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motherrcain · 9 days ago

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To start things off, I want to address the Twitter/curiouscat screenshots. That was my account and they were my words. I was 19 and I was entirely aware of what I was saying and that was why I said it. I spent my later high-school years being extremely progressive and “SJW” as they called it at the time, as a way to reject the indoctrination of my environment and rebel against the prejudice, hatred, and ignorance of the culture I grew up in. After moving out of my parents’ house, I fell into a subculture online that prioritized garnering attention at all costs. I flip-flopped again, rejecting all notions of my former “cringe SJW” behavior and intended to be as inflammatory and controversial as possible. I would have said (and usually did say) anything, about anyone, to gain attention and ultimately just make my friends laugh.

I could tell you that I had no idea at the time the platform I would have in the future, or tell you I just have a dry and extremely sarcastic sense of humor, or make any other kind of excuse, but there’s no place for excuses in this matter. At the end of the day I am white, so while I can take accountability for my actions, there’s no way for me to fully understand the way it feels to be on the receiving end of them. All I can say is that I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart, to anyone who read it then and to anyone reading it now. Any way you feel about me moving forward is valid.

This was a chapter of my life I look back at shamefully. I am not proud of my actions, and I have done my best to bury it as I feel strongly that no good can come from it. As I move forward through my life, I aim to use my platform for good, for change, and for progress. I believe it’s important to atone not through words alone, but through actions. All this being said; all of these things resurfacing are not the actions of a well-meaning individual concerned by something they discovered easily and casually on the internet. These are screenshots obtained through extensive digging, hacking, and cooperative effort amongst a group of individuals who do not care who else is hurt by witnessing this media as long as I am ultimately hurt the worst in the end. I’ve known that all of these separate pieces of my past have been found and hoarded over the past couple years as I’ve been tipped off in various ways. This massive smear campaign has been a long time in the making, waiting for the right moment to be unleashed, and now it finally has.

Again, there is no justice sought by this group. All they crave is the complete emotional destruction of me as a person. Personal accounts of mine have been hacked, my family has been doxxed and harassed, photos of me as a child and intimate details of my past have been passed around for fun. I am an adult and I can take accountability for my actions, but this goes beyond accountability. The things I have seen said about me in the past few days, the things my friends and family have seen, are atrocious and disgusting. I’m no stranger to a lot of the vitriol as I’ve seen it before in the corners of the internet where it hides, but to see it paraded so visibly on such a wide scale now amongst so many people willing to entertain it is pure maliciousness of the highest degree. I ask that you imagine how you would feel having all your worst mistakes dredged up from the depths and displayed for all the world to pick apart. Despite my irritation at having to address some of these things at all, I will address the allegations in all their varying degrees of embarrassing ridiculousness.

1. Regarding the topic of incest in my artwork, it’s a layered experience. I have always been interested in creating art centered around the taboo. Much like all the other topics explored in my work, it was just another part of human nature I wrote about it. However, with specific instances such as my hand drawn t-shirt (which was a ridiculous item I made in my bedroom that was never intended to be and never has been any kind of merch distributed to other people, just to clear that one up), at the time I was still of a somewhat inflammatory mindset and fully made that t-shirt to be a crude joke to garner attention. I had even been labeled “incest girl” on Twitter in that time period, I suppose because the people I surrounded myself with knew I was a white girl from the bible belt, and that was their joke that I leaned into. As an artist with a fanbase comprised of many victims of sexual/emotional abuse of an incestuous nature who find comfort in my music because of it, I understand how painful this could be. I apologize deeply if my actions have caused you any further grief and if I have let you down. I do want to be clear, however, that I have never fetishized it. Rather, as a lonely and confused child I had my own complicated personal struggles with the concept during puberty (in a hypothetical manner, not involving anyone in my actual family). I have since untangled these feelings and I now understand their root. While sometimes the topic of incest may get intermingled on a song with my own experiences of sexual abuse or my own familial traumas, I have never and would never fetishize such a sensitive subject. All of these topics I’m going to discuss have carried the brand of “fetish” as this is a common talking point for the transphobic brigade of individuals attacking me.

2. Regarding the topic of drawn child pornography, based off of one drawing I made at 19 years old. I am going to be brief about this because this is quite possibly one of the most serious offenses I can fathom. I had three individual characters that I drew often from the ages of 18-20, each character being a different age in that bracket. The character of Teddy, who was 19, was a hypersexual character born out of my own struggles with sexual trauma and assault. At the time of that drawing, I had just been raped by a man twice my age weeks before. The way I processed this was the opposite way I thought rape victims were supposed to behave, as I leaned into sadomasochism and became fixated on the event and thought that somehow sexualizing it in a way I could control or desire would make it more bearable, as though I wanted it. This was reflected in my artwork. All other details aside, the character was the same age I was and had the same extremely slender body type I had at the time. I utilized a more cartoonish-hybrid style for my characters occasionally as was the norm for artwork in my scene on the internet around that time, but the character was still of the same legal age I was and that has always been the case. I will not be discussing this topic again.

3. Regarding the topic of sexual abuse towards animals, because yes that is somehow also an accusation against me. I was at a Fourth of July party out in the sticks at a friend’s house and the majority of us were topless because we could be. My friend’s dog hopped in the truck with me and I messed with him by putting him in a headlock for a few seconds while a friend took a picture. My bare breast was squished against his face for all of two seconds. I can’t believe I’m even addressing this.

4. Regarding the missing poster included in the promotional materials of Preacher’s Daughter. I made that poster at 3am in a rush and was googling “1990s missing poster” looking for any kind of template to use that would seem period accurate for the character. I picked that one out of all the search results because it was in the yellowish color palette and had a font/visual language that I thought would match the other visuals for the album. I absolutely should have done my research on the poster I chose, and I understand how this could be hurtful and damaging to the family of that child. I insist that this was nowhere close to my intention by using it. Hindsight is 20/20 and I would not be so careless in that regard again. However, the accusations of me fetishizing the kidnapping and murder of a child are beyond egregious and ridiculous.

5. Regarding the topic of misogyny and “fetishization of the female experience”. Cis women are not the only people capable of being victims of sexual assault. They are not the only people capable of being abused, kidnapped, or murdered. To posture that I have never been harmed in my life as a child or an adult trans woman, or that fearing the very real possibility of being harmed again, kidnapped, or killed as a trans woman is somehow a “fetish”, is entirely willfully ignorant and hateful. No one knows what I have been through in my personal life, and I feel zero need to share it with the world because it’s no one’s business but mine. You can debate the ethics of artistic expression until you’re blue in the face but you cannot tell me what I have experienced and how to process that because you simply were not there and you do not know me. Preacher’s Daughter is a deeply personal story to me, born from my traumas and deepest fears. If it reads as a fetish to you, then that is your problem and not mine.

There is so much ridiculous material being used to slander me right now, I don’t even know if this addresses every “controversy”. To try and sum everything up, no I am not a violent misogynist fetishizing the “female experience”. No I am not the creator of child pornography, nor am I a pedophile, a zoophile, or a porn-addicted incest fetishist. I urge you to recognize the patterns of a transphobic/otherwise targeted smear campaign, especially in this political day and age. This information was hoarded until the perfect moment arose to unleash it. In this case, a baseless attempt to assassinate my boyfriend’s character became the catalyst. He will address these claims in his own time on his own terms and I support him wholeheartedly. This entire situation is negligent, sensationalized, and extremely dangerous not only for myself but for all my loved ones. Of course this was the specific intention of the perpetrators, but I want to make that fact very clear for those who have gotten caught up in it. I am responsible for my actions and taking accountability for the mistakes I have made in the past, but everything beyond that is brutal slander, targeted harassment, and in the words of my own attackers, bullying with the end goal of me killing myself. My team and I are taking this matter seriously and are pursuing legal recourse under the fullest extent of the law.

To everyone partaking in this expecting me to address my racist statements in the past, you are completely valid. This statement cannot be everything, but I hope it is a start.

To everyone partaking in this beyond that, as if it is simply “discourse” or “drama”, I hope you are deeply ashamed of yourself. This is none of those things, but instead an attack on me as a person. Part of the reason I am even running the risk of accelerating this harassment and jeopardizing my own safety and the safety of my friends and family to make this statement is because I see this situation for exactly what it is, and I need all of you to see it this way as well. This is a common tactic used against minorities, specifically trans people in this case, with no goal besides the destruction of an individual. I am not the only person this has happened to by any means and I will not be the last person it happens to either. I will not allow this smear campaign to silence me in the same way I have not allowed any of their previous attempts to silence me. Again, in this day and age, just as I must be diligent with my voice and my actions, you share the same responsibility.

Thank you for reading,

Hayden

#they could nvr make me hate u #ethel cain #hayden anhedönia #mother cain #mothercain

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joetastic2739 · 4 months ago

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Statement Regarding False Claims Made Against Joetastic by Dylan/ @anyamusumesonlywife

Author: Concerned members of the Mouthwashing community, friends of Joe, and Joe himself

Introduction

This post is a joint statement written in defense of Joetastic (hereafter referred to as Joe), a creator in the Mouthwashing community, who has recently been the target of misinformation, mischaracterization, and public defamation. The accusations originate from a former collaborator, anyamusumesonlywife (hereafter referred to as Dylan), and have been circulated via a written document on Google Docs, two TikTok videos, one Tumblr post, and several word-of-mouth messages in community servers on discord.

While Joe has remained silent publicly until now, the scale and intensity of the false claims, combined with the reputational damage they have caused, make it necessary to issue a detailed and factual response. This statement reflects not only Joe's perspective, but also that of peers, colleagues, and neutral parties who have reviewed the evidence and feel compelled to clarify what truly occurred.

This document is not intended to cause harm, incite harassment, or encourage retaliation against Dylan in any form. Its sole purpose is to clarify the facts, present context, and refute the false claims that have been made about Joe. While emotions are understandably high, we ask that readers approach this with maturity and respect. This is about defending someone’s character, not attacking another’s. Any form of harassment directed toward Dylan or anyone involved is strongly discouraged and not condoned by Joe or anyone contributing to this statement.

Context & Timeline

December 26, 2024:

Joe contacts Dylan on Discord asking permission to use their OC in a fan animation. Dylan responds enthusiastically, stating: “YOU CAN 100000% USE MY OC IN ANYTHING!! ID BE SO HONORED.”

Over the following weeks, Dylan provides detailed reference material, lore, and expresses gratitude. They never object to any creative decisions made during this period.

Joe maintains professional, transparent communication throughout. Even clarifying their pronouns so as to not misgender their OC accidentally. There is no indication of discomfort or distress from Dylan.

January 11, 2025:

Joe starts becoming increasingly uncomfortable using someone else’s OC for public-facing content. This is influenced by private feedback and the growing popularity of his work. Joe begins planning an original character, Eira, as a way to tell WLW stories while keeping personal and professional lines clearer.

January 12, 2025:

Dylan noticeably starts to change attitude and starts pressuring Joe

"Yeah if I paid for something I'd want it to be posted D: I don't mean to argue at all /gen I was just super looking forward to finally being seen with my Oc and thought that maybe you posting about them would get selfshipping a bit of a better representation"

Joe talks about making the OC video for free to make it up to Dylan and labeling it as a commission in order to protect both of them over harassment regarding favoritism which Dylan agreed with and voiced no complaints.

Keep in mind that at this point, despite Joe quoting Dylan $40 for a casual model of Dylan’s OC, the transaction has not been made yet and Dylan has not paid for anything.

Dylan later tells Joe that they are in a hospital before proceeding to mention Joe abandoning Dylan’s OC again

Joe pays the $40 out of his own pocket for Dylan’s Casual OC model on Dylan’s behalf first and offers Dylan to pay him any amount for it as he feels bad and wants to make it up to them.

Dylan mentions how the model has a bigger chest which was a misunderstanding by the modeler that was cleared up quickly.

January 15, 2025:

Dylan tells Joe that people are sending cruel messages to them because he was going to use their OC

Joe suggests to Dylan to turn off anonymous inboxes in order to stop the harassment. Dylan states that they chose not to turn it off on their other RP account and continues showing Joe the harassment Dylan has received.

Joe once again sympathizes with Dylan and makes a post telling people not to harass them on his Tumblr profile.

February 27, 2025:

Joe debuts Eira publicly. The character receives instant fan praise, with followers eager to see more interactions between her and Anya.

March 2, 2025:

Dylan voices being upset that their OC did not get the chance to be used by Joe.

Joe points out it’s for the best incase they mischaracterize Dylan and end up hurting Dylan’s feelings.

Joe tries to reassure Dylan again.

March 4, 2025:

March 8, 2025:

Dylan starts blaming Joe for harassment and taking the spotlight from sapphic people like them. Joe states that those harassing Dylan do not represent him and that he does not condone them harassing anybody. Joe once again reassures Dylan it isn’t his intent to steal attention away from anybody’s OC.

At this point, Joe began to feel that Dylan was manipulating him. Blaming him for things beyond his control and growing increasingly hostile. Though he agreed to make another Tumblr post at Dylan’s request, he hesitated, wanting first to confirm whether his suspicions about Dylan’s intentions and feelings toward him were valid.

Joe once again made it clear that it was never his intention to make anyone uncomfortable. He expressed this repeatedly, hoping to de-escalate the situation and reassure Dylan of his good faith. However, the constant accusations, shifting expectations, and increasingly tense tone from Dylan left Joe feeling emotionally drained and deeply uncomfortable continuing the conversation. Despite his efforts to resolve things respectfully, it became clear that nothing he said was enough to satisfy Dylan. After enduring repeated blame and pressure, Joe ultimately decided, for his own well-being, to stop engaging with Dylan after March 9th.

March 12, 2025:

Despite their agreement to part ways after the free video Joe made for them, Dylan begins circulating a document on a private server framing Joe as manipulative, inconsiderate, and abusive.

The document was then intentionally sent to the developers of Mouthwashing.

March 13, 2025:

When Joe learned that Dylan had created a document filled with false claims and had shared it with the moderators of the Mouthwashing server, knowing it would reach the developers, he felt that a clear line had been crossed. This wasn’t just a personal dispute anymore. Iit was an attempt to damage his professional relationships and potentially jeopardize his future opportunities within a community he had contributed to. It was deeply hurtful to see someone he had once collaborated with try to turn trusted colleagues against him.

In light of this, Joe made the decision to formally request that Dylan no longer use the free work he had created for them. He asked that all related posts be removed from Dylan’s social media, as continuing to showcase the work felt exploitative and disingenuous given the circumstances.

March 15, 2025:

Although Dylan initially respected Joe’s request and removed the content he had worked on, they soon chose to go public with their version of events. Dylan published a Tumblr post detailing their side of the situation, painting Joe in a negative light and reigniting the narrative despite previously agreeing to take a step back. When Joe became aware of the post, he was disappointed but chose to remain silent. At the time, the post wasn’t gaining much traction, and Joe hoped that by not engaging further, the situation would deescalate. His priority was to move on quietly and avoid fueling more drama, even if it meant allowing false or misleading narratives to go unchallenged, for a while.

March 21, 2025:

Joe publicly releases a new animation featuring his characters Eira and Anya. The video shared a few thematic similarities with the earlier animation he had created for Dylan, but it was completely re-animated from the ground up.

Shortly after its release, Dylan sent Joe a direct message accusing him of stealing their animation idea. This was despite the fact that Dylan had never contributed to the production of the video in question. Not in writing, animation, direction, or execution. Furthermore, the themes Dylan claimed ownership over were not unique: they were common story beats that had appeared in Joe’s videos months before he and Dylan had ever interacted.

What made the accusation more troubling was the emotional pressure that followed. Dylan told Joe that because of this video, they had been unable to sleep, were throwing up, and feeling physically ill. The blame was placed entirely on Joe for Dylan’s emotional distress, adding yet another layer of guilt and responsibility to a situation already fraught with manipulation and false claims.

While Joe acknowledges that there are surface-level similarities between the new video featuring his OC and the animation he previously made for Dylan, it’s important to clarify that both videos were conceptualized, animated, and completed entirely by Joe himself. As the sole creator, he has every right to revisit themes, scenes, or stylistic choices from his own body of work.

March 28, 2025:

Joe begins experiencing increased hostility, especially in the Wrong Organ server.

Rumors originating from Dylan began circulating within the Wrong Organ Discord server. Some concerned members of the community reached out to Joe directly to inform him about what was being said.

One of these individuals, growing increasingly concerned, chose to inform Joe about what was happening. It was revealed that Dylan had also been privately messaging random members of the Wrong Organ Discord server out of the blue to talk about Joe.

According to this individual, Dylan not only reached out to people to talk about Joe, but also frequently used these conversations to vent their personal problems and frustrations. When the topic shifted away from their issues, Dylan would quickly lose interest and disengage.

March 30, 2025:

Dylan decides to be bolder and creates 2 TikTok videos claiming Joe has been stalking and harassing them. Dylan also lies to everybody about Joe’s age and sexuality in order to make him seem more creepy, and accuses him of fetishzing lesbians. Dylan also claimed Joe purposefully shared suggestive content to minors on discord when what he did was simply share the videos he made to the Wrong Organ discord server. The Developers and Moderators have stated those videos were not suggestive and are okay to post.

Wrong Organ Discord Mod statement after Dylan started saying the Video Joe posted there was suggestive, confirming that the video would remain up and would not be removed, as it did not violate any server rules:

Confirmation from Wrong Organ themselves:

Dylan’s accusations that Joe is being creepy and fetishizing lesbians are based on out-of-context screenshots. In this example, Joe was not referring to lesbians in general, but specifically to Dylan, who is not a lesbian. The comments were a direct response to Dylan’s repeated criticisms, not a dismissal of the broader sapphic community. The framing of this exchange to suggest Joe was targeting all lesbians is intentionally misleading.

These TikToks that Dylan posted were quickly gaining traction and starting to snowball out of control. When Joe woke up to these videos, he saw that it had already gotten 20k views, 3k likes, 270 comments and 500 bookmarks with these numbers quickly increasing each minute.

In the comments of both TikTok posts, Dylan continued to spread false information and actively engaged with, and at times endorsed cruel, demeaning remarks directed at Joe.

Fearing for the safety of his reputation and watching the false rumors gain increasing traction, Joe realized that remaining silent was no longer an option. After weeks of trying to avoid conflict, it became clear that Dylan had no intention of stopping. The only way to set the record straight was to speak up. Shortly after, Joe made a public Twitter post addressing the situation:

[Tumblr only allows 30 images per post. This post will continue in a follow up]

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lure-of-writing · 6 months ago

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Priority

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: none

Summary: Bodhi is in love with you. Hopelessly in love. Unfortunately for him he can't say anything about it.

If you asked Bodhi when he first met you two things were certain. One, he would tilt his head to the side and raise an eyebrow in question. Two, he would give a small shrug of his shoulder before saying “Uh I don’t know?”. His statement always sounded more like a question. In his defence why would he know the answer to that question. There is no point in time where Bodhi can pinpoint the moment you entered his life. Unfortunately or fortunately depending on who you asked, you have always been there. Always a constant in his life and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Oh come on Bo don’t be like this.” You tilt your head slightly, your lashes batting so strongly he swears that there is a draft in here. Bodhi doesn’t budge, he keeps his arms crossed over his chest with a slight twitch in his clenched jaw. “You know I didn’t mean it right?” The teasing in your voice softens, just a little, just enough to know you really didn’t mean anything by your comment. “As cool as Xaden is, I could never replace you with him.” You pause for a moment before adding “His ego is too big for me.” Bodhi glances down at where you were sitting on the ground next to the chair he was sitting in. Bodhi wanted to say something sarcastic right back at you, but he couldn’t, the jealousy burning in his throat wouldn’t allow him to. Even if he could say anything he wouldn’t be able to; the way you were looking up at him, like you needed him to know you were only joking. Like what he thought truly mattered to you, it rendered him speechless.

Your friends- Liam, Garrick, Xaden and himself were spread out in Xadens room talking about nothing and everything all at once. Garrick being the instigator he is just had to ask you who you would pick to be stranded with and of course you being you said his cousin. He knew you were just trying to mess with him. To get under his skin. And it worked, of course it did. Bodhi would never admit it to anybody but he felt like he was always walking in Xadens shadow. Always second best, never good enough to be picked first. Your lighthearted teasing didn't make him feel any better, not when the jealousy hit harder than it ever had before.

Bodhi said nothing as you stared up at him. He stared down at you as you looked up at him, a frown was starting to replace your teasing smile. He hated that look, despised it really. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was seeing you sad. “Are you really going to give me that look?” he muttered, and you didn’t miss the annoyance painting his voice. But the moment he finally looked at you again you knew he truly didn’t mean it. With your eyes locked onto his nothing else in the room existed besides you. God he could never be mad at you, not when you look at him like that.

The glare he sent Garrick wasn’t missed by you but you couldn’t help yourself when you leaned your body to rest fully against his leg. Placing your head against his thigh. Bodhi would never reject your touch, not when it was so familiar. He craved the feeling of your body against his, more often then he would care to admit. With Bodhi ignoring you, Liam picked up the conversation, you were trying to listen but all of your attention was on Bodhi. Truly you felt bad about hurting his feelings. While he would never admit that you did, you could see it in the way his jaw set, hands flexing against his arms and his eyes flickering away from yours to hide his hurt. Bodhi could feel the guilt coming off of you in waves. Without even thinking about it he gently brushes his fingers through your hair. He may be talking to Garrick but you knew his attention was on you. This was his way of letting you know that he accepted your apology. The words “i’m sorry” never tumbled out of your lips but the way you leaned further into him and periodically glanced up at him in worry was an apology to him. Words weren’t needed, they never have been, at least not between the two of you.

“Bo?” The light nudge against his legs pulls his eyes away from Garrick and back to you. “Yeah?” His response was equally as quiet as yours was. His voice felt thick with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. He didn’t stop his ministrations. Instead he found that spot behind your ear and rubbed gentle circles on it before resting his hand on the base of your neck. His fingers still tangled in your hair. “Ya’ know I would never replace you right?” The guilt mixed with an undercurrent of pleading broke his heart. “I know sweetheart.” His whispered words sound a little rough even to him. But he meant what he said. Gently he squeezes the back of your neck in an unspoken promise. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what you were to follow.

“You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” His words were an afterthought but he meant them. Bodhi bent forward slightly to reach eye level with you. His other hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair cupped your cheek softly turning your face to look at him. The limited space between you forces a sharp inhale of air into your lungs. Bodhi didn’t miss your near silent gasp or the way your eyes flickered over his face before looking at his lips and then back to his eyes. “Sweetheart I’m gonna need you to stop worrying in that pretty little head of yours, ok?” His voice was quiet but you felt them as if they had been screamed at you. That nickname he gave you never failed to make your heart skip a beat. He watched as you took in a shaky breath before lightly nodding your head. “Ok.” Glancing between your eyes he waited until he saw the guilt slip away and he swore love replaced it.

He needed to pull away, put some space between the two of you before he did something he would regret. Leaning forward just a bit more he angled your head up just slightly so he could place a kiss against your hairline. His lips lingered for a moment before pulling away. His eyes found yours again and you saw the small smirk forming on his lips. Maybe he should have kissed you on the lips he thinks to himself, especially with the way a flush of red makes its way to your cheeks. He wonders what would happen if he kissed you. After a light tap against your cheek he removes his hand and sits back in his chair, refocused on the conversation you hadn’t been aware of. His hand never leaves your hair though. With Bodhi’s focus back on whatever conversation was happening you lay your head back down onto his leg. The gentle kiss you place against his leg is enough for his brain to short circuit. The glide of his hand in your hair stops mid stroke. Bodhi feels his breath hitch in his throat while he was frozen for a second. Without thinking he hand tightens its hold on your hair before releasing once more.

Bodhi has never been more grateful to not have your eyes on him. The way his jaw tightens. The way his chest rises and falls just a little bit quicker than it should for sitting in a chair. He had to close his eyes for a moment to collect himself. Bodhi knew he was protective of you, maybe even a little obsessed with you but god damn if he wasn’t in love with you. Bodhi's heart sang from the feeling of your lips against his body. And he hates to admit it but for a second he thought about what your lips would feel like against his leg without pants blocking your way. After taking the moment to collect himself he clears his throat pulling your attention back to him.

The way you bat your eyes at him in anticipation causes him to clear his throat yet again. “I know you were joking but just don’t do that again ok baby?” He chuckles softly at the way your eyes widen and cheeks flush even brighter while casting your eyes downward in hopes to hide the shock you are feeling. There is nothing Bodhi loves more than seeing that shy bashful smile grace your lips all because of him.

“Where the hell is she?” Cuirs talons curled into the wet stone as Bodhi's voice rang out across the flight field. The grey clouds unleashed gallons of freezing droplets of rain upon every rider. Constricting leathers tightened with their newfound water weight. Across the blurred Bodhi could make out the red and brown dragon that was a part of your group but the emerald green scorpion tail dragon he was so used to seeing was nowhere to be found. Everyone from the training exercise had returned. Everyone but you. Time seemed to slow to a screeching halt as Bodhi took in the field before him. Short quick breaths pounded against his ribcage. Panic raised with bail in the back of his throat. “No..no” A panicked gasp of air cut off his train of thoughts. He was the only person who hadn’t dismounted. “Xaden! Garrick!” Bodhi could hear the raw desperation in his voice, he knew that other riders had heard it too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when everyone had returned but you. He would follow you to the end of the world without you ever having to ask him. It was no surprise to his two closest friends that he was willing to bring the wrath of the professors upon himself by defying orders and heading back out. He would do anything to find you. And if he found you- no he wouldn’t let himself think about that.

The terror gripping his voice propelled his friends back to their own dragons. Both men had done a quick scan of the field and knew what was wrong. They would have known without even having to look. Bodhi never lost control of himself no matter what. Unless it involved you, then all bets were off. Bodhi couldn’t control his protective instincts even when he tried. So he stopped trying.

Just as Garrick and Xaden were about to remount the powerful distinct sound of dragon wings could be heard approaching from a distance. Only one thing could be possible. You were returning with Aella. Once again time seemed to slow down. Minutes felt like hours. Every second that passed felt like a lifetime. The fall of rain seemed to double within seconds blurring his vision even more than it already was. Howling wind whipped the rain in all directions forcing other riders to lower their heads or raise their arms to at least protect their faces. Bodhi did neither. He wouldn’t not when the sound of wind being beaten into submission by powerful and strong wings could be heard from mere miles away. You were coming. He could feel it in his bones. It had to be you- there was no other possibility for Bodhi. Finally there was a shadow of a dragon and the vice grip his ribs had on his lungs loosened allowing him to take a deeper breath just by a fraction. Green. He saw green. It was a muted green but it was green nonetheless.

Dark grey heavy clouds limited his visibility but he knew what he saw. Rain was being pelted down towards the earth with the force of Aellas wings. Bodhi was a part of those that were in Aellas path but he could not care less. Not if that meant you were safe. He would stand under the frozen dagger feeling rain for his whole life if that meant you were safe. Gracefully Aella landed in the middle of the flight field where most of the other dragons had previously occupied it. He was moving before he even knew he was. He was on Cuir one moment and the next he was sliding down his own green dragon without an ounce of grace. “Y’n!” The waiver in his voice didn’t stop, no, it traveled throughout his whole body. The waiver transformed into different things. Trembling hands, burning eyes from unshed tears and lungs that were on fire from how quickly he was running towards you.

Something was wrong. If anyone possed elegance and grace even in the world of dragon riding it was you. The clumsy tumble down Aellas leg combined with the way you landed with a thud forcing you to roll onto your shoulder to prevent yourself from breaking a bone was anything but normal for you. Sharp painful breaths pumped his legs faster. He had to be faster. He couldn’t get to you soon enough. After what couldn’t have been more than two minutes Bodhi was finally in front of your bent over body. You were tipped over at the hips facing the ground. Both of your elbows rested upon your legs while you cradled your head in your heads. Something was wrong. Without thinking Bodhi unraveled your body forcefully crashing your body into his chest. “Thank god you are ok. I thought…. I thought you were.” Bodhi couldn't bring himself to say the words, not when his eyes burned and his lungs ached and he couldn’t stop the way his hands were shaking. “Are you ok?” He pulled your body away from his slightly to scan your body for injuries. Subconsciously his hands moved to cup your cheeks. “What's wrong baby? I need to know so I can help. But you gotta tell be baby.” Whispered words tumbled from his lips causing your eyes to meet his. Wordlessly you gripped his hands and pulled them away from his face. Silently he watched as you unzipped your flight jacket and pulled the side of your shirt up exposing a large bleeding gash decorating your skin.

“Who did this to you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. Nobody touched you. Nobody dug their dragger along your skin and didn’t pay for it. Bodhi was going to kill whoever did this to you. That was a promise. Bodhi was unable to pull his eyes away from your side as he spoke. “Sweetheart we need to get you to the healers, ok?” Your silence forced his eyes back towards yours. Water was pooling on your waterline and your lips where shaking in pain. Tenderly he pulled you back into his chest. One of his hands found purchase in your sopping wet hair while the other rested upon your neck. “It’s ok I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything like this happen to you again I promise.”

Bodhi hadn’t moved from the chair in his room. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when you were laying in his bed. Sleep had pulled you away from him. Not that he could blame you of course. He would never blame you. “Bo?” Your quiet voice pulled his attention away from his plot for revenge and onto you. “Yeah sweet girl?” He matched his voice to yours not wanting to destroy the peaceful environment that your presence had created. Outside his window it was pitch black but inside of his room warm flickers of light bounced around the room casting you in a beautiful light. Granted you were always beautiful in his eyes but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy what was before him. Wordlessly you watched as he made his way over to his bed. He perched himself on the edge of the bed right by your hip. Your watchful eyes traced his movement until you couldn’t. His hands where once again in your hair. Carefully he moved his hand down until it rested on your neck. He couldn’t help himself from touching your cheek. Lightly his thumb ran back and forth against your cheek.

“Will you lay with me?” His room was not warm by any means but suddenly it felt like a hundred degrees warmer and he felt the blood rise to his face. He was sure that there was a flush to his face. He had laid in bed with you a thousand of times before so he wasn’t sure why he was suddenly nervous. Deep down he knew why. Some part of your relationship with him had changed and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He wasn’t sure if he had to prepare to mourn all the ways he wished he could of had you. Swallowing the lump in his throat he glances out the window and follows the path of a raindrop along the window until he couldn’t follow it anymore. Turning back to your he finds your sharp eyes already resting upon him. Forcefully he cleared his throat once more before answering. “Of course, you never have to ask me that.” His voice wasn’t a whisper but it wasn’t normal speaking volume either.

Gently he pulls back the blanket helping you scooch over in the bed making more space for him before he climbed in. With a wince you pull yourself up and pat the pillow behind your head. Expectantly you look at him. A laugh falls from his lips “You could of just said you wanted to use my arm as a pillow you know that right?” The shake of his head does nothing to move his smile. “Why would I do that? You should know this by now.” Your words floated into the space above him. “You’re right I should know better.” This time it's a huff of air that leaves you instead. Bodhi missed the sound of your laugh but he knew it would be too painful for you to laugh at the moment so he enjoyed what he had. “Obviously I’m always right.” Your words were cut off with a wince. Bodhi went to push himself up so he could help you move but you shook your head and placed your palm on his chest.

Following your silent command he lays back down to his previous position, A soft grunt and a heavy sigh of relief later you were pressed against his side. One of your legs crossed against his chest and the other rested against his leg. Your head rested on his chest right above his heart. He waited until you were comfortable to move. Softly he moves to rest one hand below the cut on your side while the other finds its way to your bare leg. Absentmindedly his thumb begins to rub patterns along your leg. A few minutes of silence had passed before your voice filled the room. “Bo?” Slowly he opens his eyes to find yours are already looking at him. “Yeah?’ His eyes traced over your face while you fought to find the right words. He always knew you were stunning but here in his room with the gentle light dancing upon your face, your beauty took his breath away. “What happened out there Bodhi? The use of his first name caught his attention before the rest of your words did. You only used his first name when you were serious. “Huh?”

The words tumbled out of his lips before he could even stop them. Internally he cringes at his answer. “What happened out there with you? I’ve never seen you like that before. You were so- so panicked. You never panic.” Bodhi knew in this moment that it was now or never. He had been so close to telling you out on the flight field but he couldn’t not when you desperately needed to be seen by the healers. Bodhi sucked in a deep breath in hopes of calming his nerves. It did not. “I panicked because it was you. You hadn’t come back. Everyone was back but you and just the thought alone of something having happened to you worried me sick. But then you finally showed up, right as I was about to go searching you for and at first all I felt was relief. Until I watched you dismount from Aella and then the fear took over all over again. I could tell something was wrong but I didn’t know what it was and all I could think about was something finally taking you from me. And I… I can’t stand that thought. It makes me sick.” Bodhi's words came to a stop but still you said nothing. You could tell that there was more he wanted to say, more he needed to say, but he needed the space to find the right words. Without realizing it you had begun to rub soothing circles on bodhi's chest. Bodhi felt the warmth of your hand against his chest. The gentle comforting touch of your hand upon him was more than he could ask for.

“I am so in love with you. I have been for years. I could never bring myself to tell you. I worried about what it would do to our relationship but after seeing you like that. I can’t hold it in anymore.” Bodhi's hand encased yours pulling it to rest on his cheek but he didn’t remove his hand. If this is the last time he gets to have you like this he was going to take every moment presented to him. “I love you. And I understand if you don't feel the same. But I can;t keep it in anymore. I am so incredibly in love with you.” A beat of silence passed while your eyes bounce between his lips and eyes. Finally after what felt like forever a laugh rang out into the once silent room. Out of all the reactions Bodhi was expecting this was definitely not one of them. His raised eyebrow did all the talking for him.

“Oh Bo.” A sigh mixed with a breathless laugh tumbled from your lips. “We are such idiots. I am in love with you too. I have been since I met you but I never said anything because I was worried about it not working out.” A laugh of disbelief rumbled in his chest. He removed his hand from your wrist to rub his eyes for a long moment before laughing again. He pulled his hand down his face before placing it back on your thigh. “I can’t believe this. I have been on the verge of losing my mind for a year and a half because I was worried just for this to happen.” Bodhi shakes his head in disbelief once more. Even though he wished he had known this information earlier he didn’t mind. Not if it meant what he hoped it did. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Giggling, you lightly shook your head. Even though the movement was gentle it was enough to push a few hairs into your face. Without thinking he pulled his hand away from your leg and brought it out from the blanket to push your hair behind your ear. God he could never get used to the sight in front of him.

A bashful smile painted your face along with a deep blush. “I was way too nervous to tell you first.” Your answer pulled a laugh from the two of you. After a few seconds both of your laughter had died down leaving silence to fill its space instead. “So I should have grown a pair and done it first a long time ago is what you're saying.” The slight shrug of your shoulders didn’t match the coy smile you were sporting. “You said it not me.” Once again you shrugged not before laughing again. This time it was against the pec of his chest. “So I should always make the first move, is what I’m hearing?” Quickly you glanced up to find his eyes already upon you. Shifting you move to hide more of your face in his chest but he doesn’t let you get far. “I mean if that's how you feel that it then sure.” Bodhi knew when you got shy you tried to hide from prying eyes but fortunately for him he wasn’t subject to the same rules as everybody else. Softly his hand finds its rightful place against your cheek and neck. The gentle guide of his hands pulls your face up to his. You watch as his eyes drop to your lips before coming back up. “Well if that's the case then you won’t have any problem with this.” Bodhi lifted himself while bringing your face closer to his. With one last look at your eyes wide in surprise he closes his own eyes when he felt the softness of your lips against his own. Slowly your lips found a rhythm against Bodhis and he swore there was no better feeling in the world than this.

Finally when both of you ran out of air did you pull away from each other. Bodhi was watching you when your eyelids finally peeled apart from each other. “I think you should do that again just so I can make sure there is no problem.” The laugh that tumbled out of Bodhi was loud and full of joy. He could feel the smirk on his face but he made no move to stop it. Not when you were looking at him like that. Right before your lips met his .That laugh that he loved graced the room once again. He would hate to cut off the laugh that he loves so much but the feel of your lips against his takes priority.

#fourth wing x reader #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #bodhi x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine

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cherrysweets-world · 5 months ago

Text

Eyes of the Gods XII

series masterlist - part eleven

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: You rise to the challenge set before you.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unhealthy relationships, controlling behavior, threesome, biting, breeding kink, period typical sexism, obsessive/possessive/ relationships, talk of pregnancy, historical inaccuracies, manipulative behavior, jealousy, past domestic/child abuse, unedited - there are many, many historical inaccuracies here so don’t read if that will bother you!

Word Count: 8.1k

Caracalla's room was oddly dark given the time of day. It was as though the sunlight itself was too afraid to enter the emperor's chambers, instead lingering just outside, peeking anxiously in.

The room smelt strongly of blood. You swallowed, almost tasting the iron on your tongue. You stole a quick glance at Geta over your shoulder. He placed a firm hand on the small of your back, steering you further into his brother's room. It was quite clear that he expected you to be the one to deal with him.

This was, after all, your fault.

There, surrounded by shattered pottery and broken ornaments, was Caracalla. There was blood everywhere you looked, smeared throughout the room. It looked as though Mars himself had crushed the entire room in his grip and left only destruction.

Caracalla was on the floor in the centre of it all. One foot was swinging back and forth but the rest of him was entirely still. His gaze was trained steadily on the ceiling and you could hear him muttering something to himself, perhaps a rhyme.

Geta’s hand was still on your back. Even if you wanted to turn back, he would not let you.

You stopped at the edge of the room, where the chaos began. “Caracalla?”

His foot stopped swinging. Slowly, his head turned until he was staring directly at you. His eyes were eerily clear. Once they were trained on you it was hard to fight off the shiver that was trying to claw its way up your spine.

A muscle in his face twitched. Gradually his arm rose from his side until he was holding it out, palm facing you. His fingers curled, beckoning you closer.

Tentatively, you tip-toed your way through the destruction. Caracalla had settled himself in the small amount of space in which there was no glass and you met him there, crouching down beside him. His eyes sparkled like rare jewels, tracking your every move.

You placed your hand in his, trying to ignore the slight quiver in your fingers. His palm was warm, slightly clammy. For a moment he just stared up at you, eyes darting over the planes of your face.

“Caracalla- “you began.

He used your hand to yank you toward him and pull himself up at the same time. Your chests collided with an audible thump and you had barely a moment to register his face buried in the side of your neck before he was biting down. Hard.

You cried out and pushed feebly against his chest. Geta moved somewhere in your periphery but did not come closer. Seconds ticked by like minutes until he finally unclamped his jaw from your neck, leaning back until he could stare up into your sweating face.

“You left,” his lips curled.

You could see your own blood smeared across his lips, his teeth. Your neck throbbed but you did not reach up to touch it.

“I came back,” you said simply.

“Does not matter,” his hand squeezed yours, “the Praetorians would have returned you to us sooner or later. You left.”

“I was afraid,” you told him honestly, “Afraid for any child I might have. Our child. I – I could not see how such a vulnerable thing could survive such a place.”

Caracalla’s lips thinned, his eyes darting over your shoulder before settling back on you. “Our mother and father never cared about such things.”

It was a heavy statement. You had heard things, of course, about the father of the emperors but. . .

“How would you feel?” you pulled his hand down to rest on your stomach. “How would you feel if you knew someone wanted to hurt our child?”

His nostrils flared. “They would burn for even entertaining the thought.”

“I may not be with child,” you admitted, “but, it would only be a matter of time. I was afraid and I – I could not think clearly. As soon as I regained control of my head I returned. I do not intend to leave again.”

Caracalla laughed, the sound raspy and broken. “As though you could.”

His tongue ran over his lips, chasing the flavour of your blood. Geta had crept closer and you could feel him looming over you. You should have felt trapped. Instead, you felt safe.

“I knew you would return,” Caracalla continued, “I prayed to the gods and they heard me.”

You let him take your hand once more, let him place it against his chest. You could feel his heart thudding beneath his clothing. It was as if it wanted to leap right out into your palm.

“I prayed for other things, too,” he murmured, tilting his head.

“What did you pray for?” you whispered.

Caracalla’s hand delved into the folds of his tunic, beneath the neckline. You saw the glint of something gold at his neck and then a pop as it snapped. He pulled out his hand to reveal a ring, gold and glinting, between his fingers.

You blinked repeatedly, half expecting the tiny thing to disappear before your very eyes. Caracalla gripped your hand tightly and pushed the ring down, down, until it was very firmly on your finger.

“The empress of Rome cannot very well abandon her people,” Geta said, “or her husbands.”

The band was thick and engraved with several symbols A winged infant, a pomegranate and studded with tiny jewels; it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. You did not feel worthy.

“How can I -?” bewildered, you looked between the two for answers.

“Officially, you will marry Caracalla,” Geta scowled, “but you are also mine. We know it, you know it.”

Geta still sounded bitter over the fact and it would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t still so confused. Caracalla had lifted your hand to his face and was busy admiring the ring when he wasn’t nipping at your fingertips.

“I meant,” you tried again, “how could you marry me? I am nothing –“

“You have become everything,” Geta interrupted, insistent. “It is only fitting that your position reflects this. As far as anyone knows, you are a Lady.”

That, you doubted. Surely you were not so quiet that no senators would recognise you? And the slaves, the Praetorians, they would talk.

You focused your attention back on Caracalla. There would be time to further question him and Geta on their plans later. You felt as though if you ignored him for too long, Caracalla would be quick to set his teeth to your skin again.

Caracalla tapped the ring. “Do you know why this is the finger that the ring is placed upon?”

“I do not,” you admitted.

“This finger contains the vein of love,” Caracalla eyed you carefully. “Though I am not sure you possess it, so cruel you were in leaving us. Perhaps I should slice it open and see it for myself.”

There was that cruel edge in his voice again. His anger seemed to seep from his pores, drawing guilt from you in return.

“It is there,” you leaned close, “I know it.”

“How?” Caracalla brushed his nose against yours, so close that you could only make out the blue of his eyes.

“When I look at you,” you breathed, “I can feel it. Just there, thrumming against my bones. You make it sing.”

Caracalla eyes were wide, his lips parting. “Show me.”

It was hard to say exactly how you made it to the bed. Geta took the lead and you followed closely behind with Caracalla. You dared not take your eyes off him. You could see the war going on inside of him; that wrath colliding with desire. You knew which side you wanted to win and you were not willing to leave it to chance.

Geta was quiet. You could sense the jealousy brewing in him but he seemed to understand that his brother was barely tethered to reality. You met his eyes as you dropped onto the bed and hoped he could see the emotion in your eyes.

Geta pulled you backwards until your back was flush against his chest and you were settled between his legs. Even with all the clothing in the way you could feel his warmth. He blew air over the bite mark his brother had left behind and you flinched, reminded of the task at hand.

Caracalla stood at the end of the bed, swaying slightly as though drunk. His eyes were heavy as he watched you wriggle out of your clothes until you were bare before him. This was no place for embarrassment or coyness so you shoved both to the side, determined to do what he had asked.

“Come here, please?” you raised your hands.

As though in a trace, Caracalla crawled onto the bed, eyes glued to your face. You knew that if there was so much as a hint of regret or dishonesty that he would lash out. You kept your face open and honest, allowing the very real yearning you were experiencing to seep through.

Geta drew his knees up, allowing more room for his brother who had stopped between your knees. His eyes dipped, searching and hungry, before coming back up on your face.

You leaned forward and carefully took his left hand in yours, bringing it to rest upon your breast. His palm was firm against your nipple, drawing a languid sigh from your lips.

“Can you feel that?” you asked. “My heart?”

“Yes,” he swallowed dryly, “it feels like a bird. So fast.”

“It’s for you.”

You dragged his hands lower, lower, until his fingers were pressed against your cunt. Already you could feel your own arousal starting to leak out. It coated Caracalla’s fingers, making it harder to remember the point you were trying to make.

“This is for me as well?” he asked.

“Yes,” you quivered, allowing one more moment before pulling his hand up to rest on your stomach. “And this. My womb.”

Caracalla’s fingers left tiny smears of wetness as he touched your stomach, jaw going slack. “Yes,” he nodded frantically, enthusiastically, “mine. I will fill it with children, with heirs.”

“As is your right,” you breathed, “as my husband.”

Caracalla choked out a moan, eyes clouded with want. You recognised the feeling in yourself and let your knees fall open, wider, baring yourself to Caracalla and Geta with little shame.

Geta pressed his face into your hair and adjusted himself, grinding his length against your ass. You curled your arm up and around the back of his neck, holding him close as Caracalla tore at his own clothing.

It was a frenzied scene. Limbs knocked against limbs, hair was pulled, teeth were used. Geta slipped his hands beneath your knees to keep your cunt unbarred, his grip tight and unrelenting. You could feel that honey-sweet flutter emerging, working its way through your entire body.

Caracalla’s cock looked painfully hard as he squeezed it in his fist. “My wife,” he said to himself, “I am going to fuck my wife.”

You tilted your hips, hoping to urge him closer. It worked. He pressed a kiss to your lips, tongue flickering into your waiting mouth as he took and took and took. You were all to happy to give. You could taste your own blood in the kiss and it only heightened the intensity of the kiss.

His cock brushed against your inner thigh, then your puffy lips. With only a slight adjustment, Caracalla was sliding all the way home in a motion that was so quick it almost made you shout. Slight pain pinched at your insides but it was soothed by the alluring feeling of fullness, of belonging.

Caracalla looked unsteadily down at where you were joined. The sight was obscene; the swollen folds of your cunt swallowing down the thickness of his cock like you were born for it. He pulled back slowly until just the tip was left. You would’ve squirmed if Geta hadn’t had such a tight grip on you.

“Take her, brother,” Geta commanded, “she returned to us. Reward her.”

“Yes,” Caracalla agreed, “yes. Reward.”

Caracalla’s hips were flush with yours as he pushed in, all the way to the root. You swore to all the gods that you could feel him in your throat. With Caracalla at your front and Geta at your back there was no escaping.

An unsteady pace was set, Caracalla’s hips snapping into yours as he fucked you dizzy. Your head lolled back onto Geta’s shoulder and he nipped at your earlobes, whispering sweet praises and filthy words directly into your ear. His hands slipped around to your breasts, cupping them and swiping across your nipples with his thumbs.

Caracalla’s head found your shoulder once more, face burying into your neck. Geta urged you to relax, let his brother take what he was owed. Caracalla’s tongue lapped at the wound he had created earlier and he moaned at the metallic taste of your blood.

“Everything,” he shuddered, “I want everything.”

Your own orgasm prickled at your insides but you kept it at bay, allowing Caracalla to fuck into you at a near brutal pace. If you were not with child already then you felt quite certain you soon would be.

“I am yours,” you bit out, reaching up to cup his cheek. The coolness of the ring contrasted greatly with the warmth radiating from his red cheeks. “Your wife.”

Caracalla let out a pathetic mewl, hips slamming into yours for one final time as he emptied himself inside you.

You cupped the back of his head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It was difficult to think clearly when you were still so aroused. The thought of Caracalla’s seed inside you was enough to make you feel slightly dazed and delirious.

You cried out as Caracalla slid his softening cock from your cunt. Before any of his seed could spill, he pulled you forward whilst simultaneously lying back until you were draped across his chest. His eyes were wild, cheeks red and slick with sweat. He looked content and you breathed a ragged sigh of relief, letting your cheek press into his chest.

You almost didn’t notice Geta positioning himself behind you until his cock brushed against your ass. You jolted and tried to sit up but Caracalla kept you locked down with his arms until he felt sure you weren’t going to run.

Geta slid his hands under your hips, urging you to your knees. The position was new to you and felt somehow more wanton than before. You knew better than to question them. Your chest began to heave with anticipation, your nipples stimulated by the hairs on Caracalla’s chest. The sensation drove you wild, made you present your cunt as though you were an animal in heat.

“Good girl,” Geta praised, sliding his fingers through the wet mess of you.

You thought that not being able to see might dampen your excitement but, if anything, it made the anticipation all the sweeter. You could hear the erotic sound of him using your wetness to stroke his cock, his breath stuttering out of his chest. Your imagination provided you with countless images; Geta’s hand on his cock, his eyes on your cunt, his head falling back in pleasure.

“Please,” you finally whined, “Geta. Please.”

The head of his cock teased your clit once, twice, until it was almost unbearable. Finally, he allowed himself to be sucked in by your greedy cunt. It was enough to send your orgasm ripping through you, knees going numb against the mattress as you tightened around Geta’s cock.

“Fuck,” he swore. His palm cracked down on the globe of your ass. “Foolish girl, trying to take this away from me.”

“I’m sorry,” you babbled, eyes threatening to roll behind your eyelids. “I’m sorry, Geta, please.”

“Your place is beside us,” he reminded you again, hips slapping against your ass. “Cunt full of cock and belly swollen with child.”

You bit out your eager agreement. If you talked too much you felt as though you were at risk of biting off your own tongue and swallowing it. You remembered that night in the baths with Caracalla, how you had felt as though you would do terrible things if only you could feel this pleasure forever. The thought rose now, burying itself in the forefront of your mind where it could be sure you would not forget it.

Soreness was beginning to spread but it felt delicious, like scratching too hard at an itch that had been bothering you all day. Geta’s hands were fastened at your hips as he fucked you, drawing out sounds you hadn’t even known you were capable of making.

“You are also mine,” Geta rasped. “Do not forget it.”

His palm pressed into the centre of your back as he rode you to his own orgasm, wringing another one out of you with just the pulsing of his cock inside you. Your cunt spasmed around him, urging his seed further inside even as he pulled out of you.

You raised your head unsteadily from Caracalla’s chest, blinking blearily. Caracalla laughed at your expression, reaching down to pinch at your nipples. Geta appeared at your side with a pillow in hand and you were helpless as he pulled you from his brother, arranging you so that you were on your back with the pillow tucked beneath your hips.

“There,” Geta said mildly, “that will help.”

Caracalla curled up at your side like a satisfied cat. Although he seemed tired, he did not close his eyes, nor did Geta on your opposite side.

Your body was already beginning to feel the repercussion of being so thoroughly fucked. You felt as though their fingerprints were surely branded upon your skin. Your body was littered with red marks from teeth and hands and your cunt was beginning to develop a pleasant ache.

“Sleep,” Geta instructed.

“What about you?” you asked.

“We will not until you do,” Geta said, stern. “And I shall remind you now that there are Praetorians outside the door under specific instruction not to allow you to go anywhere.”

“You will tell us if you require something,” Caracalla said, settling a hand onto your stomach. “We heard that it is best you do not move after. It gives the seed a better chance to take root.”

“You are future empress of Rome and mother to our children,” Geta reminded you, staring down at your bare body with firm eyes. “To leave us now would be treason. Sleep, and dream only of us.”

Treason. The very word made you uneasy but not as much as it would have a month ago. You had no intention to betray the emperors.

Your brief time alone had told you where you wanted to be and who you wanted to be with. A cage, perhaps, but gilded it was. It did not feel as difficult as it should have been to settle back into it.

The marriage ceremony was to take place less than two weeks later.

Neither Geta or Caracalla were particularly concerned with how you would be received. They did not believe that anyone would have reason (or the nerve) to question you. This did not deter you from keeping a closer eye on the Praetorians than usual, and seeking eye contact with every slave you passed.

You searched them for malice, judgement, anger. You found none of that, only a quiet acceptance and something like relief. Perhaps that paranoia caused by Macrinus and his hired killer would always be there, stuck to your back, just out of sight but able to whisper in your ear.

Macrinus was dead. Geta had told you after you had woken in the night, sweaty and panicked. You had imagined he was just there, poisoned wine in one had and dagger in the other. He had told you that you must choose. You had woken up before you could.

“I wish I could have been the one to do it,” Caracalla had said, “His corpse is still down there, rotting away. Do you want to see?”

“No,” you had shaken your head, “I believe you.”

Both brothers were kept busy for the majority of the week but that did not mean you were ever left alone. The constant company was grating but you understood that you had brought it upon yourself and so you endured it with a pleasant smile and relaxed demeanor.

Neither of them seemed comfortable unless you were glued to their side. Caracalla seemed intent on continuing to test you, to make sure you were not so much as thinking of leaving them again. He had several outbursts – not at you, but at the Praetorians. Each time he would have a number in his mind, different every time, and if the number of Praetorians outside the door did not match that exact number, then hell would break loose.

Geta took to patrolling the entrances and exits of the palace himself at random times through-out the day. You had woken up at least twice to find his side of the bed empty, leading you to assume that he was conducting his surprise checks at night as well. If he found the level of security unsatisfying, his temper would flare almost as badly as his brother’s.

The first few days you were with at least one of them at all times. It was better that way, calmer. As the days passed by and they could no longer afford to neglect their duties, you were left with dressmakers and the Praetorians, both of whom were issued deadly threats for if you should so much as get pricked by a pin.

That was where you found yourself now. Never had you been so thoroughly measured and fussed about before. The woman talked lowly amongst themselves, occasionally offering you small smiles and tentative compliments as they fluttered around you.

It was conflicting. You did not have the demeanor of a Lady and you were sure they noticed. You did not feel worthy of the attention nor the clothing. But the women treated you as if you were, and you were beginning to realise that that might just be enough to get you through. Like your attacker had said, this was not really about you. It was about the emperors.

Four Praetorians were scattered about the room. One was Consus, from all those weeks ago. The others were unfamiliar to you, but not for long. They were your personally assigned guards. The emperors had decided it was safer for you to have personal guards; less likely anyone would get loose and reckless when they knew anything that happened to you could be traced directly back to them.

Though you also thought that there was perhaps a second reason. You had been selfish that night, deceiving guards and openly lying to them. Even now you had not worked up the courage to ask if anyone had faced any consequences for your actions that night. It had been easier, then, because you did not know them. They may as well have been faceless ghosts for all the care you had.

You would get to know these men. Their lives, their preferences, their families. It would not be so easy to look them in the eye and throw them to the wolves.

Sabina, a woman a few years older than yourself, held up a hairnet for you to touch. “What do you think, my Lady?”

You reached out to run your fingers over the fabric. It was a sunny colour, the colour of freshly cracked yolks. You had seen yellow before but this seemed far richer. Strands of gold were woven into it, causing it to glitter in the sun, adding depth and texture. It was coarse to the touch and would ensure that your hair was kept out of the way.

“It is beautiful,” you smiled, “you possess true talent, Sabine.”

Sabine flushed under your gaze, her mouth opening and closing several times as though she was nervous. “It is an honour to hear such a compliment from the future empress of Rome. I am sure we will flourish under your rule.”

You hoped so. That was, after all, part of the reason why you had returned. And if you could not do anything for Rome, perhaps your child could. Either way, you would offer your home and your husbands everything you had and pray that the fates would grant you a positive outcome.

The room quietened down as the door opened and Geta entered, robe billowing out behind him as he strode directly in. He looked every bit the young god, hair vibrant and glowing, tall and imposing, eyes once again smeared in that familiar kohl.

Without a word, everyone filed out apart from your personal guard. They positioned themselves by the door, just out of earshot, and politely averted their gazes. You remained up on the raised platform, watching as the emperor approached.

Geta gave you an intensely appraising look, eyes zeroing in on the golden hairnet in your hand. It stood out against the white tunic you were wearing. The tunic was thin, allowing for easier measurements, and your nipples peaked at Geta’s attention.

“My brother wanted to see you,” he said, “but I told him that he would have more than enough time to do that in the upcoming days.”

You rolled your lips together. “I am happy to marry Caracalla. Truly. I – I only wonder – “

“Why him?” Geta interrupted. “Why him and not me?”

That was a question you had been pondering over for almost a week. It did not matter, really. You knew that your relationship with both of them meant more than paperwork or titles or the opinion of others. Simple curiosity had kept the question at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to shoulder past it.

“You were meant to be for him,” Geta laughed lightly, mockingly. “I am sure he has mentioned it before. I saw the way you comforted him, the way you were kind when you did not have to be, and I thought that it would be beneficial to have another person able to calm him as I can.”

You remembered that night clearly and now, fondly. At the time your own terror had kept you quick and anxious, desperate to squirm out from under the oppressive weight of their attention. Now you flourished under it, craved it almost above all else. The gods likely thought your mercurial nature was amusing.

“Less than a day passed, a single interaction, and I wanted you for myself,” Geta reached up, tracing a careful finger over your lips. “I suppose that it is highly fortunate that my brother and I have always shared.”

“Then how did you decide that Caracalla would be the one to marry me?”

“I love my brother,” Geta said, “and I can see that he needs you. Without you, even with me, he experienced only chaos. I would do anything to ensure that he does not have to endure such madness again. Including this.”

“You do not need me, Geta?” you asked quietly.

His lips parted. “You know the answer, enchantress.”

You had done the right thing in coming back. You felt more confident in your decision than ever and relaxed a little, continuing to watch Geta as he stepped back and shot a quick glance over his shoulder at your guards.

“Our father was an unpleasant man,” he said suddenly, bluntly. “I gathered that yours was not so different.”

“How?” you asked, stunned.

“I asked you about your carving once. I asked if your father had made it,” Geta paused, running his tongue over his lip before continuing. “The venom in your voice when you answered reminded me of how I feel about my own father.”

Images of your younger years rose unbidden, clouding your mind with their turmoil and bitterness. Your father had stolen your mother from you and you felt her loss more keenly now, whilst preparing to be married, than you had in years.

“They are gone,” you said firmly, more to yourself than him. “Both of them.”

Geta nodded, seeming to come back to himself a little bit. You were surprised that he would share such things with you but were appreciative of his honesty. It was difficult to speak about; you knew this from experience. Even on days you tried to forget, the most painful of reminders could sneak up on you like assassins and ply you with vicious memories.

“You are the opposite to him in every way,” Geta murmured. “Kindness to his cruelty. Love to his hate. We intend to keep you by our sides for the rest of our lives and your marriage to my brother will help ensure this.”

Geta left, allowing the dressmakers to return to the room and continue their work. The mood was pleasant and light and you allowed yourself to sink into the attention, offering your opinion when necessary and trying on pieces as they constructed them, trying to ignore the nerves that were scraping at your insides.

In a week, you would be married to a man you had once feared.

In a week, you would be empress of Rome.

The intricacies of the ceremony were decided upon, the clothing complete. You were not sure exactly what had been decided upon until the day arrived.

Looking at yourself now, dressed in the clothing of a future empress, you could not help but admire yourself. You certainly looked the part. Now you believed that it may be possible that no-one would question you.

Your hair shone from a combination of careful brushing and expensive oils. Your skin reflected in a similar way; heavily scented and smoothed with creams and oils. Even your nails had been trimmed and shaped, dead skin filed away until you felt like an entirely different person.

After today, you would be. It was easier to let your past slip from your fingers when they were busy reaching out for something else. That was what you focused on; the future. Not just yours, but Rome’s.

Sabine stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Normally dressing you would be the task of a ladies’ maid but the clothing was so delicate and finely crafted that you hadn’t felt right letting anyone other than its creator touch it. You had also contributed where you could, as it was common for a bride to fashion her wedding clothing, but had quickly found you hadn’t the skill for it and instead stepped back and let Sabine do her work.

That, and you had not yet been assigned any maids. Anyone in such close proximity to you had to have been closely vetted and the emperors already felt on edge with you being surrounded by so many people on your wedding week.

The belt at your waist felt sturdy and impossible to ignore. You lifted up your hand and traced the edges with your fingers. It was for Caracalla to undo. After that, you would be joined once more, but as man and wife.

There was still much that was unknown to you. You were aware of all the usual traditions but also knew that you would not be able to take part in most of them. You had tried to pull answers from Geta and Caracalla several times but they had brushed you off with soft assurances and teasing pinches.

You smoothed your hands over the front of the white toga. The sensation was pleasantly cool despite the heat of the late afternoon.

The streets were abuzz with people. It was no secret that there was to be a wedding. You were aware of the sacrifice offered to the gods, a bull slaughtered, and the sharing of food and drink in the streets below. The mouth-watering scent of roasted meat floated in through the windows. It should have been appealing but your own nerves were stamping out your appetite.

Sabine had retreated to the door and was exchanging quiet words with Consus. Your brows furrowed at the discreet conversation and you tilted your head, hoping to pick up on a word or two.

Sabine returned with a light cloak. It was as dark as night. She looked to you for permission before wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling it close at the front to hide any glimpse of white. The hood was tugged up over the gold of your hairnet. You looked like a secret, concealed and tucked away.

“I shall pray for your good fortune,” Sabine smiled.

Surrounded by your guards, you were led from the palace and to a discreet carriage, empty apart from a driver. It was plain, the type you regularly saw around Rome. You glanced at them for some sort of answer but they only ushered you inside. One joined the driver at the front and the other three slipped in beside you, looking uncomfortable and warm in their uniforms as they tried to settle in.

There was a jolt as the carriage began to move. “Consus,” you tried again, “where am I being taken?”

“The emperors wish for Rome to welcome you as the empress you will be,” he said simply.

His answer was not entirely helpful. With a sigh, you sat back in your seat. When you reached up to remove the hood, Consus shook his head.

So, you were a secret. The lengths that the emperors would go to in order to disguise your past from prying eyes was not unexpected. You looked down at your hands in your lap, slowly unclenching your fists until your hands were open, fingers shaking.

There, you said to yourself, I am letting go.

You rode in the carriage for quite some time. You kept looking to Consus for information but he would not provide it. Eventually the carriage rolled to a stop. When you rose to your feet, Consus stopped you.

“Oh,” you said, hands raising to your cloak. With unsteady fingers, you unwound the ties and gently tugged it off.

The air was warm and soothing, softly curling around your arms as you stepped from the carriage. The sun had begun to set; you had not realised it was quite so late in the day. You were surrounded by fields, all empty. Likely any workers had been removed specifically so you could come here safely. Above you there was an archway, and at it’s peak, a wolf and two suckling children.

“Romulus and Remus,” you said to yourself.

Your own carving had looked almost identical to the one marking the entrance to the city. You wondered if your grandfather had been here, if it was this that had inspired him to make one for his daughter. You paused, searching for a feeling, a sign, that your mother was perhaps with you.

There was another carriage in front of you, only this one was not so plain. Outlined with colourful paints and murals, this was the carriage of a noble. This would be the carriage that would take you back to Rome.

Even with the distance you could still hear the city. You looked at it and thought of the emperors that inhabited it, the emperors who were waiting for you now. You had left Rome the daughter of a murdered woman, a simple kitchen worker, lover to the emperors. You would be entering as the its empress.

The Praetorians seemed to sense the enormity of the moment as they did not rush you, instead allowing you to watch the sun a moment more. Every time you turned or took a step they would tense, ready to detain you. In the end you stood still, admiring the view with an unsettling feeling that this would be the last time you would ever see it exactly like that. The sun would not change, of course, but you would.

An instrument sounded in the distance, the sound of trumpet. They echoed across the fields and reverberated through the city. Your lips parted at the sight of a hundred torches being lit – for you. To guide you into Rome. The Praetorians did not have to tell you that now was the time. You could see it. You could feel it.

You set your shoulders back, trying to emulate the posture you often saw on noblewomen. Consus opened the door and you set forth without pause. The interior of the carriage was more comfortable than the one previously. You kept your body as still as you could, apart from your index finger, which you tapped against your leg.

As the carriage approached the city once more, you peeked anxiously out of the small window. It was mostly shielded by gauzy curtains but you were still able to catch a glimpse of the world outside. The closer you got to the city, the more Praetorians you saw. They lined the roads and were quick to snuff out any fights or eager citizens.

And the people – the sheer amount of them left you reeling. It was a mystery to you that you had been able to sneak out of the city at all. For every Praetorian there was at least five people. They craned their necks to get a glimpse of your carriage, a glimpse of you. Heart pounding, you pressed your back against your seat.

Consus cleared his throat. “Perhaps. . .you might try waving?”

Waving. Yes, you could wave. With an audible gulp, you sat forward once more and raised your hand, hoping the jolting of the carriage would hide its shakiness. If possible, the crowd got louder. People threw their hands up in response, smiling and pointing.

That was how you wanted them. Entertained, content. Anything to avoid their ire. Keep the emperors calm, keep them blithe, and you may just be able to do that. The pressure was quickly mounting but you were determined to shoulder the burden.

The imperial palace loomed over you once more. The crowds thinned out as you arrived, likely for the safety of the emperors and yourself. They were still close enough to see, and you felt them collectively inhale as the carriage rolled to a stop.

Cheers rose as Caracalla emerged from the palace. He flashed his gold-toothed grin, regal and immaculate in his toga virils. A wreath was perched amongst his unruly curls and his toga was embroidered with what looked like golden thread.

Your breath snagged in your throat as he arrived at the door of the carriage, pulled it open and held out his hand. You met his eyes and lifted your hand but did not place it in his. It felt as though your knees were about to collapse right out from underneath you.

“You are certainly playing the part of the unwilling bride,” Caracalla cackled once before a sober expression settled over his features. “Come to me, wife.”

You got to your feet and settled your hand in his. He helped you from the carriage with an eagerness that almost made you forget the hundreds of people that were watching. Would they know that you were one of them?

You looked down at your clothing and then up at the red-headed emperor before you. Perhaps you had not been one of them for quite some time.

Caracalla shuddered at the sight of you in your wedding clothes, blue eyes darting over you as though he could hardly take it in. His hand clenched tightly around yours as he pulled you closer, closer, until your shoulders were brushing.

The crowd was quieter now, murmuring amongst themselves. You dared not even spare them a glance as Caracalla led you up the steps, further into the palace. You thought you saw Geta, grim-faced and jealous, but Caracalla would not allow you to take your eyes off of him.

As you entered the palace, you felt the eyes of the crowd dropping from you one by one. They were replaced by the eyes of the gods, judgemental and amused. You would not be here, if not for them, steered by a hundred tiny choices that could have been different but had led to you being here.

Empress of Rome.

The room Caracalla led you to was not one you had been to before. As always, the door was full of incredibly carvings and details but one in particular stood out. A woman, regal and tall. On one arm was a shield, in the other she held a pomegranate. Juno.

Caracalla tugged you into the room with an insistence you could not ignore. The room was lowly lit and not as big as you were expecting. In it’s centre was a lectus, draped with fabrics and with a pillow at either end. It was clear what was expected of you, but you felt no dread; only the low rumblings of desire beginning to chase away your anxieties.

You gasped as Caracalla whirled, crowding you up against the door and nosing at your jawline. “Hello, wife.”

Wife. Your heart seemed to pause for a moment before resuming. Caracalla’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and keen. Already his hands were grasping at your arms, your waist, your ass. You could not help but arch into his touch.

“Husband,” you greeted, dusting a kiss across his bitten lips.

He giggled, the sound contrasting with the serious nature of your surroundings. It helped you relax more, melt further into his wandering hands and insistent mouth.

Your mind strayed, latching instead onto the other twin. Geta. Where was he? Although this marriage was happening with his approval it had been clear he was not entirely pleased. His love for his brother was admirable and softened you further.

Caracalla’s mouth found the scarred remnants of the bite mark he had left weeks earlier. His teeth slotted into it perfectly, dragging sweet pain down your spine and into your stomach. You stayed still, allowing him to continue mouthing at the mark.

“You are thinking of him,” he pulled away a little, “I can tell.”

Caracalla pouted and you quickly reached up to cup his cheek with your hand. “You are my husband, Caracalla. Tonight, I will be just yours.”

A pleased grin tugged at the edges of his lips as his hands slid to your upper thighs, urging you to hike one around his waist. Your toga was dragged up, and up, and up until you could feel his arousal pressing against you.

Caracalla’s eyes fluttered. It felt as though the room got hotter as he considered your position and the budding of your arousal that he could no doubt feel. He let your leg drop down to the floor before taking your hands again and almost dragging you to the lectus.

His hands found the knot at your waist. He admired it for only a second before pulling at it almost violently. He tossed it carelessly to the floor before placing his hand on your chest, pushing you down and back until you were laid out on the lectus beneath his greedy gaze.

The position seemed to change something in Caracalla. His hands clenched and unclenched, his jaw working furiously as he stared at you. The torches cast golden light over his face, orange flames caressing his pale skin as the moments stretched on.

“Is this real?” he finally asked, gazing down at you with a yearning so strong it made your eyes water.

“This is real,” you whispered, holding up your hand. Your ring glinted in the light, drawing his attention. “You gave me this, remember?”

Caracalla took your hand, first placing it on his chest before dragging it up to his face. His tongue flickered at your ring finger before he took it into his mouth, sucking at the digit as he palmed at his cock with his spare hand.

You squeezed your thighs together for relief, a whimper escaping your throat before you could catch it. Caracalla bit lightly at your finger before pulling away.

“Tell me you love me,” he breathed, crouching down beside you.

He watched your mouth with searching eyes, desperate hands clutching at your white toga. The arousal was coming off of him in waves, each one threatening to knock you and drag you down with it. It felt like a physical thing, filling the room until you had no choice but to breathe it in.

“I love you, Caracalla,” you answered.

In the quiet of the room, it echoed. You saw the words hit him, saw him soak them up and swallow them down.

“I shall never want for anything ever again,” he rasped, “for you have given me everything.”

When he fell into your arms, it was unbelievably gentle. There was an underlying firmness to his touch that you knew would not allow for protests or pushing away. You held still as he peppered kisses across the planes of your face, as he got acquainted with your body not as a lover, but as a husband.

He took the liberty of freeing you from your clothing before attending to himself. He climbed on top of you, nestled between your thighs as though he belonged there. There was no discomfort or self-consciousness as his hands dragged over your skin, skillful ministrations preparing you to be taken by him.

You could feel yourself, wet and clenching. Caracalla did not tease you; he entered your cunt with a swiftness you had not expected. There was a twinge as you adjusted to his thickness, hands tight around his forearms as he began to pump in and out.

It felt like more the fucking. It felt like something divine, something you had been made for. Like the first gasp of air after being underwater; you could not stop your sounds, could not stop your encouragements as he increased his pace.

“Tell me again,” he pleaded, “tell me.”

“I love you,” you bit out, “Caracalla, my husband, I love you.”

Every time you thought he might be able to spill over the edge he would paise, chest heaving, and lavish attention upon your breasts. Your nipples were stiff under his tongue, between his fingers, and you could already feel the beginnings of bruises on the soft flesh.

It was hard to say when it was really over. Caracalla wrung orgasms from you as though it was his god-given gift, leaving you clenching and shuddering around him as his fingers rubbed tight circles into your swollen clit. He followed you over the pulsing edge several times but did not seem to tire. He seemed determined to make sure you left the room with the beginnings of life budding in your womb.

You were helpless and could do nothing but lie there and allow yourself to be split apart on his cock. Every thrust sent him deeper, his head nudging at a place that made you see stars. Even as you began to squirm and whine, he did not stop, pinning you down with a hot hand between your breasts.

Your orgasm rippled out from that place deep inside you, urging you to lock your ankles around Caracalla’s hips to keep him close as he pumped inside of you. Your eyelids slammed closed involuntarily as your back arched almost painfully up off the lectus, hands scrabbling for purchase as he squeezed you dry.

I must have pleased the gods, you thought, if this is to be my fate.

At some point, after what felt like hours, fatigue reared its head and rose to snatch the both of you down into thick sleep. Whilst drifting you were aware of his warmth on top of you, head resting between your breasts, his hair dusting your chin with every inhale.

You were also aware when the door opened, a familiar figure slipping in. Your eyes slowly opened as Geta approached, staring down at the pair of you whilst twisting at the rings on his fingers. His nostrils flared at the picture the pair of you no doubt painted.

Without a word, you held out your hand and beckoned him closer. Something like relief spread across his pale features as he settled on his knees beside the lectus, lifting your hand to press a reverent kiss on back. Your breath caught in your throat at the gesture.

“Do not neglect me,” he warned you. “Empress.”

“I could not,” you answered honestly.

With careful arrangement and much grumbling from Caracalla, Geta was able to wedge himself on the lectus with both of you. It was a warm tangle of limbs and mouths and always reaching hands. In your mind, it was a true reflection of your union, of your connection to the emperors.

So deeply entwined that even the gods could not tear you apart. You closed your eyes again and let your mind be seduced by sleep.

In the morning, you would take your place beside them both as empress of Rome. You would begin your lessons with tutors, meet senators, sit beside your lovers on a throne of your own. You would look to the people, hold their gaze, and you would not flinch.

Authors Note - please, please let me know your thoughts. This was a beast of a chapter to write and I can’t believe it’s the end!

This was always how I intended to end it. I kinda see this entire fic as a prequel towards the rest of their lives?

If you have questions or thoughts (be kind) do not hesitate to send asks!

Please reblog, comment, like, etc if you enjoyed. Interaction is what keeps me motivated!♥️

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#eyes of the gods #fred hechinger #emperor caracalla #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #joseph quinn #emperor geta #caracalla x reader #geta x reader #geta x reader x caracalla #gladiator ii #gladiator 2

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syllikins · 11 months ago

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"𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐑?"

❀ genre: fluff

❀ pairing: sylus x reader

❀ contains: mutual pining, sylus down bad, yucky vulnerable feelings (jk i love him so much for this reason), reader in denial (sorry guys), poorly proofread

❀ word count: 1.03k

❀ authors note: i'm taking a crack at this. but omg that scene where he tells mc there is no love purer than his after he asks if she finally realizes how he feels about her? COME ON. HOW CAN I NOT LOVE HIM?? had to write something inspired by that dialogue because it was so????? i'm definitely going to reference to some other stuff he has said in the game that made my heart flutter because?????

"there is no love purer than mine."

is a statement that has been replaying in your mind over and over again since that day.

you couldn't help but wonder if sylus lacks self awareness because how can you actually pinpoint his feelings when every conversation the two of you engage in seems like a ploy for his own entertainment.

every pointless banter. every teasing remark. every sickeningly corny nickname that unfortunately sounds like honey whenever it left his lips. maybe you ignored his childish attempts at flirting because you were too busy ignoring the ticklish feeling it gave you in your heart down to your toes.

sylus may make your eye twitch or send a small twinge in your brain with every smartass comment he feels he has to belch out: but maybe that's part of his charm. he mainly gets away with it with a face like that.

but your developing feelings for sylus was far more emotional than it was physical.

maybe it was the way he was always ready to lock in when it really came down to it.

the two of you being around each other always ended up with you or him being hurt. sometimes both. and if not either of you, chaos ensued. maybe a building was blown up instead. it was fun but it was times like those when you learned about sylus in a slightly more intimate way. it took a few deep gashes and heavy panting, near death experiences and stitches. but he needed your help. you liked that he could at least admit that. he saw you reliable enough to call on you when he was most vulnerable. and he helped you in the same way, despite protest.

he likes to hold hands. but it's not just his fingers intertwined but more like your hearts tangle more than your fingers. it was nice...he may mean it to be authoritative but there is always an underlying sense of comfort in his fingertips.

maybe he was a vampire. as you had previously joked. silver hair. red eyes. that inexplicably gorgeous face. pale skin that would automatically show any trace of lip gloss or lipstick that he would have obtained by getting a bit too close while attempting to tease you. that allure that often times makes your head go numb before you're brought back to reality by another witty comment.

you were more than enthralled by him; you realised as you laid in bed a few nights ago.

now he just makes you nervous. why would he say that?

there is no love purer than his?

and it's all for you?

it all feels like too much.

he calls and you stare at the caller ID before choosing to nervously accept the call. not before you start a petty argument.

but even among his arrogance, and the chirp in his voice when he engages with you, he's still sickening sweet. slipping in how strongly he feels about you in between every other colourful retort of yours or so. gosh. could he not?

after you pathetically stutter through a smartass comment of yours, his amused chuckle has you fighting the urge to chuck your phone. so you just hang up instead. maybe you just need to go outside. that should calm you down.

the warm yet slightly humid summer night air hugs itself against your slightly trembling form, a small fire lit in your heart as you walk down the empty sidewalk in pyjamas.

no one is around. all the stores are closed. it's just you and the street lights as you murmur about all the things you don't like about him in an attempt to kill the light in your heart, this light giving you an odd sense of pleasure. to no avail, your rambling on seems to make the light grow. and a small buzz on your leg.

in your pocket.

he's calling again.

you stare at it this time. its like you think the loving feelings pouring from your pores will tap the accept button for you. this doesn't last long before you shake your head and put the phone back in your pocket. you continue walking, eyes kept on the sidewalk as you weigh the pro's and con's of accepting such feelings.

*thud* you've hit your head on something.

the familiar scent in your nostril already tells you what- more like who it is.

it's obvious he used his evol to just appear in front of you. or else you would have seen his shadow underneath the streetlight you're under before your forehead met his chest.

the mere thought of it being him before even seeing his face is enough to get your stomach to flip, so you flip yourself in the other direction. then he wraps his hand around your wrist but he never seems to forget to add the electrifying part.

your free hand twitches as he intertwined his beautiful fingers with yours, the linking of both your pointer fingers keeping you together.

the silence among the song of cicadas makes you bite your tongue, anticipating a smart, playful retort. and yet amidst your baited breath nothing.

your heart beats in your ears as his warmth lingers on your fingertips. the two linked fingers generating the most heat.

"gosh, would you stop tormenting me already?" you whisper.

"is that what you think this is?" his voice echoing in the street.

you're both silent for a moment. yet neither of you make a motion to separate the linked fingers.

"your love...in it's purest form..."

another silence.

"it belongs to you." he finishes

you turn to him, still staring at the pavement.

"my love....." you began.

he seems to be holding his breath as you fidget in front of him. you attempt to make your slippers overlap or something to that effect as your palms get sweaty.

"is just as pure as yours." you breathe out in something like a scoff.

even now you're trying to challenge him

"and i want you to have it."

when you utter that last bit, you look him straight in the eyes.

he exhales and accepts it with no hesitation.

in his arms, where both your hearts tangle.

#love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #fanfiction #syllikins #down bad

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angelsdean · 1 year ago

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I really really love the language both Misha and Jensen have been using re: the "confession"

Like Misha repeatedly stating "homosexual declaration of love"

declaration: a formal or explicit statement or announcement. announcement. proclamation.

It's just, stating something, making it known.

Then there's Jensen correcting himself from saying "confession" to "testament"

Jensen: "he gave a confess- or he gave his - his testament"

testament: something that serves as a sign or evidence of a specified fact, event, or quality. a tangible proof or tribute. an expression of conviction. creed. attestation. related to testimony: a solemn declaration. an open acknowledgment.

These words are more neutral / positive statements than "confession." Cas's feelings just are, and he is declaring them proudly, attesting** to them. Speaking his truth. Whereas "confession" connotes shame.

confession:

a formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime.

an admission or acknowledgment that one has done something that one is ashamed or embarrassed about.

a formal admission of one's sins with repentance and desire of absolution

All of these imply that something about what is "confessed" is shameful, embarrassing, sinful. There's guilt associated with the "confessed" thing, and that's not what Cas felt in the moment of his True Happiness.

In that moment he felt proud, he felt elated to finally declare his feelings, and also in his speech to Dean, which imo is a big part of Cas's happiness, getting to tell Dean how he sees him, how many actually see him, as a being of love, as someone who is always trying and fighting for others. as someone who loves so fiercely and strongly that he taught Cas how to love in this way too. And none of those feelings are shameful, he's proud to tell Dean these things. He's happy to finally get to say them.

So I really like the language they're personally using when talking about this scene. It's really not a confession. Cas's love isn't some secret, shameful thing. In that moment all those feelings burn brightly, happily in him. In that moment he is making his solemn declaration to Dean about his feelings and all the things about Dean that he loves, openly acknowledging what has sat quietly between them for years, not hidden, not shameful, just unspoken.

**to show, say, or prove that something exists or is true

#vic.txt #destiel #spn 15x18 #mymeta

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itstheghostofmypast · 4 months ago

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Baby Steps

Domestic AU Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: He wanted to be better- no- the best man you had ever seen.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.5 K

Est. Read Time: 12 min

Warnings: Toxic Father, Abandonment Issues

Rating: PG-17

Type: One-shot

Networks: @k-labels

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: GUESS WHO'S BACK!?

“I like it.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, staring at your husband who was standing there in all his suited glory, all tired and exhausted from a hard day's work, his not so narrow shoulders barely fitting in the small doorframe of your even smaller washroom as he sighed at your persistent banter.

“It's the disco ball isn't it.”

“Of course it's the disco ball!”

That confession and a little pout was all it had taken for the two of you to move from your extremely cramped studio apartment to a slightly better and bigger studio apartment, with more sunlight and surface area- taking with you, your mismatched furniture, potted plants and your LED monitor screen the two of you used as a TV. The two or you had spent your entire Saturday morning moving into and unpacking, setting things where they belonged in your new little home.

“See.” You huffed, landing on your back with a light thump on the mattress next to your worn out mountainous man, staring up at the ceiling, smiling when you felt him lace his fingers with yours.

“All I see is that we finally have a decent sized fridge.”

You smiled at his statement and sat on your elbows, staring at the monitor screen, “Oh~ it'll rain tomorrow!” You exclaimed, ignoring the way he groaned in response, turning to the other side, holding his ground when you pulled on his shoulder to face you, “Shall we have some soup tomorrow!? I'll bring the ingredients on my way back! OooooOo we could make this noodle soup recipe I found!”

San closed his eyes and stood his ground, resisting against your will for him to lay on your back, he just needed a 15 minute nap to recharge, but he had a feeling he was not going to blessed with it, not because of your constant yapping, no he liked your yapping, it rang like the little bells you'd here when Tinkerbell spoke, it was the bubbling guilt within him that had kept him up all night, had him sigh in defeat when you had rested you head against his chest, wrapping your limbs around him, had him frowning while packing, had him zoning out while he drove the two of you to your new home. To be fair, he should have told you but- SMACK

He winced at the smack, his shoulder aching, as the skin of his exposed shoulder stung because of the impact, causing him to sigh in defeat as he closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes. He felt the bed shake as you stood up, your grumbling voice tickling his ears as he rubbed his bare shoulder, wondering if you were upset with him for it too. You had to be, right? Any sane person would be mad at spending their biggest bonus on a rent deposit, something a man usually takes care of, it's not that you had said this to him, no, you'd never say anything like this, but it was true, it was a man’s job to provide, that's what he had promised when he had gotten down on one knee, to protect you, cherish you and give you a perfect life, comfortable life that you had always deserved. It's something he had promised you to make sure you didn't have to live the same life your mother did.

All your life you had seen your mother working, at least that's what you remembered. The memory of your father was a blur, and if you had a say yourself, you'd say your brain had deleted the file. There was no need to remember a man who had chosen his mistress over his wife, especially because his mistress was having a son. So, since that unfortunate night, you had seen your mother work tirelessly, to give you a good life, now, that did not involve luxuries, but she strongly endorsed a good education, healthy meals and a roof over your head.

There were moments in your life where you'd barely see that poor woman, who was busy doing odd jobs after her shift would end at her day job, from bagging groceries to baby sitting to making lunch meals for offices to even working in your school cafeteria part time- did you get bullied for that? Yes, you did, though all that had done was push you to study harder, work harder, and to end up earning a life that would allow your mother to quit all her jobs and then you'd be the one providing for her, giving her a comfortable life.

The moment you had confessed that to Choi San he was whipped, on the floor, down right rolling on the ground for you- the only problem was, that you had told him this as soon as you had rejected his offer on a date, ensuring that you respect him as a colleague and telling him how you do believe that he is a great person, but that you had no time or interest in men, given the lack of existence of a male figure in your and the dire need to give your honest, hardworking and loving mother the life she deserved. Fortunately for you, fate had sent your way a God sent blessing, one who effortlessly had worked day and night to gain your approval, from showing you how your father was not what a “true man” was supposed to be, to lending you a hand once and a while- and let's not talk about how he had to earn your mother's approval.

Whether you'd like to admit it or not, gaining her approval was not as difficult as you had believed it to be, as you had wanted it to be. In fact, the moment Choi San had brought you home, all soaked to the bone and shivering- your bus had broken down and you had to run home, ironically he lived in the same direction- holding you close as the two of you waited for your mother to open the apartment door, you had begun to realise how you had lost this battle, especially when you noticed the way your mother had invited him into your place of residence, urging that he too should stay for warm soup- and even though you had tried to protest, something that had San almost leaping out the window (mind you, only because he wanted to do nothing but make you feel comfortable, and if his absence did so, then he would disappear like Houdini). That night, as you lay next to your mother in your shared bed in your cramped small studio, she had nagged you for the first time, and for the first time you were jealous, especially when she had said, “He's a good boy, no, a good man.” How dare she pay more attention to him than you? She had even ended up giving her portion of rice for him, because he was a “big man”- the hell did that mean?

At the end though, two years in, when you were ever so close to giving up, the people in your team burdening you with their work had you wondering if this was your fate because you were poor, you met the warm embrace of a sun-kissed, mountainous being, one who held you close, letting you silently cry as he whispered in your hair, ever so gently, enough to have you gripping onto him tighter than you could ever imagine, “Let me help you…we can do this together.” Since then, the two of you had been an unbreakable force, especially at work, and let's just say when your mother came to know about him wanting to marry you a year ago, she had urged him to “DO IT TONIGHT!” The poor lad had to convince the potential future version of his wife, “Mother, please, I can't force her yet, after the project.” True to his word, after the project, the man had gotten down on one knee and slipped that ring on your finger faster than you could say yes.

Six months, it had been six months and here he was, having you spend your bonus on your new apartment. If only he had worked harder, done more over time work, maybe taken up another job, where he could work a few hours in the night, he could've done this himself, he could have let you save the money, or spend it on something you like or spend it on your mother, he could have set a better example-

“San?”

He flinched at the closeness of your voice, sighing when felt the tip of your finger gently push between his brows, “Why is my big man frowning in his sleep?”

Huh?

Slowly yawning he sat up, stretching his arms over his head, not noticing how you were smiling at him, he looked just like a cat sometimes. Turning his head to face you, he saw you walk back into the open kitchen, picking up a pot and placing it on the small dining table, “Come on, I made soup, even made side dishes, replenish your strength my little soldier!” Your cherry like voice calming his nerves as he quietly nodded and sat down, staring at the food before blinking up at you, “How…long was I asleep for?”

“Hmmm…I think an hour or so…but you were knocked out cold!” You exclaimed, “I dropped a pan and you didn't wake up.” Your smile faltered when you didn't get a reaction out of him, only to look at him staring at the plate in front of him, was he upset? He had seemed a bit down since yesterday, maybe he was tired, but then again, he'd been agitated ever since you had convinced him to move. Maybe he didn't want to move? Maybe he thought you were taking charge? Maybe he didn't like that- no man likes a woman taking decisions, so why would he-

“I'm sorry.”

Your thought halted at his words, eyes meeting his guilt ridden ones, what was he guilty of? He slowly reached over for your hand, having you sit on the stool that was closer to his chair, as he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb before bringing it to his lips, pressing his warm lips against your skin, whispering, “You do so much for me…I can't thank you enough,” you felt something warm blossom within you at his words as you whispered his name, only for him to continue. San reached for your other hand, now holding your smaller hands in his, though he still chose not to make eye contact, “I'm sorry you had to…pay the deposit with your bonus…it's my job, I promised to give you a comfortable life, to give you everything, and not only are you still working but you had to invest in our move. I know,” taking a deep breath he finally looked at you with a sombre expression, one that had your heart break, you never wanted him to feel this way, “I know, you say you don't mind but, I would rather have you save, or spend on your mother- I'm going to apply at the store nearby for a night shift, I can go there after work, and a morning shift for the weekends, an extra cash flow will-”

“You will do no such thing!” You snatched your hands out of his and frowned, ignoring his gasp as you scoffed, “You think I'd rather have a few extra dimes than be able to spend time with you? What are you stupid or dumb?”

“Both of those words usually mean the same thing, love.”

“That's what you got from what I just said!?” You huffed, gripping him by the front of his vest as you leaned closer to frown at him, “I don't like men, I really don't, you on the other hand just piss me off and I still love you for some ungodly reason! Do you realise I spent my bonus here because I wanted to? Because I wanted to start a happy life with you? Didn't you say we're in this together?”

His hands gently gripped your shoulders before pushing you to sit straight, not letting go of you even when you let go of him, he felt his heart leap with joy at your words, “I just…don't you think you could have spent it on yourself or your mom? I know I said we're in this together…we really are but I-”

“You're not my father, Choi San.”

His breath hitched at your statement, fingers digging into your shoulders by reflex, unsure of what to say at the confession.

“You're not like the man who abandoned me because he wanted a son, you're not like the man who was too busy living another life to even turn to look at the one he had left halfway through…each day I wake up in your arms, grateful to have found someone who puts me before himself, someone who cares about my mother, someone who wants to keep me happy, someone who treats me like an equal.”

You felt his hold on you relax at that, smiling softly at him as you leaned closer, cupping his face to have him look at you before gently brushing your lips against his, “My mother wanted to move back to the countryside, she's happy there, she knows I'm happy with you, I send her enough each month to know she's living the life she deserves…we visit her on weekends, don't we?” he nodded in your hold, his own hands now gripping your waist like you were a piece of him- which you were.

“I spent my money knowing it was a good investment, I did the math Sannie,” You smiled before leaning even closer, “You.Can.Spend.On.A.New.Mattress.” Punctuating each word with a kiss you pulled back, and moved to the chair, leaving your husband sitting there a blushing mess as you began to eat, “Let's get rid of the old thing. Need a new one…” you said before taking a bite nodding towards his food as you swallowed, “Can't give her grandkids with a busted mattress.”

From the tip of his toes to the top of his head the man felt like he was on fire. Did he know that you two were not going to have kids anytime soon? Yes, he did. Did the thought of having a family with you excite him? Yes, it brought him pure joy, enough to have him smiling like an idiot, as he started to eat like the hungry boy he was, not before putting his extra serving of rice on your side, “Eat up, love, gotta keep you strong and healthy for the future baby Chois.”

“Calm down big boy, we aren't having them anytime soon.” You snorted, as you smiled at the thought of your own little family, wondering if your kids would be as hyper as him, or as calm as you- either way, that was for later, for now, you needed to work harder, get a bigger apartment, save up and so much more, and just the thought of it had you frowning for a moment only to lock your eyes with your husband who gave you that boyish smile calming your nerves,

“I know, baby steps, baby steps, one day we change the mattress, get a bigger apartment and then before ya know it, we get our own dozen babies.”

“Sure Mr.Choi, whatever makes you sleep at night.”

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