#this is so harsh I watched masters of the air surely that's enough !!

[wombywoo]

tell me why I just spent my entire morning/afternoon 'researching' my 'potential vampire smut novel' by reading up on tactics for engaging the Luftwaffe? finger-four squadron formations whatever that is?? a definitive play-by-play of the battle of britain, etc, while retaining absolutely NONE of it, my hubris has really gotten the better of me, the things I do for yaoi....😔🪖

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Racing for Love

word count: 1.6k

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wife!reader, ft. thier child

Summery: Max and Y/n navigate the challenges of raising their young son Noah, encouraging his love for racing while standing firm against Jos Verstappen's intense training methods to ensure Noah's happiness comes first.

_____________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun poured over the track, its warm glow casting long shadows as you watched your son, little Noah, zoom around in his mini-kart. He was just four years old, the spitting image of Max—same piercing blue eyes, same determined scowl as he concentrated on mastering every turn.

From the sidelines, you could feel Max’s pride radiating as he watched Noah. It had been his dream to share his love for racing with his son, and now that Noah was old enough to drive a kart, it felt like the beginning of something special. But to you, Noah was still your baby, and seeing him behind the wheel so young filled you with both excitement and a sense of protectiveness.

���He’s a natural,” Max murmured beside you, a smile pulling at his lips. He was quiet today, simply enjoying the moment without any of the pressure that used to weigh so heavily on him.

But that peace shattered the moment you saw Jos pull up to the track. You stiffened, your grip on the fence tightening instinctively. Max noticed your reaction, his own expression darkening slightly. He loved his father, respected what Jos had done for him, but the scars from his own childhood were still there, buried under years of discipline and hard-earned success.

Jos strode over with that same commanding presence, eyes flicking from Max to Noah on the track. “He’s got the Verstappen blood in him, that’s for sure,” Jos said with a grin, but there was something in his tone that sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jos,” Max said calmly, though his jaw clenched. “He’s not me.”

Jos scoffed, folding his arms. “If you want him to be the best, Max, you can’t go easy on him. You know what it takes. You can’t coddle him.”

Your heart sank. You knew exactly what Jos was thinking—long nights on cold tracks, harsh words, endless drills until exhaustion took over. It had shaped Max into the world champion he was today, but at what cost? You weren’t about to let the same thing happen to Noah.

“No,” you said firmly, stepping forward. “We’re not doing that. Noah is not going to be pushed like that.”

Jos turned his gaze on you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You think I went too hard on Max?” His voice had that edge to it, the one that made it clear he didn’t care for dissent.

“I know you did,” you shot back, feeling your protective instincts rise. “Max went through hell growing up, Jos. I won’t let you put Noah through the same thing. He’s still a child. He’s not going to be pushed until he breaks.”

Max stood silently beside you, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His hand slipped into yours, his grip tight, supportive.

“He’s got talent,” Jos insisted, his voice rising. “He’s got to be toughened up if he’s going to make it.”

Your eyes blazed as you stepped forward, standing your ground. “Noah is four. He needs to love this sport first. I won’t let you take that away from him the way you almost did with Max.”

The memory of Max’s childhood—a mixture of triumphs and painful sacrifices—hung heavily in the air. You knew how deeply it had affected him, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself.

Max’s voice was low but firm when he finally spoke, his eyes locked on his father. “She’s right. I don’t want Noah to go through what I did. If he’s going to race, it’ll be because he loves it, not because he’s afraid of failing.”

Jos’ expression faltered for a moment, a flash of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes. “I made you a champion,” he said, but the words lacked the conviction they usually carried.

“And I thank you for that,” Max replied, his tone softer now. “But I want to be a different kind of father. I want to enjoy watching Noah grow, not push him until he resents me—or the sport.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in tense silence, the sounds of the track fading into the background. Noah, blissfully unaware of the conflict brewing, came speeding around the corner, his face lit up with joy as he handled the kart like a pro.

Jos sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing at Noah. “But don’t come crying to me when he’s not tough enough.”

You exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave your body as Jos turned to walk back to his car. The relief was palpable, but you could still feel the remnants of anger lingering in the air.

Max wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You did good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until you said it.”

You leaned into him, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. “I just want him to be happy, Max. I don’t care if he’s the best driver in the world.”

Max smiled, watching as Noah jumped out of the kart and ran towards the two of you, his laughter infectious. “He will be,” Max said softly, “because he’s got the best parents in the world.”

As Noah raced toward you and Max, his tiny legs barely keeping up with his excitement, his helmet still bobbing on his head, you knelt down to meet him at eye level. His wide smile, the mirror image of Max’s, made your heart swell.

“Mom! Dad! Did you see? Did you see me go around the corner?!” Noah’s voice was filled with that pure, unfiltered excitement only children could have.

Max crouched down next to you, reaching over to ruffle Noah’s messy hair. “We saw, buddy. You were incredible out there,” Max said, grinning proudly.

“You were so fast,” you added, placing your hands on Noah’s small shoulders. “But were you having fun?”

Noah nodded vigorously, his blue eyes shining. “Yeah! It’s just like Dad! I wanna go even faster next time!”

You smiled, though there was a flicker of concern in your heart. “I know you do, sweetheart. But remember, it’s not about being the fastest. It’s about enjoying yourself.”

Max leaned in, adding softly, “Your mom’s right, Noah. The most important thing is that you love what you’re doing.”

Noah frowned a little, looking between the two of you. “But, Grandpa said I need to be the best. Just like you, Dad. I wanna be like you!”

You felt your stomach tighten at the mention of Jos. Max glanced at you before looking back at Noah, his voice gentle but firm. “You will be, Noah, but you don’t have to be the best right away. I wasn’t the best when I started either. It takes time.”

“But Grandpa said I have to work harder,” Noah pressed, his little brow furrowing in confusion. “I want to be like you, Dad. I don’t want to let you down.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, at how much he wanted to impress Max. You reached for Noah’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You could never let us down, Noah. We’re proud of you no matter what.”

Max shifted, his expression growing more serious but still tender. “Look, Noah,” he said, placing a hand on your son’s small shoulder. “I know Grandpa says a lot about working hard and being the best, but that’s not everything. You’re still so young. Right now, it’s more important that you have fun and learn to love racing. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Noah looked up at Max, his eyes wide. “But… what if I don’t get as good as you?”

Max smiled softly, his eyes full of warmth as he gently cupped Noah’s cheek. “I don’t care if you’re the best driver in the world, Noah. I just want you to love it. If you love racing and want to get better, we’ll help you. But if you decide you don’t like it anymore, that’s okay too.”

“But I do love it!” Noah insisted, his small fists clenching with determination. “I love it so much, Dad. I wanna race forever!”

Max chuckled, glancing at you before looking back at Noah. “Then you will, buddy. And I’ll be there every step of the way, but we’re going to do this our way, okay? Not Grandpa’s way. You’re going to race because you want to, not because you have to.”

Noah seemed to process Max’s words, his tiny face deep in thought before he nodded slowly. “Okay, Dad. I like that.”

You smiled, pulling Noah into a hug. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Noah. And when you’re ready, we’ll help you go even faster.”

Noah giggled into your chest before he turned to Max, his eyes wide with excitement again. “Can we go again tomorrow, Dad? Please?”

Max looked at you, his smile softening. “We’ll see, champ. But let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”

Noah nodded eagerly, clearly satisfied with the answer. “Okay! I’m gonna be so fast!”

Max stood, lifting Noah up in his arms as your son beamed with pride. “You already are, Noah.”

As the three of you started walking back toward the car, Noah resting his head against Max’s shoulder, you caught Max’s eye. He gave you a soft smile, his free hand slipping into yours.

“You know,” Max said quietly, “I always thought I wanted Noah to be a driver just like me, but seeing him today… I just want him to be happy.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “He will be, Max. He’s got you—and us—showing him what really matters.”

[amaea-jewels]

THE CONQUERORS | LEVERAGE

—— summary: In a world where soulmates exist. Your fate has been sealed to the dragons who burned down your home.

—— genre: Dark!au, soulmate au, yandere

—— warnings: Obsessive and possessive behaviour, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, some very light angst, smut

—— pairing: Aegon Targaryen I x female!reader, Visenya Targaryen x female!reader, Rhaenys Targaryen x female!reader

—— word count: 5k

*no beta we die like bruce wayne's parents * first-time writing, english is not my first language

Never before had you experienced such overwhelming terror. You were a collected person by nature, content with allowing chaos to unfold for others, more so even when you had a hand in creating the chaos. Yet, tonight, it appeared that the karma of all of those nights of "fun" had finally caught up to you.

You found yourself being dragged by two strangers, being forcibly led toward the direction of one of the larger tents positioned at the farthest edge of the camp. You had known you were fucked from the moment your eyes had first locked with violet ones. You had felt the bond snap in place. Those violet eyes, the ones that had burned ypur home to ashes, now held you captive. Your life was now entwined with those haunting eyes that had taken your family from you.

You briefly entertained the idea of ending your life. The tent that they were leading you to was situated relatively close to a cliff. Though you were unsure whether the height would prove itself to be fatal, you felt more than ready to take the risk.

Choosing to end your life would be much more honourable than warming the bed of those who had caused your family's demise.

Newly formed soulbonds were meant to be consummated, and you were well aware that the longer time you spent with them, the more inevitable it would become. You knew that it was only a matter of time.

Ending your own life would save you from that fate.

The thought quickly leaves your mind, as you finally arrive at your destination. A sense of relief washes over you upon seeing that the tent is empty. However, that relief swiftly fades away as you are pulled toward the large bed situated in the room's centre. Your arms are tightly bound by sturdy metal chains, anchoring you to the master bed. You sigh, leaning your head against one of the pillows, attempting to find some rest.

The next several hours pass like a blur.

New guards take the place of the former standing right outside the tent. One usually remains on guard while the other leaves — you're not sure why. The idea of you actually being able to escape or cause any kind of damage is laughable at the very least. How would you be able to run whilst tied to a bed with metal chains?

You know it's late when one of them finally shows up — the darkness that fills the room is more than enough of an indication — it's the older one you realise after a few moments of watching her. Her hair was beautifully braided into intricate patterns. She was beautiful but there was an air of darkness that seemed to cling to her. She swiftly took off her ringmail, not even sparing you a glance, as she started undressing.

You did your best to avert your gaze, as she undressed herself fully. She turned toward you, recognising your presence for the first time since entering the tent.

She sauntered toward you. Her cold harsh unforgivable violet eyes digging into you. You're keenly aware of the fact that she's still not wearing anything, as you keep your gaze toward the side. Attempting to hide yourself from her.

She seizes hold of your jaw, redirecting your gaze toward her, eliminating any possibility of evading her. With a firm touch, she runs a finger across your face. The bond hummed at her actions.

"So you're the one."

Eyes still cold as she studies you carefully. Her hand which was previously caressing your cheek, start travelling down south. Stopping briefly at your throat, giving it a light squeeze before moving on, her hand stops when it reaches down to your waist.

She presses her naked body closer to you, keeping the eye contact as she dares you to do something. An amused smirk crept onto her face, at your obvious discomfort. The both of you stay there for a few minutes. Neither speaking, as she continues to study you with those violet eyes of hers.

Simultaneously, she seizes both of your hands, releasing her grip on your jaw and waist. She brings both your hands up to cup her breasts, as she brings herself closer to you. Both of your bodies pressed tightly up against one another. She slowly starts grinding herself against you. Disregarding you completely.

You start thrashing against her desperately attempting to move your hands away from her body. Suddenly, her grip on your hand loosens, and one of her hands swiftly flies up to encircle your throat, exerting firm pressure to keep you in place. You look up to study her facial expression, to see every ounce of amusement had disappeared, instead replaced by a serious demeanour. She leans in intimately, bringing her face close to your ear.

"You fight so viciously, just like your family. What a shame that couldn't save them from their fate," she speaks venomously, "but there's still some of them left, aren't there?"

She looks down at your horrified expression. A smile starting to bloom across her face.

"Your nephew, what was his name now? Was it Flammin? Fliden? No, it is Florian, is it not? Such a sweet young boy. Just passed his fifth naming day hasn't he?" she taunted a wicked smile still present on her lips, "it would be such a shame if his life was to be cut short now, wouldn't it?"

Tears welled up silently in your eyes as the weight of her words began to settle in. Florian, a young boy, was the sole family you had. His mother had succumbed to childbirth, and his father had fallen victim to those ruthless monsters. Florian had always been a frail and sickly boy. Without proper attention, he wouldn't survive even a fortnight. You had dedicated countless nights to his care since his birth, nurturing him in the absence of your older brother. Who always had matters of the court to attend to.

You felt guilt prickle away at your chest. You had completely forgotten about him. In your defense, you hadn't even been sure he survived. Most had suffered the cruel fate of being burned alive by dragon fire. But surely if Queen Visenya knew of his existence, that must've meant he was still alive?

You didn't answer. There was nothing to be said. She had won. And you could tell she knew that too from the smirk that was covering her face. Slowly her hand started slipping down your body again. Coming to a halt when she neared your breast. Keeping the eye contact, she started palming them. Realishing in seeing you melt. As the bond started to hum even stronger.

"Visenya" a female voice called from behind, halting Visenya’s movement, "playing your games again, aren't you?"

"I have no idea what you refer to," she snapped, keeping her back turned toward the woman, "I was simply familiarizing myself with our bonded."

The woman standing behind Visenya was beautiful. With silver hair that swayed openly down her back. It took you a moment, to recall her name; Rhaenys. The youngest of the three conquerors.

You continued to stare at her shamelessly. She was beautiful, both of them were. You absently noted, that her violet eyes were lighter than that of Visenya, there was also a sense of playfulness in them. You presumed that made sense, from the rumours you had heard, Rhaenys was supposed to be the more kindhearted and playful of the three.

Rhaenys' eyes flicked down briefly to meet yours. You were met with a comforting smile, as her eyes flickered up to meet her the older again.

Her lips parted, and unfamiliar words flew from her mouth, a language entirely unknown to your ears. Amidst the unfamiliar words, you faintly understood the mention of the name "Aegon."

Aegon. You're body subconsciously shivered at the mention of his name. It had been him who had discovered you. After the burning of your home, the survivors had been brought before their new king. They were to bow and hail him for his mercy. It was at that moment when your eyes had locked with his, you both knew.

Words had not been exchanged. He had simply walked through the crowd and grabbed a hold of your wrist where your mark was located. With one simple glance at the three-headed dragon symbol marked into your skin, there had been no point in denying it. King Aegon had motioned for his men to take you, as you stood frozen to your spot. He started barking orders for his men to follow, but you could barely make out any word he was saying. Head still reeling from the revelation.

You could feel the irritation radiating off of Visenya as she completely let go of you. The two continued to speak in a foreign language, as Visenya dressed herself once more. The two seemed to be on the verge of arguing before they both left, leaving you alone once again.

You lay sprawled across the bed, sleeping peacefully until the gentle touch of an unfamiliar hand caressing you, caused you to startle awake. Your eyes were still drowsy with sleep, and it took you a minute to fully recognise the person sitting in front of you.

"Aegon," you whispered in shock.

You had only just spoken the words when you jerked away harshly, your body moving on its own accord. You were unaware of when you had fallen asleep last night. You must've drifted off the sleep while lost in your own thoughts.

"Hello," he greeted warmly, edging closer up the bed toward you. You didn't answer. To dazed by sleep to fully comprehend what was going on.

"You must be cold," he tried again. You could feel he was attempting to start up a conversation and unlike Visenya, you had an irking feeling he would want you to respond.

"I'm fine," you responded meekly.

He hummed, seemingly not convinced. He inched himself nearer toward you, aligning his thigh with your reclined figure, the pressure causing the bond to hum. Encouraging you to move closer toward your bonded. You relented. Despite whatever desire that remained inside of you to give in to the bond, and allow for them to do whatever he wished to you. You could not forget the screams of your people as the dragon fire consumed them. How could you ever forget? When their screams would haunt you to the night you die.

“I apologize for Visenya’s behaviour. She can be very . . . . forward to say the least.”

You nodded, accepting his terrible apology and excuse, so you could move on to what was important.

You sat yourself straight up. “My nephew, is he well?”

“He is well,” Aegon confirmed. His finger returned to your face once more, as he started trailing your features. “I can assure you no harm shall come to your nephew, as long you as you remain with us.”

While his words were meant to be comforting. The underlying threat was not lost on you. The message was clear: attempt to run and your nephew would suffer the price for your foolishness. Instead of arguing with the man who held your nephew’s life in his hands, you opted to change the conversation.

“What time is it?”

His reply came instantly. “Late at night. By now most, if not all, have retired to their tents.” His finger continued trailing over your features, now reaching your lips. He applied firm pressure, eyes keen on your every expression, as he moved on to fiddling with your hair.

“Where are your wives then?” You had not meant for the words to escape as bitterly as they did. But at the very thought of Visenya and her complete disregard for your discomfort and family. You couldn’t help the root of anger that was settling over your heart at the mention of her.

“In their tents, resting for the night.” If he had heard the bitterness in your tone then he was certainly ignoring it. He kept a comforting smile on his lips. You furrowed your brows at his answer. Should the Queens not be on the side of the King? While it wasn’t fully uncommon for spouses to have separate rooms, you would’ve assumed bonded like them would remain together.

He seemed to be able to tell your confusion for a moment had not passed before he started explaining himself. “My sisters enjoy having their own separate beds. I fear they would argue far too much about the other stealing all their space. Though I suppose that may perhaps change with your arrival.”

Sisters. They were siblings. Right, you had completely forgotten. The Valyrian custom you had heard so much about. It had completely escaped your mind that all three conquerors were of the same blood and of the same father. Disgust crept its way through you at that revelation.

“Should you not be sleeping?” You quickly said after realising that you had spent far too much time pondering about the strange Valyrian custom. “I much rather spend my time with you,” he replied smoothly. Eyes flickering up to meet yours again.

“And how fun that must be, staring at me sleeping.” You bit back, before realising you had spoken back to the King. “It is indeed,” he replied back rather amused, “especially with my name rolling off your mouth whilst you slept.”

Heat begin to prickle at your skin at his words. Surely you did not?

“What were you dreaming of?” He asks.

You're aware that he’s only asking because he already knows the answer. And despite you not remembering the dream, you're also keenly aware of the sheet of sweat that covers you and the way your undergarments seem to cling to you. You internally curse yourself. You recognise it to be a symptom of not having the bond consummated immediately after your initial meeting. The heightened sense of arousal, the sexual dreams and the need to be in one another’s presence. Direct symptoms of the bond. You remember your mother’s stories of bonded ones meeting for the first time. They usually consummate the bond at the exact moment they meet, the frenzy of the bond simply too strong to resist.

“I don’t remember.” Only a partial lie, you truly did not remember, however, you had an irking suspicion toward what that dream contained, as did he.

He laughs a quiet yet dangerous sound that strokes a fire inside of you. “Perhaps then, I could help you remember. It was after all me you were dreaming of.”

The meaning of his words caused your body to grow fully warm. “You’re flattering yourself far too much,” you lamely attempt.

He moves closer toward you at those words. As you started slowly crawling back from him. A large smirk grew on his face. “I’m sure you like to think that, wouldn’t you.” He drew himself nearer, standing so close to you, you’re faces were merely an inch apart, “but I heard the way you called my name, so sweetly.”

“I did no such thing.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His voice drops down to a sensual tone, “I myself have to admit that I have found myself dreaming of you plenty of times throughout the day,” he closed his eyes momentarily. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He begins, keeping his eyes closed as if he was imagining it right now. “Or I see you laying on this bed, my sisters between your legs, worshipping you with their mouths, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart starts pounding fast. In fact, you’re not sure if your heart has ever gone this fast before. You feel warm. Too warm, despite the coldness of the night seeping into the room. You can feel your pulse in your throat and the dryness that has settled over your lips.

“So tell me once more, what was it that you were dreaming of?” He asks in a hushed voice.

“Nothing.” You reply quickly, averting your gaze toward the exit. The idea of running away from this entire situation seems suddenly very appealing.

“So you don’t wish for my help?”

This time you don’t reply too afraid of giving the answer that you truly wish to say. After a moment of pure silence. With you ignoring his longing eyes, he decides to change his approach.

“You must be feeling so desperate.”

You don’t respond too afraid to say anything anymore. He leans toward you. You can feel his breath in your ear. You can feel the ache between your legs growing stronger.

“We’re not meant to go this long without each other,” he whispers delicately against you, “you know that. It’s only been a couple of hours. Yet, your body is aching for me, just as I am for you.” He glides his tongue against your cheek. Fire spreads everywhere he touches you. “Poor Visenya could barely contain herself from want. I had to order her and Rhaenys to leave you alone or else I fear they both would’ve ravished you the moment you entered our camp. But I convinced them it would be best if I warmed you up to us first. That all of us at once, forcing your attention upon us. Whilst your mind was still reeling from loss would be far too much.”

Your breath comes out shaky as you struggle to contain your own wants. It would be so wrong to give in. They had murdered your family. They had even threatened the only one that remained. Briefly, you wondered how things could’ve been different if you had met under normal circumstances. Telling your mother how happy you were at finding your bonded, asking permission to court you properly once the frenzy of the bond had passed. How different it all could’ve been. Instead, it was them who had robbed you of all of that. Your mother was dead, and so was your father. There was no need for a courting period for there was no one alive for them to ask permission for your hand from.

“Give yourself to me.” Aegon’s voice is rough with wanting like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, let me ease that ache you feel. Give yourself to us, and in return, we shall give you whatever your heart desires.”

“My heart desires for my family to be alive, tell me can you make that happen.” You snap back tears brimming into your eyes at the mention of your deceased family. A full night had yet not even passed and here you were dishonouring them all by giving yourself to the man who had killed them.

Something shifted in Aegon’s eyes at those words. Violet eyes growing stern much like Visenya’s had. His hand grabbed at your jaw bringing your eyes up to meet his. The familiarity of the situation was not lost upon you. As you stared up into his beautiful violet eyes.

“What happened to your family was their own fault had they simply bent the knee as I had asked of them. There would be no need for the pointless slaughter of your people,” his grip at your jaw tightened, “but I have been merciful have I not? I could’ve burned the survivors in dragon fire as well, but I did not. I could’ve killed your pathetic nephew who continuously begs my guards to be brought into your presence. But I do not. You know why?” He rubs the tears falling from you eyes away, “for I am a merciful King, but that does not mean, I shall remain one.”

“What is merciful of you burning my family alive? It was our King who made the decision to not bend his knee, not us!” You shouted back, jerking yourself free from his hold. "You say it’s mercy letting us live. Very well, then go ahead kill me. Give me the solace of being united with my family once more.”

He laughs, coldly at your little display of anger. “Very well, but remember that you asked for this.”

He backs away from the bed, grabbing his sword on his way out. “Wait! What’re you doing.” You desperately yell after him, “I told you to kill me, to punish me! Wait!”

You struggle against the metal chains keeping you tied to the bed. Your screams for Aegon to stop echoing through the night. Soon those screams are replaced by those of others. Dread fills your being as you realise what was happening.

Tears stream down your face your throat becomes sore from your sobbing. Eventually, you fell asleep, tears still streaming down your face.

Upon awakening, a throbbing headache greeted you—a consequence of having cried yourself to sleep. The light streaming into the tent suggested that it was now daytime. You glanced down at the blanket enveloping your shivering form. Vaguely, you remembered someone entering the tent late at night after you had drifted off. Whether it was Aegon or another you weren't sure. Exhaustion had overwhelmed you to the point where the mere thought of opening your eyes and checking was too much.

After throwing the blanket on you, the person joined you in bed. But remained at a comfortable distance so as not to disturb you. As you stirred around, you became aware that the person had left.

You sighed, running a hand through your face. The metal chains still digging painfully into your wrists.

The events of the previous night played back in your mind on repeat. A sense of dread fills you. What would the consequences be if you continued to reject their advances? How far would they go to keep you in line? How many would die as a consequence of their anger? Would they kill you if you continued to deny them?

You remained sprawled on the bed for several hours, unable to free yourself from the metal chains that bound you. Eventually, tiredness overcame you, and you slipped back into slumber. When you stirred again, it was to the sensation of someone shaking you awake.

"You must be starving," the voice observed. You recognised the voice; Rhaenys.

Before you, she stood, as breathtakingly beautiful as you remembered her to be. It took a moment for her words to fully register, and then you nodded in agreement. The audible growl of your stomach served as a reminder of the prolonged time you had gone with the absence of food—it had been two full days. Rhaenys smiled, offering you a plate of food. Without a word, you accepted the plate and began to eat. Rhaenys remained silent, unabashedly observing you as you ate.

After finishing your meal, you silently set the plate on the side table. The room fell into a hush as the two of you sat in silence, you with your gaze fixed on the floor, and Rhaenys studying you intently. Suddenly, she rose and positioned herself directly behind you on the bed, your back pressed against her chest. A surge of fear gripped you—what was she planning? Would she force herself on you as Visenya had done, or would she threaten you much like Aegon had done?

Surprisingly, she did neither. Instead, she pulled a brush and began running it through your hair. You started relaxing under her gentle ministrations. Eventually, she transitioned into braiding your hair skillfully. Two large braids took shape, and she proceeded to pin them up into an elegant updo, her actions gentle and kind.

"You shouldn't have said those things to Aegon, you upset him."

Her words sent a sudden jolt through your body, erasing any trace of comfort that had briefly settled into you. Instantly, tension gripped your frame.

"Your continued denial of the bond shall only bring pain to us. Embrace it. Acknowledge your destined path. You belong to us now," the calmness Rhaenys exhibited while speaking, caused shivers to run down your spine, "should you attempt to escape with your little nephew, our forces will inevitably hunt you down and bring you back. Half of Westeros has fallen to our whim, the rest shall soon follow. Tell me, who shall risk their lives and those of their kin to shield you from us? Last night, you incurred only a speck of Aegon's wrath, forcing him to unveil but a fraction of our might. Imagine the repercussions should you provoke us once more."

With that final word, she left. Leaving you once more in a state of fear.

Days pass before someone attempts to visit you again. Each day, a new guard came to attend to you, delivering food and bringing you to a nearby lake to clean yourself.

As days pass you begin to fight your own instinct. Begging for you to be near your homicidal bonded. Each night you were haunted by dreams of them, each dream leaving you more frustrated than the last. The fact that you know that they have been visiting every night while you pretend to sleep doesn't help.

It is on the fifth day of this behaviour continuing that you finally snapped.

A gentle hand traced along your back as your consciousness began to return. Most of your nights since entering the camp had been spent sleeping, daydreaming or reading. The familiarity of the rough hand hinted at Aegon's presence, a revelation that didn't surprise you. Although all three had taken turns visiting you every night. Aegon was the one that usually ended up curled next to you sleeping at night.

Upon feeling you stir, he retracted his hand from your back. Instantly your own shot up to stop.

“Wait,” you all but begged, “don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what?”

His voice was rough, just like you remembered it to be. He hadn’t spoken to you directly, not since that night. You had heard him bark orders at his men and seen him conversing with Orys Baratheon. But he had refused to speak to you ever since you had snapped at him.

“Touch me, please.”

The pure desperation in your voice wasn’t lost on you. And though you felt heat creeping up your skin at your confession, you couldn’t deny how badly you needed him. After all, Rhaenys had been right. You were only causing yourself misery by refusing yourself what you wanted. At your request, his hand rubbed down the side of your waist. Your breath becomes shaky as you turn to lie on your back to face him. Aegon was staring at you intensely.

You didn't know what to say to him. How to voice out the desire building in your chest. So you settle for calling out his name. Your voice is dripping with desire and desperation. Gazing into those violet eyes, you catch a glimpse of the fire so characteristic of the Targaryens just before his lips meet yours.

There’s nothing gentle about the kiss shared between you two. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of their true desires for far too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. His hand grabs a hold of your hair and keeps you in place. The bond hums loudly in approval of your actions.

Aegons draws himself back slightly to look at your expression, his free hand moving to palm your breast over your nightgown. You moan at the feeling. His other hand lets go of your hair to slither down your body and press against your core.

“You’re drenched,” he mutters breathlessly, slowing down his movements as he starts to tease you, “I could make you cum from this alone.”

“Please” you beg, your hips bucking up to meet him.

“I should make you beg me for it after everything you put us through.” His eyes are dark as he speaks, his thumb pressing hard against your clit, making you moan. “Luckily, I am a generous King. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod wildly, as he inserts a finger into you, pleasure pulsating through you.

“You’ve been craving this, waiting for this very moment,” Aegon murmurs against your ear with a wicked smile. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper pathetically, your hips rocking wildly aganist him. “Say it,” he demands, pushing another finger into your dripping core.

“I need you to make me come, Aegon. Please, my King, I need you so badly.” You purposefully empathize with his title, knowing what button to press to make him give in.

His violet eyes darken even further as he pulls you towards the edge of the bed, getting down on his knees in front of you. He makes swift work of removing your clothes. Before his lips descend down on you. You moan loudly your hand moving to entangle yourself into his hair.

Aegon mumbles something against your clit that you can’t hear, before teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing it in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers moved to find that soft, aching spot inside of you and he purposefully pressed against it in slow, firm thrusts that made you tremble.

“Aegon, please” you moan, partly as encouragement for him to continue and partly because you want him so badly. You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release. You’re so close.

“Aegon, please,” you plea again, truly desperate now. “Please my king. Please.”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or if it’s just pure coincidence, but in that moment. Aegon shifts his rhythm, bringing you closer toward your peak and over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you hard. You have never felt anything like this before. You feel satisfied but also feel the ache growing stronger than ever before. He looks up at you a smile displayed on his beautiful, handsome face. He crawls up to you, pressing a deep kiss into your lips. He continues kissing you as he slides a hand down to your core again. Firm fingers pressing against you. “There you go, feels good doesn’t it?” He murmurs into your temple pressing a kiss against it, “I wanna see your expression this time. You can come for me again. Can’t you my sweet girl?”

He speaks as if it’s a question but from the way he’s pressing his finger into you. You know, you have no choice in the matter.

“Oh, dear, Lords,” you gasp loudly.

You’re doing so well for me,” he kisses you again. He lowers his voice to a sensual whisper, leaning in closer to your ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over me like the sweet girl you are.” It’s the combination of his words, his voice and his perfect hands that bring you over the edge.

“Yes, that’s it,” Aegon mutters encouraging, as he watches you. “You are so beautiful when you come undone like that.” He kisses you slowly. It’s only then you realise that he's still fully clothed while you lay naked underneath him.

You don't have time to complain. All of a sudden, he grabs hold of your body, manhandling you around so you now lay on your stomach. He pushes your head into the bed harder as he scoops a hand underneath your hips, lifting your bare ass into the air, exposing your drenched pussy to the cold air.

He lands a hard smack on your ass.

"If you hadn't been so stubborn, this could have happened much earlier" Aegon spoke in a hushed voice, hands trailing down your waist. You said nothing. Entirely too breathless to defend yourself. Aegon placed himself at your entrance and allowed you no time to adjust to the massive length of his before he slammed into you. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you. You gasped as he picked up his pace, fucking you with wild and reckless abandon.

"Come on, my sweet," he taunted, "tell me how much you hate me now."

Aegon slammed into you so deep it really felt like he might kill you after all. You felt yourself pulse around his cock, your pussy trying to somehow pull him in deeper.

"So. Fucking. Tight," he said through gritted teeth. His hands gripping your hips with such force you knew they would bruise. Part of you beamed internally at the idea of being marked up by your bonded. Heat exploded inside of you. Your eyes were momentarily blinded as you felt yourself reach your climax.

"Please, fill me, Aegon," you begged, head still shoved into the bed. Aegon groaned at your words, holding your hips tightly as he pulled you back up against him to fuck him. He picked up his speed, thrusts becoming messy and sloppy as he chased his own peak.

He thrusted in roughly a few more times before he finally stilled, pushing inside of you as far as he could. He stayed inside of you for a few moments more before slowly pulling out, watching his cum spill out of your abused cunt. The loss of him being inside of you, causes you to whimper, feeling empty.

"That was truly a spectacular show," Visenya's voice sounded. Turning to your right, you beheld the sight of both the sisters standing there, a hint of amusement evident in their expressions. "I certainly hope you're not too tired for another round," Rhaenys quipped. The two women sauntered closer toward the bed where the two of you were situated. Crawling over the duvet toward you.

"Not that it truly matters if you are," Visenya smirked. Planting her mouth at your shoulder blade, she started sucking. Rhaenys copying her movement on your other one. You hummed in delight, completely unaware of the massacre that was befalling your people outside the tent, as your bonded made sure to keep your undivided attention on them.

They couldn't afford the possibility of your focus being split between them and the well-being of your people, especially when you were destined to belong to them. And with the bond now finally complete, you would never be able to leave. The strategy of isolating you without their presence played out flawlessly, leveraging the bond into compelling you to yield.

[redr0sewrites]

Practice~

the long awaited "riding sanemi's abs" WIP lmao!!!

🥀Summary: Reader is inexperienced with riding dick, so Sanemi teaches her to ride his abs first...

🥀Cw: smut, reader is afab, ab riding, dry humping, dirty talk, one use of the word master towards the end, etc-

🥀minors dni

"What?!" Sanemi choked on his drink, crashing the glass down onto the table in front of him and causing you to startle. "You're seriously telling me you've never rode dick before?" You flushed at his bold question, looking around to make sure nobody heard your lovers' comment. "Yes! Is that not what i just said? And keep it down, will you? I don't want the entire bar to know im inexperienced!" You hiss, watching as Sanemi's mouth spreads in a shit-eating grin.

"You have have to be fucking with me, a pretty doll like you has never gotten the chance to ride? Fuck this, we're going home now," he immediately pulled out his wallet, rifling through photos of the both of you and placing a sum of cash on the countertop.

"Hey!" You squeak, gasping when Sanemi hooks your arm through his and leads you through the swarm of people towards the door. "You- Sanemi! We can't just leave!"

"Why not? I think we have some more important things to do, hm?" You curse under your breath as Sanemi drags you out into the cold night air. You watch as the bar fades behind you, and you subconsciously lean in closer to your boyfriend, inhaling the delicious scent of his cologne. A rush of wind makes you shiver, and Sanemi rid himself of his haori, wrapping it around your shoulders. "Don't catch a cold," he murmurs, gently placing a rough hand on your back as he hurries down the street.

You and Sanemi had only been together for a few months, yet you already felt safe with him. As you turned off of the main road and up towards his estate, Sanemi's thumb began to trace soft circles through your clothing and onto your back. "We're almost home~" he whispers in your ear, and your stomach flips. "I- Nemi, I don't think I should ride you just yet.." Sanemi pauses in the middle of the pathway and pulls you close. "I won't make you do anything you're not comfortable with, but may i ask why?"

Another harsh wind makes you shiver, leaning closer to his face until both of your noses are almost touching. "I've just never done this before, and i need practice.. I don't want to go all the way home only to disappoint you..." Sanemi studies your face carefully, one hand cupping your face while the other wrapped around your lower back. "You could never disappoint me baby, ya hear? Besides, theres other things to ride than my dick," he smirked, relishing in your shocked expression. "Wanna ride my abs first?"

You blink, taking in his request. "Is that even possible?"

"Sure is. And, with enough practice, you can ride my cock next~" Heat pooled in your core at his words, and you nodded. Sanemi laughed, the both of you hurrying down the path.

🥀

Sanemi fumbled with the door, and the second the both of you were inside he pressed the both of you against the wall. "Keep this on," he murmured in your hear, tugging his haori that still rested on your shoulders. You nod slowly, wrapping your legs around his torso as he presses shameful kisses to your neck. "Bed?" You question softly, and Sanemi grins, picking you up and bringing you to the bedroom. You gasp as your back hits the mattress, and Sanemi crawls on top of you. Instinctivel, your legs wrap around his waist, buckling your hips up against his and Sanemi tuts disapprovingly.

"Your in control tonight, mmkay? Whatever you say goes, doll. If you feel uncomfortable at any point just let me know. Do you remember the safeword?" You nod, and Sanemi grins, rubbing your thighs reassuringly. He pulls his own shirt off, tossing aside and revealing his toned chess. You couldn't help but stare, your eyes wandering to the toned abs and thin white happy trail just above the waistline of his pants, and then just a but lower...

"Don't get too ambitious," Sanemi cooed, pulling your own shirt of your head so your top half was bare, except for the haori you had donned earlier. His rough hands hooked under the waist of your pants and underwear. Sanemi looked up at you questioningly, and you nodded. In one swift movement, he pulled down your bottoms, leaving you bare. You squirmed under his intense gaze, and he leans down, breath fanning over your wet cunt. Your hips jolt upwards, but steady hands pin them down. You pout and Sanemi smirks, delivering a soft slap to your clit and making you squeal. Grinning, he flips himself over onto his back, dragging you so that your straddling his stomach. Testing the waters, you squirm, grinding down slowly against his abdomen as his hands fondled your ass. You begin to move in a steady pace, circling your hips over his toned muscles and scars as he admired you from below. Sanemi thought you looked absolutely delectable like this, face flushed as you bit down on your lip in determination.

"Yea, just like that baby. You're a natural~" He praised, encouraging you to rock against him more. You leaned forward, steadying yourself on his chest and grinding down again. His toned muscles rippled beneath your soaked pussy, your folds fluttering and sliding over his firm abdomen as pleasure clouded your mind. Sanemi flexed his abs and you let out a loud moan as your clit rocked against his stomach, lurching forward as your pace increased.

The sight of Sanemi spread out below you, hair tousled and chest heaving only made you feel even more wet. A pink hue dusted his cheeks and ears, and sweat dripped between his toned chest. The haori- his haori kept brushing against your skin, only enhancing your pleasure as Sanemi kneaded your ass. You let out a mewl of pain as he delivered a soft slap to the flesh of your ass, your juices soaking his abs even more as the sticky fluids only aided you in grinding against him.

Soft squelching filled the room as you moaned louder and louder, hips grinding faster as you throw your head back in pleasure. Sanemi's rough hands find purchase on your hips, helping you rut against him as his abs flex below you.

"Think ya can take my cock next?" Sanemi smirked below you, arching his back and making you mewl in pleasure as his toned muscles rubbed against your clit. "Shit," he groaned, one hand moving to rub slow circles on your pearl as the coil in your stomach tightened. "Your fucking soaked, doll. Gonna cum on me, yeah? Like a bitch in heat?"

"P-please!" Tears prickled your lashline as you felt your release building slowly. Your cunt fluttered with every thrust of your hips, and Sanemi began to geind upwards, enhancing your pleasure even more. You could feel his cock straining through his pants and pressing against your ass, his arousal only spurring you on.

"m' so close Nemi, ple- anghh, please, i needa- im gonna cum, fuuuckngh-" you mewled, hips rolling desperately as you climax rippled through you. Sanemi's thumb continued circling your clit as you rode out your high, juices squirting across his stomach. You collapsed forward against his chest, panting as your cunt spasmed in pleasure for a few more seconds.

Sanemi brushed the hair out of your face and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "You did so well for me dolly, so, so well for your master." You whimpered in reply, squirming in your own slick as you buried your head into the crook of his neck. "I made a mess through.." you whisper, taking one of his hands from your hip and bringing it to rest over the sticky juices coating his stomach. Wordlessly he scooped up some onto his fingers and brought them to his lips, licking them clean instantly. Sanemi moaned at your taste, and scooped up some more, bringing it to your own lips. "Fuck baby, you squirted all over me. We have to do that again~"

might do a part 2 w sanemi teaching reader to actually ride his dick if this does well~ ALSO SORRY FOR POSTING THIS SO LATE AT NIGHT LMFAO I GOT HORNY

[arthurbristow]

The night air was cold and thick, heavy with the stench of sweat, dirt, and failure. The rain had long stopped, but the dampness still clung to the streets, making everything feel oppressive. 

The rest of the League had gone out on various errands — Twice had muttered something about scouting locations, Toga was off on her own twisted business, and Dabi had left without a word, his typical indifference hanging in the air. 

It was just you and Shigaraki now, and the atmosphere in the hideout was heavy, oppressive.

You sat on the edge of a broken-down couch in the dim, crumbling warehouse that served as the League of Villains’ temporary hideout, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. 

The aftermath of the botched mission hung in the air like a noxious cloud, and you could feel the tension simmering, thickening with each passing second.

Across the room, Shigaraki Tomura paced back and forth like a caged animal, his movements jerky and erratic, every step an explosion of pent-up anger. His red eyes glowed with a fury that hadn’t subsided since the mission went south. His fingers twitched, clawing at the air, brushing dangerously close to his neck as if he was barely containing the urge to grab at the skin beneath his collar and tear it apart.

They had failed. He had failed. The kidnapping of Bakugo had gone sideways — again — and now Shigaraki was teetering on the edge of a meltdown.

“I had him!” he snarled suddenly, his voice echoing off the walls of the dilapidated room. His boots scraped against the floor, the sound as harsh as his breathing. “We had that damn brat right in our hands, and they — those fucking heroes — had to ruin it!”

You flinched at the sharpness of his words but stayed silent. His fury was like a storm, wild and untamed, and you knew better than to step into its path without caution. Still, watching him unravel like this — it sent a chill down your spine. 

He stopped pacing for a moment, one hand coming up to claw at his white hair. “Every damn time… every single time we get close, it falls apart!” His voice was growing louder, more frantic. “Those damn heroes, they think they can just—”

“Tomura…” you said quietly, trying to find a way to ground him, to pull him out of this spiral.

His head snapped toward you, eyes blazing. “What?” he spat, his voice venomous. “What the hell do you want?”

You froze under his gaze. You’d seen him angry before, but there was something different this time — something more unstable. His frustration with Bakugo’s escape had compounded, twisting into a deep, festering rage that seemed ready to consume him. 

“I—I just wanted to help,” you stammered, your voice weak, the words clumsy in your throat. 

“Help?” he repeated, a mocking edge to his tone as he stalked closer, each step filled with barely contained violence. “You think you can help? You think anyone can help when I can’t even—” His voice broke off, his breath hitching in a ragged gasp. “This was my chance to prove it. To show the master that I’m more than just some kid with a quirk that destroys everything he touches. But of course fucking All Might had to intervene!” 

His face twisted in frustration as he dragged a hand through his hair again, fingers shaking. The movement was erratic, desperate, as if he could somehow pull the failure out of his mind if he could just grip hard enough.

The sight of him like this — so raw, so vulnerable under all that fury — made your chest ache. You wanted to reach out, to offer something — anything — to ease the madness burning in his gaze, but how could you? You weren’t sure he’d even listen.

“Tomura-kun,” you tried again, softer this time, more careful. “It wasn’t your fault. We’ll get another chance. We can—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, but it cut through the air like a knife. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing beneath the curtain of his hair. “I said shut up.”

“I just… I just don’t want you to blame yourself.”

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent a chill down your spine. “Blame myself? Oh, I’m very aware of whose fault this is. It’s mine. It’s always mine.”

You stood from the couch, your pulse quickening, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch him tear himself apart. Still, against your better judgment, you stood and crossed the small space between you. He didn’t stop you, didn’t even look up as you approached, his eyes fixed somewhere on the far wall, lost in whatever thoughts he was keeping locked away. His hair was an unruly mess, strands sticking to his forehead, clinging to his cheeks. “Tomura, stop. You don’t have to carry this—”

His hand shot out before you could finish, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a vice-like grip. His touch was cold, painful.

Instinctively, your gaze darted to where his thumb and four fingers gripped your arm — but his fifth finger hovered, suspended just above your skin. So close. Just millimeters away. The threat was immediate, palpable. One flick, one slip, and you would decay into nothingness. Your flesh would turn to ash in an instant, just like everything else he touched.

“Boss…” you whispered, your voice trembling, but you didn’t pull away. Fear churned in your stomach, cold and sharp. “Please. Let me help.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly, his face inches from yours. “You think I care about your hollow words? You think your comfort means anything to me? And you want to help?” he spat, his grip tightening, though his fifth finger remained just shy of contact. His red eyes bore into yours, filled with rage and something darker, something more desperate. “You can’t help me. You can’t fix this. You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’re nothing, just like the rest of these morons are!”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. Without thinking, you moved even closer. 

His eyes followed you warily, but he didn’t pull away, not yet. 

Slowly, you reached up, brushing the strands of his white hair out of his face. The touch was gentle, and for a moment, he let you do it, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers grazed his skin. You tucked the loose strands behind his ear, your hand lingering for just a second too long.

His body went rigid under your touch. The air between you stilled, his crimson eyes widening ever so slightly in shock. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, the rage in his expression faltered, giving way to confusion. He stared at you, as though he couldn’t understand what you had just done, as though your gentle touch had cut through the chaos swirling in his mind. 

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You think you can fix me? That this—” He gestured to your hand. “—is going to make a difference?”

“I don’t want to fix you,” you whispered. “I just don’t want you to feel so alone, boss.”

Shigaraki didn’t move. He didn’t let go, either. His fingers trembled against your skin, the tension in his grip a constant reminder of the fragility of the situation. “Why?” he rasped, his voice hoarse, broken.

You swallowed, heart still pounding, but your voice remained steady. “Because I care. I’m here, boss. And I’m not leaving.”

His grip loosened, just enough for you to breathe again. “I’ve killed people, you know,” he claimed suddenly, his voice cold, detached. “I’ve wiped them out without a second thought. Innocents. Villains. Heroes. It doesn’t matter to me. Everything I touch turns to dust. I don’t deserve kindness of any kind.”

You stood your ground, even as the danger of his quirk lingered so close. “Maybe you don’t think you deserve it,” you said quietly, “but you do.”

With a shuddering breath, he let go. His hand fell to his side, his entire body sagging as though the weight of his anger and frustration had drained him. He looked away from you, his expression hardening once more, but there was a crack in the armor — a crack that hadn’t been there before.

“No matter how much you push me away, boss, I am not leaving. I believe in your cause.”

But Shigaraki didn’t respond. He turned away, retreating into the shadows, his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling at his sides as he mumbled something under his breath.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. But you didn’t let them fall. Not in front of him. 

And as you watched him retreat into the shadows, you knew that no matter how close you got, no matter how much you tried, the chasm between you would always remain. He was right. You couldn’t fix him.

Shigaraki was alone.

And deep down, you knew he always would be.

[ghostlychief]

I'm not sure if you write for Blue team, but can you do relationship headcanons for them? If not, then relationship headcanons for John-117?

another master chief request for the books, LETS GOOOOO

(i decided to write headcanons for John) enjoy!! <3

---

Dating Master Chief (John 117) Headcanons

no warnings; just fluff

---

Dating John would feel like the calm after the storm, or like a consistent gentle rainfall that can’t help but ease you, quelling your worries

Dating John is calming like rainfall in the sense that you feel a sense of respite wash over you when you’re with him; being with him is also akin to that of the calming pitter-patter noise you hear when the rain comes; it’s never to harsh, or too loud; always a consistent rhythm

You feel a blanket of security wrapping itself around you tightly, never threatening to let you go when dating him; it’s solid and firm, just like John

You both were a bit shy when you first got together; no surprises there though, John leans more on the quiet side, and you, well, anyone would be a little timid when first dating a Spartan (they were genetically modified humans after all)

But John quickly made sure that you felt completely and utterly safe around him; he knew what he was capable of, and the last thing he wanted to do was ever scare you; and you appreciated that about him

It’s not like you are some scared little girl, afraid of Spartans, but, you know, they were the infamous Spartans you heard about growing up, you weren’t quite sure what to expect when you first met them (surprise, surprise Blue team all turned out to be lovely people)

You appreciated John’s understanding for the time it took for you fully get to know him, and be comfortable around him

In your early stages of dating, you guys mainly kept to public outings, like restaurants, movie theaters (yes Reach has a cinema), parks (you both enjoyed going on long walks together and you tease John about how his ‘normal’ walk is your jog)

You could say that he properly ‘wine and dined’ you, well as much as one can on Reach seeing that its operation is more so military and not just another regular planet

He was a gentleman: he opened doors for you, whether that be building, apartment, or car doors; it didn’t matter, he was there to open them for you; he also would sometimes place his hand at the small of your back, which sent sparks twinkling up your spine the first few times he did that (let’s be honest, you still feel giddy even now)

He was a great listener, always ready with a question (or 10) whenever you were telling him about your day, things that happened at work, the latest book you read. He always had a follow-up, always curious to know more about you, and what you’re thinking

You also were the same in that matter, always asking him questions; who could blame you though, his job was a lot cooler than yours

You were in awe of all the different planets and solar systems he’s been to (including the Halos) and you always picked his brain about the Covenant (you’ve been fortunate enough to not cross paths with the Covenant)

When John wasn’t on a mission, you weren’t at work, or you guys weren’t going on a “formal” date, you and John could be found lounging around one of your apartments, either reading, watching TV, doing puzzles, things like that

Sometimes you guys liked to do your own thing but in the company of the other

However, one of your favorite things to do is to nap with John

He’s so large that he generates a lot of body heat, so whenever winter rolls around and there’s snowflakes in the air, you loved to cuddle up with him on the couch, completely wrapped in his embrace and fall asleep with no worries on your mind (being with John made that easy)

John is the kind of partner who is a great shoulder to cry on; his support is endless for you, and he’s always there whenever you run into a problem; he’s there to listen about what’s troubling your life, but he’s not one to be pushy about how to fix it; no, he’s there for you, and makes sure to comfort you the best he can (which usually is you asking him for a hug, which he immediately complies with)

John gives the best hugs because 1) he is taller than you, so he can easily wrap you up tight and rest his head on yours, and 2) his arms are long and muscular, which makes his hugs 10x warmer and just better overall

Something that you quickly learned about John after a couple months of dating was that he was actually funny (right, like what are the odds a Spartan of his caliber has a funny bone?)

His humor was of course dry and sarcastic, but he got a laugh out of you every time he cracked a joke

Blue team also tells you stories about John (not to his knowledge) since they have known him since they were all pre-teens; sometimes you’ll bring something up to John, and he’ll be like “Where’d you hear that from?” (he wasn’t stupid he knew); and then a couple days later you’ll hear how hard John made training for them (oops)

Nevertheless, dating John has brought a sense of security into your life that you never thought you would feel, or have; you only hope is that you provide the same for him

(spoiler, you do)

[darknessisafriend]

Commodus the whore of the Empress Part 4 Commodus x Reader

I never planned to make another part of this wonderful story but suddenly a few ideas popped up. So, I hope you will enjoy it! less smutty than the previous chapters but a lot of erotic tension there with a touch of angst ;)

For the newbies this is an imagine of a AU where Commodus falls from grace, you become Empress and he becomes your pleasure slave. However things are not so easy. (link to part 1, 2 ; 3 here)

Months passed as you kept enjoying your slave. Now people had forgotten the fallen emperor and only saw the slave, not even minding him as they crossed his path and perhaps that was a mistake, at least that’s what you had started thinking. Commodus was freely going around, sharing your bed every night, going unnoticed like any slaves except for his beauty, he was happy, it was obvious to you now, he had that peaceful air in his eyes, that discreet smile on his lips. It bothered you…he must have a plan in mind, something to run away, take back power even and you had to do something about it. You had to remind him who was in charge and what was his place.

“You asked to see me?” asked Commodus as he bowed his head at you as he always did. His face remained neutral as he felt a change in the atmosphere, he didn’t feel your warmth, he felt as if he was facing a wall.

“Indeed. I’ve realized we missed something truly important in your current status.” You announced, and nodded at a man he hadn’t noticed. The man was richly dressed and yet his hands were covered in dark smudges, coal perhaps, he was probably a blacksmith. Commodus widened his eyes as he saw that the man held an iron collar in his hands with a tag in the middle, like any slave collar of the Roman Empire; on it could be read: If I flee, return me to my master, Emperess Y/N.

He looked at you and then back at the collar and then at you again before dropping to his knees and deeply bowing “Thank you, my Empress.” He said fervently, earning a frown from you and the blacksmith, never you had heard of a slave thanking such gesture. “Don’t be absurd. Let’s see if I have you branded with a hot iron will make you thank me.” You spat a threat, believing he was exaggerating to obtain your favors. You even put your foot on his crotch, making him retain a hum of pleasure.

“Still…I would feel honored to be branded with your name.” he replied with the same passion. You eyed him, your heart beating faster both in frustration and flatter, like a young girl under the power of love. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stand your ground, be harsh, a master and not a friend, so you cut short to the conversation.

“Enough. I have other matters to attend, go away.” You stated, waving at Commodus dismissively. You briefly made eye contact with him, you could read a certain confusion like a puppy who didn’t understand the situation and was simply begging for caresses.

The silence lasted for a few seconds as if he wanted to try to remain by your side like he usually did, ready to fulfill your every needs. But he soon understood you were being serious, you didn’t want his presence, maybe it was due to some political meeting, he thought. In that case his presence would be an insult to both parties.

The morning passed slowly; you had grown irritated on your way to the Senate. The absence of Commodus was cruelly felt; that man had managed to make himself indispensable to you and on purpose you thought; how could you have been so stupid as to let yourself being seduced by your worst enemy!? Let him share your bed? He could kill you anytime and he would surely attempt soon, once you would be blindly in love with him, perhaps after changing his political status.

A headache started splitting your skull as you listened to the incessant speeches of the senators. To the point you hadn’t noticed a presence, the clear eyes of Commodus watching you from the service corridor; he was worried. You disliked the senators as much he did, but he noticed something else was making thoughtful, upset. The slaves rarely entered the auditorium except to serve wine and a few necessities or wave a fan during high heat. However Commodus decided to enter, he had never done it since his fall, under your express order, most Senators had wished him dead and seeing him would feel like seeing a ghost threatening their lives.  Usually, you secretly granted him to accompany you to watch, today you hadn’t seen he had come as well.

He silently approached, ignoring the scandalized look of some politicians, others terrified of him. He was carrying a bowl of hot water infused with herbs and a piece of cloth inside to apply to your head and sooth the pain.

You didn’t notice his presence at first “No. The pleb wellbeing matters to me and the money we invest on that will be rewarded by their loyalty and economic growth of the south of the city.” You stated, glad most senators had gone silent. Well, until you noticed it wasn’t related to your words. You turned your head in the direction of their gazes and saw Commodus waiting obediently by your side, a bowl of warm water in his hands. All colors left your face at first, what was he doing in front of the Senate!? tending to you as if you were some weak poor thing!?

“What. Are. You. Doing here?” you gritted your teeth, your cheeks turning red from anger, your heart racing from stress. You could feel everyone’s gaze on you, expecting a proper response, wondering what’s the next mistake you would make, anything to discredit you. Commodus only seemed to realize now that prioritizing your wellbeing over politics was a mistake, he had put you in an uncomfortable position. He blinked a few times and opened his mouth, but no words came out, no he had to do better. He dropped the bowl which splashed water all over him and threw himself on the ground, as low as he could, his forehead on the cold marble of the Senate…who knew he would ever bow in that damn building. A senator scoffed at the sight, satisfied to see the arrogant Commodus reduced to this.

“Get that…away from this sacred auditorium.” You snarled angrily, your chest filled with anxiety, your emotions as conflicted as ever, how much you should express your anger? How much should you control yourself?

“What a nice entertainment. I have to admit I enjoy this sight more than his dead body.” Commented Falco, making other Senators laugh. The man that you didn’t trust had actually helped you in that moment, turning this situation into nothing but a funny pause between debates. Commodus ignored the humiliations, what mattered now was to sooth you and he had made things worse! He kept his eyes on the ground as he was dragged back to the service area, receiving a hard push against the wall, a warning to not overstep again…

On your way back to the palace in the afternoon, you sat in the Lectica, a palanquin just big enough for you and another person, who turned out to be Commodus in that moment. You were looking out, behind the thin cotton curtains, anything but the one sitting in front of you, despite the hours passing after the incident. Commodus gaze was locked on you, expecting “I merely wanted to relieve your headache.” He said at first, his words making you groan in response.

“You came to stand in front of the Senators, you, that fallen Emperor, showing care for me. You think of it as normal task as a slave but to their eyes it is defiance to them, it shows I give you too much importance, trust. How long before they start saying that you are my lover? That you are the one speaking in the shadows and I am merely the mouth repeating your words?” you spoke in a hushed tone, yet your anger could be felt, you felt vulnerable, being a leading woman in Rome was hard already, you didn’t need this. You raised your hand before Commodus could answer “I do not want any excuse or lies from you. Cease to annoy me, I am starting to regret keeping you alive already.” You muttered, not seeing how his sorry gaze had turn into hurt, his knuckles turning white. Why that change of attitude from you? What had bug had stung you? He swallowed down, remaining silent for the rest of the trip, his mind searching his memories to try to find the precise gesture, care or even word that would have displeased you.

Once you reached the palace, you walked fast, wanting to isolate yourself, your emotions were taking over your rationality and that was something you tried to avoid, especially when it involved yourself. Commodus followed, back inside the palace he didn’t have to hide and intended on obtaining answers.

“Your Highness is there something I did wrong to anger you?” he asked clearly, making you slow down your pace, not looking at him ‘Stop pretending that you care’ you thought.

“I know what you are. Cut the act, no need to pretend anymore.” You stated instead, stopping, your back to him, you had heard him come to a halt a few steps behind you, but closer than a slave, more intimate. There was a silence for a few seconds, as if he was trying to understand your words.

“Pretend? Empress I am not pretending, I have never been h-…”

“Oh please stop!” you cut him off, squeezing your eyes and clenching your jaw ‘Drop your mask Commodus…make me hate you, it will be easier’ you prayed in your mind. “But what did you think Commodus?! That I care about you? That I feel some sympathy for your cause?! Leave.” You spoke angrily, refusing to look at him, your gaze would betray your inner turmoil too much. You walked again intending to go away for good.

But he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks, the surprise gesture made you face him, revealing your teary eyes “Y/N aren’t you seeing you are becoming like me?! Paranoid and alone! That’s when you are becoming the weakest!” he exclaimed, he wanted to enlighten you, warn you of the danger. His expression softened the moment he saw your eyes, why were you on the verge of tears? You turned your head to gather yourself, then looking at him dead in the eyes, furious.

“You dare!” you yelled in front of slaves and guards, he had touched you, called you by your name, as equals. It was abnormal and the praetorians had instantly unsheathed their swords and approached, seizing him hard enough to make him let go of you, the pommel of the sword violently hitting his belly to make him kneel painfully. You panted, his gesture had scared you, and your ego was hit.

“I think I was too tender to my slave. Remind him of his status. 10 lashes.” You dropped under the emotion, anger, fear, pain mixing all together into an explosive adrenaline. Commodus face was livid as he was dragged to the stake reserved for corporal punishments et executions, a crowd of curious courtesans gathering to watch, the word of the flogging would the ears of all in few hours.

He panted as the rope around his wrists was tightly pulled, it was impossible for him to move. Except for a few beatings when he fell, he had never suffered any physical punishment, he was barely comprehending what was happening. He had only asked to understand what was happening to you, wanting to save you from the paranoia he had suffered, why did you punish him for it? You used to treat him with tolerance and kindness…had he been wrong from the start? Did he imagine things? Was he fooled by you just like he had been fooled by his father…? His trail of thoughts was cut short by the first hit of the whip, tearing away the air from his lungs, a surprised cry of pain escaping his mouth, followed by a groan as to try to recover but the second lash came already.

You watched the scene, conscious the Court was watching too, the Empress hurting the fallen emperor who had become a slave, showing to all he was indeed just a slave, nothing more to your eyes. Your fists were clenched, each crack of the whip resonating in your skull, your eyes filled with the bloody back of Commodus. You felt agony, dread, and power, your darkest self finding satisfaction while the other wanted to stop the slave master from accomplishing the task you had ordered.

Soon, Commodus grew quiet, too in pain to react, barely able to remain conscious, the reality of the situation had hit him way harder than the whip. You had ordered this. His legs gave up under his weight after the last hit.

Soon, the Court left, amused, satisfied by the sight and ready to spread word of the drama within the imperial palace. Only you remained and the slave master who joined you for the next orders. “Have the doctors treat his wounds, I want him back on his feet as soon as possible.” You hushed, the blood pumping in the ears of Commodus prevented him from hearing anything. The next thing he knew was that you were standing in front of him, one lash had split his lip open; you seized his jaw to look at him in the eyes.

You contained your surprise as you were met with an empty gaze clouded with pain, you had expected anger, fierceness. “You are only alive because I want to remind you how much you failed.” You spoke, your thumb erasing the blood trickling down his chin, and bring the drop to your lips, tasting him, wanting to provoke a reaction from him. “You belong to me Commodus, I have the right of life and death, of your pain and your pleasure…I had to do this. I hope you will understand later my decision. Sincerely.” You spoke, only for him to hear; he didn’t react, only looking at you in the eyes with an infinite air of betrayal. You leaned closer, kissing him roughly, tasting more of his blood which felt even more exquisite when a whimper died against your lips, despite everything Commodus was still yearning for your touch. You slowly parted, he was on the verge of passing out, his gaze even more filled with pain, yet you felt great pleasure in the power you had over him, he was indeed completely at your mercy, and you were the one in control, still. You grinned somehow reassure that you were still the master, that if you decided to fuck him right now, or to end his life, you could. However, his lips moved, pronouncing your name so weakly you couldn’t it. You saw his eyes still bore nothing else than pain and…devotion? doubt and guilt sprouted in your mind, was he right? Were you being touched by the same illness as his?

For the rest of the day Commodus laid in the infirmary, on his stomach, silent. The pain in his heart was stronger than the one of the torn flesh of his back. He couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, about you, and he hated it.

“One must be a fool to talk back to the Empress that way. Or desperate. And I believe you are not a fool.” Commented the doctor who took care of him, he had known him when he was Emperor and still treated him as such, never he had dared to call him by his name which is something Commodus regretted, that doctor was probably what he had the closest to a friend.

“I thought she cared about me, Galen…I thought we…” he murmured sadly, you hadn’t even let him explain himself.

“Just because a master appreciates the work of his slave doesn’t mean they care for the person behind it.” Replied Galen, looking at him with compassion. He was still seeing the young boy craving the approval of those he loved. Like a stray dog, wagging its tail when receiving a bone to chew after receiving a beating. “Listen, what I- your highness!” he interrupted himself standing up at your view and bowing in respect. He swallowed down, not knowing for how long you had stood there.

“How is he?” you asked, seeing Commodus’ hands clenching the bedsheets. You approached delicately laying your fingers on the sensitive and red skin of his back, goosebumps appearing at your contact, was it from anticipation? Pleasure?

“I would say that thankfully to the weakness of the slave master, the whip didn’t tear any muscle, mostly just the skin, deeply. He will need many weeks to recover fully, 6 weeks at least, the scars will remain forever. I apologize for not being able to do better and faster.” Bowed again Galen, probably the man didn’t know what to think of you, you had visited him very little after all. “He will be able to stand and do basic chores in about 3 days.” He added, hoping it was enough to satisfy you.

“It is fine. I do not need him for now.” You answer, your eyes detailing the body of your slave, you wanted to punish the slave master for hitting too low which ended up in scarring Commodus left butt cheek. Your fingers traced around it, slowly going up his back on the sensitive skin again but careful to avoid touching the deepest wounds. Your fingers ended up burying in his damp curls, Commodus was hiding his face in the crook of his arms, his breathing faster, you could feel his desire, his fear, or perhaps he was trembling of rage to have failed to betray you? you wanted to be sure of it “Commodus, look at me.” You commanded; your voice not as authoritative as you wished it to be. He unveiled his eyes, infinite sadness in them, confusion. “Talk freely.” You added, doubt stronger in your mind, you worried, had you done a terrible mistake?

“Your highness…I do not understand the sudden change in the way you treat me. Fine I overstepped earlier but I needed answers and I believe you didn’t tell me the whole truth.” He spoke first, his voice broken from the cries he let out during the flogging. “Yes, I hated you when you humiliated me with worse than an execution, turning me into a slave, all I wanted was to wait for the proper moment to kill you. Make you pay.” He admitted at first, but his easiness made you understand it was only a brief thought of his “When I did my best to serve you, earn your trust. I discovered something else…about myself.” He smiled bitterly as if he hated that part of him “I bloody enjoyed serving you. Receiving your orders, receiving a pat on the head when I did exceptionally good. I had to think of nothing but your satisfaction. I was alive, living in a palace, giving pleasure to a beautiful woman who offered me her protection…what a dream it turned out to be. Now, for no reason you take it all away. Was it all part of your plan? To give me an illusion of peace and happiness, to take it all away from me after, to watch me crumble...?” he asked, his voice slightly trembling. You were taken by surprise; you had expected him to admit he was planning treason but not the opposite. You found yourself unable to hold his gaze, you had to admit you had no more strength to face him.

“Thank you for your honesty, Commodus.” You articulated, turning you head which he took badly, his heart aching even more, you didn’t even grant him a look anymore, when he had been the most vulnerable, admitting how he felt. You quickly left the infirmary, practically running to your chambers. Once the doors closed, you leaned against it, a shaky breath escaping your mouth. You passed a hand over your face, your lower lip trembling as realization hit you, you had reacted excessively, paranoia had infected your mind…

In the middle of the night

The imperial palace was silent except for the cracking of the torches on the walls, the occasional wind on the light curtains, the yawning of a guard…

Commodus hadn’t fallen asleep for the whole time, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, about that last conversation with him, comforting his doubts that indeed you had just played him just like his father did. He clenched his jaw, the moon was high in the sky, it was time. He stood up with difficulty, his back ached and his skin irritated by the slightest movement. But he would take care of that later. First, he had to kill you.

He exited the infirmary, the half sleeping guards paid no attention to him, slaves go on and about freely at any time of the day to serve their masters and you had not instructed any restrictions for him. He walked with an assured step and went to your chambers. He quietly opened the doors, his movements precise, he was an excellent hunter after all. His heart skipped a beat as he didn’t find you asleep but sitting at your study, tired as you wrote under the candlelight.

Before you knew it, you felt a cold blade against your jugular, the exact same blade you hid under your pillow “I was wondering if you would come.” You said, knowing it was Commodus, it was to be expected after all, you thought it was well earned.

“Here I am.” He murmured, keeping the blade against your throat and coming to stand in front of you, making eye contact. He noticed your eyes were red but your breathing calm. He swallowed down, his eyes becoming wet “All I ever inspired in my life wasn’t to rule, but to be loved, appreciated for who I am. I would give away my freedom a thousand times, be humiliated every day as long as you loved me back.” He sniffled, a tear rolling down his cheek, he didn’t just enjoy being your slave, he had fallen in love with you. “I trusted you, I…you have no idea how happy I was when you ask me to sleep with you for the first time. I was being considered. Now I realize how disgusted how you must have felt, having to share your bed with me, the one who had humiliated you. How you moaned my name and spread your legs just to make me think I had to slightest importance to your eyes. Cruel but genius, I have to praise that.” He smiled bitterly, his body trembling with anger and pain.

“Commodus...there was no such plan-” you started but he pressed the blade harder against your throat, he didn’t want to have false hope again.

“Shut up!” he hushed angrily, a drop of blood trickling down your neck, the blade was sharp. He leaned forward, bringing his face close to yours, kissing you sweetly, almost like the kiss of Judas. You let him do, willing to face him, let him obtain vengeance. “I am going to kill you. But before that I have only one thing to ask, and if you have some honor, you will grant me this last wish.” He spoke softly, his tone on the edge of begging. It could make one wonder if Commodus was the one in control of the situation or you.

“Tell me. I wish to repay the wrong I cause you these past days.” You agreed truthfully, looking at him in the eyes, which Commodus seemed to hate even more.

“Why must you only look at me now? If you had the guts to look at me earlier, I wouldn’t be standing with a blade under your throat, I would be on my knees, begging you to forgive for whatever wrong I did to you.” He said fondly before pulling himself together. “I want you to be my master one last time. Order me around, be rough, make me take you, everything as you usually did. Make me feel as you seemed to care for me, only me.” He requested, firm and desiring. Once again you had been wrong, you had expected him to request that you make public excuses or such, but no, once again he only wanted you, only you.

You teared up as you nodded, flashing a brief smile, how much you regretted hurting him that way. He kept the dagger in his hand as you focused, taking a deep breath to get back in your role of Empress. “Well, aren’t you greeting your mistress Commodus?” you asked, containing your emotions as much as you could as you usually did. His eyes lit up, glad you were satisfying his last wish, he knelt, dagger in hand as he deeply bowed, his forehead hitting the floor.

“Forgive me Empress. This lowly slave was too stricken by your return and is happy.” He said fervently, kissing your feet and ankles. You smiled, retaining tears, you had messed up everything, that beautiful bond that you had built, perhaps the only person you could trust in the end. You put your hand on his hair, caressing the curls.

“Look at me.” You stated, making your hold of his hair stronger to lift his head, his pupils were dilated exquisitely, despite the fact that some of his wounds had reopened, bleeding on the white marble. “Good boy.” You praised and stood up, going closer to the bed, offering your back to him, if he decided to stab you right now, then so be it.

 He stood up, approaching you from behind, so close you could feel his breath on your neck and sending shivers down your spine. You swallowed down, finding yourself wishing something …different from usual “Undress me. Do it as if we were equals.” You ordered quietly, anticipation building in your belly as he didn’t act at first. Then, you felt his arms wrapping around you from behind, squeezing you, the blade in his hand pressing against your belly, making you tremble slightly. He did nothing but hug you, his lips tracing kisses along your jugular, licking the blood from the cut, sucking your skin.

“I will mark you tonight. I was always careful to hide our whereabouts. But tonight, all will know you bedded a slave, the former emperor.” He murmured in your ear, leaving red spots on your skin. The blade moved under the binding of your stola, cutting the expensive clothing and making the fabric slide along your naked body. His blade left a small cut on your belly, making you gasp and quickly turn around, slapping him. He didn’t stop you and instead smirked “You marked me with your whip. Can’t I mark you with my blade?” he asked, condescending.

“A slave doesn’t mark his master.” You replied, red with fluster.

“Not equal anymore? My apologize, my Empress, you get so confusing at times.” He answered with a sneer, even if his tone wasn’t sincere like his usual slave attitude, he was having fun in teasing you.

“Don’t question me. Make love to me.” You stated, not realizing the words you had picked. But it touched Commodus deeply and his attitude went back to a submitted one, wanting to savor your body one last time.

He made you lay on the bed, kissing each part of your body as he made his way on top of you, memorizing it. It could have been like this forever, yet you had ruined everything and yet he still struggled to understand why, he knew you hid something to him. And he would make you talk right before killing you. He kissed your breast, soft and round, his teeth lingering on your nipples as his hands parted your legs, settling his body between them. Galen would be mad at him for reopening his wounds but well, he would probably be executed for killing the Empress anyway. You detailed him, your nails slowly scratching the skin of his chest, then, you grabbed his chin, quickly pulling him closer, crashing your lips against his, another painful kiss. You gasped as he penetrated you with one push, your fingers burying in his hair, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper inside you. He grabbed hold of your legs, his hips giving rough pushes, he was venting, expressing all the passion and rage he held for you. One of your hands moved to his back, your fingertips on his wounds, making them bleed again, some crimson drops landing on your body.

“Argh…yes…highness!” his groan of pain strangled by moan of pleasure. His teeth biting your lower lip in return. That embrace was passionate, illegal…desperate. Yet, it was perhaps the most honest one you ever had, actions speaking more than words clumsily said.

The imperial bedroom was filled with pants, groans, gasps and moans, both inflicting pain and pleasure to each other. There was no tenderness, it was raw. And as fast as it started, it soon stopped. There had been no pause, nothing. And for long minutes, no words were spoken between the two of you, panting, his suffering body had collapsed on top of your, drenched in sweat. His head buried in your neck once again, he knew what he had to do but now he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to do it, besides you still had to talk…you sensed his hesitation and decided to break the ice, not to save your life but to rather to be honest at least whatever you died or not, things would be clear.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke, your hand gently reaching to massage the back of his head “You were right, I great paranoid, just like you did before.” You said first, you could feel your heart beating faster against his as you were about to add something “I also...felt opposite emotions…I was furious at you for what you did to me and yet…I knew I had to do something to protect you.” You revealed, feeling him stiffen against your body. He lifted his head, a frown on his face, his eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of your words.

“What did I do to make you feel like this?” he asked, sincerely curious and touched. Could all of this had been a huge misunderstanding? or something else big enough to provoke her reaction? You took a deep breath, apprehensive of his reaction, your life and the future of the Empire would lie in his hands.

“The truth was I was terrified of…our relationship. Commodus, I am pregnant with your child.”

Thoughts? theories? next part? I'd be very happy if you comment, like or reblog ^^^love y'all

Commodus harem: @skaravile @weirdflecksbutok @lyoongx @stardancerluv @charlie-sisters @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @hopelessdisasterr @sparklygardenerlove @rosebloodstuffandthangss @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovebats @dreamingmaria @just-a-fucking-comedy @lady-carnival-stuff @sierraclegane @lemondedenimane @hvproductions @syvellsworld @papercut-paranoia @jokerflecker @five-miles-over @beatlebabe1996 @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Lucky

Chief/Pilot House of Reckoning rewrite Because Chief Would Not Fucking Say That.

-

The fight ends as abruptly as it starts, not with a roar but a choked gasp. Chief doesn’t take his eyes off his enemy until he’s sure he’s down for good. Escharum goes down with a gurgled wheeze. All his grandstanding silenced by his need for a warrior's death, but in the end his own body dealt the final blow before Chief could.

If John had cared to spare the old Brute a moment's thought beyond analyzing his attacks, he may have wondered why Atriox's teacher was a paradox fighting himself every step of the way. Obsessed with power and battle prowess in the Jiralhanae tradition, but committing the sin of bolstering himself with fancy tech and hiding behind a weak human shield. It didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing on this Ring made sense, but the Master Chief had to keep going.

He did not care for the Brute or his ideas. His grandstanding was worse than the usual threats that the Demon received. He was not a respected leader or an old warrior that Chief saw himself reflected in. John made his choices and kept living, kept clawing back towards his humanity. He put the old Brute down with cold efficiency, like he had hundreds of times before with other Covenant and Banished leaders. An enemy that terrorized and hunted down his fellow UNSC soldiers, who had his troops trap and eat them, did not deserve mercy or attention.

The Brute collapses, air hissing out of his mangled throat. Escharum's last testament was silenced by his own hubris. Dooming himself to be forgotten.

The Master Chief doesn't spare him a glance and hurries to the terminal. The Weapon is already deploying herself to free their pilot from the torture device pulling him apart with micro gravity wells. A torture device he had seen used on a Spartan, enough to kill him. She signals that she's about to switch the device off, but the Master Chief is already there.

He cradles their pilot down from the dying energy field, and tries not to remember the feeling of Spartan Griffin in his arms barely two days ago. The pilot falls into his gentle hold, his breathing hitching and muscles spasming as his body adjusts to the lack of force pulling him apart. John shifts his weight as carefully as he can, fingers prodding his pulsepoint with a featherlight touch so the Mjolnir can get a read on his vitals.

"I can't-" His words stick in his throat and shudder out as he shakes violently, "I can't believe you came for me." The pilot swallows thickly. Tears well in the corners of his eyes and he looks away from his reflection in Chief's visor. He tries to wipe his face but his arms are limp and take a second to remember how to work.

John watches the tears run tracks down his cheeks and he speaks quietly. "I got you. It's over."

The pilot squirms in his hold and tries to stand, but his legs don't hold his weight. Embarrassment at his weakness and need for support makes him unsteady as he tries to avoid leaning on Chief. He hisses in pain and Chief, having never let go of his hold on him, scoops him up. The hold is as gentle as he can make it as he turns and walks them out of the Banished outpost. Footsteps steady and measured as the man sags in his arms. His pilot leans his head against Chief’s chest and shuts his eyes to the harsh reds of the room.

"Chief, the Harbinger..." The Weapon starts, quietly projecting her voice through the external mics. She wants to say more, but she busies herself in sensor data looking over the pilot.

"One thing at a time." Chief nods at her, "She- Cortana damaged this ring, we have time."

"What's going on? What now?" The pilot asks, his voice barely a whisper. He's having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"I'm getting you out of here." Chief says and the pilot slips into unconsciousness.

He comes to as he's strapped into the co-pilot seat of the pelican. He jolts awake and groans as he tenses overtaxed muscle in his panic.

"You're safe." The Master Chief tells him with a hand covering his shoulder and grounding him as he realizes where he is.

"You can fly this thing?" The words are open and unguarded and John wants to smile. The pilot spoke so openly to him when it came to things he thought Chief was doing wrong. 

"Are you surprised?" The helmet tilts towards him.

"I'm surprised you still let me pilot if you could this whole time..."

"I've been told I'm not the best driver." John jokes.

The pilot is looking at him like he's lost his mind. Maybe that's what spurs Chief to share. That, and everything else they've been through.

"You asked me if I had family. I told you no." The pilot sits back in shock, but John continues, "But I do. They're out there, somewhere. My sister, Kelly, she's the better pilot. She hates my flying."

The words are stilted and honest, so much so he can feel the AI leaning against his mind despite the firewalls in place. There is no room for dishonesty and secrets in the neural interface. He's too tired to keep any more secrets for long.

"I'm going to drop you off somewhere safe, and then I'm going to finish this."

"And you'll come back?"

It shouldn't surprise him, but it does. John always seems surprised when he's reminded of what he means to people. He'd been the pilot's first human contact in a long time. They had saved each other.

"I promise."

The Master Chief leaves the pilot with the marines at FOB November, their medic looking him over. 

The Master Chief goes to the Silent Auditorium, he fights, and She saves him again. 

John, the man under the armor and the symbol, is tired. Another goodbye tears something inside him that will never heal right, but there’s no time to dwell. There’s never any time and he’s running again as the world collapses in on them. He had never liked depending on portals or Forerunner tech. It usually didn't end well for him. He was learning to trust again, and he keeps his promises. John has someone counting on him to make it back.

They tumble through the portal and Chief grunts as he hits solid ground. He's barely upright before the radio crackles to life.

"Chief! Your beacon just appeared out of nowhere." The pilot laughs with relief. "Oh, I thought I'd lost you. Where did you go?"

The Weapon answers for him, relief audible in her voice as well. "Echo-216? Are you okay to fly?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Listen, stay put. I'm coming to you."

And he does.

Three days have passed and his pilot, Fernando Esparza, is doing better. He'd seen the signal and jumped at the chance to retrieve them. The pelican lands and Chief is barely up the ramp into the troop bay before the pilot- Esparza is there and wrapping his arms around John.

He can't feel it, but the armor lets him know with sensors and proximity alarms. John freezes, briefly scared to move before he relaxes and drops his hands to the man's shoulders. It's not a full hug, he can feel the AI judging him for that, but it's a reciprocated touch. His gauntlets squeeze Esparza’s shoulders and the man looks up at him with a smile stretching from ear to ear.

He's tired and hungry, and now they have nothing but time. There was still work to be done, but no escalating doom beyond cleaning up Banished remnants and building the UNSC back from scratch. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

They land back at the FOB and Chief reluctantly lets the medic look him over. He reluctantly lets them celebrate his return too. People did need heroes.

It’d taken John no time at all to learn life’s harsh lessons of regret and lost time, but he was slowly learning how to keep moving forward. Learning how to stick around. The future is a terrifying thing.

The one thing Chief is beyond reluctance is having to remove his helmet to eat. He pries it off and camps out against a rock with several meals worth of MREs once the crowd disperses back to their regular duties. His pilot joins him.

Esparza looks healthier, and has no problems moving, other than some wincing as he settles on the ground across from John. They heat their meals in silence and watch the distant patrols around the far side of the lake. It’s comfortable; so far from the last few days together that it feels alien. Esparza keeps grinning and the tear inside John’s chest feels a little lighter for it. He’s alive, they’re alive. Whatever came next….he could handle it.

It’s a nice moment. Nice enough for John to do what he does whenever he likes someone enough. Ruin it.

"I could tell you were a civilian from the beginning." Chief says, breaking the silence of their previously peaceful meal. He's unbothered as he swigs some coffee out of the tin cup that's obviously not made for Spartan hands.

Esparza gapes as the Master Chief digs into his MRE. "What?"

"Marines call me 'sir', not 'Big Guy'. And they usually know better than trying to hit the armor."

John smiles at him. It's a small thing, but wide enough Fernando can make out the gap between his front teeth. It startles him out of his embarrassment for a second before he remembers the Master Chief is making a joke at his expense. "Well, maybe you would get in less trouble if people were up front with how frustrating you are!"

John huffs a breath. "Maybe."

“You are infuriating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

“Well, maybe you need to hear it more! Always going off or- or jumping out of buildings or pelicans! Without any warning!”

“I’m lucky I have you to catch me.” John says with a grin and nudges Esparza’s boot with his own.

His pilot sputters and flushes as words escape him. “You-! Oh I can’t stand when you-! Fine. You’re lucky I like you. Big Guy…” His words trail off with less fire than the start of his tirade.

John hides his smile by shoveling food into his mouth.

Esparza copies him, still fuming, but he nudges his boot against John’s in a playful push. 

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 12)

Links:

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

- - - - - - - - - -

The past few days at Pacific Deskmate High School have been more or less an improvement over the first two. But despite somehow becoming friends with a perthean, I've been struggling more than ever to hide my fear.

On Secandday, Derrick dropped his Biology textbook right beside me on his desk! All I could do was stand there, adrenaline flooding through my system as I ruminated on how easily I could have been crushed. Would he have even noticed if the book landed right on top of me? Was he trying to kill me? Honestly, it wouldn't be hard at all for him to drop a book like that on me and make my death look like an accident...

On Sirdday, he poked me in the middle of Algebra to ask if I had written down a certain formula before the teacher cleared the whiteboard. I'm not sure whether or not he was trying to be gentle, but the force of that unexpected poke was enough to send me into a spiral about how he could easily pin me down with nothing more than a single finger if he wanted to.

And on Forsday, after our English lesson on Greek and Latin root words, I was glad to watch him happily ramble away on the subject. It was only when he lifted me up off the desk that I guess he somehow managed to forget he was dealing with a human! He snatched me up so fast, so effortlessly, as if I didn't even weigh a thing! I thought for sure I would be flung across the room! He apologized, so I know he could tell I was scared, and that's not good.

If I were to slip up and reveal to Derrick that I have a fear, it'd ruin our friendship for sure! We'd be worse off than we were at square one! I need to make sure I'm doing whatever it takes to keep this fear hidden from him. I've never let a perthean find out about my fear before, and I don't plan on letting one find out now! Who knows how Derrick would react after finding out about my fear?

Ever since Derrick and I became friends, I've felt guilty for having this fear. I don't want him to think I see him as some kind of monster! But standing here on the balcony, watching him approach me, all I can think about is how much I want to get out of here before it's too late!

I tighten my grip on the balcony railing until my knuckles turn white to keep myself from running away, but that doesn't stop my legs from restlessly fidgeting beneath me. My heart pulsates as I'm covered by Derrick's shadow, and my lungs gasp for more air than I can take in with each shallow, shuddering breath. I need to get away from him!

"Hey, Kaylin!" Derrick says, smiling down at me.

My heart skips a beat as I stare into his big blue eyes, nothing short of terrified at the sight of my perthean friend. I try in vain to back up, my grip on the railing stopping me. I know I can't just run away— that would reveal that I'm afraid. As slowly and as steadily as I can, I take a deep breath and hold the cold surface air in for a moment before setting it free.

"Hi, D-Derrick!" I say, kicking myself for stuttering.

"How are you this morning?" Derrick asks, holding out his index finger for me.

I know I can do this, I've done it before. I release my hands from the balcony railing and carefully wrap my arms around Derrick's finger. It twitches in response to my touch, catching me by surprise. It still blows my mind how something as minute as a twitch to a perthean can translate into a harsh jolt for a human like me!

"I'm good!" I manage to squeak as Derrick lifts me from the balcony. "And you?"

"I'm doing well," he responds with a slight chuckle that I'm almost certain I can feel through his hand as he sets me down in his palm.

Once I'm settled in his hand, Derrick turns and starts heading to our first class. As we're moving along, I find myself staring at the fingers that surround me. They're a bit... close. Too close. Each long, curled digit is about the same length as I am, and about as wide as a tree trunk. A trunk of a human-scaled tree, that is— like we have in the undercity. I don't even want to consider the thought of a being with fingers that would match the width of a perthean-scaled tree! Such a being could easily hold a perthean in their hand the way my deskmate is holding me now...

I watch Derrick's fingers as they curl inward, every second inching closer and closer to where I sit in the center of his palm. My core tightens and my racing heart sinks in my chest. Does he realize what he's doing?

Without warning, each massive extremity begins to slowly wrap around me. I let out a gasp. What's he doing?! I look up at Derrick as his grip on me tightens. He's... smiling?!

My insides churn upon seeing a twisted smile plastered across my deskmate's face, and narrowed brown eyes that show no signs of mercy. My heartbeat rings in my ears as I squirm between the fingers fastened around me in a pathetic attempt to escape from Derrick's unyielding grip on me.

"W-what are you doing?!" I stammer, trembling in my deskmate's clutches.

"What I should have done the moment I first laid eyes on you," he says, letting out a loud, deranged cackle as he tightens his grip on my figure.

As I'm gasping, fighting for air, a sob rises in my throat.

"I-I thought we were friends!" I cry.

My deskmate lifts me close to his eyes. Those narrowed brown eyes... there's something off about them.

"No real perthean would be caught dead befriending a pathetic little weakling like you!"

"P-please!" I beg, tears streaming down my face as I struggle with all my might to escape this perthean's grasp. "D-Don't hurt me!"

"Huh?"

I open my eyes and look up at my deskmate. He's stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at me. His big, blue eyes look to be searching mine for some kind of explanation to what must have sounded like quite a perplexing remark.

Blue...! I knew his eyes were blue!

I look at my surroundings. I'm in Derrick's open palm, and his fingers are only bended toward me slightly. I look at myself. One of my legs is curled inward, and the other is stretched out as if I tried to scoot backwards. Oh no. What happened here?

"Kaylin?" Derrick says as he lifts me closer to his face, his eyes filled with concern. "Don't what?"

"I-I—" I stutter.

I stare into Derrick's eyes, my heart sinking further in my chest with each rapid beat. I can't think of anything to say! He's bound to realize I have a fear now!

"Don't... don't forget there's an English quiz today!" I blurt out.

Really?! That's all I could think to say?!

"Oh, is that all?" Derrick says with a chuckle. "I could have sworn..."

I resist the urge to curl up into a ball with all my might as I quake in my deskmate's hand. Is he about to call me out?

"Nah, it's nothing. Nevermind," he says, continuing the walk to our first class.

That was close. Too close.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Brittney huffs and puffs down the hall with the neon pink and orange lunchbox she retrieved from her locker after gym. Even after cool-down, showering, and changing back into our regular uniforms, I'm surprised to see her still struggling to catch her breath.

"Hey," I say, coming alongside her after we reach the cafeteria. "Good running today."

"Thanks!" She laughs. "Running always takes it out of me, but knowing lunch was coming was enough to keep me going!"

We sit down together at an empty table and take out our lunch. I unwrap what I'm decently sure is a turkey and swiss sandwich and take a bite. Brittney takes out a thermos and a grilled cheese.

"Grilled cheese again?" I ask.

"I guess so. What's the note of the day?" Brittney asks.

I'd completely forgotten to check for a note from Dad. I rummage around the brown paper bag in front of me and pull out a note. This one says:

What is a geode without its crystals, an oyster without its pearl?

So it is with a person's heart.

- Zenara

"Wow," Brittney says. "I didn't think your Dad was one to quote Zenara."

"He found one of my mom's old poetry books when we were moving and has been flipping through it over the past few days," I say, setting the scrap of paper down on the table. "I'll probably be getting more notes like this."

"So..." Brittney says, folding her hands together and propping her chin on top of them. "Speaking of looking into people's hearts, how are things going with Derrick?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, befuddled.

Brittney rolls her eyes. "You know, seeing him for how he is on the inside in spite of how he appears on the outside! Like the quote?"

"So that's what that means?" I say, looking back to the note. I've never really been one for poetry— it usually goes right over my head. I figured it was the same with Dad, and especially Brittney.

"Anyway, spill it! How are you two getting along?" Brittney asks, eyes wide with anticipation.

"You say that like we're dating or something!"

"You know what I mean, girl, now spill!"

"Well," I sigh, "things are going... well, they're going."

Brittney pouts. "Come on, you know I want more than that!"

"Okay, fine, fine!" I say, waving my hands. I stare at my sandwich in contemplation. "Ever since we became friends... I've felt guilty for having a fear. And not only that, it's been getting harder to hide it!"

"Go on," Brittney says, her brows turning upward.

"I guess it's only a matter of time before Derrick finds out about my fear. And after that, I'm not so sure he'll want to stay friends with me."

"Why not?" Brittney asks.

"I mean— who would want to be friends with someone who only thinks of them as some kind of monster that's out to get them?" I rest my cheek on my hand in defeat. "Maybe I should just tell him I have a fear and get it over with. That way, at least I'll know how he feels, and if he doesn't want to be friends anymore then it'll hurt less now than it would if he found out later on."

"I-I wouldn't do that!" Brittney blurts out.

"What?"

"I-I mean, normally I'd tell you to be honest, but Derrick..." Brittney trails off, looking down into her soup.

What's she going on about?

"Brittney, what about Derrick?" I ask.

Brittney shakes her head. "Nothing. It's nothing. What I mean to say is... I don't think telling him outright that you have a fear would be the best idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, some pertheans don't really know how to act around humans who are afraid of them. For some, it might get to them."

My insides twist. "Are you saying Derrick is like that? Would he really be hurt to find out about my fear?"

"Well..." Brittney says, averting her gaze. "All I'm saying is I wouldn't tell him if I were you. Derrick is... sensitive."

I know Brittney's known Derrick much longer than I have. If she says I shouldn't tell him about my fear, I'm inclined to trust her judgment. I just can't help but wonder... what isn't she saying?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"So, what are you up to this weekend?" Brittney asks as we approach the spot on the balcony where we've been meeting up with the boys.

"I don't know, I might try my hand at gardening. We found one of those indoor planters when we were going through our stuff before the move."

"Ooh!" Brittney says, clapping. "Gardening! I've always wanted to try! Especially since the undercity is so void of greenery compared to above ground."

"After that, Dad and I will probably watch Stranded together," I say, wondering how much we need to catch up on before Restday night's new episode.

Brittney's eyes get wide and she grabs onto both of my arms. "Did you say... did you say Stranded?!"

"Um... yeah?" I say as I look down at the hands gripping my arms, her grip a bit too tight for my liking.

"I. Love. Stranded. It's like, my favorite show ever!" She gasps. "Do you read fanfiction?! I'm working on this one story about Jack and Merlot— I should totally send it over to you!"

"Hey guys!" my deskmate says.

Dread fills the air, and a burning anxiety creeps up my spine. My legs quake, and I nearly trip over them as I leap behind Brittney to shield myself from this perthean boy. This perthean boy... who's supposed to be my friend. I realize I shouldn't be hiding from Derrick, especially since I don't want him to find out about my fear— but no matter what I do, I can't seem to stop myself from shaking uncontrollably like a cold, wet puppy!

"Kaylin? Are you—" Derrick starts.

Brittney laughs. "If you think this is bad, you should have seen her this morning when I snuck up on her with a hug!"

What? Brittney didn't do that! I didn't even see her today until it was time for gym! I look at Brittney, and she looks back at me. She winks.

"Ha, ha... yeah," I say, slowly coming out from behind my friend. I fold my hands together in front of me, all the while trying my hardest to suppress my unrelenting trembling.

I look up at Derrick, who stares right back at me with a blank expression. He hums flatly. Does he buy it?

"Well, I'm not sure where Kevin went, but Kaylin and I should probably be getting to Biology," Derrick says. "Are you okay waiting by yourself?"

"Yeah," Brittney says. "Kevin's a slacker. I'm used to it by now. You guys go on ahead!"

A knot forms in my throat as Derrick lifts his index finger and places it in front of me. With how many times we've had to do this so far, even today alone, shouldn't I be used to this by now? I try to be discreet about wiping my sweaty hands on my skirt, and then manage to wrap my arms around Derrick's finger in spite of the sinking, spiraling feeling in my gut.

"Have fun, you two!" Brittney calls out as Derrick lifts me from the balcony.

I expect Derrick to say something in turn, but he remains silent. He places me in his palm and turns to head to our Biology class. He remains silent the whole trip there.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Our Koronian class has nearly passed us by, and Derrick has barely spoken a word to me since the incident at the balcony before Biology. I try to focus on the lesson being taught, but the history of adjectives in the Koronian language fails to occupy my brain as much as my anxiety does.

Does he know I have a fear? Is he mad at me? Does he think I see him as a monster? Does he still want to be friends with me, or is he thinking about some way to go about telling me how inconsiderate it is to have a fear of pertheans? What if he hates me? What if we end up being stuck in an even more awkward relationship than what we had when we first met? What if he doesn't want to be deskmates anymore?

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Derrick's notetaking. I know he loves languages, so I was sure he'd be taking as many notes about Koronian as possible during class. What I find odd, though, is that I haven't heard him write anything down until now. After a few seconds of pencil scratching, he goes silent again.

I try to take my focus off of Derrick and keep it on the teacher, but just as I tune back into the lesson, his notebook slides into my peripheral vision. Do I dare look? I pretend I don't see the notebook and shift my focus away from Derrick. After a moment, he slides the notebook closer to me. As worried as I am, I can't help but wonder what he wants to tell me. I hesitate, but take the bait and read the note presented to me.

Are you afraid of me?

Hot blood rushes to my cheeks, and my heart pounds against my ribcage. My whole frame trembles as I turn my head to the shaking hands in my lap. He knows.

I try to steady my quivering breaths. I can't let myself panic. Not now. Not in the middle of this class, not in front of all these pertheans... not in front of Derrick. We're so close to the end of the schoolday. All I have to do is sit through the rest of Koronian, get to the balcony, and go home! He'll forget all about this tomorrow, and I'll have a better chance to hide my fear then.

Derrick taps his notebook, drawing my attention back to it. Why is he so insistent? He underlines the question he wrote with his pencil. He's not going to be satisfied without an answer, is he?

I stare down at my own notebook laying atop my desk. What should I do? Should I answer? Should I try to continue ignoring him? How long can I keep this up?

As I'm lost in contemplation again, a large, warm surface presses against my back, poking me. That's it. I scrawl down a response in my notebook.

Why are you so insistent on me answering this question?

I can't keep from trembling as I push my notebook to the side of my desk. Derrick leans over in his seat. He's so close! I try to take deep breaths in and out, but my constant shuddering makes my breathing anything but smooth.

Derrick sits back in his seat. Silence. Maybe he'll finally leave me alone. Just as I begin to let my shoulders droop and my muscles relax, I hear it again: the scratching of Derrick's pencil against paper. A few seconds later, he pushes his notebook back into my view.

Why are you so insistent on not answering this question?

He just won't let it go! What should I say?! What should I do?!

Brittney said I shouldn't tell Derrick about my fear because he's 'sensitive.' But what was it she didn't tell me? What's going to happen if I'm honest with Derrick? Should I lie?

Derrick underlines the question again.

Are you afraid of me?

My heart sinks, weighing me down, and there's an aching unease deep in my inner core. Do I tell him? Can I tell him? I stare at my notebook as anxiety creeps up my back and threatens to choke me. Hands trembling and barely able to grip my pencil, I write my response and slide my notebook back into Derrick's view.

I'm sorry.

He's quick to scribble down a response.

You're sorry?

I don't think and simply let my pencil glide along my paper. I slide over my answer:

I'm sorry that I'm afraid of you.

I sit in my anxiety, nervously awaiting Derrick's inevitable reply. What will he say now? Will he call me a coward? A bigot? Would he call me... a tiny?

Silence. He must be satisfied with my answer. I just hope things aren't awkward for us after class. I rub my legs to keep them from jumping up and down under my desk, and return my focus to the teacher.

Scribbling. It's quiet at first, then harsh. There's the sound of an eraser rubbing the paper, followed by more harsh scribbling. I clench my fists as tears prick the edges of my eyes. He's really going to let me have it, isn't he? My heartbeat, oddly enough, slows down as I think through what must be in store for me. Deep down, he's no different than that man, is he? Merciless. Unforgiving. Cruel. No perthean could ever be understanding when someone thinks of them as a monster, could they?

Derrick slides his notebook back over. Blinking back tears, I brace for impact, breathing in and out, and turn to see what it is he's penned.

Let me help you.

What? What's he talking about? He's not going to let me have it? I hesitate before looking back at Derrick as apprehensively as ever. He's... smiling.

"What?" I whisper.

He points to what he wrote on the page, and looks back at me. I spin back around in my seat, my mind buzzing with questions. What does he mean? Is that even possible? Is he joking? I pull my notebook back towards myself and start writing. Once I'm finished writing, I push my notebook back into Derrick's view.

What are you talking about?

Again, he doesn't hesitate, but writes his response swiftly.

Are you free to meet behind the school after class?

An uneasiness creeps up from my gut and into my throat. I gulp. He wants to meet after school? What does this mean? Is he serious, or does he have something more sinister in mind? I stare at my hands in my lap. What should I do?

I turn around and look Derrick in the eyes. As he smiles at me, his wide blue eyes seem to smile, too. I have no idea what to say, and I can barely breathe! He looks at me with anticipation. Almost as if to ask, 'Well? What do you say?'

I nod. I have no idea what I'm supposed to expect, but at this point, what do I have left to lose? Derrick laughs softly as he continues smiling at me.

"Mr. Drake and Miss Finch!" the teacher says, raising her voice and catching Derrick and I by surprise. "Is there something the two of you would like to share with the rest of the class?"

I turn back around in my seat, my heart fluttering and my cheeks as hot as ever.

"No, m'am!" Derrick and I both exclaim.

I try to focus on the lesson again, but all that comes to mind is my deskmate. Really, what could he possibly mean by helping me? And what did I just sign up for?

[luminecent-sky]

Divinity of the deathless - II

Looks like the first part was well received. 

Tw.: None for now :))

An:

Death loop AU, Impostor AU, Isekai AU, Cult AU, Feat. Kaeya, Jean, and Diluc

The impostor paces their cell, rapidly losing their grip on themselves.

'Shit- shit- shit-! Where the hell is my notebook!'

Their thoughts race, trying to figure out what to do next. With the lack of their notes, all their rationale starts to break down. Their train of thought is broken by a harsh knock on the cell door.

"Imposter of the divine, the Grand Master wishes to see you." The stern voice of the guard booms through the cell, causing the impostor to jolt.

'Oh shit- is this going to be like the last few loops?... How should i play this?'

The impostor plasters a faux look of civility, choosing to reenact a past loop for now. The guard leads them towards an empty room, shackling them to the chair before taking his post near the door. Eyes trained on the impostor, waiting for any suspicious movements.

Soon, the Acting Grand Master enters the room, holding a familiar black notebook in her hands.

"Please be at ease, i mean no harm."

She sits quietly on the other side of the room, and the guard watching from behind.

"Now.... I am aware of your situation and am willing to provide my aid, your grace... but i must ask for further elaboration."

They look at her for a moment, seemingly thinking of how to respond, until finally they speak.

"You've read through the notebook...?" They ask, tone devoid of any emotion. Eyes trained on the Acting Grand Master. Waiting for her to repond.

"Ah.. yes, I have. My sincerest apologies to you, Your grace, for looking at your personal belongings...." A sheepish look crosses her face, mixing with the worry etched upon it. She averts her gaze,

"Then you can probably understand that this isn't the first time you've sworn to aid me, nor will it be the last." They state, playing with the sleeve of their jacket, a beat passes before Jean composes herself enough to speak again. 

“I... am aware of what my actions were in these ‘previous incarnations’, and while this will not be the first time I extend my aid, however, surely I can succeed where my past selves did not.“ She places a hand on her chest, looking at the impostor with determination and regret in her eyes.

"While I have gone through this scenario multiple times already, I want to see what plan you'll make this loop." The impostor states, finally looking up at Jean.

"That is all for today, i still have to talk with the others about this.... Predicament we are in. Thank you for putting your trust in me once again, i will not fail you this time." Jean says solemnly as she leaves the room, handing the notebook back before the doors close.

The impostor is finally escorted out of the room and is put back in the cell. They sit down on the cot provided to them. 'Fuck.... how do we convince them that we're the creator before they decide to kill us???'

.

.

.

"So Jean, are you 100% sure that this is a real thing?" The calvalry captain starts, leaning back on his chair as he nurses a glass of dandelion wine.

"Yes, when I read through the notebook, the first 30 or so pages were written in a different language... I even had Lisa check the library." Jean sighed, putting a hand to her forehead.

The air stilled at that moment, before Diluc spoke up. Leaning on a bookshelf

"And what do we do now?"

Taglist:

@meimeimeirin - @esthelily - @elisha-httyd - @samarill - @itz-luna - @kiznax - @vvyeislazzy

[cnnmairoll]

H-hello there 🥺👉👈 I really love your hcs writing especially on HSR boys aaaaa I hope you have a good day! I'd wonder of your req are open? If you did, can I request HCs, fic or whatever you find comfortable with this prompt xD on Sampo and naive(?) reader, like, the reader somewhat see Sampo's crimes business and Sampo himself in more... Brighter light? Especially as they know Sampo actively helps people of the Underworlder despite said conman running around his funny ass bad reputation in the Overworld xD I think that's all, thank you in advance!!💕✨

Silver Tongue, Golden Heart

Pairing : Sampo x Reader Genre : Fluff a/n : Sure thing anon! I hope this met your expectation!! Reminder that request is still open ^_^

In the heart of the dichotomous realm of Belobog, where the line between light and darkness was as thin as a whisper, there existed a silver-tongued merchant named Sampo Koski. In the realm where profit was the language spoken by all, Sampo thrived like a cunning chameleon. His roots were firmly planted in the Underworld, yet he was a free spirit, traversing seamlessly between the two realms.

You hailed from the Underworld, a place shrouded in mystery and isolation, where the relics of the Old World lay hidden beneath towering rocky walls. Life down there was harsh, but you had learned to survive and thrive within the labyrinthine twists of its gloomy alleys and hidden enclaves.

The Overworld was a utopian haven, its streets bathed in perpetual spring. The laughter of children echoed through the air as merchants peddled their wares, and the Silvermane Guards watched over the populace with vigilant eyes. It was a world untouched by time, an oasis of serenity.

And then there was Sampo.

He appeared in your life like a whirlwind of charm and wit. From the moment you met him in a bustling marketplace, his grin drew you in, his words weaving a spell around you. He was a conman, a master of illusion and deception, yet there was an undeniable allure to his manner. He seemed to thrive on the dance between truth and fiction, playing the roles of friend and trickster with equal finesse.

The first words he spoke were as smooth as silk, his silver tongue casting a spell that was impossible to resist. He teased and bantered, weaving tales that spun laughter into the very air around you. As a denizen of the Underworld, you had rarely encountered someone so captivating. He offered you trinkets and oddities, each with a promise of making your life easier, more exciting, or simply more bearable.

Sampo's charm was irrefutable, his humor infectious, and soon you found yourself visiting his stall often, drawn by the allure of his words and the hidden gems he provided. His interactions were filled with jokes and stories about his escapades in the Overworld, where he was known to spin his web of deception for personal gain. Yet, strangely enough, you only found yourself chuckling at his tales, unable to condemn his actions like you did with others who engaged in such deceptions.

As time passed, your naivety and his wily nature created a unique bond. His overarching goal, a secret known only to a select few, overshadowed the shadier parts of his work in your eyes. You saw him as a force for good, someone who actively helped the Underworld by sharing information and resources. The fact that he used his skills to con the privileged in the Overworld was secondary to the warmth you felt emanating from his every gesture.

You listened to his tales with rapt attention, caught in the gravity of his words. And as he described his journeys to the Underworld, where he helped those who had fallen through the cracks, you couldn't help but see a glimmer of goodness in his actions.

He went on to unveil his clandestine actions, detailing how he used the profits from his cons to support the less fortunate in the Underworld, how he supplied resources and information that would otherwise remain out of reach. "I might be a swindler in their eyes," he admitted with a rueful smile, "but in your eyes, I hope I'm something different."

And indeed, he was. Your heart swelled with admiration for the man who had seamlessly etched his presence into your life. You realized that Sampo's dual existence wasn't just a contrast but a testament to the blurred lines between good and bad, light and dark. Through his actions, you discovered that heroes and villains were far from being defined solely by their deeds. It was the intent behind them that truly mattered.

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the sincerity of your heart. "You're more than the stories they tell, Sampo. You're a bridge between worlds, a beacon of hope in the shadows."

He looked at you, his expression softening as if the weight of the worlds he straddled had momentarily lifted. "Perhaps," he whispered, his fingers brushing against yours in a gesture that felt like an unspoken promise.

And so, the dance between light and darkness continued. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, as you and Sampo strolled through the bustling marketplace. "You know," he mused, his tone contemplative, "sometimes it's the shadows that define the light, and the deceptions that illuminate the truth."

You regarded him, a smile tugging at your lips. "Is that one of your philosophical insights?"

He chuckled, a sound that felt like a warm embrace. "Call it what you will, my friend. But just remember, even in the darkest of corners, there's a chance for something beautiful to bloom."

As the evening deepened, the marketplace transformed into a tapestry of lights, each stall glowing like a star in the night sky. The laughter of children and the hum of conversation surrounded you, a symphony that encapsulated the essence of life. And at the heart of it all stood Sampo, his silver tongue weaving tales that seemed to harmonize with the very essence of existence.

You looked up at the constellations above, the stars mirrored by the glimmer in Sampo's eyes. In this moment, it wasn't just about the divide between realms or the shades of morality—it was about the connection you shared, the bridges you both represented. The line between the Overworld and the Underworld seemed to blur, just as the boundaries between right and wrong seemed to meld.

As the night unfolded, Sampo's stories continued, drawing you deeper into his world, a world where truth and deception danced together like kindred spirits. And in his presence, you found a unique clarity—a recognition that sometimes, the most unexpected individuals could be the ones to lead you from darkness into light, and that goodness could emerge even from the depths of deception.

[ohgodsalazarwhy]

Lambert fucked up. He watched Eskel's expression turn from neutral to stormy, not all at once but slowly like dark thunderclouds crawling over a jagged horizon. "I didn't mean that," Lambert said quickly, as if he could outrun the coming torrent.

Eskel rose, hands flat on the table as he stared Lambert down. There was a growing static in the air around him, chaos fluttering like the wings of bats. It made Lambert's head hurt, he'd never been magically gifted like Geralt much less Eskel, and too much Chaos in the air could make him feel hungover.

"You meant it," Eskel said, his voice the rolling thunder from the dark cloud that were rapidly overtaking them both.

"It was a fucking joke you humourless bastard!" Lambert snapped, scrambling backwards and nearly tripping over a crooked bench. Before he could get any further Eskel raised one hand as fast as lightening. Lambert tensed, waiting for an Aard or Yrden, perhaps even an Axii. Instead Eskel cast Quen and a golden bubble popped into existence around him.

Lambert was stunned into silence at first. Quen was one of the first signs they learned as initiates, but the hardest to master. For one it often had to be anchored to you or something you were touching. Lambert could cast Quen around himself and anyone he physically touched. Stronger users, like Geralt, could make the Quen explode or apply it as a thin, nearly invisible veneer around them.

Eskel, it seemed, could project it. Lambert tried to push through the shield and found it immovable. He kicked it and swore as he stubbed his toe. Lambert tried to draw one of his swords but found the bubble was neither tall enough or wide enough to pull his blade from the scabbard. Casting Aard or Igni would backfire spectacularly. He wasn't that dumb.

"Just going to keep me here all night?" He yelled at Eskel, his form shimmering and golden outside the shield. "Real fucking mature, you rancid cock!". Lambert tried to ram his shoulder into the shield but it didn't so much as shudder with the impact. Lambert, however, felt a bit dazed.

"You can't keep this up forever!" Lambert yelled again.

"I don't have to," Eskel said, his expression was calm once more. He had his hand up and fingers displayed in a held Quen, pointing at Lambert. He wasn't just casting it he was maintaining it, using constant Chaos to feed the shield. It made it strong but it also meant even Eskel had to run out of energy sooner rather than later.

He looked awfully smug, though. At least from what Lambert could see. "You're a fucking coward! Afraid of a little brawl? Come on, it's not like either of us can get any uglier!"

Eskel snorted and shook his head, not rising to the bait.

Lambert took a deep breath, it was getting warm in the bubble. He felt like...like he wasn't getting enough oxygen... It hit him all at once. The bubble was impermeable. Completely. There was no fresh air coming in. "Oh you son of a bitch!" Lambert exploded and threw himself around in the bubble, gasping for breath as each inhale became less and less satisfying. Eskel wouldn't kill him but he sure knew how to make a man suffer for a slip of the tongue.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Lambert gasped, falling to his knees as the world rushed up to meet him. All at once fresh air, fresh cool air, flooded into his lungs with the next gasp. Lambert collapsed and rolled onto his back, heaving for each breath like he'd just run the Killer.

"Now was that so hard?" Eskel asked as he sat back down and picked up his hand of Gwent cards. "It's your turn, by the way?"

"Was that a little harsh?" Geralt asked dispassionately from the head of the table.

Lambert wheezed and crawled back up to sit across from Eskel, fervently avoiding his gaze from behind his own hand of cards.

"I don't know, Lambert, was it too harsh?" Eskel asked it with a tone that implied genuine concern, but his eyes betrayed him. He was laughing at him, the bastard.

Lambert shook his head instead of saying anything, conserving all his precious air. After all, it could have been much worse. Eskel could have kicked him out of his bed for the rest of the Winter.

[thewritersaddictions]

Request- (M) Peter x Gwen: Wife Treatment (TASM)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Gwen Stacy

Pov: Peter

Warnings: Bathing Scene, at-home massage, oral (Female receiving), fingering, Fluff, Smut, in love, a little bit of sweet dirty talk.

Summary: It's just an innocent bath and massage from Peter to his wife, Gwen.

WC: 2.6k

A/N: @ firefly-graphics for dividers

Marvel Master List // The Rich Master List

Peter knows that their anniversary isn’t for another few months, but if he can’t pamper the fuck out Gwen whenever, then what is even the point of being in a relationship. He takes his title very seriously. ‘Husband” Married to a beautiful woman, meaning she deserves everything in the world. On a random Friday, he gathers a bouquet and Gwen’s favorite takeout. The little things make their relationship ever-growing and get better by the day. Peter loves to see the beaming smiles that grow on Gwen’s beautiful face and the soft kisses on his lips when she comes into his arms for a long and meaningful hug. 

So it’s no guess when Peter decides that he wants to pamper Gwen again but in a better way than ever before. Peter is brilliant; he listens to Gwen when she talks about things she has been thinking about for at least a few months. “A massage; maybe I should just set up an appointment.” Peter then offers to do it for her, saying, “How about I call? You don’t have to worry about it any longer.” Gwen is always surprised at the kind-hearted things her husband says to her. Peter doesn’t schedule a massage for Gwen. Instead, he takes the opportunity to fill the bathtub with hot water, but a few drops of lavender oil and a bath bomb for an extra measure into the mix. When he returns from the kitchen with a bottle of wine, the bath water has changed from clear to a gorgeous purple color with specks of sparkle everywhere. 

He hears the door open with ease, and the recognizable heel sounds echo against the apartment walls. “Honey?” Peter hears Gwen shout, “Where are you?” Usually, Peter greets his beautiful wife at the door, but instead, this time, he’s hidden away in the lavender-scented bathroom. Candles burn away as Peter quickly gets up and finds his wife. “There you are. You are not going to believe the day I had,” Gwen says to Peter. “I bet I won’t, but how about you tell me in the tub.” Gwen isn’t sure what her husband said but follows his sweet guiding hand to their master bathroom. 

What awaits Gwen has her almost automatically in tears. A hard day’s work washed away from the scent of lavender, and candle wicks burned in the air. “Oh, Peter!” It comes out as a moan, a sigh of the day being over. “I’m glad you like it,” Peter says softly while wrapping his arms around the front of her stomach, pulling her back flat against his chest. He presses soft and gentle kisses to her neck and cheek. Breathing in the sweet aroma in the air eases the both of them. “How about we get you undressed?” Peter’s voice is soft and quiet, keeping the intimate nature of the room intact. 

Peter helps Gwen unbutton the white blouse, gently sliding it down her arms as it lands in a small pile on the floor. Petter falls to his knees next, searching for the small zipper at the back of Gwen’s black pencil skirt. The material falls with ease down her hips and falls to her feet. Gwen steps out and waits for her husband to undress the rest of her. Her lace pantyhose goes next, with a few kisses to her inner and outer thighs before they are added to the pile of dirty clothes. Her panties and bra land in a different pile because Gwen has taught her husband one thing: ‘Some clothes are delicate and can’t be washed with harsh materials like your jeans and jackets, Peter.’ 

“Check the water and see if it’s warm enough, baby,” Peter says to Gwen as he starts to undo his jeans buttons and tug them down his hips. Gwen doesn’t watch her husband for long; instead, she turns her attention to the warm bathwater. She had no qualms with the temperature, so she sat at the porcelain edge of the tub and watched her husband undress. Gwen sometimes forgets that her husband is a built masterpiece. The hard-cut edges of his abs and the solid mass of the rest of his body make her feel gooey inside. When finally, both of them are as naked as the day they were born—Peter motions for Gwen to get in first. The tub can fit both of them comfortably without the water overflowing over the tub’s edges. 

Gwen goes first, and Peter follows behind her, with Peter settling behind his wife, his back pressed against the tub, and Gwen’s back pressed into the warm flesh of Peter’s chest. The quiet of the bathroom and the little sounds of the sloshing water surrounding them are soothing. At first, Peter doesn’t want to disturb the silence or comfort in the room, but he promises he’s listening to Gwen’s day. “So you said something about your day, love?” His words are soft. Gwen hums and then fills the room with her voice. She talks about her day, about that coworker who keeps piling her work onto Gwen’s table. “Maybe it’s because I’m the head researcher, but I’m getting tired of taking this women’s shit.” Peter does his best to calm his wife, rubbing gentle circles into her arms or pressing a few kisses into her ear.

Not until Peter grabs the bottle of shampoo and starts to massage the roots of Gwen’s hair does her fast words and frustration seem to ease away. Her head falls back into Peter’s chest, and her eyes flutter. Gwen is in complete heaven. Peter’s fingers move with great purpose over the scalp of his wife; every move he makes pushes Gwen further into comfort. She doesn’t even notice the water drip over her scalp to remove the shampoo or the silky feeling of Peter’s condition-covered fingers falling into her hair. It’s not long after that when the water goes from warm to cold, way too cold for either to be comfortable. So Peter slips out, wrapping a towel around his waist and wrapping a towel around Gwen’s body. The soft, fluffy towel engulfs Gwen in warmth. Little words are spoken because, well, honestly, they don’t need words. Nothing will ever truly express how Peters’s heart thumps faster whenever Gwen is in his arms or how Gwen’s eyes twinkle when she’s looking up at him. They walk hand in hand towards the bedroom. 

Gwen missed this when she walked to the bathroom with Peter, or he had been sneaky and placed more candles in the bedroom and another soft towel on the bed. “I know you were talking about getting a massage, but I was thinking, how about you let me do that for you?” Peter says. Gwen is in complete and utter shock, a suitable type of shock that it takes her a few minutes to understand what Peter has just said. “Gwen?” The silence isn’t a bad sign to Peter, but he wants to make sure he’s doing good so far. “It’s perfect.” Gwen’s voice is quiet and timid. It’s almost as if she’s scared to tell Peter that she loves all the nice things he does for her. A smile grows on Peters’s face, and he guides her to the bed. 

“You’re okay staying naked like this for me?” Peter asks. Gwen eagerly nods while waiting for her husband to guide her onto the plush bed. “Good, now come lay down on your stomach,” Petre murmurs to Gwen, and she follows his words. With that, Gwen got situated on the bed, her stomach lying flat on the towel and her arms crossed under her chin to support her head, but Peter quickly adjusted her arms, setting them down to her sides instead. 

Gwen couldn’t see anything besides the bedside table and the front of the headboard, so she stuck to relying on her other senses. The sound of shuffling feet tells her that Peter is no longer at her side but somewhere behind her. The next sound that has her skin lighting up with goosebumps is the recognizable sound of the top of a lid snapping open, and then the liquid is poured all over her legs. It starts at just the bend on her knee. The oil pooled and dripped down her skin, “I’m starting with your feet.” Peter says quietly, “Always on them, workin’ yourself to death over that damn research projects. I think my girl just needs to relax once in a while.’ Peter murmurs as his hand comes around one of Gwen’s feet. His hands are covered in oil, making them slip over the curves and edges of Gwen’s feet. He’s got a whole process, taking care of each foot with care and ease. He rubs delicate circles into the arches of her feet, and then his large thumb rubs mini circles into her soles. “Those heels are makin’ a mess of your pretty feet, Gwen.” He says to her, but Gwen isn’t listening anymore. She focuses on not giggling or cringing away from the touch due to how soft and feathery it is.

The feeling only gets worse when Peter moves away from the soles of her feet to her tiny little toes. Get toes gets its attention. Her big to first, which is easy enough, but when Peter manages to get to her last toe, Gwen can’t help but burst out with little giggles. Peter smiles with joy as he knows that this is what Gwen has needed for a long time. A night where she doesn’t have to be on her feet and she’s being cared for by her wonderful, caring husband. Peters’s hand floated up, slipping over her feet and calves. He works with ease on each leg. Pressing his thick fingers into her skin, he works out the thigh muscles before moving on to another section. It isn’t long before he’s worked his up her calves to her thighs, where he can see the slight jiggle of her flesh at every pass of his large hand on her skin. 

The oil runs out after he’s completed both of her thighs, so the clicking of the bottle brings Gwen back to life. She’s been so at peace she’s pretty sure that at one point, she even fell asleep, which was sort of the whole point. Regardless, the oil pours down her spine, pooling at the base of her hips. Gwen’s skin glistens under the candlelight as Peter gets his hand oily again and works on Gwen’s ass. Playing and teasing with the plush skin. “Peter…” Gwens moans out with a sigh of contentment. Peter only hums, moving on and up Gwen’s spine. Meanwhile, Peter is sitting on the top of Gwen’s ass as he rubs the heel of his palm into a tough muscle in her back. With every hard squeeze of Peters's hand on Gwen's back, a moan or sign falls from her lips, to which Peter asks, “Did that feel good?” or  “I should do that again?” He never gets an actual answer, just another hum from Gwens' lips.

--

Peter slides back down Gwen’s frame, sitting back on her ankles. “Gwen baby, you gotta roll over for me.” Gwen’s motion is slowed down tenfold; she doesn’t move gracefully; instead, she moves over groggily. Gwen may still be naked, but that didn’t mean Peter wanted to make her uncomfortable. He’s just wearing a pair of black boxers, not that it does much to cover the chub growing in them. Peter is always willing and wanting to wait for his pleasure if he can make his wife cum before he does; it only makes him more feral for her. Peter slides back up her frame, resting his hips just above her own. Gwens eyes are open now, looking up at her handsome husband. “Well, hello, beautiful,” Peter mutters, a soft smile on her features. “Hello, handsome.” She replies, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can I touch you, Gwen?” He asks, and she nods. “You can touch me anywhere.” She says softly as his hands come up to grab at his hip. 

Peter bends down to slip one of Gwens’ tits into his large hand, squeezing and massaging at the supple skin. Her nipples are tight and stiff as his thumb grazes over the flesh. It’s not until Peter’s mouth rounds, the skin of her tit, her grip on his hips gets more robust, and the moans start to fall from her lush lips. Her moans don’t fall on deaf ears; instead, he sucks harder, licking his tongue over the nipple, encouraging her to be louder for him. He sucks until Gwen is nearly pulling him off of her tit, and then he takes the other in his mouth, giving just as much attention to it. Gwen’s hands fall to Peter’s hair as she pulls him in for rough teeth, a gnashing kiss. “I love you,” Gwen whispers against Peters’s lips before he descends her body and her legs open up for him. Her legs lay over his shoulders as he pressed sweet kisses into her flesh. Kisses are stringed against her stomach, then her thighs and inner thighs, before a soft and gentle kiss is laid atop her clit; from there, it’s like being in heaven. 

Peter starts to suck and give kitten licks to her clit as his two longer fingers probe at her entrance. Nudging at her spongy walls, warm and wet for him. He never once looked away from Gwen, their eyes on each other as Gwen sat up on her elbows to keep her eyes on Peter and where they met. Her mouth falls open as his thickest fingers press into her womb, pumping in and out to massage her gummy walls. Peter’s fingers are covered with her wetness, and Gwen’s clit is swollen and red from the attack of his lips and tongue. Her wetness and Peters’s droll cover his chin when he comes up for air. Gwen’s moans fill the air around the two of them, her hands finding his scalp and pulling him back down to continue his attack on her sensitive clit, waiting, yearning to reach her orgasms. 

The quick thrusts of Peters’s fingers and the fast licks on his tongue on her clit push her over the edge as her fingers grab at the short hair of his scalp, and she screams out with pleasure. “FUck! Peter,” Her walls squeeze him tightly as she gushes over them. As she rides her high Peters licks are gentle, and the pumps of his fingers are softer, letting her ride out her orgasms longer. “Such a messy girl,” Peter says into her skin as he slips his fingers out of her cunt; he doesn’t take his eyes off of her as he brings them up to his lips and sucks them. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. Peter falls next to her, and they lay there trying to catch their breath before Gwen rolls over her hips, falling over Peter, and she pulls him up for a passionate long kiss.

Nothing rough in the kiss, but her lips are soft, and so are Peters as they meddle together in each other embrace. Peter grips her tightly in his arms, keeping her there when their lips fall apart. When Gwen rolls her hips, and her wet cunt rolls over Peter’s impressive hard-on, he stops her. “Not tonight, Gwen. Let’s just go to sleep.” Gwens tries to argue with him, “But I wanna make you feel good, Peter.” He smiles and presses his forehead against hers. “You do. Now go to bed, and you can treat me to something in the morning.” Peter says as a yawn falls from his lips, squeezing Gwen tighter to his chest, keeping her in his forever-tight grip.

Completed on: 01/19/24

Posted on: 02/07/24

[certifiedmaidenlessblog]

Okay literally nobody asked but since I am procrastinating AND restless:

My final thoughts/ranking of the Eternal mini:

(warning this is a full on yap sesh and I have next to no knowledge of music except for the very basics feel very very free to ignore)

1. Deja vu: I have feelings for this song. So gorgeous, dreamy and ethereal. Smiling so big because this song exists blah blah. Anyway the way I thought this song would be #chillvibes from the album preview snippet but then it turned out to be #nochill kajskajsj even tho there is definitely a lethargic quality to the song. I was so gagged but despite the tables turning on me I loved it immediately. Also the very random (but very well incorporated) tabla in the bridge? Slay. Initially I was mad that this wasn't the tt but with all the melodrama and orchestral arrangement, it has a similar vibe to guilty so I get it. But this song is ten fold of what guilty wanted to be (to me, that is). And I think this song remaining as a b-side to be occasionally performed instead of it being dragged through the promotional cycle and losing all the weight and impact of the song is a good choice too (the song itself is not very promotion cycle friendly either). I can't wait to see what the choreo looks like.

2. Horizon: Very kibumcore as a lot of people have also said, I think so too!! A very unexpected sound for a taemin song but he delivered sooo well. I do wish the song was longer tho. Don't know what being the second title track on this album means as of now but it's worthy of the position I'm sure.

3. Crush: Extremely shineecore! A cute and funky little number! Got me moving! The layers in the instrumentals are neat. I got exactly what was promised on the album preview. Well executed. No other notes. Other than the funky vibe there isn't really any standout element so I might get bored of it quickly tho.

Can't decide between ranks 4 and 5 so I'm calling it a tie.

4/5. Sexy in the air: I definitely should have let my brain soak this in a bit more before complaining about it cause now I literally can't stop listening to it helpppaksnakms cause Damn... This is crazy. What am I gonna do now?? Jaksjksks My first ranking for this song was literally second last (in a derogatory way) and now here we are. Also I held off from watching the mv first because I'm a very visual creature and I get easily swayed that way so I was trying to be #unbiased or whatever. I still think that the second verse is a bit meh, specially because of the English lyrics (i don't even know why I was so pissed off by the "turn me down" that was obviously supposed to be "turn me on", it wasn't even that serious 😭) but I was definitely being too harsh and it's not even as bad as I made it out to be and it doesn't stick out enough to get in the way of me enjoying the rest of the song. The switch up after the beat change is soooo good I've been obsessed with that part (the horny choreo definitely helps :D).

The good things about this song being the title track are: it's produced by dem jointz (the production is interesting and immaculate), the mastering of this song is better than most tracks on this album, it is performance oriented/friendly, both halves of the song are tied together so neatly that honestly the beat change doesn't even seem that unnatural even if it's shocking, tm devoured this track in a way that only he can, tm freak lore continues!!!! but most importantly it's bold!!! and it's a statement!!! (instead of playing it safe like he did with guilty imo lol, musically i mean). My only real grievance with this song is probably the fact that it wasn't allowed to go full freak nasty the way it was originally envisioned to be because we live in a society or whatever. Tm was moaning and groaning and saying fuck in the studio only for it to be muffled and be barely audible on the track. The dem jointz trademark of an addictive repeated word/phrase being distorted because otherwise tm would be put in horny jail fr (horny gay jail even because its so crazy that they had another man moaning on the track like skdkksksjdkd). Some of the lyrics being altered hastily (like "turn me down" ksjsjsks).This song being called sexy in the air instead of sex is in the air kajskaksksks. Sad. Because if anyone can pull off something like this without being cringe, it's tm. But it's okay I get it. Also notably this song has one of the veeery few ethical uses of that infamous bed creak sample (by ethical i mean relevant to the song at hand in a way that maximizes the slay of the song).

4/5. Say Less: Very pretty, short and sweet, could have been longer. A solid closer for this album and definitely stands it's own ground despite being on the track list after Deja vu. Which is lowkey a feat of its own. The instrumentals are infact drowning out his voice a bit but I don't think it bothers me as much as I had feared. Reminds me of Truth a bit.

6. The Unknown Sea: I don't have particularly strong opinions on ballads but I do generally only listen to ballads if I'm already super into the idol. And I do like most of the other ballads from tm. However. He's singing his ass off here but the vocal processing.... specially in the chorus his voice sounds very tinny. When I first heard the song I thought it wasn't that big of a deal but now it is definitely getting in the way of me enjoying this song. Beautiful bridge tho, definitely the highlight of the song for me.

7. G.O.A.T.: This instrumental is so fucking nasty I'm obsessedddd. Unfortunately the instrumental might just be the saving grace of this song. I went into this track thinking I was not even gonna be able to listen to this but thankfully it's not thaaaaaat bad. But we definitely need to get tm off his rapping agenda. Even after listening to this a bunch of times it's not sitting that well with me. (Which is crazy because after first listen I thought his voice was more well suited to GOAT than SITA???) I do understand that this song was meant to be a bit tongue in cheek like yeah the goat bleating sounds are hilarious in a good way but tm is Not giving the hardass aura that he thought he was going for and um. that's enough for me to be like :/ which is such a shame cause even the arrangement of this song is so interesting. But yeah whatever this track needed vocally is not in tm's strengths so. I'll wait for someone to upload the instrumental tho so that I can download it and play it with the rest of the album jksjsksksjsjs

I think it's a good choice to drop an album that's just him coming out swinging after such a drastic career altering decision. There's no more room for regrets or dilly dallying and he's confident. Which is a good thing. Because it definitely makes the statement he wants to make. The album as a whole is interesting, all the tracks differ from each other but that doesn't take away from the cohesiveness of the soundscape of the album. There is a clear logic in the way the tracklisting was done, the transition from one song to the next makes sense (even if I can't explain it properly).

That being said, yes the production and the mixing is a bit lacking (along with the other downsides of a low budget) but I don't think sm has songs like this in their vault anymore so... You win some you lose some idk.

Overall I do see this as a win. Yapping over and out.

[sepulcher666]

I Yearn for Blood

Lamenter!OC introduction

Mainly Introduces Taharaen’s affliction

CW: mentions of violence and vampiric urges.

——

The world burned, and we watched as it spelled doom for the countless of souls that still remained here.

The sky was glowing a brilliant orange as orbital defense guns blew up vehicles and vessels that tumbled from space into the atmosphere. The smoke that they produced was so thick no auspex scanner could pierce the horizon.

I could taste the heat. It clogged the air filters and vents of my armor.

The Leman Russ tank that lies in a smoking, burning ruin, tangled in barbed wire and in ruined barricades blows up, launching deadly blocks of rockcrete towards a few intercessors, taking limbs off and giving mercy to those that could no longer fight.

I spent the last rounds of my bolt rifle, pivoting on my heel to aim and shoot with a dancers grace as we were cornered in ash, dust and the bodies of friend and foe alike.

“Do not relent! We shall die today, but we shall take them with us! For the Emperor and the Great Angel!” I am not sure if my voice carries farther enough to reach the surviving members of my squadron. I shall have to hope it does.

Soon enough, I had expended my bolt rifle. I discard it and charge into the fray, the mass of xenos bodies living or dead. I smash and tear through flesh as I inflict my wrath upon the Greenskin horde.

My vision goes red. For but a few moments my mind plunges me back into the days of the Great Heresy. I see the Great Angel as he battles Horus. I am immersed as my vision is surrounded ancient heraldry and armor long gone and the ghosts of the past.

For but a moment I lose myself.

My teeth gnash with alien viscera and blood as I bite, rip and tear the horde limb to limb. I have not known such a ferocity or rage as this before. Not in my brief years of service to this chapter.

My hearts in these intense moments yearn for blood. My eyes could no longer distinguish from friend or foe, brother or traitor.

What remains of my Vox crackles, and I manage to come to my senses if only for a few heartbeats.

“The Chapter Master lives! We have pushed the Greenskins back!” This seemed to be evident enough with the dying ambience of the orbital guns and the last of the shuttles that depart from this damned world.

I do not know what significance this news would be of to me later during my long existence that was fraught with trial and harrowing darkness.

I wipe away the drool that has leaked from the corner of my mouth, barely aware of the bloody strips of skin that I smear away from it. I dully stare at my palm, at the ruined weaving of my body glove and the steadily congealing blood on my palm and fingers.

My hearts yearn for blood. It yearns and it thirsts for the lifeblood of my dead brothers.

A harsh rebuke seems to snap me to my senses. “Brother Taharaen! Get a hold of yourself!” I feel a sharp lance of pain as my Brother-Sargent claps me on the Pauldron.

Oh. I snap to attention, unintentionally baring my teeth in a bloody snarl before collecting myself and sinking to my knees. I want to rip him apart where he stands. My chest heaves and I spit out a thick globule of acidic spit and flesh.

“This is Brother-Zachariel, requesting extraction from fuel depot sight. A few of my squad still live and they need to see the apothecarian as soon as possible.”

Why did he not ask for the surviving chaplain to pass judgement on those that must of surely fallen to their genetic curse by now? What kept him from mentioning my brief violent episode?

What kept me from ripping him apart where he stood?

I mutter sacred canticles and ask for forgiveness as I struggle to rise to my feet.

My hearts yearn for blood, but something holds me back from taking it.

———

I should have asked to be lashed in the Reclusiam. I did not want to be left alone with my thoughts after the war on slaughterhouse.

Pain does bring a certain clarity to the mind and a brief reproach from the illness of shame.

I hang my head low and ask for forgiveness from the God-Emperor despite my pains. I have no one to disturb me here now that the usual occupants of the Reclusiam had perished.

It was hard to come to terms with, even for an Astartes. I can only hope they went with honor, and not with the black rage chasing at their heels.

I no longer know what to make of my survival now that a much more honorable end has slipped past me.

[musesofthesun]

⏰ for n :]

SEND A ⏰ TO SEE INTO ONE OF MY MUSES' MEMORIES. = always accepting!

int main() { std::ifstream file("3402.txt"); if (file.is_open()) { std::string line; while (std::getline(0001.txt)) { std::cout << "[WD-ID: Cyn] has been acting different lately. N-0#’s eyes linger on her as she passes down the hall, watching her until she’s out of sight. he looks back at the brass vase he’s methodically polishing, ventilation systems whirring in a sigh. i wish she would talk to me. something happened, i just know it.

yet he doesn’t know what. he could probably chalk it up to master and mistress being harsh, but the facts don’t add up. [WD-ID: Cyn] was always somewhat skittish. she wouldn’t be caught out of line. she’s far too sneaky and clever. lately, however, she’s far less fleeting. she’s not around Tessa as much either, which is saddening but ultimately understandable. maybe [WD-ID: Cyn] felt left out and decided to branch off entirely. she might be doing her own thing. it would explain her sudden confidence.

something happened. he knows it. [WD-ID: Cyn] moves differently, with a strange assurance in herself that was not there before. she talks to herself when she thinks nobody is listening. her optics are off-color, which is not so bad—perhaps Tessa replaced her screen—but there’s something in her stare that makes his core distribute a little more energy to his servos. ( she sometimes watches him with a sort of curiosity, as if sizing him up. it makes him feel small in the same way that mistress’s sparing glances do. )

N-0# gently places the vase down, moving to clean the photo next to it. he begins to wipe dust off the frame. he’s probably overthinking it. [WD-ID: Cyn] seems more sure of herself. that’s a good thing. she doesn’t talk to him frequently like she used to. that’s alright, people change! it’s not as if he’s anything special, either. he’s encouraged her to talk to other drones, so she may have! the thought of [WD-ID-Cyn] making friends causes a small smile to appear on his muzzle.

regardless, he’s proud of her sudden bolster of confidence. he’s simply a little worried. there seems to be some tension in the air when she shows up—N-0# knows [WD-ID: V-II]’s posture and voice well enough to tell her wires become a little more shot in [WD-ID: Cyn]’s presence, and [WD-ID: J-##] and Tessa both watch [WD-ID: Cyn] like hawks. sometimes they make motions to each other when [WD-ID: Cyn] isn’t looking. he isn’t fluent in all of their silent communication, but he knows enough to understand that they’re talking about [WD-ID: Cyn].

something happened. he knows it. the butler’s fans whirr in a low exhale as he cleans the glass protecting the picture. he moves the cloth off to the side. there’s several yellow glowing dots reflected in the glass, gazing at him from over his shoulder. N-0#’s digital brow furrows in concern and he rotates his head a hundred and eighty degrees to glance in that direction.

there’s nothing there.

he shakes his head and places the picture down. he probably needs to recalibrate his optics. there’s been a lot of stress on his systems lately. N-0# drapes the cleaning-cloth over his forearm and turns to advance down the hall. perhaps tonight he can invite [WD-ID: Cyn] to a movie hangout and get her to tell him what’s on her mind." <<; std::endl; } };