#what would happen if one of the two bodies died?

[cheshirewrites]

"Darling," a voice calls from the door, "we have another one."

Dahlia sighs, and gets to her feet. The harvest had been going so well, too, she thinks to herself, sparing a glance towards the basket at her feet. The basket, as big as it is, is barely halfway full. The bottom is lined with freshly picked fruits and fragrant herbs, the usual kinds of things you would expect to find at a witch's residence.

She had been looking forward to working in her garden, and once she was done with that, checking on the magical creatures that tended to roam their woods.

Still, Dahlia knows what her lover is talking about, and that is far more important.

When she steps into the kitchen, Ari is leaning against the counter. There's flour on her cheeks and on her dress, and the smell of something baking in the oven, and Ari is engaged in a rapid fire conversation with a stranger.

And that, of course, is where the problems usually begin.

The stranger -- a teenager, because fate has always favored youth -- looks at Dahlia and grins. "'Ello, my good lord." Their grin turns playful. "Or should I say, my dark lord?"

"Neither," Dahlia says, as she makes herself comfortable next to Ari. "It's Dahlia, no formalities needed."

Their expression doesn't change. "Miss Dahlia, then."

Ari shifts closer, like she's going to tell a secret. "Do you have a name, little traveler? If you don't, I'm sure I can come up with something to call you."

"Fox," they say, and the name certainly fits, with their pointed features and scruffy, auburn hair. When they smile, it's all teeth. "My name is Fox."

"Well, little Fox," Dahlia says, taking a thorough look at them. Worn clothes, prominent ribs, a smile sharper than knives. "Cut to the chase. I doubt you sought out a dead hero and tyrant for fun."

Fox snarls, agitation clear in every inch of their body. "You are not the tyrant here," they say, angrily. "You aren't the one tearing apart the ground and poisoning the water. You aren't the reasons that thousands of people no longer have a roof over their head. You aren't the reason my Prince-"

They cut off abruptly, lanky body curling in on itself as a frown takes over their face. It reminds her of Ari, when she still kept her hair cropped short and always had countless daggers on her person. Back before she died, and was being run ragged for months on end.

"You work with the royal family, don't you, little Fox?" Dahlia says, not unkindly. "Many people in similar positions would call this treason."

The words have an undeniable effect, as Fox straightens to their full height. "I only work for the Prince," they say, "I'd happily watch the rest of them rot."

At her side, Ari smiles. "I'm glad that the youth haven't changed," she says, and her bright tone doesn't fit her next words. "Would you kill him if you had the chance?"

Dahlia gives Ari a knowing look.

Dahlia might be the former dark lord, or whatever it was they call her these days, but Ari is not without her moments. She had to learn how to fight somewhere, after all, and she has done a lot of things that aren't written in the history books.

She hides her amused smile behind her hand, and gives the two heroes a moment to themselves. It isn't hard to check on whatever is baking, after all, and Dahlia doesn't want to see her lover upset if something burns.

Besides, Dahlia thinks, Ari knows all too well the dangers of being associated with royals, and the price that comes with their status.

Of course, it doesn't really take that long to check the bread, and know that it still has plenty of time to go, but Dahlia gives them their privacy. She catches whispers, snippets of conversations, but doesn't pay them any mind.

Ari is more than capable of having this conversation on her own, and Dahlia will leave them be until Ari suggests otherwise.

It happens sooner than she expects. Her lover tape her shoulder, lightly at first, and then firmer, when Dahlia doesn't immediately respond. Dahlia just hums, gently closing the oven before she straightens, opting to lean against the counter again.

"Dahlia, my love," Ari begins, her expression somewhere between fond and pleading. "How do you feel about committing a little regicide? Might make for a lovely vacation, hm?"

Between the look in Ari's eyes, and the hope written all across Fox's face, there is very little doubt about what her answer will be. Between a former hero and dark lord, and their new little Fox, Dahlia is certain that the king won't survive another two weeks.

Dahlia smiles.

After all, things had just gotten a lot more interesting on this little farm of theirs.

The hero and the dark lord have both disappeared after their battle, making everyone think they both perished. In reality, they are living on a farm, living the life of their dreams.

[moonstrider9904]

après la bataille

Steb x fem!Reader (Enforcer)

Summary: the battle for Piltover has past, and you help Steb find some much needed peace of mind.

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: Mature and SFW, (french) kissing and making out, brief implications of smut. Spoilers for the ending Arcane season 2. Enforcer!Reader, mentions of death and loss, hints of PTSD, processing difficult emotions, hurt/comfort, established relationship.

Prequel one-shot coming soon! | My Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warm lights gleamed in the distance, and if one didn’t pay much attention, you would almost swear nothing had happened in Piltover for days. In the peaceful, quiet night, while the City of Progress’ lights twinkled and contrasted with the night sky, it was easy to forget the smoke and the unnatural violence, the blood that had been spilled, the war that, in what had felt like a blink of an eye, shook Piltover and Zaun only to leave things unnervingly quiet—those who had been in the head of it had a hard time believing, at times, that things were truly at peace now.

Steb watched the city with a heavy heart. Though victory had reigned, and Piltover and Zaun weren’t at odds with each other or the Noxian empire, it was inevitable to ponder on the cost. He had witnessed it first hand, from the moments he fought for his survival to having faced his own death in less time it would take him to exhale, mercifully saved by former councilor Medarda; he’d seen the price of the chain of events Hextech had brought forth in the form of light escaping the eyes of each of his fallen comrades.

Some of them had been his friends.

It had happened fast. The partner with whom Steb had gone from rescuing a stranded cat atop a tall tree to dismantling Shimmer, had died before his eyes at the hands of her own bullet—and the magic of the same mage who saved his life. He’d barely had time to process her betrayal and to question how the hell he hadn’t seen it coming before Maddie lay lifeless on the ground where she’d stood, about to take another life. If Steb mourned, he’d be mourning a traitor, but if he didn’t mourn, he wouldn’t be mourning his friend. A part deep within him hated such a dichotomy.

And then there was Loris. Not many words had been shared between the two—there was never any need for them. But Steb vividly remembered the attack on the memorial as the first real battle he’d been in, and Loris was the reason he’d come out of it alive. The vagabond he’d found lying hungover and nearly unconscious on the Piltovan sidewalk had mustered superhuman strength to shield him from a fatal blow, and now, Steb would never have a chance to return the favor. Just as he and the other survivors were emerging after the battle, it was the pianist turned soldier who went up to him and delivered Loris’ badge, and Steb knew it could only mean one thing. The feeling of his heart plummeting within him would be one he’d remember all his life. The loss of Loris, of Maddie, of the Zaunites he’d met at the bridge willing to take a stand.

The only thing that could console him after that was knowing you’d made it out alright. If he had another regret, it would be not being with you every second of it, but it would comfort him forever to know you were safe with him and you’d done your part in returning Piltover and Zaun to peace.

And as if his thoughts had invoked you, he soon heard your steps approaching. He remained facing the city as you entered the balcony, but his ears twitched in the direction of your footsteps, and a hint of a smile formed when he felt your arms wrap around him from behind, and your cheek resting up against the side of his arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Your sweet voice traveled to his ears and soothed every fiber within him. For once, Steb was able to relax, exhaling the tension from within his body, and his hand went to cover yours as it rested over his heart.

“They don’t matter,” he muttered.

You smiled softly, stifling a chuckle while you snuggled into his back before making your way towards his side, finally able to look up at him. “They do to me, love.”

Steb dismissed his laments and shifted to face you. He gazed down on you, thinking to himself how rare it had become to see you dressed in something other than your uniform, and for a moment he couldn’t fathom how beautiful you looked in your deep blue gown. It had discreet silver details and the right crop to compliment your silhouette in the best ways possible, and for a moment he was whole again, finding a brief respite from the memories that had tormented him those past few days.

“You look gorgeous,” Steb said softly with his deep, rich voice which you loved.

You smiled up at him, eyes sparkling, as you took his hands in yours. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.” Your eyes scanned the attire he was wearing—his suit resembled his uniform, but it was darker and far more elegant, and if you didn’t know better, you’d sooner mistake him for royalty than assume he was being promoted. You knew he was supposed to be wearing his black hat, but for the time being, he’d cast it aside, a fact you adored—you loved seeing as much of his features as you could, always finding it a whole new, beautiful experience to simply be able to look at Steb and gaze upon his every detail. You gave his hands a gentle squeeze and paced closer to him, taking one of your hands to rest on the crook of his neck and letting your thumb caress his skin gently.

“You’re going to make a fine commander,” you smiled gently at him.

Grateful as he was for your words, you noticed Steb carried the weight of the world in his eyes. He stifled a chuckle and, knowing he could be at ease with you, he briefly looked out at the peaceful Piltover, melancholy.

“Would it be too self-loathing to say I don’t think I deserve it?” He questioned.

“Yes,” you replied without a doubt. “It would also be a flat lie.”

Steb gave a quick exhale and some of the tension left his body, but the thoughts continued to weigh on him. “I could have done more.”

“You’ve done so much already,” you said gently, pausing as your gaze faltered before meeting his eyes again. “I know how you feel… I lost people too. And… not being with you during it was hell.”

“I know,” Steb said quietly.

You exhaled, and your voice fell to a whisper. “I really thought I was gonna lose you.”

He held the hand that rested on his neck and lifted it so that you could see him holding your hand from the corner of your eye.

“You couldn’t,” he said.

The dread left you entirely, and you managed to smile brightly at Steb, finding once again the will to achieve your sole objective of lifting his mood.

“And once you’re commander,” you continued, “you are not getting rid of me.”

Steb laughed smoothly. “Is that a promise?”

You nodded with a cheeky glint in your eye. “Darling, you can consider that a threat.”

His laughter came again, and you wrapped your arms around his upper back while he wrapped his around your waist. You stepped even closer to him, sealing the space between your bodies, and you were well aware of the way your chest pressed itself to his torso. Your eyes adopted an enticing gleam, and your lips curved into the smile Steb was never able to resist, and your voice was smooth when you talked to him, inviting him deeper into finding bliss with you.

“Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?” You asked him with a smirk.

You didn’t have to do more for Steb to understand, and he decided to play a little further with you.

“Hm,” he hummed. “I’m not sure.”

“Really?” You pressed yourself even more to him and perked up on your toes, letting your lips draw close up to his. “Nothing comes to mind? Not even, perhaps, something we could very easily do in the less than an hour we have before the ceremony? Gee, what ever could we do in that amount of time?”

Steb laughed fully and, with a firm grip, he picked you up and spun you around, now holding you as though he were to dance with you.

“You make it tempting,” Steb purred. “But I’d never dream of rushing things with you. Besides, I’m not going to risk ruining that pretty dress before the ceremony.”

“That,” you replied with a giggle, “was actually the correct answer.”

You both fell in silence, and you didn’t make an effort to fight the urge to brush your hand up to his cheek and let your thumb trace over the delicate frills around his eye. Steb leaned into the warmth of your palm—you knew he loved the tender contact of your skin on his frills—and without another moment’s hesitation, you took his lips in yours.

You could feel his body relax as his arms wrapped deeper around the curve of your back, as if he could pull you any closer, and though your eyes were closed as you kissed him, you knew by now his ears had slowly tilted downward and the frills around his eyes moved in slow, uniform waves, a testament to the peace and the joy brought upon him by your lips. The tenderness of the kiss gradually morphed into desire as you felt Steb pushing himself forward to you, adding strength to the movement of his lips and slowly slipping his tongue inside of you; the delicate friction of his tongue on yours filled your body with the sweetest sparks you’d ever be exposed you, and it prompted you to cling around his shoulders standing on your toes—a little more, and your feet would be off the ground.

You didn’t resist the urge to moan into his lips, and the airy quality of your voice made Steb smirk into the kiss. You wanted more of him, and just as you were cursing the fact that you both had to be at a ceremony in less than an hour, and that it would keep you from being entwined in bedsheets with him instead, you let your desires take over and you made your way kissing down Steb’s neck. You delighted in the moan that escaped him, delicious in his rich and deep voice, and as you kissed his neck, you let your lips linger in the same spot for just enough before moving to the next, crawling dangerously close to the collar of his shirt. You decided no harm would come in humoring your fantasies just one step further, and your fingers delicately undid that first button pushing the fabric to the sides, exposing but a fraction of his chest where your fingertips danced and caressed, hinting at the mischief and delicacy that could have been were it not for the honors he was about to receive.

“Darling…” Steb’s breath hitched and a smirk formed on his lips.

For a moment, he too wished you didn’t have other places to be, but if he had to settle for the moment, he’d make it worth it by grasping firmly at the backs of your thighs and lifting you up for you to wrap your legs around his waist as much as the skirt of your gown would allow. You gave a pleased giggle in response, now able to wrap your arms around him further, and you kissed his lips once more, brushing your tongue against his freely and with glee. One of your hands tugged softly at his hair, trying your best not to mess it up for him, and the other went to the back of his neck where your fingers rested on the crooks of the fins that went down his spine. You lost yourself in that kiss, hoping it would last forever, enjoying every second until Steb set you down on the ground again and sealed the moment with one last, tender kiss on your lips before rising up again.

You were dazed after such a session, and you were pleased to see that so was he. Steb grounded himself with a deep exhale, redoing the button of his shirt almost reluctantly, but you also noticed he had a little smile on his lips that hinted at satisfaction and even pride. You chuckled, glad that you could bring such emotions upon him. He then gazed at you, still smiling, and you grinned in anticipation of what the look on his face meant—he’d have his way with you after the ceremony.

But for the time being, you walked up to him one more time and hugged him gently, resting your head against his chest, able to hear the beating of his heart. You settled into the peace that came with the embrace, hoping dearly he felt better than before you’d arrived onto that balcony. You listened for any other sounds, but there was quiet all around you.

Yes, Piltover was at peace now, and when you felt Steb wrapping his arms around you once more, you knew things would be alright. Still in the embrace, you shifted to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest, able to gaze into his ocean eyes as he looked down at you. Tenderly, you smiled, and Steb smiled back as if he could read your thoughts, but he didn’t need to. The gleam in your eyes and softness of your smile told him everything, that you would stand with him through the honors he’d receive, and through everything else that followed.

Silently, you made that promise to him.

If you like this, please reblog too! Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @thegreatandlvable let me know if you want to be tagged in future Steb fics!

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter V : The Epiphany.

Summary: Aemond's been taking care of you since you fainted, at last you finally wake up.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v sex, canon typical incest, nothing too crazy, mentions of purity culture and customs, hymen breaking (reader's transmigrated body, this isn't specified for the body outside of the world), blood mentions, Aemond becomes a softie ig (cherish him y'all), + not proofread, please let me know if I forget anything else!

A/N: it's back!!! divider credits @cafekitsune

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

You blink open your eyes staring at the openview outside of the window, the sky beginning to darken.

It seems you've passed out once again. It's probably been a few hours. This body is extremely weak, you needed to do something about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the door open so you jump slightly when it slammed shut. Looking up, you see Aemond whose eye widened as he rushed over to you, dropping a rag of cloth and the bucket in his hand, causing the water in it to pour out. “How are you feeling?” He questions, grabbing your hand, checking your temperature and pulse.

“I am alright, how long have I been asleep?” You ask him.

“A week.”

That reply made your heart stop.

A week?

That long?

“Are you serious?” You ask and he nods, “Yes, we were all concerned and I thought—” He cups your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I thought you went into a long slumber again, but I thank the heavens you did not.”

Perhaps the last encounter with Aemond really pushed the limits.

“Did.. anything happen while I was asleep?” You ask once again, wanting to know what happened during your absence of consciousness. Aemond sighs. “Your mother and siblings have all returned to Dragonstone as there was an urgent matter at hand, they were unable to take you with them.”

“I see.” You furrow your brows, wondering why Viserys hasn't died yet. It has been a week, was his death gonna occur at any moment now? There was a deep feeling in your gut that something would happen soon.

Aemond sits on the bed, before pulling you into his embrace. “I apologise.” He mutters into your ear. “What for?” You ask confused, hugging him back. “It was because of me that you had fainted.” You could feel his breath hitting against the back of your neck as he spoke.

You pull away from the embrace, giving him a smile. “I am just weak.” You reply, in an attempt to tell him that it was not his fault. He smiles at you. Your eyes fall to the bucket on the ground before you look at him. “Have you been taking care of me?” You question and he nods, which makes you feel embarrassed.

“Why bother? The maids could've done it.” You shrug but he shakes his head. “I do not want anyone I do not trust near you when you are vulnerable.” He replies.

You just simply nod at his reply, feeling the silence fall between you two. The air turns cold causing shivers to travel up your spine. Aemond continues to stare at you, taking in your features.

Since your apology, it seems the environment and the atmosphere around you and Aemond has changed, you could feel it. The way his face blanketed on a worried expression, the longing in his eyes, you could see it. Something has definitely changed in him. And you did not know if it was for the better or worse.

He leans closer and you look into his eye, your heart accelerating as you anticipate him to lean. He does exactly that, he leans in, capturing your lips with his moving them in a slow manner, contrary to the first time you both shared a kiss.

Aemond seemed to have significantly warmed up to you now, it was one thing that you had fixed after coming into this world.

His hand travels to the back of your head as he pushes you further into the kiss, wanting to get closer to you; to seek your warmth. You couldn't help but melt into his hold, reciprocating the kiss as your hand reaches up to rest on the bend of his elbow.

He pulls away, panting heavily as he takes you in, the sight of his saliva glistening on your lips, the light of the candles around you bouncing off of the shine. He couldn't help but crave you more.

But he knew, he had to stop himself before he lost control, he shouldn't be taking your maidenhead without getting married, cause it is a part of your dignity. He respected you enough to consider this fact.

Yet, you were so irresistible, he felt like a feral animal, trying to lock his own desires in a cage. You do not know the effect you have on him. You couldn't help but notice that the environment had indeed turned a little tense and you knew exactly what he was thinking, his eye failing to hide his desire and craving for you.

And so, you took the initiative, not liking the way he was restraining himself from you. Had this been the Aemond from a week ago, he would've taken your maidenhood without mercy as a way to teach you a lesson, because he was a cruel man. But now that man is no more, replaced or rather, reformed into his younger self who loved you a lot.

You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him. His hair was sprawled out behind him like a halo, making him look like an angel that has descended from the heavens above.

He was taken aback by your bold move. His hands grabbed onto your hips for leverage as he felt you straddle him, your thighs on both sides of his legs as you sat on top of his crotch.

He felt embarrassed, feeling you shift on top of his crotch, his breeches meekly trying to conceal his hardening shaft like a lone leaf holding onto its branch against the strong wind.

It was futile, because you feel the outline of his cock quite clearly.

Your hands moved on their own accord, your body taking the lead like it always did. Perhaps the owner of this body is still inside somewhere, yet you could feel no one else's consciousness in your brain except yours. Maybe you are the—

The sound of clothes ripping cut you off from your thoughts and you realised that Aemond has ripped your nightgown by pulling it off your shoulder before he grabbed it with both his hands and tore it down the middle, exposing your breasts.

He grabbed onto them, his movements becoming bolder each second, as if he's slowly releasing the beast yet still trying to keep it tamed. His thumbs caressed your nipples, pressing against the hard nubs before he sat up, taking one of your breasts into his mouth.

He breathed out in satisfaction, suckling onto your areolas, his tongue swirling around the nub and flicking against it continuously before he'd suck on it, repeating this in a loop.

You felt yourself getting wet down there, so you rub yourself against him, trying to ease the ache in between your legs, but he holds you down, grunting before he lets go of your breasts with a pop.

He shakes his head lightly, “Are you sure about this?” He asks, and you nod desperately, your mind filled with the thoughts of just wanting his cock inside you, pushing out any rationality left in you.

“Please— Aemond.. I want you..” Those words leave your mouth voluntarily as you grab his shoulders tightly, indicating that you really mean it. You cup his cheek before catching his lips in a searing hot kiss.

Those words that left your mouth set the forest inside his heart ablaze, the fire of desire engulfing him in its warmth. The feral beast broke free and took control immediately.

He flipped you over, pushing you onto the bed, getting on top of you. He begins kissing your neck, sucking your sweet spot, leaving his marks, his teeth biting on your flesh as a way to claim you as his own.

He pulls away, panting heavily, immediately scrambling to undo his breeches, freeing his cock from the confines of the material. He pulled off his leather suit as well, the tunic following along with his tunic, hating the way the sweat was sticking to him.

You wouldn't help but admire the view in front of you. You spread your legs before he could say anything, hiking up your nightgown to reveal your cunt. Aemond's eye widened in surprise at your bold move, driving him crazy even more.

Aemond grabbed you by your thighs, pulling you forward as he lined himself against your entrance as he slowly pushed in. You winced when you felt a sudden heat of pain down there. His length penetrates you slowly.

He wanted to pull out the minute he saw blood, yet the darker side of him only felt motivated, knowing that he's taking your maidenhead. It drove him further off the edge.

You on the other hand only felt slight discomfort but your eyes widened when you saw blood.

Ah right, the hymen of women in this era is still intact as they're not that active for it to break off due to physical movement. So even the slightest penetration would lead you to bleed.

Basic biology, you shrugged it off, if only they knew. You felt annoyed, not agreeing with the custom this era practices.

Aemond settled fully inside you, his cock throbbing inside, the way your walls felt warm around him. Without a warning he began moving, which cut you off your thoughts when you felt yourself being jolted up and down, his thrusts starting off rough from the beginning.

‘That's right, focus on him for now.’ You tell yourself internally, gripping onto his shoulders, staring into his eye. Your hand reached upwards towards his eyepatch and he flinched away a little before he realised what you were doing.

You took the eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire that rested in his eye. You sat on your elbows, cupping his cheek as he leans in. You kiss him on the eye before kissing his cheek and finally kissing him on the lips.

He pushes you back onto the bed, not breaking the kiss and neither stopping his thrusts as he supports himself on his elbows kissing you with thirst desperately wanting to be quenched while simultaneously ramming into you.

You gasped when you felt him hit your sweet spot, making way for his tongue to slip past your lips, his tongue challenging yours in a battle of dominance.

You were losing it, of course, because his tip kept ramming and grazing against your gspot, pushing you to the edge. You gripped his back in desperation, your fingers leaving bites on his flesh.

And then, you felt it, the sudden shot of immense pleasure up your spine to the point it made you push your head back into the mattress as you gasped loudly into the kiss, whining directly into it. The pleasure blinded you temporarily as you convulsed around him.

He felt you clench and grip him tightly, which pushed him off the edge as well, he grunted, finishing inside you with a soft call of your name, it felt erotic, it felt comforting all at once.

Aemond wouldn't stop with just this one time, after all, he finally got the taste of what he craved the most. He continued all night, taking you all positions known to mankind, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him.

The night was wonderful, it was only when the sky began to turn into a lighter shade than darkness that he'd stop, collapsing next you and allowing you to rest in his arms.

You fell asleep soundly in his embrace. It was peaceful.

But, the peace wouldn't last for long.

The knocks on your chamber door were hurried and loud. Aemond grunted in his sleep, annoyed at the disturbance before waking up, you had woken up as well. He wrapped a cloth around his lower body before he went and opened the door, to find a panicked Alicent.

“Y/N— Aemond?” She's surprised to see Aemond, so many questions arise in her mind as she's processing the sight before her. She wanted to reprimand, but she could not because a lot was on her mind already.

“What is it, mother?” Aemond asks cooly, not bothered by her reaction. You hold the blanket to your chest, leaning sideways to try and catch a glimpse of Alicent, yet you only catch a sight of her dress and her dishevelled hair.

“Aemond your father— is dead.”

The words that left her mouth made your blood run cold. Aemond seemed just as shocked, remaining silent as he processed the information before he blinked. “And Aegon, he's gone.” She finishes.

Aemond immediately returns back into the room, putting on his breeches with haste before throwing on the tunic and rushing out of the room. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Viserys is dead.

Aegon is gone.

Fuck.

TAGLIST !!

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[myownwholewildworld]

iv. two inches - acta, non verba

chapter 3 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: will the stars finally align so you can have who you want? a/n: hiii! sorry it's taken me a month to update 🥲 after watching gladiator ii, i knew i had to come back to these two asap. as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings (spoilers): 18+, mdni. smut incoming. sexual tension galore. marcus jerks off to the thought of you. kissing. breast worship. mentions of past sexual trauma/marital abuse. the tip goes in. misogynistic views. infidelity. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. w/c: ~8.4k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

Niamh’s appearance had startled you, bringing you back to reality. For a second you had let yourself rejoice in the moment, in having Marcus—quite literally—on the palm of your hand. You had not intended on it going so far; on grabbing his manhood with resolution and pumping him with delight. His hardening dick had been so hard to ignore, you just gave in to temptation.

His initial reticence to not be touched was what had spurred you on. Marcus had attempted to reject your advances, although unsuccessfully. Him turning you down only encouraged you more, wanting to prove to him how badly he desired you, even if he tried to conceal his lust.

The sooner he realised he wanted you, the faster your plan would move along.

And by the Gods did he realise, his steely cock living proof of his appetite for you.

What you had not expected though was your own body’s reaction to Marcus’ undeniable desire. Your pussy had been gushing all along, each stroke on his girth unravelling something within you — especially when you hinted at the idea of slotting his cock between your lips to suckle on him. That simple thought sent a warm wave down your spine, your folds wetting almost instantly. In fact, you could still feel the dampness your thighs were harbouring for him.

And it was all part of your scheme, anyway. Eventually you planned on it happening — sooner rather than later, preferably. If you experienced a few orgasms thanks to him in the process… well, even better. The trash sex Iain had subjugated you to for a decade was the only thing you had known in the bedchamber — not once did you climax, yet many a times—if not always—you wailed in pain. Considering how your flesh had reacted to Marcus, perhaps the General would be useful in more than one way to you.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced at him over your shoulder — a quick peek through your lashes, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

You were riding together on his horse, his arms tight around your shoulders pinning you in place. His bulge was pressing against the soft curve of your ass — no wonder your pussy was still laced with slick.

Knowing Marcus was in hell right now, you wiggled your hips back, the plumpness of your buttocks nuzzling his swollen groin. The General swallowed a groan, his arms tighter around your shoulders, and you smirked to yourself, feeling his erection hard pressed against you. Marcus had found no relief since Naimh interrupted you both and was still at full mast. And understanding that caused your insides to melt.

Truth be told, you would have liked to finish what you started. Not for his sake, but for your own. Making him come in your mouth would have partially put out the hellfire that burnt inside you, wreaking havoc in your seam.

The animosity between Marcus and Maximus shimmered in the atmosphere.

The Commander had only brought his own horse and yours had deserted you, which meant that, if you were to come back, you had to choose between the two Romans. Maximus had gracefully offered you to ride with him, and the mischievous sideways look he shot in Marcus’ direction didn’t escape you.

But before you could accept or decline, Marcus had mumbled something under his breath before ordering you to ride with him. Maximus was delighted with the whole exchange, and you understood that the Commander was actually teasing the General.

A little possessiveness wouldn’t hurt. It meant you were stirring Marcus in the right direction — yours.

You ventured another sneaky look at Acacius, your curiosity concealed by the cover provided by the trees.

His lips pursed in frustration, but his eyes distilled exhaustion. Marcus had lost enough blood to put a man to sleep for a week, but here he was, standing and conscious, away from Dhuosnos’ realm.

You had made sure of that, not only by mending his wounds, but also by killing one of the attackers. That ambush had left a crawling suspicion in the back of your mind, bothering and nagging. There was something weird about it all but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Maximus spoke, filling the silence and voicing your inkling.

“And you’re sure you didn’t recognise them, General?”

Marcus slowly shook his head again, his chest rubbing your back with the motion.

“No. They spoke that barb— uhm, the local language,” he muttered, briefly looking at you sideways, almost apologetic.

You knew how the original sentence was going to finish: that barbaric language. A reminder of who he was after all—your enemy. You shouldn’t lose sight of that, of the true purpose of your actions.

It felt wrong, how your lust awakened for none other than your enemy. Yes, you intended on bedding him, but your previous thought of getting Marcus to make you come now angered you. Your arousal felt like a betrayal to the memory of your family. You shouldn’t wet at the idea of fucking him — if anything, you should feel disgusted of your own reaction.

Straightening your back, you just rolled your eyes with disdain, letting him know of your annoyance.

“I’ll ask around, see what I can find out,” Maximus thought out loud, then glanced at you through the darkness. “Did you recognise any of them? Their accent?”

Slowly shaking your head, you grasped the saddle’s horn.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure they were from around here,” you explained, wondering if you were saying too much.

They hadn’t recognised you, which showed they were not your clansmen. But they were pretending to be.

You went quiet, your frown deepening.

“What’s bothering you, my lady?” Marcus’ breath caressed your ear, your skin bristling instantly.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

Too quickly.

“I’m sorry you had to defend yourself,” he whispered, his husky voice low so only you could hear him. “I should have paid more attention. I won’t let it happen again.”

Suddenly you realised he thought this was your first time killing someone. Little did he know, you probably had reaped as many souls as he had. You were no stranger to the battlefield — your father had taught all his children how to wield a sword, how to take a life. You learnt how to detach your soul from your body whenever someone’s life was cut short in order to preserve part of your humanity. It was the only way you could live with yourself, because it didn’t matter if they deserved it or not, it still gnawed at your conscience at night.

Marcus, on the contrary, seemed to be oblivious to how much pain his killing had caused. Had caused you.

Another reminder.

But then you realised what he had said. He wouldn’t let it happen again — a fissure in his impassiveness. Was he starting to care about you?

So you played on his protectiveness, on his words. Pouting lips, doe eyes and all, you nodded.

“I… I just wanted to protect you, Dominus. I was afraid he would hurt you,” you mumbled back, faking your fear for him.

The decade with Iain was paying off after all. To survive by your late husband’s side, you had to master the ability of make-believe, to pretend you were feeling ways you truly weren’t — afraid, amused, sad, happy, distraught, content. You had acquired the skills to feign a whole range of emotions, and this would be useful with the General.

He bought it.

“Don’t worry about me, Callie,” his voice was but a whisper, but that wasn’t what distracted you.

His broad—massive actually—right hand had landed on your right knee, squeezing it lightly, as if to soothe you; your suffering for having killed a man. His touch was light and brief, but long enough to leave goosebumps in his wake.

You were not sure which one of you were more taken aback — him because of his sudden show of worry, or you because of how that had made you feel.

“But I appreciate what you did back there,” he quickly added, clearing his throat, both of his hands gripping the leather reins.

“I would do it all over again, Dux Meus. For you.”

Perhaps you were buying it too.

Nay, can’t be.

The whole ride back to Inbhir Nis castle was literal torture. A tempting nymph on his lap, warm and inviting, was the last thing Marcus needed to worry about.

But instead of the last, you had become the first on a never-ending list of concerns. Curbing his desire for you had been a herculean task, one he did not accomplish. Because as soon as the door to his chambers closed behind him, he stripped himself of all his clothing.

The moment the jail of his armour was gone, freed from its heaviness and tight grip, Marcus sighed, just finding a miniscule relief.

The erection that you provoked him was as hard as a couple of hours ago, shaft throbbing against his happy trail. It had been at least two hours since you had worked him to this state of unsatisfied lewdness and now it was just damn uncomfortable to be at full mast.

A warm bath was awaiting him, and Marcus only took a second to dive in. The hot, milky water was welcoming, soothing his strained muscles. There were herbs floating around — rosemary, lavender and thyme, at least the ones his sense of smell recognised.

A scent that had hit him before, when he encountered you getting out of the garderobe a few weeks ago. Why did that aroma remind him of you? Why would you just not leave his mind? This thought of you lingering was dangerous, distracting. But so fucking alluring too — there was something about you, the mischievous aura you exuded, that reeled Marcus in.

It was intoxicating, really. No, you were intoxicating. And he just wanted to drown in it, in you.

Marcus grunted in frustration, one hand sinking under the water to find his heavy balls and massage them gently. His head tilted back, resting on the edge of the wooden bathtub, and his eyes squeezed shut when his imagination took him back to the moment you wielded his cock.

Now that the haze of his fainting had lifted, he should have shown himself some self-restraint to stop whatever this was. But he couldn’t, the memory of your tight grip too unravelling, too compelling.

So, in the privacy and safety of his bedchamber, he gave in to temptation. A last squeeze on his full testicles and then he was pumping his thudding dick to the thought of you doing exactly the same. His hand was your hand, and that was everything Marcus needed.

His thumb pressed on the slit, just as you had done. Then the bobbing of his hand picked up a faster rhythm, his free hand drifting down to hold his balls again, and Marcus jerked himself off while he envisaged you sealing your lips around his plump head, just as you had teased.

That was his undoing — you suckling on him, milking him dry with your mouth. Marcus could envision it perfectly: on your fours between his hairy, thick thighs, hand twisting on the base of his shaft while you sucked in his mushroom head, dick pulsing hard for you. And you glancing up at him with those green orbs — full, hypnotising eye contact, almost too intimate.

A few more strokes on his cock, imagination running wild, and he finally came. His breathing hitched and accelerated, becoming irregular, as his fist clutched harder around his girth. Spurts of white, tacky robes left his slit, his glans just peeking out of the water, and landed on his chest.

It took Marcus a couple of minutes to come down from his high. This was a new low for him, having to masturbate himself to the thought of someone because he was too horny to let it go. Too proud to ask you to finish what you had started. Too loyal to his cheating wife.

The last thought annoyed him, not wanting to think about Livia at this precise moment. He resented her, probably more than what he should. But her betrayal stung like fire licking on his skin, their holy matrimony reduced to a farce. For all he knew, he did not have any children of his own blood now. Marcus loved them equally though, but it still gnawed at him that he had been raising the children of another man unknowingly.

The life he had carefully built seemed to have crush down to its foundations. Marcus truly did not know what to expect upon his return. He had left abruptly, called by the Emperor and Agricola, with no time to discuss his family life with his wife. He didn’t think he could just go back to normal, not after what had emerged.

Being out here in the wild Caledonia, Marcus felt his life on hold, postponing the inevitable. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when he had so many tasks ahead of him.

Absentmindedly, Marcus cupped some water and washed the cum off his chest, watching it swirl around in the tub.

A knock, then the creak of the door as it opened.

His heart jumped and he quickly sat back up in the bathtub, water splashing as he did. He had forgotten to put on the latch.

He hoped to hell it was Atticus, at least.

“Dux Meus?”

Wrong, fucking wrong.

Had he thought of you so hard that he had willed your presence?

Your profile peeked through the crack in the doorframe.

“Can I come in, General?”

Your ask was a mere formality, because before he could say anything, you had already entered the room and closed the door behind you.

Marcus’ back straightened, his relaxed muscles tautening again in your presence. Could he have no moment of respite, when he would not be haunted by bewildering scents and suggestive lips?

For a brief second, Marcus watched you look around, taking in the details of the room. A big, four poster bed with translucent veils hanging from every side; the matching oak furniture; the vivid, colourful tapestries on the bare stone walls telling stories he never heard of; a wonky standing shelf with a small library, books he had flicked through at candlelight before bed; the rudimentary chimney where a fire burnt and crackled.

Because even in spring, the thick walls of the castle kept a cool atmosphere inside. The pyre warmed up the room, but Marcus thought the temperature shot up the moment you stepped closer to where he was.

“What are you doing here?” his question sounded almost accusatory, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles whitening.

His wary demeanour didn’t put you off, light feet closing the distance with a smirk.

As you approached, Marcus couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of you. Your green skirt flowed around you, hugging your voluptuous hourglass figure in all the right places. Your red hair framed your delicate features, freckles dotted around your nose and cheeks on your moonlight skin. Cherry lips as plump as figs, reddened and curled up. Some flickering green eyes as fiery as the orange sparks in the flue stared at him with unknown intent. A marble neck that led the path to the esplanade of your collarbone, and then, right underneath…

His mouth watered, and his cock inevitably pulsed again. Your full breasts almost spilt over the low squared neckline of your dress, like sunny hills welcoming him home. Pebbled nipples greeting him. A deep cleavage so inviting, he could imagine pumping himself in between them, his glans just peeking through and kissing the center of your clavicle.

Another twitch in his groin made him steel himself and drawing a deep breath in to calm himself.

You crouched down, squatting right beside the bathtub, and placed one soft hand over his.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Dux Meus. That your wounds were not bleeding, and the stitches were holding up,” the concern tinting your voice felt real to him.

Marcus cleared his throat, tense.

“They’re all fine. My healer certainly knew what she was going,” he conceded, then remembered. “Except for the blunt tip of the needle. That I did not appreciate.”

You laughed and patted his hand a few times in jest.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure an acclaimed General like yourself can withstand a little bit of pain, Dominus,” you joked, long eyelashes batting at him. “But for that I am sorry, I had to work with what Naimh had at hand.”

“Thank you. For saving my life twice,” he whispered, almost solemnly. “I am indebted to you, Callie.”

You waved a hand to dismiss his gratitude, gifting him a crooked smile that quickly reached your eyes.

“You killed two men. I think we are even, Dux Meus,” you muttered back, a low, wicked husk that knocked him off his senses momentarily.

With the smile still painted on your round lips, your eyes slowly drifted down his chest. The milky water was murky enough so you wouldn’t see through it, wouldn’t see how hard he was getting again.

And then you bit and licked your lips, the grin almost fading as a darker, sensual expression transformed your face — a mesmerising gesture that forced Marcus to follow your sight. Then he saw what had caught your attention: his cum floating around, gathering around the herbs that scented the now lukewarm water.

A moment of silence stretched between you, his heart racing up as your gaze lingered on the water, as if you were hoping for his erection to peep its head out above it.

Your fingers reached down into the water; palm cupped to trap some of his wasted seed. It filtered through your fingers until it all fell back into the bath water. Swirling your fingers around, you grabbed a tiny bunch of rosemary, dragging it across the water until the small leaves caressed the exposed skin of his chest.

The summit of your tongue licking your bottom lip as your eyes locked intimately.

So fucking suggestive, Marcus’ breath hitched, close to losing his mind.

“Marcus,” you cooed, your wet fingers dropping the rosemary and lifting up.

Your hand slid to his, wrapping around his wrist, a warm touch that spiked his heart rate.

A thunder crawled under his skin the moment you guided his hand over to your bosom. You squeezed his hand, smoothing it over your lush left breast. He couldn’t help but cradle it, feeling the taut nipple grazing the thin fabric, rubbing his palm.

“Please,” you almost sobbed, moving his hand in circles over your boob.

To hell with everything. He shouldn’t let himself be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh during such an important campaign, but Marcus wanted you so badly — his new erection living proof of the desire that burnt for you.

Just one time, to satiate the caprice, and then he could go back to his duties.

Your mouth was agape, beckoning like a siren. And as he was about to relinquish to the temptation you offered, leaning forward, another knock on the door swept the moment away.

“Dominus, Commander Maximus necessitates your presence immediately,” Atticus forewarned him before his steps faded in the distance of the hallway.

Perhaps you despised Atticus more than you hated Marcus, and that was a feat to beat.

The universe was intent on your plan not taking form at all, otherwise you could not explain all these fucking interruptions. Another person might have taken the hint, but not you. Stubborn as a mule, you would not stop at anything — Marcus would fall in your tangled web, whatever the cost.

You only needed to remember to keep a cool head. Among the hatred, pleasure shimmered, and it certainly bothered you. How your body had a mind of its own and responded to his obvious desire, damp fold hidden away between your thighs.

It’s just an act, you reminded yourself.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, your drenched pussy agreed to disagree.

Huffing and puffing, you went down the spiral staircase and sauntered towards the kitchens. You were in dire need of some light-hearted jest, and the old cook would help take your mind off things with his banter.

Cormag wasn’t there, just Isla and Brighid shuffling around the hearth, keeping it alive. The smoky smell filled the room, almost suffocating, and you coughed.

“That chimney is close to getting clogged,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Should put the fire out and get one of the helping lads to go in there and clean it out.”

Isla turned around, her head bowing down as a quick curtsy. They all really needed to stop doing that, even when no Romans were around.

“We can’t do that yet, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, she replied, her hands busy kneading the flour on the counter. “Apparently there is a feast to be had tomorrow, one of the Romans’ birthdays. We’ve been asked to start the preparations for it, so will have to pull an all-nighter…”

Brighid voiced her discontent, crouched down by the fire, feeding it some logs.

“I don’t understand why we are wasting so much food on them. My family’s starving, we barely have any bread left, and these cu…” she quickly looked at you, embarrassed, but you nodded, encouraging, “these cunts eat like gluttons. Last night you were not here, my lady, but some of them even started throwing the food around at one another. Disgraceful.”

“Aye,” Isla agreed. “I had to pick up some unspoilt veggies off the floor. My nan has not had anything to eat for the last two days, she was worried that my siblings and I wouldn’t have enough to eat.”

Their struggles broke your heart. Not only because they were your clan, but because of the injustice of it all. No person should go to bed hungry, and these undesirable guests were forcing people to go without a meal.

You knew both of the maids, their families. Brighid’s son was three and had started to talk; her husband had returned with you from Raedykes and now was an amputee, trying to find a job to provide for his family. Isla’s parents had perished during the battle of Mons Graupius too, serving your father till their final days.

It was frustrating, but it was even more infuriating. Your hands were tied, and you could not wait to break free of your tethers. You looked forward to the moment this all would be over, that you could face a defeated Marcus Acacius and impart upon him the same misfortune he and his people left in their wake.

You stayed with them a little longer, helping out where they needed you to. A couple of hours later, tired and in need of your niece and nephew’s hug, you were flying by the hallways of the keep, heading back to your aunt Bonnie’s crannog, when male voices stopped you in your tracks.

The door to the great hall was ajar, Maximus’ raspy tone filtering through.

“Cassius’ henchman and some of his men went back to the spot where you were attacked. There were patches of blood on the grass, but the bodies were gone,” the Commander husked. “I find it weird, honestly.”

“So do I,” Marcus agreed. “I didn’t want to say it before, but one of them spoke in Latin to me. His accent was… definitely Roman.”

“That makes no sense,” Maximus replied, their voices clearer now. “What did he say to you?”

“Just ‘Die, bastard’. That was all, but I could tell he was fluent.”

“Leave it to me, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Heavy steps approached, and you knew they were close.

Picking up your skirt, you ran down the corridor, mixing with the shadows until darkness wrapped around you.

“What were you fucking thinking, Callie? You could’ve gotten killed!”

Torcall was not impressed with your outing, to say the least.

You rolled your eyes at him, arms folded. You shouldn’t have explained why you had been missing for so many hours, but you were not one to lie to your allies. Especially if they were family.

“I didn’t have a choice, Torcall. He saw me leaving and decided to accompany me. What should I have done? Tell him his gallantry was no longer needed because I decided not to go? That would have been so suspicious,” you reasoned, your own anger flaring. “And I was in no real danger, anyway. They were Caledonians.”

You downplayed that on purpose. They were Caledonians, aye, but they were really intent on killing you. You were still ruminating on that detail.

“And you killed one of them. For him. To protect the fucking General of Rome,” Torcall barked, teeth clenching. “Why didn’t you let them finish him? All of our problems would be over.”

His accusation, although deserved, enraged you. Even more so because you had thought exactly the same thing, and still decided to defend him.

“You’re so short-sighted, seriously. If I did, his entire army would have come hunt me down, ye eejit (idiot)!” You stood up, the legs of the chair screeching against the cobblestone. “Half of the castle saw us leaving together, I would’ve been the first one they suspected. And you know they tend to kill first and ask questions later.”

Torcall scoffed, fury distorting his features. But then a change of demeanour: he got up too and closed the distance between you two. For a moment he doubted, and then his arms wrapped around you, hugging you close to his chest.

The sudden proximity made you feel weird. Uncomfortable.

“I was just worried for you, Callie,” Torcall mumbled, his breath fanning over your ear. He leaned back, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “You’re like family to me. To my children.”

The intensity his eyes distilled caught you off guard. They were soft and pleading now, all his anger forgotten. And then they drifted down, landing on your mouth.

The whole atmosphere shifted, your heart beating wildly. Surely this all felt wrong to the both of you.

“You are family, Torcall,” you remarked. “You’re my sister’s husband, that’s actual family, not ‘like’ family.”

Your words carried meaning, and more than meaning — a subtle warning. A reminder too, of who he was and who you were to him. He shouldn’t forget himself. Torcall was your brother-in-law, and although pain had brought you closer these past weeks, it meant nothing more than that.

At least to you.

Torcall cleared his throat, his arms falling slack to his sides.

“Aye, I guess we are,” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his perfectly straight nose, and sat back down on the chair. “So, were they our brethren? You said they were Caledonians.”

You were relieved at the change of subject, the tension between you fading.

Nodding, you sat too.

“Aye, although their accent was not really from around here. But Acacius seemed to think they were Romans,” you added, your fingers drumming on the wooden table between you. “Think he’s wrong though, you can’t fake an accent like ours so easily. Do you reckon it’s got something to do with the attempt on the General’s life a few days ago?”

Torcall seemed to take a moment, contemplating his answer before he spoke. His eyes flickered for a second, his pupils a well full of doubts, something you thought odd.

“I don’t think so. They were just lads, highly doubt they could pull something like that off,” he commented, almost cautiously.

You frowned, eyes slightly squinting.

“They could be part of a larger group. You said so yourself, people don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened. Perhaps some of them have decided to take justice into their own hands. I never got a chance to speak to my cousins yesterday—”

“I did,” Torcall cut you off.

The wrinkles between your brows deepened.

“You did? You went to Bun Craobh?”

“Aye, had some errands to run,” he didn’t add any further explanation to that. “Ran into them and told them about your plan when I realised you hadn’t spoken to them yet.”

“That wasn’t for you to do, Torcall,” you replied, mildly infuriated at him for taking the liberty to do so. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Nothing in too much detail, mainly because they’d try to talk you out of it the same way I did,” there was a note of reproach in his voice, one you decidedly ignored. “Just that you were planning on spying on the General to get details of their next steps.”

How you got to Marcus was none of his fucking business. Now you questioned whether you should have shared that information with Torcall or not, if he was going to fucking judge you at every step of the way. What you did and how you got what you wanted was entirely up to you. You hadn’t broken free from Iain to fall under the controlling hands of another man.

“Tiugainn (come on), Callie. I just told them enough so the word would spread that Murdoch’s only living daughter is planning on fighting back. Give the people a reason to hope,” he pleaded, sensing your anger.

“Aye, but next time, ask me. I don’t appreciate you bypassing me in these matters, not when I’ve got enough enemies at my doorstep.”

Marcus did not like all this unwanted attention. He was adamant this had been one of Maximus’ jokes, just to get on his nerves.

The General did not like celebrating his birthday. In fact, hated it. His wife would throw lavish parties back at home, wasting gold on unnecessary decorations and gifts — Livia would use any excuse to show off how full their vault was. Having made himself from nothing, Marcus understood how hard he had to work for each and every denarius to his name.

His most trusted Commander knew this and ignored it completely. He had mobilised the people of the castle to prepare a feast, food filling tables and wine spilling out of goblets in celebration. A fire had been lit in the big chimney presiding the great hall, white flower arrangements hung from the stone walls. There was even music being played in the background, the soft sounds of the lyre accompanied by a female voice who sang in Latin and praised all his conquests.

And what angered him most: there was a good handful of meretrices (prostitutes) lingering around. Most of them were local freedwomen, but others were slaves that Agricola’s men had brought with them. Marcus had not allowed his own army to bring any woman into this new land, needing them focused on the task ahead. Agricola was, on the other hand, very lenient in that respect — encouraging almost.

“How are you this beautiful afternoon, Dominus?” A sensual hum whispered in his ear tightened his muscles uncomfortably.

Looking over his shoulder, Marcus saw the blonde woman who had been eyeing him for a while. She was wearing a white toga, obviously one of the Roman slaves brought from overseas.

Unrequited, she sat on his lap, her round butt cheeks kneading his soft bulge, while one of her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Would you like a taste?” she asked with a bright smile, bringing a cup to his lips.

Marcus shook his head no, one hand stopping the chalice from getting closer.

“No, thank you. And I rather be left alone,” he told the prostitute, rejecting her advances flatly.

She just laughed, putting the goblet back down on the table. Then she leaned forward, her lips brushing the artery on his neck.

“Oh, we don’t really need to play this game, Master,” she whispered in his ear.

Unbothered by the suggestive talk and her pressing onto his lap, Marcus swept the great hall, a burning sensation in his chest commending him to.

Your eyes locked through the observing crowd. The green orbs that stared him down were filled with playfulness. Suddenly, that sensual wickedness transformed into brief anger, then disappointment.

It took Marcus a second to understand why you seemed upset. He had forgotten about the prostitute sitting on his lap, talking his ear off.

You stiffed, chin lifted up with disdain, and turned around with a wooden jug on your hands.

Fuck. Wait, no. It’s not what it seems, he wanted to say.

Marcus tried to get up, almost throwing the woman to the ground in his haste to get to you.

“I won’t require your services,” he politely declined when she looked at him in surprise.

“Oh…” her disappointment was visible, but it wasn’t the one he cared to soothe.

“Don’t worry, love, come here. The General seems in a hurry to leave. Some important matters, I wager,” Maximus extended his arm towards the blonde woman, inviting her onto his lap.

The sneering look Marcus threw Maximus’ way did not go unnoticed, his Commander laughing it off.

Ignoring him, he quickly walked off the dais, following your trail among the crowd. Your fiery red hair was like a beacon, one he followed to the main doors. A second later he was in the hallway and looked around, just in time to see you disappearing into the garderobe storing the wine.

Why he was following you, he was not sure. Why he needed to put your mind at ease, he was not sure either. All he knew was that the crushed expression you had given him stirred something within him.

In a few strides, he was right behind you, his hand holding open the wooden door to the garderobe.

“Callie,” he called you, your name rolling easily off his tongue, like a trained whisper.

Annoyed didn’t cut it, disappointed didn’t either. You were pissed. There you were, breaking your back to get Marcus to yield to you, for a prostitute to easily find comfort on his lap.

The man behind the façade was unknown to you, but you hadn’t taken him for someone who enjoyed his free time in the whorehouse. Judging by how his hand cupped the small of her back and how the blonde was basically licking his neck, you were mistaken.

You were not jealous though. Just pissed, that was it.

Mumbling to yourself, you had walked out of the great hall to refill the empty jug with his favourite wine, not wanting to see such a spectacle unfolding in front of you. The burning sensation in the pit of your stomach would eventually fade, you were sure.

Although the door behind you was open, the inside of the garderobe was pitch-black. Patting blindly in the dark, you found the open barrel.

As you were about to turn the iron tap on, the sound of your name made you jump on the spot. Your pulse accelerated and the jug fell from your hands, clattering on the stone floor. You didn’t need to look to know who it was — considering how your skin bristled and warmth pooled low in your tummy, you already knew.

“Fuck, Marcus!” you exclaimed when you turned around to look at him.

Your heart rate spiked again, for a very different reason this time.

He had followed you; he had left the prostitute behind to come look for you. That had to mean something. Perhaps you had a tighter grip on him than what you originally thought.

And that pleased you immensely, to your dismay. The butterflies in your belly should be fucking dead, not fluttering their wings in excitement. Your heart kept on pounding against your ribcage, even harder when Marcus entered the tiny room and swung the door behind him, leaving it ajar.

A sliver of light flooded in through the crack, just enough so you could make out his features and the hard lines of his body.

Suddenly, the garderobe felt extremely small with him inside too.

“It’s not what it seems. I wasn’t—”

“You owe me no explanation, Acacius. What you do or you don’t do, it’s not my business,” you cut him off with the right amount of bitter venom distilling from your tongue.

The General pursed his lips in frustration. A dose of his own medicine wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind,” you added, lying through your teeth.

But you were such a good liar, Marcus was none the wiser. He believed every word. His nostrils flared and his hands tightened into fists on his sides.

“What do you mean?” his raspy voice came out in a threat.

You cocked a brow, proud chin up.

“You know what I mean. Or do you need me to draw it down for you, so you understand?”

The provocation was, most probably, the last straw for him. Marcus almost snarled at you as he closed the distance. He grabbed both of your wrists with his thick fingers, yanked at them and pushed you into his chest.

The sudden display of anger took you by surprise. A pleasant surprise, especially when you noticed his swollen bulge pressing on your belly. Saliva pooled in your cheeks and slick in your pussy.

“I know that’s not true. You wouldn’t be so desperate—”

“I am desperate?” you laughed, the shaking of your tummy stroking the lump in his white toga. “You can fool yourself, Marcus, but don’t try to fool me.”

Marcus stiffened, pulling your wrists down and around his waist as his head bowed down to you, his lips ghosting over yours.

He was about to kiss you.

“You’ll be missed on the dais. I’m sure that blonde is looking for you. Is she the reason you are so hard right now?” you grumbled, your best attempt to get on the last of his nerves.

“She can go to hell. I want you,” he groaned, his mouth brushing yours.  Your pussy gushing some more. “You are the reason why I can’t get it down.”

Marcus didn’t wait for your sneering reply — his mouth crushed yours, teeth colliding. The tip of his tongue pulled your teeth apart and he laid waste to your mouth. The stroke of his tongue on yours tasted sweet, warm. It swirled around in your cavity, looking for a crack in your determination to remain impassible.

But you were only human. You had wanted this since the moment you came up with your plan to destroy the General — you would never admit it out loud though.

So, you gave in, your tongue responding to his with little whimpers as your hands laced together on the small of his back to push him into you, feeling his erection through the fabric. One you knew how big and curved and thick it was. One you wanted to know the feel of in the most intimate way possible.

Marcus moaned in your mouth, and you breathed him in, bewildered by his taste and the herby smell his skin gave off. Your throat let go of a similar quiet wail, as you stumbled back, your back meeting the cold wall behind.

The General kissed you fiercely, the same way he waged war upon his enemies — relentless. His hips grinded against yours, rubbing his bulge on you to get off while his lips abandoned your mouth to lick the marble column of your neck. He trailed the path of your vein, leaving wet kisses on his way down.

Then he brushed the point where your left breast swelled, and the tip of his tongue skidded through your skin until it found the valley of your boobs. He licked between them, both of his hands cupping them up.

“I need to see them,” he whispered, your skin bristling instantly as his thumbs travelled up and rubbed the visible nipples. “Been dreaming about them since I met you. Can I?”

You did not expect him asking for permission, not when you assumed that, as the conqueror he was, he only took with no consideration.

Nodding with half-lidded eyes, surrendered to your own desire, you let him pull the neck of your dress down until both of your breasts were spilling over the hem.

“Good Gods, you are beautiful”, he muttered, marvelled at the sight of your boobs. His thumb brushed your taut left nipple, and you shivered. “They are perfect, columba (dove). So round and so full and so—” Crouched down over you, Marcus briefly licked it. “So fucking tasty.”

With no warning, his warm lips sealed around the tight button, and you couldn’t help yourself but moan, your hands burying in the nape of his neck and lightly pulling from his silvery curls. Marcus sucked it in, his tongue twirling around the nub. Then the caress of his wet muscle was replaced by his teeth lightly biting on your nipple and tugging.

Perhaps the sweet scent of the wine filling up the garderobe messed with your senses, with how you perceived the intensity of it all, of him.

You sobbed loudly, your cunt drenching and beating in response. Pressing your knees together, you wondered if this was how it was meant to be — how sex should feel every time. Warm, desperate, slick, needy. Because if this was it, if this was how it was supposed to be, you could never have enough.

A rush of wet warmth dripped onto your woollen loincloth, your lower belly inundated with a coiling feeling unknown to you — like a tense bow ready to fly an arrow.

Marcus’ right thumb found your unattended nipple, stroking it slowly as his devilish mouth devoured your other boob like a man starved. His tongue flicked and rippled against the tiny lump between his lips while his hips rutted into you, your dress and his toga impeding the contact you most craved.

“By Mars I swear you’re so fucking perfect,” he managed to say between licks before moving on to your other tit.

The General repeated the same process again and your legs trembled with elation. Tilting your face up, you massaged his scalp, soft moans slipping from your plump lips. His smothering tongue was so persuasive, lapping at you with precision, your mind went numb with pleasure. The coil in your belly tightened harshly, so much so you had to bite down your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming his name.

Your damp pussy pulsated, another wave of slick wetting the pearly skin between your inner thighs.

“Marcus, oh, God,” you whispered, short of breath — your heart pounding in your ear drums, deafening.

“Let go for me. Come for me, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered before attacking your nipples again, one with his mouth and the other with his thumb.

His clothed cock rubbing low, right between your thighs. The roughness of your underwear abrasing your begging, writhing clit.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The overwhelming sensation between your legs was too much — your leaking cunt wanting to find release. And it did: the coil inside you finally snapped, warmth and dew soaking you. All your limbs went slack as you felt the last wave of your climax washing over you.

Then absolute peace, your brain numb with your first experience of an orgasm. Now you understood what other women whispered about when the men were away.

Speechless, you laid back against the wall as Marcus towered over you, a satisfied grin curling his lips.

“You’ve done so well for me,” his praise fell like sugary water from his lips, the palms of his hands cradling your face as he pressed his erection against you.

His tongue flicked between your lips, coaxing them apart, and you obliged. A soft, almost puritanical, kiss pressed on your mouth before his lingered to your cheek, then your ear.

“Callie, please, I need to fuck you,” the inflection on the word need made you whimper.

Unable to still find the words, feeling all mushy and heavenly, you nodded.

The sigh of relief that bubbled up Marcus’ chest would have made you laugh in other circumstances. But there was nothing laughable about this, about two people chasing the highest of highs.

“Praise be to the Gods,” he prayed at your acceptance, his broad hands landing on your hips to turn you around.

The cold stone wall greeted your nipples, the General pinning you against the wall with your back leaned on his hard chest. Tilting your hips back, your ass sweetly nuzzled his swollen groin, then his hands rode up the skirt of your dress, exposing your loincloths.

You gasped when Marcus pushed your underwear down to your knees slowly, his fingertips dragging along your velvety skin.

“I just know you’re gonna take me so well, mel (honey),” he purred in your ear, cupping your naked buttocks. “So, so well.”

The side of his hand slid across the fold between your ass cheeks until it found the dampness you harboured for him.

Marcus groaned in your ear, and you reciprocated, his touch so welcomed your clit twitched in response.

“Marcus, please,” you implored, eyes shut and mouth agape.

“I know, mel, I know.”

His clothes rustled behind you and knew he was naked from the waist down. Tempted, you looked over your shoulder just to confirm your suspicion, and your knees almost gave way. Pearls of precum topped the plump head of his throbbing cock, his hand holding it from the base.

As beautiful and tempting as last night, his dick twitched in need. Marcus stroked himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Leaned towards you, his lips nipping the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin, and you whined in desperation.

Guiding his thudding cock between your thighs, you felt it drag across your seeping furrow, wetting himself with your slick. The warm touch of his shaft along your puffy lips made you moan uncontrollably, back arched and your butt pressing onto his lower tummy.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to feed it to you slowly,” he husked, voice raspy with want.

You wept some more, his cock sliding through your seam easily and freely. His mushroom head hitched on your clit, and then slipped back down to your entrance, catching too. Marcus pushed in ever so slightly, just half an inch, and your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder.

Another half an inch and then you felt it: the trained reaction of your inner walls clutching, not wanting to let him in. Years of abuse had taught your body to put up a fight, to squeeze your hole shut so your late husband wouldn’t hurt you.

You fought with yourself, asking your pussy to let Marcus in, as he intruded another inch.

He felt your hesitation, your inner struggle.

“Relax, columba, you’re too tight,” he groaned behind you, one hand sliding across your hip to your belly and diving between your thighs. Two of his thick fingers caressed your clit, the flick of them over your bundle of nerves softening your body. “That’s it, sweetheart, relax. I got you.”

Your inner walls loosened up ever so slightly as Marcus rocked his hips back and forth behind you, fucking you with just his tip. Easing his way in, helping you calm down as only his throbbing, leaking head pumped in and out of you. He was only feeding you a couple of inches, your pussy hugging him extremely tight as he did.

“Too damn tight,” he whispered, and you knew he was grasping for control, the pulsing of his cock rhythmic with the gentle petting of his fingers on your clit.

“Marcus, I can’t—”

Perhaps the trauma your husband had inflicted upon you reached further down than you thought. What a fucking moment to realise that.

“Shhh, it’s fine, it’s okay, mel. I’m more than happy with just the tip for now,” he reassured you, soothing your nerves. “Anything you give me willingly, I’ll take.”

True to his word, Marcus kept on fucking you with just the first two inches of his thrumming dick while his fingers worked your clit with expertise. Not too long after, your felt that burning, coiling sensation converging in your swollen pussy again, your cunt smothering Marcus’ tip even more.

“Oh, fuck, melculum (my little honey)… Come for me again, yes, come all over me,” he moaned in your ear.

At his command, you let go. A rush of liquid fire lapped at your pussy, then leaked over Marcus’ erection as you shrieked. Gathering your ridden-up skirt around your waist, Marcus wrapped one of his strong arms around you to keep you standing on your feet, rutting into to shallowly so he wouldn’t feed you more than two inches.

His cock pulsed hard in your entrance, a gruffy groan rumbling in his chest, almost tearing his throat apart. Marcus pulled back quickly, leaving you empty, and the tip of his cock rested on your left buttock as he jerked off.

A minute later, his warm white seed sticked to the skin of your round globe, dripping to the floor when it got to the cliff of your ass cheek.

Marcus kissed the back of your neck, both of you breathless and sweaty.

The first time you both found relief, together.

“You’ve done so well, mel,” he lauded you again, pulling your loincloth up.

You felt exhilarated, high and fucked out. Numb and spent. Satisfied.

You hoped he was too. He hadn’t been able to bury himself deep down in you, but you hoped you had been enough.

All the bravado you had showed him so far faded, a carefully built façade, and you felt slightly insecure with what had just happened.

“Marcus, I—”

Suddenly, the door to the garderobe swung open.

Marcus reacted quickly, pressing you against the wall some more and his hand placed against the wall, his arm blocking your face from the sight of the unwanted guest. His entire body along with the darkness shielded you from being recognised.

“Oh, Ò DHÌOL (oh my god)! Tha mi duilich (I’m sorry), General, tha mi cho duilich! (I’m so sorry),” you identified Brighid’s panicky voice and even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she blushed.

Then the door slammed shut.

Both of you started laughing.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: ���)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: All you wanted was for Ben to have a nice Thanksgiving, but when your daughter brings her new boyfriend over, all hell brakes loose! This one-shot takes place in You Call It Madness But I Call It Love universe! Reader is described as "Curvy."

Tropes: Fluff, Awkward Situation Over The Holidays, Bringing A Boyfriend Home For The First Time.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just to be sure. There is some swearing, Heated Kiss (a few), Sexual Innuendo, Implied Sex, Flirting, References to Sex (it happens quite a bit), Ben loves his wife, Ben REALLY loves his wife. Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (Everyone knows he’s a warning). SOFT Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy might be a little OC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person

A/N: Truthfully this is a lot of fluff and soft Ben, having a proper family Thanksgiving (well sort of). Really, just Ben showing how much he loves his wife... AND I had this completely unhinged idea forever ago, but everyone say thank you to @anna6307 for reminding me to write it. ❤️

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy POV

Ben reaches out his arm to your side of the bed as he wakes up without opening his eyes, but his hand finds cold empty sheets instead of your soft warm body.

His eyes blink open, the light from the open windows at the foot of the bed brilliant as he looks out at the view of the backyard, seeing the peaks of the thick trees that point upwards to the sky and just a glimpse of the sea beyond, sparkling in the early morning light.

It was Thanksgiving, Ben's first since he came back from Russia and despite his numerous insistences that "it wasn't a big deal" you weren't listening to him.

Honestly, what was new? Ben thought to himself with a sigh.

Holidays for him were always bittersweet.

When he was a child and in his teen years he spent the holidays at the elegant parties your parents threw in your family home sneaking eggnog and sips of whiskey from the flask in his coat while the two of you avoided his plastered father, and while he was with you he had a good time, but it was the quiet that came when he went home to the cold shell of his father's house that left a chill behind.

Truthfully, Ben would have just stayed at the boarding schools during the holidays if he hadn't been so eager to get back to you. He liked going to your family's parties, liked standing next to you and taking the brunt of your mother's disapproving glances. When he wasn't there he knew that she turned those looks on you and knew that she was less likely to make a comment about how you looked when he was a worthy target, and he was more than happy to take it, if it meant that he would get to see you smile and enjoy yourself.

Ben didn't care much for holidays, hadn't since his mother died, but he knew how much you loved them and he knew that you had sacrificed that love for them when you came with him to become a supe.

Your mother had banned you from your home the minute you told her that you weren't going to marry Howard and that you were going with Ben, and despite your father's insistences, your mother refused to let you return for Thanksgiving and for Christmas. Which meant that you were left with nowhere to celebrate and nowhere to go for the holidays you loved so much.

Ben did everything he could to make sure that the two of you celebrated in your own way. The early Thanksgivings were spent eating turkey sandwiches in Central Park, while Ben tried his upmost to make you smile, but the later ones were spent at the lavish parties that Legend threw. And no matter how many women tried to pull Ben away from you, he stayed beside you making sure that you were having a good time, but even at those parties you never seemed as happy as you had when you were back home in Philadelphia or when it was just the two of you.

It always made a sick feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, because it made him believe that you regretted coming with him.

But today would be different.

It would be the first Thanksgiving that Ben had spent with you since he left. You told him that Rosemary, Lou, and you always spent the holidays in the house in Maine and Ben didn’t complain. He liked the house and he liked how happy you seemed there, how you seemed to leave any anxiety you had back in the city.

And despite all the other Thanksgivings the two of you had spent at Legend's blowouts soaked with booze, Ben saw that you were genuinely excited and happy this year to celebrate, and it made him feel like he'd done something right for once.

But of all the things that Ben had learned about you after he came back, the fact that you liked to cook and knew how was still astounding to him. Sure, he had some dated ideas about what women's roles were, but when you'd still been a supe with him in the past Ben hadn't seen you cook once. The only time you'd gone into the kitchen in the past was to make coffee.

And hearing that you were going to cook Thanksgiving dinner almost made Ben start to look for pigs flying around outside.

He and you had come to the house in the Maine countryside early to get everything set up while Rosemary, Lou, Ryan, and Rosemary's new boyfriend were coming today to stay for a week. Ryan's school didn't give him the full week off, and Rosemary's boyfriend was working up until Thanksgiving day.

Ben frowned when he thought about Rosemary bringing home a man with her for Thanksgiving. He already didn't like the thought that Rosemary was bringing some random guy around Lou that Ben didn't know anything about and despite Ben not being around for forty years, he didn’t like the thought of some creep dating his daughter. Ben might not have been a huge influence in Rosemary's life, but the thought that some asshole was just screwing around with her made Ben furious. He knew exactly what men wanted from women and like hell some dipshit was going to get it from his daughter.

When he told you that you'd kissed him on the cheek and told him that he was "being cute" and that Rosemary was old enough to make her own decisions. But at least you hadn't seemed too keen on meeting the guy either.

When Ben had asked you if you knew anything about Rosemary's boyfriend, you'd said that Rosemary hadn’t told you too much, wouldn't even tell you his name because she didn't want you to "stalk him" so all you knew was that he worked at Supe Affairs, and that he was nice. Lou had piped up and said that whoever this guy was brought by flowers for Rosie each time he showed up and always made sure to bring Lou a sunflower because he knew how much she liked them.

Ben had tried to get Lou to tell him who this guy was or at least what his name was by bargaining with ice cream, but Lou had refused, said that she "made her mommy a promise" and that she "wasn't a snitch." Ben was proud of her for holding her ground like that and took her out for ice cream, but it didn't make him any less frustrated when he tried to figure out who it was that Rosie was bringing here for Thanksgiving.

Ben was racking his mind trying to remember a moment that he would have seen her and her boyfriend together at work, but Ben hadn't seen Rosemary talking to anyone new at the office, just the team.

Not to mention, Ben didn't want to be trapped in the house with the guy, listening to him rail Ben's daughter. There were moments where Ben wished he didn't have supe hearing, and that certainly seemed like a moment he wouldn't want it.

Rosemary felt the same way of course. She also had supe hearing and had woken up in the middle of the night the last time she stayed with Ben and you at the Maine house and had witnessed something that she said was "grotesque." Personally, Ben was no longer embarrassed about that kind of thing, not to mention he liked how loud you were and how loud he could make you, but you certainly hadn't been able to look your daughter in the eye for a week when you realized exactly what she'd heard.

And then you had made the rule of no sex while Rosemary was around.

Ben hated that rule and it was difficult for him. He didn't like going too long without touching you, not to mention he liked it immensely when you touched him, so last night Ben had tried to get it all out of his system and give you a little bit of stress relief from all the meal prep and cleaning. He hated seeing you so stressed.

Of course the rule also meant that Ben could tease you as long as he wanted to. And that usually lead to you dragging him out to the car to run “errands,” when the two of you ended up parked a few miles away running errands in the front seat of his car.

The window was open, allowing the chill in the wind to creep through the opening, the leaves on the trees beyond were burnished gold, red, and orange, and Ben could hear the crashing of the waves along the rocky shore.

He enjoyed being here as much as you did. Walking along the shore holding your hand, barefoot while the waves lapped at his feet, sitting on the couch in the den with you in his lap listening to music, watching you paint in the screened in back porch that you'd turned into your studio while he read his newspaper, and falling asleep with his body curled protectively around yours pressing kisses into your bare shoulder as you drifted off with a soft smile, holding on tight to the arm that was wrapped around your waist. He didn't think that his life would ever look like this, sure he'd thought about what it would look like to be with you, but he didn't know how he'd gotten it and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Ben turns his gaze to your side of the bed to confirm what he already knew, that you're not there and he sighed.

Ben didn't like waking up without you, he also hated going to sleep without you, but waking up in an empty bed only made him think of all the mornings that he spent away from you, the mornings when he was away on a film shoot and to remedy how much he missed you he called just to hear your voice, other mornings when he'd wake up to a cold bed after whoever he'd slept with had left, and other mornings from his youth where he was away at another boarding school and he missed the weight of your body next to his.

Usually as you slept, you would subconsciously curl into him, and he would wake up with you on his chest, your head over his heart, your left arm curved over his torso to hold him closer to you. He liked that, because even if you woke up before him you didn't move. Instead you would stay there, pressing a kiss over his heart, running your hand up to stroke his cheek, or push his hair back because you know how much he likes it. It was a nice way to wake up.

With you there, smiling at him, looking at him as if he's all you see, as if you can see through him, through bones and flesh into his soul. And you never look away no matter how much you see. You accept him as he is, all the parts that Ben worked so hard to hide from the rest of the world like his father taught him, the other parts that he isn't proud of, and yet you love him.

You'd worn many titles over the years. His best friend, his teammate, the woman he loves, and now his wife. And at every stage, every ascension to a new name place, Ben still didn't deserve you and everything you did for him.

He never had and he knew that he never will. He'd never met someone so happy to love him, so eager to give him all of you even after all the shit he'd done to you, and so excited to spend the rest of your life with him. Ben's eyes drop to the ring on his left hand and he smiles to himself. It had been three months since the two of you stood in front of a small group of people, you radiant in white and holding a bouquet of lavender listening to him make a promise to love you and protect you for as long as he lived and him listening to you promise the same thing. It was the one thing the two of you should have done ages ago, but all Ben cared about was that he had you, that he wasn't going to lose you ever again, and that you were his and wanted to be his for the rest of your life.

And he couldn't have been happier. Ben had never been this happy in his entire life and he knew that it had everything to do with you.

Funny, if someone had asked him in the past if he was happy he would have said yes without hesitation, but now he knew that he wasn't. This was happiness, being with you, spending the rest of his life making up for the past, making you smile, and feeling the unconditional love you had for him each day as you eased any worries he had about expressing too much, when he'd spent his life expressing the bare minimum of emotions that he usually locked away.

But waking up in bed without you made him unhappy.

He frowned and sat up, the blankets falling away from his bare chest with the movement as he looks around the room for signs that you were there, but the bathroom door stands ajar and the bedroom door is cracked open.

Ben focuses his hearing and hears you downstairs banging around in the kitchen. He sighs again.

How long has she been down there?

He thinks with a groan getting out of bed and trying to find his sweatpants. Ben wasn't sure where you'd thrown them when you ripped them off of him last night, but after he finds them halfway under the dresser he makes his way downstairs. His fingers run through his hair, brushing it back away from his face, his bare feet padding down the hardwood stairs.

The smell of turkey, fresh bread, cinnamon, and cloves wafted up the staircase and there was a warmth in the large open kitchen that came from the oven and from the wide open bay windows above the sink where the rising sun bathed the room in a honeyed glow. Ben could see you swaying to music where you stood at the sink, trying to wash some of dishes that were stacked high over the lip of the marble countertops.

You had flour smudged on your right cheekbone, and stuffing in your hair that was tied back from your face with a bandana and you were wearing one of his oversized shirts and the pair jeans that Ben loved on you, the ones that hugged your curves just the right way to drive him crazy.

Truthfully, Ben was happy that you were getting more comfortable wearing things that actually showed your curves again, especially after all the years you'd spent being swaddled in monstrosities of lace, choked by shape-wear, and stuffed into clothes only created to hide the curves that drove Ben mad whenever he saw them. Even in your years as a supe, you'd been hesitant to wear anything form fitting, still feeling the cold disapproval of your mother almost decades after she'd been put in the ground. If anything Ben liked how curvy you were, he liked that you had just a little more that he could hold on to and squeeze.

And like hell Ben was going to let his wife feel insecure in her own body, especially in one that made him feel like he was a damn teenager again whenever he got his hands on you.

There were remnants of potato peels, bundled plastic wrap, and tops of carrots scattered like fallen leaves over the kitchen island. Not one piece of countertop was spared by the destruction of your preparation for Thanksgiving, only sweeping chaos left behind in your wake.

Ben expected that. Your art studio back at the apartment was the same way, and whenever he teased you about it, you'd only roll your eyes at him and say that "there was no point in a creative space without having a little chaos."

The speaker in the kitchen is blasting one of your favorites, "You're All I Need To Get By" by Aretha Franklin. Ben personally didn't like her work, thought that she catered more to a feminine audience, but he knew how much you loved her. He had taken you to a private concert once for one of your birthdays, sat through the entire thing trying not to  grimace, but each time he almost did, he'd look over at you and see how happy you were and he'd smile instead.

You were singing it to yourself, swaying your hips along with the melody in a way that reminded Ben of exactly what you'd done with them last night.

He couldn't understand how he got so lucky and again he wondered how he ended up here with you.

Ben leaned against the doorway to watch for a few minutes, trying not to make a face when you'd screech. You were never the best singer in the world and Ben had been subject to your singing more than once in all the time he'd known you, more often on nights when the two of you would go out for drinks at the bar down the street from your childhood home in Philadelphia. You would belt songs as loud as you could on the drunken walk home, wobbling on your feet, while Ben tried his best to keep you walking in a straight line and keep you steady to avoid you falling on your face and busting your lip open on the curb.

He steps forward into the room, creeping up behind you, reaching out to grab you when-

"If you're trying to scare me that's not going to work." You say, scrubbing at one of the stainless steel bowls in your hand with a scrub brush.

Ben snorts and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. You smelled like him again. "Didn't think you'd be able to hear me over the screeching."

"What screeching?"

"You trying to sing."

"I don't think you're exactly Frank Sinatra."

"Fuck, I miss that bastard. And the Rat Pack, we had some good times-"

"Yes. I remember something about you destroying a suite in Vegas and me sweet talking a cop to get you out of it." You hesitate, pulling your hands out from under the warm water. "Sinatra was quite the charmer, voice like velvet, not too bad looking and-"

"Just like me."

You laugh and lean back into his embrace, while Ben begins to sway you to the music. "I'm not too sure about that."

"Hmm." Ben sighs into your shoulder. "Why weren't you in bed when I woke up?"

"I'm sorry." You turn to kiss him on his bearded cheek, lingering for a minute longer in a way that makes Ben feel his heart thud an extra beat.

"What time did you get up?"

"5."

"Why the fuck have you been up for six hours?"

"Because I had to start cooking."

Ben can see the anxiety thrumming beneath your skin, settling over your shoulders, at the thought of how much you had to do. He didn't like it so he began to press his lips along the slope of your neck, feeling you sigh and relax in his arms as he pulls you closer against his body.

Fuck, you felt good.

You were always warm and soft in all the places that Ben was muscular and hard. You always fit so perfectly against him, in a way that made Ben refuse to believe that anyone else did. You were his in every possible way, had been his in every way since you were kids even if he was too afraid to admit it.

"I had to chop the carrots, boil the potatoes, make the pumpkin pie, stuff the turkey-" You continue with a sigh.

"You've been talking about stuffing that damn turkey for two days. Why don't you let me stuff something for a change?" Ben murmured, beginning to kiss down your throat, and moving his hands that were on your waist up under the oversized shirt you were wearing, trailing over your warm skin.

"You're a disgusting old man." You groan, but Ben can hear the smile in your voice without opening his eyes.

"You knew that when you married me Sweetheart." Ben smirks.

"Unfortunately."

"I think it's what you love most about me."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's how humble you are." You laugh at your joke and Ben squeezes you in response.

Ben moves his hand higher underneath your shirt stopping just below your bra, nibbling on your earlobe. "Come on Sweetheart, I want to have you one more time before Rosemary shows up."

"Ben-" You groan, your hands braced against the counter he'd pinned you against. "I can't I still have to-"

"By the time you finish arguing we could already be getting to the fun part."

You smirk at him over your shoulder. "Maybe I think the arguing is the fun part."

"Oh really?" Ben feels his smirk grow and this time he doesn't stop his hand from reaching past the edge of your bra and you gasp softly.

Ben couldn't get enough of the way you responded to him when he touched you, the sounds you made into his mouth when he made love to you, the little gasps, cries, and moans of his name that he replayed for himself whenever he was away on a mission and the ones he loved to recreate when he returned home to you. "Are you saying that you didn't have fun at all yesterday? Or last night?"

"No-" You say, trying to keep your voice even, but Ben can feel the tremor that courses through your body when the memory of what the two of you did comes roaring back.

"You're lying." He breathes into your throat. "You know I can tell when you lie."

"Ben really-"

Ben fits his lips over your mouth,  swallowing whatever excuse you were going to say whole. “As much as I like you in my clothes, I think it’s time you take this off.” He tugs at the bottom of your shirt.

"Ben I've still got to-" You try again, but this time Ben begins to suck a mark just under your jawline, next to the other one he left last night.

He liked doing that, as if the ring on your finger wasn't enough, Ben felt a primal urge to mark you so anyone who sees you knew that you were taken, and that you were his. He also knew that you liked it too. He could practically taste how much you wanted him against your lips, could feel it buzzing through your skin everywhere he was touching you. Ben loved that after all these years, he still had the same effect on you.

You sigh, reaching back to tangle your still wet hand in his hair. "You're fighting dirty." You say in a pout.

"By now you should know it’s the only way I know how sweetheart." Ben laughs against your skin, and he can feel your resolve begin to waver.

You groan again, tightening your hands in his hair and pushing your body back against his chest as his hands roam over the curves he loves so much.  "Fine." You mutter in utter defeat. "You get ten minutes, but if anything burns, Benjamin I swear I'm going to divorce you."

"I'd only convince you to marry me again doll." Ben chuckles. "And I only need 7."

*Exactly 27 minutes later*

Reader POV

"I'm going to get the divorce papers as soon as I take this turkey out of the oven! You said 7 minutes Benjamin!" You shout reaching for the oven mitts that you left haphazardly on the counter before Ben dragged you back to the bedroom.

Well, dragged is a relative term given how he carried you up the stairs with your mouth locked with his and your hands tangling in his hair.  And you might have complained about how long the two of you were upstairs, but you don't think that you would ever complain about anything Ben did to you.

You couldn't. Not when you still couldn't quite feel your legs and could feel your heartbeat thudding hard against your ribcage while you tried to catch your breath.

You take a step on shaky legs towards the oven, but Ben intercepts. "Let me do that doll." He gives you a knowing smirk that makes you weak in the knees. "Wouldn't want you to drop it."

"I hate you." You mutter under his breath when Ben reaches in to pull out the turkey, not bothering to put the over mitts on. You didn't need them either, but you liked using the oven mitts, they made you feel normal.

"I love you too sweetheart." He winks as he puts the turkey on top of the crowded stove. "Looks good."

"I love how surprised you are that I can cook."

"You weren't exactly Julia Child before I went to Russia." He says surveying the different foil covered dishes on top of the stove.

"I had to learn how to cook after I had Rosemary, toddlers get kinda hangry if you don't feed them, but Melanie helped. Taught me everything I know. I owe her so much." You smile at the memory of the older woman who welcomed you into her home when you felt so lost after Ben broke your heart and was taken to Russia. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own flesh and blood. It was Melanie who brought you back from the darkness that threatened to consume you in the wake of what Ben had yelled at you at the premiere after you walked in on him and Countess.

Something that you no longer stung as much as it had. Ben had made it up to you, and despite how many times you told him not to feel guilty over what had happened, and that you had forgiven him, he refused to stop making it up to you everyday. And you'd never been so happy in your entire life.

"I do too." Ben murmurs pulling you close to him again and dragging his fingers over the plains of your face to push back your hair.

You knew that he still felt guilty for not being there when Rosemary was a kid, but you believed that the relationship that he was building with your daughter was making it better. Although it had a rocky start, Ben and Rosemary were getting along a lot better than they had been. You attributed that to how close they were working together, but you knew that Ben was becoming more optimistic about their relationship.

 "And why couldn't Rosemary help cook some of this shit? Why does it have to be just you?" Ben frowns.

“She’s bringing some things. I just didn’t want to make her bring too much because she’s got Ryan and Lou.”

“And that asshole.”

“We don’t know he’s an asshole.” You snort.

“He’s a guy.”

“You’re a guy, Ben.”

He frowns, and you couldn’t help but think that it was cute how protective he was acting. “So? He’s probably some pompous jerk.”

“It’s her life. And trust me, after everything that happened with Charlie, Rosemary is definitely making sure that  he’s not a creep.”

“But why won’t she tell us who the fuck he is?”

You press your lips together into a tight line. You’d also thought it was weird how close lipped Rosemary was being about the guy she’d been dating, but whenever you tried to bring him up she refused to talk about him. You didn’t understand why she was being so secretive, but the last time you'd asked her why she wouldn't tell you she said that she didn't want you to "scare him away."

Honestly, it's like she thinks I'm Ben or something. And I was nothing but supportive about Charlie and look what happened to him!

But you trusted her to make a good decision, figured that everything that happened with Charlie made her more wary about who she fell into bed with.

You fight the wave of nausea when you think about Rosemary having sex with her boyfriend.

Please let them not have sex in the house.

You think with a shudder.

The last thing you wanted to hear was Rosemary and her boyfriend having sex in the bedroom next to Ben and yours. It had been embarrassing enough when she heard Ben and you the last time, before you instituted the rule that Ben barely followed.

To be fair you hated that rule as much as he did.

 Of course, you knew they were sleeping together. Whenever she'd come home late from a date and practically floated into her apartment on nights Ben and you babysat, you could smell him all over her.

What was even weirder was that the smell was familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

But you liked seeing how happy she was, she deserved that after everything that happened with Charlie.

“I don’t know, she probably doesn’t want to say so you won’t show up and do whatever this is that you're doing." You reply.

"And what the fuck do you think I'm doing?"

You smile and pinch his cheek, making his frown deepen. "Being absolutely adorable."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? You are. I love it that you're going full protective dad mode." You smile.

"Don't tempt me doll."

"Oh baby." Your smile turns more into a smirk, working your hands up his bare chest and feeling a groan vibrate through the palms of your hands. "We both know how much you love it."

Ben's eyes darken in a way that reminds you of exactly what the two of you had just been doing that almost resulted in the burning of the turkey.

You arch up to kiss him, but right before your lips touch his, you pull back. "Go get dressed. I'll be up in a bit to change before they get here-"

"I was going to wait for you to do that." Ben's eyes are still dark when you turn to the stove to find the meat thermometer.

"Why?" You ask leaning over the turkey to inspect it.

Ben pulls your body back into his. "Because I figure you're going to need a shower and I thought we might as well save some water."

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you sweetheart." Ben's lips press against your ear, the warmth of his breath making goosebumps skitter over your arms. "We both know how much you love it." He murmurs using your own words against you.

One of these days, he's going to make me spontaneously combust.

But you did love it. You loved every minute you spent with him, loved the way he looked at you, loved the way he touched you, and loved the way Ben made you feel loved. The way you imagined this life with Ben when you were younger, was nothing compared to the real thing.

"Give me thirty minutes." You whisper kissing him once more.

"I'll be waiting."

Reader POV

You fidget with the collar of the oversized black sweater, hoping that the edge is thick enough to cover the collection of marks on your neck that Ben left behind, while listening to the car come to a stop at the end of the long driveway outside the house.

Ben catches your hand to pull it away from the top of your sweater. "Why bother hiding it Sweetheart?" He purrs with a smirk, his dark hair still wet from the shower and hanging into green eyes that shine with mischief. Just as they did when you were kids, and even after all of these years, it still does the same thing to you. It still makes your heart beat an extra beat, still makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, and still makes your chest just a little tight.

"Because I'd like to not be covered in hickeys when I meet Rosemary's boyfriend for the first time."

He shrugs. "It's not like Rosemary doesn't know what we were doing before she showed up. He might as well learn early. And you never try to cover the marks you leave on me-"

"Because most of the ones I leave on you aren't as visible when you're wearing this many clothes." You roll your eyes, but give his hand a squeeze where it still holds yours. "And aren't I a little old to be having hickeys?"

"You're never too old for something like that doll." Ben leans down towards you, the mischief flickering into something else, morphing into the love that he'd shown you the minute he came back into your life. "Especially not when you keep me young."

"Well, you are older than me."

"Only by a few months."

"It makes all the difference. How does it feel to be old and rickety?"

Ben chuckles under his breath. "You didn't think I was old an rickety earlier."

The front door knob jiggles, stopping whatever you were going to respond with when Lou comes running into the room like a shot out of a cannon.

“Grandpa!” She crows and runs past you to leap into Ben’s arms.

As adorable as you thought it was how much that Lou loved Ben and how much Ben loved her, you couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous that Lou didn't say hi to you first. But the look on Ben's face when he hugs his granddaughter back makes all of that go away.

You remember how afraid you were to tell Ben about Lou and Rosemary, but each time you saw how genuinely happy Ben was to spend time with his granddaughter made your heart feel like it would burst. Because all you saw was the man you loved and the boy you grew up with. There wasn’t one shred of the persona Ben adopted as Soldier Boy and it made you love him more.

“Hey Louie.” Ben smiles picking up Lou so he’s not bending down. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“I missed you Ben!” Her little arms hug around his neck tight.

“Guess she didn’t miss me.” You mutter under your breath giving Ben a pointed look.

He only smirks at you over Lou’s shoulder.

“I missed you too grandma!” Lou says, her own supe hearing picking up what you whispered. “I just figured that Ben needs more hugs.”

“And why is that?” You laugh.

“Because you’ve been here longer and Ben has missed out on so many.” She reasons hugging Ben tighter.

The look in Ben's eyes when she says that shifts to something softer as he holds her close to him, hugging her back as tight as he dares. “Thank you honey.”

Ryan comes in next, holding a brown paper bag that must hold the sides that you asked Rosemary to bring with her, but she and her boyfriend still haven't made an appearance in the kitchen.

"Hey grandma. Happy Thanksgiving." Ryan smiles. "Where should I put this?"

"Just on the table is fine, but can I have a hug. I'm feeling a little left out." You joke throwing another glance at Ben and Lou.

Ryan hugs you half-heartedly. He was getting into his teen years, so things like hugs were always going to be a little awkward for a while, but you didn't care.

You liked that he was adjusting to his new life. He'd made a few friends at the school he attended, and Butcher would come by to make sure that Ryan was still doing his homework and to hang out with him.

You felt a little bad that Butcher would be spending Thanksgiving alone, you'd asked Ryan to invite him to come with them so Butcher could have a place to go, but Ryan had said that Butcher had "plans" and you'd missed the smile that Ryan hid when you turned away.

"Where's Rosemary?" You ask him when he pulls away.

"She's getting the bags."

"And you're not going to help her?" Ben raises an eyebrow at the teenager.

"But she's a supe-"

"That doesn't matter, go on." Ben nudges his head in the direction of the front door, a stern look on his face.

"But-"

"Don't argue with Ben." You say, gently pushing Ryan towards the door.

"Fine." Ryan mutters.

"I can help too Grandpa!" Lou cries, squirming so Ben knows that she wants to be put down.

"No sweetie." Ben puts her down, but she keeps a tight hold on his hand. "The only thing I want you to worry about is giving your grandma a hug."

Lou grabs on to you so tight that you're sure there's a bruise somewhere, but you don't care. You love your granddaughter even more than Ben, which was saying a lot, and Ben didn't need to know that.

I mean… he already knows.

"Happy Thanksgiving Grandma." Lou breathes.

"Happy Thanksgiving baby." You say, holding on to her.

You were happy to see your granddaughter, but you could feel the thrum of anxiety beneath your skin. You were a little nervous about meeting Rosemary's boyfriend. Maybe it was because you knew absolutely nothing about him, but for some reason it was making you more anxious than making a giant dinner for your entire family.

"Hey mom. Hey Ben. Happy Thanksgiving." Rosemary smiles at the two of you, holding a giant multicolored cornucopia of flowers. You'd told her that you wanted a centerpiece and despite being an artist for most of your life, Rosemary was better at merging together different flowers and textures to create truly awe-inspiring centerpieces.

You didn't know she did it, but each time she managed to surprise you with something that altered your brain chemistry.

"Happy Thanksgiving." You pull her in for a one armed hug. "Wow you've really outdone yourself with this one." Your eyes skate over the Sunflowers, red Daisies, orange Mums, and dark blue delphiniums in her other hand. There was a strong smell of cinnamon in the air, coming from the looped cinnamon sticks that she had woven in around the blooms.

"Thanks." She beams.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Ben asks, leaning against the counter. He'd be the picture of casual if you couldn't see the frown on his face, that he didn't even bother to hide.

"He's helping Ryan with the bags." She steps around you to move the centerpiece into the dining room, squeezing Ben on the arm as she walks past.

It makes you smile to yourself. Rosemary and Ben still had a long way to go before she was up for hugging him, but you could see that she was trying to get more used to him being around. You think that Ben marrying you helped. Not that Rosemary was old fashioned, but you think it solidified something in her head that Ben wasn't going anywhere and that he wasn't going to leave you again. You also think that Rosemary seeing the gentle way Ben was around Lou helped too, that Rosemary saw another side of him other than the side she'd seen in all those ridiculous movies, music videos, and pictures of Soldier Boy she'd seen growing up.

But you could also see the way it was making Ben feel better. When they first met he had been so discouraged by that way Rosemary treated him, but now when they spent time around one another you could see how happy Ben was and it warmed your heart.

You wanted Ben to feel like he belonged, it was his family too, not just yours. And every day you saw how Ben was starting to believe that more and more.

Ryan comes back into the room, loaded down with bags, but the man who comes in through the front door behind him isn't Rosemary's boyfriend, it's Billy Butcher.

He stops just inside the doorway, looking from you to Ben with an odd expression, as if he's not sure what to say.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ben frowns at the man.

Ben barely tolerated Butcher, after missions he would come home and complain to you about something that Butcher ordered him to do. Personally you never thought that Butcher had Ben do anything that sounded like something Ben should complain about, but you knew that Ben had always had a problem following orders.

Weirder still was that Ben often said when he exploded on Butcher, it was Rosemary who would step in to try and calm Ben down. You didn't know why that was.

Honestly, you didn't hate Butcher, but you were wary of him. You thought he knew too much about your family and were often worried that he would sell all of you out for the right price. It did make you happy to see Ryan so happy with Butcher, but you weren't sure if you could trust him. He was one of the only people who knew what Lou could really do, one of the only people who knew what your power really was, and one of the only people who knew that Lou was the one who took down Homelander.

But at the same time you were happy that he was there. He was the closest connection that Ryan had to his mother, and you were glad that Ryan could have another person in his life who loved him. You'd seen what had happened with your own son and what happened to him when no one loved him. And you didn’t want that to happen to Ryan.

You elbow Ben hard in the stomach.

"What'd you do that for?" Ben asks.

Butcher clears his throat to say something, but you speak before he can.

"Please ignore Ben. I'm so glad you decided to join us. I was worried that you were just going to spend Thanksgiving holed up in your apartment. Ryan always talks about you when you're not here."

"Uh-" He clears his throat again and it's the first time that you’d ever heard him sound nervous.

You smile widely to make him feel more comfortable, taking his awkwardness as a reaction to what Ben said. "It's a good thing too, because I think I made way too much food."

"Right." Butcher clears his throat. "These are for you." He holds out a large bouquet of Lavender wrapped in crinkling brown paper towards you.

"Oh wow. Thanks." Surprise flits across your mind when you try to reason why Butcher brought you flowers, but you still take them. Ben seems to also consider this because, he frowns at the flowers as if he's debating whether or not to throw them away or if he should take it as a threat.

"Rose said they were your favorite." Butcher cracks an awkward smile.

The nickname makes you pause.

Rosemary hates it when anyone else other than us calls her by a nickname…

"And this is for you." Butcher holds out a bottle of whiskey towards Ben, who takes it, also confused by Butcher's sudden generosity.

"Thanks." Ben grunts, but he doesn't smile.

"You didn't have to bring us anything." You look down at the flowers, inhaling the fragrant blooms. "I mean, the invitation out here for Thanksgiving was not contingent upon gifts."

"I thought it was a good idea." Rosemary says, reentering the room with Lou following behind her. Butcher glances at her like a lifeline.

"Why?" You ask hesitantly.

A sick feeling begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach. You had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going, but you were still holding out for a miracle.

Ben looks past Butcher towards the front door of the house, looking for the boyfriend who was supposed to be getting the bags out of the car, but no one appears in the doorway. "How long does it take to get bags out of the car? Is your boyfriend hiding outside like a fucking pussy or something?"

Rosemary steps even closer to Butcher and this time she takes his hand.

Oh. My. Fuck.

"No. He's right here. Mom, Ben, You guys both know Will." She smiles up at him the same way that she used to smile at Charlie, when she was head over heels and nothing could drag her away. Her whole heart open and you can see the flicker of the same feeling reflected in Butcher's eyes when he glances at her.

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, the awkward silence hanging over you all like a anvil choosing a target.

If Rosemary had come in here and announced that she was pregnant with an alien's baby you would have been less surprised than what she has just admitted. It was so far out in left field that you felt half-way to China. You had no idea how on earth this had happened or why it had happened.

There's a high pitched cracking noise, followed by an audible smash, as pieces of what was the whiskey bottle rain down from Ben's hand. He'd crushed the whole thing by just flexing his fingers.

"Surprise!" Lou grins ear to ear, swinging from Butcher's other hand, unable to read the room.

There's an awkward silence hovering over the room in the wake of their confession. Honestly, you're not sure what you’re feeling. Sure, you felt a little bit betrayed that Rosemary kept it from you for so long, but the feeling racing through your veins was unnamable.

"Lou go upstairs with Ryan." Ben growls in a low voice.

You had no idea how to respond to this. The only voice in your head was screaming "WHY HIM?"

Because really, why Billy Butcher?

"But-"

"Listen to Ben sweetie." You say in a tight voice, your eyes not leaving Butcher and Rosemary.

Rosemary's smile falters for a minute, as Lou goes up the stairs and no one speaks again until you hear her bedroom door close.

"No." Ben states calmly, wiping his hand with one of the dish towels.

"No, what?" Rosemary asks confused. She's still holding on to Butcher's hand, who looks as confused as she does.

"No. You're not allowed to date this British Fuck!" Ben shouts.

"Calm down mate-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" He takes a step forward and you hold out your arm to stop him. The heat of his skin is burning through his clothes where your arm makes contact with the front of his shirt. "And get your hands off my fucking daughter!"

"You cannot tell me what to do Ben! I am a grown woman and-"

"I don't give a single fuck. You're not going to date this Son of a Bitch." Ben's eyes narrow, pointing with one finger.

"And I don't give a single fuck what you say! I'm forty years old and you don't get to tell me who I can and cannot date." She shouts back.

"I am your father-"

"You're just the guy who got my mom pregnant!"

"Hey!" You shout interrupting the retort that is about to come out of Ben's mouth. "We're not going back to that."

"But he's being absolutely-"

"Rosemary." You clear your throat, interrupting her. "How long?"

"I don’t see why that matters-"

"How long?" You say again, interrupting her.

"Four months." Rosemary replies.

Butcher still looks like he's unsure what to do or what to say.

"Four months…" You nod methodically, and then you lose your last shred of composure. "Four MOTHER FUCKING MONTHS?!" You shout. "Are you insane?"

"Mom-"

You hold up a hand. "No. No. You had your chance. You've been sneaking around with William Fucking Butcher for four months! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because I knew you would react like this."

"React completely justified to finding out that you're dating the guy who has killed countless people and tortured others to-"

"Look who's talking!" Rosemary spits.

Ben's body goes taunt next to you and you can practically feel the air heat with the force of his anger.

"Don't you turn this around on Ben!" You snap. "We're not discussing him right now. We're discussing you and him." You make a wild gesture at Butcher who looks even more uncomfortable now that you've started shouting.

Probably was just expecting Ben to freak out.

"I don't care-"

"Well that appears to be seen." You sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying very hard to make the images of Butcher and your daughter rolling around in bed together dissipate.

They weren't and there were so many.

"I can't believe that you did this. That you're-" You can't even get the words out of your mouth.

"Will you just listen to me for one fucking minute?!" Rosemary screams over you.

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Ben seethes.

"And don’t you talk to Rose like that you arrogant wanker!" Butcher mirrors taking a step forward.

"That's it!" Ben tries to step around you, but you shift to intercept.

"You're not going to kill him in my kitchen." You say to Ben.

"Thank you-" Rosemary begins to say.

"Let's take him outside and kill him there." You continue.

"Good idea sweetheart. Less mess." Ben agrees.

"No!" Rosemary is now standing between Ben, you, and Butcher, shielding him from the two of you. "I love him and I'm not going to let you touch him!"

Her words make you freeze.

Sure, Butcher was hot and sexy in a rugged unwashed sort of way but you'd never believe that Rosemary had fallen in love with him. You weren't even sure that Butcher was capable of falling in love with anyone else after everything that happened with his wife and yet here he was standing in your house, in your kitchen, holding on to your daughter's hand, looking into your daughter's eyes as if he had fallen for her.

Since Charlie, Rosemary hadn't been on one date, hadn't spoken about anyone or made a comment about someone that she met at work. Before Charlie, Rosemary had only had a handful of dates. He was her one big love, the one that she fell head over heels for, the one who swept her off her feet, and then shattered her heart.

You had not once seen Rosemary look as happy as she did in the years since Charlie, except on nights that she spent coming home from a date with Butcher. You wanted her to be happy, you wanted her to find the same love that Ben and you shared, you wanted her to find someone who understood her completely the way that Ben understood you.

"Mom." Rosemary breathes. "You once told me that love shouldn't be a burden or something that I'm ashamed of. That it's not prideful or selfish, it's about giving pieces of yourself to someone else and receiving pieces of them so the two of you become something wonderful together." She sighs. "I spent months pushing Will away because I didn't want what happened to me before with Charlie to happen again. I-"

Butcher's hand finds hers when he senses how upset she is, and the motion makes your throat thick, but you let her keep talking.

"I thought that I was in love with Charlie, that he loved me, but I wasn't. And when Ben came back I struggled for a long time to understand why you let him back in after everything that happened, after he said those things and did those things to you. But then I fell in love with Will and I understood." She looks at Butcher with a half-smile. "I love him. And sure maybe he annoys the shit out of me and maybe he has the maturity of a teenage boy and-"

"You're not exactly making me feel better love." Butcher murmurs.

"And maybe he's not the most patient man in the world." She snorts with a shake of her head. "But I love every part of him, even the parts that make me want to throw him out the window. And I understand now why you couldn't let Ben go. Because I'm not going to let Will go. And if the two of you hate that, then it's too damn bad. Because he's not going anywhere."

"I'm not." Butcher re-affirms. "Even if the two of you throw me out I'm going to keep coming back."

"Like a damn cockroach." Ben murmurs under his breath. He'd drifted closer to you, so close that you could feel the warmth of his body against your back, a comfort right now.

"Exactly." Butcher flashes a shit eating grin.

You can’t help but respect him for that. His confidence in the face of certain death was admirable, and you could see some of the traits that Rosemary found so lovable. In fact, you could see a few of them in the man you loved with all your heart.

The four of you stand in complete silence listening to the what she just confessed, her words still ringing in the air of the warm kitchen.

"Mommy can we come down yet?!" Lou shouts from upstairs.

It breaks through the awkward tension and makes you smile.

"Fine." You say after a minute, extending your hand towards Butcher.

He takes it surprised, his other arm wrapped around your daughter's waist.

You yank him forward. "But if you break her heart, I'm going to make you wish you were never born. Understand?" You smile as widely as you can, with Ben glowering over your shoulder for effect.

"Yes ma'am."

When they go upstairs to put the bags away you sigh heavily and lean back against the counter, your head spinning. Ben is almost deathly silent, watching the two of them go, with an unreadable expression.

"What?" You ask him.

"Nothing." He shrugs, his dark hair falling forward into his face. "Just thinking of all the ways I can kill him if he breaks her heart."

"Good. We can make a list together and compare notes."

"And just when I think I can't love you anymore, you go ahead and say something like that."

"It’s a gift." You snort, placing your hand over Ben's heart and looking into his green eyes. "Well, I wanted your first Thanksgiving back to be memorable, but I didn't expect it to be like this."

"Honestly, I thought that it would end in a fight."

"The day is still young."

"It wouldn't be a normal day for us without a few surprises."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right."

"Always am."

"No you're always full of sh-"

Ben pulls you in for a kiss, his hands curving up over your hips, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt against your skin. "Happy Thanksgiving Sweetheart." He murmurs into your mouth.

"Happy Thanksgiving Ben."

A/N: Again, just a little holiday fluff from the fam!

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments, are not required, but are always appreciated! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series/universe, please let me know! 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126 @simplyfixated @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts @onlyangel-444

@lov3vivian @mxltifxnd0m @mayafatimakhan @marvel-mistress @my-obsession-spn

@lifeonawhim @liuope @brynanna @carpenterswife

@xxannyxx

@babyinatrench-coat1 @the-gentle-spirit @valryomen @cassieriddle713 @shaggzthatsnottheworm

@lil-soup @ej13928 @topstory21 @boywivlove

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@vivre-dans-la-nuit @megara0224 @daisy-the-quake @thesilmarillionblog @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@libby99hb @peachhiz @tinydancer40 @tinystarfishgalaxy

@jvanilly

@livya99 @lunaticgurly @i-am-typing @52ndstreeet

@anna6307

@pixviee @soldiergrimes @ladysparkles78 @ahoytothestorm

@octoazzy @modiddys-blog @marmie-noir @practicallylivesonline

@impala67stellawinchester

@everlove @dangerousgardenchild

[shycroissanti]

IRINA GONSHIRA🌌💙

✨️A "little" about her✨️

Answering @yaegxr 's ask💖

AAAA I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKE HER!!🥹💖

Well, I don't have the complete story yet (because I'm not associating my OCs with Demon Slayer anymore exactly because now I'm focusing on a totally original story - but I can still write a little about this version of it), and also my blog is still a bit messy, but nothing stops me from writing now!!

Starting with the basic information!!

Name: Irina Gonshira

Age: 19 years old

Height: 1.70m

Birthday: August 23

Family:

Yuliya Gonshira - mother

Masato Gonshira - father

Liliya Gonshira - younger sister

Dmitry Gonshira - cousin

History:

Irina has always been a cheerful and determined girl. She comes from a rich and powerful family (Yuliya is one of the best demon hunters, and Masato is a very famous architect/engineer there)

Inspired mainly by her mother, since she was little, Irina had the dream of being like Yuliya, strong and able to protect everyone around her, so she starts training from a very young age, which irritated her father, who did not support her (and this generates conflicts throughout the story).

At a certain point, Irina meets Kishin, an orphan boy who was bullied by almost everyone in the orphanage where he lived, but the worst of all was Kenta, another orphan boy. Irina saves Kishin and soon the two become very attached to each other, creating a very strong friendship. And at the same time, creating a huge rivalry with Kenta.

Later, around the age of 15 to 17, Irina's life would become total chaos.

First, Yuliya had to leave for an extremely important mission, leaving her entire family behind. Since then, Irina has never heard from her mother again.

Soon, she suffered the comet incident (comic) , where a comet hit her in the middle of the forest while she was walking at night. She almost died, but the comet's energy kept her alive and changed everything in her body and mind. Irina feels more energetic and much more outgoing, even becoming much more impulsive and noisy. This energy is great for keeping her strong and ready for anything, but it is also very dangerous, because if she cannot control her feelings properly, Irina feels a strong burning sensation throughout her body, which hurts her a lot (in other words, she has "super powers" that help her and at the same time destroy her).

Another thing that happened is that her beloved friend, Kishin, turned into a demon (he had no other option, he became a demon against his will - comic ). Kishin knew that Irina's dream had always been to be a demon hunter, and now that he was one, he believed that she would hate him and that they could never be together again, so he tried to avoid her all day, because he didn't know what to do, he didn't want to end his beloved Irina's dreams.

While this was happening, at Irina's house, Masato was already tired of everything, having lost his wife (who in truth Masato didn't even care much about Yuliya at that point) and because Irina was a great disappointment to him. So Masato came up with a plan to get rid of Irina. He told her that she should leave and go on a supposed mission far away from there so that she could be part of the Sunlights (in this case, the Sunlights are like the Hashiras, but in the Sunlight Force universe). Irina believed her father without hesitation, so she left home soon after, and finally went looking for Kishin, because she couldn't leave him like that without telling him. Irina was already sad about everything that was happening, so she finally found Kishin, and her world fell apart completely.

Kishin was desperate. He tried to do everything, promise her that he would never do anything like the demons do, and he, heartbroken, said that he could leave and live in isolation if she wanted. At that point, Irina breaks down, her sense of reality was completely altered. She always heard Yuliya's stories about how all demons are evil and must be defeated, but seeing her beloved Kishin like that, she could never do something like that (and even more so because she noticed that Kishin was still the same guy she always loved), so Irina hugs him and promises that they will stay together, that it doesn't matter if he was a demon and she wanted to be a Sunlight, she dreamed of protecting those she loves, and she loves him, so the two stayed together and nothing would separate them.

So since Irina needed to go on the "mission" that Masato had told her and Kishin could no longer live there, the two left the city, and thus the various adventures that I have been writing about have happened.

Now some fun facts!

Irina's favorite food is tamago sando.

Irina is afraid of onions.

She loves collecting rocks.

She likes to cook, but she often burns all the pies she makes.

Sorry, I guess I got excited to write about her xD But still, you can always find more stuff about her with the tag #Irina Gonshira or check out my other blog @shycroissanti-comics , there are all the arts and comics I've ever made :D

Sorry if I wrote a lot of things wrong (〃ﾉωﾉ)

And please consider helping me by reblogging thisﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.💖💖

[vladdyissues]

so making myself actually outline the clone gestation au cause i just sidelined another draft but I'm still wanting immediate gratification for cheese melt ideas so i sat down and self-soothee with some ideas for an AU where Dani and Dan are born due to Pompep. if you ain't feeling it right now, totally fine with this getting buried until you do, just want to share the cheesy wealth (and this fully formed in my head before the college trio + Dan and Dani offspring ideas did)

hope you like soft because i am c o p i n g rn

-so for these two resulting specifically from Pompep, Danny is a fresh adult and high school graduate in the late 2000s, where he gets to live out a certain fantasy of mine--getting to go "fuck it, can't charge me rent on a lair" and planning to go ghost primarily with his human side being his alter ego

-Vlad starts insisting if he's going to do that, he could just move into his mansion. like, increasingly more insistent. what is going on here

-turns out, Vlad is pregnant, and is fully and shamelessly exploiting Danny's need to protect. blatantly, too. Danny knows full fucking well he's being played but the Obsession will not shut up for love nor money

-mood swings make things go full poltergeist the more Vlad is aggravated or backed into a corner. walls bleeding, windows rattling, one particularly aggravated mood swing has Jack nearly get the Death Bed: The Bed That Eats treatment from an armchair (he wouldn't have died but he would have soaked in ectoplasm until his eyebrows burned off)

-this shit, Danny can deal with. this is the kinda weird he's used to. then Vlad starts showing and he starts getting... a little softer. and Danny, snarky frenemies-with-benefits more than dearly beloved partner, has no idea what to do to pivot with that

-Vlad is in denial. he does not have pretty pink magic love powers making him feel adorable wholesome things towards the baby or deep affection for Danny, who fathered it. one of those being true is a quirk. all three of those things being true clashes so hard with his supervillain-coded aesthetic makes him refuse to even think about it. so he bottles it up

-the second he gets to hold Dani after she's born he starts crying. full on ugly cry. one of the things he wasn't processing was that this was real in a way that specifically meant he was going to be holding his baby. a real, actual baby he can pour all his obsessive levels of love into and who he's going to be able to love for his entire existence

-no, fuck it, he does have pretty pink magic love powers, and if you get near his baby you get to learn what a curbstomp is

-teeny tiny baby Danielle Masters

-has first shaky flight as well as first steps, because I am a hopeless weeb and the scene in Urusei Yatsura where a baby alien is encouraged to fly into a cousin's arms like one would encourage a baby walking is just forever seared into my brain

-Danny and Vlad become used to casually grabbing her out of the air or flying to grab her. no big deal. just a floating baby. don't want her phasing into the crawlspace or walls and getting confused and lost. it always makes her giggle

-right around when the excuses for Danny's supposed human life are wearing thin, Dan breaks loose, AU AGIT happens--but Vlad's not making clones this time around so there's no ready-made body to move Dan into

-and since they can't get one ready to go... well, homemade will have to do

-(note: rather than de-aging, it's more reincarnation--it's him and has his memories and ghost self and all that good stuff, he's just not grown and stuck in the body of a baby or overwriting a totally new person. the older he gets, the more original Dan he's able to process as him and not the edgy OC lurking in the back of his mind that feels fully-formed)

-so, Vlad and Danny are expecting kid #2 with gremlin toddler Dani running around

-this time around Vlad's mood swings affect the power grid. one very bad one ends up making a power line go carnivorous and start snatching birds out of the air

-they're prepared for softness this time, and this time Vlad just lets himself feel such things. though it does manifest in jello cravings from hell... and in actually admitting he is in LOVE with Daniel, not just attracted and attached

-somewhere in there Danny's parents realize they've been lied to. for years. mainly coming to a head because supposedly, he should be nearing the end of a four-year degree. they need an explanation

-the half-ghost reveal takes a few weeks to comb through. still, it goes... relatively well.

-so. time for relationship reveal. right?

-turns out running off to shack up in their college buddy's mansion raising kids instead of pursuing higher education hits several more of their buttons than just being the town hero who happens to be a ghost does

-and making a SINGLE aggressive move towards Vlad? Danny's shifted from protection to unity and hey, he will be keeping his family together. no matter what. go on. try something :)))

-they don't come around to it before Dan is reborn but that's fine, making sure baby Dan is loved is more important anyway

-(Dani totally brings them around over time. she keeps sneaking into their lab to watch them work and hand Jack or Maddie tools before dipping back into the portal giggling when they notice her)

BONUSES

-Dani is an adorable big sister and will drag baby Dan everywhere with her given half a chance

-when they get older, the short jokes will fly. mainly from Dani herself. Danny and Dani's favorite in-joke is Dani trying to reach something with powers and sarcastically thanking Danny for the height genes

-Dan ends up being an adorable kid who really likes just. soaking up the loving atmosphere. threaten his good time at your peril, first time he transforms he's a force of nature

-of course Vlad and Danny incorporate their family into their snark

"Being the father of my children won't save you from my vengeance, Daniel."

"Both your kids share DNA with my dad, it's not going to kill you to share a dinner table with him."

"No, but if you ever remind him he is my father-in-law, it will kill you."

"Eh, he already got me killed once, I'll roll those dice."

apologies for the sheer WALL of text, just. i have a particular vision of the AU i'm writing and this version ain't compatible, but it IS soft and i am weak for that

ONCE AGAIN

[naehja]

Ok I'm for the Angst today.

For a little (very) angsty idea.

One day Airplane is very tired and frustrated. His work didn't become like he wanted. He had a lot of lore ideas, of relationships ideas…but people wanter porn. People wanted SQQ to suffer (looks to a certain cumcumber). He ended killing or not using characters he loved (without being able to use his ideas about them). People enjoyed Luo Binghe becoming violent, sadistic, pervert (becoming a r*pist). It's not what he wanted. He wanted to write something else with his characters. He wanted another story. Not THAT. But he needed money and people wanted THAT. But he's so frustrated. His story became something he hates….he hates what it became.

At a point, he listen a potcast about Conan Doyle and how he killed his main character to (try to) end the stories about him. Even if he failed since people wanted so much the character's return that he forced himself to find a way to make him survive and return.

And this famous day, he's so frustrated and disillusioned that he wrote about Luo Binghe's death. Like his demon blood, at a point, start to poison the human parts of his body because he's too powerful with his demon powers and he damage his body without realizing it. He writes how Luo Binghe becomes more and more tired, starts to cough blood, etc. How nothing can help him (no plants, meats, or even s*x).

He even writes lore about half demons to justify what happened. So it would no look like if he just invented it recently but had planned it. And so his book…his story, who became something he hated and was frustrated with, ended with Luo Binghe's death.

Half demons doesn't live long. Being 50/50 is dangerous.

Half Demon Body can't bear the fight between the two egal parts of his being: It's like if his own body was destroying half of his adn.

It's only happen with the Heavenly Demons. So the most powerful ones. Airplane even writes that Binghe's father never thought of the possibilty to have a child with a human so never spoke about those problems with his lover (Binghe's bio mum)

To avoid any reincarnation plot, he evens say that Binghe can't reincarne because demon reincarnation and human reincarnation are differents. And since he's 50/50, he can't use any of them.

Airplane, maybe a little drunk: Ha! fuck you! That's for have forced me to do stupid harem plot rather that all the serious and lore things that i wanted to write! You forced me torture and kill SQQ!! Well i kill Luo Binghe!

Airplane: I wish i could see Cumcumber's face when i'll publish that! In your face Hater =)

He has never the possibility to publish it (like for Shen Jiu's backstory) because he dies and is reincarnated as SQH.

He feels bad about a lot of things. Because SQQ's horrible backstory for exemple.

Everything Airplane wrote about this universe happens, right? The backstory of the characters, the deaths of certains characters…except after Shen Yuan being sent there, things seems to change: SQQ's change of behaviour, LQG is saved, etc…

But the change are not because the story is different but because Shen Yuan takes over SQQ's body. So yeah, some things become more and more differents. But others things stay the same.

And SQH realizes that nothing can change Luo Binghe's fate because he 100% wrote that NOTHING could save him and even wrote LORE to justify that nothing could save him. And that seen how everything happens sooner in this universe....

SQH: Well Fuuuuuck

SQH: …Should i tell Cumcumber bro?

*later*

SQQ: What do you mean, the inevitable death of Luo Binghe is coming in the future? OoO

System: Ask the author :/

[gullwrites]

what happens, happens

photo source

Kind of a Cynosure prequel, though I have definitely been thinking of putting it in either as a prologue or Act 2 beginning in some way, probably a bit edited. This one has been on my mind for a while, hehe.

Summary: A medical examiner arrives to work in the morning and finds an unexpected guest by her door.

Warnings: Mentions of death, autopsies, unethical research practices

Dr. Campo entered the building, slightly shaking off the waterdrops off her umbrella before leaving it in the basket by the door. She could have sworn the weather forecast didn't have rain for today, at least in the morning. Driving to work was incredibly annoying today, and the darkness of 5AM didn't help.

On one hand, she enjoyed coming to work at 6 in the morning. The offices are empty and no one comes to annoy her while she's working - not that they come down there that much, barely anyone has business in a megacorporate autopsy - and she gets to leave two hours earlier, in theory, at least. She mostly just takes two hours during lunch to see her spouse or go meet up with friends. It's not like the corporates would let her leave at 2PM, especially with the tendency to give her too much work sometimes, especially paperwork.

She smiled at the security guard as a 'hello', quickly showing her ID card as she passed by. The same woman has worked here for years, and was always on the morning shifts. Dr. Campo felt like they have, in some ways, turned into friends that way, sometimes stopping to have a conversation on different topics.

Today, though, she sadly didn't have the time to do that. Waking up and seeing that there's an urgent case that needs to be solved really annoyed her, in a way.

She entered the elevator and swiped her left wrist by the chip reader to gain access to the lower floor. Sometimes she wondered what's the point of the ID cards if all the info can be found on the chip. Not that touching everyone's wrists sounded more exciting.

As she stepped out on her floor into the corridor, she stopped. Someone was there, by her workplace door, sitting on the floor. Deep in their thought, clearly, as they didn't seem to notice her arrival and instead continued reading something, the unnaturally dark purple hair being lit by the hologram view of the document.

Dr. Campo switched the lights on and cleared her throat. "Can I help you?"

They looked up, surprised that someone was standing in front of them. It took them a while - to collect their thoughts, she thought -before they could answer, "Um, yes. I'm here about Dr. Nejem."

"Who?"

"The, um, the woman who died in one of the labs yesterday? They said you'd be the one who would, um, see what was the cause of death," they "explained". She heard the person's voice shake a little, as if they were clearly upset by this topic.

"Wait a moment," she said and took out her tablet, "Hm, no, I haven't checked the body yet," she noticed the person wince at the word 'body', as if it somehow hurt them. "Who are you, again?"

The person sat still for a moment, looking at her, before slowly rising up, slightly leaning on the wall for support, left leg slightly bent. "I, um, I'm Ripley," it mumbled and showed Dr. Campo its ID card. Dr. Ripley T. Katz, pharmaceutical chemist, R&D department, and additional info like pronouns, home office and the other things corporate cared about. She looked at its face again, frowning. It looked younger than her daughter, and seemed to have already lost the happiness it showed on the ID card photo.

"This, uh, Dr. Nejem, a collegue of yours, I assume?"

Ripley nodded, but didn't seem to want to say anything else.

"You mentioned she died in a lab? Was it an accident, self-inflicted, caused by-"

"She took an experimental drug we are working on, hoping it would help with her injury," it said, its voice slightly shaking again, forcing it to pause for a moment. As it took a deep breath, it continued, "I'm, um, sorry, I'm not sure if I can say anything else, I-"

"I understand," she said, hoping that would calm it down a little. It wasn't her first secret project case the higher-ups had thrown to her. Definitely not the last, either. So much for the two-hour lunch break, though. "Anything else I should know?"

The chemist looked at her tablet. "It's in the report."

"Hm. So what are you doing here? I can't give you anything yet, as I've just arrived here. Come back in a few hours a-"

"Can I stay?"

"What? Why?"

"I, um... I feel like I owe it to her, as in, to find out what went wrong as soon as possible, I-" it paused, looking for the right words, "If it wasn't for me, this wouldn't have happened... She would've still live... It's, um, my fault?"

"What, was it you who gave her the substance or something?"

Its eyes widened, and frown on its mouth got wider. "No! I would never, that's- It's still in the early stage, why would I ever want to give it to a human at that point?"

"Then what is your pr-"

"I'm the one who came up with the idea for this thing, I-" it looked down and covered its face with its hands, "If I never got this idea, this wouldn't have happened. That's why I need to figure out what went wrong. Why she died. So I could fix it."

Dr. Campo stared at it for a moment. She never agreed with the company's idea of taking young scientists and working on their ideas, but this just made her hate the whole thing. A twenty-year-old should be enjoying its life, not blame itself for causing someone's death in a corporate lab, which it most likely had no control over. "Well, it was her choice, then, to take it, no?"

"Uh, what?"

"She chose to use it?"

"I, um, yes? I guess? But-"

"Then it's not something you can be responsible for."

Ripley stared at her with its dark brown eyes, clearly not believing her - or then just not being able to.

She thought how long it's been waiting for her here, the whole night? She doubted it would go home if she didn't let it in. "Fine, if you really want to, you can come inside and sit somewhere," she said as she opened the door.

It slowly followed her inside, then stopped near one of the tables close to the exit. After slowly looking around the room and not noticing a chair nearby, it sat on the table, wrapping its arms around self. "It's, um, kinda cold."

"A little, yes," she said as she turned away from it and walked to her desk. Her co-worker had left a few notes for her, one sticked to the hologram projector she used instead of a screen. She placed her tablet down and connected it to the projector, and quickly swiped through the tabs to find the correct one. "Okay, so, first off, I-" she turned back to the chemist, only to notice that it had curled up on the table, looking like it was asleep. It probably tried to look for a comfier position to sit in, and it ended up being too comfortable, she assumed.

Dr. Campo considered waking it up, at first, but then stopped. This way, it'd be less likely to slow her down with questions or by doing something, or just moving around as she worked. And no one would show up, anyway, so it was unlikely anyone would say anything about it.

Besides, it looked exhausted. Like it really needed some sleep.

She turned away and started preparing for the procedure.

[aves-rook-laidir]

Here are my live notes that i typed out on the Sticker App while playing the game for the first time. - MAJOR SPOILERS -

They are slightly out of order because I was just jumping in typing wherever:

Holy shit it’s on TWO DISCS?!!?

Not me staring at the press any button screen for ages

I like that Neve is like Cassandra, your no 1

Davrin Rook bonded so fast because they were immediately thrown into a dragon battle together and it got really tough real quick

Did Gilhanain just say YOUR BLOOD KNOWS YOU’LL DIE HERE?

Absolutely loved bringing harding as the extra companion, she’s just so exasperated by it all

I do feel like the va tone didn’t always fit with certain more serious situations.

Staring at Solas in photomode, so mixed emotions, mostly exasperation.

So what was he doing at the strart? Putting evanuris in a stronger prison, then tearing down the veil, or? Because if he was just putting them in a new prison, and exlained himself to Varric non of this would be happening.

God damn, someone ask Morrigan about the fith blight, actually, is it even public record who journeyed with the Warden? Was it kept hush hush?

Can wardens still hear the calling if all the high dragons are awakend? Whos calling them in the deep roads?

I wonder if Davrin has a hard time talking about the elven god reveal because he has a special relationship with Halla and Ghilanain was the god of Halla? 

Oh, why would we have Varric's shaving mirror?

Lucanis so fucking weird haha

Davrin - “Couldn’t have asked for a better day” Rook immediately, ungracefully slides down a cliff

Emmrich is making a mistake, why would he want to be immortal, like look at these three imortal clowns running around.

Ok so The Ancient Elves were spirits who took physical forms using the lyrium, which is the blood of the ancient titans, They became the first mages? This caused a war between the elves and the titans

I wish they had shown more of Emmrich getting her out of the fade, because that is his very specific skill, like all the attention Lucanis got about using the dagger, to cement Emrrich's role in all this, I wanna see him being a badass in a direct story point.

The Butcher was scarier than Elghanan, should not have been,

Elghanan should have been wayyyy scarier, less talking.

“The gods they give strength but all they ask in return is everything” dope

Literally fuck off no scene getting her out of the fade, her reacting to getting out, the grief? The Relief? Helo?

“Though Harding also told me” LMAO Emmrich

I feel like it makes more sense for Harding to sneak up on Ghillie, This is her moment, tragic because we’ve seen her whole journey. Harding saying ‘should I take the shot’ at the start of the game then taking guaranteeing Ghilanains death with her simple bow and arrow. and to have this little dreamless thing, created out of the desicrated titans be the last thing she sees, fuck yes.

The first thing they did was retrieve all the bodies. They found Harding and Leliana and the Inquisitor brought her back to her village

Solas: How did you even get out of the fade? Rook: gestures vaguely to Emmrich standing behind her ‘He knows more about the fade than you.'

I wish there was a bit more dialogue with Dorian at the end, saying ‘Do it for Varric and or Harding, won’t you? They were just so…oh, you…know...’

Taash everyone I loves dies NONONO I love you!

‘Everything dies, its what they do’ Including imortal gods

Is solas fucking losing??? fucks sake cant even do one thing

Solas assisting the Shadow Dragons at the end paint a funny picture, like, imaging Dorain trying to evacuate the city and Solas is just also there, after like 10 years. How did that reunion go?

It had to be bellara that got blighted, those gods were hers, that history is hers, and she's just so innocent, it was a great character arc

me the whole time 'its fine just go grey warden'

Shaved her head after coming out the fade to feel something

What if it’s not enough? What if it is?

I really though time travel was going to be a thing, after the dorian stuff?

Leo represent my Inky because in my AU she is too weak to travel as the mark is still sucking the life out of her, arm or no arm, but she dragged her ass up for that final scene with Solas. Leli and Josie spread a misinformation campaign around thedas, so unless you meet them directly its really hard to know if Inky is a female Elf, Male Human, and whoever else.

I hope Morrigan is ok

[doe-eyed-fool]

Prey | Chapter Twenty |

A horribly uncomfortable heat was the first thing you felt. You could hear the sounds of what you recognized as the hustle and bustle of city life. People talking, car horns beeping, music playing, so on and so forth. Were you outside? Out in the city? But how?

The last thing you remembered was dragging yourself upstairs after...

Your eyes shot wide open as you gasp loudly. You sat upright, and that's when your surroundings made itself clear to you. All around you, were monstrous creatures.

You scream and crawl away backwards, accidently bumping into another one of those horrid things.

"Hey! Watch it!"

You yell again and scramble to stand up and run as far away from those things as fast as you could. But everywhere you turned was another monster, every one of them looking at you like you were fresh from the nuthouse.

What is happening? We're you dreaming? You had to be. You must be having some sort of terrible nightmare. Why else were you seeing these things?

Finally you reached an empty alleyway and hid yourself in it. You panted hard, trying to catch your breath. "Wake up! Please wake up!" You cried, moving your hand to pinch yourself. As your hand came into view, another scream left you.

Claws. You had claws! And was that...fur!?

You look down at your hands and arms, more fur could be seen. You look around frantically for a mirror or anything that could show your reflection. Finally you came across a puddle of water. You hesitated for a moment, afraid that if you looked, you'd be just like one of those creatures.

But you did look.

And your fears were confirmed. You were indeed a monster. Your face was similar, aside from it and your whole body being covered in fur. Even your hair was similar. But atop of your head, were two fluffy ears that resembled a deer's. You looked over your shoulder, you even had a tail to match. To top it all off, you even had a few spots here and there.

You slowly turn your head towards the entrance of the alleyway. Reluctantly, you started your way out of it. And it was then you took the time to fully take in just where you were. A warped and demonic take on a city, to the buildings and right down to the "people" who walked the streets.

You looked up, and there was the bright glow of a pentagram that stared back at you. That was the final nail on the coffin. You finally understood what was really happening. You were not dreaming. This was not a nightmare. Everything you saw, everything you felt, everything that was happening all around you, was real.

You had died, and awoken in the pits of Hell.

Hell had been entirely different than you thought it would be. For instance, there was far less fire than one would imagine. Unless it was made from one of the many pyromaniacs and arsonists around here, of course.

And thought you've never met him in person, and hopefully you won't ever, the devil himself was far different than everyone had depicted him. He wasn't a little red man who carried a pitchfork. Though, the horns and tail were a very real thing.

And the suffering, that was of course always to be expected. Rarely had you seen a genuinely happy person down here. Everywhere you turned, there was someone miserable. A frown, a scowl. It was Hell after all, why wouldn't that be the normal?

You yourself, were amongst the unhappy crowd. Even more so, once he made himself known to all of the Pride Ring.

Even in death, you were haunted by him. His voice only aided in your eternal ache and yearning. But truthfully, you could not say you didn't think you'd ever see him again. After everything he's done during his living days, Hell was fated to be his final destination.

You only wished you could ignore his voice. And sure, you could keep away from radios. But his...special broadcasts were hard to ignore.

It disgusted you. He disgusted you. Even in death, he continued his heinous ways. Reveling in the suffering and agony of those around him, and displaying such wickedness for all to hear. But honestly, what would you expect? He said it himself after all.

'I was sure there was no sanity left in me. And maybe there isn't. I have no intentions on stopping.'

You could hear it in his voice anytime those broadcasts start. How utterly twisted his mind has become, worse, far worse than before.

Alastor, The Radio Demon.

There wasn't a sinner around who didn't know that name. And God have mercy on the soul who had the misfortune of crossing his path. You swore you'd never be in the place of those who've ever met him. But not out of fear.

And you've done everything in your power to keep it that way. It's been well over eight whole decades since you've arrived here, and you've yet to catch Alastor's eye.

However, luck seemed to be in your favor. For the last seven years, Alastor had seemingly disappeared. Many suspected he were dead. You should have been relived, but you felt that same sting you felt from so long ago.

You hated yourself for feeling this way. After everything he's done, and how he's lied to you for so long, you should be over the moon that he's gone.

But you weren't...

You lived out your life down here with that feeling for so long. Though you've tried to distract yourself with whatever you could, and make the best out of your afterlife.

You've managed to get by on small jobs here and there, keeping food on your table and a roof over your head. During your time here, you were offered the same job you had when you were alive. Singing. Offered that job by Mimzy.

That was quite the shock to you, seeing Mimzy down here when her time came. And her did time came fast. Couldn't have been more than a few months after you died, when she arrived.

You didn't want to know, and Mimzy would not say just exactly what got her a ticket down here. But you refused her offer anyhow. You just couldn't find any point in singing. Singing once brought you joy, it reminded you of such good times.

But now? Now it was just depressing. It brought you no joy, so why bother?

After that day, you kept in very little touch with Mimzy. She was doing just fine without you. She started up another lounge, and as far as you know, it was doing fairly well. Good for her, you suppose.

Today, you would be looking for a new job. The last one didn't work out too well. Your boss was rather, sleezy. Reminded you of the very first boss you had. And because of that, you quickly became irritable and impatient.

One too many perverted comments, and the next thing you know, you're stabbing him in the eye with a ball point pen.

Needless to say, you were fired and rent was coming up soon. So, you needed to find a job fast.

You grab your hooded overcoat and hurried out of the door of your apartment. You lift the hood up over your head, ignoring how uncomfortable your ears felt being pressed against your head, and start down the street.

So far you had little to no luck finding somewhere decent hiring. You've looked for hours and still nothing. You began to fear you'd have to resort to placing your body on display for the sickos who frequent brothels and strip clubs.

While dreading the thought, you accidently bump into someone. Your hood falling back in the process. "Oh, I'm sor-" Your breath caught in your throat as you realize just who it was you ran into.

Of all the Overlords you could have crossed paths with it just had to be him.

His screen buzzed in annoyance before suddenly calming. His irritation now replaced with a casual grin. "Well, hello there." When you didn't respond right away, he took hold of your hand and raised it to his lips. "Has anyone told you, you have the perfect face for television?"

You clear your throat and offer as genuine a smile as you could. "Is that right? Well, thank you very much." You say, not wanting to piss off the Overlord before you. "Again, I am very sorry for bumping to you like that. Excuse me." You try and move past, however, he wouldn't let you get far.

"Hey, what's the rush?" He asks smoothly. "Somewhere to be?" You nod. "Yes, I'm trying to apply for a job."

"Is that right? Well, look no further, my dear. The name's Vox, though I'm sure you already knew that." You were handed a card with a number on it. "As I said, you have a face that just screams 'stardom'. Why don't you come work for me?" Vox says with a smirk.

No way in literal Hell were you going to do that. This had to be some sort of trick, just a way for him to take your soul.

"I'm sorry." You say hesitantly. "But I don't think I'm television material. I'm not very tech savvy as it is so..." You trailed off. It was true. You had only just recently gotten a cellphone, though you rarely use it. Your lifestyle had only made a few changes since the modern era of technology blossomed within Hell.

It was just too much for you to keep up with, it all happened so quickly. Especially when Vox came around.

"I'm not much of an actor either. So I'll have to decline." You tell him, handing the card back to him. Vox only chuckles. "Jobs don't come very easy around here. And you seem like a decent woman, I'm sure you prefer to stay away from the more...lustful crowd." Vox turns away from you. "My offer still stands. Not everyone gets opportunities like this, my dear. Give it some thought, at least. See you around." He says before walking off.

'Hopefully not.' You think to yourself. You then look at the card and sigh before pocketing it. You knew you couldn't afford to be picky, but there had to be some better options.

You just have to keep looking. That's all.

After a long day of searching, you returned home empty handed. And for days after that, you still looked and failed to find much of anything. Either no one was hiring, the pay was too little, or the job itself demanded skills you couldn't give.

Rent was due two days ago, and you were still jobless. Eventually your landlord had threatened to kick you out if you didn't cough up some money within the next twenty four hours. It seemed all was hopeless, it was either being homeless or selling your body.

Right now, you couldn't decide what was worse...

And that damn card you left sitting on your nightstand, mocking you anytime you saw it. You did have a third option. Work for a untrustworthy Overlord who most likely wants nothing from you other than your soul.

But you'd have money, you'd have a place to sleep.

You groan and lay flat on your back on the bed, hands covering your face. Your eyes glance at your wedding ring. Yes, even now after so many years, you still kept it on.

You sigh heavily before reaching for the card on your nightstand and dialing the number. You knew you were going to regret this, but what other choice did you have?

The Vee's territory was filled to the brim with demons of all kinds of depravity. You kept your gaze focused on nothing in particular, taking great care to not look at anyone directly. As in the past, you've been approached by...less desirable folk.

But you suppose should get use to walking these streets on the way to your new job from now on. Speaking of your new job, Vox never specified exactly what you'd be doing. But he did make two promises. One, you wouldn't be working in the same field as his business partner.

That was actually one of your biggest conditions. You knew how Valentino was, it'd be in your absolute best interest to stray as far away from that path as you possibly could.

And two, you'd be making quite a bit of money. And really, you needed money more than anything else at the moment. You just hoped whatever it was that Vox would have you be doing was fairly tolerable.

You walked inside of the Vee Tower and approach the receptionist desk. Not bothering to look up at you, she spoke. "Name and business." She says with a less than interested tone.

"Y/n, I'm here to see Vox, please." You tell her. She sighed. "Do you have an appointment? If not I can't let you in, ma'am. Mr. Vox is a very busy man." Your ear twitched, biting back your irritation you speak as civil as you could.

"I do ma'am." You say before setting the card Vox had given you on the desk. The woman rolled her eyes before pressing one of the buttons on the telephone. "Mr. Vox, a 'Y/n' is here to see you."

'Great! Send her up!' Came Vox's voice from the other line. The woman motioned her hand towards the elevator. You gave her a insincere smile before walking past her. "Bitch..." You say under your breath once you were out of ear shot.

Once inside the elevator you pressed the top button on the panel. As the elevator went higher, so did your nerves. You fiddled with your fingers as you watched each button light up as you went past each floor.

Finally, the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened with a 'ding!'. You took a few steps out and looked around. Vox's office was not the typical one. Looking down made you a bit uneasy, as there was a huge drop beneath the floor into what looked like a shark pit.

You snap your head back up an took slow steps along the floor. When you were close enough, Vox spun around in his chair and greeted you with a smile. "There she is! My future star!"

You smiled weakly. "Right about that. What exactly am I going to be doing?" You ask. "Well, you've got the looks that for sure. I'd definitely have you in a setting where plenty of people can see you. But looks can only get you so far." Vox explains. "Tell me, is there anything you're specifically good at?"

You hesitated to say this, but it could make the difference of being homeless or not. "Um, well...I use to perform when I was alive."

"Oh?" Vox smirks. "Singing." You tell him.

"Perfect!" Vox stood. "Now do forgive me if this comes off as offensive to you, dear. But based on how you dress and act, I assume you're from an older generation? Right?"

In all your time in Hell, you stuck to the fashion of your era. And surprisingly, there were a few stores that actually carried said fashion. It didn't take a genius to guess what time period you came from.

"Yes, that's right." You nod. "Even better!" Vox clasps his hands together. "Ok, listen. I'm going to level with you. My company has pretty much made it's way into every soul in the city's life somehow. But there are a select few who refuse to even look our way, so, I figured there had to be some way to reach them as well. Then it hit me, what better way to reach the older generation, than with one of their own?"

"I'm not sure I follow..." You mutter. Vox places a hand on your shoulder. "How would feel about performing again? What, you sang in lounges right? I can have one of those made in no time." Your eyes stray away from him. "Well..." You knew it could be better for you in the long run. No more worrying about paying rent, or when your next meal would be.

"I can tell you're a little unsure about this. But..." Vox stepped away from you and picked up a tablet from his desk, on the screen was a contract. "Trust me. I can make all your troubles disappear. Working for me, will be the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Can I read it first?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to upset him. Vox shrugs and hands you the tablet. You took great care to read through the contract, looking for anything that could mean giving away your soul. When you found nothing, you glance up at Vox.

"You're not doing this to get my soul?" You asked. Vox smirked. "My dear, I'm not hurting for souls. With that prick gone, I currently hold top spot within the Overlords." You knew who he was talking about, but you chose not to dwell on it.

You stare at the screen for a moment before exhaling. You rose your finger and sign your name along the line at the bottom.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Y/n."

Tags-

@martinys-world

@sirens-and-moonflowers

@catticora

@millie-the-goth

[lecliss]

I'll never be able to take the theory that Vincent is Sephiroth's real father seriously cuz I cannot stress enough how important I think it is to the plot that Vincent wanted to fuck Lucrecia and did not get to.

[euclydya]

I have brought the two halves of Spacehead back together. I now await my significant other to join me with glitter glue.

[townslore]

discovery of the day