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pennyserenade · 25 days ago

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dear, dark child | thomas shelby x reader

summary | tommy wakes up from a nightmare and you help him through it. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | 18+, pre-established relationship, unprotected sex, nightmares, mention of drugs, mention of suicide, mention of childbirth, cigarette smoking, mentions of prejudice against romani people, angst, pinv, creampie, dirty talk, rough sex, doggy style. word count | 2.2k+ a/n | this is the first thing i've ever written for tommy, so i think it's safe to say i'm a little nervous to be posting this. in my mind, this is more geared towards season 1 tommy. also, i wrote this all in one afternoon so go easy on me.

Thomas Shelby is the most handsome augury of death you have ever seen. He has finely carved cheekbones, a glow in his crystalline eyes, lips full and pink and kissed with freckles. His mother walked herself into the cut, and they say there is a madness embedded in them all—his sister, his brothers, the aunt. You stand at the end of his bed, lips parted, looking at him in all of his haunted beauty, as if to say something, but you decide against it.

In the black of night, he is not as he is in the daylight. There’s a fresh sheen of sweat on his skin, and a look of fear in his eyes. As you stand at the end of his bed, cold, unsure, you mouth out the words: “All is well, Thomas, all is fine.”

He is the Romani boy they say speaks in spells, in curses, who has been othered because they think he is half devil. As a child, he clung to the skirts of his beautiful mother, loved her to the point of anguish. She dreamt of him when he was in her stomach, pictured a raven haired boy who spoke her words, who had her eyes. Tommy learned her language far better than the rest of her children did. His mother knew the world would give itself to this child of her. He would be beautiful, he would be ambitious. He would be cunning, too, and devious. She knew that many times in his life, he would have to figure out how far things could bend before they snapped completely. When she had pushed him out in the dark of a tunnel, she feared nothing. She did not need light to know this child of hers, because he had come to her in dreams. “He’s a boy,” she had told his father, “and his name is Thomas.” He had cried louder than his brother before him, and she knew that in darkness he was born, and that in darkness he would stay. But she laid him upon her bare breast, and promised herself that she would tell him of the light in the world, and she knew that the good in his soul would weed out the bad. This son of hers was not cursed; he was only a child of the night. She would spend the rest of her short life telling him this, and he would never learn it.

You reach out and touch his trembling hand. Beneath your touch, he is clammy. You feel his present emotions pulsate beneath your fingertips. He is ashamed, afraid, and angry. Before he can speak, utter something he does not mean but won’t take back, you crawl into his bed, onto his lap.

Your mother was like his in many ways, and in your veins you carry on the tradition of knowing. It is for the same reasons he tells people he can charm animals that you pretend you know nothing: to survive.

You know you will love him, and you know he will betray you. When you press your body into his, wrapping your arms around his sweat drenched skin, you do it because you know in this foreboding future of yours that he never meant to, that he is sorry, that he loves you, too. Some things are fated, prewritten, unavoidable and inevitable; the failure to comfort him won’t change the shape of your lives.

He clings to you, perhaps to his own confusion, and a little to your own. You feel beneath you a mass of frustration, of anger, of fear. You expected something dangerous, something explosive, not this. Though you lurched at him to tame it, you weren’t sure it was going to work; now that he sits beneath you, holding you in the same manner you hold him, you let out a quiet, relieved sigh.

“It’s okay,” you assure him once more, with more conviction. Your voice is less meek, more your own, the fear of his anger ebbing each second he holds his face to your chest.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, though there’s no tears that wet the cloth of your gown. His fingers clench around your sides, gripping at the fabric, before he pulls back to look up at you. “The things in my fuckin’ head—“

“It’s alright.” Your fingers thread through his damp hair, pushing back the strands that have fallen over his forehead. This is no devil beneath you. Just a man. Just a boy. “You don’t have to explain to me.”

He swallows roughly, falling back onto the pillows behind him. Tommy rubs his hand over his face and sighs. As the frustration coils more tightly in his stomach, you feel anxious—too aware of the emotions in his frame. Your hand touches the skin of his stomach. It is scorching beneath your cool touch, alight with fury, with fear. He hardly knows the difference between the two.

“Take off your gown,” he says, deep voice still gravelly from sleep. You do, gathering the ends of the fabric up by your waist, then lifting it above your head.

He has seen you like this many times before. You’re no whore–don’t have the emotional bandwidth to handle it–but you’re certainly no prude. The first time you locked eyes on Thomas Shelby, something more palpable than the spirits told you what he wanted with you. The light in his eye. The tweak of his lips into a smirk. The attraction you felt, passingly, then fully, as he approached you in the pub. You had known this was him, the boy they said was the devil, could see it in his eyes, but did not mind.

He does not fuck as roughly as others, but he also does not fuck as kindly as you know he has the craving for. He explores your goose pimpled flesh, still in the midst of regaining his composure. His fingers tremble, but he pretends they don’t. Tommy dances them across your bare chest with calculated ease, tweaking an already pert nipple, cupping the tissue into his too warm palm.

Desire grows inside of him, takes the place of anger. You kiss, hard and fast, because his body is hungry for a fix—stronger than tobacco, better than whiskey, safer than illicit drugs. He grows hard beneath you, and it begins to leak out, gone in moments, the things that made him hot to the touch. He takes your head between his hands, and brushes too affectionately over your jaw. Somethings are too instinctual to stop; this is the good his mother saw, her dream manifested. His body molds into your own, craves a thing he can’t comprehend just yet, because he is too tired, too young, to know what love might begin as.

Tommy asks you to lay flat on your stomach, but he has a way of requesting things that make them seem like callous demands. The gruff of his voice. The anger that wraps around all of his words, that has done since he got back from war, changed. You might be the only person who does not flinch or take offense. You lie on your stomach, hands tucked beneath his pillow, eyes pressed closed. Sometimes, he puts his mouth on you. To ready you, he explained, and you like that. Tonight he doesn’t seem to be in the mood. He positions himself between your legs, kisses along the arch of your spine, and whispers against your ear, “Ass up, then.”

There’s nothing to separate you two: no blankets, no articles of clothing, not even the frigid air of his bedroom, the fire long gone out. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance mere seconds before he plunges inside of you.

You muffle your groan in the pillow beneath you, fingers tightening around the cloth of the sheets, holding on. At first the intrusion of him is too much, a burning chafe, but he slows, holding himself mid thrust inside of you. You feel the hair on his stomach prickle against you as he leans over your body, curling around you, lips touching your shoulder. The tenuous string of connection you have with him grows stronger, less blurred around the edges, more in focus. Inside of you, he feels safe. It’s inexplicable, but you feel it too; comfort even in his roughest touches, knowing he doesn’t mean harm, that he thinks of you, that he wants you. Your body catches up, slick gathering between your legs as he slides himself in again, more slowly.

His fingers wrap around your neck, cradling your neck more than pressing into your skin. Tommy’s thrusts begin to pick up, and they become more punishing, driving your hips down into the bed. You moan, toes curling, desire pooling in your stomach as your clit rubs passively against the sheets. It’s not enough friction to do anything but drive you insane.

He moves back up, sitting on his knees, the fingers on his free hand finding the curves at your side. He holds you there, pushing himself in, emitting soft grunts into the still of night as he buries himself inside of you. The bed begins to creak beneath you both. Old as it is, it is never quite prepared for the violence of his movements. He doesn’t care. Let the whole house hear; God knows they’ve done it to him many times before. He needs to bury himself deeply inside of you, to feel the way you clench around him when he guides your head back to look you in the eye.

Your lips part, wrapping around a quiet moan. Tommy drives his hips against your backside in a determined rhythm, trying to find the part of you that cries out obscenely. He likes you best in positions where you arch, submit, take what he gives happily. His cock hits the top of your walls, and he nods when you finally audibly moan for him, smug. It isn’t enough that you’ve gone slick between your thighs, that his cock is coated in it. More, more, more—for he still is the boy who has not quite learned how far things can bend before they break.

He rubs his thumb against your bottom lip, and you wrap your warm mouth around it. “You like that?” he grits out, fucking into you roughly, quickly, determined. There’s a new sheen of sweat on his body, mingling with your own in the places you meet. It is better, less acrid than the stuff he was coated in before.

“I do,” you pant. You reach out and wrap your hand around the metakl frame of the bed. He laughs, though you’re not sure he finds anything funny.

“I know,” he answers, taking his hand from your face, your neck, gripping instead on your shoulder. He pushes you back onto his cock. “Always do like it. Always take everything I give you.”

“Yes.” Your fingers tighten around the bars. Words escape you, thoughts diminishing into emotion, into sensations. His fingers on your skin. His cock in your cunt, hitting the top of you. The entirety of him behind you, up on bended knees, a supposed half devil. A child of the night. The fury of his passion. The swirl of anger he has pushed away. The fear he doesn’t want to come back. He buries it inside of you, these things he cannot say.

His hips sputter against yours, and it is over: the warmth of his cum fills you, and he wraps an arm around your stomach, pulling you close to him, kissing along your shoulder.

Tommy isn’t forgetful; his other hand reaches around and finds your neglected clit. His teeth scrape against your flesh as he circles it with his fingers, drawing out more delicious sounds from you. His cum begins to drip down your legs, but he does not mind. You twitch, jut, fight out of his embrace, but he holds tighter, humming in delight because he knows only he can touch you like this.

“Show me,” he demands, voice rough, “Show me how much you like my cum in you.”

You reach behind, grip onto his hip. “Tommy,” is all you manage.

“Show me.” He rubs your clit faster, pressing down harder. His face tucks into your neck. “You’re grateful, aren’t you? That I fuck you so good?” The desire builds in your stomach. He kisses the side of your mouth. “Fuckin’ show me!”

You cum, and it lasts for what feels like an eternity. You register the sensation of his prideful, earnest laughter against your skin, a familiar timbre, an echo that your bones know well. At one moment it’s too much. Then it’s nothing: his hands, his fingers, his cock abandoning you.

With all of his troubles still leaking onto your thighs, Tommy reaches over to the nightstand to grab a cigarette. “Do you want one?” he asks. There’s no disinterest in his tone—only the monotonous, somber sound of his voice piercing the air. You lay on your stomach, face pressed against the now cool pillow. “Guess that’s a no.”

The room smells of sex. Not bad, per se, but potent. His smell and yours, sweet and acidic, and something indistinguishable. His hand rests on your back. “Alright?” he asks.

You turn your head in his direction. “Alright,” you confirm. “And you?”

The cigarette burns orange, the crackle of his inhale filling the space between you. “All is well,” he says, repeating the words you gave him.

You hum in agreement. Yes, for now, in this moment, in this place, all is well. The darkness cloaks you both, shields you from the future, and nothing can bring you any harm.

How fortunate it is to know this much.

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #peaky blinders #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you

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londonfog-chan · 19 days ago

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Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: The Goddess and The Cupbearer

A/N: You know what the Romans did a lot of? Looking at omens and star charts.

I set out to find the worst possible combination of zodiacs. The nightmare duo apparently is Aquarius and Virgo. I am a Virgo, and with my many Aquarius friend experience, that Aquarius + Virgo combo is the OG “we can make each other worse”. You gotta be able to laugh off the trauma at dinner afterwards if you wanna hang with the air and earth hell match.

Credits: @ghoulbloggerrr for the dividers, @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for reading my clown shoes writing, and @trashmouth-richie for seeing and putting up with my foolishness in the DMs

Warnings: General debauchery and toxic relationships, referenced abuse and neglect, references to Commodus from the first movie, general talk of “pure bloodlines” because those fucking imperial families, man…, clown world

“The priests suggest that our nuptials should be delayed until the third week of Juno. Would that please you?”

You huffed. Stuck out your left hand with the gaudy gold gilt ring. A cold, steel glower— your father’s stare— marred the softness of your otherwise beautiful features.

“I am to wait so long to have my husband?” You snapped.

“It would be an auspicious month.” Geta replied, pulling you in closer to his side, “It will bode well for our union, and encourage further good omens to come.”

A gentle cough erupted from your throat, causing you to clear it. The shawl of gold and purple damask around your shoulders slipped to reveal your pink linen stola.

“Did they not read our stars?” You asked, “What of our alignments? Surely that would be auspicious enough to warrant a disregard of my illness.”

Geta laughed, readjusting your silken shawl to keep you warm.

“They certainly have read our stars.” He laughed, “We are apparently quite the… difficult match.”

He recalled the grave face of the augury when he came before the senate and the co-emperor. As predicted, the augury did indeed suggest that Geta and you wait until your current illness abated, to prevent such an omen from destroying the impending marriage.

“His majesty would do well to wait until the third week of the month of Juno to commence the marriage proceedings.” Said the old priest, “We have read both the stars of the future empress and his majesty, though… I must express my concern.”

“What is your concern?” Geta had asked, his amber eyes narrowing in anger.

“Sire… the future empress is born under the stars of Proserpina.” Said the augury, “And your excellency was born under the stars of Catamitus. The Virgin and the Cupbearer of the gods are not the… traditional match one would assume.”

“Bother tradition.” He had snapped, “I want my wife.”

There was much whispering and dissent among the members of the senate. Half wanted to call the whole thing off, for fear of the calamity such a match would bring. Yet there was a majority outcry against delaying the marriage. You were the senate’s last hope for the reclamation of the people’s favor. They looked to make you into a beacon of hope, one that would soothe the imperator’s wrath at being denied an adoption into the former imperial family’s line of succession.

As her child, your mother’s shining reputation had yet made you the successor, where Geta and his brother were yet still the empire’s pariahs. By reputation alone, you would change the tides of history. While your future husband would be the head of the empire, the senate sought to make you the neck: that you might turn Geta any way they so wished.

“But excellency… you must consider the potential disharmony from an unbalanced match.”

“And what is this disharmony?!” Demanded a member of the senate.

“Well…” said the old man, until he was interrupted by his young acolyte.

“His majesty would consider that those under Proserpina’s stars are not weak willed women.” Said the younger acolyte.

The augury attempted to speak, but Geta held up his hand to silence him.

“You.” He said, pointing to the young acolyte, “Continue.”

Riding the high of commanding the attention of the room, the young man puffed his chest out before he continued.

“Proserpina’s women are driven by logic and stability, constant and reliable as the changing of the seasons.” Said the young man, “The sons born under Catamitus-…”

The augury tried to cut in, laying his hand against the bulla of his student.

“Catamitus’ stars encourage independence and nonconformity. The antithesis to Proserpina’s proclivity to order and stability.”

“And that is true.” agreed the young acolyte, “However, it is irresponsible and inconsiderate to the imperator’s marriage to assume that logic cannot coexist with independence!”

“So you believe,” he began, “That these attributes can coexist and… what? Compliment one another?”

“My lord.” Said the acolyte, “Should Catamitus and Proserpina intersect, their union would be unstoppable.”

He spread out the well cared for charts on the marble altar, along with notations and omens that had been discovered.

“Logic and nonconformity may be to the ignorant eye a combination of oil at water,” said the young acolyte, “Yet we must not deny that those ruled by logic and reason hold the key to doors previously bolted by a warding lock.”

The young man had seemed to argue in favor of the arrangement. While Catamitus may have compelled Geta in the pursuit of pleasure and freedom, Proserpina’s stars were apparently the path that would lead you both to prosperity. It was argued that such a conjunction of strong wills could move mountains.

“Yet sire… please consider…” begged the augury, “Proserpina’s children are stubborn and unyielding. Women who will not yield to their husband’s will can only cause misfortune. The driven nature of the astrological signs are as different as the elements. Earth and air… it is unthinkable! Imbalanced.”

It was as Geta had suspected. He asserted often that he knew you were not a weak willed woman. You were every bit cunning and calculating as he had suspected you to be since your first introductions.

You were a challenge, a gamble. An obstacle.

It would be pleasing to Geta to break or make you.

“Your opinion is astute, old man.” Geta said, “And yet, I am afraid your opinion has only further stoked the flames of my passions. Perhaps it is the thrill of the hunt, or perhaps it is the thrill of having an empress that will not yield. A challenge… a gamble, if I may. I fail to see the consequences of two different elements.”

“Imperator!” He begged, “I beg of you to reconsider. Such a union would not ensure a prosperous bloodline.”

“She is the heir of Commodus, is she not?”

“Yes but…! Unification between you and the heir would bode disastrous! One would always have to yield to the other for harmony, creating conflict and strife. Matters of ego will tear the heart asunder!”

“And what would be the impediments to a harmonious unification?” Asked Geta.

“The frequent clashing of wills shall burn the empire to the ground!” Cried the augury, “You will find your wife’s overbearing arrogance a thorn in your side, and she will find your domination an affront to her vanity!”

“But consider the unification’s origin!” said his acolyte, “Their connection was, as predicted, instantaneous and deep. One would know the thoughts of the other, their collaborations in matters of state would bring the favor of the people back to the empire!”

Ruminating against the scours of papyrus and wax tablets, the youth began to make countless arguments against his teacher. Evidently, a veritable trove of good omens had been given by the gods for your impending union. Such blessings could only be bested by the fates themselves emerging from the heavens to sing prophecies at the reception after the nuptial rituals.

“Consider the omens at hand: the woman is of noble birth and pure blood, already the people look favorably upon her piety and reputation derived from the mother. The flight patterns of the swifts were also analyzed during her auspicious birth. They were trending high, a favorable omen. And…! Upon the annunciation of the imperator’s engagement, a lightning storm took place in the easternmost part of the empire. A blessing!” exclaimed the acolyte, “In reality, these nightmarish foretellings of their clash of egos are naught more than seed tilled in secret to sow doubt.”

“Foolish boy!” exclaimed the elder augury, “You do not answer the imperator’s questions, you simply seek to defend your point!”

Geta watched the two begin to argue in morbid fascination. Captivated by their arguments as though they were butchers cleaving one another to pieces. It had taken his roar to call the two to order, demanding further details of the match and why the augury was so hell bent on breaking the engagement…

“Enough…”

You waved your hand, as though you could wave away the wine tinged words of the emperor. The more he spoke of the dissenting argument that had taken place before the senate, echoing the consequences of your union, the more your stomach began to churn.

With a grimace, you pulled your shawl tighter over your chest. A shuddering sigh escaped you, and you began to retreat into some secret place within your own thoughts as your gaze lowered to the garden floor.

“My lady…” Geta probed gently, his fingertips touching your cheek, “Have I displeased you with my tale?”

“That will be enough.” You groused, trying not to cry.

Geta’s arms tightened around you possessively. There was nothing more you could do except lay there on him, your own stubborn nature trying to keep your body language lax. As if by this microaggression, you were able to rebel against he who would be your husband.

“Love…” Geta whispered, “Have the words of the augury displeased you?”

“No.” You said, nodding your head as if trying to banish the welling in your eyes, “No, why should it displease me? These things come from the gods themselves, do they not? Obviously my own ego and vanity should act as a fine shield against their poisoned barbs.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded ruefully. The circumstances of your tragic life from birth until now weighing heavily on your heart. Rejected by your mother, who saw you as a grim reminder of a traumatic conception and the loss of her son, it was as if a curse had marred your life. Venus seemed to hold her grudges, but you could not understand your transgression. Instead she punished you. Withheld love until you went looking in dark places for it. And now, it seemed because of the stars you were born under, you would not be able to find happiness even within an engagement to the debauched and disgraced emperor.

“Yes. I suppose it is true, is it not? Air and earth are two very different things, indeed. Birds are content to take wing upon the air to pursue freedom, what more does the earth below do for them? They crash upon it and die, and should their nest fall, the eggs cradled inside do not survive the impact either. Fitting, I suppose, that the gods would make my love life a farce…”

Though your words were biting and spiteful, Geta knew the declaration of the augury had cut deep. Your false smile contrasted against the tears you shook free from your eyes, trembling shoulders giving away the fact that your stone heart was crumbling into pieces.

Geta could not stand to see you in such pain. There were already countless bitter poisons poured into your cup, handed vinegar rather than wine in the form of emotional disconnect from your mother, a stepfather that was constantly away on campaign in the name of the co-imperators. Behind it all, like the miasma that made you ill, was the looming shadow of the man who had sired you; a yoke too heavy to bear alone thrown over your shoulders.

You did not deserve vinegar.

“Look at the ring I have given you.” Geta demanded suddenly.

Your laugh was bitter.

“I suppose it would make sense you would wish to call off the wedding.” You said, making to pull off the golden band, “Here, let me give it back-…”

“Hold your tongue, impudent woman. Your emperor has commanded you to look upon the band, not take it off.”

You huffed, holding it up to the sunlight– the solar rays filtered through the interstice, created by the leaves of your stepfather’s laurel tree.

“Do you know the stone setting in the band?” Geta asked, his cadence soft, almost sweet.

“It is amethyst.” You deadpanned.

“Your observation is incorrect, my lady.” Geta said smugly.

“And you are a blind fool.” You snarled, “What other stone is purple aside from amethyst?!”

“Hold your serpent’s tongue, before I order it carved out, love. Look closer.”

You reluctantly obeyed, seeing nothing more than the deep purple of the stone. The ring was the same as the day Geta had gifted it to you: a thick golden band on the second to last finger of your left hand, carved with intricate embellishments. The not-amethyst was surrounded by miniature diamonds, a rare and lovely ring that symbolized your betrothal to you opulent fiance. When your eyes drifted down along the cabochon, you noticed at one point the stone had begun to change color: an ombré of violet and indigo yielding to golden tangerine.

“What is this?!” You exclaimed, “The stone is of poor quality?!”

Geta laughed. Laughed so hard he nearly had a coughing fit trying to compose himself.

“Careful love, your acucity in the matter of precious gems will have you casting pearls before swine.” He teased, “That is not a flawed amethyst. It is something else entirely. Something that only you and I will possess.”

His large hand overlayed with yours, a matching ring containing an obnoxiously cut chunk of the same gem on his own engagement hand. The larger stone he owned captured the stark difference far more perfectly than your diminutive cut. From purple to orange, the polished cabochon gleamed like a wet, juicy grape in the sunlight next to yours.

“During one of many campaigns, my generals had bestowed upon me various rare gifts from those whose lands I have claimed for my empire.” Geta said, his free arm wrapping around your body.

“This stone was one of many curios brought to me; a spoil of war that had great significance to the ruler whose head was cleaved from his shoulders. It is not amethyst, but something else of an entirely different make. The captives of this conquered land called it ‘ametrine’.”

“Ametrine?”

He nodded.

“It is a sacred stone. An amalgamation of two entirely different rare stones: amethyst and citrine. No other mine in the world contains such a stone, and perhaps there are no more, other than the specimen that made these cabochons.”

His lips caressed the skin of your cheek. Legs curling up in pleasure, you closed your eyes as you inhaled his spiced scent of mulled wine and patchouli.

“They are cut from the same stone, my love. And are they not a perfect symbol of two different attributes? Gold and purple, purity and passion, domination and submission.”

His kisses were growing heated, tongue lathing gently upon your neck.

“It is a perfect representation for what our love will offer the other, do you not agree?” He whispered, tongue running along the length of your carotid artery, “Beauty in the joining of opposites, a prize that no one else in the world possesses, save for you and I. Our will and ego will clash spectacularly, as they already do, but does our passion not burn all the brighter?”

You shivered. His affections became more intimate, a ringed hand scraping gems over the soft skin of your breast and nipple as he reached possessively into your stola.

“We are not alike, in many ways this is true.” Geta observed, “Yet our differences complement one another, and our love is perfect.”

“… a joining of opposites, and perfect love…” you echoed.

You watched as your fingers slotted between his on both of your left hands. The band on your hand had been made in such a way that when you held hands with your beloved, your engagement ring meshed seamlessly with the gaudy gold band and large cabochon he wore. Such care and attention to detail had been taken in the creation of the wedding bands, that it looked as though the stones had not been parted at all.

It was a testament to his decadence and arrogance… but it was so like him, to have the same attention to detail that you did.

“It is fitting, isn’t it?” You asked, cuddling in closer, “The cunning and debauched emperor of Catamitus joining forces with his pious, brooding empress of Proserpina.”

“Indeed it is, my darling.” He murmured, “We are in many ways alike, wouldn’t you say? Trapped in our own individual prisons, seeking something that the other alone cannot provide…”

“I fear for the empire.” You laughed, squeezing his palm, “For I can only imagine what horrors our combined traits would produce in heirs.”

Geta’s laughter was cruel, and ugly as he held you tighter, the hand at your breast moving to touch your warm stomach.

“You are right to be afraid, my love.” He grinned, “We shall produce heirs that are not fit for this world. Ones that are both cunning and earnest, pious and debauched-…”

“A debauched, power hungry army of sons and daughters, who would have both the drive to seek power and pleasure, and the intelligence to retain it for a thousand years.” you laughed, “By the gods, Geta. Our heirs would burn the world up, and then turn the torch upon one another.”

He could see it himself. At least ten children, decuplets, perhaps half daughters, half sons. Squabbling in your womb for the right to be first conceived. Biting and constricting one another with the umbilicus until they emerged punching and kicking each other out of the womb. Throwing their toys and baubles at one another, punching and kicking until they came of age, old enough to command legions of their own to do battle on the very empire they stood to inherit.

“That they would, my love.” Geta laughed, his mind still on his nightmarish brood, “They would turn the world to ash, and use their own royal blood to slake their thirst when the lake of sanguine of their creation at last runs dry.”

“Gods have mercy.” You laughed.

Both of your shared peals of laughter echoed in the garden, an evil sound to others. But to the both of you, the sound was full of warmth and joy.

“But… but!” Geta wheezed, untangling his hand from yours as he wrapped your entire torso in his embrace, “There is yet a sweetness in the destruction.”

“A sweetness?” You laughed, looking at his flushed cheeks, “You are drunk, Geta.”

The imperator cackled again, the spicy scent of mulled wine still evident on his lips.

“Perhaps, but still consider the following: from the ashes of our children’s destruction, we can yet find potential for creation and renewal. An endless cycle of destruction and chaos from our heirs would only further occupy their time away from us.” He said.

He was barking mad. Stark raving, his senses had completely left him.

“So we would let our hell spawn burn down the world. While you and I argue, make love, clash with our egos, and generally mishandle and act like idiots?” You asked, the giggle still caught in your throat, “What of the empire? Would it not suffer?”

“Who cares? We wouldn’t be alive to see it fall, anyways.”

For a moment, there was a bit of hesitation. Sure the world had torn your heart asunder, left you alone and destitute, your heart empty of every emotion save for apathy, misanthropy, and the rare spurts of love you felt for Geta. But did the world really deserve to be turned to ash? Just because it had nearly killed you with trials and tribulations, did you really need to be flaunting your mismatched love so blatantly in front of the gods…? Surely, you thought, you should be sober and martyr yourself like your mother. Dreaming of an ideal of peace and harmony rather that discord and destruction.

But then you looked up. You saw the ash and kohl lined eyes of Geta as he grinned down at you, the mixture of white marl and cerussa crumbling in some places on his face, revealing the flush drunk cheeks underneath. His golden laurels were askew on his tangerine locks, and the pupils of his amber eyes were dilated.

You glanced down at the silk shawl you wore. Tyrian purple. The silk skeins had been a wedding gift from Geta, crates upon crates of spun silk for you to work on the warp of your loom. Already you had completed your wedding trousseau. The lack of sleep and neglect of your health was caused directly by the desire to work the skeins into something lovely.

Orange and purple. His tangerine curls, your tyrian purple shawl.

You were reminded of the ametrine ring on your finger.

A combination of two different stones.

Complementary colors.

A perfect love.

“The hell with it all.” You laughed, tossing your head back carelessly, “Let the stars of Proserpina and Catamitus create a chaotic, beautiful world.”

#emperor geta #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x female reader #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #gladiator II x reader #geta #geta x reader #geta x you #gladiator movie #commodus

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pouralaura · 4 months ago

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Sorry, this is probably weird. But my brain is Raphael 24/7 and he and Tav being obsessed with each other. But I was wondering how he’d react to a demi Tav?

He’s crushing and trying to impress for the longest time, and they are completely unphased. Like nothin’, nada. I’m sure he’d be frustrated. But also perplexed? He’s always been able to charm his way with people. So he meets this unmovable person and he’s like ???

But then imagining later on, Tav’s feelings for him suddenly hit them like a fucking train. All of their obsession with HIM hits like tenfold. He is the sexiest being in existence, and they are stupidly in love with him, and they are PANICKING.

I may be the only one who finds this particular scenario intriguing but 😅

Disclaimer: I am not well-versed in demisexuality and this is my first time writing it, so please pardon any lack of necessary nuance here. thanks to @reallyhatethiswebsite for helping me figure out the trigger point! they/them AFAB Tav, Raphael POV.

Had Raphael ever, in all of his hundreds of years, experienced such a maddening, tantalizing, mouthwatering proximity to victory? Every hellish fiber of his being thrums in anticipation of his looming triumph. The Crown, so close, its pull so alluring. The augury of his reign launches his mind into a state of utter bliss outside of business hours (and, frankly, often during), a grin on his face and his cock hard as a diamond beneath the quilting of his luxuriously expensive trousers. He is, simply put, so close.

There remains but a single obstacle in his way: a lost, floundering little mouse, so unprepared and ill-equipped for success -- at least, at first. Raphael had been pleasantly surprised at Tav's capability for mortal achievement once they'd gotten their feet underneath them. His respect for them grew as their conquests did; they'd proven an apt ally for many and a fearsome adversary for many more.

Flawed as they are, Tav is perfect for his plan. Raphael has every faith that they will be his savior (in a manner of speaking) now that the time is drawing near. They must succeed. They will. Such a headstrong, belligerent creature; all the sweeter to become the victor -- and, in line with that, to claim himself.

(More on that in a moment.)

He's ruminating on this, as he has near-incessantly in recent months, while strolling back to the Devil's Den from deeper within the city. Maintaining chivalrous relations with his hosts at Sharess' Caress is mandatory; he pauses at the front desk to brush a kiss across the delicate knuckles of the blushing Amira, inclines his head in polite greeting to various good-natured courtesans, and stops to exchange pleasantries with Hoots at the bar before ascending the stairs to his domain of the Gate. Trivial pursuits, but necessary.

(Back to the matter at hand --)

Yes, he will claim Tav himself.

...This point requires further clarification. He will claim Tav as a step to his own conquest. They will fulfill a contract with him. If it happens that they also wish for his claim in a more decidedly carnal way, what manner of devil would he be to deny them? A favor for a favor, after all.

But, alas, they'd proven nearly unmovable in that last respect. It's far from the first time Raphael has experienced, either implicitly or explicitly, rejection of his incomparable devilish charms -- but, to be fair: nearly all of the aforementioned occurrences had been caused by an innate preference for the fairer sex. Their loss, perhaps; but it simply couldn't be helped -- and certainly not a stain on his ego.

(Tav, for what it's worth, however, does not seem limited by such preferences. Near-flawless reconnaissance is a gift and a curse; Raphael is very much aware of their blessedly brief dalliance with the insufferable vampling.)

Such hopes for mutual understanding on levels to-be-determined had been dashed, indeed, until a particular point of curiosity earlier in the week, when Tav and their ragtag gang of unappealing ruffians had met him upstairs at the Caress following his confrontation with the inestimable Kith'rak. Voss had left, and Raphael had snapped his fingers to shield Tav and their party from the detestable illithid shouting about in their heads --

The devil had watched figurative clicking cogs turn between the little mouse's ears for several seconds as they processed the assumedly blissful silence he'd fleetingly gifted them.

"I don't...hear anything." Tav's voice had been quiet. Surprised.

"You are, as always, welcome." He'd smugly spread his arms, inclining his head in a mock bow. "My favorite future client deserves nothing if not the very best I can offer."

There were no differences in how he'd behaved on this occasion, but the way Tav looked at him after his effortless momentary aid was far more layered than during any previous encounter. And, if he was correct -- colored by the hint of a blush, one that he could smell before he could see. The scent of blood rising to their cheeks, dusting their pretty countenance with just a trace of something. A crack. A break.

Perhaps.

Delicious.

He nears the door of the Devil's Den, and...stops.

There is a familiar scent in the air; one he did not expect to be greeted by upon his return to The Office. It's them.

His little mouse is inside. Must have climbed through a window, leapt across rooftops to reach the one opening he leaves regularly and intentionally unwarded for just this precise possibility.

(Korrilla, behind his back, raises her eyebrows at this deliberate lapse in security each time it's included in his instruction. She's lucky he doesn't snap the bones in each of her toes one-by-one.)

Cautiously, he wills the hellish locks to open. Carefully, he presses long, tanned fingers to the door's handle. With deliberation, he pushes into the room.

It takes him two point three seconds to register that Tav is not only in the room, but on their back on the rich, plush red duvet-covered bed, propped up on their elbows, staring straight at him with the loveliest blush dusted across the apples of their cheeks. He steps stiffly into his domain, letting the heavy wooden door close and lock behind him with a decided click. Another seven point eight seconds to close the distance between them (he slinks across the room slowly, like a cat); a full nine seconds, once he's arrived at the bedside, to drink in Tav's nakedness from head to toe -- well, except for the whipped cream adorning the tips of their breasts, if one could call that any sort of coverage. And -- ah. An amber liquid filling the divot of their belly button.

His mouth curls up into a satisfied little smirk. They have been paying attention.

"Are you here to accept my offer, little mouse?" Raphael finally asks, low and warm and purring.

He watches them swallow. Breathe. Follows the red flush as it spreads, heated, down their neck, between their cream-laden breasts, around their liquor-filled navel, all the way down to the lovely pink of their vulnerable, exposed, undeniably glistening sex.

"I am not. At least, not yet." In a contrast to their blush, Tav's voice is strong and level as they continue despite Raphael's responding sneer. "I am here to make one of my own."

"And what, pray tell," the devil bites out, voice tinged with the familiar mix of irritation, intrigue, and damning arousal this creature heralds within him, "might that be?"

"I'm inclined to accept, but only following further discussion." They grin. "But over dinner, here. And...you'll need to do something about my --" here they motion to the confectionary disaster writ upon their flawed, mortal body, beneath him in every way -- "current state."

He'll play along, if only to ease the tightness in his trousers.

Less than ten minutes later, when Raphael is laving his forked tongue along the underside of Tav's breast, lapping up the last of the cream and holding himself back from spilling onto the sheets beneath them, he thinks: I am in control.

Tav moans as he bites; as he presses his face between their thighs, a ragged whine bubbles up from his throat, hot and needy.

They'll be mine yet.

#raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #laura's writing #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #thank you for the ask!#was super fun to write raph as the one breaking tav for once #anon ask #prompt request

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vipvesper · 5 months ago

Text

all is fair in love and war

pairing: octavian x child of bacchus!reader

warnings: octavian 😞, pining, minor cursing, spoilers for son of neptune!!

word count: 1.3k+

“i wish reyna would let me strangle you.”

Octavian? You hate him for the most part. You hate the storm swirling above the Temple of Jupiter that crackles with electricity as another teddy bear augury is completed. You hate the way his piercing blue eyes mock you from behind Reyna as you sit at a Centurion’s meeting. You hate his insane laughter that echoed in your ears 6 years ago when he mutilated your stuffed animal. You roll your eyes. Dakota’s red-ringed lips lazily speak orders to the Fifth Cohort, but nobody’s listening. We’re gonna soften the defenses. Again. Great. As if the looks on our faces afer stepping away from the Officer’s conference wasn’t bad enough, Dakota’s speech isn’t helping. He squeezes a packet of Kool-Aid.

“Listen, guys. This is gonna be a good one, I can feel it!” You take charge, opting to do the talking. “Hazel and Frank, I know you guys are still on the new side, but I think you can do this. First row, create a shield wall with Dakota as you advance to soften the blow. Second row from Cecil over, hide behind the shields to fight off any advancing defenses. The other twelve, try to sneak around the flanks and find a way in.” A smile pulls at your lips, moving your brother aside. “Let’s move out, troops! Victory for the Fifth!”

The child army echoes your cheer as your ranks break. A looming wall stands in front of you, cohorts three and four standing guard behind. How do we see past the wall? When it’s so tall? “I suppose we’re acting as bait again,” you murmur to Dakota.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“Hannibal’s all ready?” You inquire, wanting to make sure your cohort gets the win they deserve. He nods, grabbing another juice out of his pocket.

The war games start, Reyna hovering overhead with Scipio. A circle of eagles fly in tandem with her, awaiting injury. You tag along with the twelve soldiers, attempting to find a crack in the wall, an unguarded plate. A tug pulls in your stomach, long green vines pushing out of the ground of the Field of Mars. Branches split off to grab your cohort, gently placing my teammates over the wall. It’s a struggle to keep Hazel and Frank quiet as they’re plopped right into enemy territory. The sounds of swords clashing rings out before you can even climb up yourself.

As you drop down, armor clinking together, the vines recede to leave a small scar in the earth. Wide blue eyes immediately stare back at you, coupled with the golden glint of a spatha. Great. Octavian’s here. Can’t give him a chance to think, you remind yourself. Your gladius makes a nice noise as you remove it from its sheath, pressing the flat against his smaller weapon. Before long, he’s disarmed. Unfortunately for you, he immediately starts to squawk, alerting any soldiers who might’ve still been preoccupied by their Mythomagic tournament.

“Backup! I need backup!” The lanky blonde yells, fumbling for his secondary weapon. A stray arrow whizzes past your ear as you lunge, grabbing him by his shoulder.

“Fifth cohort, for the colors!” Jonathan and Frank rush for their emblem, narrowly dodging flying furniture. Hazel’s backed into a corner by a First cohort member, her golden eyes filled with determination.

But, Tyche really isn’t on your side, is she?

A last minute elephant mishap knocks your troops away from the battlefield, wiping the scoreboard clean. Eagles swoop down to snatch up a good portion of the teenage militia.

You sit on a stone wall overlooking the city of New Rome, holding an icepack to your cheek. Guess Octavian had gotten you after all. A sigh rolls past your lips. The win was so close, it was right there. Bandages wrap around any minor cuts you may have acquired during the game. The all-too familiar crinkle of a Kool-Aid pouch makes you assume that Dakota had finally found you.

A rather soft object hits the back of your head.

It’s a freaking Kool-Aid packet. Grape flavored, at that.

“Wouldn’t Reyna like to know that her favorite Centurion is throwing a fit over a loss? What a sore loser,” a sarcastic voice jests. You grit your teeth, turning to face Octavian.

Curse him and his skinny body, his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes, his unblemished skin—

Woah.

Where did that come from?

“I’m looking for ways to better myself for my cohort. Not like you’d know anything about self-reflection,” You scoff. Much to your chagrin, the augur sits beside you. Phoebus Apollo rides close to the horizon, signaling the nearing arrival of dinnertime. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t,” he smirks. He looks quite stupid with those stuffed animals hanging from his belt, in your opinion. Seven stripes burn on his forearm under the symbol of an eagle, much like your own. His loose white toga hangs off his clothed shoulders. The sun radiates onto his pale skin, bathing him in a warm glow. Cocky bastard. He knows he’s pretty. “Do you have a staring problem?”

You snap back to reality real quick.

“No, I don’t.” You turn your head away, embarrassed. You weren’t staring, were you? Small vines decorated by bundles of purple grapes pop up around you, encircling the area. “Is there a reason you’re here? Or would you just like to gloat.”

Octavian reclines, pressing his hands on the green grass behind him. He picks a grape, tossing it at your temple. “I’m simply encouraging your improvement,” he teases.

“I wish Reyna would let me strangle you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

As you look out at the sunset, you don’t notice his eyes on you. You don’t notice the way his gaze trails over the bridge of your nose and your freckles and the rosy hue covering your cheeks like he’s committing the way you look at dusk to memory.

“Pretty night, huh?”

That’s unusual. Octavian making small talk?

“Yeah, it is.”

“You weren’t too bad today,” he mutters, very clearly avoiding his gaze. It’s very much unlike him to butter you up, even if he wants something.

“Thanks?” you tilt your head, confused by his praise. Should you be offended?

The two of you look out at the little Tiber rolling over the hills, basking in the golden hue painting the heavens. A long, cold hand drapes over yours eventually, gently squeezing. You jolt away, face pink as the clouds in the sky.

“The Pluto?!”

“Shut up.” He shoves something in your lap, and for a second you think it’s a grenade of Greek fire, set to explode as soon as he’s out of range. Tyche must feel sorry for her absence earlier.

A soft green material, as green as the grass, sits against your thighs, a happy smile staring up at you. It can’t be. A fuzzy memory returns to you, a feeling of nostalgia washing over you. A frog plush from long ago. Stitches a bit darker than the original fuzzy fabric reach from seam to seam, head to toe.

“What—?”

“Seriously, shut up. I found it tucked away, thought you’d like to see it again before it gets sacrificed to the gods again.”

You scoop up the piece of your childhood in your free hand, eyes wide as the cosmos. Before that little smirk on Octavian’s face can grow any further, a cold, hard object smacks him right across the face, sending him reeling.

“What the—?!”

“You little dick,” you huff, placing the icepack on the ground. “Thanks, I guess.”

He smiles—a real smile, however small—as he stares into your eyes. “You’re very welcome, love.” His alabaster face is painted red.

You shake your head, amused. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

Like a scene from a fairytale, his hand snakes its way onto your waist, the proximity only forcing more of your father’s fruit out of the ground.

“Like I’d listen to you,” he chides.

You lean forward, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss.

“I really am irresistible.”

“Shut up, you’re ruining the moment.”

#fanfic #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #percy pjo #octavian #hoo x reader #hoo x you #pjo hoo toa #rick riordan #fanfiction #self indulgent #self insert #ancient rome #rome #tyche #vipvesper

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valtsv · 7 months ago

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can we know more about your fantroll's relationship to her purpleblood friend *bats eyelashes* she's so cool

i can only speak for myself, since terack isn't my oc, but augury and terack's relationship is incredibly bad for both of them. on augury's side, it's a convenient excuse not to face up to the frightening possibility of change; to bury her head in the sand and tell herself there's nothing that she can do but go along with the way things are and bear witness. on terack's, it's a way to repress any guilt she might feel for his actions, by having a passive enabler to confide in and mold in his own image. it's a parasitic arrangement, with both parties upholding it mostly out of a sense of responsibility and an inability to imagine how anything could ever be different, which has led to a great deal of bottled up resentment and self-loathing that's starting to widen the cracks in their already fragile bond. after entering the game, the plan was to have terack force augury to god tier by killing her, leading to augury finally realising that this "friendship" isn't worth the sacrifices she's made to maintain it, and using terack's betrayal as a turning point for her goals and priorities. this results in a feud developing between the two, with augury convinced that, in order to protect everyone else from her, and fulfil her responsibility as his former best friend, she needs to be the one to put terack down (which i realise is very scourge sisters, but whatever lol). obviously this doesn't work out the way she thinks it will, because her god tier ability to divine the most fortuitous path is blinded by betrayal and years of repressed bitterness finally welling up to the surface (which is thematically appropriate, since terack's classpect is thief of mind).

#augury kismet

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priintiisor · 5 days ago

Text

hello,,, i made a guy,,,

look at him. my funny little guy. and his funny little cat

his name is oracle and he has never had a reasonable thought in his life <3

(more lore below)

so the reason this guy exists is i was trying to design a character for a crossover au i have and i came up with this design, and it s not very fitting for that character but i just loved it so much,,,, so now it s this guy. idk i don t make ocs very often it is very strange that this happened. i do love him tho

he doesn t have that much lore currently, other than one day he got bored and decided to live up to his name and become a prophet. he tries to predict everything that s gonna happen in the same way you d predict the weather- i imagine eventually he gets so caught up in trying to perfect his simulations and predictions that he kinda loses track of what s happening around him, by saint s time i imagine he s still alive and well but has no idea everyone else is basically dead. my guy wins by doing nothing (and doesn t even realise it)

i imagine he rarely talks to anyone and ocasionally pops into the local group chat and says the most ominous shit. no one likes him (except me i love him)

this. this is his personality

the scug exists because i think he d write down his prophecies and send them to people (by pearls because he doesn t have time to speak to people he has Very Important Work to do). also because a friend asked me this and i realised it s not in fact common knowledge: an augur is a type of roman prophet/priest, in ancient rome they had this thing called augury which was a way of making prophecies by counting birds. so bird scug of prophecy is named the augur

the only thought behind augur s design is i thought it would look cool. i am yet to decide if they re a baby or just really small for some reason (tho very tiny vulture cat would be silly)

other random notes:

he may be drawn without all the gradients, his funny wing cape is a pain to color, i don t think i ll struggle with it every time i draw him lol

all the metal parts are made out of copper. he s very shiny. also he has beautiful shiny eyelashes. also yes he has claws on his feet for no other reason that i thought it was cool

he has very good initials. woao. what the hell is that

he was not in fact inspired by the prophet from epic the musical. i d think that too but it is in fact just a coincidence

aand that s my funny little guy,,, i love him,,, thank you and goodbye

#rain world #rw oc #rain world oc #printis collection of silly goobers #roman prophet iterator #(that s his tag)#(tho i m pretty sure an oracle is technically a greek prophet?)#(i don t actually know. i m very sorry)#and ofc #vulturecat my beloved

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bellewintersroe · 1 year ago

Text

Carlos Sainz x CelebEx! Reader 18+.

Carlos’ ex, world famous model, actress and, much loved F1 presenter, Lila Maynard bumps into him during the Italian GP and she confronts him about his hypocrisy 🙄🙄 (arguments and ensue and we see how Carlos most definitely makes it up to Lila).

what do you all think of Isa’s tik toks? I’m living for her liking all the shady comments, she’s a queen.

“Tanti auguri a te, tanti auguri a te!” I winced in confusion, recognising the tune of ‘Happy birthday’ being chimed out in Italian. September 1st, there was only one person I knew celebrated on that day and that was my ex boyfriend of six months, Carlos Sainz. Fuck. “Tanti auguri a Carlos, tanti auguri a te!”

“Hip, hip hooray.” I sarcastically muttered to myself, keeping my head down and walking out of the hotel, a wall separating the Carlos frenzy crowd and I. Thank god, my stomach churned just at the thought of catching sight of my ex boyfriend. We had been separated for almost six months, and not spoken in five. Despite working on the grid, interviewing drivers I was strictly able to avoid the Ferrari garages, occasionally I’d go speak with Charles, but it was difficult seeing as Carlos was always nearby, watching me with these puppy eyes that made me want to gauge my eyes out. You see, Carlos seemed to move on pretty quickly with a beautiful model, our two year relationship clearly meaning nothing more than one month to him. Four weeks. That’s all it took, it sickened me to the core. I still had an internalised anger directed towards him, but it was squashed when I stepped out from behind the wall and was suddenly face to face with an innocent looking Carlos.

Hooray…

My breath hitched and out of pure panic, I began with a breathless; “happy-” but I was cut off when a beautiful, tall brunette appeared by Carlos’ side. Carlos looked stunned, mouth open as his eyes were wide staring at me. The girl looked me up and down before staring right back to the Spanish man. She hooked her arm around his protectively. My jaw fell slightly agape and I nudged my chin up in acknowledgement. “-Birthday.” The words fell flat, as did the harsh pounding of my heart. It dropped all the way to the bottom of my stomach as I turned away in a revolted shock.

I strode straight past him, plastering the most fake smile over my face as I waved to people yelling out my name. As soon as I climbed in the back of the car I was a trembling mess. Jesus fucking Christ, that couldn’t have been more awkward. I felt the tears well up as I stared directly down to my cream pants, the camera flashes from out the window capturing me in the most vulnerable moment as I attempted to shield my face, swiping at the tears. Hours later, the images were sprawled all across social media. Images of my head down, tears stained down my cheeks, images of me directly across from Carlos, stood face to face with him and the girl pinned as his new ‘lover’. It wasn’t the same girl as I’d seen all over tik tok, Instagram and Twitter all those months ago. Still, it bothered me. Really bad. It seemed social media was having a frenzy over the cringe worthy interaction, people were trolling Carlos saying it was his ‘birthday canon event’ to bump into me. I truly had no desire to head out that evening, but I knew wallowing in a hotel room on a Friday night would do me no good, so I was two glasses of wine down with three of my friends when I heard a very familiar tune. “Tanti auguri a te…” I groaned, dropping my head onto my arm, rested on the table below. “End my fucking life. Now.” I muttered.

“Oh, Lila.” Taylor sighed, twisting a strand of my hair. Listening to what seemed to be the whole bar singing happy birthday to my ex boyfriend was the final straw for me, I took off early. But not before I took one final trip to the toilet.

On my way out, I audibly sighed at the heavy feeling lingering over my chest. When would this ever end? I pushed my lipgloss and phone back into my bag as I stepped out from around the corner. I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped directly into another body.

“Oh, fuck!” I blinked a few times, stepping back. “I’m so sorry-” my apology fell flat when I looked up and caught sight of the stranger- stranger.

“I- wanted to talk to you…” two pairs of familiar hands were on my shoulders, easing me as my stomach filled with nerves instantaneously. It was Carlos. He must’ve heard the way my breath hitched, his hands slowly dropping as we just stared back to one another.

“Talk to me?” I swallowed, “in the girls bathroom?”

“Actually… here is fine, Lila.” My eyes fluttered shut as I pitched the bridge of my nose momentarily. “I- look, happy birthday and well done in practice and all, but- I-I really don’t want to do this Carlos.” I admitted as he swallowed harshly. The first thing that gave away he was nervous.

“I just wanted to say sorry from earlier.” The Spanish man muttered. I avoided looking at him, if I stared for too long I’d fall in love or a deep hatred all over again for him. Maybe both. I didn’t want to know how his hair was longer, or his smile didn’t blossom so big anymore- the small details like scars, freckles, things that would all come back to me if I looked at him a little too long.

“Why? What-what about earlier?” I stammered.

“I saw you upset. I don’t want to make you upset.” My jaw tensed as I stared down to the floor below. “I- can you look at me?” He attempted to reach forwards, but I took a whole step back.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, Carlos. I can’t.” I responded firmly. “You can’t look at me?” He sounded hurt now, exactly how I’d been feeling all day. For the past six months in fact. Maybe I was being irrational, but it didn’t bother me to care, I felt so humiliated and betrayed by this man, worst of all I still loved him. If I looked back at him I know I’d break down.

“Please.” He lowered his voice, stepping ever so slightly forwards as I felt my eyes prick, my teeth grinding down on a certain point of my cheek to prevent any from falling. “Let me explain, Lila, everything.” His voice was on edge, cracking with each word. There went the tears. I blinked up, rolling my eyes at my pathetic ability to hold any tears away. I wiped at the one that fell quickly. He looked taken back, saddened, just as he was about to reach forwards to console me, I thought, fuck it, what’s the point in holding back now? “Explain what? How you moved on after four fucking weeks Carlos? Or-or why you’re talking to me when your fucking girlfriend is sat in there.” My hand gestured as I spoke harshly. I stared directly back to him, he was shaking his head in rejection of my words and it fired me up almost instantly. “No-”

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it. I saw everything, all the models, all the yachts, were you spiteful of me?? For making the decision to end something that wasn’t fucking leading anywhere?” Maybe that wasn’t so correct, but in my blinded rage I didn’t care, I wanted my words to be as harsh as possible. I wanted to cause maximum disruption the way he’d caused me. Maybe that was the wine talking… or maybe it wasn’t… “No, no.” He shook his head, the frustration growing on his face. “We are not doing this here, bebé.” The accidental pet name flew a dagger directly into my chest, twisting and snagging on my heart the longer I stared back to him.

“I’m not your-” I cut myself off seeing another, oddly familiar face walking around the corner. I was sure she was extremely familiar to Carlos too.

“Carlos… what’s going on?” The English girl questioned, she eyed back to me and in that moment I felt uncomfortably sorrowful for her. She hadn’t exactly done anything wrong.

“I’m just… sorting some things out, I’m sorry, you should go.” He muttered as I cringed for the girl, my stomach churning at the rejection. Although it was deep down what I wanted, that was an extremely spiteful thought of me.

“Okay.” She awkwardly spoke, eyeing me up once more. “I am sorry.” Carlos muttered. “Um… it’s fine.” The poor girl paused for a couple more seconds, obviously contemplating what the hell had just happened. I could only stare at the wall in complete awkwardness, questioning how this could possibly get any worse? Part of me just wanted to walk away, the other part of me physically and emotionally couldn’t. Carlos let out a deep sigh once she’s headed around the corner, away from the two of us. “I had only met her twice.” He spoke, much calmer now. “That was mean.” “I know..” he quietly spoke as a silence took over us when a few more people walked past to go into the toilets.

“Was that who I thought it was?” One girl muttered to her friend, her voice echoing down the hallway. “Should we ask for a picture?”

“Lila, please. Can we go somewhere quieter.” Carlos asked at the perfect time. Hearing the girls turning around I or back up to him, desperate to avoid the eyes of onlooker that could spread dreaded tales around social media. Carlos took me to an empty room upstairs, nobody was there, no staff, nothing. He locked the huge wooden door behind us both as I awkwardly lingered by a table. It must’ve been some kind of function room, a small one that wasn’t in use. I was positive we weren’t allowed up here, but from the looks of things, nobody noticed, and the cameras were all pulled from their hinges, hanging off wires sadly. “I had only met her twice.” Carlos repeated his words from downstairs. I leant back on a table as he stood in front of me, pacing slightly. “And your girlfriend on the yacht?” I stared to the ground below. You could feel the vibrations from the music, and as the clock was striking 9 I slowly lost any desire to be in here.

“Not my girlfriend.” He shook his head. “I needed a- distraction.” He fumbled over his English slightly as my heart swelled. I dragged my nails slightly over the skin in a bid to rid the warm feeling.

“Estaba enojado.” (I was angry). His voice sounded more deflated as he stood still, picking the wood of the table below. “Why?” My voice borderline whispered. “Because…” he began in English again but his voice came to an abrupt stop. “Porque pensé que ya no me amabas.” (Because I thought you did not love me anymore).

It took me a couple seconds to piece the Spanish together. “What does that-” I froze, head tilting up to him. “You didn’t think I loved you anymore?”

Carlos shook his head, tensing his jaw as he stared down to the table below. “So-so you wanted to back at me?” My voice lowered, the anger sizzling out of my body. The thought of him believing I didn’t love him hurt. It made me feel sorrowful, remorseful, and for the first time, understanding of why he did what he did.

Carlos now nodded with a yes and I pushed myself to stand up straighter, so we were a little closer. “I always loved you. I still do.” I watched his movements stop at my admission.

“That’s why it just hurt so bad to- to see them in my place after four weeks.”

“It was 3.” He then commented as I froze again. “3 weeks. If we are being honest.”

A dizziness ran through me, a sickness like no other as I stared back to him now, bottom lip trembling.

“Me convierte en una mala persona.” “Stop with the Spanish, I don’t understand.” My voice trembled as his head snapped up. He always spoke Spanish as a safety barrier, so I couldn’t exactly always tell what he was opening up about, especially when he was nervous. “It makes me a bad person, Lila.” He reached out, smoothing a hand over my cheek. I shook my head as a ‘no’ but he had already began nodding. “Yes.”

I nudged his hand away, my head dropping as I let out as light sob. “No, no, no.” He panicked, “ven aquí.” (Come here). Carlos pulled me into his chest as I attempted to hold back the cries I wanted so desperately to let out.

“No, no, no.” He muttered again, rubbing up and down my bare arm as I took a deep breath, wiping under my eyes carefully. “They didn’t come close.” Carlos then spoke. “They didn’t come close to you. I love you, and always you.” His words festered something deep inside of me, a feeling that I couldn’t control. It was the exact same warmth and comfort I felt around him, the way our soul’s felt connected- it was an irreplaceable feeling to say the least.

“Carlos.” I whispered, turning up as he began using his thumbs to swipe away my tears. “I hate you.” I whispered, the words lacking any sense or meaning as he sadly smiled, running a hand down my hair. “I know.”

“I really hate you.” I pathetically spoke, both his hands holding either side of my face. He looked mesmerised, strands of hair was brushed over my face, his mouth was agape as we both stepped closer.

“I know.” Carlos muttered even quieter, his head dropping as my eyes fell onto his lips. On my toes, I met him half way. I love you… I didn’t know what was happening in that moment, but it was like we automatically met half way, our lips landing on one another’s in a hungry kiss. Our teeth clashed dramatically, body’s bouncing against the tables and chairs behind us, all without breaking apart the kiss.

My hands pulled him closer, desperate to feel him, all of him. One of his hands firmly held the back of my head, the other pulled my waist into his, forcing our bodies tightly together. A desperation inside me mixed with how heated the kiss was had my hands flying towards his belt. “Please. Carlos, please.” I whispered, giving into all attempts of putting a barrier up. I needed him, and he needed me. He let out a slight moan of agreement, refusing to the break the kiss.

I began undoing his belt swiftly, feeling his hands tug up on the short dress I wore as he fell to his knees. My hands disconnected from his belt and held onto the table behind me for stability. My breathing was heavy and laboured, and I couldn’t even think straight as he yanked my underwear down, not even getting them fully off my legs before his mouth attached to my pussy.

“Oh- fuck.” I gasped, eyes rolling back at the pleasurable sensation. His tongue was warm and wet against my core, his fingers tightened around my hips, yanking them up onto the table once he’d freed me from my underwear. I didn’t bother being quiet, the music downstairs would drown out my moans, and I was pretty sure nobody would venture up here anyway.

“Carlos.” I gasped, my fingers tugging on the ends of his long hair, the familiarity driving me insane as I dropped my head back, riding his mouth as he slurped and licked, groaning against my pussy as he pushed his mouth deeper, sucking and nipping.

I let out a cry of pleasure, tugging harshly at his locks until he let out a moan at the pain, breaking apart. He stared at me for a second, a look of complete shock in his eyes. There was a second just of our heavy breathing before he moved back in, pushing my thighs further apart, biting at my flesh, kissing and licking.

“Please.” I begged for nothing in particular. “Please, please.” My head fell up to the wooden roof, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt him move up, the sound of his belt fully unbuckling stirred me again, Carlos tucked his hand, engulfing the back of my head and pushing his forehead against my own.

“Nadie comparado contigo.” (Nobody compared to you). I moaned at the familiarity of his words, feeling the tip of his cock push against my entrance.

“Te amo. te amo.” (I love you. I love you). Carlos filled me up, wiping at the tear stains on my cheeks, lips pressed against to my forehead as his hot breath fanned against my skin. I shuddered at the fullness he made me feel, fingers snatching at the smooth of his shirt, bunching it up as it untucked from his pants below. I kissed him tenderly, feeling the thrusts of his hips begin. Carlos moved closer, nudging his face up against the side of mine, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. With each moan and breath he took, it heightened my own pleasure.

Our breaths and pants mixed together, the table squeaked and scraped on the floor below, Carlos slammed a hand down, groaning as he bit into my shoulder, pushing down the spaghetti straps as I freed my breasts, allowing him to grab a handful. His eyes roamed over my face, my eyes, lips, breasts, where he fucked into me, he was beginning to sweat, moving constantly between kissing me and pulling back to thrust into me faster, harder. I was in intense bliss, my pussy tightened and clenched constantly, with each tension Carlos would groan, gripping onto my arm tighter as he fucked harder into me.

“Fuck me, Carlos- oh my- god!” I whined, hearing him moan properly, his legs hitting against the table causing it to screech harder against the floor. We were loud, animalistic, soon enough, Carlos had spun me around and fucked into me from behind as I grasped onto the table for support.

The press of his cock constantly slamming against my g spot made me yell out in pleasure, breathing harshly. “Quiero que te corras para mi.” He dirty talked, arching over my body to press against my own. His fingers slotted under me, rubbing over my aching clit as I bucked my hips wildly back into his.

“Please, please, Lila.” He begged as I choked out a moan, my eyes screwing tightly shut. He was fucking harshly into me, skin slapping against my own as one of his hand trembled against my shoulder, gripping my harshly. Something about his begs and groans had the knot in my stomach tightening harsher than ever. His fingers worked against my clit, faster and faster as I gasped out loud.

“Oh fuck- Carlos-” I borderline slurred, crying out as I dropped a hand over his fingers, feeling one of his curling over mine. My legs were shaking and I felt paralysed with tension as it took one more thrust before I was tipping over the edge, crying and moaning out, gasping and pleading his name as I came undone, my orgasm paralysing my whole body. My pussy throbbed, his thrusts continuing as Carlos’ groaned became louder. “Cum inside me, I want you inside of me.” I choked out, coming down from my overwhelming orgasm. Carlos’ hand slapped against my ass, gripping me closer as he slammed his hips into mine before letting out a loud growl and unloading his seed inside of me. High on his orgasm, Carlos fell on top of me, panting and moaning as he slowly bucked his hips through the pleasure. I was a gasping, sweating mess, my eyes closed as I rested on my hand which was flat to the table, letting out one last coo of a moan feeling Carlos’ lips press to my upper back.

We remained in that position for a few more moments before my legs began to tremble with the ache of half kneeling on the table, the other supporting me with the tip of my toe touching the floor. My heel had falling off during the love making, so when I stepped down I fell straight onto the cold of my feet. Carlos shifted, lifting his body off me as I turned around, standing up as I brushed my hair down. I couldn’t believe what had just happened, there was an element of shock to the whole situation, it all happened so fast. I bit down on my lip, watching him tug his boxers back over himself and his jeans back up, zipping and doing the button. He paused before he did his belt, glancing back up to me. Carlos reached out, smoothing my hair down on one side with a soft smile. I offered one back, pulling my dress straps back over my shoulders.

Carlos’s eyes dropped to my ribcage before I covered myself with my dress. “New tattoo?” He poked at the skin, “Mmmh. A couple months ago.” I shyly spoke, giggling when he eyed up my breasts slightly.

“Don’t.” I quietly spoke, but it didn’t have much authority behind it. “I have seen it all before.” He turned his head away when I asked him to, fastening his belt.

“Still.” My lips were crooked as I awkwardly searched for my underwear, feeling his seed spill out of me as I grimaced. “Here.” Carlos smiled, handed me the black fabric over, holding it out on his palm when he retrieved it from the floor. Embarrassed, I swiped it from his hold, pulling them on quickly as they caught the liquid that was beginning to seep out of me. I cringed, uncomfortable with the sensation as Carlos let out a small laugh, tucking his shirt back into his pants.

I glanced up, smiling shyly before looking around the room a little awkwardly. “¿Estás bien?” (Are you okay?). “Sí.” I giggled as he let out a closed mouth exhale of laughter, buttoning up his shirt which had popped open previously.

“Are you?”

“Sí.” He nodded, sighing and glancing back to me. “I don’t really hate you.” I muttered after glancing over his face. Carlos hummed in laughter in response, reaching out and swiping his thumbs under my eye. The gentle movement made my heart flutter as I couldn’t help but properly gaze over his face, disbelief setting in as I watched back to my ex boyfriend.

“I don’t.” I shrugged, feeling swipe what must’ve been fallen mascara. His hand rested on my cheek, moving in to kiss me softly as I felt myself swooning even harder. “Will you come with me tomorrow- ah with me to qualifying?” The Spanish man asked.

I felt my chest tighten, I reached out to soften the crease in his white shirt. “You want me to?”

“I want you to.” Carlos seriously nodded as I nodded. “Okay.” I whispered. He smiled again, taking me by the hand and easing me forwards, unlocking the door we locked. We didn’t really acknowledge the fact we’d just fucked like rabbits in such a public area, the two of us escaped the bar, giggling and ignoring the paparazzi. “You come out here with one girl and leave with another.” I kicked his foot, resting my hand over his thigh.

“Don’t say that.” He very quickly spoke, clearly looking a little awkward as we shared a laugh. I leant forwards, kissing his cheek. “Happy birthday, Carlos….”

The whole ‘ex boyfriend’ didn’t last too much longer after that, it was clear to say hooking up in a run down, attic bar magically solved something between Carlos and I…

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz jr smut

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evvvangeline44 · 4 months ago

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memento mori - remember to die

my jegulus fic with seer regulus

⋆｡°✩⋆⋆𖤓

Prophet boy, who speaks in tongues of auguries chosen by the sun, blood made divine and eyes made of moon dances in hand with death Star boy, falls to the sea who born from water emerges once more will find the dark lords secret seven times anew or stand at his side as a servant renewed Lion boy, water filled lungs and sun kissed wings will turn the war faction unfixed will look to the sun for dark and the light both call for the little king the child of the moon will learn to burn... Icarus landed in the sea when he fell. Helios kissed his wings with sun-soaked lips and burnt him into a legend.

link on ao3

#jegulus #marauders #slytherin skittles #marauders fanfiction #jegulus fic recs #james potter #regulus black #black brothers #dead gay wizards #wolfstar #rosekiller #fanfic rec #regulus lives!

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the-auguer · 6 months ago

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I feel like I should apologize in advance for the upcoming chapters of my DWBD AU cus I realized Mammon’s your favorite but I often write him as a big meanie in that AU 😅😅😅

NO WAY!!! Don’t ever apologize for it! Mammon is my babygirl and my fav, but he’s also a mean little shit. It’s almost a game to me to read him being so mean, I find it so funny and fun. I wrote about your replaced!mc au, but I’ve also thought really hard about writing about how Mammon dangled your dwbd!mc off a roof.

I think that Mammon’s nastier side DOES exist and it’s always really interesting when creators explore it bc for the most part creators don’t really. He’s rude, he’s obnoxious, he’s an ass. All of these traits coincide with him being the sweetest loser in existence.

Also, him being mean to dwbd!mc just paved the way for angst in the future, and I love some good angst 👹👹👹

#NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR YOUR AWESOME WRITING!!#sometimes I’ll just… go through your blog and read it all again…#also I love your dwbd au #augury speaks

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x-blue-spring-x · 2 months ago

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If requested are still available - nanami who has a crush on you but you're with auguri 👉👈

Hi bestie!

Love this idea, not sure who you’re referring to as boyfriend so we’ve made him just some guy, that Kento can’t stand lmao.

Kento watches the light play across the glazed windows of the small soba restaurant he’s sitting in, half a bowl of noodles and an empty cup of water sat before him. You’d texted to say you were running late, but that was nearly forty minutes ago and tired of waiting with his stomach rumbling, he’d caved and ordered something to fill the void.

Frankly anything at this point to kill time would be accepted, whatever it takes to distract his thoughts from returning over and over to the one thing he can’t hold in his broad palms.

You.

Kento doesn’t consider himself highly strung or prone to lovesickness. If anything he’s cool and collected, dominated by logic rather than letting his heart lead. It’s that same sensible outlook that keeps reminding him it’s hopeless, he’s hanging on to something that’s a lost cause. But no matter how many times he tries to rationally dismiss his feelings, they remain omnipresent, an ever changing pang lodged deep in his mind which fans the flames of sweet longing.

Frequently his inner eye wanders to you, the way you look when you smile at him from the corner of your eyes, the sound of your laugh echoing in the corners of his apartment as he tries to catch a few moments peace. You brushed his hand incidentally late one evening, discussing plans for a new method of exorcism based on the combination of your cursed techniques, and Kento felt a sense of calm unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

It was so natural for you to touch him, utterly perfect like the pieces of a moving puzzle slotting neatly into place. You’d been sat close to his broad shoulder, the smell of your perfume impressed on the cuffs of his shirt. Kento still hasn’t washed it clean and he knows that’s strange. He just can’t bear to remove the memory of that moment, the vision of your face alight with excitement as you told him your ideas.

Partners of a kind, workmates even though Kento would rather be far more than that. You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure, he knows this and yet still it becomes harder and harder to conceal just how much you mean to him. Each interaction with you is treasured, savoured like a delicious meal, though he always ends up hollow and alone when you go back to him.

Him. Your boyfriend.

A man thoroughly unworthy of the gift you represent to the world. The one that makes you come into work with red eyes and distraction evident in your face because you’ve been fighting with him. Kento can’t think what there would be to disagree on with you, anything you asked of him he would give, but then again perhaps this boyfriend isn’t up to the task.

Kento holds others to a high standard, that’s how he knows you’re the real deal. No one else could ever or would ever capture his attention in the way that you have. Occasionally he becomes sloppy, going above and beyond to keep you safe during missions or letting himself find opportunities to speak with you, though there’s nothing that pressing to discuss.

He nauseates himself with it, this stupid adolescent style crush. However you deserve so much more than your boyfriend could ever give you. Kento knows if he ever was lucky enough to hold you, kiss you or even have you in his bed for a night, it would be impossible to go back to a life without the feeling of your body next to his. You’re a curse all of your own, an acute poison there is no antidote for.

Kento checks his phone, there’s a message from you apologising. Explaining that somethings come up and you’re skipping dinner. It has an argument with your boyfriend written all over it, between the lines of your polite little text. Kento clenches his fist so hard the plastic of his mobile pops, the screens backlight fluttering as if butterflies have sprung into life across it.

“Get ahold of yourself.” He murmurs under his breath, dropping cash on the table for the noodles and heading home without looking back. Easier said than done, it’s been months of this and every time you choose that man over him it’s back to square one.

Once inside his warm apartment, Kento heads to the shower, like the water will cleanse him of the unprofessional thoughts coursing through his bloodstream, making his pulse pound in ears and his cock twitch in his slacks. Your body so pliant against his, a tie binding your wrists carefully so you can’t escape the flicks of his tongue against your pretty clit. He’d tease you, build your desire into something life changing, so when you came you’d never want any other man. Kento’s never seen you naked, but he knows the sight would be burned onto his retinas in only the way seeing a goddess in the flesh has the power to do.

Kento rests his head against the cool shower tiles, breathing hard, trying to stay anchored in reality and not drowned in the image of your body riding his.

Abandoned somewhere on a counter, his phone glows.

Two missed calls from you.

I wanna snuggle him omg 🥲

#x-blue-spring-x #jujutsu kaisen #jjk Kento Nanami #nanami kento x you #kento nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento x reader #Kento Nanami x you

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wanderingmind867 · 3 months ago

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Honestly, Octavian feels relatable. In his own way, he's really relatable. The implication from hazel that he has no friends that he didn't bribe into being his friend… that hurts. I don't know if it's nearly as depressing as me (a person who's turning 20 in February with no friends besides my dad), but it's probably pretty close.

Also, Octavian clearly has hyperfixations on roman history and on prophecies and auguries. He's clearly passionate about what he does, he took the earliest opportunity when percy meets him to begin discussing his famous namesake, the great Gaius Octavius, Augustus Caesar. He's just relatable. Way Moreso than Luke was. I can actually see elements of myself in Octavian, the same way I can see elements of myself in characters like Leo, Tyson, Piper, Nico, Grover, etc.

Speaking of roman history, Augustus Caesar lived to be an old man. Octavian dies when he's like 18 or 19, max. If that isn't irony of the worst sort, i don't know what is. Poor Octavian deserved better and Luke deserved worse. If Luke at least got redemption in death, Octavian should've gotten the same treatment.

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lady-quen · 22 days ago

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My brain is rotating the idea of Numen being revered as one of the Spirits of the Wild, under the guise of "The Cuckoo Spirit" whose aspect is Guidance. Naturally, nobody knows their name nor the fact they're actually a child of Jormag - it's merely their benevolent influence that is recognized by the norn, and the Cuckoo becomes one of the patron spirits of augury.

However, the worship of Cuckoo isn't as widespread as they prefer to act from the shadows, never directly speaking to mortals due to the fact they're asleep. A presence even more cryptic than Raven - acting in a similar manner, but where Raven guides his followers through trickery and pragmatism, Cuckoo's guidance is related to helping the lost find their way home, directing people towards lost objects or estranged relatives, or simply providing aid in finding one's way to one's dreams. It's also notable that they tend to be more reluctant to help those with ill intentions, as their purpose is not to guide the hand of those who would destroy what they find.

Only Eagle, Owl, Ox and Wolverine are aware that the elusive Cuckoo, though the eldest of them all, is not a real Spirit and is actually the creature known as Numen, the scion of Jormag - aiding mortals for seemingly inscrutable reasons.

In a sense, the dreaming dragon's influence is well befitting of a cuckoo which infiltrates societies and beliefs like creeping fog - and as befits a creature such as them, some have to disappear so they may once again walk the earth.

#About the Scion #Numen #gw2 oc

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when42-0fallasleep · 2 months ago

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Okay im bacc and this is a mafia AU

Puffs are sisters by bond, grew up together in a shelter of Prof. U before being adopted into different family but still keep the bond then rented the same house after high school. Ruffs are bio triplets of a mob family.

Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup are nicknames they were given at the shelter. The trio still call each other by that name and ppl that are close to them call them that too.

Bloss was named Rosalia bc she was adopted by a Spanish family. Bubbs was named Charlotte. BC was named Auguri (her adopted family was Italian). Thats how Bloss learned Spanish and BC learned Italian. Bloss then also learned French, and BC learned German. Bubbs speaks all of the languages above, being the language genius she is.

They usually teach each others thing. Blossom taught others how to defense one's self with words. Bubbles taught others how to fix some stuffs. BC taught others how to use a riffle and a gun (she was adopted by hunters so she knows how).

Blossom is a law student. She used to be the all that American citizen type but she grew out of it. She still keeps her interest in law so she choose this department. Shes smart but shes not good at emotions and room reading.

Blossom meets Brick everyday in her class. The guy teases her (read: pisses her off) on a daily basis and they usually compete in lectures. Brick actually likes to do that because "she looks like a boiled octopus when shes mad (and thats cute)"

Bubbles is studying to be a tailor. She sometimes design her own stuff but since she dont rlly have the money to make them, she decided to work and study at the same time for it. She is cheerful (obiviously) but she quite the type to keep for herself.

Boomer is one of Bubbles's customer and comes to the shop quite often bc he felt in love with the girl at first sight so he comes to hang out (read: to flirt w Bubbs). The shop's owner is under his dads' influence (not that the employees know abt this) but they dont mind him much bc they used to be the triplets' babysitter.

BC studies cuisine. She usually brings home the food she cooked in class for meals. Girl takes no shit from other and is totes blunt. Shes lowkey headstrong too. She hits the gym and does boxing smt.

BC and Butch are friends at the gym and drinking buddies (and smt fwbs). They usually fight at the ring in the gym to relieve their own stress then hang out (read: drinking) later. BC has a key to Butch's apartment (read: hide out).

The 1st to know abt the shady shit is BC since one time she and Butch got to bar together and some gang around hate the guys face so they decided to, well, gang up the two.

BC was like "bitch I know ur shady af but damn okay wtf" but they dont have much talking time then so Butch just, "put ur boxing glove on bestie we have stress relief outta the gym now" then proceeding to punch ppl.

BC gave him an earful later when they got to Butch's hide out. Butch don't explain much but BC takes it since she knew Butch was being honest to her. Then the guy said "yknow what I actually was gonna ask u out but they saw us together so I'm pretty sure that they think that we're an item now lmao so will u date me?" BC said okay but she smacked him anw.

The 2nd to know was Blossom, a month or two after BC and Butch started dating. They were randomly paired up again so they had to work together, but turned out to just bickering as usual since 1st day working for the task. They met up at a restaurant (that Brick chose) and then some gang pulled up there and scaring ppl off.

Brick decided to lay low at first bc Blossom told up she will sneak a call to the police, but then she was caught. Brick then yelled "fuck this" and proceed on beating ppl. Blossom actually had to stop him from killing someone.

Gang lead realised Brick and yelled to him and spilled out Brick's identity as mob leads' son so Brick punched the guy again. Brick was glad that the restaurant was under his dads' influence and theres no one but him and owner of the place there but then gang lead said "were sorry that were interrupted u and ur girl, pls forgive us!" Then Brick realised, ah fuck, Blossom was still here.

Blossom was there, stunned, and suddenly Brick remembered thats shes here so he was like, "fuck okay, listen, just, don't spill this out." They agreed to never talk abt this incident again. Brick explained to her that yes his dads are mob boss (true), he thinks this life is tiring (true) and he doesnt rlly wanna do this (false). Blossom dont rlly believe that but she knows she shouldnt dig any deeper.

The last one to find out was Bubbs. Unlike her other two sisters, she was kidnapped on her way home. Blossom was staying at school studying. BC got home first, surprised that Bubbs isnt home (normally Bubbs is the 1st to reach there). Her instinct thought that the polices would hold this for too long and Bubbs would be harmed by then, so she called Butch.

Boomer overheard BC's voice on Butch's phone saying, "i need help, i think someone took my sister Bubbles" so he insisted on going w him. Butch be like, "okay, fine?" but did not question more.

BC then met Boomer for the 1st time. She was abt to discuss w them abt the situation but Boomer was like, i know where she works, i frequent that shop. BC raised an eyebrow at that. They did, successfully rescured Bubbs from a gang of human traf.fickers. Bubbs was surprised that Boomer was there, with her sister at that. BC explained everything to her, and said, "well i was hoping for a better scenario to let my bf meet you, but it is what is it i guess" and Bubbs giggled at that.

BC also warned Boomer, "if you lay a single finger on my baby sister's hair, know that i dont give a single fuck abt ur background, blondie, and unlike my other sister, i dont hesitate on dirty my own hands." Boomer rapidly nodded, and Butch whistled at that. Then Boomer realised, "wait, how do you know i like ur sis?" and BC was like, srly? and looked at him dead in the eye, "i saw the way u look at my sis. Im not blind, and the sole fact that ur came to the rescue like a fucking prince charming when ur only heard her name says all."

After the incident, Boomer started to go to the gym that BC and Butch frequent, bc he wanna ask BC how to woo Bubbs. BC usually laughed at how cute that is, and Butch was like, "oh my god my lil bro has grown up" which Boomer grossed out, "eww get ur stinky bloody shit away, bitch"

But it takes Boomer quite long to get from BC that he should find a way to encourage her dream, but do not interfere too much since Bubbs hates ppl underestimate her altho she doesnt say that out. From then Boomer invites BC to their personal gym, and BC was like, why not?

(Welp i havent got any other ides yet (for now lmao) so i gotta end this here)

#ppg #butchercup #boomubbles #blossick #que sera sera au

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