#provide bird cages

[wiisagi-maiingan]

Being a novice gardener whose first priority is creating a welcoming place for wildlife with plenty of native plants and natural food sources has made me even more aware of how many people genuinely despise nature and wild animals especially. Like gardening communities and resources are filled with an absurd amount of disdain for anything other than bees, butterflies, and pretty birds that never ever eat anything from the garden.

Finding other people with similar goals and desires to mine, people who love native flora and fauna and want to welcome animals in rather than keep them out, feels like finding an oasis in the desert. I know things are getting better, I know this attitude is changing, but it feels so slow and difficult.

[allmightyscroll-swag]

THEY NEED TO BE TOGETHER TO FEEL FULFILLED!!!! OH THAT MAKES ME SO ILL. also fuck the sandy slander over here /silly you have set jobs for all of them but sandy smh smh

SANDY JUST SEEMS LIKE A CHILL GUY WHO'D BE ON EARLY RETIREMENT TO NOT HAVE TO BE STRESSED IN A JOB SETTING OKAY!!!!

[bidonica]

the fact that both Moulin Rouge! and Elvis 2022 frame their protagonists as being both kept alive and consumed by the stage to the point of being killed by it... much to think about and also the reason I’m trying to manifest Baz doing a movie set in the pro wrestling world

[thechurn]

pictures taken moments before disaster (the little fucker took my earring out. he dropped it again thankfully i think he just likes seeing people suffer)

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[lovingjingyuan]

Hi!! I've been reading your first for awhile and I think you're such a great writer and I was wondering if I could request a yandere Sunday/welt/jingyuan/blade where the reader has depression and how they'd handle it? You could add anything you like :) thank you!

Thank you sm for the compliment. I'm so glad someone enjoys my works <333 Tbh I don't find my writing good cuz my English isn't so good for writing ;-; also when i writing this on google docs it was like 7 pages long.

Warning: 2.7K words, A bit affectionate in Jing Yuan and Aventurines part, manipulation, abuse of power, gaslighting, emotional abuse,

Info at bottom

Pairing: (Yandere) Sunday, Welt, Jing Yuan, Blade, Aventurine x Reader

Sunday Sunday wouldn't be able to handle it well, but instead, he would unintentionally cause further damage to your mental state. It’s elusive getting you to cooperate with his subjectives. He couldn’t quite bring himself to understand why you aimlessly slumber like this, showing little to no affection and he deluges you with this subjective perfect life. You were in a gilded cage ornate into a display of artwork, but to Sunday you’ll always be that vulnerable bird, needing guidance and protection. He couldn’t grasp the idea of why you still yearn for freedom when he can provide you with everything you desire.

You reminded Sunday of the time when he and his sister Robin once took a weak bird under their wing. The bird is like you; too weak and vulnerable for this cruel reality. Yet, his subjective never appealed to your line of reasoning. To you, people are meant to make their own choices and yearn for the touch of freedom. But to him the weak must be helped and preserved by the strong and by that you’re weak. 

Instead of offering you normal support and seeking treatment for you he would isolate you further, making watch of your every movement and ensuring you’re always in his presence every second. 

To Sunday he couldn’t just let you go now, not after all his sacrifices and efforts to hold you captive in his presence. He started to lie and twisted his thoughts into believing that this is the only path to achieve mutual happiness and to ensure your safety. Yet, it further broke him even though you refuse to make and remain apathetic with him. Your constant depression and lack of motivation left him feeling adrift. You rarely are able to take care of yourself anymore leaving him completely lost.

All he can hope is for you to develop Stockholm syndrome. He prays that your depression and lack of happiness will lead you to believe he’s the only one who can mend the wounds on your heart, filling any empty void. 

“Please stop lying on the bed. You’ve been there all day. You know that’s far from healthy and will only worsen your state,” he silently pleaded with you hoping by any miracle you would follow through. This constant isolation he put you through has been driving both you and him mad. But in the end, you lost all light in you. No longer able to plead with him any further for salvation.  

You can just simply close your eyes falling further back into nihility. 

“Please, my dear, you can't keep doing this to me… to yourself-”

‘I’m fine, ' you snapped. How his heart ached at your indifference.

“No, you’re not okay. Your behavior is absolutely absurd!” he remained unfalter on the edge of the bed next to you. Sunday’s mind ran blink on ways to save you from deluging any further in depression. He could release you, but he’s scared the moment he does. You would leave him forever like the bird he and his sister raised.

He leaned in, brushing your hair aside to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. He will continue to keep you here with him indefinitely, trying to keep his own sanity intact as well as yours. He only remains resolute to keep you here with him, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge his wrongdoings.

“It’s not a sin. I’m doing this for the greater good.”

I believe Yandere Sunday is just manipulative in wanting to keep you, he’s no sadist but I also believe he cares a whole lot about his public image which is now RUINED! Sunday would be a good lover if you comply or not obsessed over you. Sunday would be the type to say, "Oh my days." :)

Welt During his lifetime Welt had witnessed a lot and many tragedies. Despite his knowledge and understanding of the consequences of his actions, he couldn’t suppress his urges when it came to you. Welt always made sure to keep a watchful eye over you, safeguarding you from any troubles. He would usually spend a lot of his time watching over you and observing any anomalous behavior from you. 

One sudden day he started noticing you developing odd behaviors and your daily schedule becoming a trouble. You also started to develop a habit of dissociating away from your peers, he was no exception. This unusual behavior disturbs him because it meant he can’t keep a close eye on you. 

Now I feel how he’ll handle this can go two ways: He seeks immediate professional help for you OR tries to handle this situation himself. The reason why Welt would try to handle this situation himself is to prevent you from becoming self-aware. To Welt, becoming self-aware poses a challenge to him as you’re more aware and knowledgeable of your surroundings and who is around you. He would do everything in his power to leave you clueless and thoughtless towards your surroundings so you don’t become aware of any manipulation he inflicted on you in the past.

Manipulation such as convincing you to stay with the Astral Express by his side 24/7. Welt truly cares about you and needs to see you heal. To him you’re the light in the room full of darkness in his heart. Every time you smile, laugh even when you’re clumsy or mess up he can’t help but smile, feeling relaxed near your presence. Even if you're not the brightest person you still light and warm up his heart. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, raising a brow as the bottom of his cane taps the floor behind you. Deep down he knows the answer and urges you to tell him the truth, finding comfort in his presence like he does in yours. 

“I’m alright,” you intensity waiver him away.

Unfazed by your response, he persisted, “You really don’t need to pretend, around me.”

If you do manage to admit and confess your feelings he would categorize it as depression. Welt will immediately try and cheer you up, letting March, Dang Heng and Stelle; his trusted companions around you. He will try every day to lift your spirits even letting you choose where to go for the next trailblazing expeditions. 

Welt attempts to educate himself more on the topic of depression, so he can create a safe environment for you. Although he might not exactly provide professional help he will solve it ethically.

Lol I can't see Welt keeping you captive. He would probably pressure you or convince you to join the Astral Express so he can keep a close eye on you. He's very careful when being possessive over you. Himeko and Dan Heng can catch on quickly so he would try to make you fall in love with him.

Jing Yuan Jing Yuan, a high achieving General, a man who no one can hate personally, aged over 600 years and has experience of yearning over the dead and betrayals. As he watched you drift into the endless abyss of sadness he could not help but share in your sorrow. All he truly wanted for you was your happiness and safety, including your undying love and attention. 

Yet this draining illness simply wouldn’t allow that for you. Jing Yuan is a man who is willing to go to extreme lengths in pursuit of your happiness which only he should be the one serving. Yet under one condition, he’s willing to do things that go against your happiness just so he can satisfy his impulsive desires. 

“I love you so so much. Please don’t be sad,” he murmured softly into your eyes, biting down gently on the top of your ears, which sent shivers down your body in a sensual way. He twirls the end of your hair with his fingers holding you against his embrace.

You continue to stare out into the distance, while his fingers play with the ends of your hair.

“If there’s anything you must need…. Please,” he implored in your ears from behind. The warm breath on your neck, “Tell me. I care about you and you know that.” his arms wrap around your waist telling you you’re all for him alone, all while he nuzzles his head against your shoulders. His white fluffy strands of hair tickle up against your cheekbone. 

If you ever found yourself in his custody and requested freedom, he would by all means exploit rapid, white little lies. 

"Recently, there have been reports of numerous mara-struck soldiers on the loose. 36 tragedies have resulted from these mara strikes," he warns, emphasizing the fake danger outside. "Luofu might need to go into lockdown, so it's safest for you to stay here with me."

He soon begins to take into account your condition growing rapidly worse. Your depression started to overtake your everyday life. That’s when he knew this was severe. Although sometimes delusional, he does take into account his mistakes. 

“I arranged us a date, a vacation even! It’s been many years since I left Luofu for anything other than urgent matters.”

You smiled and nodded profusely in agreement. This smile and small action deluges his heart with warm sweet love <3 How his heart jumps and flutters like a butterfly because of you. If you don’t get any better he will hire and get you an appointment with the best psychologist. 

Jing Yuan just wants the best for you wholeheartedly and truly. If he does kidnap and detain you, it’s because of his impulsive actions to keep you for himself. There will be no other 4th betrayal or the 4th person to pay the price. 

Blade Blade’s cold demeanor and sharp eyes were enough to sway anyone away; he never believed himself capable of love or being a good partner in general. Some people in this cosmos were simply not cut out to be in a relationship, or so he believed since his journey began with the thought of death lingering in his mind. 

Yingxing would have been a more suitable man in a relationship, but Blade? He doubts on the idea of love and interest. Yet, when he laid eyes on you he couldn’t ignore the strange stinging of an electric sensation in his heart. He wanted to delve deeper into this unusual sensation he was feeling. Although he knew he could never truly reveal himself.

Who wouldn’t recognize a man whose bounty is worth 8.13 billion credits? At least he has a good credit score unlike me (╥﹏╥) Blade slowly started by stalking you, falling deeper into the spiral of love and obsession. He knew with his records you could never reciprocate his feelings.

He restored to drastic measures, keeping you in his custody. It’s difficult to say he’ll treat you top-notch. Being under his care seemed more like a physiological experiment. Providing you with basic needs while expecting obedience, as if conducting an experiment. 

Blade never once will lay a hand on you, raise his voice at you, only expressing annoyance through small grunts and groans. However, the isolation drove you quickly to the brink of insanity. Every day, waking up to a meal, lack of interaction; he would simply stare down at you as you chew on the food he provided. You even lack social interaction with your kidnapper. The daily routine went on, like a trap in an asylum. 

His cold gaze lingered on you, studying your every move, all while silently making mental notes of your behavior. If you did fall into depression he wouldn’t recognize it immediately, attributing it to your natural state or how you express disappointment.

Every tear shed or harsh remark towards him is met with silent observation, perceiving it as a natural reaction. Only when severe signs startsd occurring; refusing to eat or neglecting basic hygiene, did Blade acknowledge something was amiss.

He attempts to coax you with better-tasting meals, even dessert. If you die from starvation how else will he get the same sensation he feels when around you? This strange sensation in his heart is much more desirable than death.

“Eat it, you mustn’t starve yourself,” he says nonchalantly, placing a bowl of Mapo Tofu and a small portion of rice before you.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Eat it.”

“No.”

Blade shot you a deadly glare, his intimidation palpable, urging you to reluctantly pick up the chopstick. Blade’s method or strange way of love worsens your condition. I think with Blade you probably wouldn’t relieve yourself from the chains of depression. Yet I also do believe Blade will try to understand your mental state yet fail.

If Blade were to love; he would start by, placing a hand on your shoulders and gently massaging your shoulder blade as you ate. The thought of Blade saying “I love You,” seems inconceivable, but he’d probably say it underneath his breath.

“Do now dwell in longingness for too long,” he muttered against your ears, perhaps the most motivational phrase he said to you since the decline in your mental state began. Although he won’t admit upfront he loves and feels affection toward you, his demeanor is more relaxed around you and his sharp intense eyes soften at your presence. 

How to help a depressed person 101: The reader is Blade trying to figure out what’s causing you this and how to help you. 

Aventurine From the moment Aventurine first laid eyes on you, he knew exactly what he wanted for the rest of his life. He had always felt most alive when gambling at high stakes, but being near you brought a sensation even more profound; a mix of obsession and love washed over him. 

When you begin to struggle with depression, Aventurine tries everything to lift up your spirits by lavishing you with extravagant gifts, hoping they would bring you happiness. Yet the joy was only ephemeral and wasn’t what he truly desired. What he craved was not only your happiness but also your love and affection.

He couldn’t bring it into words but, your presence was like an addictive drug he constantly craved for. His dopamine goes crazy near you, almost exploding his brain. There was something about you that he yearned to possess and preserve for himself.

“Sweetheart, I brought you this exclusive necklace,” he announced from behind, presenting the box to you.

Your face lights up only momentarily at each lavish gift presented to you, but as gifts keep coming, their extravagance holds little value. Aventurine could only find himself lost. What could he do now since he can’t seem to please you any further with his riches?

To him, his identity revolves around his wealth and luck, without the appeal towards money, he feared that he held no more value in your life. He wished you found solace in him as he did towards you.

“Is something the matter?” he asked anxiously, feeling you slip away further despite all his efforts. You’re his safe haven but he can’t fathom why he’s not your after all of his efforts. 

“I’m fine,” a transparent white lie escapes your lips.

“That’s a blatant lie,” he frowned, wrapping his right arm around your waist and pulling you in closer to him while on the bed. “Please, tell me the truth. I’ll buy you anything you want,” he continues coaxing you with the power of money.

“I’m okay,” you continue to refuse despite his effort.

Aventurine hesitates to pressure you any further, fearing that you’ll start to withdraw from him completely. He would insist, forcing you into therapy, though each session came with a price because nothing in this universe is free.

With Aventurine’s dirty money he coaxes the therapist to make every session involve him in some way while actually helping you. With the power of money, the therapist starts to manipulate you into seeking comfort, and attention from Aventurine. Every session ended with something about Aventurine, so he can linger in your thoughts.

Slowly, you began to heal, finding yourself drawn to Aventurine's presence. He welcomed this, craving pleasure since he- himself is constantly drawn to you every second.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his arm draped around you as you both lounged on plush casino's cushion.

"Better," you replied softly.

He smiled at your response, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. Finally, he was becoming your safe place, just as he had always hoped.

His hand gently massaged your back, drawing you closer until your lips were almost touching.

"Is that so?" he grinned, closing the gap with a tender kiss, savoring the sweetness of the moment. As he pulled back, staring at your bashfulness, he brushed your hair behind your ear and whispered, "If I win this, I'll buy you everything you desire."

P.S: I'm going to sleep after this but idk much about Welt despite playing hi3 since near release date. I also like keep character in character but Yandere or any NSFW +18 works are probably gonna be ooc.

Sorry this took so long I'm Trying to get my life back together :(

Mental Health

I take mental health seriously since I’m studying to become an expert in the medical field for mental health! If you’re ever in need of help please ask a trusted adult or seek help right away before it becomes worse! Just know mental health doesn’t make you a bad person but rather you’re suffering and depression is also an illness. Everyone is allowed treatment no matter what.

[yzzart]

"𝐀 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠."

pairing: peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

summary: your voice guided, with dignity, the life of Coriolanus.

warnings: explicit words, reader having Coriolanus wrapped around her finger, mention of Coriolanus' mother + take a look at the masterlist!

word count: 1.186!

notes: okay, i wrote this listening to "Pearls" by Sade, which i consider a work of art and i recommend listening to it while reading! — enjoy this!

The ears of Coriolanus were witnesses, which might be considered honorable, of a pleasant song unknown to him; but, the young boy's chest would certainly acclaim to hear it again on another occasion.

The song was catchy, and managed to accompany a calming feeling in Coriolanus; something that, since his punishment, had not been found in him. — He saw himself in a memory of his childhood, during the nights when his dear mother hummed to him until he closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Coriolanus missed his mother every night and every damn day.

However, it was not, in fact, the song that provided those feelings so gratifying and exceptional in Coriolanus' chest. — Warming Snow boy's cold and wounded heart. — but, yes, the voice of whoever was singing.

The delicate voice, pronouncing each word with care, was so angelic and put those who listened to her singing in trouble as it mesmerized them and held their attention with vigor; so, as Coriolanus was. — He found himself trapped in you, and he had no desire to free himself.

Coriolanus, for the first time, presented himself as a bird that did not wish or intend to leave its gilded cage. — Perhaps, it was an exaggerated, drastic statement, or it was, in fact, what he was experiencing.

Your voice was divine; you were divine. — And Coriolanus agrees that your mother would love to hear you sing.

The birds, which were present in the fresh and free environment of the forest, seemed to accompany your song. — Coriolanus preferred that they proceed in silence, just flying between the trees and you, but he didn't waste time worrying about a trivial thing. — He just wanted to keep listening to you, delighting and trapped in your domain.

The forest was before you and Coriolanus lying, interconnected, on the ground covered with a clean sheet and with a few grains of earth; Coriolanus' cold arm around your neck and you clinging to his chest.

Your fingers roamed Coriolanus's broad, clothed chest; his shirt was still a little wet from the contact of the water drops that remained on his body. — That didn't bother you, especially because dressed like him you were in the same situation. — Developing a long affection, a movement of imaginary drawings, and complemented more comfort in Coriolanus; even with your head in your backpack with the intention of turning it into a pillow, completely uncomfortable.

But the young boy still had his eyes closed, as if he were in his old bed with his thin, worn blanket and with you next to him; even if his bed can't fit him properly. — Deepened in his voice and the attention he received. — Coriolanus was in the paradise he was once told about.

Until an unwelcome and inopportune silence revealed itself, not even the noises and songs of the birds continued, only the natural sounds of trees and branches struggling. — Coriolanus was surprised, feeling misunderstood and uncomfortable.

Your song is gone, like a deer that has seen its hunter or like a snowflake that has melted; an unpleasant, and even unhappy, impression for Coriolanus. — Not even his punishment, his pain at having been humiliated and defamed, bothered Snow as much as not hearing your voice.

The current peacekeeper opened his eyes, revealing his deep blue irises; that caused commotion and emotions never felt by you, by your naive heart. — Blessed and scrupulous eyes, just like his surname. — Looking to find out what could have caused your silence.

And so Coriolanus found your dreamy and enchanting eyes looking at him; shining against him. — It was, indeed, impressive how you transmitted your passion and a flame of pleasure so easily into your orbits; Coryo was intrigued by this.

Was Coriolanus truly worthy of such admiration and passion? — Your eyes completed his slender face, with mature and serious features, which still contained his pure features; memorizing every sign, every tip of his face as if it were the last time. — Did he deserve that?

"Oh, Coryo…" — His nickname came out delicately, almost a careful whisper, like a little secret from your lips; you had a tone of caution and moderation. — "I thought you fell asleep." — Coriolanus noticed a movement on the inside of your cheek, you bit it nervously.

A sleepy and presumptuous wave, influenced by your song, began to slowly guide Coriolanus' consciousness before the sudden interruption. — His stubborn and heavy eyes stated the fact and, inside you, he identified it before he himself understood it.

You knew that young boy like the back of your hand, like a map that you observed and analyzed for so long until you memorized it with desire and ambition. — Something incompressible and bitter in some eyes, however, something so worthy for him; something he never received in his ordinary life.

"Again..." — Now, an intensely hoarse and robust tone of voice vibrated in your head and mind, awakening something in you; it was a possible incomplete request coming from Coriolanus. — Something that quickly became confusing.

Not understanding, in a way, your furrowed eyebrows presented themselves to the boy, wanting him to at least specify what he was asking for. — Your lips were pressed together, still nervous, and curled in waiting. — And, during the seconds, the familiar thin fingers with some cuts, caused by the current duties, were involved between the strands of your hair.

Even with the heavy feeling of pure sleep, and insisting against it, Coriolanus distributed a sweet and melodic affection to you; it wasn't a surprising action, of course, however, in a certain way and aspect it was something different. — A reason, a feeling, emotion; a way to thank you for being so lucky to have you, to be with you. — Comforting and confronting the certainty that he deserved you.

"Sing again…" — Coriolanus uttered his request confidentially, as an act of rebellion against his silence and stubbornness, seeming like it would be his last request. — He was trapped in you, perhaps, even wrapped around your little finger, being able to build and destroy lives by your soul.

The heavens asked for mercy for the burning passion that burned uncontrollably and thrashed in the Snow boy's freezing chest. — Because they knew, and had in their minds, what he would do for you.

You wouldn't dare deny that request, which held itself in a dedicated place in your mind; your heart was racing, and Coriolanus felt it, on such an exaggerated level between words and fallacies. — And the shy, at the same time, exalted smile curved on your lips; trying to focus and return to reality.

And, for the countless time, you found yourself in love with Coriolanus.

Coriolanus listened and witnessed a brief, enchanting laugh from his lover, as you moved even deeper into his chest. — Wanting to fit into it, like a head-scratching piece. — And at no time or for any reason, he removed his fingers from your hair.

Your voice was present again in Coriolanus's ears, among the melodic noises of the birds and the contacts between the trees and branches; Your voice was part of that environment. — It was the same song, there was nothing different or any modification. — The life of Coriolanus had seduced itself into her.

The young boy felt that feeling of peace around him, becoming part of his body and mind. — He felt protected and loved, just like little Coriolanus with his mother.

[arlowthenacho]

that funny feeling

(carmen berzatto x reader)

summary: you thought carmen berzatto was just a hookup. a fuck-buddy. key word, you thought.

warnings: cursing, allusions to sex but not really? its only mentioned a couple times. no smut, intended lowercase, if theres anything i missed plz let me know !!

wc: 1.1k

a/n: arlow thought about carmen spoon feeding them and made it angsty lol. this is rlly short but fret not !! i think this is gonna be a 2 parter, possibly 3 parter? idk, but i think its gonna be a series lol. anyway, enjoy my lovelies !! 🫶🤍

it started as a one time thing. a one-night-stand. a meaningless hookup. something that would and could only happen once.

until it happened again. and again, and again.

because carmen berzatto was a drug, and you were addicted to him. you craved him like lungs crave oxygen, but you weren’t sure that the feeling was reciprocated.

because if carmen berzatto was a book, he’d be written in code. scrawled in a language you didn’t understand, in writing to confusing to decipher. because carmen berzatto was nothing if not confusing.

a sudden vibration on your nightstand pulls you from your thoughts as you swipe open the screen. a text from carmen. shit.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

you up?

fuck. shit, shit, shit.

you quickly sit up and type back a response.

yeah.

you hold down the backspace button. too simple.

i wasn’t until you woke me up

pop. too accusatory.

i am now. whats up?

good enough.

you click send and set your phone back down on your bed, waiting for a response.

bzz.

the reply was almost instant. maybe that scared you a little bit.

your finger hovers over the screen, debating whether to open the text now, or just forget about it until the morning.

the former won.

carmy 🧑‍🍳

can you come over?

oh. oh.

you don’t know why you expected anything different. it’s not like you were dating him. even though you wish you were. in his eyes, you were just a casual hookup who he occasionally called for something not relating to sex.

you heave a sigh and shift your eyes back over to the phone in your hands.

yeah, ok.

sent.

you don’t really care if it sounds passive aggressive, or angry, or disappointed or whatever else it could sound like to him. to be quite honest, you just want to get this over with.

you quickly change out of your pajamas into something more presentable. a white sweater, blue jeans, throw in some lacy undergarments and you’re heading out the door and into your car.

you turn on the ignition and start the short drive to carmy’s apartment. you have his address memorized, (which you will deny is creepy until your dying day) so you don’t need to use a gps.

you turn on some music and try to distract your racing thoughts. its not like this is the first time you’re meeting him. no, far from it. but you don’t think your brain has processed that yet, because your heart is pounding and fluttering like a bird caged within your chest.

you finally make it to his apartment after what feels like an hour, and you’re standing—quite awkwardly—at carmen’s door, your fist hovering over the wood hesitantly.

after a full minute of standing at the door with your arm raised, you decide to bite the bullet and knock on the damn door.

so you do.

and he answers instantly. like a fucking gentleman.

his hair is tousled, and he runs a hand through it nervously. his eyes somehow look even more blue in the shitty light the hallway of his building provides, and it’s driving you crazy.

he is gorgeous. he is perfect. he’s all the synonyms for beautiful you can cram into one human being.

“hi,”

carmen’s voice is deep and gravelly, still thick with sleep even though he’s probably been awake for some time now.

“hey,”

a beat passes.

“can i-?”

he jolts up from the doorway he was leaning on.

“oh, yeah. shit—yeah, come in. sorry.”

an apron is tied around his waist, a gray sweater fitting loosely around his frame. it makes his eyes appear bright, like gleaming pools of sapphire that you want to spend every pretty penny on.

nonetheless, you smile politely and step into his apartment.

no matter how many times you’ve been here, the first thing you notice is always his bookshelves. more so, the books. cookbooks, magazines, culinary textbooks and newspaper articles litter his floor and decorate his walls.

the second thing you always notice is his ever-growing collection of denim. jeans and jackets make up most of his wardrobe, and are crammed into whatever space he could find.

after looking around his small apartment, a smell hits your nose.

its…pasta?

no, that can’t be it. you were just here to fuck, right? the food was probably for someone else. for work, or somebody he wanted a real relationship with. not you.

the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

you sigh, disappointment crashing into your heart like waves against rocks for the second time tonight.

despite that, you’re the first to break the silence.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you cringe at the tone of your voice. it sounded exactly how you felt. disappointed, hurt, maybe a little bitter.

“what? sorry, couldn’t hear you.” carmen leans down to you to hear better, his breath a faint whisper against your skin. your breath hitches.

“aren’t we going to your room?” you repeat, a tad louder than before.

“oh. no, no, no. no, that not—that isn’t—” carmen seems to be at a loss for words, and he feels like a total dick.

“we aren’t?” you’re confused, but hide it well. you raise a brow pointedly. “then why’d you ask me to come over?” for the first time in a couple of minutes, you notice where you followed him.

“i—just,” he searches around for something.

a spoon, full of some kind of red sauce. he cups his hand under the utensil to catch anything that drips, and urges you to come closer.

you’re in his kitchen. his safe space. his fucking sacred space.

and suddenly a wave of confusion and frustration and hope is erupting within you. so many emotions and so much fucking hope. hope that this could be something more. hope that maybe you were wrong. silly, foolish, childish hope that enthralls you completely in its deceitfully warm embrace.

he’s still holding the spoon to your mouth when he speaks.

“can you try it? it’s something for the bear. for the new menu. wanted your opinion on it.” he looks nervous, like he wasn’t the one who invited you over. like he isn’t currently the one lighting your cheeks ablaze and causing your to heart implode under the sheer force of your adoration for him.

“oh, um, yeah. of course.”

he smiles. a close-lipped thing that makes you want to kiss it off of him.

you move to take the spoon from him, but he gently shoves your arm down against your side, says “open up,” and puts the spoon in your mouth.

the food is great. more than great. but you’d be lying if you said you were paying attention to that.

because carmen fucking berzatto just spoon fed you. like a couple.

and now the domesticity is crushing you, mind, body and soul.

because you’re in love with carmen berzatto.

and by some miracle, he might be in love with you too.

[nayziiz]

Come Home | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky of Monte Carlo, she sat alone in the cosy living room of their apartment, her fingers anxiously tapping on her phone screen. It had been several weeks since she last felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, his familiar scent wrapping around her like a protective shield against the world's chaos. Work commitments and race weekends had kept them apart for longer than either of them had anticipated, and with each passing day, the ache of his absence grew more pronounced.

The apartment felt emptier without him, his laughter no longer echoing through the halls, his belongings neatly tucked away in drawers and closets, waiting for his return. She longed for the simple pleasure of having him home, to share mundane moments that held a special magic when they were together.

After a particularly exhausting day at work, all she craved was the solace of his arms, the reassurance of his presence. She had tried calling him several times throughout the day, but each attempt went unanswered, his phone seemingly out of reach. Anxiety gnawed at her insides as she imagined all sorts of scenarios, her mind spiralling with worry.

Perhaps he had gotten caught up in meetings or encountered unexpected delays on his journey home. Or maybe his phone had died, and he was currently en route, completely unaware of her attempts to reach him. But as the minutes stretched into hours, her concern morphed into a deep-seated fear, a nagging voice whispering worst-case scenarios in her ear.

Unable to sit still any longer, she rose from the couch and began pacing the length of the living room, her heart pounding against her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom. Every passing second felt like an eternity, each unanswered call a sharp stab of disappointment.

But just as despair threatened to consume her entirely, the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock filled the air, and her breath caught in her throat. With trembling hands, she rushed to the door, flinging it open to reveal the silhouette of the man she loved, his tired eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

Before she could utter a word, Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace, his arms providing the sanctuary she had been yearning for. In that moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving only the two of them, tangled together in a silent embrace.

“I'm so sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re home, that’s all that matters,” she assured him.

“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he told her before pressing a kiss on her forehead.

And as she melted into his embrace, she knew that no matter how far apart they may be, they would always find their way back to each other, their love serving as a guiding light through even the darkest of nights.

[plutoswritingplanet]

You Started It pt. 2(Buggy The Clown x F!Reader)

a/n: GMFU, that's all i have to say. this chapter was strongly inspired by the song Shikayat from the movie Gangubai Kathiawadi,

Warnings: General Asshole Behavior from The Man Of The Hour, Hostage Situation, Light Bondage (lmao), Some Good Old Smexual Tension.

Summary: The time for your great performance finally arrives, but the culmination will surprise both you and your captor.

Part 1.

You awake to the sound of music. Drums, trumpets and bells fill your ears, shaking you from some pleasant dream, where you could run free with your brother and his crew. Instead, your forehead aches from the way the bars of your prison dug into it, while you slept. Your legs are sore as well, dangling above the floor, wooden planks leaving marks on your thighs. Your joints crack, as you try to straighten yourself to the best of your capacity, an unpleasant shiver running up your back. Groggily, you wipe left-over tears from your eyes. The music wires itself into your brain, like a bug drilling inside your skull.

Then, someone yells. You know the voice all too well. The music stops immediately, and with a quickened pulse, you hear footsteps approaching the door to the backroom.

He waltzes in, a spring in his step betraying his barely contained excitement. It's been a week since your faithful conversation, and you haven't been moved from your spot above ground. Like a bird in a cage, he has kept you locked, visiting even more often than before. To feed you, give you some water, drink in the sight of you, pester you with questions you had no intention of answering. Truly, your purpose here must've shifted from solely being a Hostage, to providing Entertainment. Just like he's said when you first got here.

"Hostage!" he exclaims, as soon, as the door closes behind him.

"Captain" you answer, voice tired and still traced with the remnants of sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's not bothered by your sarcasm. You're not sure if he even registered it, with his giddy state.

"Today's your big day!" he jumps a few steps in your direction, wobbling on the balls of his feet,

At your confused, if slightly annoyed expression, he raises his hands, and that's when you notice the elephant in the room. A costume, folded neatly in his arms, one, you're without a doubt expected to wear. It's pink, baby pink and frilly to say the least. You can see an ungodly amount of ruffles, and sequins, and small golden bells. It makes your face involuntarily scrunch up. Never in a million years you'd be caught wearing such a pink thing of your own accord. But, as much as you hate the sight before you, the show must go on. You know it, and he most definitely knows so, too.

You flinch, when the Clown throws the costume to the side, lets it collide onto the table, bells ringing loudly. Then, he produces a key from the pocket of his trousers

"Be good, or else" he warns, and you nod, because what else can you do.

The soft click of the lock is like music to your ears, and as soon as the man opens the door, you nearly moan at the feeling of your legs finally being able to stretch. He watches from the side, as you unfurl yourself from the cage, limb by limb. Oh, the feeling of solid ground under your feet is almost too much

"I really cooped you up in there…" he muses to himself, and you contain the venomous look you were about to throw him.

Instead, you opt for stretching out your sore muscles, rising your hands as far above your head as you possibly can, and try to ignore the spark in his eyes, as he watches your shirt ride up your stomach, Finally, he clears his throat, crosses the room to the table and gathers the costume back in his arms

"Don't take long" he winks and points his chin towards the dressing room screen, tucked away against one of the walls.

Grabbing the amassing of fabric from his arms, and trying really hard not to touch him, you retreat to hide behind it. The screen is big enough to cover your body, but your head peeks above, and you shoot a cautious look towards the clown. To his credit, he hasn't moved any closer, rummaging through one of the chests at the end of the room. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something metallic and very sharp, disappearing into the inside pocket of his coat, and your heart jumps to your throat.

Your hands now shaking, you lay out the fabric, trying to get a good look at the costume, before you have to inevitably put it on your body. As you look at the full garb, it doesn't look as intimidating, as before. The ruffles, although pink and obnoxious, are flowing nicely with the entirety of the outfit. It is, however, much more revealing, than you've anticipated, and against your better judgement, you throw a single, judgy look towards the Clown, who immediately catches your eye at the other side of the screen

"Chop-chop, we haven't got all day" he smiles at you, full teeth on display.

Shaking your head, you begin to undress, movements slightly skittish, from the sudden anxiety running up your spine. The outfit slides against your body with ease, the fit being slightly too big on your figure. The expanse of your stomach lays bare, ruffles from the hem of the skimpy top tickling your ribs. Your legs are also, almost completely exposed, the lower half of the costume turning out to be a skirt with rather deep cutouts on the sides. It's a shame you don't have a mirror anywhere nearby, although perhaps it's for the best. You don't know if you could stomach to look at yourself in this ridiculous getup

"Ready, Hostage?" his voice startles you against your will, and after a couple of deep breaths, you step out from behind the screen.

His face remains blank, but his eyes feverishly run all across your body, taking in the image in utter silence. Again, anxiety rises in your gut, this time however, you begin to worry that somehow, this isn't enough. That this isn't the vision he has conjured up in his head, and anything deviating from his vision was sure to anger him beyond belief. You bite your lip in anticipation, as he slowly starts to walk towards you. Then, to your utter confusion, he kneels down just in front of you.

Silence envelops the two of you like a blanket made of tar. It pours into your lungs, making you unable to breathe. His hands are steady, as he reaches out and places them on one of your ankles. Your mismatched shoe slides off your foot under his gentle tug. Then, the other one. Your bare feet hit the floor and that's when you realize, you've begun to shiver

"The audience will love you" he breathes, voice quiet and reserved, almost unrecognizable from his regular, flashy persona.

Then, his hands retract to the inside of his coat. Your breath hitches, as he pulls out a golden cuff adorned with the same, small bells, which are currently attached to the rest of your outfit. Your brows furrow, and another, unexplainable feeling blossoms in your stomach, as you watch him lean down to clasp the cuff around your ankle, the second one following closely behind. His hands linger for a moment, and another surge of trembles runs through you. He's warm, and his fingers are calloused, but somehow, your skin doesn't seem to mind. If anything, you'd risk saying the way he softly slides his digits up your calf is enjoyable. Troubling and confusing, yes, but enjoyable nonetheless.

You sway in your place, as he rises from his knees

"Give me your hands, Hostage" since when has this nickname become so affectionate on his lips, you can't remember.

One part of your brain reasons, that it's a recent development, caused by the time you were forced to spend in his grasp. The other, more treacherous part supplies, that this strange intonation has been there from the very start. You were just too stubborn to notice it.

The tremors running through your hands, as you raise them to present to him, are honestly embarrassing. Your head hangs low, to shield your face from his gaze. It's no use, he can see right through you. The flush in your cheeks, your mouth falling slightly open, the shine in your eyes. He eats it up like a man starved. Reactions, that's what he's after, and with the way you've been acting, you've given him quite the show already.

It's quiet again, safe for the occasional jingle of the bells, as he gently locks two bracelets around your wrists, identical to the ones on your feet. His fingers toy with the golden clasp, brushing against your running pulse. Tension builds in your stomach, as his eyes finally look up to yours. You would've believed you were solitary in your confusing feelings, if his breath didn't come out in quick gasps through his painted lips. Lips, which in this quiet moment seem much too appetizing than they had any right to be.

"You look perfect" his breath brushes against your face, "There's just one little thing, that's missing, Hostage."

Your brows scrunch together, as you watch him reach into his pocket yet again. A beautiful silken scarf slides between his palms. It's pink as well, adorned with constellations stitched in with a shiny thread. Your confusion deepens, when he grabs your hand and turns your wrist up. Then, your heart drops.

Between the rows of small bells, you can see a golden loop attached to the cuff, identical looking back at you from your other wrist. You try to voice your protest, try to wring out your hand, but his grip on you tightens, and he tuts quietly under his breath.

"Can't have you flying away now, can I?" he weaves the scarf between the loops, and ties your hands together, leaving the fabric to drape in between

"How the hell do you expect me to perform with my hands tied?" your voice comes out much weaker than you've anticipated, betraying your growing fear.

To that, he looks up with a grin, yet his eyes remain cold, causing your whole body to shiver.

"You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

His finger detaches again, flying towards your nose and pushing it hard enough to make your entire face scrunch up. Then, he grabs a handful of the fabric, tugs on it to check the binds, and starts walking towards the door, not sparing you as much as a glance. And you follow, obediently, trying to make his head explode with your brain.

It's your fault, really, the feeling of disappointment and anger swirling around in your head. All this sudden quiet intimacy has clouded your judgement, and you've forgotten who you're truly dealing with. Oh, how you wish you could do anything to hurt him. How you wish, your brother would rescue you already, free you from this prison, not only physically, but mentally as well, so you won't have to think about this stupid, homicidal clown ever again.

If he senses you fuming behind him, he doesn't comment. And why would he? You're still following him, as he drags you through the stage, right to the middle of your future dance floor.

Your eyes dart around the place, trying to find anything, anyone, who could help you escape this predicament. To your surprise, and later, horror, the Circus is completely empty. Not a soul shares your fate. Not the public, not his Freaks, not even the Announcer. The silence makes goosebumps erupt all across your flesh, and words get stuck in your throat, as Buggy turns to face you with an unsettling grin plastered across his lips.

"I thought a private performance would be much more appropriate for you, my Hostage" his smile widens at your expression.

You want to scream at him, punch him in his stupid face, but all you can manage is glare daggers at his stupid face. Suddenly, the lights flicker on, startling you, as beams of light flow around you, only to fall right on the two of you. Buggy grabs your face, squishing your cheeks between his palms. His enthusiasm would be contagious, if you weren't scared shitless by this entire situation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a one-of-a-kind performance" he whispers inches from your face, "My dearest Hostage will dance for her life… and for your entertainment."

He lets go of you, forcefully showing you away, and you take a step back to stabilize yourself. The lights focus solely on you, and in the brightness surrounding you, you realize, you can't see anything besides the middle of the dance floor. Cackling like a madman, the Clown steps back, his hands clasped in front of his chest. You almost call out for him, as he slides into the shadows, but any sound dies on your tongue.

You're alone, again. Your breath quickens, as your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. This is not at all how you've envisioned this performance to go. Well, above all things, you didn't expect it would happen at all. Your brother should have freed you by now, and while you had your utmost faith in him, you couldn't shake the feeling of deeply seated worry. Which is why, you had to endure this torture. So you can see your brother again, when he finally comes for you. With a determined expression, you nod your head at the darkness and raise your hands, getting into, what you hope would look, like a dancing stance.

He holds you in anticipation for a moment longer, as any great showman should. And then, music floods the stadium. Bells and violins, distorted slightly by what you assume is an old gramophone. You recognize the song, thankfully, your face falling slightly, as you remember the meaning. A love song, of course, about hatred and affection. Bitter-sweet. Your limbs feel heavy and awkward, but you start to move nonetheless.

He wants a private show? You'll give him one, he won't forget.

The rhythm picks up and so do the movements of your hips. Bells jingle all around you, as you slide from one place to another, clouds of dust flying around your feet. The scarf turns out to be a major distraction, as you're unused to being bound. It takes you a while to get the hang of it, but once you do, you make the fabric dance with you, flowing around your body with satisfying grace. The song becomes even faster, and you twist and turn, ruffles jumping, as you run, accompanied by the bells. Your feet start to hurt from the roughness of the floor, but you ignore it completely.

The song drops before the second verse, and you follow the rhythm to the floor. Using all the acrobatics you've picked up through the years, you begin to writhe in the sand, adding a clap and a stomp, bells jingling to the music. That's when you finally see him, crouched down right in front you, watching your dance with a tilt to his head and something terrifying swirling behind his eyes. It makes you falter in your choreography, makes your guts twist with a feeling too close to arousal.

Then, a glint of something silver catches your eye. It swishes through the air, and plants itself right between your legs. A knife. Sharp and polished to perfection, it embeds itself into the wooden floor, splinters flying from the impact. The scream you let out would make a Banshee cringe, as you push yourself as far as you can from the weapon

"Now, now" Buggy calls out across from you, his silhouette barely visible in the darkness" The show must go on, Hostage."

He sounds terrifying, like some demon from your darkest dreams. But the music still plays, and you'll be damned, if this is what takes you down. So, you wipe your forehead with the silk scarf, contort your body and stand up, straight as a chord. Now, it's no longer a simple performance. Your blood boils inside you, fear giving space to anger and, strangely, some sort of misplaced ambition. You want to impress him, you want to make him frustrated, angry. Dust flows around you, as you resume your dance, movements much more confident, violent even.

He stalks you from the shadows, producing another knife from his pocket. It shines, when he lets it fly in your direction, but you don't even flinch, when it swishes right by your ear. Then another, grazes your torso, as you bend backwards. This one nicks you right below your ribs. You can feel blood running down the length of your stomach. No matter. Your eyes still follow him, and he steps closer to the light. Another knife, inches from your left foot. And closer he stalks. You can see the tips of his shoes enter the spotlight.

That's all it takes for you to make a decision. You won't play this torturous game any longer, and as the music nears its climax, you close the remaining distance between the two of you, hands flying to the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly.

You're panting, so is he, as you stare at each other, all innocence gone from your respective expressions. Fury, oh, fury, you're not sure if you want to kill him, or kiss him, and as he produces one last knife from his pocket, the sentiment seems to be mutual

"You started it" a growl frees itself from the depths of your chest, and under your tight grip on his shirt, he shudders violently.

There's heat pooling into those blue eyes irises of his, enveloping you completely in the moment. But then, his eyes follow your scowl down to your lips, and you realize, you've never tasted face paint. What an interesting experience it would be.

This moment of tension is broken almost immediately, as clouds of smoke fill the tent, seemingly out of nowhere. Suddenly, something yanks you backwards by your arm, something puts a knife in your hand and something yells for you to run. So you do, you turn from the Clown, his figure drowned in smoke, and you run as fast as you can, without looking back. He screams some words you're too scared to decipher, his voice breaking. A disembodied hand flies in your direction, but you dodge it expertly. One more tug from the hand gripping your arm, and you fall through a thick curtain.

The sun outside the Circus tent blinds you, nearly making you lose your footing, but a pair of strong arms hold you in place, and a familiar head of ginger hair turns around to face you

"Come on, the ship is not far" Nami yells, and you can't contain the smile blossoming on your lips.

The Hostage, freed at last… Or so she hopes

[samalong1]

Songbird Hannibal x Operareader

Yandere hannibal tw obsessive reltionship, controlling behavior,manupliation, and briefly mentioned baby trapping

You were his song bird, he'd always say it, it was his Nickname for you. He wasn't ashamed of it either infront of a crowd of all his dinner guests he'd call out for his song bird to come make a host

Such a nice reminder of how you met and fell in love, you even had the ticket Hannibal bought to your opera show framed so it was nice he was also sentimental

But it was much diffrent from hannibal's view

He saw your performances many times before you even met him. Every time he was smitten

Your voice it came from deep down as if it was your soul singing

It indirectly brought him to his childhood your look,voice,and even smell reminded him of his mother's room, the smell of all her perfume and the admiration he had for all the beauty and small details, it was hard to fully put into words but he just knew he had to have you

Although he wanted to simply sweep you up have you in his arms, he had to be patient if he wanted you to sing

A song bird could be trapped in the prettiest golden cage and fed the best quality food but never sing, they'd fall into depression being aware of their lack of freedom.

So he moved slowely charming you one night after a performance when he spotted you in the lobby. He'd take you ok the finest dates and gift you the finest golden jewelry he could find

Of course you were charmed, a respectable well groomed well educated man wanting to give you the world would charm anyone he was like a winning lotto ticket sticking out from any deadbeat,messy,rude, or childish boyfreinds you've had before

If the song bird is unaware of their captivity, the golden bars too far away for them to feel trapped, too busy with toys to want to fly away and it'd be content singing

This is what he did you thought you could go anywhere but he made very sure you'd never be too far away, not that you would wonder off he would do so much with you that you were too tired to go out without him.

He loved hearing your voice In the theatre and seeing how you moved everyone. But his greed was far more powerful, he wanted your voice to only move him to speak directly to him your voice only sung for him. At every performance he'd imagine your voice hitting a note so high everyone but him would shatter like glass leaving him the only one worthy to enjoy your melodies

So he played the long game soon wrapping your finger in a wedding ring, to lure you into the grand cage

After that it was easy to get you to abdonen your career with phrases like, "why work for others when I am more than able to provide", "you could write your own songs with the free time",and the one that hit the hardest "if we had children won't you want to be around them, of course I support working mothers but all the time you spend practicing and when you perform in other states even countries woudnt you rather be with them"

Of course there were a ton mire tactics he used to persuade you, he was very manipulative part of that is what made life to him a game if chess always needing to plot your next move or words

Soon it worked, his song bird was in the cage clueless about the trap and he locked the door

It took years but finally he had his pretty song bird in a golden cage where only he could be blessed with the singing, where only he held the key to free the bird but it remained unaware happily singing

You were happy either way wrapped around him

It was funny you worried that he didn't love you at times or that you were a bother due to how stoic he was and how hard it was to read him

Of course he'd assure you how loved you are but it was funny, you were worried that you were annoying him when he did so much for you to "annoy" him

Everyone saw through the bars even you, you were lucky you married a rich respectful docter who loved you

You'd still sing for the public but not as a profession whenever there was a open mic or any exuse he'd happily watch his songbird sing and the awe in others

He saw it as a blessing to the strangers a rare moment where he'd bring his golden cage to the public to allow others to hear the singing

He'd sketch you alot, you'd be drawn as many Greek Goddesses frequently as aphrodite, or on a stage singing to a audience that was empty exept for one man, him

He never shown you the sketches but he wasn't ashamed its just what he did to keep his mind busy you woudnt show him your middle school doodles

If you ever saw them he'd just admit that he drew them and move on

Though he'd ask you to model for paintings drawing you in so many poses some erotic but some classical, as if you were a medival monarch

Though he usually painted from real life he had one he painted without your modeling, it was you wearing flowing silk while in a golden swing in a golden cage seeming unaware

Oh how he favored it, it was hung in his office for any patients or freinds to see. You felt unease when seeing it but could never put a finger on it

Because a happy songbird was unaware of its cage,it didn't see itself as trapped so it woudnt recognize any depiction of themselves as trapped

[queenshelby]

The Unwilling Wife

Pairing: Dark Thomas Shelby x Virgin Reader

Warning: Arranged Marriage, Full On Non Con, Loss of Virginity, Tommy being horrible

Note: This was a request!

Growing up Gypsy, it was customary for young women like you to be married off early. But in the heart of the Midlands, amidst the smokestacks and iron foundries of Birmingham, you were to marry a man of power and influence, Thomas Shelby.

You stood at the altar, dressed in a gown that glistened like liquid moonlight under the chandelier's golden glow. Your heart pounded against your chest like a caged bird, desperate to escape. You knew not what awaited you in this new world, but fate dictated that you must submit to its cruel whims.

Standing before the officiant, you locked eyes with Thomas, his gaze cold and unyielding. "I now pronounce you husband and wife," the Gypsy man uttered, the words striking a death knell within your heart.

You turned to face Thomas, the air thick between you, heavy with tension and unspoken words.

"Come now, Love," he rasped, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. He had his eyes on you for the past two years, but your parents insisted that he waited until you were ready for a union of such kind.

At twenty-one, your father passed away and you were no longer given a choice. You had to marry this man to provide stability to your family.

The weight of expectations bore down upon you, making each step feel like walking through mud. You'd never known much about love, having only felt the bitter sting of betrayal. You had no idea how this man, whose eyes held a wildfire of ambition, would treat you.

Thomas led you down the aisle, his grip firm yet gentle. "We are leaving now," he asserted, his tone hardening. You nodded, feeling the weight of the gazes upon you. Your heart hammered in your chest; the fear of uncertainty consumed you. The velvety darkness of night seemed like a safe haven compared to the storm brewing inside you.

You walked away from your familiar surroundings and the chill hung in the air, mirroring the icy sensation creeping down your spine as your husband led you to his car. 

He couldn't wait a minute longer to claim what now was rightfully his and you soon began to notice the urgency in his demur. 

It was all too late to do anything about it now though, as your hands shook and you found yourself staring back at him, paralyzed, even as you silently wished for a way out. In those moments, you remembered how different life could have been if your choices were truly your own. Yet, here you stood - defenseless, scared, and utterly alone.

"Your new home is only a short drive from here," he said abruptly, his tone devoid of emotion.

Despite the dimness of the interior, you noticed the hardness in his jawline, the intensity burning in his eyes. It was clear to you that he desired something far more than just physical pleasure. And as his hand found the small of your back, you knew that he wanted absolute control over you.

You followed meekly, stepping into the car as he shut the door behind you. The leather seats were warm against your skin, carrying a musky scent of polished wood and cigar smoke.

Thomas clicked the button to close the doors, and your stomach twisted in knots, the fear growing stronger within you. The car started smoothly, pulling away from the parking lot, leaving your old life behind. You watched the blurred lights pass by outside, trying to grasp the reality of your situation.

"So, tell me Love," Thomas broke the silence, "What did your parents tell you about me?" he wanted to know. 

"Not much," you managed to croak, swallowing the lump in your throat. The air was thick with tension, the silence pressing down on you like a vice. You fidgeted in your seat, shifting in discomfort.

"Just that you are dangerous," you finally replied honestly, trying to sound indifferent. The truth was, you barely knew anything about Thomas Shelby beyond the rumors you had heard from others. You knew he was a prominent figure in Birmingham's criminal underworld, feared and respected for his ruthlessness.

Thomas chuckled, his deep laughter echoing through the enclosed space. "Well, I suppose that's true enough, eh" he admitted, a glint of pride in his eyes. "But you have nothing to worry about Sweetheart. I'm a fair man," Thomas reassured you softly, reaching across the distance between the two front seats to stroke your arm gently. His touch was soothing, yet there was something unsettling about it.

"If you do as I say and behave like a good wife for me, I will treat you well," he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on your wrist. "And, considering the deal I made with your mother, I have no doubt that you will learn your place fairly quickly, eh," he said. 

Thomas smiled grimly, his eyes flashing dangerously under the dashboard light. You tried to nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your palms were sweating against the satin fabric of your dress, and your heart raced wildly in your chest. You felt trapped, suffocated, and desperately yearned for freedom.

As the car pulled up to the entrance of an imposing mansion, the engine roared to a stop. Your breath caught in your throat; you had seen pictures of this place, but seeing it in person took your breath away. The house loomed high, casting ominous shadows onto the driveway.

Thomas opened the car door for you, offering his hand as if he expected you to jump straight into his arms. You hesitated, taking a moment to gather your courage before accepting his help. As you stepped out of the vehicle, the crunch of gravel beneath your heels echoed loudly in the silent night.

Inside, the mansion was magnificent. A grand staircase dominated the entrance hall, leading up to a second floor where countless rooms branched off. Each one seemed to hold its secrets, and you wondered what lay hidden behind closed doors. Despite the luxury surrounding you, feelings of unease crept into your mind.

"Frances will show you upstairs, to your bedroom," Thomas instructed, gesturing to a petite woman standing quietly near the entrance. Frances, you noted, was much older than you and appeared to possess a calm confidence you envied.

"Thank you," you whispered timidly, grateful for the reprieve from Thomas' intimidating presence.

With the slightest tilt of her head, Frances indicated that you should follow her.

"This way, Mrs Shelby," she called out to you politely, her tone as smooth as silk.

You trailed after her obediently, your feet whispering against the plush carpet beneath them. As you ascended the grand staircase, you paused to glance upwards, marveling at the glittering crystal chandeliers hanging overhead.

Frances shot you a smile, seemingly reading your awe-struck expression. "There's plenty to explore, Miss. But let's get you settled in first, shall we?" she said. "Mr Shelby will be up soon and my understanding is that he wants to consummate your union tonight," she added delicately but firmly.

You gulped, your heartbeat accelerating as Frances guided you toward a set of double doors adorned with intricate gold detailing. "Don't fret, Miss," she continued, opening the doors to reveal a stunning bedroom filled with luxurious furnishings. "In time, you may come to appreciate the finer things in life that Mr Shelby will provide for you," she told you and you knew the price you had to pay for what she was referring to. 

As such, you didn't respond, instead choosing to focus on the plush red rug beneath your feet.

Frances saw through your feigned ignorance, smiling softly. "Mr Shelby has selected some clothing for you to wear," she told you, pointing to the white satin lingerie on the bed before quietly leaving the room. 

You stared at the delicate garments laid out on the bed, feeling overwhelmed and anxious. The soft fabrics were unlike anything you'd ever touched before, and the thought of wearing them made you uncomfortable. You approached the bed cautiously, picking up the lacy bra and panties with trembling hands. 

"I am not going to wear this," you muttered to yourself while sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Your fingers nervously toyed with the lace trimming of the underwear. You weren't accustomed to such luxury, nor the idea of being submissive to someone else's desires. Still, you knew you had little choice or control over your circumstances.

The clock struck midnight, and you heard footsteps approaching your door. Thomas entered the room, locking it behind him. The air crackled with tension, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

"May I assume that the garments I chose for you did not fit?" Thomas asked, breaking the silence and you flushed, averting your gaze. 

"I did not try them on," you stammered, aware of the sudden stiffness in his posture and, unsurprisingly, your comment caused Tommy to sigh.

He stepped closer to you, towering tall over you as you remained seated, looking like a cornered fawn. His gaze swept over you once before speaking again.

"I am surprised you still hesitate," he began, running a hand through his dark hair. "I understand that you may be nervous, but I own you now. You are my wife and I expect you to do as I say," Thomas said, his voice low and steady. He reached out to caress your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You flinched slightly, but you knew better than to pull away. This was your life now, and if you wanted to survive, you would have to play along.

"Now stand up and take off your dress," Thomas ordered, his voice hardening. You swallowed, knowing what he wanted.

You stood slowly, taking a deep breath and meeting his gaze. He appraised you coolly, a slight smirk curving his lips. You clenched your fists, hating the fact that you had no other option but to comply.

"Undress," he commanded again bluntly, watching you closely.

You hesitated for a few seconds before peeling your wedding gown off. It slithered down your body, leaving you bare underneath the flickering candlelight. You shivered, the goosebumps rising on your skin as you met his assessing eyes.

"Good girl," Tommy smirked and you could feel his eyes roam over your flesh, drinking in the sight of your naked form while you shivered fearfully under his gaze. 

Your teeth gritted together, bracing yourself for the inevitable.

"Turn around," Thomas growled, his voice thick with lust. Reluctantly, you spun around, presenting your back to him.

His fingertips grazed your shoulder blades, tracing a path down your spine towards your waist. "You're beautiful Love," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And I have been dreaming of this moment for two fucking years now," he confessed, moving closer.

You flinched when you felt his hot breath on your neck, but you bit your lip and held your ground. You could sense that he was aroused, and that knowledge made you feel nauseous.

"Please, I don't want to do this," you whispered, your voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. "I have never been with a man before," you pleaded with him as his hands roamed over your body possessively. 

"And that excites me even more, knowing that I will be the first to have you," Thomas responded, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, turn around again and lie down on the bed for me, legs spread," he commanded you.

You hesitated, torn between your instinctive refusal and the stark realization that resistance would only invite punishment. After a moment, you reluctantly complied with his order, turning around and climbing on to the bed, lying down slowly but keeping legs firmly together. 

"Spread your legs, I said," barked Thomas, his patience clearly thinning. You looked up at him pleadingly, but his expression was resolute. With a quiet whimper, you reluctantly parted your legs. The gap between them widened, and you quickly covered your exposed sex with your hands.

"Let go of yourself," Thomas snapped, grabbing your wrists roughly and pinning them down to the mattress. "I want to see what is mine," he declared, inspecting every inch of your body with a predatory gaze.

You struggled weakly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

"Please," you gasped, "I can't do this -- I've never done this before!"

To your surprise, the usually stern Thomas softened, stroking your cheek with the gentleness of a lover in the throes of passion. "Shh," he soothed, "Open your legs," he told you again and, nervously, you acquiesced, allowing him to guide your limbs apart. 

"That's it, Love," he praised you, stroking your inner thigh. "Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes devouring you greedily. "I've never seen anyone quite like you," he purred, leaning down to kiss the tender spot where your thigh met your hip. "You are fucking perfect," he growled before he kneeled down, upright, in between your legs so that you could do nothing else but keep your legs parted for him.

Tommy unbuckled his belt next and pushed his pants down to reveal his erection, dripping with the pre-cum, eager to penetrate you. It was monstrously swollen, pulsing, and visibly leaking. You recoiled back, feeling terrified, and disgusted. You tried to look away, but Tommy grabbed your chin, forcing you to confront it.

"You belong to me now," he declared, his voice sinister and commanding. "Your sweet little pussy belongs to me. No one else will ever have you or touch you like I do."

"Now hold still," Tommy said, maneuvering himself between your legs. He gripped your hips tightly, guiding your body into position. The rough texture of his calloused hands made you wince, but you held your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your protests.

"Look at me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. You met his gaze warily, unable to tear your eyes away from his intense stare. His pupils dilated, reflecting the fire of desire burning within him as he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance. You tensed, feeling a wave of panic wash over you he started applying pressure that gradually increased.

"Relax," he urged as a bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, pooling at the base of your neck. The dampness was uncomfortably warm, adding to the mounting agony. You focused intensely on breathing evenly, attempting to distract yourself from the intrusion.

"I'm sorry, Love," he mumbled, his grip tightening around your thighs. "It is going to hurt, but you'll get used to it in time."

The words stung, a reminder of the brutal reality of your situation. You tried to brace yourself as Tommy continued to push, his cockhead teasing your wetness as it teetered on the brink of entry.

Your insides clenched involuntarily, resisting the violation. The muscles of your core contracted around his shaft, threatening to reject him entirely. You could almost imagine your womb recoiling within the confines of your pelvis, rejecting the foreign object invading your most sacred space.

"Relax," Tommy repeated, his voice strained but still calm. "And let me in," he growled, beginning to thrust harder, his cock slipping further into your tight passage. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as your body stretched to accommodate him.

"That's it Love," Thomas groaned, his thrusts becoming more forceful. "Let me fuck that little hole of yours," he grunted, relishing the sensation of his member filling you.

You tried to focus on his words, willing yourself to relax and enjoy the experience. But the overwhelming sense of violation left you numb, incapable of experiencing any pleasure. Instead, you clamped tightly around him, squeezing his cock in a futile attempt to prevent it from entering deeper.

"Fuck you are tight," Tommy moaned, his eyes glazed over with lust. "I can't believe how tight you are," he hissed, his nostrils flaring as he fought to regain control.

He grasped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he attempted to plunge farther into you. 

"Relax," he implored once more, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me push my cock all the way in to you," he snarled, plunging his cock into you with renewed vigor.

"That's it," he eventually groaned as he bottomed out against your cervix, "So tight," he panted, withdrawing  partially before slamming back into you with renewed fervor.

The impact reverberated through your whole body, causing your toes to curl. You gasped, feeling helpless against his raw strength. He drove into you relentlessly, his movements building momentum with each thrust. 

"My beautiful wife, you are taking my cock so well now," breathed Tommy, his voice husky with need.

You squirmed beneath him, your body racked with conflicting sensations. The pain was relentless, but somehow, the pleasurable hum of arousal grew louder, drowning out the cries of distress.

You swallowed convulsively, fighting back the tears welling up in your eyes. "No, please," you choked out, your voice cracking with desperation. "I can't handle anymore."

"I am almost done Love", Tommy whispered, burying his face in your neck.

Suddenly, you felt his thrust become shallow, and then he withdrew completely. You heaved a sigh of relief, thinking that it must finally be over. However, before you could fully exhale, Tommy flipped you onto your back and positioned himself above you.

"Oh god, please," you whimpered, struggling to escape his iron grip as he pinned your wrists down.

"Relax," he said through gritted teeth and, before you could argue, his cock slid back into you effortlessly, tearing a whimper from your throat. He fucked you mercilessly, unrelenting in his thrusts. 

"I'm ready to finish inside you," Tommy groaned, his pace quickening. "And I am going to cum deep inside you, Love," he growled, his strokes becoming erratic before, with a loud groan, he buried himself deep inside you again.

"Fuck," he groaned as he began to spasm, releasing his seed in hot spurts deep inside you. You cried out in shock, your body arching uncontrollably against the invasion. The thick warmth filled you, spreading inside you until it overflowed, dribbling down your leg.

"My beautiful wife," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy as, finally, he pulled out. 

You could feel his semen leaking down your thighs, a cold reminder of the act that had just transpired. The raw pain you felt was matched only by the shame and humiliation that weighed heavily upon you.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart" he mumbled, his voice sounding sincere but distant as he handed you a handkerchief. "I promise it won't be like this every time. Like I said, you will get used to it. Once you are broken in, it will be much easier for you, eh," your husband told you and you stayed silent, staring blankly ahead as he got dressed. The remnants of his seed dripped onto the sheets below you, staining the pristine white fabric with evidence of your desecration.

"Now get some rest," Thomas gruffly instructed you, brushing aside tangles of your long dark hair and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. He helped you scoot under the covers, positioning your body so that your legs were slightly parted. His firm hands ensured that you were tucked in properly, creating a cocoon of safety around you. "Tomorrow will be another day," he murmured, extinguishing the candles on the bedside table as he rose silently to leave.

"Goodnight, Love," he said softly, closing the door behind him, leaving you alone in the darkness.

Tags: @ietss@thorins-queen-of-erebor@cilliansbabe@calmingmelody96@lavender-haze-01@febris-amatoria@cursedalchemist @too-manyfandoms-help @sena-m @forgottenpeakywriter

[amarephilia]

Simon x Reader

(Fem!reader, mdni 18+, dubcon)

Second Part! Third Part!

Simon treats his girlfriend like a beautiful, exotic bird in a cage, pampering her in every way. Not letting her do or go out without his protection. He doesn't mean to be overbearing :( He wants his pretty woman to be safe. That's his job. She doesn't need to lift a finger around him.

Simon learns how to do beauty treatments for his lovely girlfriend, massaging her body in the finest of oils. He does her skincare routine for her. So she doesn't mess it up. She can be so silly sometimes! He does her hands and feet, painting on such a pretty colour he picked out for her.

Simon makes sure his pretty girlfriend has everything she needs. He decorated his home to her and his liking. He'll even move if she wants to be in the city/nature. Simon makes his love have an outdoor space, overlooking the scenery but still safe. He can't have her go off on her own, can he?! Simon will give her activities to do- knitting, an iPad (that may or may not have a child lock on), writing, reading, and art. He'll even get her a small animal or cat if she asks. An interest or hobby she had Simon will provide. Although he does get worried if she could hurt herself, he really can't have that :(

Simon loves his girlfriend so much! His heart sinks when she bedrots, wrapped in a blanket in their large king bed. He can't have that. He hovers over her for a while until he makes her sit up as he feeds her, making her eat at breakfast, lunch and dinner. He'll carry her out of their room. She'll still be wrapped up as he puts her on the couch. Giving her the TV remote and an iPad. Feeding her snacks and drinks whenever he thinks she needs them.

Simon gives his cute girlfriend free rain of his body but doesn't dare touch her without permission. Sure, he'll hold her down and force her to do things- but only because it's for her benefit! Simon needs to look after her since she does a horrible job at it! But he's a good boyfriend. Simon would never rape her. He's the best partner, after all! Mhm! Never ever!

He lets his girlfriend play with his cock anytime she wants, her well-manicured hands wrapped around his flushed length as she kisses his leaky tip. God, he just wants to shove his cock down her pretty throat :( She often doesn't give him a proper blowjob, just using his cock as something to toy with, something to fill up the time or if she wants something in her mouth while they watch a movie of her choosing.

It only turns him on more, his tummy full of pleasure and ache. She does such a good job playing with his cock! He has to reward his good girl! Stretching out her pretty cunt on his fingers or tongue. He likes to hear how her embarrassed pleas turn into sweet moans and whimpers. Simons is a good boyfriend, so he doesn't mind making her cum over and over while he humps the couch. He doesn't mind how his own cum sticks to his belly as he comes untouched :( He wishes he could have pumped it into her instead.

[wroteclassicaly]

Warnings: Just some cute and domestic fluff.

Hearing the beeping smoke alarm just regulating. The quiet of the trailer. Even the occasional chirp of the bird Wayne got as a gift from you. He loves birds and bird watching, nowadays. When you wake up, Eddie is asleep, his scarred, bare back at your disposal, sheets pulled around his trim waistline, barely covering his unclothed ass. He’s not the lightest sleeper, so you simply slide out of bed, working your panties back on from last night, a discarded baggy shirt with holes you’d left here, and grab your bath robe off his corner chair. One last look at the messy haired boy in your shared bed, you can’t believe that you’re in this moment with him - so lucky, so happy.

The realization that you’re still a little unsteady on your feet from previous activities, it has you gripping the panel walls. The soft hum of the set has you smiling as you approach the kitchen, Wayne bent over the couch trying to pack a few things in his camp duffel. There’s freshly brewed coffee that you inhale, and Shiner (the bird) makes note of your presence. Your tap a finger at his cage.

“Good mornin’, kiddo. Did I wake you guys?” Wayne manages a smile, and you shake your head.

“Good morning. And no, you didn’t.” You motion towards his bag. “You leaving for a bit?”

It’s so cute how bashful he is. He motions towards the weather report through a haze of colors on the little set. You nod. “Gonna be a stormy day, so thought I’d take my lady fishin’ for a bit. Stay at hers, get some rest before the drive out. She’s makin’ us a picnic.”

You really wanna bottle this man up and keep him safe, because he’s practically glowing right now.

“Did you get breakfast? I can have an omelet and some bacon for in a few minutes.” You place your mug down after several passing moments.

He zips up his bag and shakes his head at you fondly. “Actually, I did. Picked up some McDonald’s after my shift. Left your’s and Ed’s shares in the oven to keep warm. Should be all right still.”

You marvel, thanking him, moving to swiftly kiss his cheek as he zips his bag closed, patting his pockets for a double check. You’re retrieving the food by the time he’s stepping out the door.

“Love ya, sweetheart. Tell my boy I said love him too. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“Love you, Wayne. Be safe, okay? Tell Ms. Henderson we say hello. Let Dustin know Eds will call him a little later for tonight’s match, if you don’t mind?”

~*~

He has woken up, scratching his belly and rubbing his massive, curly bed head, clad in his sweats and a shirt by the time you have the food plated. You pretend you don’t hear him, distracted by task. His soft, spicy scent and the smell of you clings to his skin as he approaches your backside, sliding his arms around you, chin pressing into your shoulder. “You left me in a mountain of sheets. I was lost without you, empress.”

“I think you faired well on your corridor travels, my King.” You turn in his arms to see that cheeky grin.

Both of you automatically lean in to meet mouths, that fresh desperation and desire never failing to excel its presence. “Hey, baby.” You greet in between kisses, his hands squeezing your waist through the fluffy fabric.

On the noisy breakaway, he leaves a few more clicks to your lips, accepting the plate you offer him and the coffee, making a move towards the couch as you join. “Did Wayne have an over?” He tucks a sweat clad length beneath him, one of your borrowed shirts hanging from his slender form.

“Overnight date with Dustin’s momma.”

Eddie just grins, but then he does that face (the one where he knows he’s forgotten something, and attempts to tackle the misplaced thought). You catch on quickly. “Told him to tell Dustin to call later for your meeting details. It’s supposed to storm all day.”

He takes a bit of his sausage breakfast roll, wiggling his brows. “Good. Mother Nature providing the master with her sound effects.”

“And…” he starts with another add on. “Gives us a lot of time to ourselves, sweetheart.”

You simply bury yourself into his neck, listening to his raspy chuckle, and finish your breakfast after Eddie has changed the weather to an old movie channel. You shower first whilst Eddie tidies up the place and puts on clean bedclothes, and he showers after, giving you time to put away the rest of the laundry. He doesn’t waste a second after coming out, not even a towel on. He finds you, already waiting, that sensed, shared energy — encouraged by a summer storm. He lays you down in his bed and you don’t leave until evening… reluctantly.

[storiesoflilies]

i’d actively kill for more gladiator! tengen or toji or even both because i’m actually hooked … that was so good

oh my darling nonie!!! you only need to ask, and i will provide. i hope this real quick little piece is okay :3

gladiator!toji was completely uncontrollable.

he now fought with a violence nobody had never seen before – full of cunning, with malice and vengeance in every stroke. his strikes used to be effortless and precise; now they aimed to spill as much of his enemies’ blood as possible, and as messily as he could. his master was less than pleased, for the crowds of the colosseum were more horrified than entertained by toji’s antics.

he was making a spectacle, and not of the good sort.

“where is he?” she all but screamed into the night, bloody and raw crescent moons embedded in her palms. “you! where is he?”

gladiator!tengen sat at the edge of his bed, disturbed by her and her… flapping.

he groaned loudly, exasperation at the forefront of his tongue. “it’s late, woman. i want to sleep.”

“you know where he is, don’t you?” she screeched, her tears of fire burning down the curve of her cheeks. “tell me.”

she reached the bars of his cell, all but collapsing in a heap in front of him, gripping the metal like a vice. a broken bird, a mess of blood and bones, unable to ever fly free beyond the confines of her cage. she was as much a slave to the mass as he was. tengen swallowed thickly, his resolve unusually fragile, a thin eggshell decorated with cracked veins and scratches.

why was his heart aching?

he sighed heavily, long and full of pity. his thin sheet rustled as he stood, sweat glistening from his muscles thighs as he walked to her. she looked up at him, a baby doe in a heap of jumbled, useless limbs, powerless against the lion that had crouched in front of her.

she had never seen tengen this close before.

his hair was free, untamed, a rolling avalanche of snow. his features were carefully maintained, but that signature heart-stopping grin of his was gone, and his eyes were like the bottom of a red wine barrel. made of swirling hues of purple and scarlet; deep, bottomless and seemingly infinite. what lay hidden beneath the surface was unknown to everyone except himself.

she didn’t like it.

tengen suited unbridled joy better than melancholy.

“the master has sent him away,” he revealed quietly, grappling with an unfamiliar gentleness that threaten to overwhelm him. “but to where, i don’t know.”

her ensuing sob was a thunderclap of despair.

before his mind could protest, tengen reached between the bars of the cell, drawing her closer to him. the lukewarm metal bars pressed against her cheek, and she gasped as her bare forearm brushed against his fingertips.

“he’ll come back,” tengen mumbled softly. “the master will send for him again when he has learnt his lesson.”

“i don’t understand why,” she whimpered defeatedly, voice muffled against the marble of his chest. “but i feel this is all my fault.”

a stab of guilt tore through tengen’s heart, and he winced painfully. her heartstrings were completely shredded, trampled and spit on, and it was all because of him – tengen had to fix it.

“what do you need me to do?”

“please, bring him back to me.”

for you, i’ll do anything.

“i will, i swear it.”

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[neoarchipelago]

And they were roommates

Word count: no idea

TW: arachnophobia, slight mention of steamy stuff. Future smut, 18+ stuff if this keeps going.

A/N: I don't know what this is. I started writing this as  multiple small headcanons so it might be a recurring series but we'll see. I think it'll depend on whether you guys like this or not. It will turn into romance and smut but it'll be the slow burn we all expect.

Please be kind i haven't written anything in a very long time...

________

You were thrilled yet anxious. The two bedroom apartment felt tiny now that the news had fallen. Someone was moving in with you. The army had provided the housing. You were after all their little bird. You cringed at the thought. You were actually a hacker. Before being part of the team you had been one the most searched cyber criminal of the decade. Sparrow.  Being young hasn't stopped you from being very skilled in what you do. 

Eventually you grew tired of the hiding. So you accepted a deal. Now you were the little bird in a golden cage, hidden from the world by the army. The golden cage being a spacious two bedroom apartment near one of the bases, not too far from downtown. Sometimes moving around the world, always in a new place but this, this was your 'home'. 

But a week ago, a knock was heard at the door. Laswell passed by for a coffee and dropped the news that someone was being affected to this apartment too. You were shocked at first. 

"Lieutenant Riley will be taking the second bedroom. He's… how do I say it…"

She frowned. 

"Intimidating. But he's not mean. You'll be perfectly fine."

You kept fidgeting with your fingers, the tv playing on the wall completely forgotten as you waited for your new roommate. The couch was big, you had bought many fluffy pillows and blankets for movie nights. You sighed letting yourself fall down to the left. 

You were so used to living alone. Would you two cohabitate well together? Will he be ok with your gaming on the big TV? Maybe he'll play with you! 

You sat back up at the thought, excited for a second to maybe, just maybe, feel less alone in this world. 

You jumped from the couch when the door unlocked in the hallway and Laswell's voice rang. 

"You are free to do as you wish with your room, the rest of the house, including the bathroom, is common space." 

You bit your lip, slightly excited to see who would show up in the living room's doorway. 

Laswell appeared first, a soft smile on her lips, sending a wink your way. You stood next to the couch, hands behind your back. 

Right then, he was there. Black hoodie black sweatpants. A big duffle bag on his shoulder. But mostly, the most noticeable thing was the mask. A black balaclava with … is that a real skull?! You swallowed the lump in your throat. His gaze was dark, scanning you. You felt like a prey under the eye of a predator. A chill ran down your spine. 

Yes. He was intimidating like she warned. But you were still attracted to his frame. Curiosity prickling at your skin just by looking at him. 

"Sparrow." 

You smiled at Laswell, stepping closer to them, leaving at least two feet in between. 

"Lieutenant, this is Sparrow. She's a hacker for the army. One of the best. She will be your roommate." 

She then turned to you, a soft smile on her features. 

"Sparrow… this is Lieutenant Ghost. He's part of squad 141. I purposely avoided voicing your real names. I'll leave it up to you two if you feel comfortable enough for it."

Silence fell again. It was heavy. Laswell broke it before it could engulf you. 

"Sparrow. I'll leave it to you. You can show the lieutenant around."

You nodded, biting your lip again. She spun around, the sound of her boots hitting the floor before the door was heard. 

You looked up at the man in front of you. He easily towered you, his frame imposing. 

"H-hi…" you smiled. 

Your voice was slightly shaking. You didn't know if it was the adrenaline or the curiosity. 

"Hello." 

His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine again. You cleared your throat. Looking around the room you started your little speech.

"So hum… this is the living room, as you can see it opens to the kitchen. I've made some space in the fridge for your stuff but you can get some of the stuff that's in there as much as you want. Hum… you can pretty much use whatever you need in the cupboards." 

You looked back up at him. He glanced around before letting his gaze fall back on you. 

"Let me show you the rest of the house…" 

You smiled, turning around to walk him through the rest of your now shared apartment.

—

It has been a week your new roommate moved in.

The heat of the stove on your skin felt amazing in this cold weather. Your mind kept running around to the man sleeping in the room facing yours. 

You had barely spoken in a week. He got up early, came back around 8 pm and went back to his room. You had noticed a few things missing from the fridge but nothing that could be a meal. For some reason you were worried. That wasn't healthy at all. 

You kept stirring the pot in front of you. The clock on the wall showed 9:30 pm. You were cooking a late dinner after working on a new program all afternoon. He had walked in at 8 pm as usual, throwing a polite good evening your way as you sat at the counter working on your laptop before heading to his room. He had come out once to go to the bathroom but went right back to his little hideout. 

You bit your lip again, a noticeable habit of yours in stressful situations or deep thoughts. You didn't understand why your hands were slightly shaking when you placed the food on the plates. You were just hoping he wouldn't get mad at you or take offense.

You firstly took your plate and a can of soda to your room, placing it down on your desk. Heading back to the kitchen next to place the second plate on a service tray, with a knife and fork, a spoon with a strawberry flavored yogurt, a can of soda and a cup of water. You had added a little note wishing him a good night. 

You took a deep breath, slowly lifting the tray, calmly walking to the door facing yours. You put the tray down, and stared at the door in front of you. Lifting your fist you knocked on the door. You waited just a second to make sure you could hear him walk to the door before darting to your own room and closing the door behind you. 

You held your breath, listening through the door as he opened his own. You were hoping that he wasn't going to come screaming and knocking at your door. And it didn't happen. You simply heard his door close again. 

Slightly opening your door ajar, you glanced at the ground, smiling as you noticed the tray gone. You made sure to close back your door as silently as possible before going to eat your own dinner. 

In the morning you woke up around 10. You had stayed up late, indulging yourself in some gaming. Opening the door to a small bag in front of it. Picking it up you glanced inside to see some muffins with a little note. 

'good morning' roughly scribbled. 

You smiled. You walked to the living room freezing as you noticed him sitting at the counter in the kitchen. He was looking at a file when he glanced back at you. 

"Good morning." His deep voice rang in your ears. 

"Good morning!" You answered, awfully cheerfully compared to his tone. 

A soft silence set before you both interrupted. 

"Than-"

"You didn-"

Silence again. You chuckled slightly. Apologizing. You walked up to the counter and you stood next to where he sat. He smelled of fresh shampoo. You supposed he went for a run around the base and had showered. 

"You didn't have to share dinner." 

You looked at his eyes. You tried to distinguish a little ounce of his thoughts. Was he angry? Annoyed? Grateful? 

"I know. I did it because I wanted to." You answered. 

"Thanks." He added. 

"Thanks for the muffins" you spoke with a wide smile. You took the seat next to him, you noticed him stiffening for a second as he straightened his posture but didn't leave his spot. 

"You're welcome." 

You grabbed a muffin in the bag, taking a bite and humming at the taste. You could feel his glance on you at the sound before he turned back to his file. 

"Do you not cook?" You asked, making him look back at you. 

For a second you worried you might have overstepped. After all, this was the closest thing to a conversation you both had since he moved in. 

"No." 

You swallowed. 

"Why?" You asked. 

He looked at you, sizing you up. You could see he was questioning himself if he could tell you or not the answer to that. 

"I… I'm not good at it." He finally let out. 

You blinked before nodding in understanding. Looking at your muffin you took another bite.

"Well…" you started, mouth half full. 

"Dinner will be ready at 8:30. Do you have any allergies? " You asked, turning back to him. 

"It's alright, you don't have-." He started. 

"I Know." You interrupted making him wince under his mask. 

You smiled at him. 

"We live together. I cook for myself. I don't mind at all cooking for both. Let's make a deal. You bring breakfast, because… clearly you're an early bird. And I make dinner. I can't promise that it'll always be good, because I'm not a great cook, but warm meals are a must in this house." 

You looked at him, your mind repeating again and again that this was too much that you fucked it up. 

"Deal." He finally answered. 

You smiled even brighter at him. 

"Perfect!" You squealed before biting again the poor muffin. 

You got your phone out to roam through social media as his voice reached your ears one last time that morning.

"You're a good cook." 

—

A little routine had settled in. Ghost, as you now called him, got up early, went for his morning run, brought breakfast and showered while you got up and brewed coffee or tea. 

During the day he'd either go to base or stay home, watching TV in silence with you or writing a report if you were working. During the evening you made some tea again if he was home.

You'd prepare dinner for the both of you, trying new things since you were now cooking for someone else. You were glad that all this time being alone stuck in a house had given you plenty of free time to work on your cooking skills. 

Eventually the night would slowly come to an end with either a bit of tv or working. 

You were pretty happy with how things were turning out. You were both slowly learning to trust each other and that was heartwarming to you. 

You stood in the kitchen drying the dishes ghost had washed from lunch. You were humming softly, a cup in hand. Ghost had gone to his room to take a work call. Your thoughts softly roamed over your work in the morning. 

Since you had started to get breakfast with ghost, you had started waking up earlier. It did give you more time to work during the day then having to do it during the night. 

You spun around, going to place the glass in your hand on the counter when your eyes stumbled on a huge spider. Near the edge. 

You dropped the cup, glass shattering on the floor as you stepped back, climbing on the counter behind you. You yelped. God it's huge you thought. You both stared at each other, as if the spider was as shocked as you by your reaction. 

Ghost appeared running from the hallway where the bedrooms were. Glancing at your scared face he frowned. 

"What's wrong?! What happened?!" His tone urged. 

You breathed, seeing his agitation caused by your little scaredy self. 

"I-i'm sorry… it's nothing… i just…" you tried through the guilt of worrying him. 

Worry..? He was worried..? No. It must be his soldier's instinct.

He approached your frame up on the counter, before following your frightened gaze. As he saw the spider his shoulder lowered with a sigh. It was indeed nothing. He reached for it, softly grabbing it, making you yelp again. He walked to the window opening it before dropping the friendly yet apparently terrifying thing out. He closed the window again, now turning to you. 

"I'm sorry…" you simply said in a small voice, as he just stared at you. 

He glanced down at the broken glass, careful to not step on anything as he made his way to you on the counter.

"It's alright. If you would have screamed I would have brought a gun." He joked. 

You whined at his teasing, ready to drop yourself down to the floor. 

In a flash his hand came to grab your hips, immobilizing you. Your hands immediately flew to wrap around his wrists. You felt your cheeks burn at the sudden touch. His hands softly traveled up to your waist. Making your  breath hitch. The big baggy t-shirt you were wearing slightly hitching up your thighs. 

It was the first time he was actually touching you. His hands were big. His grip was strong, you knew you couldn't slip away. 

"W-what is it..?" You asked, looking at him. 

He was frowning. One of his hands left your waist to wrap around your left ankle as he squatted down to inspect it. 

It finally hit you as you saw the small droplets of blood. You must have cut yourself with the glass pieces. He rose again. Even while sitting on the counter, you had to look up to look him in the eyes. 

"You ok?" He asked. 

"Yes… it's nothing. Barely hurts." You smiled.

He nodded. 

You tried to get off the counter again but he reached for your waist again. 

"Don't." He ordered. Sending a chill down your spine. 

He seemed to think for a minute. Debating on the next move. He spun around, now back turned to you. His hands met your exposed thighs and you felt goosebumps. For the second time today it hit you that he wasn't wearing his gloves. Something rare for him. His skin burned against yours. 

He pulled you to him, legs spread, surrounding his waist. You finally understood what he was trying to do. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he lifted you up onto his back. You tried hiding your blush in his neck. He was stiff at the action but walked to the couch anyhow. Dropping you softly on it he kneeled once more in front of you. 

"Ghost… really it's just a scratch…" you tried again with an embarrassed chuckle. 

Your breath hitched again feeling his hands wrap around your ankle. His touch was gentle. Something contrasting with his imposing frame and usual cold gaze. 

"Stay. I'll go get something to clean up the wound." He said standing up, planting his eyes right into yours. 

You felt tiny. And he was taking care of you. A ping of guilt shot through you again. 

"I'm sorry I'm bothering you." You let out in an awfully tiny voice. 

"You're not." He answered. He paused for a second before his gaze ever so slightly softened. "Next time just call me." 

On that, he left for the bathroom, leaving you on the couch, heart stammering against your chest.