summary: after mondo's death, taka refuses to eat or leave his room. but you don't give up on him!
“taka…”
when you said his name, kiyotaka didn't even look up or flinch. he remained still, blankly staring against the wall.
“you need to eat something… please.”
you had prepared a plate with some food in the kitchen. taka hadn't left his room for days and you knew he hadn't been eating. ever since mondo died, he had simply locked himself away in here.
“taka…?”
you said his name again and this time, taka slowly turned his head and looked at you. then his eyes wandered down to the plate in your hands.
“t-thank… you.” he weakly mumbled, his words barely audible. you just smiled and placed the plate in front of him. even if he didn't touch the food right away, you were hopeful that soon he'd be feeling better. perhaps even good enough to talk to you a little more…
Summary: After a public tantrum at a senator's gathering, Geta sends Caracalla's most beloved concubine to comfort his mad brother.
Tags: hurt/comfort, slightly NSFW, implied/mentioned sex, Caracalla has serious mommy issues, nipple play, breastfeeding :/ (sorry), short fic, Caracalla is obsessed with your big naturals I guess idk
AN: I'm not sure if there's any Otessa Moshfegh enjoyers out there, but this lil mini fic is inspired by Lapvona. Caracalla's man-child vibe reminded me of Merek, so naturally I had to write the most strange and off-putting fic to satisfy my weird-girl impulses. Enjoy, freaks!
Hurt by his brother’s callous words, the divine emperor Caracalla had fled the senator’s banquet in a fit of rage. It only takes a single tense glance from Emperor Geta for you to receive his silent command to follow after his mad brother. It does not take long to find him.
Like always, he hides away under a golden table tucked in the far corner of the throne room. His sniveling echoes off the tall marble walls. You slowly approach his curled up form, as if not to startle a wild hare.
“Caracalla. You must come out now.” You call his name softly.
“I will not.” He croaks through his tears, turning his back towards you. With a sigh, you sink to your knees, extending your open arms towards him.
You wait for Caracalla to find his sense. After a few moments, He finally turns to you to reveal his face—pale, rosy, and wet.
“Has brother sent you to scold me? I am no child!” Spite coats his words. You smile at the absurdity. He could order your head on a pike if he so pleased, but prefers for you to indulge his brooding. A god-king with the whims of a spurned child.
“No, I do not seek to scold, little prince. Come now, so that I may hold you.”
And with that, the emperor crawls to you.
He settles into your arms and you cradle his torso, the luxurious fabric of his ornate robes pooling at your lap. His cheek rests atop your bosom like a newborn babe—he weeps like one too.
“It is unjust! Brother always has the last word, yet I am eldest!” Caracalla laments, his tears wet the bodice of your stola.
You use your free hand to smooth tendrils of copper hair away from his damp face. A tantrum of this magnitude was not uncommon for the young emperor, though you often wondered how a man could display such behaviors at the age of twenty and one. Caracalla was distinctly tender, despite his blood lust. His ego was delicate, easily wounded by Geta’s pragmatism and rigid sensibility.
“He wishes to be rid of me, I know it.” He sniffles, his hand reaching to fiddle with the pendant resting at the base of your neck. You smile softly despite growing weary of this routine.
“Don’t be without reason, mea dulcis. You are invaluable to Rome and all her subjects. Geta speaks without tact when he is cross. You must know this too, hmm?”
Caracalla thinks for a moment, brows knitting together in contemplation.
“He is unkind. It should have been him to suffer in the womb, not I.”
You can’t help but laugh at his juvenile description of his brother's malicious cruelty. Frustration flashes across Caracalla’s face as water threatens to brim his eyes again.
“Peace, my lamb. No more tears.” You coo, using a thumb to swipe away at the wetness—but it is too late. Your laughter invited a new wave of angry tears. He buries his face in your breasts, jeweled fingers dragging down the fabric of your stola. His mouth quickly finds your nipple. You hiss, resisting the urge to pull him away from your flesh.
It brings the emperor great comfort to suckle you. Geta had explained Caracalla’s affliction once before.
“Our own mother denied him her breast; she believed him to be cursed. Perhaps he held on to that trangression. He called for a wet nurse until the age of ten and two. My brother has always suffered from madness, you see.”
You had taken prior notice of this habit. After he fucks you like an animal in heat, he often drifts back to your tit, lazily sucking and nibbling until sleep takes him. You thought nothing of it until emperor Geta revealed it’s cause to you.
And though you had no milk to bear, tranquility came over the man as if he had been fed. Eyes closed and breath even, he plays with a tendril of your hair as he rolls your swollen nipple in his hot mouth—lost in bliss. It is odd, but you pity him. With his lips so flush against you and his expression finally at peace, one could forget the madness, the carnage, the rage.
Sometime later, Caracalla regains his composure, standing straight with his shoulders back, returning to a proud and stately posture. He crudely wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand.
“You will attend to me in my chambers tonight.” He commands before returning to the festivities.
CW- Ooc Wiggly, reader is depicted with hair, angst leading to comfort <3
Requested by a mutual!
The stinging pain before the tears felt like torture. You tried holding back your emotions. Take on the day with a tight, polite smile. Each conversation ending with a bitter taste.
You had tried getting through the day with no tears. You really tried. But one small thing piled on another, and another, and another… you couldn’t take it. As soon as your work shift ended, you bolted out of there. You needed to get away from all the loud noises, the people, everything. Everything just felt so.. overwhelming.
But as you watch the road drag on, the town stores becoming houses, the houses becoming trees, you drive on. You had debated going home, changing into something less itchy and sit on your couch. It had seemed nice—being in the comforts of your own home, away from peering eyes. But you remembered the mess that was waiting for you when you get back. The thought alone overwhelmed you, making a pit in your stomach.
So you drove on, the cloudy skies darkening with each passing moment. Droplets of rain scattered across your car windows, thudding against the roof. It created a sense of comfort. The sound had a certain melody to it that calmed you down always. You eventually make it to a small pond, parking just in front of it. You turned your car off, leaning back in your seat as you watched the pond. The way the water rippled, the leafs of trees dripping water droplets across the grassy ground. After a moment, you release a breath you didn’t know you had been keeping in. You opened your car door, stepping out of it and onto the dirt road. You walked closer to the pond, not caring the water starting to seep into your clothes. You eventually found a tree, large and filled with leaves. So many, you couldn’t even see the sky penetrate through them. You sat under it, a dry spot waiting for you. It was still in perfect view of everything around you. You leaned into the trees bark, grounding yourself. Your hands played along the roots of the tree, feeling the texture of wood and grass and dirt. Doing this helped you stay within yourself, not drifting away. After a few moments that felt like an hour, you felt pressure on your shoulders, sides and legs. You looked down, seeing familiar tentacles wrap around you in a soft, embracing way. All the overwhelming thoughts that you kept bundled in your mind went away, fogging up. You stayed still, watching more tentacles embrace you. One caressed your check, sliding to your chin. You took breath in.
“What’s wrong, my dear?” A voice spoke close to your ear. Though no one was there, you heard it. The familiar, comforting low voice. You blinked a few times, trying to think of something to say. But as you tried, you couldn’t quite place what to say. Did you even know why you’re upset?
“I.. I don’t really know.” You mumble, leaning into the tentacles that grazed your face. “I think it could be numerous things piled up. Maybe.” You mumbled again, the rain almost louder than your voice. But Wiggly could hear.
Suddenly, a hand replaced the tentacle. Before you could realize it, it wasn’t the bark that you leaned on, rather, a chest. You breathed in, the familiar smell embraced you. Wiggly would often find out your favourite scents, manipulating them around you. You always smelt something nice and relaxing when he was with you.
Your hand found his on your face, placing yours on top of his. You squeezed it very slightly. Talking wasn’t the thing you did best when feeling like this. Once you started talking, the words felt like vomit. Wiggly knew this, and opted for touches of acknowledgement. His long, lithe fingers found your hair. Twirling the strands around his hands playfully. Sometimes, if he knew you were up to listening, he would ramble about anything. He’d save any talk of chaos, rather interesting things he’s seen recently. You would listen, enjoying the comfort of his voice and presence. This wasn’t one of those times though, you just needed a moment to collect your thoughts. But sometimes being in your mind was exhausting.
“While I’m not the one to rely on for human needs, I believe it is good if you sleep, dear. You look tired.” He spoke lightly, bringing you closer into him. His legs pressed against yours, his larger farm closing you in. You had never felt so secure before. His tentacles would sometimes reappear, caressing you. Sometimes, in similar situations, you would turn around, placing your head into the crook of his neck. You don’t know how long you would do this, but he just waited. You don’t know why he did. Why he cared so much. But each time, when you fell asleep, he was there. Often, if you ended up asleep in his arms, you’d awake to the comforts of your bed, tucked in. Why an entity capable of such horrors took kindly to you? You didn’t know. One day, maybe, you will find out why. But for now, as you lean against him, your body practically molded into his, you escape the life of stresses; of responsibility. Wiggly made you feel as if everything would be okay. A hope that there is something to look forward too—to love and appreciate.
Hours later, You awake, feeling well rested and a lot less anxious and overwhelmed. You were in your bed, the night sky shining with thousands of stars. You were thirsty, so you walked out to your kitchen. You dreaded the mess you remembered of piled up dishes, but as you walked in, there was nothing. Nothing besides a small note resting on your counter. In neat hand writing, it says,
“I do hope you feel much better as you read this, my love. Please, summon me anytime you feel the need of my assistance. Oh, and, Nib took care of the dirty plates.”
You grab a cup of water, heading back to bed. You smile as the note rested with you in your mind as you went back to sleep. There was something in life that you can look too for comfort. To some its friends, family, pets. For you, it’s a horror not many people know exist. But he was everything to you. And, eventually wiggly came to terms with it, you were everything to him.
CHAT why..why he so cute..idk shit really about my life as a teenage robot..however..watched a video about how him n Jenny are bad together...and oh..oh cute incel boy..UGH
Warnings! Pure smut, shameless riding, smoking, sexual frustration, p n v, not proofread, drabble, old fic
So I finally managed to salvage my first ever smut fic that was lost when my old blog got deleted, so here you go!
You've been stressed all month because of finals, desperate to study for your classes and get closer to graduating for your degree. It was really burning you out and putting weight on your shoulders.
The weed Warren, your boyfriend, offered to you wasn't strong enough for what you were going through and you both agreed against anything harder.
Warren, being the sweet boyfriend he is (cheeky), offered to help you "destress" whenever you wanted. Which meant riding him like a some sort of human dildo as much as you wanted whenever you came over after a grueling study sesh. Granted, while he smokes a blunt practically in your face.
It was like he had built up some sort of tolerance, because as you slammed and grinded your hips onto his length he just sat there so nonchalantly, taking slow puffs as he leans back into the couch. Even the vice grip on his broad shoulders from you holding yourself up to slide your cunt greedily along his cock wasn't enough for him to even wince. It almost frustrated you how little of a reaction he had. Like it meant nothing. Even though he did cum eventually, it was lack-luster at best.
You vowed that next time would be different, and it wouldn't just be your legs that were left shaking. It was simple: you just needed to get his attention.
Warren was a little surprised when this time you decided to nibble on his neck, rolling your hips in wanton motions over his cock, causing him to crack a small amused smirk blindly.
"Is someone extra needy today?" He asks in a sultry tone deep in his chest. He knew it got to you when he spoke like that, and his theory was only proven when your cunt fluttered and sucked against his shaft when your hips landed against his pelvis, bottoming yourself out on his dick.
"Shut up-" You pout as you raise your head from his neck, an obvious embarrassed flush to your face as the words choked from your lips, before crashing them onto his and forcing him to abandon the blunt lingering in his hand. His newly freed rough fingers snake their way up your back as he leans into the deep kiss, a groan rumbling from his chest as he begins to grind his hips to your pace, pulling a new moan from your throat that rings like a sweet bell in his ear.
"Is that what you want?" He chuckled against your lips, as if it wasn't obvious already and he figured out some big secret.
You pull away from the kiss and practically glare at him, how could he have possibly not known unless he was teasing you? Warren could definitely take a hint. You were reminded of that when he suddenly began to thrust his hips up harder to meet yours, wrapping his large arms around the small of your back as he plowed upwards, causing moans to hiccup from your throat in rhythm with each thrust.
A vice grip on his shoulders that now dug half-moons from your nails, causing him to groan even more, your thighs creating a sickeninglyerotic slapping sound mixed with the sticky harmony of sweat and arousal.
That telltale flutter in your stomach and squeeze that Warren recognized caused him to continue a steady motion of thrusts, reaching deep until his tip kissed your cervix, as you both prepared for your impending orgasm. Your moans practically flowing from your swollen lips and over his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around them, arms hanging over the back of the couch, seeking support from the powerful thrusts. Each one now erupting a deep growl from Warren straight into your ear as he focused on bringing you closer to your high.
"Come on baby...let go...cum for me." He beckons sweetly as your moans pitch, reaching a tender hand to your swollen clit to rub it. A few circles from the pad of hid thumb and your cunt clenches hard, clamping down as you both feel the gush of your orgasm. Your ears ringing, the sound fading into the fluttering pound of your heart that took a few beatsbefore beginning to settle.
You raised your head to peep Warren's expression and it seems he's just as dazed and spent as you, having finished himself in the mix of your orgasm, being so blasted you hadn't felt it until you noticed the slow spill of his cum leaking out of your cunt and down your thigh.
"Feel better now?" He asks out of breath, chuckling as he swipes his thumb tenderly over your cheek, a loving gaze reciprocated between you both.
You nod, and that's sil he needs before slowly pulling you off and preparing to sweep you off your feet and straight into the bath, keeping your trembling thighs from making you tumble again against the tile.
You giggle to yourself, satisfied when you realize Warren too-is shaking a bit as he carried you to the awaited hot bubbles.
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