#tag yourself game of thrones

[izzy140105]

"she has something you don't have here in westeros." tyrion spoke, looking over at his silver haired queen from the chair he had sat himself in.

"and what's that?" daenerys questioned the imp, turning around to look at him instead of out the window. where she was watching very carefully the woman they were speaking about.

"the love of the people." she knew his words were true. as she saw the way the people of the north respected and loved her... the same respect and love she once got herself back in essos. but she was not in essos anymore. and she was quickly starting to understand that, as she saw the people of the north held no love for her... but for their own beloved queen. who smiled prettily, who spoke sweet and softly. and it filled her with something that she despised... jealousy.

[morgana-ren]

You ever see a piece of media that is very blatantly meant for adult consumption but for some reason, the fan base around it is ultimately comprised of packs of rabid 12 year olds who shouldn't be indulging in the media in the first place and utterly lack critical thinking or comprehension and couldn't understand nuance or perspective if you gave them baby's first homework assignment on it?

[anisespice]

Hey girl got a request,so like let’s say bonten is having a meeting with a new criminal organization gang that came in to come up with a deal,and while we are just sitting in the back looking at our new sparkly items Koko bought us,and the new criminal organization gang calls us out saying it’s disrespectful and rude calling us names..And bonten doesn’t like that one bit..So yeah I want them to react to that

hope it makes sense 😔😍🤺🤺

SAVE ME FROM MY WRITER'S BLOCK, ANON - HERE WE GO, NO MARIO. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting~!

pairing: bonten x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, misogynistic undertones (from another gang), implied violence, guns mentioned, reader is criminally oblivious (love that for her), guard-dog!bonten supremacy, sanzu gets his own warning lol and i think that's it.

notes: yall. can you believe i actually wrote this in one sitting? without stopping?? wild concept for me, haven't been able to do that in a good minute *knock on wood*, but i hope you enjoy! more stuff coming soon ♡

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow, @captaincyberqueen

Upon the arrival of the recently developed organization, officially known as Kaiju, things already weren’t off to a great start. They were late, clocked at about twenty minutes past schedule. Excuses poured from them like a broken faucet, blaming their tardiness on traffic, which the members were willing to give the benefit of the doubt, some more than others. Then, they were unprepared. Scrambling about with their half-assed introduction mixed with a sloppily thrown together presentation, it was insulting at worst. 

Here they were, biggest in the game, offering an opportunity to help underground operatives make a name for themselves..and this is how they want to showcase their potential? Mikey waved it off when his number three voiced this flaw, merely chalking it up with inexperience–Everyone has to start somewhere, right? 

But. Finally came strike three. The one thing, the most damning thing they could’ve ever done to have mercy jump right out the window and straight to hell, was when one of their foolish members spoke ill of you. 

It was supposed to be taken as a joke, something controversial in a room amongst men, locker room talk if you would. Unfortunately for him and the rest of his team, Bonten didn’t see it that way. What was said wasn’t important, but the intent behind it was enough to make them hostile. And Kaiju would soon realize it too late despite no one laughing on that side of the room. If anything, the room grew colder. No matter who you looked at, venom consumed their gazes, a deathly aura building from their leader all the way to the advisors. The only reason no one reached for their gun, mowing them down in an array of bullets, was because you didn’t hear the disrespectful comment. 

All gazes shifted over to you briefly, sitting pretty in your little area they set up just for you. They liked having you close by, even during something so mundane as a meeting, watching you happily paint your nails or open up all the shiny new trinkets they bought you. Kaiju should count themselves lucky that you had headphones on, blissfully listening to music, not a care in the world.

And it was going to stay that way. 

By now, the dumbasses before them caught on to their grave error. Especially when Sanzu made a show of santuring over to you upon Mikey’s silent request, swiftly gathering you in his arms and carrying you to the head of the table. You squealed slightly in surprise, headphones slipping off your ears in the process as you held on to the pink-haired gangster, confused smile on your face. “Haru! You scared me!~” 

“Sorry, doll. Boss wants ya to sit right here.” Sanzu gently sets you down on your awaited throne, Mikey having made room by scooting his chair back, welcoming you with open arms. 

Still confused though not complaining, you merely shrugged before making yourself comfortable, snuggling more into the leader before putting your headphones back on. Mikey held you possessively, arms locked around you like a shield, placing a small kiss to your forehead. Message was sent; message soon received. 

Kaiju’s leader began blubbering out more excuses, reprimanding his subordinate in the same breath for saying such a thing about Bonten’s trophy wife–

Guns are drawn instantly and zeroed in on every last one of them. Stunned to horrified silence, as were his underlings, they all stood frozen in fear as they stared down multiple barrels in every angle. Koko scoffed, “You must got a death wish, huh?” 

“She’s no trophy, have some goddamn respect,” Mochi added, earning a sardonic chuckle from Ran. 

“Big ask from idiots who have none. Couldn’t even bother to show up on time, now they wanna make jabs at our [_____]. I say we’ve been more than courteous, wouldn’t you agree, otouto?” 

“Tsk. Let’s just waste ‘em. We’d be doing the streets a favor.” 

“Great idea,” Sanzu and Takeomi answered in unison, the former sounding twice as eager. 

The only ones placid were Kakucho and Mikey, one quietly observing whilst the other made sure you remained ignorant to the situation, angling you in his lap to where you were practically straddling him, phone still in hand as you watched a music video your favorite k-pop group dropped recently. The only sounds in the room were the panicked breathing of Kaiju and your melodic humming to the song. Mikey patted your head, satisfied that you were still your happy self. If any of those bastards made your smile drop even a centimeter, he would have their bodies fed to the dogs. With a small sigh, he and Kakucho eventually made eye contact. Then, he gave a small nod. “You were right. Should’ve killed them after that shitty presentation. Handle it.” 

Kakucho gave a curt nod, then signaled for Kaiju to be apprehended. With guns still aimed at them, leaving them no choice but to grovel for mercy, the Haitanis along with Mochi and Takeomi forced them to march out of the room, and to their inevitable deaths, not wanting to startle you with the sight of bloodshed so early in the morning.

Sanzu was already dialing up reinforcements to help with cleanup and disposal, face beaming as he practically skipped out of the room. Kakucho gave one last look to you, then Mikey, then politely bowed before closing the door behind him on his way out. You jumped slightly, the song ending right when the door slammed shut, making you lift one of your headphones and look around in shock.

“Oh, is the meeting over already?” 

Mikey reached up to thumb your lower lip, then reached up to playfully pinch your cheek. You grinned, gently swatting him away, so oblivious to the men you inadvertently sent to their demise all to protect that very smile. The former blonde shook his head, leaning on the armrest to rest his chin atop his knuckles. “No. Ended up being a waste of time. Don’t think you would’ve liked them.” 

You chortled. “Doesn’t matter if I like them. It’s your business, silly.” 

“Mm, you are our business, angel. And we like you more.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[thekinslayed]

Come and Play

pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x gf!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), dry humping (?), foot humping rly lol, gamer bf!aem, slight dom/sub dynamic, bratty reader

wordcount | 1.4k

note | WE'RE SOO BACK! big thank you to my love @silcoangel for this idea!! she said gray sweatpants gamer aemond and i got to work 🫡 not my best bc i'm a little very rusty but i'm soo happy to be putting this out for u guys. consider this my v day gift <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“They’re right behind the corner, Aeg— Yeah, I see ‘em.”

Your eyes are starting to burn the longer you stare at the bright purple lights that tint the room. Though the dizzy haze of cigarette smoke in the air might have something to do with it too. You’re cold, exposed legs prickling from the near frigid air Aemond always prefers, but something within you burned red hot. Pulsing and creeping its way, both to your head and somewhere down south. 

You huff. Bored and forsaken by your boyfriend for whatever combat game he’s been into. Brows furrowing and orbs starting to burn holes into the back of his gaming chair. His throne, if you will, and his controller his mighty sword. He’s starting to yell into his bulky gamer’s headset, some colorful words thrown to his brother on the other end. Aemond’s always been intense, especially when it comes to winning. 

His navy sheets, usually so pristine, turn mussed and crumpled up the longer you toss around in his bed. They smell like him, and so did his shirt you put on. He smells like pine, of the greenest earth in the deep forest, though tinged by tobacco and musk. It was utterly heavenly. So addicting, and so Aemond. You can’t stop pressing your nose into the fabric every so often to find him.

You miss him right now.

Your patience is dwindling, and on a better day, maybe you would have waited it out for longer. But you want him now. You swing your legs to stand, padding barefoot over to stand behind his chair. Cold fingertips trail along the line of his shoulder, reminding him of what he’s forgotten. He pays you no mind, the furious clicking of his controller unceasing and his hypnotized trance unyielding. Yet you persist, hands caressing his bare chest, nudging your nose into the crook of his neck.

“Aem,” you sigh, breathing in the scent of his skin. Always smells so good. “You said only an hour.”

“Hold on— Aegon, are you fucking blind or stupid? He was right behind you!” He’s loud against your ear, and you can hear his brother equally booming through his headphones. You sigh again, annoyance ticking deep in your chest with being ignored. Yet you were anything if not persistent. You like having your treat as soon as the inkling of a craving starts to tickle your tongue. If the incessant grumbling and quick tapping are anything to go by, their game isn’t going well. Maybe Aemond will get tired by the end, and you’ll have him all to yourself again. You know you will.

You warm your hands down the heated flesh of his abdomen, growing bolder with each caress. Your nails trace the line down his abs, and when your fingertips finally dip into the waistband of his sweats, Aemond starts to break out of his video game-addled trance. 

“Stop,” he hisses, grabbing your hand in a tight grip. His larger palm pulls you away, before returning to his controller like a magnet. It should offend, really, but it only sharpens your aim.  

You peek at the monitor, some first-person shooter game that makes you dizzy with the twists and turns, but then you spot the timer in the corner. Only a minute left, perfect. You decide to play nice, simply settling your hands over the ridged plane of his stomach, hugging the smooth leather of his chair as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Slowly, your fingertips start to trace the bumps of his muscled abdomen, drawing some small circles. You follow the path of his happy trail, feeling the fine hairs under your touch as you descend lower, and lower. And then he sighs, exhaling deep. He’s stopped talking now, but the cinch in his brow tells you he isn’t very pleased— with the game, or with you; it hardly matters. 

Time runs out, and the screen flashes red as they lose the game. “Fuck,” Aemond grumbles, throwing the controller onto his desk and running a hand down his face in exasperation. You preen at his weariness.

“Aw, too bad, babe,” you pout, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly before stepping into his eyesight with a giddy look. “Come to bed?”

He considers you for a moment, eyes draping down your form. Nipples poking through his old college shirt, bare legs prickled in the chilly temperature, thighs subtly starting to rub against each other. Aemond meets your gaze, and for a moment, you can see your victory in his icy blues. Then they shift.

“Yeah, I can go for one more,” he says to Aegon, smirking as he leans back into his chair. You catch his abdomen clench, the shape of his cock outlined by the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants, taunting. Like dangling a treat in a dog’s face. The quick clicking on his controller resumes, and your boyfriend’s focus is sucked back into his game once more. 

“Are you fucking serious?” you glower.

“Let me win this last one, yeah?” he grins. His palm, warm against your skin, softly pushes your thigh. “Can’t see, love, go back to bed.” 

You grow hot, brows furrowing in disbelief. Aegon must be saying something about you, with the way Aemond snickers and his eyes flicker back to you with a lopsided smirk. 

All a game to him. And just like Aemond, you never like to lose. 

You kneel before him, fitting perfectly in the space beneath his desk. His eyes flicker to you in confusion, before speaking into his headset again. Your hands run up the length of his thighs, tracing his dick with your fingertip. It twitches under your touch, and you smirk. You’re quick to grab the waistband of Aemond’s sweats, pulling out his half-hard length before he can protest. You can feel him sparing glances.

You gather spit, dribbling it onto his cockhead, warm and hefty in your hold. It lubricates your hand as you begin to stroke him up and down. It doesn’t take long for him to harden, growing in size once you begin to take his tip into your mouth, and Aemond grunts. You peek at him through your lashes, watching his nostrils flare as he tries to keep a grasp on his composure. 

Your work is quick, head bobbing along the length of him and hand stroking what your mouth can’t take. The other cups his stones, massaging and softly squeezing. You start to hear his breath. “Shit,” you hear him grumble under his breath. Trim hips start to subtly cant towards your face, his defense slowly crumbling with your tongue swirling on his mushroomed tip. The clicking slows, and you think you can hear Aegon yelling at him in his ear.

Soon enough, a loud thud above your head startles you, then another. His expensive gear is tossed with little care before he grips your hair. Aemond begins to thrust into you in earnest, fucking your mouth like his own little toy. “Fucking slut,” he hissed. “Is this what you wanted? Couldn’t even wait ‘til I finish the fucking game.”

His movements are harsher, assaulting the back of your throat. Aemond grips your hair tight, moving your head back and forth to his liking. The throbbing in your core grows unbearable, your panties warm and damp in need. He shifts in his seat, foot perfectly moving just right by the pulsing in between your thighs. You press your clothed cunt into his shoe, steadying yourself by gripping onto his calf for support. 

You hump his foot, moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts. A dark chuckle leaves Aemond’s lips at the sight of you, looking down with a sneer. “I thought I fucked you enough, yet you still act like some pathetic, desperate whore,” he says, pressing his foot harder into your pussy. You whimper, gripping his leg tight as you grind your clit onto his foot. He gives you no reprieve, thrusts unrelenting until his hips start to falter. Soon enough, your boyfriend is pulling you off his cock and gripping your chin tight. He furiously strokes his cock, and his foot twists side to side to drive you into further stimulation. It manages to snag your clit just right, and you’re cumming, your mouth falling open as you soak your panties. Aemond follows soon after, gripping your cheeks to keep your mouth wide, and he’s spurting thick, hot seed onto your tongue with a curse falling from his lips. He watches you swallow all that he gives you, looking down from the tip of his nose. Spit smeared to your cheeks, eyes tear-stained and red. You’re perfect. 

“Did I win?” you whisper.

"No, I did," he counters.

"Made you cave in, didn't I?"

Your boyfriend smirks, before pulling you up by the elbow to sit on his lap. He sits you with your back to his chest, thick fingers sneaking past the hem of your panties and finding the mess between your thighs. 

“Why don’t we go best out of two?” 

[writing-mlm]

The Price of Losing

Summary: Being sucked into a video game world because two Doom’s are trying to take over the world is bad enough. But dealing with a try-hard support who hasn’t lost since this started is beyond crazy, thankfully Lin has the perfect way to break that streak. Pairing: Lin Lie x Male!Reader Wc: 5.6k tags/warning: canon-level violence, porn WITH plot, jealous Lin, sex as a bribe, mating press, riding, finger sucking, degrading said as praise, healers being yelled at, I spent way too much time looking at Hydra and Tokyo-2099 maps for this, powers based on Raven (Dc comics) a/n: hiii people in my phone, take this smut as my peace offering

“Thank you,” Storm smiles as you use the darkness to suck the life from the enemy team, using their life force to heal your team. Iron Fist, Venom, Cloak, and Captain America fall to the ground as you let them go, their bodies slump on the ground. Hawkeye and Wanda quickly finish the ones you didn’t kill, leaving the domination point filled with only your team. You watch as their bodies time out, your shoulders dropping as you get a couple of seconds to relax. Floating, you cross your legs and heal yourself. Venom has been diving you for the past twenty minutes and you didn’t want to overwhelm Jeff with healing you. 

You didn’t mind being into an alternate universe, although you’d been mostly retired from the whole hero scene up until that point. It’s been six months of this, some weird video game where you were sometimes picked to play against other heroes from different universes. Or was it timelines? You couldn’t keep up— didn’t, if you were being honest. 

It was nice, although you’d been stuck with your main role being a healer. You certainly weren’t known for your healing back home, but you did heal exceptionally well. You grin as you check your cuff, twenty-zero-thirty-eight with almost thirty thousand healing. With your whole team having a giant zero next to the number of times they’ve died, you guess you were well-suited to being a healer. 

Well, not Jeff. He always died with the enemies he swallowed instead of spitting them out for some reason. 

“My ultimate is ready!” Storm calls, her voice echoing through your earpiece. 

“We only have ten seconds left, you should wait!” You warn, looking around for her, and find her at the entrance of the enemy team, ready to press the button. “We’ll go into our final match before they get here.” 

“But I hate going into overtime!” Hawkeye groans, checking his quiver as more arrows appear from thin air. Rolling your eyes, you watch and listen as Galatca starts her countdown. As she does, you see the other team rushing towards the point. Iron Fist rapidly punches to launch himself forward while Rocket is using his jetpack to try and back it before time runs out. Unfortunately for them, they’re just a second too late as the round ends with you face-to-face with Iron Fist. 

He huffs as time slows down, the air blowing into your face as you wink before being transported to the waiting room of the next map. 

“Who has their ultimates ready?” Bucky’s voice drowns out the sound of him rolling his metal arm. “I’m at sixty-eight,”

“Full,” You reply after checking your meter. 

“Me too,” Storm nods. 

“Ninety,” Wanda sighs. “Hopefully Cloak doesn’t vanish his team again,” You hum, looking around for a water bottle in the throne room. They’re usually hidden around somewhere. 

“Ten,” Hawkeye frowns. Jeff barks something and then spins, water splashing around as he does. 

“It’s full,” You translate for him and he jumps, throwing a healing bubble at you to confirm. Bucky nods as you get a small speed boost, using the time to scratch the bottom of Jeff’s chin. His back paws rapidly hit the floor and you coo before hearing the countdown starting up. 

“I’ll stay in the back line. If all six touch base I’ll pop my ult,” You tell them as everyone stands at the entrance. 

“I’ll keep their tanks off of you,” Wanda promises.

“Me and Storm will push them back, Hawkeye should stay in the rafters and pick off anyone who gets past us.”

“Sounds good to me!” Hawkeye agrees and the doors open. Jeff gives everyone a speedboat and you all push towards the middle room. 

The Hydra map is the Frozen Airfield, so while Hawkeye takes the side entrance to get to the balcony the rest of you take the hallway straight there. By the time you get there, you hear Rocket's feet pattering against the metal and Captain America’s heavy footsteps. He’s such a pain in your ass, but hey, at least he can’t knock you off of the map this time. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Dagger talking before Captain America gives a confirmation nod. 

“Cloak and Dagger are about to ult,” You warn, using the darkness to push Squirrel Girl back. You haven’t spotted Iron Fist yet but you see Venom swing down from the other balcony. 

“Got her,” Storm says and leaves the point to deal with her. Knocking down Rocket and Squirrel Girl with your darkness blast ability, you give Wanda a little extra healing as she deals with the Venom desperately trying to nab you. Finishing the two off, you glance around to see if anyone needs healing. Storm is coming back from an eliminated Cloak and Dagger, getting healed by Jeff who’s happily waddling around. 

“Iron Fist has his fist shoved up my—“ Hawkeye cuts himself off as he jumps from the balcony, rolling to your side as you rapidly heal him. Reloading, you and Hawkeye tag team Iron Fist just as he pops his ultimate, thankfully, though, Storm notices the crowded point and pops hers, too. 

Pulling everyone from the enemy team closer to her, you work on healing the others while the enemies get picked off. The point gets claimed just as Storm goes back to normal. 

“Fist is back at zero, then. But Cloak and Dagger still have theirs ready,” Bucky reminds everyone as you watch Jeff place down scattered bubbles. 

“I think Cap just got his, too,” Hawkeye sighs. “I saw his cuff turn gold.” 

“That’s fine,” You shake your head. “Bucky has his and I still have mine. Wanda should’ve gotten hers by now, too,” She only nods, flexing her red magic as a confirmation. 

“Wanda should use hers if more than three of them come at once. Everyone else needs to cover her so she doesn’t get eliminated before she finishes it.” Bucky instructs. 

“I’ll go to the balcony, that way there’s less time for them to react,” She offers and flies up. Jeff joins her, sitting and waiting to heal her as you hear them running up. Stepping off of the point, you dip over to see who’s heading over before they can see you. 

“Cap, Cloak, Squirrel, and Rocket.” Bucky nods and then gives Wanda the signal. She nods just as they step through the doors. She pops her ultimate while you corral them forward, keeping them from running away with the help of Bucky’s arm. You can hear them firing her but the sound of Jeff’s rapid healing outdoes them before they all fall, waiting for their timer to run out. 

“We should team up more often,” Hawkeye grins as you’re finishing up Wanda’s healing. “This is fun!” 

“You’ve made it halfway!” Galacta announces and you confirm on your cuff. 

“Venom behind you!” Bucky warns and you fly up, dodging his ultimate while Hawkeye rolls to the side. Healing him as you fly down, you see Bucky and Wanda dealing with him. You still haven’t spotted Iron Fist but you know he hasn’t disconnected, so he’s probably lurking around somewhere. 

“Squirrel Stampede!” Isn’t as scary when Bucky shoots the swarm of squirrels until they’re gone. But what comes next only makes you groan. 

“Us against the world!” Moving out of the way as Cloak and Dagger go barrelling across the point, you and Jeff heal the others while also trying to find an untouched spot on the point. By that point five of them are on the point— all six when Venom lands on it. You could use your ultimate, but there’s no guarantee they’ll all die from it. It only lasts five seconds so once it’s up, you rush back to the point just before they take it and use your ultimate with your team rushing in front of you to act as a barrier.

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!” You shout before the point is covered in a field of darkness. Six confirmed kills appear on your cuff and the points capture progress goes back to blue. 

“Good timing,” Bucky nods while Hawkeye pats your shoulder. Nodding, you watch as the map shifts, opening the large window to your left. With Jeff’s ultimate ready he could get another team wipe before you’ve fully captured the point. 

Sensing something behind you, you fly up and watch as Iron Fist locks onto you. Cursing, you fly about before being forced to land, sending darkness blasts at him before you can fly again. Jeff is rapidly healing you as half of his punches land. Wanda is slowly ticking away at his health but Venom slams her away. 

“You’re almost there!” Galacta announces. 

“Armed and Dangerous!” Landing again, you see Iron Fist land too before Bucky slams into him. He fires twice before you see his cuff light up. “Again!” Falling into a healing bubble, you help the others heal while you rub your chest. Had this been a real fight you bet he would have broken your rib cage. Bringing the other teams health down, you watch as Bucky keeps reloading his ultimate. 

“I’m glad he’s on our side,” Hawkeye whispers and you nod, watching as he eliminates Squirrel Girl before returning to the point. 

“We’re going to push for the last ten percent. Hawkeye, Storm, and Jeff cover point,” Nodding, the four of you rush to the enemy spawn point and wait for them to respawn. 

They stare at your team, talking through the red walls and you watch as they split into groups. 

“(Y/n), you take Iron Fist and Rocket. Wanda, you have Venom and Squirrel. Leave Cloak and Cap to me,” Sharing a look with Wanda, the two of you split up and you extend your darkness towards Rocket and Iron Fist. You’ll deal with Rocket first, his healing can get pesky when he’s only healing two people. Pushing him into the air, you fly up and push him to the edge of the map. He nearly falls but uses his jetpack at the last second. He’s almost eliminated, though, so one darkness stream and he’s falling off the map. 

“Aht aht,” Iron Fist grins before roundhousing you into the wall. 

“I’m low!” Wanda warns and you grit, trying to find her but Iron Fist blocks your view. 

“Find a healing pack,” Bucky says, his gun echoing in the air. “Or run to Jeff,” 

Flying up to put distance between the two of you, you throw out darkness but he remains on your ass as you land. You watch as your health quickly declines and push him away, running back to a nearby healing pack. He follows closely, managing two punches before you dive and start attacking back. 

“Pure Chaos!” He doesn’t look back as Wanda wipes nearly half of his team. He could’ve easily eliminated her from his spot, with just two leaps but instead, he dips behind the wall so he’s out of her radius and backing you into a corner. His focus is on you as the two of you play cat and mouse until you see his cuff glow that familiar golden color. You’re no longer on any cooldowns, you could fly or use your spray but he’d catch up too fast.

“Aw shit,” You grumble, your back pressed to the wall while he grins, going to press it before time slows down. 

“Another perfect victory!” Sighing, you slump and watch as he tosses his arms up. 

You don’t watch as the MVP screen plays, skipping to meeting up with the team and heading out of the arena to the dorms. 

“Who won?” Spider-man asks as he sees the twelve of you leaving the portal. 

“We did,” Wanda smiles. “The other team put up quite the fight, though.”

“Lemme guess,” Ironman smirks. “(Y/n) MvP?”

“It was a close call,” You shrug. “I had one more kill than Bucky,” The man in question rolls his eyes and you watch as another team gets called into a fight. All you know is that you’re not in the group they called so you head up to shower. 

—

Two knocks echo throughout the mostly empty apartment as you’re watching your dinner get made. Pushing off from the counter, you open the door and stare at Lin. He’s out of his costume and in a simple compression shirt and sweats— it’s the only loungewear available so you’re in the same attire. 

“What’s up, Lin?” You ask, letting him inside. He walks inside, looking around the apartment that’s nearly identical to his, and then spins on his heels to face you. Everyone agreed that while out of the dorms, it’s strictly Code Names. Unless you’re someone like Bucky who would prefer to not be called the Winter Soldier. You just never had a hero name, public identity, and all that jazz.

“You’re a try-hard,” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “I checked your stats, you’ve lost zero games since you’ve gotten here. Who does that?”

“I don’t try,” You shrug, taking your food out from the weird machine. It’s probably bad for you but it’s also the only food available, so you make due. “I’m just that good.”

“You don’t get tired of winning?” He follows you into your living room, standing at the edge of your couch.

“Winners get gift baskets, I love gift baskets.” Gesturing to the basket of fruits and sweets, you hear him sigh. Looking at him, you grin and roll your head to the side. “Are you just pissy that you lost against me again?” Instead of replying, he huffs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

“We could make a deal,” He proposes. “You lose and I’ll give you something you want,”

“We don’t exactly have the luxury of having items here,” You remind, gesturing to the lack of items everywhere. 

“You know we’re neighbors, right?” He continues and you nod. You live at the end of the hallway with your only direct neighbors being Lin to your right and Adam in front of you. “Our bedrooms are against each other and the walls are pretty thin,” He makes a face and then waits for a beat. You lick your lips as you try to connect the dots he’s clearly trying to lay down. You do a lot of odd things to pass your time, he could be talking about the fact that you’ve been creating shadow versions of everyone to play card games for all you know. 

“I don’t see your point,” You roll your head to the side while he sighs and licks his lips. Lin takes a moment before he speaks again, having to think carefully about his next words. 

“You lose our next match and I’ll fuck you.” 

“Deal.” 

He blinks, unable to think of anything to say while you laugh.

“Sorry, did you have a speech ready?” He shakes his head and scratches his neck. 

“I just didn’t think you’d agree so fast…”

“You’re hot and I’m horny, I see two willing participants. I’ll take the stain on my perfect record. I also would’ve done it for a gift basket, I heard everyone gets different types.”

“I prefer the sex,”

“Great, can’t wait to lose.”

—

The agreement had all since left your mind as you’re queued into a game with Lin nearly two months later. You’d have ten matches in between then, the excitement gone and replaced with your small yearn to constantly win.

Okay, winning was amazing! You’ll agree, there’s a rush in seeing that victory screen and seeing the basket on your kitchen island at the end of the day. Losing was just… you don’t know, you’ve never lost before. 

Thankfully, this isn’t another domination game. It’s Convergence, which you thought was the same as Convoy for about ten matches before Dr. Strange explained that with Convergence, you needed to capture the point before the object could move. 

Glancing at your team as you load into Spider-Islands, you find yourself as the only healer. Peni, Groot— who technically does heal, it’s just no one ever goes to his healing walls—, Venom, Punisher, and Thor. It would certainly make for a lovely match against… you check your cuff and bang your head on the wall. Iron Fist, Mantis, Loki, Bucky, Namor, and Luna Snow. That’s three healers— one of which can shapeshift as his ultimate. 

It’s fine, shaking your head, you move up the staircase as the countdown stairs. You imagine Namor has his little octopus— one of which is definitely shooting ice— just waiting and Loki has his clones just waiting. The doors open and sure enough, you hear your teammates taking rapid damage. 

“Thanks for the healing,” Punisher grunts as he’s pushed back into the base. 

“You ran without looking, dumbass,” You grit, healing the teammates who didn’t push back. Groot hurriedly places a wall between the octopus and helps Peni place down her web traps. There’s a thump from the hallway to your left and you see Iron Fist slowly walking over. Taking a step forward, he watches as your hands glow black before he taps his earpiece, telling you to turn it off. Doing so, you continue to heal since he’s at a good distance. 

“We had a deal,” He reminds you and your face scrunches. 

“What fucking— oh, the fucking,” Your hands drop and he nods. “Fine, because Punisher pissed me off and half of my team are real assholes about getting healed.” He laughs, looking out of the window as your teammates continue to get dogpiled by his team. He sees them shouting for you, begging and cursing you for heals. Instead, you walk further into the hallway and take a seat on the soft couch. 

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” He admits, closing the doors that surround the room. You get nervous, shifting in your seat as he closes the final panel door and the sounds of the fight are muffled below you. 

“I’m a man of my word but I can always back out,” You muse and he looks at you, nearly daring you to get up and fight. “Please, you couldn’t take me,” Crossing your ankles, you watch as he stalks over to you, leaning down to your height.

“I was close last time,” He hums and then pins you to the couch. Rolling away, he grabs your ankle and pulls you back, using the momentum to grab onto your thighs with both hands. Gritting, you watch as he sits between your now open legs and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“I’m only not fighting back so I don’t eliminate you,” You defend, ignoring the twitch in your leg as he squeezes them.

“Y’know what?” He grins and leans down, his lips brushing against your ear while you shudder. “I’ll find you after you get the convoy to the first point.” He’s up in an instant and slipping through the exit. Huffing, you drop down and turn your comms on again. 

“I was getting backlined by Iron Fist,” You explain, joining the team after they barely made it a full meter. Group healing, you see Iron Fist jumping back to his team in the distance. 

“I see it was a tie, then,” Thor points out and you shrug, fixing your cape over your body. 

“We called for a rematch,” Sitting on top of the robotic spider, you push the other team back, bringing them down to half while Punisher finds a perch for his turret. He grumbles something about finally showing up and you roll your eyes. 

“Thor, push Magik. Peni, why haven’t you put down your spider things yet? Groot, Luna likes using the side entrance so you should block that.” You quickly list off, falling back into the fight with ease. Normally, as a support you don’t give directions but man, does this team need it. Letting the robot as Peni stands next to it, you work on bringing their healers low. 

“Your powers are mine!” Loki shouts and you see a clone of yourself on the roof to your left. 

“Punisher, nine o’clock, before he uses my ultimate!” You tick away at his health before Punisher finds him just as you see Loki pop the ult. Dipping into a building, you manage to pull Peni and Groot in with you but the others get dived immediately. “He’s low,” You tell them, leaving out and landing the final hit on Loki.

While he killed half of your team, he fully healed his team and you huff, checking your own status. It just needs two more seconds before you can use it, so you heal Groot while waiting for the other team to all huddle together. Sure enough, they all do and you see them all rushing towards the convoy. Punisher sets up yet another turret, this time on the back portion of a roof. 

“Groot, can you box them in a little?” You ask, dodging an attack from Luna. He nods and you watch as they get pushed together before pulling back just enough that the team could get healed and the others would get eliminated. 

“Heaven and Purgatory swarms you!”  

“That’s six!” Galacta announces as you see the six kills register on your cuff. “You’re almost there, don’t stop now!” The convoy is three meters away and when you join Peni on it, it speeds up enough that you reach the checkpoint before the other team can respawn. 

Sitting on the robot, you watch as the door opens but catch the green and yellow outfit from the top of the stairs. He motions with two fingers and you grin, slipping away from the fight. 

“You’re eager,” He teases, using his hand to open your cape and looking down at your suit. His hands wander a little while you turn off your comm yet again, sparing your team a glance as they get jumped by the others. It’s like once they all got into the team they all forgot the powerhouses they normally were and suddenly sucked. 

“They’re the worst right now,” He slides open the door and pulls you inside, dragging his nose up your neck. 

“Mhmm,” He licks a stripe along your neck and you hold onto his shirt, whining at the contact. “Let me prep you,” He whispers as the door closes behind the two of you. Nodding, you let him drag you to the middle of the roof before he pushes you down to your knees. 

Staring up at him, he grins and cups your jaw, running his thumb up and down your cheek with one hand while the other removes his belt, careful to not let the red ropes hit you. It falls to the floor with a thud before he’s on his knees in front of you. He leans in, sealing his lips against yours while his hands go from your face down to your thighs. He finds a good grip on your flesh as you grip his hair, leaning closer to him and biting down on his bottom lip. 

Iron Fist moans into your mouth as your knees lift from the floor and your back is placed on the floor in one fluid motion. The kiss doesn’t break as his left-hand wanders from your thigh, pulling at your pants until he finds what he’s looking for. Once he does, he smiles into the kiss and pulls away to get a good look at you. 

He doesn’t look away from you as he grasps the loose fabric of your pants, his hand wrapping around your dick print before he slowly strokes it. Watching him with fluttering eyes you cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. He coos before removing his right hand from your thigh and scooping your hand, lacing your fingers together, and pinning it above your head. 

You can hear the fight below you, your heartbeat rising when you hear Punisher setting up a turret in front of the door. He notices too and glances over, seeing the man’s outline, and looks back at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Please,” You gasp, chest rising with your heavy pants. “Iron,” He starts squeezing in between his strokes and you arch into him, rutting against his hand. You feel his thumb roll against the tip as he watches you, waiting for more of those delicious reactions before kissing and sucking along your neck. Grabbing the back of his head, you push him closer and continue to rub yourself against him. 

“Call me Lin,” He whispers against your chest, kissing you through the thin fabric. For a second, he lets go of your dick to pull your pants and underwear down to your knees in one motion. Your dick slaps against your stomach before it stands and he rubs his thumb over the tip again. Briefly, you hear Punisher getting eliminated but the door he was in front of thankfully doesn’t get destroyed. Feeling the weight above you lessen, you look towards Lin as he settles between your legs.

“Lin, fuck,” You pant looking down at him as he smears your pre across his fingers before slipping his hands lower. The one that was holding your wrist moves down and holds your hips down as he pushes his index finger inside. Wincing, he apologizes and kisses your inner thigh. Slowly, he adds a second finger and starts making scissoring motions until you begin moaning. For good measure, he adds a third and peers down at your hole clenching around him. 

Hiding your face in your shoulder, you use your now free hands to stroke yourself before he slaps your hands away. 

“Don’t touch yourself, just lay there and take it.” He stretches you one last time before pulling his fingers out. Whining at the loss of contact, he grins and pulls his pants down. He spits into his hand and pumps himself while lining himself up with your hole, the tip rubbing against you with each stroke. Wiggling your hips down to chase the feeling he presses harder until you stop. “You’re that desperate to let your team know what you’re doing up here?” He grins and slowly pushes inside. 

“No,” You whine, shifting as you try to quickly adjust to him inside of you. He watches your reactions carefully, using the hand that once held you down to dip under your shirt and rub against your skin. He feels your heart thumping against his hand, your nipple hard due to the contact and you moan, rolling your head back. “I don’t care if they see us,”

“Oh, really?” He laughs. You nod as he tests the waters, rolling his hips against yours. “I didn’t think you’d be into that,” There’s no reply to him aside from a strangled moan and your hands slapping the floor, finding something to hold onto. With you adjusted, he slips his hands back under your legs and presses down against you, his hips snapping as his breathing gets jagged above you. 

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you find yourself at a loss for words as he bottoms out. His dick drags inside of you, curving and prodding at your insides with each shallow thrust. The fabric of his shirt rubs against you, the smooth fabric feeling like heaven paired with the way he’s fucking you. 

“More,” You plead, breathless under him. He snickers from above you, lifting himself up, and starts a brutal pace. He’s lifting your lower half up from the floor with each thrust, his thighs slapping yours each time he digs deeper inside. 

“Losing just to get fucked,” He grunts. “How would your team react knowing their precious healer is getting— hugh — dicked down above them?” He doesn’t expect an answer but he also didn’t expect you to moan louder at the thought, your dick twitching in the air. “You’d like that, huh? Getting caught and letting them know you threw the match because you’re a horny bitch.” He grasps your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puff out and drool slowly pools out from the corner. He uses the hand that didn’t prep you and sticks his fingers inside your mouth.

“Mhmm,” You nod, sucking his index finger while looking into the whites of his mask. “Wanna get caught,” He nearly whimpers and watches as your dick twitches faster, cum spurting out and landing on your black shirt and the floor. 

“Oops, guess you made a mess,” He chuckles, his thrusts getting sloppy and his hand moving from your mouth down to your hips. He can’t figure out what to do, his hands squeezing at the flesh before they trail up the side of your body. “Fuck,” He moans, leaning down to grab your face again. He watches you as he cums inside of you, still thrusting as he empties himself. You’re letting out broken noises as he does, your legs slowly lowering to the ground as he comes to a stop.

“They’ve made it halfway, stop them!” Glacata announces in his ear and he huffs. 

“They still haven’t lost?” You ask and he shakes his head, slowly pulling out. Checking your cuff, you see they all have at least six deaths and groan. 

“Round two?” He asks and you easily agree. “Ride me?” 

“I think you just wanna see my face,” You quip and he shrugs, sitting down on the floor table cushion. His back pressed against the wooden panel wall while he slowly pumped himself. You watch as the tip of his dick disappears under his skin before getting pulled taught when he pulls it down. He lets out breathy moans while you’re climbing on top of him. He unclips your cape, letting it fall down his legs and you fling it to the side. 

Holding his shoulder with your left hand, you grab his dick and slowly align yourself. He inhales sharply as his cum drips from your hole and spreads across his dick before you sink down on him. Slowly rocking back and forth, you look up at him and kiss his neck. You feel his pulse under your lips, how he’s straining himself to remain composed. 

“(Y/n),” He strains, hands gripping your ass as you start moving faster. 

“Yeah, Lin?” You ask, looking up at him from the red spot you’re leaving under his ear. 

“Don’t stop,” He moans, guiding your hips into a better position. His hips buck into yours erratically, still not fully recovered from the first orgasm. Through your cuff, you hear the countless healing pins before grumbling and tossing them to the side. Lin snickers through his parted, glossy lips. 

“You feel so good, Lin,” You breathe, hanging your head as he’s reaching deep inside of you. His tip hits your prostate more in this position and you swear to Khonshu or Bast that you’re never going to leave his dick. 

“You’re so cock hungry it’s easy,” He coos, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb as tears bead on the side of your eyes. “Next time— fuck— next time you’re in your room, touching yourself, just knock on the wall. I’ll come and make you feel this good again, yeah?” Rapidly nodding, he pulls you closer and kisses you.

“It’s the final ten seconds!” Galacta announces and you gasp while pulling away. Checking his cuff, you see the timer rapidly going down and let out a strangled groan, rocking your hips faster against him. He helps you, picking you up and slamming you down on his cock in ways that make you scream. 

“We’ll have to keep fighting until we find a winner!” Stopping on his dick, you feel yourself cumming again, this time you manage to do it at the same time. Slumping against his chest, you pant while he tosses his head back, also trying to catch his breath. 

Carefully, you peel yourself from him and lazily put your pants back on while he does the same. 

Finding your cuff, you slip it on and check the Overtime meter. It was slowly going down, so maybe another minute before the match would end. Slinging your cape back on, you feel Lin wrap his arms around you before pulling you into his chest. 

“What?” You ask, turning your head to face him. He just grins and shrugs, nipping at your ear. 

“Armed and Dangerous!” Briefly, you see Bucky launching into the air and hope he lands all his kills. 

“Nothing, just making sure you don’t leave.” He hums, squeezing your ass before giving it a small tap.

“Again!”

“I’m a man of my word, Lin. You’re teams gonna win,” 

“Again!” 

Checking the meter again, you see it rapidly going down and find that Bucky has completely wiped the team. 

“Well, you can’t expect to win ‘em all…”  

—

“Fuck was that about?” Frank pushes your shoulder as you’re transported back to your team. None of them catch your dazed look as you fix your cape over your cum stained clothes. “What happened to your streak?”

“Rough day,” You shrug. “Win some, lose some.” He grits but it is just a game after all, so he calms down and follows the rest of the team back to the portal. You see Lin halfway, getting chewed out by Bucky for being awol for the whole game, unaware that Lin is still trying to fix his belt. His eyes catch yours through his mask and he winks, making a call-me motion before you turn and head into the dorms. 

“I cannot believe you lost!” Doreen gasps as you head inside. 

“Can’t be perfect all the time,” You huff through a smile. “It won’t happen again, though.”

“It definitely will,” Lin appears behind you, subtly grabbing your ass again. Chewing the inside of your mouth, you watch as Doreen laughs before moving over to the others. Everyone else is completely unaware of his actions even as he pulls you into the elevator, roughly kissing you before the doors even fully close.

[novaursa]

req for an aegon ii x reader who has a similar role of margaery tyrell? (love-bombing him so they can be betrothed and stuff)

she very easily manipulates aegon and basically uses his mommy issues to get whtv she wants (obviously bothers alicent to no end).

Web of Gold

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: aegon in love

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

It’s a beautiful morning, yet the tension between you and Alicent Hightower crackles like a summer storm. You can feel her eyes boring into you from across the room, but you’ve become quite accustomed to her watchful glares. If anything, you thrive on them.

You smile sweetly, dipping your head toward Aegon as he lounges on the Iron Throne, looking far more relaxed than any king should. He’s watching you with that same eager gleam in his eyes, waiting for whatever praise you’ll offer him next. It’s become a game for you at this point—how much can you say before he completely melts? And it’s easier than it should be.

"My king," you say softly, stepping closer, your golden Lannister curls bouncing as you move. "You look especially regal today. Like Aegon the Conqueror himself reborn. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Aegon straightens slightly, his eyes widening with interest. "What?" His tone is eager, as though whatever you say might be the single most important revelation of his life.

"I see a man destined for greatness. Aegon, you are so strong, so powerful, and—" you let your voice drop into a breathy whisper, "so very wise." You emphasize each word, drawing out your compliments in a way that sends a flush of pride creeping up his neck.

Aegon shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Do you really think so, Y/N?" he asks, his voice almost boyish, seeking that reassurance from you.

"Of course I do, darling. And I would never lie to you." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against his hand in a gentle, lingering touch, just enough to make his breath hitch. "Unlike others who may have their own agendas…" You throw a quick glance toward where Alicent stands, her expression tight, lips pressed thin. The corner of your mouth twitches into a hidden smirk.

Aegon doesn’t notice. He’s too busy basking in the attention you're lavishing on him. "Mother just worries," he mumbles, though even he seems half-hearted about it.

"Worries?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I think she underestimates you, my love. You’ve already proven yourself to be a far better ruler than anyone could have imagined. I can’t imagine why she continues to hover over you like you’re still a boy."

You know exactly why. Alicent cannot stand the idea of you influencing her son. It grates on her to see Aegon so smitten, so easily swayed by your honeyed words. But that’s precisely what you’re counting on.

Aegon chuckles, clearly amused. "She just doesn’t understand, does she?"

"She doesn’t," you agree, leaning in closer so your voice is only for him. "But I do." You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I see you for the man you are, Aegon. A man who doesn’t need his mother whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. You’re king now. You should be able to make your own decisions. Isn’t that what you want?"

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something—desire, admiration, a need for validation. "Yes," he says, his voice firm, though you know it’s more out of wanting to please you than actual conviction. "That is what I want."

You smile, letting your fingers trail lightly down his chest before stepping back, your eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Then take what’s yours, my king. Trust yourself. Trust me." You cast another glance toward Alicent, who looks like she’s about to bite through her tongue.

She’s always there, lurking like a shadow, trying to pull Aegon back into her grasp. But he slips through her fingers every time you’re around. Alicent has power, but you? You have Aegon. And he doesn’t even realize it.

You turn to face the queen mother, giving her a radiant smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "Your Grace, you must be so proud of Aegon," you say, your voice saccharine sweet, as though you’re not fully aware of the tension between you. "He’s grown into such a strong man under your care."

Alicent stiffens, her lips twitching in a forced smile. "He has always been capable," she says, her tone clipped. "Though I think he still benefits from wise counsel."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider her words, though you already know exactly how to respond. "Of course," you agree, "but I think he’s ready to make his own choices now. Don’t you?" You let the question hang in the air, a gentle reminder that Aegon is your king now, not hers.

Alicent opens her mouth to reply, but Aegon cuts in before she can get a word out. "Mother, Y/N’s right. I don’t need to be told what to do all the time." He laughs, clearly proud of himself for standing up to her, oblivious to the fact that he’s only echoing your words.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling. "Exactly, my love. You are your own man. And no one, not even your mother, can take that from you."

Alicent’s gaze narrows, and for a moment, you think she might say something sharp, but she bites her tongue. You know it’s eating her alive inside, watching Aegon slip further under your influence, but she can’t do anything about it. Not without making herself look overbearing in front of her son.

"Come, Aegon," you say lightly, turning back to him. "Let’s take a walk in the gardens. You could use some fresh air after sitting on that throne for so long."

Aegon rises eagerly, flashing you that boyish grin that only makes him seem more malleable. "Yes, let’s."

As you link your arm through his and lead him out of the hall, you don’t bother to look back at Alicent. You can already feel the weight of her stare burning into your back. You have Aegon wrapped around your finger, and she knows it.

But as long as you continue to feed his need for affection, for someone to praise him and treat him like the king he so desperately wants to believe he is, he will never stray far from your side. And Alicent can do nothing but watch.

[stayteezdreams]

San + Subtle ways he shows he loves you

Scenarios/Headcanons: Subtle ways San shows he loves you

Pairing: Choi San x Gn!Reader

Series Notes: Banner photos are simply for aesthetic, everything I write is a Gn!Reader/Non detailed Reader insert! There will probably be similar or repeat headcanons from others members versions, because there are many that I can see multiple of the members doing!

Words: ~420

Other Parts: Yunho || Mingi || Hongjoong || Wooyoung

Extra awareness when you are around. I mean, constant vigilance.

He walks on the outside of the sidewalk, his hand is in yours or around your waist. He pulls you closer to him if a group is walking past. He leads you through crowds so you don't get overwhelmed.

Keeps an extra jacket in his car at all times in case you get cold when you are out, or forget yours.

Drives you around everywhere, he loves his passenger prince(ss).

Often holds your hand while driving, or keeps his hand on your leg.

Keep's an eye on your beauty, makeup and/or face care products and buys them for you when they get low, always before you can get them yourself.

Keeps doubles of the same care products at his place so when you stay over you don't have to bring anything.

Has a desk dedicated for you, your studies or hobbies so you can do them/work when you stay over at his place.

Carries your stuff for you even if its not heavy.

Buy's your favorite snacks/food for you (also to keep at his place for you, will fight anyone that's not you who tries to take them)

Play's with your hair and puts little braids in it.

Let's you do the same to him.

Happily boasts about you to anyone and everyone, even if it embarrasses you.

Couple items. So many. Shirts, jackets, bracelets, rings, stuffed toys, water bottles, phone cases, etc. This man wants it to scream that you are a couple.

He likes to feed you, even if it makes you feel like a child or embarrassed in public, he loves doing it.

Constant fond gaze on his face when you are talking. Best listener. Remembers everything you say.

Surprises you with cute foods/desserts to make you happy.

Comes up behind you and hugs you from behind, often resting his head on your shoulder. Does not want to let go.

Also tight hugs while sleeping, keeps your head cradled against him, pressing kisses against your head.

Surprises you with flowers often, no real reason needed.

Prints out physical photos of the two of you to keep in an album.

Invites you out with his friends all the time, to feel included, and because he loves just having you around with him.

Knows all of your tells, tics and habits when you are upset or angry, and he knows how to act on them to make you feel better.

Basically just worships the ground you walk on, but you know, in a "subtle" way.

xx

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[prettycalla]

|| in ruinas ||

Pairing: Geta/Empress!Reader

Summary: You interrupt Geta's plans for you, but he's rather good at improvising.

Tags and warnings: Smut (not overly explicit, but it's still very obvious what's going on), exhibitionism, Geta is even more of a nuisance, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

Word count: 1.4k (approx.)

(My Emperor playlists are entirely at fault for me writing this. I guess this is set in the same world as my last fic? I've proofread it like three times, but I'm tired, so hopefully it reads okay!)

Masterlist

“We do not have time, beloved,” you had said as your husband had sleepily tried to pull you back into his arms.

This morning had been the first in a while that the two of you had been able to enjoy each other's presence for more than a brief moment, and Geta had clearly intended to make the most of it.

“You would deny me,” he replied, his voice still thick with sleep.

“The games begin today,” you told him, slipping yourself free from his grasp, though not without some measure of difficulty. “Are you not excited?”

Geta dragged himself upright, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to rouse himself.

“I am,” he replied groggily, “Though it is for another reason entirely.”

A laugh escaped you at his words. How sweet in his depravity he is.

It was then that Caracalla had all but burst into the room, brimming with excitement about the games, and no more was said about it.

You are certainly regretting your actions now.

He had been on his best behaviour throughout the entire day - exchanging pleasantries with the guests, bickering no more than usual with his brother, and as always, he had had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand when the Master of Ceremonies had announced the arrival of the Imperial party.

His little plan this morning had been forgotten about. Or so you had thought.

As is your custom, you sit close to him in his ornate throne in the Emperor’s box. There had been talk of crafting a chair of your own, but Geta had quickly dismissed it. He likes having you close like this, and you certainly do not mind. There is enough room for the pair of you to sit comfortably - not that Geta ever keeps his distance for very long.

As if on cue, his arm winds around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You briefly lean your head on his shoulder affectionately before casting your gaze to the arena below. While you were never particularly fond of the bloodshed of the gladiator games, you understand how important they are to the people of Rome, and while he may not necessarily agree with your stance, Geta has become a little more merciful to the fighters since your union as husband and wife.

Your attention is soon drawn elsewhere, however, as your husband’s hand begins to wander from your waist. Innocently at first, along your hip, down your thigh, your knee, where he begins slowly inching the fabric of your stola up.

“Husband,” you chide, lightly swatting at his hand.

He stops, if only for a moment, before continuing what he has started. His hand slides under the fabric, fingertips grazing against the bare skin of your thighs.

“Geta,” you hiss in exasperation, your eyes wide as you turn to look at him.

Geta, however, seems entirely focused on the arena below, even as his hand continues to make its ascent.

You try to slap his hand again, harder this time, but he is persistent and you are weak to his touch.

His hand proceeds further, further, until-

You let out a shrill yelp. Fortunately for you, one of the gladiators lands an impressive blow upon the other at that very moment, and the crowd erupts in a thunderous roar, drowning out the embarrassing sound that has slipped free from your mouth.

You glare at your husband. He is grinning. To the unknowing eye, he is the very image of a man enjoying the excitement of the Colosseum. But you know better.

His hand moves again, tracing precise little patterns against you, and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape you. Even with his attention distracted, he still knows how to play you like a lyre.

You hazard a brief glance to your right, praying to the Gods that you do not have an audience. Fortunately for you, Caracalla is entirely enraptured by the battle playing out below, not letting his gaze wander elsewhere for even a second. For that, at least, you are grateful.

You turn your attention back to your beastly husband as you attempt to arrange the skirts of your stola to hide what he is doing if someone were to happen a glance in your direction.

“Geta, you cannot do this. Not here,” you plead, attempting to reason with him.

At that, he stops. You breath a small sigh of relief, until you realise that his hand has not moved from you. He leans in close to you, breath tickling your ear.

“You will continue what I have started,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him.

Just as you thought the situation cannot possibly worsen for you.

“What?” you gasp.

“You heard me.”

He looks at you then, gaze unwavering as he takes your hand and places it over his. His pupils are blown wide, and you are at least relieved to know that he is not as unaffected as he has been acting.

“Show me," he says, demanding.

You tilt your head, looking down the length of your nose at him in an attempt to gain even a little leverage.

“I have had enough of this,” you tell him sternly.

Geta laughs at that, soft and low, the sound sending a shiver through you.

“Have you now?” he asks, his tone mocking.

“Yes. I have,” you insist, though you have made no attempt to remove his hand from where it lies hidden.

“Tell me to stop,” he commands.

He watches you closely, like a lion circling its prey.

“Tell me to stop," he says again, "and mean it."

You open your mouth to speak, but words have failed you.

“As I thought,” he murmurs. "You are enjoying this."

He grips your hand then, not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to send another little shiver through you.

"Do not keep me waiting, wife."

The little whine that escapes you is entirely involuntary, and you would continue to believe so until your very last breath. Geta is no stranger to leaving you at a loss for words, but now... It is as if something has awoken in him. Something untamed, feral.

You do not dislike it.

Daring to let your eyes fall closed, you continue where Geta had keep you waiting, guiding his fingers against you again, his movements drawing little waves of pleasure from you that gradually become more and more intense with each passing moment.

“What would happen if they knew, I wonder?” Geta asks, his voice pulling you from the heady fog you had fallen into.

You open your eyes to look at him. He nods towards the crowd, their attention captivated by the violence below.

“How would they feel if they knew what their Empress was letting me do to her?" he asks. "That she was enjoying it so."

The smile on his face is downright devilish, and you wish you had the capacity to scold him as he so deserves, but those little waves are quickly becoming a tidal wave, ready to crash down and sweep you away at any moment.

“Geta, I-“

The rest of your words become caught in your throat in your desperation. He knows.

“Sing for me, little songbird,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping passed yours and pressing against you just so-

You tightly clap your free hand over your mouth as he brings you to release, pulling you over the edge again and again. Only when you are squirming and overwhelmed does he finally, mercifully, stop.

A wave of dizziness threatens to overcome you as Geta removes his hand from beneath your stola. He keeps his gaze focused on you as he brings his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over his fingers.

Before you can say anything, your attention is drawn elsewhere.

"Brother!" Caracalla is calling. "They await our decision."

Decision?

Geta smiles at you, then, with such boyish innocence that you think no one would dare believe what he has just done to you.

“Will the Emperors show mercy?” the Master of Ceremonies theatrically cries to the eagerly waiting crowd.

Geta rises to his feet, then, waving grandly as he takes his position next to his brother to rapturous applause.

As the rest of the Colosseum leans forward with rapt attention to hear what the Emperors will decide, you quickly find yourself slumped in exhaustion.

Your husband will most certainly be the death of you. And what a glorious death it will be.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[gerlionrise]

A Game Within the Game P4

Hwang In-ho ( The Frontman ) x reader Synopsis: In-ho wants you to kill the guard, shows you his world and asks for the last demand. AN: this one turned out long but it's worth it. Enjoy. The next part will be the last one so if you want to be tagged - let me know! + I will post a prologue to this story - how the reader and 001 met during the games and how their (your) relationship were building up. This is part 4. All parts are here.

In-ho led you through the winding corridors with an air of quiet authority, his hand lightly grazing your back as he guided you. The touch sent an unwanted spark up your spine, but you pushed it down. You were angry, furious even, but the man’s presence was magnetic, and you hated yourself for noticing it.  

The room he brought you to was dimly lit, glowing with the eerie light of dozens of screens and monitors. A hum of machinery filled the space, punctuated by the occasional beep or crackle from the speakers. The control room.  

"This," In-ho said, his voice calm but tinged with something deeper, "is where it all happens. Every decision. Every outcome. Every life and death."  

He gestured to the wall of screens, each displaying a live or archived feed from various parts of the compound. You recognized the dormitory where players once slept, the fields where games were played, even the corridors you’d walked down to get here.  

You folded your arms, doing your best to look unimpressed. "So this is your throne room. Where you play god."  

In-ho remained serious. "You see it as cruelty. I see it as… balance."  

He walked over to a sleek black console and tapped a few keys. One of the screens flickered, shifting to a video. It showed a group of players—dressed in those now-familiar green tracksuits—huddled in a corner, whispering. The audio was muffled, but In-ho adjusted it until their words were clear.  

"If we kill them during the next game no one will notice," one man hissed, his eyes darting nervously.  

"It’s survival,” another added.  

You stared at the screen, unable to tear your eyes away as the next scene played out. The group attacked another group during the game, their movements frantic and violent. The victim’s cries echoed in the control room before fading into silence.  

In-ho turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. "This is what I see. Time and time again. People who claim they deserve better, who say they’re victims of circumstance, showing their true colors."  

You swallowed hard, your anger faltering for a moment. "That doesn’t justify what you do. You put them in that situation. You made it worse."  

"And yet," he countered, "they made their choices. Tell me, do you think they were innocent?"  

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.  

He showed you more—clips from past games, players betraying one another, alliances dissolving into chaos, greed and desperation painted across every screen. Hours passed, the weight of what you were seeing settling heavily in your chest.  

Finally, you leaned back in your chair, “You can stop it," crossing your legs and fixing him with a sharp look you continued, “Let’s play a game of my own."  

In-ho raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your game?"  

"One question a day," you explained, "you answer it honestly, and I’ll do whatever one thing you want. One question — one command.”  

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Whatever I want?"  

You nodded. 

He considered your proposal, the silence stretching between you. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he agreed. "Deal. What’s your first question?"  

"How did you become the host?"  

His smile faded, replaced by something more somber. He leaned against the console and took a moment before answering. "I was a player once. Years ago. I won."  

The words hung in the air, heavier than you’d expected. You studied his face, trying to read between the lines. "And then?"  

"Then I was given an offer," he continued, his tone flat. "To become the host. To oversee the games instead of participating. I said yes."  

"Why did you play in the first place?" you pressed.  

His gaze sharpened, and he shook his head. "That’s a question for another day."  

You rolled your eyes but let it go. "Fine. So, what do you want me to do today?"  

He straightened, his demeanor shifting back to that calm control.

"I want to show you something else."  

You frowned, skeptical. "Another room full of screens?"  

"Not quite," he said, his lips quirking in that faint smile again.  

—

In-ho led you into another room, the air heavy with a suffocating stillness. It looked like a military command center, with dark walls and sparse furniture. Standing rigidly in the middle of the room was a pink-suited guard with a triangle mask. You froze the moment you saw him, your chest tightening with anger and something darker—fear.  

“This,” In-ho said calmly, gesturing to the guard, “is the one who shot you that day.”  

Your body tensed immediately, the ache in your side flaring as if in memory of the gunshot. The wound wasn’t fully healed, and every throb served as a cruel reminder.  

“You brought me here for this?” you hissed, glaring at In-ho.  

He ignored your outburst, his tone steady and dispassionate as he continued. “This guard also killed players 333, 120, 034, 036, 234, 283, 012, 99, 101, 292... and at least ten others.”  

The numbers fell like stones into a deep, cold well inside you. You recognized some of them. Faces of people you’d spoken to, laughed with, cried with. Players you’d trusted. Your friends.  

Your anger boiled over, a rage that was as much for them as it was for yourself. “Did he shot me as a part of your plan too?”  

In-ho remained composed, “No. That’s why you’re standing here now. But the guard violated the rules of the game — they all had a command not to shoot at you.” His eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling calm.

The guard didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but you swore you could feel the weight of his gaze behind the mask. It only made your fury grow.  

In-ho extended his hand, and you turned to see him holding a gun. “If you want vengeance,” he said, his voice eerily soft, “here’s your chance. I won’t stop you.”  

You stared at the gun, then at the guard. Your hand hovered hesitantly before finally grasping the cold metal. The weight of it in your palm felt foreign, but your grip tightened instinctively.  

“You want me to kill him?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.  

“Or her. And like I said — I wouldn’t mind,” In-ho replied, his tone as manipulative as ever. “After all, this guard taken quite a lot from you.”  

Your fingers hovered over the trigger as you raised the gun. The barrel pointed directly at the guard’s chest. The idea of pulling the trigger sent adrenaline coursing through your veins. You wanted justice. You wanted retribution.  

But then it hit you — this was another one of In-ho’s games. He was watching, testing you, manipulating you.  

Instead of firing at the guard, you turned abruptly, swinging the gun toward In-ho. His expression didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. He simply watched you with the same maddening calm, like he knew you wouldn’t do it.  

"If you want vengeance?" you repeated his words. "You just want me to punish the person who broke the rules of your game the same way you do it. I’m not your puppet,” you spat, glaring at him. “You won't turn me into yourself.”  

In-ho tilted his head a little bit irritated, "You're smart." He glared at the gun pointed at him, “That's why you won’t pull a trigger.”  

You knew he was right. Shooting him would mean your own death seconds later. And deep down, you weren’t sure you could do it.  

He stepped closer, gently pressing down on the barrel of the gun until it pointed at the floor. “That’s enough for today,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to kill the guard if you don’t want to.”  

You frowned, narrowing your eyes at him. “So that’s it? You’re not going to make me shoot him?”  

“No,” he said simply, turning toward the door. “You should go back to your room. It’s late.”  

The guard remained motionless.  ---

The walk back to your bedroom was tense, the silence between you heavy. When you stepped inside, you turned to face him, crossing your arms defensively.  

“What now? Another lecture about how I owe you my life?” you asked, your tone sharp.  

In-ho’s gaze darkened slightly. “You do owe me something. Remember our game?”  

You raised an eyebrow, the sass in your voice unmistakable. “What, your command is to fuck with you? Is that what you’ve wanted all this time?”  

In-ho’s calm demeanor remained still, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s not what this is about,” he said coolly.

“Then what?” you challenged.

He reached into a small black bag and pulled out a worn paperback book, handing it to you. “You’re going to read this.”  

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “A book? Seriously?”  

“Animal Farm by George Orwell,” he said, ignoring your incredulous tone. “It's small, you’ll read it tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll ask you questions about it.”  

You stared at the book, then back at him, incredulous. “That’s your big demand? What’s the point of this?”  

“The point,” he said, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less firm, “is to see if you’re capable of understanding the world as it really is. Of seeing why I do what I do.”  

You rolled your eyes but snatched the book from his hand. “Fine. But don’t expect me to agree with you just because of some stupid book.”  

In-ho smirked faintly, already turning to leave. “Of course.”  

As the door closed behind him, you sat on the bed, the book heavy in your hands. You didn’t know what game he was playing now, but you weren’t about to lose.

—

The next morning, you walked into the kitchen, rubbing your still-sore side absentmindedly. The smell of fresh coffee and something savory greeted you, and there, at the sleek black table, sat In-ho. He was already halfway through his breakfast, his posture relaxed but undeniably commanding. His black shirt clung to him just right, making it hard to look away.  

“Good morning,” he greeted, his tone even, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth.

Rolling your eyes, you walked over to the counter, grabbing a cup of coffee. “What are you eating?” you asked, gesturing to his plate as you stood across from him.  

“Eggs,” he said simply. “Want some?”  

“I’ll survive,” you quipped, sipping your coffee. “But thanks for the offer, chef.”  

His lips twitched, amused by your sass. 

The conversation turned casual, almost playful. For a moment, it felt... normal. A stolen slice of humanity in this surreal nightmare you found yourself trapped in. But, of course, In-ho couldn’t leave it at that.  

“So,” he started, his tone shifting slightly as he set down his fork. “Tell me, what did you think of the book?”  

You shrugged, already sensing where this was going. “It was... fine. Kind of depressing, though.”  

“That’s the point,” he replied smoothly. “The greed of livings, their willingness to betray, kill, and destroy for power and money—it’s all there. Don’t you think it’s ironic? They fight for their ideals, only to become what they despised.”  

You raised an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the book, or are you giving me a lecture about your games?”  

He smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Both.”  

You leaned on the table, refusing to let him steer the conversation. “Speaking of games, the guards didn’t come this morning to check my wound. Did you tell them to skip it, or is neglect just part of the service here?”  

In-ho paused, then sighed. “I forgot. Today, all the guards are busy running tests on some new equipment.”  

You frowned, not buying it entirely. “And what am I supposed to do? Just let it fester? I want it to heal as soon as possible so I can leave.”  

He stood, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a first aid kit. “I’ll do it myself,” he said, setting the kit on the table.  

Your heart skipped at his sudden assertiveness. “Oh, so now you’re a doctor too?”  

He smirked, pulling out supplies. “Sit,” he ordered, his voice firm yet oddly gentle.  

You hesitated, but the authority in his tone left little room for argument. You perched yourself on the edge of the table, feeling your pulse quicken as he moved closer.  

In-ho knelt slightly, his face level with your waist as he reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”  

You nodded, trying not to show how much his proximity was affecting you.  

His fingers brushed your skin as he carefully lifted your shirt, exposing the bandage over your wound. His touch was surprisingly soft, almost tender, as he peeled back the dressing. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, making you shiver involuntarily.  

“Still hurts?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost intimate.  

You swallowed hard, trying to sound unaffected. “Not as much as it did.”  

He glanced up briefly, catching your eyes before returning to his task. “You’re healing faster than I expected.”  

As he cleaned the wound with gentle precision, his fingers grazed your skin again, sending a wave of heat through you. You hated how aware you were of him, of his closeness, of the way his brows furrowed in concentration.  

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you said, your tone light but edged with tension.  

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, his voice even.  

“Let me guess,” you teased, “patching up players before sending them back out to die?” He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours. He didn’t answer.  

When he finished, he secured the bandage in place, his fingers lingering for just a second too long before pulling away. He straightened, stepping back to give you space.  

“Done,” he said simply.  

You hopped off the table, adjusting your shirt. “You know,” you said, smirking as you picked up the first aid kit, “I think you lied about the guards. You just wanted to play doctor.”  

In-ho’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Believe what you want.”  

Your smirk widened. “I usually do.”  

The tension between you hung in the air for a moment before you broke it. “Let’s continue our game. You have to answer me a question.”  

He raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”  

“Where does all the money come from?” you asked, your tone deceptively light.  

For the first time, In-ho seemed caught off guard. He hesitated, his composure faltering ever so slightly before he schooled his features again.  

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, his voice quieter now.  

“Because it’s part of the deal,” you replied, “and because I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer.”  

In-ho sighed, his eyes darkening as he leaned against the counter opposite you. “The money comes from our investors — the VIPs. Powerful people who pay to watch the games, to bet on the outcomes. They fund everything—every death, every prize, every room in this place.”  

You stared at him, your stomach churning. “So you’re saying it’s all dirty money from psychopaths who enjoy watching people die?”  

He didn’t deny it, his silence speaking volumes.  

You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “And you’re okay with that? With taking their money and using it to—”  

“To run this system,” he interrupted, his voice cold. “A system that shows the truth about humanity. About greed, desperation, and survival.”  

You didn’t know what to say, the weight of his words pressing down on you. It was horrifying, but part of you couldn’t help but wonder—was he right? Were people really as monstrous as he believed?  

But you weren’t ready to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. Not yet.

"You're telling me," you hissed, glaring at In-ho, "that these people—these VIPs—spend their money just to watch people suffer? To watch them die?"  

“It’s not just about watching. It’s about power. They see themselves as gods controlling the lives of mortals. To them, this is the ultimate entertainment.”  

You clenched your fists. “They’re monsters. Every single one of them, and you too, ” you was hoping it would hurt him. In-ho stood unfazed. 

“I want to see them,” you continued. 

His mask of indifference wavered for a moment. “What would you achieve by that?”  

“I don’t care,” you snapped. “I want to see them. And I want to kill them.”  

In-ho chuckled, “That’s not possible.”  

“Then make it possible!” you challenged. “You want me to see things your way? Fine. Let me see them with my own eyes. I want to know the kind of people who think this is entertainment.”  

For a moment, he seemed to consider your words. Then he sighed, the kind of sigh that hinted at resignation. “There’s a welcome party in a week. The VIPs will be here to discuss the results of the previous game and plan for the next one. You can come.”  

You blinked in surprise, not expecting him to relent so easily. “Really?”  

He stepped closer, his tone firm. “Yes, but you'll have to be with me the whole evening.”  

You frowned, suspicious. “Another one of your tricks, In-ho? You just want to keep controlling me.”  

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Think what you want. But if you want to be in that room, you’ll be by my side. Just like you promised me during on of the games, remember?”  

“If it came down to it, would you choose me? I mean, would you stand by me? No matter what happens. No matter what I say or do. Would you be on my side?”  

“I… I don’t know, I mean, I trust you, but—”  

“That’s all I need. Your trust. Promise me you’ll stay by my side. No matter what.”  

“Okay. I promise.”  

You stared at him, the fire in your chest burning with memories, but you couldn’t ignore the logic in his words. Finally, you relented with a begrudging nod. “Fine. But only because I want to see them for myself.”  

---

The week passed in a blur. In-ho was gone most days. You spent your time trying to figure out what you’d do at the party, but every scenario you came up with ended the same way—with rage and no resolution.  

When the day finally arrived, you slipped into a fine black dress that hugged your body in all the right places. It was beautiful—too beautiful for the dark purpose of the evening. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a strange mix of power and vulnerability staring back at you.  

In-ho entered the room, his footsteps soft but deliberate. His sharp black suit made him look every bit the intimidating figure he was, and when his eyes landed on you, they lingered.  

“You look good,” he said, his voice low and almost… gentle.  

You didn’t respond, turning to face him fully instead. 

He handed you a geometric black mask identical to the one he was holding, the Frontman mask. You immediately frowned, holding it up in disbelief. “I’m not wearing this. I don’t want to look like you.”  

His expression didn’t change, but his tone turned colder. “If you don’t wear it, they’ll figure out you were a player, and they’ll demand answers—or worse.”  

You hesitated, hating that he was right. The mask felt heavy in your hands, both physically and metaphorically.  

“Fine,” you muttered, putting it on. “But don’t think for a second this makes me one of you.”  

In-ho’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk. “Of course not.”  

He held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. His fingers were warm, his grip firm but not forceful. He led you out of the room, through the labyrinth of hallways, and into a world you weren’t ready for.

---

The party was ridiculous. The wealth on display wasn’t just obscene; it was suffocating. Every surface shimmered with gold, every plate piled high with food most you couldn’t even pronounce. The guests moved like predators, masks gleaming, their voices dripping with casual cruelty. They talked about the games as though they were nothing more than a sport—entertainment for the bored and soulless.  

You hated it. Every laugh, every boast made your skin crawl.  

And yet, In-ho never left your side. His hand rested firmly on yours or your waist, a silent reminder that he was there, even as his own body betrayed his distaste for the event. He didn’t like this party any more than you did.  

At one point, a man in a lion-shaped mask sidled up to you both, his voice loud and grating. “The new games this year were fantastic,” he said, chuckling darkly. “The way they turned on each other—it’s always the best when they do the work for us, isn’t it?”  

You stiffened, the words hitting you like a slap. Your stomach churned with revulsion.  

“I bet on 334 and lost,” the man continued, waving a hand dismissively. “Stupid cow. She was too slow, too weak. Should’ve known better.”  

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “How dare —”  

In-ho’s hand slid to your lower waist, his fingers pressing firmly against your side. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.  

“She’s new to all this,” In-ho interjected smoothly, his voice even but cold. “Still adjusting to what the games entail.”  

The man laughed, oblivious to the tension. “Ah, I see. She’ll learn." The lion-masked man waved you off, already turning to another guests.

You turned to glare at In-ho, your lips parting to say something you but he cut you off before you could speak, "Do not say anything to them." 

You hissed, “I can’t stand these people. They’re disgusting.”  

---

At one point, you were left alone by the champagne table. In-ho was across the room, deep in conversation with one of the biggest investors. From his posture, it was clear the discussion was serious. But then the investor’s face shifted toward you. He pointed in your direction, saying something that made In-ho stiffen.  

“The woman you brought tonight,” the man said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “She’s... intriguing.” His eyes under the mask lingered on you, “I want her in my suite tonight.”  

A flicker of something dark passed over In-ho face though no one could see it. He remained composed, but his voice was colder than usual when he replied, “She’s not available.”   

The man chuckled, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t recall asking. I’m telling you. I want her.”  

“She’s not available,” In-ho repeated. His voice was colder now, his words deliberate. “She’s my co-host. Not someone to entertain our guests.”  

The wolf-masked man’s laughter faded. “I don’t fund these games to hear no, Frontman. I’m sure you understand.”  

“And I’m sure you understand that this discussion is over.” In-ho’s voice was steady, but there was a dangerous edge to it.  

The man glared at him for a moment before scoffing and walking away, muttering something under his breath.  

In-ho immediately crossed the room toward you, tension radiating off him in waves. His mask couldn’t hide the anger in his sharp movements as he approached.  

When he reached you, his voice was low, laced with irritation. “Enjoyed the party?” he asked, his tone cutting.  

You blinked, taken aback. “What are you talking about?”  

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he spoke again, his words clipped. “You’re done here. Go back to your room.”  

Before you could respond, he motioned to two guards, who immediately stepped forward. “Escort her back,” he ordered.  

The guards moved to your side, their presence leaving no room for argument. You glanced at In-ho, flabbergasted by his sudden change in mood. He didn’t say another word, just turned back to the party, leaving you to wonder what had just happened—and why he was so angry.

---

The whole memories, dialogues, all those people from the party swirled in your head like a storm as the guards escorted you back to your room. Each thought churned your stomach, feeding a fire of anger and disgust within you. 

When you entered your room, the silence felt deafening, suffocating. The anger bubbling inside you finally boiled over. The thought of people dying here for years, desperate to hold onto their lives for the sake of their families—parents, children, loved ones—only to be slaughtered for the sick entertainment of these wealthy monsters made your blood run hot.  

With a scream of rage, you grabbed the nearest thing—a lamp—and hurled it against the wall. The shattering sound was cathartic, but it wasn’t enough. You began smashing everything in sight: anything you could lift was thrown or broken until the room looked as wrecked as you felt inside.  

An hour later, you stood amidst the destruction, breathing hard, your fists clenched. That was when you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door opened, and there he was—In-ho. Calm and composed as always, his mask gone, his face unreadable.  

“What the hell do you want?” you screamed at him, the sight of him only igniting your fury all over again.  

He took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “The party is over. I came to check on you.”  

“Check on me? Check on me?” Your voice cracked with rage. “You’re a monster! A psychopath! How can you live with yourself, running this—this slaughterhouse?”  

You charged at him, fists flying. You punched his chest, his arms, anywhere you could reach, but it was like hitting a brick wall. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move to stop you, his expression as cold and detached as ever.  

Your fists collided with his chest over and over, but he stood there, unflinching, as if your blows were nothing more than a breeze. “How could you?” you yelled, voice raw with fury. “How could you stand there and watch people die? How could you want me to be part of this? You’re a fucking monster!”  

He didn’t respond, his face stoic, though something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something restrained. Your anger bubbled over. Another punch, another scream of rage, but before you could throw your next strike, he moved.  

In an instant, his hands cupped your face, firm and unyielding, and then his lips crashed against yours.  

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, consuming, like a dam breaking after a long time of holding back. His lips moved against yours with a raw intensity, silencing your screams and swallowing your fury. You froze for a moment, shocked by the suddenness of it, but his grip on your face didn’t falter, pulling you deeper into the kiss.  

You felt his breath, warm and uneven, against your skin as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, gentle despite the fire of the moment, as though he couldn’t resist the softness of your skin. His desperation was palpable, days of suppressed emotion pouring into the way his lips claimed yours.    

Then, clarity snapped back. You shoved him hard, your palms pressing against his chest, breaking the connection between you.  

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, your voice low and venomous.

In-ho didn’t move. His hands dropped to his sides, but his eyes remained fixed on you, dark and intense. His breathing was heavier now.

“I want to go home,” you finally said, your voice breaking this time. “I want to leave this nightmare. I don’t want to be part of your sick games.”  

He didn’t react to your words, not immediately. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his tone even and composed. “You’re forgetting something,” he said quietly.  

You frowned. “What are you talking about?”  

“Our game,” he reminded you, his eyes steady on yours. “Last week, I answered your question. That means...”  

You clenched your fists again, the reminder of your agreement making you feel trapped. “What do you want?”  

“I need you to come with me tomorrow,” he said. “One place. After that, you’re free to go.”  

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but his expression was unreadable. “One place?” you repeated suspiciously.  

“One place,” he confirmed. “That’s all.”  

You didn’t trust him, not entirely, but the thought of finally leaving this place was too tempting to resist. After a long pause, you nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow. Then I'm gone."

Before you could react, a faint hissing sound filled the room, and a sweet, cloying scent followed. Your head whipped around, panic rising in your chest, but it was already too late. Smoke began to seep through the corners of the door, curling like ghostly fingers into the air around you.

“In-ho!” you shouted, your voice sharp and accusatory. He was already standing at the doorway, his expression cold but deliberate.

“What are you—” you started, but the words caught in your throat as dizziness swept over you.

Your legs buckled, and the room swam before your eyes. The world tilted, your breath shallow as the smoke wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. Darkness crept in, and the last thing you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, slowing, before everything went still.

///

Part 5 is posted!

Also there will be a prologue - you can find all the chapters and information here. tag list: @nellabear @69-gojos-wife-69 @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @riri53 @annasnape7 @vivaforeva @luv1ze @saiannicebaby @wwastro @bellababes-xx @bluechaoslizzy @raideyo @enzosluvr @the-silentium @r3va-dwme

[choism]

Jester's Game | b.tc

Captain Buggy x Pirate!afab!Reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff (If you squint)

Summary: Trying to overtake Captain Buggy's ship leaves you asking questions, and surprisingly, getting answers

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: top!buggy, afab!reader, unprotected sex (pls dont), cunnilingus, fingering, creampie, squirting, rough sex, gentle sex (yeah wild), inappropriate use of detached limbs, spit as lube (also a no no), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

A/N: WOOHOO ITS MY FIRST NON KPOP FIC!! I knew I would write for other stuff eventually but I definitely did not expect it to be a recent hyperfixation. Buggy just has me bricked up okay! Anyway I hope y'all enjoy, don't forget to let me know what you thought of the fic in the tags !

It’s a rather unfortunate series of events, really. Sure, you could’ve told your navigator to sail away from the ship with the giant clown crossbones flag. Yeah, it might’ve helped if you had told your crew that they were about to fight some of the toughest pirates in the East Blue. But where’s the fun in that? As their captain, it’s your job to seek the adventure, and well, this was an adventure all right.

It started with you telling your men to approach, cannons firing, your crew hopping their ship, the infamous ship commandeered by none other Buggy The Clown. Yes, the ship your measly crew has decided to board. Listen, it was strategic! Buggy had somehow gotten the map to the grand line back, and your ship just so happened to be within the vicinity of his, so why not seek the opportunity to take it? Well that was your first mistake.

Now, you find yourself here, hands bound behind your back and kneeling with your crew in front of Buggy’s stupid, dumb throne in his stupid, dumb circus tent cabin.

“You all truly are fools for thinking you could take on my band of freaks,” Buggy lazily sprawls over his throne, seemingly unimpressed by your, in his words, ‘lackluster crew’.

“It’s funny actually, how pathetic it was, I mean even Mohji got in a few punches! Ha! Truly a fine show.” The man you assume being the Mohji that Buggy had just poked fun at, slumps his shoulders sadly at his jab. “Now, time to get to the good stuff…” Buggy trails off, standing up and taking a few strides in your direction, his dirty boots stopping directly in front of you. He detaches his hand and uses it to lift your head, pointing your chin up to look him in the eye.

Looking up, you spit and it lands on his cheek, he simply swipes it off with his attached, gloved hand. “So what if you defeated us, it doesn’t make you any better of a pirate, and doesn’t get you any closer to the One Piece.” You tilt your head and smirk. He may have overcome your crew, but he will never overcome your overwhelming ego and pride. It matches his just as equally.

“Ah, that's where you’re wrong, princess,” His grin is just as wide as yours, and briefly you’re confused, what could he mean? “Given your set of thieving skills, probably some of the best in the East Blue, I’ve heard, you’re gonna join my band of freaks, and I’m not giving you a choice sweetheart,” Buggy removes his hand from your chin, and it floats to his arm, re-attaching itself.

“Boys, throw their crew overboard, we have no use for them.” He rolls his eyes and sits back on his throne, “Oh! And go show them to their new quarters, make them feel at home.” Buggy laughs a deep boisterous laugh, one that genuinely sends shivers down your spine.

The pirates lead you into, what is actually, quite a nice room in the lower deck of the cabin, lit by a few candles, and a cot in the corner. Surprisingly, they cut you out of your ropes, and shut the door without locking it. What’s their deal? Don’t they know you can escape at any time if you wanted? Sneak out and steal one of their emergency boats, and sail to the nearest Island? Granted, you aren’t sure where the nearest Island is, you’re a thief, not a navigator.

Instead of worrying about escaping, you roam the small room, admiring your surroundings. The whole ship is clown themed, front he flags to the cabin to everything, but this room is different. Not a single sign of jester-like decorations anywhere. In fact, it’s as if this cabin was decorated specifically for you. Before you can think more of it, the door opens suddenly.

Buggy enters, and closes the door behind him. When he enters you’re sitting on the cot, legs crossed and unamused.

“Not thinking about escaping? Not that you could anyway, we are miles away from the nearest island, and realistically it would take you days to get there on one of our measly boats.” He rolls his eyes, as if annoyed by how small and fragile the boats are, before sitting backwards on the chair at the short desk next to the cot.

“So what do you even need a thief for? Why am I here?” You blurt, already growing impatient from the lack of information being given to you.

“I need you for many reasons, being a thief is only one of them, sweetheart.” Buggy grins and removes his hat, setting it on the desk. “You already have connections at the grand line, and while I know you need my map to get there, I know that you know the people I need to talk to, to gain safe entry without slaughtering half the fucking pirates there.” He leans back and relaxes a bit, observing your facial features.

“And why do you think any of the people I know would want to help you? You’re just some lowly pirate.” You spit at him, angered by his casualness. In what world would you even willingly help him? Who does he think he is?

“Ha…Me? A lowly pirate? This coming from the literal captain of a crew is hilarious! Tell me another joke, please.” He grins knowingly, he knows how to get a rise out of you for sure. You look over his facial expression, smugness overtakes his face and it makes your stomach twist, not with disgust though for some odd reason, with another feeling you don’t quite recognize. 

This whole situation has you feeling all kinds of anxious. How did you just happen to raid the ship of a pirate who just happened to need you for this specific thing, and why is his presence making you feel so…weird? Something isn’t right here, and it can’t be because of your connections to the grand line. No, he’s hiding something. 

“What are you hiding, clown? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

His face drops, and he gets suddenly very serious, “Listen here, princess,” Buggy gets up from the chair and gets close to you, leaning down, your noses almost touching. “You’re gonna get me to the grand line, I don’t care if I have to torture it out of you, got it? No more questions tonight.” He gets up and suddenly grins very brightly, as if nothing ever happened. “Night night!” Buggy walks out and slams the door, then you hear a locking sound.

Fuck, he locked you in your room. You should’ve expected this, honestly. The way he reacted to your question was so strange. You knew there was something fishy, but you didn’t think whatever it was could’ve prompted that kind of reaction out of him. 

***

The next day you wake up to yelling outside of your cramped room. Yawning, you get up and put your ear to the door,

“I’m sorry Captain Buggy! I didn’t know that was their ship I swear I promise!”

You hear what sounds like a kick to the jaw and a yelp,

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You couldn’t tell by the giant crossbones flag that very obviously bares their symbol? I’m tired of you, someone go throw him off the deck.”

You hear screams and pleads of “No please!” and “I didn’t know I’m sorry captain!” before hearing water splash, then silence, then- oh shit footsteps coming towards your room. You scramble back to your cot and lay down, pretending to sleep. You hear a couple of knocks before hearing a feint “What the fuck am I doing, I go where I want!” Before Buggy barges into the room after unlocking it.

“Get up, I know you heard everything.” He spits gruffly, sitting back in the chair again the same way as yesterday. You sit up abruptly. Last night you couldn’t shake this feeling, of what you felt when Buggy had gotten so serious, and it’s just gotten worse being in his presence. Your abdomen feels hot, your ears feel hot, everything feels hot. It’s like butterflies in your stomach if the butterflies were armed with knives.

“Yes, I did hear, what do you mean by my symbol? I thought bumping into you was a coincidence?” Buggy smiles faintly, and chuckles.

“Yes, it was, I wasn’t informed of what ship we attacked, just that my men captured you all, oh but when I saw you…I knew.” Buggy stands up and motions for you to do the same, getting so close to you, your chests almost touch. He brings his hand to your arm, caressing down the length before gripping your wrist harshly, causing you to wince. “Do you….” he trails off, “Do you really not remember me?” He brings his eyes from your arm to your face, making direct eye contact.

You struggle to find words, what does he mean, remember? Yeah, he gives you a strange feeling everytime you're near him, but you’ve never met this man in your entire life. You think. Honestly you can’t remember anything before the age of seventeen.

“I– no, no I don’t…”

His smile fades, and he lets go of you, “I thought you would remember once you saw me, we were on Gold Roger’s crew together years ago, but you went missing after a particularly tough battle.” He pauses, thinking carefully about what to say next, “You– We– We were close, and I was devastated, I thought you were dead.” He’s being surprisingly vulnerable right now, and it’s kind of scaring you.

“I don’t really remember anything before I turned seventeen, All I know is one day I woke up on an island, a group of pirates took me in, I left, and I’ve been on my own since. The only reason I am where I am today is because I wanted to find who I was, and I figured I could find that out at the grand line.” You feel overwhelmingly sad. Why are you sad? You don’t even know him.

There’s a long silence between the two of you, it’s uncomfortable, tight, and makes you want to leave, until he says, “Let me show you.” He says abruptly, and you think you see a blush across his face.

“Sorry, I mean, please,” Buggy steps into your space again, this time his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes, back to your lips. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you, I’m sorry you had to go through that, I missed you so much y/n” That was the first time he’s said your name this entire time, but it’s not one you recognize.

“Is that my name?” Your lip quivers, he’s so close now, your lips are inches apart.

“Yes it is, y/n, sweetheart, princess, I’ll call you whatever you want, just let me show you.” The thick air has disappeared and is now replaced with tension. Something deeper, heavier, fills the room. But it’s not a bad thing.

“Let me show you who you were to me.”

You let his face drop to yours, and your lips finally connect.

The kiss is slow, languid. It’s like his lips were meant to connect with yours. Buggy wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you in closer, and kissing you deeper. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you let him kiss you as deep as he wants. The pace quickens and he slots his leg in between yours, rubbing against your pants and providing much needed friction.

You moan into his touch and he walks the both of you backwards until the back of your knees reach the bed. He lowers you onto it and hovers above you, kissing you again before departing. “Is this okay?” Buggy asks, brushes his hands underneath the bottom of your shirt, slowly lifting it.

“Only if you return the favor.” He chuckles and lowers his head to your neck, sucking and biting gently while riding up your shirt until your chest is exposed. You sit up briefly to take off your shirt and as promised, he does the same. He isn’t overly ripped like most pirates are, but he’s still well toned. His muscles flex as he shifts lower, kissing down your chest, down your stomach and stopping just above the navel.

“When I saw you were the one my men captured, it took my breath away,” He lifts your hips so he can remove your pants and undergarments, “I was scared, anxious, I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended I knew you for your skills, not for your past.” After removing everything, he pushes back, kissing your thighs before sitting up, taking his gloves off with his teeth and throwing them to the side. Man that was hot.

Buggy detaches one of his hands and lets it roam up your torso, reaches your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze. Before leading his fingers over your mouth, asking for entry. You grant it and his index and middle finger slip into your mouth, swirling your saliva around and coating them generously. “When you suspected I knew more, I didn’t know what to do. When you boarded I just knew you by name, not face, there was no way I could’ve expected this.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and moves it down to your center, rubbing through your folds gently and inserting two fingers, scissoring you open and prepping you for what's to come. Buggy uses his still detached hand to remove his own trousers, his cock springing free from its confines. He strokes it slowly, clearly getting off to his detached hand fingering you open.

“Buggy…” You moan, you can’t even reply or form a sentence, the pleasure too good.

“Shhh just relax sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.” He brings his hand away from your now dripping cunt, reattaching it and leaning down. You feel his breathe over your core, he kisses your clit before taking it in his mouth, lapping up your taste and fucking you onto his tongue. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he flits between sucking on your clit and tonguing inside of you, but he pulls away.

“Fuck! Why’d you–”

You’re interrupted by his cock entering you and your legs being lifted by his hands so he can enter as deep as possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. His cock fits so nice and feels so good and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Fuck you’re so tight and wet for me, so fucking good huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” His pupils are so blown out, he watches his own cock pull out and start to thrust into you, it just fuels your arousal further. Buggy starts out slow, just getting you used to his size before he picks up the pace, fucking into you even deeper and faster.

“Shit, gonna cum Buggy please.” He moves your legs to prop onto his shoulders and he grabs onto your waist, pushing down and holding you in place as he fucks into you roughly.

“Gonna cum for me? Go ahead sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” He moves his hand over your abdomen and presses down, the pressure making you feel dizzy. You feel white hot, the band finally snapping as you come. “Fuck, gonna cum soon too, gonna fill you up so good.”

Buggy relentlessly fucks into your cunt, overstimulating you and causing a pressure to build that’s unfamiliar. “Wait Buggy I, fuck I feel weird it feels good.” Soon, with a loud cry you feel a wetness rush between your legs, causing you to let out a loud string of moans and curses.

“Squirting for me already? God you’re full of surprises. Shit, I’m coming.” A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his hot cum fill you up, as promised. It feels so good. He slows down and pulls out, his load leaking out of you and onto the sheets below. “So good for me.” He whispers, leaning down and kissing you gently. He cleans the both of you up quickly and gets dressed, ready to go back to his quarters for the night.

“Wait Buggy, before you go…” You trail off and he turns around, listening intently. “If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about my- about our, past? I need to know where I came from, what happened.” Buggy smiles gently, walking up and kissing you on the forehead.

“Of course princess, later”

© Choism 2023. do not repost or translate.

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Little Dove: Part 3

The Caracalla brainrot is real. I wrote this and wanted to post it straight away! please forgive me if there are any spelling errors!

Part Two , Part 4

Those who wanted to be maybe be tagged: @sashaphantomhive @koshkahhh @properromanwhore

You could barely contain your excitement as you made the journey home with your father, your mind reeling at the fact you were going to be in the Emperors private box for the games tomorrow. You were an upstanding citizen of Rome, yet it was still rare for someone like you to be invited into the Emperors inner circle, to be in such intimate quarters with them.

The entire journey home your father was telling you how you had to behave tomorrow, how to act and address the Emperors, you were now his ticket to gain more influence in the senate and he would ensure that you did not fail. Your mind roamed elsewhere during his tirade of advice and instructions, too busy still remembering when Caracalla had kissed your hand that day at court. Once you returned home your sole focus on what you would wear to the royal box, you wanted to make a good impression before Caracalla. You may never gain another opportunity to sit in the royal box so you would make the most of it.

Raking through the gowns you owned brought on a fury, nothing was acceptable in your mind, thinking it all to be too cheap or to not fit your body properly. Rich gowns of silk were strewn over your bed as you tried each one on, inspecting yourself with great scrutiny in the mirror each time. A rose-pink gown is what you finally settled on, one that you had never worn before because of how it fit you. The gown showed off far too much skin and hugged you all too well in the right places, you felt all too exposed in this gown but thought the Emperor would enjoy seeing you in it.

The stress of cleaning yourself appropriately and choosing the perfect outfit caused you to retire to slumber early, wishing to bring the next day as soon as you could. It was an early rise for you and your father, you would not dare risk arriving late to the stadium now that you had access to the Emperors box. Arriving late could be seen as a slight up Caracalla’s generosity and your father wanted to make sure that you were to stay in his good graces.

You were both admitted without any issue, being guided towards your seats behind the emperors’ thrones, an action that made your heart flutter, knowing that you would be this close to Caracalla for the entire day. The first hour of the games passed by quickly, your wine cup was ever topped by the servants surrounding you, every time you took a sip you could feel the heaviness of liquid in your cup shortly after. The Emperors would arrive not long after you had made yourself fully comfortable, Geta passed you first, giving no interest in you, barely even noticing that you were to be present behind him. Caracalla noticed you as he walked past you, smiling coyly and drinking in the vision of you in the gown you chose, your skin was radiant against the pink hue of the silk that adorned your skin, a vision that he bore into his mind as he sat in front of you.

The games carried on with more enthusiasm now that the Emperors were in attendance, the crowd alight with excitement, knowing that the games were about to fully begin now. The roar of the crowd was loud in your ears, finding it hard to contain yourself in the royal box, wanting to succumb to the emotion of the crowd once again. The current fights were none of consequence for now, the prime fights would be played in an hour, where the best gladiators from the best Ludus’s would battle, for now you had to settle for the mediocre ones.

The wine was in constant supply, a thing you took advantage off, hoping the liquid courage from it would help you speak freely to Caracalla before the day ended. As the new battle began you felt the familiar paws of Dundus upon you once again, the cheeky little monkey crawling upon you once again, settling into a nice nook upon your lap. You chuckled as you stroked her head gently, smiling as she made herself comfy upon you. “Careful My Emperor, I fear that Lady Dundus may leave you at this point.” Caracalla chuckled as he looked back at you, that sly grin plastered on his face made your heart flutter once again. “You may keep her at this point, she is a tiny menace my little dove.”

You managed to hide your blush from Caracalla yet not from your father, he had been watching the two of you ever since your previous interaction, making mental notes and considering how likely it would be for Caracalla to choose you as a concubine or even a wife. Initially your father had banked on using your brothers as influence in the senate, pushing them to join the Roman army and gain influence that way, he had never envisaged his own daughter being the one to bring him glory.

Little Lady Dundus sat upon your lap happily, falling asleep at your gentle stroking, no one had dared to disrupt her at this point, not even Caracalla. The day went on without issue, the gladiator matches ignited the crowd more than yesterday, a good sign that it would also please the gods into granting you the rainfall you so desperately craved.

The prime match was upon you all now, Theokeles against Oenomaus. The most anticipated match of the day. Theokeles was a free man, having won his freedom from his victories as a gladiator, Oenomaus was a former gladiator himself, serving a ludus in the city. Both were well revered as fighters, this battle was one that had drawn many to attend, to see who truly the better fighter was. You watched the fight with bated breath, your heart pounding the entire time, watching the two fight. Theokeles emerged the victor, having Oenomaus in surrender, awaiting the decision of life of death from the emperors.

Caracalla turned towards you, his eyebrows lifting subtly, asking what verdict you he should give. You had heard of Oenomaus before, a warrior of well renown and even now was afforded a wife, a rare commodity amongst slaves in the ludus. You nodded and granted life, you wanted him to live to see another day. Caracalla smiled and gave the signal for life, your heart fluttering knowing that he did that for you.

The games ended for the day with that match, many people leaving the stadium as promptly as the match ended. The royal box was different, you watched your father converse with high-ranking senators and the emperors. You sat there uninterested, bothered more with Lady Dundus in your lap, playing and entertaining her. Caracalla saw you entertain Lady Dundus and it made him smile, nobody else had so much as bothered with her the entire time he had her, yet here you were, your undivided attention upon her.

“It seems Lady Dundus had taken a shine to you” Caracalla smiled at you, holding his hand out to Dundus, not even feeling offended when Dundus did not care. Caracalla tilted his head as he took in your visage, your smile as you interacted with Dundus, the way your body looked in that beautiful gown you chose. His fingers found an errant strand of your hair, twirling it around his fingers as he spoke to you. “There is another banquet at the palace shortly, I would love you to attended.”

Your head snapped up to face him, you were happily surprised to be invited to the palace once again, an invite you would gladly take without question. Caracalla took your hand in his own again and placed a soft kiss against your skin, he then left you with Dundus as he spoke to your father. Letting him know of the exclusive invite you had secured for the both of you. A carriage would be sorted for you, ready to take you back to the royal palace once again, ready to be in the Emperors private company.

[lwwife]

Hi!!! Request for Leah (smut), something based on the first time Leah can use the strap properly again after her ACL and she goes to town on reader with it after not being able to do that for so long. They’re still completely switch tho, so some bottom!Leah too.

I've missed having you like this

Smut: Leah and Reader!Switch, strap on, fluff

Word count: 1,870

-

Leah’s pov:

Y/n and I’s sex life since doing my ACL has been uneventful, to say the least. Y/n has been able to go down on me, but I’ve still had to keep cautious of the way I move my legs. I haven’t been able to touch Y/n properly in a long time. We found a compromise for her to sit on my face, but it rarely happens. I’ve finally hit my 9-month mark since surgery and am back playing almost full games. I have an appointment later this afternoon with the surgeon which should be one of my last. Y/n is going to tag along as she has for all of them. She wants to make sure she knows how to look after me perfectly and I recover well.

-

“Okay Leah, your scans show an almost perfect recovery, you’ve done incredibly well in rehab and I’m going to clear you for a full 90 minutes.” I grin excitedly and Y/n squeezes my hand.

“Congratulations baby!” she turns to me, “I’m so proud of you.”, I look at her lovingly.

“Yes, you’ve done very well Leah you should be very proud of yourself.” The doctor smiles and nods.

“Excuse me, I just need to pop to the loo” Y/n stands up and kisses my head on the way out. Once the door closes, I turn back to the doctor nervously.

“Is something wrong Leah?”

“No sir it’s just I um I’m not really sure how to ask this” I look down.

“Leah I’ve heard some wild things in my years, please go ahead” He smiles softly.

“Okay well, I um I was just kind of wondering if um I would be able to you know” I raise my eyebrows and he laughs.

“Have sex?”

“Yeah, yes um that” He laughs again.

“Yes, you can, you’re practically cleared for any form of physical activity, except I wouldn’t recommend getting back to your gym time backflips just yet” he grins, and I have to laugh.

“Thank you, sir,”.

-

Y/n’s pov:

“Darling! Dinner’s nearly ready” I call out to Leah, who’s God knows where doing God knows what. I haven’t seen her since we came home from the doctor, she disappeared upstairs almost immediately. “Leah! babe! Come on I’m serving it up” I shout again.

“Coming bub!” she shouts from the stairs. I turn around to place the food on the table when Leah comes around the corner, hair freshly washed, skin looking clean, and I can smell her perfume from here.

“Nice scrub?” I laugh at her.

“Shush you” She comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek before sitting down. “This looks lovely baby thank you for cooking”.

“You mean like I do every night?” I raise a brow and Leah rolls her eyes and giggles.

“Mmmh” Leah almost moans, “This is delicious y/n” She runs her foot up my bare calf. I raise my eyebrows and almost choke on my wine. She just continues to eat, ignoring my hard stare.

As I’m washing up the dishes Leah comes up behind me wrapping her arms around my waist, slowly leaving kisses along my neck and up to my ear. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” I question her.

“Am I not allowed to touch my beautiful girlfriend?” She takes her hands off me and brings them to her chest, acting offended. I simply roll my eyes and giggle as she walks off to the couch.

I’m lying in Leah’s arms, in between her legs, back against her chest watching our current obsession, Game of Thrones, when Leah begins to run her hand up my thigh. I look up at her, but she continues to look forward, raising her hand higher and higher. “Leah” I whisper.

“What?” she smiles,

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing, what are you doing?”, I cock an eyebrow at her childish response. “Ugh! You can’t take a hint can you?” She whines.

“What are you talking about baby?” I frown.

“I want to fuck you, babe! We haven’t had sex in ages, I’ve been trying to tease you all night! I just had the longest shower of my life, shaving every possible inch of me!”

“Leah, darling, I know I want to too, but you’re still recovering I don’t want to ruin your rehab baby.” I frown at her again, stroking my thumb over her cheek.

“The Doctor said it’s fine” she mumbles.

“What?”

“The Doctor! He said it was fine to have sex” She looks down, “I asked him” She keeps her head low but looks up at me with a pout and a small smile.

“You naughty girl” I whisper.

-

“Oh yes fuck! “, Leah moans and cums loudly as I suck hard on her clit. “Come here” she orders me, and kisses me hard, tongue diving straight into my mouth. “I want to make you feel good” she groans. “Stay here, I’ll be right back”. I smile, excited. Leah returns a minute later with our favourite strap attached to her.

“Oh shit” I mumble as I feel myself instantly drip.

“Turn around” She orders me, and I turn to get an all fours, just how I know she likes it. She moves me so I'm resting on my forearms instead of my hands, and my face is down into the pillow. She smacks my ass hard and I wince but moan at the feeling. “God I can’t wait to fuck you like this” she growls, spreading me open by the cheeks, moving forward a little more. She smacks my ass again and runs the strap over my clit and down, so it’s completely coated in my wetness. “Do you want me to fuck you baby?” she leans down to my ear, her front against my back.

“Yes please, I want you so bad baby please fuck me”, Leah smacks my ass one more time before she slowly thrusts the strap inside me. I moan loudly, instantly feeling the pleasure I’ve so badly craved. “Fuck! Yes, keep going” I pant, my entire body tingling. Leah's thrusts start to speed up and become more forceful.

“Yeah? You like that baby?” She growls into my ear.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck yes! Oh, you fuck me so good” I moan. Leah moves back so she’s no longer against my back and grabs at my hips roughly. She begins to slam into me, harder and harder. I moan so loud I begin to feel sorry for our neighbours. I scream and scream and scream while Leah continues to groan and tell me what a good girl I’m being. After one last hard thrust, I cum all over the strap and begin to drip down my thighs. I wince and groan at the feeling of Leah removing the strap from me.

“Shhhh it’s okay baby, I know” She hushes and turns me over so I’m on my back. She kisses my head softly and lays down next to me. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed that; I’ve been dying to fuck you like that for months.”

“Yeah, well you better not ever stop,” I whisper. “Take it off” I look down at the strap. Leah looks at me confused, as if she was waiting to go another round on me. “I’ll let you go again later you addict, let me have a turn”, I move closer to her and begin to undo the harness. I strip her of the strap and put it on myself. Leah lays, patiently, a small smile visible on her face, waiting for me to climb on top of her. I sit up and rest my back against the headboard. “Come sit” I demand. Leah almost jumps at the chance. Moving over she places herself onto my stomach, subtly grinding, her wetness coating my abdomen. I move my hands to run over her breast, we aren’t quite at eye level so she’s looking down at me, however, we both know I have all the power at this moment. I squeeze her breasts and she throws her head back. I pinch her nipples then move forward to kiss her chest. Her hands immediately find their way to my hair, pushing me in further. I lick and suck all over her chest, biting and pulling softly at her nipples. Leah’s grinding starts to get quicker, so I stop.

“Ride it,” I say simply. Leah doesn’t hesitate to move back, hovering herself over the strap, which is still wet from me. “Now sit,” I tell her. Leah slowly sits onto the strap, her mouth instantly opening, angelic noises escaping. Once she fills herself with the whole thing I grab onto her hips and begin to guide her up and down. As she moves faster her moans get louder, and her breasts jump in front of me. “Fuck you’re so good, taking it all for me” I growl at her.

“God, you feel so good, baby. Fuck!” She screams out and her motions quicken. She grabs onto my shoulder, scratching into my skin, “I’m going to cum, oh fuck!” She continues to scream, louder and louder until she finally collapses. Her body is exhausted and almost limp so I turn us over so she’s lying down, and I can pull out. She whines at the loss of contact and pants heavily. I remove the strap and quickly go to the bathroom, wash it and put it away. I return to Leah awaiting me, smiling. “I forgot how good it is when you fuck me” she grins.

“I won’t ever let you forget again” I whisper as we lean in for a sweet kiss. Hands wondering, eager for another round.

-

A/n: Hope this was okay and everyone enjoyed it! Feedback is welcome in my comments, messages, or asks! 😊

[zepskies]

As You Wish

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

AN: Here’s a little something in honor of Dean’s birthday! If you haven’t seen The Princess Bride, do yourself a favor. 🥰

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, and nothing but the fluff. (Established relationship.)

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Dean says, right in time with the iconic swashbuckler on the screen, complete with his best approximation at a Spanish accent.

You giggle against his side, hard enough to rock both of you on the bed. When he agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

“Are you gonna quote the whole damn movie?” you ask.

Dean brandishes an imaginary sword with his fist held out.

“HELLO! My name is—”

Biting your lip, you cut him off short by playing dirty. You wrap your arm around his middle and dance your fingers across his ribs. He’d never admit it, but he’s got sensitive sides.

He flinches and laughs on reflex. “Hey, hey! That’s a foul move!”

His arm tightens around your waist while his other hand closes around your wrist. You try to grapple with him, your bare legs tangling with his pajama-clad ones, but you both know it’s a losing battle.

Dean gathers you tighter against his chest and traps your wandering hand.

Huffing another laugh, you relax again. His heart clips at a faster pace under your ear. Your hand smooths up his chest and finds its way up the back of his neck.

Dean can't help it. He lets out a contented hum when your nails give his scalp a little scratch.

For a moment, his attention drifts away from the movie and down to you. He spies the soft edge of your smile, feels your hair starting to itch against his arm, your soft curves under his hand, pressing against him.

You two don’t get these quiet days often, but he wants to make sure you get some rest. You, Sam, and Dean spent about three straight weeks in a row with back-to-back hunts, and the last one had really taken it out of you. So now, Dean’s satisfied to see you so relaxed. Happy, even.

Yeah. You really do seem to be as happy as he (secretly) feels.

Sometimes, he finds that part hard to believe. If you could want this with someone like him, then maybe…maybe he doesn’t screw up all the time.

Dean tunes back into the movie just in time for Buttercup to jump out of the window in her pretty white dress. She and Westley join Fezzik and Inigo on white horses, and the couple shares the kiss that left all the others behind.

Dean glances down at your face. He’s amused by the way you’re eating up all this sappy rom-com crap. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears. He ducks down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“You just spring a leak over anything, don’t you?” he teases. You shove at his chest with a halfhearted hand.

“Only over the good stuff,” you retort.

He accepts that with a chuckle. When the credits start to roll down the screen, he reaches for the remote and searches for the episode you guys left off in Game of Thrones. You tap his chest.

“Hey, wanna go out to dinner tonight?” you ask. A warm smile plays on your lips. “Just you and me?”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t remember the last time you two went on an honest-to-God date. No time, no privacy, always something evil on your asses…

A decision made in his mind, Dean gives you a smile back. He brushes his thumb across your cheek.

“As you wish,” he says.

AN: 😘 Hope you liked this one!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [7]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - 3.9k words

The air of your cell is thick and savoury like soup. You choke on it, every breath, drowning in it – filling your lungs with its foul warmth and barely slaking your battered body’s need for oxygen.  

The sore minutes following your husband’s execution had blurred into incomprehensible smoke. Fleeting. Suffocating. Obfuscating.  

You are lost. Uncertain whether or not you are grieving. And if you’re not, whether you should be. 

His words were each a bullet, each meticulously calculated to injure you where it would hurt you most. Almost perfectly crafted to ensure your captors lose any semblance of pity or reverence they held for you – so that they might lose whatever restraint they’ve been attempting to maintain. So that they may do to you whatever they have been itching to do. Their exploitation justified. Because you’re just a whore.  

But in your desperation to comfort your own distraught mind, you argue with yourself. Your own devil’s advocate. 

Perhaps it was a game. Could have been a bluff. 

He must have loved you, right? After years of serving him, of acting your part, of loving him the way he wanted you to.  

He had to have loved you. You had always dreamed someone would. 

No matter the case, the outcome is the same. There’s no way back. Whatever nightmare you’re stuck in will only, only, get worse. Regardless of which pack of wolves you are left to, your fate remains inescapable. You’ll be used. Consumed. Digested. Shit back out.  

The Captain had ferried you to a new cell – the one you now sat in, atop a makeshift bed with a squealing steel frame. He had carried you like a child, an arm under your knees and an arm under your neck, he let your head fall on his chest despite your fading effort to stay skittish and defensive. His charity disingenuous. White knight he is. 

But you’re weak. Exhausted. Delirious.  

You sit in dead silence, knees tucked up tightly to your chin, body only partially dry after your water torture.  

The Captain stands in front of you. Hands magisterially on his hips, he pouts under his beard. Wrestling with how best to interact with you, like you’re an animal in an exhibit. Careful not to scare you off, but frightened you’d bite if he gets too close.  

“There were no bullets in the gun, by the way,” he says gruffly, voice hoarse like he’s gargling gravel. “I wasn’t going to kill you. It was a… a bluff.”  

You say nothing. Give him nothing. You glower at him from under your brow, hoping he leaves so you can finally lie down and cry like a hurt little girl.  

“Can I get you something? Water?”  

You say nothing.  

“Look. We’re – we’re not going to hurt you. But I need you to answer some questions, alright?” He insists. “We need to know about who your husband worked with. I’m guessing he must have called them his colleagues, eh?” 

Give him nothing.  

“Do you know a Vladimir? Makarov?”  

That name, you know. You know it well. You know it like an apple knows teeth. Like a deer knows an arrow. Like a carcass knows a knife.  

Less so a colleague and more a rival. Two lions fighting for the same throne. Vladimir hated your husband so viciously it wouldn’t surprise you if he had orchestrated this entire series of events just to be rid of him.  

But the enmity between he and your husband isn’t what strikes icy shards of terror through your chest. Isn’t what churns your stomach and pushes dark bile up your throat. 

You swallow. 

“Mh. Looks like you do know him,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his broad chest, rocking on his boots. “Can you tell me about him?” 

He persists in his questioning, despite your sealed lips. You know that talking might help you. That spilling your vague knowledge like water from a faucet might ingratiate you. Might earn your freedom.  

But what freedom awaits you?  

If these soldiers cast you back to your blood-soaked estate, or your petit trianon – as a traitor of your husband, a scorned widow – you will simply be bait. Raw meat to lure bears. Honey to lure wasps. There is nowhere you could possibly hide to evade them, no scheme to outsmart them.  

You’d be better off dead.  

“When was the last time you saw him?”  

“Did he come to your estate a lot? Did he travel with your husband?”  

“Have you ever spoken to him?” 

“Does he know you?” 

“Could he help you?”  

“Where is he?”  

He leans forward, props himself up with his palms on his knees. His blue eyes are piercing, discerning. “Do you know where he is?” He insists, “Mia. I’m trying to help you.”  

You say nothing. 

He is quick to grow frustrated, grunting like a bear and standing upright, he rubs his temples in exasperation as if you’ve given him a headache.  

“You don’t want to talk to me. Okay.”  

Give him nothing.  

“Who will you talk to? Anyone?” He presses, tapping his boot in impatience. “Do you want to talk to the Lieutenant?”  

You say nothing – but some shift in your expression must have said something for you. You’re not sure if it was the widening of your eyes, the softening of your brows, the loosening of your shoulders – but he spotted it. And nodded slowly. Knowingly.  

“Alright, love. I’ll go get him. Then you’ll talk to him, eh?”  

“Simon,” came the gruff bark of Price’s familiar voice. Irate.  

Ghost sat on a bench in the empty mess hall, under a flickering fluorescent bar. Bouncing his knee, leaning his elbows on the table in front of him, he pinches a cheap Russian cigarette and holds it between his teeth.  

Tastes like shit. Does the job.  

“What,” he grunts, swivelling on the bench so that he faces out towards the approaching Captain. “Did she kick y’in the head, too?”  

Price only frowns, confused and plainly irritated, he comes to a stop before him and crosses his arms. “No,” he puzzles. “She kicked you, eh? That’ll learn you.”  

Leaning back indolently, Ghost tugs the base of his balaclava back over his mouth, tucking it under his jaw. Squishes the butt into the plastic surface of the table behind him.  “Not me.”  

“Mh,” the Captain acquiesces. “She does seem to like you.”  

Ghost only scoffs, not quite a laugh, but carries the same disbelieving amusement. “Right,” he chuffs, “for killing her husband?”  

“Possibly,” Price shrugs derisively, “beats me.”  

“Has she said anything?”  

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Like talking to a brick wall,” the Captain complains. “A pretty little brick wall.”  

Ghost rolls his eyes, turning his head to look at the open door to the hall. He rubs his brow vexedly with his thumb. And you chide me, you hypocritical prick.  

“She’ll talk to you,” Price insists.  

“Why the fuck would she talk to me?” Ghost retorts. “I waterboarded her.”  

“I asked her.” 

“What, and she requested me?”  

Price tilts his head, a lazy shrug. “Not in so many words.”  

“Right. So you’re full of shit.”  

“Jesus, Simon. Don’t make me order you,” Price sneers, “No clue why she’s interested in you, but, you never know with women like that, eh?”  

His stomach churns at Price’s insinuation. Must have taken your cunt husband’s ramblings at face value. Rookie error for a captain.   

Ghost bounces his knee in annoyance. “Just let her sleep, for fuck’s sake. She’s probably delirious.” 

“Exactly,” Price nods. “She’ll be nice and compliant, eh? Open to persuasion.” 

He's right. Ghost is playing dumb. He’s very familiar with the game, so fluent in the art of exploitation that he could do it with his eyes closed. Beaten, defeated, worn down to a quivering mess is when you’ll be most susceptible to influence. The most pliable.  

Letting you sleep, allowing you to recover your strength as you cocoon yourself in your shell is a surefire way to ensure you never utter another word. He can’t let your fear bubble into spite, into anger, into vengeance. He must kick you when you’re down.  

But – he's tired. He’s already fucking sick of it. Sick of being confused by his own repulsion. Sick of his pathetic eyes raking over your body despite his efforts to restrain it. Sick of your eyes looking through him like you know him better than himself.  

“Too delirious to give us anything useful,” Ghost clarifies, through teeth.  

“I don’t give a shit about whatever vapid rumours she has about Zakhaev. It’s pretty clear she knows nothing about his enterprise.”  

“Then why the fuck do you want me to keep interrogating her?”  

“I don’t want you to interrogate her, Simon,” Price badgers, “I want you to convince her.”  

Ghost frowns, crosses his arms testily. 

“Convince her to what?”  

~

Ghost hears the squeaking of your shoddy bed as he brutishly unlocks and opens the door to your cell. 

You had been lying on your side, curled up like a foetus on the mattress – but the second you are disturbed, you sit yourself upright. Alert. Frightened. Skittish. Stare at him like a cornered cat. 

Looks like you’ve been crying. Eyes red and swollen, cheeks glistening with the afterglow of your tears. Your lips part just slightly as your weary eyes land on him, as though a rush of air just escaped your lungs. He shuts the door behind him, stands in the middle of your small cell with crossed arms. 

He mines his thoughts for words to say. Finds them turning to ash on his tongue. 

“Sorry about your husband,” he says, eventually, tone more facetious than he had intended. 

He sees the cinder flickering in those sparkling little eyes, your chest rises as you inhale in preparation for your retort. “How can you – how can you say sorry for killing–” 

“Not for killing him,” he clarifies with a grunt. “Sorry that you married him.” 

That leaves you quiet. You look sour, because he’s right. 

“Was he always like that?” He persists, feels the snake of spite rising to his throat, needlessly adding an air of mocking derision to his words. “Did–” 

“Why are you here,” you snap to cut him off. Your cadence needle sharp, so starkly at odds to the sweetness of your earlier pleading. Nothing left to beg for, he supposes. 

Ghost draws in an impatient breath. He doesn’t want to be here either. “Boss said you’d talk to me.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you grumble, voice wavering. Pouting at him. Cute. 

He sucks his teeth. “Right,” he scoffs. “Yet you’re talkin’ to me, aren’t you?” 

You fall quiet again, pulling your knees up to your chest, you clutch your bare feet with agitated fingers. “He’s nicer than you,” you mutter scornfully. 

“I bet,” he agrees dully. “But you won’t talk to him.” 

“Don’t trust him.” 

“Oh?” He queries cynically, “so you trust me?” 

You seem to think for a pointed moment before you speak. Wet stare lands on him, scans from boots to head, evaluating. 

“You do what you say you will,” you bitterly admit, and he can see it pains you to say so. 

Christ. 

You trust him? Or, rather, whatever tentative hopeful dependence that you are forced to rely on in a predicament as dire as yours. Still. He squirms at the thought that you’ve decided he’s the best you’ve got. You’ll be sorely disappointed. 

Won’t you? 

“Have you got more questions for me,” You ask flatly, breaking the off-putting silence. 

The defeat in your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. He’d rather you be hysterical, tearful and delirious, overwhelmed with grief but a still riddled with a desperation to survive. 

Instead you’re merely hushed and trembling. Perhaps you’re in shock. Perhaps you’ve got a plan. But, what he is most fearful of, is the likelihood you’ve given up. No desire to fight for whatever life might await you now that your husband is out of the picture. 

Detrimental to their entire operation, yes. They have no leverage to use against you if you have no interest in staying alive.  

More than that, though, he needs you to keep fighting him. To berate and antagonise and kick and scream. All of his adversaries would viciously resist him and that would justify Ghost’s brutality. When his blistering hatred for you was at its peak, not ten hours ago, he could justify hurting you as badly as he wanted to. 

Now what? 

How can he bring himself brutalise you when you look at him like that? Teary-eyed, shaking in either cold or panic - but giving him no resistance? No talk-back, no threats, no ploys to escape? 

How can he hurt you any further? 

He can tell you just want to sleep. Your lids are heavy and swollen despite how hard you try to keep your eyes open and vigilant. Poor thing. 

Ghost shakes his head, stepping towards a steel chair that sits propped against the wall. He lifts it with ease, twisting it in the air and putting it down in front of your bed – sits in it casually, leans back. Thighs spread and fingers interwoven in his lap, he bounces his knee as he chews on his response. 

“If you’ve got information we can use, sure.” 

You sigh deeply and slowly, picking at the cherry-red polish on your toenail with a ferocity that appears to him like self-flagellation. “I don’t know what information I have. Let alone whether it’s useful.” 

“’Alright,” he huffs, takes a minute to think of the question. “Said you’re from Nottingham, yeah? How’d you meet him?” 

A crease forms in your brow as your dubious eyes jump around his face, searching for an intention. You won’t find one. He doesn’t know what it was. 

“How is that useful information,” you seethe. 

He shrugs indifferently. “Need details.” 

You huff as though reluctant, looking at your feet. “I met him in Berlin.” 

He stays silent, and when your stare quickly jumps to him for approval, he gestures with his brutish hand to elaborate. Unsatisfactory answer. 

Your gaze returns to your toes. Focusing as you scrape the glossy red paint with your fingernails, leaving specks that look like dried blood on the dirty mattress. 

“I was a dancer. Um – he came into the club I danced in, with some other men. All in expensive suits. Rich men like that are cheap. Usually never spend a thing. Still want a piece.” 

A stripper. Not what Ghost would have guessed. But he can picture it, all the same. And he does. Pictures you spinning on a slippery pole, peeling off a lacy bra, slender little hands stroking over your buttery body as you present yourself to dogs like meat. 

He grounds himself with a clearing of his throat. “S’that right.” 

“Mhm,” you answer distastefully. “Was always the working boys that spoiled us. Wanted to spend what little money they had just to please. Just because they could. Men in suits, they want what they pay for. And they pay next to nothing because that’s what we’re worth to them.” 

“And Zakhaev…?” 

You draw in a slow breath. “Victor was different.” 

That’s it? C’mon, love. His silence an insistence to continue. And you do. 

“I dunno,” you sniff, he sees your eyes swell red. “I guess he saw something valuable in me.” 

He chastises himself for his interest. Why the fuck does he care how a whore comes across a man like Zakhaev? Billionaire wants a trophy wife, so he buys one. It should be no surprise at all. 

“So he bought you, eh?” Ghost asks harshly, and your wet and angry stare shoots daggers at him in response. 

But you relent. Maybe he’s right. Your gaze returns to your toes and wipe your nose with the back of your hand. 

“He gave me fifty-thousand euros for a private dance.” 

Fucking hell. 

Can’t even fathom spending that much money on anything. But when he looks at you… if he had that kind of money, maybe he’d do the same. 

Nearly smacks himself at the thought. 

“Generous,” he says instead, disdain on his tongue. 

“He was sweet,” you continue, voice wavering as you visibly swallow the urge to cry. “He – he said he could save me. Would take me to his nice house and protect me. Said he’d treat me like a goddess.” 

Ghost snorts spitefully. “Did he?” 

You scowl at him. “Yes, he did.” 

A knife of guilt plunges through his sternum, a truly unfamiliar sting. 

Did you love him? 

He cannot fathom that you could have. Not after that repulsive tirade, so unbearable to hear he felt compelled to execute him just to make it stop. He thought he had done you a favour. Still mostly believes he has. 

“Didn’t sound like it,” Ghost remarks derisively. 

You chew your lip. “It’s your fault he snapped,” you murmur, under breath. Doesn’t sound like you believe what you’re saying. “He was – he was good to me.” 

He sniffs, licks his teeth. “You had bruises.” 

“Fucking ‘course I have bruises, you tortured me.” You hiss. 

Shakes his head. “Before,” he ripostes. “You had bruises on your collarbone. On your thighs. From him, eh?” 

You bite down on your tongue, he sees your eyes well. Must have prodded a sore spot. 

“What is this? What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you he beat me so you feel better about murdering him?” 

That sparks his anger. 

“You think that would make me feel better?” He barks, “I feel fucking fantastic. Shooting that cunt is the best thing I’ve done all week.” 

“You’re sick,” you breathe. 

“I’m sick? Do you know what your fuckin’ husband did? Do you know what he was?” 

“He was a businessman,” you utter, unconvincingly. 

“He was a mass-fucking-murderer. He started a war. You wanna know what the body count for that is?” 

You fall quiet. Shivering and tearful. But you listen. 

“Your husband was busy building bombs. Chemical weapons. Busy selling explosives to fucking terrorist militias in the middle east. Paid for the bombings in London last year. I’m fuckin’ proud that I shot him, whether or not he beat you.” 

You’re ghostly. Blood drained completely from your apple cheeks. Your mouth opens to sip a trembling breath, and your tears begin their cascade. 

“I didn’t know,” you whimper. 

“’Course you didn’t,” he chides doubtfully. 

You heave in a whining sob, tears dripping off your chin as you plunge your face against your knees. Was that your last straw, little thing? 

“I didn’t,” you stutter, snivelling. “I – I knew he… he was an arms dealer. Just an arms dealer.” 

He’s nauseated at the sight of you sobbing so sorely. Finds himself wondering you look like when you smile. 

“He was a warlord.” 

You sob, dropping your knees open so you sit cross-legged, Ghost’s eyes shoot between your legs. Get a fucking grip. Watching you cry and still stealing his glances? Can’t help it. You cry too pretty. 

You move the focus of your self-mutilation from your toes to your fingernails, picking off the lacquer. You sniffle quietly for a minute, and he lets you. What else can he say to you? He’s not much interested in comforting you. 

But there’s an ache, sharp and yet nebulous. The acknowledgement that you didn’t know the extent of your husband’s evil. That he likely kept it hidden from you. Or you, hidden from it. That your torture was fruitless and extraneous. Cruelty for the sake of it. 

“What happens now,” you ask, near-whisper. 

Ghost leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, lets his hands hang nonchalantly. “Still got one use for you.” 

Your stare lands on him carefully. You breathe as though preparing yourself, a tear lands in the corner of your parted lips. You uncross your legs, hanging them slowly off the edge of the bed, hands turn to fists on your knees. 

“I thought you weren’t interested,” you squeak. 

Ghost’s jaw clenches inadvertently, biting down on nothing. Knows what you’re implying. Do you think he’s here to rape you? Here to unwrap you, to tear off that tissue that barely conceals the prize? 

His glower is probably serving as evidence. Boring into you with a hunger beyond his control. Jesus. Control yourself. 

He could do it. Fulfil your suggestion, accept your offers. Play the role of the lecherous hound you believe him to be.

You’d let him. 

You’d lie face down on that bed for him. You’d let him hitch up your hips, presenting your soft pussy for him to take. You’d let him rake down those pathetic pink knickers. You’d let him spit on his fingers and push them into you, to prepare you for the incursion of his spiteful cock. He’d curl and drive them deep, he’d make sure your pussy releases a spate of its sweet liquor just for him.   

You’d probably whine sweetly – in pain, at first, as he penetrates you, as your cunt stretches to fit him. But those muffled whimpers into the mattress would evolve into cries of shameful rapture, poignantly humiliated by how good it feels when he fucks you. He’d fuck you slowly. Deeply. He’d make sure the blunt head of his cock rams into that aching spot that makes you squeal. 

He’d coat his thumb in your syrup, he’d press the pad of it against your puckered hole. He’d listen to your cloying noises as he pushes it, popping past your tight, clenching entrance, easing it in until he’s knuckle deep. He’d feel his cock rutting in and out of you, through the thin fleshy wall between your holes. He’d feel it cinch so tightly around his thumb, pulsing in rhythm with the abashing orgasm that he fucks out of you. He’d threaten to pump you full of his come, and when you only mewl wetly in response, no dispute, fucked drunk; he’d oblige you. 

He’d let you think he’s finished. He’d give you a moment to breathe, as he pulls out of you, as his hot come drips from you, coating your thighs. Your pussy would look too pretty drenched in a concoction of your fluids and his, twitching still in the aftershock. 

So he’d flip you, hoist up your soft body by the hips as he sucks your cunt into his mouth. He’d eat another orgasm out of you, voracious and messy, he’d swallow it, and continue; just to feel you writhe in dispute of the overstimulation, just to listen to the squeals of contest that squeak from your wet throat. 

He’d leave you choking, panting for air, as he allows you to recover. He’d let you sleep, and he’d know that you’d dream of him. 

You fucking animal. 

Pulled back to reality by a shivering sigh from your chest - he’s repulsed by himself. Reels in self-loathing as his cock jolts behind his trousers, swelling in anticipation of a crime he won’t commit. 

His peers have chastised him for being a beast. An uncaring monster. The kind of animal that would fuck you while you cry, that would take pride in making it hurt.  

They’re wrong. 

You simply look at him, pupils stretched wide and dark, glassy with worry. Your cunt might be pulsing in between the thighs you hold together so tightly, readying itself for him, preparing for the worst. 

No, little rabbit, he wouldn’t do that to you. Not unless you beg him for it. 

So he leans back in his seat, feigning disinterest, hoping you don’t notice the turgid heat that radiates from him. 

“Not that, sweetheart,” he sighs hoarsely. “We’ve got a more important use for you.” 

here's your tag bestie: @rafaelacallinybbay

[legendary-69420]

Instagram Throwbacks 5

Chapter 16 : Part 5

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

### Mark's Instagram Stories (@mark_spencer)

🎥 Clip 1 [Scene: Mark in a dimly lit hotel room, lying face down on the bed, fully dressed, with the text "I'm DONE" written over it. Background music: Some sad hamster violin meme.] Text on Screen: "Charles just suggested we 'go for a quick run' after practice… Sir, I am deceased. 🥺🪦" Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"Not Charles treating you like a triathlete 💀"

"Mark, blink twice if you need help."

"He’s literally a Ferrari driver and still shocked by cardio, I love this man."

______________________________________________________________

🎥 Clip 2 [Scene: Mark sneakily recording Charles from behind as Charles looks over strategy notes at the table, headphones on. Mark zooms in slowly with the dramatic sound effect: "DUN DUN DUUUUUN".] Text on Screen: "Look at him. Scheming. He’s planning something. Look at those villain eyebrows. Pure evil in a Ferrari polo." Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"Mark you’re going to get fired and we’re going to laugh."

"LMAOOO NOT THE 'VILLAIN BROWS' 😭"

"He’s literally reading strategy notes bro chill 😭"

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🎥 Clip 3 [Scene: Mark in a Ferrari gym, wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron (for no reason), holding up two dumbbells while dramatically groaning like he’s lifting 500 kg. He stops, throws them on the ground (they’re 5 kg each), and says, "I’m literally unstoppable." Zoom in on his face.] Text on Screen: "I am an athlete. Fear me." Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"The AUDACITY to call 5kg 'unstoppable' is sending me."

"This is why he’s my favorite driver 😭"

"Mark, the way Charles is going to drag you for this."

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🎥 Clip 4 [Scene: Mark at a Christmas party, wearing a reindeer headband, sipping wine and fake-crying. Charles is in the background holding a glass of wine, laughing uncontrollably.] Text on Screen: "He drank my last glass of wine. I am betrayed. This is my villain origin story." Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"NOOOO not Charles stealing the wine and laughing about it 😭"

"Their future wedding vows are gonna be about this moment."

"This is a betrayal worse than anything I’ve seen on Game of Thrones."

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🎥 Clip 5 [Scene: Mark wearing sunglasses indoors, leaning back in a chair at the Ferrari hospitality. He stares at the camera and slowly raises one eyebrow. No context.] Text on Screen: "When you’re prettier than your teammate but have to humble yourself daily." Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"He woke up and chose audacity."

"Mark please, Charles is going to see this 💀"

"I love the way Mark is just SO annoying 😭"

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🎥 Clip 6 [Scene: Mark sneakily records Charles in a hotel lobby. Charles is sitting on a couch, scrolling on his phone. Mark zooms in and adds the "Dramatic Chipmunk" sound effect as Charles looks up directly at the camera.] Text on Screen: "POV: I’m about to get yelled at for 'being annoying in public' 🫡" Tag: @charles_leclerc

Reaction Comments:

"I’m literally in tears, he KNEW you were recording."

"The way Charles is holding back a smile is so obvious."

"The fact that you even tagged him LMAO."

______________________________________________________________

🎥 Clip 7 [Scene: Mark and Charles side by side in the airport lounge. Mark is filming himself and Charles without warning.] Mark: "Say something for the fans." Charles (not looking up): "No." Mark: "He’s shy 🥺."

Reaction Comments:

"THE 'he's shy' had me in a chokehold."

"Mark recording him like a proud parent is my new aesthetic."

"I love them, your honor."

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A/N : No I am not dead! I had a lot of work this chapter isnt completed yet

[hunnylagoon]

Birthday Girl

A/N This is my first tumblr fic. I’m a retired Wattpad warrior, I only wrote this bc the Ellie tag is over diluted by smut, we need some angst and fluff to balance it out. My credentials are that I used to write Game of Thrones fanfic and I was blocked by Noah Beck on Twitter. Apologies in advance for any spelling errors or confusing sentences, bc I was high off my ass when I wrote this.

Summary

Jackson’s resident Baker works herself tirelessly to take care of everyone on their birthday and ensure they get something nice to brighten their special day but who is there to take care of her?

Birthdays are like brilliant gems in the kaleidoscope of time; they are the times when life's symphony crescendos into a celebration of its children. As the sun circles the earth once a year, we are given a day to celebrate our own journey, a day that whispers stories of victories, laughter, and the sweet notes of resiliency. You had always loved birthdays, who didn't? The look of joy on someone's face when they open a  gift you spent weeks looking for, the uncontrollable smile and pure serotonin that took over even the grumpiest of people. Everyone had a special day designated to them, of course, it was a cause to celebrate. 

You worked in the town bakery with very few other people, from five am to twelve pm on Monday to Friday every single week you were hustling around in a humid bakery, hell, you ran it like the navy.  Every morning, walking into the bakery is like stepping into a fragrant paradise where time seems to slow down to the sound of ovens buzzing to life. The first two hours were just for you before you let anyone in, The comforting routine of donning a flour-dusted apron and tying back unruly hair precedes the artistry of crafting pastries and breads. The almost therapeutic rhythm of kneading, rolling, and shaping becomes second nature: the soft crack of eggs, the calculated pour of sugar, and the clouds of flour hovering in midair. 

There wasn't much creative freedom while working in the Jackson bakery, it really just consisted of making dozens of bread loaves daily and then carting them over to the 'Barbecue Place' Which was once a restaurant though it had been refashioned into Jackson's mess hall.  However, you were able to dabble in some fun and were able to make cupcakes daily and a large batch of miscellaneous pastries every Friday. The cupcakes were very dear to you, you had to beg Maria when you were thirteen to approve the idea and eventually, you were green-lit.

As you step into the bakery you are greeted by the creek of wooden planks which are a testament to decades of busy activity; the dance of innumerable bakers has worn away at their shiny surfaces. The aroma of baked goods still hovers in the air from the previous day and all the days that came before, taking you to a more peaceful time. Sunlight streams through old lace curtains, illuminating worn, mismatched tables and chairs that have served eager clients for centuries though they no longer serve guests in the bakery. Deeply patinated wooden shelves support a variety of ceramic jars, each containing a treasure trove of hidden ingredients. Fading photos and yellowed newspaper clippings decorate the walls, telling the story of the bakery's illustrious past. There are copper pots and pans strung like time capsules on strong hooks, and an old-fashioned cash register sits on the end of the counter past the empty glass displays, it no longer serves a purpose but you have fought bravely to keep it around as it makes you think of what life had been like before the world fell apart. 

You look at a beat-up calendar on the walls, sitting in the place of an old picture frame that had been knocked down and shattered by none other than yourself when you were fourteen and had the bright idea of having you and your friend toss a bag of flour at each other to see who was strong enough to last longer in the odd game of catch. Surely, Ellie threw the five-pound bag a little too hard, you ducked to save yourself but it smashed into the framed photo of the family who ran the bakery before the apocalypse. It not only was smashed into little fragments but the bag of flour exploded and covered the dining room of the bakery as well as yourself in white powder, it looked like it had snowed inside. The calendar you were checking held the birthday of every person in Jackson, it was messy and hard to read as you usually had to cram several birthdays into a single day which was only a small square, it was hardly legible, there was almost no one else who could read it. Every day when you walked into the bakery, the first thing you did was check the calendar to find out whose birthday it was, then you began your bread dough or carried on with the sourdough started the day before, while the dough rose, you made cake batter, adjusting the recipe according to how many you had to make. After finishing work for the day or sometimes when you were midway through it, you would give each person a cupcake to celebrate their special day.

Even if no one else remembered their birthday, you were always there to make it a little bit better.

Today there were two birthdays on the calendar, Sean Casey, a man who was turning sixty. The second birthday marked down in the little square was yours. 

That's what made that day so special, you were ecstatic to see what your friends had planned for you later. Last year Ellie promised that she would go above and beyond for your next birthday and you were going to hold her to that. There was already a nice start to your morning by having your dad wake you up with breakfast in bed which you found truly impressive as he usually slept in till at least ten, on top of that he had scavenged a stand mixer for the home. You grabbed your apron off of the hook putting it over your neck and tying it tight around your waist. Everyone had a couple of designated aprons to rotate through throughout the week, yours consisted of two plain white ones, a red gingham pattern, one of forest green, and another made of a fabric covered in hyacinth flowers, their colours diluted like paint. Today you wore the apron your father gave you last year on your birthday, it was your favourite colour and the neckline was embroidered to say '(y/n)s kitchen'. You could tell your dad did the embroidery himself, the stitches were loose and uneven in some areas while being extremely tight in others, that's why you loved it so much, it was the thought and care behind it.

With a gentle hand, you pulled each of your necessary ingredients along with equipment out to begin your day. You preheat the ovens and in the quiet pre-dawn hours, the bakery comes alive with the hushed sounds of industrial mixers. The heady scent of freshly milled flour dances in the air as you measure the precise alchemy of ingredients, your hands moving with practiced grace. Kneading the dough becomes repetitive, muscles working in harmony to transform a mound of humble ingredients into a soft elastic texture. As the dough rests and rises, the anticipation builds—the promise of crusty loaves and soft, pillowy interiors. You slipped the pans of dough into the industrial ovens, the heat attacking you the second you opened the door; making sure to place the pumpernickel, rye, sourdough, brioche and wheat loaves all sorted on different racks in the respective ovens.

By the time you put the loaves in ovens it had been two hours from when you began, even with preparation the day before and dough starters, it was a process. You quickly washed your hands before unlocking the door for Juno as well as anyone who wanted to come in to visit. 

The clock read '7:09', because of the passthrough you were still able to look outside via the glass storefront, you could see people walking along the streets heading to whatever job they worked to contribute to the community, no one got paid, it was a commune after all, you couldn't imagine a world where everyone was so dependent on money and so obsessed with over-consumption. Part of you was waiting for one of those people to come in and wish you a happy birthday, but you shook the thoughts from your head.

You began to make the small portion for two of cupcake batter, remembering distinctly how four years ago you sat next to Sean at the Fourth of July party and he went on and on about how much he hated vanilla, it seemed like one of those crazy old man rants but you found delight in it. Never had you seen a man so passionate about cake flavouring. He said vanilla was nothing special, flavourless; you had come to learn that he was a chocolate man, every holiday event filling his pot belly with chocolate, when you had brought assorted sweets for a Christmas party he dove straight for the brownies. So it was easy for you to make up your mind on what flavour of cupcake to make.

After years of this cupcake tradition you had memorized each ratio to make, a double serving of chocolate batter consisting of 1/4 cup of flour, 2 1/2 tablespoons of white sugar, 1 tablespoon of unsweetened cocoa powder, 1/4 tablespoon of baking soda, a dash of salt, 2 tablespoons milk, two tablespoons canola oil, 1/4 tablespoon vanilla extract. You treated baking like it was a science and recipes were your formulas.

As for the frosting, you had a stockpile of plain buttercream that you took small servings from and flavoured according to said person's preference. All you had to do was whip it up and add some cocoa powder to make it fluffy and creamy again.

The bell above the doorway rang, signalling the arrival of someone, you looked up to see Maria. "Hey, there," You smiled, turning off the stand mixer so you could hear her.

"Hi, (y/n)," She greeted and you quickly wiped whatever was on your hands onto your apron before coming around to the service counter to speak with her. "I have something to ask of you."

"Yes?"

"I know you already do your little cupcake thing but we are throwing a surprise party tonight for Sean and I was hoping you could make a cake for him?"

You nod with a smile "Anything for the town chief."

"Great, then how about a simple vanilla cake?"

"Sean doesn't like vanilla," You answered quickly.

"Okay, well I trust you with it, his party starts at eight tonight in the town square and he's turning sixty so it's a big one, I'll see you there around then?" 

"Definitely," You grinned at Maria, waiting for her to wish you a happy birthday and reveal that she was only pretending to forget but she didn't. She thanked you and walked out, leaving you in a flour-covered apron with a tinge of hurt in your heart. It wasn't like you weren't close with Maria, you had Thanksgiving at her house every year.

Nonetheless, it was only a blip in your soon-to-be perfect day. Just as you had frosted the two cupcakes, putting chocolate chips on Sean's and breaking half of a double fudge cookie and sticking it into the thick icing. Rainbow sprinkles cascade like confetti, adding a whimsical touch to the miniature confection. The bell rang again calling for your attention, this time you didn't leave the kitchen instead just moved to look at whoever it was by the passthrough.

"Hey, kiddo!" Tommy greeted, clad in a red flannel tucked into blue jeans. He walked into the bakery as comfortably as he would his home.

"Howdy, Tommy," You said, moving out of his sight for a quick moment to put the two cupcakes in the fridge to prevent the buttercream from prematurely melting. 

"So, it's Sean's birthday today and I was wondering if you could bake a cake for his party-

"Maria was already in," You answered "Don't worry, I'm on it."

He smiled "Of course, you're always so on top of it," He leaned over the counter slightly, trying to get a look inside the kitchen via the passthrough "Say, have you got anything back there for me?" You opened the box of double fudge cookies you made the day before and scooted around the passthrough to hand him one, boots clattering on the ground. Tommy loved to visit the bakery as you always had a sweet treat for him and he would never get sick of the aromatic embrace of fresh bread. "Thanks, kiddo, I'll see you around." 

This was the moment you were almost convinced that they were planning a surprise party for you, sure Maria could forget about your birthday, she was a busy lady but there was no way Tommy would. He was good buddies with your dad and was over at your place for beers a minimum of once a week. You always baked for him when he came over and he constantly joked about you trying to fatten him up. 

The bell sounded again though you didn't bother to look up, you knew who it was by the time of the clock, Juno was starting her shift. As usual, she tied her mousy brown hair into a sleek ponytail then grabbed her apron and stuck a baseball cap on over her head so there was no chance of her hair coming loose. "Good morning," She walked into the kitchen, heading over to the sink to wash her hands.

"Mornin'," You answer.

She looks you up and down with a slight smile "You're wearing your favourite apron, must be a special day."

“Sure doesn't feel like it."

♡

Your birthday wasn’t panning out great but you didn't want to lose hope.

You had walked over to the greenhouses after your shift to find Sean, he loved the cupcake, he even hugged you which was nice albeit a little odd. You walked through town a bit after you had stopped and talked to everyone on the street for not a single one to say the words you've been pleading to hear all day. Taking it as defeat, you grabbed a sandwich for lunch from the mess hall and began the desolate walk home.

Nestled at the end of a peaceful, tree-lined street, the charming but battered house had a certain charm that cut through its worn yellow exterior. Tentacles of ivy wrapped about the crumbling outside walls, their green tones infusing the dilapidated building with a hint of the natural world's tenacity. The worn-out yet friendly doormat and weathered rocking chair on the porch told of years spent taking in the changing of the seasons. The wooden frames of the windows, adorned with faded drapes that seen innumerable sunsets, spoke tales of laughter and time passed.

The house's coziness unfolded inside like a time capsule, with worn-out rugs covering creaky floorboards and a fireplace in the living room that was adorned with vintage tiles that were mismatched and provided warmth in more ways than one. The rooms had a lived-in comfort despite the peeling wallpaper and chipped paint, and each mismatched piece of furniture seemed to tell a story of its own. Despite being tatty and ragged around the edges, the house exuded a calmness that invited guests to enjoy the beauty concealed in the flaws of a place that had aged gracefully and with character like most homes in Jackson. The living room was always your favourite, there was a spruce bookshelf pushed behind the gray, L-shaped couch, and the rug was once a maroon colour though it's clear that it's been well-loved over the years. Pillows and throw blankets were carelessly scattered over the couch from when you and your dad had watched '21 Jumpstreet' the night before, he kept saying it was a shame the outbreak happened before they got to make a second one, though many of the jokes didn't land with you, you loved to see your dad laugh so hard he snorted. The room was illuminated by a warm glow from the fairy lights overhead that your dad scavenged years prior, a small stack of books piled up on the coffee table which had been hand-crafted by Joel.

You popped 'Mean Girls' into the DVD player, just to have some background noise and went to the kitchen and started on Sean's cake. As much as you loved the bakery, you wanted to be somewhere a little more close to comfort. 

As you measured each ingredient with care, you couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that lingered in the air. Sifting the ingredients into the bowl, you had wished your father was home from patrol duty, all you really wanted was a hug but instead, you slaved away at a black forest complete with layers of moist sponge, decadent frosting, and a profusion of vibrant decorations.

As you delicately frosted the cake, your mind flitted between thoughts of the celebration and the poignant fact that everyone seemed to have overlooked your own special day. The kitchen, usually a sanctuary for you to escape to, now harboured the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart, though excited for Sean to get a nice surprise on his Birthday, held an unnoticed longing for acknowledgment.

The aroma of the baking cake filled the kitchen, mingling with the scent of disappointment that you couldn't quite shake.

As the cake took shape, you couldn't help but think back to the calendar at the bakery, where the date circled in red seemed to mock you. Your own birthday, usually a day filled with surprises and the warmth of laughter, had slipped through the cracks of everyone's awareness. Though the night was still young and Ellie had said that she was planning something incredible.

Finally, nine was about to roll around, you changed into some clean clothes that hadn't yet carried the memories of your disappointing day, just a white top and some jeans. The sun had set, and your dad wouldn't be home for a good while so you walked over to the town square alone. 

There was a table full of food and a long banner that read 'Happy Birthday Sean!' strung between two street lamps. There were twinkling fairy lights illuminating what would have otherwise been a dark night. 

"There she is!" Tommy smiled, doing that awkward little dad jog over you. "Wow, that cake looks incredible, mind if I take it off your hands?"

"Go ahead," You held out the cakeboard. Tommy gingerly took it away from your grasp, his forearm underneath to support and his other hand held the side of the board for balance.

"I owe ya' kiddo," He winked before taking the cake away to show a group of adults.

You stood around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do with yourself.  You turned your attention to the moon, wanting to believe that it shined so very bright just for you, because the moon, unlike everyone else recalled how important this day was to you-

"SURPRISE!" Everyone erupted in cheers as Sean walked up to his party, his daughter had her arm linked with his. He had the biggest smile on his face it almost made you forgive everyone for forgetting because at least Sean got something thoughtful.

"Lord, I was thinking everyone forgot my birthday!" Sean laughed, pulling Tommy in for a hug.

"(y/n)!" Dina yelled, you turned your head to follow her voice. She was sitting at a long picnic table beneath an awning with some friends "Over here," She motioned for you to sit down and you obliged, taking a spot between Ellie and Laila. "What have you been up to? I feel like I haven't seen you all day."

"That's because you haven't," You said with an awkward smile. "I've just been baking, like always."

"You're always working so hard, I swear you live in that bakery and when you aren't in there your busy busting your ass around town to make sure everyone gets something on their birthday," Dina sat across from you and put a hand onto yours "You look out for everyone, but who's looking out for you?"

"My dad?" You glance at Ellie who isn't tuned into the conversation in the slightest, she has her arms crossed in front of her on the table and her head resting on them. 

"Aw, that's sweet-" Kayla moves to look at you but in doing so, she spills a glass of juice onto you. "I'm so sorry," She slaps one hand over her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing. Kayla stood up from the table, her ginger curls rustling with the breeze "I'll get a cloth or something-

"Don't worry about it," I wave her off "It's just clothes, I'll grab some napkins." You push yourself away from the table, walking over to the table adorned with food, you see a small stack of Christmas themed napkins (it must've been hard for them to come by regular ones) and grab a handful, bunching them up in your hand in an attempt to soak up some of the juice that had already indefinitely stained your clothes. 

You feel some eyes on you from the other side of the table, to look up and see Joel, he doesn't say anything though his lips are pressed together tight.

"You're back," You say, a spark of happiness rekindling inside of you "So my dad's back from patrol too?"

Joel nods "Too tuckered to come out, said he was just heading home," He uses tongs to put a couple cuts of chicken onto his plate "Oh and happy birthday, you've probably heard that a whole bunch already, lord, it's all your old man would talk about on our last couple of patrols."

"What did you say?" You look at him with furrowed eyebrows, unsure if he said what you really thought.

"I said happy birthday, shame you've stained your clothes on your birthday," He absentmindedly added some mashed potatoes onto his plate. The words hung in the air, a moment that transcended the boundaries of their usual exchanges. You, momentarily taken aback, met Joel's gaze. It was a simple, earnest wish, uttered with the spontaneity of someone who had remembered a small yet significant detail in the whirlwind of festivity.

"Thank you, Joel," You replied, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and gratitude. In that fleeting instant, the isolation that had surrounded her seemed to dissipate. A connection, however tenuous, had been forged in the acknowledgment of her existence amidst the collective celebration.

"No problem, kid, I'll see you around," He left with his plate leaving you to stand alone at the table. You continued to dab at the juice on your white top, and though you knew it wouldn't come out you proceeded to rub it; the best exchange of your day, no more than eight sentences suddenly turned from joy to frustration. The only two people who remembered your birthday were your dad and a fiftey-eight-year-old man who practically raised the girl you had spent years crushing on, not the girl herself, but her father figure. However, you thought, maybe if Joel remembered, Ellie had aswell and she actually did have something planned.

Amidst the lively chatter and laughter that reverberated through the night, you stood in the midst of flickering candles and colourful decorations, your eyes cast down to the ground. The atmosphere of celebration enveloped her, but a palpable sense of solitude hung in the air like a heavy mist settling upon your shoulders. It was a birthday party, yes, but not your own. Forgotten and overlooked, your heart echoed with a quiet ache, the irony of your situation casting a shadow over the festive scene.

The square was adorned with streamers and balloons, a tapestry of colours that seemed to dance in rhythm with the joyful voices around her. The community gathered, their faces lit by the warm glow of the fairy lights and street lamps, each one caught up in the merriment of the moment. Yet, for you, the celebration felt like a distant spectacle, a scene from which you were detached.

It was your birthday too—a fact that no one cared enough to recall. As Darla (Sean's daughter)  calls guests toward a decadent cake adorned with candles, which you had made, you couldn't escape the bitter irony of the situation. You watched as the room erupted into a chorus of "Happy Birthday," the song meant for another soul, another moment of joy. You joined in, lips forming the familiar words, your voice harmonizing with the collective melody. But within the depths of your being, the celebration rang hollow, a stark contrast to the cheer that echoed around you.

Throughout the evening, you navigated the party with a forced smile, concealing the invisible weight of your emotions. Conversations buzzed like bees in your ears, no- it grated like a fork in a blender, but you found yourself on the outskirts—a silent observer amidst the numerous connections. The laughter that erupted like fireworks, the clinking of glasses, the embraces of old friends—it all seemed distant, an echo from another realm where she once belonged.

The party unfolded as a series of snapshots: a group photo with smiling faces, a toast to Sean, and the opening of gifts that weren't meant for you. Each moment, though vibrant and filled with the warmth of shared camaraderie, magnified the silence that enveloped your own celebration, forgotten and left to dissolve into the shadows.

As the night carried out, seeming like the celebration would never cease, you cut yourself a slice of cake, grabbing one of the half-melted candles that Sean had already blown out, they sat in a frosting-covered pile next to the cake. You took your favourite colour out of the rainbow assortment of candles and stuck it into the piece of black forest cake.

With your cake you sat back down by Ellie at the picnic table where she still returned to after conversing, everyone else had gotten up to dance. You reached for the lighter in your pocket and struck it to ignite, sparks flickered around the end of it, you struck it again and a flame arose, you carefully brought it to the wick of the partially melted candle.

The flickering flame cast a subtle glow as you made a silent wish for understanding, for the beauty found in selflessness, and for the recognition that sometimes the most meaningful celebrations are the ones we craft for others, even in the quiet echoes of our own unacknowledged birthdays. Ellie turned to look at you as the candle's flame danced in the darkness, before you could blow out the candle to solidify your wish a little girl climbed up onto the bench and blew it out, you looked at her and all she did was smile up at you, the gap in her teeth prominent, her deep chocolate hair braided so intricately you had to believe that it must've taken her mother hours.

As much as you wanted to deck that little girl in the face for ruining your moment, you didn't because it would be wildly inappropriate. "Do you want this?" You sighed, holding out the plate to the girl, she smiled and nodded enthusiastically, taking the cake and scattering away "Hey, Ellie," You pushed back tears in your eyes, forcing a smile on your face "Got any plans later?"

“Yeah," She said, short

"Oh, what are they?"

"Not to sound like a cunt but I'm not really in the mood to talk, I had a shit patrol and all I want to do is go home, smoke a joint, watch a movie, maybe read a comic, and pass out on my couch, the only reason I'm here is that Dina dragged me out and Joel said I need to be more involved in the community."

Your smile dropped, you couldn't hold it in anymore, realizing that this wasn't the elaborate setup of a surprise party but Ellie genuinely forgot it was your birthday. "Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what's happening today?"

"It's Sean's birthday," She gestured to the party around her.

"You're fucking serious," Any amusement that had been in your tone was gone, replaced by a subtle anger boiling up inside of you

"Are you going to cry?" Ellie gave you a weird look "What are you so mad about?"

"I can't believe you," You laugh bitterly "Actually I can, this is so like you, I need to stop building it up in my head that you're going to surprise me with something great. But hey, at least you never fail to let me down."

"Jesus," She scoffed "There's always something going on with you, can you go one day without finding some irrational reason to be upset?"

"Irrational?"

"Yeah, irrational," She reiterated "You always come to me when something sets you off in the slightest then your problem becomes everyone else's. You're so fucking draining and I'm sick of it."

"Fuck you, I hope your comic catches fire from your joint and you burn your place down." You stand up from the bench, wiping tears away from your eyes. Your boots clattered against the cobblestone. You stormed past the dancers, some stopping to look at one another with concern. Dina leaves Jesse to ask Ellie what happened.

The walk home might've been the loneliest you had felt in your life, the harsh wind of the night bit at your nose. The feeling of the sticky juice soaking through your clothing was borderline unbearable, were just about ready to scream. There wasn't a single person out and about as everyone was either at the party or cozied up in their own homes.

Arriving at your doorstep, you fumbled with the handle, the metallic clink resonating in the quietude that enveloped the house. The door swung open, revealing the dimly lit foyer, still no surprise. Why do you still think there is going to be a party? No one is coming.

You wandered into the living room, the TV was lit with the options screen for 'Mean Girls' that you had put on hours earlier.

Sinking into the worn-out couch, You let the weight of the day wash over you. A single tear welled in your eye, and as it escaped, a floodgate of unshed sorrow burst open. The first teardrop traced a silent path down your cheek, leaving a glistening trail of heartache in its wake.

The tears you cried weren't silent and dainty but violent sobs that burned your throat each time you cried out. As you wept, it felt like someone had stabbed your gut with a thousand needles, you cried and cried, to no one in particular, maybe the moon glistening outside the window though the moon seemed to absorb your tears, offering no solace in return.

The soft tick of the clock on the wall echoed in the quiet room, marking the strike of midnight, your birthday had ended. There was no secret party or a prank where everyone was only playing an act, only the emptiness of the house echoed the howls soaked in your tears.

The oak staircase creaked, and your dad turned the corner, peering into the living room. "What's wrong, honey,?" He shook the sleep from his mind, focusing on what was important, he sat next to you on the sofa. "I thought you said you were going to be out all night with your friends?"

You shook your head, breathing shaky breaths alone, hardly able to get a word out "They forgot," You felt the harsh sting of desolation hit you all over again "Everyone forgot," You grabbed his grey t-shirt burying your face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling you gently like you were a child who had just scraped her knee not someone who had just turned nineteen, "Except for Joel, so be nice to him, please."

"I'm sorry, baby, it was probably just a mix-up," He rubbed one hand on your back to comfort you. "I should've been there with you, I'm so sorry."

You couldn't get the words out of your mouth, all you could manage was to shake in your father's arms with sobs until you cried yourself to sleep.

♡

"Happy birthday, Jasmine!" You smile brightly, presenting a lemon-raspberry cupcake to the woman. She was serving breakfast in the mess hall, the early morning light streaming through the many windows, blinding those trying to enjoy their meals.

"Aw, thank you, love" She took the cupcake "That's real sweet," She wore a hairnet, despite having short cropped hair. "I just realized I don't even know when your birthday is."

"It was yesterday, actually."

"Aww, how was it?" Jasmine smiled, her white teeth contrasting with her dark skin.

"It was nice, it was quiet too, I just spent it by myself."

A frown replaced Jasmine's smile and she lowered her tone "Did your friends drop the ball?"

You wave off her question "Oh no, loads of people remembered, I just wanted some time to myself, it was nice."

You could tell Jasmine didn't wholeheartedly believe you, she was at Sean's party last night and saw you rush out with tears building in your eyes "If you say so," She shrugged, taking a bite of her cupcake "This is really good."

"Thanks," A small smile plays on your lips.

"God bless you, sweetheart, you deserve the best." She said, every bit of truth behind her words. She took another bite of the cupcake, savouring the sweet and sour taste "And I mean that."

You were too caught up in conversation to notice Jesse ahead of you in the service line right away, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the dispenser, trying to play cool and not have your attention drawn to him. With a shaky hand, he put the glass on his tray and hurried over to the table where Ellie was eating with Dina. "Guys, something not that great just happened."

Ellie furrowed her eyebrows looking from Dina to Jesse "What?" She asked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, she swallowed them down and spoke back up "Please tell us what terrible thing has happened in the time it took you to walk to the service line, get your food and come back?" Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

"We forgot (y/n)'s birthday," He said quickly, Ellie and Dina looked at each other with wide eyes, thinking back to the night before and the way they had both behaved. Dina was extremely ignorant and Ellie got into an argument with you, though Jesse didn't speak to you at all.

"We're awful friends," Dina says quietly, scraping her mind for any way they could salvage the situation and play it off like they hadn't forgotten. "We could change all of the calendars in town and make it seem like her birthday is actually today."

"Be serious, Dina," Jesse said, though he was considering her idea. "I think the only way we can fix this is by making it up to her."

"How would we do that? We can't make it up to her, she remembers every single person's birthday in this town and gives them a cupcake, even people she doesn't like, do you remember how she planned all of our birthday parties for the last four years and has never let us down?" Dina and Jesse nodded "And how we always scramble something together last minute? Like last year, we only remembered two days before and we threw her a subpar movie night, we watched Star Wars and she doesn't even like Star Wars."

Dina sucked air through her teeth "Yeah, not our best moment."

"You think?" Jesse asked, sarcastically. "And Ellie didn't make it any better by yelling at her yesterday!"

"You yelled at her? You told me you didn't yell at her,"  Dina whipped her head to look at Ellie, the smallest glimpse of judgment in her eyes. "Shh, she's coming!"

You were making your way to the exit lugging the cart that had held loaves of bread on it before you dropped them off to the kitchen, still in your flour-covered apron, hair pinned up messy, baby hairs flying away. Clad in jeans, a green T-shirt and beaten-up boots, clacking against the hardwood floor, you still looked beautiful to Ellie with red eyes and a puffy face from crying all night. "Watch this," Jesse murmured to the group before turning around and flagging you down. "Hey (y/n)!" He smiled brightly, his words catching your attention "Did you enjoy your birthday, yesterday?"

"Jesse, I know you heard me talking to Jasmine." You said and Ellie couldn't bear the disappointed look on your face. At that moment, the guilt hit her all at once. You had been the first kid her age that she warmed up to when she arrived in Jackson, trying your best to include her in everything. You invited her to hang out with your friends even though she didn't particularly get along with them, she went anyway because she just wanted to see you. On her birthday the previous year, you had scoped out an old comic store hours away just to bring her there for one day.

Jesse's smile fell and you had walked out the door before he had the chance to push a lie through his teeth. Last night's conversation echoed through Ellie's head over and over again, she cringed at the memory, god, why did she even say that?

Dina reached over the table and gave Ellie a harsh smack on the arm "Why did you even say that?!" 

"Ow," She flinched, rubbing the spot that had been assaulted by Dina "What are you talking about?"

Dina looked at Ellie like she was just about ready to scream "What you said to her last night, what was going through your head?"

"Not much, apparently," Jesse answered for her, earning a death glare from the Auburn girl.

"I'll just apologize and it'll be water under the bridge," Ellie said, leaning back.

"That's not going to work," Dina replied quickly.

It, in fact, did not work. Ellie had shown up at the bakery where you promptly ignored her. "(y/n), I'm really sorry I forgot your birthday and said those things to you." Nothing Ellie said could get you to even look at her.

She had later stopped by your house, it was your dad who answered the door and Ellie sheepishly asked if you were home. He called for you to come down, the moment you saw Ellie, you shut the door in her face. There was no way she could defend herself, she couldn't say that she said those things because she had a bad day (even though she did), and that would just make her seem pathetic. She really wanted to say that she was scared of how much she liked you, she didn't want to ruin a good thing, you both had spent years playing the role of each other's best friend until Ellie started to distance herself from you and you ended up enwrapping yourself with work to distract yourself from the fact that she was drifting away.

Ellie didn't know what to do, if she didn't act fast, it would be too late and she was going to lose you.

♡

One week later

The sun was just beginning to set as you were already preparing to settle into bed and read a book, just about to change out of your floor-length sundress and into one of your dad's old shirts. However, your plans were interrupted when you heard your dad screaming downstairs, it was blood-curdling. You dropped everything, pulling your bedroom door open and rushing down the stairs, tripping on a step and stumbling before quickly regaining balance and moving with haste "Dad?" You called out, worry running through your head. 

"SURPRISE!" People practically screeched, the volume so loud that you jolted back in fear. The chatter only grew as you looked around you and realized what was happening, this was your belated birthday party. 

You were pulled in suddenly for a hug, squeezing you so tight you thought your eyes would pop out of your skull was Tommy "I'm so sorry, kiddo, I was being a real shithead on your birthday."

"It's okay," You choked out, nearly gasping for air. Much to your relief, he released you and you took a deep breath.

"Happy belated birthday!" Dina sang, placing a fat box in your arms. Many people followed after her, piling gifts on top of the initial one, you were quickly losing balance, so you stumbled into the living room and put the gifts onto the coffee table. There was so much life in the living room it was almost hard to believe that just a week before you had been crying alone, bathed in moonlight. 

There were streamers strung throughout your house and odd dangly decorations that hung from the ceiling. Some balloons were taped to the walls while others bounced around the ground.

The lively hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the melodic strains of birthday wishes filled the room as the party pulsated with energy. Colourful decorations adorned the walls, and the air was charged with the festive spirit.

 You had the biggest smile on your face while everyone joked and jeered. Shoving their gifts into your face, trying to get you to open them first. It had made you forget about how awful your real birthday was, though you did try to dodge awkward apologies of people fumbling over their own words to make up excuses as to why they missed your real birthday.

"Happy birthday to you-" A voice began singing, and soon enough the entire crowd joined in, harmonizing into an off-key rendition of the birthday song. They made way for the person carrying the cake which had been none other than Ellie herself. The song ended off and Ellie placed the cake in front of you on the coffee table. "Make a wish."

You blew out all of the candles, and no punchable little girl around to steal your thunder, the room erupted into applause. The celebration continued with the living room becoming a dance floor, laughter echoing through the corridors, and conversations flowing freely. The cake itself reminded you of the embroidery your dad had done on your apron, it was sloppy and imperfect but you could tell it was made with love, the icing had been put on prematurely and had partially melted off the cake. It read 'Happy birthday' with 'Sorry for being a dick' written smaller beneath the first bit of text.

"Thank you, Ellie," You smiled softly up at her.

No one else was paying attention to you anymore, aside from those who wanted a slice of cake. Ellie nervously fumbled around with her hands "Do you want to dance?"

Ellie invited you to dance as the opening notes of the song floated through the air and she held out her hand. With a gentle smile, you accepted and you moved into the middle of the living room to form a makeshift dance floor. The soft aroma of fresh flowers blended with the scent of vanilla candles created an ambiance that enhanced the moment's sensory magic.

To the gentle beat of the song, your bodies moved in unison. Your hand settled comfortably on Ellie's shoulder, and her hand wrapped around your waist. Your bond transcended the material in the living room dance, an unspoken language of mutual feelings and unknown depths.

You both danced, recklessly, so much so that you were nearly a hazard for the swaying couples drifting around you, moving faster and not hurriedly as the tempo picked up. With each step, the living room's walls became silent witnesses to a romance that was developing on the plush carpet under their feet. The muted rustle of your clothing and the melodic notes of the music were all that could be heard to your ears.

The two of you took great pleasure in the dance's exuberance, laughing at the imperfect nature of it. In the noise of the living room, your eyes, locked in a dance of their own, spoke volumes. You were embraced by the dim lighting's vulnerability, which freed you from the burdens of the outside world to fully enjoy the moment. 

Ellie guided you in a soft spin as the song went on, your moves were not fluid and elegant but Ellie could've sworn that looking into your eyes made it feel like there was liquid sunlight coursing through your veins

You and Ellie drew closer in the song's last moments, your bodies pressed together in an embrace that went beyond the material. As the last notes of the music faded, they held each other for an extra moment, relishing the warmth that they shared and the unspoken promises that danced between them. You wished that you could've stayed in Ellie's strong embrace for centuries.

You let go of Ellie, taking a step back with a smile, "Why didn't you tell me you were such a good dancer?" You tease, almost out of breath.

"I didn't know I was," She grinned, taking the sight of you in. Your cheeks were flushed and your hair had become messy, she thought you to be beautiful all the same, if not more. Her eyes raked over your body, your floor-length sundress and mismatched socks "And here I was thinking it was too late for sundresses."

"It's never too late, Ellie."