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uncle-fruity · 2 days ago

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Decided to read the article. I absolutely believe that what the author calls "male flight" has some validity to it, but it doesn't seem to be a reason men have given themselves, and it seems reductive to put the decline of men pursuing education solely on misogyny. Not to say that misogyny isn't a factor, because I agree that the article's thesis lines up with historical trends of devaluing anything seen as "feminine" work, and I know enough sexist men to know that many do have an aversion to being in anything they consider women's spaces. I'm not sure that I fully agree that the main reason men aren't pursuing education is the kind of direct misogyny described in the article, but I also don't have any evidence to the contrary lined up, and it's certainly within the realm of possibility.

Early in the article, the author lists out other reasons that have been cited to partially explain the decline in men's enrollment:

[Image Transcript: Other reasons I came across while researching for this article include:

-- Men can make more money without a college degree than women can, so women need college more.

-- Higher rates of alcohol, drug use, gangs and prison for boys negate college as a viable option.

-- Colleges are usually left-leaning, so right-leaning students increasingly don't feel comfortable there. And more men than women lean right.

-- Men join the military more than women.

-- A man will sometimes have to provide for wife/kids before he can finish college. /End transcript.]

Unfortunately, the author did not give citations for any of those claims, nor did she spend much time explaining why she thought these reasons weren't major factors -- or not as notable as the reason she gives: the rise of women in higher education. It would have been nice to see where that information was coming from. Particularly the point about higher drug and prison rates would be nice to have some context for. To be fair, there is a section just before the part that I cited that does give some sources for some of the other reasons people have attributed to the decline of male enrollment.

And, actually, to be extra fair, I'm gonna post that part as well, because it might be helpful. So this is the part directly before the passage I just cited:

[Image transcript: The Pew Research Center has found that boys are more likely to think they don’t need a degree for the jobs they want, and when they do enroll in college, work opportunities lure them away.

Ruth Simmons, president of A&M University thinks “the problem is the way we treat our boys in k-12. They turn away from school because of the negative messages they get at school… Behavior that is rewarded for boys doesn’t fit well with good student behavior.”

Another college president, Donald Ruff believes it boils down to money. “Honestly I think it’s the sticker shock. To see $100,000 that’s daunting.” /End transcript.]

I have little to add about this passage, I just thought it would be helpful to include.

The author also does not seem to consider race in her argument beyond drawing parallels between white flight and male flight. As far as I could tell, this article gives few statistics about the races involved. Is the influx of women predominantly white or predominantly non-white? When we talk about men not enrolling, is there any racial element being considered -- are non-white men enrolling at higher or lower rates than they used to? Are we talking primarily white men not enrolling, or is this male flight evenly distributed across racial demographics? How do these demographics play out? Because, to me, it seems like misogyny and racism could both be at play here. If more black women than ever are going to college, it is likely that male flight is in tandem with white flight, but to actually make that claim with any amount of credibility, we would need more information, which the article does not provide/is not focused on.

To be clear, I do not have the answers to those questions. I am merely speculating. This is one of those cases where I'd need to spend more time looking at other sources to get a broader view of the issue, including the sources the author included, the ones she used to support her claims, and the Freakonomics episode she mentions.

On that note, there's this interesting passage, which comes off as sorta... idk... I don't have the exact words for it. Undermining her own point a little? I'll analyze this feeling I have more after the image transcript. (Also, the "they" that is mentioned at the beginning of this passage is referring to the Freakonomics podcast.)

[Image transcript: They mentioned that there is one subset of men who out-enroll women. Which subset might that be?

Gay men.

While only 36 percent of US adults have bachelor’s degrees, 52% of gay men do.

"If America's gay men formed their own country, it would be the world's most highly educated by far.” - Joel Mittleman

At the Joel Mittleman quote in the podcast, I leaned forward…yes… surely now we will wonder why only straight men aren’t attending college… yes? /End transcript]

I feel like this passage gives a passing glance at intersectionality and then just hand waves it away to prove something about straight men. It just strikes me as something that should be explored more if the argument you're making is that men are leaving for misogynistic reasons. Because we should all know by now that gay men are perfectly capable of being misogynistic and that there are definitely gay men who don't want to share spaces with women. Is it that gay men overall tend to be more in touch with or comfortable with femininity, and are therefore less deterred by the presence of women in the classroom? I guess I'm honestly just confused as to how gay men factor into this conversation and why this deviance from the overall trend is not explored. It seems extremely relevant to the conversation?

Also, the article up to this point has been saying that men -- as a general category -- are choosing not to go to college. Is it true that the article is talking about straight men only, as this portion seems to imply? Are we considering gay men as somehow not men or unaffiliated with the rates that men are choosing college? Does the presence of more gay men in academia also mean that this "male flight" is also in part due to homophobia, or is homophobia not being considered as a factor the same way race doesn't seem to have been factored in?

Finally, how do trans men factor into this conversation? Were they counted as women or men? Were they considered at all? If they were, that certainly is not represented here.

So, I guess my overall impression is that this is an interesting and compelling thesis, but the specifics are missing in a way that makes the author's argument fall flat. I think this article would really benefit from a more intersectional approach. I also believe, as with all social issues like this, that the problem is never just one thing, but a combination of things, all of which need to be considered to address the underlying systemic issues that get us to this point. I absolutely believe the author is on to a big part of the problem, but I think her scope is limited and she needs a more solid foundation of information to build her argument on.

Idk. Read the article for yourself and see how it hits.

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

#interesting #critical analysis #critical thinking #education #feminism

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onyxstyx · 23 hours ago

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ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch falter as she gathers a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room. “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.”

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced.

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words.

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued.

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.”

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you.

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second, you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like.

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed.

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow.

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin.

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you.

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult.

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile.

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.”

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…”

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak.

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and take his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze.

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention.

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background. The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Ares, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

“Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla.

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor.

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow. Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo.

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be. Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room.

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned.

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable.

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face.

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours.

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup.

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.”

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving.

Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

#emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #gladiator ii #gladiator ii fic #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator ii fanfiction #geta x you #geta imagine #emperor geta #𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘢? 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 '𝘦𝘳!#𝘰𝘯𝘺𝘹𝘴𝘵𝘺𝘹 𝘧𝘪𝘤

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salvieslovenotes · 13 hours ago

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Mirror Mirror

vi x reader, 18+ themes!!

Vi receives a nude from you for the first time and... freaks out a little

(a/n: i haven't written anything like this before, please be gentle!!)

Vi loves the way your relationship is going. She's never taken it this slow before; her relationships in the past have all been about diving head-first, but this, with you, it feels different. She really, really likes you. She doesn't want to mess it up. And taking it slow feels good, it feels like the right thing.

She suspects she's in a bit deeper than you, afraid that it means more to her than it does for you, and so slow... yeah, that's good. Give her a bit of space, allow her to reign in the rush of feelings and want that floods her whenever she's around you.

It's new for her, not to be sure of where it's going, what's happening—but she's taking a step back, taking the cues from you. Whenever you want to take it a step further, she's more than happy to go there.

But it's also tricky, not seeing you every day when she wants to. Not being sure if you're feeling the same way. Only going on one or two dates a week, holding herself back when kissing you, afraid you'll taste the longing she can't swallow down, pull away because you don't want that. You made it very clear, you two were casual. Your relationship was supposed to be fun, and yeah—casual.

So she never mentions it, even though yeah, she wants to know if you're thinking about her, too, when you don't see each other. She wants you to be thinking about her. She wants to get little dirty texts from you, she wants to send them back. She wants to get a text and be thinking about it all day. But she respects your boundaries, and so she says nothing.

Casual is... not really how Vi feels about you.

But it's alright, she knows you haven't been treated right in the past. Been with some people who haven't been respectful, who've made it so you don't give your trust easily. And so she understands why you're hesitant about starting something serious, and she really wants to show you that she's not like the others. She would never do anything to hurt you, or make you uncomfortable.

It's a total slap in the face one morning when she's just messaged you hello like she always does and you respond... differently.

good morning love

sleep well?

She's busy pouring coffee when a moment later her phone buzzes with a new message.

Cupcake <3: Well... not so good.

Frowning, she types quickly.

oh??

Three dots appear on the screen and she waits impatiently, a little worried.

Cupcake <3: Yeah, couldn't sleep well.

Was kinda... distracted

Thinking about you

Vi stares at the last line, her heart suddenly beating hard in her chest, fast enough that her stomach clenches a little. Is this... are you doing what she thinks you're doing? For a moment she has a small panic; what if she's misinterpreted, because you two have never done anything like this before. Even your flirting is all tame, none of it overly suggestive, and what if she's got it totally wrong? What if you actually meant you were up because you were questioning the relationship. Is this you telling her you want to talk?

Now panicking in earnest, Vi glances down at her screen again where your three dots have reappeared. Wondering how to reply, she takes a sip of coffee—then promptly chokes.

Another message from you has just come through. This time, it's a photo.

A photo of you, specifically.

When Vi's finished coughing her lungs out, she grips her phone tight in both hands, staring, suddenly very certain that she was right the first time. It does not look like you're questioning the relationship.

The photo doesn't include your face, cutting off at your collarbones. Vi's gaze travels along their dip and curve, thinking of how she wants to run her tongue along that same line. You're clearly lying down in the image, rumpled sheets below your back. The lower half of the image cuts off again, just showing the elastic of your panties, and the fingers you're just slipping beneath the hem.

It's a matching set. Black lace, making the curve of your waist even sharper. Vi drinks in every pixel of the image, the way your fingers are teasing her, barely pulling the elastic of your panties as if it could snap back at any moment. She can imagine your satisfied little smile, the way your breaths would become more rapid and shallow as your hand slipped lower.

Vi lets out a shaky breath, a twinging ache of want low in her stomach. She doesn't need to move to know she's soaked her boyshorts. Pushing a hand that's trembling a little through her hair, she looks at the photo again, swallowing roughly. And shit—wait, the message is from almost ten minutes ago and she...

She has the sudden thought that you might be doing that right now, and fully just —spaces out. Gripping the counter until her knuckles are white, she closes her eyes, the picture of you blazing behind her eyelids. She thinks of the way your back would arch a little as you teased yourself, brushing a finger over your clit, bucking into your own hand. Biting your lip to stifle a moan, free hand clutching desparately at the sheets.

She still hasn't replied.

What does she even respond to something like that? Wow angel, thanks for wreaking me at eight in the morning.

Honestly, she's not really sure why this photo has... affected her so much. It's not the most explicit photo she's received from a girl, not by a long shot. Hell, some of her old hook-ups had sent full on videos and none of them had made her feel... quite like this. Shaky with the need to touch you, to have her mouth on your skin, your taste over her tongue. The desparate desire to make you hers, properly hers, someone that no one else would get to touch, to want, to have. You've barely been going out a month, and she wants it to be for always.

She's worried about leaving the message read and without a response—she doesn't want you to get the wrong impression, that it wasn't a good idea to send or worse, that she's unfazed by it.

But she just... doesn't know what to send back. In the past she's snapped responses without even thinking, quick photos of her touching herself, or maybe some at the gym, especially when she was with one girl who was particularly into her strength, but she doesn't know you well enough to know what you'd like, what would make you think of her in the way she's thinking of you—you're both still learning each other, the sex is still new. And she sort of wants...

She wants to make you feel like she does right now. She just doesn't know how.

For now she just sends a quick text, just the truth, before she can think twice about it—

fuck, angel

do you have any idea what you do to me?

—then locks her phone and religiously doesn't look at it for the rest of the day. Not that it makes a difference. Without ever opening your chat again, she's distracted. Thinking about you. Wanting you.

After work she can't take it anymore and calls Caitlyn, one of her closest friends and incidentally how you two met, as Caitlyn is also a close friend of yours.

Vi's not calling to ask for advice on nudes... but she's also not not calling to ask for advice on nudes. She and Caitlyn have been friends long enough that she's not even embarrassed about it.

"Fuck I just... I dunno what to do," she sighs. It's a little frightening, to want someone that badly, when she has no idea if you feel that strongly about her.

She's so highly strung her fingers have a tiny tremor in them even though she's only had one coffee today. Every time she thinks of that photo (which she's done approximately seven times a minute all day) her heartrate picks up, heat inching up her neck. She's pretty sure her cheeks have been flushed all day—though it's not particularly hot weather-wise.

She's wearing tight black jeans, her old pair full of rips she usually wears when tinkering on her bike, but it was a bad choice today because they're tight around her waist, and every time she bends or takes a seat the seam presses against her. Usually she doesn't notice, but now even that slight pressure is enough to have her biting back a whine as she thinks again about your long fingers curling under the lacy hem of your panties, the way you'd —

A soft laugh in her ear snaps her back to the present. Fuck, she needs to get it together.

"Okay, I'm gonna help you," says Caitlyn on the other end of the line, sounding vaguely amused. "But only because you're being a pathetic wet sock. Alright, you want her to want you?"

"Uh-huh," Vi mumbles, slumped over her counter top and staring moodily at the floor.

"Right, go into your bedroom."

"Okay..." Vi replies, pushing herself up off the counter and wandering through her small flat to her bedroom. "M'kay, I'm there."

"Open your wardrobe door," Caitlyn instructs, "the side with the long mirror. You still have that mirror, don't you?"

"Uh-huh," Vi says, pulling open the side of her wardrobe with the mirror attached. "Now what?"

"Now take off your shirt, and turn around. "

Having tossed her phone onto her bed, halfway out of her shirt Vi pauses, frowning. "Turn... around?"

There's an exasperated sigh from Caitlyn's end. "Yes, turn around. One-eighty. One-eight-zero. Turn around."

"So I'm... not facing the mirror?"

There's another sigh from Caitlyn. "Fuck, Vi, you useless lesbian. Yes, turn around so your back is to the mirror."

"My back?"

"Yep." There's a smirk in Caitlyn's voice when she adds, "Trust me, that's all you need to do to make her want you."

And well, Caitlyn's not wrong.

#salvie writes #rahhhh #the full reveal of vi's back did things to me #good day for the girls #vi x reader #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane league of legends #lesbian #wlw #arcane vi #arcane season 2 #sapphic #vi x you #vi x fem reader #vi fanfic

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starlight-sev · 3 days ago

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A View From Above (Severus Snape x Reader)

Or, that time you shared New Years Eve with a kindred spirit.

A/N: Happy (belated) holidays! I hope this season treated you well. This is a gentle, fluffy one, a hug in writing form to anyone who may find the holidays to be a struggle. It’s not always an easy time, and I’m thinking of you ❤️

The cold night air bit at your cheeks as you nestled yourself further into the nook of the Astronomy tower. It may have been cramped, and not to mention near freezing, but it had one of the most beautiful viewpoints in the entire castle.

And not to mention the quiet. This was the only place you were able to clear your head properly.

“You’re not off at the party with the rest of the staff.” The sudden remark nearly made you jump, despite being quietly spoken. You shifted in your little corner, looking up to find Severus standing a few feet away. He wore his trademark stern expression, but for a split second you could’ve sworn he was biting back a smirk.

“I thought you were a student, the way you’re all crammed up in there.” Severus nodded to your little corner, and this time a tiny smile did make it to his face. “I was ready to take points away and send you to detention in the morning.”

You snorted, pushing yourself up out of your corner to properly greet your coworker. While you wouldn’t go so far as to call Severus your friend (he’d have your head if you did, probably), you felt… comfortable around him. It was more than could be said about the other staff.

“Drew the short straw and got put on patrol, I guess?” You asked, stretching your legs a little as you moved to lean against the guardrail of the tower. Severus followed suit as he settled in beside you, scoffing.

“They’ve come to know over the years that I never attend Dumbledore’s bloody holiday parties. Since I don’t go, I get patrol duty. It’s become… an unspoken rule.”

Severus paused, gazing curiously at you.

“Had I known you wouldn’t be attending tonight’s party either,” he continued slowly. “I would’ve volunteered you for patrol tonight.”

“Why?” You retorted with a small laugh. “Missing out on the festivities now, after the fact?”

“No,” Severus drawled. He rolled his eyes at you, but you caught the small huff of a laugh that left him. “It would be nice to celebrate the new year in peace. Alone. Like you’re doing now.”

“Well…” you thought for a moment. “You can stay here with me. I won’t say a word, it’ll be like you’re alone.”

As you looked out at the lake, you caught Severus turn to gaze at you properly out of your peripheral vision. Heat crept up to your cheeks, and you kept your gaze on the water below.

“You went away for the holidays.”

You blinked in surprise, finally turning to meet Severus’s gaze.

“I’m surprised you noticed I was gone.”

He nodded. “But you came back early. classes don’t start for almost another week.”

Despite the constant statements, your co-worker’s dark eyes were filled with questions. You usually appreciated Severus and his matter-of-fact nature, but things were feeling… too close.

“My family.” You sighed, not wanting to go into too much detail. “The holidays are hard. I go visit because I have to, but this year was too much.”

You braced yourself for more questions, but to your surprise Severus simply nodded.

“The holidays are godawful.” He murmured.

“Is that why you never go home for Christmas and New Years?”

Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line. Now he was the one to keep his gaze on the lake below.

“Let’s just say, I’ve burned many bridges over the years.”

You gazed at him, watching the way memories of his past left a murky darkness in his eyes. You shuffled over a bit more, instinctively wanting to provide some sort of comfort, to let him know you understood. To your surprise, Severus didn’t step away.

“Want to know why I come up here?” You asked softly. Severus raised an eyebrow in question.

You beckoned him back over to your little corner a few feet away, and crouched down to the small window.

“Here, squeeze in,” you murmured, tucking your knees in and wrapping your arms around your legs. Severus glared at you skeptically.

“You’re much smaller than I am.”

“Oh, stop it. You’ll fit. Come on. Just tuck your legs in a bit.”

A ragged sigh and an unintelligible grumble later, Severus was crammed into your little spot beside you. You were surprised at how warm he was, despite the cold air that drifted around you.

“See there? Down there, to the right?” You pointed through the window to a far-away cluster of tiny lights. “It’s a village. Right at midnight, they set off the most beautiful fireworks. From here, they’re so small, it’s like watching them from space almost. It’s nice, without all the noise and chaos of actually being there.”

You glanced quickly at the time and smiled. “It’ll be midnight soon. Not much longer now.”

“You can’t- argh, my leg-” Severus cut himself off as he shifted positions, trying to fit beside you comfortably. Your knees knocked together and you tried your best to shuffle in further to give him a bit more space. Your hands brushed together as a result, and you fought to ignore the way your heart jumped.

“You can’t see this from anywhere else more comfortable?” He asked, his voice strained. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

“No. The lookout doesn’t stretch this far. If you’re lucky you’ll maybe catch one or two fireworks if they go astray, but this is the only place where you can see them all.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, save for Severus shifting every now and then to keep his legs from cramping up as he sat beside you.

“Have you ever been kissed on New Year’s?” You murmured softly, resting your hand against your cheek. The look of surprise on Severus’s face mirrored your own feelings as you realize what you just said. You expected Severus to scoff at you in his usual tone, but to his surprise he shook his head.

“No. I suppose going to parties would’ve certainly helped with that, however.”

You held back a laugh, only to let it bubble up as Severus glanced at you with perhaps the only warm smile you’d ever seen him show.

“And you?”

“Yes,” you answered softly. “But it was… odd. It felt forced. We were both drunk.”

“How romantic.” You laughed once more at the sarcasm that was evident in Severus’s reply. “You’re really selling the tradition from how you’ve described it.”

“You’ve really never been kissed at midnight?”

“Was my first answer not clear enough?”

Despite the biting reply, there was laughter in his eyes.

“No, just… I’m surprised, that’s all. It’s something everyone should experience just once.”

“So is getting hungover, but you don’t see me scrambling to experience it ever again. Besides, who are you to talk? You just said your New Year’s kiss was awful.”

“I never said that!” You protested, only to receive another signature glare. “It was just…”

Severus snorted. “Certainly wasn’t good, from the sound of it.”

“Okay fine,” you sighed, running your hands over your face. “It wasn’t good. But it wasn’t awful either.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

You laughed, elbowing Severus teasingly. To your surprise, he nudged you back gently.

“I’m glad it was you that found me up here.” You murmured, pulling your knees a little closer to your chest. Severus gazed at you, smirking.

“Why? Filius or even Minerva would’ve enjoyed this spot. At least they would’ve fit.”

“Not that.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just… you’re the only one I feel I can be myself around. Like now. I’d never be able to talk about this kind of thing with anyone else.”

Severus gazed at you silently, his eyebrows knitting into a tiny frown as he processed your words.

“Sorry. That came out of nowhere.”

“Don’t apologize.” He replied softly. He didn’t say anything more, but there was a comforting warmth that filled his eyes. No words were exchanged, but you felt as though you understood.

A tiny spark flashed in the corner of your eye, and you glanced out the window as tiny fireworks bloomed in the distance.

“Oh.” You gasped softly. “We missed the countdown. It’s midnight.”

“Mm. So it is.”

You turned your gaze to Severus, whose gaze was fully absorbed in the fireworks. The conversation from a few minutes earlier ran through your mind, and you leaned forward to press a tiny kiss to Severus‘s cheek. He gazed at you, bewildered.

“Happy New Year.” You managed to squeak out. The shock faded from his eyes, and it was replaced by that familiar warmth as he softened. Severus dipped his head respectfully in acknowledgement.

“Happy New Year.”

The two of you sat together in silence, watching the fireworks. Then, to your surprise, Severus tapped your arm lightly.

“This, us tonight, stays up here?”

To your surprise, it wasn’t a statement. You could see there was a bit of nervousness in his eyes. You nodded.

“Yes. Of course. This is our secret. Why do you ask?”

The air felt heavy for a moment as Severus paused in thought, before closing the already-small distance between the two of you. He pressed his lips softly to yours, caressing your face with both of his hands. In the back of your mind, it hit you that he was gentle and calculated in literally everything he did, not just potions. It made your head spin, and your heart race.

The fireworks were over by the time the two of you pulled away. Severus let his gaze fall away, but you caught his hands in yours before he could pull away completely. You squeezed his hands reassuringly to let him know it was okay, and he returned your action with a kind smile.

“Hopefully that… wasn’t as awful as your last New Year’s kiss?”

You let out a giggle, and felt a rush of pure joy run through you as Severus shared your laughter.

“That was, by far, the best. And hopefully not the last?” You added shyly.

In response, Severus leaned in and kissed you again.

#snape x reader #severus snape #snape imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #severus snape imagine #severus snape x reader #alan rickman

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awrkive · 2 days ago

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smut + 14 + tlp!jk WHAHSJJSNSKSJSSJ I lowk feel like jk would b a little silly this line 😆

14. "I am your daddy."

note: lmfao anon u r right and u should say it

wc: 0.9k

warning/s: c*nnilingus

“Slap me.”

“What the fuck?”

“Just not too hard,” you insist, already feeling a little restless with the cuffs around your wrist. It’s cold and you’re butt naked and Jungkook hasn’t even taken off his pants yet.

But Jungkook just incredulously responds with, “No, I’m not gonna slap you.”

“Don’t be a pussy,” you roll your eyes at him, nudging his thigh with your foot. When you dig your heel in his crotch, Jungkook catches your ankle and positions your leg back to the mattress with a “tsk.” You whine. “Jungkook.”

“What?” He says with mock emphasis as if he doesn’t have you spread out for him right now. He did just make you cum, though… but the way you’re tied to the bedpost right now is making you feel a little raunchier than usual.

“If we're doing BDSM and shit, you need to be a little mean.” you say. You bite your lip when Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair in that weirdly sexy way. You’ll never tire of thinking that he’s extremely attractive and that he's yours.

“Baby, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but you’re crazy if you think I can ever lay my hand on you.”

“Ugh.” You groan sarcastically. “Fine. What do you suggest then? You’re the one who wanted to try out the cuffs, mind you.”

“So? I just wanted to eat you out.” He retorts. “With cuffs.”

You pout. “I thought you were finally going to reveal you have some sort of a daddy kink…”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. Unbuckling his belt, you bite your lip as you watch him slide it out of the loops and throw it on the heap of the floor, zipping down his pants and pulling it down with his boxers all the way off to reveal his cock. It’s engorged and red already, with precum shining to attention.

The metal clunk when you made a move to reach out, and only then do you realize that you’re restricted to any arm mobility as of now. Which makes you frown.

“Do you have a daddy kink?” Jungkook throws back the question at you, stroking his cock. You're focused on that before he leans down on your chest.

Your breath hitch when he peppers kisses down the perk of your breasts, a moan escaping from your lips when he wraps his mouth around your nipple, quick to alternate between sucking and licking.

When Jungkook fondles your other boob, your head lolls backward, eyes rolling at the sensation.

“I-I’m not sure. Never tried it.” You say, focusing on the movement of his tongue.

“Uh-huh,” Jungkook furthers his mouth down your stomach, making your eyes snap open. You look at him, at the curls on top of his head, curious to what he’ll do next. When he holds your waist, he murmurs, “Pretty girl,” It tickles, the way he leaves ghosts of his kisses on your skin, but when his lips touch the heat of your core, you sigh with content. “Pretty pussy.”

“Oh.” You moan when he licks at your lips, his tongue quickly coming back for more and hand pinning your waist down when your begin to buck up.

Jungkook’s never been shy about being an avid fan of your pussy and eating it any time of day but he always manages to render you speechless at how much he likes doing it, because he performs it with such purpose; tongue licking every crevice and mouth sucking every slick, and when he inserts his long fingers in your aching, wet hole, you keen just like every a few minutes ago and every single time.

“Fuck.” You sigh out, already feeling another wave of orgasm when Jungkook speeds up. The sound of spit and slick is lewd and vulgar to the ears, but you couldn't care less, not when you’re close to cumming.

“Baby– oh god–” You thrash in the cuffs, knees shaking at your impending release. With Jungkook’s two fingers sliding in and out of your pussy and his tongue sucking your clit simultaneously and with your inability to hold anything, you suddenly feel like crying. “Kook, oh my god, slow– slow down, please–”

But instead of doing just that, Jungkook speeds up even faster, and that nearly flies you off the edge, can feel yourself cumming when–

“Jung– what the fuck?”

You look at Jungkook in offense when he suddenly comes up, cutting your release. Nevermind the fact that he looks like literal sin with your juices all over his mouth and chin – the damn guy just stopped eating you out just as when you were about to cum.

Jungkook shrugs coolly, and if it wasn’t because of the cuffs, you would’ve jabbed at his chest by now because the audacity?

"You want me to be mean, you said,” his lips curl up playfully. “I’ll edge you a bit. Then you can have my cock... when I want to. How’s that sound?”

Your face contorts into confusion and realization and there’s a weird feeling in your stomach because you want to knock at his head but also… it’s kinda… hot?

You purse your lips.

Jungkook decides to add, “I’m your daddy now.”

You deadpan.

What you don’t expect is Jungkook immediately laughing just right after he said that.

“Alright, damn, that sounded way better in my head.” He snickers, and you can’t help but feel a little silly too.

“Jungkook.” you half-whine and laugh.

Jungkook leans down to kiss your mouth, and you can feel his hard dick nudging your thigh at the action. Cupping your cheeks, Jungkook looks at you for a few seconds then kisses you again.

“I can’t be mean to you. You’re my baby.” He purrs and as if he can’t get enough, he pecks your mouth again.

You jut your bottom lip out to not laugh. He takes it as another invite for a kiss.

“You’re a sap.” You tease.

When Jungkook breaks away (not without kissing you again), he looks at you with a proud smile. “Damn straight.”

#jungkook smut #tlp drabbles #fic: tlp #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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kedreeva · 1 day ago

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i have an odd animal husbandry question you seem like you might know the answer to, your comment about stan reminded me - ive been thinking about getting into backyard chickens for a couple years and the thing that makes me hesitate most is hard culling. im confident in my ability to put down an animal thats sick, or infirm, or for food, but for like, temperament? or for poor egg layers? just sticks on me for some reason. i think it would feel like telling them theyre not a good enough chicken for me. how to you process this part of animal husbandry?

This will be a little long, so bear with me.

If you want to keep use animals (animals bred for a purpose, to be used for a purpose instead of kept as a companion), you gotta get good with the idea that they are here for you under the agreement that you will only keep them as long as you need to. When you take them on, you are agreeing that you will release them to whatever their next life holds for them as soon as you do not need (or they've completed) their service. Maybe for some people that's just release to the biological cycle of life, for others maybe there's an eternal rest, for others maybe it's reincarnation. For soft culling that's just moving to the next household. Whatever it is, you are allowing them to pass to it in as humane a way as you can, and ultimately it is the single greatest kindness and gratitude you can show to them, to give them proper care while they are here and allow them to end with little to no pain- something animals outside of our care rarely get. You are thanking them for their service, and letting them go. Worth does not even begin to factor into it.

It is not easy to take a life. It is NEVER easy, regardless of reason, regardless of excuse, regardless of anything. It is ALWAYS heavy, and it will always hurt you. And it should. I am grateful for the weight of taking a life, because it reminds me that it is serious, and reminds me to take the production of life seriously, because at some point any life I cause to come into existence via breeding animals will have to end.

On top of that, some things ARE heath related that do not seem health related. Aggression in domestic animals IS A HEALTH ISSUE. A cock is aggressive because he is stressed about intruders, containment, mating threats, resource guarding, etc. Even with the best of care this can be true, and unfortunately for you both, this means the animal is not suited for domestic keeping. The same goes for animals (in any stripe of use, but particularly private care) that display repetitive stress behaviors from normal, proper captive care (for example, mice that are food chewing are stressed and should be culled from lines where possible because they are not having a good time). You are doing them a disservice to keep them in a stressful situation you cannot change because of their biology. It has nothing to do with not being good enough for you, and everything to do with producing/keeping animals that do not experience that stress in captive care and releasing the rest from duty because they will not be okay in any captive care.

For some issues (poor egg laying, for example) you CAN pet-home culls instead of hard culling. It's harder to do, you will spend time finding people who just want pets that don't intend to breed or don't care, but it can be done. However!! Is the bird just slow at producing eggs because her genetics say that's how fast eggs get produced, or is she producing slowly because there's a health problem that isn't immediately evident? Is her ovary damaged, is her reproductive tract infected, does she have a disorder that prevents her from processing food correctly so she can't get what she needs to produce eggs as fast as normal? Are you setting the bird up for failure (and someone else for heartbreak/money troubles) sending them to a pet home? Is it something which could lead to pain/suffering down the road if she's allowed to continue? Hard to say without spending a lot of money. Are you willing to risk your reputation, if someone takes a surprise illness/genetic issue down the road badly ("Oh THAT breeder sold me a sick/unhealthy bird/bird with bad genetics"), and compromise your ability to find homes for healthy birds down the road?

You are okay with culling a bird for food- there's nothing that says you cannot eat the bad temperaments, the poor egg layers, the one with genetic issues, and so on. And if you can tell early enough that you, personally, can't make use of the meat, there are plenty of folks with other animals that would LOVE feed for those animals. Take yourself down to a local reptile expo, grab the business cards for a few people who have big snake babies (retics, burmese, anaconda, redtail boa, even BP) that say they'd be interested in taking culls, OR look up local bird of prey rescues in your area (or reptile rescues or big cat rescues if there are any) and ask if they'd be interested in culls. There is ALWAYS someone that can use what you can't/won't. You may have to jump through some hoops to donate to some kinds of rescues (health testing for example), but it's an option you can look into if you want to combat the feelings you're talking about.

As a last note- and I am saying this gently and holding your face in both hands: do not anthropomorphize animals in reality.

In YOUR eyes, you are culling them an illness or an injury or for food or for temperament or for poor quality or or or---- it does not matter to the animal why you are culling them. A death is a death, to them. They are here, and then a thing happens, and they are no longer. They do not understand life or death or afterlife or reincarnation or that they are here for a purpose or not a purpose or literally anything you as a human might impose upon them in your head. They live while they are alive, and then they are not. They do not "want to live" in the "avoid death" sense because they do not necessarily understand "death" as a future concept. Instincts that have worked well to preserve life have been encoded in their DNA to one degree or another, they can and do respond to avoid pain, but with little exception (like... maybe elephants and dolphins and a crows and a few others), it's unlikely that they understand the connection between doing those things and being alive/avoiding death.

So while TO YOU it may feel like telling the bird they are not good enough, and TO ME it feels like allowing the bird to move on in peace... the bird doesn't know either way, and honestly the reason hardly matters. It is alive in the present, and one way or another it will not be alive someday, and you are responsible for making sure that the one way under your control is so peaceful or quick that the bird hardly knows it is no longer alive. The bird doesn't care about (and cannot understand) the why of their death, any more than they understand their pain/stress and how it relates medical assistance; it's why animals often freak out, refuse meds, etc. They don't hate the vet or the car or the carrier or anything- they just simply don't understand human stuff and react according to instincts/what they do understand. If you treat an animal like the animal it IS rather than the person you imagine it to be, you will find yourself with a lot better relationship with them during life, and be able to frame their passing a bit better later on.

#it's not an odd question actually #it's not even the first time I've been asked questions like this #It's a topic a LOT of people will not face head on #or talk about in louder than a whisper #but death is arguably the most important part of animal husbandry to talk frankly and openly about #asks #animal death for ts #culling #hard culling #chickens

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youhavethesun · 1 day ago

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saw a tiktok on pinterest (because I don’t have tiktok lol) about how annoyed someone was that Rory had given up all her hopes and dreams ‘because of one comment from a man’. and I know this was meant as a joke but honestly I wonder if this is how a lot of people view this plot line. I’ve seen so many people talking about Rory’s ‘downfall’ and how she was so unable to handle criticism/that she fell apart from a single comment etc.. and I just honestly can’t see how people continue to view it this way.

I think there are honestly a lot of factors that influenced Rory’s breakdown after Mitchum’s comment, but first of all I quickly want to say that (I know this is controversial but I genuinely do not care) I don’t think her leaving Yale was a bad thing!!! It was treated as this ultimate sin, (maybe this is for another post idk) but honestly I think Rory made the right decision. I don’t think the right decision was obviously her giving in to the lifestyle Emily wanted for her/joining the dar and so on, but actually taking a break from formal education I think could have been positive, all through season 4 we see how much of a toll college is taking on Rory, and I think taking a year out if she knew she was going back and using that year to rest and learn more about herself could have been really beneficial.

anyway sorry for the tangent, okay so the first thing is that a lot of people seem to view Rory’s conversation with Mitchum as a single interaction which caused her ‘downfall’, and everything was a domino effect from then on, instead of looking at it as the straw that broke the camels back. like I said, Rory was not in a good place at Yale even during s4, she had a terrible breakdown when she was slipping in her grades, and the impact of having to drop a single class was huge for her, she was desperately anxious about disappointing especially her grandfather’s expectations, but she was also at risk of at least somewhat disappointing all her immediate family. In season 2 (in my beloved car scene in teach me tonight) we can see hints of it too! Jess is just chatting casually when he says he didn’t expect her to dream about becoming an overseas correspondent, but this immediately rattles Rory, with direct dialogue being:

“well, it's not a little too rough for me. I hope it's not a little too rough for me, I've been talking about this forever. I mean, I don't even know what I would do if -“

and this is in response to a comment from a friend.

the prospect of failing at her goal but also very importantly what Rory has ‘talked about forever’ is incredibly frightening. I think it’s so interesting that she doesn’t say ‘I’ve wanted this forever’, but rather implies that the expectations of those who have watched her grow up, who have heard her talk about this for so long, would be shattered because she has shared this with them. so much of Rory as a character is someone who is afraid to disappoint in every way possible, I think that is such a core element of her personality, and as the child prodigy who was (to some extent) raised to achieve what lorelai couldn’t, the pressure she is under not to disappoint is massive.

anyway, back to Mitchum. I think honestly to some degree it could have been anyone to criticise Rory’s capability and she would be considerably affected, seen not just when talking to Jess but even in season 1 after getting lower grades when she transferred to Chilton - Rory immediately questions whether she is even good enough to be at private school, whether she could just be disappointing those around her if she stays.

The fact that it’s Mitchum Huntzberger who says she ‘doesn’t have it’ in my opinion is kind of just the icing on the cake. Whether or not Rory had even taken the internship I think the pressure of it all would have led to a larger breakdown at some point or other, this was really just the final straw for what Rory could take at the time. Imagine one of the most successful people in the world in your chosen field telling you that everything you’ve worked for isn’t enough, that in three short words every expectation you’ve set for yourself (and more importantly every expectation everyone around you has held you accountable to) has been torn apart. Imagine believing you had let down everyone who had sacrificed something for you, who had put their faith in you, and tell me you could just bounce back from that.

Anyway the tiktok was not that serious but my thoughts just kind of spun out from there so if you read all of this I love you <3 and also I love you later season Rory you’re flawed and you’re lovely<33

#gilmore girls #rory gilmore #gilmore girls text #gilmore girls analysis #rory gilmore girls #yale rory

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csainzsgirly · 1 day ago

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cs55 - "Estoy obsesionado contigo"

smut (18+), oral (f receiving), carlos being unable to keep his hands off you and is obsessed with you, fingering

thanks for the love on that piece 🥹 consider this a follow-up 💓

The sky was so blue, the water was so crystal clear, the pancakes for breakfast had been so delicious. You never wanted this winter break to end. After the escapade in the sauna yesterday, Carlos had taken you out for dinner, spending the night obsessing over the v-necked halter dress you were wearing, clearly seeing the tan lines of your bikini on your tits the dress was barely covered. You stretched out your limbs on the soft cushions of the lounging chair, opening your book where you had left off a couple of days ago, your mind still on your boyfriend while trying to focus on the letters on the paper. This morning had been as dreamy as the others, and you knew you were done for when you poured just a little too much syrup on your pancakes, causing it to drip from your lips and down your chin.

The look in his eyes, dark, predator-like, watched you use your fingers to scoop it up, then licking it from your digits before asking him if he wanted a bite too. Let's say you had to pause breakfast and eat the rest of it while it had gone cold. You wondered if there was a thing as too much sex, a question that would probably make him gasp if you asked him. Because you were going at it like some sex-crazed teenagers, as he had you bouncing on his cock whenever he had the chance, or bend you over any surface he wanted, buried deeply inside you while the large bed in the bedroom protested under the force of his thrusts. You wouldn't change a thing, though. In fact, you were just as insane as he was, and ready to jump his bones whenever you had the chance.

Carlos was currently cycling around the island, wanting to stay fit even though he got enough cardio in. Filthy images of his sweaty body, hair slicked back and his shirt zipped down were enough to make you squeeze your thighs together. Speaking of the devil, or well, el diavolo rosso, you heard the click of his cycling shoes in the apartment, but it took him a while to come outside. When he returned, he had replaced his training clothes for just some shorts, showing up behind you. "Mi linda reina," he hummed, scooping up your hair from the pillows, raking his fingers through, massaging your scalp before leaning over you and kissing your forehead. "What are you reading?" he asks, walking around the chair to move on it with you.

It's innocent, sweet almost, the way he pretends to be interested in your book, while you couldn't even care less about the book yourself. "No idea," you reply, closing it and placing it on the small coffee table. "I was a little... distracted," you purr, turning on your side to face him. A hint of amusement is visible in his eyes, a small grin tugging on the corners of his lips. "Dime por qué," Carlos pushes, fingers caressing your cheek before trailing down your neck, tracing the line of your bikini top down to the valley between your tits. "I was thinking about how you fucked me from behind this morning," you bluntly reply, feeling your cunt already pulsing in your tiny panties. "¿Es eso así?" he clearly wants you to continue. "And how good your cock felt in the sauna yesterday," you hum, brushing up his ego.

Carlos pulled on the strings of your top, which easily gave in to a simple tug on them, making him think you had tied them loosely just for him. A soft breath left his lips at your words, thinking back at how pretty you looked on top of him, tits bouncing in his face, his tongue rolling over your nipples had you making such beautiful noises for him. And he wanted to hear it again, and again, and again, he wanted to hear you cry out his name and whine and whimper while his cock was filling you to the brim every hour of the day. "You're obsessed with me," you hum, a shiver running up your spine as he rolls you over to your back, his hands finding your tits right away. "Don't act like you're not obsessed with me and my cock, pretty," he replies, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Hmm," you huff, hooking your legs around him like it had become muscle memory. Carlos kissed the skin just under your ear, making you squirm beneath him already. He was eager, way too eager to work his way slowly down your body. He wanted, needed to have his mouth on your pussy. The vanilla smell of your perfume and lotion drove him insane, his cock aching in his shorts as he kissed down your stomach, moving your bikini aside like he had done in the sauna yesterday. His mouth buries between your legs, tongue soft and wet as it slides against your clit. He's instantly rewarded with a sweet moan, your fingers finding the roots of his hair and tugging on them as he takes his time to taste you, to eat you, consume you. The heat is bubbling in your lower abdomen, the coil tightening when he sucks your clit between his lips.

Carlos' eyes flicker up to yours, satisfied to see the drunk look on your face, eyes hazed, lust pooling in them. His lips are wet with your sticky juices, making you moan and urge him to continue. Hot breaths ghost over your cunt when his head turns to bite into your thigh, loving to put his teeth in the flesh of your thigh as much as you love to bite into his biceps, or his shoulder, or the v-line on his hips. "Carlos..." you whimper, back arching when his mouth covers your mound again, tongue gliding up your slit, teasing your hole. "Estoy obsesionado contigo," he mutters, confirming your words, two of his fingers sliding along your slit, gathering some of your slick before pushing in effortlessly. It sucks all the oxygen from your lungs, it had your toes curling, delicious pleasure spreading through your body. "Also with this pussy," he continues, honey eyes staring at you from between your legs.

Carlos' tongue slit over your clit again, working in tandem with his fingers. His palm flipped upwards, fingers curling up and finding that spot inside you that made you press your body deeper into the cushions. His other hand dug into your thigh, making sure you kept them spread open. His tongue is tense as he traces figures over your nub of nerves, repeating his initials - CS - over and over again till you were a squirming, wet mess beneath him. His mouth is so hot and slick against you, the combination of his fingers stretching you out so well making you sob with desperation for an orgasm. His muscles shift in his arms, his back as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt with precision, the sight of it having you teetering over the edge. You succumbed to the white-hot pleasure, your fingers pulling his hair hard.

Carlos groans at your taste, lapping up what you gave him. His teeth nip at your thighs again, fingers slowing down, but remaining inside you. "Mi amor..." his voice rasps, lips dropping on your clit again. "I'm sure you can take one more," there's a smile on his face, his mouth slick with your juices. You can't do anything else but take it as he continued to eat you like a man starved.

#carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #cs x reader #cs x reader smut

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crazerk · 3 days ago

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Im thinking that when my mc gets shown to our husband along with the other new concubines he sees a thin rope around her ankle and asks why is she tied and the servants try carefully telling him I already tried to run away two times as I was a slave

Lol. This scene probably won’t appear in the books but it was fun to think about so I made a little drabble.

You stand in a line like a prized horse at auction, head bowed in proper deference as the shah makes his way down the row of girls, preening for his attention. You can feel the weight of his presence even before he reaches you, like the heaviness in the air before a storm. The silk rope around your ankle feels impossibly conspicuous, despite Orgion's attempts to arrange your skirts to hide it.

The soft whisper of expensive robes against marble grows closer. Then silence. You can see the edge of his shadow falling across the floor before your feet, can sense his stillness as he pauses.

"Why is this one bound?"

His voice is quieter than you'd expected, touched with something that might be curiosity or might be disapproval. You keep your eyes fixed on the floor, though every instinct screams at you to look up, to see the face of the man who now owns your fate.

You hear Orgion clear his throat delicately. "Ah, your majesty... there have been some... difficulties with compliance." The chief eunuch's usual unctuous tone has taken on a nervous edge. "Two attempts at... unauthorized departure, thus far."

"Two?" There is definitely curiosity now, and something else – a hint of amusement? "In less than a week?"

"The first was during her initial examination, your majesty. She... ah... managed to evade the guards and make it as far as the outer courtyard before she was intercepted."

"And the second?"

"Yesterday morning. She had somehow acquired a set of servant's robes and very nearly made it to the kitchens. If one of the cooks hadn't recognized her..."

You fight to keep your face neutral, though your cheeks burn at having your failures laid bare. You hadn't even made it to the actual palace gates. Some great escape artist you're turning out to be.

"Look at me."

The command is soft but unmistakable. You hesitate for a heartbeat, then slowly raise your head.

The shah is younger than you'd expected, though his eyes hold a weight that goes beyond his years. They're an unusual color – not quite brown, not quite gold, but something in between that seems to shift in the light filtering through the high windows. His face is all elegant angles, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that speaks of his foreign blood. But it's his expression that catches you off guard – not anger or offense at your defiance, but something that looks almost like recognition.

"Interesting," he says softly, more to himself than to you. Then, to Orgion: "Remove the rope."

"Your majesty?" The chief eunuch's voice rises slightly in alarm. He gaze bounces from you to the shah. "I must advise against—"

"Remove it." There is steel beneath the quiet now. "We are not savages, to keep our women in bonds."

"As you wish, your majesty." Orgion gestures sharply to one of the attending servants, who hurries forward to untie the silk cord.

You feel the rope fall away from your ankle, but you don't dare move. He is still watching you with that strange, measuring look.

"Tell me," he says, "what would you have done if you'd made it to the gates?"

The question catches you by surprise. You should lie, you know – make up some story about missing your family, play the part of the frightened girl who just wants to go home. But something in those unusual eyes compels honesty.

"I would have run," you say simply. "As far and as fast as I could."

A spark of something that might be approval flickers across his face. "And now?"

"Now?" You meet his gaze squarely. "I suppose I'll have to find other ways to escape."

Orgion makes a strangled sound of outrage. "Your majesty, you see how intractable she is! Perhaps if we were to—"

"Enough." Kaz's voice cut through the eunuch's protests like a blade. He turns to face Orgion fully, and though his tone remains quiet, there is no mistaking the anger beneath it. "Let me be very clear. These women are not animals to be leashed and caged. They are members of my household, and they will be treated with the dignity their position demands." His eyes flick to the discarded rope. "If I ever see another concubine bound like a common criminal, you will answer to me personally. Do I make myself understood?"

Orgion's face has gone pale. He bows so low his forehead nearly touched the floor. "Yes, your majesty. Of course, your majesty. I only thought—"

"You thought wrong." Kaz's gaze sweeps the room, taking in the other officials and attendants. "The same goes for all of you. These women are under my protection. Remember that."

He studies you for a moment longer, then the corner of his mouth curves up slightly. "You might want to avoid the kitchens in the future. The head cook has an unusually good memory for faces."

You stare after him, unsure whether you've just made a terrible mistake or somehow passed a test you hadn't known you were taking. But as you watch him move on to inspect the other girls, you could have sworn you saw a flash in his eye, of barely concealed mirth.

#cotgr #kaz #mc #answered #asks

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zvdvdlvr · 20 hours ago

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Window to the Soul ✰ Silco x Reader

✰. Kind of a character study of Silco? (I guess I shouldn’t say that because I don’t know exactly what a character study is. I just wanted to finally use some of the obscure words on my Notes app.) BOTTOM LINE: straight up waxing poetry about Silco and his eyes and facial expression because I love him your honor!!!

✰. WC: .8k (830words). credits to @strangergraphics for the BEAUTIFUL divider. I love how simple + elegant it is :))

The saying ‘eyes are the window into the soul’- in your opinion- was one of the most truthful statements ever made. At least in regards to Silco.

His beautiful, sharp face paired with his glinting emerald eye and the shocking bright orange in the other eye had you entranced the first time you saw him. He had seen you the very moment you’d looked up- and, surprisingly- Silco had felt a similar jolt in his chest. It was from that moment Silco decided he would be indefatigable in his scheme to earn your heart.

The dance he pulled you into was nothing short of breathtaking: with elegant dips, mesmerizing swirls and twirls, and intoxicating hand placement. But it wasn’t the dance itself you dreamed about during the following nights- it was his eyes.

Silco had held your gaze the entire night, his eyes a perfect blend of vivid green and burning coal of orange. For having only just met, he looked at you like he knew something about you not even you knew. You committed to memory the moment he dipped you for the first time and how his eyebrows relaxed and his pupils widened in his eyes.

He was just as disarming the next time you saw him, those beautiful eyes set between his aquiline nose landing on you once again.

When he took you on a date for the first time, Silco had worn his signature crimson color. It was absolutely stunning and you made sure your accessories matches the color you knew he would wear. He had taken you to a quaint restaurant in Piltover and followed dinner up with the option to stroll along the city street in the crepuscular light or visit the nearby aquarium.

You picked the slow stroll through town, choosing to continue the flowing conversation as much as you would have loved to shower Silco in facts about marine life. Though you took joy in absorbing the sight of all kinds of undulating jellyfish you were more keen on the idea of getting entranced by Silco’s eyes for the numerous time.

Bedroom eyes were a new addition to your list of ways Silco had looked at you. Crude, uncouth, electrifying. Although it was embarrassing to admit, you’d been able to cum just by Silco’s words and eyes. It wasn’t as though he was unaware of your. . . attraction towards him (it was impossible to hide, so sorry to inform you) because he knew the affect he had on you. He didn’t fully understand why you were so attracted to him- his gaze, his face, his soul- but you were. And he knew.

Silco used that to his advantage, consciously communicating with his eyes to you. One such case is the night you were kidnapped. Or rather, when Silco found you and was negotiating with the asinine kidnapper. The only reason he hadn’t immediately commanded his snipers to shoot him was because there was a gun pressed to your temple.

You hadn’t looked away from him when he walked into the warehouse. He captured attention and turned heads with his svelte and dangerous form, but seeing him saunter into the building had pushed oxygen into your lungs and scattered away the fear gripping your body like darkness fled from a flame. He was there. To save you.

The are you hurt, darling? was shown with a barely visible quirking of an eyebrow. When you raised both brows and tilted your chin down in a short nod you saw him relax.

When Silco had you in a tight embrace the very night, he was only mildly surprised at your answer to his statement/question sentance. “Many in your position would have been shaking and crying and begging to go,” he had murmured detachedly. You knew he was blaming himself: Silco being unnecessarily cruel to himself for an unnecessary reason. “Why weren’t you?”

“Your eyes,” you replied, raking your fingers through his hair the way you knew Silco liked. “I can tell how you feel when I look at your eyes, and. . . It’s stupid, but,” you paused to sigh and mentally prepare yourself for the cringe that was to spout from your mouth. “I feel like I know what you’re feeling whenever I look at you.“

Silco’s eyes locked onto yours, eyebrows knitted endearingly. “That’s not stupid.”

You smile. “You’re so expressive, Sil. I see it here,” you trail a fingertip along his brow bone and lightly circle his parted lips. “Here, too.” You stop your finger extremely close to the edge of Silco’s outer eye. “Your eye twitches if you’re mad or stressed enough.”

Silco pulls your hand down and laces his fingers with yours after your coos soften the anger he still held against himself. “You can read me like a book.”

“People don’t say ‘eyes are the window into the soul’ for nothing, my love,” you say sweetly, letting Silco press himself into you and let his tired eyes close.

#x reader #female reader #jules writes 📓🖊#fluff #x female reader #silco #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fluff #silco simp #silco fanfic #arcane fic #character study?#silco x oc #arcane silco x reader #silco x reader fluff

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seokminfilm · 18 hours ago

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love | lee seokmin

🪄 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🪄 warnings, short, fluff, domestic relationship, kissing & physical intimacy, seokmin calls reader love, reader uses seokmin's nicknames

🪄 summary, domestic life with your boyfriend couldn't be any sweeter.

🪄 author's note, wefjkjleksjdskjl i was scrolling on pinterest and just got overwhelmed with love for seokmin like ☹ i really do love him you guys he's just an amazing person and just so sweet and so joyous 😭 enjoy!! i hope you feel just as much love for him as i feel right now <3

🪄 now playing, song on the beach, arcade fire & owen pallett

"Good morning, sleepy head." Seokmin's voice is soft as he greets you, smiling at your slow figure as you stumble towards him, arms instantly going to his waist as you breathe him in.

"Hi," Your voice is shrunken, tiny as it's muffled into Seokmin's chest. He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. "Hi, love."

"Sleep well?" He asks, pulling away to stir two cups of coffee. Your favorite mug sits on the counter, and you yawn, trying to paw the sleepiness away from your eyes.

"Well, good," Seokmin says, offering you your mug. "I made your favorite. I ran to the store to get some of that creamer you wanted too, so now you can drink your coffee happily." Smiling at Seokmin's thoughtfulness, you sip the warm drink, sighing happily as Seokmin chuckles at you again.

"Is it good, love?" Seokmin questions, pretty brown eyes sparkling as he looks at you. "Yes, Min. Thank you." Your voice is soft as you take another sip, basking in the warmth of the mug and its liquid. Seokmin lays his head on top of yours, silent as he listens to your movements.

The sun streams through the windows, lighting the whole kitchen and living room in a matching glow. It's bright and warm, making your body tingle with hope for a relaxing day with your boyfriend. A tiny meow comes from below you, and you look down to see your shared cat rubbing against your leg, desperate for attention.

"He missed his mommy." Seokmin smiles into his coffee cup, and you laugh lightly, squatting down to stroke his fur. The cat purrs into your hand, and you laugh again, getting behind his ears and under his chin.

"He wouldn't stop meowing when I came downstairs. He knew that you weren't with me." Seokmin sighs, and you smile, standing back up to your full height as you take Seokmin's face in your hands.

Staring into his dark brown eyes, you study every imperfection you had memorized of him by now. The smile lines on his face were the prettiest thing to you, and you kissed them from time to time, causing Seokmin to giggle at you.

His tiny little beauty mark beside his nose was a familiar comfort, and you rub your thumb over it, tracing Seokmin's soft skin in the process as you sigh. "I love you, Seok. I really do."

Seokmin shakes his head, smiling as his lips meet yours first. They're soft and plump, molding into yours like it's nothing. He tastes like coffee, lip balm, and love—all three warm and sweet to your taste buds.

"Not as much as I do. There's no way you could ever love me as much as I love you. That's why I call you 'love'. You are that to me—love, and so many other wonderful things." Seokmin smiles, taking your hands in his as he pushes your hair back for you.

"I would even call you wonderful if you let me." Seokmin giggles, and you smile, crashing into him as you hug him tightly.

"Maybe I will let you," You smile, and Seokmin pulls you to him softly, kissing your lips once more as he smiles. "Yes please." He whispers softly, and you nod, falling quiet as the two of you bask in the warm, morning sunlight—the cat sits in between the two of you, content with third-wheeling.

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dcnatural · 1 day ago

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Below Wayne Manor

Word Count: 4837

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Jason Todd x Tim Drake x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Synopsis: You arrive home from patrol and find your adoptive brothers, Tim, Dick and Jason, in an intimate moment. They invite you to join them and you find yourself saying yes.

A/N: Work written for the @macrocest winter bingo, filling the prompt for "losing their virginity at a family orgy".

The cold night air whipped around you as you swung through the building, your yellow cape billowing behind you. Your heart raced, the adrenaline rush of your latest fight still pulsing through your veins. Despite the ache in your muscles, a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

You had been fighting crime for years, ever since your family was gunned down by The Penguin and Bruce Wayne took you in. After Bruce adopted you, you had quickly found out that your new father and brothers were more than they seemed: while during the day they played the part of rich men, in the night Bruce, Dick, Jason and Tim, took upon themselves to fight the many criminals that populated Gotham's streets. It took some convincing, as they believed you to be too young at first, but eventually you were allowed to join them in their endeavours as the new Robin.

But this marked the first time you went out on your own, your first outing as Flamebird, having finally passed on the mantle of Robin. You were no longer Batman's sidekick, but a vigilante in your own right. It had been your birthday request: if you were now old enough to drink, you were certainly ready to tackle crime by yourself. It probably helped that there weren't any recent Blackgate or Arkham prison breaks, which meant the most dangerous criminals were safely locked behind bars.

It was still relatively early when you decided to call it a night and return home. It was your birthday, after all, and you were eager for some alone time and maybe even catching up on the latest season of your favorite show.

When you arrived at Wayne Manor, you took the familiar secret route that led to the underground Batcave, planning to change out of your uniform before going to your room. As you approached the bottom of the stone stairs, you heard whimpers and hushed voices echoing through the massive underground lair. You pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped inside, following the sounds, with your footsteps silent on the cold stone floor.

The first you noticed was the unmistakable wet popping sound of a blowjob. You might have had no sexual experience, but you had seen enough in movies to recognize it. Then your gaze fell on the cave lounge and your eyes widened as you took in the scene.

Tim was sprawled on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned, revealing the hard lines of his chest, his eyes closed in bliss. And bobbing up and down between his legs was a head of dark hair, marked by a distinctive white streak, which you instantly recognized as belonging to Jason.

You stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of the scene. You were used to seeing your brothers fighting and threatening each other, but this? This was new. Also new was the strange heat that you felt pooling in your stomach, a sensation you had never experienced before.

A soft moan escaped Tim's throat, and feeling like you had seen too much already, you quietly turned on your heels. For how long has that been going on? Does Bruce know? the questions swirled in your brain. No, of course not, you quickly assured yourself. Your father would have made a scandal if he knew, wouldn't he? They are brothers. My brothers. My very hot brothers… you shook the thought away. There had been many times before, during training, that you had to remind yourself to not stare at their bodies, that it wasn't appropriate. Maybe they could use some reminders too.

You were so engrossed in your thoughts as you climbed the stairs back to the Manor that you didn't even notice Dick coming down until you bumped into his broad chest. Your balance wavered, and he steadied you with a firm grip on your shoulders.

"Hey," he said in a concerned tone. "You okay?" Dick asked. You nodded, your cheeks flushing slightly. His black hair was damp with sweat and he was shirtless. This close to him, you could feel the heat emanating from his body.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said, trying to sound casual. "Just... a little tired."

Dick raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking past you to the Batcave entrance. "You were down there?"

You hesitated. "Yeah," you admitted. "Hum… Tim and Jason… they are busy. Fighting, obviously," you added with a cough. "Maybe you shouldn't go down there."

Dick tried to hold back a laugh. "Oh, really?" was all he said, his eyebrows lifting slightly in what looked like surprise. "Well, I might try to broker peace between them. You know, as the voice of reason and all that."

"I… I wouldn't do that. Really…," you stuttered, trying to think of a better lie to prevent Dick from going into the Batcave.

While he waited for you to finish your sentence, he crossed his arms over his chest, and that's when you noticed he held something. It took you a few seconds to realise it was a bottle of lube.

You stared at it, your eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Dick followed your gaze and chuckled, his cheeks turning red. "Well, I gotta get going, before they, you know, break something," he quickly excused himself, manoeuvring around you to continue his way to the Batcave. He descended a few steps before pausing to look back at you. "It's not a big deal, you know? No need to get worried or tell anyone."

You nodded. "I'm still not sure I understand what's going on."

Dick shrugged, the smirk still playing on his lips. "Just some... former Robin bonding time. We've all been through a lot together, and sometimes, well let's just say we have a unique way to deal with stress." He winked at you, then disappeared down the stairs, leaving you standing there, your mind racing.

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. You had always known your brothers were close, but you had never imagined it to be to this level. You felt a strange mix of shock, curiosity, and... something else. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Wait!" you shouted as you hurried down the stairs on the tip of your toes. Dick had stopped at the bottom, and was leaning on the wall while he waited for you to catch up.

"I… I've graduated from Robin too, haven't I?" you gestured at your new red and yellow outfit, which Alfred had stitched for you.

There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes while he spoke. "That's right. Damian took your spot."

You puffed your chest, ready to defend yourself, that he hadn't taken your spot, that you and Bruce had been talking about creating a new alias for you, even before Talia showed up and dumped Damian on the Manor. But you held your tongue, knowing that Dick had only been trying to get a rise out of you.

"I guess you are one of us now, Flamebird. A former Child-Wonder." Dick's smirk widened as he leaned closer to you. "So, what do you say? Wanna join the party?"

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. You had never been with anyone before, and the idea of being with your brothers was... well, intriguing. You knew you shouldn't feel that way: you had grown up with them, learned to fight by their side. But there was something undeniably alluring about the idea, something that made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

"Maybe," you said barely above a whisper. "But I'm not sure I know what to do." You admitted, your cheeks flushing pink. Dick's smirk softened into a warm smile, and he pushed off from the wall, stepping closer to you.

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "We can take it slow, teach you one trick or two. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Okay," you said, your voice steadier now. "I want to try."

Dick held out his hand to you, and you took it, letting him lead you into the Batcave's lounge. You could hear the soft moans and hushed whispers from the corner room, and your heart pounded in your chest as you followed Dick.

As you approached, you saw Tim and Jason on the couch, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Tim's head was thrown back, his eyes closed, while Jason's dark hair was splayed across his chest. They didn't notice you at first, their focus solely on each other.

Dick led you to the armchair across from them, his hand still holding yours. He sat down, pulling you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist. You stiffened at first, but his warmth and the steady beat of his heart against your back helped you relax.

"Hey, guys," Dick called out.

"Took you a while to get that lube," Tim complained as Jason removed his mouth from Tim's member.

Then Tim's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you, surprise etched on his face. Jason lifted his head, his gaze following Tim's. They both stared at you, their chests heaving with exertion.

Jason's voice was hoarse when he said your name. "What are you doing here?"

Dick chuckled, his breath tickling your ear. "I can't believe you guys didn't notice her walking in before."

You blushed again. "I… I'm sorry, I didn't know… that the cave was being used."

Tim turned pink upon realising that you had watched as Jason sucked him off, but Jason merely laughed. "But I guess you did enjoy the show?" Jason asked, a smirk playing on his lips. He didn't seem embarrassed at all, instead looking amused by your presence.

You felt your blush deepen, but you held his gaze. "I... I didn't mean to intrude," you stammered, trying to find the right words. "I just got back from my patrol and I heard noises."

Jason pushed himself off the floor. He also was shirtless, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing off the V-line of his abs. "And then what? You ran upstairs to call your big brother?" he asked. "Did you need Dick to protect you from the debauchery that was happening in the cave?" While he spoke, his hands traced your face gently, rough and calloused fingers brushing on your lips. "I bet you didn't expect that he would be in it too," Jason finished with a mocking smile. You didn't know how it was possible, but you turned even more pink.

Dick, sensing your discomfort, stepped in. "Hey, cut her some slack, Jay-Jay. It's not every day she walks in on her brothers... like this." He gestured to the scene on the couch, where a very naked Tim was now sitting up. You averted your eyes from his still hard cock, pushing away the thought of how it would feel to have it filling you up.

As if reading your mind, Tim opened up a smile. "Well why did you return? Thinking about joining us?"

You looked from Tim to Jason to Dick, their eyes on you, waiting for your response. You felt the urge to hide your face. "I mean… if you all are okay with it," you answered shyly. "I don't want to intrude or anything." You bit your lip, trying to hide your nervousness. Dick gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Jason chuckled, "Intrude? Doll, I've been dying to do this for a long time." And with those words, he leaned closer and captured your lips in his. His tongue pushed past your teeth, exploring your mouth with a hungry intensity that left you breathless. Dick's hands were on your hips, pulling you back against him. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your ass, and you let out a soft moan into Jason's mouth. When Jason pulled away, he left you wanting more. You were hungry for something you couldn't yet name.

You glanced at the couch, where Tim had palmed his hard cock and moved his hand up and down at a lazy pace. "Tim?" you asked, seeking his permission to stay. But guessing by the way he touched himself, you supposed he wouldn't be opposed to the idea.

Tim, watching you with hungry eyes, moaned something indistinguishable.

"That's not a yes," Dick prompted jokingly. "Come on, Tim, use your words. Reassure our baby sister that you want her to play with us."

Jason looked at Tim, then back at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, do you want to fuck her or not, Timmy?"

Tim nodded eagerly, his hand still stroking his cock. "Fuck yeah," he said. His eyes were locked onto yours as he stroked his cock, his hand moving faster and faster. "Come here," he said. "Let me show you how it's done."

You hesitated for a moment, then took a step forward. Dick's hand was still holding yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Your heart pounded in your chest as you walked over to the couch and sat down next to Tim. He gave you a small smile, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to stroke himself.

"Have you ever touched a cock before?" he asked. You shook your head, your cheeks flushing pink. Tim chuckled, taking your hand and guiding it to his length. "It's okay," he said, his voice gentle. "We'll take it slow."

You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the smooth, hot skin of his cock. He placed his hand around yours and gently began to guide your movement, up and down his shaft. The head of his cock was slick with pre-cum, which quickly coated your fingers too. You looked at him, and he gave you a reassuring smile, before leaning in to kiss you. His lips were soft and warm against yours, he had none of Jason's roughness but it felt equally good. You kissed him back, your tongue exploring his mouth as you felt a spark of electricity run through you.

"Fuck," Tim groaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss. "That's it, just like that."

You felt a surge of pride at his words, your hand moving faster now. As you continued to stroke him, you felt a hand on your back, and you turned to see Dick standing behind you. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "You're doing great, baby." His breath sent shivers down your spine. You felt his hands on your hips, and he began to rub your back in slow circles. "Come on, let's get you out of that suit."

You nodded and Dick's fingers quickly grabbed the zipper at the back of your Flamebird costume, pulling it down slowly, his knuckles brushing against your skin. You shivered at the contact, your nipples hardening under your clothes. You let go of Tim's cock to help Dick peel the snug bodice and sleeves from your arms. It came off easily, revealing your sports bra.

All eyes were on you as you rose to your feet, and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of the suit's lower half. The material clung stubbornly, inching down over your hips and thighs until it pooled at your feet. Standing there in your sports bra and panties, you felt exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on. You could feel the heat of their gazes on your body, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Tim's eyes were locked onto your body as he stroked himself, his hand moving faster and faster. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned. "When did our little sister get so hot?"

Jason's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you onto his lap, his hands reaching for the clasp of your bra. He made quick work of it and your bra was thrown aside. Jason cupped your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers in a way that made you gasp, your back arching into his touch. You could feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, and you wiggled against him, eliciting a low groan from his throat.

Dick wrapped his arms under armpits and pulled you from Jason's lap, leaving you whining at the loss of Jason's touch. Dick turned you around and pushed you gently onto the couch next to Tim. You felt Tim's hand on your thigh, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. You looked at him, your breath coming in short gasps as he slowly slid his fingers under the fabric.

"Spread your legs for him, baby," Dick instructed and you did so, allowing Tim's fingers to reach your pussy.

Tim groaned as he felt how wet you were. "Fuck, she's dripping," he said, looking up at you with a wicked grin. "Looks like our little bird is liking this."

You gasped as Tim's fingers began to explore your folds, while his thumb rubbed your clit in slow circles. You could feel the heat building inside you, your hips moving in rhythm with his touch.

"Take off her panties," Dick ordered Jason, who eagerly complied, hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear and sliding them down your legs, before tossing them aside. You were now completely naked, your body on display for your brothers.

Tim's fingers were still exploring your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit with increasing speed. Your breaths were coming in short gasps, and you closed your eyes as you felt the pleasure building inside you.

"Fuck, she's close," Tim groaned. "You wanna cum for me, baby girl?"

You nodded, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you felt the orgasm begin to take over. The room was filled with the sound of your moans and the wet, sloppy noises of Tim's fingers moving in and out of you.

"Don't let her cum yet. Make her earn it," Jason suggested, looking at Dick, who nodded in agreement. Tim removed his fingers from your pussy, leaving you whimpering at the loss of contact. You opened your eyes, looking at them with a mix of confusion and desire.

"On your knees, baby," Dick commanded, pointing at the floor in front of him. You hesitated for a moment before doing as he said, your heart pounding in your chest. Dick unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his hard cock. It stood proud and erect, a bead of pre-cum already forming at the tip.

You looked up at Dick, your eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. He gave you a reassuring smile, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

"Open up," Dick said. You took a deep breath and parted your lips, sticking out your tongue to lick the head of his cock. He groaned at the contact, his hand guiding his length into your mouth. "Fuck, that feels good," he moaned, his hips moving in small thrusts as he began to fuck your mouth. You could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum, and you moaned around his cock, your tongue swirling around the head.

Dick's grip on your hair tightened, guiding you deeper onto his shaft. You took him as far as you could, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly, but Dick just chuckled as he pushed even deeper inside you.

"Fuck, she's a natural," Tim groaned from behind you.

You looked up at Dick, your eyes watering slightly as he continued to fuck your mouth. He smiled down at you, his grip on your hair never wavering.

"You like that, don't you, doll?," you heard Jason say as he kneeled by your side. "You like having your brothers' cock in your mouth?"

You moaned in response, your tongue swirling around his shaft as you nodded. Jason chuckled and grabbed your boobs, making you moan even more. Dick's grip on your hair tightened, and he began to fuck your mouth with more urgency, his hips snapping forward as he drove his cock deeper and deeper into your throat. You could feel your pussy throbbing with need, your clit begging for attention.

"Fuck, she's taking it like a champ," Tim said. "Is she as good as Jason?"

Jason, still kneeling beside you, punched Tim in the leg, eliciting a small cry from him. "I guess there's only one way for you to find out," Jason added.

Dick nodded and released his grip on you, pulling out of your mouth and leaving you gasping for air. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, before turning your body to face the couch again and settling between Tim's legs, while Jason took your place kneeling in front of Dick.

You started working on Tim's cock, licking and sucking like you had done to Dick's. Tim groaned and grabbed your head, guiding you as you took him deeper into your mouth. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, and you sucked harder, wanting to make him feel good. You could see Jason's head bobbing up and down, matching your rhythm.

It wasn't long before you felt Tim twitching inside you. He was close. You could feel it in the way his grip tightened on your hair and the way his hips bucked against your mouth. You knew he was about to cum, and you wanted to taste him. You wanted to feel him explode in your mouth.

He was panting, his chest heaving with exertion. You could see the muscles in his stomach clenching as he fought to hold back his orgasm.

"Fuck, I'm close," he announced. "I'm gonna cum. Wanna swallow?"

You nodded, your mouth still full of his cock. Tim groaned and thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. You felt his cock throb and pulse as he came, his hot cum filling your mouth. You swallowed greedily, taking every last drop of him.

Tim's body shuddered as he came and then let go of you. You pulled back slowly, letting his cock slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. As if pushed to the edge by the sight, Dick's moaning intensified and his legs began to shake.

Jason reached up and grabbed Dick's ass, pulling him closer and taking his cock deeper into his mouth. Dick's moans turned into a loud groan as he came, his hot cum shooting into Jason's mouth. Jason swallowed every last drop, licking his lips clean before releasing Dick's cock with a satisfied smile.

You watched them, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the sight of your brothers, their bodies glistening with sweat and cum. You felt a surge of desire, your pussy throbbing with need.

Jason turned to you, his eyes dark with lust. "Your turn, baby doll," he said, his voice hoarse. Then, throwing a conspiratorial glance to his brother, he asked. "Can I take her?"

Dick ruffled Jason's head. "Go ahead, it's your reward for being such a good boy." You couldn't help but giggle as Jason blushed in response.

Jason got up and helped you to your feet. "Oh, you think this is funny? Let's see if you can still laugh after I give you a good pounding." He growled, his voice low and threatening. You shivered at the promise in his words, your pussy clenching in anticipation.

Jason led you to the nearby table, pushing you down onto it so that you were lying on your back. He grabbed your legs and pulled you to the edge, your ass hanging off the side.

"Spread your legs for me," Jason commanded roughly. You did as he said, feeling the cool air against your wet pussy.

"Be careful, I hear that she's a virgin," Dick said as he approached the table, followed close by Tim. Both men took seats near you so they could watch closely as Jason prepared to fuck you.

Jason raised his eyebrow, silently asking you to confirm and you shook your head in affirmation.

"Well then, this is sure one hell out of a first time," Jason said with a smirk.

Jason positioned himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned as he ran a finger through your folds, coating it with your juices. "Won't even need that lube that Dick went through all that trouble to find."

Dick laughed before answering. "Guess I found something even better."

Jason rubbed his cock against your wet folds and you moaned, arching your back as you felt the heat of him against your pussy. "That feels good," you gasped, your hands gripping the edge of the table.

Jason chuckled, his eyes locked onto yours. "You like that, don't you? You like feeling my cock against your little cunt?"

You nodded, your cheeks flushing pink at his crude words. "Yes," you whispered. "I like it."

Jason's grip on your thighs tightened as he began to rub his cock against you in slow, deliberate strokes. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it slid against your pussy, and you moaned loudly, your hips moving in time with his. "Please," you begged. "I need you."

You whimpered, your hips bucking against his cock. "Please, Jason. Fuck me."

Jason's eyes darkened at your words, and he lined himself up with your entrance. "You sure about this, baby doll? Once I start, I'm not gonna be able to stop."

"I'm sure. I want you to fuck me, Jason. I want you to..." your pleas were interrupted by a loud scream as he buried himself into you, your nails digging into the table as you felt yourself stretching to accommodate him.

Jason gave you no time to recover before he began to move, his hips snapping forward as he pounded into you with a force that took your breath away. You could feel every inch of him as he filled you completely, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that made your toes curl.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Jason groaned, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued to pound into you. "I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock."

You moaned in response, your body moving along with his as you felt the pleasure building inside you. Tim's mouth found your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he sucked hard. You gasped at the sensation, your back arching off the table as you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you.

Dick was standing by the table, watching as Jason fucked you, his cock hard and ready. He reached out and grabbed your hand, guiding it to his cock. You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the smooth skin of his shaft as you began to stroke him in time with Jason's thrusts.

"I can feel her pussy clenching around my cock," Jason stated. "She's so fucking wet."

Dick watched you, his cock hard and throbbing in your hand as you stroked him in time with Jason's thrusts. "Fuck, I bet it feels so good," Dick groaned. "I can't wait to feel that tight pussy around my cock too."

Jason grunted in agreement, his hips slapping against you with each thrust. "She feels amazing. You're gonna love it."

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. "I'm close," you gasped. Unable to concentrate, you let go of Dick's cock and focused solely on rocking your hips to meet Jason's pace.

Jason's grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you with renewed vigor. "Cum for me, baby doll," he growled. "I want to feel you cum while I'm fucking you."

You nodded, your body trembling as you felt the pleasure building inside you. Your pussy clenched around Jason's cock, milking him as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your body convulsed as you came around his cock, your pussy pulsing and tightening as you rode out your high.

Jason groaned loudly as he felt you come around him, thrusting into you one last time before pulling out, his hot cum filling your pussy. Jason pulled out of you, his cock glistening with a mix of your juices and his cum. You laid there panting as the cum oozed out of you, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. Jason, looking satisfied with himself, smiled and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Tim licked his lips and commented, "Fuck, that was hot to watch. You really need to come around more often, little bird."

"Couldn't agree more," Dick chimed in before scooping your pliant body into his arms. "But for now, let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

You rested your head on his shoulders, closing your eyes, as he carried you to the Batcave's bathroom. That night might have ended, but you knew there would be many more to come.

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagine #smut #tim drake #sibling incest #reader #sister!reader #dc

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plo-koons-favorite-padawan · 3 days ago

Text

Last Line Challenge from @biscuityskies again bc they want me to actually finish my writing...

Two for you, again!

From Codywan (10 year Clone War AU, this is a year 7 between Cody and Fox because I love writing their insane brothers dynamic)

Cody ended up watching Fox draft reports for several hours before they actually ate anything. After some debate, they opted for take-away food, ordering an array of grain and meat dishes with different fried vegetables and sauces. A droid delivered the food to the Guard barracks, and they sat on the couch in Fox’s quarters. Fox dumped a packet of spicy orange sauce onto a bowl of grain and scooped it into his mouth with a spoon, barely pausing to chew. “Will you slow down? You’re going to choke,” Cody said, frowning. He couldn’t help but notice how much grayer Fox’s hair had gotten in the last year. “Will you eat your food and stop worrying about me?” Fox glared at Cody and pulled a container of batter-fried vegetables towards him. “Fine,” Cody said, picking the nuna out of his grain bowl with a fork and eating each piece one by one. “Have you talked to Wolffe recently?” “No, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Fox dumped another packet of sauce onto his food. “No, I haven’t. He’s still out on Cato Neimoidia, as far as I know.” Cody glanced around Fox’s room while Fox was busy inhaling another container of grain and vegetables. The bed was made, the desk tidied. There was a beautiful green glass thing standing on one corner of the dresser. Cody craned his neck to get a better view. It wasn’t really a shape that he could identify, but something about it called to mind an embrace. His chest caught as he gazed at it. Fox caught him looking and scowled. Cody raised his hands in surrender and went back to picking the nuna out of his food. “You know you can just order the meat, right?” Fox said testily. “Saves you the work of hunting for it and getting shit all over my couch.” “Piss off,” Cody retorted. He wasn’t sure why Fox was having a go at him, but he wasn’t surprised. It happened with them from time to time—they’d catch each other at the wrong angle, make a comment at the wrong time, and their relationship would turn into a warzone for a few days. They always worked through it, but sometimes it took the detonation of a few stray mines to make it happen. Cody wondered if he could speed the process along at all. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

Aaaand the Vox chapters (not a fully realized scene yet, more of a vague idea for year 1, when they're just getting used to each other)

Fox dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily. "I have a question," he said. "Yes?" Vos said, and Fox could hear him smiling with his teeth. "Do you have some sort of malady, or perhaps a condition, that makes you act this way?" Fox sighed.

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #cc 2224 #commander cody #clone wars #tcw #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #codywan #the clone wars #quinfox #my writing

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thepenultimateword · 14 hours ago

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Monster Compendium

CW: Murder scene, some gore

Petra sat as still as stone. Half out of habit, half to avoid unnecessary attention. She’d helped put at least half of the villains present away; the last thing she needed was to cause an uproar before she even completed what she came here for.

"Cillian Morse, aka 'Monstrosity'," the judge said. "Please come to the stand."

The villain rose from the bench of handcuffed, grey-clad criminals, packed side by side like sardines in a can.

The Superpowered Penitentiary and Rehabilitation Center (SPARC) was overstuffed. Because of this, their semiannual parole hearing usually involved slotting as many prisoners as possible into one big day-long hearing. Maybe not the smartest idea when half the criminals present had some of the most dangerous, volatile powers on record, while the other half were too clever to be kept in a regular prison, but that was the city government for you. Impatient. Lazy.

Sure they had a line of guards on every wall, but who would that stop if any of these criminals had skipped suppressor meds?

As Monstrosity settled into his new seat at the head of the room, he swiveled his head around at the crowd. He met Petra's eyes at the back and blinked, tilting his head a little before grinning widely.

Petra didn't even blink.

"Mr. Morse," the judge said, scanning the file in front of him. "It seems you've been a resident at SPARC for three years now."

"You seem correct, sir," Monstrosity said. He tucked his hands under his chin, fixing that wide grin on the judge now.

"Your last 3 hearings deemed you unfit for parole." His finger trailed down the page. "Lack of empathy, uncooperative in therapy, riling other inmates, cheeking the super suppressors you've been prescribed, a downright refusal to make outside goals. I could go on."

Monstrosity waved his hand nonchalantly. "I was immature then. Angry. Lost. In denial. Over the last year, I've made vast improvements, as you'll see in my chart."

He mimed a page-turn.

The judge raised his brows but flipped to the next page in the file. His eyes scanned it from top to bottom.

"You have been successfully medicated for 8 months. Ah, and you passed your sanity test… and reintegration tests.” He narrowed his eyes at the page. “Your goal is to work at an animal shelter?"

"What can I say, I'm an animal guy."

"You've been expressly forbidden from interacting with any biological entities."

Monstrosity tilted his head with all the innocence of a puppy caught chewing shoes again. "Little hard to enforce that. Biological entities are all around us. Birds, grass spiders...heck, your honor, you are a biological entity."

The judge frowned severely. "Do you really want to make a threat right now, Mr. Morse?"

"What? We can't state facts anymore?" Monstrosity raised his locked hands in front of him. "All I'm saying is shelter or not, I will have access, so why bar me from a supervised space? Besides, I assume I'll be on meds still?"

The judge scoffed quietly as he scanned the file again. "It's indefinite how long you'll stay on suppressor meds." He looked up from the page and folded his hands together on the bench. "Tell me, Mr. Morse, do you know why you were sent to SPARC? Have you ever felt any remorse?"

For just an instant Monstrosity looked uncomfortable, but then he swallowed and it was gone, replaced by another smile. "The name sort of says it all. I was a monstrosity. I needed to be taken off the street." He smiled a little wider. Petra thought he might've meant it to look grateful, but to her, he looked like a hyena baring fangs. "But SPARC cured me."

The judge waited for more, perhaps something on that remorse question, but when Monstrosity didn't offer it he continued with the final question.

"Do you believe that you are reformed?"

"1000%," Monstrosity said, raising his right hand oathlike.

The judge gathered the file pages up in his hands, tapping them against the bench until they were even. "Unfortunately, I don't find you genuine."

Monstroisty opened his mouth but the judge continued.

"Eight months of good behavior is not a guarantor of rehabilitation. Make it last a whole year and we'll see at the next hearing. Cillian Morse will remain at SPARC for the next 6 months." He banged his gavel like a seal on the end of his sentence.

Monstrosity's entire expression morphed. Gone was the playful puppy, something toothy and terrible taking its place. "You--"

"Excuse me," Petra interrupted.

The entire room swiveled. A few criminals flinched back, but most started cursing furiously, the bitterness soon rising from loud voices to full out shouts.

The judge banged his gavel repeatedly until the criminals quieted enough that he could at least be heard over them. "Sentencer."

Petra didn't miss the way he looked at her, with little more respect than he looked at these criminals, but with more wariness. After all, she wasn't taking suppressors.

"You were not expected. I hope you have something relevant to add for you to interrupt."

Petra strode up the aisle, past the guards, past the shouting and lunging criminals, right up to the bench. She folded her hands neatly behind her back.

"I have an order from the top to take Cillian Morse into temporary custody."

The judge narrowed his eyes. ''Orders from who?"

“Accolade." Then, in case the director of SIRA (Superhuman Investigation and Response Agency) wasn't enough, "Chief Sanders and the warden also signed off on it." She reached into her pocket for the signed document. "I have proof of the order here if you need it."

The judge read over the page scrutinizingly, taking in all the unpleasantness that Petra had hesitated to voice somewhere so public.

"What makes you think that a villain could be any help in a criminal investigation?" he said finally.

"Body modification is his specialty."

"It seems risky."

"He will be under my supervision throughout the day and he will be returned to SPARC every night," Petra said coolly. "Any exceptions will be signed off directly with the prison."

Petra played along, but they both knew it wasn't in the judge's authority to say no. Yes, he could sentence the prisoners to more or less time in SPARC, but the warden and the prison's directors were the ones who decided if prisoners could be taken off the premises. It was only because today was hearing day that Petra was here instead of standing in front of a cell.

"If he's so important go ahead and take him." The judge extended the order back to her. As she went to take it, he suddenly leaned in close, voice lowered but commanding. "Keep him on his medication."

Petra pulled back without reaction. That wasn't her job. The orderlies at SPARC gave dosages once a day. Her responsibility was just to keep a good eye on the criminal so he would try to slip away.

She nodded curtly in Monstrosity's direction, and the man quickly rose to his feet, trotting after her with a smug smile.

"Bye," he sang to other criminals. "I'll see you all for dinner!"

"Screw you, Monstrosity!" one of the criminals shouted after him.

"Sorrrry, I don’t date criminals!”

That only made the group of villains rowdier, but Petra closed the door on the noise, and soon enough they were descending the steps of the courthouse.

Monstrosity trotted faster to catch up with her stride, cozying up against her shoulder. “Together at last.”

Petra shrugged him off, but the resistance only made Monstrosity bounce back more aggravating. He didn't touch this time, but he lingered close. The tiny sliver of space he left between them like a tease, an insistence he wasn't doing anything, while obviously putting in effort for something.

"Really, I never knew the Sentence had such a crush on me. A hero breaking a villain out of jail? It's so Romeo and Juliet!"

"Not a jailbreak," Petra clarified, pulling out her keys and clicking the bottom button until she heard the locks click on the little tightly parked sedan. "A temporary consultation."

"Riiight," Monstrosity winked. "Oh is this your car? Not exactly what I picture when I hear 'Sentencer'. I kinda thought you would drive around in some sort of Batmobile type vehicle. But nice parking. I love a person who knows how to parallel park."

Petra opened the passenger side door

Monstrosity pouted a little at her non-reaction but slid obediently into the passenger seat.

Petra took a breath before walking around the other side of the car. This was just how Monstrosity was. He’d probably flirt with a brick wall if he thought he could get something out of it. Not that he was one to actually keep up with any of the people he succeeded in wooing. A few of the informants she'd worked with to track him down had called him objectively charming--well, when he didn't have a rat tail or an extra set of arms or any of his other quote-unquote "freakish modifications"--but Petra didn't really see the appeal.

Petra spared the criminal a glance out of the corner of her eye.

Hypothetically, this time when he was on his suppression meds was the chance to see him as wholly human as possible, but he didn’t seem much different from any of the other villains at SPARC. Close clipped hair. Dark circles under the eyes. Baggy gray prison jumpsuit with the prison’s acronym across the back in bright orange and three matching stripes wrapping up each ankle and wrist. He was tall, probably about as tall as her, but he walked with a slump. At the very least, his eyes were something. A sharp pale gray, like frosted steel, piercing into everything he turned them upon.

"So where to?" Monstrosity said.

"Crime scene."

"Yay!"

"Don't be so happy about it; it's not exactly pretty."

"I expect crime scenes rarely are," Monstrosity said, grinning.

Petra started the engine.

“Excuse me, you’re not going to put me in danger by depriving me of a seatbelt, are you?” Monstrosity waved his cuffed hands in the air.

"Your arms work."

"The cuffs dig into my wrists whenever I bend them."

Petra flicked on her turn signal to enter traffic. "Sounds like a personal problem."

"So mean," he said. He twisted halfway around, holding his arms rigid and straight as he grasped for the belt. It took him a few tries, but he did manage to buckle himself. No sooner had the buckle clicked, than he tossed himself melodramatically against the door, the backs of his hands raised to his forehead. "And you call yourself a hero."

"We'll arrive in 10 minutes."

He side-eyed her. "You're not much of a conversationalist."

"Why should I be?"

"Fun? Entertainment? To pass the time?"

"I'm driving to a brutal crime scene with a handcuffed criminal. Does that sound fun to you?"

"It doesn't sound not fun." He slumped in his seat. "Just saying, for someone whose powers are in their voice, I thought you'd use it more."

Petra clenched the steering wheel. "No more talking."

"Seeee, that's what I'm saaaying," Monstrosity mumbled.

Petra ignored the partial taunt in his tone.

To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why she was doing this. Yes, the scene was...interesting. And Monstrosity had experience both in criminal activity and biological manipulation, but she'd worked hard to get each one of these criminals off the street in the first place. She didn't love taking them back out. Monstrosity had been particularly tough to corner. She'd only set eyes on him a couple of times before her team had managed to pinpoint his location and make a collective attack. The element of surprise had been critical for that success even with all five of them.

Monstrosity had certainly lived up to his name that night.

No, out of all of the criminals Petra had put away, she couldn't take credit for Monstrosity. She never managed to get a proper read of him either. Usually when she investigated a criminal, she--in a way--got to know them. She learned their motives, their background, their character. All she knew about Monstrosity was that he was inhuman. Not only in the grotesque presentation of his powers but in his soul. He might have come off as charming to some, but he held no regard for anyone but himself.

The Welcome to Noville sign blurred as they passed it, and Monstrosity straightened in his seat.

"I thought you said the sight was ten minutes away."

"It is."

"But we're leaving the city."

"Not far."

She abruptly turned off on a dirt road so narrow it could barely count as a proper exit.

Monstrosity braced himself against the door.

"Be gentle with me Tency, I haven't been in a car chase in a while."

"Tency?" she growled.

"Not a lot of good nicknames for The Sentencer." He said "The Sentencer" like an old cartoon narrator announcing the hero.

"I don't do nicknames."

"Wow. You really are no fun, Tency."

Petra was not going to grace that obvious provocation with a response.

The grass grew tall and obscuring the further they traveled down the road, casting shade over the car. The blades reached over and through the rotting split-rail fences of abandoned private property.

She slowed a bit to maneuver around the roots of an enormous tree growing out of the left side of the road. Why anyone would build a road without fully clearing it she didn't know; maybe the tree was property too, preventing its removal as much as the fields prevented the road's expansion.

Monstrosity cricked his neck upward to look up through the windshield.

"Ugh."

"What?"

"Why are a zillion creepy tissue paper ghosts tied up there?"

Petra quickly glanced up into the depth of the trees, catching glimpses of swinging white.

"I only noticed the ribbons." She paused. "Probably just a tradition from one of the landowners."

They curved around the bend in the road and the stone ruins of a building came into view.

"Someone actually owns this place?"

"Trevon Bass and Theo O'Hannon. They're joint owners. Bought the land over two decades ago to use as farmland. And they did, a couple miles out."

Two cars--a police cruiser and a black Volkswagen--were already parked in front of the stone wall, so Petra pulled up beside them.

"But apparently this house here is historical. Meaning the direct area may also have historical value. They didn't want to mess with it, and now only come out occasionally to ensure no one is vandalizing or squatting in it. Bass found the body yesterday."

"Body? Oh, this is interesting."

Petra jerked the gear stick into park. He really was too excited about this.

She got out of the car and walked around to open the passenger side door, eying the neighboring Volkswagen all the way. It was one of the shared agency vehicles. What was another Hero doing here?

"Such a gentleman," Monstrosity said, stretching a little as he slipped out. He closed his eyes against the breeze for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.

"Mm. It's rained recently."

"Unfortunately, yes," Petra said. "Come on, let's see what you make of it."

She slipped sideways through a gap between the crumbling walls, avoiding looking to her left as she came into the "inside" of the building. As she entered, the two men at the center of the ruins looked at her--one short, mustached, and in a suit and the other in sweats and muscle shirt with the caption "Athletics Check" over a 20-sided dice, piles of long blond hair cascading out of his half ponytail and down his back.

"Detective Valero. Prophet." She acknowledged the blond with a short nod.

“Heeey, Sentencer!” Prophet beamed, clapping an arm around her shoulders and shaking her playfully. "Accolade told me you'd be slinking around the scene at some point today, but I thought by this point we'd missed you!"

Petra grimaced but before she could speak, Monstrosity bumped against her back.

Prophet leaned around her. "Is that--"

"Oh, it's future boy!" Monstrosity pointed.

"Er...it's Prophet."

"Right, right, right, visions and predicting stuff and all that. Isn't your deal predicting bad things before they happen? How is that going to work for you when you're here post-crime?

Prophet turned his gaze back to Petra. "What's he doing here?"

"Orders from Accolade. He's consulting."

"Why?"

"Because this wasn't a regular murder."

"Well, yeah that's why they call us. That doesn't mean--"

"Prophet," she interrupted, voice cold. "You follow your orders and I'll follow mine. Is that clear?"

He flinched. For a moment, she could see the thoughts running through his eyes, deciding whether her words held power or were merely convincing.

"Right," he finally said and stepped back a couple paces. “Um…I've been trying to read the scene, for an hour now. But, uh, the future keeps looping in on itself. I just keep seeing…”

He motioned to the Petra’s left and she finally allowed herself to turn fully toward it. It had been worse last night before all the pieces had been collected, but once again she was taken aback by the sheer breadth of the gore.

Nearly the entire wall was stained with a rusty splatter that extended onto the edge of the adjacent wall and the undersides of the dewy grass blades growing at the base.

Monstrosity stepped forward, cocking his head a little. “This blood spray is massive. What? Did your victim explode?”

Petra shot him a look. “Yes.”

#hero x villain #creative writing #heroes and villains #heroes and villains community #writblr #hero x villain community #crime fiction #investigation #writeblr #superhero fiction #stoic x flirty #slow burn

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stansthemans · 1 day ago

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Would you ever write Ford giving fem!Stan oral sex as teens? I’m just dying to see Ford be a munch

So originally my idea for this was “hey lets practice on each other for no ulterior motives lol i don’t jerk it to this nightly” but then i was like “hmmm feelings plus a light splash of ford being a creepy peeper” so enjoy!!!

She’s got the entire house to herself. It’s an almost impossible occurrence. Ma comes and goes, running the appropriate errands to keep the household going or catching lunch or card games with her girlfriends, but Pa is almost always set up down in the shop. Few things sour his mood like even the vague prospect of missing out on a sale.

But today, her parents are out of town, up in the city visiting Shermie and his wife. That alone affords Stan a world of freedom, but Ford is also out for the afternoon. Something about some nerd lecture at the civic center. Stan could go out and do something too. She could hit the beach, meet up with friends at the pier. She’s got some pocket change. She could catch a movie. She could watch tv, bake a cake, head to the gym to practice at the bag.

Or she could take advantage of an empty house and get in a few rounds of orgasms.

Yeah, orgasms sound good. Those sound really good. On a usual day, touching herself goes one of two ways. Either she has to make quick work of herself in the shower, because God help her if she’s in there too long wasting water, or she has to do the infinitely riskier move of waiting until late, late at night, when she’s sure her brother is deeply asleep in the bunk above her.

And that’s always agony, because invariably, her thoughts always turn to Ford, to imagining that her fingers are longer, thicker, one more in number than they actually are, and as she imagines that her hands running over her body are actually her brother’s—her brother who is right there, so close—as that pleasure builds and builds, it takes everything in her to stay still enough, silent enough, that she doesn’t wake him and expose her secret.

Fingering herself is usually not as fulfilling an experience as she wishes it was, but today, the house all to herself, Stan can indulge, and indulge she does. She closes the curtains against the harsh afternoon sun and leaves the bedroom door open just a crack. She has the house to herself, but it would be a good idea to leave herself the opportunity to hear any potential noises. Stan pulls the comforter of her bed completely off and arranges her pillows and sheets into a nice little nest. She wiggles out of her shorts and panties and then heads for Ford’s side of their shared closet.

This is maybe a little weird, but she just wants a little bit to get her going. After all, she’s not fooling herself in any way to think she won’t be imagining Ford the entire time. Ford’s side of the closet is, of course, neater than hers, his shirts and sweaters all hanging up perfectly and organized by sleeve length and color. Stan sticks her face directly into the red section and inhales deeply. Ford is, without question, a teenage boy, and he smells like it, sweaty and funky and never really using enough soap or deodorant to cover it. However, he also wears cologne, and unlike nearly every other boy that Stan knows, Ford actually has an idea of how much is too much, and he never crosses that line. The juxtaposition between the natural and artificial scents that make up her brother is more than enough to make Stan dizzy.

A few more deep breaths, and Stan is ready, warmth settling low in her stomach. She flops onto her bunk and pushes her shirt up and over her breasts. She gives attention to her nipples first. This is the easiest part to imagine that it’s Ford touching her. After all, six fingers aren’t required to pinch and flick and tease here. She’s very sensitive here, and it’s only a brief moment before she can feel the slickness gathering between her legs. On a normal day, she would get to it, would shove two fingers immediately into herself and get to work, but she’s got time to be slow, to explore, and when she does finally spread her legs wide, when she does finally slide her hand down her stomach, down to her core, she’s a little taken aback by just how wet she actually is.

Stan shudders as she drags two fingers slowly around her clit, down through the folds, and back up again. Take it slow, she reminds herself. She’s not in a rush. She can enjoy working the outside for a little bit before moving in. She holds her breast in her other hand, can feel her heartbeat picking up in time with her heavy breaths. She imagines that it’s Ford’s hand. His hands are so big. He would be so easily able to cup the entirety of her breast in his palm, massage into the soft, yielding skin with his strong fingers, his thumb kneading into the hard nub of her nipple.

Stan pinches herself just as she slides her fingers over her clit. She lets out a gasping whimper at the sensation, a noise that sounds deafening in the otherwise silent room. For a moment, she freezes, and then the situation catches up to her again. She’s alone. There isn’t anyone else in the house, won’t be for hours. That’s part of this entire thing. She can not only take her time, but she can actually make noise.

Stan presses down harder on her clit and lets herself indulge in a louder moan. Some part of her thinks that maybe it’s a bit ridiculous, but it also feels good. So she does it again. She does it again and again until she’s ready to do something that she knows is going to rewrite her entire brain.

Stan stuffs two fingers deep into her pussy and moans her brother’s name. She doesn’t stop this time. It feels too incredible. She hikes up a leg and pumps her fingers wildly. She whines needfully, “Ford! Oh God, Ford!” She adds another finger and then another. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. “Ford, oh, more. I want—Sixer, more, please, please!”

Stan begs a phantom for something she knows she can never have, something she isn’t supposed to want, but God, does she want. She grinds her hips up into her palm, wishing it was his. Wishing for Ford’s hand, his mouth, his cock. Wishing that he wanted her like she wants him.

She’s so close. “Sixer, fuck, oh fuck! Fuck me! Please! Ford!” And she comes hard, panting her brother’s name over and over as she strokes herself through it.

She keeps her fingers inside as she comes down, feeling her pussy clenching around them. She lets her leg drop back down to the sheets, bringing that hand back to her chest, lightly teasing at her nipples again. She imagines her brother again, his warm presence enveloping her, skin to skin. “Hmm,” she hums in contentment. “Sixer.”

“Stanley?”

Stan’s blood turns to ice in her veins, and the entire beautiful fantasy is shattered. Her eyes fly open and land on her brother—the flesh and blood of him—standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes blown wide as he gapes down at the disgusting display of perversion she presents.

Stan stares up at him, incapable of moving, of breathing, of anything other than a slowly encroaching panic. How much of that did he hear? How much did he see? All of it or even just a second. It doesn’t matter. There is no way that she can spin this into anything other than what it was, and so now he knows. He knows that she doesn’t look at him with anything close to innocent eyes, that she sees him and she wants him in this sick way. He knows, and he’s going to hate her.

“Stanley,” Ford says again, and Stan braces herself for everything that will follow. It’s going to kill her, but she deserves it. She deserves everything he says.

But Ford doesn’t say anything else. His eyes bore into her, roaming up and down, and then, suddenly, he’s in the bed too, his big hands dropping gently—so gently it makes her tremble—over her knees. Slowly, he pushes her legs apart, opening her up again. One hand stays curled over her thigh, and the other encircles the wrist of the hand she still has not taken away from her pussy.

Ford’s thumb presses down on her two middle fingers, applying pressure to the sensitive area. Stan can’t help but gasp. “Stanley,” Ford says a third time, drawing her hand away and exposing her to the intensity of his unblinking gaze. “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“I—I—“ Her throat and mouth are desert dry, and she still can’t breathe.

Ford’s hands move in a burning trail down her thighs, coming closer and closer. “You were saying my name,” he says. “Moaning it.” His thumbs rest over her labia and pull gently, opening up her hole. “Do you do that often?”

Stan whimpers, her head spinning. What is going on? Why isn’t he yelling at her?

“I asked you a question, Stanley,” Ford says. “Do you think of me when you finger yourself?” And then his thumbs move up and slide over either side of her clit.

Stan moans loudly at the jolt of pleasure that shoots up her spine. “Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I—oh God, Sixer!”

Ford’s thumbs keep moving. “How often,” he asks.

“Every time,” Stan confesses, her hands curling into her sheets.

“You want this,” he says, his voice low and gruff. He shifts his hand, and a finger slides inside her.

Stan keens, her back arching up. She moves her hips, seeking more from him. “Need it,” she cries.

Ford pumps his finger in and out. “God, Stanley,” he says, and his voice is only full of awe. “You’re so wet.”

“For you,” Stan promises him. “Just for you. Sixer, I—please!”

“Amazing,” Ford says. “You’re so—I want to make you come again. I want you to scream again. What do I do?”

“I—what?” Stan reels. She’s too dizzy to think.

Ford leans over her, filling up her entire world with just him. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. “I want you to come, screaming my name again,” he says. “I want to make that happen. How do I make you feel good?”

Stan’s brain is complete mush, and she doesn’t really think before blurting, “You could eat me out?”

Ford’s eyes flash and narrow. “Has anyone ever done that to you before,” he asks, his jaw tight.

“N-no,” Stan stammers. “I’ve—uh—I’ve never done anything with anybody.”

“Good,” Ford says, growls. “Good. It will only ever be me.” And then he surges forward and kisses her. Stan moans, opening her mouth for his tongue. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him. “You’re mine,” he says against her lips, possessive and desperate. “Tell me.”

“Only yours,” Stan promises. “I’ve never wanted anything else.”

He kisses her again, and this time it’s achingly gentle, so perfect that it finally eases the last of the tension from her body, and Stan relaxes fully into her brother’s hold, surrenders completely. She’s his. He wants her to be his.

For a long moment, it’s just that, just arms around each other, lips moving gently together. Then Ford pulls back, only enough to press his forehead to hers. “I—um—I’ve obviously never done anything before either,” he says, nerves creeping into his voice. “You have to tell me. I want you to feel good.”

Stan holds his face in her hands and says, “It’s you, so it’s going to.”

“No,” Ford says insistently. “No, I want you to feel—I want this to be so good for you, Stanley. Just tell me what to do.”

And he looks so serious and earnest that Stan can’t do anything but agree. “Ok,” she says. “For starters, you should take off your shirt at least.” She tugs at the sleeve of his dorky little button up. “Maybe pants too.” While Ford does that, Stan remembers that she’s still got her t-shirt on too. She slips out of it, and Ford freezes above her. “What?”

“You’re naked,” Ford says simply.

And Stan can’t help it. The laughter bubbles up out of her in a snort, and then she’s giggling uncontrollably. For a moment, Ford puffs his cheeks at her in a ridiculous pout—made all the more ridiculous by his ruffled hair and lopsided glasses—but then he laughs too. “Really, Poindexter,” Stan asks.

“All right,” Ford says.

“It’s just—you were fingering me a minute ago,” Stan says.

“Ok,” Ford says, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“You watched me get myself off and you definitely could have darted out of the situation the second you realized what was going on,” she continues.

“I concede to the first point but disagree with the second,” Ford says. He reaches out, trailing his fingers from her cheek to her lips, down between her breasts and over her stomach. He stops just above the patch of hair between her legs. “Not a chance in hell could I turn away from this. I’ve wanted you for so long, Stanley.”

“We—we’re nuts, huh,” Stan asks, trembling a bit.

“I don’t care,” he says.

Ford finishes kicking off his pants and then settles himself between her legs, draping them over his shoulders. He rubs his hands soothingly over her shaking thighs and says, “Ok, begin lesson.”

“Nerd,” Stan says automatically. Ford doesn’t retort in the way he usually would. He just keeps staring at her, his fingers moving in the same slow, soothing trails over her skin. Stan isn’t really sure if it’s making her more or less nervous. Her stomach is definitely doing crazy flips almost like it wants to bring up everything she’s eaten today because her brother—her twin brother—is lying with his face between her legs, and she isn’t wearing any clothes, and he saw her fingering herself, heard her moaning his name and—

“Stanley,” Ford’s gentle voice cuts through her panic. His hands aren’t moving anymore. Still on her legs, his fingers are holding tighter, almost digging into her, not enough to bruise, but God, wouldn’t that be something. His eyes—they have exactly the same eyes—are locked directly onto hers, even as he turns his head slightly and places a feather light kiss on the inside of her thigh. “It’s ok,” he says. “We don’t—we don’t have to do this if you—“

“No,” Stan cries. “No, I want—“ She reaches for him, and he releases one of her legs to intertwine their fingers. She doesn’t know how to tell him just how much she wants. “I just—“ She pulls in several deep breaths, squeezing Ford’s fingers. He squeezes back, and it helps to ground her.

“I want you too,” he says. “Just tell me what to do.”

He doesn’t let go of her hand. Stan lets out her last deep breath slowly and says, “Ok. Ok, so I’m still—I’m still kind of wet.”

Ford’s eyes flicker down to her pussy, and he nods. “Yes, you are.” Stan’s stomach flips again. His voice is definitely lower than it was even a second ago, and it’s not any kind of weird act.

“That’s—um—that’s a dig deal,” she says. “Being wet. Because, like, if you just attack the thing, that’s not good.”

“Noted,” Ford says. “What’s the best way to do that?”

She has no idea because this is entirely new territory, but Ford clearly isn’t going to let her just lie here. He’s not going to stop asking until she gives him an actual answer. “Ok, so you—you know the parts, right? Like if I say clit you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, I’ve seen diagrams,” Ford says, and Stan lets out another semi-hysterical laugh. Oh boy. It’s going to be like that, huh.

“Ok.” She needs to stop saying ok so much. “Ok, so don’t go right for the clit. Or—or if you do, start slow and not too much pressure. But the folds—that’s—“ She needs to just make a decision, something concrete. “Use your tongue. Like—like you’re licking ice cream off a spoon.”

Stan expects Ford to turn his entire focus down to her pussy, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her face, and that, coupled with his tongue licking a slow, fat stripe up her cunt, lights every single nerve in her body on fire. She jolts, and Ford holds onto her tighter, fingers still wrapped around her, and his other hand sliding to her hip. He licks again, just as slow, and Stan whimpers.

When Ford squeezes her fingers again, she knows he’s looking for his next instruction. “You can—oh—you use the tip of your tongue too. Get—yes—get in there, kind of—kind of trace it?”

He starts with the outer lips, and when his tongue dips between the folds, Stan whines. She actually whines, and that should be embarrassing, but it just feels too good. Ford explores every inch of her, his hand wide over her lower stomach, keeping her from bucking up into his face. He traces over the opening of her hole, but he doesn’t go in, and she wants him in.

“Inside,” she gasps. “Put your tongue inside.” He immediately follows her instruction, and Stan cries, “Oh my God!” Ford’s fingers tighten around hers, and he pushes in deeper. She’s just about to tell him to try curling it when he takes the initiative on his own. “Fuck, oh fuck!” Stan grabs at the sheets, curling them tight enough in her fist that it’s a wonder they don’t rip.

“All of it,” she pants. “Sixer, Sixer, do them all!”

Ford pulls his tongue from inside her and begins to alternate between flat, slow licks to dipping between her folds. Occasionally, he dives inside her again, pulling out after she moans his name. It feels like he’s making out with her pussy. It’s torture, and it feels so fucking good. “Sixer, please, please, I want more!”

He doesn’t exactly pull off her, but he moves back just enough to say, “You’re so wet, Stanley. God, it’s—you taste amazing.” She whines again. “Are you wet enough yet? Can I—can I lick your clit now?”

“Yeah,” she pants. “But first—put your fingers in me again.” She arches as he slides one long finger into her hole. “Another.” A second joins it, and Stan moans. “One more.” For a moment, she has to just lie there, marveling at the feeling of Ford’s fingers filling her up. It’s better. It’s so much better than when she does it. She knew it would be.

“God,” Ford breathes. “Stanley, you—“

“Slow,” she says. “In and out, but go slow.” He never fully leaves her, drawing his fingers out to nearly the tips before pushing back in again. Slow but as deep as he can go. His breath comes out in hot pants against her cunt. “Ok, ok, you can—oh God—kiss it or—or lick—my clit—“

His lips close over it, her entire body feels like it’s on fire. She can’t stand it. “Ford, Ford!” She pulls her fingers away from his, and he growls against her, which—holy shit. “Wait, I just—“ She grabs for his three middle fingers, the ones that on his other hand are thrusting in and out of her. “Curl them, like this, and then—shit, shit—make them walk like—“ She uses hers over his, shows him what to do, and then he mimics the movement as he presses the flat of his tongue against her clit.

Stan screams. “Fuck, oh fuck, Sixer! That’s—more, please, more!” His tongue swirls over and around her clit, and his fingers dance inside her, and Stan pulls his hand up to grab at her breast. He finds her nipple and pinches, and Stan grinds her pussy against his face.

She can hear herself making noises that don’t sound entirely human. Amidst it all, she begs. “Stanford, please, please, I’m so close! Fuck, fuck! It’s—“

“Do it, Stanley,” Ford demands. “Come for me.”

His lips close over her clit again, and this time he sucks on it, and Stan’s entire vision whites out. Never in her life has anything felt so good. The pleasure rolls over her in waves, and Ford never stops licking her, and she can’t stop moaning his name. Her entire body is shaking, every movement of Ford’s tongue another jolt of lightning down her spine. His fingers swirl inside her, and he groans her name against her pussy, and it’s too much. Stan feels like she’s going to shake completely apart.

Somehow, her trembling hand finds his head, and she pushes weakly at him. Ford’s eyes meet hers, and his pupils are blown so wide they’re almost completely black. The sight of him there, between her shaking thighs, staring at her like that, is too overwhelming.

She doesn’t feel the tears falling down her cheeks until Ford pushes up onto his forearms, his entire expression changing as he says in alarm, “Stanley? Stanley, are you ok?”

She isn’t. She isn’t. She needs him to—

Ford starts to sit up, starts to move away, and that’s the opposite of what she needs. Stan reaches for him, and Ford immediately comes closer again. She grabs him, yanks until he crawls over her, and Stan finds his face and pulls him into a kiss.

She completely forgets that he’s just been eating her out, that his face is soaked with the mess of her arousal, that she’ll taste herself on his tongue. None of that matters. She just needs to kiss him.

She falls back onto the mattress, and Ford goes with her. His kiss pushes the air back into her lungs. The weight of his body spread over her keeps her from flying away. His hands on her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks, reminds her that she’s whole, she isn’t broken or shattered.

“Stanley,” Ford says against her lips. “Stanley, love, please, are you—“

Love.

Stan kisses him harder, kisses him until it feels like her lungs are about to explode in a good way. Then, finally, she can pull back and look at him and marvel at how beautiful he is.

“Stanley.” A quick peck of his lips to hers again. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

Stan shakes her head. Opposite. Complete and total opposite. “Brain’s oatmeal,” she says, although really it’s more of a slur.

Ford’s brows shoot up over the rim of his glasses. “I’m sorry, it’s—“

“Oatmeal. Melted.”

“Your brain is melted oatmeal,” Ford repeats, and then the worry finally washes from his expression and he starts to laugh. Stan tries to pout up at him, but soon she’s laughing too.

“You’re so mean,” she says, grinning. “This is your fault. All your fault that my neutrons aren’t firing right.”

“Neurons,” Ford corrects.

“Whatever, dork,” Stan grumbles.

“If your neutrons were firing, we would be dealing with a much more dire situation,” Ford says. Stan rolls her eyes. “So,” Ford says, settling himself over her, hands petting at her hair.

“So what?”

“So it was worth it to follow my suggestion and have you give me verbal instruction the entire time, wasn’t it,” Ford says.

“Sweet Moses, are you I-Told-You-So-ing me right now,” Stan complains.

“Yes,” Ford says plainly.

“You deserve to be Wet Willied,” Stan declares, “but I’m still working on getting feeling back in my arms, so you’re off the hook for now.”

“And your generous forgiveness has nothing to do with the apparently mind melting orgasm I just gave you,” Ford asks with an arched brow.

“You’re gonna eat those words just as soon as my bones resolidify,” Stan promises. “I will have my revenge.”

Ford leans down and kisses her, slow and deep and punctuated with a rolls of his hips. “Looking forward to it.”

#stancest #fem stan

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