#no deep thoughts or observations on this one just thirsting

[wildsaltair]

not just a snack but the entire five-course meal plus coffee and dessert. I'll have mine in my room

[luvly-writer]

Is it a Wonder I Broke?

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: I really did NAWT want to write a two parter but hey, I should have expected it with how much I write. I am so new to writing angst but I've had a thirst for writing and reading angst lately and I just NEEDED to cure it!!! ENJOY

Warnings: The Bats being kinda shitty, Neglect

Part 1 // Part 3

---

Damian was sure something was missing. He woke up that day and as he had breakfast, he had noticed something odd about Alfred. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that Damian couldn't place. None of them had gotten injured in last night's patrol. Jason's deathaversary (as he loved to call it) wasn't near. No one had fought, quite the contrary, he'd say this has got to be one of the weeks where they had best behaved and gotten along. Even Bruce and Jason were relaxed. So what plagued the man? Damian looked around the house and wondered what could be the problem. Maybe he was tired? Or Sick? That could be it. Sensing the young man's gaze on him, Alfred erased all emotion from his face and looked at Damian questioning.

"May I help you with something, Master Damian?" he asked with a raised brow. Damian inspected him thoroughly and hummed.

"You are different, Pennyworth" observed Damian and the butler gave the boy a deadpan. Nop, he's good, never mind. Maybe he was just thinking something unpleasant and it showed in his face.

And yet, the feeling didn't leave Damian. There was something odd in the house. Thankfully, it was Saturday, so he had the rest of the day to walk around and investigate. He had visited the gardens, and overseen the entirety of the first and second floor, yet nothing came to mind. What the fuck was wrong in this damn house?

He had decided to empty his mind in the art room. There, he spent the rest of his afternoon sketching a portrait of some plants he had seen in the garden. His 16th birthday was soon approaching and he really needed to get some new art supplies. The ones he had were old and very worn out. As he finished, he noticed the time and realized he had spent the majority of the day in the art room. He had gone to clean his hands and headed to the cave to suit up, hoping tonight's patrol would clear his head. What was missing?

So into his thoughts, Damian hadn't noticed the rest of his siblings down at the cave suiting up as well.

"Hey, Littlewing! What's got you looking so constipated?" Asked Dick with a hint of humor in his tone.

"Have any of you noticed that the manor feels rather odd?" he questions as he suits his boots up.

"What do you mean, bat brat?" Asked Jason raising his eyebrow.

"The manor, it feels….odd. As if something is missing. It feels emptier and I can't help but ask why. Not only that, have any of you noticed Pennyworth looking….strange lately?" He questioned and the group fell into silence, all thinking of his observation.

"Now that you mention it, Alfred has been looking a little tired lately. Like, you know, as if his age is kinda showing." Tim recounted

"And he has had this sort of sad glaze in his eyes" Steph added.

"It's not my deathaversery, I can assure you that" hummed Jason.

"And no other impacting date is near, so what could have caused him any sort of discomfort?" Asked Dick.

The group looked at each other, clueless about what could have caused their beloved butler and grandfather to feel odd.

"You don't think he might be sick and is hiding that from us?" Asked Duke

"But why would he be sad about that?" Barbara question.

Plagued with the heaviness of confusion, none of them noticed the patriarch of the family arrive all suited up and looking at them.

"Is everyone ready?" sounded Bruce's deep voice snapping everyone out of their thoughts. They all nodded still a little bit distant and lost. Bruce, not wanting to push his kids, nodded and clapped his hands to gain their full attention. "Tonight we have a slow night as it seems. Everyone has their patrol route, let's hope that we can be already finished by 2. Everyone, dispatch.

It was a relatively slow night. So much so, that it had allowed them to goof around a little as they went on. Midnight had arrived and Damian was crouched next to his father as they overlooked the city. He could hear Jason, Stephanie, and Dick joking around in the back and smiled a little as they laughed. That's when he felt it. The lingering gaze in the shadows. Surely, he looked up to his father who had felt it as well.

His mother.

After years of being separated from her and getting only a handful of visits, he had gotten used to her gaze when she was lingering, watching him. He knew it was her. Damian stood up and turned towards his left and there he saw her. Black, gold, and green armor shining in the night. The sudden silence told him that his siblings were on high alert as well. What could Talia want?

She finally noticed their gaze on her and began running. This alerted every one of them.

"Oracle, send Red Robin and Orphan our coordinates. We encountered Talia Al Ghul and are on the move." Ordered Batman

"Copy that, B." Answered Barbara in their comns.

What did the League of Assassins want now? If they meant no harm, she wouldn't have run, so what happened?

They followed Talia as she led them farther from the city and closer to the harbor. As they went, he noticed that more assassins made themselves visible and surrounded them and that alone raised his suspicions even more. Normally, when his mother wanted to talk to him, she came alone. Why were they here?

Finally, she stopped in front of a boat…the same one where I met my father…WITH Y/N. Damian came to a sudden halt. That is what was missing! He tries to think back on the past few weeks and he couldn't conjure up the slightest memory of seeing his sister. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen her in the past few months…Where was Y/n? Was that why Pennyworth looked distressed? Why did he just notice now?! Had he been so busy that he couldn't recall his sister? No….that's imposible. She probably has been in practice. She was busy with her own life as well. Especially now, that it was getting closer to the Ice Skating National Competition. He had been keeping tabs on her competition schedules. Yeah, that was probably it. Any time a competition got closer, she would either be locked in their home rink or her practice rink making sure it was perfect. Yeah, that had to be it. She probably left early, was busy in practice, and came during the time he was in the art room or getting ready. Damian wanted to believe that..he really did, but something was nagging at him in the back of his mind. Why would Alfred be sad at that? Had she gotten hurt in practice? Ice skating meant the world for Y/n so that was probably it. Alfred adored watching her skate. Per Damian's request, he would record her practices and competitions so that once he got back from a mission and patrol, he could watch her. She was truly wonderful. That could have been it. She got hurt before Nationals and had been resting in her room lately. That could be why Damian had not seen much of her in the last few weeks. Before that, he had stayed a few months with the Titans, so that could also explain the lack of memories in the past year o so. That was the logical conclusion, right? But if she was hurt, why did Pennyworth not mention anything? He would have to ask him when he arrived later because now he was concerned for his sister's health.

He looked forward and realized that all of them had stopped further. He ran and reached his father's side. Observing his surroundings, he noted that there were 10 or so assassins on both of their sides. Why would his mother need so many?

"Ah, Damian, finally, you are here," Talia spoke up with her back to them. If she was a threat, she wouldn't be giving them her back. Ras taught them better than that.

"What are you here for, Talia?" questioned Bruce.

"Well. Beloved, I have come to extend an invitation, per my daughter's request" She smiled turning around to look at them fully, "I had to lure all of you out here so that we could settle this private matter without the sounds of the city." she explained.

"My sister is resting back in the manor, Mother, what could you mean?" Damian questioned narrowing his eyes at her.

"Is that what you all believe, my dear?" She smirked and watched each of their reactions one by one.

"Where is our daughter, Talia?" Asked Bruce slowly

"You mean to tell me that MY daughter was left under your care and you have no clue where she is?" asked Talia, venom slipping into her words. "Is that what you are letting me know, Batman?"

"Our daughter is safe in the manor" Bruce answered. Damian looked at him and if he wasn't doubtful himself, he probably would have believed him.

"Well, that's not entirely true, beloved. Y/n has not been living in the manor for almost two years now." Talia corrected and everyone froze. "Can't believe you would lie to my face like that"

Jason, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra looked at Bruce expetantly. Surely what Talia said can't be true. They all take a moment to digest the information. Y/n was in the manor, right?

Tim tried to look back but he couldn't think of a moment he had seen her. He lived in the manor as well for fuck's sake. Had he been too busy with Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin that he hadn't noticed his sister's absence? Then again, Y/n was always training so it was difficult to tell….or was it?

Dick and Jason looked at each other. They didn't live in the manor anymore but surely, they had seen her at dinners. Y/n rarely spoke up so she could have been there but they just didn't notice? But as far as they can remember, Y/n loved to talk about her competitions in the hope that they would be able to go to one. They thought she had finally given up on asking them….and that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Why had she all of a sudden gone silent?….or was she just not there at all?

Cassandra had noticed what Damian had said earlier. The Manor had felt different. It seemed as if one presence was lacking but she was constantly with Stephanie so it was rather difficult to keep up on the whereabouts of her life. Besides, Y/n was always training…

Bruce stiffened. Where..was..his..daughter? Since when had she not been living in the manor? When did that happen? He had noticed that Alfred had gone out less and figured Y/n began transporting herself to her things, but that was odd because the old man loved taking her. It was the one moment where Bruce could tell he had peace. Y/n had always been such an independent child from a young age. She didn't need the same training as Damian because she abandoned that life once she was in Gotham. He was truly so glad that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps, that she had chosen to be normal. When was the last time he had seen her come to dinner? When was the last time he heard her songs blasting from her room? When was the last time she used her rink? He would always watch footage of her through Alfred's recordings and the security cameras installed in the ice rink. He still remembers the day he surprised her with it. "I didn't think you'd even know" she whispered thinking he hadn't heard, but he did and those words had plagued his mind ever since then like a broken record. Why wouldn't he know? Sure they were all busy but they cared for her.

"Oracle, search footage of all of the security cameras in the past two years. Find anything and everything about Y/n."

"Right on that, B."

"What invitation does Y/n have for us, mother?" Asked Damian, unsure whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

"To her coronation as the new Heir to the Demon Head and Future Leader of the League of Assassins, of course" She answered almost instantly.

.

..

…

"WHAT!" yelled Damian. Everyone felt their blood run cold, "My sister, my beloved twin sister, would never NEVER desire that. You must not be serious! Y/n Wayne Al Ghul has never EVER wanted to be like grandfather. She is better than that. She is too good for the Demon Head. I was the one trained to be the heir an-"

"And you weren't the only one trained. Have you forgotten that both of you endured the same training and whilst your grandfather disciplined you, I was disciplining her." interrupted his mother harshly. "Y/n moved back to the League a year and a half ago and has been training endlessly to become the next Leader of the League, Damian. You would have all known that had you chosen to not neglect my daughter. She is safe and well-"

"My sister will NEVER be happy-"

"Because you know her oh so very well, my son?" Talia let her gaze linger on her son. Her disappointment was palpable. He had failed to be there for his twin….

"Nightwing, Red Hood, do one last round on the city, then head to the cave. The rest of you, you are dismissed. Head straight to the came, now. Especially, you, Damian. I have to speak with your mother first." Batman's left no space for argument. They all nodded and left, aside from Damian.

"Father-"

"Go, Robin"

"Father, this is just my problem as it is yours"

"To the cave, now. We will discuss this later."

Damian wasn't happy with the outcome, but one look at his mother and father; and he knew he wouldn't want to be part of this discussion when he had many important matters to attend to.

Once Damian left, Bruce turned to Talia.

"Tal-"

"You neglected my daughter-"

"Our-"

"MY daughter. You spent six years ignoring one child and favoring the other and you THINK you can make demands and look at me as if I have done something wrong? I went to her practices, I went to her competitions, I visited on their birthday every. fucking. Year. Bruce, I may not be the example of motherhood, but at least I was as present as I could be and I didn't even live with her." She hissed at him coldly.

"This is different, she wanted to be a professional ice skater. I know my daughter well enough to remember that. Damian is right. Becoming the Leader of the League of Assassins will never make her happy-"

"Because you know her so well? Bruce, I believe in what Y/n can bring to the League. She has astounding potential as a leader. She is levelheaded and diplomatic, she understands my father's ideal and vision without a vengeful eye. Unless you intend to be supportive…Do not cross her path. I came here to extend the invitation per her request as cordiality, not because I planned to. It will be a week after her birthday. I will not repeat myself. Farewell, Batman"

"Talia" Bruce tried, but she was already gone.

---

Author's note: Well fuck it's gonna be three chapters. I swear, part three will BE THE LAST ONE!!! I SWEAR!!! I HAVE ANOTHER ONE SHOT THAT I WANNA WRITE DAMN

[safetypinxtales]

Lonely with you | Azriel

summary: it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, feelings of loneliness, thirsting over our boy az and his thighs, kind of just a drawn out drabble, some angst, generally just softness, Azriel with a book needs a warning in and of itself, very slight jealousy, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, PINING

notes: haven't written in years, and never befor for Azriel, or anyone from acotar, so bare with me. Not sure what I think of this, nor what the future might hold, but I had some time off uni and this idea that I just couldn't seem to get out of my head. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

part 2

You knew what picture was waiting for you in the living room of the House before you even rounded that corner. The distinct sound of pages turning, the hint of whiskey in the air, and him. 

That scent that was just so distinctly Azriel it almost made you forget that echoing emptiness in your chest. 

The sight that greeted you as you entered the room belonged in a museum, or at the very least at the front of some Day Court scribe’s lecture hall, being studied by the brightest minds in Prythian. You wanted to commission Feyre to paint it from your memories so it could be immortalized, even if just for your eyes. Because by the Gods, it was mesmerizing. 

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees. 

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long. 

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say. 

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course. 

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him. 

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight. 

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle. 

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame. 

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose. 

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like. 

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with. 

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness. 

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open. 

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second. 

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there. 

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area. 

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response. 

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention. 

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole. 

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest. 

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest. 

Until that void had been replaced by a vibrating, golden, glow.

[simonbrain]

part one

you awaken the next morning to the smell of something delicious, something familiar. like what your mother makes every morning.

you suddenly jolt up to find the bed empty, the thought of your family sending a wave of panic down your spine as you hastily pull the thick furs off of you and make a break for the front door, almost forgetting about the man who carried you home with him last night.

"oi, where are you off to?"

the deep voice from behind you causes you to yelp in surprise, and the arsehole has the audacity to chuckle.

you could only turn around and stare at him, unsure if you should run. he looks like he could snatch you up in a few strides, even if he gave you a head start. you glance back at the front door and remember just how long it took to come back here; there's no way you'll make it back home without getting lost.

"...my village. i— i need to go see my family, please." your voice breaks as you think about your loved ones, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. you try to blink them away, and the blank look on his face only makes you feel more helpless. he doesn't look bothered in the slightest.

"your village went up in flames—nothing but ashes now. no use going back." he says it so bluntly, moving past you to block your only exit and disregarding the dejected look on your face. you shouldn't be so ungrateful; he saved you from those beasts, didn't he? a poor thing like you would have been torn to shreds by them if they had found you crouched behind that tree. sweet little lamb wouldn't have been shown half the mercy simon showed you.

even if you did manage to escape them, what would be the point of walking around the endless forest in hopes of finding help? you wouldn't have made it. no, the pretty thing looking up at him with glossy eyes would have tripped over her own two feet.

"but— but i—"

your bottom lip quivers when he steps forward, crowding your personal space. he stares you down so intensely that you lose the ability to speak. go on, love, his eyes say. try me.

he huffs softly when you sniffle and look away. sensitive thing you are.

your stomach growls quietly, and that's simon's cue to place a rough hand on the nape of your neck so that he can guide you to the table.

he watches with quiet satisfaction as you eat breakfast, an even quieter interest bubbling in his stomach as he observes you. the sullen expression on your face almost makes him feel bad, but you'll just need to understand that this is for your own good.

as days pass, you find yourself growing more comfortable in your new home. simon (you've come to learn his name) is quite odd. he doesn't reveal much about himself, but he does listen when you ramble about your family, and he feeds you the most delicious things. it's quite a lot to eat, but you shouldn't be surprised; he's built like a damn bull, so it's no wonder he makes enough food to feed four people.

you try not to stare at his back too much when he's in the kitchen cooking, or at his arms when he's outside chopping up firewood, or at his hands when he absentmindedly places a paw on your leg.

however, simon—the mutt—is shameless. he drinks in the sight of you, with or without your knowledge, eyeing any exposed skin with a hunger he hasn't felt in years. he doesn't push you to do anything; he wasn't raised like that, but at the end of the day, simon is still a man. it's in his nature to go a little dumb in the presence of a sweet girl.

he quenches his thirst with a hand on your thigh during mealtimes. his palm against your back, slowly trailing down to rest on your ass as he teaches you self-defence outside. an arm wrapped tight around you as you both lay down for the night.

still, it's never enough.

then one day, when simon returns home after spending several days out, looking more rugged than usual with torn clothes and dried blood on him, he pulls you in for a hot kiss. he doesn't give you a chance to tear up at finally seeing him after so long or question him about what he did while he was away.

he only takes what's all his.

you let out a squeak, grasping at his hands, desperately trying to keep up with how he devours you on the spot, his greedy tongue licking into your mouth. the tension radiating from him is palpable, his itching fingers trailing down to squeeze at your hips, tugging you closer to him. simon swallows up your little noises before pulling away, humming in satisfaction at the dazed look on your face.

"even taste sweet," he muses quietly to himself, his thumb running over your bottom lip.

"you're injured." you frown, finally finding your voice. your face is still burning, but simon just chuckles softly, interlocking his hand with yours and leading you to the table. the quicker he patches himself up, the quicker he can get back to pulling more of those sweet sounds out of you.

[samodivaa]

You Are Art

Request : College!Bucky x Artist!Reader where Bucky is a nude model partner for life drawing.

Warnings - smut, soft sex Words - 2.3k AN - Me personally, would draw Soldat. ;o

All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique—because one eye sees, the other feels. And the human form that you need to draw will include a physiological precondition that is indispensable—intoxication, lust. If you can say your feelings for him in words, there would be no reason to paint him—you wouldn't have asked him to be your model.

Bucky grows pale as death, he gazes into your eyes with a strange, wild, reproachful look as his lips tremble and vainly endeavors to form some words, then his mouth twisted into an incongruous smile. “Should I…undress now?” His face gave evidence of suffering. You are considerably amazed. “Yeah if you are comfortable? Does something worry you?” “I have scars” Bucky says all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest appearance of joking, indeed, he seems strangely gloomy.

“There is no need to-”you say, seriously and with deference. 

Never judge a work of art by its defects―Washington Allston “I want to, I promised you”

He interrupts suddenly, with a look of weariness, focusing on his lungs, on his ability to take a deep breath, to soothe with oxygen as the word rolls off his tongue. He is a handsome man, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He is always well dressed, and his clothes are always exquisite. Your conscience very soon informs you that is the proper narrative to tell. You met in the first semester, he is a business major looking to commission an artist for his project. You admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of your life, the memory of that encounter comes prominently forward and reminds you that it lay long like a stone on your heart—ever since that, you stayed friends—it makes sense, doesn't it? For him to return the favor. There are a few seconds of dead silence before he goes to your small coach to undress. You eyes are flashing in a most unmistakable way, lips were all quiver as you observe his back muscles flexing. You try to speak, to reassure him, but can’t form words, a great weight seems to lie upon your breast, suffocating you. He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his leather jacket cannot hide. You lick your lips, trying to quench the mental thirst for him—his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs. There is a frightened feeling, which makes him scowl and feel ashamed while removing his jacket and shirt until he is fully naked.

As you sit, your eyes turn to the blank canvas, squinting at it in the dwindling light, trying to concentrate. Then you gaze out the window, study the way snow clings to the spruce beside the building, and wonder how you will manage on your own once you have received your degree. With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he finally turns to face you. “So you just want me to sit here?” he whispers at last, drawing his breath with an effort, his nerves are terribly overstrained by now. He is sober, but the excitement of this chaotic situation—the strangest day of his life—has affected him so much that he was in a dazed, wild condition, which almost resembles drunkenness “Okay I will just sit here”

Bucky sits on the bar stool that is next to your canvas and his eyes fall upon yours, stop short, grow white as a sheet, and stares motionless, it is clear that his heart was beating painfully. He is gazing intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he moves a bit, putting his hands on his tights. He knows that he won’t get hard—worry empties any dirty thoughts he might have. You are mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in his blue eyes—you can drown in those eyes and it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His beautiful features offer themselves to your gaze as you trail through them, annoyed at how attractive he looks—putting your mind into a darker cloud of irritation. In spite of this scornful reflection of his current mental state, he is looking cheerful as though he is suddenly set free from the terrible burden of worry and he gazes round. “Just don’t move I need to start with the sketch” You crack your fingers nervously before picking up the piece of charcoal—you stare at him, mentally measuring the propositions which helps you with the composition and scale. As an artist, you dip your brush in your own soul, you paint him with love—but you love him beyond words, beyond paint. And you hope Bucky will feel that once he sees the finished art. “Just tell me when you need a break” “Yeah, okay” he answers firmly, after a brief pause. Your voice is positively reflecting a sort of radiance on his face. You think, staring at him deliberately, that it is just another life painting, simply that's his body, his face, that are his eyes, his nose, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstasy. And your only concern is to capture his beauty. “It is turning out amazing” you continue, pursuing the whirling ideas that chases each other in your brain “You are art, Bucky” He feels a hammering in his head and a faint smile shows on his face. His eyes are riveted upon yours, at first reluctantly and, as it is, resentfully, and then more and more intently.

Why isn't he saying anything? Did you need to say that out loud? The one time you try to implement that you like him and… So you torture yourself, fretting with questions, and finding a kind of enjoyment in it. And yet all these questions are not new, but suddenly confronting you, they are old familiar aches—it grips and rends your heart—maybe he just sees you as a friend.

It tortures your heart and mind, clamoring insistently for an answer, but you don’t dare turn your eyes to him for several moments. Bucky’s heart is beating violently, and his brain is in turmoil. At that moment something seems to sting him; in an instant a complete revulsion of feeling comes over him. He suffers passively, realizing that his cock is getting hard, but that he must do something, do it at once, and do it quickly. 

“Can we take a break now?”

“Of course” you are bewildered, and stare at him open-eyed. You spot it, you can’t miss such a big dick. He gets up and goes to sit on the couch, covering his private parts with his jacket. His thoughts stray aimlessly…he finds it hard to fix his mind on anything at that moment. He longs to forget himself altogether, to forget everything, and then to wake up and begin life anew.

“Things like that happen all the time, no need to be embarrassed. It is nature” Bucky ponders and rubs his forehead, strange to say, after long musing, a spontaneous and by chance, a fantastic idea comes to his mind—to be honest with you. “It is not because of nature” he says all at once, calmly, he has reached a final determination. That answer agitates you, but you keep uneasily seeking for some sinister significance. You get up, slowly moving closer to him, standing in front of his sitting form. Bucky looks at you, your yellow dress of some light silky material, but put on strangely awry, not properly hooked up, and torn open at the top of the skirt, full of colorful stains, close to the waist. You stare straight at him. For one instant, the look on your face, in your eyes, has him puzzled— then he recognizes it. Curiosity—you are shocked, stunned, or thrown into a maidenly fluster. You are curious, you want to hear more, searching his eyes, but couldn't read his thoughts beyond the fact that he is considering you, considering what to tell you. “It is because of you” He stills, but his confident smile doesn't waver.

There is no going back as he removes his jacket, inviting you to madness, to sit on his legs. The sight literally steals your breath. His defined body, his creaminess of his forehead and cheeks, and the determined line of his jaw, the soft vulnerability of his lips, slightly parted. You see the scars on his legs, but your gaze is more drawn to the long block stranding out from his pelvis.

The gorgeous curves of your body somehow delineated beneath taut fabric, his eyes wonder shamelessly to your pink lips simply begging to be kissed. Their shape is etched in his mind, he wants the taste to be imprinted on his senses. "Here? You want me to sit here, on your lap?" The word, weak though it is, accurately reflects your disbelief. Your legs feels suddenly heavy, drowsiness comes upon them.

"Right here. Right now.” 

At this time, the setting, his words and the whole picture are so truth-like and filled with details so delicate, so unexpectedly—it leaves a powerful impression on the overwrought and deranged nervous system. You straddle him, knees dug into the couch beneath you, the solid columns of his thighs hard against your soft limbs. Bucky adjusts his hold as his hands slide about your waist, beneath your dress. You gasp desperately, clenching your hands on his shoulders, fingers sinking deep.

Then he lifts one hand, sliding one finger beneath your chin. 

Your sensitive skin comes alive to his touch. He tips your face up so that your eyes lock on his with heavy lids, watching flaring passion light your eyes. Sparks of pure innocence and want flashes in the depths as he gently kneads, then sends his fingers of his other hand to glide over your silken back. Desire heightens, needs escalates—and he is in no rush, you are too important to rush—conquering your senses and body is not all that he wants. He wants you forever and even though he doesn’t have the talent of art, he has the one of love.

He takes possession of your lips, your mouth. His hard lips move on your, and you soften, not just your lips, but every muscle. Slow heat washes through your body. When he pulls back, you swallow, and drag in a desperately needed breath. It is all pleasure, simple love—you become softer—he becomes harder, needy. The touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. Art. As he is savoring you again, the softness of your mouth is his to enjoy, you feel his desire, the hard, throbbing length pressing against your panties. The softness of your thighs pressing firmly on both sides of his legs as you slowly grind against his cock and you can feel him attempting to buck his hips up to meet yours. The tension, pouring off him in waves, eases, just a little. He sighs, and rests his forehead on yours. Your innocence is addictive, entrancing.

Bucky shivers, eyes shut tight―he lets a low, wickedly teasing laugh. “I love you”

His lips brushes your in an inexpressibly tender caress. You kiss him, sliding your hands up, framing his face, so you can let him know―let him feel―your response to his words.

“Are you okay with doing it like this?”he murmurs, his tone deep. You gaze at his eyes, slowly nodding. "Good" The word is a feral purr then his hand slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin, moving the panties aside and rubbing his fingers along your folds, stroking and sliding slowly into you. Sweet pleasure washes through you, making you moan softly. His thumb presses your clit, moving in slow circles as two fingers slide deeper, finding the spot that makes you tremble. There it is.

“I want you inside me, please” The smile on his face, curving those fascinating lips―you are flushed yet so bold with words. He withdraws his fingers. You lift your hips as he tugs and shifts them until he is aligned, but you don’t wait as you sink on his cock to the hilt. A muffled groan escapes your lips as his length stretches your walls and you move your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, rocking slowly onto his cock, the head of it hitting your deepest places. Bucky’s hands travel to massage your breast, eliciting unexpected loud moans from you. His eyes locked on your face. “Don’t slow don’t, keep on riding me”

He states, his voice very low, it sends a most peculiar thrill through you, he grabs at your hips, impatiently thrusts up hard into your core, urging you to continue. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the small studio as you keep the moderate pace.

“I will come, Bucky” You keep on hitting your cervix as your trusts become harder, your nubile breasts swing with the force of your body rocking. An impossible pleasure goes through you, cumming violently, your throbbing walls milking his cock as he keeps on trusting through your orgasm, moaning before filling you up with his cum. 

“I think that sex is a form of art” You kiss him long and soft, and when you pull yourself away, you touch his mouth with your fingers. “I suggest you not to think more, Bucky”

[ohnopoteito]

"something about you" ellie x reader

Reader entering a convenience store and falling in love with cashier Ellie;

a/n: Hello everyone, I'd like to give you guys some warnings before reading my very first fanfic bc I just want to create a good space for everyone 😭 English is not my native language so I'd be very glad if you contact me if you find any grammar mistake bc not only that but I also wear glasses and now everything is blurring pls send help (jk) so pls be nice!!!

c/w: It's just loser!ellie and loser!reader bc I know what you are... only a fluff fanfic to warm your hearts, cursing? reader pronouns are she/her so I hope this is not a problem, I also avoided giving reader some appearance description bc i wanted everyone to feel included, but i'll tell you if i change something, but reader wears glasses bc i wear it too but i promise this is not a self insert fanfic pls. That's all i guess... enjoy :)

♡ chapter one!

A cold wind fell apart on your figure as you climbed the street to reach your usual route to your classes. You could start feeling your throat drying by that whole awful climbing, wondering how old people living nearby could walk on that climb in such an easy path, but you also wondered with your own thoughts:

"Maybe I'm the old one..." As you tried to find in your memory the last time you stepped into a gym and lightened up a nervous grin, "I've never stepped into a gym." Your voice echoed in your head, so disappointed... with your own choices.

The dry throath was scratching and begging for the smallest water particle. Fortunately, you were always carrying your thermos in your bag, but unfortunately, you forgot it that day. "Amazing, really." you muttured while a deep breath let out of your nostrils.

Your feet walked you until a convenience store nearby, speding the whole walk wondering if buying a bottle of water was really necessary, but the guilt of your annual goal of drinking more water was knocking at the door.

"Not everything is lost, I still have time before my classes." You thought with yourself, observing the convenience store facade was you were getting closer.

You opened the door and went straight to look for a display refrigerator, almost nonchalant. It was just an ordinary store, after all, just like every convenience store. Organized at least, but you couldn't ignore a random dinosaur sticker on one of the shopping baskets your eyes laid on for a quick second. Shaking your head to push away useless worries, your figure followed to the checkout counter.

You weren't really paying attention to the cashier before, as your actions kept focused on finding your wallet in your bag. But in a very ridiculous way, you caught yourself pathetically static when you heard a voice completely different from anything you had ever heard before.

"Hello?" A mixture of annoyance and tiredness could be felt. You raised your head to meet the owner of such an attractive voice, furrowing your eyebrows lightly as your eyes seemed to shine clearly when that figure filled up your vision. Your breath was stuck in your throat due to the thirst but also for that uncomfortable piercing green eyes looking at you, dark circles around the eyes and ironically highlighting those green iris.

"What?" You asked in weak voice tone, almost scared, intimidated by that figure... a very attractive figure. You could feel your face heat up lightly.

"I asked how you preferred to pay." The cashier asked calmly, tilting slightly to the side. You stutterd a bit your answer before finally paying for the stupid bottle of water.

You found yourself leaning against the wall, finally outside the store questioning all your life choices and personality traits. Your eyes darted on the empty bottle you had drunk all the water compulsively to not think about the cute cashier and her cute freckles and the small scar on her right eyebrow, and right arm tattoo.

"Oh my god, her tattoo." You whispered as your hands covered your studipdly flushed face. "What am I doing, stop, stop." You patted your cheeks and tried to recompose your posture, your less loser posture.

The rest of your morning included you stuck in a classroom for hours with a bunch of new information and contents you'll have to learn by the end of the month, graduation stress always gets you no matter how hard you try to not get caught by it. But somehow you almost couldn't feel that stress increasing in your mind, because the only thing you could think was the awkard moment between you and the cashier earlier.

Despite her sleepy expression and almost annoyed voice tone, her freckles decreased that intimidating aurea by your conception, the sloopy half-up and half-down hairstyle; you couldn't help but remember all those face details and smile lightly.

"What." Your jaw dropped, wide opening your eyes. You were so stupid you could even feel your head ache a little.

Trying to calm your messed up mind, overthinking about the college tasks and exams, there it was, an extra corner about that auburn hair cashier. Was that a really big deal? Why are your heart beating faster every time you remember those green eyes? Maybe you were being too emotional, of course you are being too emotional.

Too much emotional. You found yourself in front of the convenience store once again, asking yourself if your mind was now tricking you. Those bright lights caused your pupils to sting. It was already night and the stars were shy in the sky, and for a blessing thing, your home path was safe enough to walk around alone during the night.

You couldn't tell how much time you spent stading in front of the store facade, but you were considering the idea of entering the place only to see her once again, and you felt like a loser. You shouldn't do this.

But you did, you entered the convenience store with the eyes of yours examining everything around the place, and another spot could be seen a dinosaur sticker, right on one of the shelves. "The manager might have a kid?" You supposed with yourself as your nervous pace reached a section next to the checkout counter, your anxious eyes trying to spot the cashier from earlier, wondering with your thoughts if it was only a part-time job of hers.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it seemed to be a full-time job. You could see that figure once again, and for some reason, your mind was silent miraculously. It was... good and almost comforting, to look at her, minding her business and being focused on something. Enchanting.

"Can I help you?" Her voice echoed, snapping you out of your trance. Was she annoyed? Of course, you were staring at her until she could feel that;

With a pair of flushed cheeks, you answered her ungainly, "What, well, hum..." You couldn't just run away like a freak.

"Oh, god." You said in a breath, "What a day." You smiled embarrassed of yourself, feeling so small in compare to her, you could shrink until she couldn't see you anymore. "I was just looking at a blind spot, I got distracted, sorry." It was almost inaudible, the poor eyes of yours staring at random different types of razors.

"fuck it, shit is already in the fan." You thought as your hand grabbed a pack of q-tips, which you don't really need at the moment but you felt like you shouldn't leave empty-handed.

Appearing again in front of her, your eyes met for a quick second before you gave up looking at her, "I'll take this, and I'm paying with cash, please." You spoke up, your voice almost dissipating.

You handed her your last paper notes.

She was so alluring it was almost a sin to dare looking at her. You felt almost criminal being this observing about her, and her... dinosaur sticker on a black cover notebook.

In a second of response, you tilted your head slisghtly to the side, finding undeniably curious all of that. The notebook was resting in the edge of the counter, and it seemed old plus well used, with stars and dinosaurs stickers all over the cover and a small spaceship drawing in the corner. "Is that yours?" You asked out loud what should be only to you and the voices of your head. Panicking eyes searching for the auburn girl.

"What? Oh, shit." Her hand grabbed the notebook in a blink of an eye and stuffed it into an old backpack placed on the chair behind her.

"No, It's nice!" You responded quickly, raising your hand lightly and resting it on the cash register. "I liked it. Dinosaurs are... cool?" Your voice tone decreased as she was now turning all her attention to your eyes. Deep, you should add on it.

"Do you like dinosaurs?" She just seemed like a little kid. The deep gaze of before was now only like a pair of puppy eyes, a wary puppy.

And now you couldn't screw things up.

"Hum, well. There're so much stuff about them, right? Movies and content to study, I can say that's quite interesting, so... I'm not a hater? I mean, I've already watched Jurrasic Park, so I think it counts as something?" You did your best to sound sincere in your response. You weren't a hater, indeed, but it wasn't really something it makes you want to spend time consuming.

Her expression was hard to read, but you felt there wasn't an awkward atmosphere like before. Certainly, you still felt yourself small, but her posture seemed slightly welcoming now.

"Yeah, it's something." She said in a low tone, her voice tearing slightly through her throat, slightly hoarse. She examined you for a couple of seconds, but you were too distracted by her captivating intense eyes. You could just get lost there, and you wouldn't even mind. "Here."

She handed you your shop bag with a single pack of "Excuse to talk to her" and started brushing her fingers on the counter, "You should go home." She said to you, a neutral expression as she avoided your eyes. Your face almost dropped by her sudden sentence.

"I mean, it's late and you shouldn't stay out this late." Her head turned to the monitor next to both of you, pointing to the time. Her right hand scracthing the back of her neck, the tattoo exposed. "I'm not kicking you out, it's just that... I don't know. I'ts just the way I..."

"Show that you don't hate me?" You interrupted her. Your voice sounded so natural, you were now feeling natural, no fear of speaking or behaving.

She looked at you as her eyes blinked for some quick seconds. You still couldn't read her, but you knew she was almost feeling just like you.

"Yeah, something like that." She whispered between a light smirk, her arms crossed as her eyes laid on your eyes once again.

You couldn't help but press your lips tightly so a silly smile of yours wouldn't come out, eyes turning to the store entrance. "I think I should go, yeah." You said almost breathslessly.

One day crush never hit you so hard before.

:)

Yeah... that's all i got 😭 hope you enjoyed :) god i'm exhausted sorry

A shout out to my friend @yourelliewillms bc she really encouraged to post this 💋💋 mi gente latino

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 6

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: There's a bunch y'all and I'm not giving any of them away because it would spoil the chapter. So, this is your warning: 18+ themes after the cut!! BEWARE!!!!

Chapter Summary: Your life in the tower was a thing of the past- is that a good thing?

a/n: Heyyyyy, so I've been the most nervous about THIS chapter since I started writing this story. It's... different. So have fun!! And also lets imagine that bows and arrows don't exist. (This is non-canon to the movie)

Series Masterlist

Your beautiful tower is a thing of the past. It’s been days since you slept there – or even stepped foot inside it. 

Now that you're no longer in your wonderful room, with its big soft mattress and comfortable sheets, you're forced to share a bed with someone you do not like. It’s all too reminiscent of when you were living at the brothel – except the man you were now forced into such close proximity with didn’t even want to touch you.

Hanno The Barbarian is what the Emperors had called him. 

You are sure they had hoped he would rape you, or kill you, but instead he treats you as if you do not exist.

You were supposed to be the one to service him after his fights, should he be fortunate enough to survive. You would have, but apparently he is just one more man who won't let you touch him. It feels as though the gods are laughing at you.

From what you have observed, Hanno isn't like the rest of the brutish men who fight and die in the pit. He's quiet. He’s never impulsive. At times he almost seems gentle. Though he’s undefeated and feared for his ferocity in the games, you wonder whether he would hurt anyone at all if he were given the choice.

Hanno won't speak to you or let you attend to his injuries. You might as well not even be there.

How did you end up here? For a time, it seemed like there was a chance of putting the girl you’d been behind you. You wouldn’t always be another girl who was bought and sold to ease the worries or fulfill the pleasures of men. For a time, you thought it might even be possible to feel loved and cared about. 

You had actually begun to feel that contentment – for a few brief moments – before the fantasy dissolved with the arrival of a slave trader at your door. 

There had been no guards outside your quarters, no handmaids to explain to you what was happening. There was just this man with his charming smile and soothing voice, delivering terrible news.

“Acacius said your time together has come to an end. You need to come with me.”

General Marcus Acacius had sold you. 

You felt numb as you took the man’s hand and left your rooms, but with each step down the staircase that numbness was replaced by a deep ache in your chest. It felt like someone had extracted your heart, carved ‘foolish’ into the flesh, and then replaced it back inside your broken ribs.

After the night you had shared, Marcus had abandoned you without a word. He never told you where he was going, or when he’d be back.

How could you have been so naive? to let yourself set your hopes on his beautiful empty words.

Of course it was too good to be true.

He had sold you to be a new plaything for the emperors, and he had been too much of a coward to hand you over himself. 

When you arrived at the palace, the memory of those tender promises he'd whispered to you—promises of a new life in a new place—turned to burning, bitter rage. You let that rage fill your chest, burying whatever hurt still remained.

Like spoiled children, the twins hated to see anyone enjoying something that they didn’t have, and the favored pet of their recalcitrant general was the ultimate prize. 

It was no secret that the twins had wanted to see what all the fuss had been about but you refused them violently each time. 

Even with the threat of torture and then eventual death, you never folded. Never once let them put their hands on you. 

You had smiled in their faces when the guards dragged you from their bed chambers sneering, "Death is better than the little one's weeping cock." 

That’s how you ended up down here though, in the gladiatorial bathhouse, watching Hanno soak. 

“Does it hurt badly?” You nod your head towards the relatively large gash on his left pectoral.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you when he shrugs his shoulders. 

There is a moment where you want to shove his head under the water and hold him there. Then, there is the part of you that knows he isn’t here because he would like to be. He is a prisoner just like you. 

With a loud sigh and a roll of your eyes, you grab the clean rag on the side of the stone tub and dip it into the warm water. Instead of reaching out to him, trying to do it yourself, you just hand him the now dripping piece of cloth. 

Hanno stares at it for a moment, as though this is a foreign gesture to him. Kindness. Care. 

“I know you understand me, I know you can speak as well,” you urge him to take what’s in your hand, and wave the other towards the iron barred door.  “I’ve heard you talking to the others.”

“Why is it so important that I speak to you?” His voice is much deeper up close and when he’s not whispering to the healing men that come to stitch up the fighters, or the other gladiators themselves.

It’s jarring how his voice plucks at each one of your veins like the strings of an instrument. You’re almost vibrating off the side of the tub. “It’s not important, it’s just nice to have someone to talk to. Instead of just talking to myself…or the wall.” 

Hanno snorts softly and takes the rag from you. He dips it back into the steaming water and lifts it gently to his chest. He winces and sucks air in between his clenched teeth. 

“I knew it hurt,” you tease him lightly. 

His eyes shoot up to yours, like he’s angry with you for even speaking– there’s a darkness to them that you’ve never seen before, but there is also a smirk playing across his lips. “You talk too much,” he growls and now the smirk feels malicious with the way his eyes are narrowed on you.

“Now I wonder why I ever wanted you to start talking,” you grumble, feeling foolish for trying to lighten the mood. “I’ve been down here with you for days, and that is the first thing you can say to me?” You try to swallow down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “I didn’t banish you to these cells. I’m stuck here, just like you.” 

Hanno releases the now crimson-stained cloth into the murky water. "I apologize," he murmurs, but his words echo in the eerie stillness of the dungeon. "Everything here seems like a twisted joke..."

“What do you mean?” 

The water sloshes against the side of the tub lightly as he sinks further into the comforting warmth. You think it might be the only comfort Hanno receives anywhere in this place. 

It’s more comfort than you’ve been able to find, and you’ve been searching. Looking for something safe and constant since long before you became a plaything for the Emperors. 

"You..." Hanno trails off, his tone rising in a question rather than a statement.

Your nostrils flare in defense, “...have been discarded by the ones I love and treated like an animal by the morally depraved—” Your words come out bitterly because it is true. 

“You call me depraved?” He hisses, “Have you seen those men dripping in gold, wearing lavish robes—” 

“Who do you think appointed me to be your special companion ? You thought I volunteered for this?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I would give anything to just go home.”

This is your home now, unfortunately. A cell shared with a gladiator. What happens if Hanno is able to buy his freedom? Or, more likely, when he’s finally killed in the pit? What will you do then?

"What brought you here, to Rome?" he asks, turning the conversation back to you.

“Money.” The word slips out before you can stop it, it’s wrapped up in sadness and a hint of disdain. "My family was struggling, our farm was failing, and the taxes were impossible. And not out of cruelty, but desperation— I became the price of its survival."

Hanno's expression shifts to something that resembles pity, tangled with a strange understanding. "So your family sold you to the Emperors?" he asks, running the wet cloth across his wounded chest.

"I was sold to a brothel and then bought by a man, and then sold again to a different man who then brought me here." You shake your head at your sad story of a life. "The Emperors wanted to bed me, but I fought them, told them I would rather die—"

"So they sent you down here?" He laughs, but you don't get the impression he's laughing at you or your misfortune. It's almost a chuckle of disbelief. "Worse than death, I assume— for someone like you."

"That was their thinking, but apparently they chose the one gladiator that has no interest in getting his cock wet." You can't help but feel like that alone is a win. Hanno hasn’t hurt you, so they don't get the satisfaction. They lost.

The iron door suddenly clangs open. A guard appears and he looms in the doorway, "Cleaning time is over," he barks. "Back to your cell."

Marcus groans loudly as Lucilla finishes straightening the clasps that hold his cape around his shoulders.

“Can’t you act as if you don’t hate doing this?” Lucilla asks with a sour look on her face. “You and I both know they get a rise out of the fact that you do not enjoy-”

“I just came back from the road and barely had time to wash my ass,” Marcus grumbles, letting his wife adjust the golden clasps on his cape. "This is just another way for them to show me that I’m under their thumbs, but not for much longer—"

Lucilla scolds him softly,“You cannot speak that way, not here.” She glances around nervously, looking for ears that may be listening to conversations that aren’t meant for them. “You act as if we are already free,” she whispers almost silently in his ear.

Marcus will always have love for Lucilla in his heart, that’s why he knows he would never leave her behind to fend for herself.

Lucilla had been through so much in her life— the murder of her father, the corruption and cruelty of her brother, Commodus, and ultimately Maximus. 

After Commodus was killed, Lucilla did not have one blood relative to keep her safe here in Rome- to protect her. As an upcoming General, Marcus knew that the only way to ensure her safety was to marry her.

The Colosseum is loud, chaotic, and packed with spectators. It's too hot, and there isn't enough wine for Marcus to pretend he’s enjoying himself. He sits rigid and uncomfortable in the imperial box.

The twins, Geta and Caracalla, sit just in front of Marcus and his wife.

Caracalla looks over his shoulder, "Enjoying the spectacle, General?"

"As always, Emperor." Marcus knows better than to show any sign of discomfort. Years of military training have taught him to maintain a neutral expression, even as his mind races with thoughts of you.

Alone in that forsaken room, longer than ever before. He knows you probably hate him, and he’ll have to make it up to you. He would do whatever it took, he just wishes he didn’t have to.

"We have a special match today. One you might find…interesting." Geta says with a mirthless chuckle 

Marcus wonders what the hell that could mean. The fights always end in one way – many men dead and only one victor. This is truly a sport invented by men who have only known the comfort of a palace. Real soldiers have seen too much death to find entertainment in it.

The roar of the crowd grows louder as two gladiators enter the arena. Marcus recognizes one of them as the newest fighter— The Barbarian. He’s made a name for himself in the pit and impresses Marcus with his strength and cunning every time.

Lucilla has even taken an interest in him, and that’s very unlike her. This brutal sport only brings up painful memories for her, but Marcus notices her leaning forward in her chair, trying to get a better view of the fighter.

The roar of the crowd becomes a drone as Marcus’s mind drifts to you again – wondering where you are, what you're doing.

The last time he saw you had been the morning after your shared night together. You were begging him not to go with tears rolling down your face. It broke his heart every time he had to pull his hands out of yours, surprised by your strength when you were so desperate for him to stay close to you.

Once this fight was over, Marcus would run straight to you. He would kiss your tears away, lick them off your cheeks and whisper apologies in your ear.

He would never be away from you ever again. Tonight was the night that the three of you would escape the necrotic touch of the Emperors.

“Does The Barbarian look familiar to you at all?” Lucilla’s quiet voice in his ear brings him back to the arena, and the two men fighting— well, no, it’s just the young man now. His opponent was dead at his feet.

Marcus takes a closer glance at the man- barely a man, a boy really. There is a certain familiarity in the way he stood. Even the way he fought was like something or someone Marcus had seen before, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’m not sure,” he turns to look at his wife and sees the worry behind her eyes. “Do you recognize him?”

Lucilla doesn’t get a chance to answer.

The loud booming voice of the announcer fills the arena once again. "The Barbarian is once again— victorious!" He bellows.

The crowd goes wild. The new gladiator has been a favorite since he arrived in Rome as a prisoner of war. A war that Marcus had brought to that young man's land and home. That was the story of many of these gladiators, and Marcus tried to forget their faces at night but it was nearly impossible.

"General, are you listening?" Geta is standing beside Marcus now, whispering in his ear. "You'll want to be sure to hear this…"

Marcus dials back into what is being said by the announcer.

"…very interesting game to play!"

He only catches the last bit, and now he strains his eyes to see what's happening in the sandy pit below him.

The Barbarian is being handed another sword by a guard who runs back into one of the tunnels that lead into the arena.

"Our victor has one more opponent to fight, a beast with fur, teeth and razor sharp claws!" The man announcing makes a grand show with the thematic way he talks. "But this is no ordinary fight, our Barbarian has something very important to protect!"

This was quite interesting. Marcus has never seen a fight like this before.

"Bring in 'The Golden Girl'"

For a moment, this means nothing to Marcus and he wonders who the new female gladiator could be. 

It's not until you walk out, wearing a gown that mimics the tunic he's wearing now- white and gold - that he realizes what has happened.

Marcus’s hands tense on the arms of the chair as he tries to steady his breathing.

The Barbarian turns to face you as you quickly make your way to him, but his stance is protective, not aggressive. Something about the way he looks at you, the way he pushes you behind him, suggests he knows you. 

Marcus isn’t sure he understands what’s going on— you don’t have fur or teeth, or razor sharp claws. You’re far from a beast.

Lucilla's hand finds Marcus's arm, her grip is tight, as though she senses something is wrong. "What’s going to happen to that girl?" she whispers. Marcus glances at her, watching her eyes darting between you, the Barbarian and the only tunnel with an open gate.

The announcer starts to speak, Marcus only just able to hear him over the deafening roar of the blood in his ears, and his own heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest. It reverberates in his whole body like that of the drum used during battle– sending signals and commands to his troops.

“Someone in our audience surely is brave enough to help our gladiator defend this little bird.”

This beating inside his chest is a signal. A command to go to you. Run to you– jump out of this damn imperial box just to hold you in his arms.

The announcer continues to shout nonsense, but Marcus is no longer listening. He only feels his throat constrict, watching you in the arena. Wondering what’s in store for you, and how he’s the one who put you there. This is what he had been so afraid of.

The white and gold gown you're wearing catches the sunlight, making you look ethereal, while still terrified.

Your eyes are glued to the back of the gladiators head, and Marcus can see the tears in them from here. He feels as though he may be sick. Lucilla’s hand on his arm grips— her fingernails digging into his skin. Marcus can feel her staring at him.

“You know her,” she breathes.

“I do.”

Marcus isn’t ashamed that Lucilla can see you, or that she even knows about you now— she had known about the lover Marcus had wanted to take before he had even met you. This was something that had been spoken about, considered and then agreed upon, with one condition from Lucilla.

To be taken somewhere she could find love again, a real passionate love that wouldn’t be taken from her. A place where she may then search for her son without the threat of deadly Emperor’s.

Lucilla had even offered to house you in her private, guarded villa and Marcus refused, saying it was too dangerous to have his mistress so close to home.

Rome was dangerous and now he could kick himself.

“That’s your Dove?” Lucilla whispers into his ear.

Shocked, Marcus twists his head to look at her curiously but says nothing. He only cocks one eyebrow as Lucilla loosens her grip on his arm.

“You’ve spoken of her in your sleep,” she sounds heartbroken, but Marcus knows it’s not because she’s hurt by his indiscretions, but because he’s had to be away from you for so long. Lucilla looks as though she were in real physical pain for him. “Go to her and keep her safe, Acacius.”

“It looks as though she may need another defender, General.” Geta’s haughty tone sends a violent shiver down Marcus'sspine.

There are three thoughts going through Marcus'smind as he leaves the imperial box.

Rescue you. Kill the Emperors. Get out of Rome.

“Get out there!” A guard growls and pushes you out of the darkened tunnel that leads you into the gladiator pit.

You stumble, but keep your footing and finally look around. There are more eyes locked onto you than you could ever imagine. More eyes looking at you now than ever before and probably ever again.

Hanno is in the center of the pit and when his eyes fall on you, they go wide with surprise- like he cannot believe you’re here.

You can’t really believe it either; you had just been sitting in your cell, imagining the last time you and Marcus had been together.

Marcus stirs in his sleep as you gaze down at his handsomeness. You are completely blessed by the gods that such a good looking man wanted to lock you away from everyone else so he could keep you all to himself. That was very flattering and you cannot deny that, not one bit. It makes a liquid heat pool in your belly whenever you think about it. “I think…I could be in love with you,” you mouth, no sound coming out of your mouth. “Please don’t let me down.” It feels like a prayer to him, as well as the gods above that this isn’t some ruse to make you bear a child for his wife or worse… just a terrible joke to make him feel powerful? Important and desired? Marcus sleeps peacefully through your supplications, and you’re thankful because even though you have doubt in your heart about his feelings and plans; you just want him to sleep. Despite everything, you need him to know that this place in bed next to you is calm and quiet. It’s safe here with you. Whatever you feel for Marcus is strong- whether it’s love, or infatuation, or a desperation to feel desired, it’s there and without much you can do about it, that feeling swells inside of you. Even though you wish it wouldn’t. Looking down at him– his normally neatly styled hair was wild and unkempt from the numerous times you had it between your fingers. You were pulling and tugging on it as he licked, sucked and fucked you into countless orgasms throughout the night. You brush a stray curl away from his forehead gently but his hand flies to your wrist and grips it tightly. As his eyes open and he sees it’s only you and not an enemy, his fingers loosen, and he brings the sensitive skin of your inner wrist to his lips. “Luna Flora…you should know better… than to disturb a… soldier in his sleep,” he murmurs sleepily through soft kisses against your pulse point. You gasp, startled by his sudden alertness. Positive he can hear the sound of your heartbeat, as well as feel it on his lips, you whisper, "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you." He’s looking at you with such deep concentration with his perfect brown eyes, that it steals the breath from your lungs. "Don’t be," he yawns and stretches his body until he’s quivering before wrapping you up in his arms, tugging your body back into his. “Never be sorry. I would always choose to spend time with you awake, over the time I spend with you in my dreams.”

Then a guard came, threw this eerily familiar white and gold tunic at you, told to change and then forced up the seemingly endless set of stairs.

“Bring in The Golden Girl!”

That name, the way it’s said, the way Hanno is looking at you is telling you that this isn’t a normal fight.

The announcer continues, “She’s someone very special to someone in the crowd. I wonder who could know this beautiful bird?”

The more the voice from the pit speaks, the more you feel like your knees might buckle. Beautiful bird-- like a Dove? What on earth is he saying?

Everything else falls as Hanno closes the space between the two of you, putting himself between you and the only open tunnel. All the others have an iron gate keeping you trapped inside.

“What’s happening?” Your voice is hoarse. It feels like your mouth is full of the same sand you’re standing in.

Hanno doesn’t turn to look at you, but he reaches for you blindly, finding your forearm and pushing you further behind him to shield you with his body. “Stay behind me the entire time. Do. Not. Run.”

“What do you mean, run?” Your heart, which was already threatening to hammer its way out from behind your rib cage- starts beating faster somehow. “What would I run from?”

The terrible thoughts begin to race through your head at what could be lurking in that dark tunnel. The seconds tick by so slowly and all the sounds inside the arena blend into one. You can’t even make out the announcer anymore over the roar of the crowd- but you had stopped listening because his words were confusing, and for some reason they hurt.

A real physical pain that you could pinpoint. It hurts in your chest– because those names were things The Traitor called you, and it’s impossible to think that he sold you into this. He went and told the twin Emperors his names for you! It makes you feel foolish to think at one point you thought they were sweet, but in all seriousness, they turned out to be cruel, his little endearments for you.

You could cry right here in the pit, knowing you were probably going to die violently and in front of so many people.

“Dove…”

What!? That voice!? The Traitor?

You reel around, now face to face with Marcus and his traitorous handsomeness. It’s so hard to not feel like you’re melting. Barefoot in the scorching sand that burns, and the sun that hasn’t stopped fucking beating down on you since you walked out here. And now, under his gaze– you feel like it’s all slipping away from you.

“What are you doing here? How–” That’s all he says before you’re being pushed behind him, now shielded by both men as a sound cuts through the crowd.

Blood curdling, a deep bellowing call that reverberates off the walls of the tunnel as the beast makes its way into the pit.

It’s the biggest thing you’ve ever seen- and you lived on a farm with horses and cows. Bulls, too! It’s a bear, big and brown with matted fur. Mangled by fights that it had emerged victorious from. Now it stands at the mouth of that darkened tunnel and all you want to do is hide. You look for an escape but there is none.

At the mercy of Marcus and Hanno, and the gods above once again, you plant you feet into the sand and pray that nothing bad happens to you.

If it does, let it be quick.

The stones that build up the Colosseum are hot against your back. It's where you've been since the fight started. Marcus kept himself between you and the bear the entire fight, but eventually you got pushed aside and crawled to the perimeter of the arena.

Marcus pulls his sword from the bear's neck with a loud, wet squelch, his chest heaving. Hanno- bloodied and bruised, drops to his knees beside the animals lifeless form. They won, but not without their own injuries.

Marcus's head wheels around the arena, and stops when his eyes meet yours. With his sword still clutched tightly in his hand, he runs to you where you're crouched against the wall.

It's like it's happening in slow motion as he pulls you to your feet, his strong, eyes roaming every inch of you. His hands begin frantically searching your body as he pulls you into his chest, "Are you wounded? Did anything—"

There had been rage inside of you before, but not like this. "Get off of me!" You growl and attempt to push yourself away from him, but he doesn't budge.

One of his bloody hands cups your face, wiping the dirt and sand away from your face, exposing the black eye and the laceration on your cheek—given to you by the Emperors as a parting gift before being sent to the dungeons.

The cut stings when he touches it, and you wince and pull away from him. "Get off me!" You hiss, hands still pushing firmly on his chest.

"Who did that to you?" Marcus growls, his eyes scanning the arena looking for the culprit.

"The men you sold me to!" You nearly scream at him. A hush falls over the crowd. "Did you think the twins would accept 'no' from their newest pet?"

Marcus's eyes darken, and his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. "I never sold you." His eyes fall on the imperial box. "You're no one's pet."

You follow his gaze, and look up at the Emperors. The charming man who had come to your room in the night to take you away sitting behind them-- with one of your trusted chambermaids on his left.

"I'll kill her," you spit, eyes narrowing on the woman you would have, at one time, considered a friend. "Traitor. I'll fucking kill her!"

Marcus places one hand on your chest and pushes you behind him once again, shielding you from the eyes of those standing above you.

Caracalla, the brat- the whiny and entitled one that wanted to watch you flayed for refusing his pus-oozing cock. “Kill her –  kill the whore!” he shouts. “Barbarian, pick up your sword! I want to see her blood spilled on the sand!”

Hanno, who is still kneeling beside the dead beast, drops his weapon. “I would die before I follow another demand of a false emperor—I will not harm her!" He shouts up to them, the crowd roars at his defiance.

Geta holds up a hand for silence, “I’m not as impetuous as my brother— the beast had its chance, and it was the will of the gods that the whore should live. But, as she is yet unclaimed, she –”

“She is mine!” Marcus’s voice snaps through the air. A shocked murmur rolls through the crowd, and Geta’s face tenses into a mask of barely contained fury. “You call her a whore, but for all your money and power she wouldn’t even allow you a taste, because she is mine.”

You are still clinging to his back, and with the echo of his last three words you feel a fire ignite in your veins. You are his. He had never abandoned you.

Those men in that box lied to you, tried to take you from Marcus, and then tried to taint your body with their touch.

Now you want them humiliated.

“Take me, Marcus. Right now,” your hoarse whisper reaches his ear. "Let them watch."

He looks down and meets your eyes just long enough for you to see the dark determination mirroring your emotions. Your lips crash together hungrily in a kiss of tongues and teeth. You nip desperately at his lower lip before he pulls away, his hand holding you by the back of your neck.

“On your knees, my Dove” he growls into your mouth.

At the sound of Marcus’s words, the molten feeling grows low in your belly and seeps to your core. You turn to face the podium and drop to your knees. You feel him lower himself behind you, his thick, muscular thighs bracketing your own, his sword discarded in the sand next to you.

One broad hand grips the scruff of your neck and pushes you forward, the other is dragging up the skirt of your gown. “See how she gives herself to me,” Marcus grunts loudly as two of his fingers notch themselves at your dripping entrance. “See how she’s ready and waiting for me?”

The tips of his digits trace along you slick velvet folds before slipping them inside of you, pumping them in and out, gathering your excitement.

Marcus withdraws his fingers and holds them up towards the imperial box, spreading them so the audience can see your sticky arousal clinging to, and strung out between them.

Gasps ripple through the crowd, a mixture of shock and intrigue. You can hear laughter mingling with the disdainful whispers, but all eyes are locked on you.

“This,” Marcus declares, “is yours to witness, Emperors. This is the fire that burns in her belly, for me alone.” 

He reaches around to grip your chin in his hand, forcing your head up to meet their gaze. “Let them look at you, let them see your face.” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your ear.

“Look at her,” Marcus rumbles with a possessiveness that vibrates through your being. “Look at how she craves me.” His fingers return, but this time not to tease; this time they plunge deeper.

A moan is torn from your throat loudly as his fingers stretch you open. It’s been so long since he’s been inside of you, it’s like the first time all over again. You arch your back, pushing against him as he quickens his pace.

Laughter erupts from the imperial box, Caracalla’s voice cutting through the noise, “Look at her! The whore— with such pathetic displays of pleasure! Whore!” His words drip with disgust, but they only fuel the fire inside you.

Anger curls around your spine and you push harder against the next thrust of Marcus’s fingers, forcing another moan from your mouth.

Geta’s voice rises, his expression tight. “You truly wish to save her? She is nothing but an animal-” 

“She is no animal - but she has a beast to defend her.”

You gasp as you feel Marcus rub the tip of his cock along your slit. He circles your clit once, twice, three times before he’s positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Without warning, without any gentle words, he bottoms out inside of you. It feels like your eyes are going to fall out of your head, your teeth almost slice through your bottom lip as the searing stretch surges through your entire body- from your hair to your toes. 

A cry cursing all the gods, the Emperors before you, and the Emperors yet to rule falls out of your mouth as Marcus sets a bruising pace. 

“You see how she lets me claim her?” Marcus pumps his length in and out of you harshly, his thighs slapping against the back of your legs, his free hand gripping your waist now. The hand that had been cupping your chin now finds your hair, keeping your head out of the sand and tilted up to look at the pale, pitiful men gazing down at you. 

You can’t keep quiet, and it doesn’t really seem like Marcus wants to you to the way he he’s fucking into you so brutally. You cry out, scream his name, beg for him to slow down. You whimper for mercy, but it’s starting to become delectable- the way you stretch around his cock. The entire length of him sliding inside until his drooling tip grazes your cervix. It’s jolting, and has you seeing stars shoot across your vision.

In the background, mixed in with the rest of the noise, the announcer says something about the way Marcus is taking you, it’s muffled by the pleasure coursing through you.

Marcus came down here to fight for you, to keep you safe. He did care and he didn’t want to lose you and watching him defend you—

That’s why you were dripping before the bear was even dead. Watching Marcus in action, fighting to keep you alive– as furious as you were at him – had ignited a fire inside you. 

That flame was engulfing your entire body now as he led you to an orgasm in front of what felt like the entire world.

Marcus grips your hair tighter as he slams himself inside of you over and over. Every single fiber of you can feel Marcus as your walls flutter around him. “Sucking me right in,” he growls. “Taking me so fucking well. Tell them who you belong to,” Marcus barks at you, the hand on your waist connects with the fleshy globe of your ass with a loud crack that cuts through the air. 

“M-Marcus– oh gods, Marcus! You, I b-belong to you” You keen loudly, trying so hard to keep your eyes open so you can stare at the men who tried to turn you against the man inside of you now. “I’m yours… forever.”

It’s just a throaty cry of his name as the defined ridge around the head, and each inch of his throbbing length that follows strike and then glides across that sweet spot inside of you. It’s bliss as you come undone on him, feeling like you’re being torn in two; and then three, and then put back together again by his cock. 

“That’s it, my perfect girl,” Marcus grunts in a throaty rasp that makes your toes curl.

“Silence that whore!” Caracalla screams in his high-pitched crying tone. “Where are the Praetorian guards!? They’ll have something to stuff her mouth with—”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hanno stand with his weapon clenched in his fist. “Any man that comes down here has to fight me first,” he declares, the blade gleaming in the sun.

The announcer starts to speak, but Marcus reaches for his sword in the sand, pointing the blade up towards the podium.

"One more word and I'll take your fucking tongue." Marcus bellows.

The threat silences the announcer, but the crowd's roar only grows louder.

You can barely focus on anything beyond the sensations coursing through your body as Marcus continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

Marcus drops his sword, his other hand leaves your hair to wrap his arm around your waist. He starts working on the fasteners of your gown at the shoulders. “They’ll see all of you—everything they can’t fucking have,” he’s growling, nipping at your earlobe as his fingers frantically start pulling at the fabric covering your chest. “They’ll never have you. You're mine."

He does own you, and it's the most exhilarating feeling in the world. The undeniable connection between you is only heightened by his rough handling of your body; as if he owns every part of it without hesitation or reservation.

His hand grips your breast tightly, his thumb circling your nipple, which has already hardened. "You like this, don't you?" Marcus growls against your neck. “Like being on display for everyone?”

You groan in agreement, arching your back into his touch. "Yes," you moan, clenching your eyes shut as he hammers his hips into yours. "Please don't stop-- want them to see"

Marcus's free hand grips your hip, pulling you closer, and his other hand He pulls back and looks up towards the imperial box, “No one will touch my Dove again. Anyone who tries will be torn apart without hesitation.”

You force your eyes open, meeting the shocked and furious gazes of the Emperors. You bite your bottom lip, eyes rolling back in your head like you’re possessed at the bliss, at all the good feelings Marcus gives you.

There is a commotion, the brothers command something of their guards but Marcus's booming voice quickly catches their attention again. “You make so much as one move, and you will die where you stand.”

To punctuate his point, Hanno gives the blade in his hand a twirl, pacing back and forth between the seats of the Emperors, and yourself and Marcus.

A defiant smirk tugs at your lips. Your fragile alliance with Hanno had paid off and now he was protecting you and Marcus in this erotic display of defiance. You lean back against Marcus's strong chest, your hands feverishly searching for something to hold onto as your sweat drips down between your breasts.

Marcus runs his tongue along your shoulder, up towards your neck. "That's it, my golden girl," He growls in your ear. “Show them "

Your body trembles, every nerve alight with pleasure as he claims you in front of the entire arena.

He pulls out of you suddenly, leaving you bereft and gaping— but before you can grasp what’s happening, he’s on his feet, moving beside you with his hands in your hair turning you to face him.

Marcus stands before you, his muscular body glistening with sweat in the harsh sunlight. His cock, slick with your arousal, juts out proudly as he grips your hair tightly.

"Open your mouth," he commands, his voice hoarse with lust.

You obey without hesitation, parting your lips as he guides himself to your waiting mouth. The salty taste of yourself on his length makes you moan as he pushes past your lips. Your tongue swirls around his shaft, savoring the combined flavors of yours and his

"Look at her," Marcus calls out, his voice rough. "See how she serves me willingly. This is what true devotion looks like." 

You hollow your cheeks as he pushes deeper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you fight through – determined to please him. Your hands grasp his muscular thighs for support as he sets a punishing pace.

Marcus throws his head back, chest heaving as he nears his peak. "Gods, you're perfect," he pants. "My beautiful Dove."

He leaves your throat with a sickeningly arousing wet sucking sound, one hand stays in your hair as the other wraps around his throbbing cock.

Marcus strokes himself rapidly, his eyes locked on yours as he pants, "Open up. Show them who you belong to."

You obey eagerly, tilting your head back and parting your lips. Your tongue darts out, desperate for a taste of him. 

You moan when his seed coats your lips and chin, some of it dripping down onto your exposed breasts – marking you. You savor what landed in your mouth, swallowing as you gaze up at him adoringly.

Marcus releases your hair, his hand moving to cup your cheek tenderly. His thumb brushes across your lower lip, smearing his release further. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper - perhaps love.

The crowd's roar grows deafening, a mix of shocked gasps and lustful cheers. You can barely make out the Emperors' enraged shouts over the din. None of it matters - your entire world has narrowed to the man before you.

Hanno clears his throat softly, breaking the silence. "I believe it's time you take your leave, girl," he says quietly, eyes darting between you, Marcus, and the imperial box. “Go home to your farm?”

The Emperors seem to recover from their shock, Caracalla's face contorted with rage. "Seize them!" he shrieks, but his guards hesitate, wary of challenging the legendary general.

Marcus turns to Hanno. "Are you with us?"

Hanno twirls his sword, "I've just been waiting for a chance to escape this hellhole. I'm with you."

Marcus nods, then turns back to you. "We need to move fast," he says urgently, pulling you to your feet. “Lucilla has already left to find refuge in the ships.” He grips your hand tightly as he surveys the arena. 

The Emperors continue shouting orders, their guards now following their command, starting to close in on the three of you.

"We have to go – now!" Marcus shouts. “Barbarian, can you clear us a path?"

Hanno nods, a wild grin spreading across his face. "With pleasure."

tag list: @gothcsz @almostempty @joelmillerisapunk @untamedheart81 @lilac-boo

(tell me to add you or take you off or to go eat bricks!!)

big thanks to @creepycorbeaux for basically co-writing this chapter with me. I needed her.

and thanks @mrsmando for my beautiful mood board (it took me so long to finish this chapter because I would just stare at how perfect this fits their story)

[dancingbirdie]

Would you plz do a fic with Astarion when tav and the party looted a bunch of alcohol and take it back and drink it and celebrate at camp but tav gets a little drunk and astarion starts realising his feelings for them? 😳

I’d love astarion to take care of me after a few drinks 😂

Bless you anon, for gifting me this fic idea. It practically wrote itself and saved me from being bored all day at work. I hope you enjoy it!

A Night of Drinks and Realizations

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3,120

Warnings/Tags: Astarion x GN!Tav, minor act 1 spoilers, drinking, drunkenness, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, FLUFF! Non-sexual HEARTWARMING FLUFF!

Song Credit: The Galway Girl by Steve Earle (I do not own rights to the music, lyrics modified slightly to fit the fic)

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Chultan Fireswill tasted exactly as its name suggested - like the last charcoaled bits remaining in a dying campfire. But, Tav had to admit, it got the job done. It was as strong as horse piss on a hot day. They were absolutely soused from just half a bottle. Although, to be fair, Tav hadn’t been a heavy drinker in their past life, before all this illithid tadpole business had come about. Now? Well, they supposed they had much more reason to imbibe. 

Tav sat around the campfire with most of the others, enjoying spoils from the goblin camp the party had handily defeated - mostly due to the help that Halsin and Lump the Enlightened’s group had provided. They had yet to make it back to the Emerald Grove as Halsin had requested. Utterly spent from the fighting and fleeing, Tav and the rest of the party had opted instead to rest for the night in the blighted village on the outskirts of the goblin camp. At least there were semi-usable beds in some of the abandoned buildings. 

Shortly after setting up camp, Gale had retired early, eager to continue reading some of the dusty tomes he’d been collecting throughout their journey. Astarion had slunk off in search of something to satiate his thirst, leaving the rest of the group in various states of relaxation around the fire. It was a quiet, peaceful evening. Everyone seemed to be deep in their own thoughts, ruminating.

That was until Tav hiccupped loudly, breaking the thoughtful silence that had overtaken the party. Karlach guffawed at the sound, smacking her hands on her thighs.

“Tav’s absolutely PISSED, look at them!” she managed between cackles. The other party members turned to observe them, curious. They had all been running about, fighting, nonstop for the past few days. No one in the party had ever been well and truly drunk in front of the others. There just hadn’t been the time, or the relative safety, to be inebriated.

Tav blinked blearily at Karlach across the bonfire, trying to focus. “‘M not,” they garbled. “‘M perffc-ly fine.”

“Chk. Your tolerance for this weak slop is an embarrassment,” Lae’zel spat from her seat next to Tav. “Give me that,” she said as she grabbed the bottle from their hand, upturning it and consuming the rest of the foul liquid in one go. 

Tav smiled amiably and patted her on the knee. “You’re *hiccup* lovely. I forgive you *hiccup* for takin’ my drink.”

Lae’zel stared at them, eyes widened to the size of saucers. Wyll, Shadowheart, and Karlach were nearly bursting at the seams to keep from laughing openly. 

“I do not require your forgiveness, ska’keth,” she snapped. 

Tav just giggle-hiccupped and smiled again. Looking to the rest of the party, they put a hand to their mouth and stage-whispered, “she’s a little grumpy, that one.”

At this, they all laughed uproariously. Lae’zel rolled her eyes, reaching for another bottle of alcohol piled near the rest of the camp supplies.

“YOU-GUYS,” Tav suddenly shouted in a slur, tottering over to snatch up a new bottle of Chultan Fireswill. “We should have a party. Like, right now, have a party.” 

“FUCK YES!” Karlach cheered, chucking an empty mead bottle onto the ground with a resounding crash. “I’m all in, baby,” she said, reaching for an unopened bottle of Ithbank.

“Here, here,” Shadowheart echoed, raising her own bottle. “We could do with a bit of levity and foolishness, I think. Does anyone play an instrument? Some music would be lovely.”

“It’s been a few years but I believe I can still pluck a few tunes on the lyre. Let me give it a go,” Wyll replied, rummaging through his pack supplies to retrieve the instrument. 

Moments later, he began plucking a jovial tune that had everyone besides Lae’zel tapping their feet and nodding to the music. After it finished, he continued with a dancing jig Tav was familiar with from the taverns in Waterdeep, although most of the footwork eluded them in their drunken state. 

“Where’s Gale and Astarion?” Tav shouted in a sing-song voice, twirling around in a laughable attempt at dancing. “Wake their asses up and tell them we’re having a party!” 

“No need for ass-waking, at least for me,” Gale called, joining the party from the direction of one of the abandoned houses. “No one can get an ounce of sleep with you lot frolicking around the fire.” 

“GALE!” Tav shrieked as they dance-skipped over to him, tripping slightly and smashing into his chest. “You made it!”

Chivalrous as ever, the wizard kindly grabbed Tav’s arms to keep them upright and restore some semblance of balance to their swaying form. “Quite literally impossible to miss it, Tav. Your voice carries extraordinarily well,” he replied, chuckling.

Tav gave him a rueful smile. “I drank, jus’ a lil’,” they explained. 

At this, his face broke into a wide grin. “I can certainly see that. Looks like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do if I'm to match the rest of you!” 

He guided Tav over to where Shadowheart was sitting, delicately perched on an old traveler’s trunk near the fire. “Perhaps stay here while I go peruse our stockpile.” 

Tav plopped down unceremoniously next to Shadowheart, who quirked a smile. “Enjoying ourselves are we?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Tav sighed out. “Although it would be even better if Astarion joined us. Where IS he?” they asked, swiveling their head around the village square, hoping to spot his telltale white blonde locks. 

“I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. Maybe he caught himself a big bear and is drinking it dry,” Shadowheart said teasingly.

Tav nodded seriously, “He deserves the biggest bear, ever,” they said, absolutely failing to notice the joke. 

Shadowheart scoffed. “Lovesick, little pup?” 

Tav giggled, abruptly hiccupped, and then giggled again at that. 

“He’s just beautiful,” they finally replied in a dreamy sort of voice. 

And then, “Inside and out,” they added, more softly.

Shadowheart threw her head back with a laugh. “Oh gods! You really are lovesick.”

Tav hummed happily. “I think I am, but - OH MY GODS!”

“What?” Shadowheart shouted, startled and peering about to assess the apparently impending danger. 

“I LOVE THIS SONG!” Tav shrieked, jumping to their feet and swaying about once more as Wyll began playing another lively tune. 

Confession utterly forgotten, they were lost to the strumming of the lyre, spinning like a top that might never stop. 

************************************************************************

Astarion had not planned to eavesdrop on the conversation between Tav and Shadowheart as he made his way back toward the camp. Truly, he hadn’t. But, at the mention of his name from Tav, he couldn’t help but wonder what the conversation was about. 

Stepping quietly around the corner of the decrepit tavern, he paused to listen. His heightened senses easily picked up on their voices as clear as if he would be standing next to them. 

Tav had… feelings for him? Astarion didn’t know what to do with this information. Why were they admitting this so openly? And to a person they barely knew? Was this a ploy? Was Tav banking on him hearing this supposed confession and trying to lull him into some false sense of security? The paranoid part of his mind was absolutely convinced of it.

But no, surely that couldn’t be it, another more reasonable part of his brain asserted. Lost in his thoughts, he observed Tav whirling about the campfire with their bottle of booze spilling out. They accidentally doused Lae’zel with a spurt of liquid, causing the Githyanki to swear loudly and move to the other side of the campfire. 

Astarion huffed a laugh. No, Tav was… many things… but devious was not one of them. He had observed them enough throughout their travels the last few days and had come to the conclusion that Tav was as harmless as a week-old pup to those they liked and trusted. They were genuine, transparent, and… open… to his utter confusion. And, okay yes, his considerable annoyance. 

But Astarion was truly hard-pressed to remain annoyed at Tav for long. They were just so gods-damned pure. As pure as the sun’s rays. Being annoyed with them was like being annoyed at the sun for existing. It couldn’t help what it was. Tav couldn’t help who they were. It would be a mistake, a waste of time, to despise them for their nature. 

He envied them for that. But above all else, if he were being totally honest with himself, he craved their attention just as much as he relished the actual sunbeams he’d been able to feel on his skin for the first time in over 200 years. 

But still, Astarion had no idea how to process this revelation, that the-pure-sun-incarnate-Tav had love for him. Love. Not merely lust, desire, or attraction. Now those he was familiar with.  Those had been a currency he’d transacted on Cazador’s behalf for so many years. But love? Love was an unknown concept to him. It had never been something he’d tried to cultivate in the minds of his victims. Astarion wasn’t even sure he understood what love actually was.  

A series of loud bangs startled him from his circling thoughts. He looked up and chuckled at the sight he beheld.

Tav had found several scrolls of minor illusion in Gale’s packs and had begun to set off fireworks. Bright green, pink, and yellow sparks were careening into the sky, exploding into images of flowers and pixies to the utter delight of Tav. The rest of the party were loitering about, laughing at Tav as they clapped their hands in joy. 

Seeing as this would perhaps be the best time to integrate himself into the party, Astarion strolled toward the campfire. Grabbing a bottle of some cheap swill they’d looted, he took a seat beside Shadowheart and nodded in a cheers sort of motion to the cleric. She raised her bottle in acknowledgement. 

“Come to watch the wonder that is Tav utterly debauched?” she quipped.

“I must say, I rather like them like this, all uninhibited and bawdy” he replied, his eyes following Tav as they danced and gyrated their way over to Wyll, who was plucking out another familiar tavern tune.  

“Wyll, do you know the song ‘The Amphail Girl’?” Tav asked too loudly, hiccupping.

“I do, but gods Tav, I don’t know that I’ve ever tried playing it,” Will admitted.

“Okay, okay,” Tav sighed in a mock-morose tone, stopping Wyll from playing by placing a hand on the lyre strings. “Then you must pass the lyre my friend and be ready to take some *hiccup* notes.”

Wyll, ever the good sport of the group, obliged Tav’s demand and relinquished the instrument. 

Astarion chuckled. “Oh, dear. They’re not about to actually put on a performance, are they?” he asked in a somewhat-rhetorical question toward Shadowheart.

She chuckled. “It appears so. Liquid courage really does wonders, it seems.”

They both watched as Tav began plucking at the strings of the lyre until they stitched together the right tune. After a few beats of strumming, they began to sing.

“I took a stroll down the old long walk

Of the day I-ay-I-ay

I met a little girl and we stopped to talk

Of a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

And I knew right then I been takin' a whirl

Down the Salthill Prom with an Amphail girl”

The entire party watched, enraptured, as Tav sang the lyrics in a beautiful, high tenor voice. Their hands never missed a chord, performing as though they knew the song by heart. 

“Did you cast Guidance on them?” Astarion whispered to Shadowheart, as Tav strummed the bridge of the song. 

“No, I haven’t touched my magic since this afternoon,” she replied. “This is all Tav. Shocking, considering how inebriated they are.”

It seemed the rest of the party members were in equal disbelief that their drunken compatriot could perform so flawlessly. Tav continued the song, smiling as they sang, eyes closed and blissfully unaware of the stares they had garnered. 

“We were halfway there when the rain came down

On the day I-ay-I-ay

She asked me up to her flat downtown

On a fine soft day I-ay

And I ask you friends, what's a fella to do?

Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

So I took her hand, and I gave her a twirl

Oh, and I lost my heart to an Amphail Girl”

And the longer Tav sang, the longer Astarion realized there were cracks now forming in his long-held aloof façade. There they were, singing with their heart and soul, radiating unobtrusive joy. Astarion was enamored by Tav’s utter lack of pretense. He couldn’t take his eyes off them, even if he had wanted to.

“When I woke up I was all alone

With a broken heart and a ticket home

And I ask you now, tell me what would you do?

If her hair was black and her eyes were blue

'Cause I've travelled around, I've been all over this world

Boys, I've never seen nothin' like an Amphail girl”

Tav concluded the song with a final series of strums. They opened their eyes slowly and looked around curiously at the party, as though they had forgotten where they had been before the song began. Astarion thought they had an almost ethereal look in their eyes. Everyone had grown quiet, the meaningful pause leading them toward more introspective thoughts.

Of course, that was before Tav doubled over and hurled the contents of their stomach on the ground. In a blink, that otherworldly moment was gone, and the party members groaned at the mess of ick now puddling in the center of their circle. 

Tav wobbled on their feet, very nearly careening to the ground. 

Strong arms caught them about the waist before they collapsed. 

“Now, now darling, the fun is truly over, it seems. Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Astarion coaxed, leading Tav toward the tavern. 

“You alright taking care of them, then?” Karlach called after him and Tav. 

“Yes, yes, I can keep the pup from choking on their vomit,” Astarion promised.

“And make sure they drink plenty of water!” Shadowheart added.

“Astarion?” Tav mumbled, seeming to finally come to, blinking up at the pale elf’s face. 

“Yes, darling, I’ve got you,” he murmured, an arm wrapped solidly around Tav’s waist. 

“Oh good. Did you get a beat grig bear? Oops,” Tav chuckled, grinning. “I meant a great… big… bear. Shadowheart *hiccup* said you would.”

Astarion didn’t have a bloody clue as to what Tav was talking about, but he nodded along, charmed by their innocent look of excitement.

“We should drink to celebrate!” they said suddenly. 

Astarion well and truly laughed. “No, my dear, I think we’ve both done enough drinking for the night,” he responded. 

Tav sighed. “I suppose you could be right,” they grumbled.

The two fell into a companionable silence. Astarion carefully walked Tav up the steps of the tavern and guided them toward an old boarding room near the back. There was a bed there, mostly left untouched by grime and pests. In any case, it was a more favorable alternative to sleeping on the ground.

Gently, Astarion pushed Tav to sit down on the edge of the bed. Crouching to his knees, he began pulling their boots off their feet. Tav watched in a daze before lifting a hand to cup Astarion’s cheek. 

Concentrating on the laces of Tav’s boots, he hadn’t been expecting their touch. He jumped slightly in surprise. Casual touches were not something he was used to. 

At his response, Tav removed their hand from his skin but kept it floating there in the air, as if unsure what to do. 

“Sorry,” they murmured. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Astarion held their gaze, pondering them thoughtfully. After a moment, he took Tav’s hand and returned it to his cheek. 

“It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I’m beginning not to mind those touches from you.”

Tav gave him a sleepy smile. “Thank you, Astarion,” they whispered and began to slump over onto the bed. 

“No no, not yet you don’t,” Astarion said hastily, rising to his feet and walking over to fetch a carafe of water from his pack. 

“Here. Drink all of this,” he said, extending the bottle to Tav.

“I don’t want water,” they said, frowning. 

“Trust me, darling, you’ll thank me for it in the morning,” Astarion chuckled. 

Tav gave a sullen huff. “Fine, but only because you asked.”

They downed the carafe in a couple of drinks before collapsing back onto the bed. 

Satisfied that Tav wouldn’t perish from alcohol poisoning - at least not tonight - Astarion made to leave the room. A quiet voice gave him pause just as he was about to cross the threshold. 

“Could you stay with me, please?” Tav whispered, watching Astarion through half-closed eyes. 

Astarion balked inwardly. Staying in the same bed with Tav would mean something. To Tav. To him. Was he prepared for that? What would Tav expect from him then, in the days that followed? Was this a step toward some kind of commitment? Did he want that?

As the seconds ticked by, he watched Tav’s eyelids close completely. They may not have even been aware that they had uttered that request aloud. They certainly weren’t aware of the effect it had on Astarion. He could just as easily pretend not to have heard them and walk out the door, leaving things as they were between them now: a curious potential.

But watching Tav’s chest slowly rise and fall with peaceful breaths, Astarion felt that craving again. The desire to be in the warm sun. To be touched by the sun’s rays. 

Fears be damned, he thought. At least for tonight. He could have this moment, he reasoned. He could have this one night. 

And, climbing into bed next to Tav, a part of him thrilled at the way their body turned and curled into his. The complete and total trust they had in him, that he wouldn’t harm them. That he - Astarion - was a safe harbor in which they could rest. 

The realization was too much to take in. So foreign. His mind couldn’t make sense of it. 

But, as he lay there in the quiet, his hand gently brushing Tav’s locks back from their forehead, listening to their even breaths, Astarion knew one thing. Whatever this new feeling was that Tav was drawing out of him? He wanted more than just a few stolen moments of it.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Monster from the deep

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Howard Phillips Lovecraft x GN! Reader

Description: Waters of Teyvat become dangerous. Something is destroying ships. Dottore is asked to kill the monster.

Warning: OOC. Mentions of insanity, torture, religious fanaticism, animal death. Dehumanisation (Dottore refers to Reader as 'it'). Lovecraft is soft protective yandere towards Reader. English is my second language.

A/N: , if someone was waiting for full fanfic about Self-Aware! BSD X SAGAU! Imposter crossover, here we are.

______

To: Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore

Lord Harbinger,

I swear on the greatness of All Creator, if situation didn't call for that, I won't write this letter, but, I am afraid, our nations are in a dire situation.

As you must know, another ship was destroyed. Another deal fell through. Liyue will not be able to send a shipment of minerals to Snezhnaya. We lost another ship, cargo and ship's crew.

At least, until we finally have found a survivor.

He was found on a lifeboat near Liyue's shores three weeks after the ship sink. He was dying of hunger and thirst.

And he has gone completely mad.

Sailor was starting in the distance, repeating again and again.

"Ephaiagl ah mglw'nafh. C' ah mglw'nafh."¹

At first, we thought, that he was delusional, that we could save him, if we get him in better shape.

Yet, he refused to eat or drink.

He only stared in the distance. Talking and talking.

He didn't let anyone inside his hospital room.

He became aggressive every time someone tried to peek inside.

He did come out, but, always tried to return to his room as soon as he can.

We forced him to eat and drink, to keep him alive. We gave him every medicine we could think of.

He didn't become better. And he didn't become worse.

And tragedy strikes.

All-loving Creator were visiting the hospital. Their Grace light patients' mood. They felt better, after seeing Their Holiness.

One of the patients, who was staying here with his dog, feel happy for the first time in last days, after seeing All Creator. He dog disappeared, and he was feeling terrible, but, after seeing Their Holiness, they forgot their sorrows.

And All-loving Creator met mad sailor.

For the first time in weeks, he got silent.

He was staring at Creator, unblinking and unmoving.

And he committed a sin.

He dared to attack Their Holiness.

Screaming words in the strange language.

"N'ghftdrn! ah'legeth n'ghftdrn!²"

We killed sinner.

And inside his hospital room, we found a lost dog. What remains of him.

We also found this in his room.

[Photo is attached to letter. The wall of the hospital room is covered in red letters. Words makes no sense, except ones, that are written under the red drawing of an octopus-like monster. "BRING DOTTORE TO HIM"]

Lord Harbinger, It seems, that it's the monster, that destroying ships. We have heard about your victory over Ursa the Drake. Perhaps, you could try to defeat the Sea Monster as well? Liyue will send millelith and our best sailors to assist you. It will take time, because Liyue captains refuse to go to sea, so the expedition will reach Snezhnaya by land.

Wishing for an eternal reign of All Creator.

Ningguang, The Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing

_______

Il Dottore, Second Harbinger, One of the Creator's Personal Physicians, was standing on the deck of the ship. They were in the middle of the sea, moving along the trade route from Snezhnaya to Liyue.

Everything was quiet.

No signs of a monster.

Sailors were doing their job. Fatui and millelith were on observation duty, trying to catch a sign of a monster.

Yet nothing was happening.

Dottore feel anger. The damn creature asked for him, yet, it didn't show up. Cowardly vermin.

Few months ago, after the low-live Imposter disappeared, the strange monster appeared in Teyvat waters. It attacked ships, making any sort of trades not just dangerous, but straight up impossible.

Nothing could stop that monster. And no witnesses remain.

Everytime they killed another sea monster they thought, that they finally succeed.

And, in a few days, another ship got sailed.

Mora was low, and Pantalone became angrier and angrier.

The trades became impossible, and people start loosing jobs, factories started to close down.

And, finally, they have a lead, to what they are looking for. And this thing decides to hide.

Dottore clenched his fists. Everything went to Abyss after Imposter escaped.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream.

"Man overboard!"

______

A saved man called himself Lovecraft.

And he was strange.

A tall, gaunt man, was towering above everyone on the ship. His eyes looked bored and tried. Almost empty. He hardly talked to anyone, preferring to stay on his own.

The only time Dottore saw any kind of emotion from Lovecraft, was when Fatui soldiers, after a few drinks, were discussing The Imposter.

________

"Oh, I am so jealous of Lord Harbinger! He managed to pay a part in punishing the Imposter!" proclaimed Fatui Agent (Dottore didn't care about his name), waving a mug, that was filled to the brim with alcohol, in the air. Other Fatui and millelith solders cheered.

"Yea!"

"He showed them their place!"

"Dirty parasite, how dare they impersonate Their Holiness."

The night was full of alcohol and talks.

The agent, who started talking about the Imposter, turned towards Dottore.

"Lord Harbinger, please, tell us, how you avenge Their Holiness."

Dottore rolled his eyes. The rest of the Fatui, sailors and millelith joined Agent in asking for a story. Well, one time, he can entertain them.

Dottore put down his glass of wine, cleared his throat and start his tale.

___________________________

The Dungeon was dark and dirty.

Still, too good for a creature, that were contained here.

Dottore walked down the corridor, that leads to an isolated part of the dungeon.

In the small cell, full of torture devices, it were kept.

Exact double of Creator.

A dirty heretic.

Braces on its legs had forced it to remain in a standing position all night. Its eyes were unfocused, due to a lack of sleep and enduring intense pain.

Its lying lips and mouth were now covered in burns and blisters. Before Dottore came here, the high ranking church members came, to clean its soul by pouring boiling water in its mouth.

"Well, look at this squalor. Not so confident now, are we?" with mocking concern, asked Dottore. Sinner flinched. It strained to speak with its burned throat, as it managed to croak out a response.

"want home... to friends..."

Dottore mockingly pet its head. He grabbed the fist, full of its hair, and pull. Sinner let out a cry of pain.

"Aw! This creature has friends? Well, when we are finished with it, we will go after its friends."

Dottore let go of its hair, taking a step back. He took a metal instrument from one of the small tables in the cell.

"Let me give you something, Sinner. Nice salted water for your mouth. So you won't say even more of your heresy."

_____

The crowd roared. They were cheering for Dottore.

"Hooray for Lord Harbinger! Let Creator bless you!"

"I bet, it were crying like a dirty pig, when salted water got into its mouth. Oh, my bad. I shouldn't be rude towards pigs, by comparing it to them!"

"It got what is deserved."

Dottore scoff, pleased, with the reaction.

And he felt a gaze on him.

Howard, who was sitting in the corner, looked at him.

The look was full of hate and disgust.

Howard, suddenly, became blurry.

In the next moment, the ship was cut in half.

_______

Ground was moving up and down.

The ground felt like wood.

The night was cold.

Dottore woke up. With half-closed eyes, he tried to stand up. But the ground was still moving. And his clothes start getting wetter. He felt the scent of salt.

Dottore finally opened his eyes.

He was on the raft.

In the middle of the sea.

And no ship or other crew members were in sight.

Dottore felt anger. He wasn't sure, how he got here, but, he swears to Tsaritsa and All Loving Merciful Creator, that he will find the person, who put him here, and will destroy them.

Something swam under the raft.

And someone jumped from the water, landing next to Dottore, almost sinking the raft.

Dottore was ready to curse the idiot, who almost drowned him, when he saw it.

Lovecraft was completely wet, but, somehow, dark navy, slightly wavy hair didn't look wet at all. The dull, blank, dark gray eyes met with Dottore's red eyes.

"You hurt them." there were no emotions in this voice. The man reached towards Dottore's head. A large hand grabbed Dottore's face.

A black empty holes replaced Lovecraft eyes. Octopus tentacles squeezed around Dottore.

Dottore was afraid. His fear was strange. Like it was something, that came from his ancestors. Something, that he would feel, even he was a newborn right now.

Dottore managed to gather enough power to attack.

Yet, the attack didn't do anything.

It didn't even scratch Lovecraft.

Howard put his face near Dottore's.

"You have hurt them. And I am their friend. And I will share some nice salted water with you."

Dottore was thrown in the water.

Waves closed above his head.

____

Dottore was sinking.

And a huge, octopus-like monster were circling around him.

Huge, greenish. With countless tentacles.

Monster stared at Dottore.

It became blurry again.

It changed its looks again.

One tentacle squeezed Dottore's neck and forced him to look straight at the monster.

"Ymg' lloig ah mglw'nafh.³"

Dottore looked at the monster.

And screamed.

Seawater filled his mouth.

______

After leaving Dottore near Liyue's shores, Lovecraft start swimming to their base.

To a hidden cave, where a portal, that leads back to their new world, were located.

Lovecraft reached the cave in a matter of minutes.

He took a special trap from the water, where three kois for you were swimming.

Lovecraft stepped into the portal.

_____

You were standing near a big fish tank. You carefully observed Teyvat fish, that Lovecraft brought you every time he returned from Teyvat.

You flinch, remembering Teyvat. You didn't have physical scars, thanks to Yosano, but, you have plenty of mental scars.

You heard familiar heavy steps.

Lovecraft walked inside the room. He noticed you and walked closer. He holds the trap with fishes towards you.

"For you."

You mumble a little'thank you' and took the trap, immediately releasing fiches into the fish tank.

Then, Howard hold something else towards you.

A familiar mask.

You froze, looking at it.

"For you. I made him lose his mind. He won't hurt anyone. He will never hurt you. I won't let him."

With shaking hands, you took Dottore's mask. Tears run down your cheeks.

"Th-thank you... Howard..."

A big hand carefully cups your cheeks. Lovecraft wiped away your tears.

"Don't cry, Treasured Guiding Light. No one will hurt you. And the ones, who dared to hurt you, will pay."

____

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He doesn't drink. He's only howling this words, if it's even words."

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Let's call for the All Creator. Their Holiness might help."

______

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Someone, put a gag in his mouth! He is disturbing other patients!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"AAAAAH!!! Dear Creator! He bit my fingers off!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He is getting away! Lord Dottore, stop!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh! Ymg' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁵"

"He is attacking Creator! Stop him!"

_____

Dottore was standing in the middle of the same cell, where you were kept in back then. He was forced to stay in standing position. His red eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was covered in burns and blisters. He was staring at the wall.

His screams were filling the night. He doesn't care about burned throat. The only important thing in his life were the words he was repeating.

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

______

In a real world, you were sitting next to Lovecraft.

Both of you were eating chocolate ice cream.

You leaned against Lovecraft's side.

Big hand softly pet your head.

"Y' ahnythor ymg' nnn, gokar'luh. Y' ymg' ephainnn, gokar'luh.⁶"

You smile slightly.

One day, you will heal completely.

And your friends will be with you for every moment of your recovery. And for every moment after you heal.

________

¹"Future is dead. We are dead" R'Lyehn (Cthulhu language) I was using this translator.

²"Monster! Lying monster!"

³"Your mind is dead."

⁴"I must die"

⁵"I must die! You must die!"

⁶"I must protect you, treasure. I will protect you, treasure."

______

Tag list: @withered-blossoms

[multiverse--wanderer]

Cruel Game // Oneshot - Ghost x König (CoD) -- ENG

[Oneshot based on the OTP between Ghost x König from Call Of Duty (MWII). This full one shot on patreon may have elements of +18 content, read at your own risk.] This is a Patreon exclusive text, check out the different memberships and what each one can offer you!

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

The clock struck half past eleven at night, and the dim light of the room enveloped them in shared intimacy. Only a small lamp flickering in shades of amber could outline the harmonious and broad figures of both soldiers. The thick walls, the heavy curtains—everything conspired to isolate them from the outside world, creating a sanctuary where time held no meaning, at least for once. Simon "Ghost" Riley had made sure that nothing and no one could intrude upon this space he considered sacred. He had turned off his phone, locked the door, and, as a final act, dragged the heavy chair from the corner to block any attempt at interruption. Tonight, he wasn’t going to share König with anyone. He wouldn’t let him leave early either. Not duty, not the shouts of a superior, not even the war itself would have power over them.

At least, for a few hours before dawn.

He had worked hard in the days leading up to this moment to secure a few free hours before his morning shift. And even though his body was exhausted, his need to merge with König outweighed any fatigue. The need this man awakened in him was akin to that of a starving animal or a nocturnal creature parched with thirst. Alexander was a sort of paradise amid chaos, an oasis in the midst of hell. The only moment when all his senses took center stage and his mind could finally shut off, where feeling was the one thing that made him feel alive.

He could mentally replay, over and over, every moment when König had awakened new sensations in him. He remembered the first brush of their hands, the involuntary shiver that ran through him when their eyes met during that shared mission, and the way their breaths synchronized when their bodies intertwined in the darkness. But he would never admit it. He would never accept, not even to himself, that he had fallen in love with this man. He refused to acknowledge that he had an irrational dependency on those blue eyes, on that unique way of loving him. And, above all, he refused to admit that König was his weakness.

He tried to convince himself with cruel, almost ruthless thoughts. He told himself that if he were in a situation where he had to choose between König's life and his own, he wouldn’t hesitate to save himself. He couldn’t afford that vulnerability; it would be foolish... right? Yet, deep down, he knew he was lying.

König sat at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders leaning slightly forward as if bearing the weight of a world only Simon could understand. He wore a tight gray t-shirt that outlined his powerful figure, with small cigarette burn holes—remnants of long nights and shared watches with his comrades. His lounge pants hung on his hips with an apparent carelessness, but Ghost knew every line and curve beneath that fabric. Despite his imposing height and chiseled muscles, at that moment, he looked like a gentle giant, vulnerable and exposed to the storm of emotions Simon unleashed in him.

Ghost approached silently, his steps muffled by the rough carpet. He observed König's profile—the straight line of his jaw, the way his messy hair fell over his forehead, casting shadows that danced to the flickering light. Every detail was etched in his memory; every feature formed part of a map he had traced on countless nights like this one. But what drew him in the most was König’s gaze: those blue eyes that seemed to contain an entire ocean, deep, enigmatic, and yet full of a tenderness only Simon could provoke.

König looked up upon sensing his presence, and their eyes met in a silent clash of emotions. No words were needed; in that gaze, they said everything. König let his guard down for him alone. In front of others, he always kept his impenetrable mask, his façade of an indomitable warrior. But in this room, under that soft amber light, he allowed himself to be just Alexander—vulnerable, human... and completely his.

That purity, that exclusivity, was what made König so addictive to Simon. No one else knew that side of him. No one else could touch that hidden fragility behind his armor of strength. And Ghost, who had lost so much in life, wasn’t willing to share it. Not tonight. Not until dawn came to reclaim what was rightfully its own.

Simon knelt before him, slowly and deliberately stripping off his shirt. The heavy fabric fell aside, vanishing into the eternal darkness of the room's play of light and shadow, revealing his broad, sculpted torso. Scars stood out even more perfectly in relief, and the tattoo on his forearm completed the picture of perfection that was Simon Riley. His tactical jeans rested low on his waist, highlighting his pelvis in his flawless physique, and Alexander couldn't help but let his gaze linger on his form, swallowing thickly.

Alexander’s blue eyes traveled from Simon's waistband to his face, getting lost in his beauty, even though it was still covered by that balaclava that always concealed his features. Even so, he could see his beautiful eyes—those eyes that, this time, bore no trace of violence but a desire charged with tenderness.

Simon tilted his head slightly to look down at him, his gloved fingers gently tracing Alexander's jawline, outlining that perfect profile. Alexander didn't move, his body tense, his breathing uneven. He felt vulnerable under that touch, exposed like never before, but he couldn't pull away. He didn’t want to.

—Ready for me?

Alexander found no words, his slightly parted lips voiceless. But his breathing quickened noticeably, his chest rising and falling uncontrollably, and his eyes shone with a mix of longing and submission. He nodded slowly, the gesture clumsy and almost primal, like a warrior surrendering to a superior force. And at that moment, Simon knew he had him—completely and utterly.

Without breaking eye contact, Simon straddled König’s broad legs, moving with a predator’s precision. His hands found the sides of the Austrian's neck, firm and possessive, his thumbs feeling the rapid pulse beneath the warm skin. He leaned in slowly, forcing König to lie back on the bed, to surrender under his control. König’s legs gave way, and his back met the mattress with a faint creak of the springs. He was a giant subdued, vulnerable and docile beneath his lover’s hands.

Simon pulled up the edge of his balaclava, revealing his lips—a small gesture that conveyed immense intimacy. He allowed himself to kiss König then, first with gentleness, exploring his lips as if it were the first time, with a tenderness that belied his strength. It was a kiss that held ancient yearnings, unspoken desires, and a love he couldn’t afford to name. He claimed him slowly, ensuring every corner of that mouth belonged to him.

And he did.

Their connection went beyond the physical. Every touch, every look was a reminder that in a world full of death and chaos, they had found something unbreakable. Simon shed his mask, his soldier’s armor, to be simply a man who loved with an almost savage intensity. And König, in turn, ceased to be the unyielding giant to become someone who could fall apart in the arms of the one he loved, knowing he would be held.

Time ceased to exist for them. Simon devoted himself to exploring every inch of König with his lips, as if engraving a map in his memory. He touched with infinite patience, as if the world could wait, as if nothing else mattered.

But when someone knocked on the door, the spell shattered. Reality intruded like an icy gust, tearing apart the bubble of intimacy they had created. Simon's body tensed instantly, his muscles standing out under his skin as he sat up slightly. His eyes locked on the doorway with lethal ferocity, an expression so cold and dangerous it could’ve frozen hell itself. He was a predator ready to strike.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

[bokutosbiceps]

real deal

kure raian x f!reader | smut + some fluff | 2.2k words

summary: raian comes home from a job to find that you’ve replaced him with a little piece of plastic. he decides to show you why the real deal is always better

warnings: mentions of murder, cursing (it’s rai omg), nsfw under the cut, use of sex toy, cunnilingus, throat fucking, choking/gagging, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, possessive sex, mating press, dirty talk

a/n: i’m dedicating this to @thebigevilsamp + @missmadness123 because i used to thirst over raian with these two so i figured you guys would appreciate this 🥹 i’m sorry for leaving LOL. oh + also @kenganparadise + @kengan-ass because i enjoyed their writing at the peak of the fandom 💕

18+ MINORS DNI

Raian swung his keys around on his index finger as he strolled back to his car, whistling a tune he’d had stuck in his head throughout his entire job. Erioh had sent him to kill some asshole who had been embezzling money from one of Erioh’s oldest friend’s company, and Raian couldn’t have been less intrigued. 

The job was easy, since the target was just an old dude. A simple squeeze of his hand had snapped the old man’s fragile cervical spine, extinguishing the last bit of life the guy had left in him. Whatever, he was probably going to die within the next 10 years anyways. But however easy the job was, it was equally long. The target rarely ever worked given his old age, and it took forever to get intel on when the old bag would show up to work. Raian was never able to figure out where he lived, either. He didn’t understand how old people could be so elusive.

I’ve just gotta go report back to old man Erioh and then I’ll finally be able to get home. Raian grunted to himself as he weaved in and out of traffic on his way to Kure Village. I wonder how my bitch is doing… Raian’s expression softened as he thought of coming home to you after being away for so long on this job. He would probably never get used to being received with such excitement and love when returning home from a job. Deep down, he loved it. And deep down, he missed you more and more as the days apart from you passed. He appreciated the short but sweet texts you would send him, telling him that you were thinking of him, or that you missed him, sometimes even complete with a cute or sexy photo of you.

Maybe he should do something nice for you. Since he was in a good mood.

Raian sneered as he slammed his car door shut after pulling up to a random supermarket. Dumb bitch, making me get her flowers. Why do women even like flowers? They’re so useless, can’t even eat them or use them as a weapon. Fucking hell. He grumbled to himself as he picked up some flowers, already knowing exactly which kind he would get since he had taken note of what types of flowers you liked to adorn the kitchen table with in the house. He could be observant when he wanted. He threw some cash at the cashier and stalked back to his car, speeding to Kure Village so he could debrief Erioh and be on his merry way to your arms.

“It’s finished, old man.” Raian leaned against the door frame to Erioh’s office, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched his grandfather raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m surprised it took you so long. I was starting to wonder if you’d finally pissed someone off enough to get yourself killed.” Erioh cackled at how quickly Raian’s smirk disappeared.

“Kill? Me?” Raian snorted. “You know better, you old bastard, no one can kill me.” Raian straightened once he remembered your flowers were resting in the front seat of his car, likely shriveling up in the sweltering heat of the afternoon. “I’m leaving. If you need anything else, don’t.” Raian turned on his heel and waved to Erioh as he exited his house.

“Raian.” Erioh called out to him and Raian huffed as he turned back around to face his grandfather, glaring at him expectantly. “I’m giving you the next two weeks off. Spend some time with your woman.” Erioh smiled slyly and sat down at his desk. “If I’m going to be appointing you as head of the clan anytime soon, I’ll be wanting to see that you are capable of upholding your bloodline.” Erioh gave Raian a pointed look. “Get busy.”

Raian scoffed as he continued to make his way out of Erioh’s house. Way ahead of you.

It took Raian less than 3 minutes to drive the short distance from Erioh’s house in the depths of Kure Village to his own home somewhere in the upper ring of the village.

He unlocked the front door and entered the silent house with flowers in hand, somewhat disappointed that you weren’t jumping into his arms to greet him like you usually did. It’s what he got for trying to surprise you with his return.

“Y/n?” Raian called out as he walked from the front room to the living room, stopping in the kitchen to set the flowers down on the table next to the vase filled with almost identical flowers. He heard a small buzzing noise coming from down the hall and followed the noise to the bedroom. What he found was a delicious sight.

You were lying on the California king, legs open wide, chest heaving, and lips parted in pleasure as you held something small and colorful and vibrating to your clit.

��Hmm, the fuck is going on here?” Raian’s deep drawl shook you out of your haze of pleasure, causing you to immediately close your legs and sit up in slight fear and embarrassment.

“Rai, I didn’t know you were coming home.” Your voice was breathless, your hair slightly tousled, and your cheeks held a shade of arousal that Raian found so delectable. He approached the bed in one long stride and snatched the vibrator out of your hand before you could even think to hide it. “I missed you.” You said bashfully, watching as Raian inspected the toy that fit in between his large fingers.

“You missed me so you tried to replace me with this thing?” Raian challenged, crushing the vibrator between his fingers and shifting his gaze to you.

“Nothing can replace you, Rai.” You sat up onto your knees to become level with Raian, who was still standing by the bedside, now brushing the remnant of your brand new vibrator onto the floor. You slid your hands underneath his shirt and up his chest. “Fusui just…suggested it to me. She knew I was missing you and you never told me when you’d be back…a girl has her needs, y’know.”

“So did that little fucking toy satisfy your needs?” Raian seized your hands with one of his hands and used his other hand to grip your face. You shook your head in blatant and hurried denial. “Good, I’m glad my bitch knows the difference between a piece of plastic and the real deal.”

Raian wasted no time in pushing you back on the bed and placing his knees on either side of your naked body, dragging his shirt off while you made quick work of his belt and pushed his jeans down to expose the bulge in his boxers.

“You see how hard I am already, bitch? This was your plan all along, hm? For me to come home and see my bitch all laid out on the bed for me, ready to be fucked?” Raian sank his teeth into your shoulder, rutting his hips so that his bulge was rubbing against your pussy. You gasped at the sudden contact and wrapped your legs around his hips obediently, giving him more access. “Good girl.” He growled, moving his hands down to squeeze and knead your ass.

“Rai, fuck—I missed you, so much.” You breathed, bucking your hips against his boxers, getting them soaked in your arousal.

Raian sat back on his heels, eyes raking over your naked body which was trembling with excitement at the evening ahead of you. He looked down at his boxers and frowned. “Dirty girl, huh? Getting my boxers all wet with your pussy juices.” He stood up briefly to take off his boxers, releasing his girthy cock and letting it slap against his lower abdomen. You drooled at the site of his pre-cum leaking out in beads from his tip.

Raian kneeled back on the bed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, coaxing your lips closer to his cock until it was fully shoved down your throat. He warmed his cock in your throat until he noticed tears forming at the corner of your eyes and decided to give a good, strong thrust into your mouth, causing you to gag.

“My bitch is gonna gag on my cock, huh? Did you miss the way it tastes? Are you gonna take all this cum for me?” He bullied you, fucking your throat despite your gagging and choking until he was shooting ropes of cum down into your stomach. He slid out of your mouth and let you catch your breath while pushing you back down on the bed and pressing kisses down your neck, to your breasts, to your navel, before placing a chaste kiss to your clit, making you whine and arch your back.

“Does my girl want me to fuck her cunt with my tongue?” Raian smirked at your whining as you twisted his hair in your fists, trying to push your hip into his face. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want you t-to fuck me, Rai.” You breathed. “I missed your cock so much, baby.” Raian clicked his tongue before pushing one, then two, then three fingers inside of you, eliciting a high pitched whine from you that originated from deep in your chest.

“Not yet, bitch.” Raian pumped his fingers in and out of you as he licked a stripe up your clit. “I’ve gotta torture you first.” Raian continued fucking you with his fingers and licking and sucking on your clit until your thighs were trembling and he was sure you were about to cum. Just when you felt like you were about to fall over the edge, Raian abandoned your pussy, making you shiver slightly at the cold air that replaced his touch.

You lifted your heavy head to see Raian kneeling again, stroking his cock and spreading his pre-cum to make sure he could fuck you easily. You eyed his cock hungrily, remembering how just moments ago that thing had been shoved down your throat so far you could barely breathe.

Without any warning, Raian hoisted your legs onto his shoulders and leaned down in between your legs to lick greedily up your neck before capturing your lips in a rough kiss, almost feral, that left you dizzy. Raian’s lips put you into such a trance that the pressure of Raian pushing his cock inside of you made you squeal in surprise, throwing your head and arching your back, making Raian’s angle inside of you even deeper.

“Fuck, babe, how could I resist the feeling of your pussy squeezing my cock like this?” Raian picked up the pace, bottoming out with every thrust. “How much did you miss me?” Raian gripped your chin and forced you to look at him, but your eyes were rolling into the back of your head from the pleasure of Raian’s cock filling you up. “Look at me, bitch, tell me how much you missed me fucking you like this.”

You willed yourself to meet Raian’s feral gaze, which made your walls squeeze around Raian’s cock even tighter as he fucked you into the bed. “I missed you so much—baby, I-I dreamed about you coming home and—f-fucking me just like this.”

“Hm, good answer.” Raian's pace started to become erratic and his hips stuttered. “I think I’m gonna let you cum. Is that what you want?” You managed to moan out a yes as Raian’s thrusts became rougher and he squeezed your hips with his fingers, hard enough to leave bruises. He growled as he neared his release and the sound was the final straw to bring on your climax. Raian was not far behind you and he released into you as he bit your bottom lip before smoothing it over with his tongue.

Once he was sure he had emptied the last drop of his cum into your cunt, he slipped out of you and threw himself down onto the bed next to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest. He let you catch your breath before continuing his bullying.

“So me or the toy?” He asked through a smirk. You huffed.

“Rai, shut up. I was just desperate, you were gone for a long time.” You said the last part quietly.

Raian felt a twinge of guilt poke him in the chest. He frowned and ran his hands down your back, squeezing your ass. “Sorry.” He mumbled. Two weeks didn’t seem like that long when he was focused on a job, but he had never thought of how long it must’ve seemed to you when you had to deal with his family every day.

“It’s fine.” You stifled a yawn and curled yourself further into Raian’s chest. “Just as long as you come back to me every time.”

The corner of Raian’s mouth turned upward into what could have been regarded as a smile, had you seen it. He just grunted in agreement. Nothing could keep me away.

[staciesometimeswrites]

Groundhog Day - BuckTommy Fix-It Fic(?) Sneak Peek

The sun is already high in the sky by the time Tommy pulls into the gas station, driving up the right side to a pump so he can fill his tank. He’s been driving since before dawn, already dreading the next week. He’s struggling to understand why his captain decided that he needs a break. He’s been fine. His work-life balance is just fine.

He’s definitely not picking up as many extra shifts as he possibly can just so he doesn’t have time to think. To contemplate. To regret.

Hopping from the truck, he stretches his arms above his head, exposing just a little sliver of his tanned stomach as he moves from one side to the other. Letting out a soft groan he taps his card to the reader and pushes the nozzle into his tank. As it fills, he absently observes the environment around him. There’s a lot of desert; soft brown sand and hard packed earth as far as the eye can see. A copse of trees a few hundred meters out from him blows steadily in the arid breeze, and he tastes the dryness on his tongue. It tastes like a southern evening sitting out on the porch in the dead of summer, a beer in one hand and nothing but the chirping of cicadas as white noise. Small tumbleweeds lazily crawl across the ground, being pushed this way and that.

Almost every car that approaches pulls off; it’s the first gas station he’d seen in going on a hundred plus miles. His truck still has nearly a full tank of gas, but he was itching for some form of caffeine, and it’s not like he has a destination in mind. Tommy’s plan is to drive until he feels like he can’t, and then hole up in some roadside roach motel and hope he doesn’t get eaten alive by bedbugs. It’s not been a full day and he already feels the way the thoughts are creeping in; the urge, the desire, to pull out his phone and dial a number he knows he should have deleted months ago but can’t.

The pump finally clicks and he drags himself back to reality. Without so much as a wayward thought, he returns the nozzle to its holder and heads into the small convenience store that’s attached, praying that it has more than black sludge to slake his thirst.

While the station did in fact have coffee, it wasn’t much better than the sludge found at the bottom of an ashtray, but he was drinking it for the energy boost and not so much the taste. Ever since he ended things with E… with Buck… he’s found himself drinking his coffee black. Is it punishment for finally finding happiness and throwing it away? He doesn’t know. What he does know is that he has to force it down his throat as it constricts because the stuff is so foul.

He’s probably only another thirty-five or so miles out from civilization when he manages to choke down the rest of it, tempted to throw the empty in the passenger side footwell but deciding to not be the sulky adult he is and placing it in the front cupholder. All the windows of his four-door are rolled down, scenery whipping by as old-school country blares from the speakers. Tommy installed it a few months after they’d gotten together, dreaming of one day taking a trip just like this with him. They would hold hands across the center console, Tommy bringing those rough knuckles to his lips to kiss as the younger man regaled him with fun facts about any and everything. Tommy’s plan had been to spoil the hell out of him. He wanted to show E… Buck… just what it means to be loved for everything you are.

A sob works its way up his throat and he can’t fight it back. The tears follow soon after and it doesn’t take long for him to feel like he’s driving blind because his vision is blurring. The sun sinks beyond the horizon as well and his headlights can only pierce the darkness so far.

Tommy grips the steering wheel, hard, as thoughts he buried deep resurface. Barbed wire made of steel snakes around his heart, leaving carnage in its wake as it tears the fleshy organ to shreds. His chest aches and he can’t draw in a breath. Is he hyperventilating?

[novamation12]

TW for Gore, Body Horror, Vomiting, Blood, and Suicidal Thoughts (?) under the cut!

August 6 2014. Patient Scott Wesson. Age 30. Infected with new strain of Stellae Morbus. This strain enters the body from the offspring of the “corpses” of the hosts affected by the original Stellae Morbus strain. The offspring are a mass of flesh akin to that of some kind of peach. The fruits are covered in a viscous, deep blue substance smelling of eucalyptus and lemon. The insides are an unnatural bright cyan hue, with seeds scattered about and covered in that same blue substance. The patient is currently in quarantine room #002, being observed around the clock by my colleagues as well as myself. Further updates will be provided. ~ M.V

August 13th 2014. Week 1. Patient Scott Wesson. Age 30. The patient has exhibited symptoms similar to Patient Reynold Vanido Goldberg. The only difference is their progression. While Reynold seems to have a prolonged rate of progression when it comes to his symptoms, Scott is the opposite. He’s progressing faster than those infected with the first strain. He’s growing fatigued with little appetite and frequent scratching at his skin. But he’s always asking for water. And yet it never satisfies his thirst. Further updates will be provided. ~ M.V

August 20th 2014. Week 2. Patient Scott Wesson. Age 30. Just as I’ve suspected. The strain mutates its host differently depending on how the parasite enters the body. The patient has begun developing cysts and masses on their face and body, the largest one being over their right eye, which is experiencing some redness and irritation. Itching of skin has only increased. Patient says it “feels like wasps that want him dead”. Their pleas for water have only increased, but he only seems to grow more dehydrated. Where is all of it going? The patient has also been salivating a dark, thick bile. We’ll need to bring it back to the lab for testing. Further updates will be provided. ~ M.V

August 27th 2014. Week 3. Patient Scott Wesson. Age 30. The largest cyst has completely taken over the patient’s right eye, rendering it useless. I would check it manually for further evaluation, but he won’t let me get close enough. He says I treat him like a “lab rat”. Both cheeks have begun swelling as well with the same purple hue as the cyst on their eye. Perhaps that is where the dark bile is coming from, which they’ve been forcefully ejecting from their mouth as of late. They frequently slur their words like their mouth is full of water. Their left eye has become irritated as well, supporting my theory that both eyes will soon be useless to the host. They’ve stopped asking for water, and now spend their time in the corner, itching away at their skin until they begin bleeding. Further updates will be provided. ~ M.V

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“I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I can’t hurt you. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me for my cowardice.”

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 40/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne, Unsafe for Work

Chapter Forty: Deeper

Rain poured down outside while Harvey lay underneath Bruce. The soft smacking of lips and gasping in between breaths as Bruce slid his hand up and down Harvey’s thigh. With every thrust, Harvey found it harder and harder to remain quiet. “Bruce,” Harvey whimpered. 

“Harvey, look at me. Look at me,” Bruce breathed heavily as he searched for a deeper connection. 

Harvey opened his eyes, and he smiled. “Relax. Calm down… Calm down,” Harvey gently commanded. Bruce slowed his strokes, arching deeply into every thrust as he leaned forward, letting his lips come as close to Harvey’s as he could get without kissing him. Bruce slid his hands underneath Harvey’s thighs before pulling Harvey close in one quick, rough movement. A loud moan escaped Harvey’s throat as Bruce moved his hands from Harvey’s thighs to his chest. 

“Oh fuck. You’re not being fair,” Harvey laughed. Bruce smiled as his thrusts turned to rapid pumps, and Harvey grunted and groaned. 

“Don’t cum yet,” Bruce whispered as he froze. “Not yet. Not yet… Wait.”

Harvey looked deep into Bruce’s eyes and held Bruce’s face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me,” Harvey reassured him, his voice breaking into a whisper as he tried to figure out what Bruce felt at that moment. It had been like that lately. Bruce came by, thirsting for closeness and attention. Although Harvey appreciated that the sex had become more intense and intimate, he worried that Bruce was struggling with something. Perhaps he was begging for something more. No. It felt worse than that. More frightening. 

Bruce’s lips crashed against his, interrupting Harvey’s train of thought. “ Turn over? ” Bruce whispered. He sounded unsure as the words escaped his lips.

“Yeah. Okay,” Harvey replied. Bruce pulled out, quietly observing the way Harvey’s flesh curved and twisted in the dim light. “On my stomach or do you—?” 

“No. Don’t lay down all the way,” Bruce whispered as Harvey got on all fours. He teased Harvey’s hole, with his tip, as he breathed one shaky breath after another. It was uneven and desperate. Not labored like the type of breaths after a nice run. Harvey felt Bruce slide inside, a little at first, and then all the way. He made a soft noise underneath Bruce before feeling a hand wrap around his shaft, stroking down as fingers slipped against the precum on his head. 

He shuddered as his hips stuttered, and he moaned. “Goddammit,” Harvey cursed. Bruce was gentle at first, letting his other hand graze Harvey’s side, sliding up to his chest and across it, pulling Harvey up onto just his knees. The frantic rolling of Bruce’s hips quickly alternated with the downward stroking of Harvey’s cock, and Harvey held the headboard for leverage. “Fuck,” Harvey whimpered, “Jesus Christ, Bruce.” 

Bruce throbbed inside of Harvey as he kissed Harvey’s neck and jawline. The headboard knocked against the wall while Bruce grunted and throbbed inside of Harvey. “Can I cum?” Bruce asked in between strokes. 

“God… Fuck… Yes,” Harvey growled the words as he took his cock from Bruce and started stroking himself faster. Bruce took his newly freed-up hand and held the headboard. He was rough and fast as he came inside Harvey, and Harvey came into a shirt after a few more pumps. 

Bruce pulled out, tossed the condom in the trash bin, and flopped onto his back. Harvey got on all fours before rolling closer and tucking himself into Bruce’s side. Bruce frowned up at the ceiling. “I don’t think I can escape the way this feels,” Bruce thought out loud. 

“Bruce?” Harvey whispered. “What’s going on?”

Bruce sharply inhaled as he covered his face. Harvey didn’t sit up. He knew better to make any sudden dramatic movements. It only would’ve made Bruce feel worse. Instead, he gently placed a hand on Bruce’s chest. “This is the only time I can relax. I don’t have the time to see anyone or talk to anyone… But if I keep chasing this high I get with you—.”

“You won’t lose me. I’m here. Bruce, nothing bad is going to happen to us. I know a lot of things are changing, but my feelings have always been the same. Is this because I want to have a baby with Gilda? Or the engagement—?” 

“Cassandra… Her dad might kill my parents to get her back, but I—. It was just the two of them for however long until she bolted. It’d be wrong to make her go with him. Mom said she’s got bullet wounds and scars all over. She’s been through hell, and I—. I know what her father is capable of. Just because I—. I’m gonna lose my Mom and Dad—.” Bruce wept with his wrist covering his eyes, so he didn’t have to face Harvey.

“Bruce, Jesus Christ. How do you know he’s—?”

“I trained under him for a little while, but I—. I realized I could never be a killer, and I—. I couldn’t tell you or anyone because I was so afraid of who I—. What I almost became,” Bruce explained as tears streamed down the side of his face. 

Harvey kissed Bruce’s side. “That was a long time ago. We were kids. He isn’t going to kill your parents. My dad came back for me a few times, but he never hurt your parents because he knew he’d lose my respect forever. Every abusive parent knows well enough to leave an open door for forgiveness. There has to be some unspoken boundary… A person who is completely off limits. Who is Cassandra closest to?” Harvey asked. 

“Dad. Cassie’s obsessed with him, and she hardly ever lets go of him. She follows him everywhere… And when he goes to work, she won’t do anything unless it’s in his office. She does her speech therapy and all her lessons in there,” Bruce replied, “The only time she comes out is for Mom or Alfred to take her to the gym… And she’s such a sweet kid. You can tell she just wants to make everyone happy. She tries so hard… We can’t let her go with him.” 

“He’ll never lay a finger on your dad, not if he ever wants a chance at forgiveness… And she’s a tough little girl. I don’t think he’s gonna want a fight,” Harvey whispered, “He loves her in his own twisted way.” 

“How do you know?” Bruce asked. 

“She might not understand speech, but she understands a held hand and a hug just fine. He isolated her, but he couldn’t have been that cold if she’s as affectionate as you say. She had to learn that from somewhere,” Harvey replied, “How are she and Dick getting along?” 

Bruce took a deep breath. “I think she’s breaking him down. She’s trying to learn to do flying trapeze with him, and he’s not gonna say no to teaching someone who’s interested,” Bruce replied, “Tell me he’s not gonna hurt my parents again.” 

“He won’t hurt your parents,” Harvey reassured. “I have a mildly related question, though... Does this mean you’re gonna stop fucking me like this?” 

Bruce chuckled. “Give me ten minutes—.”

“I’m gonna need at least twenty before I can move,” Harvey laughed. Bruce smiled and kissed Harvey’s hand. “Can you check on Gilda when you get up? She’s been so quiet.”

“I can do that,” Bruce answered.

[rebeliz7]

AUGUST - DRABBLE #3

Drabble 3 - August, dreams 

Wanda wakes up abruptly. The terror of her dream claiming all her senses before she can fully comprehend what’s happening. In a second, she’s sitting up and taking in deep breaths trying to calm herself down. 

Wanda knows that Natasha is up now as well, just observing but she doesn’t say anything again, just like she hasn’t said anything every single night that this has happened in the last couple of months. 

With a hand pressing on her chest, Wanda leaves the bed and leaves the bedroom altogether. She makes her way towards the elevator and then the kitchen without shedding a single tear, although she knows she’s about to. 

The look on your face a second before she did what she did haunts her constantly, but in her dreams it becomes a nightmare. The panic on your face, the terror in your eyes as you tried to free yourself from her hold--the way you collapsed in her arms when she was done. 

And she knows she deserves to live with this punishment but it doesn’t make it hurt any less, no matter how many times she’s had to relieve it already.

…

“Hi.” You smile before closing the door behind you and rushing to your bed. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long.” She smiles too, and when you crawl your way up her body and softly lay on top of her, she’s eager to kiss you. 

You kiss her back, delighted in the way her hands roam your body as you manage to slip your tongue into her mouth, and she moans lazily at the way this kiss turns delicious and downright sinful. 

Wanda’s kissing you and you love her, you love her so much and you want to live in August forever. 

Your eyes open peacefully, the dream is over and you smile to yourself. 

The feeling in your chest expands, you thought you were over her, but these dreams keep coming and you know you’re still in love with Natasha’s wife. 

Which is inconvenient to say the least because Natasha is the most important thing in your life, and you’re dating a wonderful woman who loves you, and you need to start loving her back. 

August. The word still feels heavy somehow and you don’t know why. 

Daisy is sleeping next to you, and you kiss her bare shoulder before you make your way out of the bedroom. You need to drink some water.

… 

Wanda sees you in the kitchen, and her steps falter at first. It’s two thirty in the morning and she should just turn around and go back to her room, but even as her logic makes arguments in her head her feet are already taking her closer to you. 

“Hey, Wands.” You clear your throat, a pretty blush appearing on your cheeks as you put an empty glass down on the counter, and she loses her breath. 

“Hi.” She says back, her eyes taking you in and she wants--she wants so much that it hurts to look at you. 

“Bad dream?” You ask her and she walks even closer to you, tentatively. 

“Nightmare.” She admits with a broken voice, that she knows you pick up. 

“I’m sorry. Those are not fun.” You tell her, and her heart shatters inside of her chest yet again. You can’t be the one to offer any kind of consolation for the nightmares that haunt her these days. 

Not when you were her--her victim in all of it. 

“It’s okay.” She tries to smile, and when you smile back the raw need to lean forward and kiss you almost takes over her. 

She could kiss you, she knows you’d kiss her back and no one would have to know. She’d just erase that memory as well and it’d be like it never happened, but this thirst that she feels would be satiated at least for a day or two. 

And that thought--that thought scares her to the bone. She murmurs a quick goodbye, and leaves as fast as she can. 

… 

[altocat]

(Ok this is just a funny observation I have made after spending some time on ff7 tumblr)

Twitter about Sephiroth: Sephiroth 🤤 stab us daddy, so hawt, homoerotic tension with cloud, thirst tweets, more thirst tweets, barking, simping hard, nfsw, leather sex god headcanons, villain baddie, and so on.

Tumblr about Sephiroth: He is our beloved son that we must protecc at all costs. We will draw him having a normal childhood because he never had one, we don’t like dehumanizing him because of his appearance, he is tragic but we don’t excuse his villainhood, but also please give him hot chocolate and hugs and nice things, make sure he has friends, also fuck Hojo, let Sephiroth kill Hojo, let him have silly humorous shenanigans with Genesis, Angeal, Cloud, and Zack.

Angsty analysis of his story, deep thoughts, sad headcanons, warm headcanons, we will die for this child and burn down Shinra. Seph deserved better. WE ARE THE MOM HE NEVER HAD.

(There is some understandable simping here but you guys are very maternal and warm and respectful of the character. It’s very funny and refreshing).

I feel like we've built a really great community here. I'm so glad people are actually beginning to analyze Sephiroth as more than just Smirking Sword Villain Man. It's really refreshing.

But yeah. Let's adopt him.