@tlounetwork | The Last Of Us Week 2023 | Day 5: Favorite Dynamic ↳ Ellie And Joel

@tlounetwork | The Last of Us Week 2023 | day 5: favorite dynamic ↳ Ellie and Joel

ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch falter as she gathers a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room. “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.”

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced.

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words.

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued.

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.”

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you.

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second, you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like.

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed.

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow.

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin.

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you.

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult.

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile.

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.”

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…”

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak.

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and take his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze.

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention.

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background. The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Ares, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

“Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla.

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor.

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow. Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo.

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be. Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room.

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned.

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable.

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face.

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours.

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup.

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.”

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving. Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

771 notes View Post

dazecrea

10 months ago

Sweetling

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Benjicot Blackwood Couple - Benjicot X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Y/n Blackwood Rating - Cute AF! Word Count - 3280

Lady Y/n Bracken stood in her gown sword at her hip, on her side of the border shivering with fear and cold, she was only the lady of house Bracken for two days given Benjicot had killed four of her older brothers, she had gone out to patrol the border in the grey rain, but it had not gone well.

Benjicot continued to stalk towards his Prey, eyes locked on Y/n's shivering figure, his sword in hand, he could taste the sweat on her skin and hear her heart pounding, "Have you nothing to say, Bracken??" he shouted, a sly smile on his lips as the air crackled with the threat of action.

"...I... I don't know what I could that won't get me stabbed," she gulped sheepishly drawing her sword but immediately dropping it, so she grabbed it from the grass and mud holding the handle with both hands, the sword shaking the tip falling where the sword was too heavy for her as she tries to defend the border

"...You, a Lady... Wielding a sword?" he asked almost amused as he came closer, the smile on his face grew as he saw her hands shaking while holding the Blade, "That Blade is too large for you, you will cut your own head off, give it to me" He outstretched his hand awaiting the sword

"h-how do I know you won't use it to attack me?”

a scoff escaped his lips as he walked closer and closer to her, "Because I'm not a dishonourable Brute like your brothers, now give the damn sword to me" He took several more steps "Before I pry it from your hands myself"

she gulped moves and offered her sword as best she could making sure he didn't step over the border

He approached, taking the sword from her hands, her trembling sent a chill down his spine, not from the chill rain the two had been standing in, but from her shaking, her fear of him "You know, you are not as bad for a Bracken as I expected, you can be quite useless" He looked her up and down as he spoke

lady Y/n stood a whole head shorter than him, she was small and innocent, a little girl never expecting to be given power as a fifth child in the family, her hair heavy her curls obvious as they were soaked, her little orange dress around her too big for her and also wet sticking to her body, her belt for the sword tied in a knot as the belt itself was too long to buckle for her, a bow and arrows on her back but upside down

He watched her, his eyes following her frame. Her dress clung to her due to the rain, almost as if showing off the small curves of her soft body, for a moment he had to swallow hard as he looked at her, the thoughts running through his mind, he could easily see she was barely even a woman, the idea of just picking her up and taking her back to his home crossed his mind, his eyes went back to her belt, the knot in it and his lips pursed in frustration "Why is your belt tied like this?" He snapped

"ohh, it's too big for me, and I couldn't find anything to make a new belt hole so I just... Tied it"

he reached down grabbing the belt "Too big for you? What in Gods name were you expecting to accomplish with a giant-ass sword that's far too heavy for you and a belt that's too big to actually hold up the damn thing" He gave the end of the belt a tug, pulling her closer to him

she let out a little yelp as he grabbed the belt forcing her against his doublet the belt undoing in his hand the sword sheath falling in the mud "it uhh it was the only sword I could find..."

He chuckled, a little snort almost as he looked down at her, his hand still holding the end of the belt, holding her against him "Let me guess, it belonged to one of your fat, useless brothers?" his eyes slowly travelled down her small frame

she shook her head "no, they all were buried with them my lord Blackwood... Blacksmith says he can't make me one till next week"

he gave a scoff, pulling on the belt again, this time it was more of a gentle pull, her hips coming closer to his "Who would be stupid enough to give you a sword anyway, you look more like a child than a warrior" he said, his eyes moving to the bow strapped to her back, hung upside down and soaking wet he gave a huff, shaking his head. She was useless, and fragile, and more of a child than a Lady "What were you thinking? Trying to defend your lands all by yourself with no proper weapon for you and a piss poor technique, you're lucky I'm the man on the other side of this border right now"

"yes my lord Blackwood" she nodded very use to being scolded by her own family but now even their mortal enemy family was scolding her

he huffed again, his eyes running across her face, taking in her features, her soft, delicate skin, the way she would look while on top of him....his mind flashed through the thoughts, but he pushed them away, now was not the time for that. "And how did you expect to be able to wield a long-swords as heavy as your brothers when you're smaller and shorter than any of your own brothers? I could pick you up with one arm"

"I... I... I don't know...."

he huffed again, bringing a hand up to her chin, gently tilting her head up so he could look into her eyes "You don't know? Don't know that you're too short and small to be a fighter? Don't know how to wear your own damn belt?"

"I... I... I'm sorry, I just wanted to help... My brother's are gone, my little brother is still only a babe I don't know what else to do" she whined starting to cry

he could see the tears as they began to fall from her eyes, the pleading look in her eyes, his hand still on her chin. With a sigh, his expression softened, his hand slowly leaving her chin and coming up to wipe the tears from her cheek, his touch gentler than when he was scolding her moments before "By the Gods what am I to do with you, you soft little thing..." he pulled her even closer, her body pressed against his chest, his hands holding her in place, a soft look coming across his face "You can't keep doing things like this, you could've been killed. You're only lucky that I'm the one on the other side of this field right now..."

"yes lord blackwood"

his hands stayed resting on her hips, a comforting hold, his eyes scanning her face "You're a little thing…”

she nodded and gulped

he chuckled, the sight of her like this sent a thrill down his spine, she was small enough to fit in his lap, small enough for him to pick her up and do anything he wanted to her...he couldn't help himself from pulling her closer against him, his hands still holding her hips "You don't really expect to lead your house do you? You would get eaten alive"

she nodded tenderly resting her cheek against his doublet feeling comfort in Benjicot as she sniffled, She had lost her father, her mother in child birth, all four brothers and now was lady of her house she didn't know what to do or how to feel so she just nuzzled with him a moment enjoying his comfort even if he was the man who killed her father, and brothers and in her mind was likely going to kill her too

he felt her nuzzle softly against his chest, the feeling of her cheek against him made his heart flutter, she really was just a scared little thing. The thought of anyone being scared of her as a leader of a house made a scoff nearly escape his lips again. He felt an ache of pity "You're a scared little thing aren’t you?" he murmurs his fingers slowly rubbing her hips, his eyes looking down at her tiny body

she nodded

he looked down at her, his hand gently taking her chin and pulling her head back up to look at him. The look on her face, the pure fear and sadness in her eyes made his heart ache "I can already see that, Sweetling" he muttered, his voice going from harsh to softer. He couldn't imagine how scared she was, all alone at the head of a powerful house… for a moment he did have sympathy as he was made lord of house blackwood so young, having lost his father and brother ironically killed by her father, he felt sympathy for her, she had lost her father, her brothers, her mother, she had no family... just like him. He saw himself in her, and looking at her, so small and scared, it sent a different sort of thought into his mind. He wanted to protect her, to hold her in his arms to keep her safe. "You're all alone aren't you? No brothers left, no parents....No one left to take care of you" he asked quietly

"I have a little brother but he's only four moons"

he gave a nod, his fingers on her hip continuing to rub gently "Four moons old...Who is caring for him if you're out here, guarding the border by yourself?"

"The Nursemaids"

he gave a scoff. "Nurse maids caring for a baby lord of a house? A bastard could walk in and claim him as their own before anyone would take notice"

she nodded unsure what to really do

he looked down at her, her eyes still watery with scared tears. He felt a twinge in his heart as he saw how helpless she really was. He would never admit it, but he almost felt protective of her, this little girl in front of him "I could help you, Sweetling...If you want."

"hum? How?"

He tilted her chin once more, his eyes locked on hers "You need a protector, something to make sure no one can ever take you or your family from you again... And I need a wife. A proper Lady in my castle to strengthen the lines of my house"

she looked up at him green eyes wide as she gulped "but - but- but- I'm a bracken. Your a blackwood. Our families have been fighting and killing eachother for... Like... Sixteen centuries"

He chuckled, a gentle smile playing at his lips, "Sweetling I know that. You think that I, more than anyone don't know the history? I know all too well what our families have done to each other... I also know that we are currently talking in the middle of a boarder you were supposed to be guarding, with you being a Lady and me being a Lord..."

she glanced and noticed he was of course over the border "ohh... Fiddle sticks"

he chuckled, his hand resting on his hip as he looked down at her. She really was too adorable, he thought, a little thing like her trying to guard a border was almost laughable "Fiddle sticks? Really darling?"

"I'm not good at swear words..."

he laughed, a real genuine laugh "I can tell. Such a prim and proper Lady, a proper little lady of House Bracken" he gave a faux gag, his hand still tightly holding her hip against his His eyes slowly traveled down her frame again, from her big doe eyes to her soaking wet dress, now clinging to her tiny figure, showing off the small curves of her body... He had to admit it to himself, she was attractive no matter how soft and small she was He shook his head, he had to get his thoughts back on track, he was supposed to be trying to convince her to marry him, not just stare at her like a hungry wolf He gave a soft scoff to himself before looking back at her "There's no one else, is there, who can provide for you like I can? No other families to offer for you."

"... I... I guess so"

he smirked, her answer of 'I guess so' was almost cute, almost as if she didn't know what to say or how to respond. He gently tugged her closer, now so that her chest was almost pressed against his front. He really did tower over her. His hand, which was resting on her chin, slowly slid down her neck, his thumb gently resting under her chin "You're so small, Sweetling...so innocent"

"I guess... It's one of the few ways I can make sure I don't get killed by a blackwood, unless you get mad at me"

he chuckled, his hand now slowly tracing the line of her jaw, his hand on her hip pulling her right up against him, so that she could feel every contour of his chest through his clothes. Her head was barely above his stomach now, forcing her to have to look up at him "Get mad at you? What could you possibly do that would anger your future husband?"

"...burn porridge?"

he cackled, a low chuckle rising from deep in his chest, the thought of this small, soft lady trying to make him porridge and burning it almost made him choke on his own laugh "Really? You think burning my porridge would get me angry? Out of all things that could make me angry, you choose burning porridge?"

"...I'm also not good at porridge"

he chuckled again, his eyes still taking her in, looking down at her small form and the way her body reacted to his touch, the slight shiver as his fingers traced her skin "And you think that making me bad porridge would upset me? What else can you not do? What other skills do you lack, my sweet Sweetling?"

"... Most of them" she nodded

his hand was still on her jaw, his thumb slowly tracing her soft skin as he looked into her eyes "Most of them? You can't even list a few? You really can't do much, can you?" He said the words in a soft tone, almost as if he found it more cute than disappointing

she nodded

he chuckled again, pulling her just a little closer against him, their bodies so close they were almost flush against each other "My Gods you are useless aren't you? Can't defend a boarder, can't cook, can't do anything... What can you do, my little sweetling?"

"... I can sew. I can embroider. I can knit... I... I... That's all."

he hummed, looking down at her soft face "Sewing, embroidering, knitting... Of course, that's all your pretty little mind can think of. Nothing that would actually be useful I assume"

"no,"

he chuckled, his other arm coming around her to wrap around her small, delicate waist, his hands holding her so tight against his chest that she almost couldn't move "You really are a simple little darling, a soft little wife meant to look pretty and have my children..."

she giggled but stopped herself when she realized that's a bad thing

he frowned when she stopped her giggle, his hand on her waist giving a soft squeeze "Why did you stop? I thought that was adorable?"

"I realized you meant it as in insult"

he gave a scoff, shaking his head "An insult? No, I didn't mean it as an insult. You are soft and delicate, made to look pretty and have my children. Not really made for much more, are you my sweet Sweetling?"

"I guess not" she agreed "are.. we really to go through with this?"

he chuckled, pulling her even tighter against his chest, his hands on her waist and jaw holding her so that she was flush against his chest. Her small body against his was almost too arousing, her curves pressing against him through her dress "Did you really think I was joking, sweetling?"

"... I don't know, this could all be a lie to kidnap me to raventree hill, and kill me" he chuckled again, a deep, amused laugh rising from his chest. He was starting to like her, she was too cute to not like. Pulling her against him a little rougher than before, he looked down at her "Why would I lie, dear? You are far more valuable alive than you are dead, a sweet little bride to strengthen my house, a pretty little pet to warm my bed and give me sons"

"and... What if I'm not good at that either?"

he chuckled, a low hum rising from his throat. She really was a sweet thing, almost too adorable to not love "How could you possibly mess that up? It would all be so simple, just laying down and giving me some heirs. A Sweetling like you can manage that much, can't you, my sweetling?"

"I'll certainly try my lord"

he smiled, his hands still holding her small frame against his chest. Her body was so delicate, he could wrap his hands around her waist completely. He smirked a low scoff rising from his chest "You'll try. It's adorable that you even think there's room to not do it. You will give me heirs, darling, you're far too soft not to"

she nodded agreeing and as soon as she did benjicot picked her up in his arms and began to carry her over the border to take her home with him to Raventree Hall

he chuckled, the feeling of her small, light body in his arms was satisfying, she really was just a Sweetling, small and soft and so, so useless. He could do whatever he wanted to her, and no one would be able to say a thing, she was now his to use and shape into a proper Lady "There we go, darling. Time to go home with your betrothed" he continued carrying her bridal-style, every step making her little body bounce a little in his arms, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck to keep herself upright. As they left the riverland behind, he gave a deep, satisfied laugh "Off to Raventree Hall we go, sweetling. Off to be my pretty little wife"

she giggled her dress thin and soaked from the rain letting him feel every last inch of her, as she jiggled with the bounces he walks

he felt every bounce and jiggle from her body in his arms, the feeling of her body against his as she held onto his neck and her thin dress sticking to her body almost made him want to pin her on the ground right then and there and make her his right now "You really are a soft, fragile thing aren't you, my sweetling? You wouldn't last a moment on the field"

"I doubt think so" she agreed

he chuckled again, readjusting his hold on her to pull her closer against his chest, her body flush with his. The feeling of her curvy little body was so satisfying, so perfect against him "You're such an adorable thing, my Sweetling. So much more useful in a bed than on the battlefield, don't you think, sweetling?"

she nodded nuzzling his neck "hummm hubby"

he gave a deep humm as he felt her nuzzling into his neck, her little face almost adorable against the soft skin of his neck "Hubby? Is that what you're going to call me, sweetling? You are such a sweet little thing, aren't you?"

"is that okay?"

he chuckled, still walking and carrying her as he nodded "More than okay, sweetling. Sweet little thing like you, calling me hubby, how adorable. You're almost too little to be real"

741 notes View Post

dazecrea

1 month ago

the heir and the wolf

summary: Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir is a difficult thing, but what happens when you also become one of the Realm's most prized posessions?

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader, reader x platonic targs/velaryon

click here to join the taglist!

i. the dear daughter (2.8k) - At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.

ii. about children and trouble (8.2k) - It is reported that in the year 121 AC, when the Realm’s Jewel was only six summers old, her hatchling Merrax was eaten by the Cannibal in a strange turn of events that found him moving from Dragonstone to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenyra demanded to have the dragon’s head cut, but as nobody ever tried nor dared to get close to the Cannibal, it was impossible to do it. Thus, her daughter took the matters into her own hands.

iii. little big lady (5.0k) - Court whispers tell us that during her third pregnancy, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was particularly sensitive. She managed to cover it up pretty well, apparently, but she had one weak spot: her daughter, her firstborn and heir, who later on witnessed her little brother Prince Joffrey's birth by request of her mother. Despite openly disliking the experience, it is said that the Realm’s Jewel insisted on being present to future labours in case things went downhill — and she did, attending her mother in giving birth to all her future children.

iv. dragons' scars (6.4k) - And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.

v. you'll change your name or change your mind (and leave this fucked up place behind) (5.3k) - When the King’s Justice — the royal executioner — died, the Realm’s Jewel proposed a perfect replacement: Nādrēsy, her dragon, the infamous Cannibal. Even if many eyebrows were raised at the Small Council, the King hastily agreed, happy to have an excuse for keeping his granddaughter close to him, even if it was for only a few days every moon. Or, as it always ended up, for a bit more than that.

vi. but I'll know, I'll know (8.4k) - At the ripe age of ten, the Realm’s Jewel was nominated by her grandsire the King, despite all the protests of the Small Council, the official Royal Ambassador; thus, her voyages throughout the Seven Kingdoms started, and yet another nickname was forged for her by the Smallfolk: the Wandering Princess.

↳ interlude (tbd) - Blood stained sheets. The first thing that comes up to your mind? Burning them and fleeing, obviously.

vii. legitimacy (4.5k) - “Vaemond Velaryon’s petition holds no sense,” it is said that the Wandering Princess reiterated once she heard of her uncle’s accusations. “My late father always recognised my brothers as his trueborn sons. Whether they look like him or the Baratheon and Arryn side of the family does not matter: they are legitimate.”

viii. the future queen (7.0k) - Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."

ix. primadonna (tbd) - The Realm’s Jewel eighteenth nameday is still speculated to be one of the grandest events ever arranged in the Seven Kingdoms — if not the grandest event ever. Invites were sent with enough notice for all the lords and ladies of the Realm to be able to show up — even if some lords, like Lord Cregan Stark, got some… personal invites, way earlier than the others were sent out.

more to come!

extras:

pinterest board | spotify playlist | ao3

snippet cut from chapter three

sneak peak at reader and cregan's baby number #1

memes tag

the dragons from nādrēsy's perspective

the time line

6K notes View Post

dazecrea

1 year ago

I really wanted to ask if you could do like a GN! It can be fem too it doesn’t really matter—

The Reader where like Ultraman can transform bigger too but they're more inspired by Mothra (like a mothra suit). I think it would've been like so cute to see Emi go all awe and clingy to the reader because how bright and heavenly they look💕

Kenji gets all jealous seeing his kajju daughter prefer the reader over him a lil bit. tall parents raising baby monster

Emi’s Favorite

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,546

Author’s Note: Loved this idea so much, thank you for this first request! Emi with a moth mommy ⋆˚ʚɞ

MASTERLIST

I Really Wanted To Ask If You Could Do Like A GN! It Can Be Fem Too It Doesn’t Really Matter—

Something about your boyfriend changed the night after Gigantron’s “attack” on Tokyo Dome. That night, you were supposed to help him fend the kaiju off but he insisted he’d do it on his own.

For some reason, you were glad you did not join in because (1) their fight became a pursuit in the sky, and (2) you could not zoom in the air the same way Ultraman does. The only reason you’re able to fly is because of your wings—moth wings on your suit, which would put you at a disadvantage in the case of an air chase.

You were supposed to come over to his place that night to check on him because you were sure that the skirmish had caused more damage to his already injured shoulder. However, your calls were left answered by Mina, telling you that Kenji had already fallen asleep.

Deciding not to disturb him, you simply let him be. But in the days that followed, something surely wasn’t right. He couldn’t focus on his games, he looked so fatigued and restless all the time, and oh good gracious, there were now dark circles under his eyes.

He just looks so stressed and you were so upset with the fact that he didn’t want to tell you what’s going on with him. The time he got into a fight with the other players was the end of the line for you.

You barged into his house, finding him by his bathtub, in front of a TV, watching the news about him. The usually peaceful atmosphere in his house was now charged with tension as you made your way towards him. At that moment, Kenji was praying so hard the kaiju in his basement would keep still.

He still wouldn’t tell you what’s wrong. “It’s not about us. It’s about…” he said, “…something bigger. Something I’m not ready to share yet.”

Your eyes softened at his response, though the ache in your chest remained. You made him promise to talk to you when he’s ready and he agreed. You can’t stand seeing the love of your life like that but at the same time, you didn’t want to force him to do anything against his will. Taking up Ultraman was already enough of that.

Almost two months, after the incident, he seemed back to his old shape. Better, even. And thank heavens, finally, he could now tell you about what happened.

“There’s a what below?!” You asked in disbelief. The two of you were standing in front of the elevator and for a moment, you think your ears are playing tricks on you.

“A baby kaiju,” he replied and went on to explain everything. Still in disbelief, you took in everything with a nod. He placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the elevator.

The moment you saw the big pink baby, you gasped. Emi made happy noises as you approached. However, upon noticing you, she suddenly began to cry.

Kenji was tapping on the glass containment in an attempt to shush her. But to no avail, Emi just cried harder.

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t know you yet,” Kenji apologized. “But I assure you, she’s a sweet big baby.”

Remembering how, at first, Emi only recognized Kenji when he was Ultraman, you decided to try something.

“(Y/n), what are you—“ Before Kenji finished, a soft glow enveloped you, and moments later, you emerged in your giant form. Your wings spread wide, shimmering with black patterns and warm tones of yellow and orange.

Emi’s cries slowed, her curiosity piqued by the sudden change. She opened her eyes, sobs turning to soft hiccups as she stared up at you in wonder. Her claws tapped the glass as she reached out, trying to grasp your wings.

Kenji watched in awe as Emi’s distress melted away. “I think it’s working,” he whispered.

“May I?” You asked, gesturing to the lid of the containment unit. Kenji gave a nod of approval. Carefully, you turned it before lifting it off.

You lowered yourself closer to Emi, your wings fluttering softly as she climbed up her containment. The gentle breeze they created seemed to soothe her further.

Emi let out a delighted squeal, her earlier tears forgotten. She toddled closer to you, her claws gently touching the edge of your wing. She let out a happy chirp, eyes sparkling with joy.

Kenji stepped closer, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Wow, she loves you in this form,” he said.

You smiled down at him. “She’s just like her dad,” you replied. “She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

Kenji chuckled before he himself transformed into Ultraman. He sat beside you with Emi in between the two of you.

Your wings gently enveloped Emi in a comforting embrace. She was now calm and happy as she traced the pattern of your wings with her claw.

“Gentle, baby,” Kenji said as he rubbed her head.

She continued walking around you and playing with your wings until she tired herself out. She walked in front of you and climbed on your lap, nestling her head on your stomach.

“Awww, baby,” you cooed. You gently picked her up into your arms and gently swayed.

Kenji moved close to you, wrapping an arm around you. You nestled into his arm, head resting on the junction of his neck and shoulders. The three of you slept like that for the night.

The next morning when Emi awoke, she immediately looked for you. Realizing that the moth lady was missing, she cried. Mina was quick to assist her, playing videos of cartoons and Kenji to calm her. To Mina’s surprise, none of them worked.

“Who’s making my baby cry?” Kenji asked as he approached. He expected her crying to cease once she saw him. However, that is not the case.

“Huh?” He questioned. Emi always calms when she sees him. “Mina, try showing her pictures of (y/n).”

Mina did as told and as miraculously as yesterday, Emi stopped crying. “It seems like she got herself a new mother,” Mina commented.

With Emi’s growing fondness of you, you found yourself frequenting at Kenji’s house more than ever. She was just so cute; like a live plushie when you’re in your giant form.

“Hi babyyyy,” you cooed as you transformed into your giant form. You scooped her up, her head nuzzling against you. Her earlier play was abandoned in favor of your presence.

You walked in on Kenji and Emi playing baseball together. And you didn’t mean to interrupt but when you saw her walking towards you, you knew you had to transform.

Kenji smiled at the scene. “She really loves you, you know,” he said.

You smiled back, feeling a warm glow inside. “I love her too,” you replied. “She’s such a sweetheart.”

Emi chirped happily as she climbed up your torso and onto your shoulder where she could watch and touch your wings.

Kenji watched the interaction, his smile fading slightly as a twinge of jealousy crept in. His baby kaiju shows a different kind of joy when you’re around.

He loved Emi dearly, but lately, it seemed like she preferred your company over his. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined.

“She really lights up when you’re here,” Kenji said, trying to keep his tone light.

You glanced at him, noticing the slight edge in his voice. “She lights up when you’re here too, Kenji,” you replied. “She loves you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but… it feels like she’s more excited to see you than me sometimes.”

You tapped the space on the floor beside you, gesturing for him to switch to Ultraman. Thankfully, he did not resist.

You moved close to him as he sat beside you, his hand finding its way to your thigh. Your head automatically rested on his shoulder.

“You’re her dad, Kenji,” you said. “She loves you so much. Maybe she’s just fascinated by my wings right now.”

You felt Kenji nod, although the jealousy still lingered within him. “Yeah, maybe,” he replied. “I just want to be enough for her.”

You leaned back to look at him. Your other hand which was not holding Emi on your shoulder, moved up to hold his face. “You are enough. You’re everything to her,” you said. “And to me.”

Emi squirmed out of your hand, gently jumping off your shoulder and landing on your lap. She toddled over to Kenji. He looked down at her, his heart melting as she reached up, wanting to be held. He picked her up, and she nuzzled against his chest, purring softly.

“See?” You asked with a smile. “She adores you.”

Kenji hugged Emi close, his jealousy fading into thin air. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

You spent the rest of the day playing with Emi, taking turns holding her and making her laugh. By the time evening rolled around, she was content and sleepy in Kenji’s arms.

Before reverting to your original form, you kissed Emi’s head and then leaned in to kiss Kenji. “I’ll be back soon,” you said. “Take care of our little one.”

Kenji smiled, his earlier worries forgotten. “We’ll be here, waiting.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@scribble0rat

4K notes View Post

dazecrea

6 months ago

MASTERLIST

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Fórmula One

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Carlos Sainz

Reunion On the Tracks - After a few years of not seeing each other, you see him again, but with the intention of telling him something that you had been keeping to yourself for a long time. (shortly)

Charles Leclerc

Parenting Challenges - The couple faces the challenges of parenthood after the birth of their first child, balancing family life with the demands of a pilot career.

Lewis Hamilton

A New Light - Part 1/2 - They had everything: love, achievements and a promising future. But the loss destroyed them from the inside out. Now, Lewis will do anything to rekindle the flame that brought them together, as they fight to turn the pain into a new chance to start over. (shortly)

George Russel

shortly

Lando Norris

shortly

Oscar Piastri

shortly

Max Verstappen

shortly

Fernando Alonso

shortly

Sebastian Vettel

Moments - Moments of your relationship with the pilot Sebastian.

Kart Racing - Sebastian and his wife take their son to a go-kart race.

Jenson Button

shortly

Ayrton Senna

Monaco - As a Formula 1 driver, racing for Ferrari, you win for the first time in Monaco. You and Ayrton are good friends, but there was something more there. (shortly)

Football

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Jude Bellingham

Unforgettable Triumph - First Champions League.

You Are Unique - Jude decides to help her in the kitchen.

Jobe Bellingham

shortly

Neymar Jr

shortly

Cristiano Ronaldo

Stages - Stages of your relationship with football player Cristiano Ronaldo. From the moment you met until your first child.

Lionel Messi

shortly

Rodrygo Goes

shortly

80 notes View Post

dazecrea

1 month ago

Masterlist

Updated again!

High School AU Guns N’Roses x Reader

Slash-Most Likely To

Duff-Deadline

Past Deadline

Izzy-Fire series

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Reptiles & Rogues Izzy Stradlin x reader series

Loaded Like a Freight Train (Part 1)

The Accidental Florist (Part 2)

Lizards and Longing (Part 3)

Thistles, Roses, and Thorns (part 4)

Cold-blooded Cuddles and the Bastard of Inconvenient Timing (Part 5)

Shameless Susan and the Troubadour Straddlin’ Situation (Part 6)

Thinking About You (Part 7)

The Unspoken Word (Part 8)

Floor A Izzy Stradlin x reader series

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The Top Hat Cafe Izzy Stradlin x reader/Guns N’ Roses coffeehouse AU series

“Coping Mechanisms” (Part 1)

Stroking Out (Part 2)

Epiphanies in the Land of Broken Dreams (Part 3)

The Important Questions (Part 4)

Over the Edge (Part 5)

Revelations, Inspired Rain, and A Hard-core Troubadour (Part 6)

I’m On Fire (Part 7)

Hey Jealousy (Part 8)

Bathing Beauties Izzy Stradlin fic

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Uncle Izzy Companion fic to It’s So Easy

Uncle Izzy

Uncle Izzy: You Could Be Mine

The Truth About Books and Dogs Izzy Stradlin x librarian reader

Part 1

Part 2

93 notes View Post

dazecrea

1 month ago

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•GUNS N ROSES•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

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

☆•Axl Rose•☆

♡Welcome Audience

♡Spanking

♡Jacuzzi Time

♡Nervous Wreck

♡ Christmas Cards

♤Caught Up In His Life

♡Pick Up The Pace

♡ Jealousy is Pretty on You

♡ Car Times Party Times

☆•Duff McKagan•☆

♡Subby Duff

♤Forgotten Anniversary

♡Much Needed Break

♡Duff x M!reader

♤♡Lack of Communication (pt.1 + pt.2)

♡More Subby Duff

◇Gentle Loving

◇ A Bloody Mess

♡Pull Over

♡Put Those Panties On

☆•Izzy Stradlin•☆

♡Subby Izzy

♡Breeding Kink

♡Back blown out

♡Spanking

♡♤Baby Trap You For A Tour

♡Somnophilia

♡♤ Go On Then

♡Poor Puppy

☆•Slash•☆

♡Sixty Bucks

♡Not So Hidden Fantasy

♤◇Mine

♡Even the Score

♡Jealousy

◇Christmas Pajama's

♤♡The Not so Princely Prince Charming

♡Special Interview

◇Sick Day

♡Drunken Dog

♡Pretty Titty

♡Mutt

◇Snakes in the Sheets

♡Say it Back

♡Insecurity

◇Modern AU

♡Rehab Romance

♡Thigh Love

♡Edging

♡Cockwarming

♡Brat Taming

♡Charity Work

♡Thigh riding

♡Tour Bus Sex

♡Subby Slash

◇ADHD reader

♡Size Kink

◇Chronic Tummy Aches

♡Pegging

◇♡Gender Swap Stuff (pt.1 + pt.2)

♡Arranged Rebel

♡Corruption Kink

♡Unique Band Practice

♡Bottom Slash

♡Age Gap Relationship (pt.1 + pt.2 + pt.3)

♡Take Me With You

♡Spanking Slash

♡ The Best Present

♡ Party Favours

♡ Happy New Year

♡ No Food in the Kitchen

♡ I can't keep coming up with titles for sub Slash

♡Just Fuck Off

♡His New Toy

♡No More Fucking Buts!

♡A Puddle of Pleasure and Pain

♤◇Angry in Love

♡ Lost Deodorant

♤♡Succubus Slash

♡Lost Somewhere In Time

♡ Tit Sucking Comfort

♤♡You Won’t Fuck Me Right

♡ Stop at the Touch

♡ Destressing

♡ Pegging 2x

♤♡ Last Straw

☆•Steven Adler•☆

◇Soft Dom Headcanons

♡Brat Taming

♡Breastfeeding Kink

☆•Multiple members•☆

♡Bingo

♡Izzy x reader x Duff (pt.1 + pt.2)

◇Aftercare

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

♡ smut

◇ fluff

♤ angst

385 notes View Post

dazecrea

6 months ago

The lack of vander x reader fics is so tragic omfg plz let me love on my dilfy bartender / chemtech altered mans

212 notes View Post

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Sweetling

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Masterlist

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