#perhaps this would shield me from the worst takes

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOUNDS OF LOVE !

part one | part two

summary: you and marcus live lightyears apart within the city walls when emperor geta takes a greater liking to you than expected. you start to find a strange sense of understanding within the crazed emperor, while general acacius plots your escape. (11k)

pairing: marcus acacius / f!reader, emperor geta / f!reader

contents: established relationships, angst, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of war, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of emotional abuse (geta has anger issues he's working on), swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, unprotected sex, exhibitionism & voyeurism) (this is another dark fic!! please heed the warnings!!)

“Meet me in the garden,” you pant against the General’s mouth as you kiss him with a desperate sort of fervor. It’s all wet and hungry and unforgiving, like biting into an apple. “At sunset, on the morrow. Say you’ll meet me there.”

Despite your delicate touch, you cradle Marcus in a most violent hold. You keep him impossibly close with one hand wrapped around his neck, tanned and taut with the strain of war. Your other twists in his hair, dancing through the greying curls of fine silk. You embrace the General within the candlelit crypt where, before now, only death seemed to roam.

Marcus stands as still as the statues of ghosts surrounding you. You lick into his mouth like you plan to breathe life back into his lungs, even while he withers into nothingness at your feet. A thin layer of your spit coats the scruff of his chin. He balls his calloused hands into fists at his sides and pretends a part of you isn’t glittering upon him. He holds onto plausible deniability like a shield.

“It is not safe,” Marcus murmurs in a gruff whisper when you pull back to take a breath. His lidded eyes dart over your kissed face — gaze heavied, lips swollen. Beautiful devil, fallen angel. “You know this.”

Not anymore, he wants to say. Not while you belong to Them.

“Why not?” you challenge, always so girlishly gentle in your stubbornness. “Everyone will be at the feast, Marcus— No one will see us, I’m sure of it.”

Your eyes flit between his kissed mouth and dark-eyed gaze. Universes shine in your irises despite the shadows of the labyrinthine tomb. Marcus feels a white-hot knife twisting in his chest as he resists the urge to hold you.

“It’s the world we live in now, petal. There is little use in questioning it.”

“But why?” you question, anyway. “Why must we live in this world, hm? The war is over— We could make our own, somewhere far away from the city. Somewhere no one could ever find us—”

You create heavens with your naivety.

Marcus burns them down with words.

“The Emperors would not stand for losing their general. For them, the war is never finished,” the General interjects in a sorrowful deadpan, aching when your face twists with grief. “And if they misplaced you? They… They would burn cities to the ground in their hunt… They would set the world aflame before they stopped searching for you.”

Marcus knows this because he knows himself — every star in the sky would burn out before he stopped looking for you. He knows this, too, because he knows the Emperors. Perhaps better than anyone else in the entire world. 

Geta and Caracalla were born with the belief that they possessed ownership over everything they touched. Anyone stealing from their Empire would meet a swift and tortuous demise. They were merciless gods who dangled life and death on their fingertips. Only those who kissed the ring would make it out of their rule alive.

And you knew it, too. 

That was the worst part of it all: you knew it.

Tomorrow comes and passes like rolling summer clouds, slow and heavy and suffocating. You watch from the royal garden as the sky turns from a glittering sapphire to milky shades of peach and lavender. Another day gone by that you’ve spent grieving on your own. 

Though time marches mercilessly on, threatening to untie unbreakable bonds, it changes little of how much you and Marcus have grown together. Like cherry trees kissed with the promise of spring, with your roots tangled gracelessly together. It’s a knot that cannot be undone, not even by the promise of death. 

And for that, you figure you must be grateful.

Because as you sit on the stone steps of an artificial lake, twirling your fingers in the warm water of the koi pond, you wonder how dreadful it must be for the multi-colored carp. To swim in circles your whole life, to think the world is only as big as the bricks holding you hostage. 

At least you know what it means to grow up in the rolling green of an infinite countryside. At least now you have gardens to roam in the greatest city in the world. At least now you get to live.

A breeze sweeps suddenly through the garden, rippling the crystalline water and rustling the bright green leaves over your head. It carries the soft sound of footsteps scraping the stone trail. Your ears perk, your heart stops, and your head whips over your shoulder. You hope to see Marcus standing at the steps below you.

Your chest tightens and deflates all at once at the sight of Emperor Geta.

He’s adorned in his white-gold cloak, with his laurels sat atop his strawberry-blonde curls, and carrying a jeweled ring on each finger. The sunlight paints the man in flaxen rays of light. The rainbow-colored flowers seem to bloom with every one of his steps. All you can think is how beautiful he is — much too pretty to be so cruel.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” the Emperor concedes, eyes wide and palms splayed in surrender. His sandals scuff the cobbles with each hesitant stride.

“No, of course not,” you blurt with a rapid shake of your head, a quickness sure to give away your choked-back terror. “I just… I only thought you’d be at the dining hall with the rest of the court.”

“I was. Until the handmaidens notified me of your absence.”

You meet his wide-eyed expression with a narrowed gaze, lips curling into an unsure smile. “How can I be absent from a place I do not belong, Your Majesty?” you quip, though your voice threatens to shake.

Geta’s brows furrow. His ringed fingers twitch at his sides. “Belong?” he echoes.

“The feast is for nobility, and I grew up in a brothel,” you answer, giggling quietly under your breath. “I am certainly the farthest thing from royalty.”

You flash him a gentle smile and playful gaze, but the Emperor only frowns. 

He can hardly stomach the thought of it — of his most precious thing living in the countryside, surrounded by filth, touched by unworthy hands. He’s glad you’re now, where only he can touch you. Where he can make you clean.

“There is a place for you there, nonetheless,” Geta tells you and takes another step closer. He stands at the bottom of the stone steps and tilts his chin to his chest. His chocolate eyes harden as he presses more firmly, “And I will see that you attend.”

His sudden glacial disposition makes your stomach wrench. You’ve grown so used to him now, learned all the ways to keep him satisfied, that you’ve forgotten how quickly angered he can be. You don’t want to remember his wrath. 

You nod at the invitation with a wavering smile, knowing you aren’t at liberty to turn him down, and rise from your spot by the pool.

You hold your gown in both hands as you descend the stairs, flinching slightly when Geta rushes to help you. Sometimes, you think he can sense your worry, or that he regrets snapping at you the way he does. Either way, his efforts to pivot the situation are apparent to you — like he never learned how to apologize, so he’s forced to improvise in the matter.

His warm, petaled hand engulfs you to ease you down the tricky cobbles. 

“I only mean that… it is strange. Being without there… Or anywhere, really,” he admits, talking slowly like each word is foreign to him. His gaze darts from yours to the vacant path ahead. “I find that I am looking for you in places I knew you could not be. It’s foolish, I know.”

His gentleness is perhaps more striking than his rage.

“It isn’t foolish, Your Majesty,” you insist as you reach the bottom of the staircase. You peer at him through your lashes and fake another smile. “I just didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Geta doesn’t understand your meaning. Where was the poetry in his words? How did such burdensome feelings of tenderness make him a poet? 

“Neither did I,” he muses, guiding you out of the garden with his hand in yours.

Though still riddled with feelings of uncertainty, Geta is strangely moved by how you’re looking at him now — with the sun sparkling in your softened gaze, more gentle than anyone deserves to be looked at. So he figures he can be a poet for you, if he must.

You bathe again in the rosehip oil Geta always insists you wear, and dress yourself in the fine silk gown you know he prefers. The pale blue fabric drapes off your shoulders and flows to your ankles, cinched at the waist with a jewel-encrusted belt of gold. Your skin and body are adorned, in this moment alone, with perhaps more money than you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The thought makes your head swim as you amble to the dining hall. 

The silent guards at your side make no effort to rush you for fear of the Emperors’ wrath. Still, though, the notion that they are commissioned to ensure your attendance is not lost on you. Any attempt to flee will surely be met with force — if not from the knights, then from Geta himself.

The feasting is long done by the time you arrive. Mingling bodies flit around the crowded manor in a blur. Live music swells distantly as rose petals fall from thin air to decorate the marble floor. You wring your hands nervously together as you weave through the bustling court, gravitating to the large open window at the back of the hall — where you know the Emperors rest on their plush, velvet chaises.

Caracalla notices you first.

The boy rises from his lounged position — laurels crooked on his blonde head and robe shifting up his pale thighs — and smiles at you with all his crooked teeth. His lone golden tooth glints in the sunlight. 

“You showed,” he announces to no one in particular, just before his wild head swivels to his brother on the other side of the couch. “See, brother? I told you there was naught to worry about. Did I not?”

Geta does not appear happy to see you. His features remain in an emotionless scowl while his smokey eyes rake over your form. “You did,” he responds distantly, if only to appease his younger brother.

Caracalla doesn’t seem to notice the tension caging him on both sides as he flashes you another toothy grin. “He threatened to send the Praetorians after you,” he lilts like it’s some kind of silly secret. 

The Emperors’ bodyguards line the wall behind them, as well as all the entrances and nearly every window. They were like your Marcus — military veterans, strong and sharp and ruthless — though you imagine the only soft side you’ll ever see of them is a fist. They are certainly not the kind of people you want sent after you.

“Well, you were right, Your Majesty,” you grin. “There was naught to worry about. I was simply making myself presentable for the court.”

Caracalla holds his ringed hand out for you as you near him. You bend at the waist to kiss the emerald on his ring finger. The motion is muscle memory to you now. “You look beautiful,” he slurs like a child. “Like a fairy, almost.” 

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” you nod politely and rise to full height again. 

You feel his ocean eyes on your body as you pass him by, glassy and sparkling with a boyish sort of wonder. A stark contrast to the way his brother glares daggers at you. 

“You certainly took your time,” Geta monotones in place of a greeting.

You stand obediently at his side and twist your clammy hands into knots. “I was only getting dressed, Your Majesty. I wanted to look pretty for you—”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor spits and turns away. You’re always pretty, he’d say if he could get the words out. Instead, he softens his suddenly hardened edges and flashes you a gentler glance. “I thought you’d defied me,” he confesses, as though in lieu of an apology for his fleeting hysterics.

“I couldn’t,” you murmur with a quiet smile.

Not wouldn’t, he notices. Not shouldn’t.

But couldn’t. Like your body was fated to listen to his command.

A funny feeling sparkles like gold in his chest. It makes him fidget uncomfortably on the couch. “Sit down,” he instructs with a wave of his ringed hand before slouching back in his seat, pale arms splayed along the edge of it. His brows pinch when you descend onto the empty spot beside him. “Not there.”

You freeze in place. Your eyes widen and dart to his thighs, spread out and hidden beneath the skirt of his robe. You look to Geta once more and cower beneath his expectant look. You sink hesitantly onto his lap, feeling like your heart’s in your throat as you lean into his chest. 

Your unsure hands curl around his shoulders. His curls brush your cheek. He smells overwhelmingly of musk and wine and cinnamon. Something about it makes you dizzy.

You survey the room from your position in Geta’s lap. Most people aren’t looking, you find, too busy talking and flirting and dancing together. A few noblemen across the way leer incredulously at you, though, like they’re trying to gauge if they know you from somewhere. You presume you likely slept with one or more of their sons during the war, most of which are likely dead now.

A few women crowd behind the chaise — all dressed in muted shades of silk, all dripped in jewels and gold. They’re pretty, effortlessly so, as they talk into their goblets full of wine. Some looked relieved to have the Emperors’ attention off of them. Others sneer at you for it, having no idea you’d switch places with them in a heartbeat if you could.

Your eyes dart across the dining hall, almost instinctually so. They lock immediately with Marcus the moment he enters the room. 

The General wears his black-gold armor and a faraway look in his eye as he leads a group of foreign gladiators into the manor. A hush lulls over the crowd, which parts for him without thinking. Marcus navigates through it with an absentminded sternness, like every step is muscle memory. 

He softens only when his gaze meets yours. 

His puffed-out chest deflates with a wavering exhale at the sight of you, a lamb on the lap of a man who holds a knife to your throat. He blames himself for it most of all, knowing he’s the one that brought you to slaughter. 

“Finally!” Caracalla shouts into the silence, voice ringing through the hushed court. “Where have you all been— In the showers together?” 

A bout of laughter rolls over the crowd as the blonde boy leans over to you. You try not to grimace at the bitter smell of wine on his breath. “Who nearly missed the games, little dove,” he croons too close to your ear. 

The nickname makes you tense. You muster a smile, anyway, and remind yourself to breathe. “What a shame that would’ve been,” you lilt in response.

“The armor is tricky, Your Majesty,” Acacius confesses, voice deep like a cathedral organ. “Especially for those who have not donned it before. Such as yourself.”

There is a bite to his words despite their monotoned delivery. Caracalla pays it no mind as he lounges back on the couch, wine sloshing in the chalice he holds in a limp hand. “Get it out with it, then,” he slurs.

Each gladiator faces the other. One is tall and sturdy, like an oak tree. The other is shorter and lankier, much too young and far too pretty to fight in such gruesome battles. As Marcus’ voice booms throughout the quiet dining hall to introduce them — The Barbarian versus The Might Vincenzo — Geta presses his mouth to your ear. 

“Which one shall we bet on, little dove?” he whispers to you as his hand curls tighter around your waist. His other idles over your skirt, pale and jeweled and warm, though his long fingers threaten to dip between your thighs.

You blink hard to keep your head from swimming. “Hm?”

“Which one of these imbeciles do you think will win?” Geta repeats.

“Oh, um, I— I don’t know, Your Majesty,” you stammer in response. It’s hard to think about anything other than how close Marcus is to you now. How pretty and wartorn he looks. How desperately you wish to hold him.

“Just guess,” the Emperor presses, squeezing softly at your hip. “It’s only for entertainment, anyway.”

How could certain death possibly entertain you? your mind races as your mouth blurts, “The little one, then.”

“Really?” Geta hums in amusement. His dark eyes, smudged with brown liner, squint softly at your glossy profile. They flit across your features like he’s seeing you for the very first time, though you aren’t looking back at him to notice. “Hm. I would’ve picked the oaf.”

“Well, it is the most obvious choice, Your Majesty. Though, I find it’s often the smaller ones that surprise you—” 

You turn your head to look at him. Your breath catches audibly in your throat when you find the Emperor much closer than expected. He’s so close your eyes nearly cross to meet his gaze. So close, that the tip of his large nose threatens to brush the bridge of yours. So close, you get drunk on the alcohol tainting his breath.

Geta’s wine-stained mouth curls upwards in a cynical smile. “They do, indeed,” he croons quietly, raspberry breath fanning warm over your jaw. 

Chills pebble along your skin accordingly. It takes great strength from you to break his magnetic chocolate gaze. You turn away from the Emperor and focus instead on the gladiators circling one another. Vincenzo moves in seemingly practiced motions, unfazed by the brutality of such duels. The nameless Barbarian houses a great sadness in his young eyes — a hardened look of regret, perhaps, for what he knows he must do. 

“Let’s not entertain them for our amusement, brother,” the Barbarian mutters lowly to his opponent, blade hanging limp at his side.

The larger man charges like a rhino. A deep roar sounds in his throat as he thrusts his knife towards the younger boy’s neck. The Barbarian dodges the swing with ease, possessing all the swiftness of a snake as he ducks past his opponent and slices his muscular bicep with one fell swoop.

The crowd gasps in a mixture of horror and amusement as Vincenzo’s blood drips onto the floor like deep red wine. It stains the marble in fat droplets, blending with the rose petals littered at the gladiators’ feet.

You flinch at the sight. Your breath hitches as you turn away — eyes squeezed shut, brows tightly furrowed. Geta chuckles with merriment. You feel it rumbling in his chest as he murmurs, “Don’t be frightened, little dove. It’s only a game.”

Something in you aches when the Emperor reaches for the jeweled goblet at his side. Your fearful eyes remain fixed on his face while the hall erupts in a symphony of violence — of battle cries and laughter, of dropped blades and dull smacks. 

“Here,” Geta offers with the wine in hand. “Drink. It will calm your nerves.”

He presses the rim of the chalice to your mouth. His gaze never waves from your lips as they part to welcome the bittersweet raspberry. The wine pools like blood on your tongue. It tastes like guilt going down.

Dusk falls over the city like a wounded swan. The velvet darkness outside your window makes shadows of everything it touches, only partially diminished by blinking stars and waning silver moonlight. The crescent shape of the bright white orb would fit just perfectly beneath Marcus’ jaw, you think to yourself. 

The thought alone sends a warm, melancholic feeling down your spine — with such an intensity only the tenderness of twilight could elicit.

You slide from the crimson satin of your mattress with a tight chest. You migrate towards the entrance — bare feet padding faintly along the floor, thin cotton nightgown trailing behind you. You stand before your bedroom door and rap your knuckles rhythmically against the wood. 

Twice, once, three times. 

And then you wait.

“It’s me,” you hear Marcus murmur from the other side.

Your heart swells like sunshine in your throat. You smile wide despite yourself, with no one else around to see it. “It’s been Romulus for nearly a fortnight,” you tell him, panting slightly from where you’d held your breath in anticipation. “I was starting to think you’d been banished from your post here forever.”

“You know the Emperor likes to torture me,” he quips, though his usual monotone never wavers. 

It might’ve been easier on you both, if Geta had shipped him off to lead another meaningless campaign. At least then Marcus could miss you from leagues away. Instead, he has to guard your bedroom door and miss you from the other side of it. Torture is an understatement.

“Well, I quite like it when you’re here,” you confess quietly, tracing shapes onto the doorframe with an absentminded hand. “Makes me feel safe.”

You wait patiently for a response.

“Good,” is all the General can think to reply.

Your face pinches with concern. Your chest does, too. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know… Our conversations together have grown so short— I worry you do not wish to speak with me at all.”

Though you cannot see him, Marcus flinches at your words. He stands like a statue outside your door, in the middle of the dim corridor, and glares over his shoulder into nothingness. “It isn’t true,”  he insists, voice low but honeyed still. “I wish to speak with you always.”

“Then why do you not?”

“Because it isn’t safe,” he repeats, though you never seem to hear him.

“Will it ever be?”

Marcus goes silent as he ponders for a moment. Quiet engulfs the bedroom all over again, filled only by crackling candles. “No,” he answers after a few long moments. “Not for a long while.”

You feel like he’s stabbed you with a freshly sharpened blade, right between your ribcage and into your bleeding heart. It would hurt less, anyway.  “Why?” you wonder aloud in a pained whimper, knowing the answer will do nothing more than twist the knife.

The answer sits ready on Marcus’ tongue, as though the question of why has plagued him long before you asked it.

“Because I… I ruined you. By bringing you here.”

“You saved me,” you correct.

“I destroyed you,” he retorts, voice heavy with choked-back emotion.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” you remind him of the blatant reality, which threatens to consume you every time you see his face. You wish you were holding it now, cradling Marcus’ bearded cheeks in your supple palms, so that he might understand the weight of your words. “I would’ve lost everything if you hadn’t taken me with you. I would’ve been tortured, probably killed. But now I get to—”

The word gets caught in your throat. You swallow hard and fake a smile at nothingness. The pretending comes naturally to you now.

“Now I get to live. Both of us do.”

There is a brief moment of knowing silence. This isn’t what living is supposed to feel like — fleeting touches in dark crypts and whispered conversations through bedroom doors. Both of you know it, but it’s a truth too brutal to admit out loud.

“Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“You know… We aren’t unspectacular things, Marcus,” you speak slowly and with a strangled intention. “We’ve already come so far. We’ve survived so much— We can survive a little more, can’t we? Until it’s safe again?”

“I don’t presume we have any other choice.”

“We don’t,” you sigh. “Because I love you.”

“I know,”  Marcus nods, with an air of surrender in his words. “Because I love you, too.”

You fall into the heavy wooden door as though it were your lover’s body. You did not need to see him to feel held by him. He hadn’t touched you, and he didn’t need to. His presence alone affects you in such a way that it feels like he has been caressing you for a long, long time.

Marcus’ heavy armor clunks faintly on the other side of the door as he stands up straighter. Emperor Geta enters his line of sight, a shadow slinking down the candlelight corridor. He clears his throat. “Your Majesty—” the General announces, for you and you alone.

He hears your feet pad against the floor as you scurry from the entrance.

“Dog,”the Emperor greets in a cynical deadpan. 

His sandals scuff the cobbles when he stands before the taller man. The torches hanging on the walls bathe Geta’s face in flickering amber hues, highlighting his tired features where the makeup had worn throughout the day. He seems weighed down by a certain kind of grief. The kind that makes Acacius feel ten feet tall.

“Have you been guarding my Empress like a good little hound?”

Marcus nods politely, though the term of endearment catches him momentarily off guard. To be the Emperor’s whore was one thing, but it was entirely another to be referred to in such high regard. The General tries to contemplate what that must mean as he answers, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Geta grins despite his visible fatigue. “Good boy.”

You’re already back in bed by the time the door swings open. You lounge along the expensive satin sheets and pretend you’ve done nothing but wait obediently for the Emperor, while simultaneously swallowing down any remaining feelings of longing and heartache.

Geta enters the room like a rolling storm cloud. He wears all the chaos of the day in his mussed blonde curls, smudged makeup, and wrinkled garb — a palpable sort of disarray. You scramble on the mattress to greet him, like you often do, until he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

“No. Don’t,” he commands. “Stay there. Don’t get up.”

You obey, freezing partially upright, with your elbows holding most of your weight. Your face swirls with concern at his look of annoyance. Your heart drops to your stomach in fear.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, though the Emperor pays you little mind as he migrates to the table by the window. 

He pours himself a chalice of wine. The glugging flagon fills the heavy silence. You swallow hard and stare timidly at the back of him. “Are you angry with me?” you repeat once more — a question that seems to accompany womanhood, especially when bound by the innate violence of man.

“I couldn’t be,” Geta answers like it’s obvious, sparing you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. He turns away to down the full goblet in three lengthy gulps, then wipes his stained mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only my brother,” he confesses through labored breaths. 

Your worry lessens, but only slightly.

“Is he alright?”

“He’s acting like a child,” Geta spits, angered all over again, as he pours himself another cup. “More so than usual.”

“Has something happened?” 

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“Well, it’s certainly bothering you, Your Majesty,” you coo in slow and calculated measures as you rise from the many cushioned pillows. “So, forgive me, but it cannot help but concern me as well.”

Geta is unaccustomed to such tenderness. He tenses beneath it, glances hesitantly over his shoulder like he plans to find a ghost sitting in your place — as though he’d only heard the words in the wind and not from your mouth. A foreign feeling swirls again in his hollow chest, like a blizzard of snow or a flurry of rose petals.

“He’s jealous of me. Just as he always has been,” the Emperor tells you as he stalks toward the bed. He gestures mindlessly with his hands, and the wine sloshes over the rim of the gold chalice until it hits the stone floor. He raises it to his mouth, tips his head back, and down the bittersweet pomegranate.

His neck is long and milky white. His protruding adam’s apple bobs with each languid swallow. A drop of deep red trails from his mouth and down his chin once he’s finished. He rubs it away with a fist. You forget to stop staring.

“Lay down,” he commands, chest heaving. 

Your body obeys without a second thought. You lie back on the velvet cushions, docile and willing, in a way that comes naturally to you now. You’ve been Geta’s thing for so long that a part of you has grown used to it. Needy for it. 

The mattress dips beneath the Emperor’s wait as he kneels beside you. Your mind starts to reel. 

Your brain seemingly anticipates an inevitable pleasure, which comes to you like clockwork most nights. It makes your mouth water like a drooling hound that knows when it’s feeding time. A funny feeling stirs in the pit of your belly and pools like honey in your undergarments. Your thighs clench together when a subtle throbbing begins to pound between them.

You should be grateful when Geta crawls beneath the sheets only to rest his head on your chest.

You’re shocked, most of all, by such a foreign act of tenderness.

Your breath catches when his cheek presses to your breast. He nods gently to rub his burning skin over the smooth cotton. A deep exhale fans from his nose as he rests his body weight against you. 

You cradle him with hesitant hands and remind yourself to breathe. Your fingers scratch lightly over his clothed shoulder while your others comb through his strawberry-blonde locks. It’s a warmth so foreign to the two of you that it threatens to bring you both to tears.

“He says he wants someone like you— my brother,” Geta admits after a few moments of long silence.

“A whore?”

“A paramour,” the Emperor corrects, face twisted in irritation at your use of the term. He focuses on the muffled sound of your heartbeat when anger threatens to consume him. A heavy sigh deflates his chest. His anxious fingers twist in your nightgown. “I told him he could have his pick— Between us, we have plenty of women to go around, but… He insists his mind is stuck on you.”

Your bated breaths come to you in trembling inhale-exhales. You hope he doesn’t sense how frightful his words have made you. 

Geta is cruel, yes, but he is at most times predictable. Though Caracalla may be kind, he is most of all volatile. And there is nothing more dangerous than an erratic, easily excitable ruler.

“And what did you tell him?” you wonder with a feigned sense of curiosity.

“That you were mine, of course,” Geta blurts like it’s obvious. “He offered to share, to which I told him that he should be grateful that I’m sharing the throne alone with him… And now he’s off with his monkey, crying like a child…”

You feel strangely comforted by his words. You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose and rake your fingers through his blonde-brunette curls. “Your brother is a fragile thing, Your Majesty,” you advise in gentle murmurs. “You must be gentle with him.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle with anything,” Geta confesses, half-muffled into your chest. “Least of all, with someone like him.”

“Shall I speak with him? Perhaps I can calm him— make him understand?”

“It’s my burden alone.”

“It is mine as well, Your Majesty. So that mustn’t be true.”

Geta turns slowly to face you, with all the hesitance of someone unused to such kindness. His chin rests on your clothed sternum and bobs with each word. “You shouldn’t have to carry it,” he whispers into the honeyed silence of the candlelit bedroom.

You muster a small smile. “I know. But I will, anyway,” you shrug. “When you care for someone, your brain has little say in the matter.”

Geta falters at your admission. A foreign emotion swims in his chocolate button eyes. He’d rather blame it on the flickering flames strewn around the room. “Is that what this is?” he mutters, almost to himself, when he finds the breath to say the words.

Your fingers in his hair slow to a stop. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“This… This tenderness,”  the Emperor answers, spitting the word like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it. His face scrunches distantly, as if it were sour on his tongue. “Sometimes it overwhelms to the point of tears. It’s a… a blinding radiance, like… a knife— lodged somewhere deep in the body…”

You cup Geta’s freshly shaven face between two, gentle hands. He swears he sees the sun.

“Why do you speak of love like it hurts you, Your Majesty?”

He swallows hard. “Because it does,” he confesses before rising from your body. 

You mourn his warmth as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress. He sits with his back facing you. His dove white robe hangs off one pale shoulder when he bows his head.

“I never believed in it as a child— the permanence of it all, of… love. And yet, I… I find myself longing for it anyway. Like a fool.”

You rise on one elbow and resist the urge to touch him. “Wanting to be understood by someone doesn’t make you a fool, Your Majesty.”

“I know that I… That I haven’t been the most gentle with you at times. But I am… I am sorry for it,” Geta tells you in near inaudible murmurs, flashing you a sheepish glance over his freckled shoulder. “I understand it must be difficult for you.”

“What, Your Majesty?”

“To be caught between all that was. And all that must be.”

Your stomach wrenches at his words. Your chest tightens beneath the weight of them until you have to fight for every wavering breath. You take a trembling inhale and rise so you’re sitting at his side, taking careful calculation in the following words you speak.

“We cannot… We cannot choose who we love, Your Majesty. We can fight ceaselessly against it, perhaps, but it doesn’t change fate.” 

You reach out for him with one tremoring hand. You rake a rogue curl behind his ear and hope he doesn’t know Marcus’ face is the one stained permanently behind your eyelids. 

“We love who we love, Your Majesty. And the rest stay ghosts.”

Geta’s eyes glitter with an emotion you’ve not seen from him before. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, as though searching for something in your gaze — sincerity, perhaps, or maybe an equal sense of longing. 

You blink, and his mouth is on yours. Geta kisses you back onto the velvet-satin and settles over you once more. It’s wet. Hungry. Unforgiving.

You kiss him back with a similar intensity, clutching his robe in both hands, desperate to understand him.

Marcus remains on the other side of your door — an invisible ghost, an unwilling witness. He hears all of it, as clearly as he would if he were seeing it with his own eyes. A hollow feeling of yearning and hunger gnaws at the pit of his stomach as he tries to imagine your pleasured form. The painting behind his eyelids is blurred and distorted with time.

He wishes he could see you now, even with Emperor Geta fucking you into the mattress.  He could pretend that he was the one fucking you, at least, and let the image alone bring his withered form back to life. 

You’re together in his head, entwined still, with your mouths bruised in a relentless kiss.

Marcus hopes you’re still together in yours, too.

General Acacius spends most of his nights in the crypt, which he feels is rather fitting for a half-dead thing like him. When he is not surveilling your bedroom door, or being otherwise taunted by Emperor Geta, he finds a strange sanctuary in the dreary tombs. It is perhaps the only place where he is left alone. 

Caracalla is petrified by thoughts of ghosts, and Geta detests history, so neither is likely to show their face in such an ancient mausoleum. Which is ideal for someone plotting an insurrection.

You find him there in the wee small hours of the late, late night. He wears a deep red cloak over his white robe, perhaps to conceal himself, as he shuffles around the room to snuff out flickering candles. You wonder who he lit them for because you know he does not need them. He’s grown too used to navigating in the shadows.

Your sandals scuff suddenly against the damp cobbles. Marcus does not seem startled by the intrusion. He knew you were there by the sweet scent of your perfumed body alone. There is nothing about you he would not immediately notice.

“What are you doing here?” he wonders with his back facing you, voice low with a timbre that bounces off the tomb walls.

“I wanted to see you,” you answer sheepishly.

Marcus says nothing in response.

You wring your hands into knots and shift your weight on your feet. He extinguishes the torch on the far wall, and shadows engulf the windowless crypt — save for one lone candle flickering atop Emperor Commodus’ cracking tomb. Your eyes flit from the flame to Marcus’ silhouette, gaze swimming with uncertainty.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I don’t see why not,” he monotones and flits across the room like a ghost.

“What do you do down here?” you ask. When your voice inevitably trembles with distant alarm, you quip, “I only mean it mustn’t be healthy— Spending so much time in the dark.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Marcus insists with a venom that makes you flinch. He hooks his pointer finger around the hook of the candle holder, and the dancing flame paints his statuesque features in shades of amber. He softens immediately at the sight of you.

“I just do not wish to incriminate you,” the wartorn man confesses.

Your chest aches with an immediate concern. “What does that mean? Please do not tell me that you’re doing something perilous—”

“No,” Marcus interjects firmly, then amends. “Not yet, at least.”

“Explain it to me, then. Help me understand.”

“It’s best you do not know, petal. It’s safer that way.”

The word alone makes you cross. You wish he’d stop using it.

“But I will tell you when the time is right, I swear,” he assures you, though his voice threatens to tremble with wavering strength. His dark eyes flit between both of yours, heavy with an emotion you cannot place. “I will keep you safe no matter what, you know that—”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Acacius,” you murmur with a stern glint in your eye, clutching the downy fabric of his robe in your fists.

“There is naught to worry about, petal. I assure you.”

Marcus takes a step closer to you despite the voice of reason in his head telling him otherwise. He lifts his free hand and swipes a callused palm over your cheek, soft and warm with sleep. You lean into his touch like a cat. A funny feeling blossoms in his chest.

“I’ve been thinking… About what you said some days ago… Making a new world for ourselves…” He talks slowly and deeply and nearly to himself. You nod against his palm to egg him onward. “You were right. We deserve better than this— Why should we have to live like dogs?”

Marcus swipes his thumb over your jaw and takes another daring step closer. You feel the heat from the candle he holds in his free hand, though your eyes remain on his face. You couldn’t look away from him if you tried. A part of you is hesitant to blink even, for fear that you might miss him for a millisecond too long.

He angles your gently head upward with his weathered palm. You can smell the musk on his tanned skin from here, as well as the ale and mint leaves on his breath. It’s dizzying. The ground seems to sway under your feet at the dwindling proximity between you.

“We love each other, don’t we?” he murmurs in a honeyed voice.

You nod without a second thought. Your mouth waters with the hopes of tasting him.

He nods with you. “So fuck the war.”

Marcus ducks down to press his mouth to yours. His lips swallow your own in a kiss, lingering and languid and deep enough to drown in. 

You melt into his touch with a heavy sigh exhaled through your nose. The warm breath fans across his unshaven cupid’s bow while your hands migrate to his hair. You twist the greying tendrils in your fingers, keeping him impossibly close against you. 

When Marcus goes to grip the fabric of your nightgown in both his hands, the candle holder tumbles to the ground. The gold clatters audibly across the cobbles. The wax light falls on his side, and the flame begins to dwindle on the murky stone floor. 

You wonder, briefly, if it will take fire — if the smoke will give you away, or if the tomb and all its history will burst into flames, or if the inferno will take you and Marcus with it.

Though it snuffs quickly out, bathing the two of you in a navy blue darkness, you figure you wouldn’t care if it did burn you to ash. Not as long as Marcus was there to kiss you into embers.

Marcus’ face consumes your dreams. 

The details are blurred with the haze of sleep, but he was there — touching your face, asking to try again. You merged into one another like ghosts. Like drops of melted honey. Like lovers of Pompeii turned to ash. Every day, you tell yourself that it is unsafe to love him more than you do now. And yet he haunts your dreams, and yet you find more love in you for him.

And yet…

A violent hand pulls you from your gentle slumber. It jerks mercilessly at your arm, snatching you from your peaceful dreams and waking you into a nightmare.

“Wake up!” a strident and familiar voice bellows into the quiet bedroom, lit only by the faint blue of an early morning. The words are punctuated by another rough tug at your wrist. You awake to the sharp aching in your fingers.

“Wha—” you slur, trying to blink away the bleary mist as you lift your heavy head from the pillows. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Up!”

You’re urged from the mattress by the unforgiving fingers digging bruises on your arm. You squint through the sleep and ebbing darkness to find Geta looming over you — blonde curls mussed on his head, swollen eyes wide and wild, velvet robe askew on his shoulder to reveal his pale chest. His skin there is flushed red with anger. You don’t know what you did to deserve his wrath.

“Geta?” you gasp through a faint whimper in your throat, trying to pull your wrist from his grip. He only holds you tighter. “What are you doing— You’re hurting me.”

“Liar!” is all he shouts in response, like he doesn’t even hear you.

The crazed Emperor drags you out of bed just to drop you to the cobbles. The thin sleeves of your nightgown slip off your shoulder; the skirt of it bunches at your thighs. You make yourself as small as possible as you shrink away from the man towering above you. 

“I don’t understand,” you squeak through the heart in your throat.

“Liar!” he shouts again.

His voice rings through the shadowed bedroom. You cower in response. He sobers at the fear twisting your features, but only slightly. His heart pounds hard against his ribcage, beating red-hot rage through his veins. He can hardly hear you through the rushing in his ears.

“What have I done?” you whisper, voice trembling.

“You have made…” Geta trails off, swallowing the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away burning tears and spits, “A mockery of me.”

Fear ebbs into confusion. “I have not—”

“You lie!”

“I do not!” The volume of your voice startles even you. You blink up at him with wide, pleading eyes, searching for any ounce of mercy within him. 

You find none. 

Just a man made of towering orange flames, threatening to set you ablaze. 

“I have given up everything to be here,” you whimper. “To be at your side. To understand you—” 

“Make no mistake… Your lies no longer have an effect on me, little dove,” Geta interjects through a bout of cynical laughter. He shakes his head and grins despite the tears glittering in his eyes. “You think you are so clever. That you were brought here, to my Empire, to be cherished...”

The Emperor takes slow, daunting steps towards you. You shrink away from him and choke back a sob bubbling in your throat. Tears fall from your lashes in fat droplets down your burning cheeks. 

Geta grins like it pleases him.

“Let me be clear, so there is no longer any misunderstanding…” he tells you, speaking in slow, deep murmurs as he crouches before you. You can see the flecks of gold glimmering in his deep brown eyes from here. You can see the fire swimming within them, too, as he assures you, “You were created merely for me to destroy you.”

The throne room is absent of its usual bright red roses and ornate gold decoration. The chandelier overhead has not yet been lit. Instead, the spacious room is illuminated by an ever-rising sun — which basks everything it touches in shades of melancholy blue. 

The servants light torches along the wall while you and Marcus stand together before the scowling Emperor. Something about it strikes a feeling of nostalgia in your chest, though these circumstances are much different than the ones you were brought here under. Geta no longer looks at you with lust in his dark eyes. He looks at you, instead, with betrayal.

“Thanks to the civic virtue of some good men…” the eldest Emperor quavers into the silent room. “…Your insurrection has been revealed.” 

Your stomach twists at his words. Your mouth falls softly agape with shock. Of any explanation you could’ve been given upon your sudden imprisonment, you couldn’t have expected this one. You thought, perhaps, that he had somehow found out about your meetings in the crypt with Marcus. You would’ve been able to stomach that, at least. Your love for Acacius is something you’d be willing to die by.

But not this.

Not something you were completely unconscious of.

Geta continues tearily. “The honor… The dignitas that Rome has bestowed upon you— All this, you have forfeited by your treachery.”

“Emperor Geta, please,” Marcus sighs. His deep voice echoes through the empty throne room like a heavenly, sorrowful instrument. He bows his head and swallows hard, knowing now that he must beg for mercy. Not for himself. But for you. 

“Torture me, if you wish, but let her go. She had no part in this—”

“Forgive me,” Geta spits emotionlessly. “But I have no cause to believe you, General.”

Marcus turns to you then, tired eyes wide and pleading. “Tell him. Go on, it’s alright,” he urges gently, though your silence makes his chest ache. “Petal, tell him— Tell him you were unaware.”

You say nothing.

“Tell him!”he repeats in a shout that rings through the quiet throne room. His trained apathy splinters for the first time in front of Geta. He is perhaps more fearful now than he has ever been before. No war was nearly as frightening as the thought of losing you.

“What does it matter?” you mutter in response, voice fragile like glass. “He made up his mind the moment he found out.”

“Then take me if that’s what you want,” Marcus says, pleads to the merciless Emperor. His sandals scuff the stone floor as he takes a step closer in surrender.  “Put me in the Colosseum— Crucify me on the royal steps, if you must— But please, do not make her suffer for something I brought upon her. Do not punish her for my sins.”

“You are the Great General Acacius…” Geta croons bitterly. “What could one more splash of blood possibly mean to you?”

“Everything,” Marcus answers without a second thought, voice heavy with a predestined grief. “It would mean everything.”

Something in Geta shifts. You see it flickering in his dark, teary eyes. A surge of power, almost, like a stroke of bright white lightning. The corner of his pink mouth twitches as he tilts his chin upward. “Step back ten paces,” he commands suddenly.

Marcus’ brows pinch first in confusion, then relax a moment later when he inevitably obeys. His feet sound along the cobbles as he takes ten slow steps backward. He mourns the distance it puts between the two of you.

“Turn around,” Geta’s voice echoes through the vacant throne room.

You hear Marcus take a wavering breath in. He spins on the heel of his leather sandal until his back is facing you. His heavy eyes flutter shut as his chin falls to his chest. He searches for an ounce of hope within himself, knowing he’d lost all of it some time ago now.

The Emperor smirks. “Good dog.”

Acacius seethes.

Geta’s dark eyes, rimmed red with emotion, flit back to you. Something heavy settles in the pit of your stomach — dread, perhaps, or maybe acceptance for what’s surely to come. 

“Was it a lie?” 

“What?” you ask with bated breath.

Geta shrugs, then readjusts his robe when it falls from his shoulder. “Any of it.”

“No.”

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.”

Geta snarls at your subdued emotion. “I am the Emperor of Rome. I could have my pick of whores— You being here is a privilege. Do you understand?”

You nod once. “Yes.”

“You came from filth— to the greatest city in the world,” Geta spits the words like so many drops of venom. He waves his hands up and down your form, pale fingers now void of their usual gold rings. “You were just… some whore without a face before I made you better. I did this!” 

He gestures wildly around the darkened manor, voice breaking at the volume of his shouting. His robe falls askew to reveal more of his bare chest as spit coats his bitten lips. You remain in place while the Emperor inches closer. The fear has left you, as well as any instinct to cry — your grief is too violent for that now.

“I brought you here,” Geta convinces himself. His saliva splatters on your cheek in faint droplets. Tears glitter on his cheeks like stained glass windows. A fire flickers in the deep brown of his eyes. 

“I willed this— I cared for you with every bit of conscience as I was born with.” He takes a deep breath and steps back, shaking his head in disgust. “And yet…”

He turns away. 

You’re able to take in a deep breath for the first time in several minutes when he parts from you. The leadened weight on your chest remains.

“If you do not wish to be here, I certainly will not make you,” Geta rambles in teary blubbers. “One whore is as good as any other— Perhaps I can find one who is capable of pretending she cares.”

You step towards his retreating form. “Geta—”

“Go!” he shouts, looking back at you with a crazed look in his sleep-worn eyes. He wipes spit from his chin and quietens, strangled by an unavoidable emotion. “Now. Walk through those doors, and I promise no harm will come to you. Just do not stand before me and patronize me in this way, I will not stand for it.”

His promise makes your chest swell with hope. You remain frozen even still, stuck at an unnavigable crossroads. Such assurances of safety mean little to you when Marcus

has a sword to his throat. 

You look at the man over your shoulder. He has not moved from his spot some feet behind you. His back still faces you, though you notice his hands are balled into trembling fists.

Even if it were true — even if Geta really planned to let you go without a knight slitting your throat — it would mean little without Marcus. You would not know where to go without him. You would not be able to live with yourself if you left him here, not knowing what Geta planned for him. You would be away from the city, yes, but it would not be freedom.

Your instinctual will for survival is replaced by the primal need to keep Marcus alive.

To do that, you must reach for the bloodied hand of death.

You turn away from your lover — away from the opened cage door and the promise of freedom — and rush to the heartbroken Emperor. You clutch his cotton robe in your fists and tug at the gold trim to pull him closer. You meet him in the middle, entwining your mouth with his.

You kiss him. Hard. With enough ardor to snatch the breath from his lungs. His pink lips part for yours, almost instinctually so, and you swipe your tongue over the rough pad of his own. He tastes of sleep and honey and very distantly of wine. He gets heavy against you as he falls into your kiss. His hands cling to the skirt of your nightgown until his fists start to shake.

You pull away only when he’s melted for you all over again, when the red-hot anger has ebbed from his milky white body. A thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it splits against your chins.

“I know… I know you are hurt, Your Majesty,” you speak in slow murmurs, and through uneven breaths. Your fearful eyes dart over his face and find him utterly kissbitten — mouth swollen, eyes heavy, cheeks flushed. “And I know that it is difficult to forget pain. But I’ve found it’s harder to remember happiness. Glory.”

Each word from your mouth is stamped with intention. 

You speak of glory only with the hopes that he might remember his many useless wars, all of which Marcus has won for him without complaint. There would be no Empire to rule without the Great General Acacius, who dares not to sneak a glance at the two of you over his shoulder. He, instead, keeps his heavied gaze on the torch hanging by the door. The flame sears his vision until he can see you dancing within it.

“We have no scar to show from sweetness, do we?” you quaver with a forced smile, cupping Geta’s burning cheeks between both your hands. You swipe your thumb over a fat tear clinging to his cheekbone. “How can we allow ourselves to be blinded by anger when there is still so much love?” 

Geta snivels and rests his forehead against yours. His long lashes flutter against his glowing cheeks.

“I wept for you,” the Emperor confesses quietly, words weighed down by tears. “I had come to believe that… If I wanted something badly enough, the sheer strength of my desire would make it mine. I see now that it was foolish—”

“Perhaps it is true,” you whisper to him, breaths entwining and kissing both your cheeks. If he notices your voice shaking, you hope he confuses it with desire and not with fear. “Perhaps that is why I’m standing here now. Because I am yours…”

A moment of silence lulls over the blue hour. The quiet feels deafening in the large throne room, quelled only by the sound of heavy breathing. Yours hitches in your throat when Geta parts wordlessly from you. He sniffles once, then exhales hard through his mouth. 

Your gaze remains fixed on his face in an unwavering stare as you try to gauge his reaction. His features are emotionless, but his heavy-lidded eyes flit back and forth between yours — as though he, too, were trying to measure your sincerity. 

Your fate, in that split second, teeters on a knife’s edge. You hold your breath and wait for him to raise his hand. Not to hit you, maybe, but to sic his guards upon you like dogs — either to drag you into a cell or to be kind enough to kill you on the spot.

Geta lifts his palms only to cradle your jaw between them. His long fingers wrap around your neck like he intends to choke you there. He drags your mouth back to his instead. Your noses smush together with the intensity of his touch. It’s all teeth and tongue and spit. Desire and anger and grief. A billion things he licks into your mouth.

The weight of his hunger smothers you. Consumes you. He could kill you this way, if he wanted. There is little difference, you’ve found, between a bite and a kiss. It only matters how deep he buries his teeth into you.

Your chin shines with his spit when he parts from you. Geta’s chest heaves with labored breaths, flushed and swelling with proud. He hasn’t yet let go of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your thrumming pulse against his fingers.

“Show me, then,” he pants. “That you’re mine… Prove it to me.”

The Emperor goes to step back from you. Your hands dart for his wrists, holding him there when he threatens to pull them away. Geta’s eyes widen in shock.

“Don’t make him watch,” you plead in a delicate whisper.

His wide, chocolate eyes flit over your shoulder. He seems to forget about Marcus’ presence until that very moment. He looks back to you, at the plea swimming in your eyes, and nods once in response. 

“Take him,” he calls to the knights lurking in the darkness.

Their heavy armor clinks together as they comply without complaint. They lead Marcus to the door with their hands on the hilts of their swords. You watch him leave from over your shoulder, in the very corner of your eye. You hope he understands, but you wouldn’t blame him if you didn’t. You find it hard to forgive yourself even now.

Marcus always said that people find out who they truly are during times of war. Maybe this is who you are. Maybe you cannot kiss the devil without taking some of his sin.

The door closes with a heavy thud across the room. 

The weight of being alone with the Emperor washes heavily over you. Like drops of ice-cold rain. Like warm, melted honey.

Geta peers at you with a similar uncertainty. Head bowed slightly, wide eyes glittering from beneath his lashes. You do what you have always done — take care of this man the way he’s asked you to, placate his anger with your body. Giving yourself away is as natural as breathing most days.

“Sit down, Your Majesty,” you urge in a gentle whisper.

The Emperor listens as obediently as his knights. 

The sound of his sandals padding along the cobbles fills the suffocating quiet. He descends upon his throne like he was made for it, spreading his legs before him and propping his arms along the golden rests. He looks like a painting upon his seat of power, bathed in the deep blue of an early morning. An angel dragged to hell.

Geta watches you with an unwavering stare as you take slow steps toward him. His brown-eyed gaze goes glassy at the sight of you, an angelic thing all dressed in white. His thighs part to welcome you between them. He tenses under your palms when they smooth over his milky white chest, past the sparse chestnut hair littered there and down to the tie of his robe.

His stomach rises and falls in heavy, uneven pants under your touch. You unknot the string with bated breath, then brush the golden trimming to his sides. He’s bare underneath it, likely from where he’d been brutally roused from his slumber. His cock is on immediate display — resting on his fuzzy thighs, half-hard and glowing red at the tip.

You descend to your knees to take care of him on instinct. His hands dart to your shoulders to stop you. “Ride me,” he commands, though it sounds more like a plea as it spills his swollen mouth.

Wordlessly, you straddle his thighs. The cotton fabric of your nightgown bunches at your hips. You spit into your palm and reach between your bodies for his cock in a single practiced motion. He feels like velvet in your fist. 

Geta’s nostrils flare with a heavy exhale when your hand drags up the length of his cock. His head tips back onto his throne when your fist falls back down again. Your lips find the expanse of his long, white neck like a deep-seated compulsion. You kiss his pulse as though it were his mouth. He cradles the crown of your head and brings his lips to your ear.

“You love me,” he sighs within a moan when your thumb brushes the head of his drooling cock.

You can’t tell if it’s a command to repeat the words back to him, or an affirmation he repeats only for himself. Either way, you nod in response and line his stiff cock at your entrance. Geta’s mouth parts in a silent moan at the feeling of your silky cunt. 

“I do,” you whisper just before you mount him. 

There is a dull ache in your belly when he pierces you, though you’ve grown accustomed to his length with time. Your satin folds split to welcome every inch of him accordingly. Your hips rock back and forth over his supple thighs and your velvety walls pulse around him, swallowing him further inside.

Your breathy moans entwine and fill the air. You keep a white-knuckled grip on the back of the golden throne as you ride him, without break and without mercy — in spite of the burning sensation in your thighs. You tell yourself it’s to finish him quickly, though a primal part of you chases after your own pleasure.

Geta’s breaths leave his parted mouth in huffed exhales as you bounce on top of him. He mourns the sight of him disappearing in and out of your glistening pussy but fights to keep his eyes open to watch the rest of you. Your fucked-out face swirls in a mixture of concentration and pleasure as Geta lifts his hand for the collar of your gown.

He unties the dainty knot at your sternum and tugs the fabric down your chest, baring your breasts for him. His mouth waters at sight of your plush skin, moving in time with your rhythmic grinds over his lap. 

A strangled moan sounds in your throat when he takes your left nipple in his mouth. You caress the back of his head, twisting your fingers in his honey hair in an effort to keep him close. He runs the rough pad of his tongue over your sensitive tit and smiles when he hears you whimpering. 

“You love this,” he mutters against your chest. “You love when I fuck you. ”

You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“God—” he grunts through gritted teeth, tipping his head back when one particular grind makes him twitch inside you. His hands grip your thighs over your skirt. His fingers threaten to sear bruises onto your skin. “Your pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

You nod again.

His right hand parts from you only to come down a moment later. The dull smack of his palm against your clothed hip echoes through the throne room. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Yes,” you squeak with your face scrunched, trembling when your clit drags across the thatch of pubic hair at the base of Geta’s cock.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours—”

His hand lifts again. You hear the impact of his palm against your ass before you feel it, a subtle stinging you find a strange comfort in. Geta laughs in maniacal, breathy chuckles when you keen for him. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yours!” you exclaim in a feeble gasp, clutching the Emperor to your chest. You shudder on top of him when an orgasm rakes suddenly through your body. It flows quickly and without mercy, but never quite ebbs. You’re left a whimpering, weeping mess while the aftershocks of your pleasure consume you. 

“It’s yours,” you squeak in nearly inaudible blubbers, pressing your kissed mouth to the shell of Geta’s ear, repeating the phrase like it’s the only one you remember. “’S your pussy… It’s yours…”

The words alone are enough to make Geta burst inside of you. 

He tenses all over. His dull nails press crescent shapes into the skin of your thighs. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a guttural moan. You feel his cock jerk with your drooling confines right before he spits several loads of cum inside you. Your cunt pulses around him, instinctually milking him for every drop of liquid pleasure, and a whimper sounds in Geta’s throat.

You feel it bloom in the pit of your belly like a flower — something soft and warm and seeping. As the two of you relax against one another with wavering exhales, you feel his cum leaking out of you like drops of summer rain. It pools on his lap and drips down to the throne underneath him, tainting the gold with a mixture of your sin.

It proves a point. Marks a territory.

Geta swells with pride.

Your back slouches as you melt into his body. You hide your burning face in his neck as his feverish grip on you loosens. Geta twitches beneath you when your cunt pulsates around his softening cock. “Mm…” you hear him hum, mixed with a laugh you feel rumbling in his chest. His head tilts back as a lopsided smile tugs deliriously at his mouth.

He runs a gentle hand up and down your spine, a reminder of his being there despite your feeble efforts to dissociate your brain from your body. You can’t ignore the warmth of his touch on your tingling skin, or the way your hearts press together and beat to the same rhythm.

A distant feeling of acceptance pools in the pit of your belly along with the Emperor’s cum. Your grief is a much more discreet thing, however, and you miss Marcus like an unstitched wound that won’t stop bleeding. Like a knife lodged somewhere deep in the body.

“I think… I think I’ve found an adequate punishment for the General,” Geta pants, the crooked grin audible in his words. “Perhaps he will learn his lesson when I’ve fucked a child into you—”

You tense when the Emperor’s palm splays over your stomach.

“—Perhaps then he’ll understand that you’re mine.”

[eldritchneuro]

One thing that I seen Stampede Wolfwood often characterized as by folks is well... distant is probably the best word for it. Mopey. Averse. The sort of guy who you wouldn't catch asking for a hug on the worst day of his life.

But I don't think that's true. Or at least, not beyond being a front he puts up. And there's one scene that for me confirms it. Because when Vash gets shot in Julai, Wolfwood's first response isn't to attack back.

It's to run over, put an arm out for support, and check in on him. Only when Vash shows himself to be okay do we see Wolfwood tell these people to back the fuck off.

You could read motivation into this act of comfort. There's fuel here for shipping, or perhaps Wolfwood is that terrified of his boss's mark getting injured. But it does also pair nicely with another scene not a few minutes later.

"My body moves before I can think."

In the split second before someone gets hurt, Vash isn't considering whether or not he should help them. He just does. The desire to protect is something so deeply ingrained in his core that it has become pure instinct.

And I think it's the same with Wolfwood. The moment that he takes to put up that shield of unbothered-ness is a moment too late. Big brother Nico has already taken action.

And even when he's just messing around, for someone who is meant to be cold and uncaring, Wolfwood's suspiciously handsy. This scene between him and Meryl would not have the same affectionate 'bickering siblings' vibe if he didn't insist on throwing his arm around her.

He's trying to mask it here by being annoying, but there's affection here. Not just emotionally, but through physical touch. Proximity too - guy's not adverse to getting up in people's faces to nick (ha) stuff.

And even at his most hostile and snappy, well, there's no strict reason why he has to get so close to Vash and grab him by the shirt like this:

But is it really a surprise that Wolfwood's like this? After all, the flashback with Livio shows that he was absolutely an affectionate and caring kid, even if edgy-teenager logic would have it utterly mortifying to admit out loud. The Eye of Michael can try to beat it out of him all they want, but a desire for closeness isn't something you can just remove from someone. It may end up muted, sure, but deep down it will always still be there.

TL;DR Wolfwood is absolutely secretly the biggest cuddlebug on this godforsaken planet and you can't convince me otherwise.

[the-dark-parade]

Dear marshal,

Could I have... REINCARNATION AU!!!

Let's say that reader (female) used to be a soldier under lilia

AND while working under him, she fell in love

So she confessed to him. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. (annoying.)

But one day, it looks like he's going to get hurt fatally, and she takes the but instead. (how stupid.)

And she dies. But she doesn't regret it. And gets reincarnated!

(I wanna see him pining for her the same way she does for him!!!!)

WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... angst + fluff + lilia×fem reader

A/N: Thank you for your request, @something1032727 I hope my work pleases you. This is my first work after all. If you are not comfortable with this, feel free to leave. If you would like a version with male reader instead, please request it. Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Now, the parade starts with it's first destination...

Fate's Redemption: A Love Reborn

(part 1)

In the symphony of life, love echoes and reverberates endlessly, intertwining souls across time. Every gesture, every sacrifice, echoes through eternity, shaping destinies. And in the cycle of rebirth, love's refrain returns, reminding us that its melody endures, transcending even lifetimes. Truly, eternal echoes of love.

"Please go out with me!" You say as always, with such vigour, with such annoyingness, as always. Love-struck eyes stare into mine, seemingly going into my soul, hoping for a chance. It's like her eyes turn into hearts whenever I'm here.

How stupid. One of my best soldiers in the army, and she's so head-over-heels for me. Save her clumsy ass a few times, and she magically falls in love with you.

How naive.

I reject you once again, for what seems like the 1000th time or more, but you still don't give up. Your stubbornness is one of your worst yet best trait about you.

You eat my food with a smile even though my other soldiers avoid it like the plague. I suppose you do have good taste after all.

You cook for me, feed my ego, help me with my work, and so much more.

I wonder if you're just in it for fun. Perhaps you just want my title if we actually win the war. But I brush the thoughts off when I see your sincerity.

You ask again, and again, and again.

Why are you so insistent?

Why do you even bother?

Why do you like me so much?

This little crush of yours should be over by now. I have not treated you very nicely. I have not treated you any different from the rest. There is nothing between us. Why can't you understand that I'm just not interested?!

At least that was what I would like to say. If my heart didn't stop beating so hard around you. If your smile, your stupid, stupid confessions, that used to not bother me at all, now haunts me in my sleep every night!

What's wrong with me..?

Am I truly... falling in love..?

.

.

.

Well, that's what I wanted to ask.

How stupid. How fucking fucking fucking stupid!

How irritable can you be?

How much do you want me to cry over you?!

Is it too late to say I regret not accepting your confession all those years ago, if now you're dead..?

--

"General, watch out..!" You say, as you use your body to shield me from an arrow that I never even noticed was coming after me. Pushing me to the side.

"...you're dying. How stupid. Why did you take that arrow for me?" I pick you up, just running to base. Stupid human devices..! I can't cast my teleportation magic! There's no time, there's no time! You stupid fae...

"cause... *cough*, I love you." You say weakly, softly, coughing out blood in my arms. You even wink! You infuriate me so bad!

"Shut up! Don't you dare die on me!" I ran as fast as I could. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die! You made my life brighter, and now you want me to go back to how it was?!

You made me fall in love with you!

.

Fuck. Before we even reached, I could feel your heart stop beating. Your body is becoming cold. No, no, no! It can't end like this. It can't!

Is this what it feels to have your whole world crash upon you?

My heart feels heavy. My cheek feels wet. I feel like causing a massacre. My chest feels tight. It's a bit hard to breathe. I feel a chill go up my back.

But why..?

Death is normal in war. Death is a daily occurrence in war. Death happens in every fight, in every week.

So why?

Why does death, which was so normal for soldiers on the battlefield like me, make me feel this way?

Amidst my thoughts, I managed to bring you back to base. But it wasn't really you. Just a cold, soulless empty vessel of you.

This is just too cruel.

You should not have ended up this way, you still had so much to live for, and just when I was actually going to accept your confession you go and die on me?!

We... Could have been happy together.

If only... If only I wasn't so stubborn, denying my feelings for you.

If only you weren't so insistent on going out with me.

If only...

If only...

If only you didn't take that hit in my stead, could that have happened..?

Ah, but it's too late to regret it now, huh?

.

That night, it was said that wailings could be heard from inside the General's tent.

--

Years have passed, and the numbers signalling each year are not the only changes that happened in my life.

I have gotten wiser and older. Now I know what I felt for you in those days.

Love is the word for my overwhelming feelings for you.

I visit your grave from time to time. It mostly ends up in tears, despite how many years have passed.

I used to call you pathetic for being so love-driven. I guess now I'm the pathetic one. How my past words bite me in the gyatt, just like the youngsters say!

I entered school. I can't believe I still have that invitation letter from NRC from all those years ago!

I have gotten over you.

At least that would be what I would like to say, but when I saw you again, it was like my old heart started beating again.

"(y/n),"

The dark mirror said, and my eyes shot to the person in question. Could it truly be..?

Those eyes. Those mannerisms. Everything about you... I could never mistake you for anyone else. It's you.

"Thou shall be sorted into..."

Diasomnia. I hope she'll be sorted in the same dorm as me. But even so, I'll win her heart again even if she's not.

"Savannahclaw!"

I feel like sighing... We could have been dormmates! But, oh well!

Khehehe. This general makes a mission to himself, to make you fall in love with him as deeply and as hopelessly as you did all those years ago. And this general isn't one to fail a mission.

Get ready, my love.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! Thank you for reading if you read.

[the-midnight-blooms]

sincerely, yours | jyh

pairing: husband!jeong yunho x wife!reader AU: hanahaki au word count: 2.4k ATEEZ as angst tropes series: Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Unrequited Love 

Dear Yunho,

I hope this letter find you well, whether you open it now or decades later when you sit at my grave. Perhaps you’ve married again, and another child sits in your arms- I'll never truly know how much I mean to you.

Whoever had said falling in love was a blessing had clearly never fallen in love with the wrong person in their life. Such an astute claim that was. Falling in love was one the worst things that could have ever happened to me, especially since the deadly case of Hanahaki was up for grabs.

I will not sugar-coat it, I love you as dearly as if you are mine. I love you as if I can have you. I love you as if I am entitled to you. I always have, and will until I am torn apart by this wretched illness.

Perhaps she had acted too resistant in the face of love. Acting like it was a sin for women on a dark path, yet at night she dreamed that in the dead of a void her lover would crawl to her and ensnare her in his arms. Pepper her with gentle kisses and unbroken stares. Perhaps that was the reason why Yunho had first been warded away from her, taking on many lovers. Always rushing back to her to tell her how perfect each woman was, how he cherished them, fixing onto their smile, their eyes, their beauty unparalleled. There was something about them that made his heart swoon and something about her that rebuked him.

“Then who will hold you at night, when you are so lonely that you cannot even comfort yourself?” He asked her one evening, sat under a great oak tree heads on each other shoulders; the action itself burning her heart- how she wished he wanted her the same way she wanted him. You. Will you not hold me? Will you not shield from the terrors of this world that I am so frightened against?

He had come to her in the torpidity of the night, finally, heart yearning as he realised that where he should have spoken aloud his lovers name, he said hers. Where his lover should have been soaring through his dreams, carrying his child, plastering kisses all over his face, running down the sand on the crust of the roaring sea; it was her.

"Yunho? What's wrong?" With watery eyes he stared down at her, body wracking with sobs.

"It's you. You're all I have ever wanted."

Who should I blame for being so devoted to you? I can’t blame myself, I’m sorry. It hurts too much and already the bronchi of my lungs have been replaced with the sturdy branches of a willow tree. Flowers now bloom on the membrane of cells, tissues all compressed between saccharine petals. You may laugh at my poetry but you adored it once. After all, once our souls were bound in holy matrimony, did I not gift you a poem every anniversary? Did you not read those words aloud me under the cover of the night, as if it was your soul speaking to me and not I?

An ecru, vintage radio sat perched upon the wooden worktop, in an equally old kitchen on the outskirts of the country. Just two miles below, down the grassy hilltop lead to the sea-the rush of the tides blanketing the sand, drawing it towards the deep. Delicate waves enveloped each other, producing a cacophony of sounds that drowned out the hum of the radio. The humidity of the kitchen suffocated her, as the flames of the oven whispered to the baked good blemishing it with a golden-brown that would soon prompt her to pull it from the rack. Wandering to the front porch, she followed her lover's figure saunter up the hill-his pace increasing as she opened her arms out for him. Swooping her up from the ground, he spun her around in the air-his tight grip central around her waist. A shriek escaped from her lips as he did so. Gently, he put her down, the couple laughing synchronously as she dragged him into the kitchen. Flopping down onto the chair, Yunho went straight to the radio-sitting on top of the worktop, fiddling with its button an array of tunes inbounding the pale kitchen walls. Settling upon a popular Latin song, he got off the countertop- beginning to sway his hips to the music. When his movements became much more faster and fluid, she could not help but erupt in a fit of laughter. He reached out for her hands, enamouring her hands within his.

"You know I can't dance." He laughed, recalling the memory where she almost tripped on her wedding dress in front of a crowd of people gawking at them during the first dance. Turning the dial, he rested his hands on her waist gazing down at her. Resting her chin on his chest she peered up at him with her own doe eyes. Remaining in each other arms as the world swept by, wind rushing in from the window lace curtain fluttering in the breeze. A sweet smell drove out from the oven, she hastily pried herself from his embrace grabbing the tea towel.

"What have you got in the oven?" he pondered, as she went to her knees opening the oven door. A small smirk formed on her lips. He looked over her shoulder. "Buns?" Holding back giggles, she composed herself before looking up at him with a deadpan face nodding dubiously.

"Interesting choice. I thought you were baking a cake. Never mind, these are nice." He rambled as she flipped over the buns onto the wire rack, leaving them to cool. "How long were they in the oven for?" He winced slightly as he tried to reach for one, sharply retracting his hand away as the hot surface lacerated his finger.

"About four-five weeks." He gave her a confused look, as she turned around meandering to the living room. Five weeks? He looked back at the buns. He knew croissants often took three days to make, but five weeks for buns? As if a switch had flicked in his head, he stuck his head in the living room doorway.

"We have a bun in the oven?" Nodding, he swept her off the floor like a bride, spinning her around in his arms as if she weighed nothing to him. "WE HAVE A BUN IN THE OVEN!"

You may have once told me you adored me, but you no longer do now.

She recalled staring down at the loose petal of a bright pink dicentra flower in her fingers, blood splattered across the crystal white sink in her bathroom. A strangling sensation fulfilled her throat, slumping onto the lid of the toilet seat. Beads of sweat formed across her forehead, the cogs in her brain stopping for a split second as fatigue gnawed at her. The pounding on the bathroom door startled her, shoving the pink petal in her pocket- she opened the tap using her fingers to scrub away the splatter of her blood that remained on the sink. Looking down she found her niece peering up at her with her wide eyes and an innocent face, her little lips lightly gaped as she took in her auntie's dishevelled state. Lifting up her niece in her arms, she pecked her chubby cheeks a giggle eructed from her as she walked into her bedroom. Yunho sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his work tie a sheepish smile of his face. Nari's short arms held out for her uncle, in a disinterested manner Yunho took her from his wife's hold, lazily entertaining his niece.

"You could at least pretend to be happy when you play with Nari." His wife taunted, late at night in a hushed tone as her niece fell into a deep slumber.

"She's not my child, I don't see why." A loud thud echoed in the room as he dropped his phone onto the night stand.

"Yunho." she snapped, eyebrows furrowed in anger. He never was like this, something had happened after her miscarriage. Like a lever had been pulled, refiguring his kind-hearted nature into a malicious monster. It struck her heart with fear, that now that she could not give him a child-he longer wanted her. "She is still a baby, how would you like it if someone did that to your child?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have one, do I?" As if a blow had been struck against her, she rolled her body in the opposite direction, in the bed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Why are you holding it against me? She wanted to say. A deep sigh escaped from his lips, he indolently patted his wife's shoulder as if it would compensate for the damage ensued by his apathy. Erupting in a harsh fit of coughs, a current of petals flew from her mouth blessing the earth beneath.

To ask me stop loving you is like asking for the earth to stop orbiting the sun. To ask me is to tell me to stop breathing. Oh my darling, my lover divine, I wish I could. No matter what I do, you won’t love me back. So I plead of you to acknowledge my suffering. To know that others may blame you for the way you taunted me. Because I never meant anything more to you than someone to fill your lonely nights when nobody else wanted you.

Over the subsequent months, her health had deteriorated significantly which had not gone unnoticed by her husband. Her eyes had sunken into its pockets, painted by dark circles highlighting the restless nights where the pain denied her sleep.

"You never told me what the doctor said." Nailing her eyes to the chopping board, the knife cut fluently down at the fruit sweeping it up in a plastic container. She hadn't told Yunho, it was Hanahaki. Neither could she forget the pitying look in the doctor's eyes when she revealed it to her. A married woman suffering from Hanahaki? Just how cruel could the world get?

"They're just running some blood tests. They haven't got back to me on the results, it's probably nothing. If it was important they would have called me." Yunho frowned, as he put his lunchbox in his bag. Walking with him to the foyer, he kissed her forehead before leaving to walk to his car parked on the drive way. The pain in her chest alleviated but not so much that she did not sink to knees when the car pulled out from the driveway heaving for air as she felt her lungs being pierced by the abrasive bark of a tree.

Where petals had drifted out of her mouth, flowers now bloomed. For one evening, Yunho came back home from work finding his wife draped over their shared bed- lips shrouded with petals. flowers at her neck. Concerned he shook her awake, with bleary eyes she sat up fingers pressing into her temples. Lifting up the petals with his slender fingers, he stared at her with a questioning look he only hoped she'd catch. Though no words had left her, she did not know what to say. He was not supposed to find out like this.

"I have Hanahaki disease, Yunho." she breathed out, her coarse voice prescient. An spectral silence befell amongst the couple, what else was there to say? The situation spoke for itself. "I just want to know, at what point in our lives did you stop loving me?"

“I didn’t know that I had fallen out of in love with you, because I still feel comfort when you’re there." He spoke slowly, a desperate attempt at piecing together the right words as he tried to come to terms with the fact he was the one who had caused her poor condition. "Sometimes I only feel myself entitled to breath when I look at you.” As if that was the cure, a declaration of love-those menial words that had put her in this position in the first place.

“Then why am I dying? Why is this disease tearing me apart? You’re killing me, Yunho.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head profusely, tears brimming at the front of his perfect eyes. "Don't say that, please." Her husband begged, pressing his palm to his lips to prevent the grievous dissonance of his sobbing.

“What else would you like me to say? That I am the disloyal one? And I am in love with another who cannot love me back? Be fucking realistic, I have been in love with you a lot longer than you have been in love with me.” Her body trembled with the cold, her own tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't try to hold back the distressing sound as he had. Leaning her head back on the headboard. "What about me disgusted you? What about me made me so unworthy of your love?"

"I wanted a child." Grabbing the pillow, she plundered it against his head as hard as she could. Lunging at him, the collar of his shirt balled up into fists, his slender body oscillating back and forth as she screamed out her soul.

"It's not my fault I cannot conceive! If you had known that before marriage would you have never married me? Would you have never loved me? Is that all a woman means to you? A machine to give birth, or an object to satisfy your desires?" Letting go off his shirt, she subsided into the silk pillows bawling to her heart's content. "Leave Yunho." His breath hitched in his throat. Soundlessly, he got up from the bed trudging towards the doorway, glistening pearls dropping from his porcelain face. He stopped, turning around with a pleading look.

"Leave and if you come back to me- tell me it is because you love me. So much so that it is the ailment to this disease.”

When you did not come back to tell me you loved me, it almost certified the fact that you really had fallen out of in love with me. Perhaps it is better to die than to live a life of solitude, for every day I live I can feel my heart rupturing at the mere sight of you. I wish you find someone to love as much as I love you.

So, one last time before the Angel of Death takes my breath away and draws my soul out of my body: I love you, Jeong Yunho. I love you so much that I have died in your name. I love you so much that if I was given a choice to relive this life again, I would. No matter the pain, no matter the heartache, I would live this life again. All for you.

Sincerely, Yours.

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: i feel like yunho + unrequited love is such a fitting trope for him? Yunho doing the salsa literally came from me and @n0v4t33z talking about how his hips don't lie. ALSO AS A BRIT BUNS ARE CUPCAKES!! when i first heard about 'bun in the oven' i didn't know it was a teacake (burger bun), but i made it one for this fic.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[lets-try-some-writing]

I wonder what was Mars reaction to humans sending him rovers the first time. i imagine Earth probably warned him in advance that humans planned on sending him something (Sojourner was the first sent if i believe correctly) and he knowing what humans are like prepared for the worst definitely

Mars: I really hope this thing won't infect me with anything..

Sojourner: *beeps*

Mars:

Sojourner:*starts collecting rocks*

Mars:

Moon: Earth asks if you're al- *senses Mars em field*Are you crying??

Mars: *deep in fatherhood*No *he is*

This is adorable and it deserves a mini fic. Enjoy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mars always told himself he didn’t mind the solitude. He was near his brother and close enough to Mortus—or rather Pluto—to feel content with himself. Sometimes Halley came to visit, which was always a pleasant surprise. It was not often someone immune to the rust corroding him happened to be both nearby and actually interested in communication. Earth was certainly nice enough, and Mars eagerly awaited her every message when she saw fit to reach out to him or use Moon as a proxy.

Moon. Mars. Pluto. He would never fully adjust to the new names given to them by his brother’s beloved Terra. Personally, he preferred his Cybertronian name, but he would never dare say as such aloud. Mortus didn’t care, and Fengari, his elder brother, would be prone to lash out if Mars ever voiced his objection to his new name. Not only that, but he wasn’t keen on making Terra upset. 

How many vorns had he been in orbit around the Unmaker and the life giving Titan who shielded him? It was hard to keep track without any citizens on his surface to constantly chatter to and about him.

Right. Citizens.

Being in his alternate mode, Mars was incapable of sighing as he wanted to. But as he took control over one of his drones and piloted it to the surface, he let the drone pause and linger on the view. Why had he lived while his wards died? It was not fair. He should have carried them until the very end, bringing them to salvation and away from the fires of Cybertron.

If only there hadn’t been plague. Maybe then he could at least have the chance to take on new citizens and ease the ache in his spark.

No, no. He couldn’t think like that. Contemplating such things almost always led to dark thoughts. It was not allowed. He had to stay calm and composed for Fengari. His poor brother was blind for Prima’s sake. Fengari lost his optics, his citizens, and his ability to take to the stars if he so desired in order to stay with Earth. Fengari suffered more. It was not Mars’s place to weep when he at least had remnants of his people upon his frame in the form of paintwork.

He still had them with him, in his spark and through the echoes they left upon his surface. Sweet Solus, many of their inner habitations were still untouched. He’d ensured it remained that way.

He still had relics. He had echos. He was fine. He had no reason to cry.

Right?

“Primus, our maker... we are so far from you. Can you hear us? Do our sparks still resonate with yours?” He spoke through his drone, letting his voice ring out with only a slight bit of static due to the corrosion of his vessel. He sighed as he received no answer, not that he really expected one. He stared though his drone in silence for a while, the quiet of the void all but deafening.

If he listened closely with his real body, he could hear the faint song of stars, the thrum of their very being radiating nearby. Earth’s Star had quite the pleasant melody. Enough for him to fall into recharge.

But he couldn’t allow that. If he slumbered, he may not wake. Instead, he endured the silence, the isolation. Perhaps Mortus would be kind enough to come and pay him a visit during one of his patrols. 

‘Mars? I have news.’

He stalled for a moment as waves of emotion crashed against him. Mars had to pause to translate the EM field communication he found himself assaulted with. Young Terra was not the most educated in matters of gentle or polite correspondence, but she could most certainly be heard.

‘Earth, it is  a pleasure to hear from you. What news do you have for me?’

He tried to keep his communication controlled and neutral. But as he sent back a response, he sensed something coming near to him. It had been heading in his direction for a while, but for the longest time he’d simply assumed it to be space debris. Looking more closely, it appeared to be some kind of device.

‘My children have created a drone of sorts. They are sending it to your surface to analyze you. Do not fear; the drone appears to be insignificant and designed purely for observation. I simply wished to warn you.’ 

Mars almost stiffened, but he forced himself to relax so that his surface would not shift as the thing drew closer. Without a second thought, he moved his drone as far from the potential landing site as he could get without losing track of this incoming drone that was apparently headed his way. He forgot to send a reply for a long while as he watched the thing draw ever nearer.

Earth’s humans were such deadly and destructive beings when they were left unchecked. Mars had witnessed the horrors himself when he watched them drop bombs all over poor Terra’s surface. Even now, the wounds still brought her pain from time to time. 

What would happen if her humans found him to be of use for some grand scheme? Would they harm him too? Mars was a Titan; he could survive if he had to. But he would rather not expose himself and, consequently, his kin to Earth’s destructive little scraplet farm. Why she loved them so dearly was beyond him.

‘Thank you for the warning.’ 

He eventually sent back curtly as he watched the drone finally land on his surface. It felt so very strange to have a new entity roaming his frame. Halley rarely landed, and when she did, her very frame eliminated warmth like a young star barely contained within living metal. This thing was cold, but not necessarily in a wicked sense. It seemed... almost like a protoform, yet lacking a spark. The emotions were familiar, the feeling of potential almost overwhelming.

Mars stared through his drone, his very spark flaring in its chamber as ancient desire rose within him. The drone was tiny, barely the size of the smallest newsparks that he had nurtured before the fires of Cybertron. And yet, as he looked upon the small wheeled entity roaming and prodding at rocks and pebbles like they were the most interesting thing on this side of the galaxy, Mars, or rather, Bellum’s spark, swelled with love.

The ache that had long burned within his core seared as he gazed upon the youth of the small thing roaming his surface. So small. So pure. So full of potential. 

Ancient coding sang within him, and before Bellum knew it, his drone moved just a bit closer, although still out of view. This one did not appear to be affected by the rust of his surface. It roamed freely, without a care in the world. Such innocence… Bellum needed to guard it.

Had Earth’s humans sent him this little gift out of kindness? No. They couldn’t have. They did not know he lived. And yet, he couldn’t help the way every part of his processors screamed at him to accept the offering. Such things were done for the sake of an alliance between Titans back on Cybertron. Old habits died hard, and Bellum could hardly contain himself as he fought the urge to have his drone snatch the Earth-born drone and drag it toward his core so he could connect to it intimately.

He couldn’t expose himself. Not yet. But Bellum was a patient being. Let the humans explore through their gift. His scans indicated that the poor drone wouldn’t last more than a few years without maintenance. He would wait until the humans abandoned it, and then, when all was done, he would finally have a chance to serve his purpose once more.

“Sweet little roamer, do not fear. You may not understand now, but soon, when your creators have let you fly away from them, I will take you under my wing.” He all but purred, keeping his vocalizations below the range of the drone as he observed it. 

“You will not know fear. You will suffer no illness. I will give you a spark, and when the time is right, I will make you into something more.” His spark flared in affection as the tiny Earth-born gathered rocks, observing and producing soft sounds of affirmation as it went. What a lovely voice it would have once Bellum granted it a spark. 

He could hardly wait.

‘Mars, are you in distress?’ 

Fengari, Moon, whatever designation he went by, sent a message that snapped Mars back to attention. Only after he refocused did he realize he’d been sending out waves upon waves of countless emotions in short, and likely unsetting bursts. His brother’s concerns made sense now.

‘I am perfectly fine, brother. In fact, I feel better than I have in millennia.’

Confusion met Mars’s response. He didn’t pay it much mind as he continued to observe the drone upon his surface. It was just so small. 

‘Let Terra know that so long as more of these drones are sent to me, she shall have my full allegiance.’ 

Shock met him this time, but Mars merely hummed. He had something to hope for now, and he had no intention of missing a single moment of his new firstborn’s life. He would have to get his visual images printed at some point for the little one to see once they developed mentally.

“Explore to your spark’s content, sweet roamer. I shall wait for you.” Mars felt his frame ease and a faint song escape his true vocalizer as he watched the small drone pick up a rock and stare at it.

Soon. Soon he would be a Sire again.

[the-kr8tor]

can I make a request about prowler hobie and reader is treating his wounds?? Prowler hobie is so slept on ☹️ give my boy some attention too!

you don’t have to though 🫶🏾

Yippeee! Prowler! Hobie ❤️ thank you for requesting!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.4 k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Prowler! Hobie, TW blood, CW injury, CW violence, Hurt/comfort

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your trainers squeak against the moist pavement. The harsh rain is battering against your coat as you try to desperately shield yourself. You hug your bag tighter as a speeding car passes next to you, the sound of hurried sirens follow right after it. The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust smoke enters your nostrils, you cough loudly from the intrusion.

One word settles in your tired mind: Home, and perhaps him too if he ever decides to come home to you tonight.

You don't blame Hobie, he's had it rough and so does the city. With the death of spiderman, anyone who has a need for quick cash or a bone to pick with the city are now roaming the streets freely. No one can stop them, the city's finest or what's left of them are either desperately trying to do their best or joining the worst. Hobie is doing neither. He has his own goals, you just wish you were a part of it too.

You miss Hobie, truly. You miss the days where your only problem was what to eat for dinner, you miss the days where you and Hobie would go out the entire night and only come home when the sun has risen with grins on your faces and laughter stuck in your throat as he kisses you silly. You miss your Hobie, but you have to embrace the prowler too, for they are one and the same.

Sniffing from the cold, fog settles near your feet. Someone whistles down the street so you turn the other corner quickly and away from them. Fear has settled in your stomach and made it into its home. As you walk faster, heavy footsteps behind you get closer and closer. They whistle out, sneering and jeering as they follow you.

With your back turned away from them, you run.

Sprinting off, you hear hurried yells after you, then gasps, and suddenly you hear fists hitting skin. Boots crunching bones underneath it, loud thumps of bodies hitting the ground. Then, silence. The quiet makes you slowly turn around.

Heart in your stomach, you see him standing over seven unconscious bloodied men. His suit whirrs, sparks fly off from the purple lights that snake along his arms. He stomps at someone's arm, bones smashed under his foot, and you notice the blood leaking off his side.

“You're bleeding.” You breathlessly say, taking a step forward towards Hobie, he turns around to face you.

The streetlight above him serves as his spotlight, and the pavement below him is his stage. His mask shines in the yellow light, the faint purple lines in place of his eyes stare at you emotionlessly. He flexes his fists, steam rises off the gauntlets like an engine.

“Are you hurt?” He asks in a mechanical voice, none of the softness you were used to, none of the teasing tone you love dearly. It's him though, under all the steel covering his body, it's him, you're sure of it.

“You're the one who's bleeding.” You finally find the courage to stand side by side with him. Placing your cold hand against the colder metal where his warm ichor seeps through, you try your best to stop the flow. “Let me take you home, please.”

“I can’t—”

“Please,” you whisper softly, that's only for his ears to hear. “Hobie, let me fix this. Come home.”

After a beat, the rain drenches you both, and he nods. “... I'll come home, just for tonight.” And it's the best thing you've heard since everything fell.

—

You thank your past self for ‘forgetting’ to unlock your fire escape. He doesn't comment on it, knowing the real reason behind the lack of lock.

Hobie lets you enter first through the window while you take off your wet coat. He roams his eyes at the flat that hasn't changed much since he last saw it. The leather jacket he unceremoniously left on the back of the settee still hangs there, his trainers are still in the shoe rack by the door. His favourite mug still sits next to yours. The walls are still the same green you two once painted together. It still smells like home, it's still his home.

“Hobie?” You call softly on the couch. Patting the space beside you, you smile hopefully at him.

Wordlessly, he unclaces his boots near the windowsill, remembering how much you hated outdoor shoes inside the flat. Your heart reaches out to him at the small movement, you miss him, and now that he's standing in front of you, it's harder to not run up to him and whisper how much you missed him.

The metal of his suit creaks as he sits down. His blood stains the steel, the purple lights slightly blind you. Noticing your narrowed eyes, he shuts off the light, you smile in thanks.

“I can't treat you with the suit still on you.” You quietly say as you splash your hands with alcohol, you put on gloves and the smell of antiseptic makes you wish the circumstances were different.

“If you wanted to get me naked you could've just asked.” He teases, mask still on, voice still unrecognizable.

Instead of a giggle that he's used to hearing, you choke back a sob that you quickly hide with a calculated sniff. You give him a tight-lipped smile, hands suddenly shaking while holding on to the bandages.

Hobie takes your hands, calming you with his gloveless hands. He guides your hands to the clamps that hold his suit to his body. Silently and comfortably, he lets you take off the top part of his suit. It clunks loudly as it falls on the wooden floors, and he now realizes the lack of carpet.

“What happened to the old carpet?” He asks while you press on the gash near his hip.

“I dropped a bowl of soup, I couldn't get rid of the smell so I just threw it away.”

“You could've gotten it cleaned, you liked that carpet.”

“It's just a carpet, Hobie.” You look up at him through your lashes. “Besides, I don't have money to get it professionally cleaned.”

He knits his brows underneath his mask, “what happened to the money I sent you?”

“‘Sent’ isn't a word that I would use, more like ‘dropped off in front of my door like a stray kitten’” You sigh, blinking, “I used it don't worry, I've put it to good use.” You stop him before he could reply. “And I'm not starving, or behind on rent. Just— some people need it more than me.” The bleeding has finally stopped so you inspect the wound if it needs stitching. “I'm doing fine, don't worry about me.”

“It needs stitching, here let me—”

“Let me do this one thing for you, please.” You almost break in front of him. You want to savour the short moment with him, because if he was the one to suture it, he'll be out of the flat before you could even say goodbye. Just like last time. “Just…” you wipe a tear off your cheek, “I missed you, a lot. And I want you to just stay a few minutes longer.” You honestly tell him.

Hobie holds your face tenderly, thumb rubbing along your tear stained cheeks, the same softness that he doesn't show the people he fights night after night. They see it as weakness, he doesn't, he sees you as his reprieve from the world that wants to crush him in between its gnarled teeth.

He wishes everything was different, that everything would go back to normal where the seven don't rule the entire city, where they didn't plunge the whole city into darkness. Where he would hug you from behind as you two make dinner, where it's just you and him on the couch watching a film that makes you scrunch your face into annoyance.

He misses you too.

“Can I see you?” You ask gently as you hold his hands that's on your cheeks.

Hobie takes his hands away from your face, and for a second you think that he'll leave you right where you sat. But he brings his hands near his temples, with a whirr and a mechanical hiss, he takes off his mask, revealing the face you love so much.

There's new scars on his face, One underneath his left eye that makes your heart almost stop at how it must've felt when it was still fresh. An unrecognizable newer cut on his nose has you weeping.

“‘m doin' fine, don't worry about me, love.” Hobie holds you close, he doesn't mind the ache on his side anymore, arms around your torso, he presses you close to his heart.

“Don't use my own words against me, Hobart.” You mumble against his skin, the same word crosses your mind again, home.

“There’s the spark I miss so much,” he lays his forehead on top of yours, letting his warmth spread over to you. Home, this is his home.

“I missed you too.” You could only hope that the reunion isn't brief as you stitch him back together again.

[qqtxt]

[🐯] automatic off-switch

✿ pairing: beomgyu x reader / idol!txt / employee!you / minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) / fluff, silly 🌸 / 792 words ✿ beomgyu’s known to be someone who constantly runs his mouth but the boys discovered you’re an automatic off switch for him... (the boys never knew this day would come) ✿ honestly, idk where this came from!!! i kinda saw a scene from crash course in romance and it’s just a little spinoff from there! (i think it’s episode 16 towards the end and you cannot convince me that is not beomgyu-coded) [masterlist 🌸] / @kflixnet​ 🔦

beomgyu knows that sometimes–lies, all the time. yeonjun’s said it about a million times now–that he tends to run his mouth further than his mind can think about it. it’s not that he wasn’t sensitive to the words he was saying; he was. it’s just that he wants to take the weight of something that may appear heavy and make it... lighter, than it was before... even if it means saying things that may borderline to rubbing salt into the wound.

it wasn’t a good day, or it doesn’t seem to be a good day when the boys could hear telltales of your supervisor hounding your entire team from where they were in. keeping their volume down, peeking past the blinds, beomgyu spots you lowering your head as the reprimanding continues.

perhaps a minute or two goes by, but in reality it had been fifteen minutes before beomgyu excuses himself out of the dance practice room. “five bucks he’ll make things worse,” yeonjun whispers, nudging soobin by the arm who takes the deal with a scoff, bumping elbows as a sign of you’re on.

//

in the quiet of the hallway where you’re standing by one of the cooler machines, getting a cup of water, you’re left with your thoughts. not the best thoughts, but not the worst, either. it’s... just so-so, really. the flop with what had happened wasn’t your fault but considering you’re under the same department, oftentimes the rebuking happens as a whole for... reminder purposes.

as the machine clicks and you’re settled with a cup filled with water, you take a sip only to have your shoulders jumping at the voice that reverberates the walls, gently shaking your heart in the process. looking up, you’re met with beomgyu’s smile from about twenty steps away, his bright eyes sparkling at you despite going through hours of training.

"staying hydrated, i see.” he breaks the quietness with his completely obvious remark, that’s used as a way to ease himself next to you with a small smile. you lift the cup at his direction with a mustered up smile to your best ability, but even you know you’re not fooling anyone when beomgyu carefully reaches down to put his hand in yours, mindful to remain hidden despite being out in the open yet shielded in your own bubble together with how quiet this hallway usually is.

“i kinda saw what happened,” beomgyu murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “you okay?”

you nod with a soft sigh, “yeah, i’m okay. it was nothing big, really.” your eyes gaze from your half-sipped glass of water, up to beomgyu’s shifting eyes that you know have more than meets them.

“then...” he trails off.

"then...?” you echo.

“just how on earth did something like that–”beomgyu notices how you’re gripping onto his hand, narrowed eyes as a warning“–okay, i’ll shut up.”

you still don’t let up on the façade, knowing that he’s got a bit more–“...but just, y’know, things like that don’t just happen out of nowhere–”beomgyu yelps a little at how tight you’re squeezing his hand with your jaw clenching that he’s quick to rephrase his words“–i’ll pull my lip right over my head so hard i can’t ever speak again.”

with the way he switches up so fast, it makes you snort, making use of your interlocked hands so you can nudge his thigh. he chuckles along with you and sways your hands lightly, knowing the gesture would soothe your erratic heart... and it does. slowly. gently. delicate and as soft as the look beomgyu gives you.

“better?”

“...would be much better if i had ice cream,”

“aren’t you just a sneaky little–”beomgyu’s words rephrase quicker than he can stop himself when you raise a brow at him, threatening to squeeze his hand that”–of course the ice cream is crucial. how could i possibly leave that out?”

you shake his hand off and lightly shove at his chest, reeling out a couple of laughters before beomgyu points with his head, “gonna let me walk you back?”

“depends,”

beomgyu tilts his head with a slightly raised brow.

“are you gonna keep running your mouth?”

“what?” he huffs, clearly trying to hold back he’s being a bit sulky, “you actually want me to shut up?”

the quiet pause that fills between the two of you is what makes beomgyu squint his eyes at you, more so when you begin backing away from him with a grin threatening to form on your face. it only makes him furrow his brows as he moves closer towards you and soon, it’s him chasing you down the hall with hearty laughters filling the corridors on your way back.

well, mission failed successfully (?) in beomgyu’s mind.

[shalomniscient]

worship (like a dog) || rahu x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

Rahu is hardly the first person you know like this, in fact a few sinners come to mind immediately, but she is perhaps the worst of them all. She does little to conceal her desire; you know the way she looks at you, can feel it against your skin, and yet Rahu herself would sooner gnaw her own leg off than ever admit to it. Tonight, however, you intend to put an end to this fruitless and frustrating back and forth—one way or another.  Or, you help Rahu take what she wants. (and she does, more than you expect.)

cw. [NSFT][MDNI] rahu has a dick in this (a big one), deepthroating, facefucking, breeding, squirting, use of puppy as a pet name, multiple orgasms, praising, switch!rahu, switch!reader

wc. 4.2k of pure filth

You don’t normally wear dresses like these, so revealing and eye catching. You’ve always been more comfortable in the shirt, slacks and coat of your typical attire, given its sheer functionality and the way it sufficiently shields you from any wandering eyes. But desperate times call for desperate measures—like trying to get your self-proclaimed bodyguard, Rahu, to finally take you like you know she’s always wanted.

So here you stand, in front of a full-length mirror in your bedroom after coming back from another FAC-sponsored gala, Rahu standing vigilantly in the doorway just outside the door you left ever so slightly ajar. You can feel Rahu’s silver gaze burn against your skin as you undo the clasp in the front of your dress. The sleeves slip from your shoulders, revealing the angular line of your collarbones, and you hear Rahu’s breath hitch sharply. You eye her carefully in the mirror, aware that the neckline of your dress has dropped dangerously low. Right now, the only thing keeping the dress on your body now was the zip in the back. 

“Rahu,” you call to her. “Will you help me with the zipper?”

Rahu’s fingers twitch, but then she nods. Stiffly, she walks towards you, until she is almost pressed against your back. The mask she wears echoes the sound of her deep, steady breathing, and the first touch of her gloved hands against your back almost makes you shiver. Slowly, carefully, Rahu pulls the zipper down, and in the reflection you can see the way her eyes follow the movement of her hands, watching as more of your skin is exposed. You sigh blissfully as your back is exposed to the cool air of the room, a balm against your heated skin. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning ever so slightly to look Rahu in the eyes. 

“Will that be all?” she asks, her voice noticeably rougher, deeper. It makes goosebumps break over your bare skin. 

“I don’t know,” you counter, taking the smallest step closer. The upper half of your dress is still bunched in your arms, giving her a sinfully clear view of the curve of your chest, helpfully uncovered by the fact that you chose to forgo a bra tonight. And your panties, but Rahu would only find that out later. Hopefully. “Do you want it to be?”

She blinks, and you see her throat bob as she swallows. “I— I don’t—“

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Rahu,” you whisper, your voice taking on an almost desperate edge. You lean up, close enough that only a few more inches would have your lips brushing the snarling face of her mask. “I want you. Do you want me?”

Rahu makes a sound between a growl and a whine and your blood sings. Her eyes were blown wide, silver nearly eclipsed by the blackness of her pupils. “If— if that is what you desire—“

You shake your head, taking one of Rahu’s hands in yours in an oddly intimate gesture that seemed a little out of place in the moment’s tense atmosphere. “Tell me what you want, Rahu.”

“I…” her words are strained, and briefly, you think she might step away. That the loyalty that keeps her by your side would be the same thing that drags her away from you tonight. But then her hand in yours squeezes gently, and her silver gaze burns with resolve. “I… want this. You.” 

Your heart stutters in your chest, an aching relief flooding through your body. A smile grows on your lips as your other hand finally releases your grip on the fabric of your dress, allowing it to slip off your body and collect like a silken pool at your feet. Rahu’s eyes flick down immediately to your exposed chest, and you laugh softly. 

“Like what you see?” you tease, free hand now daintily tracing the edges of Rahu’s mask. Your finger hooks in the clasp of her mask, tugging ever so slightly. “Then why don’t you take this off and have a taste?” 

Within seconds, she’s ripped the offending accessory off, letting it clatter onto the floor carelessly. And then with a forwardness you weren’t expecting, Rahu crashes her lips against yours in a bruising, breathtaking kiss, her large hand shooting out to grab at your waist, pulling you closer and squeezing. The pressure makes you gasp into the kiss, and Rahu seizes the opportunity to force her tongue into your mouth. 

Pressed so close to her like this, you become aware of something nudging against your thigh. You shift your hips, subtly grinding against her front, and Rahu groans, breaking away from you, her lips kiss-swollen and her expression pinched in one of beautiful pleasure. A flush creeps up her skin, and you feel her twitch in her pants. 

“You’ve gotten so worked up already,” you hum, her embarrassment utterly adorable. Your hand trails lower, reaching for her belt. “Let me—“

But Rahu catches your wrist, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I want… you first.” 

“Oh.” Rahu’s thrown another curveball at you, but you don’t mind. Definitely not. You smile up at her, the thrill of seeing your tall, mysterious bodyguard now a flushed, hard mess just for you making the heat in your core feel almost unbearable. “Alright, then.” 

You lead her to the foot of your bed, then take a seat. Rahu looks a little puzzled, but then you spread your legs, and Rahu gets the message. She swallows, eyes now fixated on your pussy, the slightest glossy sheen coating the inner lips. Slowly, she sinks to her knees, until her face is level with your hips, and you card your fingers through her long, dark hair. The sight of Rahu staring up at you from between your legs, silver eyes swirling with barely restrained hunger, makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Can I?” she asks, her hands coming to rest on your knees. Her warm breath against your wetness makes you sigh contentedly. “I want to…”

“You can, Rahu,” you encourage gently, applying the slightest pressure to the back of her skull. With your permission, Rahu dives in, licking a long stripe from your fluttering cunt up to your clit. The action pulls a low moan from you, your fingers tightening reflexively in her hair. Rahu repeats the movements a few times, before focusing her attention on your hole, prodding her tongue inside in a way that has you throwing one leg over her shoulder to pull her in closer. As you watch her eagerly lap at your pussy, you can’t help the small giggle that escapes you, barely audible over the squelching noises of her devouring you. 

“You—mhm—look so good like this, Rahu,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching at her scalp. “Like a—ah—cute little puppy.” 

The words make Rahu whine against you, and you see her hips buck against the floor. Rahu’s eyes are screwed shut, the grip she has on your thighs almost bruising as a full-body shudder wracks through her. You laugh properly this time, very pleasantly surprised. 

“Oh, did you like that?” you croon at her, petting her head like you would a dog. “Do you like it when I call you puppy? My puppy?” 

“Fuck,” Rahu hisses into your pussy, strained and hoarse. One hand releases your thigh to fumble with her belt, desperate to free what must be her painfully hard cock right now. 

“Focus, puppy,” you whisper, tugging her hair a little forcefully, pushing her face back where you need her to be. “You said you wanted me first, right?”

Rahu makes a strangled noise, but resumes what she was doing before, though with a touch more desperation this time around. Her tongue plunges in and out of your gushing hole, smearing the lower half of her face in slick. One particular thrust has her nose brushing your clit at the same time her tongue drives deep into you, and you moan loudly, your heel digging into her clothed back. 

“Just like that, puppy,” you praise, feeling your first orgasm of the night tightening in your belly. “Just a little bit more, being such a good puppy for me right now.”

Rahu’s hips start bucking against the floor again as she feels more wetness collect on her tongue. She continues to eat you out relentlessly despite the growing burn in her jaw, the sound of your pitched moans and whines sounding like heaven to her ears. With one final expert stroke of her tongue she tips you off the edge, and you throw your head back in a long, drawn out moan, your fingers fisting as tightly as possible in Rahu’s hair, the sting painfully pleasurable. You gush into her mouth, the sweet taste of you spilling into Rahu’s hungry, waiting mouth. She gives a few more light licks to your twitching hole before pulling back, her breath heavy, face almost shining in the low light in the room. 

You release your grip on Rahu’s hair and sigh happily, smiling indulgently down at the Sinner on her knees. “You’re so messy, puppy,” you say softly, cupping her face and swiping your thumb across her lips. “But you did so well for me, so I should reward you, right?”

“Please,” Rahu breathes out, her voice brittle. You lean down and kiss her, moaning at the taste of yourself on her lips. 

“On your feet, puppy,” you whisper into the kiss. Rahu rises shakily, standing to her full height. From where you sit on the bed, you’re now face to face with her crotch—where a very sizable tent pokes against her pants. You admire the clothed size of it for a second, then grip her toned thighs, tugging her close enough that she’s only inches away from your mouth. Rahu makes a choked noise, her hands flying to your head, a beautiful red flush settling on her cheeks. 

“Shirt off,” you order quietly. Reluctantly, Rahu releases your hair, her hands rising up to fumble with the buttons of her shirt and tie, practically ripping her clothes off in her haste until she’s completely bare. You admire her full breasts and the hard contours of her abs, your eyes tracing over each scar that criss-cross her body, some paler than others. Gently, you lean up to press a kiss against a newer one, and feel her stiffen against your touch. “Relax, puppy. I’m getting there…”

Ever so slowly you move lower, until your nose is pressed against her navel. Your hands deftly unbuckle her belt, and you let it fall to the floor along with her slacks. You laugh at the wet patch on the front of her boxers, teasingly kissing the clothed tip, just enough to get Rahu groaning. Then, you hook your fingers in the waistband and pull, finally setting Rahu’s aching, weeping cock free. 

It’s pretty, you think. Just like Rahu herself. She’s definitely not the thickest, but she certainly makes up for it in sheer length, the reddish tip curved ever so slightly. Rahu watches as you stare appreciatively at her cock, her nerves feeling frayed by desire. 

“Please…” she begs, ever so slightly rolling her hips forward, so that her cockhead bumps against your cheek. “I want— I need—“

“Shh, don’t worry, puppy,” you say soothingly, languidly wrapping your hand around her length and delighting in the way she sucks in a breath through gritted teeth. “I’ll take good care of you. Just tell me what you want, okay?” 

“Want you,” she chokes out brokenly, “y-your mouth.” 

“Good puppy,” you say with a smile, then start taking her into your mouth. Rahu swears as she feels your tongue swirl around the tip, lapping at the precum smeared on it from before. Your eyes briefly roll back into your head as the taste of her blooms on your tongue, a taste so distinctly Rahu you feel your own wetness gathering between your thighs again. You keep going, taking more and more of her into your mouth, until you feel her bump the back of your throat. You open your eyes again, and make sure to make direct eye contact with her as you draw back, all the way until you let go of her tip with a pop. Rahu whines, her hand fisting in your hair, her chest heaving at her own strained breaths. 

“Eyes on me, puppy,” you order lightheartedly before swallowing her, but this time your hand pumps whatever remaining length doesn’t fit in your mouth. Rahu grips your hair tightly, needing all her willpower to hold her back from fucking your face. You hollow your cheeks and press your tongue against her cock, your hand sometimes wandering down to toy with her balls. Rahu pants above you, eyes almost watering at how fucking good you were sucking her off. But she keeps focused on you, like the good puppy she is. 

And so you get to see fully the way her eyes disappear into her skull when you take all of her into your mouth, letting her fat cockhead bully its way down your throat. Your throat spasms, unused to the intrusion, and you breathe in harshly through your nose to quell the mildly uncomfortable sensation, because the expression on Rahu’s face right now was something absolutely worth it. Only then do you start sucking her off in earnest, bobbing up and down on her cock. The wet sounds echo throughout the room, as you devour her with as much intensity as she did you a few minutes ago. 

“I’m— I’m going to—“ Rahu croaks out, her hips jerking forward as her legs feel unsteady beneath her. You blindly reach for her other hand, and bring it to your face. You look up at her, and hope she gets the message. 

Use me. 

Rahu’s pupils blow wide, and you feel her twitch in your mouth. Hesitance peeks out through the fog of lust, and you whine pitifully at her. You’d beg, but you’re too busy keeping her cock in your mouth. Rahu swallows, and you see her lust win as her gaze takes a dangerous edge to it that has you squeezing your thighs together. Her other hand winds in your hair, and she pulls back slowly, almost slipping out completely before ramming her way back in, making you choke. 

Her pace is brutal as she chases her high, going balls deep with each sharp drive of her hips. Tears burn the corner of your eyes but you love it, the way she uses your mouth like it’s her own personal cocksleeve. Rahu hunches over as her orgasm creeps up on her, groaning each time she bottoms out in your throat. Her thrusts start to get erratic as she gets closer and closer until—

“Fuck, c-cumming!” she whines, planting herself as deep as she can go and pressing you against her crotch. You gag as her warm cum fills your throat like a torrent, your fingers clawing at her thighs as you breathe in through your nose. You don’t know how long Rahu keeps cumming for but she cums a lot, and you try to swallow all of it but some of it escapes the seal of your lips around her cock, dribbling creamy white down your chin. She pulls you off her with a pop, moaning at the sight of her cum smeared on your face. Her cock is still hard, resting on your cheek. 

Your tongue darts out to cheekily lick a stripe up the side and Rahu jerks from the oversensitivity. 

“Seems like you still want more, puppy,” you tease, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. Languidly, you spread your legs, showing off your dripping pussy that had only gotten wetter when she fucked your face. You run a finger through your soaked folds and shudder, parting them so Rahu can get a good look at your painfully empty hole as it clenches around nothing. “You want to fuck this one too?” 

Rahu growls, crawling on top of you and pinning your wrists to the bed. She shuts you up with a kiss, which turns into a moan as her cock catches on your hole. It has you sighing in pleasure too, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin at the idea of Rahu filling you up with that gorgeous cock of hers. 

“C’mon puppy, you can put it in,” you encourage, rolling your hips against hers. You lean up, your teeth grazing her earlobe as you wrap your arms around her broad, muscled back. “Fill me up, make me yours. Take what you want.”

“Mine,” she rasps out, dragging her own teeth against the column of your neck. She lines her hips up against yours once, twice, before sinking in, her fat tip breaching your tight hole. Rahu snarls against your neck in pleasure as you throw your head back and moan, eyelids fluttering at the sensation of being filled. Inch by inch more of Rahu’s cock fills your needy pussy until her balls kiss your ass, and you can feel her pressed against your cervix. 

“F-fuck, you’re so big, puppy,” you pant, your voice shaky. “Fill me up s-so good.”

“You’re so tight,” she grits out, slowly drawing back. If fucking your mouth was heaven, then fucking your drooling cunt would definitely be ascending to divinity. When she thrusts back in she goes all the way to the hilt again, forcing a cry from your lips. The neighbors would probably file a noise complaint tomorrow, but Rahu can’t bring herself to care about them when she’s balls deep in the best pussy she’s ever had. 

Her pace is hard and deep, and you almost go cross eyed with each thrust. Her length allows her to reach places no one had ever reached before, and it’s only a matter of time before she finds just that right spot that has you creaming on her cock. And when she finally does you swear, nails clawing down her back as the coil in your belly gets impossibly tight. 

“Right there, puppy, right there— just like that,” you babble, and Rahu angles her hips just right to hit it every single goddamn time. Your cunt clenches on Rahu’s dick like it’s your lifeline, and Rahu feels her own climax build up again embarrassingly quickly. She pounds into you relentlessly, your wetness from earlier splashing out onto the sheets and against her thighs. 

“Gonna cum, puppy,” you whimper between moans, locking your legs around Rahu’s lower back to draw her in deeper. “Cum with me.” 

Rahu’s pace falters, becoming less rhythmic but her aim is still mind-numbingly accurate. She whines into your neck as she feels the pressure in her loins build and build and then you deliberately tighten your core and squeeze around her and she’s gone. Rahu bites down into your shoulder as she cums, hilting as deep as she can go, pressing harshly against that spot in your pussy that has you creaming all over her cock too. 

Your walls pulse around her as she spills warm, thick cum into your cunt, as if milking her for all she’s worth. Her hips stutter from overstimulation, her brain feeling like it’s turning into mush, but she’d rather endure this forever than pull out. You feel her cum fill every inch of your cunt, some of it spilling out due to the sheer amount and dripping down your ass. You can’t even hear your own screams of pleasure, entirely consumed by the force of your orgasm. 

When you finally come to again, Rahu is hunched over you, but her hips don’t stop. Her thrusts are jerky and uneven, cock still spilling into your cunt, but she seems too far gone to even think to stop. She bullies her way deeper into you, as if wanting to get all the way past your cervix to dump her cum right into your womb. You writhe beneath her, overstimulation setting your nerve endings on fire. You can feel your mind slipping slowly, but you retain enough semblance of coherent thought to try and push Rahu off, not for her to stop completely but just to slow down.

“R-Rahu, puppy, slow down,” you whine, tears prickling at your eyes as Rahu keeps targeting that spot inside of you. “‘s too much!” 

Rahu growls at that, her silver eyes taking on a feral edge as they glare into your teary ones. She pulls out swiftly and you sigh at the reprieve, only to be manhandled onto your front in an instant. Rahu flips you like you weigh nothing—and to her, you might as well have. You barely have time to process what she’s doing before she’s tugging your hips up, lining her cock with your pussy and sinking balls deep into you again. Your back arches and your lips part in a silent scream as Rahu resumes her brutal pace, rutting into you like some sort of wild animal. 

“I’m taking what I want,” she says roughly, echoing your previous words, leaning down to snarl them against the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze your neck and you sob, cunt clenching and fluttering as your mixed cum is forced out and drips onto the sheets below. One of Rahu’s hands grips your hip tight enough to bruise, while the other slips lower to toy with your clit. The assault of her fingers on the sensitive nub is far too much for you, combined with the way her cock is consistently hitting that perfect spot. The coil in your belly is wound tight, way too tight. 

“Rahu, wait, I’m gonna—” you choke out between moans, trying to warn her, only for the hand on your hip to move to your neck and tug you upwards so that you’re on your knees as Rahu slams her cock into you. The new angle pulls another strangled sob from you as her fingers work relentlessly at your clit. Your hips twitch uncontrollably, not knowing if you want to run from the pleasure or to it. “Rahu, please, please, please—”

The hand around your neck squeezes, her teeth ghosting the previous bite on your shoulder as she briefly cuts off your oxygen and the coil snaps, furiously. With a wail, you squirt all over the sheets, turning them a shade darker. Streams of it spill from your pussy as you go utterly brainless on Rahu’s cock, still thrusting away. You don’t get a warning, or perhaps you simply couldn’t sense anything beyond the bone-deep pleasure pulsing through every fiber of your being, but Rahu cums too, hilting as deep as she can go and dumping another load into your used cunt, her teeth sinking deep into your shoulder.

Her hips stutter as she rides out her orgasm, fucking her cum deeper into your womb. You’re practically boneless in her grasp, head lolled listlessly onto her shoulder, eyes half lidded as your pussy spasms with the aftershocks. When Rahu finally goes still, she releases her hold on your neck and the arm around your waist, and you tip forward onto the ruined sheets, utterly exhausted. Rahu, still buried inside you, follows, slumping over you as she pants into your shoulder.

After a minute (or ten, you aren’t quite sure, since Rahu had seemingly fucked the concept of time out of you), you gather enough braincells to speak a proper sentence.  

“You were really pent up, weren’t you?” you tease, a little breathlessly, turning your head to look at her. Her gaze is softer somehow, and definitely more relaxed. Rahu hums instead of answering, eyes flicking down to your lips. Gently, almost affectionately, she leans in and kisses you, lazily swiping her tongue along your lip. You can taste yourself on her, and a shiver runs through you. When you pull away, you can’t help but smirk a little, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Also… puppy, huh?”

Rahu’s eyes widen and then she groans, but you don’t miss the way her cock twitches inside of you. She buries her face against the damp skin of your back and you giggle at her embarrassment. “Shut up,” she mumbles, wrapping her arms around your waist and squeezing you. You can’t see her face from this angle, but the tips of her ears are a stunning shade of red. “We should… get cleaned up.” 

As much as you’d like to continue teasing her, Rahu was right. The state of your body and your sheets was definitely less than sanitary at the moment. Slowly, Rahu started to pull out. You wince as your oversensitive walls spasm, and Rahu presses soft kisses against your back in apology. She slips out with a squelch, and you sigh, suddenly feeling too empty. Rahu helps you sit up, and you shudder at the feeling of her cum and yours starting to dribble out of your pussy. Rahu sucks in a sharp breath at the sight, but thankfully, she doesn’t get hard again. As much as you enjoyed it, you don’t think your pussy could take another pounding from her.

Well. Not yet, at least.

(You end up showering with Rahu, to ‘save on your water bill’. Suffice to say, actually getting clean turned out to be a secondary objective. But neither you nor Rahu really seemed to care, so all’s well that ends well, right?) 

[misguidedasgardian]

Blurred Lines (4)

4. Positions

MASTERLIST

Summary:  You are placed in an… awkward position

Warnings: Cursing, cheating, adultery, Harwin is not a good person on this… and Jace isn’t either, a bit creepiness, alcohol consumption, inappropriate relationship, sexual innuendos, a bit choking, smut, fingering, a bit of humilliation, might miss some warnings

MINORS DNI, + 18

Wordcount: 3.2 k

Notes: Thank you anon who gave me this amazing idea!! love you, and I hope this did justice to what you had in mind! this might open the door to other stories in this AU

It’s been a chaotic week to say the least. Harwin had been staying home, but thanks to Jace, he didn’t have much to do around the house, it’s been like three days since Jace left and even though you appreciated that, to think… he had always make himself present 

Harwin was trying… hard…

First to speak to you, but luckily, having a toddler required a lot of work so she was a good buffer, so when he could tell you were not going to hear him out, he started staring at you when you were in the same room… when he walked by you he would graze you, when he wanted something that was near you he made sure to touch you to move you out of the way gently…

And it was driving you mad

You didn’t want him near you…

Not only because it disgusted you, the fact that he fucked someone else, the fact that you saw him when that bitch send you videos and pictures and the nasty conversation between them, buT also… you were disgusted in yourself

You had fucked his son…

And the worst part is that at night when you were tossing and turning, you weren’t feeling guilty, you were feeling annoyed that Harwin was the “Strong” in the house and not Jacaerys

And that made you disgusted in yourself

Lucky for you, Harwin, in a way to consolidate with you, called your name softly as you were having breakfast on opposite sides of the dinner table, telling you he had an interview out of the city in the Headquarters for another company

And then you could breathe, and count the seconds left until he leaves

Will you call Jacaerys?

No, impossible

Were you wishing he had that incredible timing of his again?

Maybe

You shook your head, trying to eliminate those thoughts from your head

The furthest Jace stayed from you the better…

Specially now

But soon, Harwin’s week of having his kids  came around again, and of course, Jace was coming, he wouldn’t miss it for the world 

You tried to act as natural as possible, again, your daughter helped as a shield

Seeing him there, as nothing had happened, made you question your own reality, you felt yourself embarrassingly wet between your thighs as soon as you saw him, dirty memories of what you had done together came rushing back and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t want it to happen again… 

Now you had two men with longing looks in their eyes and hoping to get you alone for a second, and you wouldn’t give in, you couldn’t

Luckily, Luke and Joffrey were there too, those sweet boys were helping you too, they seemed to be happy to be back and see you, you loved them… perhaps, no as your children, but as your youngest siblings 

So the third day, when Harwin was out for a work interview, Jace approached you while you were preparing lunch, you jumped on your feet as Luke was right in the living room playing in his nintendo witch with headphones on

“Relax”, he laughed

“It’s not funny Jace”, you whispered as he mocked your reaction

“I wanted to ask you something”, he whispered, his stance was relaxed, not second intended, or you didn’t think so

“Tell me”, you said

“I wanted to invite you to my birthday party, the one that my grandfather Viserys is throwing me”, he said softly. You looked at him, looking for something that tells you he was kidding, or he had a hidden intention, but those beautiful, dark green eyes told you nothing

“Jace I think it’s out of place”, you said finally

“Look, no funny business, it is a family thing, I want Aerea there, and Harwin can’t take her because he's going to that interview out of the city…”

“I’m not sure if its a good idea”

“It is my birthday, And I want you and Aerea there, I would only take her, but because it’s a weekend we won’t have nannies and I…”

“You are the birthday boy”, you said, “you shouldn’t be taking care of a toddler”

“Please go”, he said softly

“It’s going to be awkward”, you whispered

“No it won’t”

“But I’m not blood related to anyone there…”

“Well Aerea is”, he suggested

“That only makes me remember what I’ve done”, you whispered

“The only thing you have done is let yourself be loved by me”, he whispered, leaning in, but you took a step back, looking at Luke who couldn’t even be bothered 

“I’ll go, if you promise me… please, nothing out of line”, you begged softly

“I promise”, he whispered

He wasn’t an idiot… he was testing the waters with his family and even though he needed to show you to them in a more… intimate… way, he had to keep his hands to himself… at least in front of everyone 

He had won this small victory

The weekend came around

He was turning twenty two but that is not what most excited him

It was you

He had come early to his grandfather’s house, where he was going to spend the weekend, and so were you and the rest of his family, including his mother

He was so looking forward to it.

His grandfather’s house was the Targaryen family home, and he wouldn’t be lying if he said it was a castle, a huge castle in the middle of a national park

He heard a car pulling up so he sneaked a glance through the window, and there you were, struggling to get Aerea out of the car, with a bag hanging from your shoulder and your adorable toddler in the other

You were going to struggle even more when you are fat with his child, Jace thought with a silly smile

Of course the house was in the outskirts, so the invitation also included a room in the mansion for the weekend

Oh Gods he was going to enjoy it

You were nervous, as Area looked around moving tirelessly in your arms, there was so much to see though

This was like a medieval castle, incredible that had passed through generations and generations of Targaryens

You received a warm welcome from the family, even from Rhaenyra

“Who is this gorgeous little girl?”, she cooed at Aerea and even threw her arms at her, you felt embarrassed but she immediately received her in her arms. “She is gorgeous!”, she praised at you, “Like the daughter I never had”, she said with a sad smile

“Thank you for inviting me Rhaenyra, Jace wanted his baby sister here”, you said softly

“Please, say no more, you are family”, she said again regaining her smile, as Aerea played with her earring softly, “anything you need, ever, I mean it, you only have to ask”, she said and smiled at you, you smiled back

She and Harwin ended amicably, she was the one to end things and he accepted it with a bit of reluctance. They split everything they had, shared custody 50/50, everything was great, very evolved. 

You came back to the present when Jace himself met you with open arms and those eyes that seemed to want to eat you alive, you almost cringed away… 

“There you are!, I’m so happy you are here”, he said it playfully, looking at Aerea who instantly throw her arms at Jace

“Daddy!”, she called and your mouth opened in an o, you looked at Rhaenyra, who chuckled, smiling warmly

“They are so close”, you said apologetically

“Jace had been telling me what has happened lately”, you wanted the earth to swallow you, “and how he likes to be there helping you out around the house”, she almost whispered at you, only you two could hear, “its perfectly fine that Aerea looks at him like a father figure, children are… simpler than we are”, she said with a warm smile

Rhaenyra was certainly something else

They had invited you for the weekend, they showed you your rooms, Aerea was set in the nursery, yes, the house had a nursery, with Rhaenyra’s children who shared her age, and you had a room all to yourself

The nannies were taking care of the children, and dinner time, the adult dinner time, was above you sooner than you ever expected. 

You felt watched the entire dinner, and not only by Jace, but you found his uncles staring at you, Aemond and Aegon, the first hiding his smirk in his goblet of wine, afterwards licking his lips teasingly, and the other didn’t even mind hiding it

You wondered why

But you felt so judged, did they know? as the wine flowed more freely, you became more paranoid, but it was impossible

If they knew then everyone knew, and your would have not been welcomed here if it was the case, Rhaenyra was a fierce woman she would have stabbed you with that knife her father Viserys was using to carve into a chicken

Luckily Rhaenyra kept you entertained and distracted, along with Daemon, their conversation was light, and seemed like a godsent 

Viserys stood up, raising his cup

“I wanted to celebrate my eldest grandson, reaching this magical age of twenty two”, he said raising his cup, “for him, and for his achievements, I know there are going to be more of them”, everyone cheered, raising his cups and Jace smiled at everyone 

He raised from his seat then, his own cup in his hands

“Thank you grandfather”, he said solemnly, “this means a lot to me, one thing that I’ve understood the last years, is that family is everything, and I can’t wait to have my own”, he said the last part looking at you, and you tried to hide your ashamed face in your own cup

Daemon chuckled

“You might be getting ahead of yourself”, he warned with amusement

“No when you know what you want”, Rhaenyra seemed proud of his words, and she nodded enthusiastically, you knew she had him when she was nineteen, same as Harwin, she was young herself. “I’m fortunate to have you all here, as you mean so much to me”

The next one to raise from her seat was Rhaenyra herself

“To my oldest son”, she said with her voice on a knot, “can’t believe you are already twenty two!, you are a grown man now… I’m so proud of you”, it was a heartfelt sentiment and you smiled at her, she looked down and smiled at you too

For a second, for a fraction of a second, you thought you were actually here with Jace and not for him, and the realization that you weren’t brought you a dark sentiment you hid in a sip of wine.

Gods…

His were on you, as you made conversation with Rhaenyra and Daemon, even though you were technically still in your twenties, as many of the group, you felt the need to cling to the second generation instead of the third

“I’m sorry, lovely lady, I must have forgotten your name”, Aegon, you thought he was called, demanded your attention and you got nervous all of a sudden, you were about to answer, but someone answered for you

“She is (y/n)”, said Jacaerys, quick to anger

“I’m sorry nephew, I asked her”, teased Aegon. Jacaerys was quickly exasperated, “Her name, and her reason to be here, scapes me”

“I wanted her here”, he said angrily, and now the rest of the family was strangely quiet, Daemon looked at everything with a mocking grin on this face… Viserys tried to eat his chicken, but looked at everything with a strange look on his face… and Rhaenyra and Alicent looked at everything unravel with surprised looks on their faces

“You are so forgetful brother, she is Harwin’s new little wife”, muttered Aemond, in a voice so condescending it made your skin crawl

“Right”, said Aegon, like now he remembered you, “aren’t you closer to our age than his?”

“Aegon, that’s enough”, chided Alicent again

“They say that love is ageless”, muttered Daemon

“They are separated now”, said Jace

“Well, that is better! thank you Jacaerys for bringing such a welcome addition”, kept teasing Aegon

You shouldn’t have come 

Aegon was staring at you trough the rest of the dinner with a smirk on his lips, Aemond was more discrete.

You felt like they knew what you and Jace had done just by looking at your guilty face, only one look and they would know how depraved you were, pretending you did nothing, siting here by Jace’s mother.

Aemond stood up then, raising his cup 

“Final tribute”, he chanted, “For Jacaerys, you are a man grown now, that knows what he wants and is not afraid to go after it”, he said, looking straight at you

“Thank you uncle”, said Jacaerys, “that was very kind”, he said trough gritted teeth

It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he kept quiet, You looked to your right, and Rhaenyra was looking right back at you, and smiled warmly

“It’s alright”, she said, and you didn’t know why it sounded so strange to you

You looked back at Jace and he just smirked

Gods, you should have never come to this thing, Aerea wouldn’t even remember this, Jacaerys was just playing with you

Did he get off just… putting you in this position? what was he thinking? Did he wanted to humiliate you?

What did he wanted to accomplish?

You didn’t know what to feel or think. 

Despite Daemon’s invitation for a late drink with Rhaenyra, you had politely declined, and your daughter was already asleep, and you were so tired and tense, you decided you were going to follow, and went back to your own room to sleep

But as soon as you were comfortable inside the sheets, the door opened slowly, you turned quickly, and even in the darkness, but the only light coming from the hallway, you could tell, it was Jace

“What are you doing?”, you asked, he closed the door behind him and sneaked into the room

“Getting my birthday present”, he teased walking towards the room

“Jace, don’t”, you wanted but he was already taken off his shirt

“Its still my birthday”, he purred, you sat on the bed, the sheets barely hiding your body dressed in your night dress

“Not here”, you begged

“Where else? everyone else is busy or asleep”, he begged, his hands, even in the dark, found your cheeks, “come on”, he leaned in and trapped your lips with his.

“Jace, why did you invited me here?”, you asked him, leaning into him, it was useless to resist him, you wanted him too

“Isn’t it obvious?”, he teased, he sneaked onto the bed with you 

“Jace please”

“Its my fucking birthday and you are my present, that’s why you are here”, you only moaned when he put you on your side, he at your back

“Tell me…”

“Shut up”, he growled making you whimper, his hand encased your throat, threatening to squeeze, but he didn’t, “tonight you are my perfect little whore”, he whispered, his other hand sneaking between your thighs, “I want to unwrap my present”

“Jace I think”

“I don’t want you to think…”, and all thoughts went to shit when he fingers teased you open, even though you had closed your thighs, it was a stretch even for his thick fingers, “I want you to take my fingers, then my cock”

“Jace!”, you schreeched when his fingers found that spot inside of you

“Shut up, if you don’t want everyone in this house to know the slut you really are”, he threatened, and that only made you moan, spreading your legs to give him more access, he squeezed your neck softly, in warning

He grabbed your leg and hooked it over his, so now he had you all open for him

You were quickly wet with desire for him, the sounds of your wetness resounding all over the room. 

Your climax built quickly…

The very thought of being roughly treated like that turned you on, the fact that you were in such dangerous territoy was even more hot to you in that moment, so you began bucking your hips to meet his fingers.

“Mmmm that’s it”, he could be cruel, he could take your orgasm from you, for trying to deny him, for resisting, but tonight he wasn’t feeling like that, tonight he wanted to make you cum as much times as he could, that is what his real present was.

You came undone on his fingers, drowning your moans and whines on the pillow under you, which Jace really appreciated, this was not how he intended on presenting you as his partner

“Youa re suh a good girl for me”, he whispered in your ear, “tell me, who makes you cum like this?”

“You”, you whined, as he retrieved his hand from you gently

“Say it again”, he demanded

“Only you Jace, you are the only one who makes me cum like this”, you admitted 

“That’s it”, he said, pleased, his fingers came back, this time more aggressively, more teasingly, he did not want to deprive you of anything, but what he really wanted to do was to hear you beg for him.

“Jacey”, you whined, again bucking your hips so needily it mad ehim chuckle, squeezing softly your delicate neck

“Yes?”, he asked, giving you an open mouth kiss on the side of your face, 

“I need you”

“What you are talking about? I’m right here”, he kept teasing

“I need your cock”, you revealed, and he couldn’t hide his chuckle

“Where?”, he kept teasing he loved hearing your voice, but he liked it even more when you were begging for him

Not like he could last any longer without fucking you, his cock had never been harder on his life 

“Inside me”, tonight you were not in the mood for teasing he could see.

“Oh I see, my little slut”, he mocked, he released you, making you cry out and then he, “you need me to fuck you, uh?”, his thumb billied your clit making you whine, trying so hard not to scream his name in ecstasy.

“Yes I do”, you admitted shameslely

“Oh I will give it to you then”, he teased, releasing you, grabbing his cock, and thent easing your entrance, “Mmmm but just the tip?”, you tried to sink yourself onto him, but he had fisted his cock making it impossible, only his fat tip teasing you

“No”, you whined

“No what?”

“All of it”, you begged, wiggling your ass, “please I want all of it”

“You needy little girl”, he moaned in your ear, and from one second to the next he impaled you on his fat cock, covering your mouth so nobody could hear you

Jace never knew nothing better that being inside you

“This cock is yours”, he promised against the skin of your cheek, “I’m goona fuck you so good you know nothing but my name, and I’m going to cum inside you, fucking breed you”

“Mmm?”, you were so deep in your pleasure his words barely made sense, they just made you wetter

“Fuck yes”, he retrieved himself, only to thrust inside you again, rougher, deeper, “I’m going to breed you, get you pregnant with my child”

“Jace?”, that did sink in, but late, as he growled cumming deep inside of you.

But you payed no attention to it, it was surely a thing of the heat of the moment, nothing else, many had a breeding kink, you amongst them

“In my grandparent’s home”, he whispered, “dirty little whore”, he growled

“Happy birthday Jace”, you said only, the spell fading, as he chuckled in your neck

Oh if only you knew… they you were being watched

Reader thinks Jace only wants her to fuck :(

Taglist: @champomiel @urmomsgirlfriend1 @sweethoneyblossom1 @lukepattersin @ladylyanna91 @snowflake-latte @bruher @bellstwd @inesven @iamavailablesstuff @haydee5010 @happinessinthebeing @agqrtz @ajanauia @joliettes @lightdragonrayne @ivoryluvs @fairysluna @cumslutforaemond @possiblyafangirl

[mengyan]

i had been made into an archer, the shadows suiting me best; you were a sun-bright girl forced into immortality, eternal servitude to chosen sacrifice for the people.

i think the first thing you taught me was absurdity. no one that knew me ever dared— through these years i’d become as much of a man as the rest, and it was rare for someone to think of wanting me. not that you did— did you? did you want me, wen xiao, or did you not think so much and just trusted that i would catch you?

sleep was always restless when it came. the heartbreak in a-heng’s new-blue eyes always marked the end of my dreams, because i was too afraid back then to turn around and see the rest of him. one month was enough to grow sick of my chambers, and i retired only when i could no longer keep my eyes open.

but then: a forest, a sea. fog cleared and the ink of you kissed my palm, calling me awake.

xiao, for daybreak, but if i allowed my tongue to loosen just the slightest— xiao, for you.

was it then that i became unable to see much else? was it then when i started seeking you first in every room, your voice in every pitch, your hands, arms, fingers touching mine— and me racing to reach you before you changed your mind? was it then that my heart wavered, and i thought, perhaps, that the dark wasn’t so lonely after all?

i never intended to keep you. i knew your eyes strayed elsewhere— i always noticed you first, but so did he, and him, and everyone that has ever met you. the fate of a goddess, maybe, to be beloved by all, to spill her love as floods to the people— but i knew you had long found your home in the soul of one. bloodbound by contract, kindred through heart and mind— how often i’d find myself rushing to stand before you only for him to already be there. 

the place by your side was never meant to be filled by me. but wen xiao, i’m no less absurd than you taught me to be. i would pray to a false god if it would make you safer; i would shoot even at the heavens if they tried to take you. flesh and blood is all i can offer you— is it too much to let me shield you with it?

later the worst of winter stole away your beloved, your closest friend, but kept me. still alive, rosy-cheeked and frostbitten on my knees in front of you, but the snow might as well have buried me too. live with me, die with them— and you picked up the dagger.

what does that mean, wen xiao? what am i supposed to do about what that means? you pulled me from the abyss, but am i not worthy enough to do the same for you?

the cold began to cling to me. one by one we lost the best and bravest of us, and i could do nothing to stop it. i thought myself useless, a drag, but you took my hand and said, so earnest, so warm, so thawing— i need you. you wouldn’t lie to me, but how badly i wish it were the truth.

it had been at least four fortnights since i’d ceased being afraid, since the fears in my heart stopped festering. they never disappeared, but i could stare at them head-on now, knowing that what a mortal lacks is only the difference of a body. you said that you thought of me as irreplaceable, and so i believed that’s what i was.

a fool’s tenacity is, perhaps, the strongest of all.

i woke to everyone but three gone, your tears pouring from the skies. he left to him white streaks in his hair, horseback roaming, world seeking; he left to you an age-old vow on paper, in jade, an impermanent parting, a once-more isolation.

and you left to me not even a farewell.

how is it that the demon hunting bureau is fuller than ever yet so grave with silence? how is that what i guard is no longer home to anyone that used to live in it?

i must be going mad, sometimes, to hear bells that no longer ring, bickering that never ends, idioms i’ll never be able to correct; to smell food i’ll never taste again, wine i’ll never get to drink, sulfur from cases unsolved; to see golden eyes, the rustle of notebook pages, the swoop of a brush— and feel the lilt of you, so willing for me to stay.

and so, absurdly, ridiculously, stupidly— i’m still here, wen xiao, and this is how i’ll remain. come and see me just once, and ask me what i asked you. three hundred years in a sundial: was it hard? the rest of my life with only your memory to keep me company— i’ll answer you the same.

don’t you want to know what my big-as-him secret is? i’ll give you a hint: if you see him in the rain, i see you in stone. just as pillars hold up these roofs, this city— the cliff i hung from was too-steep, yet you held me by the soles of my feet, dug yourself into my palms, and said look up, pei-jiejie. dawn has come.

the morning will always return after night. but wen xiao, when will you?

[riversofmars]

A Habit They Can't Break

Clearly, I lied, yet again, when I said I'd only write one Caitvi oneshot to get it out of my system... Anyway pitfighter Vi era hook up with General Kiramman cause they deserve to have messy sex when they're at their worst.

Vi's life has gone to shit after she has lost everything and anyone she ever cared about. With nothing much to live for, she seeks solace in booze, pitfighting in the lowest reaches of Zaun - all to drown out her yearning for the woman who has broken her heart. Getting over Caitlyn would surely prove a lot easier if the newly appointed General of Piltover didn't keep seeking her out in the dead of night. (Rating: Explicit)

“This place gets filthier every time.” Caitlyn's observation was devoid of emotion. It was a simple statement of fact, easily supported just by counting the empty liquor bottles around, but all Vi returned was a scoff.

“Yet you keep coming back,” she muttered, pulling herself onto her side on the lumpy mattress she called her bed. It was a far cry from the comfort of Piltover that she had so briefly enjoyed - just a distant memory now. The buzz of alcohol was still in her system, intended to numb all manner of pain, and yet, her whole body ached. Between old injuries that weren't allowed time to heal, and new ones she sustained every night, she couldn't tell where the pain came from anymore, except for the most prominent one that related to the familiar shape that had pushed into the dirty flat Vi slept in. ‘Lived in’ would be saying too much.

Caitlyn - or rather General Kiramman as she preferred to be called - was an imposing presence. Tall, dark in the shadows of the room, her cloak engulfing her like a shield. She seemed untouchable; here at least. There was bound to be an enforcer detail waiting for her outside. With her face plastered all over Zaun on propaganda posters, she was far too recognisable and a tempting target for anyone looking for trouble - and yet she still came here.

Vi blinked her tired eyes that burned from the charcoal she’s smudged all around her face, and willed herself to focus on the general, undecided whether she ought to think her real or just another hallucination.

“We still haven’t found her,” Caitlyn announced, her sharp gaze taking in the pitiful state of things and she placed her rifle against the wall, seemingly seeing no need for it.

“Gutting,” Vi huffed, turning onto her back as she waited for a wave of dizziness to pass. “You know I want nothing to do with it.”

“You must have heard something by now.” The general turned to face the bed, and Vi allowed herself a tired chuckle. She was getting bored of this game, the pretense of it all.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” she muttered.

“Believe me, you would,” Caitlyn shot back, steel in her voice, and Vi had to work hard to suppress a groan and not let on that the thought of being interrogated by General Kiramman excited her more than it should. She blamed it on the alcohol.

“Save it for your detainees. I don't know anything. And you know that,” she countered and pushed herself upright to be able to meet the general's eyes. “Come on, we both know you’re not here for information.” A sly smirk came to her lips. She knew exactly what Caitlyn had come for and a familiar, thrilling sense of anticipation came over her. She loved and hated the nights when she sought her out. Rationally, she knew she was just using her, but perhaps it was mutual. Vi certainly got something out of it too. They seemed to be each other’s bad habit that they couldn’t shake.

The first time it had happened had been confusing. For a moment the pitfighter had genuinely thought Caitlyn had come to find her to apologise… but she couldn't have been more wrong. Everything after that had become a vicious circle of lust and regret.

Would tonight be any different?

Caitlyn didn't respond to her challenge, a picture of aloofness as she nudged over a couple of empty bottles, presumably just to annoy her.

“How's Maddie?” Vi asked, growing impatient. There was nothing she hated more than being ignored. “Does she not know how to get you off? Is that why you have to come here?” Her words seemed to have little - if any - effect on Caitlyn, but she looked back at her with those steely blues of hers that seemed to cut through the darkness, challenging her to say more. So the pitfighter did, getting up to approach her, even though she was far from steady on her feet. “Or do you not let her? Are you saving yourself for me?” She reached her personal space and deliberately ran her eyes up and down her body. How she longed to rip that bloody uniform off her.

It had hurt the first time Caitlyn had told her about Maddie, as she surely had intended for it to. But now, Vi just felt an odd sense of pity for the girl, since she clearly couldn't give the general what she wanted. Why else would she keep coming back here?

“Don't flatter yourself,” Caitlyn retorted indignantly, but Vi could tell, just from the way she narrowed her eyes at her that she had touched on something. She grinned, bold in her tipsy state.

“Or is that not fun for you? When they don't put up a fight?” she challenged, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face, but it didn’t last very long. Caitlyn remained unfazed, her response was simply a smirk of her own, the calculated, cold kind that Vi hated with a passion.

“You don't put up a fight either,” the general hummed, leaning down and dropping her voice. “All bark, no bite.”

“Is that right?” Anger flared in Vi's chest, and she had little in the way of inhibitions to control her impulses. If there was one thing she wouldn't have questioned, it was her strength. She launched herself forward to shove the other woman, but Caitlyn's reflexes were sharp.

It was over before it had truly begun. She ducked her attack and slammed her fist into her gut in return, immediately winding her opponent. It was a pitifully short altercation that left Vi crashing to the floor, catching herself on all fours and gasping for breath.

“You used to be better at that,” Caitlyn commented, standing over her. “Drinking is ruining your reflexes.”

“You've gotten stronger,” Vi winced in response, clutching her side.

“I've got a good teacher,” the general answered, and the pitfighter growled in dismay. Whatever Ambessa Medarda was teaching her, it was certainly to blame for the iron rule exerted over Zaun, the disassociation she saw in Caitlyn’s eyes, and the fact that Vi’s heart lay in pieces in the filth alongside her.

“Wonder what sort of training you're doing with her. Blowing off some steam, I bet,” Vi snarled, and a kick to her side threw her onto her back. “Fuck-” she winced, though not regretting her words in the slightest. Despite it all, she knew Caitlyn wasn’t out to genuinely hurt her, it was all just a power play, and she would be lying if she pretended she wasn’t a little into it too.

“Do you not get beaten up enough every night to satisfy your self-loathing?” Caitlyn challenged in a low voice. “Do you really need me to do it too?” Before Vi could even attempt to get up, she placed her heavy boot on her chest in a warning manner.

“Fuck you,” the Vi growled, and Caitlyn scoffed, nudging her chin with the tip of her boot.

“Quite right,” she hummed and reached to her belt, undoing it without much ceremony. The atmosphere shifted. “Let's get on.” She stepped off Vi's chest, but the pitfighter was in no rush to get up. Instead she bit her lip at the sight of the general undoing her trousers, forgetting to breathe. The air suddenly felt stiflingly hot and she could hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears, picking up speed, as tense silence fell.

There was no discussion, no negotiation, no need for further words. The look in Caitlyn's eyes told Vi all she needed to know, and a surge of desire came over her, far more powerful and intoxicating than any kind of alcohol. She pulled herself up to her knees in a sharp, swift movement, her aches all but forgotten, and she ripped Caitlyn's trousers down the rest of the way. She didn’t wait for permission, clawing back some control for herself, and buried her face between her legs.

“Fuck-” Caitlyin groaned, fisting her hands in the pitfighter’s inky hair. “I've missed this.”

‘This’. Not ‘you’.

Vi moaned, dragging her tongue through her folds, thrilled to find her wet and wanting. At least she knew she wanted her too. She wrapped her arms around her thighs, pulling her closer, and dug her fingers into her flesh so hard she hoped she’d bruise.

“Wish all your fucking admirers could see you now,” she growled, lapping eagerly the length of her before seeking her clit. “The mighty General of Piltover getting eaten out by a Zaun low-life.”

“As if anyone would believe it,” Caitlyn moaned breathlessly, grinding against her mouth, and Vi made sure to nuzzle her face into her thighs, leaving smudges of her charcoal make-up in the hope that Caitlyn would feel as dirty when she cleaned herself up as the pitfighter did. “Focus,” the general demanded, yanking her hair. “I haven’t got all night.”

Vi redoubled her efforts, plunging her tongue into her with the same fervour as though she was devouring a juicy meal, her wetness covering her mouth and chin. Her taste, her scent, the thrilling feeling of nails scraping her scalp- they took her in and made her forget all about how shitty life was.

Quickly she found Caitlyn’s clit again, sucking it between her lips, and the general gasped.

“Yes, Vi- Keep going!”

Just hearing Caitlyn moan her name was satisfaction enough for an intense feeling of pride to swell in the pitfighter’s chest. She repeated her actions, faster, harder, working her tongue against her eagerly until the general’s legs began to shake.

“Fuck-” she groaned, seeking purchase on the nearby table to hold herself up, and Vi moved with her, helping her onto the edge, lifting her legs to clamp around her head. Empty bottles clattered to the floor, forgotten and inconsequential.

Vi moaned too, it was as though she was drowning in Caitlyn and never wanted to come up for air again. Now, that would be a way to go. Over the course of many such encounters, she had learned all there was to know about the general’s body and it wasn’t long before she had her trembling and on the edge.

For a moment, Vi contemplated stopping, leaving her high and dry to see how she liked that, but even now, after the betrayal and heartbreak, she still longed to please her.

“Vi-” All it took was another moan of her name, and the pitfighter was prepared to give her anything.

She pushed her over the edge and Caitlyn came, long and hard, keeping Vi between her legs as her body shook, and the pitfighter cleaned her up, savouring the moment that would pass all too soon.

It ended with Caitlyn sitting herself up on the edge of the table and she reached down, grasping Vi’s jaw. Slowly, she ran her thumb along her lips, with an odd sort of expression in her eyes that Vi couldn’t quite interpret. She had little time to try and do so, as the moment of unexpected tenderness ended as swiftly as it had begun.

The general released her, pushing off the table to get up, and Vi relieved herself of the strain on her knees, simply dropping back onto her arse. Being on the ground was a safer bet than trying to stand.

“I trust that was to your satisfaction, General,” she quipped, turning to watch her make her way towards the bed. Something seemed to have grabbed her attention. Realisation dawned on Vi quickly, but she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed, not after everything they had already done, not even when Caitlyn picked up the strap-on that lay by the bottom of the bed.

“Not exactly inconspicuous,” the general commented, sounding almost amused as she examined the toy of purple silicon and leather straps.

“Well, a girl has needs,” Vi hummed, leaning back leisurely in the hopes of masking how much her own body ached for release, particularly at the sight of the other woman running her fingers along the length of the toy.

“Don’t I know it,” Caitlyn huffed, turning to face the pitfighter fully. “How many girls have you fucked with this?” she challenged, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Jealous?” Vi couldn’t help a smirk, and the general tilted her head thoughtfully.

“No,” she decided after a moment’s contemplation. “Because I know they’re not the ones fucking you. Only I get to do that.”

Just like that, the temperature in the room appeared to jump once more. Vi swallowed hard, suddenly at a loss for words at the sight of Caitlyn stepping into the leather straps and pulling them up to her hips. This was new. The general had always been partial to having her way with Vi in return, bending her over the table and the like, but that marked a change from her slender fingers.

Of course, she was right too. Every meaningless shag Vi had had since their falling out had been a one-sided affair. While she had tried repeatedly, she simply couldn’t go through with it. The sad truth was she didn’t want anyone else to touch her like that, and a small part of her took satisfaction from knowing that it seemed to be the same for Caitlyn. Perhaps they were doomed to remain in this vicious circle, more than just a habit, more like a drug they just couldn’t give up.

“F-fuck off,” the pitfighter huffed, trying to appear nonchalant, but the tremble in her voice easily betrayed the undeniable thrill she felt.

“What? Am I wrong?” Caitlyn raised her eyebrows expectantly as she tightened the straps. “You want this just as much as I do.”

And Vi did. Desire pooled in her gut, her clothes felt all too restrictive.

“Don’t suppose you have any lube lying around, do you?” Caitlyn hummed, once seemingly happy with the fit of the strap that looked positively sinful between her long legs. She rid herself off her cloak and dropped it to the floor, unimportant and forgotten, as she advanced on Vi who remained on the floor, stunned, but breathing hard in anticipation. “Guess you'll have to get it wet the old-fashioned way.”

“Cait-” Vi muttered dumbly, heat shooting to her head, but before she knew it, the general was on her yanking her forward by the scruff of her neck, back onto her knees. The pitfighter looked up to her, her throat feeling incredibly dry, and Caitlyn smirked.

“Come on, Vi. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of girls suck your cock, you know how this works,” she teased and grabbed her jaw, nudging the tip of the strap against her lips.

“I-” Vi wasn’t entirely sure what she meant to say, her mind swimming in arousal, but she didn’t get the chance to finish as the general took advantage of her lips parting, pushing the silicon shaft inside.

“You can stop talking now,” she hummed, grabbing hold of her head, and Vi gagged.

“Fuck-” she groaned around the toy, the sense of humiliation feeding into her desire. Was she really going to give in so easily? All bark, no bite? Caitlyn pulled her head forward, rolling her hips, giving her little choice in the matter. Vi choked, trying to hold herself upright, seeking purchase on the general’s legs. She wanted to pull away, but Caitlyn held her firm.

“Be good for me, Vi,” she demanded in a low growl, and the pitfighter knew that the only way she would find release was by giving in to her. She stopped resisting and relaxed her jaw, moving her tongue and lips along the shaft obediently, casting a glance up to meet Caitlyn’s gaze. Her pupils were blown, darkening her piercingly blue eyes, and breathlessly, she whispered: “That’s it… see, you can listen when you want to.” She thrust her hips, and Vi groaned, coating the fake cock with her saliva as best she could.

“Get on the bed, and strip,” Catilyn demanded roughly once she was satisfied, pulling away, and leaving the pitfighter gasping for breath. “Unless you want me to fuck you on this filthy floor.”

Vi obeyed, her mind in a lustful haze. She stumbled as she kicked her shoes off on the way, but Caitlyn was there to steady her, grabbing her hips, and yanking down her trousers. She was growing impatient, they both were, and soon enough, Caitlyn shoved Vi down on the bed face first, her fingers plunging into the wetness between her thighs.

“Please-” Vi gasped breathlessly, pushing back against her fingers that briefly swirled around her clit, then probed her entrance with practised ease.

“I like hearing you beg,” the general growled, pulling the pitfighter onto her hands and knees, and sunk her fingers inside her. Vi moaned, biting her lip to the intense sensation of her scissoring her fingers apart. It was but the precursor and already her heartbeat was drumming in her ears, making her feel alive in a way that allowed her to forget the world around her. It was only when she was with Caitlyn, like this, that life seemed bearable, and absently she wondered if the other woman felt the same way as she buried herself in her grief and hunger for revenge.

The general retreated her fingers, and grabbed hold of Vi’s hips instead. The tip of the strap nudged against her and Vi took an unsteady breath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” Caitlyn hummed, and the pitfighter sensed it would prove to be a lie, but all thoughts failed her, as she pushed into her, smooth, steady, but without relenting to the cry that tore itself from Vi’s throat.

“Shit-” she sobbed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she tensed against the unfamiliar, unyielding intrusion.

“Not used to this, are you?” Caitlyn hummed behind her, mercifully allowing her a moment to adjust to the fullness, a tantalising mix of pain and pleasure that took Vi’s capacity for thought. She looped one hand around her, sparking pleasure through her clit with encouraging circles. “Relax,” she breathed, leaning over her and flattened her other hand to her back, testing the rise and fall of her laboured breaths. “It’ll be worse for you if you keep tensing.” She rocked her hips, and Vi gasped, trying her best to follow her demands, even if she was hardly in control of her body anymore. Everything seemed to spin and all she could hear was Caitlyn’s voice, burying into her subconscious and making her yield to her every whim.

“Fuck, I hate you…” the pitfighter whimpered, trying to keep a hold of herself but failing. The intensity was overwhelming but felt so good, it was addictive, just like everything else about Caitlyn. She relaxed around the strap and the general took every inch she gave as she started thrusting in a steady, increasing rhythm.

“Don't worry, you'll learn to love it,” Caitlyn growled, digging her fingers into her hips as she thrust harder.

Vi cried out, clawing at the mattress as she sought for something to hold on to. Her body thumped, blood rushing in her ears, as she gasped and moaned with every deep thrust that felt as though it would split her open. And yet, she couldn’t help but push back against her. She wanted to ask for more, harder, faster, but Caitlyn obliged before she could even find her voice. It was reduced to a series of whimpers, gasps and moans, incoherent, but seemingly urging the general on.

“See, not so mouthy now, are you?” she grunted, her breathing heavy too. “All bark and yet you let me fuck you like a bitch in heat.”

“Cait! Fuck!” Vi collapsed forward, she couldn’t hold herself up any longer, but Caitlyn didn’t let up, pounding her into the mattress.

“Come on, Vi,” she groaned, her voice raw and heavy. “I want to make you scream.”

And she did. She brought her hand around her front, rubbing against her clit, while burying the full length of the strap inside her again and again. Vi’s orgasm came over her like a flashflood, overwhelming her and swallowing her up. Heat burnt its way to every nerve ending and her body shook in waves of intense pleasure that left her spent and delirious once they had run their course.

She was barely aware of Caitlyn moving behind her at first, not until the disappointing feeling of emptiness as she pulled out of her. She couldn’t move, her limbs heavy and her thoughts a jumble, but she was vaguely aware of the rustling of clothes somewhere in the distance. Soon after, the strap-on landed on the mattress beside her with a thud.

“Feel better now?” Vi mumbled weakly, rolling onto her side for a less compromising position. Her vision was blurred, but she could just about make out Caitlyn pulling her ridiculous cape back on.

“No,” the general answered, sober and matter-of-fact, so much so that Vi could have laughed, had it not been so desperately sad. “Do you?”

“No,” the pitfighter answered, tears welling up in her eyes as her defenses cracked in her exhausted state. She extended a hand towards the blurry shape of the woman she still, despite everything, loved more than she could say. “Cait… please kiss me,” she begged, her voice rough and while she could hardly see her, there was a weight on the bed beside her.

A hand grasping for her cheek. Soft lips finding her own. A tender kiss. And then, the fire returned. The gesture turned passionate and raw; anger, hate, disappointment, hope, desire, love-

They didn’t break until they were both out of breath but eventually, Caitlyn pulled away. Carefully, she lay Vi’s head down on the bed and reached for her make-shift blanket - one of the flags that had been hung all over Zaun, bearing the Kiramman crest upon them.

Vi didn’t stop to think of all it represented when she draped it around her, she simply held on to the idea that she was looking after her.

“Will you come back?” she asked into the shadows, and Caitlyn’s voice seemed distant, drawing away.

“How can you even doubt that…”

Unable to fight her exhaustion any longer, Vi’s eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to her desire for rest. Slowly, her mind drifted out of consciousness, and she pretended she had Caitlyn's arms around her, not just the flag as a symbol of her power over her.

When she woke the next morning to a pounding headache, she'd hardly moved. The strap-on beside her was the only reminder of the previous night and yet, bitterly, Vi wondered if Caitlyn had really been there, or if she had simply fucked herself, trying to feel something in the numb nightmare that had become her existence.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

👑ATTENTION👑AEGON X AFAB READER OC (NON-WESTEROSI OC) MODERN & COLLEGE SETTING

Aegon x Reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theprinceandme

🔷Summary: You are studying in college and you fall for a mysterious boy named Aeg. Who hides a dark secret.

🔷Author's note: Based on the movie, the Prince and Me.

🔷Wordcount :3547

🔷Warnings: It is not a very dark or triggering fic. If you found something that upsets you, however let me know ill change the warnings

It is cold. It is so fucking cold. You keep repeating that in your head, as you cling your books to your chest, shielding them from the rain as you run over campus. Earlier today, your backpack committed the worst betrayal in history since centuries, and one of the straps ripped. So now you carry your books around. It is also a bit misty, darkish and overall not a fun time to be outside. 

You make out the sign of the building where your archeology class is taking place. You finally found it. Last year, they hosted it in the other building, much closer to your dorm. But for some reason, it now is in the new science building. You don’t know why, and you don’t have time to care. You cross the streets.

Perhaps without looking. Perhaps you look too late. Either way, a black, sleek, luxurious car with a dragon logo on the hood nearly hits you. You huff at the audacity of this asshole to drive that fast on college ground, and try to look in the car. The windows are blinded. You can’t see who is in it. They can see you however. You raise your middle finger, before you head off to class. You don’t notice the window rolling down and someone looking at you, with piercing bright blue eyes and a smirk on his lips.

–

The teacher forgave you for being late. You are a good student, and never would be late on purpose. She listened to your apologies and you explained to her the bag situation, which she understood, but also could laugh at. ‘’Why, you always have the worst of luck, don’t you?’’ she joked. Now you are reading your books, making assignments and studying an ancient old stone. 

The incident with the car has long left your mind. Your books are more interesting. Until the door of the classroom is opened and a handsome young man enters. You see him look at papers in his hand, which is likely his route and his schedule of where his classes are. He introduces himself as Aeg and to your horror he sits down right next to you, on the only free spot in class. He smells nice, like rain and aftershave. ‘’I’m Aeg.’’ He says, addressing you for the first time in your life. ‘’I’m uh, new.’’ His accent betrayed that he is from Westeros and from the Crownlands, like most students. You take one glance at him and see him looking back, your eyes meeting and your breath briefly stopped. He is gorgeous. Damn him.

‘’I can see that.’’ You reply, uninterested. You don’t need distractions. And Aeg, whoever he may be, is a distraction. You bend your head a bit further over your books, hoping to lose yourself in the magic of the Ancient Dornish statues you are studying. It does not happen, and to make things worse, Aeg is staring at you, full of interest and delight, a smirk on his lips as he studies you instead of the textbook.

‘’Don’t be like that. The teacher said I could sit with you. You are a nice girl. It’s literally what she said. I can use a friend. I’m new. I only have Cole with me.’’ He says. You sigh, and deep down you know you will regret this deeply. You know it.

‘’I am Ereys.’’ You say, ignoring the way his blue eyes keep piercing through your skin and skull. ‘’I study Archaeology. That’s what you should be doing, by the way.’’ You say. Aeg snorts, laughing loudly and draws more attention to your shared table. Embarrassed, you lower yourself a bit more, hoping to bury yourself in your books.

‘’I’m Aegon, but you can call me Aeg.’’ He says. ‘’I never studied Archaeology or history before. Perhaps you can tell me where we are with the studies, as well as tell me…’’ He smirks, looking at you a bit funnily. You raise a brow, confused.

‘’Do you have a boyfriend?’’ You don’t know where this question came from or how it is related to archelogy but you sure as hell don’t want to answer that weasel anymore.

You blow up. ‘’That’s none of your business. Go ask someone else.’’ To your horror, your voice is uncontrolled and even more eyes are glued on you and Aegon now.

He does not seem to even be slightly insulted, grinning at your rejection. ‘’Ah, come on, darling. Didn’t mean to insult you. Just a complement, sweetheart.’’ He says. His voice becomes a bit more serious and he sits up, instead of hanging in the chair. ‘’But if I truly insulted you, I apologize.’’

‘’Hmph.’’ 

The rest of the class you are both silent, save for Aegon who keeps smirking and smiling at you, clearly trying to get you to let your walls down. You won’t let it happen. 

At long last, classes end and you are released.

—--

That evening, it is your turn at the Red Dragon the local college bar to handle the crowd. Lots of students come to unwind, have a drink, a snack, and a flirt before their classes are back on in the morning. It earns decently, and your boss makes sure that everyone behaves or is kicked out of the bar. 

Two of your close friends, Jayne and Alysanna hang out near the bar, trying to get more details out of your summer. ‘’Come on! Tell me, did you at least hook up last summer?’’ Jayne asks, on her fourth martini of that night. Alysanna smacks her arm, berating her instantly, the mom friend of the group.

Bless her. ‘’Ereys is just busy. She can have any guy she wants to have. She chooses to focus on her studies.’’ Alys says, grinning. ‘’Like if she wanted, any guy would be on their knees.’’ You roll your eyes.

‘’Hear hear.’’ You comment, giving two waiting jocks with red dragon tunics both a beer and a sandwich you just made for them. They leave, and you watch them go to their friends at the table in the corner, likely returning to their games for that evening.

Jayne is not ready to let the conversation die. ‘’I mean, I saw what joined you at Archaeology class and I have to say; You have more willpower and restraint than me.’’ You frown at her words. Aeg is not a what, and how the hell did she know? She studies marine biology, which is 2 floors above you. No way she could have seen Aeg. No way unless…..

‘’Stop using that fucking app!’’ Alys grabs the phone from Jayne. ‘’It’s fucking dehumantising.’’ She has a point. Women, men, non binary, something or someone else: It does not matter, this app does not discriminate, if you’re hot, you get called a lot of things.

Jayne, however is…Jayne.‘’Nah-ah! How else am I supposed to know what hot guy is new on campus? Have you seen how massive this place is? I need the app!” You know that app. It’s created by some tech devs with a god complex and it basically tracks relation drama, hot new guys, anything you don’t want to get caught up in on campus.

You watch as Jayne takes of running in her heels, chased by Alys on her sneakers, and you are shocked to see how fast both are. Someone clears his throat and you are reminded you have a job.

‘’Two beer.’’ Oh no. You know that voice.

In front of you, is Aeg. He is wearing a dorky shirt which looks like someone with a high office job would wear. His hair is pushed back neatly and you assume he spent a few hours on it. And he smells nice. Again. Aeg seems to recognize you too, grinning and sitting down while you grab the beer from the fridge. ‘’You look damn good behind a bar.’’ He says. ‘’You seem at home here. Everywhere, really.’’

You place it in front of Aeg. ‘’That’ll be 8 coins.’’ You say. Aeg happily grins, giving you 10 coins instead of 8. He looks around him, before closing in, leaning on the bar with a drunken smirk and you know you are done for. ‘’Hey, uhm. I want to see your boobs.’’ You can’t have heard that one right.

‘’’Excuse you?’’ He is drunk but that is no excuse.

‘’It’ll be just for me.’’ He promises, in a bar, filled with people, cameras, phones, everyone. You back away, disgusted and grab the hose that is used to fill beer cups. Instead of giving him a piece of your mind, you decide that it's time for action. You press the spray button and spray Aeg in rich, brown beer, soaking his shirt. A man with dark black hair and a Dornish look jumps from his chair as if you offended him and rushes to Aeg, who is confused.

Your boss, Laenor interferes, addressing the man instead of Aeg. ‘’You. Take your friend out of my fucking bar. I heard what he said to my employee. We don’t want that kind of shit here, or anywhere. OK?’’

The man nods, and drags Aegon off away from you, and the bar. 

—

When you wake up, you have forgotten the incident with Aeg and the strange man. It is Saturday. You have no classes and you are relaxing, in bed, still snoozing peacefully….

Until someone is knocking at your door. You throw your bathrobe on, close it and open your door. You are surprised to see who’s there. He smiles at you. You try to slam the door in his face, but he sets one foot in the door. ‘’Please, let me explain.’’ He begs. ‘’I was a fucking asshole.’’

Ding ding ding! ‘’Yes. You were.’’ You try to kick him out once more. Aeg begins pouting, and you allow him in your dorm, knowing he won’t give up anyway. 

‘’I am sorry, Ereys. I got drunk real bad. I never would have said that if I was sober. But that is no excuse.’’ He looks at his shoes first, but halfway through his apology he looks at your face. ‘’Also my driver almost hit you, on the way to class.’’

You find that a bit odd. Does he have a driver? ‘’You have a driver?’’

Aeg pales. ‘’Eh, my friend, Cole. He studies here too. He dropped me off. He almost hit you though.’’ You think back of the fancy car and you know something is not adding up. Yet you accept Aegon’s apology of him and his…driver.

‘’Apology accepted.’’ You say. ‘’For one reason.’’ You add with a smirk. 

He looks a bit like a puppy that got hurt and you feel bad about making him do this. But someone has to do it. And it won’t be you for sure. ‘’Anything.’’ He begs, looking in your eyes with such sadness that can only be seen in Disney movies.

You cackle. ‘’Oh, I love it when souls say such things. Give me a moment.’’

‘’Souls?’’ Aegon mutters, as you push him out of the room so you can get dressed.

—

‘’Dragon drinks! Dragon drinks! It helps the pain and it helps you think! Dragon drinks!’’ A few moments later, you are sitting beneath a umbrella outside the Red Dragon, while Aegon is in costume, the red cursed dragon costume, advertising. 

While Aegon does your job, and he does it really well, you enjoy the water and study some books. Aegon sometimes tries to get close to you, but one glare and he knows he is pushing it. But then Aegon sees a passing crowd of students, and instead of bothering you, he tries to lure them to the bar. ‘’Roar!’’ You clutch at your heart, scared to death by his roar. ‘’You there! You all seem cool! Come here, drink, and forget school!’’ You see one girl take her phone out. Aegon beams, proud he did his job well.

Until she snaps a photo and walks away, laughing with her friends. You see Aegon’s confidence had a big hit and you feel a bit sad for the dragon. ‘’Don’t let it bother you. Just keep being you. You’re actually really good at this.’’ He isn’t.

But Aegon beams. ‘’Yeah? Oh, I don’t I have ever been…’’ He roars again, puffing his chest, and this time a few customers pass in front of the bar. Aegon roars again, dancing. You can see that he is from Westeros, indeed.

You beg the people with their eyes to please get a drink, and they do. Aegon cheers victorious as they walk in. ‘’This is actually really nice, Ereys. I don’t think I ever have done something this silly.’’ He confesses, smiling. ‘’Thank you for the opportunity.’’ 

You wave his praise away. ‘’Yeah, yeah.’’ He ignores you, focusing on a new group to lure in.

When you attend the bar later, there is a shocking surprise. You had just done your hair on a bun and put your best foot in front of the other, and mentally prepared yourself. But someone else is at the bar, wearing a black shirt, with jeans, and a namepin. He is leaning on the bar, smiling as girls crowd around him, ordering drinks just to get a talk with him. Aegon.

You march over to the girls. ‘’Hello. Aegon. This bar is for employees. You are a customer.’’ He grins, smirking at you, and checking you out at the same time. 

‘’I got a job.’’ He reveals. ‘’Say hello to your new coworker.’’ He winks. You should be happy, as you have come to like Aegon. But your heart cannot allow him too close.

You can’t work with his eyes on you. You look for Laenor and walk to him. ‘’Uhm, you gave Aegon a job?’’ You have no idea how to bring it gently, so you don’t.

Laenor laughs, nodding. ‘’Yeah, he was good in the dragon costume. He has passion and spirit, charisma and good looks. All things you need when running a bar.’’ A few girls giggle in the background and you are annoyed that you thought Aegon actually liked you. 

You don’t see that his eyes are glued on you, watching your every move, not even hearing the girls.

Laenor is not going to fire him. No way.  So you can either quit and say goodbye to your sweet cash or try to endure Aegon. You walk back to the bar and you notice that Aegon has been waiting for you. ‘’Girls. What shall it be?’’ You ask, preparing yourself for the drinks.

One girl with sunglasses inside huffs. ‘’We were in a conversation with Eggy.’’ She says, a bit whiny. ‘’Don’t you have a table to clean somewhere?’’ She asks, and her friends laugh.

You are ready to insult her back but Aegon beats you to it. ‘’Hey, that’s not cool. Ereys is right. This is a bar, not a zoo. You get drinks and pay or leave.’’ You are impressed at his maturity. 

‘’Thanks.’’ You mutter after they have left. You reach for an empty glass at the same time as Aegon and your fingers brush. 

He blushes. ‘’Anytime.’’

—-

As months pass and you and Aegon only grow closer and closer. You are unaware you are in love with him, but he knows he is love with you. You are busy cleaning tables and he cleans the glasses that were used during the shift. While he is busy, you ask him questions that he needs to know for his upcoming test. 

‘’So, Nymeria’s statues. The big ones. What year?’’ You ask, as you clean some chewing gum from a table and nearly vomit.

But Aegon has improved. A lot. ‘’39 AC.’’ He grins. ‘’Easy peasy. Now for you: What did the writer Dynmeris meant with the sentence ‘’The sun cannot find the skies if the clouds are there?’’ You will so, so, so fail that literature class. Who cares? What sun? What clouds? Huh?

Gods help you.

‘’Uhm, it’s cloudy?’’ You guess. 

Aegon nods, and you know you have answered wrong but he is too kind to say it. Defeated, you sit down on a chair, grumpy. He joins you, planting his ass on the table you just cleaned. Thank god for jeans. ‘’It can be a metaphor. For many things. For how you don’t know if you don’t try, for how you cannot achieve dreams without effort, and how you, I suppose, cannot find love if your heart isn't open for it.’’ He looks at you expectedly You nod. ‘’You see, the clouds are the obstacle, and the sky is the goal. But what is the sun? What does it represent?’’ You listen a bit longer to his explanation, and you suddenly feel a bit stuck. Maybe you are the clouds. And Aegon the sun. And you keep yourself from happiness. You have become happier and less snappy around Aegon and everyone seems to know it except you.

You love him.

‘’Aeg?’’ You whisper, your face heated so hot that it might explode. You see him nod.

‘’Yeah?’’ he asks, just as tense and smiling, despite being terrified you can tell.

‘’I uh, want you to kiss me.’’ You confess.

Aeg closes the distance between the two of you and gently caresses your face, as your lips finally lock in a soft gentle kiss. You never felt more alive, and kiss him back, touching his face and feeling his soft hair. He breaks the kiss, smiling deeply. ‘’Does this mean we’re a thing?’’

Wow, he moves fast.

‘’Uhm, it means I like you a bit more.’’ You say, keeping it casual. Aegon grins, still sitting on the table. 

‘’I suppose I’ll just have to step up my game.’’ 

You would love to see what that looks like.

—--

Months later.

Finals are here and you and Aegon are in the library. You are officially dating and have become girlfriend and boyfriend. You try to focus on your books, but your eyes keep going to Aegon, who keeps smirking at you from his book, clearly not reading a word. His hands move down your thigh, and his smirk becomes suggestive. You feel your desire grow as he leans in a bit closer and kisses your neck. You mutter something. You close your book and drag Aegon from his chair, dragging him up to the second floor of the library, where almost no one comes. Aegon catches on, smiling, deeply in love and caresses your face. ‘’I love you Ereys.’’ He mutters, and you don’t know if he says that because you are about to hook up or because he loves you. Yet you turn your mind and insecurities off, and take your shirt off. Aegon follows, kissing your lips and taking his belt off. You both are lost in the passion.

Until, a camera flash interrupts it all. You let out a shriek and Aegon acts in a split second. He pulls his shirt over your head, covering you as quickly as possible. Two cameramen have appeared. ‘’Prince Aegon! Is this what you are doing on college grounds? The people demand to know!’’ One of them shouts. You feel ill. It makes sense.

Stupid too.

Aegon does not allow you to remain there, frozen and hurt. He drags you with him, as you both run away, between large bookshelves as the obvious paparazzi chases you. ‘’Prince Aegon, over here! Who is this lady? Prince Aegon!’’ Aegon doesn’t answer them. Getting you to safety is his priority.

When you are both safe outside, it has started raining. ‘’What the fuck was that?’’ You ask, in tears. Aegon sighs. 

‘’I’m a Prince.’’ He says, and you never heard someone so upset that he is filthy rich. Cole. Cole is not his friend. He’s his bodyguard. Oh, oh you’re fucked. 

A prince. You laugh. You never mattered to him. If you did he would've been honest. ‘’A what?’’

‘’A prince. Of House Targaryen.’’ This is madness.

You shake your head, in disbelief. He reaches out to touch you, to feel your love, your warmth. ‘’Ereys-’’

‘’Get away from me! You lied to me!’’ You yell, as tears fall down your cheeks. Hurt, Aegon backs off. He lied to you. And now your chest will likely cover some Westerosi magazine somewhere. You will be mocked, ridiculed by gods, knows how many people? And your trust, the walls he brought down, they’re skyhigh, and you know you won’t ever let anyone else get a shot.

He sighs, staring at his shoes. ‘’I never meant for them to find me here. I really like you. More than I liked anyone.’’ He says as he too sniffles, crying. ‘’I never wanted that stupid crown. They keep following me, I had hoped for a fun experience, but I never expected to find you. I love you and I mean it.’’

You shake your head. ‘’I was right not to trust you. I was right.’’ You repeat as you try to keep from crying, as your heart bleeds. It bleeds out from your chest.  You take off running to your dorms and don’t look back.

a/n

i might make a part two if you guys dig it.

I got a busy mind and a lot on my hands So get out of my way And out of my hair Cause I'm going somewhere And I'm not in the mood for questions

And no I don't wanna talk I don't wanna get in too deep On whatever you think I am or do And I'm not in the mood for questions And if I was, I wouldn't let you in on the answers

Don't wanna lose my head I stand up straight I take a real deep breath I never asked for attention But now that I have your attention I will play my part I'll put on a face And with all my heart I never asked for attention But now that I have your attention I'll give you the best I can-

Attention Lyrcis what inspired the fic xD

[thegreengnome]

Could I request aunt!Rhaenyra x niece!reader where they’ve always shared a strong bond, and one day during a tourney or feast Nyra gets possessive/protective when *her* reader is flirted with by some lord while reader is confused but basks in her Muña’s affections anyway?

Y/N detested tourneys. The overzealous crowd that cheered and booed at every little thing. The uneasy but pleasing bloodshed that made her wish the dress she had picked for the occasion was not so light in colour. But the worst thing about these so-called events was the heat.

It was certainly not a pleasant heat; it was sticky and sweltering and it made the whole thing unbelievably unbearable. Unfortunately, due to her royal status Y.N had to endure. Those should be her house words.

Y/N was sure that this was why the ladies’ fan was created. Said fan was waving at her face in a steady pace but it was simply not doing the trick. Perhaps one of the ogling lords could fan her, mayhap even two of them. At least they would be doing something useful instead of ‘discreetly’ placing bets on rivel houses.

“Are you feeling alright dearest?” Stopping her fan as elegantly as possible, Y/N brings her attention to her aunt.

Rhaenyra Targaryen truly was the realms delight, the hair surrounding her head made her seem otherworldly and her eyes glowed as she glanced at her niece. Rhaenyra was the one family member Y/N could confidently say she loves although her younger cousins could sometimes be entertaining.

“Yes, I am fine. the heat is getting to me today is all”

The look of worry makes Y/N’s heart clench. Its not a look one should see on the face of the heir to the throne. It made the girl want to reach out and take her aunt into her arms. Instead, she reaches for her hand. Y/N clasps it between her own moving her thumb over the back of it.

“Do not worry about me aunty”

Rhaenyra chuckles “I cannot help it” Rhaenyra brushes a wisp of hair from Y/N’s brow. Y/N cannot decipher the look that passes over her aunts face as she sweeps the hair but only a second later that look is forgotten by the neigh of an approaching horse.

The hand holding her own tightens painfully as the knight speaks out to the royal box.

“It would be a great honour if the princess Y/N bestowed her Favor onto me” ignoring the amused chuckles around her the young royal removes her hand from the ever-growing grip and grabs the Favor she had spent the previous night crafting with her younger cousins.

Y/N looks back at her aunt and pauses. Her once angelic face looks unusually angry. Her lips pursed, her brows furrowed and her eyes facing forward. Not acknowledging the girl next to her.

Y/N knew what her duty was. To please the lords and ladies of the realm so she makes sure a smile graces her lips. She smiles prettily down at the knight, a smattering of chuckles thrown in.  “I wish you good fortune to you ser”

The knight bows his head in thanks and makes his way back to the competition. Y/N could not see the knights face but from the proud looking stag on his dented shield, she could take an educated guess.

The look had yet to fall from her aunts face as she made her way back to her seat “Sodjisto”

Ignoring the sounds of metal on wood, Y/N faces her aunt determined to get a reaction out of her.

“I’m fine sweetling” Y/N had never known that tone of voice come from the women next to her before, well never aimed towards her. While Y/N had achieved her end her aunts’ eyes had yet to move from the knight.

An almost bubbling feeling started in Y/N’s stomach, a feeling of dread. Why was her aunt watching this knight like that? Why was it not her that was being looked at?

These feelings were new and confusing. The young girl did not know what to do. A touch on her hand distracted her from her thoughts. Rhaenyra had grabbed the hand next to her, her thumb rubbing the back of it. The weight was comforting.

Unbeknownst to Y/N. Her aunt was weighing the pros and cons of having the knight taken out by someone loyal to her.  

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Hi!! Just wanna say I love your writing sm! And could you please tell how the friendship between loki and sunshine blossomed? I just love how sunshine is with people btw

- 🌻

Okay, okay, that's such a good question, like we already know how Sunshine and Loki met and we've seen a few glimpses into their friendship, but we don't know how they actually became friends. And that is an injustice. So allow me to recount how exactly Sunshine and Loki became friends.

F is For Friends Who Do Stuff Together

Part of The Grumpy X Sunshine Series

Loki smirks to himself. He wasn't going to do anything too awful, perhaps a little mischievous but why would anyone expect anything else from him?

It was their fault really. Leaving their newest addition all alone while he was lurking around the Compound. You're low hanging fruit ripe for the picking.

He didn't even have any real plans for you.

Perhaps he'd take you to Asgard for long enough for Thor to come looking. Long enough to frighten you, certainly. In truth, he was just bored and looking to stir up a little bit of chaos - and they made it far too easy for him.

After all, you're completely oblivious to him looming behind you. It was almost too easy.

He creeps up slowly, watching as you tend to a bouquet of flowers in the common room.

You're not even in within arm's reach when, without ever looking over your shoulder, you chirp, "Hi, Loki!"

He freezes, completely caught off guard, his plans entirely derailed, "How did you-"

You turn around with a bright smile, "How did I what?"

"How did you know I was there?"

You shrug, "I heard you."

"Impossible." It disturbs him more than it should. He was a god. Not just a god, but the god of deception and trickery. You were just the strange newcomer.

"Maybe you're not as sneaky as you think you are."

Despite how deeply unsettling this turn of events is, he smirks to himself. He knows you're completely unaware of the challenge you just issued.

So he tries. Again. And again. And again.

And each time, "Hi, Loki!" or "You almost got me that time!" or, worst of all "You're getting better everyday!"

It was maddening. Infuriating, even. He even scared Thor a few times just to make sure he hadn't somehow lost his touch. But no, his brother fell for the old snake in the common room trick every time without fail.

For three months, you held his attention. It was a new record for Loki. Every chance he got to catch you off guard, he took. And none of them ever worked.

One day, he swears he's finally done it. You're talking so enthusiastically to the SHIELD agent before you that there's no way you know he's lurking around the corner.

"Hold on," you tell the SHIELD agent you're speaking to whose name Loki hasn't bothered to learn. You turn around to find Loki a foot away from you, "Hi, Loki."

"What the hell was that?" the SHIELD agent demands.

"Oh, it's just this game me and Loki play." You dismissively wave your hand. "He tries to sneak up on me and I find him before he does. It's sort of like a very intense game of hide and seek."

"I think he's trying to kidnap you."

"It's alright. He's my friend."

Loki falters just as he's about to storm away, "I beg your pardon?"

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"I said that it's alright because you're my friend," you casually repeat.

"That! Right there!" Loki explains, gesturing between you and him. "When did we become friends?"

"Umm... I don't know. We've been playing this game for like three months, so like three months ago, I guess."

Loki's eyebrows furrow together. He's not quite sure if it's the most endearing or the most disturbing thing he's ever heard. Worst of all, you don't seem to be afraid of him. "I've been trying to abduct you for three months and you call me your friend?"

"Well, I know you'd bring me back eventually. Plus, I've always wanted to visit another realm, it's on my bucket list!"

"What gave you the impression that I'd return you?"

You shrug, "I'm not worried about it, I trust you."

Your words strike a chord deep within Loki. He can't remember the last time someone trusted him, but you did. You did because you considered him a friend. "You trust me because I am your friend?"

You nod repeatedly, "Pretty much."

The corner of Loki's mouth twists upward, "Huh..."

"What?"

"I think I might need to find someone new to wreak havoc on."

"Oooh, we should play a prank on Sam!"

Loki smile mischievously at you, "I think we'll get along just fine."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy

[abiiors]

A small little blurb of Matty taking care of sick reader on a cold rainy day. (Im totally not sick and I’m totally not projecting)

because ik sicktember ‘23 is happening, i just thought i would use their prompt for today "sick in an inconvenient place"

hope you feel better soon, babe. sending you hugs <33

walking into work today was a bad idea. fuck, getting out of bed in the first place was an even worse idea. perhaps the worst one ever or so you’re convinced now that you sit at your desk shivering and sweating simultaneously. 

for some reason, cool air blasts out of the ac. the temperature is set so low that the whole area feels like a walk-in freezer. and then there’s the torrential rain outside on top of everything. 

you know, despite having an umbrella you will be drenched by the time you make it to the bus stop. and just the thought of being cold and damp while you feel like you're on the verge of death, makes you want to burst into tears. 

another sniffle from you. another glare from the new guy sitting across from you and you decide enough is enough. 

matty :( is the only thing you need to text him before he’s calling you within thirty seconds. 

in the background, you hear the same pitter-patter of rain, muffled and drowned out by other sounds and the riff of a guitar here or there. but it’s very much present. very persistent. 

“what’s wrong, darling?” he asks as soon as you pick up. 

when you pathetically sniffle some more, you hear him move. a door opens, then closes and the sounds behind him vanish. 

“hello?” he asks again, “you there?”

“i feel like shit,” you croak out. maybe you even speak for the first time that day because you surely don’t remember your voice sounding this dull and hoarse. 

“no shit,” he sighs. “you don’t sound all that well…”

“i don’t feel all that well…” you rub your face tiredly, massaging your achy temples. it’s only 3 in the afternoon. you still have 3 more hours of work to go. 

“can you pick me up? please i can’t, i feel so shocking, i–”

“sweetheart,” he interrupts. “go tell your manager you’re leaving. i’ll be there in fifteen.”

—

and he is there in fifteen as promised. his car is parked as close to the curb as possible and matty stands next to the open door holding out an umbrella, and holding out his other hand for your bag. 

the sight fills your entire body with relief, even as you watch him get half-drenched trying to hold the umbrella above your head, shielding you from any stray droplets. once you’re safely in the car, he closes the door, running to the other side to get in and tossing both your bag and the wet umbrella onto the backseat before he fully focuses his attention on you. 

matty tuts in sympathy. “oh you do look awful…”

you roll your eyes, annoyed and weirdly emotional but as soon as his cool hand touches your forehead, half of it melts away. 

“you’re really warm,” he frowns, bringing the same cool hand to your cheek and checking again. “lets get you home, okay? you’re practically falling asleep here.”

“i’m just really cold,” you complain in a small voice, wiping at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater like a small child. it makes him smile. 

“i’ll turn the ac off,” he says and leans over to press a kiss on your head. 

the car is mercifully warm after that and even though the chills are still there, at lease there’s no cold air blasting in your face. you know he must be uncomfortably warm under the flannel he’s wearing but the drive only lasts another ten minutes before you’re rounding onto the familiar street and stopping in the driveway of your home. 

matty turns around to get the umbrella again, stopping halfway to press another kiss, this time on your cheek, and hurries out the door to come to your side. you coax your achy body to move, to get prepared to make a dash inside. but the most you manage is a wobble up to the front door followed by wheezing and groaning. 

matty’s face falls in sympathy. “aww, c’mere baby,” he coos, letting you burrow your face into his chest while he unlocks the front door. he tries his hardest to walk like that, to let you stay close to him and steal some of his body heat while he gets your stuff inside. 

“can you tell me what hurts?” 

“everything,” you whine, “my head, my body. my throat hurts a bit too.” 

setting the things aside, matty cradles your face, bringing you both to the sofa to sit you down. 

“no more moving for you okay?” he speaks into your hair, seeing as how your face is once again tucked into his chest. “gonna take care of you.” 

you nod, closing your eyes and breathing in his comforting scent. 

“now how about you lay down. i’ll get you some stuff and we can just relax and cuddle for a bit. does that sound good?”

and you only need to nod once again to convey that it sounds absolutely fantastic. 

[stardustloki]

Being Useful

When Wrecker is injured, the entire Batch agree that he needs time to rest and heal. This is why, when Shep asks the Batch for help with a task that will be sure to make his injuries worse, Omega is baffled when her brothers agree immediately.

The Batch know that they're safe on Pabu. However, they haven't quite understood that their safety doesn't rely on them always making themselves useful.

Tags: Gen, Omega and Wrecker POVs, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Found Family, Past Trauma (Kamino was NOT a good place), Non-Graphic Description of Minor Injuries

Read on Ao3 here.

Or under the cut...

“That should do it,” Echo said at last, securing the long bandage he’d wrapped around Wrecker’s torso. “It’ll heal up fine, but-” he fixed him with a stern look- “only if you rest and give the bacta time to do its job.”

Omega watched as Wrecker visibly deflated.

“You mean I’ve got to sit around doing nothing!”

“If you don’t put any strain on your muscles for the next rotation, the bacta will do its job and the tears in your trapezius will heal.” Echo folded his arms. “If you don’t rest them, if you go around lifting heavy things, they won’t heal, and you’ll be bored for much longer.”

Wrecker stared up at the ceiling, letting out a frustrated sigh. “ Fine. ”

“Lyana was going to teach me how to make sushi today,” Omega spoke up. “You could come with me, if you want. It should be interesting, and we’ll be eating a lot.”

As she waited, hoping her brother would say yes, she caught the grateful look Hunter was sending her out of the corner of her eye. Getting any of her brothers to take it slow after an injury in the field had always been a difficult task, and Wrecker, with his boundless energy and need to move, had always been the worst of them. If he said yes to this, at least she knew he wouldn’t put any strain on his back for the next hour or so.

Her brother looked thoughtful for a second, before smiling at her. “Yeah, okay. I guess that could be fun.”

“Awesome!” she replied, feeling the excitement swell within her, jumping up slightly on the balls of her feet.

She waited, hoping she seemed far more patient on the outside than she felt on the inside, as Hunter helped Wrecker get his shirt back on and Echo packed away the medical supplies. Crosshair was sitting on the bench near the door, chewing a toothpick and tinkering with the settings for his prosthetic hand.

Without warning, Hunter seemed to freeze, glancing at the wall of their home, moving his head slowly towards the door, as if tracking someone. A few seconds later, there was a knock. Omega shrugged and went to open it.

Shep was outside, grinning widely at her through the doorway. She couldn’t help but grin back at the man she was slowly coming to consider her uncle.

“Omega! How are you?” he asked.

“Great, thanks. Looking forward to hanging out with Lyana! What about you?”

“Eh, I’m alright. But there’s been a couple problems I’m hoping your brothers will be able to help out with. Can I come in?”

“Sure!”

She stepped aside to let him in, but as she turned back towards her brothers she found herself frowning, brain stuttering in alarm. 

Hunter, Crosshair and Echo were all standing in between Shep and Wrecker. With the way they’d staggered themselves, the pattern appearing almost natural, perhaps to an outsider like Shep it wouldn’t look as if they’d placed themselves in a defensive formation, clearly attempting to shield Wrecker, but to Omega it couldn’t have been more obvious.

What wasn’t obvious, however, was why they were doing it. This was Shep. One of the nicest people they’d ever met. There was absolutely no need to protect Wrecker from him.

“Good morning, how are you boys today?” Shep’s voice was as welcoming as ever, but Hunter was far more guarded when he spoke.

“We’re all fine, thank you.” Omega frowned at Hunter’s words, she wouldn’t class Wrecker as ‘fine’. “How can we help?”

“There’s a house down near the coast, it got damaged real bad in the storm last night. I was hoping you’d help rebuild it. Wrecker would be a real help bringing up some of the building materials from one of the ships in the dock.”

“Sounds good,” Hunter replied. “Just tell us where the house is and we’ll be there.”

Wait, what?

She waited for Echo to speak up, to repeat what he’d told Wrecker just a few minutes before. Neither Echo nor Crosshair opened their mouths to speak. Instead, they watched Shep with neutral expressions, clearly waiting for him to carry on the conversation.

“Awesome, I’ll send you the address on my comm and-”

“Wait, stop,” Omega interrupted, because if everyone was gonna act like they’d lost their minds, at least she could be the voice of reason. “Wrecker can’t help you, he’s-”

“He’s fine, sir,” Hunter cut across her.

She could literally feel herself gaping at him, but he didn’t spare her a glance, keeping his steady gaze firmly on Shep, who surely must be realising this was weird, right? Hunter had just called him ‘sir’, for kriff’s sake. Hunter had never called him ‘sir’.

Thankfully for her sanity, Shep did seem to find this weird, because he was frowning at Hunter, his head tilted slightly.

“If Wrecker’s injured in some way…” he began.

“It’s nothing,” Wrecker said.

“Nothing serious,” Hunter added, the ‘s’ on serious a little too stuttered for Omega to believe that he hadn’t been about to call Shep ‘sir’ again before cutting himself off.

She stared at him incredulously. Not serious? Okay, it wasn’t serious like a blaster wound was serious, or like a chip in your brain was serious. But, even though he’d tried to hide it, she’d known that Wrecker had been in agony before Echo had applied the bacta, and he’d only stop the injury from healing, or even make it worse, if he started lifting things now.

Besides, Shep considered a small cut serious. She knew because of how he’d fussed over Lyana the last time they’d cooked together and Lyana had nicked herself when her knife had slipped. He’d also been way too concerned when Omega had fallen down the stairs during a game of tag with her friend - she’d only had a couple of bumps and grazes after all, they were basically routine on missions! There was absolutely no way he’d consider letting Wrecker hurt himself more by helping - so why weren’t the others telling him?

“If you’re sure,” he replied, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“No, he’s-” 

Hunter made a clearly frantic but barely noticeable gesture in battlesign, with one of the hands he was keeping firmly by his side, telling her that she needed to stop, now. She cut herself off, scowling at him.

If Hunter was using battlesign that meant this was important, that his orders needed to be followed. She knew it also meant he must have an explanation for this, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be frustrated, even as she obeyed. It wasn’t her fault his orders made no sense. 

“Omega’s upset because she invited Wrecker to make sushi with her and Lyana,” Echo said, eyes flickering down towards the floor as he struggled with the lie.

Shep fixed her with a kind smile. Omega did her best to look like it didn’t irritate the hell out of her at that moment. “I’m sure he’ll be able to help next time. So,” he addressed the others, “I’ll see you boys in half an hour or so. If anything changes, or you’re not able to help for any reason, just let me know.”

After he’d left, Omega let her brothers feel the full force of her glare.

“What the hell was that?”

She was surprised to hear Crosshair speaking those words, considering they were exactly what she’d been about to ask the four of them.

“I could ask you the same,” she snapped, folding her arms. “Have you forgotten that there are small tears in Wrecker’s back muscles. Do you want him to get hurt worse.”

Crosshair took a step towards her. Omega only narrowed her eyes further.

“Have you forgotten that they allow us to live here, that they protect us from the Empire even after it invaded their home, because we’re useful to them?” He replied. Omega felt her mouth drop open for the second time that day. “Have you thought about what happens when we stop being useful to them?”

“They invited us to live here because they like us, because they care about us!” Omega protested.

Crosshair scoffed, and, as she glanced at the others, hoping that they’d back her up on this, she could see they looked a mix of wary and uncomfortable.

“I’m sure they do, at least a bit,” Hunter told her, voice gentle, as if he was telling her something difficult to hear. Omega supposed it was difficult, if only because they were being so ridiculous. “But they’ll probably like us a whole lot less if we don’t help them.”

“He wouldn’t want Wrecker to be in pain.”

“I’m fine, Omega,” Wrecker said, walking over to wrap her in a hug, which she gracelessly accepted. “I’ve had to deal with worse, way worse. I’ll be back here recovering before you know it.”

“He probably wouldn’t want Wrecker to be in pain,” Echo agreed, “But-”

“There isn’t any ‘but’ to this!” Omega snapped. “He cares about us, he cares about Wrecker. That isn’t going to change because Wrecker can’t help out one time.”

“Sorry, kid,” Wrecker told her, gently ruffling her hair. “You aren’t going to win this one.”

She sighed, allowing her head to rest against his chest. “Fine,” she groaned. “Guess I’ll go make sushi with Lyana myself then.”

The frustration and anger remained within her throughout her walk along the sunny streets of Pabu. It hadn’t abated by the time she reached Lyana’s, not when she was aware that Wrecker should have been there beside her, not walking in the other direction, about to start doing an activity that was only going to hurt him and make his injuries worse.

Whatever Omega might think about Echo’s lying skills, hers weren’t much better, and Lyana could tell something was up almost as soon as she’d arrived. Well, Omega wanted to know the truth, and she didn’t much feel about hiding what had upset her anyway, so once they were both sitting in the comfortable wooden bench on Lyana’s patio, sipping on the smoothies her friend had prepared, she asked Lyana if her dad had ever stopped liking her because she hadn’t helped him.

Lyana was horrified. “No! Why would you even ask that, Omega?”

She shrugged, but felt her heart lighten at the answer. “Has he ever stopped liking someone else?”

“No! Omega-”

“Wrecker’s injured, he’s hurt his back really badly,” she explained, relieved that she’d been correct. “But my brothers think that if they don’t help your dad, then he’s gonna stop being kind to us or something.”

Lyana gaped at her. “But he’d never do that! He loves you guys, we both do!” She thought for a moment, eyes flickering from side to side. “I’ll comm him, let him know what’s going on. He’ll know what to do.”

For the first time in the last twenty minutes, Omega felt like the world was slowly starting to make sense again. And, as Lyana’s call connected to her dad, she let herself smile at that.

Wrecker walked down to the house near the coast, flanked by his brothers on both sides. He felt sad for Omega, for how upset she’d got on his behalf, but really, he’d be okay. Sure, this was going to be difficult, and it was going to hurt, but he pushed through pain on missions all the time. Besides, he knew with absolute certainty that it was going to be nothing compared to the tests the scientists and trainers had put him through back on Kamino. Sooner or later, his injuries would heal and he’d be fine again. It didn’t really matter that making sushi with Omega had sounded nice.

As they approached, Shep waved to them, and they waved back, before making their way down the steps towards him.

“Where do you want us?” Hunter asked.

Shep explained their tasks, one by one, until he got to Wrecker. He passed him the fishing rod he was carrying. “I’d like you to sit on the jetty and catch us some fish for lunch.”

Wrecker could tell by his brother’s reactions that he wasn’t the only one confused by that. “I thought you wanted me to carry building supplies?”

He shook his head. “Change of plans. I got some other guys who’re doing that.”

And, okay, maybe that made sense. But wouldn’t Wrecker’s strength be more useful helping with the rebuilding work instead of sitting around catching fish? He opened his mouth to ask why and was rewarded with a sharp elbow in his left side. Right, Crosshair had a point there, it would be stupid to get himself hurt worse when he was being given a way out.

About half an hour later, Wrecker sat by the sea, holding his fishing rod steady. As the minutes passed, he could feel the pain in his back lessen as his feeling of relaxation grew.

He looked across as Shep moved the bucket of fish backwards, before taking its place beside him.

“Looks like you’ve been doing good work,” he commented.

“I guess.”

“We’re repairing Nixret’s house,” Shep continued, as they both stared across the ocean. “Nix is old, he can’t see, he can barely walk anymore, he relies on the kindness of his neighbours to help him out everyday. But he’s one of the most interesting people I know. Do you think I don’t care about him because he can’t get around by himself?”

“No,” Wrecker replied, brow crinkling. It was obvious that Shep cared, he wouldn’t be organising all this if he didn’t. Then his brow creased further. “Omega told you what we talked about, didn’t she?”

Shep nodded, and Wrecker found himself tensing in a way that sent shocks of pain across his shoulder blades.

“She did, and I’m glad she did. And you should be glad you’ve got such a good sister.” Out of the corner of his eye, Wrecker could see that Shep was smiling at him, eyes full of concern. “You are a part of this community now Wrecker. And that won’t change if you can’t lift heavy objects. I like you because you’re you, not because of what you can do for me. And I’ve been told to tell you Lyana likes you because she thinks you’re her funniest uncle.”

“Oh,” Wrecker said, staring down at the water. He didn’t know what to say. It would probably have been easier to come up with something to say if he’d even known what to think.

“I don’t know what you boys have been through exactly,” Shep continued. “But I know whatever it was, it can’t have been easy. Even so, I’d appreciate it if you told me in the future when helping me out would hurt you.”

Wrecker nodded, still feeling blank.

“Alright then. Shall we get these fish back to the others?”

This right here was easily much firmer ground. “Sounds good,” he replied, managing a smile.

As they walked together, back towards the house his brothers were working on, Wrecker found himself thinking about what Omega had said earlier, and what Shep had said just then. It didn’t feel true, not exactly, and he knew that he’d have to discuss it with Hunter and the others later. But even if it didn’t feel true, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t true.

Maybe, they could be safe here, even when they weren’t useful?