#Forsake me father | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lizzyiii · 1 month

Note

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

580 notes · View notes

miss-dollette · 11 months

Text

Makarov • Baby Daddy Headcanons

While Makarov is a psychopathic maniac without a care for anyone, he'd definitely never abandon his own. This man values loyalty above anything and will never forsake one of his own, especially his baby mama and his child.

A visit from Makarov would be rare, but when he visited, he always made sure to bring a gift for his baby, and sometimes, even for you. Nothing cheap, of course—a necklace worth thousands. See it as a reward for being an oh-so-good woman and bearing him a child.

Don't bother with work. Call in and never come back. Makarov has you covered for the rest of your life. He'd move you away from the dingy city and have you cozy with your baby in a house you'd never be able to pay off on your own. But you wouldn't need to worry about that - Makarov made sure to pay in cash to whatever sketchy realtor he knew would never reveal your location. If they did... let's just say they'd never sell another house again.

The new addition to the Makarov family would love their father. They'd cry all day in your arms, never stopping until their father's rough cheek scratched against their own, and he shushed them in his rough Russian manner.

The first time you handed over the tiny Makarov to their father would become a bittersweet memory.

"Make sure his/her neck is supported," you softly said while passing the baby into Makarov's arms, mindful of the delicate strength his/her little neck had yet to develop.

"Perfect," you said as Makarov gently held the baby in his arms, his neck crooked down as he watched his baby's eyelids flutter, their little pink cheeks, and tufts of hair on top their head. The baby tiny fist lifted into air, and Makarov placed his lips upon their tiny knuckles.

You leaned in and placed your lips on Vladimirs rough cheek.

He'd definitely pretend he wasn't obsessed with his newborn baby's scent. You'd walk into the nursery, and he'd shoot up from the crib and act like his nose wasn't all up in his baby's scalp.

He'd be fiercely protective of his family. No one, not even his closest allies, would know. Maybe Yuri, but he'd only tell him long after you gave birth.

If he had a son, he'd definitely plan to raise him in a macho-man way. Your son's fifth birthday gift would be a Russian prison knife from the Gulag. And no, he wouldn't care if you made a fuss about it being dangerous for a child.

"Now, why the hell would you give him that? What were you thinking?"

"He's nearly a grown man, and every grown man needs a knife."

"He's five!"

"I was gifted a rifle when I was five, so be grateful!"

Now, if he had a daughter, that would be a whole 'nother story. She would definitely be his little tsarina. All she would need to do is ask, and she'd have it in her little palm.

"She'll become a spoiled little brat if you keep spoiling her like that,"

"What, like you?"

"Not funny."

"Seems funny to me. Come, My Little Tsarina, let's go pick out one of your future cars."

He grew up poor and constantly surrounded by critters sneaking around in his home. He'd bring home stray cats to make sure no rats or mice would go near his baby.

Will sometimes sleep over. You'd both sleep in the same bed, and his razor-sharp training from when he was a soldier would come to good use. Any noise your baby made would wake him instantly.

He's paranoid as hell, so be ready for him to patrol the house multiple times a day. Your baby will grow up thinking it's normal for his father to have an automatic assault rifle in hand, walking around with murder in his eyes, ready to blow apart whoever dared target his family.

The baby would giggle every time their father passed by, and you'd watch boredly as he walked past. It got boring after the first ten times.

If there ever was a break in, God bless the idiot who did so. Not even his bones would be found.

Other than that, he's a cutie patootie when it comes to his baby. But like, a scary cutie patootie.

#cod mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod makarov #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #cod mw3 #mw2 #vladimir makarov #makarov #cod mwii #call of duty #mw3 headcanons #headcanon #fluff

2K notes · View notes

starfishstark · 2 months

Text

PRINCESS AND THE SITH

NOTE guys this prompt got a hold of me, so blame @ofstarsandvibranium for the midnight horrible writing

WARNINGS 1.6K words, violence, death of a non-MC, smut (you freaks), lots of religious imagery and refrences to Qimir being god-like (he is)

PAIRING qimir x princess! reader

you and young jedi qimir fall in love when he's guarding you as a member of the royal family. you're stricken away from each other in the name of duties and responsibilities, and the love is thought to be a lost cause to you...until you see him again, holding a vibrant red saber to the throat of your betrothed.

Oh my stars, he was just as beautiful as the day he left. Even with grim over his face, and sweat glistening over his skin. The red reflected off of him in a way that she could only compare to heavenly. Oh what a horrible idea…

It was just a mistake, that was all. As a kid, she should have known she couldn’t have grown close to any Jedi. As a teenager, she should have recognized her faults, and moved past them. Not whatever happened between them then, puppy innocent love. Nothing tainted, nothing impure, simply just a love that bloomed between them, first love.

But it could never meant to be. She knew she had to grow into her royal duties, one day marry into a rich royal family somewhere out there to settle down and provide heirs for that family as she wasn’t the eldest.

And Qimir…he was a Jedi. He could never have that without forsaking what he has stood for all his life. So once the threat on the royals’ lives had ended, he was sent away. And she never thought of him again…

That was completely false, by the way. It was like every waking second after his departure was spent in reminiscence of him.

Every lesson became a guess if he would like the subject or not. Every lonely stroll became a daydream about his presence. Every late night was spent wishing he was there guarding her room from the inside, holding her in warrior strengthened arms and confessing the sweet love he had for her.

As time washed past, the remembrance faded away, until the impending face of reality dawned upon her. There was no point in wishing over something she would never have, something that wouldn’t serve her people.

She had a royal duty to be bound elsewhere and provide heirs. It was time she forgot about the boy that only stayed weeks, but occupied her mind for years.

But he stood here, grinning like a madman, but at least he was grinning.

“Qimir?” She asked softly, not daring to guess if it was him or not.

The guard took her by the arm, pulling her away, "Princess, you need to step away. Our priority is getting you to safety—”

“What do you mean- oh.”

She saw it, the reason he was grinning so widely. In his arms he held the man she was meant to marry in the crook of his elbow, squeezing the neck so tightly that the eyes started to bulge out, but her eyes stayed focused on the sheer mass of muscle he displayed. He wore white…white, like her husband was supposed to on the wedding day. White, and red that made him glow in her eyes.

“Qimir, what is this?”

“I read…” He started off, clearly his throat, trying to soften his voice. “I read about your laws and traditions, princess…” He glanced off at the man he was currently strangling, holding the end of a small dagger like saber, to his head, a look full of disgust and malice. “And this idiots’ laws too…If I kill him off, I get his wife or his kingdom…and to your laws, all you need to provide is a backup heir for your kingdom…it doesn’t matter who the father is.”

“Of course it does, it needs to be of royal blood,” She answered simply, face and thoughts going more and more blank the longer she spent in his presence. He was really here, and it was flattering he wanted to marry her, but really it could never work out he was a Jedi-

The red saber stared back at, as if taunting her to continue her thoughts.

No, no, ok, makes sense, he’s a Jedi anymore, but…if he wasn’t Jedi, what was he?

Qimir cocked an eyebrow and smirked at the ministry to her right. “Is that so?”

The Ministry looked down in shame. “No, you are wrong princess…He…he is right. The father does not matter if at least the mother is in direct blood of the throne.”

Her face dropped, looking at them equally with shame and a repulsion, and then panicking, looking suddenly at her fiance’s impending death in the eyes. “Wait, wait, Qimir, don’t be rash, we don’t have to kill him, you’ll enable an entire army of attacks, think rationally here-”

“Oh princess…” He crooned, a glaze in his eyes that never left her, not even for a second. He tilted his head, turning her fiance in tow with him. “Shh…If it’ll hurt, you can close your eyes this time. This isn’t the first time I’ve killed for you…and it won’t be the last either. Shhh, sh…close your eyes.”

“You…you can’t do this,” She tried again stupidly.

“Yes, yes I can…” he whispered, voice impossibly soft when the subject was the murder of a royal in front of her, her supposed fiance… well not anymore, a little voice in her head cooed, sounding impossibly like Qimir in that moment.

“Just close your eyes, princess, nothing to see here…the wedding will commence like normal…and nothing will come between us again.”

“Qimir, please, he’s innocent,” She whispered, tears springing in her eyes.

“Princess, c’mon now, don’t make this more difficult for yourself…close your eyes, and cover your ears.”

She glanced at the man she was strangling, taking a full moment to beg for forgiveness in herself, before she turned around closing her eyes and covered her ears. She thought she could practically feel Qimir’s grin resonating around her, and the second her ex-fiances’ body hit the floor. After a moment of silence, a hand rested at her shoulder, turning her around.

Qimir’s handsome face tugged at her heartstrings, even when she knew that the hands he touched her so softly with were stained with blood. His eyes were alike to a puppy, with hope filling a spark in them that she would marry him and they could love again, the love that never truly fades. His hair framed his face, since when was it that long? Oh she hadn’t seen him in that long.

“Ready to get married, princess?”

After the marriage, no one really dared to come near him after he so simply beheaded the heir to a million count kingdom. Suffice to say, no one would bother them for a while…especially during their wedding night. When he had face pushed against the pillow while he took his time learning his way around her body once again.

“When I-” He cut off with a sharp thrust that rendered her useless under him, whining some nonsense about how good everything felt, “saw the wedding announcement, princess, I nearly killed him that night. Almost consumed him in the force itself, that bastard, trying to take what’s mine.”

“Yours, yours, yours, Qimir, I’m so sorry—”

“Shhh, it’s ok, princess, I’m not mad at you,” he crooned into her ear, his nose tracing a line up and down her neck in comfort as he forced himself further into her, the mess dripping onto the bedsheets and down her thighs. “You didn’t have a choice, you thought you had to do it…I know you would have chosen me if you could, oh poor baby, you thought you were all alone…”

His voice was so soft onto her, like velvet that soothed all the cuts left behind by the years he wasn’t there. “It’s ok… I’m here now, princess…”

She gasped softly when he pulled out just to thrust all the way in again, his fingers coming up to push her head back into the mattress, forcing her hips higher and straightening back out. “Stars, princess, I dreamed of this so much when I didn’t have you…did you dream of me?”

“Almost every night, Qimir, missed you so much,” She blabbed, feeling tears peak at her eyes with how long he was dragging this out. “Please, please, please, need you, need you now, please—”

“Shhh, shh, baby, maybe if it’s easier, you should close your eyes,” He whispered, a mockery of the circumstances before their wedding, sending a shiver involuntarily down her shoulder. “I know what you need, just-” he thrusted again, pressing a spot inside her that made her see stars “-relax.”

She practically melted in his grip, while he breathed heavily above her, the sound like a symphony to heaven’s gates to her. Like pure bliss exploding on her skin, ever second he was with her.

“Fuck, I love you so much, princess, baby, you love me too, don’t you? Stars, I did this all for you, I fucking love you.”

“I love you, I love you, Iloveyou, Iloveyou-” The phrase became a mantra on her tongue, a prayer that died the second he started to move on her. Prayers were answered, an alter laid before her. He had the wings of an angel, and the eyes of the devil when he peered at her with such power laid in his hands. His blood-streaked hands, like the acceptance of a sacrifice, sacrifice in her name, if he was god, what does that make her? The worship he gave to her, laying practically at her feet, jumping down from his pedestal for a touch of mortality from her lips, and the dangers of being young forever when they touched.

“You’re mine, princess, no other dirty prince will ever touch you,” He whispered to her, and she knew she believed in faith when his words rang like truth itself in her core.

When they both finished, he laid next to her, curling her hair behind her ear and pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, each one like sunlight on her skin. She knew what it was like to be touched by a god.

#qimir #the acolyte #qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #the stranger #qimir x you #the stranger x reader #the acolyte x reader #qimir smut #qimir fic

657 notes · View notes

zarameraki · 5 months

Text

♡₊˚🔪・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘁. 𝟮₊˚🔪・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 obsessed at the first glance 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 FIVE ORGASMS HELP 𖥔 he's downright depraved for you 𖥔 toji is a certified p*ssy eater 𖥔 MDNI ffs

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: sorry ive been mia mamas, im currently depressed. here's part two yall have been waiting for. love u READ PART ONE HERE

Throughout dinner, your leg trembled incessantly, your gaze flitting to the clock every five minutes. The hunger to refute Toji's belief in the dominance of your bloodline churned in your stomach, causing it to growl. You needed to assert the fact that you were capable of making decisions.

Sure, the majority of your significant choices had been dictated by your parents. Whether it was forsaking art school to follow in your father's Ivy League footsteps or opting for low-calorie breakfasts to squeeze into yet another gala dress you didn't desire—

Alright, fine. Perhaps you weren't as adept at making your own decisions as you'd hoped. This realization dawned on you during your brief exchange with Toji, a stranger not listed on your parents' VIP list.

It was a rebellious decision and it felt . . . great.

“Hey, Dad?”

Your father shifted his gaze towards you, perched at the head of the table while you and your mom sat across from him. “Yes, dear?”

“I . . . I'm not feeling great.” You’re seriously going to do this, huh?

“What's going on?” Your mother’s fork paused mid-air.

You nervously rubbed your stomach, silently hoping they'd catch on to what you were trying to convey about your period. Your fingers stayed crossed under the table, hoping they'd buy your excuse.

“Very well.” Your father cleared his throat, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “You can go rest for the night.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, hastily grabbing your purse and bolting out of the restaurant, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears as you made a beeline for the elevator.

Standing outside Toji's suite on the twelfth floor was dreadful.

Your fingers fumbled in your purse until they found the napkin, clutching it tightly as if it were a lifeline.

Mentally, you battled against the urge to knock on the door. It felt absurd, this impulse to approach a stranger's room solely because of his allure—the way he towered over you, his muscles seemingly carved from stone, and those piercing eyes that seemed to peel away your facade layer by layer until you felt exposed to your very core.

With each heartbeat, your stomach churned at the prospect of another mundane conversation where you'd merely be reduced to a run-of-the-mill woman. That's all you were to him, unlike the pretentious jerks who had been eyeing you judgmentally from across the dinner table.

Tapping on the door, you smoothed down your hair and subtly adjusted your bra, just in case things took a turn for the better. The door creaked open, revealing Toji, looking as intimidating and smug as ever.

You lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey—” Suddenly, your feet left the ground, and you found yourself tossed over Toji's shoulder like a rag doll. “What the fuck?”

“Cursing suits you, sweetheart.” He carried you back to his room and plopped you onto his bed, settling over you. As you sank into the mattress, you covered your chest and turned your face away while he scrutinized you. “Did you eat?”

“A bit.”

“That eager to see me, doll?”

“No,” you replied, unsure, but Toji easily detected your falsehood. “Did you eat?”

“No.”

“Just order room service.”

“I did.” He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “She’s here.” His lips ghosted over the curve of your ear. “And I’m fucking starving, sweetheart.”

You blinked rapidly, your hands gripping his shoulders, the urge to push him away and retreat to your family dinner strong.

“Why are you here?” Toji's breath brushed against your cheek, not quite a kiss but stirring something within you nonetheless, causing your legs to clench involuntarily.

“To talk,” you mumbled. “I also wanted to get to know you.”

“Is that so?” His chuckle was laced with mockery, causing you to shrink inward, hugging your elbows defensively. “Fine. You can ask me a total of five questions, and I'll answer with complete honesty.”

“Really?” Your eyes sparkled as they met his bemused gaze.

“On one condition.”

Your stomach twisted with apprehension. “What is it?”

“One orgasm for every question.”

Your lips pursed, your muscles tensed, and you were overwhelmed by his condition. Could a woman actually achieve five consecutive orgasms? Especially one who had never experienced sex and struggled with self-pleasure? Was Toji capable of such feats? Was he worth getting to know?

He nonchalantly played with your hair, waiting for your answer. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind that signature smirk that never slipped from his lips.

His lips.

You wanted to kiss that scar. You wanted to know how he’d gotten it. You really wanted to get to know him. You just didn’t know why. It wasn't as though you could bring him home to meet your family; he didn't fit the mold they expected. He didn't match the conventional standards of appearance, even though he perfectly matched yours. Yet, his personality had an undeniable charm that captivated you.. And his personality was charming to you. If you couldn’t have his soul, at least you could have his body. And you had a feeling he wanted the same.

“Okay,” you finally said.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Before he could move, you pushed your palms against his chest. “But I’m a virgin. So, don’t . . . you know.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not fucking you yet.” Yet. That word made your stomach roll. “I told you I was starving, and my dinner is between these pretty legs.” His rough hand smoothed up your thigh. “Now, be a good fucking girl and pull your dress up for me.”

As he rose, your gaze lifted with his, perched back on his knees. Nerves fluttered within you, but you pushed them down. With a steady hand, you grasped the edge of my dress, feeling its fabric between your fingers, and began to lift it, slowly revealing what lay beneath. “Wait. Is it going to hurt? Orgasming five times?”

“You might pass out.”

“But I’ve got an early lecture tomorrow.”

“Then I suggest you better hurry if you want your answers, doll. I want to take my sweet time savoring you.” Toji winked, and your legs quivered.

With a nervous gulp, you lifted your dress, exposing your thighs and panties to him. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, and you focused on the ceiling, pretending it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Ignoring the itch on your cheek, you dared not move.

Toji’s cuffed your ankles, urging your legs upward, causing them to bend. His large hands rested on your knees, spreading them apart. Glancing down, you met his intense gaze as he lowered his head. “You’re already so wet, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw. “First question.”

“Shoot.” His lips grazed the soft skin of your inner thighs. You sucked in a sharp breath from the fluttering sensation, eyes closing as the blissful kisses continued ricocheting from one leg to the other.

“Where do you work?”

Toji chuckled against your skin, the heat of his mouth brushing over your clothed sex.

You looked up and locked eyes with Toji, his gaze intense under his hooded lids. He playfully stuck out his tongue, tracing it along your most sensitive area, causing you to sink back onto the pillows, overcome with sensation. “Oh, God.”

He teased you further, swirling the tip of his tongue around your clit, his laughter mingling with your pleasure as you writhed on the bed.

With a mischievous grin, he hooked his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your thighs. A soft whistle escaped him, his warm breath teasing your skin. “Here we go, baby,” he murmured, his fingers coated in your arousal, presenting it to you. “This is what I’m talking about.” He cleaned his fingers with a lick and urged your legs apart, ready to continue.

Toji's tongue expertly gathered your pre-cum as he licked and flicked your clit, trailing kisses from your entrance to the peak. His mouth widened, enveloping your pussy as he sucked eagerly. The pressure in your stomach intensified, akin to standing on the precipice of a cliff, as he held you firmly by the back of your shirt.

“Toji—”

“Hmm?” He moaned, intensifying his suction and digging his nails into your thighs. With a loud pop, he released, then swiftly resumed lapping at your clit. The stimulation sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, wailing moans drowning out your breaths.

Sensing your impending climax, you felt the tension building in your stomach, his palm pressing down to restrain you. “Toji— Toji— I'm so close. God, I'm so close!”

“Are you?” Toji asked as he pushed his tongue into your entrance. The moment a scream escaped you, your hands flew to your mouth. With his hands, he lifted your hips and thrust his warm, delicious tongue in and out of you, resembling a panting dog. He felt your tight, soft walls clench him in, the tip of his palette probing every sweet spot inside of you.

You climaxed with a cry, clutching the back of his hair as he eagerly consumed every drop of your orgasm. The cherry on top was a gentle peck to your clit.

“Fucking hell,” he said, sitting back up and wiping a thumb across his wet lips. “That’s my pussy now, sweetheart.”

You know what? You weren't even going to argue against that statement. Your body still trembled, your legs spasming and toes curling even without his touch. Just seeing his imposing figure, his tongue swiping across his lips where your essence lingered, ignited a primal urge within you—no, a desperate need for him once more.

“Your answer,” you whispered, straightening out your legs for a break.

“I’m an entrepreneur.”

Your heart skipped at his answer. “Really? Do you have your own company?”

“Sort of. It’s a private business. My clients consist of politicians and men and women in powerful positions like your mother. I aid them with the process of maintaining their positions without any external hindrances.”

“That’s . . . ” And here you assumed he was modest. “. . . great.” Clearing your throat, you poised your next question. “Where do you live?”

“Right now, I’m thinking of moving here.” He gave your sore cunt a playful slap.

“Toji!”

That playful laugh made you blush, stifling a giggle. He was just too charming, and you were quickly becoming smitten.

“Take off your dress,” he instructed.

You complied, this time with confidence, slipping it over your head and tossing it aside as if it were worth twenty dollars instead of two hundred.

Toji admired the sight of you laid out before him, silently congratulating himself for reaching this point since he first laid eyes on you this morning. Part of him was frustrated at how easily it all unfolded, at your naivety in accepting a stranger's invitation. But he resolved to work on fortifying your defenses in the future. He had so much he wanted to teach you, to unleash the beautiful creature hidden within you. Oh, he was going to enjoy every moment with you.

Leaning over your body, Toji yanked down your bra, freeing your breasts from the confines. “Fuck me. Look at these gorgeous tits.” He gathered them in his palms and buried his face in between. “Oh, fuck. You smell so good, sweetheart.” He kissed each nipple, his coarse tongue making you rub your feet together. He sucked them into his mouth, moaning against your flesh, while holding your eyes. “Feels good, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, clutching his hair as he continued to lavish attention on your hardened nipples, tugging them between his teeth and watching your breasts sway with each movement. “Toji?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you touch me there again?”

“Your pussy?”

You sighed quietly, his bluntness not surprising you. “Yes.”

“Thought you'd never ask.” His fingers trailed down to your hip, tracing patterns while he nibbled on your nipples. Your attention was split, but mostly fixed on the gentle caress over your intimate area. His fingertips quickly found your clit and began to rub it firmly.

You sank into the softness of the sheets, unable to contain your moans. His touch was everywhere, igniting every sensitive spot on your body with his lips and hands. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he slid two fingers inside you, causing your chest to arch, pressing your breast closer to him.

Breaking away from your nipple, he started leaving a necklace of marks on your neck, each pinch of his teeth jolting you as your body jerked with his fingers driving in and out of you. His thumb abused your clit with quick circles, squelching sounds echoing in the room.

It took another minute before you were coming down again, slathering his fingers with your mess.

Toji spoke, but your pounding heartbeat drowned out his words.

“What?” you asked, squinting as if you'd had a bit too much to drink.

“Sundale Apartments. Unit 20. That's where I live.”

You struggled to focus, trying to absorb the information through your haze. “Cool,” you managed.

“Had enough?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, gripping his biceps. You realized his fingers were still caressing you intimately. “God, okay. Next question. Uh, do you have a fam—?”

“No.”

Suddenly alert, you snapped out of your daze. He withdrew his hand and placed it on your waist, as if steadying himself from your question. There was no hint of amusement in his expression. “Moving on. Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“Why? You planning on playing house with me, sweetheart?”

You blushed and shook your head, even though in your mind, you envisioned cozy evenings, shared mugs, and Taco Tuesdays. You were a hopeless romantic at heart.

Toji fell to his side, laying straight. “Sit on my face.”

“Huh?” you replied, taken aback.

“I want seconds of my pussy.”

When you were too terrified to move, Toji pulled onto his chest. You straddled it, your previous orgasm absorbing into his t-shirt.

He gripped your ass and tugged you forward until you were inches from his chin. “Grab the headboard.”

You did and quickly sent a prayer that you’d survive. He told you to sit comfortably again, making you drag your folds from his chin to his mouth.

Toji had a firm hold on your ass in case you suffocated him. He took a deep whiff of your cunt, already tonguing the juices leaking like dew-drops from leaves. “What I wouldn’t do to wake up to this every morning.”

You stifled a giggle. “Does that mean you want to play home with me, Toji?”

“Want me to build it for us? I'm pretty good with my hands.” He left a sweet, small kiss to your sore clit, making you sigh.

Us.

For the next ten minutes, he pleasured you consistently, thrusting his tongue inside you, driving you to grind against his mouth. He slurped, lapped, sucked at your pussy like he’d just discovered an oasis in a never ending dessert. He’d slap at your ass if you tried to sit up to give him room to breathe, warning you to stay fucking put.

Your third climax left you limp like a ragdoll, your forehead colliding with the headboard as he cleaned you up. “I can’t do this anymore, Toji.”

Toji chuckled and gently tapped your back, signaling for you to move so he could sit up. “I’ve only ever fucked around. Never been the committed type.” His fingers trailed lightly across your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. “Think you can change me?”

“Godspeed to me.”

His laughter was infectious, and soon you found yourself joining in, your body relaxing against his. He caught you and pulled you onto his lap. “One last question. Choose wisely.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder and tenderly cupped his cheek. “Could you kiss me?”

The wickedness in his eyes softened to match the gentleness in yours. He tentatively licked his lips, lowering his head as though unsure of how to proceed. Mimicking his movement, you leaned in, gently pressing your lips against his.

Toji drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening as he observed your closed eyes intently. He had never kissed anyone before, especially not on the lips. It was a rule he had adhered to despite numerous sexual encounters. If women tried to initiate kissing, he would rebuff them and leave without further engagement. He wasn’t the romantic type at all, and kissing was a universally romantic gesture. He preferred a good, no-strings-attached fucking.

So how was it that you had already entangled him by simply existing?

You broke away first and pecked his scar. He looked so vulnerable, and you wondered how many other sides of him existed aside from the cocky display.

Toji lowered his eyes to your neck with several lovebites, some more on your tits, down to the stickiness between your legs. He had also disheveled your lipstick, your hair, and you.

“Can I ask another question?” you whispered.

He doubted you had the stamina for another orgasm. If you did, he had thoroughly stretched you out to fuck you raw and long.

Toji nodded.

You smirked. “Do you have vodka and Diet Coke in your mini fridge?”

He kissed your jaw. “And a bathtub that’s conveniently filled with warm water.”

You didn't need much persuasion to join Toji in the tub. With him behind you, his legs on either side, you quietly sipped a drink that smelled of cleaning chemicals, feeling somewhat intoxicated by the circles he traced on your belly. His cigarette smoke mingled with the steam. As he took slow drags, you felt his breath against your skin.

“Speak,” he said gruffly.

“Hmm?”

“Something’s on your mind.”

You shook your head, unwilling to divulge the daily criticisms you faced as the hotel heiress. Trusting anyone with your personal struggles was a risk, and Toji wasn't someone you trusted, at least not with your thoughts.

His hand grabbed your jaw and started moving it up and down. “‘Oh, Toji. I’m just thinking about your big, fat cock pressing against my back—’”

“Stop,” you said while laughing, pushing his hand away. You were not not thinking about his big, fat friend poking your marrow. “Can’t a girl sit in silence with her thoughts?”

“It’s pissing me the fuck off.”

“Why?”

Toji let out a sigh as he seized your drink from your grasp. Downing it swiftly, he placed the empty glass on the floor, tossing his used dart inside, like he had at the bar. “Got any more questions or something?”

You looked up and met his piercing green eyes. He gently placed his hand on your neck and squeezed lightly. “I had a rough morning.” His hand lowered down to your chest and settled on your stomach again. “My father and I had another disagreement, and I can't stop replaying our conversation in my head. Today, I just feel more worthless than usual.”

So much for not trusting Toji.

“You’re not worthless, doll,” he assured you with a certainty that felt like it came from years of knowing you. “It’s the fuckers around you that make you feel that way. You won’t know your worth until you free yourself from those bastards.”

“Don’t disrespect my father, Toji. You don’t know—”

“Any father who makes his daughter feel worthless is a bastard to me. Understand?” He removed his hand and started shifting back, causing you to unglue yourself from his chest.

In all his naked glory, he stepped out of the tub, and grabbed a towel to wrap around his hips.

“Where are you going?” you asked, ignoring the flashes of his erection just moments ago.

Nonchalantly, he replied, “To kill your father.”

You almost threw up an organ exclaiming, “What?”

He started chuckling at his sadistic, repulsive joke. Examining the scars on his back, the tattoo-covered sleeves on both arms, and the hollow, mocking gleam in his eyes as he looked down at you, his shadow looming over you, made you question your safety. “Do I scare you, doll?”

“No,” you whispered, your eyelashes fluttering as if they couldn't bear to keep staring at him.

“I don’t like liars.” He placed one foot on the edge of the tub and leaned down, taking your chin and lifting it up. “Do I scare you?”

“Right now, yes.”

“Why are your nipples so hard?”

You glanced down and covered your chest. “It’s cold.” Even if the water and the atmosphere was heated enough for sweat to break out on your forehead.

“Didn't I make my perspective on liars clear enough?” His thumb traced over your lips where falsehoods hid. Instead of asking more questions, he pressed his thumb into your mouth, grunting at the warmth of your tongue.

“What are you do—”

“Suck it.”

Your skin prickled as his thumb stayed motionless on your tongue, your lips enveloping his roughened flesh. With deliberate slowness, he began moving his digit in and out of your mouth, and you complied with his silent demand.

You sucked on his thumb, careful not to scrape your teeth against his skin. A deep grunt escaped him as you choked slightly on how deeply he penetrated. What thoughts were swirling in his mind? Why did you want him to bring his dirty fantasies to life? What was it about him that sent a delicious dose of fright down your spine?

“On your knees,” he commanded.

You knelt before him as he withdrew his thumb, his hand encircling your neck. Leaning in, he pressed his lips firmly against yours, engulfing your skilled tongue with his own. Your arms instinctively wound around his neck as he effortlessly lifted you from the water, carrying you bridal style and placing your bare ass on the cold counter. Your legs entwined around his hips, lips locked together as he continued to explore the depths of your mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Toji spun on his heel, grabbing a fresh towel.

“Dry yourself then get dressed. You don’t want that bastard to interrogate you. I want you gone when I’m back.”

You scoffed. What the actual fuck? One minute he’s counting your orgasms, taking a warm bath with you, shoving his damn thumb in your mouth then following up with a kiss of a lifetime, and now he’s gone cold.

Toji gave you a once-over, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, before exiting the bathroom.

You slumped back against the mirror. “What the fuck did you do, Y/N?”

671 notes · View notes

spookieloop · 1 year

Text

I can’t remember who posted about it, but someone mentioned the idea of Tav saying to Gortash “At least I know what love feels like”

AND IT MADE ME THINK ABOUT HOW OBSESSED GORTASH ACTS ABOUT DURGE.

Regardless of whether or not Durge and Gortash were lovers before the game, they were CLOSE.

Close to the point where Durge was writing apology prayers to Bhaal for how much they admired Gortash.

Close to the point where Durge literally defied Bhaal to join Gortash in his plans, to forge a divine pact that would keep them from harming him (and visa-versa); a pact that effectively prevents them from killing EVERYONE and bringing about the end of days as Bhaal made them to do.

Durge was already Bhaal’s chosen when Gortash met them; they weren’t beneath him, they weren’t some lonely noble to seduce. Durge may well be the first person who Gortash regarded as an equal who made him feel loved, and he’s not necessarily wrong, since it seems very clear that regardless of who Durge became after the tadpole, Durge at least used to love him enough to forsake their father’s vision - the purpose of their creation, out of admiration for him.

Romantic or not, Durge loved him, and I think that’s what Gortash is really chasing when he tries so hard to bring The Dark Urge back to his side.

#enver gortash #Baldur’s gate 3 #the dark urge #gortash x durge #GoreTash #Durge x Gortash

2K notes · View notes

jomamaofficial · 6 months

Text

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again.

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell.

“You don’t mean that…”

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder.

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible.

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony.

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up.

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield.

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if.

What if Midoriya truly was better than you?

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter.

Forever.

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard.

Silence.

It had become silent.

As though you were the only person in the room.

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor.

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave.

“Dad!”

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped.

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief.

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up.

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion.

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens.

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you?

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours.

Instead, they looked past you.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old.

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’.

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting.

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5.

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years.

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth.

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines:

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults.

Apart from two things.

First.

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations.

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5.

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten.

You are rated 0.

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.”

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment.

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall.

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.”

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve.

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus.

A ghost town.

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.”

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light.

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.”

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most.

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh.

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival.

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it”

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring.

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?”

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort.

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.”

Your face had settled into a stone.

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds.

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope.

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it.

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you.

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you.

You knew what the answer was going to be.

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line.

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue.

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

470 notes · View notes

oepionie · 2 years

Text

— "HIS COMPLETE DEVOTION" malleus draconia

SYNOPSIS: "Don't touch me! I have a lover!" - After accidentally getting hit in the head with a powerful spell, Malleus is left delirious and confused. You try to help him but he doesn't seem to recognize you.

Character/s: Malleus Draconia x GN! Reader

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Malleus is a loyal dragon, Reader is part of the gargoyle appreciation club, Mentions of nausea, He keeps a locket of you aww

A/N: This prompt/idea was requested by a friend!

WordCount: 800+ | 💌Masterlist | PART II HERE

Green lightning began to strike and forsake the grey sky. Every student on campus could hear the wind howling through the thick dripping rain, a sinking feeling of dread permanating through the atmosphere.

The aged concrete walls shook from a shrill scream, the anguished cry echoing out through the hundred chambers in the castle.

"YOUNG MASTER!" Sebek drove his fingers into his scalp, screaming as thick tears dribbled down his flushed face. From his reaction, you'd think he was the one who got hurt instead.

Lilia tutted and carefully inspected Malleus' head. The young prince was laying on the ground writhing in pain. Lillia pressed his thumb against the dragon's temple, examining the Fae's reaction.

Sebek and Silver surrounded the two, ensuring that no one could get past them. Malleus was in a vulnerable state right now, he had to be protected at all costs.

"The spell was quite powerful however it's not serious. Other than some temporary mental confusion, he should be fine." Lilia muttered, helping Malleus stand up. The young prince stumbled around for a bit, almost as if he was intoxicated.

"Malleus!" You threw the doors to the dorm open, running over to the group. It's only when you got closer did you notice your lover's spinning eyes, glazed over as he blinks at the blank concrete floors. Worried out of your mind, you rushed over to him.

"Tsunotarou! I heard what happened…are you okay?" The fae appeared a little puzzled. You stood before him and he fixed his gaze on you, confused and...disgusted?

With a hint of hesitance, you reached your hands up to cup his cheeks. Only to gasp when Malleus glowered and grasped onto your wrists, ripping your hands off of his face.

Silence fell over the room as he dropped his grip on your arms, allowing them to hang limply by your sides. Everyone gawked at Malleus as if he had just grown two heads.

Malleus? Malleus rejected your affection? The Malleus who waits outside your dorm an hour before classes just to walk you to school? The Malleus who once caused a week-long storm just because he couldn't sit next to you in class? Your Malleus?

You felt your heart sink. They say drunk words were sober thoughts. Did Malleus secretly despise you?

"Listen here-" Malleus snarled, his unfocused eyes flashing a luminous emerald green. The radiance and illumination hypnotizes you for a while. A kaleidoscope of green and blue swirling around the gems that were his eyes.

"No matter how alluring you look-you can't tempt me. I-" Malleus lurched forward, nearly falling over. You ran to catch him but he pushed you away, stepping back blindly. He raised a finger at you. "I-I already have a lover!"

"Yes-That's…me?" You blinked, confused out of your mind.

Malleus only scoffs at you, shakily taking a few steps towards the entrance. It was clear that his head still shook and ached from the spell's blow. Sebek was quick to stop him, holding Malleus steady. "Young Master! Where are you going?!"

"To my-my treasure. My darling prefect." Malleus slurred, leaning against Sebek for support. He continued his rambling. "It's Thursday- We have a club meeting."

"Tsuno-I mean-Malleus, today is Tuesday." You piped up, pressing a hand against his back. With shaky legs, he pushed Sebek off and turned to glare at you.

"Silence. It is not."

Lilia laughs hysterically, doubling over and grabbing onto his knees. Oh, this was comedy gold for him. Shaking his head at his father, Silver strode up to Malleus and placed his hand on the young prince's shoulder.

"Malleus, you're still delirious. Why don't you sit down."

Both Silver and Sebek started to guide the woozy fae onto the couch. You followed suit, taking a pillow and placing it under his head. He turned to face you, his head spinning, a loopy snarl and glare on his face.

"I...I already told you- I have a lover." He groans into his hands, nausea washing over him like waves.

The fae begins frantically rummaging through his pocket. He yanks out a little locket in the form of a heart, holding it up for you to look at. He hands it to you with an arrogant smirk on his face.

"See?"

"O-Oh?"Gently taking it into your hands, you flipped the metal cover over to see a picture of you inside.

It was a photo from your very first anniversary. You were wearing a flower crown made with roses Malleus grew himself, it was one of the many gifts he gave you that day.

Though only your head and neck could be seen in the picture since his coat had almost completely engulfed you. It was a chilly day and Malleus graciously lent you his coat after you had forgotten to wear one.

You stared at the photo fondly, shutting it close before handing the necklace back to the fae.

"Your partner must be lovely." You whisper softly and Malleus sighs, lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling lovingly.

"Oh. They are much more than that."

PART II | Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

5K notes · View notes