#it’s something he’s used to. or perhaps it’s something he’s experienced when he’s tried to pry megumi for answers

[its-haughty]

ain’t no goddamn way this man should be in a long term relationship. especially with Shin. that is a Recipe for disaster…

and so that’s why they r perfect

[abbotty]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

jack abbot

☆ these walls have eyes | @asxgard

rumors always start somewhere - and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and myrna overhearing you.

☆ no man's land | @butyoudidthis4what

there's a shooting where you work. jack is at the ed when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

☆ edge of the dark | @thepencilnerd

what starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer - until the only place it makes sense is in the dark.

☆ this city doesn't forget | @abbotjack

you weren't supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury.

☆ you, me, and the empty space between us | @mercvry-glow

jack abbot talks the reader off of the ledge.

☆ just a walk-in | @abbotsanatomy

jack's worst nightmare is you ending up in his er.

☆ bar fight | @tedmustache

a rough night leads the reader to the er, and jack's only priority is making sure she's okay.

☆ coffee swap | @tedmustache

it starts with coffee. then it becomes something more.

☆ safe and sound | @science-hoes

a stormy night in pittsburgh causes jack abbot to fall into a ptsd-induced psychosis episode, and the reader does everything in her power to bring them back.

☆ you say that like you care | @frombookstoretobookstore

after reader takes a punch to the face, abbot's emotions flare as he realizes he might care a little too much.

☆ overactive empathy | @lol-im-done

will a traumatic event force jack and the reader to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?

☆ first thing | @stellamarielu

lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations.

☆ who you let in | @eddiesfaerie

jack has a soft spot. he didn't expect you to be the one to find it.

☆ you shouldn't be (down here with me) | @youvebeenlivingfictional

when you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. jack has always recognized parts of himself in you - he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.

☆ love me hard love me soft | @mercvry-glow

jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.

☆ stop making this hurt | @mercvry-glow

you knew jack didn't want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

☆ valkyries and betting pools | @nocapesdahling

one of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what's going on with you and dr. abbot. meanwhile, you just want to figure out if the man you've had a crush on for months likes you back.

☆ someone new | @quickestgold

after witnessing the fallout from jack's failed marriage, dana and robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. but when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of jack's feelings, their perspectives shift.

☆ don't make me someone you can't have | @abbotjack

the fallout didn't start the day of pitt fest - it started when you told jack abbot how you felt and he told you he didn't want you.

☆ say it first | @quickestgold

jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. but when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren't fought on the field or in the chaos of the er, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

michael 'robby' robinavitch

☆ companionship | @asxgard

he’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. you’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. all in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. it’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.

☆ lead the way | @traumaone

after over a year of pining over robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. robby comes to the rescue.

☆ booked for one | @abbotjack

a black tie charity gala in chicago. one bed. months of tension. and a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

☆ glasses be damned | @thepencilnerd

lazy sunday mornings. you in his shirt. him wearing - glasses? what could be better?

☆ drunk confessions | @thepencilnerd

you're out drinking with your colleagues. robby's not there - until he is.

☆ sticky-notes and leftovers | @thepencilnerd

a glimpse into your daily notions with robby after moving in.

☆ sweet nothings | @thebestandworstdayofjune

you own a bakery down the street from ptmh, and dr. robby is one of your favorite customers.

☆ peace | @xximperioxx

the reader comforts robby after a hard shift (she talks him off the ledge).

☆ work crush | @xximperioxx

the reader has a crush on robby. spoiler alert: it's reciprocated.

☆ doctor's orders | @tedmustache

when one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface.

☆ the right moment is you | @cherriready

robby didn't mean to propose today. not during a long shift, not without a plan, and definitely not in front of the er. but when he saw her, he saw the rest of his life. no speeches. no perfect moment. just her. always her.

☆ stitched together | @hauntedhowlett-writes

after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

Part 2

“I hadn’t meant to hide this from you Rhysand,” Helion’s usual warm tone was replaced with something sterner, bolder— unwavering.

A breeze pulled on your skirt, the floaty material rippling under the wind. It was always warm in Day, but now, with the appearance of uninvited guests, there was a coldness in the air you hadn’t experienced before.

A bite that pulled at your skin raising goosebumps across your arms.

You guessed this reaction wasn’t a rare occurrence when facing the Night Courts Inner Circle.

Helion shifted his weight, his body stood in front of yours in a protective manner. A nervousness emitted from his energy, an emotion that actually seemed strange to even be associated with him. 

Helion wasn’t the nervous type. Charming and flirtatious, bold and defiant— not nervous.

Helion pushed his shoulders back, his stance flexing against the shadowy group that had just arrived. 

They had shaken him. 

Perhaps you were naive to think these people wouldn’t, naive to believe you could live your life quietly. Slip through the cracks. Go unnoticed. No you were not destined for that, as much as your dear friend may have wanted that for you.

So if a quiet life was not meant to be, then you would at least claim it as yours. 

With a light step you moved from behind Helion to his side, coming into full view of the group who had appeared unannounced in the courtyard. Your hand came to Helion’s gently, giving him a soft squeeze and light smile that stretched to your eyes.

How they had gotten through Day Courts shields didn’t come as a surprise really. Helion had divulged how powerful the High Lord of the Night Court was. That if he really wanted to take them all down, then Helion suspected in that unrelenting pit of power Rhys probably could.

But despite this power, Rhys had never ravaged control over the land. Helion was fond of Rhys and his family, they were allies. Perhaps he would even consider them friendly.

And yet Helion hadn’t told them about you.

Energies and rhythms rippling from their bodies, all with their own melody of colours unique to them floated toward you. Your eyes scanned over their features quickly, reading their expressions, the tight lines their faces made before one look pulled you to a hasty stop.

A hazel lock held you tightly as a males gaze ensnared you. 

Golden rays broke through a midnight blue aura, trapping you in a moment that seemed to expand and retract all at once. He was the most beautiful male you’d ever laid eyes on, and it took every ounce of will power to pull your gaze from his.

There was a simmering at the pit of your stomach, something familiar and warm, and you swore you could hear singing—

“She is like us.” A girl from the back of the crowd spoke, beautiful and sweet. Elain, you assumed. Her aura, one that resembled sunlight radiating in golden flicks. If you hadn’t known who she was you’d had assumed she was a Day court resident from her glow alone.

Elain stepped forward, another girl stepping beside her as if they’d both been pulled by the same magnetic pulse to the front of the group.

This girl. This girl was Nesta. You were sure of it. That silver flickering aura licked at her skin, an energy so similar and yet so different to her sisters.

“Hm..no not exactly like us…” Elain seemed to mutter, more to herself than anyone else. Her eyes scanning you as she tried to get a read, try and decipher what had pulled her here in the first place. 

Why you had pulled them here.

“Something other.” Nesta spoke.

You don’t think she’d actually intended for it to sound so venomous, but the words had snapped like poison. You noticed how for a split second there was a softeness in her energy. Whether she was regretful of her tone or not, you had flinched at the word.

Other.

Hm. Perhaps that was the best way to describe you.

Elain glanced at her sister, her face not changing as she digested Nesta’s words. There was a shuffling behind them, only slight and small. Would barely be noticeable if it wasn’t so hard for you not to notice.

Him.

His scarred fingers twitched at his sides, shadows swirling around them as they peered over those giant black membranes that were drawn in at his back. A tattoo creeped up the side of his neck, peeking through his shirt as you followed up to his jaw. Black leather’s covered his body, blue siphons shimmering under the setting sun. You tried so hard not to let your eyes wander back, but as though you had no control you gaze landed on his again. 

Only to find he was already staring.

Azriel.

Helion had mentioned him to you before and you recalled how you had rolled the name a few times in your mouth. The name feeling so foreign and familiar all at once.

“Not cauldron-made, no not quite.” Elain had turned her attention back to you.

You had stepped forward now, stepped out from the shadow of Helion.

Stepped out to face what you had been avoiding. 

“You are Cauldron-born.” 

✵

“Would you like to join us for some tea?” Your response had been after Elain’s heavy statement.

Your words coming out in a flurry to cut through the heaviness in the air. Despite being outside it felt stifling. Several eyes piercing into you. You could almost hear the way they were trying to decipher you— breakdown what Elain had said. 

You hadn’t allowed them the time. Quickly offering them tea, as you glanced at the small set up you and Helion had come to the courtyard to enjoy.

It was only a matter of moments before more furniture was erected and began the awkward silence while the piping pot of tea began to simmer to a cool.

Your hands were scrunched up in your skirt, fists full of fabric on your lap being an obvious tell of unease to those who knew what to look for. A strained smile was forced to your lips, expression light and brows arched in apprehension as you watched the uninvited guests silently take sips of tea. 

With a quick sideways glance you gave Helion a nervous smile, your lips wobbling as you took a sharp inhale. Helion responded with a gentle pat of your head, his large hand coming to ruffle your hair while a lazy smiled adorned his lips.

His energy finally shifting to one you recognised more, warm and teasing. He was relaxed again. Whatever shock the inner circle had originally caused, Helion now seemed...somewhat nonchalant.

That should have been reassuring, but the tension in your muscles didn't want to relax.

“This is y/n,” Helion finally spoke, addressing the people who had barged into his court. 

At the revelation of a name, the inner circle cast their attention solely on you. 

“These are my friends y/n, I’ve told you about them already. We had anticipated your arrival at some point,” he continued giving a knowing look to Rhys.

Your eyes scanned the expressions of the five people in front of you. 

Rhys, Amren, Nesta, Elain and of course Azriel. Not the whole inner circle, no there were members missing. But Helion had done such a great job at explaining them to you, that it really wasn’t difficult to figure out who was who.

“It’s l-lovely to meet you all,” you managed out, voice falling softer than you had hoped. Your own eyes gently moving across them all before flitting to the shadowy presence that remained stood behind the Night Courts High Lord. 

Azriel.

Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

You couldn’t seem to stop yourself from looking, among all the noise he sung the sweetest. His energy, amongst those swirling smoke coloured tendrils was the most beautiful display you had ever seen. Not the most powerful by any means, Rhysand and Helion’s outshone his aura in many ways but his was the most enticing— at least to you.

Composure wasn’t something Azriel usually lacked, but after hearing the softness of your voice fill the warm evening air he had to collect himself entirely.

From the moment he’d set his eyes on you, he couldn’t ignore the feeling in the depths of his chest. Maybe if you hadn’t been the cause of it, he’d have assumed there was something wrong with his heart. 

Azriel noticed the way your fingers nervously picked at your skirt, fists tight with the material as you sat up straight beside Helion. As if your posture would bring a confidence you were clearly lacking. 

He could sense it, your unease, nervousness. Picked up on it before even his shadows could whisper it to him.

Nervous, nervous, nervous.

He blinked them away. He already knew. 

Pretty. 

Another whispered. He already knew that too.

Pretty was putting it plainly though. You were breathtaking. 

Azriel wanted to reassure you. Comfort the anxiety he could tell you were drowning in. It was such a strange sensation, to feel this connection so deeply with someone he’d never met before, that Azriel couldn’t help but question why.

Azriel allowed himself to consider that perhaps something he’d been dreaming of for so long was finally his. 

That feeling, the ache in his chest you caused— was almost painfully lovely. He swore this was exactly how his brothers had described it to him.

Azriel found himself allowing the smallest curve spread to the edge of his lips, a gentle, secret smile. Just for you.

A smile that softened your own forced expression to something more relaxed and genuine. 

For a moment it felt as though it was just you two. The noise and vibrations of everyone else seemed to fade. An embrace of cobalt and hazel filling you with a warmth that felt so familiar.

“But Elain is correct. Y/n is cauldron-born.” Helion’s voice broke the trance you both seemed to be in.

Your nervousness from before simmering hotter.

“It cannot be,” Amren declared, disbelief tinging her tone as her gaze pierced into you.

“You think I lie?” Helion challenged. 

“How do you know for sure?” Rhys pressed back, an uncertainty in his tone.

“Because I know you all feel it too,” Helion’s voice was deep, a gleam in his eye as he turned to you proudly.

“She is the Mother’s daughter.” 

A statement. Even more bold than Elain’s settled a silence across the courtyard. This time it wasn’t stifling, their energy shifting to something of awe, admiration and then devotion.

In one quick movement a figure dropped to their knees. Head pressing to the cool stone ground.

Amren had bowed before your feet. 

And Amren bowed to no one.

a/n: Okay I know this a whole lot more of elusive-ness and I'm sorry, I just thought sharing this little bit more is better than nothing at all. I wanted to flesh this first out properly so here's the full part one! I've been so swamped with work and inspiration struck this evening so I quickly wrote this in my notes. I promise I will eventually finish it, even if it's just little updates here and there. I'm hoping maybe 2 more parts, so it'll be a nice little mini-series!

I also took it upon myself to try and tag everyone who commented and reblogged because you all seemed very invested so didn't want you to miss this installment even if it is tiny<3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

CB tags: @hannzoaks @je-suis-prest-rachel @awkardnerd @cleverzonkwombatsludge @faerieboismh @glitterypirateduck @paradisebabey @jesskidding3 @searchingforbucky @beardburnsupersoldiers @chubby-unicornz @toxicsociety17-blog g @sapphenaa @starsidesigh @kalistaangelsbane @bookishthoughtss @pit-and-the-pen

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mother! Cleopatra x Reincarnated Reader

Getting Reincarnated as the daughter of Cleopatra was the last thing you expected to happen to you.

The woman had you with a lover and decided to pass you off as the daughter of her first husband, Ptolemy XIII.

Let us get one thing straight, you were proud to be Cleopatra's daughter, as you saw her intelligence and chrismatic nature.

Being her first child, her overprotective attitude showed as you grew up.

She seduced Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to secure your safety.

There's no denying that you are her favourite child.

You tried to convince your mother to take different paths to avoid her demise.

But in the end, the paths still led to her demise.

However, the last female Pharaoh of Egypt decided to take you with her, refusing to leave you in the mercy of Augustus Caesar like the rest of her children.

Cleopatra’s gaze burned with a frenzied intensity as she clutched the your trembling hands, her voice trembling with emotion.

"My dearest daughter," she whispered, her tone a mix of desperation and conviction.

"Rome’s chains will not touch us. If Augustus dares to take us, we will not give him the satisfaction of parading us as spoils of war. You and I are above such humiliation, we are divine!"

Her grip tightened, her nails pressing into your skin, and she gestured toward a small, ornate chest on the table.

Within it lay the deadly asp, coiled and waiting.

Cleopatra’s eyes shone with determination as she drew the you closer, her words laced with a terrifying calmness.

"Together, we shall ascend to the gods. You belong with me, forever."

You stumbled backward, your heart pounding in terror as Cleopatra’s words sank in.

"No! I don’t want to die! Please, Mother, we can escape! There has to be another way!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face.

The idea of experiencing death once again, a foreign, unimaginable concept for someone pulled from a different world sent you into panic.

Cleopatra, however, dismissed your protests with a soft, almost pitying smile, as though the your fear was a child’s naivety.

"Hush now," she murmured, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that only deepened the dread in her heart.

"You don’t understand yet, but you will. This is the only freedom left to us. The gods will welcome us as one."

Desperation clawed at you as Cleopatra reached for the asp, her movements slow.

You fell to your knees, clutching Cleopatra’s skirts, your voice breaking as you begged,

"Please, don’t do this! I’m not ready, I don’t want to leave, I need to be here for my siblings"

For the first time, Cleopatra hesitated, her hand trembling as she looked down at the your tear-streaked face.

For a fleeting moment, something human flickered in Cleopatra’s gaze, doubt, perhaps, or sorrow.

But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the unyielding determination of a queen who believed she was saving her beloved daughter from a fate worse than death.

"You don’t need to be afraid," Cleopatra whispered, pulling the reader into a suffocating embrace.

"We are leaving this world together. You’ll thank me when we are free."

However, when the asp bites you then Cleopatra...you miraculously and barely manage to survive.

𓅁 𓅂

When you woke, the oppressive weight of Cleopatra’s arms was gone, replaced by the cool silk of Roman linens.

The air felt heavy, and the low murmur of distant voices sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your body weak but alive, and saw a figure seated beside your bed, his presence radiating authority. Augustus.

His smile was unnervingly calm, his piercing eyes watching her as if you were a prey ensnared in his trap.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Augustus said softly, his voice like honey laced with venom.

He leaned closer, his hands clasped as though he were greeting an honored guest, not a survivor of a tragedy he orchestrated.

"You’re even more exquisite than I imagined. Cleopatra spoke of you so often, a divine child, she called you, her most precious treasure."

His gaze darkened slightly, a possessive edge creeping into his tone.

"And now, you’re mine." Your heart raced as you struggled to sit up, your body shaking under the weight of exhaustion.

Augustus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of Cleopatra’s tender touch.

"You don’t need to fear me, I will protect you, as she couldn’t. No harm will come to you… so long as you remember who owns you now.”

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧

summary_ A triumvirate is a group of three people who share power, you hated the island your father brought you to. Your summer vacations turned you witness of some bloody games, what surprised you was how you ended up being the rag doll of the salesman and frontman of the organization that held the games.

warnings_age gap (reader is in her early 20s), reader is implied to be American (not specified again), sexual tension, very mild sex, oral (f!receiving), PLOT HOLES AND NO PROOFREADING YET, ooc salesman and frontman, violence, manipulation, marriage, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls

notes_ i wanted to do something more interesting but I’m busy and about to start spring semester YET, MORE FICS COMING!!!!!!!!

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The would’ve could’ve should’ve constantly popped up in your head. Wonder how different your life could have been if you had grown up with a normal family.

As a child you experienced fear whenever your parents held parties, usually there was the dead body of a man drowning in blood. Enemies of your father were brought to said parties and faced a violent ending.

With the odds against your favor, it was your mother who suffered the same destiny because of your progenitor’s bullshit.

He gave you too much independence, but what he had done to you over the years, made you a lonely, selfish, disobedient woman.

You could’ve stolen some money and lived a life away from everything you knew. But the least he could do was to pay for everything your heart desired. One day you would be better off without him but for now, you endured.

The mysterious island he brought you to seemed nice. A luxurious private complex was all for you. The weird thing was that it had no windows, no balconies, and no way to communicate with the exterior.

Midday, you were supposed to watch some entertainment the island offered; a game they said.

“Why do we have to wear this crap?” You ask as your father hands you a golden mask. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t be a bitch and comply”

It seemed like a bird, maybe a hummingbird. But it was disturbing for some reason. He wore a robe and you thought it was just a normal game. Hence why your dress seemed like a little bit too much for the occasion.

You peeked your head through the door and you saw how many people sat and watched a big screen while a crowd of people in green tracksuits ran in opposite directions, soon many died and it was a bloodbath.

You nearly vomited.

“I won’t go in there”

“You’re expected to, now put that mask on be a good daughter,” he said grabbing your forearm you tried to move away but he placed more pressure.

“Disturbs among VIPs are not allowed” a pink guard came into vision.

He had to be a man, tall and imposing.

“My apologies, I was just telling my father I won’t watch the games tonight” you firmly say.

“Don’t be stupid, y/n. Not when I’ve spent millions on this” You shrug and he was about to slap you when the pink guard pulled you backward to avoid the slap and another figure stepped in.

“What is going on in here?” A much deeper voice spoke, the man wore a dark suit and black mask. He must’ve been the frontman.

“This stupid child won’t go inside and watch the games” You can feel both the guard and frontman eyeing you. Suddenly you felt naked in the strapless black dress.

The frontman pats your father’s back and calls him by his name, making you realize he knows him, perhaps they’re friends.

“Let your child be. If she doesn’t want to watch, she doesn’t have to. 004, escort her back to her complex” The guard nods and indicates you to follow him.

With one last look, you see and hear your father cursing, entering the room. And that imposing frontman, standing there, watching you behind his mask.

…

For the rest of the day, you are left alone. At night, you decide to make good use of the pool your complex included. Overall the place was dark, it had a lot of yellow and orange bulbs that illuminated enough, giving a futuristic but slightly contemporary dark space.

The pool was perfectly warm and it was the only place with blue lights.

The memory of your asshole father hadn’t come into the picture ever since the morning. On the other hand, the masks of that pink guard and the frontman haunted you.

And then you heard something. Someone opening the principal door.

You stayed there, trying to remain completely quiet, hoping that the sound of the water would disguise the way you nervously breathed.

You closed your eyes for a second, and when you opened them again. You had him there; the frontman.

“You didn’t want to watch my games. Why is that?” He asks through the dark mask as if he hadn’t intruded. You remain silent, unsure of what to do. “Answer me”

“I didn’t sign up for that kind of entertainment when my fucking asshole father brought me here” you reveal, trying to sound cool. But the truth was that you wanted to run.

“He truly hates you,” he says, making you smir, nodding. “Yes, and I hate him as well”

“I can tell it had to do with the death of your mother…” his words make you react fast.

“Take that ridiculous mask off if you are going to put the name of my mother in your mouth”

In the mere silence, the only sound disturbing it, was his mask dropping to the floor, revealing an intimidating man.

Slick hair, deep eyes, sharp jawline. Handsome overall…

Still, you remain.

“I would like to describe what makes you so intriguing…”

“You’re just an old man with an old dick and set your naughty eyes on a young ass like me” you swear you see a tiny smirk on his face, which quickly evaporates.

“Smart girl…” you roll your eyes, your hands floating around the warm pool. And you shouldn’t be turned on by that nasty old man staring there, intruding and invading your privacy like nothing. But there was something dark and twisted that was making you feel naughty.

So you pushed yourself up by your shoulders and offered a full view of your naked body to the frontman.

What was happening? Certainly unsure…

He watched deliberately, almost as if he was testing the waters and proving you were unhinged like him.

“I won’t be the one pleasing you tonight” Your confusion only grows after the door opens up again and you see a pink guard entering. By the height and greeting he offered to his boss, you knew it was the one who saved you from your father’s slap.

“What the actual fuck?…” the frontman only gives him a nod and you lay there, waiting until the guard is beside you.

You look up, confused, still holding yourself back with your elbows. His black boots push your feet to the side, inviting you to move around, aside from the pool.

“What? You’re gonna eat me up?” The guard remains silent.

“He will teach you manners” the frontman speaks, making you turn to look at him once again.

“I like being a brat, darling. It has always been this way…” Your cocky smile soon disappears after the guard takes his mask off and you encounter a younger handsome man.

He kneels and your eyes almost pop open because at that moment you realize what was actually happening.

The gloved hands of the guard lay on your open legs, making sure you lifted them, the heels of your feet almost touching your ass.

The guard eyes you and you almost shiver. He was almost asking permission to touch you. His touch was nice, even his gaze seemed welcoming.

You watch his head disappear between your legs and it’s over.

“F-fuck” you moan, arching your back while the man between your legs works his tongue in and out of your weeping hole.

“Ah- ah, I’ve never been this wet before” you admit shamelessly, groping your breasts while you end up making eye contact with the guard.

He is slightly older than you, but he’s disturbingly handsome.

“Make her cum, 004” the frontman speaks, seated straight in one of the couches across the pool, where he watches with ease.

You want to know the name of the source of your pleasure so bad.

His tongue flicked around your clit and it made you roll your eyes, throwing your head back and losing yourself in the pleasure and the water reflection on the black ceiling.

The moment his nose nudged your clit and his tongue lapped at your cunt harder than before, you came so hard your legs opened impossibly wider than ever.

You wanted to stay there forever.

…

Your heels clacked with each step through the city. A lot of people turned to look at you. In a tight tube skirt, a top with a squared neck and the most classy coat the city could see. At the subway station, you eyed a man looking at you. He was hot and you smiled at him, turning to leave the station.

He was following you. You could feel his steps behind you. You should’ve been afraid, but it only fueled your stomach with anticipation.

Making a turn in a filthy alley, you felt his big hand on your nape and pushed you against the wall.

You didn’t even object, you only pulled him closer to make a wet mess on his lips.

“You look too damn hot tonight,” he said in your lips.

“Take me to dinner and I might believe you” both of you chuckled.

You didn’t leave the island, neither did your father.

The first time you returned to Seoul was to get married. That pink guard who ate your cunt three years ago was now the recruiter of those deadly games, or how you preferred to call him; your salesman. And he was your husband.

“That time of the year is coming…” you say as he grabs your hand guiding you to a sandwich place. “I don’t want to go…”

“You don’t have to, I’ll go and say you are sick” Your husband ever the loyal, tried to soothe your worries, but it was in vain.

“I don’t want him to take it out on you, baby” Your salesman nods at your words, the uncomfortable tilt of his face making you aware of how uneasy the subject made him.

Whenever the Squid Game was about to begin, it was your task and your husband’s to recruit people.

Both in classy attires and with attractive features made it harder for the victims to deny the offer. Young people constantly whispered how much of a hot couple you two were while riding the subway or walking random streets.

“There’s three weeks left, darling. Let’s not let it get in our way yet” he says, opening the door of the sandwich place.

The smell of vinegar, freshly baked bread, and spices make your stomach growl and your husband notices it.

“As it seems you are very hungry…The usual?” You nod at him, urging him to lean and make it easy for you to leave a kiss on his cheek.

His cute smile makes you get hearty eyes.

You eye your husband as he orders the food and you wait by an empty table.

He’s loyal, devoted, hot as fuck, insane, sadistic and a sociopath. But in your eyes he’s perfect.

Nothing compared to him.

In the beginning, it was all pure carnal lust. He liked to watch how your husband, at that time 004 ravished you. Then he opted to make said guard look while he took you.

In-ho was cold and rough but gentle and a good listener.

He understood you, got rid of your father so that you could acquire all of his money and leave.

But you didn’t want to because you had him and 004. For months it all fell into a toxic routine. Your delusions of having two men infatuated by you grew to the point you felt love towards both.

But at the same time, it wasn’t the same love.

In-ho ascended 004 as a recruiter and you weren’t ready to see him go away. He would only visit the island whenever the games were about to begin.

Call it a fluke or bad news, but during those days you learned you actually meant nothing for the frontman. And before you could’ve experienced heartbreak, 004 asked you to leave with him as a recruiter.

It was at that exact moment when you comprehended nobody would care for you like him.

You were his since he pulled you away from your father’s slap.

Heavens smiled at you as the old man who was the remaining superior of In-ho at the time approved your petition of becoming a recruiter as well.

You felt no remorse as you left the island, without saying goodbye to In-ho. But over the years you would learn you would never escape completely from him.

It would always go back to being your salesman, your frontman, and you.

…

You stare at the album in your hands. A picture of you and your salesman on your wedding day. Nobody attended, Who would’ve? None of you had friends, family, or people who mattered.

A stranger took the picture. A stranger was witness to two insane humans celebrating their marriage.

And ever since, you believe it was the best decision of your life.

Your husband and you were… intense. From 52 weeks of the year, three were for recruiting people and one to notify the island. The rest, it was you and your man playing cat and mouse games with dauntless people who dared to try to uncover the roots of the Squid Game and everything behind.

48 weeks to cherish your husband, let him fuck you with his favorite gun, and then shove it in your mouth until you were sobbing from pleasure and committing crimes under the excuse of protecting your people.

Any morals you carried were washed away as soon as you married.

But you wouldn’t change it. With your father gone and in the arms of the man you loved, nothing could possibly hurt you.

Not even that man leading the island you hated so much.

…

At some point, you thought your daily life was actually the bubble you lived in, while the short annual visit to that island was actually your reality. Walking on the same grounds where your father’s corpse was rotting wasn’t a pleasant reminder. Even less when you were forced to separate from your husband.

Both of you exchanged looks when a familiar pink guard stepped between you and him.

“Our frontman has requested to only receive you” the modulated voice was directed towards you.

“It’s gonna be okay, dear,” you say to your salesman, whose discontent was more than evident.

Normally, he had the right to feel superior because he was able to taste power over ordinary people. But when it came to being just a messenger for his boss, having to allow his wife to go where of course he didn’t want, was torture.

“You’re smart, don’t let him get under your skin,” your husband said in your ear, before standing straight, hands behind his back while he offered one of his signature feigned smiles towards the guard.

Under that confident stance, you could see a worried man.

But he was right, you were smart.

The smell of the whole place was indescribable, but intoxicating, in the best possible way. You remember that as the only good thing, as stupid as it sounded.

The dark halls are long, slightly illuminated by the warm yellow lights you remember very well. Time seems to pass slower than it appeared because the walk towards an office you knew so well felt eternal.

But finally, the guard stopped and opened the door for you.

Let the games begin…

It was just the same as the last time you were in there.

In-ho was seated, drinking of course.

“How’s marriage life?” His voice seemed to sound even deeper, he sounded more evil.

“Long time no see, darling. My marriage life has been perfect as usual”

“Good, it would be a shame if you had told me our recruiter can’t make you happy or fuck you properly” You roll your eyes, pacing towards him with ease. You offered a brief massage on his tense shoulders, feeling how he relaxed after your touch. It was then that you decided to lean and whisper in his ear.

“Relax, In-ho. You were the one who wanted me gone. You set the spark between my husband and me, remember?” He closed his eyes, sipping the remaining of his drink.

“Stop talking and use that pretty mouth for something useful instead” he grabbed one of your hands and pushed you to the floor, making you sink into your knees.

His big hand trailed your jawline and harshly made you look at him in the eye.

He looked tired, but he still got something.

“I won’t complain, In-ho. You can use me…” of course you would not say no, the first time he pointed a gun to your forehead and promised to torture your husband, so you wouldn’t commit the same error twice.

“Atta girl…”

And with that, you tried to focus on the sounds instead of the view, because you wished it was your husband seating on that chair with his leaking cock fucking your mouth. But it was the frontman and you weren’t totally displeased by him.

…

The salesman opened the door, encountering his boss standing up and you on the floor with glossy eyes and a mess on your face.

“Ah, good you’re here. Hand me the statics…” he walks away, leaving you on your knees and tits out, feeling completely used. Your husband only eyes you briefly and you can tell he’s not pleased with the sight. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you rush to grab a cloth and clean any trace of cum. “Oh, and clean your wife, we got a little messy…”

The frontman puts his mask on and leaves the room after grabbing the folder your salesman handed him, making the room feel heavy.

You stand up, pulling up the straps of your dress.

“Are you alright?” Your salesman asks quickly. You sigh, nodding. “Yes, it’s the same every year”

“I fucking hate this. Next time, I’ll be witnessing…”

“What?” you question him shocked, dropping the cloth with cum stains.

“If I can’t do anything to stop this from happening, then I’ll be present” he thought it was a low blow, but he couldn’t bear leaving his wife and letting his boss manhandle her like a little rag doll.

Although that was what you’ve always been.

“He knows you hate this. He’ll try to take advantage and I don’t want you to get in trouble” You could handle In-ho and his little whim, but if you lost your husband, it all be over.

All because that old man didn’t want you anymore but couldn’t let you go.

“Believe me, I’ll control myself just because I want to prove to him that I’m your husband” You hated to see the facade of confidence fall from your salesman. He was always so cocky, arrogant and in control.

“He can fuck you once a year, but I am the one who has carved into your skin and will always claim you as mine”

And there he was. That was your man. You literally jump into his arms and he greets you with a desperate kiss.

“Once we collect all the money we need, we’re leaving, baby. Wherever you want, and you will always have the chance to show me off as your wife” you say placing his tie in place and after that, you kiss him dearly.

…

Hand in hand, you and your husband walk through the cloudy streets of Seoul. You have a brown skirt with wine-red flowers, a black top, and a coat along with some elegant heels. Your man wearing a dark grey suit and a strong hand holding yours.

“Do you like burgers?” You ask him as you wait for a cab. He only shrugs and smiles at you.

“I like anything that has meat and vegetables”

“True. It’s just that I really liked having burgers back at home. That’s what I want to have as my first meal with you” you admit shyly, feeling like a little girl giving immature declarations.

“Anything will be fine, sweetheart” you pout, accommodating his tie.

“I’m gonna miss watching you in suits every day” your husband smirks.

“Your loss is my luck. I’ll get to see you in sundresses and leggings whenever” you laugh.

“You’re so naughty, dear” For some seconds, you forget you are in the middle of the street, with two hours left in Seoul and billions of money traveling in a clandestine plane.

“One more task keeping up appearances, doll. Just one more…” he says returning to his serious self, opening the door of the cab for you.

“Just one more…” you mumble.

Soon you two are waiting a couple of blocks away from the airport. Where an ex-cop parks his car and hops off.

“Nice to meet you in person…” you say taking his hand and then your husband doing the same.

His name is Hwang Jun-ho and he is the brother of the frontman.

One thing led to another and after one call, you and your salesman offered to give details of where the island you so much hated was.

“We’re gonna need a little favor, though…” the young man eyes you and your husband. He finds the two of you odd, deserving of each other but there was something behind the aura you two held that made him thoughtful. “What kind of favor?…”

“We need you to erase any documents that could identify me and my husband.” your salesman speaks as you softly take his hand and caress his long fingers.

“I can erase any license, passport, identification card, and bank cards. However… your birth certificate will always be available in the system” Jun-ho says, meaning the last part to be meant for your husband. He only tilts his head.

“That won’t be an issue”

“Then we have a deal,” the ex-cop says, extending his hand.

You gladly shake it, feeling an immense wave of serenity flowing through your entire being.

“You’ll have our call as soon as we get out of Korea” With that, destiny is sealed.

You and your husband burn your business attires and enter the airport under the names of a diseased couple who lived in the 1960s in Seoul. You catch his smile as you two wait to board the plane that will lead you to a new life.

Away from the games, the island, and that man. You never much of him, In-ho was the cause of your aches every year. But as you leave with your husband you realize that frontman was also your savior. Who handed you your freedom, the love of your life, good sex and was whom you had just sentenced to death.

_______________________________________________

Taglist: @stargirl-mayaa @hannawigdahl @angela075905 @dynaloy @crispybaguettes @dorayakissu @greensunflowerjuna @mackythoughts @nightdark-dreamdark @ilovethe141 @rafecamsgirlll @space-girl-16 @laurenbenoit70

[helluvapoison]

Feelings

imagine being another fallen angel and experiencing lust for the first time

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

18+ only, minors DNI

warning: nsfw but no smut, slight but unintentional corruption kink,

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Unlike the other emotions, this one crept up on you slowly. It lied in wait most of the time, only revealing itself around Lucifer. Truthfully the feeling came so infrequently that you didn’t think to worry about it, forgot about it even. Then his hand would linger on your waist or he missed your cheek, placing a kiss on your neck and a tiny flame ignited deep inside you. You accepted his stammered apologies but the feeling did not.

The warmth itself was uncomfortable solely for the reason of being new, it never hurt! Not like this.

“I think I’m hurting again.”

The calmness of your voice shouldn’t have alarmed him but Lucifer jumped to action before you finished talking, worried eyes scanning you over as they always did. Without hesitation, he took your hand when you were close enough and sat next to you on the couch. Little did he know his touch on your knee scorched you.

“Where is it this time, darling?”

“Here,” You unabashedly gestured over your stomach.

Lucifer’s voice pitcher higher, cooing,“Hungry? I can have Alfredo whip you up—“

“We don’t need to bother Alfonzo. I’m not hungry.”

His brows pinched together in confusion.

“But you said..?”

“Here.”

You enveloped his wrist and guided it up your thigh. About an inch away, where the warmth bloomed stronger with his touch, as if drawing him near, Lucifer snatched his hand away. His pupils shrunk to slits, wings audibly popping out as he jumped. His fingers that had almost grazed you had stretched and closed taught, remaining a fist.

“Oh! Oh! Oh shit.”

His reaction pulled a downright pitiful expression from you. Lucifer drew in a deep breath, calming himself and folding his feathers away. Awkwardly, a different kind than what you were used to regarding him, he sat back down. You couldn’t not notice how far he sat from you, how he folded his hands in his lap and refused to make eye contact. Hell hadn’t made a liar of you yet; you were hurt by this.

“I-I don’t think I can help you with this one, sweetheart,” Lucifer swallowed thickly, curling a finger into his collar and tugging on it, “I-I-I don’t even think I gave Charlie ‘the talk’! That wouldn’t be…”

You tried to be patient, stars did you try, but while he took his time you were being burnt alive from the inside out! You knew you needed something from him and he was unfailingly the answer. Lucifer had never denied you before, outright or not.

“You said you felt everything down here,” You pointed out.

Leaning in on your hands, you tilted your head and searched for what he refused to share. His face blushed brighter and harder than before. Embarrassment wasn’t right. It almost looked as if he was praying for an escape.

“You’re ashamed?”

Lucifer blew a raspberry, crimson slits darting all around, deliberately avoiding where you sat, “No! Nope, no shame over here!”

If not him… then perhaps it was you? Could you drive the King of Hell to shame? Surely not, how arrogant of you to even dream of it. Yet the question rolled off your tongue before you could stop it.

“Have I done som—“

With a jolt he sits up rigid and serious, desperately trying to keep what little distance remained. You were a breath away, staring into his eyes with such adoration it made your problem that much harder to ignore.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This—This is just… I can’t be the one to help you with this.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help.

He did. Desperately so. Disgustingly so.

He could sink his claws and teeth into you right fucking now and make you feel better— better than better! It was heart stopping, the idea that he could be the one to show you what pleasure is like actually made him breathless. Fuck, how he wanted to see how your face when he brought you to your peak. Your moans would be a symphony to behold, his name on your lips would be his new favorite song. The thought of being your first and only clouded his mind with desire.

He would claim you truly if you’d have him. And the look in your eyes told him you would.

But would it be right? Lucifer’s had plenty of experience, he’s not worried about disappointing you— however you regretting him afterwards? It might kill him.

“But I want you to,” The sincerity in your voice sent his heart racing, “It only happens around you—“

“You—“ Lucifer chuckled nervously, shaking his head, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Briefly, you shot him a warning glare before softening your expression. You cautiously grabbed his hips, slowly so he could deny you if he really wanted. (Never again.)

“I know what I’m feeling. I know you’re responsible.”You counter slyly, maneuvering him into your lap, “I know I don’t want it to go away.”

Lucifer swallowed hard on nothing, staring obviously at your lips as you spoke with lidded eyes.

“I thoug-thought you said it hurt.” He choked.

“I’m starting to understand why. I need you—“ His breath hitched when you ground up against him, holding him firmly in place to feel his hard on, “—to do something about it.”

Clutching your shirt like his life depends on it, he whines. You’re putting his restraint to the test.

And he’s about to fail.

“Please? You’re always so good at making me feel better when I’m hurting, Luci.”

[eccentricallygothic]

Sunshine

Pairing: Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You.

Description: As Shuri's top and most emotionally intelligent technician, you are the one Bucky ends up opening up to during his recovery in Wakanda… And then some.

Warning(s): Top Bucky, bottom reader, his vibranium arm, inexperienced reader, experienced Bucky, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, allusions to unprotected p-in-v sex, nipple biting, kissing, virgin reader, smut with plot, reader and Bucky like each other, brief mentions of his Winter Soldier days, age gap, teasing, humiliation, size kink, allusions to dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

Type: Request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms, here.

Note: Can you tell I am obsessed with the arm?

MASTERLIST

.

It was usual for Bucky's corner of residence to remain deserted. He was still relatively new to Wakanda and people had heard enough tales about his past life to not welcome him with too much hospitality. They didn't take too warm heartedly to outsiders as it was. And a former killing machine was… well, you guessed it. But you were not sure that Bucky really minded. Apart from the bond he had formed with you -very slowly and steadily, might you add- during his therapy in Shuri's lab, you had observed he preferred being by his lonesome and did not mind the isolation.

The more you found out about him, the more you reckoned he probably needed it.

That was the reason why you felt guilt nip at your cheeks when you heard some leaves rustle behind you and when you instinctively turned to see what it was, you found no one other than Bucky staring back at you. Momentary panic settled in your bones but before you could try and ramble your case and embarrass yourself any more, Bucky offered you a small and friendly smile. You had no idea what it was about him that made you all shy and mum because usually you were a very confident and forthcoming person. You were Shuri's top technician after all. But there was something about the way Bucky's blue eyes watched you, how they flickered down your face just momentarily at times, the manner in which his lashes flexed if he looked further down south, and how his tongue subconsciously swiped across his lips during a conversation sometimes. 

It spread warmth throughout your whole body.

… Like right now.

“The… stars are so bright tonight” you tried your best to mask the awkwardness with a casual amiability. What? Bucky made you feel nervous, alright?  

The male only hummed in agreement as he quietly took a perch beside you, letting his longer legs down the edge of the lake that ran behind his cabin and letting his now bare feet touch the water that everyone used for swimming and fun.

The two of you stayed like that for a little bit, Bucky had never been much of a conversationalist in all the time you had known him and it was always you who had to prompt him to speak or engage in casual talk or even a discussion. A content smile played at your lips while you gazed up at the stars. You liked his corner of the land. It was very calming and serene. Perhaps even more so than the rest of Wakanda. Or so you felt.

It was Bucky's corner after all.

“So… how's the new arm?” You nodded towards the black and gold vibranium arm that the lab had finalized after various meticulous precautions and measurements while giving him the best mental and even physical therapy possible all the while. Shuri had called in Bucky this afternoon to finally install it into the socket you and other technicians had built into his side. After one last test to see if his HYDRA conditioning really was gone for good, it had been you who had with the use of tender and nimble fingers locked the arm into place. It had been a rather emotional moment and you were the only tech Bucky had allowed to touch him. Since he had never been allowed any liberty in his past life, Shuri made sure you all respected the man's comfort first and foremost.

You could never have a problem with that. 

“Pretty good, actually” your eyes followed the glint of the moonlight bouncing off the bionic limb as he flexed his fingers and slowly twirled his arm for you to see. “More comfortable too” you were a nerd so it got you excited. And no, the fashion in which the digits of his new hand had stretched had nothing to do with it.

“Yes! Shuri actually wanted to use…” You began the technical ramble Bucky didn't really understand but didn't mind either. “I suggested we instead use…” And it wasn't sympathy humming either, you had learnt that the Soldier had retained his sassy side and if you were boring him out, he had his quiet ways of giving you a shut up call. “Because I knew that it would bite on your skin…” You hadn't realized just how close you had scooted into Bucky and the way you were cradling his vibranium arm and its various crevices while it laid in your lap until his hot breath fanned some of the stray strands away from your face. “S- So…” Your voice wavered from the hyperawareness all of a sudden, eyes flickering down to his lips before you could stop them and your no longer coherent words quivered. “I- I… she… we…” A breathless chuckle escaped him.

“Y/n?”

“Bucky?” You tried to focus and as a result ended up widening your eyes so much that you looked like a fish out of water. What? Straight A bookworms like you didn't enjoy the luxury of knowing their way around the sex of interest. 

“Shut up” his words were outwardly blunt but the tone in which he said them, the half smile which made his lips handsomely droop to one side and the manner in which he leaned in soon after stopped you from getting offended just in time. Though you couldn't really visualize yourself getting mad at him anyways. 

“Okay, Bucky” was all you were allowed to blurt out before his pleasantly soft lips pressed against yours. You whimpered into his mouth from how tender the kiss was and how delicate he was about it. You had no idea what you were expecting and if you were even expecting something, but something so soft coming from a man with a stature like Bucky's, you were taken by a pleasant surprise. The kiss was warm and meaningful.

… But way too short. 

You gasped once you came to your senses and realized the gravity of the situation. You were kissing Bucky fucking Barnes! The kiss had been rather brief– too brief, but it had also felt like an eternity at the same time due to how your brain had declined you of its service.

Bucky was taken aback by your gasp and now a guilty panic began to mar his handsome features. “I… am sorry…” He wasn't as inexperienced as you but there were generations and years of lack of practice between you two and self doubt began to fill him. “I–” you vehemently shook your head when he began to back away.

“N- No! No, no!” You repeated desperately. “No, Bucky!” You finally had him after months of secret wondering and longing and you were not about to let it go. “No!” So you leaned in yourself this time and hurriedly pecked his lips before pulling back a little to look at him to see if he was still comfortable with it. The next kiss you pressed to his lips was admittedly one that caused for guilt to knot up in your chest because his expression had been difficult to read and in case he didn't want to take this any further, you needed to feel him one last time. 

Bucky wordlessly kissed you again and you didn't give him a chance to back away this time. And after that it was a passionate tussle of your hands and lips pulling and sucking down at one another until you were both undressed in Bucky's bed, tangled together. 

Bucky's vibranium fingers cupped the side of your face as he put his hot tongue into the kiss. You were laying down on your back in the middle of the bed and his huge form was bent over you, one knee pushed between your legs. The man knew how to kiss and he certainly knew how to eat, it was clear from how his tongue pressed against yours before it went to explore the rest of your mouth. The way he swirled it around your own sent heat and shivers down your abdomen and straight to your core that had begun to pulsate when you were still outside. 

“Tell me, doll,” his guttural voice made you moan into his mouth when he let his bionic fingers trail down the side of your body before they found a hold in the soft cut between your hip and torso. “Did you fantasize about me touching your pretty body like this when you used to ‘inspect’ the arm, hm?” You blushed severely. Bucky knew a slut when he saw her. Even the shy little inexperienced ones like yourself. He was twice your age and had ten times more experience. 

“B- Bucky…” You felt called out as your ticklish palms -courtesy of his stubble- began to moisten up from the shame his words made you feel. 

“Are you really gonna deny it?” His voice was low and sexily lewd. That tongue of his did the sexy thing again where he ran it along his flush lower lip and your thighs quivered in response to the visual. “Because I've seen the way you used to look at it… The way you looked at it today…” Images of him flexing his fingers as trial from earlier today appeared before your eyes and you couldn't help but wonder if you would feel them tonight. Or how they'd feel if one was to get lucky with him. The thoughts made you want to tighten your thighs against one another, only his knee hindered your wishes. 

“Bucky…” It was a whine this time and he chuckled. 

“Aw, what is it, huh baby?” He hungrily kissed your lips again before he pulled back just enough so he could be audible but not so much that the spit string between your mouths would break. “Tell me and I'll give it to you” you surprised yourself by placing your hand over his and eagerly pushing it down towards your aching pussy. Bucky snickered. “Is that what you want, pretty girl? My fingers in between these sexy little legs of yours?” You sheepishly nodded but said nothing, rolling your hips from the surge of lava his deep voice was causing in your loins. “I am sorry, baby. But this won't do” he clicked his tongue as he pretended to pull away. 

“W- What?!” Your imploration was unintentionally loud. “Why?!”  

The coral of his eyes had become so much darker than when he had first kissed you. “Because you must use your words for me first” his body weight rested on his elbow as he stroked your face with his right hand, speaking in the tone of a man addressing a child. “Tell me what you want” his metal fingers kneaded the tender flesh of your hip as his lips pressed against you in a series of pecks. 

You softly pouted. “B- Bucky!” The whine you let out was accusatory in nature. Because he knew exactly what you wanted. 

“Aw” he mimicked your pout. This man was so different from the recovering sunshine you had known before this night. The disparity caused for a drop of hot arousal to bubble past your opening. “Would you look at this pouty little thing here?” His thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip before he pressed it down with the tip. 

“P- Please…” He was being so mean. It embarrassed you. But it also added to your arousal. 

Bucky was making you work for it. 

“I know, baby. I know…” He pressed kisses along your jaw in consolation, metal fingers coming up to toy with the swells on your chest. “Pretty things like you aren't used to putting in much work, are they?” Well, no. Simply because this was the most action you had ever gotten. But it made your pussy throb nevertheless. “Well, that's not how things work around here, baby. You gotta tell me how you want me first” you whined past the thick bile in your throat but Bucky did not relent, instead choosing to intently watch you until you caved to him and your need. 

He could do that for the rest of eternity anyways.

“F- Fine…” Your voice was a begrudging whisper once you realized there was no way out. 

“‘Atta girl, go ahead…” His voice was a much agreeable velvet. 

“N- Need you…” You cleared your throat since you were barely audible. “Need you, Bucky” your back arched in shock and a whimper escaped you when you went to place your smaller hand on his bionic one to guide it to your pussy only to him twist your nipple that he had been fingering at the very last moment. 

“I am sorry, what was that?” The clamber in his breathing rate signaled that he had heard you loud and clear. But he just wanted to be cruel to your dignity. 

You were on the verge of tears. “Need you, Bucky!” Before you forced his hand down your body again. “... D- Down there!” The lower part of your abdomen was thumping like it did when you had first discovered the state of arousal. 

“Down where?” You felt like screaming at the tease in his tone.

“Y- You know where!”

“Do I?” 

You hissed. “Down there!” You made him cup your pussy. “Here! Right here!” Your breath quivered at the feel of the metal brushing past your sensitive petals. “B- Between… between… Ah!” Your blood curdled at the wanton moan you let out, surprised by your own ability to make such a sound. 

“Oh, so you mean this cute little pussy, huh?” His bionic digits finally spread themselves over your needy core and your mind nearly melted out of your ears. 

“Y- Yes!” You breathily admitted, flinging your head to the side as you gripped his shoulders from the sensory overload, your hardened nipples grazing against his hairy chest. 

Bucky tutted like the teasing asshole he was. “You gotta say it, baby” his fingers squished their way between your pussy lips and the feel of the textured digit running down the stripe between them had you shuddering. “Say it properly. Tell me you need me in this cute little pussy of yours” when you whined in protest, he licked a stripe on the side of your mouth and then sealed it with a hot kiss. “You can do it, pretty girl. You're already doing so well for me” his words had caused you to make a puddle of warm white liquid on his bed. But Bucky didn't seem to mind. “Come on.” 

“N- Need you in m- my…” Your throat dried out and your voice remained absent until Bucky hummed in an encouraging manner and dipped his head between your head and shoulder to pepper kisses along your sensitive throat, metal fingers flexing over your pussy in a rapid, circular design. Your smaller body quivered under his, knees buckling up to press into his sides from the sensitivity of it all. “Need you in my c- cute little pussy so bad– oh!” Your back jerked itself straight when Bucky's middle finger found its way into your weeping cunt all of a sudden.

“Sorry, whose cute little pussy?” His friendly smile had any intentions but.

“M- My cute little pussy!” Your toes curled at your own words.

“See, baby?” His teeth that were busy marking you his grazed against the soft skin of your neck. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?” 

“Oh, Bucky!” He scooped you up against his chest with his other arm and crawled with you until your head was on his pillow and he was hovering above you. Your lips were parted and your balmy pussy was tight around his finger that fucked in and out of you as a steady pace. 

“I think we have ourselves a problem here, doll” Bucky rasped as he tickled your clit with thumb, adding another finger to your opening. You were so wet that despite the tightness of the band, the metal digit slid right in. 

You couldn't help but rock your hips against his hand, your own stroking his arm that rested on your torso while he played with your nipples. “W- What problem?” Any volume above what classified as whispering was impossible for you in your lust dumb and still shy state.

“Your pussy is too tiny for me” and that night you lived to learn that he was right. 

Minutes– no, hours had gone into Bucky opening you up and preparing you for his girth, shushing and consoling you with kisses and praises before your taking. Though you had been insistent that he not stop what he was doing because of how good it felt, tears and snot had admittedly been spilled. 

But the way his thick cock had filled you up to the brim so completely, the manner in which all its crevices had pressed against your tight velvet walls, the fashion in which his tip had created for itself a sensitive spot deep up your cavern, the affectionate and intimate style in how Bucky had snaked his vibranium arm around your form to hold you close against him while his hips had done their eventually brutal work and the length of his cock had rapidly fucked in and out of your stretched out cunt, your fingers tugging at his dark locks whilst his mouth marked you everywhere he desired, the pleasure you felt from the sting his mouth produced, and the bobbing of your knees which lay atop his against his sides… the orgasms had been loud and many. 

Though when the two of you exited his cabin the next morning and entered the line of sight of your employer who was both surprised and impatient by your being late to work for the first time ever, the mangled expressions of passion from the night before were present on neither of your faces, content smiles having replaced them.

You had high hope it was going to stay that way.

.

[nineteenninety-six]

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Daughter!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death and serious injuries (Jack's leg). inaccurate army/military stuff etc.

Abbot x daughter when he opens up about his prosthetic leg , quiet after a movie night? Please let me know if this is bothering you, I’m just scrambling my brain with what I would want with your talent

When your mother died when you were twelve, your father had already been discharged from the army due to the incident that left him an amputee and things were awkward with him to say the least. You weren't very close to him having spent little amounts of time with him over the course of your life and so when he returned to live at home full time and your mother passed it took a long time and many hit and misses as you both tried to adjust to your new normal but it birthed a ritual that you looked forward to every single time.

Your pajama bottoms dragged on the floor as you shuffled into the living room where your dad sat waiting for you. You juggled the popcorn, potato chips, a can of soda and your dads beer bottle in your hands as you desperately tried not to drop or spill anything. Your father gratefully takes his beer and the popcorn from your hands as you reach him and you place the chips and your drink down on the coffee table before you relax back into the couch, pulling your blanket on top of you as you get comfortable.

"So, what's the film tonight?" You ask.

The two of you alternate on who chose the film and tonight it was his turn.

"1917." Your dad responds as he finds it on the streaming service."War movie."

"First world war?" You assume due to the title, "You want to watch a war film?"

"Yup." Your dad says as he flicks the movie on, "Now get the lights."

You huff, annoyed as you had just gotten comfortable but you do as he says knowing he wouldn't budge to turn off the lights himself. As you shuffle over to flick the lights off you can't help but ponder over your fathers choice of film. He wasn't a big war movie fan, mostly due to his own experience of serving so you were surprised when he suggested that film but perhaps since it was a first world war film, it was different.

You sniffled as the credits rolled, your tears finally stopping after they started when Lance Corporal Blake died before he was able to see his brother . You hadn't expected to be moved so much from this film and you looked over to your dad to discuss it but you found him spaced out, not paying attention to the film or anything else. Unseeing and empty.

You frown and shift so that you face him, "Dad?"

Your dad blinks, still staring emptily at the tv in front of you.

You grab his arm and give him a soft shake, "Dad? You okay?"

Your dad rapidly blinks and inhales sharply as he snaps his head over to you, "Yeah kid, I'm okay."

Your frown lingers still not convinced but you nod, "Okay…it's still early do you want to watch another movie?"

Your dad nods slowly, still lost in his head, "Sure."

You give him a pat on the arm as you stand up, "I'll choose this time, let me just get us some more drinks."

When you returned, your dad had finally come out of the stupor he was in but you knew that something was still weighing heavily on him.

"What's wrong?" You ask him, "Seriously. Was it the film?"

Your dad nods, "Just brought up some memories I guess."

You pause before you speak again, your voice gentle, "Of when you were serving?"

"Of my injury" Your dad's hands clenched around his beer bottle as he fought through the memories that were flashing through his mind.

"You don't really speak about it…at all."

Your dad shrugs, "It happened and then your mom died. Too much going on at the same time."

"Did you speak to anyone about it?" You ask mildly concerned at the prospect of him experiencing two massive life traumas simultaneously. 

"My therapist."

You were thankful that he had an actual licensed professional to help him.

"...Can you tell me about it?"

Your dad hesitated to answer, "I'm not sure kid."

You remain silent and don't push him for answers but eventually his shoulder relaxes and he begins to tell you the story.

"It was just a stand patrol of the area, a humvee ran over an IED, I was the closest medic and I ran to help…didn't realise there was a second one buried underneath the sand." Your dad's words are quiet  as he re-lived those memories, "I was helping a guy who was in the humvee, pulling him to safety when we stepped on the second one."

You stared at him with wide eyes, you always knew it was always going to be a traumatic story but you didn't realise how bad it was. 

"I don't remember much." Your dad continues, "I was thrown on my back, blood sprayed everywhere, then came the pain, so much pain that I passed out. Next thing I know I'm waking up in a field hospital and they're telling me they're sending me home."

"Oh dad" Your words are full of sympathy as you cuddle into his side, "I'm sorry."

"That was meant to be my last deployment anyway, I promised your mom I'd return home in one piece like I alway did." Your dad barks out a laugh, "You were still a kid, I had been away so long and you barely knew me and she hated that so it was my last tour. Despite everything, I like being at home with you and your mom, it was the start of our new life."

Your lips pulled into a frown, "Didn't last long."

"Not even two months." Your dad scoffed, "I was still in hospital, healing from god-knows how many surgeries and then suddenly I'm a widower and a single parent."

"Were you scared?"

"So scared" Your dad admits, "I had no clue on what to do with you or how to be a parent…almost sent you to live with your grandparents."

"I'm glad you didn't. You're a great dad."

Your dad raises a brow at you, doubting your words, "Yeah?"

"Yes." You insist, "The best. Not everyone would have survived what you went through— not just survived but you thrived. You learnt how to walk again, you raised me and you work at PTMC. You're amazing!"

Your dad smiles shyly as he fiddles with the label on his beer bottle, "Thanks kid."

You flash him a smile as you pull away and reach for the remote, "I was thinking either Pride and Prejudice or Notting Hill, what do you think?"

You dad snatches the remote out of your hand, "I was thinking neither. I don't want to watch romance."

You scoff and take back the remote, "Well I'm not watching any damn war movies again, plus it's my turn to choose now!"

"Watch your language," Your dad halfheartedly chastises you, "You can pick, just not a romance."

You roll your eyes but you click on a comedy film anyway, "Party pooper."

"Okay, film choice privileges have been removed for the next month." Your dad continues to speak over your protests, "Keep complaining and it'll be two months."

You snap your mouth shut, biting your lip when he throws you a smug grin but you know if you open your mouth again he'll increase it so you focus on the film and try your hardest to ignore his teasing and baiting looks and jabs but you can't help but mutter underneath your breath.

"Asshole."

…

"Six months!"

[rimatsu]

alcoholic hallucinosis

bucktommy, m, 2k words. read on ao3 Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. (In which Eddie receives an unsolicited, accidental sex tape.)

Eddie is 12 hours into a 48 off when his phone pings with a new text notification.

Outside, the blue haze of daylight has lifted to reveal the moon. He's been languishing on the couch with a drink and bad TV as his sole company for longer than initially planned. There's a tiny gulp of amber liquid left at the bottom of his Glencairn glass where grains of charred wood have started to sediment. It's the barrel-proof stuff, casket-aged and bold and explosively flavorful, pricy and usually reserved for special occasions.

Eddie isn't the type to indulge for no reason, but he figures he deserves a treat after dealing with Gerrard's machiavellian schemes at work and withering familial radio-silence courtesy of his son. The text he's sent this morning — three whole paragraphs detailing his week and asking about Christopher's new friends and the robotics club he's joined — had only garnered a thumb-up in response

So it's 9:48pm and Eddie is 2 fingers away from buzzed, and he's watching fictional characters make mistakes more disastrous than his own stupid blunders with a pleasant fog cushioning his thoughts, eyelids heavy and guards down, and naturally that’s when Buck decides to send a cryptic video his way.

Eddie is used to receiving pictures and random factoids and links to obscure forums whenever Buck descends into one of his manic research deep dives, but they usually come with some key context. The newest addition to their chat log is a lone clip, with no caption or introduction or explanatory details. It's about 12 minutes long and the preview thumbnail is mostly indecipherable: brown, blurry with motion and too close to the lens for identification.

Against his better judgement, Eddie shrugs, mutes the TV and taps play on the video file.

Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. His eyes bug out as he tries to compute what he's seeing unfold in rapid increments, something like dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

On his screen and in his hand and in HD resolution, Buck’s right cheek is smashed into a pillow, face sweaty and so red his birthmark no longer stands out against the backdrop of his skin. His mouth is an open wound gasping for air, and there are thick-knuckled fingers twisted in his hair, keeping him down. His brows are furrowed like he's in agony, except that's not pain twisting his features; it's not the expression that haunts Eddie from a half-dozen near tragedies and hospital visits — no, that's a face crumpled in uncomplicated pleasure.

“Arch up, sweetheart,” comes out of the tiny speakers, and that's Tommy's voice, laced with something unrecognizable, low and warm and whiskey-soaked like the scotch Eddie has been sipping all evening; loud because he’s holding the phone this was filmed on, because that's his hand cradling the back of Buck’s skull, big and proprietary and unrelenting. “Give me something nice to look at.”

Eddie's entire central nervous system shuts down after hearing that request, and he’s left gaping at his screen, stunned stupid, staring unblinkingly and in morbid fascination the way passerbys might gawk at a car crash, awful but ultimately fascinating.

Distantly, Eddie wonders if he’s perhaps experiencing some acute form of alcoholic hallucinosis.

Now, he’s borne witness to his fair share of disturbing sights throughout the years — viscera and gore, absurd accidents and gruesome deaths. With two military tours under his belt, he’s developed quite the steel core; Eddie knows how to push past shock to go through necessary motions. Still, no amount of training and field experience could've prepared him for this, because in the next second the video frame shifts again, pans down Buck’s neck and the broad expense of his back and along the sine wave of his spine—

And yep. That's definitely a POV shot of Eddie’s best friend taking it up the ass.

When his synapses start firing again a heartbeat later, horror cuts through the petrified and intoxicated daze clouding Eddie’s brain like a punch to the sternum, sudden and sobering.

“Oh my God!” he screams, shrill and panicked and undignified, and then does the instinctual thing, which is to toss his phone across the room like it's contaminated by the bubonic plague.

It lands facedown near the TV console with a loud thud. Unfortunately, the distance does nothing to muffle the telltale, slick and rhythmic noises of skin-on-skin or the pornographic grunts of masculine pleasure coming out of the loudspeakers, resonating against the walls of his too quiet house.

Eddie stares at the mobile device like it’s radioactive, the tip of his ears burning hot in embarrassment and delayed indignation.

What kind of sick fucking joke is this?

Badly-lit, homemade, amateur porn. Of the gay variety. Starring Buck and his boyfriend — his two closest companions these days. That's what Buck shared with him tonight for some depraved, incomprehensible reason. Because he's apparently a lunatic with no understanding of the concept of privacy or boundaries or socially acceptable behavior. Either that or Buck is experiencing a stroke, or being hacked, or this is his way of letting Eddie know he’s been kidnapped, or maybe it’s all a huge mistake they’ll maybe laugh at ten years from now when Eddie can remember this moment without wanting to gouge his eyes out of their sockets.

Eddie presses the heels of his palms into his lids until stars replace the afterimage seared onto his retina, and then prays for deliverance from this wretched, godless existence.

"Daddy," he hears, rough and saliva-garbled and pleading, and nope.

No.

Absolutely not.

Eddie scrambles for his phone so he can put a stop to the auditory torture. Since his life is a joke, the jump over the coffee table he attempts in his haste proves to be too perilous for his tipsy, uncoordinated limbs. His toes get caught in the folds of his area rug and he ends up a screeching, scandalized heap on the floor.

"Ow!" Eddie yelps, a few feet from his phone that is still taunting him with moans.

Once he finally manages to press the side button, Eddie collapses back on the ground, hands shaking with residual adrenaline. His screen is cracked and his knees are throbbing from the force of his fall, but silence sounds so blissful Eddie can barely find it in himself to be irritated.

He flips on his back and stares at the ceiling, suddenly exhausted.

Maybe Eddie is the problem. Maybe he’s an enabler who invited his own misfortune.

Buck has always been prone to over-sharing, but there had been a time early in his relationship with Tommy when he had acted unusually tight-lipped. In the spirit of unconditional support, Eddie had reiterated that nothing had to change between them — that Buck didn’t need to censor himself just because he was seeing a man.

(“So you want the details?” Buck had asked, eyebrows raised skeptically.

Eddie had made an unimpressed face in answer. “I never want the details, but it’s not like that ever stopped you before.”

“Your funeral,” Buck had said with a grin and a shrug, and then spent the next few minutes recounting the epic tale of his ‘tumultuous journey to rid himself of his gag reflex’. Eddie had listened in a mostly dissociative state, doing his best not to wince at the very descriptive portrait painted before his eyes until he’d realized Buck was messing with him by testing the limits of his tolerance.)

That had been only fair, since Buck is the type to readily lend an ear for ex-nun girlfriend troubles — and with minimal judgment to boot — but now Eddie is starting to regret the gesture. Maybe Buck had heard ‘you don’t have to keep it PG for my sake, I'm totally down with the queers’ and understood ‘if you ever need constructive criticism on the angles of your sextape, I’m your guy!’

Eddie briefly entertains the idea of sending Buck a vindictive voice message demanding he explains himself, maybe even relay the various ways he wants to throttle Buck for his crassness and his exhibitionist tendencies and his wild disregard for the sacred bonds of pseudo-brotherhood, but he still feels off-balance, and in the end Eddie chooses to resort to a less confrontational coping mechanism: drinking the trauma away.

He ignores the abandoned glass sitting on his side table to take long gulps of whiskey straight from the bottle instead. It's not the kind of liquor made to be chugged down, and the alcohol burns his throat all the way down his stomach, but he welcomes the flame, grateful for the physical distraction.

He’s working himself into an inebriated stupor when his phone starts vibrating like a hummingbird's wings, pinging madly with texts after texts.

When he unlocks the mobile with the apprehension of a soldier stepping into a minefield, it’s to find 42 new messages from Buck.

Eddie takes another fortifying swig of booze and opens iMessage.

The first ten text bubbles are strictly comprised of delirious keysmashing, confirming the inadvertent mistake hypothesis. That’s a relief: Buck hasn’t temporarily lost his mind to jealousy again and didn’t try to mark his territory because Tommy had taken Eddie to a WBC championship last week. Thank God for small mercies.

Eddie scrolls past them to read the more coherent ones.

OH FUCKKKKKK

ASFHJBCAVKJVCHK

NONONONONOOO

THIS CANT BE HAPPENING

THIS IS LIKE EVERYONES WORST NIGHTMARE

EDDIE

EDMUNDO MIDDLE NAME DIAZ

DO NOT

I REPEAT DO NOT WATCH THE BIDEO

IT WASNT MEANT GOR YOU

IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!!!!

NOT ON PURPOSE

SERIOUSLY DONT OPEN THE VIDEO

it will hurt your fragile relapsed catholic sensibilities and send you into cardiac arrest

IT WAS MEANT FOR TOMMY AND NOT FOR UR PRUDISH EYES

SERIOUSLY SCROLL PAST

SPARE US BOTH THE HUMILIATION I BEG OF YOU

you were the last contact i texted

my big fat thumb must've slipped

shittt the read receipt

welp it's so over...

ig that's done and over with

sorry

when you're done pouring bleach over your eyes

let me know you're still alive so i can sleep at night with a clear conscience knowing you didn't lobotomize yourself or something

again I'M SORRY

A HONEST MISTAKE that's surely mortifying for the both of us but mostly ME

please tell me i didn't irreparably damage our friendship

just so you know tommy’s been laughing for the past 10 minutes. i’m glad SOMEONE is enjoying this shitshow

You owe me an emergency therapy session with Frank

And a screen repair

did you freak out and break your phone

I threw it at the wall

ok drama queen 😂

No. There's nothing funny or dramatic about it

I'm not gonna be able to look you in the face for the foreseeable future

I'll have to ask Gerrard for a transfer

Ravi says the B-shift is very welcoming

Maybe I'll find a new buddy there. One that doesn't send me his nudes unprompted

Hell maybe I should move back to El Paso

This could be a sign from the universe to take matter into my own hands instead of waiting idly for Christopher's forgiveness

you don't believe in signs

Maybe I do now

Maybe your little fuck up was the catalyst needed for change

c'mon man

play it cool

if you get embarrassed then i'll get embarrassed

and if we're both embarrassed then who's flying the plane

Your apologies suck balls

just like me

What the hell Buck

WAY TOO SOON

sorry

shame is an emotion i refuse to feel so i’m just owning it now

ok can we just agree to forget this ever happened

and maybe delete the vid from your cloud

Yeah ok

Way ahead of you

My phone has already been scrubbed clean

Do me a favor and check twice the next time you send Tommy a dick pic

dw lesson learned

so.......

did you watch the full thing or

be honest

it’s okay if you did you can still be straight

Scratch that

Consider our friendship irreparably damaged NOW

I’m blocking you

EDDIE NO

I WAS JOKING TO DIFFUSE THE TENSION

EDDIE!!!!!

[anantaru]

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ synopsis. reminiscing about the start of your relationship // ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝⸝⸝ᐢ꒱ ♡ cw. mentions of guns, tw guns, fluff & established relationship, a/n. this is just a random idea that came to me, not proofread, gn! reader ♡

the unfolding of a relationship can truly be something magical.

with a warm contentment, you settle yourself against boothill's chest as you indulge the drifting thoughts in your mind, humming lightly into your chest as you felt a large palm cradle your hip.

you cannot lie to yourself, can you? but you're rather nostalgic about the early stages of your relationship with your boyfriend and how the two of you got to know each other.

at that, you realise it's a fun story, a great one even.

to boothill, you were the first person he's had a genuine interest in having a relationship with, and remembering how he thought he should tackle it— well, it was almost tragic, in a humorous way.

people who saw him as a dangerous individual weren't necessarily new to him. he'd be naive believing that he wouldn't be scary to look at.

the man understood that his risky occupation, aside from his outside demeanor could come across as unsafe and frightening to the outside spectator.

what boothill didn't realise, however, was that no matter how hard you try, you cannot hide yourself.

you see, boothill doesn't lie— although frankly, he did try to make himself seem a little less intense to you. especially on your first dates.

it all began with his job and how it doesn't fit with your usual cookie cutter profession. in order to appear a lot softer and less frightening to you, he wasn't the most honest about what he's been doing for a living, nor did he actually plan to reveal it to you right away.

reflecting back on it, his cheeks instantly burn of embarrassment— the sheer confidence he must've experienced when he believed, for a single second, that he could be able to claim and sell the lie of him having a bakery would actually fool you in the slightest bit.

quoting his exact type of wording; a renowned bakery owner with a strong liking towards lemon cake.

well, perhaps you bringing it up from time to time and teasing him with it was a consequence of his own actions now. yet, his sweet sense of humor made you fall in love with him the most.

it's adorable, he is, yet it ended up being slightly dangerous— with such words shrouded in your mind, you're thinking back at one specific moment where you accidentally found one of hid guns.

naturally, he's tried to downplay it immediately, hands turning sweaty as he couldn't keep eye contact with you while working himself through a story of claiming that, well, it's not a real one silly, see? but a fake one, okay? that he's been using for an upcoming, top secret, performance he's been planning for a while now.

for his bakery. you know.

little did he realize you accidentally pulled the trigger right when you were about to hand over the weapon and shot a bullet through the wall, right into the living room— you were fortunate enough that the knock back didn't hurt your shoulder too much, it stung a little, yes, but you were able to recover from the shock quickly.

yeah, it's safe to assume that this was a clear awakening to boothill, that he most likely needs to let you in on a couple of silly, little details about his life.

well now at least, after being in a loving relationship for a good couple of years already, you tilt your face and prop yourself up by your chin as your boyfriend shakes his head the moment you mention it to him again, "don't remind me of that," he begins to panic, a big and embarrassing smile plastering across his mouth as his heart drops to the pit of his stomach, "hey! we promised not to talk about this again,"

he's shrouded with a sudden feeling of helplessness, scratching the back of his neck before you slant yourself closer with an airy laugh brushing against his lips, "but it's our origin story," you smile and hoist your body up so you could be on his eye level.

you continue to affirm, knowing it makes your boyfriend weak in the knees, "and you're so sweet when you're embarrassed," before applying a sultry kiss on his cheek, breath holding, mind numbing, as boothill quirks up the sides of his mouth softly at your plush lips touching him.

truly, how beautiful it was that no matter what, he knows that you are one and if anything, a story such as yours only brought one closer.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[calmcoldevening]

could we get some dick & masturbation hc for Art? Describe what it looks like, how big, how often he does it, etc. stuff like that

Art the clown NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is as caring as possible for him. Art understands that you are a really important person in his life, for whom his "heart" is beating. So he certainly won't leave you alone after a hot night. But don't expect any super affection either. No. He'll just lie next to you and admire you. He really likes to see you so disheveled and wet, the thought that he made you like this makes him tough.

You're breathing heavily under Art, your hands are slowly sliding off his shoulders, because you're feeling damn tired, but happy. Art lies down on the bed next to you, putting one hand under your head, and stretches the other up, imitating the camera with his fingers and pressing the "snapshot button". Art giggles soundlessly, as if he really took such a photo, and now this piece of paper with you two will remain with him for many years. Then he turns to face you, watching your tired, relaxed expression. He briefly kisses your damp forehead, leaving a trace of his black lipstick on your face. Leaning back, he admires you with his trademark crazy smile.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Most of the time, he likes his fingers about himself. With their help, he makes various instruments of torture, "talks" with you, and also gives you pleasure. Art fucking likes to hear your sounds when he works with his fingers, he even takes off his gloves for this. But after the two of you have discovered your intimate life, Art can say with confidence that he likes his cock. Every time he sees you, especially if you bend down to pick something up from the floor, his buddy gets damn hard and hot.

Art likes a lot about you, perhaps. But most of all, he likes your voice. Art likes to rip out all those cute whining sounds and requests from your chest to speed up or touch you somewhere. He likes the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. It both excites him and seems sweet to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A lot. Dirty. He really likes to leave marks on you. It doesn't matter, inside, on the stomach, on the face. He can cum on your back or stomach and then drive for a long time over this white mass, drawing his name or hearts on you. He doesn't like using condoms, so you'd better use birth control (although he's a demon, it's not a fact that he can have children. And if he can, it's not a fact that the pills will help you)

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Art would like to fuck you in front of other people. So that they can see how he can give you pleasure, make you scream because of the buzz. He likes the idea that you know about his murders. He wouldn't mind first slaughtering a bunch of people in front of you, and then fucking you among a mountain of corpses and blood.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

There is absolutely no experience. The whole "experience" is that before killing teenagers or adults, he often saw them fucking. But it's completely different from what he's experiencing with you. After your first time, Art really wishes you had tried it before.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. He probably likes it when he's lying on the bed and you're on top of him. Art likes to look up at you when your face is so open to his observation. All your sounds, moans and cute facial expressions only make him pick up the pace. Art squeezes your thighs until they are clearly bruised and presses you harder against him. Anyway, it makes him feel superior, because only he can make you feel so good.

He also doesn't mind doggy style This is an opportunity to dominate you more. He will forcefully squeeze your hair to a slight exciting pain, kissing your neck, or caressing your breasts, which he also really likes.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

As your bodies entwine in passion, Art's usually playful demeanor shifts, his expression growing more intense and focused. The painted-on smile fades, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated concentration. His black eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, narrow to slits, fixed intently on your face and body. Art's movements are deliberate and forceful, a far cry from his usual goofy, comedic antics. He is completely absorbed in the act of making love, every thrust and roll of his hips calculated to drive you wild with pleasure. This seriousness, this total immersion in the act of sex, stems from Art's deep-seated need for connection and intimacy. In the heat of the moment, he is not the feared killer clown, but a man, vulnerable and exposed, your man. Yet, even in this moment of unguarded seriousness, a hint of the clown remains.

But after such a passionate moment, once you both manage to catch your breath a little, his usual playful personality will return.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is quite careless in this matter. Although Art cleans himself of blood and other entrails after murders, he is not overly clean. He doesn't care about his hair, either on himself or on his partner. But they are quite soft, so it shouldn't be such a big problem.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It depends on the events before your intimate relationship. If you just spent time together, then during sex Art will be quite relaxed and even gentle in its own way, but at the same time dominant. It is important for him to let the people around him know that you are his. He will bite you, leave you with small bruises from his strong grip and pull your hair. If Art killed before your sex, then the love session will be quite hot and animal. After the murders, Art gets damn possessive and hard, and the sight of blood on you only increases his arousal. You should probably hide his trash bag away if you want to stay whole after sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alone in his dimly lit lair, Art's long, slender fingers wrap around his rigid member, pumping it in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His black-painted lips part in a silent moan as he imagines the sounds of his victim's terror and agony mingling with his own pleasure.

He jerks a lot after his murders if he hasn't you around him. Sometimes he imagines your face and your sweet sounds during your previous love session, but mostly he concentrates only on blood, guts and cries of pain and fear.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Sadomasochism. Blood play. Orgasm control.

Art has an insatiable appetite for sadomasochism. The more pain and suffering he inflicts, the greater his arousal. He delights in defiling his prey, often leaving them mangled and broken in his wake. After that, he returns to you, filled with wild desires. The more blood he managed to get out of the poor victim, the more passionate he will be. He also doesn't mind hurting you too, but this case is already limited to simple cuts and bruises, nothing serious. Although he may well carve his name on your back in large letters. The sight of blood excites him like a real vampire, so it's better not to keep a lot of sharp objects in the house (and his bag too).

The fact that Art can control your pleasure excites him like nothing else. Being able to show dominance in this way caresses his ego. It's going to be a long time.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Art doesn't really care where to do it. But still, he would prefer either your house or some kind of elongated gateway or something like that. If there are a lot of people around, it means that before sex he will have to get his hands dirty in blood again, and this will take a little time. Besides, Art is not against forests or abandoned places with a grotesque scary atmosphere. It adds some kind of thrill and animality to your intimacy.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The answer is obvious: blood, violence, you, murder.

He doesn't have any specific preferences, so it's impossible to say for sure. But seeing you in a Halloween clown costume would definitely turn him on. Or there's blood on you. But not everything is clear here. For example, other people's sex doesn't turn him on (it will only turn him on if he imagines you and him in their place), pain caused to you by someone else (if it's your period, then he will try to take care of you as much as possible, and if it's another person, Art will kill them)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Other people. He doesn't like them. He doesn't like to share. You're his and his only. Other people are just meat for his fun and aggression.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn't mind at all. Although he has never done anything like this himself, he won't mind trying it. It will probably be a bit messy and clumsy at first, but if you give him time and show him how you really feel good, he will certainly learn. With his long fingers and flexible tongue, it will be very good.

He likes it when you show him your love in this way or just want to please him. He likes to look down on you, this is another time for him to prove his dominance in your relationship.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on his mood, but most of the time he chooses to be slower. Art likes to torture people and you are no exception. It's just that it's expressed differently with you. He will quickly bring you to the edge, and then immediately use slow caresses to tease you. He likes all those whining sounds he can get out of you, those moans and whimpers. He's even willing to give up killing if it gives him the opportunity to see you as such a cute and squirming needy thing.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Again, he's a lover of slow long-term pleasure, so no. But if you still ask him to do it quickly, because you really want to, he, of course, will not refuse you, although he will hardly restrain his sadistic hunger.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

There are no restrictions for Art in anything (except to let other people into your love games). He is always open to new things and experiments. Usually he is the initiator of something new in your life in the bedroom, but if you suddenly have some interesting dirty fantasies, do not hesitate to tell him, Art is always for it. The only thing is, he wouldn't risk your life too much. Severe injuries can attract the attention of other people, and losing you will be a significant loss for him. You are his personal toy, which he protects and loves in his own way.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Art is ready for any number of rounds, but his human body also has its limits. Therefore, 4-5 rounds, with rare exceptions, a little more. Also let's not forget that you are a human being, and Art would not want to put you out of action.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Art doesn't rely on external aids, preferring to use his skilled hands, agile tongue, and sheer force of will to bring pleasure and pain to you. He may, on occasion, incorporate items from his gruesome arsenal as props for role-play or sensory exploration (damn garbage bag..)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Art is quite a teaser. He likes it when you whine because Art won't let you come, or vice versa, goes too fast. First, he quickly leads you to the finish line, then delays the orgasm as much as possible with the caresses of his long tongue, and then his skillful fingers continue to quickly stimulate you after orgasm until you break your voice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's mute, babe.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Art has an unusual fascination with the sensation of his victim's or partner's heartbeat against his bare skin. During intense moments of passion, he'll often pause to press his lips or nose against the racing pulse point, inhaling the primal, intoxicating rhythm as it syncs with his own lustful tempo. This quirk adds a darkly romantic and intimate layer to his depraved lovemaking rituals, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, life and death.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Long and slender, it measures around 7-8 inches in length and 3.5-4 inches in girth, with a slightly curved shape that seems almost predestined for delivering deep, merciless thrusts. The shaft is covered in a thin layer of soft, velvety skin that's slightly darker than his natural complexion. When fully erect, Art's cock stands proudly from his body, the swollen purple head gleaming with a thin bead of pre-cum. Despite its imposing size, the organ is surprisingly agile and responsive, able to reach incredible speeds and depths during passionate encounters.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Art is always in favor. He often gets aroused during his bloody adventures, so he's more than ready whenever you want. Not to say that ln is a fan of sex, but he definitely likes this part of the human body.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't need much sleep, but Art can stay with you until you fall asleep.

[mxmollusca]

 A critique I've heard of season two is that we’ve lost a lot of our symbolic objects, archetypes, and motifs. Season one gave us the lighthouse, the kraken, the red silk and the unicorn, the seagull, the auxiliary closet, Gnossienne no. 5, Pinocchio…

And then I think back to Samba sharing a quote from writer Alex Sherman during the ECCC panel:

“Season one is Stede going from a puppet to a real boy, and season two is Stede becomes a man.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? The transformation from object to subject, from something that has things done to it versus someone with agency. We see that transformation throughout season two. Almost every significant object is discarded, every symbol realized in flesh. 

The process starts at the end of season one with the throwing away of all of Stede’s things. So much has been written about Stede’s potential response to that act, and so many folks (myself included) held on to the idea that perhaps Ed kept a little bit, maybe the auxiliary closet. Stede literally no longer cares about those things. He originally brought all the things he loved with him to sea because he didn’t have significant personal relationships. That’s why we hear Gnossienne no. 5 as he goes through the empty cabin pulling out all of the knives. The discordant love motif shows how his priorities have changed, how his love has transformed.

The red silk is gone as well, but instead we have Stede, real and in the flesh wearing the exact same color, clutched in Ed’s hand in the moonlight.

The kraken, a giant monster capable of rending a ship in two? Ed becomes that, literally, disassembling the Revenge to sail her into a storm and destroy her. 

The lighthouse? A warning, Ned Low in his silver suit, a beacon in the dark warning Stede of what he will become if he continues on his course.

The unicorn, the destroyed masthead, literally becomes Izzy, a man taken apart and rebuilt piece by piece out of the parts of Stede Bonnet to become a beloved and respected member of the crew, and perhaps one of the strongest examples of self-actualization so far.

The attempts at reversing the process are demonstrated to be ineffective. The catalyst is when Buttons becomes a seagull, which shows Ed that the process of change is possible—that someone can become something or someone else. And he tries, he throws away his leathers, dons Button’s old jacket, tries to become an archetype. Stede tries to become a “real pirate”, despite the warning from Low. Even in Ed’s vision of Stede as a merman, Stede is being reduced to the role of symbol—a mythical being rather than a very real, very flawed man. They are both still trying to be the object when they need to be the subject. They need to take action, to realize themselves. And it’s a gruesome process. Jim’s version of Pinocchio is about the horrific transmogrification from wood into flesh and the horrors that need to be faced in order to make that transition.

We, the audience, are experiencing discomfort in this process. We are being held right up against the lighthouse lamp, and it burns. This is the emotional equivalent of body horror. It feels like all of our beloved belongings are being thrown overboard, but I promise they aren’t.

They are becoming.

[dustofthedailylife]

Unaffected a teaching in humbling oneself

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Dr. Ratio x (gn!) Reader

Summary: Ratio is quite aware of his dashing looks and intellect. If he so wanted, he could use it to his advantage whenever he pleased. That was until he met you, who seemed to be entirely unaffected by it.

Tags: Pining, Crack, unreciprocated feelings towards Ratio, someone give him a clown nose - he's making a fool of himself, written pre-release of character, short one-shot

A/N: L+Ratio to Dr. Ratio himself.

Consider how the renowned Veritas Ratio would act if he had a crush on you.

No doubt, he was aware of his attractive appearance and masterful intellect. Why else would he only teach while wearing that accursed marble head? He's experienced it all too often that people stop paying attention to his teaching because they only get distracted by appearances. While conveying knowledge about science, it was nothing more than a nuisance to him.

He didn't want nor need hordes of students fawn over him. This still hadn't changed.

However, when you started working as his colleague at the same university one day, it was as if he had lost his composure for the first time in forever. Judging by your appearance, the Aeons themselves must have carved and sent you to smite him down. Let alone your wit and intellect. He was gone the minute he had first laid his eyes on you.

He absolutely wanted to get to know you better and make you fall for him how he fell for you when you first graced him with your presence.

There was just one problem - due to the boundaries he had set for himself, you had never seen his face. He never took the marble head off when he was at work. However, he was almost certain that, once he did so, you would fall for him the same way his students always did before he hid his face.

There was no way you wouldn't fall for a man of his caliber.

Self-assured and while putting on the most attractive smile he could muster he decided to take the mask off as casually as possible in front of you one day. He leaned against the wall beside you, eyeing you confidently. He was certain to see the stars of the galaxy sparkling back at him in your eyes. Your jaw would drop and you'd inch closer to him and then-

"You have something stuck between your teeth." You remarked unaffectedly as you motioned him to remove it.

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sipped from it with an unwavering expression of apathy before lifting your eyebrows at him.

Why were you so unimpressed? Why didn't you fall for him yet? He was here. His handsome face exposed right in front of you in broad daylight. Were you not attracted to men, perhaps? No, that couldn't be. He happened to catch a conversation between you and another coworker about it. But why weren't you worshipping the ground he walked on yet?

"Is something the matter?" You poked quizically, noticing how his smile and his entire attitude and confidence had faltered and crumbled into dust in an instant.

"Huh? I j-just..." He stammered before hurriedly picking the piece of food out from in between his teeth.

This should've worked. His plan was flawless. Why did you not care about his dashing looks at all.

"Nothing." He said curtly, straightening himself up again to regain his composure.

"Alright." You nodded confusedly, forcing a smile and eyeing him as if he was completely insane.

The following weeks looked about the same. He tried to appear in front of you without the mask more and more often. He would try to initiate in talks and scientific discussions with you but you always seemed to end up annoyed by him. It was doing his head in what he could possibly be doing wrong - No. Surely, it wasn't his fault. It couldn't be.

That was until he overheard a conversation between you and another coworker.

"I have never seen him behave like that - let alone see him take his stone head off so often..." The coworker said puzzledly. "But I have to admit he is quite attractive."

"Pff, no way. Not with a character like that. Either way, I have no idea what his deal is." You sighed. "All I know is that he is grinding my gears with his big-headed attitude, ugh."

His heart dropped at your words. He had never heard that someone had perceived him this way.

Him? Big-headed? And you also don't find him attractive?

Maybe a change of plan was in order. Just... what was he doing wrong?

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about HSR or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[pastelclovds]

can u do ABO au with slashers going through their heat and asking the reader coughbeggingcough for help?

cw: this was longer than expected, dom!top!gn!alpha!reader, sub!bottom!omega!michael myers, knotting, heats, praise kink, condom use, michael is implied to be a virgin, male omegas have pussies and dicks, all alphas have dicks. word count: 1.3 k

michael had experienced many things in his life, but one thing he never experienced, were his heats. because he was in the mental institution, michael was given suppressants by the doctors all his life up until he escaped and started his rampage.

but five days after his escape, he began feeling hot and sweaty, his vision was blurry, and his pussy was leaking slick like crazy. michael didn’t know what was happening to him, and for the first time in his life, he was confused and scared. it soon got worse to the point where michael couldn’t even walk and hid himself in an alley. that’s when he meet you. you were an alpha that was throwing out the trash behind your house, when you caught the scent of an omega in heat.

you were obviously worried for the poor soul, so you followed the scent, and there you found the infamous bogeyman. michael gripped onto his knife with a shaky hold and tried to attack you, but his movements were slow and you quickly slapped the knife out of his hands. michael let out a threatening growl and pounced on top of you, the air was pushed out of your lungs as michael’s hands were put beside your head and made you stay down. “h-hey, i just want to help you. an omega shouldn’t be out in public during their heat, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” you asked, trying to keep a calm voice and pumping out comforting pheromones.

michael let out deep pants of air, you could tell he was holding onto his last bit of strength by the way his body was shaking. michael unexpectedly whines when he unknowingly rubs his clothed hard-on against your thigh. you gently put your hand on his plastic cheek, you ask, “has this ever happened to you?” michael shakes his head no, you know enough about this guy to know that he was dangerous, but you couldn’t just leave him here to suffer through his first heat.

“let me help you, please,” you pleaded, michael thought long and hard, and eventually agreed. you led him inside your house, up to your bedroom, and quickly got to business. before you could even remove your boxers, michael pushed you onto your bed, dry humping you like a feral beast. you pulled michael in for a kiss against his covered lips as you zipped him out of his jumpsuit so that he was just in his underwear. as michael fought with your mouth for dominance, you flip the both of you over so that michael’s back was on the mattress.

you reach for your nightstand and take out lube and a condom pack from the drawer. michael’s breath hitches as he watches you pull your cock out and slide the condom on. you smile down at the bogeyman and went to kiss so dangerously close to his abdomen up to his large chest. “you have such a beautiful body, michael. your abs, arms, and thighs are strong,” you pull michael’s underwear down, and place your hands between his thick thighs to pull them apart and reveal his wet entrance. “oh what i would give to have my head between these things, and have you ride my face. perhaps we could do it next time, if you want to,” michael’s dick twitched in interest as more slick spilled from his cunt. he liked praise, noted.

you didn’t want to tease him too much because once again, he was in heat, and you were slightly scared of what he would do if you kept him waiting any longer. you wanted to make his first heat as pleasurable as possible.

you slipped in a finger, his walls took you in with ease. michael moaned when you began to work your finger inside him, he’d never had something that big inside him before. you were putting his comfort above your own pleasure, precum gathered at the tip of michael’s cock. he let out another loud whine when you put another finger inside him, he moved to cover his mouth. there was so much slick that you didn’t think he even needed lube, michael thrusted against your fingers, desperately looking for the relief he needed. deciding he was loose enough, you pulled your fingers out of his pussy (he glared at you through his mask for doing so), grabbed the lube, and poured it over your slick covered hand to bathe your cock in.

you held out your hand for michael, “let me know if you feel uncomfortable, okay?” michael was taken aback by your gentleness, but nodded and took your hand in his. you wrapped his legs around your waist, lined your cock up to his dripping pussy, and slowly pushed inside, thankfully he was wet and loose enough so you bottom out with ease. michael squeezed your hand as he breathed heavily, his walls were so warm, you resisted the urge to just plow him then and there.

it wasn’t until he was grinding his hips that he silently told you to fuck him. you set a deep but slow pace, michael let out guttural groans when the fat heat of your cock hit his sweet spot. slaps of skin against skin filled your ears, along with you and michael’s mixed moans made your hips speed up. michael gasped when you grabbed his legs and pushed them against his chest, the new angle made you thrust deeper into him. “you feel- oh, so good for me, mikey. gonna make me cum soon,” michael moans breathlessly in your ear as his hands grip desperately on your back.

the bed slammed against your wall in sync with your pace, the smell of heat and sex filled the room, and if there was anyone in your house, they would be able to hear you two fucking like animals. michael could feel his walls tighten around you before slick and cum dirty your thighs and chest. he holds you as tight as he can, overstimulation overcoming him as you relentlessly use him to chase your end. your knot starts to expand, making it harder to thrust until you finally bottom out and fill the condom with hot cum.

michael and yourself were cover in a thin layer of sweat as you both let your orgasms wash over you. it took awhile until your knot lessened enough to pull out, “you were so good for me michael, relax while i get us some water and napkins,” michael watched as you threw away the used condom and left the room, he felt so much better than earlier, albeit sweaty, but still good. you came back with two glasses of water and a tissue box and sat beside michael. you made a move to take off his mask, but he took your wrist in a death grin and let out a warning grown.

“sorry baby, but you need to drink something,” michael was silent, you sighed and put the glass on top of the nightstand beside the bed. “after i’m done cleaning you up, i’m going to sleep, you can drink then. i don’t want you having a sore throat.” you rip a few tissue out of the box and begins cleaning michael and yourself. michael was watching you like a hawk the entire time, your face, your neck that didn’t have a mating mark (yet), and your cock. once you’re done, you wrap your bedsheets around michael and yourself. you smile at michael before kissing his masked cheek and resting your head on a pillow facing him, “goodnight, michael.” he watches as you drift off to sleep and you begin drooling on the pillow case. you looked so peaceful when you sleep.

the morning came, and michael was was not beside you. you were fully expecting him to kill you in your sleep, but thankfully he didn’t. you thought that would be the last and only time you’ll ever see the bogeyman. oh how wrong you were. you weren’t upset though, in fact, you were gleeful.

[caracalla-dondus]

The Arena

Pairings: Caracalla/wife!reader, Caracalla & daughter

Summary: Caracalla brings his daughter to her first gladiator match.

Author's Note: I don't mention the daughter's age but she's probably in the toddler age range.

~~~~

The sun blazed high over Rome, casting its golden glow over the crowded expanse of the Colosseum. The deafening cheers of the crowd echoed a thunderous sound that seemed to shake the very stones of the arena. Dust and the scent of blood filled the air, and the clash of steel rang out below, where gladiators battled for glory or survival.

In the imperial box, beneath a shaded canopy, sat the ruling family. Caracalla lounged on his golden chair, his eyes bright with excitement. Beside him, his wife reclined gracefully in her seat, dressed in a flowing stola with gold threaded into her hair. But it was the smallest figure between them that held their attention, their little Severa, experiencing her very first gladiator match. Geta had mentioned that perhaps it was too soon for her to attend but Caracalla would hear none of it, too excited at the idea of sharing something he enjoys so much with his daughter.

She was seated between her parents, her tiny hands clutching tightly at her father’s arm, her eyes wide and unsure as they darted from the battling men to the roaring crowd, an unfamiliar sea of faces in the stands. The sounds were so loud, so strange, that her little shoulders trembled, and her bottom lip quivered.

Caracalla, noticing, softened his usual boisterous tone. "What is it little one? Are you frightened?" His voice, warm and oddly tender, but also filled with confusion at the idea of his daughter not enjoying such a show.

Severa's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes wide. "Loud…" she said quietly, her small fingers curling into the fabric of his toga. “It's scary.”

His wife glanced over with a soft smile. “It’s all right little one,” she said smoothly, brushing a stray curl from Severa’s cheek. “No one will harm you. You’re with us.”

Caracalla, ever eager to share his pleasures with his beloved daughter, tried to make her see the thrill. “Look,” he said, pointing to the sands below, “Do you see them? Those men are fighting to be champions. Only one will survive.” His voice carried a child's excitement. “The people cheer for the entertainment they provide. And soon you’ll understand that it’s more than just a fight. It’s a fun game.”

But Severa still didn’t share his enthusiasm or see the appeal. She flinched at the clash of swords, the grunts of pain, and the excitement of the crowd when a gladiator fell and she closed her eyes when blood began soaking the sand. Her tiny hands clutched tighter at her father’s arm, and a fearful whimper escaped her.

His wife’s brow furrowed slightly. “Perhaps she is too young,” she said, her voice touched with concern. Their daughter was always a more sensitive child, easily scared by little things.

But Caracalla, ever the child at heart himself, was undeterred. “No,” he insisted, his arm instinctively curled around the trembling child. “The first time is always the hardest. I cried the first time too.” He said matter of factly.

His wife arched a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You cried?”

A sudden forlorn expression overtook Caracalla for a moment. “Yes and my father called me a disgrace for it.” His voice dropped, and for a brief second there was something despondent about him, something sad and lost in miserable memories. But then it vanished as quickly as it came and was replaced by that familiar boyish charm and smile. “But I learned and Severa will too.”

Severa’s lip wobbled as another roar shook the arena. She turned her face into her father’s chest, her soft voice muffled by his toga. “Don’t like it.”

Caracalla, his excited heart softening, exchanged a glance with his wife. With a sigh of disappointment, he pressed a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. “All right my little one,” he said, his voice lowering into a rare, protective murmur. “No more. I suppose you don’t have to watch.”

He lifted Severa and sat her on his lap and faced her away from the arena, shielding her from the spectacle. One arm wrapped securely around her small form, and his other hand summoned an attendant. “Bring her something sweet: dates, honey cakes. Whatever she wants.”

His wife watched the exchange and felt a warmth bloom in her chest. “You’re soft for her,” she teased lightly, though there was no mockery in her voice, only a sweet observation.

Caracalla, his lips brushing his daughter’s curls that looked so much like his own color, smirked. “Soft? Perhaps.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “But only for her.”

The rest of the match passed with the emperor’s daughter nestled safely in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, the terrifying world beyond fading away under his protection. And though Severa’s first visit to the arena had been a frightening experience, she felt safe. Because she was with them: her father, her mother, and that was all she needed.

~~~~

I wrote this fic because I wanted to show Roman parents being like "lol why is our toddler not amused by men getting murdered violently right in front of her??".

I meant to include more uncle Geta in this but he ended up only getting mentioned once because I wanted to keep this a short fic and I wasn't sure how to involve him more in this little scene.

I found the name Severa when I was browsing 'Roman female given names' on Wikipedia. It reminded me of Caracalla's father's name being Septimius Severus and idk why but it kinda feels in character that Caracalla would for some reason name his child after his abusive father. I also almost named her Antonia instead because the real Caracalla took on the name of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus when he became emperor and I think movie!Caracalla would definitely name his child after himself in some way lol. I did not include her full name in the fic but in my mind it would be something like Septimia Caracallia Severa.

so TLDR: I put too much thought into this Roman name that I will probably only use once unless I decide to write more short stories about Severa

[itsswritten]

Cauldron-born.

“I hadn’t meant to hide this from you Rhysand,” Helion’s usual warm tone was replaced with something sterner, bolder— unwavering.

A breeze pulled on your skirt, the floaty material rippling under the wind. It was always warm in Day, but now, with the appearance of uninvited guests, there was a coldness in the air you hadn’t experienced before.

A bite that pulled at your skin raising goosebumps across your arms.

You guessed this reaction wasn’t a rare occurrence when facing the Night Courts Inner Circle.

Helion shifted his weight, his body stood in front of yours in a protective manner. A nervousness emitted from his energy, an emotion that actually seemed strange to even be associated with him.

Helion wasn’t the nervous type. Charming and flirtatious, bold and defiant— not nervous.

Helion pushed his shoulders back, his stance flexing against the shadowy group that had just arrived.

They had shaken him.

Perhaps you were naive to think these people wouldn’t, naive to believe you could live your life quietly. Slip through the cracks. Go unnoticed. No you were not destined for that, as much as your dear friend may have wanted that for you.

So if a quiet life was not meant to be, then you would at least claim it as yours.

With a light step you moved from behind Helion to his side, coming into full view of the group who had appeared unannounced in the courtyard. Your hand came to Helion’s gently, giving him a soft squeeze and light smile that stretched to your eyes.

How they had gotten through Day Courts shields didn’t come as a surprise really. Helion had divulged how powerful the High Lord of the Night Court was. That if he really wanted to take them all down, then Helion suspected in that unrelenting pit of power Rhys probably could.

But despite this power, Rhys had never ravaged control over the land. Helion was fond of Rhys and his family, they were allies. Perhaps he would even consider them friendly.

And yet Helion hadn’t told them about you.

Energies and rhythms rippled from their bodies, all with their own melody of colours unique to them floating towards you. Your eyes scanned over their features quickly, reading their expressions, the tight lines their faces made before one look pulled you to a hasty stop.

A hazel lock held you tightly as a males gaze ensnared you.

Golden rays broke through a midnight blue aura, trapping you in a moment that seemed to expand and retract all at once. He was the most beautiful male you’d ever laid eyes on, and it took every ounce of will power to pull your gaze from his.

There was a simmering at the pit of your stomach, something familiar and warm, and you swore you could hear singing—

“She is like us.” A female from the back of the crowd spoke, beautiful and sweet. Elain, you assumed. Her aura, one that resembled sunlight radiating in golden flicks. If you hadn’t known who she was you’d had assumed she was a Day court resident from her glow alone.

Elain stepped forward, another female stepping beside her as if they’d both been pulled by the same magnetic pulse to the front of the group.

This girl. This girl was Nesta. You were sure of it. That silver flickering aura licked at her skin, an energy so similar and yet so different to her sisters.

“Hm..no not exactly like us…” Elain seemed to mutter then, more to herself than anyone else. Her eyes scanning you as she tried to get a read, try and decipher what had pulled her here in the first place.

Why you had pulled them here.

“Something other.” Nesta spoke.

You don’t think she’d actually intended for it to sound so venomous, but the words had snapped like poison. You noticed how for a split second there was a softeness in her energy. Whether she was regretful of her tone or not, you had flinched at the word.

Other.

Hm. Perhaps that was the best way to describe you.

Elain glanced at her sister, her face not changing as she digested Nesta’s words. There was a shuffling behind them, only slight and small. Would barely be noticeable if it wasn’t so hard for you not to notice.

Him.

His scarred fingers twitched at his sides, shadows swirling around them as they peered over those giant black membranes that were drawn in at his back. A tattoo creeped up the side of his neck, peeking through his shirt as you followed up to his jaw. Black leather’s covered his body, blue siphons shimmering under the setting sun. You tried so hard not to let your eyes wander back, but as though you had no control you gaze landed on his.

Only to find he was already staring.

Azriel.

Helion had mentioned him to you before and you recalled how you had rolled the name a few times in your mouth. The name feeling so foreign and familiar all at once.l that you couldn’t help ripple the syllables on your tongue.

“Not cauldron-made, no not quite.” Elain had turned her attention back to you.

You had stepped forward now, stepped out from the shadow of Helion.

Stepped out to face what you had been avoiding.

“You are Cauldron-born.”

—

a/n: little rough draft of a new idea??! maybe?? I literally just came up with it and not really sure where I'm taking it hehe or if I even will. I know it's super vague so if an idea comes to mind when you read this then please share in the comment hehe

forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria