draco is, would be enough to have him always on edge and anxiously performing his role as the perfect son to the best of his ability.

My earlier frustration was a pushback against the need to inflate Lucius’ less-great moments into overtly obvious abuse (we are very much in agreement there), as fanon seems to love to do without a hint of introspection or greater analysis. I’m so bored of complicated behaviour being filed away into a thought-terminating box called ‘abuse’, where a sole instance of someone being a grumpy, imperfect dad (the Borgin & Burke’s scene) is all that’s required to put a character on the same level as men who actually do beat their sons. It’s not given a greater thought.

For instance, you bring up Draco’s indoctrination into the Death Eaters, and his eagerness to join. This is a very interesting conundrum for Lucius to me because Voldemort is back for an entire year before Draco signs up. Lucius is in Azkaban at the time, unable to exert any influence over Draco’s decision, and Voldemort explicitly brings Draco into the fold as a form of punishment for Lucius. We have no access to Lucius’ head as readers, but he had an entire year afterward to sit and think about how he failed Draco. He’s a smart guy. I’m sure he could put it together that his bigotry came very close to costing his son his life. Considering the Malfoys sit alongside the winners of the war in the Great Hall, it speaks to me of some greater narrative reflection on Lucius’ part to have earned himself a place there.

The point is, I’ve never seen that Lucius in fic before. I crave that Lucius, who can realize his mistakes and grow or change as a result (and is brave enough not to let the lateness of its arrival dictate the terms). It’s very important to me that growth not be something exclusive to a certain age (16 and under? 18? I’ve seen people argue that Draco was no longer redeemable at 12 LMAO). So yeah, feeling alone in this sentiment occasionally bubbles up and I forget to articulate all the nuance of the subject when engaging with it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#meta #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy

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bookwermthings · 6 months ago

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My Official Torchwood Fanfic Rec List as of 9/3/2024

I had to delete twenty-three fanfics off the list to get it to work on Tumblr, so if you want to know what those were, feel free to ask!

The list will be formatted like this:

Fic Title | Author | My Remembered Rating Out Of 10 (on how much it impacted me)| Wordcount | my remembered general mood of the story

the link

and a summary.

They are ordered from happiest to most heart wrenching.

Special thanks to @myarmsaretoolong for the inspiration to make this :D

Cheers, and happy reading!

Torchwood Season 3: What could have been | SqutternutBosh | 9 | 171K | happy fluff https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735756 A reimagining of Season 3. what if it wasn't Children of Earth? What if Owen and Tosh lived?

The Lonely Cheryth| BookWerm |11 proud of this :)| 6.5K |fluffy!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/30708251 Steven's Uncle Jack is a mystery. one he's determined to solve

Not Good As In Not Evil, But Good As In Not Bad| orphan_account | 7 | 6.7K| fluff https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150389 Ianto Jones has realizations about his life through the life of his son.

Once Lost| saxgoddess25 | 7 | 25.5K |hopeful/happy https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465965/ it's been two years since Ianto died. Now he's back.

Falling Doesn't Feel So Bad When I Know You've Fallen This Way, Too | BookWerm | 8 | 4.5K | mostly fluff | https://archiveofourown.org/works/42053868 Ianto has always felt not quite right in his body. It only became more apparent as he got older. Ianto Jones is trans, and surprisingly, so is Jack Harkness.

Just this once (everybody lives) | Beleriandings | 11!!!! | 360K | happy hopeful flulff https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826248 An everybody lives AU with an ultimately hopeful tone, picking up at Exit Wounds and continuing through beyond into the far future.

Bits And Pieces| DinoDina | 7 | 6.2K | hopeful, hurt/comfort https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878222 Ianto is made of metal and wires underneath, built by Yvonne Hartman.

On Happiness | Anonymous | 9 | 90K | happy-ish https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500817 Ianto Jones used to be such a happy child. He wasn't any more. All Rhiannon wanted was for her brother to find that happiness again.

Push And Pull| sherlockpond | 7 | 34K | hopeful hurt/comfort https://archiveofourown.org/works/24358693 Post COE. Ianto's back, and he doesn't have his memory. People are disappearing.

Torchwood Series 5: The Reboot | logos00 | 9 | 20.4K |bittersweet fluff https://archiveofourown.org/series/235344 After Miracle Day, Gwen and Jack accidentally land themself in an alternate version of the past where everyone is alive.

Time Loves You | Anonymous | 8 | 44.2K |neutral happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/series/1324307 Post CoE. Ianto has no idea who he is. In fact, the only thing he knows? he is looking for someone.

A Different Life | gmariam | 10 | 141.8K | neutral https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247706 Ianto left Torchwood after Owen's death. but can he really stay away when the worlds about to end?

I Sing the Body Electric | Paycheckgurl | 7 | 19K | neutral https://archiveofourown.org/works/35019091 Ianto, Toshiko, and Owen wake up in a dark room. Their bodies seem to be strangely metallic. Which isn’t even the strangest development:they remember being dead.

A Point In Time | MemoryDragon | 7 | 8.5K | neutral a little sad https://archiveofourown.org/works/540393 Jack turns up late at night at Ianto's flat, asking strange questions, forgetting important things. Strangest thing is that Jack was never actually at Ianto's flat at all.

past Imperfect | gmariam | 9 | 23.6K | bittersweet https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716999 Jack time travels backward to fit in more time with Ianto.

a blip in time (we had forever) | someawkwardprose | 7 | 2.8K | bittersweet https://archiveofourown.org/works/26712370 Jack visits sometimes. it's how Ianto knows he's going to die.

To build a home (I held on as tightly as you held on to me) | flamingbluepanda | 7 | 12.5K | angst w/ happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916039 it's 2076. Jack and Ianto are still together. Ianto has dementia.

Only Temporary | badly_knitted | 7 | 1.4K | sad https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794613 Death is no less upsetting when it's temporary, especially when it's someone you love.

Lament | engagemythrusters | 7 | 3.2K | hurt/comfort https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203638 Jack died, because Jack died, and Ianto just had to learn to work through it.

A Moment (An Eternity) | Clare_Hope | 7 | 21.9K | hurt/comfort https://archiveofourown.org/works/30907163 Everyone survived Exit Wounds. That doesn't mean anyone is alright

Regarding Jack | celedan | 7 | 10.6K | angst w/ happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/22282087 After a night Jack can't remember, he's slowly losing who he is.

I'm All Ears (and I'm All Scars) | MrSandman | 7 | 5.1K | angst w/ happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609358 Post Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. Jack and Ianto's first real date. They have a conversation about timelines.

A Vision Too Removed To Mention | pocky_slash | 8 | 14K | angst w/ hopeful ending https://pocky-slash.livejournal.com/1462797.html Ianto is in a time loop, and no one remembers who he is.

All My Uphill Clawing | pocky_slash | 7 | 3.1K | angst w/ happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/393640 After the time loop. Ianto is comforted by the team.

To Fight When You Feel Like Flying | innocent_until_proven_geeky | 7 | 2.7K | angst w/ hopeful ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508843 Ianto is depressed again, but he's not as alone as he was after Lisa

do not go gentle | someawkwardprose | 8 | 17.7K | angst w/ hopeful ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386996 the Big Finish audio Broken if Ianto hadn't gone to The Ferret

One Last Breath | Riennynn | 8 | 3.4K | angst w/ hopeful ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835368 There's something after Jack and Ianto. Fortunately (?), they've trapped themselves in an airtight locker with a limited amount of air

Breathing Freely | BookWerm | 7 | 2.1K | angst w/ happy ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/42905979 continuation of one last breath.

I just wanted you to watch me dissolve, slowly | MonsterMince | 8 | 15.4K | really sad https://archiveofourown.org/works/41765781/ If John had known the true cost he'd need to pay to cure Jack's immortality, he might not have paid it. (That's a lie)

The past in the future (And Put Away Childish Things remix) | pamymex3girl | 8 | 1.8K | really sad https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595603 Her father is smiling, except he's from the before, so he's not her father, not yet anyway.

I Cannot Sleep Warm | Beleriandings | 10 | 11.2K | fluff w/ sad ending https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181552 ""And I love you, too. Now… time to wake up."

left you with both of the rings | princessoftheworlds | 11!!! | 21K | absolutely devastating https://archiveofourown.org/works/34108996 Ianto's life is fine. Some might even say great. When cracks begin to appear in the surface of Ianto’s perfect world, he’s forced to confront what he knows is real.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic rec #fanfic rec list #fic rec list #torchwood

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wsancho · 7 months ago

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The unconditional Figaro love

It’s mah bois’ birthday!! 🥰👑🐻

I meant to post fanfiction, but I started late and couldn’t finish on time. Plus the fic got some angsty shit going on, and I refuse to soil this day with that 😤

Today we celebrate!! 🎉🎂🍾🥂🎊

Today I spam and ramble 😌

Many of us (by which I mean me, ESPECIALLY ME) fantasize/glorify/fetishize twin relationships, but I have seen twin siblings saying that “it’s not a magical thing, anyone could have that type of deep bond with another person”. The intensity is what sets it apart from the rest, and it could range from the most sickening possessive hate-filled control, to the most detached accepting and nourishing love, passing through the clingiest and most crippling forms of codependency.

I got my own obsessive and ridiculously exaggerated bias about the Figaro twins, but I have seen several playthroughs where they stand out to the player as “the representation of brotherly love”. Even before getting the brothers’ cutscenes (in some cases the players happen to miss the coin scene and/or the reveal at the airship).

People this is brutal, don't do this 😭💔

But it’s always clear that there’s genuine love there.

The word "love" is often misused and abused. When I use it to talk about the Figaro twins’ relationship, I mean unconditional love, as in:

No strings attached

No expectations or demands

No judgment or condemnation

No impositions

No control

Accepting without enabling

Generous without creating dependence

Respectful

Peaceful and calming, because of all of the above

In past posts I mentioned Edgar’s controlling and condescending actions, and also his very codependent nature. Also Sabin’s departure can be interpreted as selfish. Before I backtrack elaborate on that, I think it’s important to suspend disbelief approach the subject of love with the knowledge that each and everyone of us is imperfect, but perfect love is always achievable and within reach. Our deficiencies make it painful, but not impossible.

Let’s get to it!

Edgar taking over as king is the most obvious loving act, because it’s scripted, but the depth of it is revealed in such a subtle and missable way, that forces the viewer to pay attention and to think harder about what we’ve learned about the brothers up to that point. It’s shown in a modest way, as modest as Edgar has been about the action itself. Love does not need praise or recognition, it is its own reward.

Was this condescending? It’s debatable.

Is it condescending to use simpler vocabulary when you speak to a small child? Stepping down from where you’re at to meet the other at their level is respect, not condescendence. To think yourself above the other because of some advantage you have, is condescendence.

Someone described the rigged coin deal as “Edgar letting his brother abandon familial duty while saving face”, and I believe this is a misunderstanding. Sabin doesn’t need to “save face” and Edgar doesn’t see it that way. Sabin was going to leave no matter what, and Edgar was going to stay no matter what. The coin didn’t decide for them, and neither did Edgar. Edgar’s words say it all: the coin meant to free Sabin of guilt, not of duty. Even if Ed breaks his own heart with the outcome.

An even more modest and almost always overlooked act of love (even in real life) happens when the brothers have a little moment alone while mourning their deceased father. Sabin is lashing out at everyone, he even pushes an old lady (the High Priestess) and unfairly accuses her of being as heartless as the Figaro politicians. Again we see Edgar being very tactful and just allowing Sabin to let it all out.

When one gets emotional and others start with the “don’t cry”, “it’s all for the best”, joke-to-make-you-laugh-because-your-pain-makes-ME-uncomfortable... This is all toxic positivity. It’s very refreshing to see that mah bois don’t do this to each other.

There’s even more missable stuff here. In this moment when Sabin cannot contain his rage, is that Edgar tells him pretty much that the politicians are right: the kingdom needs to be looked after. Now this would be a perfect trigger to Sabin, but instead he’s disappointed (of the outcome, not of Edgar). He doesn’t yell nor tries to convince him. Attempting to persuade would be to disregard and disrespect the other's concerns (this goes both ways). At his lowest and most volatile, Sabin is still capable of fully accepting Edgar. In this moment he couldn’t disagree more with Edgar’s views, but chooses to respect him and to still follow through with his own decision, even if it breaks his own heart.

When Edgar makes the proposal, Sabin lowers his head and won’t even look at him or the coin. It's not the bet what matters, he’s just sad Edgar won't join him (we know Sabin doesn’t judge Edgar, and is very proud of him as king and as a person).

Would it have been better if Edgar was sincere? No way to know, but the kingdom was in urgent need of leadership. 10 years later Sabin is still carrying guilt, and we know this because he’s the one to bring up the subject at the end. No one blamed him, not one questioned him and yet he needed to speak up about it for some reason.

Edgar was right in assuming that Sabin would be troubled, and hoped that a little nudge would help him trust his own instincts. But regarding the condescendence part, I think what messed with Sabin was that Edgar kept to himself for a bit too long, making Sabin feel left out 🥺 And I see this as an innocent miscalculation on Edgar’s part. He’s good at reading people, but not infallible.

Is it condescending to use non-technical vocabulary to explain physics to a child? Not at all, unless that child happens to be Michio Kaku, who built a particle accelerator in his parents' garage.

As children the twins spent a lot of time apart due to Sabin being constantly ill and bedridden. By circumstance Edgar would observe and learn things around the castle that Sabin could not. Sabin would necessarily be at a disadvantage in his ability to understand political games. In shielding Sabin, Edgar is giving him the chance to assimilate reality at his own pace, even if it gets lonely for Edgar.

But 10 years later they’re back together, and Edgar doesn’t really know the person Sabin has become (I'm more inclined to think they maintained little to no communication, the only part I have not pulled an explanation out of my ass cannot justify is how casual they are when meeting again at Mount Kolts), so Edgar still treats his brother as he always did, only now trusting that he’s big and strong and healthy and can take care of himself… But he’s not aware of Sabin's growth as a person (and to be fair, Sabin clearly has some more growing up to do). Edgar keeps to himself because he wants to prevent Sabin from returning to Figaro out of guilt, he wants Sabin to have his freedom always. This is where he miscalculates, because he never knew where Sabin was coming from:

Sabin didn’t want to be away from Figaro, he wanted to define his own individuality without their influence

He never intended to stay away for good, he intended to come back and contribute in his own way

He didn’t join the Returners just because there was an emergency, he joined because now he knew the part he could play in the big picture

As mature as Edgar is, he’s a bit damaged and never really gave himself the chance to prioritize his own needs, it might even be a blindspot. The skirt-chasing seems to be the only thing he does for the pure pleasure of it, but even that ended up turning into work, at least once. This is why I said in a previous post that it would take patience on Sabin’s part to get close to him again. Because for Edgar to feel assured that Sabin came back of his own free will, it would require a clear and repeated pattern where

Sabin demonstrates that he sees the castle as home and does not feel aversion towards it

Sabin comes back during times of peace, when there’s no emergency and no threats to deal with, he comes back and stays because he wants to, not because he has to

Sabin shows genuine interest in government matters. Otherwise Edgar would not burden him with any of it

Sabin stays as carefree and joyful as always. That’s all Ed wants for his little bro, whom he thinks he still needs to protect (again, nothing but an error in judgment)

And only then would Edgar maybe possibly perhaps probably consider sharing more of his concerns allow himself to rely on Sabin to shoulder some of the burdens 🫠🫠🫠🫠

From what my biased ass infers, I think Sabin is doing all of that, to extent of his possibilities. It’s hard to love someone who’s so guarded. Yet Sabin is doing exactly that. It’s not just about getting Edgar to reciprocate and grow out of his ways. In staying close while demonstrating confidence, Sabin is allowing Edgar the chance to assimilate the new reality at his own pace, even if it’s lonely for Sabin, because if he pushes, this might turn Edgar too self-conscious.

Love is not for the weak, and mah precious Figaro twins are fucking powerhouses 😤❤️💪🏼👑🐻

#ffvi #ff6 #final fantasy 6 #final fantasy vi #headcanon #edgar roni figaro #sabin rene figaro #figaro month #bravo figaro

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