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sp1d3rzz · 1 day ago

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Pervert!Midoriya

final / pt.3

pt.1 pt.2

WARNING !! : Virginity loss, mean!reader, blowjobs, PiV unprotected, slight dick desc, cum swallowing, cowgirl position, swearing. Lemme know if I missed anything!

Summary : When your grades drop extremely low and leave you with a bad reputation, you decide it's up to that stupid dork Izuku to tutor you. Oh, a maybe ruin his virginity too.

A/N : A long ass wait, I hope you'll forgive me! (＾ｰ^) Love you all, and happy late New Years!!!

Never in a million years would Midoriya ever think that this day would come.

The day when you came to him after class and shoved your paper in his face with a big fat 'F' in the corner, ranting on and on about how much your reputation is at risk when you are getting shitty scores on tests and practically failing every exam.

It seems to go on for about another 30 minutes until you look him in the eyes and tell him not ask, tell him, "You're gonna tutor me so all of my hard work doesn't go for nothing, loser."

He remembers how sharp your eyes were that day when you pressed your pointer finger against his chest and made him swear on how he wouldn't let you fail. Claiming you'd make his life even more of a shit show if he let you down.

So of course, he's frantically nodding as he swears he would never let that happen! Sure, you two have had your differences, but maybe this could fix the relationship you and him had. And if not, he's just glad you're willing to let him keep the already toxic bond you share and not make it any worse.

Ultimately, you both end up at his house, sitting on his strangely clean floor as he explains how each problem is somehow related the next in the most complicated way possible. It twists your brain just right in some inhumanly fashion that you haven't experienced since you actually cared for your education.

One stupid math problem leads to another, and you quickly find yourself getting bored. Your eyes linger on to his pretty pink lips as he blabbers on about some random subject you don't bother to listen to. Each word that leaves his mouth has you a little more fixated on him. It especially leaves you in a trance when he presses his lips together nervously, catching your obvious stare and wondering if he'd done something wrong.

"Is... everything okay?" he speaks up, the hesitation in his voice so obviously showing. You can't help but roll your eyes and snatch the sheet of paper out of his hands, already tired of supposed tutoring. "This is boring!" you slam the paper on the floor, which Midoriya pathetically flinches at. "You can barely get a sentence out without stuttering or avoiding eye contact! Have you even talked to women outside of me?"

He doesn't know why, but your words hit him harder than usual. Sure, he's never been the luckiest with women, let alone have a relationship above friends... but he could if he wanted to! He's doesn't know the lines of unattractive or attractive, but he knows he isn't ugly enough for girls to not even look at him.

It takes him a few seconds of silence to reply, debating on a good comeback. "I-I have... There's plenty of females who I talk to." Even with a lie as obvious as that, he doesn't expect you to burst out into laughter, hands clutching at your stomach as you wheeze and gasp for air.

Sweat beads form on his forehead, and his face goes red with embarrassment. He watches in humiliation as you try and settle yourself down, somehow becoming infatuated with the way yours crinkle with joy, and the way your teeth show brightly to light up your face. Suddenly, he feels his body temperature spiking up, warm from how flushed he is.

Once you finally calm down, your eyes flicker back up to him. He's watching you intently, fingers fidgeting with themselves as he waits for your next word. You find it amusing, really, with how patient he manages to remain with you even after all the tormenting things you do to him. Maybe— just this once... you can be a little more appreciative of his kindness.

Slowly, you pick yourself up from your sitting position and get on all fours to crawl to him. His eyes go wide and he bites his bottom lip, and you can tell he's anticipating what's about to happen. "Y'know.." you begin, "I'd be willing to show you what a woman does when she likes a man."

Midoriyas jaw drops open as you get closer to him. His brain goes mushy when he can feel your warm breath tickle his skin, reminding him just how close you are. His breathing gets heavier, and he swallows down his nervousness.

It suddenly feels like the worlds going to stop on him in any moment when your hand inches towards the layer of fabric above his leg. "What do you m-mean?" But you know he isn't dumb. It's clear he understands your intentions since you've seen the shit he writes and reads about. Who knows what he's watching behind closed doors.

"We're gonna fuck. Or do you not want to?" You state it so bluntly, Midoriya thinks you've gone crazy. Its always been you teasing or making fun him, putting him down and setting a clear boundary between you two. Now here you are, claiming you want to have sex with him!

His eyes shoot down to your hand and then back up to meet yours. Panicking, he decides on blurting out whatever he can think of. "I never said that! It's just that well you caught me off guard and I've never done this sort of thing so–"

"Shut up before I change my mind!" you cut his nervous rambling off irritably. Silencing, he nods his head slowly, afraid of screwing this up any further. He's only seen what happens in the stupid pornos he watches, so he hesitates on what to do. But when he catches a glimpse of your impatient face, he mutters a quiet "sorry" for the wait and quickly tackles his fingers with his waist band to push it off his hips.

And when he does, you eyes widen at the sight of his boner, not expecting him to be as big as he was. It twitches under the thin material of his boxers as you hungrily stare, begging to be freed from its confinement. You don't waste any time, reaching to pull down the front of the fabric. His meaty cock springs up and bounces with release, making you ogle at the sight.

Despite not being a mathematician, you estimate a total length of 5.7 inches and a girth a little below half of that. Long and angry veins lead up to his blushed red tip, which already leaks pre-cum. A small patch of green hair covers below the base, matching the messy patch he has on his head. Naturally, a pool of saliva pools in your mouth as you take in the sight before you.

Midoriya watches you keenly as you admire his length, blushing when you look back up at him. "So this is what you've been hiding from me, huh?" you tease, and he waves his hand in front of his face as he rapidly shakes his head, sputtering out whatever he can to deny or defend your accusation.

While he isn't paying attention to what's happening below him, you lean down to place the flat of your tongue on his tip. Almost instantly, he lets out an unexpected whine and bucks his hips forward, pushing more than just the tip past your lips. The heat of your mouth, overwhelming him, quickly sends him off the edge. Pathetically enough, he might not last as long as he thought he would.

You smirk to yourself at his reaction and press forward, placing your hands on his thighs as you swallow him whole. Your wet mouth coats his dick easily, making it easier to take him. A slutty moan echoes throughout the room, and he quickly slams his own hand against his mouth. His panting escalates through the muffles past his fingers as you bring your head up and down on his cock. Your tongue drags along his base from each bob of your head, memorizing the veins that decorate it.

His hand falls from his mouth and finds its place in the roots of your hair, tangling it between his fingers. "Shit— feels s-so– good!" he whimpers, grinding his hips to the rhythm of your bobbing. The gagging sounds you make when his tip hits the back of your throat makes warmth rush to his face. He swears he's never felt anything better than this.

The hand that's taken place in your hair tightens, and he lets his mouth fall open, only shaky moans and cries leaving him. He finds it incredible how you haven't come up for air yet, only breathing through your nose like a professional. And the way you take his whole cock like it's nothing proves his point.

It isn't long before he can feel himself about to cum, lengthy moans slipping out as he grinds lazily into your mouth. You take notice of this, sloppily finishing him off and picking up the pace in which you take him. "I'm gonna— fuck!" He pushes your head down to where your nose brushes his pubes, ramming his cock deep enough to knock past your uvula. His eyes close tightly as his warm cum washes into your mouth, clenching his teeth roughly together.

Once his fingers untangle from the crown of your head, you quickly swallow his cum and push yourself up to breath. As soon as you're able to sit up, you gasp and take in as much air through your lungs as you can. "How the hell do you–" cough "cum so much.." You complain, shooting him a glare. Midoriya is practically passed out, leaning back with his cock slapped against his abs as he pants tiredly.

" 'M sorry," He whines, peaking one eye open to look at you. Even with droplets of his cum on your face and now messed up hair, he still thinks you look breathtakingly gorgeous. "It just felt so good and I couldn't help myself. Are you... o-okay?"

Scoffing at his worries, you push a loose piece of hair behind your ear and rest your eyes for a moment. "Fine. At least you gave me somewhat of a warning." And he might be overly exhausted from the earth shattering orgasm he just had, but he swears he can see a small tint of blush form on your cheeks. The thought of you having somewhat of an attraction to him makes his stomach go weak. Can such a thing really happen?

When he goes to close his eyes again and take a breath, he hears you stand up and begin removing something from your body. His eyes open up out of curiosity and he's met with you removing your pants and underwear. "W-wait, I thought we were done—" he pauses when he catches sight of your pretty pussy, slowly being revealed as you strip free from your panties.

Heat rushes to his face again as you walk back over to him and sit yourself down with two knees outside of his legs. He doesn't even notice his cock spring back up to life as his eyes take you in. "I said I was going to fuck you, didn't I?" The tease in your voice has him growing in desperate need of you once again, and he can do nothing but nod and let you take the lead.

You scoff and shake your head, hand grabbing his dick below you and aligning it with your hole. Midoriya sucks in a breath and watches as you let your hips slowly fall down so his tip brushes your clit. "Shit–" you shakily breathe, grinding your hips back and forth to swipe your pussy along his cock.

He whimpers needingly as his hands find the fat of your hips, giving him something to hold onto. You do the same, resting your arms around his neck when you finally slip his leaking tip into your warmth. The both of you moan in sync from the pleasure, pressing your bodies closer together. "I'm not sure it'll... fit." You admit embarrassingly, biting the inside of your lip as you cautiously lower yourself.

He anxiously waits for you to fuck him, so he can finally feel the walls of your cunt. And when you bring your body down and let him stretch you out, he shamefully cries out your name, pleading for you to warm his cock. "Needa' feel you! Please, I need to feel more!". You grumble back a snarky comment, but decide to get it over with.

The weight of your ass hits his thighs and you let out a lewd moan, similar to one of the porn star Midoriya likes so much. His girthy length splits you open entirely, hitting your cervix harsh enough to leave bruising for at least the next few days. He impatiently rolls his hips into you, whimpering random nonsense to try and keep himself from finishing too quick.

As soon as you adjust to his size enough to keep going, you begin to drag yourself up and down on him. The heat of your pussy invites him in sensibly, gummy walls being stretched each time you bounce on him. It doesn't go unnoticed by how wet you are already, letting him glide in and out of you easily. "You're so— fuck.." His thick fingers squeeze your skin, bound to leave marks you'll see in the morning. "So so so so good." He whines, face flush with euphoria.

You don't hesitate to start riding him faster, tits bouncing against him under your shirt. The familiar feeling of his stomach tightening approaches him once more, making him groan. Your skin meets his as you push your ass up and down on him, feeling your own orgasm begin to rise in you.

Sweat forms one body, exhaust briefly catching up to you as you ride him like your life depends on it. His cocks plunges into you so sweetly, making you unable to hold back a single moan as it hits the spongey wall in you. It has you gasping with each puncture it deals on you.

The whole room is filled with slutty sounds and wet slapping, seemingly like a porn video. It feeds into the sex perfectly, only bringing him to finish sooner. "Im so close! Please— don't stop!" Midoriya gasps, shutting his eyes tightly to let the feeling of pleasure take over him.

You take notice of the way his cock twitches inside of you, begging to spill his cum into your walls. Digging your fingers into his shoulder, you let out a string of moans before letting your orgasm rush through you and make you cum riding him.

Pants leave your lips as you grind yourself on him, rocking out the pleasure on his body to ease yours before pushing your sore knees up slightly so his dick can be free from your pussy. It separates from you with a small pop! sound, leaving you empty once again. The sight of him jerking his hips into the air as his cum spurts from his slit and onto his chest with a somehow cutely fucked out face, leave you wishing for another round.

The atmosphere seems to settle down after awhile as the two of you rest against each other, calming yourselves down from your session. "You're a pathetic fucking pervert, you weirdo." You smack his shoulder with your remaining strength, mumbling curses on your breath.

But before he can say anything, or make some half ass witted reply, your soft snoring cuts him off. Midoriya can't help himself when he softly smiles, because truthfully, he knows deep down you care for him.

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certaimromance · 2 days ago

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ꫂ ၴႅၴ Chasing Ghosts.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: Everything in your life is finally under control and almost perfect, but somehow chasing the ghost of Aaron Hotchner is still an obsession.

Words: 1,9k.

Warnings & Tags: angst WITHOUT a happy ending. hotch being an absent father figure. so much angst (yes, again). temporarily located after he leaves the FBI. same reader as in "tall child" but several years after that. so inspired by “like him” by tyler, the creator and all the edits with the song that I see. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I've been having trouble getting through the second part of "Tall Child" (if you're wondering if I'll write one, yep, and I hope to upload it soon but I'm so blocked:c). This idea came to me out of the blue because I, too, feel abandoned when I start watching the episodes after Hotch leaves<///3.

The quiet hum of the BAU filled the air, the same familiar rhythm of paperwork being shuffled, pens scratching against files, and the faint sound of voices from down the hall. The office you were in—Emily’s office now—still carried faint echoes of what it used to be. The desk was different, the decor had shifted, but the weight of the space hadn’t changed. It was still steeped in years of hard decisions, late-night strategizing, and memories that lingered even when the man who made them had gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

You sighed as you sifted through a stack of reports, scanning them for inconsistencies. It wasn’t even your responsibility—you were just helping out, filling a gap as the team caught up on their endless backlog. You’d been in this office countless times since Aaron had left, but it still felt strange. Like you didn’t quite belong. Like you were stepping on sacred ground that no longer had a place for you.

Being here without him was like being in a different place.

You’d been trying not to think about it, about how long it had been since he left. A year now, maybe more. You weren’t counting. Or so you told yourself for mental health. But in moments like this, standing in what used to be his space, surrounded by the echoes of his presence, it was impossible not to feel the sting of his absence.

You didn’t blame him for leaving—not entirely. Jack deserved his father, a life of peace away from the chaos of the FBI. You’d even admired his courage for walking away from something he’d dedicated his life to…You knew you would never do something like that; he was brave. But nothing of that softened the sharp edge of hurt that had been lodged in your chest ever since the day he said goodbye by a stupid piece of paper.

The truth was, he hadn’t just left the Bureau and all the atrocities that this entailed. He’d left you.

Your eyes flicked toward the desk, now Prentiss’s, and for a moment, your fingers brushed its edge. It was ridiculous how something as simple as the grain of the wood could bring back a flood of memories—of late nights, terse discussions, and the way his voice would take on that steady, commanding tone that somehow made you feel both safe and seen. The way he scolded you when you did things against protocol, the way he almost smiled when he thought you didn't notice, and most of all, the way he left overnight.

A soft knock at the door snapped you back to the present. You looked up, startled, to see Rossi leaning casually against the doorframe. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything—the reports, your posture, the way your hand still rested on the edge of the desk, as though anchoring you to something unseen.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” he quipped, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You mustered a weak smile. “Just helping Emily with the backlog. Thought I’d clear some of this off her plate.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting around the room. It lingered on the desk, the walls, and the chair before settling back on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing—that made your stomach twist.

“You’re in here a lot,” David observed, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.

More than a lot for someone who was supposed to stop doing it on the advice of her therapist.

Because you don’t need to keep hiding you in work. Your life was good now, or so you kept telling yourself. You had settled into your role on the team, earned the respect of your colleagues, and built a rhythm that felt steady, even fulfilling. You went home to a warm apartment that didn’t feel so empty anymore, filled with little things that made you smile: books on the coffee table, cozy blankets, a half-dead plant you kept forgetting to water. You even start to have casual dates sometimes to open your heart to the world.

“Just helping,” you repeated, more curtly than you really intended.

“Hmm.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. “You know, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“What?” you asked, your tone, again, sharper than you intended. The defenses around you were activating automatically.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Nothing. Just…noticing things.”

Your jaw tightened. Working with profilers meant every word, every movement, was analyzed. You hated it so much in these moments.

“What?” You demanded, unable to keep the irritation from your voice.

He tilted his head, studying you with that maddening patience of his. “You make the same expressions he used to.”

No. No. No.

Do not mention him. Don't make even the slightest reference to him. Don't think about him. Don’t.

The air seemed to leave the room. Your heart clenched, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. “What are you talking about?” you asked, though you knew. Of course, you knew.

“The furrowed brow when you’re deep in thought,” he said, his voice softer now. “The way you purse your lips when you’re frustrated but trying to hide it. And now, in this desk…you’ve always been like him. Always will be.”

You’re just like him? You look like him?

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Great. I’ve picked up his bad habits too.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Rossi said gently, his voice softer now. “It just means he left a mark.”

You turned away, pretending to focus on the files in front of you, but the words hit harder than you wanted to admit. Of course, Hotch had left a mark. How could he not? He’d been your anchor, your mentor, your constant—even when you were at odds. And then he’d left. He’d walked away from the BAU and from you as if you were disposable.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “He’s gone.”

Rossi didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “Still angry at him?”

The question hit you like a gut punch, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the physical discomfort could drown out the storm in your chest. “I’m not angry,” you said, the words escaping your lips faster than your brain could catch them.

It was much more complex than that. Your feeling was more akin to disappointment than anger or rage because you knew you could never hate him.

He didn’t press further, instead leaning more comfortably against the desk, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know he wanted a life for Jack,” he countered, his voice measured. “You can’t blame him for that.”

“I’m not blaming him,” you said, though it felt like a lie even as you spoke it. “But I don’t get why he had to leave everything.” you snapped, the sharpness of your voice startling even yourself. You turned away, staring hard at the stack of files, though the words on the pages blurred into meaningless lines. “He could’ve stayed in touch. But he didn’t.”

Zero calls, zero messages, zero signs that at least you mattered to him.

Rossi sighed, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “Aaron’s always been good at one thing: convincing himself that distance is the best way to protect the people he cares about.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. It didn’t make it hurt your heart any less. Nothing could ever dispel the pain, nothing but the embrace of the same person who provoked it.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone lighter, almost teasing. “You know, there’s a way to settle this.”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Without a word, Rossi reached into his pocket. The sound of his hand brushing against the fabric of his jacket broke the tension like a crack of thunder in the stillness. He pulled out a small card and held it between two fingers, his expression unreadable as he extended it toward you.

“What’s this?” you asked, the words coming out more hesitant than you wanted.

“His number,” he said simply. “It changed.”

Your eyes dropped to the card, to the string of numbers printed neatly on its surface. For a moment, all you could do was stare. It felt like the weight of the entire room had shifted onto that tiny slip of paper. Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to grab it, yet rooted to the spot.

“I’m not calling him,” you said, though your grip on the card betrayed your uncertainty.

David smiled knowingly, as if he’d already won. “I didn’t say you had to. But if you ever want to talk to him, you’ve got the number.”

You shook your head. “No. If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called. He hasn’t.”

“Maybe he thinks you don’t want to hear from him,” Rossi countered. “Maybe he’s giving you space.”

“Space?” you repeated, the word bitter on your tongue. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Abandoning people?”

“He didn’t abandon you,” Rossi countered firmly, though there was no edge in his tone, only understanding. “He left because he had to. For Jack. For himself. And maybe—just maybe—he thought you were strong enough to handle it.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you turned away, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. You hated how much they affected you, how much he still affected you. “Well, he was wrong,” you muttered, the words barely audible.

Rossi didn’t argue, didn’t press. “You don’t have to use it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But if you do, maybe you’ll figure out that he didn’t leave you. He just…left.”

With that, he stepped back and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing softly down the hallway until they disappeared altogether, leaving you alone in the thick, suffocating silence.

Your eyes fell back to the card on the desk. It seemed out of place there, too bright and clean against the chaos of papers and reports. You stared at it as if it might leap off the desk and demand an answer. But it just sat there, motionless, yet somehow unbearably loud.

Your grip tightened, the edges of the card biting into your palm. And then, with a sharp, decisive motion, you tore it in half. The sound was quick, final, like the snap of a cord that had been fraying for far too long. You tore it again, and again, the pieces falling to the desk in a jagged, fragmented pile. Each rip felt like releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, like reclaiming some small measure of control over the chaos he’d left behind.

When the pieces were no more than scraps, you gathered them up and marched to the trash can. You dropped them in, the fragments fluttering down like ashes from a fire long extinguished. You stared at them for a moment, your chest heaving, your emotions still raw but now dulled by the act of destruction.

Turning back to the desk, you sank into the chair, forcing your focus onto the reports in front of you. The room still felt heavy, the ghost of his presence lingering in the corners, but you pushed it aside. There was work to do. There was always work to do.

And after all, you were just like him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch angst #thomas gibson

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 2 days ago

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self-defense. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: a certain situation made him have to teach you both something

Warnings: some angst, blood, a little bit of fluff, weapons, Ellie is in on it

A/N: little something. boring as hell. the idea for this chapter was given by the wonderful @underneath-the-sky-again . thank you so much! i hope you like it, sweetie. ❤️

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

When these men appeared in his sight his body activated its survival function, above all else. The brain sent clear signals - he had to keep you and Ellie safe.

However, when he automatically reached for your arm, you slipped away from him, his fingers closing on nothing. Joel looked to his left, surprised, and noticed that you were already close to Ellie, you pulled her down to hide her from the men's attention. Your eyes met, you nodded slightly, knowing what had to be done.

"All good?"

A nod, although you didn't look up at him. You dipped the cloth in the cold stream again and put it to your cut lip, which was slowly starting to bleed less and less. Joel glanced at Ellie. Wrapped in a sleeping bag, she was sleeping safely under the ledge where you had set up a makeshift camp for the night.

You hadn't talked much since what had happened. The most important thing was for you to get away from the three bodies you left lying on the ground as soon as possible.

"That guy..." Joel started, crouching down next to you, "He was strong, too strong for you."

"Don't say that," you mumbled, "I was able to handle him."

You were already pretty banged up before Joel grabbed the guy by the jacket and almost ripped him off you. The guy easily got behind you, tackled you to the ground, and grabbed the gun. Your split lip, the abrasions on your hands and cheek, that was the best thing that could have happened to you that day.

"I was thinking about something..." Joel said quietly, taking the cloth from your hand, rinsing it well in the stream, and then taking your hand in his, "You and Ellie, you need to learn how to defend yourselves without a weapon. If something like that happens again."

Your hand seemed so small and delicate to him compared to his. Joel gently cleaned the wounds on your hands and knuckles. He didn't look at you, he knew perfectly well that you felt ashamed of your helplessness and what had happened. It was unnecessary... He didn't even think of judging you, he simply drew conclusions from what he saw.

"Joel, I'm sure that no amount of skill will allow us to kill an infected without a weapon." you replied.

"It's not infected I'm worried about."

You knew what he meant, too well. You felt embarrassed by all this, it would be better if he yelled at you, reminded you of your helplessness and stupidity, because you should have been more careful. Meanwhile, Joel was calm and composed, caring towards you and Ellie.

"I'm not as helpless as it may seem." you mumbled, taking your hand from his. "He surprised me. I've dealt with people like that before and..."

"I didn't say you can't handle it." he interrupted you again in the same calm voice "I saw what you did."

Only then did you look at him. Joel had beautiful eyes and they said more than he could say with his mouth. They radiated concern, but also determination, and you knew perfectly well that he was right.

"The first thing you did when those guys showed up was to shield Ellie. You made sure she was hidden, and only then did you reach for the weapon. That guy surprised you, knocked you down easily... I want you to know how to defend yourself despite everything. Same with Ellie."

"Yeah, I guess you're right..."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and then he carefully grabbed your chin and turned your face towards him. You hissed quietly in pain when the cold cloth touched your torn cheek.

"When do you want to start classes?"

"Tomorrow."

Ellie looked at Joel skeptically when he told her at breakfast what his plans were for you that day.

"And you agree to this?" she asked, looking at you surprised "You're doing great! You don't need any training or anything like that."

You swallowed a sip of hot but weak tea "Joel's right. We should learn how to defend ourselves."

He had you on his side, Ellie had to give in. Finally the girl nodded.

"Okay, but I still think that if I had a gun..."

"Not yet, Ellie..." Joel muttered rolling his eyes "There will be time for that too."

She had no mercy for Joel, and after a few minutes you already felt sorry for him. Ellie without hesitation dug her heel into his foot and her elbow into his stomach when Joel stood behind her trying to catch her.

Maybe she was too small and too weak to throw him, but she was doing great. Joel practiced a few different ways to defend herself with her, patiently paying attention to what she should watch out for, and she listened to him really carefully. She respected and really liked him, so even though she grumbled at first, she learned very quickly at that point.

"I can't do that." You stated as Joel grabbed you from behind, just like the guy the day before.

"You can't defend yourself?" he asked, surprised. You were watching Ellie, so you had to know what to do.

"I can't hurt you, Joel." You sighed, "I know we practice, but..."

"Ellie had no mercy." He snorted somewhere above your ear, and you laughed to yourself, "What'll help you? Maybe..."

He did it by surprise. He grabbed your hair and pulled you back, his arm around your neck tightened and then...

"Fuck!"

A dull thud made Ellie, who had been watching you closely, flinch. Joel was panting heavily lying on the ground and you were pressing your knee against his chest.

"That was good." he panted and you smiled.

"I was watching you, I had it easier."

"Yeah, interesting."

Suddenly his hand tightened below your knee and Joel overexerted himself so that now you were under him. You struggled for a moment but eventually he caught your hands and pinned them above your head.

He raised an eyebrow panting "So what now, smartass?"

You lifted your knee and Joel nervously looked between you. His manhood could be in danger.

"If you're going to keep teasing each other like this, maybe I should just leave?" Ellie called and you chuckled seeing Joel's look.

"We're not teasing at all." he mumbled standing up and holding out his hand to help you too "Are you packed?"

Ellie rolled her eyes and headed towards her backpack. You watched her, dusting off the pine needles and leaves from your pants, then looked at Joel, who was also following her with his eyes.

"She'll be fine. Thanks to you." You said, placing your hand on his shoulder and rubbing it gently.

He mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Listen," you stood in front of him, his brown eyes moved at you. "You do everything you can, you keep her safe, you teach her and even if Ellie teases you... You are everything she has."

"Now she has you too." Joel added.

"So let's worry about her together, it'll be a little easier for us. You can't carry everything by yourself, Joel."

He nodded. He wanted to say something else, thank you for those words or praise you for how well you did, but he couldn't put it into words. His eyes had told you that a long time ago, though.

"I'm ready, you whiny old man!" Ellie's call reached you and you both sighed, shaking your heads.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #short stories from life

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slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

Text

Thirst: Part 6

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: There's a bunch y'all and I'm not giving any of them away because it would spoil the chapter. So, this is your warning: 18+ themes after the cut!! BEWARE!!!!

Chapter Summary: Your life in the tower was a thing of the past- is that a good thing?

a/n: Heyyyyy, so I've been the most nervous about THIS chapter since I started writing this story. It's... different. So have fun!! And also lets imagine that bows and arrows don't exist. (This is non-canon to the movie)

Series Masterlist

Your beautiful tower is a thing of the past. It’s been days since you slept there – or even stepped foot inside it.

Now that you're no longer in your wonderful room, with its big soft mattress and comfortable sheets, you're forced to share a bed with someone you do not like. It’s all too reminiscent of when you were living at the brothel – except the man you were now forced into such close proximity with didn’t even want to touch you.

Hanno The Barbarian is what the Emperors had called him.

You are sure they had hoped he would rape you, or kill you, but instead he treats you as if you do not exist.

You were supposed to be the one to service him after his fights, should he be fortunate enough to survive. You would have, but apparently he is just one more man who won't let you touch him. It feels as though the gods are laughing at you.

From what you have observed, Hanno isn't like the rest of the brutish men who fight and die in the pit. He's quiet. He’s never impulsive. At times he almost seems gentle. Though he’s undefeated and feared for his ferocity in the games, you wonder whether he would hurt anyone at all if he were given the choice.

Hanno won't speak to you or let you attend to his injuries. You might as well not even be there.

How did you end up here? For a time, it seemed like there was a chance of putting the girl you’d been behind you. You wouldn’t always be another girl who was bought and sold to ease the worries or fulfill the pleasures of men. For a time, you thought it might even be possible to feel loved and cared about.

You had actually begun to feel that contentment – for a few brief moments – before the fantasy dissolved with the arrival of a slave trader at your door.

There had been no guards outside your quarters, no handmaids to explain to you what was happening. There was just this man with his charming smile and soothing voice, delivering terrible news.

“Acacius said your time together has come to an end. You need to come with me.”

General Marcus Acacius had sold you.

You felt numb as you took the man’s hand and left your rooms, but with each step down the staircase that numbness was replaced by a deep ache in your chest. It felt like someone had extracted your heart, carved ‘foolish’ into the flesh, and then replaced it back inside your broken ribs.

After the night you had shared, Marcus had abandoned you without a word. He never told you where he was going, or when he’d be back.

How could you have been so naive? to let yourself set your hopes on his beautiful empty words.

Of course it was too good to be true.

He had sold you to be a new plaything for the emperors, and he had been too much of a coward to hand you over himself.

When you arrived at the palace, the memory of those tender promises he'd whispered to you—promises of a new life in a new place—turned to burning, bitter rage. You let that rage fill your chest, burying whatever hurt still remained.

Like spoiled children, the twins hated to see anyone enjoying something that they didn’t have, and the favored pet of their recalcitrant general was the ultimate prize.

It was no secret that the twins had wanted to see what all the fuss had been about but you refused them violently each time.

Even with the threat of torture and then eventual death, you never folded. Never once let them put their hands on you.

You had smiled in their faces when the guards dragged you from their bed chambers sneering, "Death is better than the little one's weeping cock."

That’s how you ended up down here though, in the gladiatorial bathhouse, watching Hanno soak.

“Does it hurt badly?” You nod your head towards the relatively large gash on his left pectoral.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you when he shrugs his shoulders.

There is a moment where you want to shove his head under the water and hold him there. Then, there is the part of you that knows he isn’t here because he would like to be. He is a prisoner just like you.

With a loud sigh and a roll of your eyes, you grab the clean rag on the side of the stone tub and dip it into the warm water. Instead of reaching out to him, trying to do it yourself, you just hand him the now dripping piece of cloth.

Hanno stares at it for a moment, as though this is a foreign gesture to him. Kindness. Care.

“I know you understand me, I know you can speak as well,” you urge him to take what’s in your hand, and wave the other towards the iron barred door. “I’ve heard you talking to the others.”

“Why is it so important that I speak to you?” His voice is much deeper up close and when he’s not whispering to the healing men that come to stitch up the fighters, or the other gladiators themselves.

It’s jarring how his voice plucks at each one of your veins like the strings of an instrument. You’re almost vibrating off the side of the tub. “It’s not important, it’s just nice to have someone to talk to. Instead of just talking to myself…or the wall.”

Hanno snorts softly and takes the rag from you. He dips it back into the steaming water and lifts it gently to his chest. He winces and sucks air in between his clenched teeth.

“I knew it hurt,” you tease him lightly.

His eyes shoot up to yours, like he’s angry with you for even speaking– there’s a darkness to them that you’ve never seen before, but there is also a smirk playing across his lips. “You talk too much,” he growls and now the smirk feels malicious with the way his eyes are narrowed on you.

“Now I wonder why I ever wanted you to start talking,” you grumble, feeling foolish for trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve been down here with you for days, and that is the first thing you can say to me?” You try to swallow down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I didn’t banish you to these cells. I’m stuck here, just like you.”

Hanno releases the now crimson-stained cloth into the murky water. "I apologize," he murmurs, but his words echo in the eerie stillness of the dungeon. "Everything here seems like a twisted joke..."

“What do you mean?”

The water sloshes against the side of the tub lightly as he sinks further into the comforting warmth. You think it might be the only comfort Hanno receives anywhere in this place.

It’s more comfort than you’ve been able to find, and you’ve been searching. Looking for something safe and constant since long before you became a plaything for the Emperors.

"You..." Hanno trails off, his tone rising in a question rather than a statement.

Your nostrils flare in defense, “...have been discarded by the ones I love and treated like an animal by the morally depraved—” Your words come out bitterly because it is true.

“You call me depraved?” He hisses, “Have you seen those men dripping in gold, wearing lavish robes—”

“Who do you think appointed me to be your special companion ? You thought I volunteered for this?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would give anything to just go home.”

This is your home now, unfortunately. A cell shared with a gladiator. What happens if Hanno is able to buy his freedom? Or, more likely, when he’s finally killed in the pit? What will you do then?

"What brought you here, to Rome?" he asks, turning the conversation back to you.

“Money.” The word slips out before you can stop it, it’s wrapped up in sadness and a hint of disdain. "My family was struggling, our farm was failing, and the taxes were impossible. And not out of cruelty, but desperation— I became the price of its survival."

Hanno's expression shifts to something that resembles pity, tangled with a strange understanding. "So your family sold you to the Emperors?" he asks, running the wet cloth across his wounded chest.

"I was sold to a brothel and then bought by a man, and then sold again to a different man who then brought me here." You shake your head at your sad story of a life. "The Emperors wanted to bed me, but I fought them, told them I would rather die—"

"So they sent you down here?" He laughs, but you don't get the impression he's laughing at you or your misfortune. It's almost a chuckle of disbelief. "Worse than death, I assume— for someone like you."

"That was their thinking, but apparently they chose the one gladiator that has no interest in getting his cock wet." You can't help but feel like that alone is a win. Hanno hasn’t hurt you, so they don't get the satisfaction. They lost.

The iron door suddenly clangs open. A guard appears and he looms in the doorway, "Cleaning time is over," he barks. "Back to your cell."

Marcus groans loudly as Lucilla finishes straightening the clasps that hold his cape around his shoulders.

“Can’t you act as if you don’t hate doing this?” Lucilla asks with a sour look on her face. “You and I both know they get a rise out of the fact that you do not enjoy-”

“I just came back from the road and barely had time to wash my ass,” Marcus grumbles, letting his wife adjust the golden clasps on his cape. "This is just another way for them to show me that I’m under their thumbs, but not for much longer—"

Lucilla scolds him softly,“You cannot speak that way, not here.” She glances around nervously, looking for ears that may be listening to conversations that aren’t meant for them. “You act as if we are already free,” she whispers almost silently in his ear.

Marcus will always have love for Lucilla in his heart, that’s why he knows he would never leave her behind to fend for herself.

Lucilla had been through so much in her life— the murder of her father, the corruption and cruelty of her brother, Commodus, and ultimately Maximus.

After Commodus was killed, Lucilla did not have one blood relative to keep her safe here in Rome- to protect her. As an upcoming General, Marcus knew that the only way to ensure her safety was to marry her.

The Colosseum is loud, chaotic, and packed with spectators. It's too hot, and there isn't enough wine for Marcus to pretend he’s enjoying himself. He sits rigid and uncomfortable in the imperial box.

The twins, Geta and Caracalla, sit just in front of Marcus and his wife.

Caracalla looks over his shoulder, "Enjoying the spectacle, General?"

"As always, Emperor." Marcus knows better than to show any sign of discomfort. Years of military training have taught him to maintain a neutral expression, even as his mind races with thoughts of you.

Alone in that forsaken room, longer than ever before. He knows you probably hate him, and he’ll have to make it up to you. He would do whatever it took, he just wishes he didn’t have to.

"We have a special match today. One you might find…interesting." Geta says with a mirthless chuckle

Marcus wonders what the hell that could mean. The fights always end in one way – many men dead and only one victor. This is truly a sport invented by men who have only known the comfort of a palace. Real soldiers have seen too much death to find entertainment in it.

The roar of the crowd grows louder as two gladiators enter the arena. Marcus recognizes one of them as the newest fighter— The Barbarian. He’s made a name for himself in the pit and impresses Marcus with his strength and cunning every time.

Lucilla has even taken an interest in him, and that’s very unlike her. This brutal sport only brings up painful memories for her, but Marcus notices her leaning forward in her chair, trying to get a better view of the fighter.

The roar of the crowd becomes a drone as Marcus’s mind drifts to you again – wondering where you are, what you're doing.

The last time he saw you had been the morning after your shared night together. You were begging him not to go with tears rolling down your face. It broke his heart every time he had to pull his hands out of yours, surprised by your strength when you were so desperate for him to stay close to you.

Once this fight was over, Marcus would run straight to you. He would kiss your tears away, lick them off your cheeks and whisper apologies in your ear.

He would never be away from you ever again. Tonight was the night that the three of you would escape the necrotic touch of the Emperors.

“Does The Barbarian look familiar to you at all?” Lucilla’s quiet voice in his ear brings him back to the arena, and the two men fighting— well, no, it’s just the young man now. His opponent was dead at his feet.

Marcus takes a closer glance at the man- barely a man, a boy really. There is a certain familiarity in the way he stood. Even the way he fought was like something or someone Marcus had seen before, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’m not sure,” he turns to look at his wife and sees the worry behind her eyes. “Do you recognize him?”

Lucilla doesn’t get a chance to answer.

The loud booming voice of the announcer fills the arena once again. "The Barbarian is once again— victorious!" He bellows.

The crowd goes wild. The new gladiator has been a favorite since he arrived in Rome as a prisoner of war. A war that Marcus had brought to that young man's land and home. That was the story of many of these gladiators, and Marcus tried to forget their faces at night but it was nearly impossible.

"General, are you listening?" Geta is standing beside Marcus now, whispering in his ear. "You'll want to be sure to hear this…"

Marcus dials back into what is being said by the announcer.

"…very interesting game to play!"

He only catches the last bit, and now he strains his eyes to see what's happening in the sandy pit below him.

The Barbarian is being handed another sword by a guard who runs back into one of the tunnels that lead into the arena.

"Our victor has one more opponent to fight, a beast with fur, teeth and razor sharp claws!" The man announcing makes a grand show with the thematic way he talks. "But this is no ordinary fight, our Barbarian has something very important to protect!"

This was quite interesting. Marcus has never seen a fight like this before.

"Bring in 'The Golden Girl'"

For a moment, this means nothing to Marcus and he wonders who the new female gladiator could be.

It's not until you walk out, wearing a gown that mimics the tunic he's wearing now- white and gold - that he realizes what has happened.

Marcus’s hands tense on the arms of the chair as he tries to steady his breathing.

The Barbarian turns to face you as you quickly make your way to him, but his stance is protective, not aggressive. Something about the way he looks at you, the way he pushes you behind him, suggests he knows you.

Marcus isn’t sure he understands what’s going on— you don’t have fur or teeth, or razor sharp claws. You’re far from a beast.

Lucilla's hand finds Marcus's arm, her grip is tight, as though she senses something is wrong. "What’s going to happen to that girl?" she whispers. Marcus glances at her, watching her eyes darting between you, the Barbarian and the only tunnel with an open gate.

The announcer starts to speak, Marcus only just able to hear him over the deafening roar of the blood in his ears, and his own heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest. It reverberates in his whole body like that of the drum used during battle– sending signals and commands to his troops.

“Someone in our audience surely is brave enough to help our gladiator defend this little bird.”

This beating inside his chest is a signal. A command to go to you. Run to you– jump out of this damn imperial box just to hold you in his arms.

The announcer continues to shout nonsense, but Marcus is no longer listening. He only feels his throat constrict, watching you in the arena. Wondering what’s in store for you, and how he’s the one who put you there. This is what he had been so afraid of.

The white and gold gown you're wearing catches the sunlight, making you look ethereal, while still terrified.

Your eyes are glued to the back of the gladiators head, and Marcus can see the tears in them from here. He feels as though he may be sick. Lucilla’s hand on his arm grips— her fingernails digging into his skin. Marcus can feel her staring at him.

“You know her,” she breathes.

“I do.”

Marcus isn’t ashamed that Lucilla can see you, or that she even knows about you now— she had known about the lover Marcus had wanted to take before he had even met you. This was something that had been spoken about, considered and then agreed upon, with one condition from Lucilla.

To be taken somewhere she could find love again, a real passionate love that wouldn’t be taken from her. A place where she may then search for her son without the threat of deadly Emperor’s.

Lucilla had even offered to house you in her private, guarded villa and Marcus refused, saying it was too dangerous to have his mistress so close to home.

Rome was dangerous and now he could kick himself.

“That’s your Dove?” Lucilla whispers into his ear.

Shocked, Marcus twists his head to look at her curiously but says nothing. He only cocks one eyebrow as Lucilla loosens her grip on his arm.

“You’ve spoken of her in your sleep,” she sounds heartbroken, but Marcus knows it’s not because she’s hurt by his indiscretions, but because he’s had to be away from you for so long. Lucilla looks as though she were in real physical pain for him. “Go to her and keep her safe, Acacius.”

“It looks as though she may need another defender, General.” Geta’s haughty tone sends a violent shiver down Marcus'sspine.

There are three thoughts going through Marcus'smind as he leaves the imperial box.

Rescue you. Kill the Emperors. Get out of Rome.

“Get out there!” A guard growls and pushes you out of the darkened tunnel that leads you into the gladiator pit.

You stumble, but keep your footing and finally look around. There are more eyes locked onto you than you could ever imagine. More eyes looking at you now than ever before and probably ever again.

Hanno is in the center of the pit and when his eyes fall on you, they go wide with surprise- like he cannot believe you’re here.

You can’t really believe it either; you had just been sitting in your cell, imagining the last time you and Marcus had been together.

Marcus stirs in his sleep as you gaze down at his handsomeness. You are completely blessed by the gods that such a good looking man wanted to lock you away from everyone else so he could keep you all to himself. That was very flattering and you cannot deny that, not one bit. It makes a liquid heat pool in your belly whenever you think about it. “I think…I could be in love with you,” you mouth, no sound coming out of your mouth. “Please don’t let me down.” It feels like a prayer to him, as well as the gods above that this isn’t some ruse to make you bear a child for his wife or worse… just a terrible joke to make him feel powerful? Important and desired? Marcus sleeps peacefully through your supplications, and you’re thankful because even though you have doubt in your heart about his feelings and plans; you just want him to sleep. Despite everything, you need him to know that this place in bed next to you is calm and quiet. It’s safe here with you. Whatever you feel for Marcus is strong- whether it’s love, or infatuation, or a desperation to feel desired, it’s there and without much you can do about it, that feeling swells inside of you. Even though you wish it wouldn’t. Looking down at him– his normally neatly styled hair was wild and unkempt from the numerous times you had it between your fingers. You were pulling and tugging on it as he licked, sucked and fucked you into countless orgasms throughout the night. You brush a stray curl away from his forehead gently but his hand flies to your wrist and grips it tightly. As his eyes open and he sees it’s only you and not an enemy, his fingers loosen, and he brings the sensitive skin of your inner wrist to his lips. “Luna Flora…you should know better… than to disturb a… soldier in his sleep,” he murmurs sleepily through soft kisses against your pulse point. You gasp, startled by his sudden alertness. Positive he can hear the sound of your heartbeat, as well as feel it on his lips, you whisper, "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you." He’s looking at you with such deep concentration with his perfect brown eyes, that it steals the breath from your lungs. "Don’t be," he yawns and stretches his body until he’s quivering before wrapping you up in his arms, tugging your body back into his. “Never be sorry. I would always choose to spend time with you awake, over the time I spend with you in my dreams.”

Then a guard came, threw this eerily familiar white and gold tunic at you, told to change and then forced up the seemingly endless set of stairs.

“Bring in The Golden Girl!”

That name, the way it’s said, the way Hanno is looking at you is telling you that this isn’t a normal fight.

The announcer continues, “She’s someone very special to someone in the crowd. I wonder who could know this beautiful bird?”

The more the voice from the pit speaks, the more you feel like your knees might buckle. Beautiful bird-- like a Dove? What on earth is he saying?

Everything else falls as Hanno closes the space between the two of you, putting himself between you and the only open tunnel. All the others have an iron gate keeping you trapped inside.

“What’s happening?” Your voice is hoarse. It feels like your mouth is full of the same sand you’re standing in.

Hanno doesn’t turn to look at you, but he reaches for you blindly, finding your forearm and pushing you further behind him to shield you with his body. “Stay behind me the entire time. Do. Not. Run.”

“What do you mean, run?” Your heart, which was already threatening to hammer its way out from behind your rib cage- starts beating faster somehow. “What would I run from?”

The terrible thoughts begin to race through your head at what could be lurking in that dark tunnel. The seconds tick by so slowly and all the sounds inside the arena blend into one. You can’t even make out the announcer anymore over the roar of the crowd- but you had stopped listening because his words were confusing, and for some reason they hurt.

A real physical pain that you could pinpoint. It hurts in your chest– because those names were things The Traitor called you, and it’s impossible to think that he sold you into this. He went and told the twin Emperors his names for you! It makes you feel foolish to think at one point you thought they were sweet, but in all seriousness, they turned out to be cruel, his little endearments for you.

You could cry right here in the pit, knowing you were probably going to die violently and in front of so many people.

“Dove…”

What!? That voice!? The Traitor?

You reel around, now face to face with Marcus and his traitorous handsomeness. It’s so hard to not feel like you’re melting. Barefoot in the scorching sand that burns, and the sun that hasn’t stopped fucking beating down on you since you walked out here. And now, under his gaze– you feel like it’s all slipping away from you.

“What are you doing here? How–” That’s all he says before you’re being pushed behind him, now shielded by both men as a sound cuts through the crowd.

Blood curdling, a deep bellowing call that reverberates off the walls of the tunnel as the beast makes its way into the pit.

It’s the biggest thing you’ve ever seen- and you lived on a farm with horses and cows. Bulls, too! It’s a bear, big and brown with matted fur. Mangled by fights that it had emerged victorious from. Now it stands at the mouth of that darkened tunnel and all you want to do is hide. You look for an escape but there is none.

At the mercy of Marcus and Hanno, and the gods above once again, you plant you feet into the sand and pray that nothing bad happens to you.

If it does, let it be quick.

The stones that build up the Colosseum are hot against your back. It's where you've been since the fight started. Marcus kept himself between you and the bear the entire fight, but eventually you got pushed aside and crawled to the perimeter of the arena.

Marcus pulls his sword from the bear's neck with a loud, wet squelch, his chest heaving. Hanno- bloodied and bruised, drops to his knees beside the animals lifeless form. They won, but not without their own injuries.

Marcus's head wheels around the arena, and stops when his eyes meet yours. With his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, he runs to you where you're crouched against the wall.

It's like it's happening in slow motion as he pulls you to your feet, his strong, eyes roaming every inch of you. His hands begin frantically searching your body as he pulls you into his chest, "Are you wounded? Did anything—"

There had been rage inside of you before, but not like this. "Get off of me!" You growl and attempt to push yourself away from him, but he doesn't budge.

One of his bloody hands cups your face, wiping the dirt and sand away from your face, exposing the black eye and the laceration on your cheek—given to you by the Emperors as a parting gift before being sent to the dungeons.

The cut stings when he touches it, and you wince and pull away from him. "Get off me!" You hiss, hands still pushing firmly on his chest.

"Who did that to you?" Marcus growls, his eyes scanning the arena looking for the culprit.

"The men you sold me to!" You nearly scream at him. A hush falls over the crowd. "Did you think the twins would accept 'no' from their newest pet?"

Marcus's eyes darken, and his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. "I never sold you." His eyes fall on the imperial box. "You're no one's pet."

You follow his gaze, and look up at the Emperors. The charming man who had come to your room in the night to take you away sitting behind them-- with one of your trusted chambermaids on his left.

"I'll kill her," you spit, eyes narrowing on the woman you would have, at one time, considered a friend. "Traitor. I'll fucking kill her!"

Marcus places one hand on your chest and pushes you behind him once again, shielding you from the eyes of those standing above you.

Caracalla, the brat- the whiny and entitled one that wanted to watch you flayed for refusing his pus-oozing cock. “Kill her – kill the whore!” he shouts. “Barbarian, pick up your sword! I want to see her blood spilled on the sand!”

Hanno, who is still kneeling beside the dead beast, drops his weapon. “I would die before I follow another demand of a false emperor—I will not harm her!" He shouts up to them, the crowd roars at his defiance.

Geta holds up a hand for silence, “I’m not as impetuous as my brother— the beast had its chance, and it was the will of the gods that the whore should live. But, as she is yet unclaimed, she –”

“She is mine!” Marcus’s voice snaps through the air. A shocked murmur rolls through the crowd, and Geta’s face tenses into a mask of barely contained fury. “You call her a whore, but for all your money and power she wouldn’t even allow you a taste, because she is mine.”

You are still clinging to his back, and with the echo of his last three words you feel a fire ignite in your veins. You are his. He had never abandoned you.

Those men in that box lied to you, tried to take you from Marcus, and then tried to taint your body with their touch.

Now you want them humiliated.

“Take me, Marcus. Right now,” your hoarse whisper reaches his ear. "Let them watch."

He looks down and meets your eyes just long enough for you to see the dark determination mirroring your emotions. Your lips crash together hungrily in a kiss of tongues and teeth. You nip desperately at his lower lip before he pulls away, his hand holding you by the back of your neck.

“On your knees, my Dove” he growls into your mouth.

At the sound of Marcus’s words, the molten feeling grows low in your belly and seeps to your core. You turn to face the podium and drop to your knees. You feel him lower himself behind you, his thick, muscular thighs bracketing your own, his sword discarded in the sand next to you.

One broad hand grips the scruff of your neck and pushes you forward, the other is dragging up the skirt of your gown. “See how she gives herself to me,” Marcus grunts loudly as two of his fingers notch themselves at your dripping entrance. “See how she’s ready and waiting for me?”

The tips of his digits trace along you slick velvet folds before slipping them inside of you, pumping them in and out, gathering your excitement.

Marcus withdraws his fingers and holds them up towards the imperial box, spreading them so the audience can see your sticky arousal clinging to, and strung out between them.

Gasps ripple through the crowd, a mixture of shock and intrigue. You can hear laughter mingling with the disdainful whispers, but all eyes are locked on you.

“This,” Marcus declares, “is yours to witness, Emperors. This is the fire that burns in her belly, for me alone.”

He reaches around to grip your chin in his hand, forcing your head up to meet their gaze. “Let them look at you, let them see your face.” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your ear.

“Look at her,” Marcus rumbles with a possessiveness that vibrates through your being. “Look at how she craves me.” His fingers return, but this time not to tease; this time they plunge deeper.

A moan is torn from your throat loudly as his fingers stretch you open. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you, it’s like the first time all over again. You arch your back, pushing against him as he quickens his pace.

Laughter erupts from the imperial box, Caracalla’s voice cutting through the noise, “Look at her! The whore— with such pathetic displays of pleasure! Whore!” His words drip with disgust, but they only fuel the fire inside you.

Anger curls around your spine and you push harder against the next thrust of Marcus’s fingers, forcing another moan from your mouth.

Geta’s voice rises, his expression tight. “You truly wish to save her? She is nothing but an animal-”

“She is no animal - but she has a beast to defend her.”

You gasp as you feel Marcus rub the tip of his cock along your slit. He circles your clit once, twice, three times before he’s positioning himself at your tight hole.

Without warning, without any gentle words, he bottoms out inside of you. It feels like your eyes are going to fall out of your head, your teeth almost slice through your bottom lip as the searing stretch surges through your entire body- from your hair to your toes.

A cry cursing all the gods, the Emperors before you, and the Emperors yet to rule falls out of your mouth as Marcus sets a bruising pace.

“You see how she lets me claim her?” Marcus pumps his length in and out of you harshly, his thighs slapping against the back of your legs, his free hand gripping your waist now. The hand that had been cupping your chin now finds your hair, keeping your head out of the sand and tilted up to look at the pale, pitiful men gazing down at you.

You can’t keep quiet, and it doesn’t really seem like Marcus wants to you to the way he he’s fucking into you so brutally. You cry out, scream his name, beg for him to slow down. You whimper for mercy, but it’s starting to become delectable- the way you stretch around his cock. The entire length of him sliding inside until his drooling tip grazes your cervix. It’s jolting, and has you seeing stars shoot across your vision.

In the background, mixed in with the rest of the noise, the announcer says something about the way Marcus is taking you, it’s muffled by the pleasure coursing through you.

Marcus came down here to fight for you, to keep you safe. He did care and he didn’t want to lose you and watching him defend you—

That’s why you were dripping before the bear was even dead. Watching Marcus in action, fighting to keep you alive– as furious as you were at him – had ignited a fire inside you.

That flame was engulfing your entire body now as he led you to an orgasm in front of what felt like the entire world.

Marcus grips your hair tighter as he slams himself inside of you over and over. Every single fiber of you can feel Marcus as your walls flutter around him. “Sucking me right in,” he growls. “Taking me so fucking well. Tell them who you belong to,” Marcus barks at you, the hand on your waist connects with the fleshy globe of your ass with a loud crack that cuts through the air.

“M-Marcus– oh gods, Marcus! You, I b-belong to you” You keen loudly, trying so hard to keep your eyes open so you can stare at the men who tried to turn you against the man inside of you now. “I’m yours… forever.”

It’s just a throaty cry of his name as the defined ridge around the head, and each inch of his throbbing length that follows strike and then glides across that sweet spot inside of you. It’s bliss as you come undone on him, feeling like you’re being torn in two; and then three, and then put back together again by his cock.

“That’s it, my perfect girl,” Marcus grunts in a throaty rasp that makes your toes curl.

“Silence that whore!” Caracalla screams in his high-pitched crying tone. “Where are the Praetorian guards!? They’ll have something to stuff her mouth with—”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hanno stand with his weapon clenched in his fist. “Any man that comes down here has to fight me first,” he declares, the blade gleaming in the sun.

The announcer starts to speak, but Marcus reaches for his sword in the sand, pointing the blade up towards the podium.

"One more word and I'll take your fucking tongue." Marcus bellows.

The threat silences the announcer, but the crowd's roar only grows louder.

You can barely focus on anything beyond the sensations coursing through your body as Marcus continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

Marcus drops his sword, his other hand leaves your hair to wrap his arm around your waist. He starts working on the fasteners of your gown at the shoulders. “They’ll see all of you—everything they can’t fucking have,” he’s growling, nipping at your earlobe as his fingers frantically start pulling at the fabric covering your chest. “They’ll never have you. You're mine."

He does own you, and it's the most exhilarating feeling in the world. The undeniable connection between you is only heightened by his rough handling of your body; as if he owns every part of it without hesitation or reservation.

His hand grips your breast tightly, his thumb circling your nipple, which has already hardened. "You like this, don't you?" Marcus growls against your neck. “Like being on display for everyone?”

You groan in agreement, arching your back into his touch. "Yes," you moan, clenching your eyes shut as he hammers his hips into yours. "Please don't stop-- want them to see"

Marcus's free hand grips your hip, pulling you closer, and his other hand He pulls back and looks up towards the imperial box, “No one will touch my Dove again. Anyone who tries will be torn apart without hesitation.”

You force your eyes open, meeting the shocked and furious gazes of the Emperors. You bite your bottom lip, eyes rolling back in your head like you’re possessed at the bliss, at all the good feelings Marcus gives you.

There is a commotion, the brothers command something of their guards but Marcus's booming voice quickly catches their attention again. “You make so much as one move, and you will die where you stand.”

To punctuate his point, Hanno gives the blade in his hand a twirl, pacing back and forth between the seats of the Emperors, and yourself and Marcus.

A defiant smirk tugs at your lips. Your fragile alliance with Hanno had paid off and now he was protecting you and Marcus in this erotic display of defiance. You lean back against Marcus's strong chest, your hands feverishly searching for something to hold onto as your sweat drips down between your breasts.

Marcus runs his tongue along your shoulder, up towards your neck. "That's it, my golden girl," He growls in your ear. “Show them "

Your body trembles, every nerve alight with pleasure as he claims you in front of the entire arena.

He pulls out of you suddenly, leaving you bereft and gaping— but before you can grasp what’s happening, he’s on his feet, moving beside you with his hands in your hair turning you to face him.

Marcus stands before you, his muscular body glistening with sweat in the harsh sunlight. His cock, slick with your arousal, juts out proudly as he grips your hair tightly.

"Open your mouth," he commands, his voice hoarse with lust.

You obey without hesitation, parting your lips as he guides himself to your waiting mouth. The salty taste of yourself on his length makes you moan as he pushes past your lips. Your tongue swirls around his shaft, savoring the combined flavors of yours and his

"Look at her," Marcus calls out, his voice rough. "See how she serves me willingly. This is what true devotion looks like."

You hollow your cheeks as he pushes deeper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you fight through – determined to please him. Your hands grasp his muscular thighs for support as he sets a punishing pace.

Marcus throws his head back, chest heaving as he nears his peak. "Gods, you're perfect," he pants. "My beautiful Dove."

He leaves your throat with a sickeningly arousing wet sucking sound, one hand stays in your hair as the other wraps around his throbbing cock.

Marcus strokes himself rapidly, his eyes locked on yours as he pants, "Open up. Show them who you belong to."

You obey eagerly, tilting your head back and parting your lips. Your tongue darts out, desperate for a taste of him.

You moan when his seed coats your lips and chin, some of it dripping down onto your exposed breasts – marking you. You savor what landed in your mouth, swallowing as you gaze up at him adoringly.

Marcus releases your hair, his hand moving to cup your cheek tenderly. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, smearing his release further. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper - perhaps love.

The crowd's roar grows deafening, a mix of shocked gasps and lustful cheers. You can barely make out the Emperors' enraged shouts over the din. None of it matters - your entire world has narrowed to the man before you.

Hanno clears his throat softly, breaking the silence. "I believe it's time you take your leave, girl," he says quietly, eyes darting between you, Marcus, and the imperial box. “Go home to your farm?”

The Emperors seem to recover from their shock, Caracalla's face contorted with rage. "Seize them!" he shrieks, but his guards hesitate, wary of challenging the legendary general.

Marcus turns to Hanno. "Are you with us?"

Hanno twirls his sword, "I've just been waiting for a chance to escape this hellhole. I'm with you."

Marcus nods, then turns back to you. "We need to move fast," he says urgently, pulling you to your feet. “Lucilla has already left to find refuge in the ships.” He grips your hand tightly as he surveys the arena.

The Emperors continue shouting orders, their guards now following their command, starting to close in on the three of you.

"We have to go – now!" Marcus shouts. “Barbarian, can you clear us a path?"

Hanno nods, a wild grin spreading across his face. "With pleasure."

tag list: @gothcsz @almostempty @joelmillerisapunk @untamedheart81 @lilac-boo

(tell me to add you or take you off or to go eat bricks!!)

big thanks to @creepycorbeaux for basically co-writing this chapter with me. I needed her.

and thanks @mrsmando for my beautiful mood board (it took me so long to finish this chapter because I would just stare at how perfect this fits their story)

#pedro pascal characters #smut #marcus acacius #long reads #marcus acacius x reader #fanfic #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #gladiator ii fanfiction #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacias x reader

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abusivelittlebunny · 3 days ago

Note

I want you to know I read your blog like the morning papers. I read your filthy tags and sip my tea while doing so. An excellent morning read.

Funny that because I also am sipping on my coffee as I scroll through content and reblog with my nasty input. Cheers for a horny breakfast ☕ idk what you're interested in most particularly but here you go anon

Continuing the previous ficlet...

Warning for A/B/O & mpreg

"I gotta pay you back somehow," Charles chuckled into the phone instead of starting with a normal 'Hi' or 'Good morning'; Max preferred things straight to the point, Charles knew by now.

"Read the news. It worked that well, huh?" Max snorted, audibly sipping on something; he must be struggling with the no caffeine for the baby rule.

"He was," Charles bit his lip to suppress his giggle, rolling around on his king sized bed like a smitten teenager, his bruised body aching all over in the most delicious way possible, "just wonderful last night. God, he hasn't fucked me this rough since Vegas."

"Hm, you're a freak as per usual," he could hear Max's eyeroll through the phone almost. "Hope you're not planning on waltzing around today showing off a blackeye and a busted lip."

"He knows better than to leave such obvious marks. Well, for now at least." Charles traced the prints left on his pale thighs; galaxies of pink and purple from the belt and Carlos' strong hands. His lips curled into a too wide Cheshire cat grin. "No guarantee what he will do when he finds out the little surprise I have in store for him."

Max was quiet for a minute, but Charles could hear him shift and sigh, the weight of his babybump making it harder to get up from a sitting position. "Please tell me you didn't do something petty like key his car or take videos of last night with him beating the shit out of you for blackmail purposes. I can see a lot of speculations already about the belt; you better stay indoors if you don't want your soon to be husband to get publicly stoned by your fans."

Charles' hand caressed up from his thigh to his belly, rubbing gentle circles into his skin while he listened to Max. Instead of answering directly he hummed a coy question of his own.

"I really liked that little onesie you got from Checo. The baby blue one with the white stripes and cats. What brand was it?"

A pause and then Max spoke carefully, "I'm not sure I got a ton of baby clothes and stuff gifted to me in the last few weeks, I gotta check. Why?"

"Do you already know what you got? If the baby is a girl or a boy I mean."

"Charles, what are you on?" Max sounded irritated now, and Charles could hear him open up the fridge, no doubt looking for a sweet treat to make his overly hormonal mind calm down. Charles gifted him a whole freezerful of ice cream when Max first broke the news to the press; Max at first rolled his eyes at it but now he was munching on Charles' gift every day, his hips and tits growing even more plush as he entered the seventh month. "You know my stupid fucking gender reveal thing is not due until a month, you got fucking invited to it."

"I know, I know, just wondering. You can really tell the gender of the baby early these days. I admire that patience of yours." Charles traced his teeth with his tongue, unable to keep the grin from showing in his voice. "I couldn't wait to learn mine was a boy."

A clatter, a bang, and utter silence followed on the line. Charles hasn't told anyone yet, only received the news two days ago himself by his doctor doing the ultrasound. A strong healthy boy has been growing in Charles for the last twelve weeks.

"I just wanted to know, you know, that onesie was so cute I really envy the-,"

"Charles." Max cut his giggly rambling off with a strained voice, clearly trying to compose himself from the shock. "Don't tell me you-, you have to be kidding, mate."

"I told you, didn't I? One way or another, Carlos would have no other choice but me." Charles rolled out of bed and watched himself twirl in the wall length mirror. His belly was still completely flat, he was barely in the third month after all but he pushed his hips out and imagined how it will look stretching with his baby. He knew he could pull off a stylish pregnancy look, not get so soft and careless about it like Max. "He was always going to be the father of my children, and his transfer to Williams was just an unforseen bump in the road but nothing that could take his role away from me as my future husband."

"Does he-, oh my fucking God, Charles, how did you... Charles. What did you do?" Max wanted to sound stern but his voice was shaking a bit.

It was sweet of him to be concerned for his friend's career, he knew he'd be due in the middle of racing season, making him unable to compete. Max has already confirmed he'd compete in the second half of the season, basically robbing himself of another championship, but he told Charles how he didn't plan for his pregnancy at all either. He still didn't say who the father was, and Charles doubted he knew really.

Between Daniel, Checo, Fernando, Horner, and whoever else has found their way between Max's thick thighs, the babydaddy would remain a mystery, Charles mused.

Not that he was overly judgemental or Max giving up his cunt to any alpha that was into his bossy bratty omega ways, he admired it a bit actually for enjoying sex in such a carefree manner after he got enough championships under his belt that his daddy could no longer monitor his every waking move.

Besides, it meant he was in no danger of losing Carlos to him, since Max indulged in so many options. At first he was madly jealous, knowing Carlos had a very intimate history with Max, had proposed to him before too before Max's father shot the entire thing down. But Max reassured him they were just young and dumb, and Carlos left Redbull on his own volition not because Jos forbid him from ever seeing his son again.

They remained good although more distant friends, that's all. Just how Charles preferred it. So of course he'd be concerned and know that Carlos had zero clue about the baby.

"I stopped taking birth control about seven months ago, you remember? I got a doctor to sign off on it for performance's sake. So Carlos had to switch to condoms, and well-,"

"Don't tell me you fucking fished the condoms out of the bin, I swear-," Max groaned on the other line and Charles gave an offended squeak.

"Excuse you, I'd never do something so low, come on," Charles scoffed and waltzed over to his own kitchen for a sweet treat for himself, enjoying the soreness of his body with every step. "I just took a needle and pierced through the whole batch."

Max choked on the other side. He was coughing violently on his ice cream as Charles rattled on.

"I know, I know, it seems a bit much, but you know we were gonna have babies anyway, he knew I wanted some from the beginning, this is just a pleasant early surprise for him, you know? Just because he's in Williams now I can't let him think of other omegas as potential endgame, maybe even kick up our engagement." Charles scoffed opening a caramel fudge flavored tub. "Besides, you don't know how annoying it was, waiting for the birth control's effect to clear out of my system. He was giving it to me raw without knowing and I didn't get pregnant for weeks, it was fucking awful, not seeing the two lines. You never took birth control, did you? I know your dad was very strict on eliminating any performance reducing stuff."

Max was still wheezing softly, not saying a word. Charles felt a pang of irritation, thinking Max was judging him for what he has done. As if he had some moral highground, jumping from knot to knot for his satisfaction, not knowing who his babydaddy might be.

"Listen, I know you don't exactly approve, but still, we're friends aren't we? You're like my best friend, Maxy, you know I didn't do it maliciously. Carlos loves me. He will be delighted, I know. A bit mad at first, if he realizes the truth though, so please. Don't tell him, okay? This has to stay between us."

Max was quiet for a minute, then two before letting out a shaky sigh. "When will you tell him?"

"Not sure. Maybe after the wedding? But if he keeps pushing out the date I gotta tell him sooner. But I want it to be a public reveal. Make sure the fans see how happy and surprised he is; so they can see the wedding isn't happening because he knocked me up. I don't want them to think I forced his hand."

Max was silent on the other end of the line and Charles itched to know what he was thinking about. Sure, him and Carlos have been friends since childhood but their teen romance ended long ago, surely Max couldn't be jealous. He spent more time with Charles after all, barely ever interacting publicly with Carlos.

"Max, stop fucking judging me. You should be happy for me." Charles seethed on top of his kitchen counter, eyeing the clock. Carlos has been gone since before he woke up, but he should be back for dinner. He swallowed and took a gentler tone, "You know how much I wanted this. And now we'll be pushing our strollers side by side, and have little play dates with our kids together, go shopping, select kindergartens and everything. You won't be alone in raising your kid."

He hoped he didn't come across as too pitying, but still, Charles was the one between the two of them with a definite babydaddy.

"I know you've been having a tough time fitting in in Monaco since you moved here but I can help you with everything now while we're taking a break for our babies. It will be fun, I promise! It will be almost like they're siblings!"

Max was somehow even more silent on the other end of the line and Charles bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Max would come around, he just needed to settle his thoughts about the matter.

Charles felt a little insensitive; he didn't think about it until now but their wedding with Carlos would happen soon after Max's gender reveal party. And if he told the media about his own pregnancy right around the time Max gave birth, he'd overshadow him again. But maybe that was a good thing, Charles reassured himself. Max hated the headlines speculating about the father of his child.

"It will all work out, I promise. This will just strengthen our friendship and you won't even notice not having the father around, me and Carlos will be with you always! It will be so fun to raise them together and share their cute little clothes and-"

"I gotta go." Max hastily said, and Chsrles could hear the door of Max's bathroom open in the distance before he hung up.

Oh.

Charles mused to himself that maybe Max isn't as lonely as he thought. Of course all the alphas he was with would've been happy to step up as the father of his kid, but Charles didn't think Max was pulling towards anyone in particular in that regard.

Anyway, he was happy to know Max wasn't alone now. Maybe they could go out together baby clothes shopping once Max is calmer, just Charles, Carlos, Max, and his chosen alpha.

"Who was that?"

Max swallowed thickly and dropped his phone onto the counter, scoffing without answering the question, taking his ice cream as he walked back to the bedroom.

"Are you angry at me now?"

Max again didn't answer, just stood in front of the balcony and let the gentle late afternoon breeze wash over him.

A sigh behind him and then the tap-tap of wet footsteps approaching before a strong, tan, hairy pair of arms wrapped around him. Max grimaced at the feeling of cold moisture against his still warm body as he got enveloped in a gentle hug from behind.

"Not at you." Max finally sighed as he adoring kisses were pressed into the side of his neck, the stubble tickling his tender skin when his face was turned manually so he could receive some more kisses on his plump pouting mouth.

"Was that Daniel again? Or Horner? God, that pestering idiot won't let you breathe for a second." Max's robe was easily pulled down his shoulders as kisses rained down on him. They fucked three rounds already but that didn't seem enough to satisfy the alpha. "If the baby really is his, he'll make your life even more miserable."

"No." Max simply said, swallowing before putting hid treat on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I won't let him annoy you any longer-,"

"No, I mean the baby is not his." Max sighed, pushing the strong alpha body off of himself and moving back onto the bed. The alpha scoffed but followed, his mouth glued to Max's soft skin he loved so much; he's been more eager since the pregnancy started to show, instinctively attracted to the fertile omega beneath him. Max had a hard time peeling the man off of him now that he could fuck him raw as much as he wanted. Little did he know.

"You weren't so sure until now. If he does end up being-,"

"Horner is not the one walking around with busted condoms." Max snapped, eyes welling up with tears as he watched the alpha's brows furrow above him. "It's you, Carlos."

#dun dun DUUUN #the mess is messin #my fic #ficlet #drabble #charlos #carlos x charles #carlos x max #max verstappen #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #f1 #versainz

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lavenderprose · 6 hours ago

Note

Also, on a hornier note, please tell me more about the Mary Shelly thing? 😉

Assuming you're asking about the Emmrook version of events floating around my head and not the actual story about Mary Shelley losing her virginity on her mother's grave (This is a story I heard a long time ago and might be an urban legend/exaggeration of history. God I hope it's not it's the gothest thing I've ever heard. Either way, cannot be assed to check) Here's how it goes:

After a few nice garden picnics with Emmrich, during which Rook always takes a moment to pay her respects to Emmrich's parents--because she's a Mourn Watcher through and through, and when your in-laws aren't alive to have Family Sundays with, you make due by putting flowers on their grave and politely NOT bonking their son within eyesight of their headstones--the subject of Rook's origin story comes up. Maybe organically, maybe Emmrich's curious about her last name but he's been too polite up til now. Maybe the curiosity has been burning a visible fucking hole in his chest and Rook finally sighs and braces herself and says, "Go ahead and ask," and Emmrich, despite himself, launches into Twenty Questions Mode.

Either way.

"I know almost nothing about myself," is what Rook tells him, and she's made her peace with it long ago, but the sight of his sad eyes makes the old, stale heartache attempt to rise in her again. "No, don't do that. Don't pity me. I don't really care who I started life out as. What matters is who I am now."

"Rook," he says, and it's a statement. He's so intuitive that way. Yes, she's Rook, and that's who she chooses to be every day when she wakes up in the morning. If she tires of it, she'll tell him and they'll go from there. They've probably had this conversation before. Then he says, "I'm curious, dearest--"

"I'm shocked," she teases, and he tuts.

"Curious about the name," Emmrich sighs, and shifts into something she likes to call lecture mode, though it looks a bit ridiculous when he's sitting there on his own boot heels, hands folded in his lap like an eager and precocious boy. "The name Ingellvar is classic Navarran, of noble origin, though the family line has been extinct for over a century. Foundlings aren't uncommon in the Necropolis, and the naming conventions are rather specific. I was wondering--"

"Do you want to see it?" she asks, and leans herself onto his lap. He, as always, simpers to find himself full of her. "I know where it is. Been there a few times over the years. I'll show you the grave where they found me."

"I would quite like that," says Emmrich, so she takes him there.

The upper levels of the Necropolis are sometimes oppulent and sometimes just as dusty and ominous as their lower counterparts. They tend not to shift around as much, but there's no guarantee that anything in the Necropolis will stay in one place forever. Rook keeps track of this particular row of Sarcophagi, for obvious reasons. Several of the most important Nevarrans of the Blessed Age are interred here. Accordingly, it is beautiful and well-lit. The stones under their feet are neatly cobbled and the air is floral.

"They found me there," Rook says, pointing to a particular grave. A low, flat sarcophagus. The epitaph, huge and vaguely glowing even all these years after the initial enchantment:

HERE IS LAID TO REST WILHEM INGELLVAR COUNT OF RUNDEL. GREAT-GRANDSON OF KING BERTRAND PENTAGHAST. HUSBAND AND FATHER. HIS BONES WILL SERVE AS HE DID IN LIFE AS HIS SPIRIT WALKS BY THE MAKER'S SIDE.

It continues in that vein all down the sarcophagus, Nevarran patriotism and Andraste. Rook could recite it all from memory.

"Why this grave, I wonder," Emmrich mumbles.

"No idea," Rook says, which is true, and then, "Haven't really thought about it," which is the biggest, fattest lie she's ever told him.

Emmrich knows it too, because he looks at her and raises his eyebrow.

"Anyway." She slides herself onto the surface of the sarcophagus, which is polished to an almost reflective sheen. "Here's where they found me. Screaming, crying, wah-wah-feed-me." She falls onto her back, legs curled up towards her chest in a mockery of an infant. She wiggles her feet and her eyebrows in his direction. "I was smaller then."

"Evidently," Emmrich says, dryly, and sits down on the end of the sarcophagus. He glances around and, almost to himself, muses, "This chamber is quite busy, comparatively. It's popular for tourists, and close enough to the surface to be part of the Mortalitasi's regular rounds. Whomever put you here must have intended for you to be found."

"Whatever," Rook sighs, and drapes her legs over his lap. "I screamed and screamed until they found me. And the rest is history." She toes off one of her boots. "I have a fun story to tell you."

Emmrich visibly chooses not to address the flippancy with which she thinks of her own origin. Someday, maybe in a few years, she'll wake up in the middle of the night. She'll stumble like one of the dead into another bedroom in their top-level Necropolis townhouse and cling their newborn son to her body. When Emmrich finds her after waking to a cold bed, she'll look at him and with a voice like her own throat is haunted say, "Did she hate me enough to get rid of me? Or love me enough to let me go?" And he'll know she's talking about her own mother. And they'll start looking.

Here, on this day, she isn't yet a mother unless you count fire-slinging skeleton sons. Here, on this day, she plants her socked heel against Emmrich's crotch and curls her toes and says, "Once upon a time, there was a woman, and she was in love with a very beautiful and spooky man, and one time that very beautiful and spooky man fucked her in a sarcophagus and now she can't look at one without--"

"Darling," Emmrich gasps, and wraps his hand around her ankle and very decidedly does not move it. He'd put bangles there, and a chain that disappears into her sock and connects one of the bangles to a thin band that lives underneath the knuckle of her largest toe, and when he did so he looked at her with dark eyes and then did something with his mouth that she still thinks about at least once a day. "This isn't...very respectful of the noble dead."

God, she loves him.

"You've fucked me worse places. Besides, this guy," Rook slaps the surface of the sarcophagus, "was a huge monarchist asshole who's probably been spinning in his grave for the past thirty years because of the little elf girl running around with his last name tacked onto her. Maybe one of these days he'll stop spinning because I'll have a different last name." She's only a little amused that that's what makes Emmrich's cock jump against the sole of her foot.

"Dearest," he says, still consciously sitting still for what her foot is doing, "This really is a very highly trafficked area."

"Good," she says, low and slow.

"Oh," he sighs, and he sounds almost annoyed, like ink has dripped onto his favorite shirt, but he's moving to kneel between her thighs now, pressing her back into the relative concealment of the large flower bushes flanking the sarcophagus. A bit of privacy, such as it is.

"Whatever shall I do with you?" Emmrich asks, even as he shoves clothing aside. He takes off his coat and pillows her head with it, then pulls his shirttails out as some weird attempt at modesty, and she laughs until she feels him inside her.

"You'll figure something out," she tells him.

Emmrich Volkarin, the latest in a long line of esteemed Mortalitasi to be presented with a strange foundling discovered on a long-deceased noble's grave, smiles and makes love to her.

#DATV #Emmrich Volkarin #Emmrook

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timeclipsed · 2 days ago

Text

Hello hello hello to all my mutuals, and to all the ones I haven't followed back too! The last few days have been so hectic that I haven't had the chance to sit down and properly articulate my thoughts until now, so I hope you can forgive me for missing the mark a little here.

With this bummer of a year finally coming to an end, I know a lot of people are scrambling to find something hopeful to hear to give them faith for 2025. Reassurance, acknowledgement, kindness— anything to at least put a pretty bow on top of everything. Maybe some of you received that of which you were looking for, maybe some of you didn't and were saddened by it.

If I could, I would send every single one of you a personalized message telling you how much you mean and how happy I am that you are here with me. I suppose something more generalized doesn't have the exact same sentiment, but regardless I want to tell you that I see you, and that I care for you. Even if nobody else in the world has made you feel valued or seen, I promise that I do. You are so real, and so, so rare.

In the short time I've been here, this silly little community has become a home to me. It's always fun when things get chaotic, or when we're sharing promos, or talking about the same topics. Every single presence on my dashboard matters to me, because it creates an entirely new verse in this big, endless orchestral song we're all performing together. And every time we get a new player, with their own new instrument, I get so happy! No matter how minimal or fickle you think your contributions are, I hope you know that I appreciate them. You are beautifully articulate writers with intricately wonderful portrayals and uniquely valuable concepts/ideas. And you, in your own little ways, help to cultivate this community and make it into the exciting, welcoming place it is now! Whether you're an AU writer, or you're so canon divergent that sometimes your character doesn't even seem like the original thing, or you're entirely about OCs, or even all of the above, everything you do here is great! Thank you for being brave enough to share your thoughts with the world; with us, with me!

I may not know any of you very well, or have an idea of what you face in your real lives day-to-day, but beyond a shadow of a doubt I know that you're so brave for waking up every morning to face it and even still having the motivation to come online everyday and show us your most creative thoughts and visions! You're tenacious, resilient, and best of all you're you! You can take whatever this wacked out life throws at you and still stand tall to come back for more!

You know the craziest part? You faced that uphill battle head-on, a conflict you can only take one day at a time, and you won. Every single fight this year threw at you, you overcame. I am so proud of you! So, so extremely proud! Maybe you had days that didn't feel great or nights where you made mistakes that you regret, but those are leaps and bounds away now! Because you're still growing every single day! And now you're here, in the future!

Well, I could go on, but I won't take up any more of your time. I don't know if this is anything, or if it will matter much in the long run... but I do hope you all recognize that the sentiment is here, and that it's not going away any time soon (much like you, heheh, go you go!).

Thank you for being here, and for being you. Happy 2025!

#( WHEN THE CITY SLEEPS; OOC. )#ok to reblog if you want to <3

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wowbright · 2 days ago

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Chapter 18: Busy

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

You might expect an Olympian at the Olympics to be incredibly busy, but for Blaine’s first few days at Sochi, he didn't have much to do as he waited for the games to start besides unpack, tour the facilities, chitchat in Russian with any Russian who would speak to him, and play foosball in the lounge with Mike and Sam (who had become far less insufferable since the backflip incident).

Blaine wanted to go into Sochi proper and see if he could find any locals to talk to about the effect of all the new construction, but it was an hour drive each way—and even though he didn't have much to do, the few things he did have scheduled were sprinkled throughout the day. He slept a lot and practiced a little and managed to escape the Olympic village with a bunch of teammates long enough to go on a hike in the foothills. The park looked absolutely nothing like Garden of the Gods, but it reminded him of being with Kurt anyway, and he felt an ache in his chest that he simultaneously wished would go away and also wanted to wallow in because it was so new and precious. He snapped a photo of the waterfall and sent it to Kurt with a text that said Wish you were here and then immediately regretted sending such an unoriginal sentiment to such an original person, so then he sent another message saying I ache when I think of you and I love it and wondered if maybe that was too much but whoops he had already sent it.

I might be a bad person was the next message Blaine received from Kurt when he was back in the Olympic village. Blaine wondered if his texts from the park had failed to transmit.

What happened? Blaine asked.

Because I like the fact that you ache. It means I'm not alone in the feeling.

The feeling of missing you? Blaine texted, half flirtatious and half concerned that was what Kurt literally meant.

You’re cute, Kurt texted back. It’s not me that I’m missing. And then, a while later, Sue thinks I'm distracting you.

Ugh. So that’s why she had interfered with Blaine’s last conversation with Kurt in Colorado Springs. Not to talk about costumes or trip logistics. But to— Did she threaten you?

It took a few moments for Kurt to respond. Unsure. Her tone was kind of threatening, and she did say something about punching me in the face if I kept you from medaling, but she also promised to get me a kitty cat I would fall in love with if you didn’t medal. Sue is very confusing.

I'm sorry. It's my fault. It's because I was late to that meeting. But you're not a distraction. At least, not in a bad way. If anything, Kurt was an inspiration. Before Kurt, Blaine had been approaching the Olympics half-heartedly. And then Kurt had shown up, and by the simple act of being himself, he had helped Blaine remember why he had fallen in love with figure skating in the first place. The way Kurt’s eyes lit up when he had a new idea, the way he talked about the process of co-creation inherent in costume design, the obvious joy he felt in bringing a shared vision to life—it reminded Blaine on a visceral level that what he was doing was art, and art could transform lives.

When Blaine had been younger, his dreams had so much bigger than figure skating. He’d wanted to help people through his art. Giving people a respite from their day-to-day struggles by having something beautiful to look at was part of it, of course. But it was more than that. He’d wanted to be a person gay kids who were in the closet and multiracial kids who wondered where they fit in could look to and feel a spark of hope, knowing that there was someone famous and respected who was like them. That's why he wanted to be a champion—not for the bragging rights, but so he could inspire others.

Those feelings had motivated Blaine through most of his career. But recently, he’d lost sight of them. Maybe they got buried under all the dysfunctional stuff with Eli, or maybe it was a natural period of burnout after more than a decade of pushing himself and being pushed. In any case, he had stopped caring about winning. Sure, he told himself that he wanted to win. But deep inside, he had the niggling thought: What did it matter, who got bronze or silver or gold? Every year, the competitions came and went and the medals inevitably ended up with somebody. Why should he care if he was one of them?

Those doubts had haunted his performance in the seasons prior to the Olympics. The only thing that had kept him going was the challenge of adding more rotations to his jumps and trying to make the odd new spin combinations Sue kept coming up with work. In retrospect, it was a miracle he had medaled at all, and even more of a miracle he was now here in Sochi. Sam had been right about one thing. Blaine hadn't earned his place on the team. He was a second stringer who made it to the top three only by dint of someone more deserving getting injured. And even after his place had been secured, even with Sue doing every weird thing she could think of to motivate him, even after designing programs with the goal of reviving the energy and focus of his younger days—even with all that, he’d kept thinking that maybe it was his time to fade into the background and let the likes of Sam Evans and Yuzuru Hanyu take over the sport.

And then Kurt had shown up and put Blaine back in touch with his heart.

In those private moments in the costume room, they had talked about the boycotts and the media frenzy and how fatiguing it was sometimes, wondering if there would ever come a day when politicians who were failing to address the real problems affecting their constituencies would stop using random minorities as scapegoats. It was all so impersonal and calculating, and yet the effects of it were deeply personal, transforming real people's lives, making it harder to live and breathe and just get by in the day-to-day, much less to find happiness.

But somehow, Blaine was finding happiness anyway. He wanted to help others find it, too. It was the most beautiful sort of defiance, to live and love and create in a world that wanted you to believe you were nothing.

You inspire me to be better, Kurt. I don't know how I would do this without you.

You've done it plenty of times before without me.

No, I haven't. This time is different.

How?

Blaine wasn't sure how to distill it into words that would fit on a phone screen. Because I'm different and the world is different. It's about something much bigger than me.

I think I get it, Kurt texted. I'm glad I can be there for you. I want to be.

~~~

If anyone was a distraction Sue should be worried about, it was Cooper. Before that interview at the Olympic Training Center and every day after, Cooper had bombarded Blaine with messages like Whenever you want to make a public statement I'm ready. And even though Blaine deleted every one of them, he couldn't delete the pain of receiving them. But Cooper was so single minded. He put his entire identity into his work. When he'd been in the NHL, everything was always about the NHL. And now that he was sportscaster, it was all about that.

ButAll Blaine wanted from his brother was for him to be like other people's brothers, sending him stupid texts about the latest episode of Homeland or his obsession with playing The Last of Us or even, you know, wishing him good luck.

Blaine wanted to believe that Cooper meant well. That this was his way of reaching out and saying I see you, but I don't know how to have a conversation that does not tie back to my identity as a media figure, so even my best efforts at communicating with you in a supportive manner will be couched in those terms.

That’s how Cooper’s support had always been packaged. Back when Blaine had decided to come out publicly, Cooper had run interference with their parents. “Of course we support you, Blaine,” his mother had said. “But what you do in private should stay private. You know, you should talk to Brian Boitano before you do anything rash. There’s a reason he never came out publicly. It would have ruined his career.”

But Cooper, who had already been in the public eye for nearly a decade at that point, had used his career in the NHL to persuade their parents to support Blaine. If he didn't come out, Cooper explained, he would be plagued with incessant questions about if he was dating and who was his girlfriend, and he wouldn't be able to answer any of them honestly. And since Blaine was absolutely terrible at lying, the public would know he was lying, opening him up to rumors and speculation and scandal. If Blaine wasn't keeping any secrets, he wouldn't have to worry about any of those things.

Blaine shouldn’t look askance at that. It was the right thing to say to their parents. They wouldn't have been persuaded by emotional appeals or arguments about integrity and being true to yourself. Blaine had already tried those. And to be fair to Cooper, sometimes he actually could say something nice and supportive without referring back to himself. After that taxing conversation with their parents, Cooper had said privately to Blaine, “I'm so sorry our parents are like this. I can't imagine what it’s like for you. But I’m glad you’re my brother. Our parents need to stop being such homophobes. They should be proud of you for who you are, not just your skating. I am.”

And Blaine had thought Cooper was being a little harsh, because their parents weren't virulent homophobes; they were the milder kind, the kind that could have gay friends and be fine with it, but for whom having a gay son was inconvenient and disturbing because it upended their expectations for a daughter-in-law and grandchildren and heteronormative Christmas photos. They we're proud of him in their own way. But also, they would have preferred him to be more like Cooper.

But Cooper didn't need Blaine to be like Cooper. So Blaine had cried and Cooper had hugged him, and even Cooper cried a little, and Blaine hadn't felt this close to his older brother since Cooper first taught him how to skate.

Blaine wanted to believe that Cooper was trying to be supportive again, to offer Blaine the opportunity to say what was on his mind publicly so that it didn't seep out in unproductive ways. But what could Blaine say that would make a difference? His teammate Ashley Wagner had already told the Today show “it’s horrible the treatment the LGBT community gets in Russia,’’ and Brian Boitano had finally come out and been appointed by President Obama to the U.S. presidential Olympic delegation along with already-out Billie Jean king and Caitlin Caho. Weren't those pretty big statements in themselves? Blaine didn't know what words he could add. Maybe the biggest F-you he could give to Putin would be winning the gold.

The day Kurt was supposed to arrive in Sochi but didn’t because his flight was delayed, Cooper texted, You speaking up could help people.

If Kurt had been there—if Blaine had picked him up at the airport that morning and Blaine had sat contentedly in the corner of his hotel room as he unpacked and they had gone to lunch and then for a walk along the Black Sea—Blaine would have had someone to talk with about this. Sure, there was Mike, but he had his own pressures to deal with right now. And there was Sebastian, but they didn't really talk about this kind of thing. But with Kurt, Blaine felt like he could talk about anything, even the parts of himself he was unsure about and didn't understand.

It shouldn't only be that way with Kurt. Family was supposed to be like that, too.

This time, Blaine didn't delete the text. He texted back, You know what would help? If I could talk to you without it turning into a story. I want you to be my brother, not my interviewer. If you can't do that, stop messaging me.

~~~

That night, Blaine woke up only a couple hours after going to bed. He’d been dreaming about being with Kurt in the Garden of the Gods, only in this dream it was summer and warm, and sometimes the sunset shone through the rocks, lighting everything up in pink and orange, and sometimes it was night and the Aurora Borealis illuminated the dark with dazzling streaks of green and purple. Kurt had on short sleeves and an ascot—a tantalizing blend of skin revealed and hidden—and they were holding hands, and Kurt said something that made Blaine’s heart ache in that increasingly familiar, delicious way, and Blaine ran his fingers over the Kurt’s forearm and Kurt smiled and Blaine's heart overflowed and he said, “This is my home, Kurt,” and Kurt understood exactly what he meant.

Blaine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The curtains were flimsy, letting plenty of light into the room and Blaine’s eyes now that he had pulled his sleeping mask off. Inside him, another long-buried dream was awakening. Once upon a time, Blaine had dreamt of sharing his life with someone—really sharing his life, not just his bed and his body, but his hopes and aspirations, too. He’d dreamt of having a husband and creating a home that would nurture them both, a sanctuary where they could explore life together and bring out the best in each other, where every day Blaine would discover something new about himself and also be challenged to look beyond himself as he learned to understand the world through another person's eyes.

He'd gotten glimpses of that in some of his relationships. As a teenager falling in love for the first time, he’d been so open and generous and naïve. But with each breakup, he’d pulled his armor a little tighter around himself, always holding something back because he knew he would eventually get hurt, and the blows would cause less harm than if he never revealed the parts of himself that were vulnerable.

Around Kurt, Blaine didn't feel a need for armor. He wanted Kurt to see and know everything. And sure, that was risky.

But this time, with this person, it would hurt more to never take the risk.

Blaine lay in bed for ten minutes, maybe twenty, listening to Mike snore and thinking about Kurt, before realizing he was not going to fall back asleep anytime soon. His body was convinced it was early afternoon, and Blaine didn't feel like fighting it. It wasn't like he had to go to bed early and get up early like he did back in the U.S., anyway. All his slots were scheduled for late afternoon or evening. As long as he was adjusted enough to feel awake and revived for those, it wouldn't matter if he slept when it was dark or light.

Besides, Blaine had something better to do than sleep.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, tiptoed into the bathroom, and shut the door. It was a nice bathroom, with walls covered floor to ceiling in large twenty- by forty-centimeter tiles like you’d find in a fancy hotel—way more posh than Blaine had ever seen in a normal Russian apartment. He wondered if the people who’d been kicked out of their homes to make way for the Olympic complex would move in here after the games were over, or if the luxe bathrooms would go empty and unused while people who could benefit from them languished in substandard housing.

Blaine hated the Olympics sometimes.

He checked his phone to see if Kurt’s final plane had landed in Sochi yet. No. It was still in the air, and with customs, he likely wouldn't arrive at his hotel for another couple hours at least.

Which gave Blaine time.

He composed a text.

Sebastian, I have an idea.

~~~

“Before you check in, I have good news and bad news,” Sebastian said when Kurt stepped into the lobby with his customs-cleared luggage and the strong desire to take his travel frustrations out on someone. He just wanted to see Blaine. And obviously he’d known Blaine wasn't going to be here because it was the middle of the night, and that was completely logical, especially because they weren't even technically boyfriends or anything yet, and Kurt hadn’t even known Blaine a few weeks ago so really he should be able to survive just fine another day without him, but also Blaine made everything lighter and better and more joyful and …

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Kurt said. He figured whatever the bad news was, it couldn't be that bad: Blaine was alive and healthy; they'd been sending each other flirty and suggestive texts about their mutual versatility just minutes before when Kurt had still been in taxi. “Why are you even awake?”

“I'm awake because I love the nightlife, and I like to boogie. Also, it can’t wait. You’re staying in my room.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Well, it's a suite, technically. One door, two rooms. I'm being nice and giving you the bedroom with the door that actually closes.”

That was better than sharing a single room, or much worse, a bed. As long as the sheets had been changed since Sebastian had last used them. But— “I've been through four different airports in two days and you probably thought I was thrilled to be rerouted through Charles de Gaulle since I actually speak French, but in Munich they have sleeping pods you can rent, where in Paris it was just benches or the floor, and I missed my flight in Belgrade and the next one was late and they made me go through customs just so I could go to a hotel and shower and sleep in an actual bed for a few hours, and I’m starting to get a tiny grasp on Cyrillic but that doesn't really help when I don't actually know what any of the words mean, and I tried to sleep some more on the airplane to get adjusted to the new time zone but the turbulence was insane and also the person next to me was eating cayenne covered edamame even though they clearly couldn't handle the heat because they coughed every single time they swallowed and kept asking the flight attendant for more milk and water, so of course every time the seat belt lights went off they were climbing over me to get to the bathroom, seriously I don't understand how a four-hour flight can be so miserable but I hate people and I hate everyone and I'm supposed to have my own room.”

Sebastian smiled. He smiled. As if Kurt’s irritation was amusing. “Look, I'm not thrilled about this either. But somehow among the most expensive Olympic preparations the world has ever known, somebody forgot that the media would need housing too. All the hotels are overbooked. They gave your room to somebody else when you were flying over the Atlantic.”

“Fuck me.”

“No. But that brings me to the good news. Turn around.”

“Oh, yippee. A bar. I don't want a drink, Sebastian, I want— Blaine!"

Blaine was there, in the bar, smiling at him. Blaine. With his sparkling eyes and his hair that Kurt longed to touch and his beauty and kindness and generosity. He was real and physical and here. Kurt forgot that he hated everyone in the world and just wanted to be alone—or rather, a switch flicked inside of him and he no longer felt that way, because Blaine was a person and Blaine was beautiful and Kurt wanted to be with him. He abandoned his suitcase with the still-chattering Sebastian and almost ran across the lobby, his heart pounding from nerves and excitement and something that felt an awful lot like love and probably, in fact, was. No, not probably. Kurt had already known falling in love with Blaine would be inevitable. Here it was.

“Care to join me?” Blaine said, his expression radiant with hope and a little shyness. “I know you've had a long trip, so if not—”

“Of course I do,” Kurt said, sitting across the two-person table from Blaine and touching his shoe to Blaine’s. “It’s been too long.”

“Ahem.” That was Sebastian, holding on to Kurt’s suitcase and setting a keycard on the table. “I'm going back to the room for a minute anyway, so I guess I'll deliver your luggage there, Mr. Hummel. And then I'll be going out for a few hours. You know, in case that information is relevant to you.”

Blaine turned pink. It was precious. “Sebastian, you don't have to—”

“I have a life too, you know. I’ve made plans. The dance scene here is off the chain. The snowboarders know how to party, unlike some Olympians I know. Da svidania, boys.”

And then Sebastian was gone, and it was just the two of them, and Kurt wasn’t tired anymore.

#Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU #wowbright writes fic #december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 14: busy #klaine fanfiction #my klaine advent

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shadowsingercassia · 2 days ago

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Thank you for the tag @anarchiii !! ❤️

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

I haven't posted anything on AO3 and I don't think I have an account either but that's only because I have no idea how to use it 😂

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

25! (If I counted correctly)

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Well I have a series that I stopped updating so that's one (?) and a part 2 to a fic I have so... that makes it 2 (I think...) 🤔

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

So I have two 🙂 (a little bit of rambling):

First is my The Gate To Home series! It was everything for me, I really don't know how I got through it and even if I hadn't prepared it properly so many people loved it and supported it until the end (I love you all smm ❤️)

Second is The Day Hope Died! This fic has a special place in my heart because when I'm having a hard time, I write and this is the only fic of those that I had the courage to post. The feelings there, the angst are a representation and a reflection of my own that day (I'm alright now for anyone wondering!)

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I think that Genuine Poetry is a type of fic that I don't usually write and that is purely because of the poem I put in the fic (I had never written a poem in my life before that)

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

So Masked Christine of the Opera surprised me with its ending, I was not expecting that plot twist to settle into my mind though rereading it, it's not great, but the rest of it is very special to me 💕 another thing I was surprised to see when I finished writing it is that I actually wrote it in third person and I hadn't even realized 🥲

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Again it's Masked Christine of the Opera, I really loved writing it and I'm going to say it, it's a great fic although the ending is a little bad (I really had thought it was good 😭) it just has my heart ❤️

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

I really have a lot of artists that have inspired me to make my own art (even if I'm still a beginner) and for that I want to thank @dawneternal and @freyjas-musings

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

Alright I will yap so bear with me:

@scorpioriesling all your fics are incredible, I absolutely loved Too Hot To Handle and I actually binge-read it in September and I wanted to say I'm obsessed, same for the Invisible String and all your other fics! 🫶

@velarisdusk your fics are... mwah 💋 I don't even know where to begin your writing is amazing and truly I love you so much! This tag game was probably my sign to re-read all your fics 😂

@illyrianbitch I love each and every single thing you write, if I could have them injected into my veins I would do it 💓 (I'm also very glad you're doing well now 🥰)

@azrielslittleslut you quite literally inspired me to write an Azriel x reader fic because of how well you capture his personality 💙

@azrielsdove your fics mean everything to me, I've read each one twice and I'm planning on reading them all again ❤️

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

I've been on Tumblr for a little less than a year I think (me and my alzheimer that I don't actually have) but recently I have discovered @thelov3lybookworm (I know you are not a new author but I'm obsessed with your Lucien week fics and im currently reading all your other fics too!!)

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start

No, I haven't done any

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

In my writing, reading my first and latest fic, I'm proud because I've grown but I'm also proud because I had the courage to start so shoutout to my first fic Stupid Headache (you will always be my baby) 🥰

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Dont take it seriously (like in a way of dont view it as a competition). That's the most important thing I've learned. When I started, which was long before I got Tumblr (like when I was a teenager I wrote my first short story) and I took it so seriously, planning things obsessively, which is the reason I actually lost my passion but now I found it again and I'm very grateful for that 💞

14. What is your advice?

Well, I really don't know any good advice, I mean I'm still learning things everyday but I think my biggest advice is what I previously said, don't take it seriously, it's not a competition

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

I want to try and create an OC and maybe start writing more ships and less x reader but mostly I just want to write, that's my goal, not to give up on writing :)

note: again, thank you @anarchiii for the tag !!

no pressure tags: @really-fanny-longbottom @illyriassweetheart @azrielsdove and anyone else who wants to do this!

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

Thank you so much @velarisdusk for the tag! 🫶🏻

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

I don't have anything published on AO3 simply because I still don't know how to use it even though I do have an account. But here on tumblr, it's 92.878

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

49! I've never counted them before and never realized just how many they were omg

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Ongoing only Bound By Secrets. In progress apparently 10? I thought I had 3 WIPs. I completely forgot about the other 7 lol

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

UGH how do I choose one? A Helping Hand has a special place in my heart because it's the first fic I wrote and posted. Night and Days is one of my favorites because I love the banter between Azriel and reader, and I also have to mention Say My Name because omg I loved writing that one and I know I might be biased but I was giggling and kicking my feet while writing.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I'd say the first few things I wrote rather than one in particular for the simple reason that in Italian I tend to write very long sentences because it's normal, but in English sentences are usually shorter so it took a bit to get into that mindset. As for experimental, I'm trying to write a fic from two povs at the same time, sort of like an omniscient narrator. We'll see how it turns out.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Many fics surprise me while writing because I don't plan them out that much other than a few things I want to happen and then I see where the story leads me. As for reception, Bound by Secrets. I didn't expect so many people asking for a part 2! (I'll write it, I promise)

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

The Path To Healing and on a happier (and smutty) note Alcohol and Giggles. I cried writing the first one and laughed writing the second one.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

I love every single fanart by madschofield and elizianna.the.one!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

@writingcroissant was the first author I found on here, the literal reason I created an account was to read her fics, and @illyrianbitch was the second. I love everything they write and it made me want to write again.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@shedoessoshedoes and @duskandcobalt! I'm going to read all of your fics so don't be surprised if you see me in your notifications for the next few weeks 🥰

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start

Nope, no collaborations.

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Kinktober! I decided to do it two weeks before it started and didn't think I'd be able to write all 31 one fics but I did it!

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

When I started posting, I kept opening tumblr every five minutes to see if there were any new notes/comments/etc. Now I don't do that anymore. I still care about people enjoying my content of course and any kind of feedback is always super appreciated, but I don't need to continuously check to know that my writing is valid and good even if I get only a few likes.

14. What is your advice?

I'm the wrong person to ask this to, but I guess write what you like and what you want to read. I know it's basic, but never before I realized just how true it is. Feedback and appreciation for your work is awesome, but you have to be the first one to like it or it's probably going to turn out bland if you push yourself to write something you don't like or are not interested in.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Finish working on all those WIPs apparently lol. And I have an idea for a series that I want to work on as well.

No pressure of course, but if you'd like to @azrielslittleslut @anarchiii @shedoessoshedoes or anyone else who wants to do it!

#love you all <3 #<3

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