#i volunteer to be his first AND ONLY husband

[sexygayvampire]

been thinking about this for vervain all day and i have too many thoughts. spoilers for the endgame and apologies for length

trying to conceive of the future for vervain and the shadow dragons and minrathous and tevinter. after minrathous was seized by elgar’nan and the magisterium was purged, first of those who aren’t venatori by elgar’nan, and then later, inevitably, of venatori. the entire thing has to be rebuilt, doesn’t it? the whole magisterium? the whole system? dorian is archon, and there are changes he’ll inevitably make as quickly as he’s able—outlawing slavery, incorporating non-mages into the government, taking down the venatori for good, researching and documenting accurate histories of the imperium further.

which raises the question: if all of those things are being changed, how long is there still going to be a need for the shadow dragons as they are? surely dorian can’t fix everything immediately, and he’ll be met with resistance along the way. the venatori won’t just go away overnight, nor will the wealthy tevinter traditionalists who disagree with his policies. there will always be rotten and evil people in the imperium who need to be dealt with, and the shadows are always more than happy to deal with them however is necessary. but over the years, things do change, and the shadows start to redirect some of their activities. i imagine they focus on dock town to start, improving community infrastructure and helping people build new lives for themselves, and they branch out to other parts of tevinter over time. their work is still an uphill battle, but with dorian as archon and ashur as black divine, things can only get better. (i don’t even want to think about the logistics of the tevinter chantry during all of this, i’ve already given myself a headache here)

mae probably gets reinstated into whatever the magisterium looks like after being reformed, which leaves ashur and tarquin largely in charge. mostly tarquin, because ashur is… very busy with divine duties after the turmoil in minrathous. which is where vervain comes in. he gets officially put into a co-leader position a few weeks after the game ends, after many long days and late nights volunteering to do literally anything the shadows could possibly need instead of sleeping. tarquin needs the support, and v has basically been acting as a leader already anyway. mae still spends time at their hideout, but dorian is scarce, considering. v is the shadows’ primary go-between with other organizations in the north, and mullein (who is so fucking tired of being inquisitor of nothing and delighted to work with the shadows instead, even if he’s still using his old inquisition contacts and occasionally leveraging his position as the archon’s husband) connects them to the south.

dorian offers v a position working with him in the palace as a researcher or something, but he declines; he’s not cut out for bureaucracy, there’s not enough crime involved, and he doesn’t like the idea of wearing nice clothes to work. he upgrades to a bigger apartment in dock town so that emmrich can stay with him when he visits, but it’s still modest. he gives his old place officially to the kids who were basically living there already. he tries to avoid the fame and recognition that comes as a result of saving the world, putting any gifts he receives toward the shadows and dock town. even if things are gradually improving under dorian, it’ll always be a shit town full of liars and cheats, and he loves it more than anything. all he wants is to make it a little less shit. for the liars and the cheats, for the slightly less numerous honest people, for the kids growing up on the streets like he did.

v keeps in touch with the veilguard, though his communications with most are sparse at first. he works closely with neve and the threads in dock town, and he visits lucanis in treviso when possible to help with recovery from the blight. he helps bellara get in contact with dorian to compare research notes about arlathan, and he gets in on a lot of the research himself, though he insists that it be in an unofficial capacity. harding and taash are harder to pin down, but they exchange letters when they can, and he encourages them to meet him at the swan if they’re ever in the area. he regularly visits antoine and evka, as well as eldrin, to pay his respects to davrin and honor his memory.

as for his relationship with emmrich: they spend some time apart after the end of the game while vervain is focused on handling the complete upheaval in minrathous. emmrich comes by to visit once a week or so, to try to encourage vervain to get some sleep. (it sometimes works.) v hasn’t stopped working since he got back from the fade—there wasn’t any time to rest once minrathous was freed from elgar’nan’s control, and it takes several months, a number of strongly-worded lectures from tarquin and mae, and a lot of coercion from emmrich to convince vervain to take some time to recover. the shadows kick him out of the city (again) on a forced vacation, which he spends largely curled up in emmrich’s bed trying to process the past year or so of feelings. emmrich remains by his side throughout, dragging him out to the gardens to get some fresh air and helping him talk through things when he needs it.

they get married eventually, in nevarra. it’s a small ceremony with just their closest friends. v tries to convince hezenkoss’s skull to officiate. she tells him to go fuck himself. vorgoth does it instead.

vervain does some guest lectures in emmrich’s classes about his time in the fade and his experiences with demons. (he never went to school, so it’s a learning curve, but the students love him—and they love his stories about their professor kicking ass on the battlefield.) v still spends most of his time in dock town, but thanks to the world-breakingly convenient eluvian system, he and emmrich visit each other regularly. he also spends a lot of his free time loitering in dorian’s palace and bothering him for fun. he and emmrich both grow close with mullein, and v gets stuck repeatedly listening to the two of them nerding out about necromancy while he does the most obvious cheating at wicked grace known to man to see if either of them notices. (they don’t.)

manfred’s skill at magic improves, with the help of his two mage dads and his being a literal spirit of curiosity lending itself to relentless enthusiasm about his schooling. v takes him out to kill his first venatori and tries not to shed a tear of pride. emmrich gets mad at him for teaching their son to murder. v counters that it’s murder for a good cause. they never quite settle this argument. manfred is just happy to be included in his shorter dad’s hobbies.

and then they live happily ever after forever because i’ve spent too long on this and i don’t want to start making myself sad

guys since we're never going to find out what happens after veilguard tell me what your rooks get up to, if you say it it's canon now (tiny spoilers under the cut)

for my world state muireann and taash go spend some time with muireann's dad, start working for the lords again and go full autism mode about the devouring storm. after a lot of effort, taash successfully rallies the qun and some returning antaam, and becomes somewhat of a general alongside some other adaari. they do not like being in a leadership role but muireann is a good support for them. muireann calls in favours with archon dorian and the rivaini navy (who have let bygones be bygones about the dead noble because what she did at tearstone more than makes up for it). they also recruit the veilguard team back so they have big griffons, whatever is left of the wardens, bellara as a lead researcher, the crows, etc. aboard the wave sweeper (muireann's ship) they lead their navy across the sea to face the devouring storm. idk what the devouring storm is but i'll make something up if they don't tell us. anyway they win and spend the rest of their days exploring and adventuring, the end

[ralvezfanatic]

the reason rossi had like a million ex wives is cuz hes actually supposed to be with a man fr

[dorkicon]

bitching abt my job again

tags contain frank mentions of transphobia and homophobia

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and himself into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[fushitoru]

thinking about writing a reincarnated/isekai!gojo and reader series...

you and gojo were married in canon/jjk verse.

you’ve seen his mental health deteriorate because of the higher ups and how he’s perceived as a weapon and is a weapon. satoru’s mental health has been descending for a very long time, and by the end, when you’re soullessly watching his dead body projected by mei mei’s crows, you blankly volunteer to be next (ignoring all of kashmo's protests).

can anyone blame you? your life has no purpose anymore. you and satoru were never able to get the life you deserve. late nights spent waiting in bed for your lover, seeing the love of your life get burdened more and more from the weight of his responsibilities, and, in the end, even witnessing him volunteer his own body as if he were a doll, a weapon. you know damn well you're not going to spend the rest of your life replacing the flowers on his grave and try to reform the society that never even cared about satoru anyways.

you don’t last very long fighting sukuna, and you die, praying to whatever merciless god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved, that he wouldn't be the one that got away—

you wake up from your dream, gasping. you don’t know why it was so vivid; all you remember is that you were some kind of magician? like winx club? harry potter? hunter x hunter? and you had a husband and he WAS SMOKING HOT. also both of you died and you were kind of sad, because he was hot :(

so—as a college student—you head to your first lecture of the year. you’ve decided to switch majors and have to take this dumb math class that’s a gen ed and is filled with people. so you take one of two empty spots remaining.

the lecture goes on, until professor yaga rolls his eyes and suddenly everyone’s heads is turned towards the door, so you just follow the crowd.

and there he is.

a boy with the most stunning white hair and sheepish blue eyes upholding a charming grin, yelling out something undoubtedly snarky while taking his seat, some people dapping him up as he makes his way to the only seat—-the one next to you.

as he’s setting his stuff down, and he turns to look at you. blinks.

A breathless, “Hi.”

And then, your story begins again.

AHH COMMENT IF you want to be on the taglist <3

this is basically me giving you and gojo the rom com you deserve. does he remember you? did he get the same dream as you? and will he call the police if you chase after him, insisting he's your husband and the love of your life? stay tuned! prepare for angst (hurt/comfort), pining, and ridiculously horny reunion sex (at the end after i make you suffer and yearn, of course)

and to my bridgerton!gojo readers, i promise i will publish the first chapter only after chapter ten/eleven of bridgerton!gojo is out <3

[miryum]

Don't Pity Me, My Princess (Azriel x Reader)

With Azriel as your personal knight, it's getting harder and harder for both of you to ignore your feelings.

Warnings: whole lotta angst. Talk of children and childbirth because royalty need heirs, you know? Az doesn’t have his shadows (even though it was so hard to write him without them) but is still called Shadowsinger. Azriel's mother was abused and there's like, one sentence about it

Word Count: 5k

Azriel had lived at the palace since he was a young boy. His mother had knocked on the servant’s quarters one dark night, begging for someone to take her son. She could handle an abusive husband, but she couldn’t bear her baby boy to suffer the same fate as she did. An old maid took pity on the new mother and agreed to house, clothe, and educate the child. Just before the new mother left, she kissed Azriel’s cheek and whispered his name. “You’ll do good things, my dear. I am so sorry.”

Coincidentally, a couple months later, the Queen gave birth to an infant girl. Princess Y/n was heralded with parades and celebrations, the new heir apparent. Meanwhile, in the servant’s quarters, a baby with a thick head of black hair and small little wings was just learning how to lift his head, staring up at the maids and butlers who saved his life.

Azriel grew up preparing for the life of a knight. He remembered growing up watching the knights train as he played with his own wooden sword. He remembered beating his still-developing wings to try and see over the wooden barrier of the jousting arena. He remembered when the knights first caught sight of him, trying to hack away at a dummy. They teased him at first, but then, just like his entire life, they took pity on him. The next week, Azriel began training as a squire.

It was a long time before he earned his leathers and then his siphons, but the Shadowsinger became a name that was both respected and feared throughout the kingdom. The King sent him on missions all over the continent and Azriel always returned successful. He would fight in the jousts and consistently win. He had maidens and ladies swooning over him, but they weren’t who he yearned for.

That’s why he volunteered, almost a bit too hastily, when the King asked for extra protection over his daughter, Princess Y/n. 

Azriel’s mind was filled with you, almost every moment of every day. It couldn’t be healthy, that he was aware of, but having grown up next to you, even if from the shadows, he had forged a deep connection to you.

When he was young, he had hardly noticed the little princess completing her studies. He couldn’t remember a time when he saw her in the halls or at the training ring — which is where he most frequented. But one day, a year or two after he had turned a teen, Azriel had fought in his first joust. In any joust, it was customary for a knight to be sponsored by a lady of the court. A lady usually had a favourite knight she regularly sponsored, so Azriel’s stomach was in a pit when it was time to trot by for potential sponsorship. Who would ever cheer for the newest, youngest knight? Azriel sure could beat a village boy in combat, but he was still the smallest and scrawniest of all of the palace’s knights — if you could even call him that. He could recall his anxiety as if it was yesterday. The way the crowd was cheering, the way his horse’s hooves kicked up dirt underneath, and the way he began to sweat as he tried to sit straight. 

And then, as he passed the royal box, you stood. Azriel almost kept his horse trotting by, sure it was a mistake, but when he saw you extract your blue handkerchief, he pulled on the reins. By some fortuity or fortune, your handkerchief was the same colour as his siphon. He had just earned his first one the week prior. Through his metal visor, he stared, wide-eyed, as you reached down and tucked your handkerchief into the folds of his armour. The rest of the court was watching too, but Azriel didn’t see them. He could only focus on the way his heart sped up when you whispered, “good luck.” 

You were an utter vision. Azriel was sure that you had chosen him to be your champion because of the closeness in your ages, but your support, even if it was just a piece of cloth you had embroidered, meant the world. He hadn’t won his first joust, or his second, but you kept sponsoring him. Azriel became accustomed to stopping under the royal box and bowing to you before heading to his starting position. Sometimes, especially if it was an important event, you would have a new handkerchief for him, or even some whispered encouragement, but Azriel didn’t need those things as long as he could keep making eye contact with you. And then he started winning. He could still hear your excited screams as his javelin hit his opponent straight on, which gained Azriel the championship. It wasn’t unusual for members of the court to get invested in the jousting, but others found it humorous that you were jumping from your seat to see better. However, you were only a teenager, and they knew you would soon be able to control your emotions. 

You had not-so-patiently waited for Azriel to bring his horse back around to the royal box after doing a lap of the stadium. People had thrown flowers and kisses and Azriel had shed his helmet, his cheeks hot from both the exertion and attention. When he saw you, he bowed deeply and handed a flower that someone had thrown to him. It was a small red rose. Your gloved fingers brushed his as you took the flower. His black hair hung over his face as he ducked his head. You made a mental note to have the barber stop by the barracks. “My Princess,” he muttered, head still bowed. “Thank you for choosing me as your champion, all those months ago.”

“Well, Sir Azriel, it certainly paid off, didn’t it?” you replied, smiling down at him. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” You nodded to one of your handkerchiefs that was tucked in the chink of his armour, right above his breast. 

That was the past. And now, Azriel had the glorious opportunity to stand in front of the King and Queen, multiple siphons displayed proudly as he suggested his own name for the position of your bodyguard. Your childhood knight was retiring, something everyone thought was best as his wit, speed, and strength declined. That opened up the position. The King and Queen had called for the Shadowsinger’s opinion and he gave it, however biased he was with his feelings. “Your Majesties, I believe that the best thing for this kingdom and your daughter would be if I offered my services.” 

“And why is that, Shadowsinger? Wouldn’t you rather be sent on missions and participate in protecting our kingdom?”

“With all due respect, my King, the princess is the face of the kingdom,” Azriel said, a knee pressing against the floor of the throne room. It hurt, yes, but he could handle it if it meant sparing you the pain. “The people love her, but that also means many hate her. There are too many dangers, especially with other kingdoms threatening to encroach on our borders. I would be able to protect the princess, and you and the Queen, more efficiently if I was her personal guard.”

The two monarchs exchanged a look before the Queen nodded. “Very well, then. You’ll assume the position effective immediately. You shall accompany Princess Y/n to events and daily excursions. You’ll be briefed more extensively later this week.”

Azriel nodded and stood. He thanked the King and Queen and hurried out, trying to conceal his budding smile.

“Do you remember all the signals?” you called from your dressing room. 

Azriel was standing outside, content to just listen to your voice, but he replied, “yes, my princess.”

“And you’re wearing your dress uniform?”

“Yes, my princess.”

“Are all the other guards as well?”

“Yes, my princess.”

The door then opened and you peeked out. “And are you sick of me asking you senseless questions?” you asked, an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Never, my princess,” Azriel answered softly, eyes holding yours. “Are you almost ready?”

You ducked back into your dressing room, voice floating out again. “Almost. I believe we just need some more hairpins, yes?” Your maid responded in an affirmative and a couple minutes later, the door opened once more. There you stood in a cobalt gown that cascaded down to the floor, hair all done up, and jewellery proudly displayed on your knuckles and upon your collarbone. It didn’t escape Azriel that your dress was the same colour as his siphons.

Azriel had spent years serving under the King and Queen, honing his emotions to be the stoic force he needed to be. But, with you in front of him, he found his resolve cracking. His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Do I look that horrible, sir?” you teased.

The guard immediately shook his head. “No, my princess. Quite the opposite, in fact. You…” his jaw tensed. “Those princes and dukes will be tripping over their feet.”

As much as Azriel would love to pretend that you were his and he would be the only one accompanying you tonight, he knew that this ball was for a very specific reason, and one he did not like. Your parents needed you wed, and it couldn’t be to him.

Nobility and court members alike knew to avoid Azriel when he was watching you. You were on your fifth dance with the fifth man and Azriel made sure to walk around the dance floor as you moved, always being as close as possible.

The moment Azriel had known he was to be your new personal knight, he had created a series of hand signals for you to use covertly. He was always on the lookout for your well-being and thankfully, there had only been a few times when you had needed to use the hand signals.

Months prior, your parents had held an anniversary ball for their marriage. You were a bit younger, more naive, and Azriel had only been your personal knight for just under a year. He had loved every moment of it, but he couldn’t help but feel a budding sense of anticipatory fear as he saw you twirl around the dance floor carelessly. You had one of your younger cousins in your arms and was spinning them around to their delight. While Azriel wanted to imagine a smaller child in the stead of your cousin, perhaps one with dark hair and your eyes and little wings that replicated his own, he was more focused on the older man that was watching you.

A measly Count from further South, the man looked twice your age and three times as intoxicated. He stayed on the outskirts of the celebration, but the Shadowsinger was not one to miss something.

When the Count approached you after your dance with your cousin, Azriel didn’t intervene. He couldn’t act only on a suspicion that the Count was malicious. And he wouldn’t act without your express approval.

But then he saw you twist the ring on your pointer finger.

When Azriel had first become your bodyguard, you were unsure if you could remember all the signals he had wanted you to memorise. A deeper fear, admittedly, was that he wouldn’t be watching and then unintentionally leave you to your own devices. Azriel was determined, however, to never waive your trust. He immediately came marching in, whispering something meaningless into your ear under the guise of matters only you, the princess, could attend to, and swept you away. A dirty look was thrown to the Count and Azriel made sure never to let you near him again. In fact, the Count was barred from any and all future events.

Meanwhile, you had finished your dance with the nameless suitor and Azriel already had an arm stretched out for you. You took it gratefully, needing a respite from all the men giving you unabashed stares. “I really do hate this,” you said to him as he guided you away. “I don’t see why they’re even letting me choose my husband if he will be from this very specific pool of men. At this point, it would be easier to simply betroth me to whomever they see fit.”

“You know my feelings on that, my princess,” Azriel replied. “And I’m sure your parents feel the same. They wish for you to have some sort of semblance of choice and happiness.” Even if it is not with me, the man who would worship you.

You sighed and looked down at your feet. “I know, good sir. But it’s tiring, as I’m sure you can realise. I’d much rather be in my room, engaging in the arts or taking a nap.”

Azriel couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh, one that drew your lips up into a brilliant smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure you would.” He paused and then looked down at you. You looked so perfect on his arm and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep you there. “Here’s a proposition: if you survive the rest of this evening, I will dance with you.”

Your eyes immediately light up and Azriel swore the stars themselves burned brighter, pledging their allegiance to you. God, you were like ambrosia in his veins and how he wished for it to keep flowing. “Really?” you gasped. Azriel had been very conservative in his dances, even though, unbeknownst to you, he would dance on forever if you asked. But whenever he held you in his arms, it was too intoxicating. Too dangerous. He was still the Shadowsinger, even if he was sworn to protect you. The hands he held you with had been the notorious cause for so much pain. The thought of telling you about his past missions… It scared him more than imaginable. Those memories were ones best kept locked away within the shadows. He didn’t want you to think of the people he’s hurt – of the suffering he had caused – when you looked at him.

So all he did was nod back, smiling the soft look only you could bring out.

The night slowly wore on, the candles flickering over the walls, bidding the departing guests farewell. And still you stayed. Even as the moonlight rose above the windows and the maids and butlers slowly began cleaning up, you stayed. Only the musicians remained as Azriel led you to the middle of the floor. There was an unspoken trust between you and the musicians, knowing they wouldn’t tell your parents (who had already gone to bed) about your singular, last dance with your knight.

Easily, you placed your hand on his shoulder and Azriel’s palm flexed on the small of your back. The way your dress swished softly was a small distraction from the thoughts swirling in Azriel’s mind. He drew your joined hands closer to his chest as he thought back to how you danced with those other men. As if you knew he needed comfort, you stepped closer to Azriel, resting your head on his chest and eyes closing with exhaustion. His arms automatically wrapped around you, holding you tightly – almost protectively – as he let his cheek rest on your hair. His eyes softened and he murmured, “tired, my princess?” 

“Over a multitude of things,” you replied. 

Azriel tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “A multitude of things?”

“I almost wish I didn’t have to marry,” you admitted. “It’s not as easy as it seems in the stories. I need to take alliances into consideration and the happiness of my people. Along with wealth, resources, and good blood. My feelings hardly add into the equation, even though I want them too.” You then shook your head and changed the subject, a teasing smile on your lips. “Has anyone complimented your wings before?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“No,” he responded, a bit hoarsely. “No one has.”

You hummed and shook your head. “They should.” Your eyes trailed down to your intertwined hands before giving his palm a small squeeze. His burn scars marred his skin, contractures stretching over his hands and arms and small keloids by his wrists and creeping up to his elbows. Azriel winced slightly at the pressure of your hand on his scarred skin, memories of the pain flooding back. He tried to hide it, not wanting to ruin the moment, but a flicker of discomfort crossed his features. You instantly lifted your hand slightly to give him reprieve. Azriel wished for the contact back, but he knew he was the one to blame for the lack of touch. He was the one to make you flinch away.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, trying to bring the conversation back to his wings. "You’re the first.”

“I’m privileged then,” you murmured as he spun as the music lilted. “Though it truly is a pity.”

As you spun around, Azriel's wings extended instinctively, the iridescent membranes catching the moonlight. He held you close, ensuring your balance, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to revel in the beauty of his own wings. They were a part of him, and something he couldn’t imagine living without. He watched you longingly as you twirled in his arms. His eyes followed the movement of your gown as you twirl. When he had you pressed close to him once again, he replied quietly, “is it really a pity, my princess?”

“They should’ve been complimented — all of you should’ve been complimented a thousand times before now,” you corrected yourself quickly, thumb sweeping over his hand where yours was placed on top of his. “You don’t see how amazing you are because you hide behind your scars and memories. But you’re the best knight I’ve had.”

The words carved him open deeper than any blade, striking into the insecurities he held. The sincerity in your voice and the gentle touch of your thumb on his hand made something in his chest ache. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. The idea of all of him being complimented, rather than just specific parts or aspects, such as his fighting ability, was a foreign concept. He glanced down at you, eyes filled with sereness. “All of me?” he asked quietly, his voice rough.

You nodded with a caring, hopeful smile on your face. Maybe he would finally see how sensational he was.

Eventually, you came to a stop, standing in the middle of the room. The musicians finished their song and quietly packed up, leaving. Yet, you and Azriel were still in each other’s arms. Azriel continued to hold you, savoring the moment. He relished being able to hold you like this, without anyone else around. 

“Do you truly pity me?” he wondered.

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered out. “I would never be able to pity the man who devoted his life to me. I would never be able to pity the man who devotes himself to me. And I don’t think I have it in me to pity the man whom I truly care for.”

For a brief moment, he stood rigid, unused to such easy affection. Then, his wings unfurled slightly, wrapping around you both like a cocoon, shielding you from the world outside. “As I you, my princess,” he allowed himself to say, scared that if anything more were to come from his mouth, it would be a declaration of unwanted love.

“Will you ever call me anything else?” you couldn’t help but tease, looking up at him.

Azriel smiled back down at you, hazel eyes warm with love. “No, my princess.” The night was silent, but Azriel didn’t want to be. His lips parted to tell you something, but when your eyes darted down to them, he found himself asking, “have I yet praised your dress?”

“You have,” you laughed. “But it’s kind of you to do it again. I wanted to match you, you know?” You reached down and pulled your dress to the side to reveal a glittering sheen of fabric under the thick cobalt fabric.

Azriel’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Beautiful, princess,” he admired sincerely once again. “It’s an honour to have you wear my colours.” He repeated the words you had said to him all those years ago.

“I’ll always wear your colours,” you replied. “You’re my knight, after all. Ever since I was young.” Your hand slid up his chest and wrapped around his neck, thumb brushing against his skin and along the hair by the nape of his neck.

The Shadowsinger couldn’t contain his shiver. “Must you, my princess?” he breathed out, voice rough.

“Must I what?”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut and his head dipped down, nose brushing against your forehead. “Must you marry some duke or prince?”

It took you a while to respond and Azriel’s heart only beat faster each second that passed. “No,” you admitted quietly. “But my parents would like it. They won’t have me marry a commoner, but… I could very well marry a knight.”

“Princess…” Every part of his soul seems to be reaching out, grasping for you. His grip tightened slightly, holding you against him as if he feared you would be ripped. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your waist. There was a vulnerability in his eyes – a desperate need for confirmation that the words you said were real. “Do not give me hope if you plan on tearing it away. It is too cruel of you.”

“So it’s true,” you muttered. “You have feelings for me?”

“I am not brave like you,” he instead said. “I’ve been your loyal knight for years, my princess. But I couldn’t bear to make myself a liability to your heart. I couldn’t do that to you. I care what others think of me, as much as I hate it. They cannot pity me, I cannot have it so.”

You shook your head sadly. “Sir, they do not feel sorry for you. No one does, especially not me. You’ve protected me for so long, you’ve more than earned your place here by my side. This isn’t some fanciful notion born of youthful indiscretion. You and I both know that. This is a mature, considered love that, hopefully, you feel too.” Your voice cracked as you continued and tears shone in your eyes. Oh, how Azriel hated to be the one to cause you such pain. “My love for you, as you are, flaws and all, is why I adore you so deeply.”

The man couldn’t bring himself to say anything. What did one say when the love of their life confessed feelings?

You couldn’t see the way he gazed down at you, almost lovingly. You stubbornly kept your cheek on his chest, trying to minimise the way your cheeks heated up. Why wasn’t he saying anything? But you were already so far in, so you couldn’t help but whisper, “you would do most anything for me, correct, good sir?”

“Within a heartbeat.”

“Do you mind if I demand something from you?” you asked.

Azriel chuckled softly at your question, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. He tilted his head curiously as his fingers traced small circles on your lower back. “What did you have in mind, my princess?” he asked, his voice low. “I'm curious now... What could possibly entice you enough to make a deal with the devil himself?” 

“Oh, the devil himself?” you repeated, shaking your head as you laughed softly. Somehow, he always managed to make you feel better, no matter the embarrassment that coursed through you. “Is that what you truly think of yourself?” You smiled up at him, not answering his question as you tried to find the courage to do so. Finally, you whispered out, “a kiss.”

Azriel's breath caught in his throat at your whispered confession. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, hardly believing what he heard. He could feel his heart skip a beat, like a leaf in the wind. You looked so small in his strong arms, so hopeful. “Is that all you would ask for?” he finally managed to ask. His wings twitched a bit.

You gave him a weak smile. “Yeah. That’s what I would demand.”

He stared down at you, taking in every detail of your face - the slight parting of your lips, the wide-eyed gaze, the flush creeping up your neck. He could feel the tension between you, thick and electric, like the air before a storm. His hand slid up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. Gently, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Just a kiss,” he repeated, his voice a low rasp. “Nothing more?” 

“Ignorant knight,” you whispered out once, laughing.

“Is that still what you want?” he asked again desperately. His heart hammered in his chest so hard it made him dizzy. His eyes traced over your face over and over again. 

“Oh, Shadowsinger,” you muttered, shaking your head in amusement. You reached up and cupped his face in your palms. “Why won’t you kiss me?” You reached up on your tiptoes before slowly connecting your lips. 

Azriel had been struck by lightning. Every nerve ending in his body came alive, sending sparks of pleasure through him. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, scarcely able to believe what was happening. Then, with a low groan, he melted into the kiss. His hand came to cup your face tenderly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. He poured all his pent-up longing and affection into it, trying to convey without words just how much you mean to him.

From the sheer intensity of it, your knees weakened under you, but Azriel quickly wrapped his arm around your waist to hold you securely against his chest. You tilted your head and it felt like a dream. But he didn’t need to wake up because you were real. You were there, loving him fully and kissing him sweetly.

Azriel laid in bed, body and wings curled around the smaller form. His eyes blinked slowly, gazing down reverently at the infant. The baby had small wings that were almost exact to Azriel’s own. They had made the birth difficult and Azriel had been about ready to break down the door when he heard your screams. He hadn’t been allowed in the room, even though you had begged for him. Your cries had brought him to his knees and replaced the nightmares about his past missions with ones of your sobs.

Nevertheless, you had accomplished the horrible feat and Azriel had rushed into the room. He had first checked up on you, hands and anxieties flying about, kisses being placed on the skin that he could reach. Then he saw his little son, whom he now held in his arms. 

You had recuperated over the months, but it never got old to Azriel to hold his child. It never got old to hold you either. The moment he had gotten his child in his arms, so unbelievably worried about doing harm to him as he had done harm to so many others in his past, Azriel had asked for another. 

You had almost thrown him out of the room.

That first night, Azriel had held both you and child close to his bare chest, for the midwives had said that skin-to-skin contact was best. For the next few weeks, Azriel hardly put on a shirt (which you didn’t complain about), so it got normal to see the ex-knight pressing his son against his chest as he walked around the castle, as if giving the newborn a tour. The baby’s head fit perfectly in Azriel’s palm and more often than not, he would look up at his father with wide eyes that were so much like his mother’s, reaching out to grab at Azriel’s chin or wings.

The Shadowsinger had yet to be thrust into the life of King, for your parents hadn’t passed on, but for that he was grateful. It gave him more time to spend with his wife and child.

There was the creak of a floorboard and Azriel looked up to see you entering your shared bedroom. A smile instantly broke out on his face. “There’s my wife,” he murmured, reaching out with his hand that was adorned by the perfect ring. Its twin sat on your own finger. “My princess.” The words had such a sweeter connotation now.

“Husband,” you replied, having yet to get used to that word. You took his hand, and with a smile of your own, crawled into bed next to your son. “How are my two favorite Shadowsingers doing?”

“Oh, he shall not need that title,” Azriel hummed. “It’s much too dangerous for our little boy.”

“And what would you rather propose?”

Azriel gazed down at the small child, a hand ghosting over the boy’s thick patch of dark hair. “That’s for him to decide,” he finally said. “He will be able to make his own name and title and we will love him whichever path he chooses.”

After some blissful moments passed, you allowed some words to tumble from your mouth. “Are you happy, my love?”

“Of course.” He looked up at you, concerned eyes snapping away from the babe. “Why do you ask? Do you doubt my love for you?”

You shook your head, smiling. Your voice was quiet, worried about stepping over a line. But if almost two years of marriage had taught you anything about Azriel, it was that he never held secrets from you. “No, never. I just remember how, before we were wed, you were certain that everybody pitied you. I was wondering, do you still think they do?” 

“No,” your husband replied, eyes soft as he looked over at you. “Why would they? My entire world is here with me now. I hardly need anything else.”

Thank you so much for reading! This is my first ACOTAR fic so I hope I did Azriel justice. 😊 I wanna thank @pellucid-constellations for writing amazing Azriel fics and getting me into ACOTAR in the first place and just being amazing. (Also @illyrianbitch for posting today and giving me the excitement to post for Az) 😁

[what-even-is-thiss]

I think what Kamala Harris has going for her outside of her politics is that she’s 59 which is a pretty normal age for a president and her husband and step kids are fairly likable and successful.

She may want to get a pet if she doesn’t have one already. The American people like when the President has a pet.

This all sounds silly for me to bring up but in the US the president kind of doubles as both a political and spiritual (in a sort of secular sense) leader for the country modeling Good American Values. First Ladies and presidents’ children have historically had a lot of influence on a president’s historical reputation as a whole and on American society.

Her fairly likable family I think was a small but important part of her campaign a vice president, her step daughter even volunteering in the campaign.

Her situation as a mixed race woman married to a Jewish man might make her appealing to some voters. She’s a step parent, kind of has wine mom energy, and has a safe looking little family. And her husband Douglas Emhoff has made his thing as Second Gentleman fighting antisemitism which is something a lot of people care about.

And before any of you start going off about how a politician’s personal life shouldn’t matter, no duh. The politics should be the important thing. But having a likable family can get you far in American politics. It’s why politicians get their spouses involved in their campaigns so much. Being the spouse of a politician is almost always a full time job. It’s something to think about when trying to sell a politician to certain people.

People like my grandmother especially. She puts a lot of importance in her mind on the likability of a politician’s family, including the fashion sense of their spouse and if they own a small dog. She really likes politicians who own small dogs. Which is why I think that Harris should get a pet if she doesn’t have one. A lot and I mean a lot of people like keeping up with the lives of famous pets.

A big mistake that Trump made was he didn’t have any pets. He refused. People around him kept telling him to try and get a pet to make him more likable and he just didn’t. And for a lot of people the only thing they liked about Mike Pence was his rabbit. There was a whole last week tonight bit about it. Details like that matter whether we like it or not and I think that Harris is potentially in a good position to sell herself to several different kinds of demographics. If she gets a dog. If she has a dog she needs to put it in front of cameras more often because I’ve found no record of her having one.

[ahqkas]

♯ I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO MY DAD . . . for teaching me everything he knows ( dick grayson & jason todd as dads ! )

— fem!reader as mom, fluff, not edited, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

dick was always great with kids; his natural warmth, patience, and humor made him a magnet for them, even before he became a father. he often thought back to his days as robin, remembering how bruce wayne took him in and gave him stability, and he wanted to offer that same feeling ( and definitely more ) to his children.

when you two first talked about having kids, he was equal parts excited and nervous about it. dick worried about balancing family life with his vigilante responsibilities, but he couldn’t wait to start a family with you. he knew that no matter what, you’d face it together

your first child, a boy, inherits your husband’s bright energy and natural charisma. from the moment your son was born, dick was a hands-on dad. midnight feedings? no problem. diaper changes? a breeze ( well, almost ). he approached fatherhood the same way he approached everything else—with passion and a healthy dose of humor

he’s not just the dad who builds the coolest blanket forts or makes pancakes shaped like bats; he’s the dad who listens, encourages, and shows up, no matter how tired he might be after a long night of patrol. even when exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his kids come first. if his son wants to show him the new drawing he made, dick will sit down and marvel at it as if it belongs in a gallery. if his daughter has a nightmare, he’s at her bedside in seconds, stroking her hair and whispering how she’s okay and nothing’s gonna hurt her while he’s here until she drifts back to sleep

he’s the dad who remembers every detail about his kids’ lives—their favorite bedtime stories, their least favorite vegetables, the songs that make them smile—and makes sure they feel seen and heard every single day. when he’s with them, he’s fully present, setting aside his worries about blüdhaven or the weight of his world. to them, he’s not nightwing; he’s just dad, their safe place, the person they know will always be there no matter what

he teaches your son how to ride a bike, holding the seat steady as those wobbly first attempts make an appearance. “you’ve got this!” dick encourages his son, jogging beside him. when the first scrape happens—knees meeting pavement in a blur of surprise and pain—he’s there in an instant, crouching down with the kind of gentle urgency only a dad can master

his strong arms wrap around his son in a hug that says, i’ve got you, even as tears well up in the young eyes. he’s quick with jokes to soothe the sting, brushing dirt and pebbles off tiny palms. “hey, you know what? you’re officially a biker now. all the pros have scars to prove it.”

it doesn’t matter if he’s running on just a few hours of sleep or if his legs are sore from the night before. he’ll stay on that sidewalk all afternoon if it means helping his son find the courage to get back on the bike

when your daughter is born, it’s as if a new light ignites in dick’s heart, one that’s softer and warmer than anything he’s ever felt before. from the moment he holds her—tiny, delicate, and swaddled in pastel pink—he’s utterly smitten by the baby. his breath catches in his throat as her little fingers curl instinctively around one of his. it’s the smallest thing, but to him, it’s everything. he gazes at her with an awe that rivals the first time he stood under a gotham sunrise after a long patrol as robin

every little thing she does—every yawn, every sleepy coo, even the way she scrunches her nose—melts him completely. he’s the first to volunteer for late-night feedings, cradling her against his chest while whispering soft lullabies. “it’s okay, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if the sound of it alone could shield her from the world

she’s the spitting image of you, but she’s got dick’s sense of curiosity and mischief. as she grows, it’s clear she’s a daddy’s girl through and through. dick spoils her with affection, often carrying her on his shoulders or letting her “style” his hair, even if it means showing up to patrol with hair ties

she’s the one who always convinces him to stay for “just one more bedtime story,” and dick can never say no to those puppy eyes. he does all the voices, acting out scenes with a dramatic flair that leaves her giggling uncontrollably

family movie nights are a regular occurrence. dick lets the kids pick the movie, even if it means sitting through the same animated film for the fifth time. he doesn’t mind—he’s just happy to have everyone snuggled up together

. . . JASON TODD !

jason never thought he’d be a dad. gotham wasn’t kind to kids, and in his darker moments, he felt like it had swallowed the boy he used to be whole. he worried his own traumas—nights spent cold and hungry on the streets, the ache of betrayal, the sting of abandonment—might cast shadows over the kind of father he’d want to be. how could he teach love and trust when his world had been built on survival and second chances?

the thought of holding a child, so small and fragile, scared him more than any villain ever could. what if he didn’t have it in him to be the kind of dad they deserved? what if his sharp edges cut too deep, or worse, he failed to protect them from the city that had failed him? jason had spent so long fighting his way through life that the idea of creating a safe, warm space for someone else felt like trying to plant flowers in a wasteland. and yet, the thought of building something good—something untouchable by gotham’s darkness—stirred a longing in him he couldn’t ignore.

when you told him you were pregnant with your first child, he was stunned silent for a solid minute. then came the slight tremble in his hands as he cradled your face and whispered, “we’re really doing this?” you swore you saw tears in his eyes, though he’d deny it later

he threw himself into preparing for fatherhood. between patrols, you’d catch him reading baby books, jotting down notes in that same serious way he planned missions. ( “what the hell is a diaper genie, baby? is it a genie for diapers, or does it genie them away?” )

when your first daughter was born, jason held her for the first time with an awe. he whispered promises to her, things like, “you’ll never go through what i did,” and “i’m gonna give you the world, princess.”

jason’s daughters own him. his rough, serious ide of personality melts into a puddle of mush when they so much as giggle at him. one pouty face, and he’s done for

when they’re little, he becomes a human jungle gym. they’ll climb all over him, pull on his hair, and stick stickers all over his face while he sits patiently, letting them “decorate” him. ( “you’re turning me into a unicorn, huh? cool. just don’t let your mom take pictures—too late? figures.” )

as they grow, he keeps a close eye on everything, from their friends to the neighborhoods they walk through. he’s not overbearing but has serious dad-radar. if they so much as mention a creepy guy or a mean teacher, he’s all, “do i need to handle this? no? you sure? okay, but say the word.”

by age eight, they’ve both mastered basic self-defense, thanks to “daddy’s fun time karate sessions.” he makes it a game—lots of laughter and encouragement—but underneath it, he’s deadly serious

when they’re older, he teaches them how to change a tire, handle their own money, and, much to your exasperation, how to throw a punch. ( “jason, they don’t need to know how to disarm a grown man at ten years old!” “baby, it’s gotham. yes, they do.” )

he’s the kind of dad who makes pancake breakfasts on weekends, complete with smiley faces and way too much syrup

on father’s day, his daughters surprise him with handmade cards every year. jason’s tough demeanor cracks every time he reads their scrawled messages: “daddy, you’re my hero.”

and jason as a father to teenage girls? lord, help us all.

when his eldest goes on her first date, he plays it cool—for all of two seconds. he grills the poor kid with subtle threats hidden behind a charming smile. ( “so, you like my daughter? good. treat her right, or you’ll have a real bad night. understand?” )

you have to remind him not to tail them when they go out. “jason, they’ll know you’re following them.” “i’ll stay a block behind. they’ll never see me.”

but despite his overprotectiveness, he’s their anchor during tough times. when they experience their first heartbreaks, he is there with hugs, ice cream, and the kind of pep talks that make them laugh through their tears. “anyone who doesn’t see how amazing you are isn’t worth crying over. you’re the todd girl. we don’t settle for less.”

deep down, jason worries about failing them. he knows what it’s like to lose everything, and the thought of his girls experiencing even a fraction of that makes his stomach churn

[wandascrush]

Cornered

Warnings: kissing, cheating, flirting

After your first kiss with Wanda, sitting on her lap as she took your breath away, you quickly pushed her off and ran out the door. You weren’t a shy girl by any means, and you knew you two were playing a dangerous game, but really? A pastors wife? Wanda Maximoff, the doting wife and volunteer everyone looks up to? You were barely a sophomore in college, kissing a woman who’s married and in her 30’s like it’s no big deal. You had no business being involved in something this scandalous.

When her lips collided with yours, it suddenly turned into a big deal…everything was a big deal. You couldn’t be letting your fun feelings go too far, and besides, you were only here for the summer. Your feelings for Wanda weren’t real, it’s just a fling. Wanda, on the other hand, felt completely different. She knew that you wouldn’t stay in town forever, but that didn’t stop her from wanting you one bit.

She got worried when you didn’t show up for your special solo that Sunday, the one she found you a pretty dress for and did your blush and- even the thought of the kiss made her cheeks grow with heat. After service she waited at a lonely table while her husband chatted it up with all the families and other guests. Wanda got used to having your company, talking and laughing and giving you light touches. Her high status as the Pastors wife surprisingly didn’t leave her with many real friends.

When she got home, the first number she called was yours, sitting on the couch with a cold glass of iced tea and waiting for you to pick up. You saw her call, took a breath, and declined it. Funny enough though, you were still wearing the dress and her makeup…you just couldn’t take it off. The doting wife called you 10 times in the span of an hour, leaving countless voicemails.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s Ms. Maximoff…it’s Wanda. Please call me.”

“Why’d you miss your solo, we worked so hard on it?”

”We should talk about earlier…it was completely unprofessional and I’m sorry, honey.” “Call me back, or meet me at my house in an hour. I’d prefer your discretion on this.”

You decided to be a mature adult and drove over to her house, anxiously knocking on the door. The beautiful woman you’d kissed just hours earlier stood there, hair shiny and soft with perfect lips and- that’s not even what you were here for. Focus. “Please come in, make yourself comfortable,” she said as she took your coat and your purse.

You two sat across from one another on two separate couches, letting uncomfortable silence stir between you two. Then, you spoke, “I just want to say I’m sorry for earlier, it should’ve never happened and I-”

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. I wanted it…I still do.” “What-what’re you saying? Wanda your husband is a pastor and you work at the church and- I don’t even know what’s going on.” “For years I’ve been able to keep my desires hidden until you, Y/N. I don’t know why but I have to have you, and I know you want me too.”

“You’re married-”

“You think my husband doesn’t have his own flings?”

She sat on your side of the couch now, a finger gently running up your knee to your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine. You wanted her so badly. You needed her touch.

“No one would have to know.” And you said yes.

That’s how you ended up with your dress ruffled, makeup a mess, hickeys on your tits, and a phone number in your pocket that said, “Call me night or day- W.”

[leviathanspain]

hii 💌 can I request some angst with president!coryo & victor!reader, same plot line as tbosas basically, he was once her mentor & now she’s his first lady

except the quarter quell with former victors happens earlier & he deliberately leaves her name out but she ends up volunteering instead

his first lady

coriolanus snow x victor!reader

synopsis: after years of hiding from the public, ashamed of your past and your husband, you discover the only way to end this, is with you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

he had lost his mind.

in the five years since your games, you had married the man who had given dr. gaul the ideas and tools to continue with the annual hunger games. he had also been the man to mentor you, showing you to an audience to get them to love you, simultaneously he fell in love with you.

he was powerful, you knew you couldn’t reject his advances, not while you were stuck behind the bars of the capital zoo. so you held his hand, listened to everything he said, winning as he promised you would.

only then did you hope that his attention on you would end, and you would be free to return home to your district, to put this part of your life behind…

except it haunted you, every day, every waking moment.

you never returned home, you never saw your parents again after being reaped, he became president, and you became his wife; his first lady.

and now, president snow stood on that stage, smile blazing as he announced that the fifteenth annual hunger games would reap its tributes, from the existing pool of victors.

he had truly lost his mind.

you gripped tigris’ arm as you watched coryo on the screen. he had just announced the changes, and you were left shocked.

tigris gulped, “i doubt he would leave your name in there.” she comforted you, “he would never do that-“ she paused, and you knew it was hesitation.

you stared at the screen, watching as the symbol of panem graced the screen, and you knew he would be home soon.

you shook your head, still in disbelief. you didn’t know what to think, coriolanus’ morality scale had gotten worse as the years went by and more power came, you were unsure what he would do to anyone, let alone you.

he loved you, more than you loved him. you never forgave him for what he did to sejanus, and coriolanus knew that, but he had made it known that as long as you were alive, he would never divorce you. his little loose end.

this could be the means to an end. if coriolanus was as smart as he was told, he would leave your name in, hope for the possibility to send you to your death, tying his loose end completely.

tigris stared as you grabbed the tv clicker, clicking the buttons to turn off the awful song that blasted with the logo. it wasn’t working, tigris tried to help you with it but your frustration over the games led you to slam the clicker into the tv screen, promptly breaking the screen.

coriolanus came home to a dark house. all the lights had been shut off, and he could still smell tigris’ perfume, lingering in the living room.

he set his bag down, taking off his coat and laying it down on the couch. he could see light emanating from the bedroom, and he could hear your soft singing.

coryo smiled, slowly walking down the hall, pushing the half cracked door open, seeing you on the bed. your nightshirt hung off your shoulder slightly, and your hair was loose. you looked beautiful, in the dim candlelight.

“my lady.” he greeted softly, bed dipping as he sat on his side. you turned, closing the novel you had been reading. you smiled softly, “coriolanus.” he frowned slightly, going in to give you a kiss, but you turned around to put your book away, effectively dodging his kiss.

“you’re upset.” he knew it immediately, you never called him coriolanus, not unless you were mad at him. usually he was called coriolanus every hunger games, as long as each games lasted. he had known eventually it would start up again, but this was far too early.

you didn’t say anything, opting to shrug as you stood up, pulling the sheets up.

coriolanus watched you get into the bed, snuggling into the snow white sheets, trying to avoid the conversation all together.

coryo stood up, removing his shoes and tie, “you saw the announcement.” he deduced, having put it together from the faint scent of his cousin’s perfume. “i didn’t want you to see it, i wanted to tell you myself-“ he kept undressing, and you sat up abruptly, “you had all morning to tell me what you had planned, but you let me go on about my day, let me think of you fondly and for you to announce that?!” you couldn’t help the tone of voice that you took with him, sometimes he was just irrational that not even you could get through to him.

he laughed softly, “so you wouldn’t have thought of me fondly if i had told you before the rest of the country?” he pulled the sheets on his side of the bed up, pulling them up to his chest as he turned to face you.

your back was resting against the pillows, arms crossed as you continued, “why would you do that, coryo?” your voice cracked, and his expression softened. one of his only weaknesses’ was you crying, whether it was someone else’s fault or his, it was a wretched weakness. “the victors are victors for a reason, why do we have to fight for our lives, all over again? hmm, haven’t we done enough?” you felt tears on your cheek, and you sniffled slightly.

coriolanus shook his head, “y/n, i took your name out.” he grabbed your thigh, “you won’t even have the chance of being reaped. you’ll just stand pretty on stage and watch the others get reaped.”

the others.

“you mean the children that i mentored to fight to the death and win?” you couldn’t see him through the puddles of tears in your eyes. you could only keep crying.

coriolanus stared, watching you sniffle and dab your tears away. he didn’t know what to say. this was his country, but you were his wife.

“just stand there y/n, they’ll be room for tears later.” he spat, and you stared at him in disbelief. coriolanus had become cruel, shrewd in his ways. this was a perfect example of one of the many ways he had changed.

you hauled yourself out of the bed, staring at coriolanus as you stomped out of the room. you had plenty of extra rooms in the house, and decided to go into one, leaving coriolanus to sleep in the bed by himself. he called after you, but you ignored him as you locked the door behind you.

you hadn’t seen so many people gathered in a long time. they stood in rows, long rows that seem to never end from where you stood. you stood next to the other tributes from your district, younger than you, eyes full of pain and sorrow.

the bowls containing their names were placed in front, one for the girls, and another for the boys. you knew your name wasn’t in there, coryo had said, ‘nothings changed’.

you listened carefully as the female victor was announced. valora grove, the young girl who you had just mentored this last hunger games. you watched as she hesitated to step up, face stricken with fear, this was happening to her all over again.

“i volunteer!” you panted, stepping up as you held a hand out, blocking valora from walking any further, “i volunteer as tribute.” you repeated, chest falling heavily as you stared out into the crowd, their faces displaying plain shock.

president snow’s wife, the first lady, the tenth annual hunger games victor, had just volunteered.

coriolanus must’ve just heard the news, because as you stood forward, accepting of what was to come, you were promptly escorted from the stage by peacekeepers, thrown into a car and driven straight back to the capitol.

coriolanus was furious, you knew. you knew your husband better than anyone in the world, better than his own family. he knew you well too, but you knew this was something he hadn’t anticipated, a small crack in his plans.

“you better hope i die.” was the first thing you said to him as the car doors open, coriolanus angrily gripping onto the handle. he stood there, fuming, “why y/n? why would you do that, you know that i can’t-“

“what? stop the games? of course not, that would make you look bad, coriolanus. but that’s exactly why i did it. you have no choice.” one thing that coriolanus had forgotten about you, was that you were smart, and usually, always one step ahead of him.

“i’m still a loose end, president snow.” you reminded him, stuck staring at his piercing blue eyes as his expression warped.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

A promise

Summary: You've been in love with General Marcus Acacius, your father's most trusted advisor and friend, ever since you could remember. A kiss on the day you come of age starts an affair that would last for years before you ask him to choose between having you officially as his or not having you at all. Days after, your father the Emperor dies, and the brother who hated you comes to power, wasting no time to make arrangements to marry you off to someone you had never met before, leaving you mourning about what could have been, when Marcus finds you with a surprising solution.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: my take on the Dad's best friend trope, secret affair, age gap (not specified, but I wrote it with around 20 years in mind), death of a family member, toxic family situations (your siblings hate you), tears, feelings, smut (oral f receiving, unprotected sex), proposals, mentions of hair brushing, Marcus picks reader up but this is fiction so I pretend he could pick everyone up, FLUFF (do not look at me I have no idea what happened there), most likely historically inaccurate, banner as always just for the vibes, reader has no physical description apart from having hair (and if it has please let me know)

A/N: look at me, writing for a character we know almost nothing about. This is definitely not historically accurate, we're just here for the vibes. Tell me what you think cause posting for a new character makes me even more anxious than posting for old characters

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Marcus Acacius Masterlist

You had spend all your life being the perfect daughter to your loving father. 

You never complained, always having the greater good in mind. You did everything that had been asked of you, everything that was decided for you, because your father, may the gods bless his soul, the emperor of Rome had promised you that once the time came, you would be allowed to have a say in who would become your husband. 

You loved your father. 

You were the first born and his favourite. And he made sure that all your siblings knew that, leaving you with siblings, that were despising you all your life. 

But now your father was dead and his second born, your brother, had let you know not even a week after your father had been buried, that you were going to marry some Duke you had never met before, who had promised troops and gods knows what for the pleasure of getting to take you as a wife. 

When you dared to complain your brother had reminded you that you were a mere woman and should be thanking him on your knees for a suitable match, giving that he was the only one who had approached him because of you.

You did not even know how he had found the time for his search for a husband for you ever since he had been put on the throne only a week before. 

But deep down you knew, he had only been waiting for a chance to have his petty revenge of you.

Growing up, your brother never grew tired to remind you just how ugly he thought you were. How dumb you were. That the people only talked to you because you were the favourite of your father. 

He talked you down so often, you had started to believe it. 

You would probably be dead by now if it wasn’t for your Father’s most trusted advisor. 

The current general of the roman army. 

Marcus Acacius. 

Your father and him had grown up together. Fought and won wars together. 

And you?

You had the biggest crush on him since you could remember. 

He was just so strong and big and whenever he smiled you, you remembered getting this weird feeling in your belly. The older you got the more you thought about him, imagining how it would be to be with him. 

It was on the day you came of age, a big celebration held in your honour, that you drank a little too much wine and clumsily pressed your lips against his after he volunteered to get you to your room. 

You were mortified when he just looked at you, before turning away and hurrying away from your chambers. 

You didn’t know he would leave the next morning for war. 

You didn’t know that months after when he came back, the war won, celebrations held in his honour, that he would find you in your chambers and kiss you the way you had always dreamed of. 

You didn’t know that seven years later it was still you he chose to see first whenever he came back from a battle. Or… every time he could sneak away really. 

More than once you had asked him why you could not make it official. Acacius was a person of power. While maybe not holding any royal titles, he was the General of the roman armies. If he would have asked your father for your hand, you were sure he would have given his blessing. 

But he had argued against it, thinking it would most likely be seen as a betrayal of the emperor’s trust. 

It made you feel like a dirty little secret and was one of the reasons you had a big fight just days before your father died. 

You had not seen him since apart from the official events you both had to attend. 

After your brother had informed you that you were to be married within the next week so you were out of his palace you had excused yourself to your chambers, dismissing your staff to have some time for yourself. 

You fought back the tears until the doors closed behind your last maid. 

Sitting down on your bed you allowed yourself to cry. 

Cry for your father. 

Cry for Acacius.

Cry for yourself and your future. 

You did not know who this man you had been set to marry was, but it did not matter. 

Of course you were well over the age of getting married, you knew that. But your father did not care. He only cared about your happiness. 

And now here you were, about to marry a stranger, while being in love with someone else. 

Letting your tears fall freely you jumped when your door opened, hastily brushing the tears away when you noticed Marcus as he closed the door behind him. 

„Forgive me for not knocking but I had to see…. What happened?“ He asked, quickly walking towards you. He knelt down in front of you, taking your hands. 

You hadn’t been alone with him since before your father died, when you told him that you were tired of being with him in secret. That you wanted to be his officially. To love him. To marry him. To have his children. 

It may have been childish, giving him an ultimatum to choose to be with or without you, but you were tired of hiding. 

What happened in the days after was a blur. 

And now he was here, his concerned warm eyes looking all over you as if to search for what made you cry. 

„Did somebody hurt you?“ He asked again and you sobbed, leaning down so you could hug him, bringing your face close to his neck, so you could inhale his familiar scent. 

Within seconds his arms were around you and he picked your up before he sat down on your bed with you sitting sideways in his lap. His hand brushing softly over your hair. You had one hand on his shoulder, your other hand wrapped behind his back holding onto his waist, while one of his arms held you securely against him, his other hand softly stroking your hair. 

You felt him kiss the top of your head and you closed your eyes. 

You allowed yourself to relax, melting against him, any arguments you had forgotten. 

Because he was here, and even though you hadn’t parted in the best ways, there was no place in this world were you felt safer than in his arms. 

„I am to be married within the next week,“ you mumbled against his neck and you felt him tense. 

„I learned about it today. My brother did not lose any time to get me out of his sight,“ you joked weakly before you looked up at him. 

You only noticed now hat his hair was still damp. He must have come directly from the baths, wearing only a linen garment. 

Carefully you brought one of your hands up, your fingers resting on his cheek. 

The candle light made him appear like he was glowing and you wondered how you would live without ever having him this close again. 

„He cannot marry you off to whomever he chooses,“ he said and you chuckled weakly. 

„He is the Emperor now. I am afraid that he can do almost everything he sets his mind on.“

He shook his head.

„He can not,“ he said, his grip around you tightening.

„Acacius…“ you began but he shook his head. 

„Do not call me that. Not you,“ he whispered and your eyes softened. 

„Marcus. You must have known that this day would come sooner or later,“ you brushed your fingers through his soft beard. He leaned into your touch. Smiling softly you rested your head back against his shoulder, letting him hold you for a while. 

This was what you would miss most. Just him holding you, giving you comfort. 

„The day before your father died,“ he began after a while, his fingers brushing up and down your spine, „I talked to him about taking a wife,“ he continued. 

You closed your eyes, releasing a long breath. 

„He was actually happy. To be honest he had been asking me for a while if I need any help finding a suitable wife, but I never took his offer for help because I knew who I wanted to marry from the moment you kissed me first,“ he admitted. 

You softly pressed your lips against his neck and you felt it as he took a deep breath. 

„So I told him that I had someone for a while I could see myself spending the rest of my days with. I told him that I was in love and that I would die to protect her. And when he asked when he could meet this incredible woman I told him that he already has, since she was you,“ you looked up at him then, surprised that he had talked to your father. 

„You told him?“ You asked, voice quiet. He nodded. 

„You know what he said? He said that he could not ask for a better man to take care of his daughter,“ Marcus said and you closed your eyes, letting your head fall against his shoulder. 

„But two days later he was dead and your brother had been named the new Emperor. Your father had meant to talk to you, but everything happened so quickly,“ he took a deep breath. 

„Thankfully I did ask for your hand before he died and he agreed as long as you would say yes.“

„Marcus,“ you shook your head, new tears in your eyes. You felt his fingers tilt your chin up. 

„I haven’t come to talk to you earlier, because I knew your brother would plan something like he did. I had to make sure he could not succeed in taking you away from me. Because you’re mine,“ he said with a small smirk. 

„And I protect what is mine,“ he hummed and you gulped, shuddering as his eyes seemed to darken. 

„But before I can protect you the way I intend to, we have to be wed,“ his thumb brushed over your lip. 

„But how? Knowing my brother he is going to announce my engagement within the next days and has me shipped off by the end of the week,“ you said concerned. 

„That would be inconvenient, because our engagement, signed with blessings by the former Emperor, your father, will be released by the morning, with us to be wed within the next three days,“ he said and you were sure you stopped breathing for a moment as he looked at you. 

„Truly?“ You whispered and he nodded. 

Before he could say anything further you threw your arms around him, making him fall back against your bed with you above him, kissing him deeply. You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you even closer, his hands running down your body, his fingers slipping under your dress. 

Parting from his lips you looked down at him. 

„I thought you left me,“ you whispered and he shook his head. 

„Never,“ he vowed, meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

„Then I think you have to ask me a question, General,“ you smiled cheekily and he grinned. 

„Will you do me the honour of being my wife?“ He asked as his hands came to rest on your ass. 

„Usually the man gets on his knees to ask his intended, does he not?“ You teased and he hummed thoughtfully, before he rolled you over so he was on top, kissing your forehead. 

„You are right as always, my love. I shall get on my knees to ask you for your hand,“ he winked before he slowly slipped down your body, his lips kissing a line down your body. Parting your legs wider to make space for him you looked down just as he pulled at the sting of your dress, his fingers parting the fabric so it fell to the side, revealing your naked body to him. 

He kissed your knee and goosebumps spread over your body like wild fire. 

You sat yourself up, leaning on your elbows so you could see him properly. 

His nose brushed up your inner thigh as he settled down between your legs, his breath brushing over you wet cunt as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

„I will promise to love you,“ he hummed, his lips pressing against the skin just above your pussy. 

„To cherish you,“ he continued, slowly kissing himself down and you sucked your bottom lip in. 

„To protect you,“ his tongue licked a strip from bottom to top. 

„Until the day I die,“ he hummed before he sucked your clit between his lips. You felt his tongue move over your clit and you moaned softly while his eyes were focused on yours. One of his hands came up to grab one of your tits, massaging it. 

„I will give you everything you want,“ he said as he released your clit only to lick down towards you hole. 

„When you want,“ he licked again. 

„How often you want,“ he winked at you before his tongue entered you, making you moan out his name softly, one of your hands coming down to rest in his soft hair. He hummed against you, his tongue getting you closer and closer to the edge, his fingers pinching your nipple. 

Marcus then focused his attention on your clit, his tongue playing with it while two of his fingers slowly entered you, angling them just the way he knew had you singing his name. 

„Marcus, please,“ you moaned, your head falling back. 

„Cum for me, my love,“ he hummed, flicking his tongue over your clit while his fingers massaged your inner walls and you shattered, your back arching before you let yourself fall back against the mattress, your body shaking with an orgasm so intense you saw stars. 

Melting into the mattress as you tried to calm your racing heart, you smiled when you felt Marcus kiss your hip. 

After a moment you opened your eyes and looked down at him. 

„You still haven’t dropped to your knees or asked a question, General,“ you reminded him and he hummed thoughtfully before he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. He pulled his clothing down, leaving him completely naked as he gazed down at you, his eyes dark and his cock hard and leaking. 

His fingers wrapped around his cock, slowly pumping his length. 

Your tongue dared out, wetting your lips, saliva filling your mouth. 

You wanted a taste and judging by his smirk he knew it. 

„I am kneeling,“ he said with a wink. 

„I can see that,“ you sassed and he chuckled, before he released the grip on his cock and lowered his body over yours. You wrapped one of your legs behind him, your feet brushing up and down his leg, as he settled between your legs his cock notching at your hole. 

You smiled up at him as he looked at you, his strong arms resting next to your head to hold himself up. 

„I never thought I would love anyone as much as I love you. You make everything lighter, easier. I want to live my life with you by my side to make it better,“ he rubbed his nose over yours and you could feel tears in the corner of your eyes as you wrapped your arms behind his broad back. 

„Marry me, my love,“ he whispered before he slowly slipped inside of you, his cock filling you every thick inch. 

„Make me the happiest and proudest man in Rome,“ he whispered when his cock had filled you completely. You found his lips in a sweet kiss as he began to move, slowly fucking into you. 

„Marry me,“ he whispered with his lips against yours as he moved faster, his hips meeting yours with an audible smack every time his cock filled you. 

„Let me fill you with as many children as you’re willing to give me,“ he groaned against your ear while you moaned, his body moving over yours with every thrust into you. Your walls clenched his cock inside of you, making him groan. Arching your back against his chest you began to meet his thrusts, your fingers digging into the warm skin on his back.

„As many as I want?“ You asked and he nodded and you made sure to keep your leg wrapped around him, making it clear that you would not let him pull out of you today. 

„Marry me,“ he moaned his forehead coming to rest against yours as your lips parted with a long moan as you came on his cock, your eyes only closing for a moment before you opened them just in time to see his eyes when you gasped a

„Yes“

To his question, his cock almost immediately twitching inside of you as he came and filled you with his seed for the first time.

He stayed like that for a moment before he kissed you and rolled you around so you were resting on top of him. 

He softened inside of you, your joined release dripping into the sheets but you could not bring yourself to care. You leaned with your arm on his chest, looking up at him with bright eyes. 

„What if I had said no?“ You asked with a small smile. 

„Then I would have spend more time convincing you to say yes,“ he smiled, his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder. You pressed your lips against his strong chest. 

You knew that once word got out about your engagement, Rome would not be safe for you anymore, no matter how much influence he had with his post. 

Your brother would find a way to have his way. 

There was only one way for a chance of the happy life you both imagined. 

„If I asked you to leave Rome with me to start a new life somewhere else, what would you say?“ You asked him. 

„I would ask when you want to leave,“ he smiled before he leaned down to kiss you. 

[gghostwriter]

Hi. I am the anon that asked for the Spencer x Reader, where he hallucinate that reader as his wife, and I love it so much. Thank you 😊 ❤️

Also, if it is not too much to ask... what if it was on the contrary. Fem!Reader gets hurt and belives Spencer is her husband, but they are friends. So cute, you know? (Happy ending again, pretty, please 🙏🏻 🥺)

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends to Lovers; Fluff! Just fluff Warning: Medical inaccuracies A/N: Anon, i’m glad you loved it enough to request another!! It’s a bit shorter than your first request, really tried to not have the same plot line as the other but I hope you enjoy! Main masterlist

Phantasmagoria. // Spencer Reid

The team was split into two after the takedown of the unsub—Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were back at the station, wrapping up the case while Spencer, Emily, and Derek were stationed outside of the hospital room, waiting for permission to be let in. You and Spencer were partnered up, as always, going around town and asking the locals for any additional information regarding the last sighting of the unsub at a gas station. Completely unaware that the unsub, riding a motorcycle, was steps away from the duo. He opened fire, causing the agents to take cover but not before you were hit by near shoulder. As you were rushed to the hospital, the remaining members quickly convened, located, and captured the serial killer. 

The nurse in charge stepped out of the room to face a set of three federal agents, eagerly asking for an update. 

“Surgery went fine. The doctor was able to remove the bullet fragment, intact,” she droned on. “We need one of you agents to collect and sign a form for the release of the bullet as evidence—”

“I’ll do it,” Emily volunteered. 

“Great. The patient is awake but she’s still a little loopy from the local anesthesia. We suggest not crowding her so we will only allow one visitor at a time—” she clapped her hands together. “Now which one of you two fine gentlemen—” she gestured at Spencer and Derek. “—is Dr. Spencer Reid, her husband?” 

Emily and Derek both swiveled to Spencer, eyes dancing with glee as they tucked that information for teasing ammo in the future. 

“I—I am,” he stuttered out. Unsure if he should correct the nurse but if it gave him special privileges to see you first, he’d let it pass. After all, he was there when you got shot. He wants to see you alive and well. 

The nurse smiled at him and nodded her head. “Your wife’s been looking for you.”

Face going crimson red, he thanked her and entered the room, avoiding all eye contact from the remaining two agents outside. 

Your relaxed smile was the first thing he registered—that and how tiny you looked tucked in your bed.

“Spence! Love—where were you?” 

He approached your bedside, noting your glassy eyes ad slurred speech, effects of the anesthesia. 

“I-Y/N, you’re body is still processing out the anesthesia. You’re exhibiting disinhibition—a temporary loss of inhibitions caused by outside stimuli and I-I’m not your husband.” Not that he didn’t want to, he added to himself.

You giggled. “You silly nerdy agent, of course you are. We got married recently and my beautiful—” you gasped as you inspected your hands. “—my ring. Where’s my ring?” 

The monitor picked up your distress. Your eyes going watery and a pout was beginning to form, breaking Spencer’s heart. you looked at him like he had all the answers in the universe and that caused him to fumble out an answer, anything to stop those pretty eyes from crying.

“I’ll ask the nurse okay, no need to worry,” he stroked soothing circles at the back of your hand.

You smiled at him adoringly. “I—can’t believe you said yes.”

He furrowed his brows. “Say yes to what?”

“To our first date.”

He smiled, wanting to see how your imagination got you and him together. “And—and what was our first date?”

“Uh—phanta—during Halloween,” the medicine was starting to pull you under. “I got us tickets and Penelope—” your voice trailing off as you fell back to sleep.

Halloween was this weekend, his neurons actively fired up at that information. Could it be—is it? He grabbed his phone out of the pocket and dialed BAU’s very own tech analyst.

“Go, from Penelope Garcia,” she greeted out.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Uh-hey Garcia. I-I need to ask you something.”

“Ah yes boy genius, tell me your wish and I shall grant it—wait, how’s my baby girl over there?”

“A-actually that’s why I’m calling,” his voice going up an octave. He wanted to ask as normal as possible but the words normal and Dr. Spencer Reid are never linked. “Did she by any chance—have Phantasmagoria tickets this weekend?”

Silence. That was a first from Penelope Garcia.

“Why’d you ask?” she tried to nonchalantly ask.

Spencer bit his lip, unsure on how to explain this whole situation. “I-well-I actually got two tickets and was planning on—” he paused. “—asking her out?”

He quickly moved the phone away from his ear to save his hearing from the high pitched squeals coming from the analyst. 

“Ohemgee, yes!! Finally, my couple!! Please ask her out, please!!”

He awkwardly laughed. “She’ll say yes?”

“I can’t spill any details ‘cause of girl code but yes!! Yes she will!” Penelope gushed out.

“Thanks, Garcia. I’ll—i’ll ask her out,” he hurriedly ended the call as a knock on the door echoed inside the room. It was Morgan and Emily.

With an eyebrow raised, Morgan appraised the giddy smile on Spencer’s face. “What’s got you so happy, pretty boy or should I say Mr. husband?”

Emily laughed. “Yeah, Reid. How is Mrs. Reid?”

He dropped his face to his hands but not before squeaking out a ‘shut up’ to both agents. If the jokes was a by-product of getting to ask you for a date, he’d take it. He just hoped he’d get to ask you first before the duo corners you with their teasing.

My inbox is currently open for any more fluff requests! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[wheneverfeasible]

link to prompt

~

Jim rubbed at his eyes which were pained in exhaustion, a headache blooming behind them. He released a heavy sigh before dropping his hand to stare at the nervous and embarrassed adventurer before him. He’d been advised against using the disgraced knight for the job, but Jim hadn’t been able to look past the man’s success rate.

Or the fact that he’d been the only volunteer to go up against the infamous demon lord who had been snatching up their virginal young women for whatever nefarious hell he was submitting them to in his lair.

“I sent you to slay the demon, not—”

“I brought Miss Buckley back!” Steve protested, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the most recent victim who looked just as put out as Jim did. Though she snorted when Steve hastily covered the gold on his hand with his other palm, while Jim just let out an aggravated sigh.

“To be fair, dingus, he was getting ready to toss me out anyways,” the young Buckley maiden pointed out. “Apparently he was getting tired of my ‘prattling,’” she scoffed at Jim, lifting her fingers in air quotes.

Steve shot her a dirty look. “Well I did convince him to let Lady Chrissy go, but she didn’t want to leave,” he huffed, as though offended at having his talents besmirched. As though the ring on his finger wasn’t mocking enough.

Jim let out another heavy sigh.

Steve turned back towards the warden of the realm with a small grimace. “Turns out Miss Holloway was taken by someone else too, Eddie said he didn’t tou—”

“Eddie?!”

Steve’s smile turned dopily fond, and Jim’s annoyance turned sharper when he heard three sets of giggles come from behind a nearby grate. He’d had to have another talk with the triplets (they weren’t really triplets, one being biologically his, one being from his wife’s first marriage, and one being adopted, but they certainly acted like it enough times) about eavesdropping on important business matters again.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve sighed like the lovesick. “He said he didn’t touch Miss Holloway, but he said he’d find her for you if you call off any more manhunts against him.”

“And I’m supposed to trust the word of a demon?” Jim scoffed.

“Hey! That’s my husband you’re talking about! I mean…oops,” Steve said with another embarrassed little smile.

Right. Jim had too much of a headache to continue these talks. He needed a stiff drink. Hopefully Benny didn’t mind opening the tavern’s bar a little earlier than normal today. He waved a dismissive hand, causing the man before him to grin.

“So I can go back to my honeymoon now?”

Jesus Christ. “Return with Lady Chrissy to collaborate your story, and your whatever has a deal,” Jim grumbled.

“Chrissy isn’t going to be too happy about that,” Robin muttered, but she walked up to Steve and gave him a grin. “Let’s go.”

“Robin, you can’t come with me,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah? Well who’s gonna keep Chrissy company while you let that drowned rat of a demon lord ravish your body?”

Steve’s face pinked up as the giggles in the grating turned to full fledged snickers. Yup. Jim was done and needed that drink immediately.

“OUT!” he bellowed, which his somehow successful hired hero and the demon’s latest victim seemed happy to do.

He was going to make Benny make that drink a double.

~

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[devoutekuna]

First few weeks

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

He hated the first few months, he had a baby which cried every time they woke up, but he had to give you props for giving birth, he wished he could just wake you up and have you deal with the kid but he knew that wouldn't be right. Who would've thought that the king of curses was actually considerate? "What do you want?" Peering over their crib as he examined his kid, maybe they were cold? Picking them up as he twirled them around. "You want milk or something?" Walking towards the kitchen to get some milk. Unwrapping the swaddle on the way there. Stuffing the bottle in their mouth, watching the supply slowly deplete.

Nanami-

He was already under immense stress, and the baby only added to the fuel. She was always crying whenever she was awake, it was like it was her only emotion, taking a longer paternity leave than wanted, he always took care of you, only waking you up from your slumber if it was about feeding your daughter or feeding you, letting you get the well deserved rest. "Please don't wake your mother up" glancing over at your sleeping body as she cried. Taking her out of the room. Stroking her hair as she stopped crying, holding her close to his body. "Aw, did you just want someone to cuddle?"

Geto-

He loves his baby girl, always volunteering to change her nappy or feed her whenever you were too tired. "Go to sleep Y/N, I can take care of her." Caressing your forehead as you tried to sleep. Laid out on the bed with his daughter resting on his bare chest, "You too" rubbing her back as she tried to sleep, she had just been fed so it was expected for her to head to sleep by now. Flipping her onto her back as he was instructed never to let her sleep on her front.

Gojo-

"You think he can say 'mama'?" Peeking his curiosity as he stared harder at his son, big blue eyes staring into his soul, tears dripping down his face, it was an eyesore to see the pale man's face Infront of his. Son laid out on the bed, cradled in a swaddle, unable to move around. Eyes searching desperately for your face, he wasn't even 2 weeks old yet he didn't like his father already, you couldn't blame him, Satoru has always been invasive and never respected people's personal space. "No, he's only 11 days old" dragging your husband back from your son, giving him some relief as he saw the man get further back. "Still, he's got two smart parents, so he should be able to say it, I said my first words when I was 8 months old" rambling on about something as he sat down next to you. "Did you actually?" you thought it was highly unlikely that he said his first words at 8 months old, but then again he was Satoru Gojo. "No" laughing at how well he deceived you.

Toji-

Toji was most definitely on guard the whole time she was a baby, refusing to touch her unless you begged as he was so scared of hurting his precious daughter. "Can you hold her whilst I get changed?" Slipping out of bed as you handed your baby girl to her father, resting her body on his chest, rising with each breath, heart beating faster as he felt her body. Hand wrapped gently on her back, making sure she didn't slip off. Rubbing her back with his fingers, trying to make her burp after being fed from you. His other hand trying to touch her hand, only for her hand to grip onto his finger. Maybe it was a reflex or some actual bonding.

[fushitoru]

I am sooo going to write a fic where reader and satoru have been married (canon universe). you’ve seen his mental health deteriorate because of the higher ups and how he’s perceived as a weapon and is a weapon. satoru’s mental health has been descending for a very long time, and by the end, when you’re soullessly watching his dead body projected by mei mei’s crows, you blankly volunteer to be next.

your life has no purpose. you and satoru were never able to get the life you deserve. you don’t last very long fighting sukuna, and you die, praying to whatever merciless god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved—-

you wake up from your dream, gasping. you don’t know why it was so vivid; all you remember is that you were some kind of magician? like winx club? and you had a husband and he WAS SMOKING HOT. also both of you died and you were kind of sad, because he was hot :(

so—as a college student—you head to your first lecture of junior year. you’ve decided to switch majors and have to take this dumb math class that’s a gen ed and is filled with people. so you take one of two empty spots remaining.

the lecture goes on, until professor rolls his eyes and suddenly everyone’s heads is turned towards the door, so you just follow the crowd. and there he is.

a boy with the most stunning white hair and sheepish blue eyes giving a charming grin, yelling out something snarky while taking his seat, some people dapping him up as he makes his way to the only seat—-the one next to you.

as he’s setting his stuff down, and he turns to look at you. blinks.

A breathless, “Hi.”

And then, your story begins again.

[cognitiveoverload]

Yearning (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: Hotch wants to understand how to move on after Haley leaves him.

note: an unplanned part two for Craving. It’s midnight here, so happy new year!

Following the dinner the team has together on the first night in Portland, Morgan pulls you aside with a troubled look on his face, then asks you if you’ve also noticed what he did. And you did, of course. Hotch is quieter, maybe even a little grumpier than usual, which is a telltale sign that something’s on his mind, something other than the case. He’s been like this for a few days now, but so far, none of you dared to bring it up.

You agree to keep an eye on him, just to be sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, but it’s Derek who volunteers to ask your boss about it when the time is right. Maybe when they’re alone, away from the rest of the team, he will open up about his issues, but until then the best you can all do is act like everything’s the same.

But several hours later there’s a knock on your door, and when you open it, you realize that you don’t have a choice, you can’t act like you didn’t know anything and wait for Derek to tell you how bad things are. You’ll hear it right from the source, because Hotch is here, leaning against the doorframe, his brown eyes full of sadness as he watches you.

After what happened in San Francisco, you’re not a big fan of being alone with him. He has kept his distance so far, but something must have changed if he’s here now. And sure enough, he gulps and points behind you. “Mind if I come in?” he asks, but you’re not sure what to say. Seeing your hesitation, he puts up his hands. “I didn’t get a key card behind your back, I knocked.”

“Fine,” you say as you step aside to let him in.

Hotch moves to the desk by the wall, then pulls out the chair next to it to sit down. You follow his lead and sit on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for him to figure out where to start. It’s serious, that much you can tell from the look on his face, but how bad it is remains a mystery for now. Although, there is something that gives you a hint—the way he plays with his wedding band. Last time he did mention his marriage being in trouble, maybe there’s more to that.

Finally, he lets out a sigh and looks up at you. “Haley moved out with Jack. When I got home from Milwaukee, the house was empty, and to be honest, I’m not sure she will ever come back,” he tells you as he rubs his forehead.

You don’t know what to say. A part of you didn’t even want to let him in, and this same part is painfully aware of the fact that Hotch had kissed you when he broke into your room the last time. You have no right to discuss this with him, you should be the last person to find out about this. Yet, here he is, opening up about his marriage to you instead of finding Morgan, the only man on the team who could possibly give him proper feedback despite having no experience in married life.

“She told me not to go after you, but I didn’t listen. I chose the team and she had enough of this,” he went on, the words clearly leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “Am I really such a terrible person?”

His question, or rather that guilty edge to his voice, leaves you speechless at first. He sounds so fragile, so unlike himself, as if he decided to let down his walls around you. “Hotch, it’s complicated,” you say, deliberately avoiding the answer.

But he’s smart, he picks up on it. “It’s a simple question. So, am I?” he asks again. Still uncertain about what to say, you stand up and begin to walk towards the bathroom, but he reaches out to gently wrap his fingers around your wrist in an attempt to stop you. “Come on, just say the first thing that comes to your mind,” he says.

“I guess she wants a husband she can always count on, someone who’s there when she needs him,” you eventually tell him, surprising yourself by how steady your voice is. A painful glint crosses his eyes before he looks down at his hand that’s still wrapped around yours, but when you try to pull your arm away, his grip slightly tightens. “Hey, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I know, but I needed to hear it from an outsider. The only way I can fix this is leaving the team, but I don’t want to do that. I’m good at this, at least I want to believe I am, and I’m not sure I could get used to some boring nine-to-five job.”

The words are flowing out of him as if a dam has just broken, but you don’t stop him, you want to give him the chance to rant and get it out of his system. As he talks, you put your other hand on his, and cautiously start to peel his fingers off your wrist. The moment he loses contact, he comes to a sudden halt in his speech.

“Look, there’s no right answer. You choose Haley and Jack, you lose the team, but if you choose the team, you lose your family. You need to pick one, Hotch, and based on the fact you came back after Milwaukee…”

“I chose the team,” he finishes, earning a nod of confirmation from you. “Jack will hate me for this.”

There’s so much pain in his voice as he says this, so much self-hate already, that you don’t hesitate to crouch in front of him and put your hands on his forearms. “Don’t say that. You just have to work a little harder, you have to show him that despite not living under the same roof anymore, you love him just the same. He’ll understand eventually,” you tell him, and you mean every word.

Silence follows your words, but you don’t mind. You want to give him all the time he needs to think about this, and he seems grateful for that. But, after what feels like an eternity, he leans forward to be a little closer. “I’m sorry about what I did in San Francisco. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m your boss, you couldn’t just tell me to fuck off, it was completely unprofessional. It won’t happen again, I promise,” he tells you with a sigh.

You nod. That’s all you can do now.

“Thanks for talking to me.”

Hotch stands up, unintentionally pulling you up too, but before he could take even one step toward the door, you move in front of him to block his way. “If you want to vent, you’re more than welcome. Or if you feel like sitting here in silence, you can stay as long as you want,” you offer, the suggestion only meaning you consider yourself a friend he can rely on.

He shakes his head as he swipes a strand of hair out of your face, letting his fingertips brush over your skin. “If I stay, I’ll just kiss you again. We probably shouldn’t do that,” he says with the hint of a smile.

It’s painfully obvious that he’s holding back, that he’s trying to resist the urge to follow his instincts, and in a moment of weakness, you stand on your toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Maybe one day you can stay,” you whisper with a sad smile.

You feel his arm sneak around your waist as he pulls you against his chest, and he tilts his head a little as he takes a better look at your face. “One day,” he tells you before giving you another quick kiss. “Sleep tight.”

“Good night, Hotch.”

Following a brief nod, he lets you go and exits the room, leaving you wondering if suggesting anything could happen between you was a good idea. He should focus on fixing his marriage, fixing his relationship with his son. You? What you want probably doesn’t matter at this point in his story.