#HE IS THE PEEPAW I WILL GIVE HIM EVERYTHING I JUST WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ienjoywritingfilth · 2 months

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teach me, general

hi: i wrote this because general acacius is still making me feel hornee things®. I don't know shit about roman gladiator times, about the language, about a n y t h i n g this is just a debauched excuse to think of this man naked and fucking.

You've been promised to another man to save Rome, but you have no desire to become his wife. Marcus Acacius has been assigned to ensure you do not flee before your wedding. Things happen.

trope: enemies to lovers

pedro character: Marcus Acacius x female reader (you)

warnings: innocence kink, age gap (not specified, but he an old peepaw just how we like him) , Marcus tries to be good but we like him bad, AU as fuck because i have no idea what happens in the movie, virgin bullshit, eating out, allusions (are what whores do for money or candy) to other sex, , i think that's everything.

RATED 18+

wanna see my other stuff?

"I will not play nursemaid to a spoiled child."

Marcus sweeps the scroll from the desk angrily, standing and stalking to the window, his cape fluttering behind him.

Commander Cassius, an older man and one of The emperor's most trusted advisors stands in the corner, his gnarled hands folded in front of him.

"She has not been a child for quite some time, General Acacius," the commander replies, a smirk crossing his lined mouth.

Marcus only makes a scoffing noise at that, refusing to turn around and give the older man the respect he thinks he deserves.

"She is desperate." the commander adds, walking in Marcus direction. "She is to be wed tomorrow."

"The city talks of nothing else."

Marcus is sick to death with talk of your marriage to a neighbouring royal family. The marriage means bountiful coin and harvest for Rome. It's a step towards unification and the future.

But for the last several months it's all he's heard of between battles. The dress, the food, the entertainment. It's all so grating to hear about when he throws himself into daily combats.

"She has made her feelings on the matter quite clear," the commander says with a gentle exhalation. "There is concern she will flee in the night."

"Why?"

"She has no desire to marry. No interest in continuing the bloodline."

There are rumors of course. That the Prince you've been promised to is dim, that he drinks too much, that he has an eye only for men. It's no wonder you don't look forward to such a union.

"She says she will study at the universities instead," Cassius chuckles. "A silly fantasy. She is a woman after all."

Marcus is quiet with contemplation. He'd just returned from battle days ago. He was still weary, his patience thin. The poor reception home from his family adds to his bitter mood.

"But she is wise beyond her years," the commander says. "She has managed escape more than once, as you well know. It was you yourself who retrieved her the night of her eighteenth birthday in the olive grove was it not?"

Marcus rolls his eyes recalling how you screamed and punched his armour as he dragged you down from the branches, throwing you over his shoulder. You screamed until your voice was hoarse as he carried you home that evening, shouting obscenities in his ear the entire way.

All because you'd wanted a chance to see the Gladiators. You'd begged your parents and they'd been quite clear that it was no place for you. You'd snuck out anyway, caught by Marcus before you could even get to the Coliseum.

When he does not reply the older commander stepped forward, placing a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You have your orders from the Emperor."

Marcus shrugs off the older man's touch, his dark eyes sharp.

"And why must it be me?'

'"Because, General Acacius, you are the one man that cannot be fooled by her."

The slave is at the door when Marcus knocks at your bedroom. Their face is covered; their stance cowered when they open the door widely.

"General Acacius," the quiet voice observes eyes on the ground. Marcus is grim-faced, entering into the room.

"I have been instructed by the Emperor to keep watch tonight."

"I see," the woman nods, her face still tilted respectfully to the floor. "I was just about to fetch her dinner."

Marcus steps further into the lavish room with its bright, white walls and smooth marble floors.

"Where is she?"

"She is in her bed," the slave replies bowing even more lowly.

Marcus' dark eyes move to the bed, seeing the sleeping figure's chest rise and fall through the gauzy curtains that hang on all sides.

"The sun is not yet set."

"She is overcome. Her wishes for the marriage to be called off have been ignored."

Marcus nods, watching as the slave goes to move past him. Her feet slap the floor slowly, everything in her body suggesting an unhurried dedication to her position.

She brushes Marcus' sleeve and he sniffs the air, a familiar scent wafting over him. Roses.

Without warning his large hand darts out, grabbing the slave by the arm and dragging her back into the room before she can leave. The door is slammed shut, her exit blocked.

"General-"

Marcus says nothing; he simply rips the veil from the woman's face, shaking his head in frustration as your uncovered visage stares unblinking back at him.

He watches as you sneer, your irritation clear.

"How did you know?"

"Rosewater," he replies in a husky murmur. "No slave could afford to bathe in such luxury."

You pull your elbow from his grasp, furious at being caught. You call out to the girl in your bed.

"Amilius you are released."

A taller woman a haggard face and wild hair rolls out of the bed. She is clearly a slave but wears an embroidered toga meant for royalty.

"You will still be paid," you assure her as she approaches you both, her eyes on the floor. You retrieve the pouch of clattering coin from your locked cabinet, placing its heavy bundle into her shocked hands.

"It is too much."

"Not at all," you insist. "I thank you for trying. You may keep the clothing as well."

"You are most welcome."

The smile the two of you exchange is sweet and Marcus is furious at the sight of it. How dare you think up this scheme and how dare this slave go along with it?

"You are bold," he says, stepping towards her. "To defy the word of your Emperor and not expect retaliation."

"She did it only to defend me," you break in, stepping between Marcus and the girl. "To give me a chance at escape."

"Treason," Marcus snarls, his eyes still on the girl behind you. "You will be put on trial."

Amilius shrinks back, her eyes wide. The thought of punishment like this never occurred to her. She simply follows what you tell her, as she always has.

"I will say I drugged her," you shoot back. "I will be put on trial. I will be sentenced to death. I choose that. Anything is better than a marriage to that self important caenum!"

Your chest heaves with untapped anger. Marcus knows that this is true. You are just stubborn enough to choose death but it would mean only calamity for Rome.

"Leave us."

Amilius nods and shuffles from the room, closing the door behind her. You watch as Marcus locks it before coming back to you.

"So they sent the General," you say with a laugh as you remove the slave’s cloak you were wearing. You drop it into a chair before looking at him. "How fearsome a creature I must be if the strongest General in the army is sent to watch me."

"Fearsome I think not. An annoyance to be sure."

You roll your eyes, going to the table that holds the wine and other spirits. Several chalices are there, empty and ready to be filled.

"Some wine, General?"

Marcus shakes his head. He would never drink when on such a job. He doesn't trust you. You shrug, pouring two glasses anyway.

Marcus is surveying your room, quietly taking in all the personal touches. He notices you position your writing desk to the east, to enjoy the midday sun. Your bed is soft and layered with furs to keep away the chill.

You walk back over to him, holding out the larger chalice to your guest.

"Here."

You watch as Marcus takes both chalices in hand, swapping the one you poured for him with yours. You go to deny him this but he's already taken a deep pull from his glass, smiling at you when you make no move to do the same.

"None for you?"

You try to keep your voice even, not wishing to show your hand.

"I find my thirst rather quenched."

"Is that so? Or is it that I caught onto your pathetic ploy to drug my wine?" Marcus smirks, taking a deep sip.

You say nothing; you bite the inside of your cheek instead. Marcus digs the blade in a little deeper.

"The vial made a rather obvious noise when it hit the rim of the chalice."

You bite so harshly you draw blood.

Its hours later and the fire has been cracking for the better part of the evening since the sun went down.

Marcus sits on an ornate chair before the fire, his body stoic and broad and strangely intimidating despite his continued silence. He has the chair facing you, not letting you out of his sight for even a moment.

You sit at your writing desk, hunched over parchment as you write hurriedly. The scratch of the stylus is the only sound in the bedroom.

Marcus exhales slowly, irritated at needing to be here at all. Knowing his luck, he'll also be forced to be at the royal wedding as well.

You stand and take a stretch, cracking your back as you arch your spine. The flowing fabric drifts over your body pooling at your feet. Marcus takes note of your head tilted back, eyes closed. He doesn't remember your profile being this striking. He muses it is one that should be etched onto roman coins, remembered by those to come forever after.

You walk over to him with a tired look in your eyes.

"It is late," you tell Marcus.

Marcus doesn't reply. He simply sits there, waiting for you to tire of whatever game you've begun.

"I thank you for the fire, General."

"You are most welcome."

He isn't expecting you to walk behind him pretending to stoke the fire. And he can only blame his lack of focus on his extreme lack of sleep. He'd managed none during battle and at home it seemed he was more than a little restless.

He feels your hand slide the dagger from his hip, realizing too late. You go streaming across the room, your eyes wild when he races after you.

"Impudice fur!"

"I have stolen nothing," you shoot back at the insult.

The two of you circle what another in the room like your own miniaturized version of the Gladiator pit.

"You have stolen years off my life," Marcus growls. "You have turned my hair silver."

You look at the dark hair threaded with grey in parts.

"You have done that yourself, General, thanks to your love of bloodshed and the battlefield."

Marcus rolls his eyes. "Only a stulte would think my strategy anything other than necessary."

"If you insist," you say rolling your eyes, clearly disbelieving.

"Return the weapon."

Marcus is strong, he is quick and you will have to submit to him. There is little else to do, aside from throwing yourself out the window behind you. The thought of that horrible childish man being your husband makes you seriously consider it.

You can't help it, thoughts of being his wife, of being tethered to such a man disgusts you. You would more readily marry Marcus Acacius if you had to. At least the man had honour and dignity.

And then all at once the answer is clear to you. You drop the knife onto the floor, hearing it clatter as you spin and throw yourself towards the large open window.

Your feet slap against the stone floor as you fling yourself towards the open air. The realization that before you die you will know what it is to fly.

Marcus is on you almost immediately, grabbing you around the middle before you can tumble to outside. He yanks you back, tackling your unwilling body to the ground. He pins your hands to the ground. You attempt to wrench from his grip, squirming under him.

"Stop these foolish games."

"It is no game," you shout. "It is my life! I will choose if I live or die!"

All at once Marcus is very aware that you are not the child he once saw in the halls or at events. The child and then teenager he found so grating with her questions that he took to ignoring her.

"Still yourself."

You wriggle in his grip like a worm. As you do your hips graze his cock and he's shocked to find a stab of arousal hit him.

It's as if for the first time he sees that you've become a woman. A beautiful one at that, all soft curves and kissable mouth. He stares at the damp plump of your lips and realizes that he's growing hard under his toga.

He throws himself off of you, hunched over until he gets to the window. You're rubbing your wrists, completely unaware of what happened as you stand, glaring at him.

"It is what is fated," Marcus barks at you.

"How easy for you to say!" You scoff disgusted. "Tomorrow I will be the wife of a childish boor who would rather chase cock than spend a moment with me. Rome will be safe for a time, yes, but at the cost of my entire being. And you, General Acacius, will go on living your life free of restraint."

"I come with my own shackles, believe me."

"And what is that? Too much coin for wine? Too many prostrating followers who blindly obey you?"

"A wife who married me for my title. Two stepsons with the combined intelligence of a pomegranate seed.” Marcus shakes his head. "You act as if everyone may rule their destiny but true freedom is granted to only the few."

He can see the fight leave your body.

But he knows you’re still upset. He moves over to your desk, needing a break from your smoldering glare. The parchment you were working on earlier sits there, writing unfinished. Marcus takes a scroll in hand, squinting down at it.

"What are these?"

You rush over, your face red as you rip the scroll from his hands.

"Nothing!"

Seeing your weakness Marcus holds it up out of reach, a childish grin on his face as you leap up, trying to grasp them. But it's no use, he's taller, stronger and you fall back, defeated.

“Tell me and I will return it to you.”

"They are poems," you mutter exasperatedly, feeling shy.

"Your own?"

"Yes."

"I wonder what about," Marcus says and he reaches into the desk to find several more scrolls. "What dress to wear to the market? How best to complain about having everything?"

Marcus takes them in hand, a sneer evident in his face as you reach for them again.

“You promised!”

“As you promised your fidelity to the prince.”

“My father promised him. I promised him nothing.”

Marcus lets out a small huff before turning his back to you. You can see him unrolling the scroll, beginning to read. You watch him, feeling both furious and anxious. These are some of your innermost thoughts that he’s reading.

There is a long bout of silence. You watch his broad shoulders sag, his hand flipping the page over and continuing to read. He does this through several sheets until you can't stand it anymore.

"Give it here!"

You pause with your hand on his elbow. He's solemn, but that's not what shocks you. It's the tears that he wipes quickly away with his free hand.

"Are you---"

"No."

You step backwards, your hands falling to your sides. You have known the general since you were a child of thirteen. Over ten years you have been in his company and only now have you seen him lose his composure.

As a child you were convinced he didn't feel true emotions. He was always this tall, impressively stoic figure. You never spoke to him outside of your father's company. You only heard everyone talk of his skills on the battlefield, of his keen mind. The only time he truly emoted in front of you was when he ripped you from the warm embrace of the olive tree, forcing you back to your boring life. Hissing at you that you were ungrateful for all you'd been given.

"This is very beautiful," he admits in a voice dragged over sand. "The way you describe death is very," he searches for the word. "Vivid."

"Thank you," you reply dumbstruck.

You've never received praise for you writing outside your friends. So to receive it in the form of your current enemy is more than a little shocking. Marcus has no allegiance to you, in fact, his response is so genuine because you know he's fighting against his inner desire to chastise or condemn.

Seeing this hulk of a man with tears still damp along his waterline has you softening everywhere. He's looking at the pages and then back at you.

"Have you any others?"

"Yes," you nod.

"All on the same theme?"

"A variety."

"May I see?"

You walk to your writing table, pulling out the parchment you hide from prying eyes and pass them into his outstretched hands. You wait with your lower lip lodged under your top teeth, your fingers twisting together. You don't know why but you crave to know what he's thinking.

You don't need to wait very long.

"It is clear there are limitations to your skills."

He has the familiar arrogant expression on his face as he says this. You bristle sharply at his words and he notices.

"You write of death, you write of jealousy, you write of fear,"' he says. "All of these you compose with obvious talent, with a voice I feel here."

He taps the centre of his chest before he holds up some of the pages you laboured on.

"But these? The poems of love, of desire? They feel false."

You take a moment to digest what he's saying. He's treating you like an equal, as if you're someone who can take the criticism. It propels you to explain instead of running away in embarrassment.

"People want poetry to transcend them, to deliver them somewhere beautiful. How else to do that other than with poems on such topics?"

He holds up the pages.

"It clearly does not come naturally."

"It is a challenge at times."

"You write of loss with such acuity," Marcus explains. "Why then do you describe the action between a man and woman so stiffly?"

"I have experience with loss."

Marcus stares at you, surprised.

As the daughter of the emperor he'd just assumed you'd have your fair share of romances. You're a beautiful woman and if you were anyone else but the Emperor's daughter he might have pursued you himself.

You feel his gaze trained on you and you walk to the fire. The flames reflect in your eyes as Marcus continues to watch you. You swallow your embarrassment and look over your shoulder at him.

"Will you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What I am to expect on my wedding night."

Marcus lets the scroll fall from his hand onto the stone floor. At the sound of its contact he shakes himself, retrieving them and placing them on your desk.

"You have not known the touch of a man?"

With cheeks stained in embarrassment you shake your head.

"I have not. The life of the privileged daughter isn't one that allows for entanglements," you sigh. "I fear for what awaits me."

Marcus thinks of your future husband, a man who doesn't want any part of you. You'll wither on the vine, ripened and juicy and waiting.

What a waste.

"I cannot," Marcus says. "I am simply here to ensure you do not flee."

"Perhaps I will not flee if I know what is to occur."

Marcus sighs and strides towards you. You watch as he pulls over one of the chairs you had at the window, placing it across from the chair you sit in before the fire.

"You will be wed; there will be the wedding celebration with most of Rome at your unity. Then he will take you to his chamber."

You lick your suddenly dry lips.

"I am no fool. I know what the day’s events will be, General. I want to know what happens in consummation."

Marcus inhales deeply. He can feel himself growing stiff. You are a delectable thing, forbidden in so many ways. He itches to touch your skin and taste your cunt.

"He will, he will press his mouth to yours."

"Show me."

"No."

"Please," you beg, coming to stand closer to him. "Once I know what is to come I will feel more able to conquer this fear I feel."

Marcus debates this as he stares at you. And it's his cock that does the thinking for him when he steps closer to you.

Marcus sighs heavily through his aquiline nose. You hold your breath as he grips the back of your neck, like you're a bothersome kitten. Holding you there he lowers his face to yours, grazing your lips with his.

You coo gently at the sensation, your nipples hardening as he wraps his arms around you. He's so broad, so muscular, you feel so vulnerable and yet safe in his arms.

You cling to him, body immediately wrapping around his, pressing so tightly to him that you feel everything. Your hips roll against his and you shudder pleasantly when you feel his breathing hitch.

"More," you beg. Marcus groans, his large hands coming to cup and knead your breasts as his tongue invades your mouth.

He's murdered men, he's plotted army overtaking, and he’s attacked the unarmed, but touching and kissing the virgin daughter of the emperor? This is the most corrupt thing he's ever done.

And you're so desperate for him, no hesitation in any part of you. You just allow him to plunder your body, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck and then the barely concealed valley of your breasts.

His hands move around your body, pressing and caressing and skimming until they land at your backside. You kiss him fervently, feeling his palms tug you against his hard cock.

You whimper, eyes rolling back as the two of you grind against one another. It feels so sinfully good to do such a thing.

"That is enough," Marcus says stiffly, pulling back from you when you make that sound. He looks at your swollen lips and dazed expression.

"Please, show me everything," you whisper. "Teach me."

Marcus has a fairly good idea that your wedding night is going to be brief and awful. The least he could do is give you some pleasure before you're thrust into a lifetime of timid touches and non-existent intimacy.

Just once, a sinful voice whispers. Fuck her just once to see how it feels.

"I cannot."

You feel insecurity wind its way around your ribs before tugging brutally. Its clear Marcus does not find you handsome enough to tempt him or he still sees you as a child. In humiliation you turn from him and take a seat before the fire once more. Your shoulder sag as you gaze down at your clasped fingers on your lap.

You hear Marcus sigh from the window before you sense his approach. He comes to sit in the chair opposite you, his gaze so serious.

"It would be wrong."

"But I desire it."

"It would be dishonourable."

"Please," you beg him again, finally raising your head. "My entire life you have been there for me, coming to my aid. And now I turn to you for the final time, General. Please help me."

"I cannot do it."

"But why?" You demand now, knowing that your patience is wearing thin. "Give me one true reason."

He lifts his muscular frame out of the chair, crossing until he gets to you. You gaze up the length of him, not flinching when he drops to his knees between your parted thighs.

Marcus tilts forward until his body nears yours, his hands on either side of your chair arms. His body is so warm, so broad. You fight the urge to touch his chest as his swollen mouth brushes your ear.

"Because if I were to start, it would take the entirety of the Emperor's army to stop."

You blink slowly, your eyes trailing over his face and body. Your entire body is fizzy, like lightning is coursing through your veins instead of blood.

"I would pull you apart," Marcus hums against your skin. "I would draw noises from you that you cannot begin to imagine. I would have you shaking and begging for more and I would continue."

You can't breathe.

“I would fill you with my seed, marking your womb as mine. I would do it over and over until I was spent, only to do it all again at dawn."

Marcus groans softly, his dark eyes scanning down your toga to the swell of your breasts.

"And even then I would not be able to cease," Marcus says as he squeezes your breasts through your toga. "I would train your mouth, your cunt, every hole you possess in the ways of pleasure. All would be mine, nothing left for another."

You stare at him, unblinking.

"And so you see why I must refrain," he finishes huskily. "Why I cannot give you what you believe you desire."

When did he go from the scowling general to a real man with such a filthy mouth? You’re quivering all over, desperate for him to be even closer. Your eyes drop to his full mouth, aching to feel it again.

"What if that is what I crave? What if I have no desire for you to cease?"

Your fingers go to his, pulling one hand under your toga, leading him up between your silken thighs. Marcus allows it, eyes on you but his hand inching towards your centre.

"You do not know what you ask."

"Show me, Marcus," you whisper, your mouth nearing his. "Make me yours if only for tonight."

Your lips slot between his, kissing with uncertainty as your hands go to the buttons at his shoulder. His fingers are slowly teasing your entrance as he stares at you.

You arch as his thumb begins to circle your clit, his long fingers starting to nudge your liquid heat.

Marcus knows that every inch of you he touches is another year in the pit if he's discovered. You are the most forbidden fruit in Rome. Yet he continues to slide two fingers to the knuckle into your core, curling them as you cry out for him.

At the sharp sound of your cry he withdraws his fingers, glossy with slick. He stands, needing to clear his head. He feels your confused gaze on his back.

"I cannot defile you before your wedding," he explains. "Your chastity is of the utmost importance."

"The slaves tell me of ways to circumvent such an issue," you tell him as the cape he wears falls to the ground.

He watches you untie his toga, urging it from his body until he stands there in nothing but his gladiator sandals.

He is truly a sight to behold. Golden, muscled, captivating in the same way blood along knuckles shine in sunlight. You take your time to walk around him, admiring the tight taut of his ass, the breadth of his wide shoulders littered with scars and the curls that tease the bottom of his neck.

You save his front for last, taking your time to watch the trail of hair move from his navel downward.

His cock is hard, thick and heavy. It weeps at the tip, already so eager. It hangs there; too large for you to imagine entering you as you reach out and touch it. He hisses at the first point of contact.

He watches as you carefully touch him, marvelling at the iron of his cock until the silk of his skin. You trace the vein on the underside, trailing it from the base to just below the mushroom head.

You slide down to your knees, fascinated. Amilius has spoken to you of men when you’ve asked. She has been married and has a child. You know a bit of what men like but only in theory. You lift your eyes up to see Marcus staring down at you with a heated gaze. Your hands go to his thighs, gently resting there.

You grin before leaning forward and placing the sweetest peck to the tip of his manhood.

Marcus growls softly in the back of his throat. His eyes close briefly before opening, looking darker than before. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, gripping it by the base and pulling it towards you.

You part your lips, ready to take him on your tongue and are surprised when instead he drags the tip along your bottom lip, leaving a trail off pre-cum there. You lick the remnants, curious at the salty taste. He watches you with increasing interest.

"Irrumabo," Marcus murmurs, his cock tapping against the full of your bottom lip. "Yes?"

You nod, opening your jaw. Marcus smiles, thumb tracing the curve of your mouth.

"Not tonight," Marcus says as he shakes his head, bringing you to a gentle stand. "Tonight is your pleasure."

He tugs the gown from your body, letting the silk pool on the ground beside you. You shiver under his gaze, noticing his length which twitches.

Marcus feels his breath leave him as your nude body is bared to him. You look so innocent there, waiting for him, gazing nervously at him through your lashes.

"Goddess," Marcus hisses, his hands coming to cup your breasts. "I am a condemned man for even looking at you."

He lowers his head eagerly, nipping and licking your nipples as you cling to him, urging him to take more as you arch your spine.

"Marcus, please more," you moan.

Unceremoniously he pushes you back to sit in your chair, your legs splayed in surprise. He drops to his knees, moving your legs to hook over his wide shoulders. You allow this, your body limp and eager to be posed by his strong arms and hands.

He looks up to see you panting, staring down the length of your body at his face between your legs. Without breaking eye contact Marcus dips forward and licks a stripe up the centre of your sex.

Your eyes immediately shut as pleasure ripples through you. His wide hands grip your creamy thighs, holding them in place as he continues to probe his tongue deeper into your channel.

Your hands grope the air around you fruitlessly. You don't know what to do with them. Marcus notices and he takes your wrists between his grips, forcing them to card through his hair.

He goes back to sucking your clit and you feel your hips buck. Your fingers dig into his skull, holding the curls and you understand why he placed them there.

"Harder," he tells you sharply as he peppers your inner thighs with sweet kisses. You tug harder on his curls and he groans softly in approval.

You make a shuddering noise of pleasure and it dies in your throat as he pulls back from you. His eyes are stormy as he looks up the length of you to give you a disapproving shake of his head.

"Silence, cherub. We do not need the guards coming to investigate your shrieks."

You nod breathlessly, clapping a hand over your mouth as he continues. The sounds are muffled against your palm as he brings his hands to slide under your ass, pulling your sex deeper into his mouth as he consumes you, groaning into your cunt when you cum.

"Marcus!"

"Quiet," he reminds you between licks.

As you sit there in the chair he brings you to a second steady orgasm, revelling in the muffled yips you make when you begin to writhe against his face, coating him in your essence. When your shuddering ends Marcus slowly withdraws his tongue from your cunt, gazing up at you with a dazed look.

"My husband will do this to me?" You pant; your body shiny with perspiration. "It was so pleasant. I felt the sun within my body."

Marcus remains on his knees, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He gives you a pitying look, knowing full well that your husband to be likely won't see you past your wedding night.

The thought enrages him as he sits there, cheek against your thigh as you give him that hopeful expression.

"No," Marcus finally admits. "I believe his actions will be more perfunctory."

You frown.

"How? Show me."

"You ask too much."

"Yes, I do," you admit with no hesitation or embarrassment.

Marcus gives you a calculating look before standing. You sigh, waiting for him to leave when he crouches down beside your chair, sliding his hands behind your back and under your knees and hoists you into his arms.

"I will give you what you desire," he tells you gently. "I can deny you nothing."

"You have denied me much over the years," you remind him with mirth. "When I tried to see the Gladiators fight and you pulled me from that olive tree?"

"And I never heard the end of it. Imagine denying this request? You'd have me hanged."

You give a shy giggle before lacing your fingers behind his neck, your mouth finding his with ease as he carries you to the bed.

The two of you lay in the twisted blankets of the bed, bodies gleaming with sweat. Marcus did exactly as he promised. For hours he took you apart, forcing you to come on his fingers, his mouth, his cock. You took him at every turn, eyes shut and your mouth covered by his palm or his lips.

And now that the dreamy haze bleeds into reality you find yourself frowning. Marcus, with his arms holding your body to his notices immediately.

"What troubles you?"

“Tomorrow I will be another man's wife," you say with tears in your eyes. "Rome will be saved for a time but at what cost? I'll never feel pleasure like this again. I'll never have you in my bed again."

Marcus feels a pull behind his ribs, and he leans forward to kiss you gently. You respond, your tears damp on his cheeks.

"Your lessons will continue," Marcus promises, kissing behind your ear. "I will make sure of it."

"My husband--"

"Will be thankful when you are with child," Marcus tells you in a hush, his hand curving over your stomach. "My child."

Your eyes are luminous.

"After your wedding night he will not come to your chambers," he promises. "But I will. I will drink the nectar between your legs and I will spill myself down your throat. I will have you everywhere and when we pass in public although there are no words to be uttered you will know I think only of you. That I am yours and you are mine."

He wipes away your tears with his large thumbs before pulling your mouth to his. You fall asleep in his arms, the sensation of his body there to protect you through the night.

Marcus stirs the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window; it's cheerful and bright as the sun that hangs high in the sky.

It feels right that your wedding day should be beautiful when you yourself are so exquisite.

Marcus feels his cock hardening immediately at memories of last night. Of the sounds you made and the way you felt. He looks forward to a life with you, even if it must be in secret. You are something special, something like freedom.

He cracks open his eye to take in your sleeping face, but your side of the bed is empty. A scroll is there beside him in the empty bed instead, his name written. With a panic in his heart he unrolls it, finding a lock of your hair tied with a ribbon inside. He takes it, pressing his lips against it as he reads the words from your hand.

Carissamus General. I know that as you read this you will think me a villain, but I promise that my words were true and my body forever yours. Please understand why I could not possibly allow another to touch me. Freedom is for those who take it. I leave you a piece of me in exchange for the piece of you I will carry in my heart. I owe you everything and perhaps in the next life we will have the future you dream of. Until then I wish you the same joy and pleasure you gave me. With all my love, and all that I am.

Marcus reads the beautiful words over and over. They spin around his skull as he dresses, pulling on his toga and cloak. But instead of anger in his expression he smiles serenely.

He's always enjoys a good chase.

#marcus acacius aesthetic #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius #gladiator2 #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #pedro pascal smut

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tightjeansjavi · 6 months

Text

the feel of coldness only water brings

A/N: so this is the unplanned part two of this Joel drabble I wrote called wildflowers. I just woke up this morning to some lovely reblogs on it, thus inspiring this piece 🥺 oh, and I also thought of @beefrobeefcal and her beefy, fat! Joel fics that are so so good while I was writing this!

~word count: 1.6k~

Summary: you convince Joel to join you for a swim in a lake while on patrol despite his insecurities

Pairing | joel x f!reader

Warnings: implied smut, fluff, angst (so sorry) non specified age gap between Joel and the reader, body insecurities(Joel), self deprecating thoughts, real bodies, natural body changes with age etc, language, teasing, flirting, body appreciation/worship, peepaw!joel, grumpy!joel, sunshine reader, reader has no physical descriptions (outside of wearing a bra and panties) +18 minors dni!

Sweat beads and drips down from the base of his hairline and slowly seeps into the fabric of his shirt, staining the fabric naturally. His steel toed boots stop at the water's edge, soft ripples lapping at the worn leather with a soft audible swish. The lake is crystalline, and beneath the glass surface he sees a million different rocks, all shapes and sizes and textures. The mountain air is crisp, refreshing as he inhales deeply.

The high noon sun blinds his vision momentarily, but he welcomes it. The fabric of his shirt is beginning to grow itchy, scratching at his skin from the beading perspiration. He kicks a stray rock into water, watching as it sinks into the shallow depths.

“Joel.” Your voice carries over the water, your head and shoulders bobbing like a cork in the middle of the glistening lake. “You said it yourself, there’s no infected out here, and the water is so refreshing. Won’t you join me?”

His shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his shirt, his jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He squints, bringing his hand over his forehead to block out the blinding rays, “M’fine here, darlin.’” He chuffs out, “Besides, one of us has to be on alert.” He added, rationalizing his decision.

“Is it because you can’t swim?” It was a safe assumption to make.

He shook his head, kicking another rock with the toe of his boot. “It ain’t that.”

“Okay, so you can swim? Well, then what’s the issue? C’mon, baby. You’re practically sweating right through your shirt.” You said teasingly, hoping to see the corners of his permanent set frown quirk upwards, just for you.

“It’s silly.” He wavered, eyes casting downwards to his boots. “M’just—insecure s’all. Don’t want you to uh—see me like that.” He was never the best with communicating, but he tried with you, and that’s all you could ever really ask for.

“Joel, it’s not silly. If it makes you feel any better, you can keep your clothes on? It doesn’t matter to me because I think you're handsome, and your real body isn’t gonna suddenly make me stop feeling the way I do for you.” You reassured him with a soft smile.

“If I keep my clothes on m’gonna sink like a fuckin’ rock.” He forced out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with a huff. “Y’say that now…” he trailed off, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “But ‘m littered with scars, baby. Got grays on my chest and—m’barely fittin’ in my jeans these days. Should probably hold off on extra—”

“Joel.” You sighed, “I’m gonna stop you right there. Cause everything you just described to me?” You lifted your hands up from under the water in emphasis, “is a real fucking body. More importantly, it’s your body. You’re a healthy man, Joel. Your jeans ain’t fitting the same because you’re no longer in survival mode. You’re getting to indulge in a way that you weren’t able to in over 20 years. You're strong, but you're also soft in the right places.”

He doesn't believe you, of course. He would argue that it was because he had grown old and lazy like a house cat. You didn’t give him the chance, however.

“I love how soft and squishy your stomach is. You know why?”

He shook his head, feeling a flush creep up his neck and face,

“Because it acts as the perfect pillow for my head when we’re napping, and I love to grab onto your love handles when we’re cuddlin.’ Love to feel the way it presses into me when we hug. Or when you’re takin’ me from behind.”

“You’re just sayin’ that.” He scoffed.

“Am I?” You challenged him as you pulled yourself out of the water, dripping wet in just your flimsy pair of bra and panties.

“Don’t.” He warned you, taking a step to the side when you reached out to touch him. As if he was a frightened animal shying away. “M’jus’ a fat old man, darlin.’ Don’t gotta lie to me, sweetheart. I can accept the truth.” He was on the edge of snapping, nearly baring his teeth.

“Joel.” You said softly, “stop that. I ain’t have a reason to lie to you. Never have, never will.”

“You don’t have to protect my heart, darlin.’ S’okay. I ain’t deservin’ of your kindness. Don’t know why you even waste your time with a man like me—”

You looped your thumbs into the worn belt loops of his jeans and yanked him towards you swiftly despite his faint protests. “Would you shut up, please?”

Loose pebbles crunched beneath his heavy boots when you pulled him towards you and his hands naturally found your waist, big palms splayed across your damp skin. “Don’t you think you deserve yourself a real man? Someone who—isn’t like me?”

“You are a real man, Joel.” You gently remind him and slowly slip your thumbs from the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re beautiful, and I just wish you could see what I see.”

“Beautiful?” He scoffed, nose twitching when he felt your hands slowly slide up the expanse of his covered chest, “that ain’t me, sweetheart.” He rasped, tilting his chin downwards so he could watch your fingers gently toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“It is you, Joel. And one day you’ll wake up and realize it. And when that day comes, you’ll look in the mirror and tell yourself that you are beautiful, and you are loved, and you are deserving of kindness and softness for as long as Mother Nature lets me have you.”

He could feel himself slowly begin to cave from your words, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes, and he would claim that it was just from the blinding sun and the irritating sweat dripping from his brow. “Don’t know what I did to deserve you, darlin.’ Don’t think I’ll ever understand it. You could have your pick of men in Jackson, and you choose me?” He stifled a chuckle, dipping his chin down further so he could kiss the edge of your fingertips.

“You’re worth more than the whole damn bunch, Joel. Stubborn ass of a man, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Undress me.” He murmured, swallowing the lump rising in his throat, “M’yours.”

You smiled, dragging your thumb against his jaw and slowly tilted his chin upwards so your eyes could meet, “Remember, it’s just you and me out here. Nothin’ but miles and miles of wilderness.”

“Kiss me.” He whispered, tightening his grip around your hips, pulling you in closer.

Your lips brush, testing the waters before you fully kiss him. Tasting the sweat from his brow that had trickled down his lips. Soft, chapped, warm and familiar against your own.

Your fingers worked the buttons of his shirt open, exposing his skin to the warm rays from the sun. You pushed the strained fabric down his shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the pebbles below. You traced his scars with delicate movements, detaching your lips from his so you could follow the path your fingers created. You nipped at the softness of his bicep, pressing open mouthed kisses that trailed down his arm to his hand. You kissed each knuckle, each callous with your eyes staying locked on his.

You squeezed the soft plump flesh of his love handles, imagining yourself using them as an anchor when you would ride his cock in the early morning hours when neither of you could sleep.

You dragged your nose against the swell of his belly, feeling him tense up before melting into your touch like a pad of butter on a hot pan. You inhaled his musky scent, dragging your lips southwards through the dark hair of his happy trail, pressing a kiss there, too.

Your fingers moved in muscle memory as you undid his belt, tugging his too tight jeans over his hips and strong thighs, letting them pool at his ankles.

He watches your every move, brows furrowed together at the sight of you on your knees between his thighs. He hopes to god there is no danger lurking nearby. He wants this memory etched into his brain for the rest of his days.

He breathes out a strained puff of air from between his parted lips when you press the tip of your nose against the underside of his heavy cock, and the drag of your hot tongue through the strained fabric.

A groan bubbles up his throat, spilling over and he presses his hips into your face, the swell of his belly brushing against the crown of your head.

You giggle, nipping lightly at the fabric, feeling his cock twitch and harden. You watch his eyes roll back, words tumbling out in tandem.

“Do. Not. Tease. Me.” He growled and you giggled at his response.

“If you want more…you’re just gonna have to catch me!” You rose from your knees before he could grab ahold of you, stepping back with that glint in your eye.

“Hey! That ain’t fair and you know it!” He huffed, already struggling to unlace his boots so he could pull his jeans off completely. He cursed under his breath when he watched you dive back into the refreshing waters.

“Gonna get you back for this.” He grumbled to himself, fighting the urge to grin at the warmth that he felt flooding in his chest.

You heard a loud splash just as you resurfaced, and two dark brown eyes locked onto you like a target as you playfully swam away.

Your giggles and his deep, raspy laughter filled the hot summer air like a song that you would play on repeat, over and over again.

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thebaileybugle · 10 months

Text

Pushin

Pairing: L. Jethro Gibbs

Warning(s): None but some handsome peepaw fluff

Request: Can I please request a Gibbs x F!Reader where the reader has Pneumonia and she just can’t stop coughing and Gibbs takes care of her and is just super sweet and soft with her <3 - Anon

A/N: Everything is coming out at the same time, the break was entirely too long but here are the pieces ya'll have been waiting for

You were typing away an email to Agent Pride to wish him a very happy Mardi Gras before a coffee cup was plopped onto your desk, only the bitter smell of coffee is nowhere.

"Drink."

"Gibbs, what is-"

"Drink. The damn. Tea."

"Bossy."

"Next step is sending you home early."

"But-"

"And I'd go with ya' t'make sure you don't pass out."

"Sir-"

"Are you pushin'?"

"Oh she's pushin boss" Tony said from his office with a wide smirk.

"Shut it DiNozzo! Let's go L/N, get your jacket- leave your files and bring your tea."

You sigh, well you try to sigh but a cough interrupts it.

You're in his passenger seat, blanket from the back seat thrown over your shoulders as you sip the hot peppermint tea.

"You can drop me off and go back, don't have to stay and take care of me." Shifting a bit, you look over to your secret lover. "Tony might get some dumb idea that's accurate to the truth."

"Don't matter, I'm the one that got ya' sick anyway." Jethro shrugs, steering the wheel to turn right.

"I told you I'd be fine without the mask." You fire back with a huff.

"I shouldn't have listened, I never do anyway why would I start then." He glances over and lays a hand on your thigh, giving you a reassuring squeeze. "'sides, promised I'd take care of you, I'm gonna hold myself to that."

"Thank you, Jet. Rule 1 part two."

"So you did, read my rules."

"Shush and drive Jet."

Gibbs drove you to his home and cooked a nice sized pot of chicken noodle soup, followed up the meal with a bath. Now, you lay between his legs, head resting on his abdomen. His hands running through your hair as a Frank Sinatra track plays in the background.

"Are you supposed to be cuddling a person with pneumonia?"

"S'not contagious, sweetheart. Let me have this moment before McGee and DiNozzo start to call."

"In that case, gimme your lips."

"Yes ma'am."

--------

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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 months

Text

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 || 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚

part one: is it a wonder i broke? || part two: here

summary_ despite everything your brother Geta did to have you, the mixed feelings you felt, you won’t marry him, because you only want to be with Marcus.

warnings_cringe AU bc I don’t know the movie’s plot, age gap!, semi incest (do not romanticize irl), implied smut 18+, drama, angst, Geta is an asshole, Marcus is a soft peepaw, fluff ending.

NOTES_ i need this film to be out already <3

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Ever since you were a kid, you despised feeling any pair of eyes on you. It was like being hunted like you were the prey. As you read, you can feel your brother’s eyes fixated on your presence.

“What do you want?” You ask furiously, slamming your book closed. He sighs, and it’s extremely weird to feel and see him being uncomfortable.

“Caracalla is arriving today,” he says and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Wonderful, more problems” your youngest brother was truly a mistake. If Geta was an asshole, Caracalla was worse, an immature egocentric man.

“I must admit our brother truly is an insufferable dull but we must welcome him until Father arrives” You nod, looking away from him, to the city. Rome looked happily calm that day.

“Well then… we’ll meet when Caracalla arrives” Geta hurries to get in your way before you can exit the garden. It was the first place he took you to when you first set foot in Rome.

“We need to talk about… what happened the other night,” Geta says trying to sound neutral, but his face shows that he has spent the night thinking about the kiss you gave him.

“There’s nothing to talk about, soror. It is what it is…” There’s a fake smile resting on your face.

Truth is you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss too. Perhaps your heart was too resented after seeing Marcus Acaius in a place full of whores and alcohol.

“But-“

“But nothing, Geta. I just beg you to give me a lapse of time to put my thoughts in place” he huffs, incredulously.

“For what? To get in the sheets of Commander Acaius?” your eyes land directly on his, anger quickly escalating again.

“He’s just like every man in this land. Only two things you men need; power to fill your ego and the body of a woman to satiate the urges of pleasure” you spit with disgust.

“I bet you also had your escapades, sister. You must be no stranger to that urge of pleasure you talk”

“Once you love someone, you don’t change the feeling of having the same soul attached to yours for anything else, Geta” he raises his brows surprised at your words. He often wondered if he ever felt love. And if he could possibly achieve it by marrying you.

“One of these days our engagement will become public. You’ll fuck me every day till I bare your children, you’ll command me at every dinner and meeting we have. In the eyes of society, you will disrespect me with honor each day. Until then, leave me alone…”

Your feet hurriedly drag you out of the garden. Desperately needing to be alone. To cry, to think, and to grieve.

…

The moment you stepped out of your room to greet your young brother, Caracalla, you were actually happy to see him. Geta and he immediately bonded like those days when they were kids, leaving you alone.

On your way back to solitude, your eyes are glued to your feet, you don’t have the strength to walk with your chin up and face society with an elevated ego.

You bump into someone, landing on a wide chest.

“carissima…” Marcus says, holding you still. He had a bright look and hopeful smile, which you definitely don’t reciprocate.

“I have splendid news…”

“I don’t want to hear them” Marcus was completely unprepared to hear your cold voice and meet your bitter gaze.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” you want to scream at him, you might even want to kill him.

“I will never comprehend the male necessity to magnify their honor and ego. By telling that they love a woman for then to tangle with a whore.” Marcus frowns confused, he is trying so hard to describe what you’re trying to imply.

“What? No, listen, y/n…” immediately you stop with him your palm raised between you two.

“I won’t ever lay in your sheets again, General Acaius. Whatever we had going on, today seized. And from now on, I’m Lady y/n… future wife of Geta and Empress of Rome” You burst out with pride that sounds and looks too real, but deep inside you are just drowning with your swallowing stubbornness.

“You are not marrying that ludicrous boy”

“And yet… he will rule upon our heads one day” Marcus is boiling in anger, he can’t understand why you suddenly stopped neglecting the idea of marrying your brother.

“I won’t let you…”

“Watch me, General Acaius.” And then he remembers your other brother is in Rome now. He wonders if Caracalla said something to change your mind. Marcus doubts it.

“I don’t understand what I did… I promised to find a way to be with you.”

“You should understand. You’re a man. You can’t resist your lust for a woman’s flesh”

“You think I cheated on you?” your face must’ve been red from anger, you can feel it being hot. You gulp, faking a smile.

“I know you did. Now make a reverence and leave to command your army of men.” He sighs, looking extremely miserable.

“You won’t leave? I will…” you brush past him and leave towards your privacy with the feeling of your own pain choking you. Because you look at Marcus and you just know he’s the love of your life.

For him, after you leave, it’s a moment to reminisce. Everything was peacefully following its course. Marcus never lied, he promised to find a way to be with you, and he found it. He had been impatient to wait for your father until the man set some time to talk with Marcus. With a straight face, rigid posture, and confident tone Marcus Acaius asked the Emperor to marry his daughter; you. To his surprise, the old man immediately agreed, claiming that Geta would not protect you like he wanted. At the same time, Marcus knew it was a bait of your father to keep him as his General. Either way, things fell like puzzle pieces. Marcus only needed to seal the deal with the counselors and priest. And unfortunately, the meeting was held in the worst place ever.

Marcus brushed away every dancer and prostitute that came trying to lure him. He was aware that many women wanted him, but after being so lonely for many years, Marcus was sure he had found the right woman.

But for some reason, you now seemed to hate him. Marcus had very present the phrases you repeated in his ear like a prayer. The smile you would gift him after he called you perfect, the vivid reincarnation of Psyche; the only woman Venus envied for her beauty and gracefulness. There were many actions that confirmed the love you two shared. And Marcus was not willing to simply let you go. Especially to let you go and marry your brother who seemed hungry for violence. Something happened, and Rome’s greatest General would describe everything to keep the girl.

…

Two days later, you convinced your father to let you go and visit one of the matron houses, where orphan children would be delivered often. You brought them presents and secretly left a donation with the finances.

It had been a great motive to stay away from your brother and stop thinking about Marcus. Even having dinner with Caracalla was better than expected. Only that it was on your way back when once again something ruined your day. You overheard the filthy men who advised Geta that he had to hurry to make your engagement with him public as soon as possible. That wasn’t a novelty, it was the fact that they also said how making you fight with a female gladiator only made your image stronger but that wasn’t Geta’s plan, he only wanted to put you in the arena to fulfill his sick and twisted desires.

You let the men pass by the hallway before you take a moment to breathe. Of course, Geta had always had to ruin everything you touched.

You were just one of his twisted obsessions.

If you bleed, he would throw the most acidic liquid on the wound. If you were dying he would do everything to find the quickest way to get rid of you.

But you refused to escape, that would only put you in danger. And you totally refused to live a life that would grow joyless. If marrying Geta would become the most viable negotiation, then you would comply.

When you open the golden doors, you encounter Geta and Caracalla on the giant bed that rests in the middle of the room. Each one of your siblings has at least two naked women kissing and worshiping them. The scene makes you nauseous, but at the sound of your entrance, they all look startled.

“Out…” you say, with such defiance that makes the women hurriedly bolt from the room. Caracalla laughs with no shame, accommodating his rings and robe before passing by your side, knowing you wanted to speak with Geta.

“Get used to sharing the bed with at least half of Rome, soror.” You ignore him, looking directly at the giant painting that covered the walls. And once Caracalla leaves, closing the door, you look down at Geta.

“What would’ve you done if Calista had killed me in the arena?” His face goes pale, probably not expecting you to know about his malicious plans.

“You will never love me, you will never give me what I always wished for. But I won’t drag treasons to our marriage.” You say, climbing to the bed, straddling him, feeling how shy he suddenly got. His pathetic behavior is your strength in that moment. You feel his erection and you hate to use passion as a getaway, but with a man like Geta… no, with any man of Rome, a woman could only use her body to survive the horrors. Unfortunely.

“You think you can command me, y/n?” The man asks, making you giggle.

“I think I already am” he moans the moment you grind against him.

“Say you’re sorry for arranging that encounter. Say you will be a good husband for me.” Your hand grabs his wrist, preventing him from sliding his fingers under your dress. He groans in annoyance, but apparently, your movements were bewitching him enough to drive him crazy.

“Say it…” he hears you whisper in his ear, only to then leave a trail of wet kisses across his jaw and neck.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I will be a good husband, gods…” You smile, satisfied, letting his fingers wander across your wet folds.

It’s disgustingly hot. The way he touches you, under your touch, you command him in disguise. You’ve been hunted by him, your father, many men… but you could also point your arrows towards them, and from the hidden.

“For the gods, you’re perfect, y/n” Geta flatters you, but you don’t take his words for granted. You fake some moans and others come out of your mouth from pure pleasure. And you know that’s enough.

You leave him made a mess.

…

The emperor was pleased when the doors opened. He liked the sight of his daughter. Perhaps he didn’t exactly raise her. But in the depth of his heart, he loved his daughter. So seeing her as a sophisticated woman, walking with her chin up, showing every guest that she was borderline perfect, was a great reason to make him smile.

You find Roman parties slightly boring compared to the ones back at home. But you spot certain General. He doesn’t notice you yet, which gives you time to calm yourself, because he’s sitting beside your father.

After the disappointing revelation of some nights ago, you forget about those precipitated good wishes you had about Marcus Acaius. You also ignore the thoughts at the back of your head, wondering what could they be talking about. You must greet your father before leaving to enjoy the celebration.

“My daughter is what I like to call quite an exotic jewel. Spending years overseas made her only more versatile. You may notice the Egyptian influence she carries” Marcus nods looking at you.

He can’t stop looking at the golden beads decorating your hair, delicate eyeliner along melted golden splotches around your temple. Your bright orange dress illuminated the room more than the hundreds of candles around the place.

Marcus could tell many of the women in the room were jealous of your appearance. Doesn’t matter, he already knows what will happen. He is more than ready when you arrive in front of him and The Emperor.

“My daughter…” your father greets you. You weren’t expecting to see the handsome general sitting alongside your father, which only made it more difficult given your last encounter with him wasn’t the most peaceful.

“Father… General Acaius.” you acknowledge both men.

“Tell our virtuous man here all of the splendid qualities you’ve perfected in Egypt, cara filia” Despite you finding yourself attracted to the older general, you weren’t pleased by the treatment. Your father was displaying you as a prize, one which the general seemed to be valuing. He was a man like everyone else, one with the disgusting urge to get his hands into every whore he came across, one that heavily ingested wine and cursed at every word.

And he made you believe he was different. He tricked you in so little time.

“I like to learn different dialects…”

“How many do you dominate?” the Emperor asks.

“Egyptian, Macedonian dialect, Syrian, Aramic, and standard Greek,” you say, feeling shy and little among those two males. But you remember what your mother said. The emperor’s daughter can’t be afraid. But you are scared, of the madness your brother is falling into, of Marcus offering you broken promises, of your father lying. You should have run past the meadows that day before you could have encountered Marcus. Nonetheless, your father is urging you to say more, which you hate, but you comply.

“I also enjoy playing the Greek Kithara, using my voice and body to sing and dance at parties and ceremonies. I find myself very attracted to learning about our political and military system, as well to writing…” you add, speaking with a bitter tone of voice. Your father exchanged looks with the general. Both smiled proudly, then turned back to give you a glance.

“I told you she was perfect, General Acaius” Marcus already knew most of those things. He had you dancing for him one night at his chambers, he then made love to you and went to sleep tiredly and happy. He also heard you speak Syrian once. It was that and many more things that made you brilliant to his eye. Marcus considered you beyond smarter and more valuable than himself.

“She is…” Marcus confirms, smiling at you, which you completely ignore.

“Very well, this is wonderful. This is why I wanted you to be back at once, cara filia.” You frown, your hand making a fist with the fabric of your dress as an anxious reaction.

“General Marcus Acaius asked me your hand in marriage. The perfect suitor, even better than the one I had in mind” You can’t breathe for a second. You step backward.

“No…” you whisper, cautiously looking that anyone else in that party was looking at the scene. Only Geta, whose fists are crimson red from an unknown danger to you.

“My dear child… I’m an old emperor. I must secure the crown with my son and the empire with my daughter” Your silence is strong. Even the music appears low compared to the crescent tension you have built with your stoic face and trembling lower lip.

“That explains why you sent me away, to train Geta as a future emperor instead of me. Needless to say, What emperor wants a heiress when they have a heir?” You mumble, with a strong defying look that pierces sharply.

“You wanted me to marry Geta to keep half of my title. But the mighty General will keep me still better. Right?…” your feet drag you away, out of the festivities. You feel your half-brother's eyes on you, he must’ve been waiting for this moment since you arrived, and probably he would be shocked to hear you wouldn’t be marrying him anymore. Your eyes are full of tears that quickly start falling. The hallways covered in torches are empty. You can disguise your sobs as you walk away.

A week ago, knowing you would marry Marcus Acaius would’ve been the best surprise ever. But now you didn't even know how you felt. It was a mixture of confusion and bitterness. But at the bottom… you could feel hope.

Either way, none of your prayers were enough. Being who you were born to be, meant never experimenting with what means to feel true peace, true happiness, true love…

Marcus appears behind your back, grabbing your wrist so fast that it scares you.

“Get away from me!” You yell at the man, refusing to let him see you crying.

“I won’t, satis”

“You are just like every other man. I won’t take a husband who goes to pleasure houses, who leans into the touch of courtesans and instigates violence. You might be the greatest General in Rome, but you won’t break my dream of finding a lover who cherishes me” He sighs, listening to every word you just said. How clueless you were.

“You followed me that night?” He asks.

“No. I was looking around the city when I accidentally passed by the place.”

“Then you didn’t stay long enough to see the whole thing” you huff, trying to slip out of his grasp. He only tightens the hand around your wrist, pushing closer towards his chest.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the meadows. Wouldn’t you?” He asks, forcing with you to keep you still.

“LIAR!” He smirks.

“For the gods that rule caelum, they know I’m not lying. I had encountered the living reincarnation of Psyche herself and I knew I was in love the moment I looked at you” A tough man like him could easily be lying, but you knew he had widowed once, everyone claiming he truly loved his wife and unborn descendant.

“That night, I had just asked your hand in marriage when I went to that pleasure house to seal the proposal” his hands have slowly snaked to your waist, but you keep pushing him away.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was splendid that your father immediately accepted. I would have told you sooner…” you stop squirming, finally looking directly at him. Despite the confusing feelings you were carrying for him, just by looking at his face, you could see the man that you loved.

“You must know… it was your brother who suggested the duel to put you in danger, it was him who gave the order to allow you to prowl around the city, it was also him who arranged the meeting in that filthy place…” he isn’t lying. You know it. Marcus Acaius never begged… and yet, he was literally pleading with you to forgive him for something he was not guilty of entirely.

“Swear it… for your power, for the empire…” you almost whispered, inches away from his lips.

“My oath to you is that I will be devoted, I’ll protect you and fight for you if needed just to ensure I will get to be yours every night for the rest of my life. Nobody could make me quit this enormous love I feel for you.…” He barely blinks, he is putting his heart into every word. Marcus would always be impressed by how fast and suddenly you made him fall all over you. He wasn’t a romantic, he rarely asked for guidance from the gods. But at that moment, he swore you had transformed his dusted heart made of coal, into a marvelous piece of gold.

The way you lean forward, hoping to touch his lips with your own, is your own way to let him know you believe him before actually saying it out loud.

“You have to believe me…” Marcus whispers.

“I do…”

And you finally kiss him. You hold onto him for dear life.

“Marcus… you have to know I was so blinded by fury and jealousy that… I let him touch me.” You reveal, feelings very promiscuous. But to your surprise, Marcus only sighs.

“You didn’t know the truth. You were hurt. I hate the mere thought but… I can’t be mad at you. That would only make Geta feel like he won. But he didn’t… because I belong to you.”

“And I’m yours. I just needed a reason to keep loving you, Marcus Acaius…” The air feels so pure and light. You can breathe knowing he still wanted you, that everything was a mistake. All the blurred patterns you used to see are clear now. You wanted to feel something for Geta, but you never couldn’t. Your heart desired to beat for Marcus.

He kisses you again, cradling your head. There’s an anxious feeling in the mouth of your stomach. Your legs almost shake at the way Marcus grabbed your waist to pull you closer. And when you open your eyes, through the corner of your eye you are able to see a familiar person. Geta is spying on you and Marcus.

But it’s over. There’s nothing to hide. Marcus has his eyes closed, so you take the moment to make visual contact with your brother. It’s a defining moment, where you let him know that despite everything, you got what you wanted. And that he would never have made you happy.

You are in the arms of the only man who deserves your love. The one that decided to stay.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say, giving him one last peck, accommodating his golden leaf crown, and taking his hand.

“To where?…”

“The meadows, where everything began…” he smiles, happy to feel everything back to normal.

Once in the wild meadows, both of you sit on a rock to see the sunset, where you realize you can stop praying for love, now you can just thank and pay tributes.

“See that hill?” Marcus points to the north of the city, one of the most beautiful places.

“Yes, I see it.” You answer, wrapping his lifted arm to hold it tightly against you.

“I’ll build you a house there. With a big space to prepare dinner, a large table for all the children we’ll have to feed. I’ll make you a garden that will be ready for when you decide to bring your mother. And we’ll have the softest bed in Rome, where I’ll always show you proof of how much I love you.”

You feel like you could cry at his words, but you don’t. You literally jump to hug the man, dying out of happiness.

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” He giggles, kissing your forehead.

“You’re all I always wanted. I just wished I was younger, only to have more years to spear by your side”

“For me, it’s enough. I know I have more than enough time to be with you, Marcus”

The next morning, the whole city of Rome is celebrating the engagement. Marcus takes you to the hill to walk the property of your future home and you meet with a seamstress to choose the right bridal style.

Two moons later, you are married to Marcus Acaius, and life suddenly feels lighter, finally, you can savor it. Instead of praying to do so.

______________________________________

Taglist: @screaming-blue-bagel @targaryencxnt @unmagically @myheadspaceisuseless @1kyfv @slooooth

#marcus acacius x reader #pedro pascal x reader #joseph quinn x reader #pedro pascal #emperor geta x reader #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal fanfiction

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the--rebel--fae · 6 months

Note

HELLO!!!

do u think I could ask for some angst->fluff for nightmares for the Diasomnia boys?

(twisted wonderland)

A/N: Hiya, my dear! First off, I'd like to say I'm so so sorry for the late response to your request. Life's been...hectic, to say the least, and I'm still getting the hang of trying to do proper time management. Anyhoot! Thanks so much for the request! I really enjoyed writing this one. Tbh, I love these boys so much and have been getting back into the Twist fandom again, so yea 💜 Well my friend, I hope the wait was worth it! Enjoy!

Pairing: Diasomnia boys x Reader

Tw: None! Just pure fluff!

Word Count: 607

Chase The Nightmares Away - Bad Dream Comfort Headcanons

Lilia

First up, we have our lovely bat dad. We all know he’d probably be the perfect person to go to for nightmares.

He’s bat dad for a reason y’all.

When you walk in he’s probably still up, probably playing video games.

So when you mumble you couldn’t sleep because of nightmares, he’s pulling up a chair, getting you a blanket, and snacks. Everything you need, peepaw has it.

Wanna talk about what happened? No worries, he’s helped Silver, Sebek, and Malleus many times with their nightmares.

“Little bat? Are you alright? Ah, a nightmare. There’s no need to worry, why don’t you come sit by me and we can play this new video game together? And if you want, you can tell me about what happened.”

Sebek

Sebek, yea..good luck on getting some comfort from him. But he’ll try his best!

He’ll probably be like: Human what are you doing in here? Oh, you had a nightmare? Uhm, why are you here then?

Poor boy would be so confused.

He’ll definitely point out how weak humans are, but then I think when he sees you truly upset, he’d feel it as his duty as a knight to protect “those weaker than him”. At least that’s the excuse he’s playing when we both know the crocodile boy cares in his own tsun-tsun way.

“Human? Why are you here so late? A nightmare? I do suppose a human would be bugged by something like that. Fae are much stronger. O-oh I didn’t mean to make you more upset. Ahem, well, as my duty as a knight in training I’ll do you the service of protecting you. You should be honored. Here, you can borrow my Malleus-Sama plush. I made it myself! It looks just like the young lord, doesn’t it?”

Silver

Ah yes, our sleepy little prince Silver. If this boy is actually awake for once I think he’d do a pretty good job at comforting you.

I can see him as the type to have a lot of blankets so he’d probably give you one to snuggle with as comfort.

I could also see him get some of his little animal friends to comfort you too if you wanted that.

And if you wanted to talk about your nightmare, he’d be all ears, at least until he’d fall back asleep. But, I bet he’d do his best to fight back the sleepiness as long as possible for you.

“Oh, Prefect. You’re up late. What’s that? You had a nightmare? I’m sorry, not sleeping well is never a good thing. Here, I have some extra blankets, and we can even get some of my animal friends here if you’d like. Don’t worry, it was just a dream, you’re ok now.”

Malleus

Ah, our Housewarden of Diasomnia, the future ruler of Briar Valley. Malleus Draconia. Our sweet draconic prince.

I think he’d care the most but not know whatever the loving hell what to do.

Does this man even get nightmares?

Walks around the Night Raven campus is definitely going to happen the second you tell him what’s wrong. Nothing solves problems better than a nice walk in some fresh air.

He’ll probably even tell you stories about his time in Briar Valley to distract you or even let you play with Gao Gao Dragon-kun!

10/10 best person to go to for comfort aside from Lilia.

“Child of Man? What’s the matter? You seem upset. Oh, a nightmare? Yes, those can be troubling. How about we take a walk outside and if you feel up to it, you can talk about it. It's better than being alone. I'll even let you play with Gao-Gao Dragon-kun.”

Well, that's it for these headcanons! I hope you enjoyed them! It was a lot of fun to write! And again, so sorry for the delay! Feel free to request again!

And if you guys want even more stories--like maybe your own personalized several-page long one-shots or even a multi-chap fic take a look at my Etsy Shop! I do commissions! I even have listings for Twisted wonderland!

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coupleoffanfics · 1 year

Text

I might write about this one day. Maybe. Probably.

Random things about y/n with the batfam

Based on First Post

Bruce Wayne

Bruce never knew how to deal with y/n’s emotional outbursts even before they drifted apart. Out of everyone y/n was hands down the most emotional out of all the kids. Like what he is supposed to do when she’s crying about stray cats that don’t have a home. Or those times when she’d tear up over failing a test.

Just gives her a pat on the back and tries saying that it's not the end of the world. Not really helping as it invalidates her emotions. She makes a mental note to not go to Bruce after getting the same “reassuring words” from him every time.

Nearly spat out his coffee when she called him Pa for the first time. It was only after a couple of months of living there. Seeing the shocked reaction, she quickly tried to take it back until he reassured her with a small smile.

“You won’t be my dad, but you can be my pa. So when I have kids you can be called peepaw.”

Bruce isn’t sure when y/n stopped calling him Pa, but he remembers how he felt hearing her call him Sir or Bruce. How unnatural it sounded. It was too formal, but what hurt the most was how she said it without a second thought. Acting like it was the norm.

What happened to him being Pa?

What does he have to do to get his Pa status back?

Hopefully he doesn’t learn that y/n gave that title to someone else.

Dick Grayson

Kinda regrets not getting to know y/n before he and the whole family start going off into the deep end. It's not like they never interact or anything. Dick had trained her when she was working toward becoming Batgirl, but it was Bruce who mainly trained her.

Dick wasn’t nearly as close to her as Tim or even Jason. He didn’t have the time when juggling the Teen Titans, establishing himself as Nightwing, and being a Wayne. It was a stressful time of his life.

But he has much more free time now. Meaning he has much more time to make up for not being a big brother for y/n.

Slightly jealous that everyone except for him and Damian know or at least knew y/n. Some more than others.

So to gain an edge he read her diary. Only once he swears and it wasn’t like he went searching for it or anything. Didn’t know she had one. It was just sitting there in a box under her bed. Anyone could have found it really.

Reading the neat handwriting and discovering the personality of y/n was interesting. Kinda expected something along the lines of teen angst constering how aloof she comes off when around the family. Instead he found words of an insecure yet optimistic girl.

Dick uses his newly acquired intel to make it easier for y/n to talk to him. Brings up media that she likes to bond over the “same” interests they have. Uses her insecurities against her.

If she gets mad at him for trying to plant the idea that her best friend was a bad person, he’ll act like she’s overrating. Say that she was yelling even if she wasn’t. When asking if there was any validity to his bullshit, he’ll bring up one of her insecurity.

“You’ve always been slow when it comes to everything, but good thing your favorite brother is always there for you.”

“Yeah, good thing I’ll always have Tim.”

“Yeah, wait-”

Jason Todd

They were somewhat close before he died as they trained and sparred with each other. He wished he was able to see her put on her suit for the first time as he knows how hard she worked for it. Could practically hear her squealing when she looked in the mirror.

Unlike the others, Jason avoided y/n on purpose. He felt ashamed for beating and having snapped her arm when he was trying to kill everyone. She wasn’t even fighting back. If it wasn’t for Bruce and Tim, y/n would have ended up in a casket.

When hearing that she quit being Batgirl, he was kind of surprised. He remembers the younger y/n trying so hard to meet Bruce’s expectations. Despite failing more than he could count, she always got back to work. Always trying to improve. Never being satisfied with herself.

Wanted to know what made her quit, but decided against it. It wasn’t his place to ask and he doubted that she’d tell him. It wasn’t like she told anyone though.

Was kinda glad that y/n quit. Jason always felt queasy when seeing or even thinking of her getting hurt since it reminds him of when he was so close to taking her life. And he always felt that she wasn’t made for this kind of work.

She was too soft to fight the Killer Croc or face Scarecrow. Even though Jason always felt that way, he’d never say it aloud. He couldn’t bring himself to dampen that twinkle in her eyes.

“I saw how hard you hit the punching bag, why are you holding back now?”

“I don’t know…I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”

“y/n, you're supposed to come at me with everything you got.”

“But I don’t like hurting you or anyone.”

Tim Drake

Tim and y/n were close even though it was a bit awkward at first. They geeked out about the latest games and shows. Staying up late enjoying whatever type entertainment with junk food much to the dismay of Bruce and Alfred.

y/n admired his intelligence and how patient he was when explaining something to her. Whether it was homework or something else entirely, he was the one she felt most comfortable asking for help from.

She was low-key jealous of how quickly Tim was able to gain the title of Robin while it took her years of training to become Batgirl. But the jealousy would later be admiration for a time.

Tim always felt privileged when y/n showed her artwork to him. She never likes showing it to anyone and hates when someone tries to look at what she was drawing. So when she asks for his attention and flips her notebook/tablet around he can't help smiling.

Even when they were on good terms, he wasn't sure how to approach her when going through a low. She either needed to be alone, talk, or push. The thing is Tim doesn't know how to appropriately react. He just doesn't want to make anything worse, so he ends up having her sit outside to absorb the sun rays. Since he noticed how that had brightened her low mood.

When y/n quit being Batgirl he gave her some space before asking about it. Surprisingly he didn't get much of an answer. She was usually so open about everything, especially with him.

Realizing that they were getting nowhere with this he backed off. Assuming that she'd tell him when she was ready.

Overtime they began hanging out less and less. He hadn't realized how far they drifted apart until one night. Just making a quick run to the kitchen for some coffee. It was pretty late and he didn't think any else was or would be awake.

Yet there was y/n sitting at the kitchen island writing on a paper with notes scattered around her. Homework. When Tim made his presence known with a simple hi, he noticed how…tense she got. Like she got caught stealing from the forbidden cookie jar.

When asking what she was working on, she gave short answers. He'd expected a monologue of how frustrating learning this new material is. Then asking if she needed help, he saw her jaw slightly clench. It looked like she was going to say more, but only declined with a no.

It was odd, but he didn't think too much of it at the time. He had…He didn't want to admit it, but he had more important things to deal with. If he knew of things that were going to happen, he would've done so much differently.

"— Really? I think this is my worst one yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about, it looks great. I couldn't ever draw something that good."

"Just because you can't draw doesn't make my drawing better. Wait, you were just shitting on me for comparing myself to others."

"Yeah, but that's different."

Damian Wayne/Al Ghul

Never liked y/n from the start. Before she even opened her mouth, just that smile looked so wrong. Damian couldn't put his finger on it, but didn't like it. It seemed so fake because it was.

There wasn't anything that made him feel like he needed to respect her like the others. Sure, she was Batgirl but only for a few years.

She never helped them with anything. She's never there to help in the first place. In his opinion she wasn't anything more than dead weight.

When insulted there was never an insult thrown back. He can tell when he struck a nerve when her lips move to the right and her eyes slightly harden. Maybe her nose will flare up if he hit hard enough.

Then she just responds with a hum before ignoring him or leaving the room. If she didn't respect herself enough to defend herself then why should he even bother with her.

When the family slowly/is yandere he'll reevaluate his view of y/n. Still thinks she's weak and cannot do anything, but less hateful. Which is a good thing until he's trying to have her attention whenever they're in the same room.

Or when he's digging through all her artwork while Dick is giggling to himself when reading her diary. Finding out their interest in the arts, he's forcing her to paint. Doesn't care if she doesn't like it, they're painting together.

"Why can't you carry your weight around the house? All you do is sit in your room."

"Hm."

"I don't even know why you're still here, Father should have kicked you out after you stopped being useful."

"Mhhm."

"I know you can hear me. You just don't know how to respond because it's true."

"Hmm."

|*|*|*|*|

Dear Diary,

Today my family tried to talk to me.

It was weird.

#batfamily #batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader #yandere batfam #yandere x reader #I'll write it I swear #x reader #reader insert

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 1 year

Text

Things from the ruin dlc that keep me up at night.

Spoilers under the cut.

SERIOUSLY DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE AVOIDING SPOILERS.

Disclaimer: I wrote this before I had seen Everything the DLC has to offer or all the endings yet. I was on the wrong track, but I think my cooking before I knew everything was good cooking. I have more concrete theories now under #danachan's rants

Something that I was 100% right about that I was going to write into Lofi eventually.... But I guess I'll talk about it now since the dlc confirmed it.

But Balloon Boy world was literally Eclipses cage as I suspected. It was suppressing them. It wasn't an evil arcade or Eclipse was living in there. Eclipse's AI was being suppressed in the arcade cabinet.

Eclipse is how they talk to eachother, and Eclipse was asleep and completely blocked off from the Virus. So Sun and Moon had no communication with eachother anymore. Which is why they were both so stressed and lost.

I was astounded I got that completely correct in regards to what Eclipse is, and what the balloon boy game is.

(the dlc does not explain the Dcas weird connection to Vanessa and why the arcade cabinet was in Afton's boss fight room though)

Bonus points Moon talks exactly how I write him when speaking about the Sun and the Moon.

Another thing that has been mind-blowing me that all the comic book endings are scenarios that GREGORY DREW.

And according to the dlc....

The Afton Burntrap Blob ending is another one of those endings that he drew.

Which means Peepaw Afton and the Blob were never real in the first place.

Which is why no one could really figure out what the blob is.

It doesn't exist.

Princess Quest ending was the canon ending.

Vanessa leaving the Pizzaplex with Gregory is the canon ending.

The ending where you fight Afton in the basement.... Never happened and was just Gregory attempting to make sense of the FNAF lore that Vanessa probably explained to him. Since in the DLC, we do find a book about Fazbear History in Vanny's room.

I honestly don't know if Steel Wool retroactively made Burntrap non-canon due to everyone making fun of him, not taking him seriously and hating the blob, or if this was always the case. Because despite the Afton ending being the hardest to get.... It's still a two star ending.

So it's hard and too early for me to tell if I want to give them points for that soft retcon. I mean I don't blame them honestly.

But yeah. Skeleton man Afton in the basement and his best friend the Blob isn't actually real, and neither is Freddy's "I am not me" speech either.... Which honestly makes sense. Because it's all Gregory's comic book trying to make sense of FNAF Lore he doesn't understand.

Also, I can say definitively, and finally, Afton is not the Mimic. Glitchtrap exists as its own entity in this, and the Mimic seems to have its own agenda. It's unclear if Afton is possessing the Mimic via virus corruption, but for now, I believe the Mimic is acting of its own will.

And man oh man. I feel so sorry for people who haven't been keeping up with Tales of the Pizzaplex Books.

The ending of the dlc is just really "who's Henry???" From pizzasim all over again huh....

Anyways. Those are my thoughts. I will be streaming the dlc again tomorrow. Gonna try and get a better ending, but I have a suspicion they're all sad.

#fnaf #fnaf sb spoilers #fnaf security breach #fnaf ruin dlc #fnaf ruin #dlc ruin #ruin dlc spoilers #fnaf ruin dlc spoilers #danachan's rants

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mobbu-min · 1 year

Text

☆ bragging rights ☆

(ft the first years)

a/n I couldn't find the request where they wanted the first years, but here it is! Ortho is strictly platonic!

tw cursing

want more? eat up bestie! ☆,☆

Ace + Grim <3

⋆ Grim’s like, ‘No. Please, Great Sevens, no…’ He wants anyone but him. Grim wouldn’t mind if it was one of the Leech Brothers, or hell even, that weird ass bowl cut kid that tried to light everything on fire. Just anyone but Ace! He can’t! Just imagining Ace’s cocky ass grin sends Grim into a fit of rage. Really considers all his life decisions.

⋆ Ehm, can you please speak a little louder? Ace didn’t hear that. Ace squeals like a high school girl who just got asked to prom. Considers this his greatest accomplishment tbh. You’re the hottest thing since sliced bread and Ace is the super cool, incredibly good looking super mage. Like it’s a no brainer. A match made in heaven. Of course you’re going to be bragging about him. Who wouldn’t? (please, never stop. Ace literally cried tears of joy)

Deuce + Grim <3

⋆ Honestly, Grim’s okay with this one. Sure Deuce is a little airheaded, but Grim likes him a lot more than Ace! (that’s a lie, he loves both of them equally, just too stubborn to admit it) And he knows that Deuce will treat you right. Though, Grim doesn't know much more arguing he can take from the flustered idiot one and jealous idiot two.

⋆ So so happy. He calls his mom immediately after, (i mean, he’s been calling his mom about you since the day you met) Deuce has really tried to be better, to be the type of guy that you wouldn’t hesitate to call yours and knowing that he made it makes him want to explode (in a good way ofc) He wants to cry, jump up and down, take you by your waist and give you a big ol’ smooch. There’s so many things he wants to do, so many things he wants to make you feel, because Deuce is so in love it’s embarrassing really. (Ace gags while also mourning the fact that it’s not him, jealous bastard)

Jack + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is a little on the fence about this one. Jacks a great guy, don’t get him wrong, but Grim doesn’t want to spend his mornings, afternoons and nights working out. Well, on second thought, the image of Grim sporting a rocking six pack kinda gets him to rethink….No, no…he does not want to give up his tuna! Jack will have to pry his box of tuna from his cold dead paws before he lets that happen.

⋆ His tail does a little waggy once he hears you bragging. Like how can he not? He already talks about you a whole bunch. I mean if you count him always going ‘C’mon, even the prefect could do better!’ or ‘you might be even more airheaded then the Prefect…” then yeah, Jack’s doing a lot of bragging. He’s loyal by heart, but also emotionally constipated, so you’re going to have to look for the hidden meanings behind his brash words. Because it’s there! You just have to look hard and be patient!

⋆ Or you can just look behind your wolfy friend and stare at that ass- I mean, that tail! Yeah, tail! Because it’s betraying how he feels. So thank you tail! (and thank that ass, because it’s thiccc!)

Epel + Grim <3

⋆ Grim is honestly okay with this one. Epel and him are on good terms. So it doesn’t bother him all that much. Really there's nothing else to say other than, Grim is just happy that you’re happy.

⋆ YEEHAW BITCHES!!!!!HE WINS!!!!! Epel is alive and dying at the same time. He’s calling his meemaw, peepaw and all that jazz, because guess what? He’s not bitchless anymore! Yes! Take that Vil, you pompous jerk! And you too Rook, you frenchie! And most importantly, fuck you Ace! He beat you and now you look like a fool! HAHDHHAHA

⋆ Okay, but after Epel gets over his high, he’s face down on his apple plushies practically crying because he’s so happy.

Ortho + Grim <3

⋆ Second son? SECOND SON? NAH! GRIM’S IS YOUR ONLY SON! He literally gets so offended that you're talking about Ortho more than him. Every little ounce of affection or praise directed towards you little robotic buddy is greeted with an irritated huff and eye roll from Grim. Like did you forget that Grim’s been with you since forever? Grim truly see’s Ortho as a rival/threat, because unlike the other boys who you continuously thrist over, you’re so sweet and kind to Ortho and treat him like he was your kid/brother. It really gets Grim’s gears going. He just wants you to know that he is not above fighting a child, robotic or not, he’s going down.

⋆ Oh, Ortho’s over the moon. The person he sees as a second sibling loves him so much! It makes him so happy. Literally, he thinks he’s dreaming (can he dream?). And omg, this just fuels Ortho to get Idia to confess to you, so you’re all like an actual family. You and Idia can be the parents and Ortho and Grim can be your kids! Ortho has already taken to treating Grim like a little brother, constantly patting his head and giving him treats (which does soothes Grim’s dislike to him by a lot, at this point you think Grim likes Ortho more than you) Ortho does ask if you four could all take a christmas photo together (or whatever the equivalent to christmas is in their world) and he sends it to every one of his friends with really fancy blue and pink glitter gel pen font that says ‘From the Shrouds!’. Sure he knows you aren’t actually a family yet, but he’s sure he can do a little convincing and bam! The wedding is bound to happen!

Please just do as he says! Let this boy be happy T0T

Sebek + Grim <3

⋆ There’s dead silence from Grim. Like you do realize that you have no insurance right? How the heck are you supposed to pay for hearing aids for the both of you? He doesn’t get it. What’s the appeal? Did you hit your head that hard? Grim’s judging and he’s judging hard. But overall, Grim surprisingly feels bad. All he can think of is that one lyric you scream out every now then by that Rana le Del, um… What was it again? The Other Woman~ and that’s you. He just shakes his head because he knows you can do better.

⋆ Sebek is a blushing mess. He’s on two ends of the spectrum, one being incredibly smug and two, wanting to scream the ears off anyone in the ten mile radius of him. There is no inbetween because he’s not a chill guy. When Sebek wants something he puts 110 percent into it. And that's what he does for you. You know what name becomes a frequent occurrence in his vocabulary? Yeah, it’s your name. There’s not a sentence that he says that does include you and Malleus in it. Yeah, he is making and joining every club that there is about you and yes, that is a shrine dedicated to you right next to his Malleus shrine. And no, you cannot stop him.

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angelmichelangelo · 1 year

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the dad diaries for @turrondeluxe ❤️

if anybody doesn’t know, the peepaw and babies au has TOTALLY taken over my brain like. in the best way possible so of course i just had to write a lil fic for it <3 i hope u like this, amigo! i have other little ideas floating around in my head if you’d ever want more fic version of your au :) anyway enough rambling ENJOY!! everybody go check out the au i’m fairly certain everything is archived on @peepawronin for your enjoyment :-)

His coffee, as strong as it may, didn’t deter the headache that was blossoming behind his tired, weary eyes from expanding; creeping across the front of his skull with each steady pulse of his heartbeat.

He takes another sip, steels himself to see if perhaps the magic he knows does not truly exist has worked and…

“Papa!”

There’s the sound of his youngest, voice thick with babyish chub still, carrying across the lair with determination, tallying around inside his squeezing head like a brash drum cymbal.

Before he can push himself up off his stool, it goes off again, shrill and impatient,

“Papa! Papa! I’m telling!”

That was nothing new for Michelangelo these days, that familiar old phrase, minced with saccharine dramatics, he’s blinking his eyes hard to starve off the rest of the headache that threatens him; the kind that travels down the back of his skull and towards his shell and over his spine and makes him feel about a million years old.

He heaves a sigh. He already feels a million years old these days, what with the trophies of his days gone by evident across his aging body, like his trick knee and the ache he gets in his elbow when it perhaps rains a little too hard. It’s one thing to feel it physically, but the added bonus of it being emotional as well weighs just a touch too heavy for his liking.

He comes to a stop in the pit where the sounds are louder and more pitchier, and there’s two little turtles to accompany them, faces all pinched into varying degrees of annoyance.

It’s Odyn who reaches him first, as it often is, he’s a daddy’s boy at heart, little tiny legs carrying him the small distance that separates them, he goes barrelling into the larger, older turtle, face first into his pant leg. He’s gripping the edges of the fabric with three little fingers, giving it a sharp tug when he says with a rush of air,

“Papa, Uno is being mean again!” He whines, pressing his snout into Mikey’s leg. “He keeps calling me names!”

Uno has since joined their fray now, chest heaving with each stuttered breath as if the idea of being accused of such a thing is stunting each draw of air into his lungs.

“No I didn’t!” He retorts, voice all pitchy and nasally. Michelangelo groans softly to himself. “He’s just being a baby! Like he always is!”

Such a spiteful word directed towards their youngest is enough to erupt a hurtful sob from the smaller turtle. He buries his face further into his fathers leg, his voice warbled and muffled from both the tears the the mouth full of pant he has right now, but Mikey is able to carefully decipher it of something along the lines of, (in true irony),

“See! He keeps calling me a baby!”

He pries his son’s iron grip off from his leg, forcing him to look upwards with a tap of his finger beneath his damp chin. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, framing his face almost perfectly, he looks at his child sternly.

“You know not to take it to heart, hm? Do you eat baby food and wear diapers?”

Odyn sniffles, bringing a fist up to scrub away at the snot collected beneath his snout.

“No?”

Mikey hums. “And do you chew on furniture and need papa’s help to feed yourself?”

Odyn shakes his head. “No, papa.”

Michelangelo grins softly. “Then you’re not a baby. You know that, I know that.” He looks pointedly at his other son who is unmovable under his gaze. “Uno knows that. He only says it to get a rise out of you, right?”

Odyn’s bottom lip wobbles dangerously. “Yes,” he says in a rush, “but—”

Michelangelo is swift to cut in. “But I will deal with your brother. Okay?”

Odyn doesn’t seem entirely swayed; Michelangelo thinks that maybe he wanted some sort of permission to perhaps say a bad word directed at his brother, or maybe to have it out in a short scrap and there as kind of emotional compensation that only siblings would believe to be a reliable source of insurance against name calling.

But the smaller turtle eventually heaves a heavy, wet sigh, and nods his head solemnly.

“Good. Go play with your sisters,” Michelangelo instructs him, tapping him gently against the ridge of his shell. “I think they’re coloring. Will you make me something pretty?”

That gets his spirits up, the smile beaming across his face so bright, it might as well evaporate his previous tears left behind on his cheeks.

“Okay!” He calls out with delight as he toddles off to join his other, much quieter siblings on the far side of the room. Mikey watches them as they scoot aside and make space for him, offering up a fresh slice of paper, he’s already making grabby hands for the brightest crayons they own.

“He’s always getting me into trouble.”

That’s Uno’s low, forbidding voice, all full of that way too early angst that he recognises from himself and his brothers in their adolescent years, and when Mikey turns to face him, he’s sullen.

He doesn’t wait to hear whatever wisdom his father might be able to offer, instead, his bottom lip is trembling like it’s heavy with the weight of all the words he wishes to say; all the woes and the hurt that comes with having little brothers, and suddenly, with his face drawn in such an expression and his eyes narrowed and his mouth tight, Michelangelo sees a glimpse of Raphael in this child.

“You know, I was the youngest of my brothers,” Michelangelo explains to him. He motions for him to follow as they leave the pit, letting the soft voices of the other children behind them as they walk back towards the kitchen from which he came. “I pulled the same tricks he pulls from time to time.”

Uno pauses his end of conversation to clamber on top of the barstool that wobbles slightly under his swaying weight. Michelangelo steadies it with a hand until his son is fully situated, and once he is, he’s swiveling around to face the older turtle, still sporting the same, sour expression across his younger face.

“Then why’d you let him get away with it?” He says, words barbed, like this was somehow his fault now. “It’s not fair, papa.”

And Michelangelo chuckles softly. There are the glimpses of Donatello that shine through, like bright sunshine filtering through curtains in the early morning in hues of gold – that sharp intellect that constantly comes with its millions of almost unanswerable questions.

“Because I also know what my older brothers were capable of,” he tells him gently. “They did all they could to push my buttons, to get me in trouble. They knew how to play the game without getting themselves a foul.”

Uno heaves a loaded sigh, his plastron rising and falling, his hardened glare seems to melt away a little as he allows his father’s words to soak in.

“I just hate him,” he says suddenly, words dark and low. “He’s so annoying.”

Michelangelo stiffens at that. And at his father’s physical reaction, Uno shrinks a little, aware of what he’d just said; how loaded his words were.

“You don’t hate him.” Michelangelo tells him, Uno’s gaze gingerly lifts to meet his. “You are annoyed by him, yes, but hate is such a strong word, musko-san.”

Uno’s dark eyes flicker across the room with nerves, caught out, he wrings his hands together, as if trying to rid himself of the nervous energy that this conversation was building within him.

“I’m sorry chichi,” he says in a small voice. “That was mean. I don’t hate Uno.”

Michelangelo hums. “I know.” Then, “You know how I know?”

Uno shakes his head.

“The time you taught him kanji,” he begins to list. “Or when he lost a tooth and you soothed him because he was hurt.” He watches with pride as a small smile ghosts across his child’s face. “Or whenever you read to him before bed, even when it’s the stories you have already heard before.”

Uno rubs tiredly at his eyes; all of these emotions are a lot to bear for such a small boy.

“I know you love your brother, Uno,” Michelangelo tells him, tapping a green finger beneath his chin to gather his focus. “I know because I see so much of your oji in your soul.” He smiles warmly at his son. “Each one of them,” he adds, moving his finger down from his face to rest across his plastron, right over where his heart lies. “Right here, hm?”

Uno shifts in his seat, the old, worn barstool groans under his growing weight, he pitches himself as far forward as he can go without toppling off, looking up at his father with big, round curious eyes.

“Really?” He says, voice clinging to an awed whisper.

“Really.” Mikey tells him with a stern nod. “Now go play,” he says quickly, flapping him away with a dismissive hand.

“Papa hasn’t had enough coffee this morning,” he mutters, pinching his eyes narrowly to try and avoid the impending headache that’s crawling back across his skull. “Try not to have anymore arguments until at least late afternoon, yes?”

Uno hops off his seat, almost tripping in the process, he stands tall when he tells him,

“That’s okay!” He’s smiling now. A sight Mikey is sure he’ll never truly tire of, no matter how many headaches life brings. “Maybe I can ask the others if I can draw too, and we’ll make you something nice to make you feel better, hm?”

Michelangelo reaches across the countertops for his discarded beverage from earlier. Curling his fingers around the mug, he finds with welcomed surprise that it’s still warm. “You better,” he tells him with an entirely serious tone surrounding his words, raising one brow ridge for emphasis. “I didn’t spend hours scavenging those crayons for nothing.”

And with that, Uno is padding off in the direction of where his other children are gathered; straining an ear he can hear their excitable chatter and babble as they continue to work together.

And when their eldest sibling joins in, there doesn’t seem to be any lasting animosity; Odyn shows off what he’s already made, pride and excitement swelling over whatever leftover hurt from their spat, and Michelangelo chuckles to himself as he listens to Uno’s gentle encouragement that floats through front the other room.

He brings the coffee mug to his lips, steam curls itself around his snout, and a smile touches at his face, the slightest of turns. He awards himself with another mouthful, and whilst it doesn’t do much to quell his migraine, it does feel deserved.

And later that night, when he has all four of his children growing heavy in his arms, fighting a battle against fatigue that they are bound to lose against, as it is most nights, he watches his as Uno shuffles in closer to his brother, his pudgy little arm draped across the slope of his shell, and Odyn, his jaw slack, drool dried across his chin, his soft snores only just about disturbing the silence that falls across the room, he seems to curl into his brother’s offered warmth and Michelangelo smiles softly to himself.

Here in his lap are his children – the little turtles that call him papa and rush to him to settle disputes and disagreements, and to kiss scraped knees and to devote each of their wobbly crayon drawings to him that end up covering the fridge and the kitchen walls in a decoration of color and love and he knows that even with coffee, even with the best coffee in the world, all of this is worth a thousand bad headaches. Tomorrow might bring peace and tranquility and ease, or perhaps it shall be Yi and Moja that decide to scrap and fight or maybe all four will fall out of love momentarily, as siblings often do.

Michelangelo should know, he’s been one his entire life, even if his brothers are no longer here to push his buttons or fight him or argue over petty, useless things, he knows with great ease, that despite it all, they always found their way back together, whether it was over something big or small – that was the love between brothers and family.

He presses his sleeping turtles closer to him, curling his arms around them, they melt around his warmth and he knows that much like his group of siblings, these four here, were no exception to the same rules.

He closes his eyes and basks in the moment, acutely aware in the moment of quiet, of the headache that has finally shrunk itself away.

#tmnt idw #tmnt last ronin #tmnt the lost years #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fic #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt au

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jolapeno · 1 year

Note

PEEPAW JOEL THOTS???!

oh gosh, this one makes me a touch nervous ⬇️

joel miller x f!reader warnings: smut, p in v, roof sex, injured!joel, sneaking around bill and franks, female and male receiving head.

🔥 think he has sex with you on the rooftop of some old building, maybe it used to be a library or a hotel, it’s not romantic but it becomes it, because he takes a second to appreciate how vast everything is, and you keep rutting your ass into him as you stare off. maybe the sun is peered out from the clouds, after you asked if they could stop a second, and he doesn’t want to but he relents, and then he sorta sees a speckle of what you do. the world from here almost looks normal, and then his hands come to your hips, halting you from backing into him, grunting an “enough.” and you shoot him a smirk over your shoulder, and fuck, like this, it’s photograph worthy. which is why he suspects he doesn’t actually stop you from moving your hips, just tells you to lean over the brick/railing, peeling your jeans down as he wets his hand with his spit as he slides it between your thighs, murmuring close to your ear that it's a "good view."

🔥 he's hurt his arm after coming into contact with another person/group, and you fuss, trying to clean it and he stops you, tells you it’s fine, "m'not even hurt". but he can see you're chewing your lip, fingers holding your chin, "I’d do it all again to keep you safe" and you just stare (because the two of you don't talk like this, it's all under the surface, displayed in actions rather than words). so you just crash your lips to his, his good hand pulling you onto his lap. mouth sliding down your neck as you undo his jeans, tells him if he’s not even hurt, he can make you feel good. and the man is nothing but determined, “you think I can't fuck you right when I’m hurt, huh?” him teasing you before telling you to climb on top, you sinking down on him, breath punched from your lungs as you take him to the root, "you can take it" talking you through it even if he’s the one hissing if he moves his arm. and your breath is all ragged as you get closer and closer, clothes still coated in some fuckers blood, his knuckles split, teeth gritted. and your eyes meet his as his hand grips your hip, both sharing a similar thought: i'd do anything to keep you fucking alive

🔥 you winding him up one day about how he looks miserable (more than normal), tiredness likely a factor, his bones weary, needing rest. so you offer to take him in your mouth after a shower back in some river. your fingers wrapping around his length, telling him to lie back, make a pillow from your jacket, asking if you can look after him, beads of water falling down his gruff, frowning face. “maybe my mouth can put a smile on your face.” and he shakes his head, “what y'mouth magical?” and you smirk, because he doesn't remember that time early on when he'd taken a pill and mixed it with booze that he'd said something similar. so she just sighs, “actually, someone did once tell me it’s life changing.” and he just licks his lips, nodding at you to go on.

🔥 I think when you make it to Jackson, the first night you're both alone is so different than back in the QZ, than the woods, than rooftops and everything in between. it’s the kind of sex that he’d have given you if the world hadn’t gone to shit and he’d met you in a bar. he takes his time, spends so long working you up, earning each moan you will give him before he can even consider burying himself in you. he's on his knees for you, even if his body protests, even if tomorrow his entire body will ache from how good tonight will be. but he knows it'll be worth it. even more as you coat his cock, desperate, needy, leaving fingerprint bruises on his skin that develop when he collapses beside you.

🔥 so, imagine staying over at bill & frank’s after enjoying some food, and a storm is rolling in, and Frank insists, but Bill hates it—insists on two separate rooms. but before you can sneak into Joel’s he sneaks into yours. hand over your mouth as you giggle, telling you that you’re gonna have to be real quiet. “not like you to break the rules, miller.” But then you teasing him about it not being gentlemanly trying to sneak into a lady’s room. “stopped being a gentlemen a while ago.” his fingers snaking inside your underwear. “c’mon baby you know how to be quiet. good enough when we’re surrounded by clickers. how’s this any different?” your panting, hand on his wrist as you pull it down to whisper, “you’re not usually doing this when we’re surrounded by clickers.” and the two of you are already on the floor, pillows and blankets surrounding them as he kisses down your body, sliding his mouth over your pussy as your hand darts into his curls. his fingers pinching your inner thigh when you make too much noise, sucks on the pulse point on your neck asa you catch your breath. begins leaving marks under the space underneath your breasts, a reminder of him there, that he's had you like this when he catches you stripping and changing, before he sinks into you. THE ABOVE ONE CONT: 👉👈 because i think I want to write this... the surroundings are so normal, he’s able to trick himself that this is like olden times. I think when you sit on his lap, he’d lift your hand from his chest at one point, kiss your knuckles—all tender, soft. before he places your hand back and rests his hands on your hips, aiding her. and I think they’d remain on the floor for a while after. him just stroking your cheek, you just lay on his chest, the storm still heavy. both lost in some make believe land that this is their house, and that maybe it’s just a night where they can’t sleep, rather than it being a night where they just feel safe (whatever that even means) and there’s so much hanging in the air, so many words they never speak, but they're safe, and together, and for both of them that's all that matters.

i cannot believe i have thotted so much in the last 24 hours.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #jo: thots

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normal-internet-user · 1 year

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shaking at a frequency that could shatter glass I know I've been here not too long ago, but. please.

h—headcanons..,, maybe...?? f-for.

Peepaw/Dad!Leo with an adopted child!reader...,, please...,... i-i need some Dad fluff with this tortuga. this overgrown hard-shell melon. this- this. (gestures vaguely) y'get me?

he's so Dad shaped. he's so fond and just radiates safety and warmth and affection and ugghhhghhh i just KNOW he'd be the best dad EVER. nay, he IS the best dad. (pseudo) sibling Casey attests to it.

(⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠˙̫̮⁠ ⁠ꈨຶ⁠ ⁠) i think i'm actually going to lose my mind . the Clan as uncles/godparents/aunties. grandpa splinter. sweet brother Casey. it takes a village to raise a kid, they say.

do you see my vision here mate? as always, only if you want to ☜⁠ ⁠(⁠↼⁠_⁠↼⁠) & if you do? just .. go ham. if anything strikes you, PUT IT IN THERE. I NEED TO HEAR IT FROM OTHER PEOPLE TOO . (/lh)

This seems appropriate to celebrate me finishing the Rise movie (I am still emotionally unwell this is me coping) I shall grant you headcanons my dearest darling /p

PEEPAW LEO AS AN ADOPTIVE FATHER

....................................

Let me start this off by saying that this man-

This man is best dad.

He finds a lost child?

'Tis his child now.

You are his child now.

Casey?

He's ecstatic.

NEW SIBLING LES GO

Especially since you're younger than him,

(Not by much, maybe afew months)

Casey makes it his life mission to protect you at all costs.

His favorite thing to do is hold your hand and lead you around.

Leo is so so good at being a dad.

I mean look as CJ,

He's got this ok?

Feeling clingy?

He'll hold you until you want him to put you down.

Nightmares?

That's ok kiddo, come curl up next to Papa, he'll keep all those monsters away.

When you get older, you are not going anywhere without him, Casey, or anyone else.

It's not safe, and the same rule applies to CJ.

So you guys go on lots of scouting missions together.

You two may as well be twins, you never go anywhere without the other.

Sometimes, you and Casey will be sent to scout really last minute,

And Leo won't be notified until you two are gone.

Whenever this happens he gets super pissed off and worried because those are his kids,

He should be the one to give them clearence to leave,

Not some random officer who decided to send you two out.

If one of you ever comes back hurt,

God speed to whomever sent the two of you out.

Leo is mad.

Like, mad-mad.

So are April, Mikey, and Donnie.

Leo would literally fall apart if he lost you or Casey.

He swore to Cass that he'd protect Casey, and he promised himself he would keep you safe.

If he lost either of you he just might completely fall apart.

Leo's busy, he's running a resistance afterall,

So he can't keep eyes on you all the time.

That's why the Hamato's take turns.

Leo's in a meeting?

Let's meditate with Master Michelangelo.

Oh he's busy too?

Time to visit Uncle Tello's lab.

Can't find him?

Well where's Commander O'neil?

Can't find her either?

Welp, enjoy the meeting, cause you're stuck there now.

Play rock paper scissors or somethin idk.

If you're around before Splinter passes, he spends alot of time around you.

He's always wanted grandchildren, and he's going to cherish you,

Especially with the world in anarchy.

When you start losing people, it get's hard.

First it was Grandpa Splints,

Then it was Uncle Tello,

Then Auntie April...

Through it all Leo made sure you were ok.

You're just a kid, and you have to grow up in this hellscape?

You've never seen the blue sky, or normal rain,

And everyone you hold close is being ripped away.

That's not fair.

So he does everything he can to make sure you grow up safe and happy.

One of his favorite things to do was tell you and Casey stories of what the world used to be like.

Your favorite is when he describes the stars.

It sounds so amazingly beautiful, shimming lights like glitter sitting up in a blackish blue abyss.

Wow...

After the events of the movie, (you knew it was coming goddammit)

Your first request is to see the stars.

Which is pretty hard since New York is really bright like all the time.

So they took you and Casey to the docks where you would be able to see them best.

You looked up at the sky in absolute awe,

Papa's words would never do the stars justice.

After a minute, you broke down in tears.

It hurt, he promised to be the one to point out the constellations and his younger self doing it just wasn't the same.

Griefing is going to be a really big thing post movie.

In the future, you never really had the chance.

Everything happened so quickly and anytime wasted on griefing could have been a death sentence.

But now, you don't have to watch every corner, you don't have to wake up in fear you'll be alone.

So you grief.

You grief your family, and Casey does too.

Sure, technically they're right outside your room.

But it's not them.

They didn't raise you.

When Leo sends you and Casey back in time,

You took it much worse than Casey, who was focused on completeing the mission.

Sure, you wanted to stop the Kraang too,

But you missed your dad...

So when you find your family's past selves,

And Leo is being so...

Reckless,

You're angry.

Really angry.

Never in your life had your father acted this way, and Casey needlessly boosting his ego 30 seconds into knowing him wasn't helping.

Through out the movie, Casey needs to remind himself that this Leo isn't your Leo.

You have absolutely no trouble with that.

You come across as cold and angry, which worries your brother since you've never been like this before.

The others just assume you're always that way.

But you're not,

And acting like this makes you hate yourself.

You're grappling with the loss of your dad, and the fact that you might fail to do what you were sent here to in the first place.

Casey pulls you aside and gives you a talk.

He understands that your hurting,

He is too,

But this isn't about the two of you.

This is about saving the world and stopping the Kraang.

After that, you can hurt all you want.

That talk ended with you sobbing into Casey's shoulder, practically collapsing to the ground while you clinged to him and begged him not to leave you too.

Aight imma hit ya with the sandwich technique.

Fluff, angst, fluff.

Boom.

When you were a kid,

You had a habit of collecting anything shiny.

Old coins, jewelry, even just shiny rocks.

If it glimmered, you wanted it.

So whenever Leo had to leave the base, he always came back with something shiny for you to add to your hoarde.

He liked to compare you to a crow, and you asked what a crow was.

Right, raised in the apocolypse.

Sure there were plenty of birds around,

But they weren't.... normal.

So Leo explained what a crow was, and that they liked to collect shiny things.

You understood, but you wanted to know what one looked like,

So you went to Uncle Tello and asked if he could show you what a crow looks like.

He showed you, and immediatly you took to the comparison proudly.

You were like a crow!

Mikey liked to put on little shows for you and all the other children that lived in the base.

Making animals and such out of his ninpo.

Your favorite were the birds, the rabbits too.

But the best was the butterflies, which he also used to help you and Casey fall asleep.

They'd flutter around you room kinda like a nightlight.

I also like to imagine that when you and Casey start scouting, you get in trouble for fucking around.

Mostly making stupid bets for your shiny things.

Casey would collect shiny things just to make these bets.

Usually it was simple stuff, like who can throw a rock the farthest,

But even stuff like that could get both of you killed.

Neither of you really listened until one day,

You're making your bet like usual,

And the building you were scouting out wasn't as empty as you thought.

The two of you nearly fell to your deaths, luckily Casey managed to grapple the two of you to safety.

But after that, you had a major fear of heights, and Leo didn't let the two of you out of his sight for a while.

He made sure to scold the two of you when you returned that day,

Before hugging you and telling you how scared he was for a second.

Leo has no problem with you and Casey being included in meetings,

Honestly he prefers it.

If you two are gonna go running around scouting, you should know what's going on.

You'll have the occasional adult who thinks you and Casey are incompitent because of your age,

And that you shouldn't participate in meetings.

But Leo puts that to rest pretty quickly.

"If they can go out, and risk their lives on missions, they can attend the meetings." He'd say.

Leo loves you with his heart and soul.

If anything happened to you, he'd fall apart.

Sometimes he just needs you to have little sleepovers with him, that way he knows you're safe and sound.

He just wants to protect you.

You're his kid,

And he loves you

....................................

I wrote this while listening to anarchy by egg, and damn that song fits.

This one is LONG that's my bad, I got alittle carried away :^

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