#and god my poor broken girl is not doing well at all

[blackjackkent]

Narrator: Your stomach churns around and around. The bile within is unsettled. Each moment brings a new surge.

Gods, her head aches.

It is the worst the dreams have been in a long time. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. The usual visions of battlefields full of broken corpses - and more specific images, too. All those which the beast has wanted her to kill and she resisted. Isobel. Aylin. Jaheira. Dolly. Arabella... images of throats torn out and innocent blood pouring over her hands like rain...

She feels sick and feverish. She must rest - a battle beyond measure waits for them at Moonrise, the battle to take vengeance on Ketheric for good and all. She must sleep, but her brain will not settle, and her stomach spasms with nausea.

She sits up, pressing the heels of her palms into her temples, struggling to beat back the terrible thoughts.

Narrator: Your companions sleep like blissful lumps of meat.

Wyll is asleep nearby. Often he (and Lae'zel) keep watch over her in the night, helping to guard her from the dreams. He's promised he won't let her kill in her sleep again. But he cannot stay awake forever; he too knows the fight ahead will need all their wits.

She watches him through the flicker of the firelight. The man who has helped to make every good part of her that exists in between the rotted instincts and empty memories. The man she loves, and who loves her even though she does not deserve it. In his sleep he looks peaceful; perhaps he is lost in some better dream.

She stands, meaning to pace at the edge of the fire, to perhaps shed some of the nervous, anxious energy until she is too tired for the dreams to take hold... but instead she finds herself simply standing there, looking at Wyll, watching the subtle movements of his eyes under the lids, the slow rise and fall of his chest.

The voice hisses suddenly next to her. "He is an insult to the name of devils, posing as a monster with that sickly good heart."

She jumps violently, spins with one fist lashing out. She has learned - the blow is lower now and very nearly connects, skimming a hair's breadth from Sceleritas's skeletal nose, but he dodges backwards as always, his smirk stretching from ear to ear as if nothing happened.

"You could do so much better, Milady..." he purrs, coming to rest again near Wyll's feet.

"Get away from him!" she snarls. All her rage at herself, all the bloodlust of the beast, she would happily expend instead on this little rat of a creature who finds her at her lowest moments, if he was not so adept at dancing out of her reach.

Sceleritas's smile widens impossibly, straining and stretching the desiccated skin of his face. He leaps over Wyll's legs, closer to her again, that obsequious and cringing bearing contrasting weirdly with the bright cruelty in his eyes.

"I won't lay so much as a talon on him," he croons brightly. "I wouldn't rob you of that delight." He draws slowly closer, step by step, word by word, and she feels her blood run cold. "Your clever mind is penning tragedy as we speak. Your repressed Urge yearns to kill. And kill you will." His eyes narrow with gleeful malice. "Tonight... the moment you close your eyes... your favorite person will be killed."

Wyll.

Her heart drops into her stomach and her whole body begins to tremble. He means Wyll. Of course he means Wyll. There is no chance that he is lying; the dreams have already shown her that she is reaching a breaking point. All those lives she has resisted taking... it only makes the hunger stronger in the end...

"I didn't lay a finger on Isobel," she whispers hoarsely, clenching her fists at her sides as if that action alone could grant her some new conviction. "I can... control myself..."

Sceleritas laughs dismissively, as if correcting the misapprehensions of an illogical child. "It is precisely because you *didn't* touch her that you are insatiable..." he explains. "Your Dark Urge will have death, one way or another." Again that mocking smile. "Tonight."

He circles around her slowly where she stands, opening the way between her and Wyll, then stepping back into it again. "He adores you so blindly..." he hisses. "Like a pup. Don't you find it *sickening*?"

She can feel how the words pull at the beast, rousing it to fever pitch, hungry and full of rage. KILL.

She shudders, trying to force the monstrous thoughts back. Yes - Wyll adores her blindly. She does not understand it; he should have long since seen her for a broken thing and turned aside. But she clings to it with gratitude for every moment that she has it. He has made her who she is, every part of her that she can take any pride in.

She loves him. She has never told him so aloud. Does he know?

Sceleritas does. She can tell by the way he is taunting her, by that infuriating, mocking smirk.

"Have you been watching us while we are together?" she rasps out.

Sceleritas cocks his head as if in apology, as if he is not deeply enjoying putting her so ill at ease. "It is my *duty* to ensure you are making the right decisions, Master," he says, mock-sincere. "There was much... disappointment at your reluctance to kill the little Moonmaiden." He turns aside, gestures with a clawed hand in the direction of Wyll's sleeping form. "You could kill this one deliberately. I'm sure it will be considered a great show of good will. The tithe could still be yours..."

The beast growls and it resonates through her whole body; her skin tingles with the hunger. Yes. Tear him apart. Earn the prize. Let his blood spill out. A final act of love for you, to give his life under your blade...

A soft, whimpering groan escapes her and she squeezes her eyes shut. "You must be joking," she mutters, but the defiant words lack any strength.

Sceleritas's voice whispers in her ear, seeming to come abruptly from all around her. "I do not doubt you will act with the decorum befitting one of your rank..." A soft shimmer of magic dusts along her skin. "Good night, sweet Lady."

She opens her eyes and he is gone. Only Wyll remains, asleep, oblivious to the terrible conflict playing out at his bedside.

-----

(A/N: I fucking LOVE this next sequence for Rakha. For the most part, it fits incredibly well with a number of things I have already established about her story, her Urge, and her relationship with Wyll. However, it does have one critical difference which is that, as written in game, it assumes that she has not told anyone else about any of her internal struggles up to this point, which conflicts with a number of things I've written about Wyll and Lae'zel (and others) knowing about the beast and helping keep watch over her on the bad nights.

With that in mind, I have taken some significant artistic liberties on certain pieces of dialogue here. As usual, italic lines are ones from the game and non-italic are ones I've rewritten or replaced, and I've left footnotes with what the in-game actual dialogue was.)

-----

Narrator: Your companion rests blissfully, without a fear in the world.

She falls to her knees at his side. Her fingers twitch with the terrible urge to rip and rend and tear. The beast is roaring in her head, stoked to a fever pitch by Sceleritas's words and by all the blood she has denied it.

Reach forward to shake his shoulder and wake him.

Narrator: As your hand approaches his body, it wavers. It longs to close around his throat...

[SAVING THROW] Resist. Wake him up.

Terror grips her, widens her eyes to show the whites. With every ounce of resolution left to her, she slams one fist into his shoulder and then jerks backwards as his eyes drift open.

For a moment, still half-asleep and caught in some lingering dream, he only smiles up at her sitting at his bedside. "I love feeling you close..." he mumbles drowsily, reaching for her hand. "But are you sure..."

She can see the moment when the realization kicks in - when he moves from love to concern and fear. The transition claws at her mind.

"Gods..." he whispers, and reaches out towards her. "All right. It's all right. I'm here."(1)

She spasms backwards another step, out of his reach. Don't touch me. She is sure if his skin touches hers again she won't be able to control herself. "It's you--" she groans out. "It wants you--"(2)

At once, Wyll is up on his knees, all his focus coming to rest on her. His hands are spread in a gesture that is not placating but defensive - and she is glad to see it. He should be defensive; he should be ready to fight her off. She is an animal with almost no control remaining to her.

But he doesn't back away, just watches, waits. "You've got my attention," he says gently. Why is his voice so soft, even in this moment of crisis?

Narrator: As you tell your story, fatigue fills your body. Your head swims with the worst headache you've known.

For the first time she tells him everything, even the things she has held back - about Sceleritas, his deals and his tithes, his mocking taunts, his commission for Isobel's death. The words come out slowly, sticking in her throat, heavy with pain and underlaid with a hungry growl. Her head throbs blindingly, white and red by turns at the corners of her vision.

"The beast that killed Alfira will call again..." she finishes in a low, hoarse whisper. "My possessed mind will kill you..."

(A/N: BEAST! \o/ In-game called it the beast, I feel so incredibly validated rn.)

Wyll listens in silence to the chaotic, half-comprehensible explanation. His eyebrows knit together in a worried expression. After everything that has happened, there is no way he doesn't grasp the gravity of the situation, and yet his concern seems more for her than for himself, even now.

"All right. We'll figure it out," he murmurs, deliberately calm and steady against her hysteria. "I won't let you hurt me, Rakha, I promise. Just breathe-- breathe--"(3)

Narrator: Suddenly you become drowsy. Your vision blurs and floods with yellow bile, and you faint in a dizzy blur.

It happens so fast. The beast rises and roars, slipping out of her control, and her eyes roll up in her head. She collapses sideways and her vision slides away from her and for a little while she knows no more.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Narrator: You are not yourself. All control is gone.

She wakes stretched on her bedroll, spasming and struggling. A painful bruise darkens her cheek; someone has struck her. Her hands are tied behind her back and she is being held down by someone behind her, someone with long clawed fingers. Lae'zel.(4)

Wyll is crouched in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder, helping to hold her down. "Hey. Hey! Stay with me!" he calls softly.(5)

She can't breathe. Can't think. There is so little of Rakha, and so much of the beast. Flailing against the hands holding her back, she jerks her head forward in an attempt to close her teeth on his wrist.

Try to bite him.

He jerks back out of reach before she can land the blow. "Shit. This isn't good," he mutters, his eyes lifting to Lae'zel for a moment, then dropping back to Rakha's face. Undeterred by her animal ferocity, he returns his hand to her shoulder. She can feel the warmth of his palm through her thin shirt.

"Whatever fiend's got hold of you," he murmurs, "it's made a battlefield of your mind."

Narrator: Your hands are raw and bloody as every inkling of your Urge yearns to tear your bindings.

"Rise up!" Wyll says sharply. "Meet its gaze. Show it no fear. And grant it no mercy!"

She wants to fight it. She wants to be the sort of person that he would be proud of, the sort of person who could meet the beast and cow it, slay it. But gods, it hurts. It hurts... it's so hungry and it is tearing pieces out of her brain...

Growl.

It starts as a whimper of terrified pain in her throat and rises into a growling roar like a wounded lion.

"That's it--" Wyll says. His voice is sharp now, trying to rouse her; she can hear the fear in it, and a grief too. The grief is new. "Gather your mind! Slaughter the fiend that stalks you!"

She tries. She tries... for him, she tries, when it would be so easy to surrender, to simply let the beast take her. For him, she would fight until her last breath... but gods... gods, it hurts...

Narrator: The night passes sick and sweating, but bloodlessly.

-----

Somewhere in that long, terrible, endless night, she passes out again. It is not sleep, not really; her head still aches like there is a knife in her temple, and she can hear Wyll and Lae'zel talking in low voices. She can feel the rough dig of the ropes on her wrists, holding her still.

Dim images drift in and out of her awareness. Isobel's face with blood pouring out of her eyes. Sceleritas's mocking smirk. Wyll's throat cut. Lae'zel's back broken. The endless black pain of the corrupted dark that surrounds them.

It is a nightmare that seems to go on for several thousand years.

But slowly... slowly... she does wake up. And the beast retreats, beaten back for the time being, returning to its low background growl.

She opens her eyes and finds Wyll watching her. He looks exhausted, his eyes sunken into his face, and wary and terribly sad. He reads the expression in her eyes carefully, and whatever he sees there seems to satisfy him, for he leans forward and unties the bindings on her wrists.

She rubs at the raw, chafed lines where the ropes sat. The pain does nothing to distract her from her exhaustion and humiliation and terror. This is the worst it has ever been.

She can't look at him as he sits down in front of her again.

"It's all right," he says softly. "It's over."(6)

She doesn't answer. She feels shattered, broken in mind and spirit. She does not deserve his soft words or his reassurance. The truth is inescapable now. She is a mad animal with only the thinnest veneer of reason over it. She could have killed him...

He reaches out gently and takes her hand between both of his. His thumb rubs over her palm just below the scored line of the bindings. "How are you feeling?" he asks. His head dips, trying to get her to meet his gaze. "Talk to me."

What can she say? How can she explain the utter emptiness in her chest, the broken lost thing that she is? How can she even begin to make him understand?

She opens her mouth... but nothing comes out. She simply, and quite unexpectedly, bursts into tears.

Sob. Say nothing.

Even at her lowest points before, she has never cried. There have never been tears. She wasn't sure she was capable of it. But they stream down her face now and she sobs and sobs, all the tension bleeding out of her. And she doesn't resist when he closes his arms around her and pulls her tight to his chest; she just cries bitterly into his shoulder until the cloth of his shirt is soaked with it.

"Should this inner fiend seek battle again," he murmurs in her ear, "I'll give it one. Let it taste the edge of the Blade."

It's an attempt at reassurance, but it doesn't land. If she can't fight it, he certainly can't. Why does he persist in believing she is worth salvaging? Why does he hold her and soothe her after such a brutal display of bestial violence?

She wants so badly to be the person that he sees in her... but why does he not see that it is impossible?(7)

"You are allowed to hate me for this," she mutters brokenly.

"Hate you?" he answers, and though his voice is still soft, the words take on a sudden weight. "The coast would sooner be swallowed whole by the Sea of Swords." His fingers drift over her back, up the back of her neck, along the close crop of her hair. "You don't have to shoulder this burden alone..."

She doesn't understand him. He deserves so much better. But with no energy left, she allows herself to succumb to the comfort, just for a little while. It is the only peace that remains to her.

-----

(1) In-game line: "Gods, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a gravehound's ghost."

(2) In-game line: "You are in a lot of danger. We need to act fast."

(3) In-game line: "You wouldn't. You couldn't. Could you? You're not in your right mind. There are healers in the city, clerics who can help. You should've told me sooner - we could've figured something out. This is what happened with Alfira, isn't it? By Balduran's helm, if only I'd known."

(4) Artistic license. Lae'zel is not involved in this scene at all in-game, but I've already established in drabbles that she helps Wyll keep an eye on Rakha and the beast.

(5) I swear to god I had not seen this scene or knew anything of it when I wrote this drabble.

(6) In-game line: "Looks like you're back to your old self. Poor Alfira - if only she'd been so lucky."

(7) One of the dialogue options here actually is "I promise I will be the person you see in me," which is excellent, but Rakha absolutely doesn't feel capable of it at the moment.

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

[peachesofteal]

The wallflower.

Johnny clocks it immediately, your shoulders practically pinned against the pale-yellow wall, pint glass slick with condensation cradled between your fingers. Your eyes dart around and then away, finding something to study in the carpet, or the stairs, on the coffee table.

You’re not comfortable here, that much is clear.

He elbows Simon. “Poor girl looks nervous.” Simon gives you a furtive glance over the rim of his glasses, and nods.

“Probably only knows one person. Or got dragged here.” It’s Kyle’s wife’s birthday party. She has a lot of friends it seems, well liked in all facets of her life, work and otherwise. He clucks his tongue. “Sweet thing.” Someone bumps into you, and then pivots, reaching out to grab your arm in apology. You don’t tell him off or pull away. You just glance at his hand, meek smile stretching your lips sour. It turns Johnny’s stomach.

“She needs rescuing.”

“Johnny.” There’s a warning in Simon’s tone, a reproachful sentiment that he knows well. No strays. No projects. No more shelter pets.

“Ach c’mon. Look at her.” That one muscle in Simon’s cheek feathers, the one that says everything without Simon saying anything at all. Broken resolve.

He sighs. Johnny grins.

“Ye alright?” The man who’s taken up a residence at your shoulder is now speaking to you. Worse, he’s asking you if you’re alright.  

“I… I’m good. Yeah. Fine.” You grip your glass tighter, ignoring the flip of your stomach. You snuck at glance at him when he first came over, and that was enough. He’s very handsome.

And you’re, well-

You’re… you.

“Someone ditch ye?” Oh god.

“Uh, no. My friend is over there.” You point to Anna’s back. She’s in the kitchen, laughing so loud you can hear her from across the living room.

“Ah. She did ditch ye.”

“No!” You glare at him, “No.”

“But she didnae offer to introduce you to anyone?” You wince, and his eyes flicker with sympathy. “Ah, she did.”

“I’m not good with… people.” The understatement of the year. You don’t do people. People are too unpredictable, too much of an unknown. A pattern of behavior will only take you so far, and it’s hard to forecast their actions, reactions, words, emotions… everything.

You prefer safer bets. Predictable things. Equations, mostly.

“Ye’re not good w’people, but ye’re at a party.”

“Yes, it’s quite a feat.” You snap your mouth shut, expecting him to give you a weird look, but he laughs.

“If ye’re uncomfortable, why stay?”

“Because, social interactions are good for me. And I promised myself a slice of cheese pizza if I made it an hour.” He should laugh. Most would. Most would think it’s fucking hilarious, how you’re bribing yourself, dangling a carrot in front of your face.

But this guy doesn’t. He doesn’t laugh. He cocks his head, and frowns. “So… ye’re torturing yourself so ye can earn a slice of pizza.” A nervous giggle bubbles up and out your throat.

“It sounds bad when you put it that way but-“

“It is bad.” A deep voice sounds from over your shoulder, and you jump.

“This is Simon.” Your new… friend, Johnny, motions to the hulking man at your side, and you manage a nod, spitting out your name. “He’s no’ scary, just looks it.” Johnny reaches for his hand, and the equation clicks to together with ease.

Oh.

“You here with a friend?”

“Uh. Yep.” You point to Anna, again, and they exchange a look.

“She ditch ya?” Same question, different accent, and you’re about to give the same answer, when Johnny intercedes.

“She’s here so she can have a slice of pizza.” Yeah. It sounds bad.

“Wot?”

“I… It’s good for me to be around people so I said if I could do it for an hour, I could have pizza.” They’re both wearing expressions you can’t translate, two faces you don’t understand, and it twists you up.

“Do you usually ransom yourself pizza?”

“N-no.”

“Is it… an eating thing?”

“Oh, no. It’s like… I’d rather be at home, but everyone says socializing is… important. So, for doing something I hate, I get pizza.” Simon sighs.

“Trying to fit a square into a circle.” The comment is puzzling, but as you’re trying to put it together, Johnny links his pinky with yours and tugs you closer. The room is quiet, the music, the laughing, the chatter, all of it goes silent. There are dozens and dozens of people in here, but right now, it’s just you and these two. Staring at one another. There’s a web thin string spinning from him, to you, to Simon, and it’s wrapping you up, cocooning you, holding you tight.

“This okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye wannae go get that slice with us?” Do it. Just do it. Do something. You take a deep breath.

“Sure.”  

They look comical, shoved into the pleather red booth across the table from you, Simon far too wide to comfortably accommodate Johnny, but they don’t seem to mind. “So, cheese then?” You nod, picking at the faded corner of a menu. This was a bad idea, this was stupid. What were you thinking? Why-

“Three slices of cheese please.” You hadn’t even noticed the server, and you panic when she starts to turn away.

“And a coke!” You blurt, immediately embarrassed. She stares at you for a second before nodding, forcing a smile, and walking off. Fuck. You press your palm down on the table, trying to focus on the texture, the feel of it.

“Hey,” Simon says softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.” You bristle.

“I know that.” Of course you know… don’t you?

Clearly not.

They don’t try to force you into conversation, but they do talk to you. They don’t ask you pointed questions or try to dig into you, instead choosing to tell you about themselves, their dog, their jobs. They keep you involved without dragging you in unwillingly.

It’s nice.

You’re halfway through your slice when you realize they’re watching you.

 “What? Is there something on my face?” You frantically wipe at your chin, your cheeks. Simon’s mouth quirks.

“Nothing on your face, sweet girl.” Your brain scrambles. Words fail. You don’t think anyone has ever called you something like that before.

“Oh. Okay. Well. Good.” Stupid.

“Go on and finish up.” He instructs, pointing at the grease laden slice, and you bring it to your mouth obediently. “Want to come for a walk with us after this? Our favorite park is around the corner, and the moon is really bright tonight.” A walk. With them. A walk? What does that mean? Just like, a walk?

Do it. Just do it. Do something. Be brave.

You roll your shoulders, and take a bite of your pizza, chewing slowly and swallowing.

And then you nod.

“Yes.”

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

Can I get more horndog Nikto pls? Like Nikto legit wanting the reader every way emotionally and physically, becoming territorial of them, and the reader doesn't take him seriously because they don't wanna be another conquest. Sad horny boi lol

HORNDOG!NIKTO FOR MY NIKTO GIRLS.

- He is jealous, it’s pretty much in his Slavic dna to be, so once you show him a bit of affection without strings attached, he gets territorial. Nikto does a lot of questionable things to ensure the recruits know you’re off limits. From standing really close to you no matter what you’re doing at that moment, to literally pressing himself against your body like a horny dog. The creepiest thing he’s done was probably standing in a corner, intensively watching you read from afar. Recruits would get scared about coming to you for advice because he was there, awkwardly staring and they would get chills (he’s just so silly!).

- The first time Nikto got to know your sweet side was when you made biscuits for the barracks and decided to bring some to him too. He was not the type to hang around the base, so having such sweet little thing like you come and knock on his door with a bag of biscuits was very surprising and suspecting on his side. He found you hot, there was no denying, so having many other instances where you would do something for him without asking anything in exchange was starting to grow onto him. You always brushed it off, how possessive he began to be about you, thinking he was just an awkward adult that didn’t get to learn proper socialization, and well part of that was true. You kept brushing his affections off, he was like that and nothing could change him. You knew he liked women, too much for your own good, and part of you did not want to end up as another conquest.

- Many times he grew frustrated of you, because no matter how many signs he gave, you always seemed to not understand, or maybe not care at all. He would touch you, press himself into you, sweet talk to you, yet all you would do is pat his head and crack a joke, continuing with your duties and leaving him there, by himself, contemplating weather he should just give up and leave you be. And truth is he was close to leave you be many times.

- What he didn’t know was that you kinda felt the same, you always found in Nikto a safe place, from the instance you joined KorTac he was always there, sure he was as hard as a rock at the beginning, but you made your way into the small remains of his cold, broken heart. It started strangely, you’ve seen him alone once, back laid on the side of a small balcony, while his gaze was lost into nothingness. It hit you, how he was never around, he was never with the boys, never made attempts to make friends, and part of you knew he was afraid, afraid of scaring anyone. Truth is recruits always feared him, even if he never gave them a reason to. The only person he would get along with was König, and occasionally you’d see him in Horangi’s or Kreuger’s company. His mask was most of the times on, and you started to pity him. Such a poor, lonely man. God knows the last time he felt the warm touch of a woman, and not the touch you feel when the only thing you do is fuck, because he did not lack intercourse in his life, but the loving touch of a woman genuinely caring about him? That’s a whole different story.

- You started small, afraid of coming off too clingy. You brought him biscuits, you always made sure to carry a bottle of water at practice, knowing he would always drink a lot and would remain without one lot of times. You’d pass him your bottle and he’d thank you, almost shyly if you squint. You’d bring his clothes to his room from the drier, your excuse being that you were already there so why not, you’d cook for him sometimes too, well not really, it was just that you accidentally poured too much of this or too much of that and being alone on the base you didn’t want it to go to waste, excuses on excuses that were always working. You always thought he was a bit too silly to understand what you were actually doing, and you were right. He just thought you were constantly friend zoning him.

- It was difficult once he actually accepted what you were giving to him and he wanted more. Ignoring him when he got too needy, when he was too close, when he made advances and all you could do was joke or excuse yourself to another room. Truth is you were scared too because what has started as a small act of kindness towards a lonely teammate, became a lot more, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

- One particular night brought out all the hidden emotions. Coming from a mission was always the best time of the year, week, month, it was just the best time, not only because you were alive, but because you could finally rest and turn your brain off. Well for Nikto it was a yes no situation, he was happy to be alive but coming at the base where he would be ‘confined’ again due to his loneliness, was not something he was dreadful about. This time was just too much, and after what felt like hours of contemplation he just went for it. A soft knock on your door late into the night awakened you, not that you were particularly deep into sleep, since the arrival time from the mission was not long ago, but it woke you up, and you opened, for some reason finding yourself in front of who you actually expected to come. Nikto stayed still, admiring you for a bit, just for you to grab his hand and pull him into the room. You didn’t care anymore, after almost loosing him this many times of the battlefield the only thing you wanted to do was hug him. And you did, he dreamed about this moment for months, and it came so unexpected yet so sweet. The night was spent between kisses and hugs, late talks between two people that were too afraid to fall asleep because of the fear of this all being a dream.

- Actually labeling your relationship with Nikto changes many dynamics. He gets bolder definitely, he’s more secure and shows off more. Being in a relationship with him is giving him access to your privacy also, and he makes sure he takes advantage of it. He shamelessly ravages your panty drawer, sneaks up on you in the common showers, after gym becomes a gig where you’re trying to run and shower and he’s after you saying how hot you look right now and how you should let him bring you to his room first. Sex is something utterly surprising for you, you would’ve not given him half the credits he actually deserved, because he does know how to please you, and he’s avid with it. He’ll be a dog for you, waiting and begging and pleading until you give it to him.

- Ride his face he LOVES it, just use him as your personal seat and he’s cumming in his pants no lie. He’s a sucker for your pleasure, also a big voyeur, he tried to fuck you many times in the main hall, or in the showers, he once succeeded in the kitchen, and oh boy you could not look into the eyes of some of your female colleagues for a week straight. Nikto is always eager to try something new, that’s because he finally has you, his woman, and prefers to do with you all the things he never got to experience. He always told himself that he’d prefer waiting to do certain things only with the woman of his dreams, and there you were finally, ready to let him fuck you up, or the other way around.

- When I call Nikto a dog is because I mean it. The utter loyalty this man has for you is something straight out some romance movie. You’ll start to notice how his eyes are always on you, no matter the surroundings, no matter the circumstances, and the utterly look of an enamored man he gives you always succeeds to make you weak in the knees. He is avid, lustful, borderline possessive about you, like a feral dog that’s protecting the only thing that he ever got to call ‘his’. And don’t get off the birth control, because he brings to the bedroom each and every ounce of possessiveness he shows outside.

[moonlight-records]

Christmas via letters| OP81 (HAC #10)

pairing: op81 x reader

summary: after you break your phone and waiting to buy a new one, you decide the only logical way to contact your boyfriend is via letter for the holiday season.

warning: fluff!

fc: none!

wc: ??

a/n: I FINALLY CAUGHT UP!!! day 10 of moonlight records holiday advent calendar!

day 1 | day 2 | day 3 | day 4 | day 5 | day 6 | day 7 | day 8 | day 9 | current day | day 11

My dearest Oscar,

Oh my dear, Oscar, I do hope this letter finds you well. How these are very troubling times we have entered. I write this letter to you in the darkest of nights as slumber is near impossible. With you thousands of kilometers away my bed is so terribly big and empty and I am so terribly cold when I’m not in your embrace. Oh how I long for your embrace and to see your handsome face again.

Seriously though, hi babe! Did you like that opening? I hope so because that opening put a LOT of brain cells to work and we both know that I typically never have the brain cells. Now, you’re probably wondering why the hell am I sending you a letter when we can text or video call even though you barely answer your mom or me though since you’re always napping or flirting with Lando or Logan but I’m letting that go right now.

I am so glad you asked because my phone is…broken!! Isn’t that SO fun?! Before you ask, I am already one step ahead of you. Imagine it: a cold, bitter, and rainy Tuesday morning. I’m heading to class. Am I running late to class? Yes. Was it because I got myself a sweet treat? I am just a girl babe, just a girl. Anyway, I am making up for a great time and I will be early to my 8:30 class. Well, about that. I’m looking at my phone and I trip over my feet. Phone goes into a pothole puddle and is completely ruined so I have to wait till my next paycheck to buy a new one while trading in my old phone to get like a piss poor discount off my new phone.

I think I sent you a message on Instagram and TikTok from my laptop about it. I forgot that you aren’t on social media often like me which is very valid so I decided to send you a letter! Besides, I’ve always wanted to write Christmas letters but nobody I know wants to write letters anymore so you, my most loyal subject, are going to write Christmas letters with me! If you want, that is but I hope you do! Unless you want to be on social media to talk to your totally amazing, beautiful, funny girlfriend because I would not complain about that. Maybe you’d finally look at all those super funny cat memes I keep sending you! Well, hope to hear from you soon love

With much love,  Y/N

My sweetest Y/N, 

I will not be talking in the 19th century. I don’t think I can do justice compared to you but I can confirm that this letter has found me well and I will cherish it deeply.

Listen babe, you knew that when you decided to accept the first date you gained a very sleepy and polite cat from what the fans are deeming me. This should not be a surprise to you or my mom. Though I am not ignoring your text messages to flirt with Lando! Babe, how could you ever think that I would do such a thing? Lando is just a dork that needs constant supervision. Now Logan, on the other hand…babe that is my emotional support American. Are you telling me I CAN’T flirt with my emotional support American? Come on Y/N, you should’ve known that when you said yes to being my girlfriend that it was me AND Logan. We are obviously a package deal.

You dropped your phone in a pothole puddle? That’s…disgusting oh my god. I actually almost gagged at the thought of you reaching into the puddle to grab your phone. No wonder why my phone hasn’t been blowing up as much, babe I am so sorry. Both about your phone being ruined but also for my lack of checking in. Honestly I’ve just been recharging socially to answer emails and stuff. It’s taking much longer since you’re not here to cuddle me…still not an excuse. I wanna emphasize that I’m not excusing my lack of check in for the past few days. Promise to get better on that.

You know what, when you get your new phone, I will not only have opened all your wonderful videos but I’ll even send some back. Just you watch. Though in the meantime since you do want to send letters this holiday season, I guess we can so, do you have anything fun planned for the holiday season?

Sincerely, Oscar Piastri

Dear Oscar,

You answered!! Oh my god, baby you don’t know how excited I am for this. Also god, please do not remind me about the puddle. The thought still makes me shudder and gag. Though babe, you know me. I am not upset at all with you not answering all the time because it doesn’t really upset me. You know that because I know that you answer when I really need you to, which is like once in a blue moon. Like when I got the flat that one time and you so graciously got me an uber home. That was like what? Three months ago? Besides that, babe, show me a sign of life and I’m content for the day. Though are you admitting that Logan gets more attention than me? I might have to find our dating contract and revise that I get equal amount sir sleepy Piastri. But you’ll send me silly Tiktoks?! Oh Oscar, if you want to marry me, you should just ask me but this is so much better.

Oh! I don’t know. I’m helping mom this weekend decorate since it’s going to be the warmest weekend to handle the outside decorations. I’m going to attempt to help with the inside decorations since mom got grandpa’s Christmas village since we finally cleaned his house out. After that I’m kind of going with the flow, you know? Though mom has trusted me to do all the online shopping this year AKA she sends me screenshots and then tells me to order it with her credit card and hoard everything in my room, so. Eventually I will sit down one day and attempt to wrap though mom will probably redo it.

I know one day my friends want to go ice skating and see Wicked again. Now I am all for seeing Wicked again but ice skating? Babe, I fear if we go ice skating that you’ll get a call from me with all of us in the hospital. We can barely stand on our own two feet on a regular day and I know you’ve seen us. You know how clumsy my friends and I are but ‘tis the season, I guess!

Oh! We’re hosting Christmas this year, which will be very interesting. I mean, we got the space for sure but now that means fighting my cousin’s off so they don’t steal my plushies. Gotta defend ‘Mr. Artbag’ and ‘Sir Giggles’ you know? Do you have any plans for this upcoming holiday season?

Waiting for these cat memes, Y/N

To my darling Y/N,

Oh my dearest Y/N, the thing about our dating contract is that it has sadly ended up with me back in Australia so you cannot have it. Though I am willing to revise the contract to make sure you get an equal amount of attention as Logan, though I need something in exchange. Luckily, I have found the contract and as I review our agreement, I think if I give you an equal amount of attention, you have to let me buy you one thing you want every month. Would you be willing to agree to those terms? I’ll throw in 5 cat memes a week free of charge.

Oh that’ll be fun. My sisters wanted to go shopping and since I haven’t seen them I decided to go with them. I really became the bag holder though I wasn’t that upset because I did manage to find some of your Christmas gifts and actually get them with the assistant of my sisters. AKA they asked me what I was looking for and they found it by some miracle. I wish I had that special touch to find things I need–like mothers do you know? Anyway, besides that I don’t know. Mom’s almost done decorating and dad got the tree since ours sadly broke (we’ve had it for almost 10 years, we needed a new one) and they already decorated the tree. Though I might take Rosie and Basil out to grab some gifts.

Wait, you guys are going ice skating? Well, surprise, I’m actually coming out to visit for a bit. Logan and Lando want to hang out before Logan heads back to the states for the holidays so if you guys could try to schedule that about two weeks later when I’m around, I would love to go with you guys, though I would ask if Lando and Logan could possibly join? I have no issue in becoming a personal ambulance, especially if Lando is going to go ice skating. Save us all.

What are you doing for New Years? If you’re not doing anything, mom and my sisters would love to have you over. They miss you and they’re going insane without you having a phone to text them life updates. To be honest, I also miss waking up to all your messages and memes and getting real time updates about your life. Can I buy you a phone? Please?

Hope you get your new phone soon, Oscar Piastri

To the polite sleepy cat,

I talked to my lawyer about this new agreement in our contract and we have agreed to the terms you are requesting. Though I am not exactly happy with the terms about buying me one gift a month but you promise to send 5 cat memes so it’s fine. Though I will say, I am okay with it just being 5 memes a week free of charge if you cannot find any good cat memes. As long as it is a meme of any sorts I will overlook the buying me something for once a month.

Though on a serious note, YOU’RE COMING TO VISIT?! Oh my god, babe this is the best news I have ever heard. Yeah of course! I already asked the group and they would love to have Logan and Lando join us with ice skating! We were planning on getting dinner after if that’s okay with you guys? We’re not sure where we want to go yet but I’m sure we all can figure something out when we all meet up! Also, yes I made sure I was all bundled up, I’m not that crazy! Besides, I want to be able to smooth my dear boyfriend before the season starts without getting him in trouble for starting the new season a bit under the weather. 

Ha! Jokes on you, I already ordered my phone. I’m just waiting for it to ship because of course it wasn’t in stock when I went to get it in person. You know me, I just need a simple phone so I was going to get the same one as before. Sadly, it seems that my phone has become popular because they sold out in person! Oscar, do you know how devastated I was to venture out on my weekend to find out it’s out of stock? Truly, a dark day for me but my phone should be here before this letter is sent out. Promise that I’ll send you all my funny memes to make up for these lost times.

 As of right now, I don’t think I’m doing anything for New Years. I don’t know what the group wants to do yet but I think they’re all spending the holiday with their significant others so I would love to stay with you and the Piastri family! Are you kidding me? How else am I supposed to see Rosie and Basil? 

Well, this is probably coming around the holiday so, merry Christmas my love.

You’re probably napping, Y/N

To the golden retriever,

Hopefully, this reaches you before I arrive. I’m glad to know that your lawyer agrees with these new terms. Do you accept memes via powerpoint presentations? I have taken some time out of my very very very busy schedule to compile a list of the top ten, not five but ten memes that I have seen this week that I believe you will enjoy. Most of them are from the same meme trending on TikTok but I think these stories are right up your alleyway along with some cat memes. 

I’m glad you were all bundled up. Not that I would personally care if I got sick if it meant getting my mandatory kisses and cuddles that I’ve been longing for. Any trouble is worth it if it’s so I can see you. I’ve spoken to Lando and Logan and they have agreed that planning for dinner would be the best. Lando has done his usual request of no fish please and thank you. Damn. I was hoping that you didn’t order it so that could’ve been the free gift of the month on top of your Christmas presents. Whatever. Buying you a book will be a great second option and you can’t yell at me!

Oh haha, very funny. I knew this was going to be an issue when I brought you home but I’ll let it go, only because that means you’ll give me extra cuddles later for feeling bad. Kidding, kidding, but seriously. I’m glad that you can come over for New Years. It’ll be fun and everyone will be glad to see you.

Also, I appreciate what you did with the lipstick on this letter. Y/N, you truly flatter me. You think so highly of me that you’ll give me a kiss through the letter? Oh, be still my beating heart. I hope you like my washi tape decorations. I know it’s not on the level of kissing a letter but I think for the first time, it’s great. I also hope you like the polaroid attached as well, if it stays attached. Mom is pretty proud at capturing my failure of trying to build a gingerbread house.

See you soon & at New Years Eve, Oscar Piastri

[londonfog-chan]

Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs

A/N: The little lad dances once again.

I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.

I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.

I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.

Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.

Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?

Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements

Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.

Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.

The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.

Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.

He was beautiful.

So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.

Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.

Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.

“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”

While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.

The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.

“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”

“She is only a child…”

“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”

Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…

For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.

You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.

You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.

This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.

There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.

You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…

The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.

You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.

When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.

When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.

Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.

The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.

What in the name of the gods was that?!

Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.

The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.

You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.

Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.

“Caught you!” You sing-songed.

He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.

“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.

“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.

“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.

“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”

You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.

“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”

“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.

Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.

“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.

The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.

“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.

Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.

“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.

“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”

“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”

“General Acacius is my father.”

The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.

“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”

“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.

Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.

She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.

“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”

The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.

“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”

“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”

A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.

“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”

Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.

“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.

Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.

“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.

“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”

“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.

“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”

“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”

“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”

You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.

“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.

A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.

“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”

“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”

“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”

He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.

“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”

“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.

“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”

It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.

You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.

“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.

The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.

“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.

With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…

But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.

“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”

Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated

“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.

Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.

“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”

“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.

“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.

“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”

“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.

“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”

“THE EMPERORS?!”

“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”

Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.

All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.

Luxury…

Wine…

Sexual pleasure…

Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.

In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.

“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”

The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.

“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.

“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.

“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”

“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”

“There are!” Caracalla argued.

“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.

“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.

“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.

“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”

“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”

“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”

“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.

“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.

“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”

Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.

“And how much would you ask for her?”

“Two million denarii!”

“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”

“Only one hundred thousand?!”

“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”

“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.

“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”

When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.

“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”

[ashen-char]

so unfair

ship: amber freeman (scream) x fem reader

warnings: mentions of sex and underage (at least in america, where it's 21) drinking/clubbing

summary: drunk you thinks the way amber takes care of you is unfair if she doesn't let you do the same.

word count: 1500+

notes: amber taking care of drunk fem reader, as requested here <3

Hazy. The club is a blur of neon lights and pounding bass - the smoke machine misting everything and messing up your field of vision. You can barely see in front of you. All that matters is Amber anyways. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, her perfume, and that sweet smoky haze that makes everything feel like a dream.

Each beat vibrates through the floor and into your bones. Bodies are everywhere, a sea of movement, pulsing and swaying like a single, living entity. Every sensation feels fuzzy. Everything except Amber and the way she moves with you. The way she feels as your hands slide along her body.

You've been downing shots without a second thought all night. Amber had warned you to slow down - this wasn't her house, where you two could get sloshed without any consequence except her parents scolding you about getting into the liquor cabinet again. But you were having too much fun. The liquid fire burning down your throat was sweet, and thinking of consequences seemed absurd when you were with her. With Amber, things just went right. Felt right.

Some stranger bumps against you, messing up your rhythm as you were swaying with her. No biggie, and you can barely hear their slew of apologies. A giggle pours out of you. "No, no, it's alright," you tell them.

You can barely get the words out before you hear "get your hands off my girlfriend" from behind you. Amber's arm goes around your waist and you're sure she's giving this poor club goer a death glare. She's good at that.

"Don't be like that, Ams, it's not like they shoved me," you defend.

Your cheeks are flushed, you can tell because everything feels hotter, and it's probably half the drink and half embarrassment as the stranger walks off terrified of your girlfriend. She doesn't have to do this every time. You can take care of yourself. So you tell her as much. Or try, at least, your words are all jumbled in your drunken exasperation.

Amber rolls her eyes. "Uh huh." Hands going on your hips, you feel yourself being ushered away from the crowd. And look, you don't hate having a pretty girl's hands all over you but you'd be okay if she was a little less protective. Just a bit.

"People dance. They get bumped into. It's fine. I'm fine!" To prove your point, you pull your hand back from how she's dragging you. You can walk for yourself, thank you very much, and can follow her just fine. "See, no broken bones."

The stairs down to the club's bathroom is a little tricky, so you cling to the railing, glaring when Amber wraps her arm around you instead. It's when she presses a kiss to your hair that you melt into her hold. 

When Amber closes the bathroom door behind the two of you, the music is muffled. That fuzzy feeling remains, but it's quieter too. You see her grabbing wads of the toilet paper, cussing out the club for only having 'shitty one ply'. When Amber comes back over and tells you to get up onto the sink, you gasp.

"Here?" you ask, looking over to the door. Biting your lip, you weigh up the pros and cons of a bathroom quickie. "Someone could walk in..."

But oh well. You're up for some fun, especially when it involves your Amber. Leaning forward, you dig your thumbs into Amber's waistband, ready to tug it down and have at her. Mm. The taste of her on your tongue sounds even more delicious than the shots you downed, and you hope it'll go down as smoothly.

"God, you're a mess, babygirl." Amber sounds both exasperated and affectionate, both of which make you pout. Especially when she's grabbing your hands and taking them away from your attempts to unclothe her. "Not that I'm not flattered by the offer, but that can wait until later. Probably when you're more sober." Your pout deepens. It makes Amber laugh, and she kisses it away. "I'm just gonna clean you up. So get on there, now."

"Well, that's less fun," you whisper to yourself.

Palms on the sink countertop, you hike yourself up until you can sit comfortably. Curious eyes watch as Amber methodically wets a wad of tissues, dabbing it against your side, then does the same with a dry tissue. You didn't even realise that a drink had splashed on you when you bumped into someone. Whoops.

"Hanging with me isn't fun?" Amber asks. If you were sober, you could glean her sarcastic tone a mile away. But your mind's looser right now. Thinking less and saying more.

"I'm having a great time," you correct. "You know that. I have the most fun when I'm with you. Because of you."

"Uh huh."

She's cute when she's serious. Hell, she's cute all the time. Amber's got these pretty brown eyes that go all big and sweet only when she's looking at you. You, or some particularly gorey scene in whatever horror flick she's watching, but it's sweeter when it's you. Your drunk brain tells you that you should tell her.

"You're adorable."

"Yuck." Amber's nose scrunches up in distaste, because that's certainly not a word she'd like to associate with herself, but she's focusing on cleaning you up. She throws the tissues to the nearby bin before starting the process over again. "You sure you're not talking about yourself, cutie?"

Those eyes fix on yours. You think you could melt into a pile of goo when you're looking into them. That familiar fuzz from before intensifies, concentrating in your chest rather than your brain. Loving Amber can feel like radio static, like you have no words to say except for her name over and over. Your similes aren't even making any sense.

"Positive," you say, popping the 'p'. You grin when that makes her smile.

You wish sometimes that she could take the compliment as well as she dishes them out to you. You wish she'd see herself the way you do. Not as some tough protector whose only merit is to save you, but as Amber. Pure and simple. You wish she knew how cute and sweet she is in the simple moments, that she doesn't have to try so hard to keep your eyes on her. Maybe when you were sober enough to string those words and complicated feelings together.

When she's all done with wiping you off, and satisfied that your clothes won't stain or stink of alcohol, Amber helps you off of the counter. You let her pull you flush against her front, a sigh escaping your lips at the feel of her body holding yours. She smells good. And her chest is soft against yours. With the amount of shots coursing through your body, it's tempting to rest against her. Amber is your favourite pillow, be that in the afterglow after a satisfying hook up or in the peace of her cuddles.

"I wasn't pulling you into a hug, baby," she says, "I was trying to get you to the hand dryer."

"Oh." Amber's too comfortable for her own good. You squeeze her tight before letting go, just cause you can. "Yeah, I knew that."

Standing under the heat of the hand dryer, your girlfriend supporting your weight, you wonder what this night would've been like without her. You wouldn't have been as comfortable on the dance floor, you wouldn't have let yourself drink this much. You get playfully annoyed at her for it, but Amber's protectiveness is why you let yourself get so sloppy. Amber is the reason you can let go. You trust her.

You wonder if she trusts you too. She should. You'd do anything for her.

"I get to think you're cute if you think I'm cute." And-" a hiccup, "I get to take care of you if you take care of me."

Amber laughs. She thinks this is some random drunken thought. "What are you-"

"No, shhhh." Your finger comes up and presses against those full lips that you adore kissing. "Let me love you. Let me say this."

Amber sighs. "Alright, baby. Whatever you want." Her hand goes to your hip, thumb going to rub slow circles as she waits for your words.

You want to tell her that she doesn't have to tell strangers to back off because your eyes are only ever on her. You want to say that she can let go and have fun too, because you've got her back. That you cherish her. That she doesn't have to be tough all the time, not around you at least.

The hand dryer stops. You pat the once-wet spot on your clothes, satisfied at the dry feeling after Amber's efforts. When you look up, the words that were going to escape your mouth stop. She's so close, her eyes focused on you as she tucks a wayward strand behind your ear, finger grazing your skin so lightly. Amber takes such good care of you without even needing to be asked.

So you smile, and instead you say "thank you, Ams" and "I'll take care of you too, when you need me."

"I already knew that, baby."

Amber lays a kiss on your lips and it tastes better than any alcohol.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙ur my northern star | CL16˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: charles leclerc x singer y/n reader (she/her)

genre: social media au, established relationship, relationship on the rocks

warnings: fluff!! mention of violence aka punching 👊 thts all. this is part 2 of coz i cant sleep in hotel rooms <3

summary: in which they do all they can to try to mend the broken parts in their relationship

a/n: did anyone even ask for a part 2 be real but i couldn't leave it like i did so i hope u like it regardless 😭 sorry to lando norris for making him my enemy but also am i sorry

song

fc: holly humberstone

my masterlist

part 1!!!

instagram ->

f1updates

liked by ynupdates, user1, and 2,046 others

f1updates charles leclerc spotted out recently with friends following crash in the monaco grand prix and his alleged breakup with y/n y/l/n.

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 739 comments

user1 i miss y/n

user2 why are we in charlesy/n limbo rn

user3 fr i jus need to know what's going on

user4 he's better without her imo

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by pierregasly, lilymhe, and 21,046 others

lilymhe sending u all my love

charles_leclerc thank you lily

lilymhe have you spoken to y/n?

charles_leclerc i will see her when im back in monaco, i believe she is waiting for me before returning to the uk

lilymhe ❤️❤️

yourusername

liked by landonorris, arthur_leclerc, and 47,024 others

yourusername so dont drive away .. u dont know how much i need u

view all 2,839 comments

landonorris meow

yourusername strange boy

landonorris :)

user5 he is never beating the norizz accusations

user6 i miss u y/n

yourusername miss you all, working on some stuff :)

user7 😭 i jus know that any new y/n music is going to break my heart

arthur_leclerc maman asked are you coming to dinner tonight

yourusername well of course

user8 OH???

user9 charles probably isnt there isnt he in paris this weekend with pierre??

user10 THE CAPTION??!

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, landonorris, and 428,020 others

charles_leclerc 🇫🇷🥖🥐☕️❤️

view all 5,934 comments

user11 so nice to see charles doing well 🥹

pierregasly eiffel for u

charles_leclerc nice one

user12 we miss you charles ❤️

user13 i need him & y/n back together 😭

user14 leave him alone on his own post fr

user13 doubt he's reading all the comments 👍

f1wagupdates

liked by landonorris, user11, and 1,034 others

f1wagupdates lando norris and y/n y/l/n seen out together in monaco today following y/n's breakup rumours from charles leclerc.

tagged: landonorris, yourusername

view all 658 comments

user14 grid bunnyy

user15 can a girl not have friends now

user16 scummy after leaving the paddock after charles' crash

pierregasly no way lol

user17 pierre??

user18 pierre's comment lolll everyone knows lando has been thirsting for y/n since before her & charles got together

user19 embarrassing like she does not want you bro

landonorris

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 398,727 others

landonorris celebrating for celebrating's sake

tagged: yourusername

view all 4,020 comments

user18 urmm?

yourusername such a fun night out i rly needed some fun with friends <3!!

liked by charles_leclerc

pierregasly hahah delete this.

arthur_leclerc for real

landonorris ?

yourusername private texts exist

pierregasly sorry y/n/n

user19 omg

user20 are they all arguing or is it a joke hahah

post deleted by landonorris

twitter ->

messages ->

instagram ->

f1wagupdates

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 5,045 others

f1wagupdates charles leclerc and y/n y/l/n seen tonight in monaco sharing a tender embrace outside a restaurant following a meal together. sources say it seemed like an emotional conversation and are not sure of the outcome. we are sending all of our love to charles and y/n at this time!

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

view all 2,894 comments

user28 OH MY GOD MY PARENTS

user29 omg i feel so awful for them going thru whatever this is in the public eye😭

user30 my poor y/n/n

user31 she's been fine frolicking with lando lol

user32 i think if charles is ok with her then nothing happened lol.

user33 my favourite f1 couple of all time

user34 she's the best wag fr

twitter ->

messages ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

f1wagupdates

liked by lilymhe, pierregasly, and 8,035 others

f1wagupdates sources claim they caught charles leclerc and y/n y/l/n out in monaco tonight kissing! alleged rumours due to images not being clear enough to prove identities but we have our fingers crossed for the couple

tagged: charles_leclerc, yourusername

view all 2,594 comments

user42 omg i hope this is real

user43 my babies🥹🥹🥹

user44 my parents🥹🥹🥹

user45 hope this is fake lol im tired of her

user46 lol why?? she hasnt even done anything

user47 she cheated on charles

user48 SINCE WHEN???

user49 some of u need to keep y/n's name out ur mouth

yourusername

liked by yourbff, pierregasly, and 44,034 others

yourusername my lifelines .. london is lonely so lonely without uuu

tagged: yourbff, lilymhe

view all 2,473 comments

user50 i thought she was in monaco

user51 i think she is it's jus a reference to one of her songs

yourbff i love you & i am so proud of u

yourusername thank u my sweet girl!

lilymhe u own my heart

yourusername and im never giving it back

user52 i love y/n & lily's friendship ❤️

user53 the best f1 wags of all time

user54 omg she's just a girl like us guys

user55 no fr she is so cottagecore cosy girl

twitter ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourbff, lilymhe, and 4,935 others

yourbff i love you

yourusername i love you more

lilymhe I CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU GUYS

yourusername me too come over ASAP

lilymhe posted a story

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 8,304 others

yourbff posted a story

liked by yourusername, lilymhe, and 827 others

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, and 78,903 others

yourusername ❤️

landonorris can we talk soon?

charles_leclerc fuck off lando you've done enough

messages ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lilymhe

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 98,934 others

lilymhe beautiful night for a beautiful girl

tagged: yourbff, charles_leclerc, yourusername

view all 5,294 comments

user59 WTF CHARLES AND Y/N KISSING

charles_leclerc thanks lily

yourusername i giggled

lilymhe (re-)hard launching you guys cause u wont do it urselves

user60 omg my parents made it

user61 the way i love these ppl LOL

user62 my parasocial relationship with someone else's relationship is insane

alex_albon beautiful is one word for it

yourbff for the record i do not feel beautiful today

alex_albon you dont look it either

lilymhe take that back you evil boy

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 87,483 others

yourusername my new song "into your room" is out now & available on all streaming platforms! this is the second single from my upcoming debut album thank u so much for all of the support i couldn't do any of this without u all ! live show announcements next i think?;)

view all 6,825 comments

user67 OMG AN ALBUM

lilymhe SO proud of u cant wait till i can watch u live on ur own tour🥹

liked by yourusername

user68 so glad i discovered u y/n ur so talented

user69 LIVE SHOWS PLZ PLZ❤️

user70 i will follow u ur my northern star😭

user71 throwing stones at ur window to get u to notice me😭

charles_leclerc ❤️

liked by yourusername

user72 without u my soul is eternally doomed ur the centre of this universe my sorry ass revolves around you😭

user73 the way charlesy/n gave us the best songs

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, and 240,024 others

charles_leclerc the rumours are not true

view all 87,994 comments

yourusername i love you

charles_leclerc i love you and that's the only rumour that will ever be true

user74 MY PARENTS ARE BACK FOR GOOD

user75 never been so happy in my life

pierregasly thank god

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername

lilymhe i knew u guys would make it <3

landonorris happy for u both

*comment deleted by charles_leclerc*

THE END ❤️

[husbandohunter]

Two Shades of the Same Color

Synopsis: Protecting the law and protecting his family. The line seperating them were like two shades of the same color. Wriothesley just didn't know it yet.

Genre: Wriothesley x Reader, gender neutral pronouns, Reader and Wriothesley have a daughter

(A/n): this is my offering to the gacha gods praying for an early Wrio to come home 😔===============================

The Duke of Meropide often finds himself conflicted in the different roles he has to play.

In the daytime he carried his duty as the Warden. Having served his sentence through the years he was in prison, Wriothesley was appointed to be a suitable candidate now managing Fontaine's most notorious Fortress, guarding wanted criminals, convicts, and what justice deems guilty. Both feared and respected by them, it was quite an intresting story how he got into this rank. But he also didn't dislike his occupation. Perhaps due to this self-proclaimed 'rough around the edge' personality, he believed the prison wasn't so far disconnected from his nature.

"Wolf-ears, wolf-ears, daddy has wolf ears!" A sweet voice sang before imitating a growl sound.

Aaand there were those who really  disconnected him from his 'nature'. Wriothesley sighs as he rub his forehead, clutching a stack of unsigned papers while the girl pulled the little tuffs in his hair.

Your five year old daughter came home one day, announcing that the class had been given an assignment.

Two things arise in his head. First off, why are they already giving assignments to children? Shouldn't they be learning their alphabets and make crafts or something? Second, why does it have to involve taking your kid to work?!!

You failed to stifle a laughter at the sight, the poor man silently hoping that you would do something, "Come down little one. You wouldn't want to accidentally fall over now, would you?"

The girl shook her head, avoiding your attempt to hold her and squeezed her small legs around his shoulders, "Don't stop me! Mari wants to stay up here."

"But he's going to get tired if you keep shaking like that," you suggested, placing both hands on your hips.

Mari huffs, "That's up for daddy to decide. Right, daddy?"

You quirked an eyebrow and glanced at your husband who seemed to be under a lot of pressure. What can he do? When his daughter stares at him with her toothy grin and gleaming eyes that looks just like his own?

Helpless at her whims, he pleads silently, urging for your aid once again.

"Sorry honey," you shrugged and tilted to the side, "I tried."

"Oh really?," the man doubts, "Then why are you smiling like that?"

Wriothesley wasn't sure how he got into this mess in the beginning. Actually, wait. He did. He just...didn't want to admit it.

The initial answer to Mari's request was a no brainer. Allowing his little babydoll Marigold through the walls of Meropide was something he stricly forbade until she reached thirty years old. A reasonable negotiation, he thought. Not even the gossips plastered all over the Steambird newspaper would be discussed at the dinner table. The man vowed to keep his work life and family life seperate the day she was born.

"Why don't you go find them to help you with your homework?"

"I work at the Fortress too, silly."

Well-- maybe not you since the two of you met here, but that's different. Rules are laws and laws shouldn't be broken. There's a reason why order is meant to be taken seriously in Fontaine. And of course, in his house too.

Then you proceed to say-- it's because you keep spoiling her! Which he retorts, "I'm not spoiling her, I'm just making sure she has a fun childhood, that's all."

"Uh huh, you sure do a great job at it officer, maybe a little too well," you tease, wrapping your arms around your burly husband and nuzzled against his cheek.

Fits of giggles came from above, Mari starts rocking back and forth, "Now give him a biiiiig kiss!"

"Alright alright, that's enough you two," Wriothesley caught hold of his wiggling daughter and settled her down on the floor. Seriously, he could hardly focus. Wriothesley had planned to make his routine as boring as possible so she would leave and he could go about his day. It seems the man terribly underestimated the fact Mari had a penchant of finding entertainment. Should've been obvious that he would be the center of it.

"Can we go downstairs now? I want to see where the machines are working," Mari declares and throws her hands up in excitement.

Wriothesley clears his throat, "What did I say earlier about going downstairs?"

"It's not safe for ages under thirteen and only for members who are given permission because they're criminals," Mari sheepishly repeats.

"Aaaannd?"

"You're not allowed to abuse your authority or give me special treatment because the Warden must be fair and respect the rules from the Fortress of Marinetide, treating everyone equally."

"That's my girl," he nods with a grin. Though the pronounciation can use a little tweaking. Eh, he'll let it slide.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit too much? The working grounds aren't that bad, even Sigewinne takes her strolls there during her breaktime," you chime in.

"Who's Sigewinne?"

The man expresses what seems like his version of a pout. Though you can never miss the small upturn slivering the corner of his mouth, "I'm starting to get the feeling that you enjoy seeing me like this."

"Nonsense," you lean on his shoulder, "I'm just admiring how much of a loving father my daughter has."

They're coaxing me into something, "No means no."

Wriothesley glances at Mari who had still been persisting him with pleads and questions. The reason why he wanted to keep his work life and family life sperate was because prison, in general, can shape a person entirely. Whether for good or worse  depends on the individual, she was far too young to be exposed at the kind of stories and complex reasonings people would have. Wriothesley knew very well that nothing is black and white. Perhaps from growing up in this kind of world, he wanted to know, to see, to let an innocent child experience life far differently than he did. Because now, he had a choice.

"I already know what you're thinking, it's written all over your face," breaking him out of his thoughts, you gently spoke to his ear, "Not everyday our little Mari gets to spend time with her father like this. She was so happy when the teacher said it was going to be a 'take your kid to work day' assignment,  you know?"

"I'd rather keep the details behind closed doors. There's not much that can be said outside the reputation everyone knows of," he reasons, "Besides, Sigewinne is the only exception because she's the head nurse. This little fellow here can hardly prounouce Meropide."

"Hey! That's not true. If I practice long and hard I can speak as perfectly as the papers on your desk!"

"Oh? You know what that's a great idea. How about we spend the day practicing your alphabets? We could also read the Boar Princess while we're at it," the Duke happily suggested.

"Wriothesley," you chide lightly, "As long as you're with her I'm sure there will be nothing to worry about," then you crouched down to Mari's height, "Right sweetie?"

"Yeah! Daddy is the strongest and smartest man in all of Fontaine!" She jumps up and down, "He can even lift me even when I'm wearing a backpack!"

Wriothesley eyes you both suspiciously, "I see how it is. Sounds like you two are teaming up."

"I like to call it a coincidential agreement," you tugged him at the arm and lead towards the stairwell, "Come on. Take the day off and let me handle the paperwork. Wouldn't want to keep the fun waiting, would you?"

Your husband folds his arms and scoffs, "A day off?"

"By the courtesy of Chief Justice Neuvillette himself," you responded.

Ah, they had it all planned out, "Astounding effort on your part, I suppose."

"Please, daddy? I swear I'll behave and not do anything to make you mad," Mari twiddles her thumbs, "Pleeease?"

Wriothesley closes his eyes, a habit he acquired during situations such as this. Well, looks like he was fighting a losing battle anyways. Maybe you were right. He was spoiling her.

"Fine. Only under one condition. You have to-"

"Call me 'Your Grace'!" She salutes immediately, " Oh, I mean...you, Your Grace."

Wriothesley glances at your way again and you merely returned a shrug. He smiles amusedly.

They really had it all planned out. 

•••

When Wriothesley stepped out of his office, he was slowly starting to regret his decision.

Mari, being far too excited for her own good, already bounced a few metres ahead. He sometimes wondered where she gets her energy from. For newcomers, they easily wear out before they become used to things. Ah, that's right, I have to make sure she doesn't disturb the inmates. If this keeps going then who knows where she might end up. Archons forbid it'd be the Pankration Ring.

"Up you go," for now, Wriothesley scoops her into his hold, having the girl seated on one forearm and the other supporting her weight. Until she calms down, at least.

"Mari is reporting for duty," she salutes again.

Wriothesley lets out a chuckle, "Since when did I ever act like a Marechaussee Hunter? Wait, let me guess, you snuck to see Clorinde."

Guilty as charged. The little girl slaps a hand over her mouth, "Whoopsies."

"I'm joking. I actually didn't think you snuck out to see Clorinde," he smugly states, "Well well looks like my little culprit reveals herself."

She huffs, "Heyyy, that's cheating."

"Sorry babydoll, but I think I win this one," Wriothesley boops her nose in a playful manner and allowed Mari to stand on her own two feet, "So, are you ready for a tour around the Fortress of Meropide?"

"Where are we headed first, Your Grace?" She chirped, eyes blown wide like she was on a sugar rush from last time.

Wriothesley raised a scarred brow, "Oh you're letting me decide? In that case you'll just have to wait and see for yourself."

"Yay, I love surprises!"

Even better. This way, he can guarantee that she won't wander off to places she shouldn't be in, no one should be in.

Lunch hour was approaching and the inmates were already finishing up their shifts. He could feel the frequent looks being thrown from the cafeteria, already knowing it will be the hot topic for the next few days or weeks.

Right, then there's this part I have to deal with.

It didn't help that the man's presence alone had the same affect under normal circumstances. Seeing their Warden with a babbling little girl was rather jarring. Mari was...how should he put it, good at stealing the spotlight. So much she easily attracted all the attention from the locals. Wriothesley had never knew someone could be so pestering that it became endearing. Other than you of course. Heh, I guess that's one of many things they have in common.

He doesn't try to hide the smile softening at his features.

"C-Could that be His Grace and..."

Welp, looks like the hot topic is already cooking. Wriothesley pays no mind. There's nothing wrong with being open about his family in front of other people at least. Just because he had a reputation as the Warden to keep doesn't rob him the identity of being a father.

His mind suddenly drifts back to you. Is that why you were so insistent about this earlier?

"Daddy, everyone is looking at us funny."

The word 'daddy' does not escape those around him, percise as a radar and pointed sharply at his direction. Wriothesley expected as much. Actually, he was more surpised she even managed to remember the honorifics for this long, "Ah who cares. Let them do their thing. Anyways, didn't you say you wanted to see how the machines worked?"

A pause before she breaks out into a wide, beaming grin, "Yeah!"

"Then hold on tight," without a warning, Wriothesley lifts her until she was settled on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could, away from the crowd.

•••

"Was that...the Duke just now?"

A confused inmate, still processing at what he just saw, allowed the bitten meal in his hand fall to the plate.

"Who knew His Grace had a soft spot," Another one snickers.

Wolsey who had been tending to the dishes behind the counter exhales exasperatedly, "His Grace ought to be more careful with his actions around others next time."

•••

The shaft doors open to reveal the upper level of the production zone. Wriothesley exits first before gently taking the girl's hand as she shuffled down the two stairs. Thankfully the area had been emptied, except for a few supervisors, it was much more peaceful compared to the cafeteria.

"Wooooahh looks at all those meks!" She ogled. Meks was her way of saying gardemeks. Spending time with a five year old made him more keen to the language innuendos they create, "It's like one gigantic gear working together."

"Not just gears sweetheart, the people here are responsible for making sure ever part of the machine is functioning. Without them, there would be no clockworks you see in the surface," Wriothesley opens a palm while he explains, "I know most of your classmates only think of them as criminals, but criminals have been working for honest income."

"Does that mean the same criminals are now helping to make meks that catches more criminals and keep Fontaine safe?"

The man pauses, thinking for a moment, "You could say that."

"Hmmm," Mari looks down pensively, trying to put two and two together, "So if criminals are honest people, how did they end up in here?"

"Well uhhh... " Wriothesley breathes out quietly. It's complicated. Sometimes he doubts if the word criminal is even a proper label. Becoming a criminal isn't always by choice, some are just born into it, eventually going down a path because there was no where else to go. And the few who escape are the lucky ones, "Ah very tricky, sweetheart. Don't tell me you're here trying to get ideas."

The mischeivious expression he gave her made Mari gasp in disbelief, "I would never break the law daddy!"

"Are you sure?" He insists with jest.

"Yes, and I promised a hundred thousand times already," she emphasized.

Wriothesley pats her lightly on the head. Although his hands were calloused and scared, they carried the weight of a loving father, "Good. I know you'd do the right thing."

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar silouette dressed in pastel colors. Sigewinne had been speaking with Grainville at the Operation and Widget equipment. As you mentioned earlier, the head nurse pays frequent visits to check upon the health conditions of inmates. For the Duke, it was natural that he'd want to know if there was anything he should be concerned about. But now is not the time. He didn't want to drag his daughter when this was meant to be a fun activity of theirs.

"What's that over there?!" She scurries off without a warning, specifically at the direction he was glancing earlier.

Or we can just check it out anyways. Wriothesley thought to himself, using his hands to prop against his knee, standing upright so he could catch up with Mari.

The Melusine was the first to notice, "Your Grace? I'm seeing you everywhere these days. I hope you haven't been swarmed with too much to do."

It's true that Wriothesley had been more present in his timing. The Primordial Sea issue was something he wanted to be resolved as soon as possible, "I'm actually doing just fine, thank you Sigewinne."

"Y-Your Grace. I'm surprised to see you here. Are there any newcomers I must train?" Now it was Grainville's turn to intervene, "Oh, and who's this?"

"Sigewinne?? That's the nurse, daddy?" Mari exclaims, baffled as she compares her height with the other, "Why is she so small like me? Did she get hit by the short disease?"

Jeez. Children can really run around without a filter these days.

"She may be small but a lot more older than she looks," Wriothesley reasons, gentle and firm, "Aren't you forgetting something? In front of you, these people have greeted us the moment we came by. What's the right thing to do, Mari?"

It took some time for her to realize but she perks up as soon as she did. Flustered, the young lass dips herself into a low curtsy, head following suit that her hat fell to the floor, "Good afternoon. My name is Mari. I'm five years old. Nice to meet you all."

Wriothesley maintains a straight face and picks up her hat. On the inside, he could feel his heart squeezing. No matter how many tries you practiced with her, she still doesn't get it quite right. Totally his fault. He never scolds her for it.

"Hello Mari, my name's Sigewinne and I'm the head nurse," the melusine beams, "Though I'm a bit surprised, Your Grace. I thought [Name] said you didn't want to bring your daughter here."

Quick, he had to make an excuse before, "Ah, that's--"

"That's because daddy is awesome and he cares about us so much!"

Urk.

Sigewinne's countenance suggested she caught on that the Warden had a weak spot for his overly coddled daughter, "I see. You're fortunate to have such good parents, Mari. His Grace had put in great effort to ensure the safety and well-being of the Fortress. It's probably why everyone is quite satisfied with living here."

"I know," Mari nods with agreement, "Since daddy does the same thing at home."

Warmth spreads inside his chest and the glaciers of the man's gaze thaws enough for one to notice. Did she truly feel that way? Somehow, for a long time, he didn't think it was enough.

"It's true. His Grace doesn't ostracize anyone and gives them an equal chance of a better life," Grainville added.

Wriothesley crosses his arms and returns a quipped stare, "Indeed. Though I'm afraid flattery will get you as far as none. Best get to work."

Grainville salutes, "Yes, Your Grace!"

"Wait daddy, can I stay and watch?" Mari tugs the hem of his fur coat, "When I go to school tomorrow, I can tell all my friends all the cool things we did today."

He straightens his posture, "No."

"But daddyyyyyyy."

Here we go again. Except this time, the man will avoid all eye contact. Maybe he can try getting earplugs next time, which of course, must be slipped on discreetly so she wouldn't notice. If you were here, he'd be getting an earful of the same conversation he had in the office. Equipment processors can be dangerous to use if something suddenly screws loose. Who knows what might happen?

Though a father can only resist so much and he couldn't ignore her forever. Wriothesley relaxes his shoulders, the crease in his forehead fading, "Are you sure you can be careful?"

"Careful is my middlename!"

"Grainville," Wriothesley commands. Authority drips from his voice that the supervisor nearly flinched from his place, "Check if there's any malfunction in Operations and Widget equipment. I expect a thorough search once I get return from lunch."

Without a moment hesitation, Grainville executes his task as if his life depends on it.

"Daddy, can we go buy some food?" Mari looks up, "I want Fonta!"

"No junk food until you eat properly," though now she mentions it, he is craving a cup of tea by now.

Walking out of the shaft once more, Wriothesley takes another look at the environment surrounding the cafeteria, through a different lens than the last. He recalls his first day. Young, brash, and full of poor judgement. They were not the best memories, but they were certainly memories.

How things have changed. For the better, as it should. To Wriothesley, that was probably the most important aspect of all. He likes seeing signs of strength and hope, reassuring him that tomorrow will be a better day. Though he made peace with the present constantly filling him with doubt. Can the same progress be as steady as he wanted?

He thought about what you said. Then the words he heard from others. The Fortress of Meropide had improved to the point it could function autonomously. On top of that, he received high praise from both surface dwellers and those who lived in the underworld. What drives him to maintain this environment stems from his past. The good and the bad. The mistakes and lessons. The two shades of the same color blurred into one.

"Daddy, I just want to tell you, I had so much fun today. Thank you for bringing me here!"

And if those experiences of his could ensure that his daughter could live a safe and peaceful childhood, then that's everything he can ask for.

[softfem-dom]

the girl interrupted syndrome 🐇 ,, featuring MENTAL HOSPITAL x-men AU

" why do these eyes of mine cry? " bot m.list

You're just a poor unfortunate soul that has been shown the worst faces of earth, of humanity. You're broken, at least your mindheart is. Will you be able to find solace within the halls of Xavier's Centre for Troubled Youngsters?

that's solely up to you, dear user.

⌢⠀ ★ .ᐟ

XMEN BOT SERIES !

I N T R O D U C T I O N !

hello and welcome to this little idea of mine that has popped into my head just recently! have you ever dreamed of some tooth rotting fluff with your favourite superheros holding your hand every step of the way to your recovery? or are you the kind that just wants the most gut-wrenching angst to feast on because we like to make ourselves cry?

Either way, here —if anything related to mental health recovery fics calls out to you— you'll find exactly that!

this is a compilation, an ongoing character ai bot series, about (some of)the different x-men characters working as staff in the Mental Health Care Hospital you've been admitted to!

For what? Well, that's up to what you want to request and yes I'll write for any and all mental health cases (or two/three at a time).

These are bots made explicitly for platonic use and diversity means, I don't care if your illness is barely spoken about. You ask me and I deliver! This is about you, dear reader!

MEET THE WORKING STAFF !

Charles Xavier —head psychologist, founder of the Centre. sadly not available for requestable bots :(

Jean Grey —head nurse, she gives the meds and handles the infirmary.

Ororo Munroe —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs.

Scott Summers —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs. on guard duty when you go out to the garden.

Logan Howlett —general nurse, only takes late evenings and night shifts. war veteran, surgeon just incase you try something kid.

Hank McCoy —psychologist, handles the talks and the exams.

Remy Lebeau —chef, he makes the meals for the kids. might sneak you a sweet or two if you're feeling down.

Kurt Wagner —pastoral consuelor, he's just a nice christian guy that tries to offer reassurance and be there for the kids. he cares for them while teaching those who want about the god above

Wade Wilson —'child' entertainer, he comes in twice a week to run activities to keep you all going. might not or might've tried to sneak you out once or twice to take you out for ice cream.

BOT REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN! any mental health issues and illness are welcomed, specially those that don't get that much recognition! you can request any character from those above except charles and you must dive a bit into the scenario you want!

ex : hey, I would like a Hank Mccoy bot where he has the weekly talk with suicidal user and he notices that she's starting to make self-depricating jokes/comments again. Thank you! <3

⚠ YOU NEED TO SPECIFY THE MENTAL ISSUE AND IF IT'S NOT REALLY WELL KNOWN GIVE IT'S FULL MEDICAL NAME SO I CAN SEARCH IT UP!!! ⚠

go wild !

[rockrosethistle]

"Ted Spankoffski is so tragic" yes yes I agree with you but you know who we don't talk about enough?

The man, the myth, the legend, Ethan Green.

Everyone loves to talk about how much they love him, but you are all forgetting that he is heartbreaking.

So first of all, he loves Lex. Incredibly devoted. And you're thinking, "well obviously he loves his girlfriend?" But I am not exaggerating when I say nearly every decision this man makes is for the sake of making her happy.

He cares about her opinion of him. He cares about how she's feeling. Ethan literally has more emotional intelligence as a 19-20 year old than most grown men do. He was going to propose!

And then his relationship with Hannah. At the ripe old age of 19, Ethan steps into a fatherly role for his girlfriend's kid sister, and he fucking kills it. If he is devoted to Lex, he's protective of Hannah. He dies trying to fight off people that want to hurt her.

The first time we see him in Yellowjacket, he's trying to cheer Hannah up after her shop class accident. On Hannah's birthday, he takes her out to Pizza Pete's even though he doesn't have the money to spare. She is a priority to him. He even wears a little birthday celebration crown.

On top of that, he's a decent guy. Yes, he's not above threatening people or stealing, but his heart is always in the right place when he does it. He puts the effort into his relationship. He is shown apologizing when he fucks up and recognizing his mistakes. He saves Lex and Hannah's life's at the end of Yellowjacket.

Great, right? No. Not great. The narrative is consistently ruining his life.

He dies in Black Friday. Dies in a brutal way while being ambushed for a doll that he didn't have. He actually dies for nothing. And his very last words are "I'll get you to California, Lex. That way you don't gotta cry so much no more." Was Lex in the room? No. He was hallucinating her. Fucking devastating.

And then, his face gets worn by a dark god to torment Hannah. Hannah, one of the people he cared most about, is being toyed with by something wearing Ethan's face. You just know he's watching in the afterlife feeling utterly powerless.

There are timelines where Ethan and Lex accept larger jail sentences so that Hannah isn't left alone. He is not related to Hannah, or Lex. He has no real obligation to do that. He chooses to, for Hannah's sake. And has to spend years in jail.

In Yellowjacket, after all they've been through, after he bought the damn ring, the girls just leave him behind. He gets broken up with via a note while they escape to California. And you know it's for the better, you know it's for his own safety, but it still hurts.

There was even supposed to be a Nightmare Time episode where he comes back from the dead Pet-Cemetery style, murders Hannah, and then is tortured for eternity?? But then the Langs were like "No, actually, everyone would hate this." and thank God because Ethan does not need that on his plate.

Look at this. "We caught you a poki-man." He's too good I miss him so much.

This poor guy does nothing wrong and is constantly being punished. I need in my bones to have a universe where he marries Lex and they get custody of Hannah.

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: cassandra baratheon dreams of prince aemond. the same cannot be said for prince aemond himself.

warnings: explicit language. smut. simp!aemond eating out his girl because the feast apparently sucked. slight breeding kink. voyeurism. cass gets her poor lil heart broken for the plot.

notes: i texted @chainsawsangel with the following:

"me when I break cassandra baratheon’s poor lil heart by having her come across aemond eating out his handmaid. #feminism".

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

Lady Cassandra Baratheon stumbles across them next, though by an honest mistake as well.

(It hurts her heart a bit too much to considerate it anything other than that)

Foolish, foolish, foolish girl.

She had always been a prideful child, too high-spirited and headstrong for her own good. Her own lady mother warned her of that. But on her eight-and-ten nameday, her lord father brought up the prospect of a betrothal between her and Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Cassandra liked that very much- the idea of becoming his princess. Each night before sleep, she’d mumble his name into her pillow, a tiny prayer to any listening god that they would make him hers.

Please, please, please…

Prince Aemond…Aemond Targaryen, she whispered, a smile curling on her lips. One day he’ll be my husband, and I his lady wife.

Three months later, House Baratheon arrived at King’s Landing to celebrate the nameday of the Princess Rhaenyra, the realm’s heir.

Cassandra had brushed out her long dark hair until it shone in the evening sunlight and chosen her finest red silks. She had been looking forward to this day for weeks since learning of her possible marriage to Prince Aemond. Prince Aemond, her future betrothed. She giggled at the thought. Just thinking of him stirred butterflies within her tummy, a faint fluttering feeling inside. She was so in love with him.

He was so tall and handsome and strong, with sharp, stern features and hair like moonlight. Everything a prince ought to be.

Prince Aemond, my future husband.

Prince Aemond spared her not a single glance during the banquet, much to her embarrassment. Cassandra had made sure to look her best, all in the hopes of catching his attention. Several Lannister lords complimented her well throughout the night. But her prince remained at the royal family’s long table, seated in his chair with no desire to move. Or ask for my hand in a dance, she thought with a pout.

“Perhaps he does not know of the betrothal?” Her sister, Ellyn, offered. “There could be a chance that he was never told.”

Cassandra was not appeased. “No, the queen would’ve told him; it is in her good natural…perhaps he does not care to dance,” she sniffed in disapproval. She would prefer a husband that would twirl her around the room, the way a prince does with his princess. She picked up her fork, quietly chewing on the roasted meat as she spotted her Prince Aemond then slipping out of the room. Her eyebrow raised, but she said nothing more, too disappointed and sadden to push the matter further.  

“Go talk to him after this,” her mother, Lady Elenda, murmured into her ear, rubbing her shoulder. “Dragons love a stormy sky as much as they do a clear and bright-blue one.”

Cassandra does what her mother told her, walking down the dimmed Keep’s hallway, running a hand across the stoned wall as she searches for Prince Aemond’s bedchamber. If the gods heard my prayers, then I shall soon share it… But as she nears one of the little libraries, she overhears a soft moan, feminine and breathless.

And another…and another.

A hiccup this time.

A whimper for the fourth.

It causes her cheeks to flush pink as she stands for a moment outside the room, hearing more moans and whimpers and hiccups fill the air. Servants, perhaps? She considers that for a slight second before the girl inside moans out a name that makes her breath hitch in her throat and her stomach begin to tauten.

“Aemond…”

No, she thinks, pressing a hand against her breast, feeling her poor heart painfully quickening within her chest. No. No. No. Cassandra shakes her head, not willing to believe such. No. No. No, it cannot be. But…

“A-Aemond…”

Breathing deeply, she leans in, peering into the room as her gaze locks onto a girl perched atop the dark, mahogany desk. Her head is flung back as she trembles and moans, tangling her hand in the silver hair of her Prince Aemond, who is nestled between her thighs. Oh…but Cassandra knows what he is doing. The girl’s chest rises and falls, heavy breasts tugged out from her plain servant dress, her other hand pinching both swollen nipples.

“Ah…! Mmmm, oh sweet gods, Aemond….”  

Cassandra feels ready to faint. Tears swell in her dark eyes as she watches Aemond shake his head and smush his handsome face deeper between the girl’s quivering thighs, strong hands holding her legs apart. “Keep them apart…good girl,” she hears him mumble. “That damned feast outside did nothing to quell my hunger, such a fucking waste of my time.”

The girl bites her lip, her shoulders trembling.

“I want to live here, in between your thighs,” and Aemond lifts his face up from her soaking cunt, kissing the inside of both her thighs. Once, twice, four times, so soft and tender and loving. He brings two fingers to trace along her folds up to her clit, chuckling when the girl shivers and gasps. “My pretty little handmaid- my precious girl.”

“My prince…”

Handmaid? Cassandra scoffs at that, several fat tears already streaking down her cheeks. Her pretty dark eyes are probably smudged and red and absolutely ugly.

A handmaid…she’s lost to a fucking lowborn handmaid, a girl nothing more than the dirt beneath her dainty sandaled feet.

She’d laugh if she wasn’t so fucking heartbroken.

Cassandra keeps her eyes on her Aemond as he rises to his feet, pulling the handmaid’s face up to his for a passionate kiss. She sucks in a breath, hearing the muffled moans and wet noises and the prince’s low groans, and the dirty, sinful words that he mutters against her puffy lips.

“I’m not your prince, my love. How many times must I need to remind you?”

The handmaid shakes her head, shying away before his fingers grip her chin, tugging her face back to his. “All the babes I’ve seeded into your belly, and yet you still think of me as nothing more than your prince….” Aemond chuckles, tracing her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. Cassandra can see his other hand fall to his pants and hears his belt unbuckling. “Rest assured, I’ll give you a few more months, but then my baby will be in your womb again.”

“But we already have three,” the handmaid whines, leaning back on her palms as she eyes the prince’s hardened cock when his pants puddle down to his ankles. But there is a smile on her lips, and her pretty features are twisted in glowing happiness and excitement. She reaches forward, wrapping a hand around the head of his dick, smirking when he hisses. “Let the twins reach their third nameday, my love, before we consider our next one.”

Aemond hums. “We’ll see.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Cassandra Baratheon leaves soon after that, face tucked within her hands as she curses the gods above for not listening to her prayers.

“Why? Why? Why?” she asks, again and again. “But why would they?” she soon mumbles, blinking the new tears back. “They were foolish wishes. I was too fucking foolish.”

She hears laughter and singing, mocking her misery, and when she flies past the royal nursery, she fails to notice the good Queen Alicent cuddling a brown-haired babe to her chest.

And at her feet sat two pretty twin children playing with their little wooden dragon figurines.

tag list: @aemondsblog @dc-marvel-girl96 @neobanguniverse @missalycat21 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

[dark-and-kawaii]

This thought just punched me in the face about Kieran and Rolan...but it might be a bit out there...

I can see Kieran having your face pushed into a wall as he has you bent over in the taverns dark ally. Just being his cocky self as Rolans chastising him about getting caught by someone. That's when Kieran is rolling his eyes (and pounding into you harder because Rolan is starting to piss him off and of course he takes that out on you) "Well if your so worried about it why don't you skip your turn while I finish here. Archemage..." Kireran pinches your clit to make you moan and get your attention, "he doesn't experiment with you much does he princess?"

That's when when Rolan will narrow his eyes at him and pull you from Kireran, with a quick spell Rolans cock is lubed and he starts fucking your tight ass. Kireran lets out a low whistle from Rolan bouncing you hard on his length. "You've prepped her for that?" and Rolan just scoffs "of course I have...she's mine after all." Rolan fucken growls as he tears your ass up. I imagine Kireran doesn't say it but he's slightly impressed he thought Rolan was a bore...this is an interesting development...

Summary: You get stretched, used and abused by your two favorite tieflings.

₊˚⊹♡ Pairings: Rolan x F!Tav/Reader x OMC

₊˚⊹♡ Content: NSFW - Stretched By Two Tiefling Cocks - Your Poor Little Ass - Cunny Being Stretched So Good - Creampie - Asspie - Leaking Cum For Days - Double Penetration - Anal

₊˚⊹♡ Notes: @reverieblondie Please don’t ever stop thirsting for these two men, because my god I read this on repeat babe!!! This was so good and so much fun and I just love you!!!!

The abrupt stretch of your ass had you half screaming and half crying from the pleasure. You were shaking and drooling as Rolan used your tight little ass as his own personal fuck toy. He was so damn meaty, this you knew, and those thick veins- the thick ridges that adorned it only added to his girth… “R-r-Rolan!!! Aha- ah- NGH- W-WAIT!!! S’TOO MUCH- TOO MUCH- AHHH~!!!”

Kieran just chuckles at your broken screams before grabbing you by the throat, “Don't be such a whore, we don't want the whole city hearing you, now do we?”

The look you were giving him was so precious, he only wish he could make a painting of it. Those big doe eyes filled with tears, cheeks flushed, and lips plump and red as you bit your bottom lip. And the way those tits of yours jiggled as Rolan was mercilessly using your ass… It was beautiful.

“That’s a good girl, we wouldn’t want some slimy man stumbling upon us and stealing our treasure would we?”

You whimpered and shook your head as Kieran pressed his thumb against your lip, “Or would you enjoy that? Some man, or a group finding you being defiled by two hellspawns, our cocks filling your holes-“ he forced his thumb into your mouth and watched as you sucked and slobbered all over it, “Is that what you'd like, doll?” His eyes were dark, his thumb pushing further in as you choked on it, your eyes watering once more, “A crowd of men touching themselves, watching you and waiting their turn while you're fucked into oblivion by the two of us-“

“Kieran!” Rolan growled, “That’s quite enough! There will be no others!”

The tatted up tiefling looked at Rolan as he gave a smirk, shrugging while he removed his thumb from your mouth, a line of drool connecting the digit to your plump lips, which were still parted, “I was just asking the lady what she would enjoy. She can't exactly answer anyway, can she? You’re using like some common whore, mage boy~ Cutting off her words and making her cry- what a brute, you should apologize to her.”

Rolan huffed, but then looked down at your face, and how blissed out you were, the way your tongue was hanging out and the way you were drooling before thrusting his hips harder. Kieran just grinned and leaned back, taking in the view of your body being wrecked by Rolan.

He could see the way you were getting close, how you were starting to tremble, how your eyes rolled back and your legs started shaking like a newly born fawn. But just as you were about to reach your high, Rolan pulled out, leaving your ass gaping.

“Awh, now that’s just cruel, Rolan.” Kieran smirked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with his finger.

“R-Rolan?” Your voice was shaky, the high you were riding leaving you confused and dazed, your vision a little blurry and unfocused. The wizard gave you a smile as he rubbed your hips, kissing your shoulder, his lips soft against your skin.

“Trust me, my dear.” He twirled you around, his tail snaking around your leg to help him hoist you up. He pressed his cock against your entrance, feeling the heat radiating from it, your slickness dripping down and staining his robe. With a single thrust, he was deep inside you, the feeling of your walls squeezing him causing him to let out a soft groan. He gave you a moment to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into you, his tail coiling tighter around your thigh, “say my name, darling, I want to hear your lovely voice.”as you sing for me- only for me~”

Rolan was panting as he rammed his hips against you, his pace hard and brutal as he held you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as his fingers dug into your sides.

“R-ROLAN!!~ MM’ROLAN! ROLAN!!! M’YOURS~”

Well that just won’t do…

The cherry of Kieran’s cig flared up as he took another drag before blowing a cloud of smoke into your face. The way you coughed and scrunched your nose up in disgust was absolutely adorable.

Tangling his sharp nails in your hair, he yanked your head back, your neck straining as he kissed you- forcing his tongue to explore every crevice of your mouth. Once you were out of breath, he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before he licked his lips and smiled at you, “whose are you, princess?”

Rolan saw the way Kieran was looking at you… He should’ve known the bastard was up to something…

Taking advantage of that gaping asshole you have, he thrusts his thick cock in and begins pounding away. The noises that fall from his lips are downright sinful. The way your eyes widen and the way you scream out his name, oh yes, now that is music to his ears.

You felt so full, stretched beyond what you ever thought possible, your gummy walls from both holes clinging to the large cocks that invaded your warmth, “M-my- my body! I-it's yours! Ha-Ahh~ It's y-your- ngh-! I-It's y-your toy!!! Mmgh!!~ Y-you can do whatever y-you- hah- want with me- ah~ Rolan~ ROLAN!! KIERAN!!! M’YOURS!!!”

Kieran gave a sinister laugh as he bit down on your neck hard enough to break the skin. Blood pooled in his mouth as his tongue lapped over the wound. You tasted sweet, sweeter than any wine or liquor he's ever had. You were perfect, “such a pretty little cocksleeve” His fingers pinching and pulling at one of your nipples, yanking it to stretch out the sensitive bud, earning a loud cry from you.

You were fucked senseless for what felt like hours… Until finally they both erupted inside you. Rolan’s hot cum filling your womb, Kieran’s searing seed painting your bowels a pretty white… You were filled so full that you could feel how their white messes spilled past their cocks and onto the dank alley floor.

You had been reduced to a babbling, drooling, sloppy mess… Your tongue lolling out still as Rolan and Kieran pulled out, their thick cum pouring out of your stretched abused holes…

Kieran just tapped your cheek thank you for such a good time, and Rolan simply kept you in his arms- covering you with his robe before hoisting you up bridal style so that he could carry you back to his tower…

[squigglewigglewoo]

this is (no longer) a one time thing, I got bored and a little tipsy, decided to take a ask I sent to one of my favorite creators and post it on my account instead.

(✧) warnings: lowercase writing, sexual themes, virginity loss, praise, degradation, dazais his own warning, dacryphilia, overstimulation (?), if I missed anything, let me know! NSFW 18+ under the cut, MDNI

(✦) summary: what's it like to lose your virginity to two of the finest men in Yokohama? 424 words~

(✧) pairing: dazai x reader, chuuya x reader (separately)

(✦) (a/n): I apologize, I keep editing this post, I can't decide how I want the layout and I'm not used to posting on here

(✧) listening to~ baby said by måneskin

imagine losing your virginity to chuuya or dazai.

Chuuya would be so gentle the whole time, honored that you chose him to take your virginity, making sure you cum by his hands or mouth at least twice to prep you, thrusting into you slow and deep to make sure he doesn't hurt you, praising you the entire time with a sweet, loving tone, his head buried into your neck as he peppers your jaw and face with kisses, praise falling from his lips as he fucks you senseless. "good girl, y're doing so good f'me. god, you feel heavenly, squeezing me s'tight. what a pretty sight you are, spread out under me like this." he practically worships you, kissing you all over, leaving soft bites and marks on your skin, his head shoved in the crook of your neck as he cums with a low moan, just barely heard. he's got you all wrapped up in his arms after, holding you and peppering your face till you're giggling sleepily, asking if your alright, if he hurt you at all while he cleans you up before falling a sleep with you in his arms, murmuring a soft "love you, s'fucking much, doll." into your ear before he slips into a dreamless slumber.

Dazai would only smirk when you tell him your a virgin, fucking you raw and sensitive just to watch the tears form in your eyes and feel you squirm beneath him, only laughing when you beg him to slow down, that it hurts, making mocking (he wouldn't actually mock you, he loves you far to much for that) comments as he only fucks you rougher. "awh, poor baby, so worked up. you're taking me so well, are you sure your really a virgin? you're practically sucking me in, what a needy little cock drunk slut you are f'me, only me." his bandaged hands grab at your hips so tightly, nails leaving crescent moon indents on your skin, his grip near bruising. your nails rake down his back, between his shoulder blades, creating red, angry lines that only make him fuck into you harder, a mocking grin on his face as he kisses the corners of your eyes, taking away the tears that brim in your eyes, only to pull out, just the tip remaining in you before he slams back into you, watching the tears bubble in your eyes once more with a teasing, degrading comment. "you cryin'? oh, poor thing, fucked so dumb you can't even say anything broken babbles of my name. such a stupid, pretty little thing."

masterlist!

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[eevees-hobbies]

Your Killer Client - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Shoei Barou)

Synopsis: You need to ask for a raise because not only do you regularly have to deal with tom-foolery as a sports agent to egoist soccer players like Shoei Barou, but he also moonlights as a murderer. Girl, send the invoice now! Wait, you're into it...?

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Shoei Barou. DEAD DOVE WARNING. If you are uncomfortable with disturbing themes like murder, you should not read this. Murder w/no remorse & def. Not taken seriously by Reader (you and Shoei are NOT normal), Knifeplay, DubCon to be safe, Deification (treating someone as if they are a God), Unprotected Sex. Cursing. Minors Do Not Interact. || Word Count: 2.3K

Author’s Note: Heavily inspired by American Psycho, Scream, and Hip to Be Scared by Ice Nine Kills, so some quotes are nestled in there! This is for the "No, You Hang Up" Kinktober Ghostface Collab event. Reblogs & comments always appreciated.

Banner by me. Divider by @sister-lucifer

Why do all my clients have to live on the top floor of skyscrapers? I’ve been on this elevator for seven fucking minutes!

As one of the top sports agents in the industry, you’ve grown accustomed to the eccentricities of your clients: lavish penthouses, all-weekend sex parties that end up with a few broken hearts–never your clients, of course, and some not-so-flattering stories in the tabloids.

But right now, your focus is on the most unique client on your roster: world-renowned striker Shoei Barou. Sure, he often refers to himself as a “King,” which is odd and speaks to a deep-rooted ego problem, but the man is a force on the field. The endorsement deals never truly stop–being the villain is currently en vogue–and he pays really, really well. So to you, it’s all hail King Barou every fucking day.

As you step into his condo using your personal key after giving a few warning knocks but getting no response, you aren’t met with a simple hi, a gruff hello, or even a measly fucking grunt. No, you’re met with something far more exciting for a Wednesday!

“I fucked up bad.”

“I fucked up real fuckin’ bad.”

Shoei has his face buried in his palms; his bare shoulders are hunched tightly at his neck, and dried blood coats his hands and lower arms. 

That can’t be good for his posture, you think to yourself as you take inventory of the scene. Tipped-over cans of beer litter the pristine carpet, pizza boxes lay ajar, and the half-eaten pies are on the brink of becoming inedible as they sit out and harden from exposure to the cool air in the condo.

The mess is unlike him, but even more jarring is the body that’s splayed out, thick pools of dark-red blood coalescing around the nobody–god, you’re internal monologue sounds like Barou–and staining his pristine carpet. He doesn’t even let you wear shoes in his condo, but bleeding all over the place is fine apparently. 

“Y/N, you know I’m a bit fucking psychotic, but I’ve crossed the line, and I don’t think I’m going to get away with it this time.”

This time?

You find yourself oddly at peace with the scene. Sure, RIP to the poor sap laying in his own guts on the floor, but you’re actually more surprised Shoei hasn’t hurt someone sooner with his temper, and truth be told, you’ve seen much worse from some of your other clients. 

A sudden sniffle breaks you out of your thoughts, and you turn your head to the Barou, who looks so pitifully tiny hunched over as he sobs into his hands. “You aren’t crying, are you?” 

Your tone is rather harsh, and you mentally chastise yourself for your blunt delivery, but it’s too late–the question is already hanging laboriously in the air. Regardless, this is Barou! He curses you out practically every day and sends you a check with an obscene amount of dollar signs the next week! 

Barou peels his face out of his hands, his expression shifting between disturbance and disgust at your question.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who committed murder, not me.”

Shit. Maybe that was a beat too far because Barou rises quickly, his muscles rippling under his skin, tension coiled dangerously as he moves toward you with his hands clenched into tight fists. 

You don’t move because well, if this is your time to go, this is your time to go–you always knew it would be one of your clients, but you had clocked Ryusei as the one who was going to end you, not Barou. 

Huh, the universe is funny like that.

But Barou doesn’t swing or wrap his large hands around your throat; no, instead, he stops in front of you and sinks to his knees, those same hands that were used to take a man’s life grip at your dress in desperation.

“Please. I don’t want to go to jail. I still have championships to win and people to destroy.”

Of fucking course.

But fuck, seeing him on his knees like this stirs something in you–maybe it’s that you want to protect him or maybe you want to demand he lick a long stripe from your inner thighs to the seat of your panties since he’s already down there.

Focus.

You reach a pretty pedicured hand down, your nails digging into that well-defined jaw that’s justifiably earned him a full page spread in GQ magazine, and tilt his head upwards.

For a moment, you bask in the feeling that he’s looking up at you as though you’re someone to pray to–someone who can grant mercy and absolution for his sins. It’s fucking intoxicating being in this position and feeling like you hold his life in your hand because you undeniably do.

“Do you see what I am for you?” you whisper.

Crimson eyes stare up at you–big, pleading, desperate.

“I’m salvation,” you breathe in finality with only yourself, Shoei, and the dead nobody to bear witness.

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks up at you. “You can help…?”

You give him a sideways glance, knowing that you’ve got him right where you want him. “Oh, I can do more than help, sweetie. I can fix it.” You let the word ‘fix’ sit weighty in the air, a silent understanding passing between you as he sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll give you a massive bonus if you can, well, you know.” He motions to the body, his eyes darting away quickly.

You, being a person who takes initiative, are already reaching into your pocket to make a call to a ‘cleaner’ that you keep on retainer. But as your finger hovers over the call button, you spot something peculiar not too far from the body. When you came in, you thought it was a tarp, Shoei’s poor attempt at cleaning up the evidence of his crime, but as you croon your neck to get a better look, you realize that it’s too small to be a tarp. 

On the floor, discarded but an obvious eyesore in the perfectly curated space is a cloak, a knife, and a….what the fuck? Is that a mask?

You walk over to the discarded costume, being careful to step over the body because you’ll be damned if you’re implicated in this mess, and nudge the mask with the toe of your heel. It’s a fucking Ghostface mask. How….macabre.

Shoei must feel the judgment flowing from your pores because he’s instantly sneering and hovering near you, his arm brushing against yours in what feels oddly intimate, considering the circumstances.  

“I didn’t want to kill him and get his blood all over my clothes, so I put on my Halloween costume to finish him off.”

“Do I want to know what you fought over?”

“Would it matter?”

You open your mouth to reply, but you pause because you realize that it doesn’t matter–even though you’re standing over a dead body and unreasonably close to his killer, you’re also painfully aware of the heat emitting from Shoei, the scent of his sweat–because killing someone is undoubtedly hard work–and the soft node of his cologne as it fills your nostrils.

And strangely, you’ve never been more turned on.

“What was it like? Killing him, I mean?”

Shoei turns to you, a flicker of surprise and something else–lust, perhaps–shining in his eyes. He pauses for a beat, studying your face to gauge your intentions before he answers. 

“I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.”

As he continues to speak, you notice the way his jaw clenches slightly, his adams apple bobbing as he recounts how he felt during the murder, and the distinct tent growing in his sweats.

“I thought being the king on the field, crushing people’s dreams and making them realize that I’m actually the main character in their own pathetic lives was fucking amazing, but slicing him up and seeing him choke on his own blood as I fucking finished a slice of pizza was the best I’ve felt in ages.”

And to the best of your knowledge, Shoei isn’t a liar. That answer was so honest that it was almost endearing.

Your eyes wander to the knife at your feet. The blood is thicker than what you’d imagine it to be–not that you spend time sitting around imagining blood-stained weapons. You bend down, pick up the knife, and examine it, holding it only inches from your face.

“It’s heavier than I expected,” you muse aloud. You bring the knife up to your neck, holding the blade to your throat, tilting your head back to avoid any knicks but still enough to feel the sticky, cold liquid smudge against the thundering pulse located in the column of your throat.

“That’s not how you hold it. If you aim the blade too high, you risk hurting them, but they won’t bleed out. You gotta hold it down; it gives you the best chance for a clean kill. Let me show you.” 

He wraps his hand around yours, guiding the knife in a way that does make sense–the new angle gives you a far better grip, and you realize that if you move even an inch, you risk cutting yourself.

“You know an awful lot about cutting throats, Barou.” 

He stiffens behind you. In that moment, something in the room shifts–as though the mask of sanity he was wearing, and has always worn, has slipped off to reveal something far more dangerous.

Shoei’s lips press against the shell of your ear, and his husky purr reverberates through your very bones. 

“Maybe a little.” 

You feel his other hand travel to your hip as he removes the knife from your palm and holds it in front of your face. It doesn’t exactly feel like a threat, but just as much as Shoei’s pulse beats slow in high-stress situations, so does yours because you’ve always been a bit different, too.

Your phone still in your hand feels like lead, heavy but useless, as he pulls it from your grip and tosses it to the couch. 

“I don’t think you understand how much I like my freedom, Y/N. I don’t think you understand how important it is to me that you appreciate the sanctity of our relationship and not make any assumptions about what I have–or haven’t done–before.” He brings the knife closer to your lips, smearing the blood across them as if you’re wearing candy-apple red lipstick.

“Discretion is my specialty,” you whisper, tongue darting out to taste the blood.

Shoei groans, his large frame pressing into you as he guides you to the arm of his couch, bending you over and splaying a large hand across the small of your back. 

“You’ve always been so good to me. Why have we never…?” As he speaks, he’s hiking up your skirt. His touch feels strangely reverent, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of the nature of your relationship or because you now know way too much about each other. 

Shoei’s eyes narrow as he spots your underwear–a pesky barrier he plans to eliminate in the most efficient way he knows how. He brings the knife up to the cool cheeks of your ass, dragging the tip of the blade against your skin and leaving red whelps that threaten to bleed if he uses a bit more pressure.

“We’ve never fucked because you’re kind of a dick.”

“True,” he mumbles as he pulls the fabric of your panties and cuts through them until the garment sits against your skin but no longer covering any inch of you that matters. 

You let out a breathy moan as you can feel the tip of his cock nudging against the ring of your cunt, stretching you out deliciously until he snaps his hips, fully sheathing himself into your heat. His hand reaches under you as he presses at your pelvis, feeling where he can feel himself pushing inside of you.

He’s not gentle as he takes you, but you don’t need him to be. You want him as he is: perfect, godly, everything. 

“You’re not going to scream? Most people would call me inhuman for what I’ve done.”

“No, I actually think you’re more in touch with your humanity than you think, Barou. You’re just capable of doing what others can’t because you’re a God.”

And you’re not just saying that because there’s an alleged–because innocent until proven guilty and all that jazz–serial killer deep in your guts right now. You’ve known it for some time–that Shoei is everything that he says he is–a king, a God, the main character in everyone’s world, including yours.

You can’t take your eyes off the body on the floor as Shoei guides your hips in the way he likes–angling his own to drag his cock against your walls, verbally praising your cunt for how she’s gripping him. “You’re a fucking freak. You’re so fucking wet; I’m not going to last long with her sucking me off like this.”

His fingers thread through your hair, forcing your head back so he can look at your face as he molds your cunt into the shape of his cock. “Fuck, look at you taking care of me like a good little sports agent.” He throws his head back with a low, guttural moan, lost in the feeling of you and how you make him feel–powerful.

His thighs tense, his abs flexing as he gets closer to the edge, but at the last minute, he pulls out warm thick ropes of his cum, shooting onto your ass. After a few low groans, he smacks your ass and tucks himself back in his pants.

“So, you going to call those people to come and fix this?”

“Yeah,” you say as you stand up, straightening yourself out. “But I’m going to need another bonus for that.”

@interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hayatoseyepatch

[omgahgase]

Charthur short

Charles breaks his bow and Arthur gets him a new very special one 🥰

hello there! sorry this lil ask took too long, and sorry that it's not short haha. i love the idea of arthur doing anything for charles bc He's In Love, so here's my take of their relationship before getting together. i hope you enjoy!

It’s a well-known fact in camp and by his friends and by just about anyone that’s asked Arthur for any help making anything outside his expertise of shitty knives:

Arthur ain’t no craftsman.

Yeah, he can chip away at a rock and wrap it around a stick then call it an arrow, and he can weave a basket—nothing else, though, that’s about as far as he can get without Jack or one of the girls aiding his helpless fingers—and, sure, he can tie up a piece of line to any broken branch and head on down to the lake with the world’s most God awful fishing pole, but the truth still stands.

If Arthur had to choose between crafting someone an item and not having it fall apart after its first use, or getting shot in the mouth…Well, then, Arthur’s making sure that bullet goes straight through his throat and out the back of his head.

So why, in God’s green Earth, is Arthur making a new bow for Charles after he broke his old one?

‘Because you love him,’ Arthur thinks, gentle in the same way his cheeks redden at the mere thought of Charles, in correction to Eagle Flies’ snarky, “I don’t know, you asked me for help,” that lights up a spark of irritation in Arthur’s gut, makes Arthur want to shove him off the log he’s perched on.

“This may be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done,” Arthur says, twirling the knife in his hand that’s speckled in his own blood.

He stares at the piece of chokecherry wood in front of him, the branch now thinner than when Arthur chopped it off and whittled it down to a poor, uneven shape that hardly resembles a stick let alone a bow. It took a little over a month to get the wood and then season it, this process he wanted to do himself because it’s special, Eagle Flies said, to put your emotions into a piece of Earth and ask the land if it’s okay to take a piece of its tree for his own desires—for Charles, his mind keeps saying. So he can’t screw it up unless he wants to start all over again. Arthur can’t afford mistakes, but his project laughs at him, it seems, and Arthur, finding himself comfortable in his frustration, wants to burn it.

“A fool in love is stronger than any beast or man he encounters,” Eagle Flies says, crafting improved arrows to Arthur’s right. He holds one up to his eye and stares down the line of it. “Your affection for Charles is deep, therefore, your actions are foolish.” He shrugs, and motions for Arthur to keep whittling. “Keep going. You're nearly there.”

“I almost lost a finger.”

“Your lover will thank you.”

Arthur feels his cheeks go from warm to uncomfortably hot. He tips his hat down over his eyes to hide the deep blush spreading over his face. “Charles ain’t my lover,” he mumbles, a correction to a hopeful assumption.

Eagle Flies only hums as he places his arrow in his pile and Arthur kinda wants to fire all of them into the distance just so his friend can feel an inkling of his annoyance. Arthur does understand that Charles will be grateful, however, no matter how shitty his new bow may turn out. Sadie gave Arthur the suggestion, said that it’ll take Charles months to construct a new bow while Arthur can figure something out and get a new one in his hands in less than that, and Arthur—with his squirrel brain that as of five months, two weeks, and six days ago (but, really, who’s counting?) hasn’t been able to keep Charles Smith out of his head—ran with it. He overestimated his abilities in the fine art of craftsmanship (and thinking with any logical parts of his brain when it comes to Charles) and damn near killed himself gathering everything he needed to make a bow.

Arthur sought out Eagle Flies not too long after Sadie planted the seedling of the thought in his head, asking him what it’d take to trade so he could get his hands on any materials ready for bow crafting. Eagle Flies, with a light in his eyes and a kick in his step, rattled off a list of items his tribe needed. Fresh berries from the West Grizzlies, wolf and cougar pelts, big game from The Heartlands, eagle feathers from the highest cliffs of Donner Falls. He even had to wipe out a few rowdy stragglers who were camped up too close to the tribe, something Eagle Flies said about his father not wanting to wander into outlaw affairs so Arthur best get the job done because it won’t be too suspicious if a Van der Linde boy does it.

After choosing his tree and setting it out to dry, Arthur spent the better half of the week hunting and gathering, putting his neck out on the line for anything that can make Charles a bow as good as the one he made himself, and by the time he had everything he needed in his possession, he was more bruised and bloody than a shitty bull rider at the state fair.

Arthur knows it’ll be worth it, though. If it means he can do something for Charles—and maybe crack a smile outta him, Arthur’s a greedy bastard down to his core and he needs to be on the receiving end of just one of Charles’ rare grins—then Arthur will gladly do it all over again.

He huffs, loudly, and gathers up the remaining incentive to keep going. Eagle Flies said he's almost done whittling, then all that's left is to string the sinew, and add little decorative designs along the shape of it because every bow is different, none is ever exactly the same. That’s what Eagle Flies told him when Arthur first started this journey.

‘Every bow is unique in its own way. Make it your own.’

‘But it’s not for me,’ Arthur had said. ‘I’m makin’ it for Charles.’

Eagle Flies only looked at him, wearing the same face Sadie wore when she gave him the idea. ‘Make it for him, then, but give a piece of yourself into every step. Put your emotions into your craft, and make it yours. Both of yours.’

‘Make it ours,’ Arthur reminds himself as he gets back to work.

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

One month, twenty-six days, and seven hours. That’s how long it took him to make a bow.

Arthur has more scars on his hands now than he ever did before he set out to make this gift, which granted him the full understanding of the saying ‘putting in the blood, sweat, and tears’ into something you love. Arthur loves Charles more than he thinks is capable of a man like him, so why wouldn’t he put in all his effort?

He’d do just about anything for Charles, that’s been established a long time, maybe even back then in Colter when Charles suffered from a burnt hand and Arthur did everything in his power to make sure he didn’t injure it any further. That was the start of it all, Arthur believes, and now in the present time, Arthur isn’t tending to his wounds anymore, instead, he’s tending to the ache in his chest telling him to do grand displays of affection. Like crafting an entirely new bow when Arthur is the shittiest craftsman from here to Blackwater.

Arthur sucks in a deep breath to steel the jitters in his hands, his fingers clutching at the leather wrapping of the bow like a lifeline, and walks a little way down to the lake’s shoreline. Flat Iron Lake ain’t that much to look at it in the daytime, the heat of Lemoyne making the sand feel like hot rocks and the water like a warm bath, but in the evenings, when the sun’s setting just right, a blaze sparks across the horizon, makes the bright blue of the water’s surface turn a flower petal pink, then a dusky orange.

It’s pretty, hell, Arthur would even say it’s beautiful, but he won’t. Nah, the most beautiful thing about the lake is when Charles stands at the water’s edge, his features painted in the ever-changing color of the sky, his hair long and wavy down his back, the outline of his frame strong, sturdy like a mountain, and just as gorgeous. He just stares out into the water, soaking it in, eyes soft in the setting sun, and Arthur can’t think of anything prettier.

Arthur swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, then, “‘Scuse me, Mr. Smith,” he calls.

Charles turns, his fair falling in front of his eyes when he sees Arthur, and, suddenly, it’s only them. Call it Arthur’s tunnel vision—hell, even call him crazy if it fits—but at the moment Charles fully faces him, the barest hint of a smile on his face (is he surprised? Arthur hopes so), the lake, camp, everything around them falls away.

“Hello, Arthur,” Charles greets, meeting him halfway along the shore’s edge. He stops just shy of a foot away, and Arthur has to resist the urge to pull him closer. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on that stagecoach job with John?”

“Nah, Martson can handle it.” Arthur clears his throat, then, before his brain can tell him to high tail it back to his tent, he thrusts out the leather wrapping. “I got somethin’ for you.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit together quizzically before he looks down as if just realizing it was there, his lips going all pouty in that way he does when he doesn’t understand something. “What’s the occasion?” He asks, gingerly taking the wrappings and undoing the ties.

“No occasion, Mr. Smith. It’s just—well, I thought that um—” Before Arthur can stop himself, his mind going from overly polite to ‘Don’t say anythin’ stupid,’ his mouth kicks into overdrive and rambles a string of words in a single breath.

“I know you broke your bow last time you went huntin’, and it’s hard tryin’ to find somethin’ like that in any ‘ol store, so I made you a new one—it ain’t as pretty as your last one—shoot, it probably don’t work much better neither, but I made it—for you—so I hope it gets the job done.”

Arthur’s head swims woozy by the time his words fall free, and his gut churns with anticipation as Charles looks upon the bow, his expression hidden by the shadow of the descending sun. Arthur’s feet are leaden to the ground, his hands trembling a shake so violent he hides them behind his back, and after a few seconds of agonizing silence, of Charles tracing the curved line of his new weapon with a delicate finger and tweaking the sinew strings, he lifts his head. Arthur’s heart jumps into his throat.

“You made this?” He asks, marveled, eyes the softest shade of brown Arthur’s ever seen on him.

Arthur clears his throat, manages a croaked, “Yeah.”

Charles just continues to feel it, grips over the leather wrapping of the middle part, and then, as if in a trance, his eyes land on the engravings just above. His thumb runs over it, gently, as if the bison might disappear if he’s not careful.

“You did this too?” His voice is so deep, so soft as if he’s speaking to Arthur in a dream that Arthur almost misses his question.

“Yeah. Eagle Flies helped, a ‘lil. Actually, he’s the one who taught me how to make it. I didn’t—I wanted to do it right.” The ‘for you’ threatens to barrel roll from his lips but Arthur swallows it down, forcing it to the back of his throat. “Bison are important to your family. So,” he shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant when his body’s buzzing like a hummingbird.

Charles’ eyes land on the second engraving, a buck that sits just below the leather, and something in the way he spoke, like a gentle rustle in the grass, shook Arthur to his core. “Is this you?”

Arthur nods, steps a little closer so he can brush his fingers over the buck too, just shy of Charles’ own. “The lines took the longest. Almost lost a finger while doin’ it.” Charles chuckles, endeared, and he’s smiling, a small barely there upturn of his lips that Arthur wants to sketch and keep in his pocket forever. “Eagle Flies said to make it special, to, y’know, make it my own. It’s yours, though, but I still wanted to have a ‘lil bit of myself there. So it’s—it’s kinda like ours—in a way, I guess.”

Arthur bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying anything else that will make his face redder than a fire ant’s ass. He hopes the flaming rays of the sun can cover his blush, but even his luck can’t make miracles.

“It’s beautiful,” Charles says, so earnestly that Arthur’s heart drops from his throat and does a can-can number in his chest. “It’s like you’ll be with me wherever I go.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Charles,” Arthur counters, baffled by the thought that he wouldn’t follow Charles to the end of the Earth. If he asked or not, Arthur’s with him.

Charles stares at him, then, equally as mystified. “You will?”

As if Arthur would be anywhere else. “Always.”

It’s Charles’ turn to surprise him, then, by lunging into Arthur’s person with the force of a bolder. He hugs him tight, squeezes around Arthur’s shoulders, and tucks his face close to his ear. He doesn’t say anything, not until Arthur’s body catches up to his brain and he wraps his arms around Charles’ middle, holding on just as close.

“Thank you, Arthur. No one’s ever given me something like this, or ever treated me this nice before.”

“I will,” Arthur says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Charles’ shirt, but still holding so much weight to it that Charles steps in until the entirety of their bodies are pressed together. “You’re my friend, Charles. I would do anyin’ for you.”

Charles sucks in a sharp breath. “Thank you.”

They separate far too quickly for Arthur’s liking, the sun nearly gone behind the mountains and the moon already high in the sky. Charles continues to stare at his gift as if he can’t believe it’s actually his like he can’t imagine someone going out of their way to give him something as heartfelt.

(In the back of his mind, Arthur vows to break that train of thought, to make Charles believe he’s not just put on this Earth to hurt, but to live, and, hopefully, to love.)

But still, even if Charles likes it, Arthur still has to say, “Sorry if it ain’t as good as your old one.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Charles scolds, his eyebrows knitting together. “It’s perfect.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You and I both know my craftsmanship is shit. You don’t even know how it shoots.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur. You’re more of a wonder than you think you are.” He smiles, then, closed mouth and so sweet that his cheeks bunch up under his eyes, and Arthur officially goes dumb. “Come. Practice with me while we still have light.”

He brushes past Arthur, up the little hill towards the small clearing near camp. When Arthur doesn’t move because he’s too busy reeling at granted something so small and special, something no one else in camp gets to see, Charles calls out to him.

“You coming with me, cowboy?”

Immediately, Arthur is next to him, standing so close their knuckles brush and a spark shoots out somewhere in the distance.

“Always.”