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oceandolores · 5 months ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

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next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

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cherryredcheol · 10 months ago

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"baby"

tldr: all the way seungcheol uses your nickname a/n: this has been written and waiting to be posted forEVER but i'm finally ready (i am down horrific for this man)

seungcheol x reader fluff wc: 1k

reprimands: to make sure you know he's yours

“baby.” his tone is firm, controlling. he thought it would be a good idea to invite you to his shoot today, thinking you'd like to see him in the expensive clothes he was always put in for cover shoots. what he didn’t account for was you pouting over the friendly makeup artist assigned to him for the day.

“don’t pout. you know i only have eyes for you.” he was trying to reason with you but his patience was wearing thin. you were being difficult on purpose and he couldn’t really do anything about it given the need to protect his image and act as professional as possible. you just huffed, frown settling deeper on your face.

“you’re being a little unreasonable,” based on the look you gave him that was the completely wrong thing to say to you. he turned when he heard them call for him from set. it was time to shine. he walked over to where you sat, bending down to meet your eyes, “if you’re good for the rest of the day i’ll reward you when we get home, baby.”

whines: when he doesn’t have your attention

“baby,” he could hear the pathetic tone in his voice but he just couldn’t help it. he’d had a long day of meetings and listening to presentations, the only thing keeping him going was knowing that you would be waiting at home for him when it was all over. you’d look at him with your soft eyes and dote on him all weekend, just how he liked. now here he was, waiting to be coddled and you were too busy giggling at your phone to spare him a glance.

“what could be so entertaining on the phone that you can’t spend time with me?” he was laying it on thick but he was desperate at this point, especially when his question was only answered by another tittering laugh that was still not directed at him. at this point, he was fed up. he craned his neck to see what had you all giggly.

“oh my god. you’re kidding me!” he couldn’t believe his eyes. playing on your phone was an edit of him from the most recent gose episode. the clip wasn’t even his best moment in the episode, but he did look quite handsome that day so he can’t blame you for watching. he still really wanted to be fussed over, “seriously, put your phone down. i’m much cuter in person, baby.”

cat-calls: as you walk by in his favorite dress

“baby!” he called out to you, dragging out the ‘y’ sound. you paused, stopping in the middle of the bedroom as you crossed from the closet to the ensuite bathroom. he was seated on the bed, tying his shoelaces when he caught sight of you in the soft pink sundress he loved so much. you looked at him with big, curious eyes, wondering why he had stopped you in the middle of getting ready for your date in the park.

“spin for me.” he got up from the bed and reached for your hand. he held it up, above your head and twirled you in a circle, eyes taking in every inch of you. he was excited to have a picnic with you but now he was considering scrapping the whole thing to stay behind. seeing you in a sundress always did something to him.

“you’re so beautiful,” he was full of compliments, making sure you knew exactly how beautiful he thought you were. he considered himself a lucky man every day he got to spend with you. he supposed his desire for you could wait a few hours. he should spoil you rotten with a date in the park, before spoiling you in bed. “sure you really want to go out, baby?”

admires: because he’s proud of you

“baby,” his voice is soft, eyes even softer as he cups your face. he’d just gotten home from his schedule and you’d greeted him at the door, immediately sharing the news of your promotion with him. it was a small, mostly lateral move, with a tiny raise but you were still excited to share the news with him. he kisses you deeply, trying to convey his pride to you wordlessly.

“i should tell my mom. she’s going to be so happy for you.” this made you blush. you knew he’d be proud but you didn’t really expect him to be so happy that he’d want to tell everyone. it wasn’t even a big deal. you begged him not to call his mom right that moment and instead conceded to a spontaneous celebratory dinner at your favorite restaurant.

“i’m so proud of you,” this was now the sixth time he told you this since you shared the news with him, the second on the car ride to the restaurant. you blushed every time he said it, and had asked him to stop, to which he refused. in fact, he had doubled down. he threatened to have a cake brought to the table at dinner if you tried to silence him again. at a red light, he fished his phone out of his pocket, handing it over to you, “call my mom, for real. i want us to share the news with her. she’s going to be so proud, baby.”

barks: on accident

“baby!” the name came out harsh, frustrated. you’d never heard it that way before; this time, it wasn’t even directed at you. the dressing room fell silent and you watched the blush creep up his neck. the boys were never going to let him live this down. he turned from you, the conversation you were having before he went on stage now gone from his mind.

“sorry, i meant to say ‘seungkwan’”. he was trying to save the situation but it was awkward. not only had he tried to reprimand his members but he’s accidentally used your name to do it, embarrassing himself in front of his members, staff, and you. what was once a bustling hub of movement and concert preparation came to a screeching, uncomfortable halt at his faux pas.

“we know you like seungkwan, but we didn't know you liked him that much, hyung.” jeonghan broke the tension saving his leader and ushering in some polite laughter. the commotion slowly began again and he turned back to you. his face looked normal, probably due to the makeup, but his neck was bright red. he was flustered, “they’re never going to let this go, baby.”

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #svt #seventeen fluff #svthub #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol imagine #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff

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thef1diary · 4 months ago

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A Steamy Prank | Dirtbag!Danny

— a lil replacement for dirty drabbles 👀

warnings: 18+ content below, dirtbag!daniel, oral (fem receiving), slight overstimulation, slight breath play, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, name calling.

wc: 2.5k

masterlist

The water bubbled around you, steam curling into the cool night air, but all you could focus on was Daniel. He sat across from you, shirtless, his tattooed thighs spread wide beneath the water. His damp curls stuck to his forehead, and his smirk was downright wicked. You should’ve known from that look alone that he was up to something.

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling a little heated under his scrutinizing gaze. The new bikini he’d gifted you earlier was tiny—borderline scandalous with your tits nearly slipping out to give him a peak. He had even bought matching swim shorts—a very slutty pair of shorts—and quite frankly, you loved the attention he gave you, so you didn’t think twice before putting on the two scraps of fabric.

“How’s the water, sweetheart?” he asked casually, leaning back against the hot tub’s edge, the muscles in his arms flexing as he stretched. Your gaze was drawn to the tattoo on his bicep, and as you trapped your bottom lip between you teeth, you nearly forgot the question he’d asked.

“Fine,” you muttered, eyes narrowing at the way his grin widened.

“Just fine?” he teased, tilting his head as he watched you. “You’re looking a little…unsettled.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the truth was far from it.

Something felt off, and it wasn’t just the way his gaze was raking over you—no, you loved it when his attention was solely on you. The straps of his bikini were looser than they had been earlier, the fabric around your chest feeling precarious. You reached up to adjust it, but the moment your fingers touched the material, it began to dissolve under your touch.

Your heart dropped.

“Daniel,” you hissed, panic rising as the bikini disintegrated like sugar in water.

He barked out a laugh, sitting up straight, sloshing the water around in the tub. “Oh, shit, it’s happening already?”

“You did this on purpose!” you accused, your voice a mix of outrage and disbelief.

“Me? Never. What kind of guy do you think I am?” He raised his eyebrows but the smile tugging on his lips told you the truth.

“The worst kind,” you hissed, though the flush on your cheeks had given you away, knowing he could see right through your act.

He shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Thought it’d be funny. And, well…” his eyes darkened, roaming over your body as your nipples peaked through the dissolving material. “I wasn’t wrong.”

You scrambled to cover yourself since you were still trying to make sense of the situation, your arms wrapping around your chest, but it was no use. The water did little to hide you, and Daniel’s gaze was searing.

“Relax, baby,” he drawled, leaning forward. “It’s just us out here. No one’s gonna see what a desperate little slut I can turn you into.”

“Danny, you’re such an asshole!” you snapped, though the heat spreading throughout your body due to his words had little to do with anger.

He smirked, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you closer. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don’t love it. You’re so desperate for me even your clothes couldn’t stay on.”

You rolled your eyes and despite your best attempt, a small giggle left your lips. “Shut up,” you murmured, though your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch.

His hands slid over your hips, pulling you onto his lap. Your bikini bottoms had completely disintegrated in the water and the last remnants of the fabric covering your chest was plucked away easily by Daniel, leaving you completely bare.

“Let me guess, your shorts are still intact,” you murmured, a tinge of annoyance lacing your tone which earned a laugh from him.

“All this attitude…where does it come from, sweetheart?” he asked, sliding his fingers over your tits, squeezing the soft mound before circling your nipples. “Is it because you know I’m going to put you in your place? ‘Cause I'm gonna turn you into my personal slut?”

A whine escaped your lips, your mind already turning hazy with his low murmurs of filth. His free hand rested on the nape of your neck, fingers finding their way into your wet strands of hair. Your head tilted back when he tugged harshly, exposing the column of your neck that he lazily traced with his tongue.

You should have resisted, should have scolded him for pulling such a childish prank, but the second his lips met your neck, all coherent thoughts fled. He kissed and nipped at your skin, his stubble scraping deliciously as he worked his way down to your collarbone.

Moans filled the air as he sucked and kissed all over your neck, leaving marks behind when his teeth grazed over you before soothing it using his flattened tongue. He hummed, finding your pulse quickening under his lips, and you could feel him smirk against your skin.

“See, you do love it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I bet you’re so fucking wet already. What do you want, sweetheart?”

Your foggy mind struggled to catch up when you felt quiet anticipation fill the air. “Daniel—” you started, only to cut yourself off because you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t even remember what he had asked.

He cooed, grazing your cheeks with the back of his fingers, looking at you with pity. “Is my baby too dazed to think?” he asked, his soft, mocking tone only causing your mind to spin further.

Daniel’s hand moved down to your neck, and in an instant, his fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing it with slight pressure. “That’s okay, let me take care of you, hm?”

You whimpered, your eyes welling up with tears, only causing his grin to grow further. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, a broken moan quickly silenced by him. Using his advantage of his hand wrapped around your throat, he guided you, chasing after the intoxicating taste of your lips.

Soon, his hand had finally released your throat, allowing the rush of oxygen and blood flow to return, making your head spin as a whispered plea left your lips. His hands were everywhere, sliding over your ass, your thighs, your waist. He gripped your hips and lifted you, setting you on the edge of the hot tub. The cool air immediately hit your wet body, making you shiver, but the heat of his mouth descending on your pussy erased any discomfort.

“Fuck, Daniel,” you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicked over your clit.

He groaned against you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “So fucking sweet,” he murmured, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper. “Could stay down here forever.”

Your legs trembled, your hips bucking against his mouth as he sucked and licked with relentless precision. The filthy wet sounds filled the air, mingling with your breathless cries.

“Danny, please–”

He pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his chin glistening with your wetness. “Please, what, baby? Use your pretty mind and tell me what you want.”

“Make me cum,” you begged, shameless and desperate.

“That’s my good girl, I love it when you beg f’me,” he said, before licking a stripe up your cunt.

It didn’t take long before you were falling apart for him, your body shuddering on his command as you came with a cry of his name. He licked you through the aftershocks, his hands firmly holding your thighs open as he devoured every last drop.

Before you could fully recover, he pulled you back into the water, the warmth surrounding you as he positioned you to straddle his lap. He had already shrugged his shorts down, having freed his cock while he was devouring your pussy. His cock slid across your folds, thick and unyielding as he nudged your clit. You gasped when he thrust up inside you in one smooth motion without warning.

You could only whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, a breathless moan of your name falling from his lips when you clenched around him. The water sloshed around you, the sound obscene as he fucked into you with deep, measured thrusts.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough. “Taking me so well. A perfect fucking little slut, aren’t you?”

You moaned, nodding, the degradation only spurring you on as you matched the movements of your hips with his thrusts.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass to control your movements. “So desperate for me, you can’t even keep quiet.”

His words earned a loud moan from you, your head falling against his shoulder as he slammed into you harder. His fingers moved to your clit, creating tight circles that made you see stars. You cried out, tears staining your cheeks as the pleasure was coiling tightly in your belly. Another muffled moan escaped your lips and you couldn’t help but bite down on his shoulder, imprinting the marks of your teeth in his skin.

He shuddered beneath you, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he whispered a curse under his breath. Then, he suddenly sped up his pace, hips snapping against yours with a sense of brutality, knowing he’ll leave your cunt aching the next morning. Water sloshed around you, only amplifying the intensity of the moment, the sound of wet slaps of skin against skin echoing loudly in the otherwise silent night.

“I’m gonna cum,” you managed to choke out between constant moans, the soft uh uh uh’s turning loud and desperate with each thrust.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his breath brushing your ear. “Cum for me, sweetheart, make a mess ‘round me.”

An obscene moan filled the air, your head falling back as he angled his hips, constantly hitting that perfect spot that made you see stars.

Your release crashed over you, your pussy clenching around him as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down until you slumped against him, completely spent. When you lifted your head and met his gaze with teary eyes, a lazy smirk graced his lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re done, baby,” he murmured, “I’m still hard.” He punctuated his words by withdrawing almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for the briefest moment, only to plunge back in, hitting a spot so deep it left you gasping. A broken cry spilled from your lips, his name a plea as you clung to him.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and indulgent, shaking his head as though scolding you. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing a thumb across your flushed cheek. "I thought you wanted to make me feel good. You do, don’t you?"

Your body betrayed your exhaustion, nodding before your voice could catch up. "Yes," you whispered, the word trembling with need.

His hand cupped your chin, lifting your gaze to his. His expression softened just enough to make your heart race before his lips curled into that maddening smirk once more. “Such a dirty little whore for me, aren’t you? Always wanna be stuffed with my cock.”

You whined, “please, Danny, want you to fill me.”

He shifted your body gently, turning you so your back pressed against his chest, trapped between his body and the corner of the hot tub. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your ear as he leaned in, his hands settling on your waist to guide you. Slowly, he pressed you down onto him, a deep groan rumbling through him as you took him in.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the fullness after multiple orgasms, the way he fit perfectly, as though made for you. He held you there for a moment, his strong hands steadying you as your body adjusted to the intensity.

"I’ve got you," he murmured, his voice a promise, steady and reassuring. The heat of his words wrapped around you, grounding you as you melted into his embrace. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began again, his movements coaxing soft, breathless sounds from your lips, drawing you deeper into his rhythm.

His grip on your waist tightened as he moved, his pace relentless, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of reason. The water rippled violently around you, but you barely noticed, your focus consumed entirely by him behind you—his strength, his control, and the way he handled you with ease.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and mocking against your ear. "So desperate. Falling apart on my cock, like the needy little thing you are."

A soft whimper left your lips, and his chuckle was anything but kind. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled you back onto him with each thrust, his control over you absolute.

"You don’t even care how wrecked you look, do you?" he taunted, his tone dripping with condescension. "All you want is to be filled, isn’t that right? Say it."

"Yes," you gasped, your voice trembling, barely coherent. "Please—"

"Pathetic," he cut you off, a dark smirk curling his lips. "Can’t even form a proper sentence, can you? All that’s left in that pretty little head is me."

Your face burned, but the way he spoke only made you cling to him harder, the degradation sending a pulse of heat straight through you.

"That’s what I thought," he continued, his voice a cruel mix of amusement and dominance. "You’re nothing but my little toy, made for me to use however I want."

He punctuated his words with a particularly harsh thrust, and a strangled cry escaped you, your fingers clutching at the edge of the tub for dear life.

"You’re going to give me everything," he demanded, his voice firm as he leaned down, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "I’m not stopping until you’ve got nothing left to give. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whimpered, the word barely audible.

"Good girl," he said, his tone dripping with mock approval. "At least you know your place."

His pace quickened, his movements calculated and unrelenting. The pleasure built to an unbearable peak, his dominance overwhelming and all-consuming. You trembled in his grasp, his name spilling from your lips in a desperate cry as you reached your breaking point, the world around you dissolving into white-hot bliss.

He followed close behind, his groan low and rough as he buried himself one last time, holding you tightly as he claimed every inch of you.

When the haze cleared, you were slumped against the hot tub, your body spent, your mind hazy. He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his hands rubbed soothing circles against your hips.

"Such a good little thing," he murmured, the edge in his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. "Always so eager to please me."

You nodded weakly, your voice too shaky to respond, but the small smile on your lips spoke volumes. He held you there, pressed against him, as the water gently lapped at your skin, his presence as commanding as ever even in the quiet aftermath.

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ghost-is-gone-18 · 2 months ago

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there’s something about stephanie brown being exceptionally smart that’s so compelling to me. it’s an aspect of her character i really wish the comics spent more time exploring. she was raised by a genius after all. she spent most of her developmental years exercising her problem solving and critical thinking skills. during the early days of her vigilanteism she made all her own equipment out of scraps. she’s definitely an intellectual equal to bruce and tim. hell, she’s probably just as smart as barbara too. she just hasn’t been given the same resources or opportunities as them.

this isn’t just bullshit i’m pulling out of my ass either. it’s shown in the comics. we see her track down the same case as batman and robin and do just as well as a detective. when she went rogue and started to work against batman she was always two steps ahead of him. her problem solving even shows through in the way she uses her environment to give herself advantages in fights.

steph is so smart and given the resources she can be really formidable and yet she’s always underestimated both in the comics and outside of them. i just want to see her break just once and show the rest of the batfam just how skilled and intelligent she can be. i want to see her absolutely outpace bruce on a case, or solve something tim has been struggling with for hours in mere minutes. i want to see her be the detective of the steph and cass duo. i want to see bruce or babs or hell even tim or cass realize just how much they’re underestimating her.

i’m imagining some sort of situation where she’s forced to work on her own with limited resources, maybe a hostage situation with the riddler. the building is on lockdown and steph is the only one in the building. all she has is her backup stash of batgirl stuff. coms are being blocked so she can’t get word out to anyone. the whole batfam is on the outside preparing to go in, super worried about how steph is holding up when suddenly the doors open and all the hostages flood out followed by steph holding a hog tied riddler. turns out she was able to strategically take out each unit of riddler’s crew without him realizing his goons were under attack, solve the puzzle he’d set up, and completely diffuse the situation. “what, like it’s hard?” everyone else is shocked. they’ve always been so blinded by steph’s jokey personality and lack of formal training that they never realized how competent she was. everyone gains a new level of respect for her.

i’m begging for someone to write a fic like this. i need more badass steph centric fics.

#dc prompt #stephanie brown #batfam #batgirl #spoiler dc

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aspenmissing · 4 months ago

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ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

4362 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ.

JAYCE

Jayce Talis was fresh-faced and full of ambition when he first arrived in Piltover. Accepted into the academy (19) as a promising young inventor, he was determined to make a name for himself. But ambition wasn’t enough to build the dreams he had in his mind. The academy had resources, yes, but they were cautious, slow-moving—bound by tradition. Jayce’s ideas demanded materials and ingenuity that Piltover wasn’t ready to supply.

That’s how he found himself wandering into the Undercity one fateful evening.

The narrow streets of Zaun were a stark contrast to the polished halls of the academy. Steam hissed from broken pipes, and the air smelled of oil and metal. Jayce clutched a hastily scribbled map in his hand, given to him by a fellow student who claimed there was a workshop deep in Zaun where you could find anything—if you were brave enough to look.

He nearly missed the place entirely, tucked away in a crooked alley. A flickering sign above the door read: “Y/N’s Fixes & Finds.”

Pushing the door open, Jayce was greeted by the faint hum of machinery and the clatter of tools. The workshop was a chaotic haven of gears, wires, and half-finished devices. At the centre of it all stood a young woman, roughly about the same age as him, goggles perched on their head, a smudge of grease streaked across their cheek as they worked on a mechanical contraption.

The sound of the door creaking drew their attention. They turned, narrowing their eyes at the well-dressed stranger. “Lost, academy boy?” they asked, their tone sharp but not unkind.

Jayce hesitated, taken aback by the directness. “Not lost,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Looking for something I can’t find in Piltover.”

Y/N leaned against the workbench, crossing their arms. “You’ve got the wrong place if you’re looking for shiny toys and fancy gadgets.”

“That’s not what I’m after,” Jayce replied earnestly. “I’m working on an idea—something that could change everything. But I need better materials, better tools. Someone told me you could help.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite themselves. “Big words for someone who doesn’t look like they’ve built anything that’s actually worked.”

Jayce smirked, feeling a flicker of determination. “I can prove it.”

They tossed him a battered device from the workbench—a mangled mess of gears and wires. “Fix that. If you’re half as smart as you think you are, it shouldn’t take you long.”

Jayce took the challenge without hesitation, sitting down at the workbench. The device was poorly assembled but fixable. With a few careful adjustments, he realigned the gears and connected the wires properly. Within minutes, the device clicked and whirred to life, emitting a faint pulse of light.

Y/N was impressed but tried not to show it. “Not bad, academy boy. Maybe you’re worth my time after all. Names Y/N” She holds her hand out to him.

"Jayce." He responded, shaking her hand.

They spent the next few hours talking, trading ideas and challenges. Y/N’s resourcefulness fascinated Jayce—they solved problems with a practicality born from necessity, creating brilliance out of scraps. In turn, Y/N couldn’t help but admire Jayce’s vision and his almost reckless drive to push boundaries.

When it was finally time for Jayce to leave, Y/N handed him a small pouch filled with rare components. “Call it a loan,” they said with a sly smile. “Don’t screw it up.”

Jayce smiled back, his grip tightening on the pouch. “I won’t,” he promised.

As he walked back to Piltover, the weight of the pouch felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just components—it was trust. And for the first time, Jayce felt like his dreams weren’t so far away. He didn’t know it yet, but this meeting was the start of something that would change not just his life, but the world.

VIKTOR

The halls of the academy were always bustling, students rushing between lectures, papers scattered across desks, and the constant hum of ambition hanging in the air. Y/N was no exception, constantly moving, juggling tasks, and brimming with ideas. It was her first semester, and she was already feeling the pressure of living up to the academy’s towering expectations.

Lost in her thoughts about an upcoming presentation, her arms full of papers and books, Y/N’s focus slipped for just a moment too long. Her foot caught on the corner of a rug, and the next thing she knew, her carefully organized notes and diagrams were flying out of her grasp, scattering like autumn leaves across the polished floor.

Before she could fully register what had happened, a soft but firm voice broke through her embarrassment. “Careful now. The floor may not be as forgiving as it looks.”

Startled, Y/N glanced up to see a young man crouched beside her, already gathering her scattered papers. His lean frame was accentuated by the slightly oversized academy uniform, his posture careful as he balanced against a sturdy cane. His unruly brown hair seemed perpetually at odds with the studious air he carried. Most striking, though, were his golden-brown eyes—intense and thoughtful, but not unkind.

“I—uh, thank you,” Y/N stammered, still flustered as she scrambled to pick up the rest of her notes.

“It happens,” the young man replied in a calm, measured tone, his Czech accent thick. He leaned slightly on his cane as he handed her a stack of neatly organized papers. “You’re not the first to underestimate how much these corridors demand your attention.”

She managed a sheepish smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, I suppose balance isn’t my strong suit.”

“Balance,” he mused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His cane tapped lightly against the floor as he shifted his weight. “An elusive concept, especially here. The academy is good at keeping everyone on edge.”

Y/N accepted the papers, her initial embarrassment giving way to curiosity. “Thanks again. I guess I owe you one.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “No debt incurred,” he said with a faint chuckle. “Just… perhaps slow down a little next time. Rushing rarely yields the best results.”

As the weight of her papers settled back in her arms, Y/N hesitated. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Viktor,” he said simply, his cane tapping softly as he adjusted his stance. He offered a slight nod, polite but reserved. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” she replied, finally feeling steady on her feet. “First semester, and clearly still figuring out how to survive the academy.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Viktor said, his tone thoughtful as he studied her. “Even those of us who’ve been here longer still stumble now and then—metaphorically, of course.” A faint flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.

Y/N smiled, her initial awkwardness fading into warmth. “Well, Viktor, thanks for the save. I’ll try not to make this a habit.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “See that you don’t. But… if you do find yourself in need of assistance, you know where to find me.” With a slight dip of his head, Viktor turned and walked down the corridor, his cane tapping a quiet rhythm on the polished floor.

As Y/N watched him disappear into the crowd of students, she couldn’t help but feel that this brief encounter was the start of something far more meaningful than a simple rescue.

JAYVIK

The flickering fluorescent lights of the lab cast long shadows over the scattered blueprints, glowing crystals, and intricate machinery. It was late—most of the academy's halls were silent, the usual bustle of students and researchers replaced by an eerie stillness. Perfect timing for someone who didn’t belong.

Y/N moved carefully, her footsteps light as she navigated the sprawling lab. Her Zaunite instincts guided her, sharp and survival-driven. The tools and devices on the workbenches were unlike anything she had seen back home—polished, cutting-edge, and dripping with the wealth of Piltover’s privileged elite.

It wasn’t personal. She didn’t particularly want to steal from anyone. But things in Zaun had been dire lately, and every stolen blueprint or shard of hextech crystal could mean another week of food, another day of keeping her family afloat.

Her gloved hand reached for a shimmering blue crystal embedded in an ornate device when a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Y/N froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned slowly, her mind racing for an excuse. Behind her stood a tall man with broad shoulders, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing brown eyes bore into hers, his expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance.

“I—uh…” Y/N began, but another voice interrupted her.

“She doesn’t look like one of the academy staff,” Viktor said, stepping out from behind a stack of blueprints. He leaned on his cane, his golden-brown eyes sharp and calculating as they swept over her. “Too quiet. Too... resourceful.”

Y/N’s gaze darted between the two men. She was cornered. Jayce’s strong, commanding presence on one side, and Viktor’s sharp intellect on the other. Her hands instinctively tightened around the crystal, but she knew she wouldn’t get far if she tried to run.

“I can explain,” Y/N said quickly, raising her hands in mock surrender, the crystal still clutched in one fist. “I wasn’t going to take much, I swear. Just... borrowing.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. “Borrowing? From our lab?” His tone was incredulous. “You know, breaking in and stealing aren’t exactly the best ways to ask for a favor.”

Viktor tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re from Zaun, aren’t you?” he asked, his accent softening as he studied her.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

“Your tools,” Viktor interrupted, nodding toward the small pouch at her hip. “Zaunite make. Efficient but improvised. And your shoes—worn from the chemical streets.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re observant,” she muttered, uneasy under his scrutiny.

Jayce glanced at Viktor, his frustration softening slightly. “So, what now?” he asked, clearly deferring to his partner.

Viktor considered Y/N for a long moment before speaking. “Running won’t help you. Security will catch you before you leave the building. And if they don’t, Piltover’s lawkeepers will. But…” His gaze flicked to the device she had tried to steal. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

Y/N frowned, her suspicion evident. “An arrangement?”

“You’re resourceful,” Viktor said simply, his tone calm and measured. “And I assume you wouldn’t be risking your neck unless you truly needed to. If you’re willing to explain your situation, perhaps we can find a way to help each other.”

Jayce crossed his arms but nodded, his earlier irritation giving way to a grudging respect. “We’re not heartless. If there’s something you need, just tell us. Stealing isn’t the only way.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes darting between the two of them. There was no malice in their words, only curiosity and... understanding? She wasn’t sure what she expected when she’d broken into this lab, but it definitely wasn’t this.

“Fine,” she said at last, lowering her hands and relinquishing the crystal. “I’ll talk. But don’t think for a second that I trust either of you.”

Jayce chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Trust takes time.”

Viktor gave a faint smile, his grip on his cane tightening as he gestured toward a nearby stool. “Then let’s start now. Sit. We’re listening.”

As Y/N sat down, her nerves still buzzing, she realized that she might have just stumbled into something far more complicated—and far more intriguing—than she’d anticipated.

VANDER

The Last Drop wasn’t much to look at back then. It wasn’t the thriving hub it would later become, but a small, rough-hewn bar tucked into the heart of Zaun’s chaos. The air inside carried a mix of sweat, cheap ale, and the faint metallic tang of machinery. It was a refuge for the weary and the desperate—a place where even the broken found a moment of peace.

Vander was behind the bar, as usual, wiping down the stained counter with a rag that had seen better days. He wasn’t much older than twenty, broad-shouldered and already carrying the weight of the Undercity on his back. Silco sat at a bar, drinking from a glass as he writes in a journal.

The door creaked open, and Vander glanced up out of habit. He expected another familiar face, maybe a regular, or some poor soul looking for a drink to drown their troubles. What he didn’t expect was her.

Felicia strode in first, her usual swagger in place, but behind her was someone new—a woman he’d never seen before. Y/N stepped into the dim light of the bar, and for a moment, Vander forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t belong here—not in the way most people did. Zaun had a way of dulling beauty, grinding it down with grime and despair, but she seemed untouched by it. Her eyes carried a spark of resilience, her posture a quiet defiance against the city that tried to break everyone. To Vander, she was a flower blooming in the middle of a wasteland.

“Oi, Vander!” Felicia’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “Quit staring and come over here.”

Silco smirked from his seat, clearly catching Vander’s momentary lapse. Vander muttered something under his breath and stepped around the bar, doing his best to play it cool as Felicia waved him over.

“This is Y/N,” Felicia said, gesturing toward her companion. “She’s new to this part of Zaun, figured I’d show her around. Thought it’d be good for her to meet the famous Vander.”

“Famous, huh?” Vander said, his voice gruff as he extended a hand.

Y/N smiled, and the warmth in it caught him off guard. She took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. “I’ve heard a bit about you,” she said. “Felicia talks like you’re some kind of legend.”

Vander chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Don’t believe everything she says. I’m just a guy with a bar.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Felicia chimed in, slapping Vander on the shoulder. “He’s got a heart as big as this place—and fists to match.”

Vander shot Felicia a warning look, but she only grinned. Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and melodic, and Vander felt something stir in his chest.

“Well,” Y/N said, her gaze meeting his, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Vander. This place has a charm to it.”

“Charm, huh?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s not a word I hear much around here.”

She shrugged. “It’s all in how you look at it.”

Vander nodded, his respect for her growing. It wasn’t often someone saw Zaun with anything other than disdain or despair. “Can I get you a drink?” he offered, his voice softening.

“Sure,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But only if you join me for one.”

For the first time in a long while, Vander felt a flicker of something he’d thought Zaun had taken from him—hope. He poured two drinks and joined her at the bar, Felicia smirking knowingly as she goes to Silco’s side, the two watching with a smirk

As the night went on, Vander found himself captivated by Y/N’s stories, her laughter, and the way she seemed to light up the dim room. In a city that thrived on shadows, she was a rare glimpse of light, and Vander couldn’t help but wonder if meeting her was the beginning of something he’d been waiting for his whole life.

SILCO

The night Vander betrayed him was etched into Silco’s mind like a blade carving into flesh. The cold waters of the canal still burned in his lungs, and the searing pain from his infected eye was a constant reminder of the man who had once called him brother.

He’d managed to escape, his hands slick with blood, the knife he used to fend off Vander still trembling in his grasp. Every step felt heavier than the last as he stumbled through the labyrinthine streets of Zaun, his vision blurring from pain and exhaustion.

When he finally collapsed in a dark, narrow alleyway, Silco wasn’t sure if he’d ever rise again. The city around him was a blur of muffled sounds and shifting shadows before everything went black.

Silco awoke with a start, his instincts kicking in before his body could fully respond. He bolted upright, only to be met with a sharp, stabbing pain radiating from his face and ribs. His hand instinctively reached for his eye, but a firm, unfamiliar voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t touch that.”

His head snapped toward the source, his remaining eye narrowing. A woman stood in the doorway, holding a small basin of water and a cloth. She looked calm, her expression unreadable, but there was an undeniable edge to her tone—a warning.

“Who are you?” Silco demanded, his voice rough, his body tense despite the obvious strain it was under.

“Someone who just saved your life,” Y/N replied, stepping closer and setting the basin down on a small, rickety table. “You were half-dead when I found you. If you move too much, you’ll tear the stitches I just put in.”

Silco’s gaze flickered to his arm, now wrapped tightly in makeshift bandages. His mind raced, trying to piece together how he’d ended up here. “Why?” he asked, his tone sharp.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his hostility. “Why what? Why did I help you?” She shrugged. “Let’s just say I don’t like seeing people bleed out in the streets, even in a place like this.”

“Charity is rare in Zaun,” Silco said, his suspicion evident.

She let out a dry laugh. “You don’t say.” Her tone softened slightly as she sat on a stool beside him, wringing out the cloth. “I’m no saint, but I couldn’t just leave you there. Now, sit still. Your eye’s infected, and if you want to keep what’s left of it, you’ll let me help.”

Silco hesitated, every muscle in his body screaming at him to leave, to get away from this stranger. But the throbbing in his eye and the sharp pain in his side were undeniable. Reluctantly, he leaned back against the wall, his remaining eye watching her every move.

Y/N worked in silence for a while, dabbing gently at his swollen, reddened eye. Her hands were steady, her touch careful despite the obvious discomfort it caused him.

“You’re lucky I found you when I did,” she said after a moment. “Another hour out there, and you’d have been done for.”

“Lucky,” Silco repeated bitterly, his jaw tightening. “That’s one way to put it.”

She paused, meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But whatever it was, it left you in a bad way. You should rest.”

“I can’t stay here,” Silco said firmly, starting to rise again despite the pain.

Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down. “And go where? Back into the streets? You’ll be dead by morning.”

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, Silco found himself unable to argue. He hated the vulnerability, hated relying on someone else, but something about Y/N’s unwavering composure kept him from pushing her away.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, leaning back reluctantly.

She smirked, sitting back on her stool. “Takes one to know one.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Silco allowed himself to close his eye and let the tension in his body ease, if only slightly. The woman tending to him was a mystery, but as the night wore on, he couldn’t deny that her care was keeping him alive.

And in the shadows of Zaun, where trust was scarce and betrayal ran deep, that simple act of kindness was enough to plant the seed of something unexpected—something Silco would carry with him long after he left her care.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N once lived in Piltover with her mother, enjoying a modest but stable life. However, when her mother passed away unexpectedly, the weight of mounting bills and the high cost of living in the gilded city became too much for her to bear. With no other options, she made the difficult decision to move to Zaun, a place she had only heard about in whispers. The contrast was stark—Piltover's polished streets were replaced by Zaun's gritty alleys and thick, smoky air. Struggling to find her footing, she spent months navigating her new reality, unsure of where she belonged.

Fate intervened when Y/N stumbled across Silco in an alleyway, unconscious and wounded. Taking a risk, she helped him, unaware that this single act of compassion would alter the course of her life. (Silco's Part) After recovering, Silco saw something unique in Y/N—her resilience and resourcefulness—and offered her work. What began as a professional arrangement quickly deepened into a bond built on trust and mutual respect, a connection that only grew stronger over the years. Their dynamic shifted again one evening when Silco arrived at their base of operations with a new addition to their unnatural family.

Powder.

She was small, thin, with wild blue hair, and bruises marring her skin. But it wasn’t just the physical damage that caught your attention—it was the hurt in her eyes. The guilt. The grief. And something darker beneath the surface. You could see it clearly, even through the panic and shock she was clearly experiencing.

“She’s... she’s alive,” Silco muttered, almost to himself, as he carefully laid Powder down on a makeshift cot. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with soot and grime from the aftermath. “She needs care.”

You nodded silently, stepping forward with a calm that belied the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You were no stranger to pain, and you knew what needed to be done. You had seen plenty of broken souls, but something about this girl... something about her was different. She wasn’t just another casualty of Zaun’s brutality—she was a spark, a raw potential waiting to be shaped.

You crouched beside her, noting how tightly she was curled in on herself. She was trembling, hands clenched into fists at her sides as though bracing for something. Her wide eyes, still filled with fear, flickered to Silco’s figure, and you could see the tension in her shoulders, the uncertainty in her gaze.

“Powder,” you said gently, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

She didn’t respond, but you saw her stiffen slightly at your words. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, and for a moment, the silence hung in the air between you both. You continued your work, not rushing, not pushing her to speak, only ensuring she was comfortable and that her injuries weren’t as severe as they seemed.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” You muttered, more to yourself than to her. “Zaun doesn’t make it easy for anyone.”

Silco stepped back, leaning against the wall. “She... doesn't talk. Hasn't since the explosion. Going to need a lot of patience with this one.”

“I can handle patience,” you said quietly, glancing at Silco with an understanding nod. There was something else there, though, that you could see behind his eyes—a recognition. Maybe even a kind of resignation. He had likely seen far too many broken people in his time, but for the first time, you saw a flicker of doubt in him. Whether it was for himself, for her, or both, you couldn’t be sure.

But the moment you looked back down at Powder, you knew she needed something more than just care. She needed someone who could see past the explosion, the destruction, and the chaos she had been a part of. She needed someone who could help her rebuild what had been torn apart—not just her body, but her heart.

“Hey,” you spoke again, this time more firmly. “You don’t have to carry this alone. I know it feels heavy right now, but you can’t carry it forever. It’s not all on you.”

The words didn’t seem to break through at first. Powder stayed silent, still as stone. But you could see the smallest tremor in her hands, the slight quiver in her lip.

The guilt was suffocating her.

"I'm a monster… A Jinx," Powder's voice was soft, barely a whisper, and laced with hesitation. "It's my fault."

You moved a little closer, sitting down beside her. You didn’t touch her, but you stayed there, just close enough for her to feel your presence, warm and steady. You understood what it was like to feel like the world was on your shoulders, to feel like you couldn’t make amends, but you knew one thing: she had to be given the chance to heal. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but it would happen.

“You're not a monster,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on the girl's knee. "And it's not your fault. You're just a very brave girl."

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the distant hum of Zaun’s underbelly and the faint sounds of Powder’s breath. Silco didn’t respond, but you saw the sharpness in his gaze soften, just a fraction. His stance relaxed, and his lips pressed into a thin line, contemplating your words.

Finally, Powder’s voice, quiet and small, cut through the stillness. “I... I didn’t mean to...”

“I know,” you said gently, offering her a small, comforting smile. “But it’s not about what happened. It’s about what you do next.”

The weight of her past might have been too heavy to erase, but there was still time for her to change. There was still time for healing. And in that moment, you knew: whatever happened next, you would be there to guide her through it.

A new chapter had begun for both you and Powder, one where she wouldn’t have to walk alone in the shadows of Zaun any longer.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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callsign-rogueone · 21 days ago

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the twins

Brennan Sorrengail x f!reader (Duchess!) words: 1.7k 🏷: just some little scraps I have of Bren and Duchess before the arrival of their sweet twin mini Brennan’s. set in the happily ever after that we are absolutely going to get in book 5 or beyond. mentions of pregnancy, and the boys being born a little early. it’s implied that there were complications with the birth in the last scene, but it’s not described in detail or shown at all. and Brennan came to the rescue, like always 🧡

“What is up with you guys today? Do I smell like sheep or something?” you ask as another dragon comes up to sniff you, the fourth this morning.

“No,” the green swordtail answers, sounding amused. “Not that.”

“Then what?”

“I believe you humans call it being with child,” another says slyly.

“What?”

This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, given the frequency with which you and Brennan have been… trying, but you definitely weren’t expecting to hear it now, from the riot.

“You’ve been mated for five years now. It was about time, considering how short you humans’ lives are.”

Are they really calling you old right now?

“Congratulations,” Ban says warmly, sounding like she’s known for a while now. “The mender will be pleased.”

He definitely will be, considering that this whole thing had been his idea, that he’d been the one to sweet-talk you into it, to stop taking the tonic and let nature run its course. But how are you going to tell him, and when? What does this mean for your roles in Tyrrendor’s army and in caring for the riot?

“I was wondering where you were.”

You jolt in surprise, your heart jumping, and the tiny shock has one of the dragons stepping forward, ready to defend you.

“He’s her mate, you imbecile.”

“Oh.”

You laugh, pulling Brennan into an embrace. “Hi, love.”

“They’re in rare form today,” he says, still eyeing some of them with apprehension.

“Rare indeed,” you agree quietly.

His forehead creases, that cute look of confusion on his face. “Why are you looking like me at that?”

You won’t tell him now, even though you want to — you’ll have the healers confirm it first. Not that you don’t trust the riot, of course, you add down the bond. But they’d be able to better guess how far along you are, and if you’re progressing healthily.

“Can’t a woman admire her husband?” you ask, bringing a hand up to rest over his heart.

There’s another look you know and love — his eyebrows raise, a sly smile curving his lips. “She can.”

“After the meeting,” you answer before he can ask. “I couldn’t look Xaden in the eye for days after we were late to the last one.”

“After the meeting,” he agrees, putting a hand on top of yours. There’s a barely-audible hum as your rings come into contact, the connection runes in them satisfied with your proximity.

You don’t plan on leaving his side any time soon — and he likely won’t want you to, either. He’d likely become so much more protective, knowing the news. You're honestly a little excited to see what he'll be like, the extra care he'd take of you...

You’ll see the healers tomorrow, you decide, while he’s busy researching with Violet. Today, you’ll just go about your day, content to keep your secret.

—————————

Now seems as good a time as ever — it’s the end of the day, your work set aside for the evening in favor of finally resting, taking the time to unwind.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to be done brushing your teeth and doing your skincare, so he can wrap you up in his arms and keep you there all night, where nothing and no one can hurt you.

You move to stand in front of him, tilting his head up with a gentle hand on his jaw. He nuzzles his cheek into your palm, leaning into your touch, letting his eyes fall closed.

“You’re going to be such an excellent father, my love,” you say softly, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone.

He smiles, but he looks like he doesn’t quite follow, he isn’t sure why you’re bringing this up now — and then his eyes snap open in realization. “Wait, really?”

You can’t keep the grin off your face. “Really.”

He wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly, but not too tightly, laying his head over your heart. You bring a hand up, idly working your fingers into the short hair at the back of his neck. "If it's a boy, I hope he looks just like his daddy," you say quietly.

He pulls back, making you giggle at the insulted look on his face. "Are you saying that you chose me for my looks?"

"Not just for your looks," you answer, "but they definitely helped."

You squeak as the hands he's had resting on your back move to your waist, tickling the exposed skin between your shirt and shorts. "Not fair!"

He scoops you up with an arm under your knees, settling you into his lap. "All is fair in love and war."

You lean forward, still a little breathless, your nose brushing his. "I suppose so."

"Now," he murmurs, "if you'll let me, I'd like to thank you properly."

—————————

You rub your hands across your face, shaking your head to clear it. “What were you saying?”

He’s still looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place. “You’re gorgeous,” he says softly.

You look up at him, still not quite all there.

“I mean it, my love, you’re stunning. Walking around in that uniform, carrying my baby,” he breathes, settling his hands on your hips and pulling you forward ever-so-gently. His thumbs stroke over the material of your flight pants, toward your stomach.

You are quite the sight. The sleek black uniform has your shared name stitched onto it — no longer Aisereigh, but Sorrengail now, since you’d both come out of hiding in Aretia — and you’ve got that glow to you that people always talk about, your skin bright and clear, hair soft and shiny, lose from its usual intricate updo, instead tied back by a scrap of silk ribbon.

“Smell divine, too,” he adds, pressing his lips to the side of your neck, his beard tickling the skin.

You giggle. “Who’s the hormonal one now?”

“Can’t help it,” he says between kisses. “Gods, I want to keep you like this forever. My gorgeous wife, my Duchess, mother of my children…”

“Children, plural?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, this is just the beginning,” he replies, entirely serious. “Two more to go after this.”

“Two more?” you echo, laughing. “You want three?”

“Or as many as you’ll give me,” he says with a sly smile. “But three would be perfect.”

You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “Oh, yeah? The commander in chief of Tyrrendor’s army is going to be leading assembly meetings with a toddler on each knee?”

“Absolutely,” he answers, and you know he means it. “They’re coming with me everywhere.”

—————

“Bren?” you murmur, reaching across the mattress for him.

“Right here, my love,” he soothes, taking your hand and gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “you’re okay, and so are our boys.”

You blink, processing his words. The last thing you remember was him carrying you down here, and all the blood… how long ago was that? How does he know you’re having boys?

It hurts his heart to see the look on your face, the sleepy confusion he’s seen in so many patients as a consequence of the sedation, combined with the delicate condition you’d been in from the blood loss.

There’s a soft cry from across the room, and that seems to snap you out of your haze— motherly instinct, maybe. You push through the fog to sit up, looking toward the sound.

“Easy,” he soothes, helping prop you up with a pillow behind your back.

The babe settles as soon as he’s held in his father’s arms, not minding the delicate movement of Brennan laying him down on your chest.

You’ve never held anything this carefully in your life, never seen a baby this tiny. That stands to reason — the pair of them had been born nearly a month early.

You can already tell both of them going to look exactly like Brennan, with their slight dustings of auburn hair and the shape of their noses. They probably have his eyes, too, but they’re shut, resting.

“Hi my loves,” you whisper down to them, in awe. “Oh, they’re perfect.”

“They are,” he agrees quietly, settling down on the edge of the bed beside you, the other twin in his arms.

Yours makes a soft sound like a yawn, a tiny hand moving to rest over your heart.

There’s a moment of quiet, guilt starting to seep through the cracks. “How long has it been?” You ask in a whisper.

He glances up at the clock. “About eight hours since I brought you downstairs.”

That makes this close to midnight. When had they been born? How long had it taken you to wake up?

“I don’t remember any of it,” you say quietly. “I should remember my own children being born, but it feels like it was all a dream that I’ve already forgotten.”

You lay a hand on your stomach, realizing you’ve already been mended back to normal, leaving no sign of your body ever having held your children. You feel… hollow.

“Hey,” he coaxes, “I don’t want you to blame yourself for a second. You did everything right. You carried them and helped them grow for eight months, and they’re perfectly healthy. The healers and I chose to do what was safest for the three of you.”

You nod, closing your eyes to fight back the tears and resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But it still hurts.”

“I know,” he says softly, stroking your hair. “I know.”

There’s another moment of comfortable quiet, the four of you relaxing into each other’s embraces.

You still need to name them, you realize. “Naolin and Asher,” you say quietly, looking up at your husband. “For the two men that gave you life.”

He leans forward, still carefully cradling his twin, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Naolin Liam and Asher Xaden. For your brothers.”

“I like that,” you say softly. “I like that a lot.”

“The question is, which one is which,” he says with a soft chuckle.

You smile. “I have a feeling that’s going to be the question for the rest of our days, my love.”

#brennan and duchess #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #brennan sorrengail #brennan sorrengail x reader #mine #fw boys as dads

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phyrestartr · 9 months ago

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If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished.

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were.

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.”

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.”

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.”

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.”

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it.

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?”

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.”

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him.

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.”

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it?

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts.

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them.

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed.

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.”

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.”

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes.

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late.

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree.

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them.

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them.

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.”

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words.

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own.

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side.

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses.

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too.

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose.

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching.

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.”

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered.

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly.

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they?

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased.

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?”

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?”

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development.

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?”

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before.

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage.

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them.

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all.

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope.

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors.

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna.

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?”

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.”

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.”

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.”

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?”

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.”

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost.

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.”

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #cw: abuse

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cheralith · 2 months ago

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— dead man runnin'.

feat ; serial killer!bachira meguru x detective!reader | word count ; 1.8k contains ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, dark content, murdering mention, blood mention, mild gore, yandere themes (stalking, killing, obsession) a/n ; it's always the thoughts that strike you right before doing a really big task that tempts you huh

there's been a series of murders going around the area spanning over the past few months. seven, to be exact. you're the detective of the precinct that's been in charge of attempting to maintain the peace and catch the person that's been behind the knife. all you have to lead off currently is the fact that it's at least the same person doing the crime, given how each of their victims all have the signature two triangles that face each other to make an hourglass shape slashed on their back, almost mimicking wings.

you've been working your ass off lately, running on four hours of sleep and what probably a full pot of coffee in your stomach. you're exhausted and at your wits end, but thankfully an officer comes by and tells you that the medical examiner has the most recent victim's records ready for you to take a closer look at. at least one good thing has prospered out of the dull few days that you've scrapped up with absolutely nothing.

sighing, you nod and trudge yourself along to your car, heading to the morgue to take a look at the body of the recently-deceased neighborhood grouch. mr. kuniaki, you've had the displeasure of running into him a few times, with your last sour encounter being just a few days before his murder, him scolding you about you parking too close to his driveway for fifteen minutes. you won't miss him by any means, none of the neighborhood will really, but for him to die unexpectedly raised some red flags. it at least told you the killer was near given how close in approximation the recent victims were to you.

you're greeted with the usual receptionist, who tells you that the examiner will be down the hall. you open the door, expecting the usual middle-aged, balding doctor that most of the precinct is accustomed with, but instead, you come face to face with a younger, more handsome doctor—one you've never seen before in all your time as a detective.

he has a little bit of a feminine face, but there's still that masculine edge to it. somehow, the bob cut that sports a yellow peek-a-boo do bringing a strike of distinction to him. it'd be hard not to remember his face. a soft grin appears on his face when he sees you in the doorway.

"i've been expecting you, detective (l/n)," he says cheerfully despite the dreary environment around him. while his face doesn't ring a bell, his voice sounds strangely familiar, like you've heard it in passing before.

"ah," you begin slowly, your deteriorated energy beginning to catch up to you. "hello there, doctor...?"

there's no nametag attached to his lab coat, you notice with narrowed eyes.

"bachira," he finishes for you and sticks his hand out. "doctor meguru bachira."

you shake it loosely, despite his grip being much more secure than yours. his hold surprises you a bit since it's rather oddly firm, but you don't think much of it, even though the doctor does linger onto your hand a bit longer than normal (and that one of his eyes twitch unbeknownst to you).

"you must be here for mr. kuniaki," he begins, circling around the medical table that displays a covered body. "i think it's quite obvious by the many bruises and slashes on his body that foul play is evident."

you hum, nodding. "i'm sure you've heard word about the serial killer that's been going around the city with a... rather distinctive m.o."

the doctor drawls a yes, drawing his attention to his clipboard with the many documents that indicate where the trauma was and the results of them from his body. "ah," he lets you read the clipboard that has the anatomy of the body in front of you with the displays of where each infliction was. there, on the old man's back, were the two triangles drawn on the upper part of his back, taunting you. "i'm assuming that this is it?" he asks, pointing to the wing-like slashes.

"yes. it's always the same six lines," you mutter.

the doctor slowly peels back the covering of the body, revealing the six lines in real time on the old man's back. you stare at them with blank eyes—the usual sight. dried ruby red blood cut on skin rather deep with a couple of scratches and bruises decorating the main scene.

"i concluded that the perpetrator used some sort of common kitchen knife, something accessible to most men, given how blunt these cuts are," the doctor says, a gloved hand going over to graze the cuts so softly, as though not to trigger a reaction out of a dead man.

"i've heard the same report from other examiners," you mention as you recall the others telling you different ranges of knives that were common items to the average person. "did you happen to—"

the door bursts open suddenly. your partner that was supposed to stay behind in your car runs in with a worried look on his face. "(l/n), we've gotta go."

you and the doctor face him with twinned surprised looks. "what? why? we've barely been here for ten minutes."

your partner points his finger towards the entrance of the morgue. "there's a nearby hostage situation on the corner of fifth and clark," he exasperates, "they need all hands on deck 'cause the perps have a bomb that'll go off in thirty minutes if we don't do something."

you look back to the doctor hastily, who merely raises his brows. "i—" you try to find the right words. you finally have a moment of peace to yourself after the mounds of paperwork that you were busy with all last week to work on your case before it got worse, but of course, nothing ever goes to plan. you turn back to your partner. "can't they put moriyama and ohta on the scene? they're only working on some parking violations, aren't they?"

your partner shakes his head, lifting it up to say that they need as many people as they can considering there were two children at the scene, but when he comes to look at you, he sees the rather... daunting stare of the doctor that stands behind you. his yellow eyes are wide with caution, the kindness in his golden hues gone and replaced by something much more menacing.

your partner suddenly loses the words, the doctor's stare planting him in his place out of his own control. his smile is still on his lips, but there's no trace of friendliness, as if it was just fixed there for display. malice swirls in the doctor's eyes as he glares daggers into the man that stands in front of you, as if to warn him to not make a wrong move.

you see the paleness of your partner's face, a little confused as to what has drained all the color from his cheeks when he stares past you. it's like as if he's seen something horrifying. you turn your head, but all you're faced with is the gentle smile of the doctor that cocks his head to the side ever so ignorantly.

his honey-colored eyes soften gently at you. "is everything okay?"

"um," you turn back to your partner, who now has his brows furrowed at the doctor's cordial countenance. "i'm sorry for this, but i think we have to continue this tomorrow. looks like my team needs me."

"that's quite alright," he remarks and recovers the body. "same time tomorrow, detective?"

"if that works for you, doc," you reply while shaking his hand again, his grip still firm as ever and the delay in letting go of your own when you try to let go of his still there. this time, however, his hand still stays in your grasp. you flicker your eyes down to your shared hands. "... doc?"

the doctor's stare pierces into your own. there's a weird meld of concern that flows within his hues, however.

"stay safe, detective," he murmurs almost... lovingly? warmly?

you blink, raising your brows at the oddity of his statement. you had just met this man only a few minutes ago, and yet, he was wishing you farewell in a a tender manner that seemed foreign to you.

"oh, uh," you squirm, forcing yourself out of his grasp. "thank you... i will."

the doctor pulls out something from his pocket. a business card. "take this. just in case i'm not here, there's all my contact info if you ever need me."

you accept it gratefully, not bother to looking twice at it given the urgency of the current situation. he gives you another smile, waving to you and your partner before he whisks you away into the safety of your car.

when you buckle your seatbelt and prepare to drive off, you ask if that doctor was new to the morgue, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your palm.

your partner takes the business card of the doctor that you lazily put in the cupholder, reading over the doctor's names and credentials. he squints at the text and designs of it, noticing that on top of the card, there stands a logo of a diamond made up of two triangles. he squints at it.

"um, doctor bachira, right?" your partner asks, "i think so. i remember seeing him at the quarterly conference a few months back, but he wore a medical mask at the time and kind of kept to himself. he's got this reputation of being a loner, so his coworkers kind of stay away from him."

"i see," you mutter under your breath, the ghost of the doctor's eyes still amidst your mind. "you alright though? you looked like you saw a ghost back there."

your partner swallows thickly and nods his head, despite the warble on his lips saying something else. he places the business card back into the cupholder, deciding not to overthink any incessant details during a time like this.

"yeah no... i'm okay," he says hastily, scratching the back of his neck. it feels a little cold to the touch. "i think i was just shocked by the body, that's all."

bachira lifts a blind up from his office window, where he's able to see the parking lot of the morgue. he spots the familiar dark red sedan where you and your partner sit, the front of the car facing him. he chews on his lip, his grip on the pen tightening the more his eyes burn into the figure beside you.

his jaw tightens, teeth squeaking together from the harsh pressure. he was looking forward to today for the longest time. he made sure to plan everything perfectly, from reassigning himself to the nearby morgue where your precinct frequented to making himself the head examiner of kuniaki's body, just so he could run into you "coincidentally." he dressed himself up in his finest clothing, groomed his hair, put on his most expensive cologne, all glammed up to look perfectly handsome for you.

only for the one thing he was looking for all week to escape from his grasps. it's just like last time...

"kira ryosuke," bachira hisses, the pen suddenly snapping in his grip and letting plastic shards prick at his skin. "take (y/n) away from me like that again and let's see what happens."

a/n ; thank you always for reading! i apologize that this wasn't written the best but i'm very impulsive and just began writing what came to mind oopsies.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated and noticed ♡!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock oneshot #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bachira meguru #meguru bachira #bachira meguru x reader #bachira meguru x you #bachira x reader #bachira x you #tw ; yandere #tw ; dark content #gn!reader #blue lock ; bachira meguru

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beefcakekinard · 4 months ago

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sentences sunday

nobody tagged me but i still wanted to share! from this au, where buck is 18 and tommy is maddie's friend.

The past two weeks have swept summer into the city. Besides the offensively memorable smell, the humidity doing unspeakable things to his hair, the very idea of summer having people injure themselves in new and inventive ways meaning Tommy's on his feet for every 12-hour ER shift – his new apartment doesn't have air conditioning. When Maddie invited him to join her on a visit to Hershey to take advantage of her parents' pool, the choice had felt obvious.

Evan is stood in front of Tommy's lounge chair, his legs practically dripping out of the scrap of fabric he's wearing. The thing pushes the boundaries of what counts as shorts, if you ask Tommy, and he's put a lot of thought into this given how long he's been studying the way the black spandex hugs all of Evan's curves. Evan's skin glistens in the sun, a dewy sweat misted to him from his delicate clavicle to the slight soft give of his stomach to his hairy thighs to the swell of the arch of his foot.

Then he bends – reaching the netted pool scoop further forward, and Tommy can't help but admire the shift of muscle in Evan’s arms and back on his way down to watch how the movement pulls and works his glutes. There's a burn under his skin that he can't ignore, chilling heat that makes him shiver despite the sunshine and the shimmer of humidity in the air.

Maddie snores in the lounger beside him, a soundtrack to the entire experience reminding him to be ashamed of it all.

Evan lifts the pole in his hands and turns. Water slips down the shaft of the scoop, running down Evan's fingers as he strains to hold it aloft. He shakes a leaf out onto the lawn and twists back to face the pool, once again sliding the netting down into the water. It feels like too late – Tommy's mind already whirls with thoughts of licking the chlorine from Evan's knuckles, of making his hand drip with more than water, of sucking them into his mouth or-

Tommy almost falls to the pavement of the pool deck as he scrambles to leave his lounger. He races into the house through the sliding glass door in the living room and makes a hard left into the powder room. He braces his hands on either side of the sink and does not meet his own gaze in the mirror. He focuses on the sound of his own breathing until there’s a percussive knock at the door.

"Occu-" he starts to call out. He's interrupted by the door opening and quickly shutting as Evan spins into the room. Evan presses back against the door, but the room is tiny and that only does so much to keep them apart. He smiles at Tommy. The lock on the doorknob clicks.

"Hey," Evan says. He keeps his voice low, which gives it a rasping quality Tommy tries not to enjoy.

"What are you doing?" Tommy asks, just as quietly. There's no way Evan’s parents are home and Maddie's definitely still passed out outside – there's no one to hear. But the threat of it pricks like thorns at Tommy’s skin.

Evan raises an eyebrow. "What do you think I'm doing?" He moves, so their skin just barely touches.

Tommy swallows. Evan fixes his gaze on Tommy's lips and sways closer, closer, pressing more and more of their bare skin against each other, until their noses touch and Evan's open-mouthed exhales fan across his chin.

Their lips pressing together feels inevitable, and Tommy just lets it happen.

i'm not tagging anyone but if you want to share something please tag me in it!

#rose.txt #bucktommy #my fic #age gap fic

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nanamimizz-archived · 5 months ago

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𝚩𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝚬𝐑𝚬𝐃 𝐓𝚶𝐍𝐆𝐔𝚬. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝚶𝐍𝚬

“𝐨𝐡, 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞-𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐰𝐬.”

You cannot lie in the presence of The Harmony, the great choir compels you to speak only truth. It does not help that Sunday can break your barbed tongue and leave your pride in pieces.

tags: 3.2k wc // inappropriate work relationships // abuse of power // sacrilegious themes // established dynamics // nsfw // petplay dynamics // bisexual reader// mention of incest// afab reader// // coercion // fingering // mentions of penetration // dacryphilia // mindfuckery // sunday is a FREAK //dead dove do not eat // this is kinda fucked up fr…..damn….

author’s note: happy birthday to my bestest friend 🫶🏼 @prettyboykatsukii - this is late as hell im so sorry pookie. sunday lowkey thinks he jigsaw who's gonna tell him.

When you first come to the Penachony, weathered and panicked the head of the Oak Family - Mr. Sunday was as much of angel as his visage. The halo upon his white hair was like a king's crown to you, it shined in your eyes like scraps of food do for a stray dog.

It's what you were, when you had first met Sunday and he would never consider himself a charitable man before looking into your wet, tearful eyes. You were accepted with much more ease than you thought - given an amicable smile and chilling sound of your name on Sunday's lips as he bade you a farewell. It was clear from that first interaction that your stay was not freely given.

You were put to work, swiftly and decisively as your tasks always where in line with your specialty of technology and hacking . The sword of which you wielded for the IPC, in where you served the Stonehearts to generate more wealth than you ever saw. It's the very sword you used to stab your employer in the back, and the blade that you fell on.

Now you wonder what is colder, the gold of his gaze or the steel of your sword as it pierces your spine?

The present is uncaring in your questions, letting them turn to ash on your tongue as you are brought back to the inescapable problem you are placed before. It's been only a month since you arrival to Penachony, a month where after years of being on the run you have built some semblance of a normal life.

Seeing Mr. Sunday was supposed to be a once in a life time chance, never to be repeated again but here you are. Like a mouse trapped in between the paws of indomitable lion who's skin is stronger than steel. You grip the arms of the chair with enough strength the veins in your hands show through the skin.

"Are you nervous?"

You don't say anything, keeping your gaze on the clean white tile beneath.

"You shouldn't be. You've been a loyal member of The Family," something sharp phases through the gold of his eyes, "like a stray dog that knows how well they have it now. Gratefulness isn't a quality most have these days. Wouldn't you agree?"

The question is heavy and hot with accusation like hot iron. For only a second does your gaze dare to meet his, and once you do it's like you are a deer enraptured by the dazzling lights.

"Yes, Mr.Sunday...I would say so."

Sunday smiles as golden as the sun.

"This most agreeable perspective of yours is why we have become fast friends, no?"

You don’t have many friends - not even during your time at the IPC, but there’s a chill down your spine that makes you agree. Your eyes are downcast and you do not dare to raise them. It's hard not however, no matter how much dread Mr. Sunday inspires in you he attracts your gaze like honey to vermin. Never once could you ignore the luster of beautiful things, divine things - it's the weakness Diamond exploited and you think yourself smarter than to fall for it one more time.

How wrong you are, how utterly foolish.

You feel like you have cotton mouth so you dare not speak, only nodding your head.

"And, it is because of our fast friendship I trust you will most amendable with answering a few of my questions - correct?" He asks you, a certain measure of assurances in his tone that makes you swallow the lump in your throat. You fight to find your voice and succeed, if only just.

"What type of questions-"

"Whichever I deem fit - that seems the most fair, wouldn't you agree? I am the one who allowed you in." Sunday speaks, picking at a nonexistent lint on his perfectly creased pants. It's difficult to come up with what to say in retaliate to that, so you say nothing and bow your head.

"Now, let us begin."

There was a change in the air, you feel like in the way the air brushes against your neck and the ache you feel in your robotic arm. The cold that nips at your nerves and the electricity that zaps at the humidity of your eyes. You have felt this once, just the once. When you had stayed, bearing witness to the Stonehearts delegation on the matter of adding another stone to their priceless collection. You recall Diamond and their brilliance and find that Sunday overshadows the former completely like the moon blocking sun.

"Oh Triple Faced Soul, please sear her tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that she will not be able to fabricate lies and false vows."

Once the words have let his full lips, you wince at the overstimulating pain your eyes are victim too as a rainbow like tinge takes over your vision. There is a heat to your hands and tongue, a ringing in your ears that almost drives you mad.

"I see you still have a glaring incompatibility with the memoria," He frowns as if this is something so greatly inconveniences him and not you, "No matter, that can be remedied in time. It is rather fortunate that I am as patient as I am."

"What did you do to me?" Your voice is thin and face twisted in agony - it's a shame you miss at the cool smile on Sunday's face as he watches how you fail at trying to withstand the beginnings of the trial he aims to put you in through.

"As head of the Oak Family I have been blessed with unique abilities by our aeon. That's not so hard to comprehend is it? After all you've been in the presence of a aeon's power before." He explains calmly, hands folded neatly in his lap as he watches you from his seat at the desk in his room. You blink away involuntary tears and hiss out.

"How did you know about that?"

"About your past? Do you think the Family so welcoming to the point of complacency? I would never turn a blind eye to the details of all those that want to join - lest villains make use of this weakness and rot the wood from within." There's a steeliness to his words that makes you wince like a struck dog and you bow your head even bringing your chin to your chest to acquiesce to his words.

"What are you going to do to me? Going to try to trade me off to the IPC?" You hiss, tasting the salt of your own tears - when did you start to cry? As the ringing is only intensified.

"Maybe, if you fail my test." Came the measured response to your accusation. Through the teary film over your gaze you miss out on the way Sunday's hands tighten on the arms of his chair and the heated glint in his golden eyes. You glaring at him, eyes tinged a violet read with am attempted frown that ends up looking like more of a pout. You are a sight for sore eyes - and Sunday thinks of all the ways he can keep your misty gaze on only him.

"Fine," you say sharply as you hear the ringing turn into the edges of a harmonious choir in your ears. "Begin your fucking trial - ah!"

Strange and ravenous heat sears your tongue, like if you drank coffee straight from the boiling pot than letting it cool in your mug. Sunday as risen from his seat and stands in front of you now. Tall and looming with a displeased look on his face and the feathers by his head ruffled.

"Language." You whimper out an apology, sniffling away the tears that want to fall from the scorching of your tongue. He crosses his arms behind his back and you don't see how tightly his fist in clenched, impeccable white gloves wrinkling.

"The trial is simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer honestly."

You narrow your gaze at him, almost petulantly.

"And if I don't?"

A cool smile graces his handsome face, earrings clinking with the tilting of his head as he looks at you with the visage of utter benevolence, hiding the wickedness beneath the veil - "Then I will punish you for the crime of deceiving The Family."

The truth burns down your throat bitterly as you swallow the threat. The second shoe has dropped, and what a fool you were to think that your labor would be enough to pay off the debt for you have accumulated. Through out all your life you have learned so many lessons and bore the weight of so many lashings - each craved a fact of life into the marrow of your being that you never thought you would forget. That there is no true kindness in this universe, no mattered how glided the lips that utter the promise of salvation - you will never have it without paying with something of your own.

"So what? Do you want me to spill my guts out to you now?" Sunday answers your question with a elegant quirk of his lips before his eyes turn focused and narrowed.

"In a sense," He turns to look at the table where strewed across the appropriate oak wood where files - somewhere on them you know your name is on there, written in more blood than ink. “We both know that the IPC circles Penachony like a predator does it’s prey. I merely wish to be insured of your loyalty to The Family and know what is you want from this place.”

(The dove turns, beak and talons sharpening into that of a raptor before you and the choir sings louder in your skull.)

“Now….WHAT DID YOU COME TO SEEK IN PENACHONY?”

The ringing makes your skull shake in your skin and your teeth grind against each other so hard you can hear one tooth crack. The rainbow tinge to your vision swirls and you feel it, the overpowering presence of a aeon - Xipe, The Harmony is here. Here in this room, where you are pinned beneath their lidded gaze you cannot stop the words that spill from your lips as more salty tears and snot run down your face.

“I…wanted…to escape -“ You gasp out, each word like acidic bile on your lips as you gasp. The choir only grows, louder and louder and you wonder if you are going to bleed from your ears at this rate.

“ESCAPE FROM WHAT?” You hear his voice, sterner than it was before - no longer doused in pleasantries and platitudes. Your head aches and throbs, and you feel like you are going to vomit as you stutter out your honest answer.

“From the IPC -“you stop to sob and your vision fizzes like film being burnt, “Didn’t want to belong to them anymore.” The memoria in the air, in the room you are in swirls in your head and you see them - the visions of your childhood, of when you were poor but free and not chained to the desk where you slaved away for hours and days and months and years. The visage makes you ache, and you know you are crying in the terrible ugly way that makes you feel too vulnerable.

The swirling rainbow in your eyes comes to a halt, the choir softens it’s singing and the pain in your head eases. It’s a hum now and the Xipe’s eyes which were barely open, close shut as before. THEIR presence is gone, no longer in the room.

All that is left is you and Sunday.

You feel something touch your face, blearily eyes blink to focus and you don’t realize it but it is Sunday - staining his gloves with the salt of your tears as he gazes upon your ruined face.

“You want to be loved. That is why you left isn’t it?” He asks and your lip trembles when the realization hits you. He knows - he saw the same swirling visions of a life you lost, one where you had a family and a name and a home. He saw that you lost it and in the labyrinth of grief you fell prey to the lies of the deceiver like so many do. You wonder if Sunday pities you, Sunday wonders if you can tell how much he covets you now - more than ever.

His thumb rubs away a tear streak and his eyes - golden like the moon on your home planet glow hot.

“You have passed my trial, and for that you have earned a reward for your endurance. Would you like that?” Sunday asks and you nod limply. You would take anything after that, anything would be better than being a tortured by an aeon. There is a gentleness in how he is handling you now, even going as far as to cup you chin in his palm like you are worth the delicate care. Like you are something to treasure. It feels nice, you lean into his touch blissfully.

“Words. I need words.” Sunday does not falter, even as his heart tightness as the sight of your obedience leaves him wanting.

“Yes. Yes please - anything after that.” The words are stumbling out your mouth and there is a haze in your eyes that makes something in him stir at your desperation. He pulls his hand away and you whine like a dog not yet done being caressed. You are silenced by the words he commands of you.

“Remove your pants.” Your hands are shaky but you obey, like a mutt being taught a new trick. You only manage to undo them, and bringing them down to a little past your knees before Sunday touches you. He still as the gloves on - now wrinkled and stain with your tears from where he had cradled your face with the tenderness of a lover. The gentle caress had been enough to excite you, it’s been years since you have been touched to softly, so gently - you had forgotten what it felt like. His hand goes to your thigh and squeezes the flesh with his thumb rubbing at it softly when he feels you tense beneath him.

“Be at ease,” his voice is melodious next to your ear as he brings his lips to your cheek. “Take your reward with grace, and keep behaving - you might find a beautiful song in your future. I know well how much you enjoy music.” Beautiful white hair and emerald eyes appear in your mind and you don't miss out on his amused huff at the flush on your face at the thought.

Whatever you were about to say dies on your lips as you moan lowly at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your clothed cunt. Just the feeling of them is enough to make you fidget - body still on overdrive from before and in return you are earned a hand grasping your thigh and pinning you in place beneath him.

“Take your reward. I am not fond of repeating myself.” He orders you, tone sterner than before and you hear him make the clicking sound of pity as he takes in how a merely caress is enough to make you tremble. He keeps petting you, with gentle and even strokes as you moan his name softly - until you feel how your cunt soaks through your underwear enough that Sunday can see the shape of your clit. You whine when you feel his thumb press against it and spread your legs for him without being told to when you feel the circles he rubs into it.

“Well done, good pet. I much prefer you like this.” He utters, transfixed and focus on the wet look of pleasure on your messy face. Your mouth drops open and any hint of that harden criminal that you are falls apart exposing yourself to how desperate you are. Sunday can see the way you shudder at his praise than his touches and he rewards you by pulling your underwear to the side and exposing your center to the cold air of his office. You whine but he hushes you, and slides his fingers down the mound of tacky curls at your pubic bone and slips a still gloved finger inside of you.

You keen and it reverbs in his office like an opera house.

“Noisy thing you are - you’ll ruin my gloves.” Sunday speaks but you are not listening, eyes cast down to where his finger disappears inside of you and staining the white satin blend of his gloves a dark gray with your slick. Your hands grip at the arms of the chair, your metal hand making the wood creak and dent as he slips in another finger inside, going in deep to press against the bundle of nerves at your upper wall. You mewl his name, the polite honorific of mister in front of it like always makes the tent in his pants more obvious to you as you keep your gaze on his bulge. You flutter around his fingers the longer you stare it and your mind wanders with all sorts of dazed and lustful thoughts.

Would his cock be as beautiful as the rest of him? Would flush the same way his ears are right now? How would it feel inside of you - oh, you want it inside you so badly. Even more so you want to watch it bob against his stomach with you inside of him, flushed and leaking against his stomach as you service Mr. Sunday for letting you stay, for being so kind to you -

You cum at that final thought, gasping his name and letting your fist hit the side of the chair weakly as your body coils around the pleasure flowing between your thighs and down onto your seat. Your body feels lax and weightless as you slump into the chair, looking at him with a hazy look on your face. Sunday looks at you with what is your approximation of tenderness and vicious satisfaction. He pulls his fingers out, removes his glove and pockets the stained fabric into his coat. His bare hand brushes some hair away from your neck, thumb on your pulse as he nudges his head to a door in the corner of the room.

“You have given me what I wanted and in return I will give you what you want - a place to belong to, one carved solely for you at my side. You are mine now, do you understand?”

The “yes” you say tumbles past your lips before you can think it. You crave it now you think, more than ever. More than you have ever wanted before you. You are riding a high you think, as you pull up your pants and walk past Sunday to go into the door he pointed you out to you.

You don’t think you ever want to sober up, your hand grips the doorknob and you look back at him over your shoulder - eyes still glassy post orgasm and a hungering in your stomach for more of his touch and his command. The door opens and you swallow around your thoughts. The night continues with more pleasure, more touching and Sunday is going to spoil you rotten you think as you lay his stained bed sheets shuddering from the shocks of pleasure in your heightened system.

‘Yes’, you think as you feel something go around your neck and feel the cool press of a tag against your clavicle. ‘This is what you came to Penachony for.’

#lamb.writes #sunday x reader #sunday smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #im so tired goodnight

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forget-me-nightingale · 4 months ago

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My favourite things about S7 of the Dragon Prince (part 2)

5: STICKY FINGERS

Runaan going "You've already said that this morning." to Callum- I know I've said it before but I'm so in love with Jonathan Holmes' voice-- it's so smooth and rich and I could listen to it for hours istg

And then Ethari going "Runaan, be kind to the boy!" 😭

"Home for less than a month and she's already tired of my cooking!" I love their banter so so so much gfdghdjk and the face Ethari makes while saying that with the raised eyebrow

And then Ethari introducing Callum to the Moon Cubs I love the fact that we get to see Ethari interacting with other Moonshadow Elves-- I was so nervous that cause of his grief he's going to become guarded and shut out other elves, but he's clearly so loved by the entire village and especially by the kids, and just seeing more of Ethari after living off of scraps ever since Season 3 was just so marvelous And also Runaan's face while he looks at Callum when Ethari introduces him to the kids--- the eyebrow was raised SO HIGH LMAO

Amaya saying "ass" and Gren having to censor her again lmao

Soren going "SALAD GUY" at Terry LMAO Also Soren yelling at Terry both for being on previously being on the wrong side and then for abandoning said wrong side cause it meant abandoning Claudia LMAO "YEAH? WELL I'M CONFUSED TOO" summed it all up so nicely and was freaking hilarious

Terry just casually dropping the Aaravos bomb in the middle of the convo

Callum setting the scene up so that we think he's going to show the kids his primal magic powers but then just going "tickleproof" was SO GOOD LMAO and so wholesome too 😭 I know it's a given considering he has a younger brother but he's so good with the kids it's so adorable

"Ah-ah, I know this trick! You're just buttering me up!" callback to season 2 😭 Loved it, it made me laugh so much back then

Of course the iconic "Rayla! Callum wants to have ten babies with you!!" scene It made me wheeze so much I had pause the show to collect myself istg Not in front of her dads too 😭 Callum's face, Runaan's deadpan stare, Ethari bursting into laughter It was SO good and funny and wholesome gjhdhgfdk And the tiny detail of Runaan's stoic face breaking into a soft smile as Ethari starts laughing 😭 He loves him SO much and he must've missed that laugh SO MUCH

Soren's "How do we know it's not mmmmmagic sap CORVUS CHECK IT." I LOVED THE DELIVERY ON THAT LINE SO MUCH GDJGHDKJ

The fking Moonberry Surprise scene jdkghdjghdk it caught me SO OFF GUARD 😭 Rayla what the hell did you put in that cake

Also excuse me but Ethari smiling at Runaan in that scene? 🥺🥺

"I am only thinking of the future, Miyana. This heir will play a great role in the rebirth of the Sunfire empire!" Karim please I have been patient with you but your character but you're literally in prison being sentenced to death, WHAT future

6: INVERSION

The primal stone in Aaravos' staff now actually looks like a mini-moon and I love it so much it's so pretty

The animation of Claudia's face when she says "My dad left this world without unfinished business" is done SO beautifully, the way her hair blows in the wind, and her her eyes get bigger and then fill with tears and tremble as they close-- I'm in love with those few seconds

"Good question. How about you answer it?" "What?" the way Aaravos said it was so soft and small I love it so much

"For Leola. My sweet baby girl." hfjskfhsjfhsk 😭 and then the flashback of Leola shouting "daddy" to him as she dies And the delivery of that monologue by Erik Dellums--- do I need to say more

Callum and Rayla repeating the exact things they said in Season 6 after they found out about the Pearl before Kosmo rewinded time was SUCH a cool detail

And then Callum having a literal panic attack- it was shown so well and the emotions were so RAW and genuine I loved it, Callum stuttering and hyperventilating and then THE SHOT OF THE DARK MAGIC VERSION OF HIM SMILING UP AT HIM WAS SO GOOD AND SCARY And the "Nothing, I just- I- I need- I just need- Um, I need some time by myself-" said in almost monotone was such good performance from Jack de Sena I loved it

Aaravos going "A minor inconvenience." as Soren and Terry come out in his deep low voice was SO BADASS

Also there's something about the animation quality in the scene when Claudia passes both Soren and Terry and turns to look at them both- like, the emotion shown on her face, and the movement is so fuild and smooth, I was just in awe

Dark Magic Callum arriving as a dark silhouette with purple glowing eyes was SO INSANELY COOL I AUDIBLY GASPED I love his design so much - and the fact that his voice is a little deeper and just DIFFERENT, you can hear that somehow it's DIFFERENT and it's so incredibly cool And he has a cool coat so

Also that would've been really funny if some random Moonshadow Elf from Silvergrove was just on a night walk and stumbled upon Callum just sitting on a log and screaming angrily at the air lmao

I realized the plan they had with Claudia's mother literally JUST a second before Claudia went "Too exactly" cause I started to think - where's Lujanne during all of this? And then I thought Actually, where's AARAVOS during all of this LMAO

And the scene with Claudia freezing them in place was SO BADASS and tense I LOVED IT The short chant she used sounded so cool, I even reversed it to hear what the actual spell was but I couldn't make the words out lol

Freaking Ziard's spirit coming back as a terrifying skeleton was SO SCARY AND AMAZING

And then Aaravos absolutely TOWERING over Ezran when he's back to his titan form, with his marking glowings and dark blue shadows with the starry sky in the background-- I was so enchanted by this shot I had to pause to just stare at it And then his laugh just BOOMING across the environment- and how he staggers in the background behind Ezran as they fire at him, shielding his face, like there's something about his movements that just shows how absolutely MASSIVE he is SO WELL and it's SO INSANELY COOL

And again, the animation-- like that one shot when it slowed down and focused on the arrows as they flew towards Aaravos' face, with him blurred in the backround and realization and fear slowly appearing on his face before BOOM I just want to appreciate the quality of the shots and the animation cause DAMN IS IT INCREDIBLE THIS SEASON everyone absolutely outdid themselves And the way the orange light of the fire and the explosions contrasted so well with the blue shadows jgkfhdgjkfdhgkfjdhk I am: in love. Also they literally went and pulled a Gulliver on him didn't they

7: THE TITAN AND THE KING

RUNAAN IS BACK WITH HIS OLD OUTFIT 😭😭😭 and he fixed his hair back!!

Silvergrove's owl griffons are SO GORGEOUS I love them so much, their design is so incredible I'm just wondering what happened to the Shadowpaw :(( Cause we didn't see this cutie for the entire season and I loved his soft kitty face so much, it was my absolute favourite of the creatures

"Aaravos is not the only one with a plan. New friends and old friends are working together to help us stop him" Callum narrating the letter over the montage of the Silvergrove team getting ready was so cinematic with the music in the background

It was only during the rewatch tho that I realized-- when Callum narrates about him going to Akiyu for another pearl, there's a shot of Akiyu herself and the shadow of CLAUDIA looming over her, so we were already being given a hint that she's the one who killed her and it was AMAZING

"Aaravos, what do you have to say for yourself?" "I… am innocent." ICONIC THAT MADE ME SMILE SO MUCH HE'S SO SASSY

Ethari's suspicious face with the raised eyebrow as the stone golems are trying to tell him Rex Igneous is not home I LOVED THAT SCENE SO MUCH And him going "Um, are you certain…?" with a slight smile and that lovely Scottish accent ghfdkh And the trick he pulls with the "Ah, what a shame! I brought a delicious gift…" he DEFINITELY used to do it with little Rayla when she didn't want to do something 😭

The shot of Rex Igneous towering over Ethari as he comes out of the mountain-- again, just showing how fking MASSIVE he is compared to Ethari it was SO COOL

"It is the nature of children to think the world must be one way or another. With maturity, we learn that most of life is lived in the space between." YESSS DRAG HIM AARAVOS

Aaravos lifting himself up all of a sudden and everyone just absolutely FREAKING OUT and then him going softly "Don't be scared." HJKFDHJSK

THE LITTLE MUSHPALS SURROUNDING TERRY THEY WERE ALL SO CUTE especially the one on his shoulder with tiny body and huge eyes and hat I WANT TEN OF THEM 😭

"I suppose you've seen that written in the stars?" "No, no… I've seen it written in his eyes." HFKDHGJKSFHGDFKJ

"Pity… I enjoyed our conversation, young king. But I have lingered here long enough. Look… The sun has set." THE WAY HE SAYS IT AS THEY ALL WALK AWAY FDFGFHDFJKHGDK with him lingering on that "t" in "set" and then the slow realization of what that means it was INCREDIBLE, and that sad pitying smile he has on his face as he says it

RUNAAN PUSHING CALLUM OUT OF THE HARM'S WAY GHJKSGHSJK and getting a boulder to the head 😭😭

Callum using the blood freezing spell on Claudia?? And Claudia still being able to cast spells during that??? When Rayla was completely paralyzed from pain when it was used on her?? And the whole duel between them in general?????

THE SHOT of Claudia holding the staff, with eyes glowing purple, face covered in dark cracks, the lighting making her skin look almost blue, and with Runaan coming up behind her, bow drawn, and then going "Don't. Move." WITH THAT LOW AND SMOOTH VOICE THAT WAS SO FKING BADASS JONATHAN HOLMESSSSSSS

"Now what?" "Now, we wait for Callum to catch his breath. And then, he will decide whether you live or die." HFJDSKHGJDK he was waiting for Callum's order cause he's an ASSASSIN HE CARRIES OUT ORDERS GJGHDK

And the scene with Claudia's dragon armor of course--- the way it lights up before she breathes fire gjhgjkf

Dark Magic Callum looking up at him from the reflection before he fades out to reveal the staff gdfhjgfdhjkdfhgjdfk

THE MAGMA TITAN FROM SEASON 3 AND THEN ZIARD RESURRECTING AVIZANDUM I literally audibly gasped like holy shit NOW it's getting even WORSE I was SO EXCITED

8: DYING LIGHT

Aaravos shaking the entire screen as he walks

When he was just staring at Karim with this unimpressed face without saying a single word-- and then he started smirking, and Karim yapped more and more, and I was thinking "okay, he's gonna swallow him, isn't he? As a reference to the third season, cause he said he swallowed Queen Aditi--" AND THEN THE SQUISH THAT WAS SO GRIM AND GRUESOME AND UNEXPECTED I WAS LITERALLY SPEECHLESS FOR A FEW GOOD MOMENTS And the sound of it too?????? The blood??? Janai's screams???????? I don't think ANYONE expected Karim to go out like that and HOLY SHIT the shock factor was HUUUUUGE

Aaravos being forced onto his back and pinned down by Rex Igneous? 👀👀👀 And then him blasting Rex away - like YES finally we get to see Aaravos fighting with magic, even if it was just for a second

Also I love how different Rex Igneuos' voice is from other Archdragons- like it's not as low and booming as Sol Regem's or deep and royal as Zubeia and Domina's, but it's rather sharp, and rocky, and rough, but it has such authority and power and strength in it too-- like it fits an Archdragon so well but in different ways than the other ones

And the fight between him and Avizandum was such an epic battle, so fitting for the series finale, like we finally get to see the dragons in ACTION action after getting just slivers of it

Also Rex's death caught me off guard-- I didn't expect him to ACTUALLY die, I thought he might get defeated and hurt, but not straight up DEAD halfway through the battle It was really good shock value tho, like it showed how SERIOUS this has gotten

Aaravos going "ARE. YOU. WATCHING?" at the starry sky gfdjdlhjkgf

Runaan saying "You've done well" to the owl gryphon 🥺🥺🥺 He was so SOFT in that moment gfjdhgkd the hardened assassin And he gave it a pet and a little smile too 🥹 AND THEN him and Rayla hugging AGAIN 😭😭 I loved seeing him being affectionate with his beloved family so much

EVERYONE GETTING READY FOR THE FINAL FIGHT AVENGERS ASSEMBLE

STELLA CASUALLY DECAPITATING THE DRAKE WITH THE PORTAL GFDJHGFDJK I didn't expect that from HER OF ALL THE LITTLE CREATURES

DOMINA PROFUNDIS' ENTRANCE Like first the water raining down and then this MASSIVE OCEAN DRAGON appearing with such a cool sound too and flying over Rayla's head like a freaking JETPLANE And the clicking kind of sound she made when she landed next to Zubeia was so incredibly cool I got shivers- and her design is so pretty too, especially with that shot!!!

Aaravos going "I do not fall for the same tricks twice." with that low angry voice gave me so many chills

"But I'm afraid you've misjudged your would-be slayer. Your beloved is an assassin who cannot kill." "No. Not Rayla." AND THEN THE CAMERA MOVING TO REVEAL RUNAAN WITH HIS BOWED TRAINED ON CALLUM FJFGHDFKGD I WAS starting to realize what was happening when Callum said "Moonshadow assassin" and not just "Rayla" BUT TO ACTUALLY SEE IT I audibly gasped grjhdk

9: NOVA

"There is no path to victory. It's over." "You're right. There isn't. Not for you, either. Because we will sacrifice anything to stop you, and save this world. My heart… for Xadia…!" 🥹🥹🥹 no words

Aaravos going "Claudia, you must go!"-- I think it's at that moment he realized there actually is a possibility of losing the fight And then "I WILL NOT-- watch… another daughter die." 🥹🥹🥹 I DO think their father-daughter relationship was the tiniest bit rushed, but it's still made my eyes water, and the way he said it too bfhjhjghjdg so soft but sad and like he wanted to reassure her as well

Runaan clutching his side and reaching his arm out towards Rayla to hug her AGAIN when she comes to the ground HFDJKHGJKFDHGDFJKGHD he loves his family SO MUCH And then the wince as he pulls away cause he's still hurting and the fall made it worse again gjfdhgkj it was such a nice little scene but so telling

The way Aaravos looked in his final moment-- all battered and bruised and with blood trickling down from his nose and mouth and his EYE-- it was so visceral and genuinely scary

The fact that when he died it looked the exact same as Leola died--- with light pouring out of his eyes and mouth jffdgjdk I was just so stunned I couldn't even move

Zym crying out for his mom and crying as she burned---- 😭😭😭 and her going "Goodbye, Azymondias… I will always love--" as the camera switches to Zym just looking up with eyes full of tears-- and the fact the she didn't GET TO FINISH AND SAY "LOVE YOU" IN HER FINAL WORDS MADE LITERALLY WEEP

And the soundtrack that played during that entire scene, with the vocalization and wailing--- it was just oh my God so good

And then after that the "Brothers." scene LMAO Like logically I knew he HAD to start talking at some point, since all the adult Archdragons do, but it caught me SO OFF GUARD and it was SUCH A GOOD SCENE LMAOOOO And apparently he's voiced by Zuko's voice actor too which I find absolutely amazing, the voice fits him SO WELL

Opeli going "I say 'potato', you say 'po-tah-to'…" LMAOOO it was so great to see and hear her so exasperated

Getting to see all the characters from the previous seasons<3 Elmer from Finnegrin's ship, Nyx and Villads, teenage Phoe-Phoe

Claudia reenacting the episode openings' shots 👌👌

Runaan and Ethari arriving on the owl griffin, he looked so sad and somber and the blue lighting in that scene was again so gorgeous gjfhdgk

And of course the monologue he gives next I was literally speechless watching it We got to hear about his thoughts and feelings in such depth And is was such a contrast to the stoic and badass cold-blooded assassin we knew from season 1 And Jonathan performance?????? The little bitter laugh at the "A twisted peacemaker, I suppose…", the way his voice started breaking at "My act of violence planted seeds of darkness, seeds of anger and hate, that would grow into a thousand fold the violence I thought I could stop", like you can literally HEAR the genuine TEARS in his voice, how close he is to crying And the shot at Ethari's face in between all of this--- he looked like he was about to break into tears as well, I don't know if he's ever seen his husband being so vulnerable and open about his feelings towards someone else aside from him like in that moment "I was trained to accept that I was already dead, so that I might carry out my dark work without fear. But… I am NOT DEAD! I am ALIVE! I have a family I love!" THE WAY YOU CAN HEAR THE ABSOLUTE ANGUISH IN HIS VOICE AFTER HE'S BEEN A STOIC COLD-HEARTED ASSASSIN FOR SO LONG AND ETHARI'S FACE AT THOSE LAST WORDS AND HIM RUSHING TO HUG RUNAAN And the contrast of the season 1 "I told you, I am already dead" with the season 7 "I am NOT DEAD! I am ALIVE!" 😭😭😭😭

Pyrrah getting a cup of dragon-sized tea

Rayla looking so soft with her hair down sleeping in front of the fireplace And the whole ending scene with them standing on the bridge and with the little creatures putting on the show for her<3

And of course Leola's Last Wish--- the music during that scene was so gorgeous I was crying so much and I IMMEDIATELY went to look for that particular soundtrack, with the harp and the strings gfdjhgdhjkdg

In summary: I love this show with my entire heart. I know people have their complaints about this season, there will always be complaints and disappointment, but honestly I'm just focusing on the things I loved about the season - there was SO much work and love that went into making this, so much PASSION, I can't imagine how hard the creators and the artists and the voice actors worked to get it done, and I just want to thank them SO SO much for creating this, for getting their story out there, for giving us so many incredible characters to love, so many incredible moments, the music, the beauty, the shots-- Gonna get a little personal here but I've been struggling with depression for a long few years now and when I discovered The Dragon Prince this year it was the first time in YEARS that I felt so involved with a story, so enraptured in it, so CONNECTED to it, I just love it all with my entire absolute heart- it brought me so much comfort, maybe because it reminded me of the animated movies I used to watch during winter evening at my parents' house, warm and cozy under the blankets in the living room, maybe because it was just so amazing in itself, or maybe both combined. Good stories are the thing I love the absolute most in the entire world, and God, was THAT a DAMN GOOD STORY. @dragonprinceofficial thank you SO much for giving us this world, this story, these emotions, and please know that despite all the criticism there are so many of us that love the show with our ENTIRE hearts.<3<3<3

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jinxposting · 5 months ago

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Jason Todd x Jinx! reader prologue

Origins

Your parents, not unlike a certain Dark Knight, were killed when you were young

Unsurprising given you were born and raised in Gotham

You were then taken care of by distant relatives

Though "taken care" is a generous term

They offered next to no affection nor attention in general, and with no friends your age you were rather isolated

This gave you time to develop the unique hobby of tinkering

Perhaps it was due to the nature of your parents demise (an explosion caused by a fight between the Bat and Bane) but you'd always had an interest in explosives

A morbid curiosity that only further fueled your guardian's distaste for you

And the direct cause of their other child's (your foster sibling) death

Unlike their parent your sibling was warm towards you, always encouraging your talent

The day you finally succeeded in your endeavors turned out to be the worst day of your life

You hadn't intended to hurt anyone

At the very least not them

Your guardian arrived home after work that day, greeted by a pile of rubble where their house once stood

And a corpse where their child once was

Your cries for forgiveness fell on deaf ears as they beat you, afterwards abandoning you in the remnants of your now decimated home

You'll never forget the look in their eyes

Nothing but pure hatred

You spent a few weeks on the streets after that

You survived on dumpster scraps and slept in alleyways

That was until you made the mistake of breaking into an abandoned warehouse

Piles of metal were strewn about, an old metal working mill you concluded

Your morbid fixation only seemed to worsen with the recent incident

You found yourself once again building your dangerous devices

Even more macabre, part of you hoped to go out in the same manor

Then one night, while you were finishing a grenade, you met them

A large group of muscled men filed into the building

They pointed their weapons at you, some guns, others baseball bats, but all directed at you

You should have been scared

But you were too numb to fear

You pulled the pin and threw the grenade as far into the crowd as you could

Blood

And flying limbs

You pushed past the remaining men only to be pulled back

"Just wait till the boss gets a hold of ya"

After a few moments of regrouping what was left of their forces the men greeted their 'boss'

"You mean to tell me this little runt killed a dozen of my men?" ... "Hahaha!"

That laugh

Everyone knew that laugh

Before you stood none other than the Joker

All smiles, he looked down at you

In one hand he held the remnants of your grenade

You could just barely make out the sharp toothed smile you'd doodled onto it

"This is far too crude to be mass produced. You wouldn't have happened to built this yourself, did you?"

You nodded

"Hahahaha!" He continued to laugh with unrestrained joy

"Harley, get a load of this!"

Out came Harley Quinn, the Joker's right hand

She gawked down at you

"This shrimp caused all this damage? Talk about an explosive personality!"

"Yes, precisely." the Joker kneeled in front of you, offering you the scrapped pieces of grenade "Not every day you see a gift like that."

His smile, albeit menacing, brought you a strange comfort in that moment

You took the offered scrap metal

"Where are your parents?"

"Dead."

"Oh? No siblings?"

"Dead."

"Them too, huh? And how did that happen?"

You looked down at the device

You didn't have to speak for him to understand

Another cackle sounded from the man

"Ha! You're quite the jinx it'd seem."

"Hey that's not a bad name, Puddin'!"

He stroked his chin in thought "It does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

Joker stood back to his full height, looking off in thought

"You know, Harley. The Bat has his little protege, so who says I can't too?"

"Oh, Mistah J! You mean it? I always wanted us to have a little Joker!"

"Not a Joker, Harls." he turned back to you with a wide grin "A Jinx."

#dc comics #bat family #batman #jason todd #joker #harley quinn #jason todd x reader #villain reader #jinx reader #jinx jumbles

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writingwithcolor · 1 year ago

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Desi Parenthood, Adoption, and Stereotypes

I have a story set in the modern day with supernatural traces, with three characters: a young boy, his bio dad, and his adoptive dad. The boy and his bio dad are Indian, the adoptive dad is Chinese. The bio dad is one of the few people in the story with powers. He put his son up for adoption when he was a child because at the time he was a young single father, had little control of the strength of his powers: he feared accidentally hurting his child. The son is adopted by the other dad, who holds spite to the bio dad for giving up his son since he lost his father as a young age and couldn't get why someone would willingly abandon their child. This also results in him being overprotective and strict over his son. When the child is older, the bio dad comes to their town and the son gets closer to him, which makes the adoptive dad pissed, mostly acting hostile to the other guy, paranoid that he'll decide to take away the child he didn't help raise. Later when they get closer he does change his biases. I can see the possible stereotypes here: the absent father being the darkskinned character, the light-skinned adoptive dad being richer than the bio dad, the lightskinned character being hostile and looking down on the darkskinned character, the overprotective asian parent, the adoptive dad assuming the bio dad abandoned the son. The reason for his bias isn't inherently racist, but I get how it can be seen that way. Is there a way to make this work? Would it be better to scrap it?

Two problem areas stand out with this ask:

You seem confused with respect to how racial stereotypes are created, and what effect they have on society.

Your characterization of the Indian father suggests a lack of familiarity with many desi cultures as they pertain to family and child-rearing.

Racial Stereotypes are Specific

Your concern seems to stem from believing the absent father trope is applied to all dark-skinned individuals, when it’s really only applied to a subset of dark-skinned people for specific historical/ social/ political reasons. The reality is stereotypes are often targeted.

The “absent father” stereotype is often applied to Black fathers, particularly in countries where chattel slavery or colonialism meant that many Black fathers were separated from their children, often by force. The "absent black father" trope today serves to enforce anti-black notions of Black men as anti-social, neglectful of their responsibilities, not nurturing, etc. Please see the WWC tag #absent black father for further reading.

Now, it’s true many desis have dark skin. There are also Black desis. I would go as far as to say despite anti-black bias and colorism in many desi cultures, if one was asked to tell many non-Black desis from places like S. India and Sri Lanka apart from Black people from places like E. Africa, the rate of failure would be quite high. However, negative stereotypes for desi fathers are not the same as negative stereotypes for non-desi Black fathers, because racially, most Black people and desis are often not perceived as being part of the same racial group by other racial groups, particularly white majorities in Western countries. Negative stereotypes for desi fathers are often things like: uncaring, socially regressive/ conservative, sexist. They are more focused around narratives that portray these men as at odds with Western culture and Western norms of parenting.

Desi Parents are Not this Way

Secondly, the setup makes little sense given how actual desi families tend to operate when one or both parents are unable to be present for whatever reason. Children are often sent to be raised by grandparents, available relatives or boarding schools (Family resources permitting). Having children be raised by an outsider is a move of last resort. You make no mention of why your protagonist’s father didn’t choose such an option. The trope of many desi family networks being incredibly large is not unfounded. Why was extended family not an option?

These two points trouble me because you have told us you are writing a story involving relationship dynamics between characters of both different races and ethnicities. I’m worried you don’t know enough about the groups you are writing about, how they are perceived by each other and society at large in order to tell the story you want to tell.

As with many instances of writing with color, your problem is not an issue of scrap versus don’t scrap. It’s being cognizant of the current limits of your knowledge. How you address this knowledge deficit and its effect on your interpretation of your characters and the story overall will determine if readers from the portrayed groups find the story compelling.

- Marika.

I have one response: what? Where are the father’s parents? Any siblings? Is he cut off? Is he American? A Desi that has stayed in India?

Estrangement is not completely out of the question if the father is Westernized; goodness knows that I have personal experience with seeing estrangement. But you haven’t established any of that. What will you add?

-Jaya

#Black #Indian #South Asian #Desi #absent black father #stereotypes #tropes #adoption #colorism #research research research #parenting #strict Asian parents #Asian families

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 year ago

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Little Girl Gone

Been a While Since My Head Was This Polluted (3)

Mob Boss!Natasha x Mob Boss!Fem!Reader, Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Mob Boss!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!, Starts with smut, some angst, and a lot of fluff. There are depictions of abuse (physical and s*xual) please read at your own caution, knife play, Dark!Daddy!Natasha, Nat has a dick, use of a whip, breeding, Nat doesn't give aftercare, Wanda does help with aftercare.

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: I normally don't write Nat like this, and it was actual hard given my own past, but in this story, Nat is the bad guy, unfortunately for her.

Your knees ached as a harsh slap came across your face, a wet pop as her cock fell out of your mouth leaving you gaping and drooling. You stared up at her, eyes hazy and glossy. You’d allowed yourself to fall into subspace just so you didn’t have to think about it anymore.

“I know you can do better than that slut.” Natasha growls, gripping your cheeks and pulling you back onto her cock. She holds the back of your head still while she pounds against your face, gagging and choking on her member as she hits the back of your throat. Drool falling onto your tits and lap. A different wetness pooling between your legs.

You hated Natasha and how she treated you, you truly did, but still your body reacted like this because she had trained it to do so. As much as you tried to stop it she still held this power over you. You could tell she was getting close and as your braced yourself to take her load down your throat she pulled out. Looking up at her once again she looked down at you with anger as she gripped your hair, not giving you a chance as she started to pull you by your hair to the bed.

The sensation burned against your scalp as you stumbled and struggled to keep up with Natasha as she threw you against the bed. You heard the familiar sound of her knife making your eyes widen.

“N-Nat-“ Her knife against your throat in an instant. Eyes wide and cold looking insane as she stared at you.

“That’s not my name.” She pushed the knife further against your throat; terrifying you.

“Daddy! Daddy! I’m sorry!” The knife was pulled back slightly as she smiled down at you.

“Good slut.” She let the knife scrap against your skin, not enough to cut just enough to leave raised red lines across your skin. It’s not like she had never actually cut into you, because she had and you still look at the scars everyday.

“D-Daddy...c-can we not use the k-knife?” your voice wavers and she stops a moment before letting the knife dig in ever so slightly making you yelp in pain.

“You aren’t supposed to be thinking big thoughts right now.” She pulls away, letting the knife fall while she goes off to grab something. When you looked you noticed exactly what she had pulled out; a whip. Fumbling back slightly at the memories of her using that on you. “Stomach. Now.” When you hesitate she flip's you herself sending down a harsh impact which would definitely leave its mark as will all subsequent hits as she grabs your hips, pulling you towards the edge of the bed so she can plow into you.

As her hips move at a painful force, stretching you out painfully as she continued the assault on your back you cried out, tears streaming down your face.

“S-sorry Daddy...m’sorry....please Dadddy!” You mumble out the only coherent thing you can manage as she continues until she’s grunting and moaning over you. The whipping has stopped only to be replaced with her much cooler body against your hot back feeling a bit of relief until her mouth starts biting into your skin, leaving their own marks as you scream out.

“Mmmm love hearing your screams baby girl and those tears of yours are more beautiful than ever. Fuck you’re gonna make Daddy cum. You’re gonna take all of it like a good girl right? Daddy’s gonna fill you up and breed that pretty pussy till it’s all full.” She growled in your ear, biting along your neck.

“Yes Daddy! Daddy!”Was all you could manage in hopes that once this was over it would be over as you felt her fill you up and groaning. It had been so long since you had felt that as Natasha pulled your face to kiss you roughly as she continued to cum inside of you, biting her bottom lip roughly, tugging as you tasted her blood in your mouth. Smirking as you pulled away from her. Her blood in your mouth and dribbling down your chin. She was pissed off until she saw that look on your face and it turned into one of her seeming almost impressed.

“Ready for round 2?” She smirked and your face paled. You should have known Natasha was never satisfied with one round.

============================

You managed to stumble into your room, not even really noticing Wanda until she was at your side. Her words didn’t register at first since aftercare wasn’t something Natasha didn’t care for you were still trying to pull yourself together. Wanda gently pulled your face to meet hers as she took in all the marks she could see and you took her in.

“Y/N did Natasha do this to you? Did she hurt you?” Wanda’s words finally becoming clear to you. Words were hard right now as you took Wanda gently by just her pointer finger, tugging gently back to the bed. Moving the book she had been reading out of the way as you got onto the bed and so did she.

You looked at Wanda for a moment looking into her eyes and she cupped your swollen cheek. “Did she hurt you because of me?” You shook your head. Pushing lightly on her shoulder until she laid back and you gently and carefully cuddled up against her side. You let out a shaky sigh of relief as you breathed in Wanda’s scent of vanilla. As careful as Wanda tried to be with holding you recognizing that you needed it in this moment though every touch hurt it did still bring you comfort as you closed your eyes.

Wanda starts singing softly, a lullaby, you assume at least since she’s singing in Russian which you’d recognize anywhere now. You’d only ever been yelled at in Russian, but Wanda made the harsh words that had normally been thrown at you so soft, you could almost fall asleep like this.

Eventually as you slowly come out of subspace thanks to Wanda you tighten your grip on her, looking up at her and she gives you a soft smile,

“Hi...welcome back dorogoya.” You give a small smile back.

“I’m sorry about that...”Wanda shakes her head.

“No don’t none of that. Whatever it is that you did you did an amazing job Dorogoya. You needed to rest a bit and that is perfectly okay. I’m here for you. You saved me and my boys so the least I can do is be your pillow while you come back to reality.” Wanda cups your cheek so gently, in a way that you aren’t used to and you’re half expecting a slap to come, but it doesn’t all Wanda does is gently rub circles with her thumb.

“Thank you then. I appreciate it.”

“We still need to clean your wounds. I didn’t want to bother you before you were ready, but your shirt is sticking to you by blood. We need to wash your face too. Come on lets go to the bathroom. I saw the big first aid kit you have in there.” Wanda helps you up. “Come on Dorogoya. I’ve got you.” You almost forgot what it’s like to be doted on by a mom.

She gets you to sit on the lip of the tub which is 1. Huge, and 2. Surrounded by its own ceramic tiling so sitting there wasn’t so dangerous.

She helped get you out of your shirt and tank top which hurt immensely as the half dried blood stuck to the shirt, making the wounds all reopen.

“Fuck.” You hissed as Wanda coos and soothes you back down. Getting a warm, damp towel for your back. You grip your hands into fists and cruse Natasha for this and then yourself for allowing it to happen.

“What did she do?” Wanda asks trying to distract you.

“She agreed to leave you alone if I slept with her one last time.” You admit to the red head.

“And you said no that’s why you’re so beat up, right?” You don’t answer and you don’t dare look at her. You know you’ll break if you do. “Right, Y/N?” You shake your head. “What do you mean no?” She gently pulls your chin to look at her. “She did this to you while...” Wanda’s voice trails off when she sees the the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I did this so it doesn’t happen to you. I won’t let her touch you. Ever.” Your hand finds her thigh and grips. “I promise. Even when you and the boys leave. I won’t let her. If she ever did....I’d kill her.” A heat rises in your chest, anger. You’d never been angry at anything Natasha did to you, but the thought of her doing those same things to Wanda? To the boys? Your blood boiled at the thought.

“Y/N....dorogoya...” She cupped both your cheeks letting your foreheads rest against each others. “I don’t ever want to see you like this again because of her or anyone else for that matter. Seeing you walk in like that scared me. I was so worried especially seeing all that blood on you. I was so worried. I know you don’t want to see me like this, but I also don’t want to see you like this now that I have and I know how it makes me feel.” Wanda’s voice was breathy and full of emotion. Tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as her thumbs rubbed against your cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful. I promise.” You lean into one of her hands, closing your eyes as you move against it.

“Thank you. Now let’s finish getting you all cleaned up.” Wanda smiles blinking away the tears as she starts working again.

You couldn’t properly put into words how appreciative you were of Wanda taking care of you, giving you the after care you needed desperately in that moment.

As she bandaged you all up she helped you put on some loose and comfy pajamas already saying, ‘work is done for today. Carol can handle it.’ Which made you laugh as the two of you headed to the kitchen.

=============================

“Oh I am so going to kick your ass!” You call out as you clicked a button letting the blue shell go hitting Tommy in game as you passed him and took first place. Jumping up and doing a little victory dance.

“Y/N could you go easy on them? They’re children.” Wanda calls over her shoulder from the other side of the room where she was reading a comic.

“Sorry Wands Mario Kart is a cruel game and you must learn at a young age patawan.” You smirked at Tommy grabbing him in a hold and giving him a noogie as he tried to squirm away.

“I’m gonna win next time!” Tommy called out.

“You’re on little man.” You look over at Billy. “You want in on this round mister man?” Billy shook his head. He tended to not like competitive games and that was fine with you.

You play a few more rounds with Tommy until he wins one and that’s enough for him before he’s whining over the couch, “Mom what’s for dinner?” He asks and Wanda looks up and at you.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Don’t you have cooks and maids? Shouldn’t you know what they’re making?” She asks and you shrug.

“They cook what I ask them to. I don’t eat much so they always wait until I go and ask. They give me a few options and I either pick from them or I tell them what I want.” You look at the boys who have mischievous looks on their faces. “No you are not allowed to ask for desserts for dinner. Proper dinner boys!” You call after them as they rush out the door and you hear them both go “Awww man...” You and Wanda share a laugh as she sets the comic down on the table and gets up.

“Let’s go make sure they don’t bribe the cooks.” Wanda says as she walks past you.

It’s been a week now since she’s been here. Natasha has left you both alone for the time being. Wanda hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting to leave, but after that night with Natasha she always hugged you before you left saying, ‘Be safe. We’re here waiting for you to come home safe.’ It warmed your heart to know Wanda was thinking of your house as home.

As the two of you walk down the long hallway to the kitchen your hands brush against each other. You notice Wanda pull back slightly with a blush on her face and you bite your lip before reaching out to hold her hand. Letting your fingers lace together. You look over at her and smile, she gives you a smile back.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah...this is okay...more than okay...” She reassures you, not letting go until you two are just at the kitchen’s threshold, the twins trying to convince the cooks to cook them some sweet treat filled dish that Wanda sighs and goes to put an end to it as you lean against the big kitchen island, watching the domestic moment, wanting to join in on it, but holding yourself back.

“How about tendies and fries!?” You finally call out when the boys continue to try various ideas.

“Heck yeah!” Tommy calls out fist bumping the air.

“Yes! Can we do nuggets too?” Billy asks and you smile, walking over and ruffling his hair lovingly.

“Of course mister man.” You smile at the boys and look at the cooks. “Tendies, nuggets, and fries tonight.”

“Ma’am which kind of fries?” The head cook asks and you look at the boys.

“Curly.” Tommy says.

“Steak!” Billy overlaps with his brother.

“Shoestring.” You add after the boys and smile at the cooks before looking at Wanda. “Would you like anything sweetie or are you okay with the choices made?” Wanda smiles at you before requesting if she could cook her own dinner. “Of course you can sweetie. If that’s what you want to do. I’d love to try some of your cooking.” Wanda gives you a sweet smile before heading off with the cooks to see what was laying around as you watch her work while the boys run off to some fun corner of the house knowing they’d be called by one of the workers around the house once dinner was ready.

Wanda pulled her hair back into a half up do with a bun and pulled her sleeves up while she pulled out different ingredients while she did so you felt the presence of someone behind you.

When you looked you found Maya. The almost permeant scowl on her face was gone momentarily as you signed, “What’s got you smiling?”

“Made a good deal. We can talk after dinner. Just wanted to let you know I was back safe.” She signed back putting a hand on your shoulder, but Maya knew you better as you stood and hugged her. With your back turned to Wanda you didn’t notice the look she gave the, to you, seemingly small act of affection you tended to hand out amongst your found family.

=============================

The two of you are on opposite sides of the bed, the overhead lights have long since been shut off, but your bedside lamps created a soft glow across the room and the only noises to be heard were your clicking of keys against your laptop, going over some documents that had been sent your way for review. Every so often the turning of a page from Wanda’s side.

You pushed your blue light glasses up, rubbing your eyes and let out a yawn. You’d been at this for hours and felt like you barely made a dent since you had neglected them all weekend.

“Y/N?” You hear Wanda’s voice carry through the quiet room, turning your head to look at the woman you some how found yourself sharing a bed with. She took you looking at her as enough to continue. “That woman who came home just before dinner, is she like your girlfriend or something?” She asks with such a confidence and even a hint of jealousy that it makes you reel back a bit before you can even respond to the older woman.

“No. That’s Maya, she runs things with me. We were both in similar situations where we were used by someone else and in wanting to prove ourselves now find ourselves in charge of our own families now.” You take the laptop, setting it aside as you move closer to Wanda. “Maya and I found each other at probably our lowest points and if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t be where I am now. I owe her a great deal and vice versa, but there’s nothing between us. I’m just...I tend to remind everyone that it’s okay to still have emotions because Natasha tried to take that from me. She tried to take everything from me Wanda and I won’t let that happen to anyone I know. Everyone who follows me is allowed to feel whatever feelings they have. Anger, sadness, happiness, love...”

You find your eyes flicking between Wanda’s eyes and her lips. How could you even begin to think of anyone besides her? Sure the two of you weren’t together, but you found yourself sharing a bed. She’d see you off in the mornings, she’d give you hugs and chaste kisses on the cheek upon your arrival home, she’d help clean your wounds.

Wanda had wormed her way into your life in such a short time and she had you thinking about her constantly, you loved coming home where as you slipped off your shoes and suit jacket she’d round the corner to embrace you. Her warmth enveloping your whole being as her now familiar scent of vanilla bringing comfort to every fiber of your being.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice brought you back, making you take notice of how close you had brought yourself. A red flush covering Wanda’s cheeks. Instinctively you reach out to cup her cheek.

“How could I even think of wanting someone else when the most beautiful woman sleeps beside me every night?” You raise an eyebrow at her, your voice filled with confidence. You don’t think about it much before you let your lips connect. She’s so soft against your own as you feel her arms wrap around you, pulling you on top of her as she leans back. Your lips move against each other and you hear a soft moan from her.

You pull back, making her chase your lips momentarily before she gives up with a whine. You smirked down at her, leaning back in to kiss her forehead.

“If you want more you can have all the kisses you want.” You whisper against her forehead, she nuzzles against your cheek a smile playing on her lips. “If you want me that is...”

“Of course I want you Y/N...why would you doubt that?” Her voice waivers a bit as you pull back to look her in the eyes.

“Wanda, I’m the head of a mafia family. My whole life screams nothing, but danger. You have two ten year old boys to take care of-“ You’re cut off by Wanda kissing you once more, your train of thought completely derailed.

“You said it yourself Y/N there is no safer place than with you.” Wanda reminded you of your words. You look into her green eyes finding nothing, but love in them, feeling her fingertips run over the scars on your back.

She knows what’s she’s getting into. You know she does, and yet you are all she wants. There is no hesitation in her actions or words. So you have no choice but to let yourself fall into her.

#ley writes #ley speaks #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanov #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #natasha x you

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daycourtofficial · 9 months ago

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I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XI

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.8k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

Azriel knocked on Feyre’s door, a soft come in coming through before entering. Feyre sat at her vanity, braiding her hair back as she made eye contact with him through the mirror.

“Hi, Az.”

He smiled before softly shutting the door behind himself.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

He nodded, his ears twinged slightly pink. “I’ve never let Rhys do this.”

“I understand.”

“And if you see anything too.. private…” His words trailed off, but Feyre raised a hand up, closing her lips with a lock and throwing away a key.

“My lips are sealed.”

He sat in the chair in the corner, back straight as Feyre sat in the chair next to him, a bit uncertain of how to sit - usually she spent her time in this chair reading books, not her friend’s memories.

“I was too scared for Rhys to see. I didn’t.. she didn’t.. she’d hate having him see her like that.”

Feyre nodded, “I understand, she didn’t want to have him accidentally seeing some part of her he shouldn’t.”

“No,” Az laughed, sensing where Feyre’s thoughts had headed, “no, she uh- she wouldn’t want him to see the vulnerability.”

“Mmm,” Feyre hummed lightly as Azriel relaxed into the chair. “And why’s that?”

Talking about you so openly was still strange for Azriel - you had remained a guarded secret for so long, a topic he spoke more on in these past few weeks than the past century.

“Rhys is a fixer. She hated being upset around him because all he wants to do is fix things.”

Feyre rubbed Azriel’s arm, a comforting touch in such an unfamiliar space. A moment passed in silence before Feyer spoke again.

“Let your mind drift, Azriel.”

And so he did.

His mind drifted across several centuries of time and space, centuries passing with no new memories of her. His thoughts flowed, bouncing from idea to idea, scrap of memory to scrap of memory. He felt Feyre’s presence in his mind, like she was hovering just over his shoulder through his thoughts.

It started with snippets - her hands, her mouth, her touch. It got more clear as he thought more and more - her neck , her eyes, her smile. He could make out her voice, telling him to “please take care of yourself, babe.” He felt her hands roam his body, her touch curious and navigating as she slid down his body, kissing down the front of him.

The scene changed to a more detailed scenario, the two of you cuddled in the library, tucked away in a cozy corner in front of a fireplace. You yawned as you got further into your book, nestling into his side more as your eyelids grew heavier.

A loud sound occurred in the back of his head, the memory version of himself looking around the room for the source. You stayed relaxed in his arms, your concentration undeterred.

Feyre’s urgent tone coming to him told him he wasn’t as safe as he thought. Azriel’s memories were murky, morphing into the surroundings of Feyre’s room, Feyre’s arms tightening around him as Rhys burst into their room. Chest heaving, he moved toward the pair, pointing at Azriel.

“She felt me. In her chest - she felt me. She felt how sad I was because she plays chess differently. What a silly thing for her to finally understand her powers over.”

Feyre and Azriel looked at each other, confused glances at Rhys’s rambling. He was stressed, pulling at the strands of his hair, his usually perfect hair strewn about.

“Azriel,” he pointed to his brother before straightening his posture, “you are not to spend any more time with her. Feyre and I will take over all duties regarding her.”

Azriel felt molten hot rage inside of him as he stood quickly, ready to sling snarls at his brother, but Feyre pushed him behind her, pointing a finger back at Rhys. “He will do no such thing.”

“Yes he will. She’s going to see him and she’s going to know something’s wrong. She’s not an idiot - she hustled me at chess. She’s going to figure it all out.”

Feyre couldn’t even figure out what he was talking about. “She’ll figure it out eventually!”

“Yes, but we want her to find out in a controlled way. Not like this.”

Azriel felt a sting in his chest, the insinuation at his untamed emotions. He felt like a small child having caught his parents fighting over him.

“No.” Feyre’s tone was final. “That’s a terrible idea, Rhysand. To keep her from her mate? For who knows how long?”

“She’ll find out if she sees him!” Rhys’s eyes were wide, the veins in his neck popping.

“Afraid she’ll figure it out and remember who she’s mated to?” Azriel pushed Rhys, a snarl coming from him at the provocation. “Just fucking say it Rhys, you hated her being mated to me and this way you get to rewrite it.”

“That’s not-” Rhys chuckled, his voice deepening. “Az, you have it wrong.”

“Do I?” Az shoved Rhys again, the High Lord responding by shoving Az right back, nearly avoiding the table.

“Yes. You have it wrong.”

“Because I’m too stupid to see why you’re trying to keep my mate from remembering me?” Shadows moved about the room, slithering aggressively as Rhys spoke of their mate.

“Rhys, you can’t keep him from her. She was progressing!” She yelled over their wrestling bodies, wincing as Azriel punched Rhys across the face.

“No, he’s finally gotten the perfect chance for a do-over! I was never good enough for her, and now he can find someone who is.”

“Rhys, if she figures it out, would it be so bad? The sooner the better, right? I mean it’s only been a few weeks, you left me in the dark for months.”

Rhys pushed off the ground, shoving Azriel down as he straddled him. He pushed his head into the rug, Azriel’s shadows pushing against Rhys to no avail. The High Lord avoided the conflicting voices of the room, opting to focus his energy on Azriel instead.

Azriel pulled his legs back, giving him momentum to swing his head up and headbutt Rhys on the forehead. The High Lord drew back, panting as he tried to get up. Azriel was quick on his feet, running forward into Rhys, knocking him back down. He held the High Lord down, yelling, “then what is it?”

“She’ll remember me!”

Azriel stilled, his hold on Rhys loosening. “What are you talking about?”

The fight had left Rhys’s body, his voice dejected as he let the truth he had been holding onto slip out softly. “She’ll remember how I didn’t save her. The two of you will leave.”

Feyre cooed from the side, “oh, Rhys.” She sat on the floor next to her mate, but she looked to Azriel instead, nodding to her mate when Azriel’s gaze met hers before flicking back down to his brother.

“Why would I leave, Rhys?”

“Can we have this conversation when you’re not on top of me?”

“No.” Feyre and Azriel answered in unison, their tones laced with finality.

The air was still for a long moment, the only sounds were Rhys and Azriel’s heavy breathing.

“You hated me after she died, Az. I can’t go through that again.”

Azriel watched Rhys’s eyes get red, the violet eyes he loves so dearly lined with silver, but it just confused him. “I didn’t hate you.”

“You blamed me for her death.”

“I blamed all of Spring for her death.” Azriel’s tone was devoid of emotion, as if the court itself all banded together to condemn his mate’s life.

“You wouldn’t look at me for years.”

Azriel slumped, his weight on Rhys’s chest releasing the air from the High Lord’s lungs. “I couldn’t..” He trailed off before taking a deep breath and trying again. “I couldn’t look at you. You looked just like her.”

Azriel’s words were soft, but they hung in the air. Azriel shuffled off of Rhys, sitting on the floor, leaning against their bed. “It was easier to be angry, but whenever I looked at you, it made me… it was like she was seeing me again.”

Rhys crawled to sit next to his brother, Feyre sitting on the other side of Az. The shadowsinger refused to look at either, unable to take their pitying looks, looking to his boots instead. “It was like she was watching me fail her after she died.”

Rhys blew air from his lips, something roaring in Azriel at the action. “In what universe have you ever failed her? The only way you ever failed her was that one time you let her win at cards.” A laugh came from his lips at the memory, the way you had stomped about at your mate’s deception and loudly fought with him over it, much to Cassian and Mor’s drunken amusement.

Az rolled his eyes, your huffing and puffing entering his mind. You had been so upset with him you didn’t want to look at him, but insisted he sleep in the same bed. You spent the night turned away from him, being an aggressive little spoon as he wrapped his limbs around you. “It was the hardest thing I had ever done, letting her win, and she didn’t even appreciate it. She wouldn’t look at me for days.”

You had refused to look at him, causing him to resort to any tactics to get the upper hand. His shadows had been very helpful in causing you to be needy for his touch, but he was quite annoyed with your defiance, going so far as to climb on top of him, but facing towards his feet as you rode him.

Rhys laughed, “the Mother has a sense of humor making the two most competitive creatures mates.”

Az pointed a finger at Rhys, “you’re no better! You said she hustled you. In what universe did you think you could ever beat her at chess?”

Rhys looked sheepishly to the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had hoped perhaps along with her memories went some of her skill and wit.”

Feyre’s hand reached across Azriel to smack Rhys’s chest, saying his name in a chastising tone. He held his hands up in surrender, “serves me right, she swindled me out of a line of credit in her name.”

Azriel laughed so loudly it startled Feyre. “Her favorite hobbies always were spending someone else’s money and conning you.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

I got cursed series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchiii @i-am-infinite @bsenpai @sstrohma @teenagellamaangel @allthatisbuck1917 @elsie-bells @rcarbo1 @pruvii @whyshouldihaveanam3 @sleepylunarwolf @slytherintaco

Thanks for reading ❣️

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar writing #azriel shadowsinger #azriel series #azriel x y/n #i got cursed like eve got bitten

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