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letsgobarbs · 2 days ago

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read this and hurt my own damn feelings brb gotta go take a cry

part seven of the neighbors series. oh jeez, we are back at it again with another heart wrenching part to this building series. don't ask me where in the timeline this lands because i don't even know—all i do know is that this one hurt me a little more than the others 🖤 as always, thank you to the beautiful anon who sent in this prompt. i love love love creating this with you all 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~2k word count. again, nothing too extreme to tag!

“Guess who won dos entradas al cine?” (two tickets to the movie theatre) you sing-song as you approach Javier, a pair of ticket vouchers held triumphantly in your hand and a wide grin lighting up your face.

Javier looks up from where he’s seated on the edge of the courtyard fountain, the familiar ember of a cigarette glowing between his lips. He narrows his eyes behind his tinted aviators, giving you that signature blend of teasing skepticism. “Who’d you have to flash to get those?”

You roll your eyes and drop onto the fountain beside him, the cool stone beneath you a welcome reprieve from the heat of the day. “I am offended that you think I’d flash someone for movie tickets.” You cross your legs as you say it, the move shifting the hem of your work dress just high enough to reveal the soft curve of your thighs beneath sheer stockings.

Javier’s gaze dips immediately, a slow drag of his eyes over your legs before his tongue sweeps across his lower lip.

He knows he should stop. Should keep his admiration of you in check. But he can’t. You’re too pretty to not gawk over.

You’re oblivious, like you always are, as you hold the tickets up again, completely lost in your own excitement. “We had this silly competition in the office, and these bad boys were up for grabs.” Your voice is bright and animated, and it’s all he can do not to focus entirely on how alive you look when you’re happy.

A plume of smoke curls into the air as he exhales, buying himself time. “So, what movie are you gonna go see?”

You falter for a moment, your confidence dimming ever so slightly as you hesitate. Your teeth catch your lower lip in a nervous habit he’s seen a dozen times and never fails to find endearing, and you glance at him from under your lashes.

That look alone could kill him.

“I’m not sure… actually,” you admit, your voice softening as you toy with the edge of the tickets. The question sits on the tip of your tongue, uncertain.

Is it a good idea to ask him? It’s been weeks since the two of you had a moment to really do anything outside of these stolen midday chats or rushed exchanges in the hallways.

You miss the ease that used to exist between you, but what if he doesn’t feel the same?

After Javier’s little episode in your apartment during your date, things seem to have settled into a steady, almost predictable rhythm. You’d thought about asking Mateo to join you for this outing, but he’s away on some business trip for the next two weeks.

Things between you two are fine—casual, a few small dates here and there, nothing to write home about. It’s enough to keep your head above water, to keep romantic daydreams about the handsome DEA agent next door from completely taking over.

You haven’t heard much from Javier’s side of the wall lately either. No muffled moans or the rhythmic creak of his bed frame emphasizing his nocturnal activities.

Out of sight, out of mind, you tell yourself. If you don’t hear him entertaining half of Bogotá, your feelings for him can stay dormant, tucked neatly into the recesses of your heart.

So, you figure it’s harmless to ask him to go to the theater with you this weekend. Friends catch movies together all the time, right? Besides, his life is unpredictable—he could get called into some crisis at a moment’s notice. No pressure.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come with me,” you ask, your voice soft but hopeful. “We can pick the movie when we get there.”

The way you ask, with that shy, almost hesitant charm, makes Javier’s heart do a ridiculous flip. He has to school his expression, keep his face neutral so he doesn’t show just how much your offer delights him. His instinct to tease nearly ruins the moment, though—he’s this close to asking about your little banker boyfriend.

But instead, he soaks in the fact that it’s him you’re asking, not Mateo.

Whatever the reason, the thought of spending an evening with you—even if it’s just watching a movie—makes him feel like a giddy teenager, like the crush he’s been nursing forever has finally acknowledged him.

“Makin’ time for me in that busy schedule of yours? I’m flattered, cariño. That sounds like a good time. I’m in,” he replies, taking a slow drag of his cigarette to mask the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You light up instantly, a bright smile spreading across your face. “Tú eres el que siempre está ocupado,” (You're the one who is always busy) you tease, testing the waters with your Spanish.

He huffs a quiet laugh, his dark eyes glinting with approval. “Tienes razón,” (You're right) he concedes, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “You’re gettin’ better and better. Pretty soon, you’re gonna be speakin’ better than me.”

Your cheeks heat at the compliment, and you can’t help the nervous giggle that slips out. “Highly doubt that, but thank you. How does Friday night sound? Meet me in the hallway at six?”

Javier tilts his head, feigning confusion as his brows knit together. “Lo siento, no hablo inglés, ¿puedes repetirlo?” (I'm sorry, I don't speak English. Could you repeat that?)

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, playfully narrowing your eyes at him as you pause to get your words right. “Encuéntrame en el pasillo a las seis el viernes,” (Meet me in the hallway at six on Friday) you say carefully, hoping you nailed the grammar.

His lips curve into a proud smile, his mustache twitching as he nods in approval. “Te veré allí. Good job, cariño.” (I'll see you there)

It’s almost eight when you knock on Javier’s door, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you wait.

Maybe he got tied up with work—God knows his job has a way of swallowing him whole.

Or maybe it just slipped his mind, which wouldn’t surprise you either; he does have a lot on his plate these days.

Still, you’d been looking forward to this little outing, putting a little extra effort into your outfit, remembering all the little things that had happened to you during the week to share with him so he could get a good laugh out of them.

You wait a moment longer, but there’s no answer. A small pout tugs at your lips, disappointment sinking in. You tell yourself you saw this coming. It’s Javier, after all—unpredictable, chaotic Javier. You shouldn’t take it personally.

But the tiny sting of hurt manages to land on that sore spot in your chest with his name tattooed over it.

It’s okay, you think, pushing the feeling down. You’ll just reschedule. No big deal. It’s not like you don’t have other things to do—there’s that crossword book you picked up earlier to practice writing your Spanish. A quiet evening in doesn’t sound so bad. You’ll catch him later, maybe tease him for standing you up.

You’ve barely turned the knob on your apartment door when the sound of laughter fills the air—a warm, familiar chuckle that makes your heart leap.

You freeze, turning toward the sound, your excitement flaring to life at the prospect of your plans not being canceled after all.

But the flicker of hope is short-lived.

The door to the building swings open, and there he is, an arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a stunning woman. She’s tall, effortlessly beautiful with her curly brown hair, her laughter lilting as his lips graze her neck.

Your stomach drops.

So he hadn’t forgotten because of work. He’d just… forgotten about you. Or chosen not to remember. The realization sears through you, twisting in your chest.

You feel rooted in place, unable to look away as your mind scrambles to catch up.

Then his eyes find yours.

The world seems to grind to a halt. Everything else fades—the woman on his arm, the noise of the building, even the ache in your chest.

All that exists is the intensity of his gaze locked with yours. His flirty, careless smile vanishes, replaced by something you can’t quite name. Guilt? Regret?

It doesn’t matter.

You wrench yourself away, slipping into your apartment before he can say anything. The door closes with a soft click, and you sag against it, chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath. Your eyes sting, but you refuse to let the tears fall.

It’s not just that he stood you up. That’s not what makes the embarrassment swell in your throat. It’s that you’d been excited to spend time with him.

That you put in effort to your appearance, that you saved specific topics to discuss solely with him.

You’d allowed yourself to believe that your friendship mattered as much to him as it does to you.

But now, standing here with your heart feeling scraped raw, you’re starting to see it for what it is: your friendship only exists when it’s convenient for him. When there’s no one else in his bed, when he’s not risking his life in the streets.

You bite down hard on your lip, willing the tears to stay put. You won’t cry for him. Not tonight. Not again.

Like clockwork, three steady knocks land against the door, each one reverberating through your back as you stay pressed against it. You don’t move, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

Should you answer? Or let him stand out there, forgotten as easily as he forgot you?

Your jaw tightens, anger sparking to life in your chest. It tempts you to yank the door open and unleash every ounce of frustration, to scream at him until your voice gives out, until he feels the intensity of all the feelings he stirs inside you.

But you don’t.

Instead, you straighten your posture, brushing away the stubborn tears that slipped past your defenses. You take a steadying breath, clearing your throat before finally opening the door.

“Hola, Javier,” you greet, your tone clipped and flat.

There he stands, every bit the picture of remorse. His brown eyes are soft, almost pleading, and his hands are shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “Cariño, I’m so sorry,” he starts, his voice low and rushed. “I got hung up at the office, then had to go out and vet some leads we got—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “It happens.”

He flinches at your tone, guilt etched across his face. It’s written in the way his shoulders slump, the way his mouth opens and closes as if searching for the right thing to say. He knows he screwed up. Knows he let you down.

The truth? He had forgotten. At first, it was the chaos of his job pulling him in a dozen directions, then following up on a tip from Helena.

But when they met at their usual spot, the drinks came easily—too easily. Her attention had been familiar, her touch comforting, and one thing led to another, as it always did with her. He hadn’t thought about anything else until he walked into the building and saw you.

Until your wide, hurt eyes locked onto his and knocked the breath right out of him.

“I’m free all day tomorrow,” he says now. “We can reschedule. I’ll even take you out to dinner to make it up to you.”

There’s something so damn sincere in the way he looks at you, the way his tone drips with regret, that for a split second, you almost cave. Almost.

But then you remember what’ll happen as soon as he leaves. He’ll go back to his apartment and you’ll have to hear him fuck her.

“No, Javier. Don’t worry about it,” you say firmly, each word clear with resolve. “I’ve got a busy weekend.” It’s a lie, but it feels necessary, a barrier to protect what little dignity you have left.

“Have fun vetting your lead.” You let the words hit their mark.

His expression falters, and you see the exact moment the weight of them sinks in, his lips parting as if to respond, to defend himself, to say something. But you don’t give him the chance.

With a steady hand, you close the door in his face.

The soft click of the latch is louder than it should be, final and resolute. You lean against the wood, staring blankly ahead as the quiet settles around you.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, the fiery ache of anger and something sharper—betrayal—coiling in your chest.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

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letsgobarbs · 2 days ago

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cosmic love

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

summary: a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

tags & warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

word count: 7.5k

a/n: I’m sorry I blame the gladiator statue pics we got & yeah now here we are lmao, this fic literally wouldn’t be here without @pedgito & @perotovar - i can’t thank you two enough for all the help i love y’all tremendously, also a sweet special tag for @morallyinept ily too… And lastly - thank you for reading, you’re what makes this so special and magical ♡

The statue that arrived with the newly updated Roman exhibition at your museum has gained attention.

As a guide you enjoy seeing all the new faces here to check out the freshly opened installation. The heightened foot traffic has kept you and your co-workers busy, but it’s been a nice welcome.

Your eyes drift to the statue now.

General Marcus Acacius stands slightly weathered yet still commanding in his bronze glory, towering among the room with all the grace a powerful Roman Army commander would be.

You learned he conquered countless territories and countries in the name of the Ancient Roman Empire. Eventually though, he was caught in a conspiracy to overthrow the ruling emperors and died within the eyes of the coliseum, the whisper of a gladiator’s death.

Now you readily explain this all to tour groups like the one you currently guide.

“Oh, he’s cute.” One of the elementary school girls currently giggles to her friend. The other school children gasp around her, teasing her.

“It’s okay. He is pretty handsome, isn’t he?” You reassure her. The girl seems bashful but relieved at your agreement.

It wasn’t just you. A local internet influencer stopped by and even made a video about the statue being her dream guy.

Even as a statue, the General is eye-catching.

The bronze figure captured his likeness bewitchingly detailing the soft curls of his hair, a lovely sharp nose, mountainous strong broad shoulders, and a pensive stare looking out to a distant horizon. He’s a man of unwavering beauty.

You constantly want to smack yourself for being wistful over a piece of art.

“He’s definitely the most attractive statue I’ve seen.” A familiar smooth sweet voice melts into the room’s quiet softness making your heart jump.

Approaching you with a molten smile and eyes twinkling in the low museum lights, Marcus doesn’t seem real at times.

A regular visitor, you first met him when he accidentally crashed one of your tours. Wholesomely thoughtful, but also being a charming yet slightly know it all, he was quick to join in on commentary of the paintings. With his Disney prince-like smile and earnest eager energy, you couldn’t dare shoo him away.

Now you happily seek his company.

“He’s become like a hot new celebrity here.” Joking, you nudge towards the General’s striking figure.

“I can see why.” Marcus whistles low. “Like look at those shoulders.”

You snicker as a bubbling fondness swells in you.

“He unfortunately died a tragic death.” Marcus comments, cloudy and mournful.

“Yeah, I heard. That means this guy is a bad boy.” You nod.

Marcus snickers at your comment then playfully nudges you with his elbow.

Later, all your co-workers beg you to ask him out to coffee.

“He’s totally got the hots for you!” Your favorite co worker often tells you, but you wave her off.

Marcus is just sweet. He’s kind and considerate, engaging to all the workers here. Besides, you don’t want to assume he possibly likes you and maybe ruin the precious friendship you have with him.

However, your favorite coworker shows up a few days later with a solution for your stale love life.

With a cheeky bright grin, she hands you the cutest pink velvet pouch in the break room.

“It’s called a love wish tea.” She declares.

She grabbed a pack of them at the local occult shop after the lovely witch who owned the place swore it worked.

“It calls in your heart’s desires and hey, it worked for me! That’s why I still have a pack left over!” She proudly recommends.

You roll your eyes but appreciate the gift.

Shoving it into your bag, you don’t give it much thought.

Then the cooler cozier weather settles in, the perfect time for museum dates. Strolling along the floors keeping a watch on everyone it’s hard not to notice the intake of couples. Some are intertwined beside each other staring fondly at a painting together, while others happily take photos of the other being silly.

A taste of loneliness fills you, but gently you sweep it away focusing back on work. Especially since tonight you’ll be locking up.

Already craving some extra caffeine, you glare seeing the break room depleted of any sweet salvation.

The small velvet pink bag in your bag immediately comes to mind. And at this point you think, why not. it will at least keep you awake.

Immediately out of the pouch the tea bag releases a soothing smell, a rich floral blending with delicate touches of a fruit scent, possibly pomegranate. You’re now excited just to taste it, love wish or not.

The tea steeps in your tumbler cup allowing a faint rose color to float into your water. Of course the tea is pretty too.

And the taste? Rich, lovely and warm, like a romantic valentine-like themed drink. It doesn’t reward you with a sensation of being in love, but instead you feel at peace.

After a few sips, you return to the floor.

There, Marcus sits on one of the benches in the Roman exhibition.

Curled over a leather sketchbook, he’s every bit the personification of a scholarly beautiful artist straight out of a romance novel. His face glanced up then back down to his sketch. Diligent concentration paints over his gorgeous face.

Cautious, yet eager, you approach.

He’s sketching a portrait of the General. The sharp edges of the charcoal, the smudges meant to mimic shadows, along with capturing the striking slopes of the General’s features - it’s fantastic.

“You’re amazing!”

Your compliment causes him to jolt slightly spooked, and you rapidly apologize. Once he catches sight of you, Marcus sighs with a dreamy relieved sleepy grin.

“Just sketching, nothing too crazy.”

You take a seat besides him on the bench.

“You captured his likeness so well already.” You’re in awe at the sketch.

Marcus laughs a bit nervously. It’s hard trying not to swoon at the light rose blush coloring his cheeks. He’s stunning.

“I bet General Acacius would be flattered.” You grin then glance back to the statue.

Marcus turns to follow your sight.

“Nah, he strikes me as a big relief fan.” Marcus comments thoughtfully.

The bad art joke isn’t lost on you, and you snicker beside him. Among the giggles you catch Marcus staring at you, the softest boyish grin tugging his lips.

The world melts into a splendid focus all on him.

This isn’t good. You can’t be thinking about possibly leaning in to kiss cute visitors while you’re still on the clock.

“Hey… so I’ve been meaning to ask if maybe we could-”

His phone ringing cuts Marcus off causing you to shoot up from the bench. Jumping on the call, Marcus seems apologetic and almost sad as you wave him bye to him.

Closing time approaches. You and your co-workers do one final look around the rooms. Marcus is nowhere to be found.

The Roman exhibition now sits sleepily still.

The dim glow coats the general’s statue, a glistening chopper. Even with the chips and weathering of time, he stands glorious as you stroll closer.

He really must have been something fierce for the empire to immortalize him in such grand fashion.

“You must’ve been a pretty amazing man.” You mutter mainly to yourself, gently touching the base of the elevated display platform he rests upon.

You wish him a good night and head home. You try not to think of stunning statues or cute museum visitors.

Next morning you’re woken up by a call from work, a frantic one.

“The fucking hot ass statue is missing.” Your co-worker hisses.

You don’t believe it till you see it.

But you’re knocked breathless at the sight.

General Marcus Acacius is missing. The once grand presence he added to the room is absent, vanished, as if plucked from the air itself.

It’s almost unnerving to see the once elevated space now hauntingly vacant.

Chaos brews humming all around. Copes scurry around everywhere, and plenty of people stand outside curious to what’s going on. A controlled whirlwind fills your museum. Various officers keep the scene roped off.

The museum decides to close for the rest of the week to let the police handle as much as they can. You adore the museum truly, but there’s one spot you love the most. Right by the break room leading from various different doors is an outdoor courtyard. It’s become a place of solace.

The bubbling dread has you stepping out here one more time. The sky above looms with a cold front approaching and casts a somber shadow over the space even more.

The shrubs rustle off the side among the thick greenery, and you figure it’s a bird.

“It’s you.” Until a new voice speaks to you. Rich, heavily accented and smooth, it startles you.

You wonder if you’re imagining things.

The man is dressed in Roman attire, elaborate white armor adorned with ornate gold pieces. Glorious graying curls frame his ethereal aged face.

How did a cosplayer manage to sneak in?

He stares so directly at you it frightens you a bit.

“You’re the one who’s voice I heard…” he continues to speak. “It was like I was asleep, drifting away. Then you woke me.”

“Sir, how did you manage to get in here?” You ask, trying to stay as calm as you can.

“I do not know. I simply woke and found myself in this strange place.” He explains with a furrowed brow.

You wonder…is this a strange bit the museum is maybe trying to pull off, and they didn’t tell you.

He steps forward now, and instinctively you walk back cautious. The man must take in your reaction because his face, his handsome face that now looks vaguely familiar, frowns. He holds his hands up defensively.

“I mean no harm. I just need to know what happened to me.”

Someone calls out your name, sounds like your boss. “Come on let’s head out.”

The stranger repeats it and how smooth his voice is, your name rolls off his tongue.

“I am General Marcus Acacius, and I am in need of your assistance.”

That makes your brain scratch.

“Wait, what?” You turn to him confused. “What did you say your name was again?”

He repeats it firmer.

Marcus Acacius.

As in… General Marcus Acacius.

There’s no way.

“Oh, so you’re an actor.” You deadpan.

“I…am confused? I’m no performer. I promise you that.” He almost sounds huffy.

You gotta give him credit. The guy stays in character pretty well.

“You shouldn’t be here, actor or not.” You tell him, heading back inside. Of course this man follows you in.

At the sight of the glass door and the movement of it, he pauses stunned, like he can’t process it. You almost want to laugh.

“You’re pretty good, even though you say you’re not an actor.” You tease.

He frowns hard not enjoying that.

“Either tell me what is going on or I will find a man who will.” He snaps loud and your eyes go wide.

His memorizing face scrunches up in frustration. Dark amber eyes are coated in fierce anger.

“I wake up in a strange place filled with artifacts and see people dressed strange. What is going on?” His voice rises confused, panicking.

Either he’s the most amazing actor ever or…

No.

It can’t be.

Too many thoughts swirl in your head like angry bees trying to make your brain explode.

You need a minute. So you grab the mystery man’s arm, practically dragging him to follow you.

“Excuse you? Where are you taking me?” He demands.

“Somewhere safe.” You half lie.

Unfortunately your boss stops you. His worried eyes catch sight of the man in the armor. You’re quick to explain he’s an actor, upset about the missing statue.

“I am not a-”

You shush the strange man harshly. Your boss, hesitant and worried, surveys him.

“He shouldn’t be here.” Your boss says firm.

“Yup, and I was just showing him the way out.” You happily explain.

Thankfully your boss gets called away, and you make your escape.

“Are you abducting me?” He demands harder.

“Look, I’m the only one here who might be able to help you.” You hiss back.

“I am the commanding General of the Roman armies.” His voice blooms stronger when you reach the lobby. “I will find my way around.”

You swallow hard. A small but chaotic idea quickly jumps into your mind, and you decide to put it into action.

So, you hold the exit door open for him. The man nods to you, then strolls out. You follow him.

The towering skyscrapers, the rush of the cars, the stretching concrete roads, it becomes an overwhelming sight while the man whips his face around eyes wide and in shock. His face falls, aghast and disoriented.

That unrealistic conclusion you thought of - you think it might not be so realistic. Because the man turns to you wearing petrified horror, terrified confusion of a man in an unknown world that no actor could truly capture.

Reality smacks into you like a bag of nails.

This man is truly the great General Marcus Acacius.

The missing statue now full man summoned to life.

Someone yells your name.

Your heart drops. Of course Marcus arrives at the worst time. He jogs up to you dressed in what looks like a gym outfit.

“I heard about the statue.” He says worried then his eyes immediately grow cloudy and confused as he catches sight of the strange Roman dressed man.

“Is he… a friend of yours?” Marcus asks hesitantly.

“It’s complicated.” You blurt, panicked.

General Acacius stands still very stunned trying to take this new modern world in. Stumbling, he returns to your side, clutching your arm like you’re the only one who can steady him.

“I…” Acacius begins then stops mid word, still trying to process a reply. Until he catches sight of Marcus.

“You,” The man surveys Marcus with narrowing eyes. “You seem familiar as well.”

This is getting out of hand.

“Okay time to go.” You rapidly try diffusing the situation, moving General Acacius away from Marcus.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Marcus questions, persistently following behind while you head to the parking lot.

You scramble out a lie that the strange man is an old friend you ran into who just came back from a play.

“I told you, I’m no performer.” Acacius insists still. You also discover he’s built like a wall and trying to wrangle him into the car proves to be Herculean.

Swiftly, Marcus firmly snaps out your name. His tone is different, urgent and enforcing. It turns you into a statue yourself.

Comedically, you’re practically halfway shoving Acacius into the car but now stand frozen. He notices the shift in tension quickly.

“Are you frightened of him?” Acacius mutters concern, surprisingly concerned. “Because I can dispose of this man.”

You shake your head no.

Swallowing hard, you finally look Marcus dead in the eyes.

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” You admit.

“Try me.” Marcus rebuffs, serious as steel.

So you sigh, what more do you have to lose now?

“General, can you please tell him who you are.” You then allow Acacius to speak for himself.

The ancient Roman clears his throat and announces his full title and name. The younger and modern Marcus’s face twists confused with a hint of concern.

Suddenly his eyes go wide. He catches on fast, figures it out quicker than you did that’s for sure.

This cute casual museum visitor you have a slight crush on is now your accomplice and partner in crime.

At least…now you don't have to deal with an ancient Roman General being brought back to life from stone alone.

— °˖➴ —

Marcus’s apartment is lush and cozy, filled with so many books and records. The warm walls, sleek modern design, make your place feel like a hole in the wall. Having a roommate, you couldn’t just bring home a very confused man out of time. So thankfully Marcus offered his home.

Now you’ve practically been living here with General Acacius trying to figure out what happened.

Acacius takes things rather well, almost in stride. Fitting for a general that explored new territories and had to face the unknown chaos of war.

The fridge fascinates him the most. You had to stop yourself from laughing seeing him open and close the refrigerator door like a child wondering if the food inside would disappear.

Marcus has a vice for candy, specifically sour ones. Seeing General Acacius try one and the disgusted face of twisted torture is a memory you’ve replayed over multiple times.

But unfortunately no one can figure out what brought the statue to life and him here.

“I’m a man. Not a statue.” The roman general clarifies.

“You are now, but we gotta figure out why.” You sigh exhausted while Marcus readies breakfast for everyone.

He’s been an incredible host. It’s been hard not lingering on how domestic and warm he is within his own space.

Especially when there’s also an archaic man looking just as handsome walking around in a tight white t shirt Marcus lent him.

Surrounded by two unbelievably gorgeous men has been a double edged sword, a blessing and curse.

General Acacius reminds you of a mountain, ever powerful, sturdy and unwavering with the change of seasons. Yet there’s still an open vulnerability to him. You’ve seen it in how grateful he’s been and how eagerly he’s tried absorbing all about this new world.

Whereas Marcus reminds you of a river, beautifully flowing, always adaptable. But he surprises you with how direct and firm he’s been, almost protective in keeping you and Acacius safe.

You also don’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes sometimes flicker to sneak a glance at the older General. You can’t blame him.

Acacius fills out modern clothes sinfully. Watching him navigate everything with a certain poised grace is attractive. While Marcus has become endearing and patient, incredibly welcoming to this new hiccup in his life. You haven't felt this comfortable with someone in so long.

Truly a river and mountain now exist in your life, and you want to stay in their atmosphere more and more.

But you can’t get tangled in the budding emotions growing for these men.

You need to figure out how to help Acacius.

“Once I get back to the office, I’m hoping I can try to find something that could maybe help.” Marcus clarifies while grabbing his work bag.

You’ve learned much about him these past few days. Like he enjoys a good run, used to be a swimmer, has a soft spot for strays, surprisingly loves football -

Also that he’s a well known FBI agent.

You realized you never once asked what he did for work, and you’ve known him for months.

“You have feelings for that man.” Acacius announces once it’s you and him alone in the apartment. You almost spit out your drink.

“We’re friends, that’s all.” You huff.

This Marcus doesn’t seem to believe you, and gives you a very modern dry eyed side glare that makes you roll your eyes.

“I’ve seen the way he watches you, the look of a man in love.” Acacius continues.

“Well I see the way he stares at you too, pal.” You reply back before you can even realize what you said.

Your words do their job stunning the general.

“He is too young for an old man like me.” Acacius rapidly fires back.

“You’re not that old.” You clarify. “If anything you’re distinguished, mature.”

“You are too kind, dear lady.” He chuckles.

You ignore how fast warmth spreads through you a dangerous wildfire just hearing him.

Your phone ringing makes poor Acacius jump. Though, it’s progress from the confused shout he used to yell whenever the phones rang.

Your boss explains that unfortunately the museum will have to stay closed the rest of the month for further investigations, and everyone’s information has been sent in to check for any suspicious activities.

It sounded serious.

Dead serious because after that phone call, you get called by the police department to head in for a few questions.

You have nothing to hide, except you did.

Because in theory you technically did and didn’t steal the statue. You just know the cops wouldn’t take your explanation.

The interrogation room you sit in is coated in a bleak serious air making you fidget worried. This is also the first time you left General Acacius alone at the apartment and that worry picks at you.

Then two officers walk in. One an older distinguished woman who gives you a nod then the other… a rather striking man.

Hawkish nose, clean shaven face, kind eyes, he smiles soft at you.

Marcus.

The agent that walked in is Marcus.

You try not to stare, but it’s hard. Dressed in an official suit and tie, the badge he wears, he sits across for you a striking professional handsome agent.

The woman introduces herself as one of the head local detectives of the case and the man accompanying her is from the FBI, specifically the head of the art crimes division.

Marcus wasn’t just an agent but someone that important.

You can’t deny how extra attractive it makes him.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” Polite and sweet he outstretches his arm to shake your hand like you’ve never met him before.

The questions are very basic.

Where were you the last time you saw the statue? Do you remember any recent guest that stopped by that maybe seemed suspicious?

You answer as truthfully and as best as you can, while also hiding the ancient Roman sized man truth away.

“Funny enough,” Agent Pike comments. “It does seem like this statue just seems to have…I don’t know, grown legs and walked out itself.”

You weakly laugh at his joke. You don’t miss the tug of his lips trying not to grin.

You leave the room as if you stepped out of a strange pocket dimension. Then again these past few days have felt strange and disorienting.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the head of some FBI art division?!” You let Marcus have it when you both return back to his apartment.

“Is that dangerous?” Acacius asks curiously.

“I don’t know.” You sigh.

“No…This is good.” Marcus clarifies. He even picked up apology pastries. General Acacius greedily snags a cheese danish and moans in pure delight once he takes a bite.

It’s hard to ignore how incredibly sexy he sounded.

“It means I can keep looking in my records for any previous instances of situations like this, or if there’s any leads on the case I’ll know.” Marcus patiently explains.

That calms you enough.

Days pass, and Acacius grows restless.

He doesn’t sleep well, snapping at you and Marcus often more. He mourns the loss of a world that’s passed, of a wife he lost. The grief comes in waves. You and Marcus try comforting him, but Acacius reminds you of a caged tiger, restless and fanged. You understand. Being cooped up in a strange home in a strange world must be exhausting.

So Marcus and you agree to have a nice weekend out with him.

General Acacius fidgets in the cozy cream knit sweater that stretches over his broad body, but damn does he look incredible. So does Marcus in his scholarly sleek coat.

This trip also works as another opportunity to do more investigating. The nearby bookstore is the first stop. Acacius gasps seeing the stretch of books.

“Pretty impressive, yeah?” Marcus smirks, and you grin agreeing. He decides to take a look at the art history books here for any information he might have missed.

You unfortunately get side tracked with the many books in front of you and slightly wander away from Acacius when one catches your eyes.

But you quickly find your way back to him.

The elder Marcus stands stunned like a ghost among the classical literature holding a thick encyclopedia.

“I knew of what happened to Rome after you and Pike told me. But seeing the grand colosseum like this… it’s a specter of ruins now.” He mutters while taking in the photo of the ancient landmark.

“I am glad. There should be no need for more death matches.” His voice weighs with the heaviness of centuries past.

You agree, happy he shuts the book and returns it back. You’re about to dive into the Ancient Rome section yourself now until he speaks again.

“What if I am not the same man these books speak of?” The older Marcus questions hollowed.

That stuns you.

“What if the man who died many years ago… is not me?” His voice wavers.

Existential dread looms off him a dark storm growing stronger.

Marcus turns the corner smiling bright. But quickly he immediately notices the shift in atmosphere, and his face falls as he mouths asking what’s wrong.

You let General Acacius speak from the heart.

“What if… I am not me? What if I am not the real Marcus Acacius?”

His face is weighted with fear, raw and open making him appear lost and so small for someone powerful as him.

“I believe it’s you.” You reassure him gentle. “I’m sure Marcus does too. Besides… who says you can’t be the same man?”

There are pieces of yourself that you’ve left with people, even some bits of you have gotten snagged in certain places or tied to certain objects. Who says a piece of Marcus Acacius truly resided in the statue and simply woke up. And if that’s the case, then that means he’s as real as ever.

You explain all of this best as you can to Acacius. Those deep steady eyes of his waver transforming into molten earth. Your hand moves down to squeeze his stronger large warm hand.

He squeezes back tight.

“Besides the man that died is still you too. You’re allowed to be both.” Marcus jumps in with the most tender voice

“That does not sound true.” Acacius mutters.

As modern has he’s slowly become, you think it still might be too hard to explain dimensional or reality theory.

“This philosopher I read about once said something along the lines of, if you think, therefore you are.” Marcus clarifies. “You exist here and now. And sometimes that’s all that matters.”

You realize both you and Marcus slowly have huddled around General Acacius. You on one side and Marcus on the other, barricade to support your General as much as you or Marcus can.

Acacius sighs, watery, taking it all in.

Your heart aches for him. It overwhelms you, causing you to gently rest your head against his shoulder and letting your hand rest on his back.

Marcus also moves closer, placing his hand right besides yours, gingerly touching your hand.

Among the books you and these two rest simply in the stillness of the moment. You feel something hook deep in your chest, a feeling you can’t fully express.

After, Marcus treats everyone to his favorite taco truck. It's infectious seeing Acacius’s spirits brighten again. He again moans delicious when he takes his first bite. You don’t miss the awkward cough Marcus makes.

But the tacos are amazing and the cooler weather covers everything in a comforting dreamy cloud.

“I want to explore this world as much as I can.” Acacius declares with resolution and shining gilded hope.

So you start bringing the Roman general out with you more.

The museum is still being investigated, so you take the chance to enjoy the days, especially now with Marcus Acacius by your side. He enjoys your smaller apartment, becomes a fan of cooking shows fast.

Marcus and you discovered he isn’t big on sushi but has a notorious sweet tooth. Acacius embraces everything now with more gusto, a vibrant curiosity about many things, especially food. It’s endearing.

General Acacius also proves to be a lovely companion when you go grocery shopping.

“So many spices.” He says in awe in the aisle.

More people arrive and you try maneuvering your cart through the traffic. General Acacius catches on quick. Staying close to you, he places a comforting hand at your lower back and the other against yours in the cart. Shifting his body against yours, he’s a protective shield until you’re out of the thicket.

It sends the wildest hum of sparks throughout your body that persistently stays. Acacius stays firmly beside the rest of the trip.

For a man out of time, he’s open for conversation. The check out worker seems to blatantly ignore you while she happily and very openly flirts with him.

You don’t say much, ignoring the possessive emerald eyed sense of jealousy threatening to rise. He bids the flirty cashier a good day along with an elegant head nod. You keep quiet heading back to the car.

“That woman, she gave me a strange note with numbers on it.” General Acacius comments cautious, almost worried about what they could be.

You almost trip on the way out.

“Her number, she gave you her phone number.” You explain simply.

Of course you have to elaborate what that means and how it’s a modern way of signaling someone is attracted to you.

“Truly?” His handsome aged face scrunches up confused.

“What can I say? In any year you’re a catch.” You try not to sound wistful.

“I’m an old man not from this time. I have nothing worth for anyone to desire me.” Now he sounds dejected, somber and serious.

“Okay, besides being absolutely one of the most gorgeous men ever, you’re kind. Incredibly loyal and brave. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Earnesty floats off you.

His face drops, your words finally settling within him. The soft streams of grays in his luscious curled hair and rustic beard, the beautiful scars he wears that tell of his victories…

The statue truly was not able to capture the magnetic pull of this man.

Acacius’s eyes flicker across your face. You swear something shimmers in his deep earth eyes. His gaze flickers down for a split moment, as if he’s glancing at your lips.

Then your phone rings with a text, and you sigh.

This precious bubble you’ve been in, this newly woven existence with these two gorgeous men, is one you want to stay in forever. It’s warm, easy, and feels too nice to leave.

But work eventually crashes in.

The museum finally reopens but with the Roman exhibit closed still. The missing art has brought in more foot traffic to the museum. But what surprises you is seeing Marcus at work now while he works. You and him share sweet secret smiles to each other.

Even with work getting busy for you and him, you’ve been texting with Marcus frequently. It’s even been amusing being on the phone with him and Acacius cries out surprised hearing your voice.

Your mind drifts to them again as you daze off a bit at work.

“So, did you ever drink that tea I gave you?” Your favorite coworker asks, interrupting your daydream.

The confusion must be evident on your face.

“Ya know… the sweet love wish tea?” She grins like a pleased cat that’s about to catch a canary.

An abrupt realization barrels right into you, a fierce horned bull almost knocking you out at the knees. You can’t believe a possible magical tea maybe brought a statue to life. But with that statue now a very real ancient Roman man you’ve been harboring - anything is possible now.

“Can you tell me where the shop is that you got it?” You rapidly ask her.

Your next day off you head down there immediately, not even taking either of your Marcus boys.

The sweetest shop owner greets you warm and welcoming. You compliment her lovely silvery lavender hair.

“Oh it’s to hide the grays.” She winks, and you grin.

But the nervousness rises because you don’t even know how to approach the question you have.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Of course she notices but speaks with a gentle tone.

Your heavy sigh must say it all. Very sweetly she pulls out a stool by the register and settles in waiting to hear your story.

Even with her welcoming smile, the hesitation pulls at you. But you manage to gently explain what happened without revealing the dizzying truth.

“So I drank the love wish tea. And something… someone I never imagined would come into my life did. So now I don’t know if there’s a way I could probably send him back to what, to where, he was.” You tell her.

The shop owner hums in deep thought, crossing her hands over her chest nodding.

“Is it a ghost? Did you call in a spirit? Are you in love with a ghost?” She asks flat out without hesitation, and you almost laugh.

She’s half right in a way.

“I’m thinking…possibly the one thing that came to mind that I would do first is to do an unbinding spell. Whatever is keeping this man here, the separation of that would be what sends him back.” She says jumping off her chair, waving at you to follow her through the shop.

You quickly scurry behind her.

Grabbing a pack of two candles, the ritual she describes is simple enough. Tying a string around the two candles, lighting them until they burn, which in the process would burn the thread, theoretically severing the tie of Acacius to this world.

“And you said it was the love wish tea you drank, yes?”

You nod, and she nods back in understanding.

“What that tea is meant to do is call in your heart’s desires, simply allow the universe to bring whatever magic it seems fit to your life…But it also isn’t doing it forcefully.” She explains.

The tea is known to work because it calls in someone who desires the same thing you do, almost like a little nudge in the matchmaking department, a magic magnet.

“It works because someone else is also receptive. But of course, there is no need to stay with whoever is brought to you.”

Her words sink into a deep corner of your heart. You wonder if that meant Marcus Acacius longed for a better future, and it’s why the tea worked on him.

Thanking her graciously, you take the candles and a few cute stickers she has by the counter.

“I hope everything works out for you, gorgeous.” Her warm smile becomes a comforting hug.

You hope so too.

But the way your stomach twists, a part of you realizes… what if you don’t want Marcus Acacius to leave?

It’s selfish - but you want this trio of you, him and Marcus Pike, to last as long as it possibly can.

Driving to Marcus’s apartment, guilt and selfishness fight each other tooth and nail. You don’t know if this unbinding spell would work, but it would be a start.

With the spare key Marcus gave you, you let yourself in.

There on the couch you catch the quickest glimpse of both men heavily making out with the elder Marcus greedily holding onto Agent Pike’s sharp jaw. You wonder if maybe you’re seeing things, but the image knocks you breathless.

The younger and modern Marcus, who halfway was on the elder General’s lap immediately, bolts away as if electrocuted.

On the table, you spot two glasses of wine.

They both stare at you, caught red handed. Immediately though, you scramble out apologies.

“I should have called and-”

Marcus says your name. “It’s.. it’s okay.”

You feel so foolish right now. You didn’t even think that they had a thing, and that you were possibly the third wheel.

“I can leave. I totally understand.” You really do.

“No.” Acacius orders, saying your name, firmly shaking his head as he rises. His eyes rusted steel swords that pin you to where you stand.

“This started because of you.” He adds.

Wait.

Because of you?

“Wait, are you guys drunk?” You even voice your confusion.

Both Marcus men shake their heads no.

“We were just talking about you, about us.” The younger Marcus explains.

“And it took us some time but we both desire each other. And we both desire you.” General Acacius simply interjects, and Marcus coughs stunned.

You wonder if you’re the one who’s been brought to life in another time.

“Honey, please don’t feel pressured if you don’t feel the same.” Marcus, wonderful Marcus Pike, ever understanding and eternally good.

“I’ve liked you for so long. Even tried to ask you out a couple of times, just got a bit of cold feet. It just unfortunately took an ancient Roman to get me to finally say something.” He laughs weakly, boyishly nervous.

He’s liked you all this time.

You don’t say anything, don’t think there’s any words you can say just yet. Simply the emotions overtake you.

You head first to the younger Marcus and kiss him with a fierce tug at his shirt. He happily pulls you into him and sighs into your lips.

A soft but large hand runs up your back, and the sensation makes your body bloom.

“You both are so beautiful.” The older Marcus mutters dripping with adoration.

With a squeeze to Marcus’s shoulder and one final soft kiss, you pull away then melt into the general’s waiting arms. His mustache tickles you as his lips kiss yours, but it’s divine.

Their hands all over you touch every inch they can. You’ve never felt this desired, never been the epicenter of affection and passion like this before. You just as eagerly try grabbing at either man with as much clawed possession as you can.

They’re both yours now after all.

Tumbling into the bedroom it’s like something out of a dream, blissful and deliciously decadent, but so real with how heated your body feels.

Both men start kissing your exposed skin, with one licking at your neck from behind and the other readily nipping at your exposed chest. Your mind melts in bliss.

“Marcus,” you sigh.

You’re rewarded with two beautiful groans, different in tones it becomes a symphony you want to hear forever.

In the blurry of haze, the sticky syrupy desire, you and the younger Marcus follow each other peppering multiple kisses on Acacius’s chest as he falls onto the bed.

You and the modern Marcus work together, conquering the beautiful golden exposed landscape of Marcus Acacius’s chest. You tenderly press your lips against the various scars then happily move to kiss the younger Marcus.

The delicious sighs from General Acacius fill the room, a hypnotic soundtrack.

Soon your lips start traveling further down across his body. Your fellow lover follows your trail, kissing and kicking every inch of Acacius. You and Marcus reach his cock twitching in the loose sweatpants Acacius has grown fond of.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans as he drags the older man’s cock out.

Fuck is right. Thick, girthy and dripping already, you already ache to have him inside in any way.

“Both of you are little fiends.” The elder Marcus croaks breathless. Confidence surges in you as you lick across his length, relishing in the taste of his skin.

Marcus’s tongue also licks with you along your other lover’s cock, even moving across your tongue. The louder groans coming from General Acacius only spur you and Marcus on.

Greedily your eyes flicker up towards the towering force of a warrior. The beautiful older man’s eyes blown black, desired drenched galaxies looking down at you and Marcus like prizes he wants to conquer himself.

It makes you dizzy, completely possessed, and you kiss your way down to one of his thick large heavy balls. You tentatively lick. Acacius initially hisses until his voice melts into the loudest primal groan when you start sucking.

Your sweet Marcus immediately follows your lead, dragging his mouth down as well. You and him simply devour Acacius, licking back and forth across your lover’s balls and each other’s mouths.

Marcus quickly starts stroking your lover’s thick cock. It’s heaven being among these two, allowing yourself to get lost in the golden ecstasy.

When Acacius reaches his release you greedily lick up his cum that spilled against his skin, and he groans. Once you sit up, you reach for Marcus’s cum covered hand and begin to lick and suck his fingers clean. It’s then your sweet Marcus that suddenly grabs your mouth with the same hand, pulling your face towards his.

“Don’t swallow baby, I wanna taste.” He mutters with blazed out eyes.

Hearing that you almost come on the spot.

You sit up and slowly allow your spit and the milky cum into Marcus’s waiting mouth.

“Gods above.” The elder Marcus moans carnal.

The rest of the night consumes you in a wanton haze.

Sweaty, exhausted, but floating on a cloud, you sink into the bed with two men barricading you in their arms.

“I’m surprised you were…open to this.” You say to Acacius who chuckles a bit.

“I have loved others before, some included men. One was even a fellow General who died tragically among the same coliseum walls as I once did.” He explains gently.

You kiss his chest softly in understanding.

As you and these two lie curled into one another on Marcus’s lush bed, it’s like a new door has opened.

You and Marcus eagerly ask your General about his days in ancient Rome and his travels across the old world, about the true story of how he got his scar. Ever the steady man, Acacius answers all questions he can.

In the middle of this warm incredible double Marcus sandwich makes you giddy. But Acacius’s deep comforting lull of a voice, Marcus’s soft hands stroking your skin, create a cocoon drawing you to sleep faster than you realize.

A soft kiss comes to the top of your head.

“Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

Nodding through a yawn, you happily kiss them both goodnight. But just before you fall into the depths of sleep, you catch the two talking.

“What… will happen if I do not return to stone?” Acacius speaks first, so low and cautious you wonder if you’re dreaming already.

“I… I guess the statue will remain incomplete, stolen.” Marcus answers truthful but gentle.

A moment passes.

“What if I do not wish to return to stone?” Acacius clarifies.

You hear Marcus inhale sharp.

“I’ve longed for peaceful days away from the brutality of the frontline. And now… it’s here.”

A thick hope shines through the older Marcus’s voice, slipping past your ribs to piece your heart.

Movement shifts the bed, arms reach across for each other and seem to cage around you more.

“You’ll always have the final say. You get to make that choice. Neither of us would ever want to force you or take that away from you.” Marcus’s molten words are coated in pure understanding.

“I wish to stay here… with you and her.” Confidence, solidified resolution, radiate from the General’s voice.

The bed shifts again, and you hear them exchange the softest kiss.

“We’ll have to make sure to tell her in the morning.” The modern Marcus sighs dreamily. His hands again start rubbing your arm soothing, as if he can sense you’re fighting sleep.

“Of course. We must never forget our lady.” The older Marcus agrees.

His words along with a soft kiss to your forehead become the final push that allows sleep to settle.

— °˖➴ —

“So you’re telling me mister head of the art crimes department will be okay with a statue staying stolen and missing forever?” You smirk amused while Marcus drives down the familiar roads.

“Hey it’s no Vemeer’s Concert, but I’ll live with it.” Marcus playfully smirks and shrugs.

The investigation on General Acacius’s missing statue had run cold. There was no indication of a break in or forced exit. From the surveillance tapes, the video recordings simply shimmer, distorted for one moment, and then the statue is gone. As if it vanished into thin air.

Or is simply currently sitting in the back seat of the car taking in the world and power of a motor vehicle.

“You hear that, General? Our boy said you’re not valuable.” You tease.

“I don’t mind and I can agree.” Acacius replies bored, making you laugh. The green sweater he wears compliments him and brings out the streams of grays in his hair. You and Marcus have loved seeing him embrace modern clothing more than ever.

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus rolls his eyes.

You snicker even more.

The occult shop arrives, and the candles feel lighter than ever in your bag, especially knowing you’re here to return them.

“Seems like you didn’t need these after all.” Your favorite lavender haired shop owner says with a coy smirk. Her eyes stay locked on your men exploring the aisles.

“A two for one deal? I'm definitely advertising that for the tea.” She adds eagerly, and you hide a laugh behind your hand.

If only you could tell her the full truth.

You return to your boys, enjoying the way Acacius seems to be a bit petrified among all of the occult objects.

“Are you sure this witchcraft is safe?” He asks worried, snd Marcus smooths by rubbing his back.

You grin.

Love, affection, might be the strangest but most beautiful magic after all.

190 notes · View notes

letsgobarbs · 2 days ago

Text

Close Encounters Of The Corn Kind

Rating: Teen, for marijuana use where it's legal. Mature, for marijuana use where it's illegal. Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Female Reader Summary: Exploring a corn maze high out of your mind after eating an edible all by yourself, beautiful? Or... you and Dieter are high and end up separated in a corn maze. He must do whatever he can do to save his princess. Warnings: Dieter's POV, stoned paranoia, Dieter calls reader princess, panic but in a corny way, corn, corn, and more corn. Words: 1,400

A/N: Written for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's Fall Challange. I know Javier Pena x bonfire won my poll and I promise that will be posted but woooo boy, once I started writing this I couldn't stop. I happen to find it quite a-maze-ing!

Masterlist

🌽🌽🌽🌽

Corn, corn, corn. So much corn. It’s everywhere. The stalks move in the evening breeze, secrets whispering out with each sway taunting him as he ventures deeper into the maze. It surrounds him. He jumps overwhelmed by fear with every brush of a dry leaf against his skin. He looks down at his arm, he’s safe, he hasn’t turned to corn yet. You’re still out there somewhere lost in the labyrinth of grain, he must rescue you.

A couple wrong turns here and there and now he’s lost. Who knows how far away you are. A sea of corn now stretches between you. What if you’re both stuck here forever, wandering through the maize maze for eternity?

He shakes the thought from his head. No! He can’t think like that. He must continue. His princess needs him.

A rustling sound comes from behind him. He whirls around, sliding on the muddy ground. His Croc slips, betraying him, but he catches his balance, nice try maze phantom. The mud, it’s another obstacle. He cannot fall, he has a mission, he has to save his princess.

Take a left? No, take a right. Left? Left as in left behind? He better go right. Right? Well, right might mean he’s asking for approval.

He wishes he had a map. He wonders if that children's menu from Olive Garden he filled out last week might just hold the answer for this. He was able to connect the spaghetti to the meatball on his first attempt. Wait, is he the meatball?

He doesn’t know what shape the maze is. What if it’s all an elaborate trap sent down from the aliens? Everyone knows that aliens love corn fields. Is he currently roaming a crop circle? He could very well be headed for the big red X where they’ll beam him up. Have they already captured you?

“PRINCESS?!” he shouts, turning down another corn concourse. Corncourse, that’s a funny word, maybe he can talk to someone at Merriam-Webster about adding it to the dictionary. That is–if he escapes out of here. “PRINCESS?!”

No answer, only a murder of cawing crows laughing at his misfortune as the plume of them takes flight. They’re mocking him, laughing at his pathetic desperation. Maybe if he wishes hard enough he can sprout wings, lift off, swoop down and rescue you, then fly out of this place. Crazier things have happened… after all, he did win an Oscar.

“Dieter?” your voice harkens him back to reality. He can just barely see the brown fuzz of his coat on you. Why didn’t he give you an orange security vest? Ah, but then you’d stick out amongst the corn and that’d make you more of a target for them.

“Princess?! Is that you?”

“Yeah…” you reply, your voice muffled by the wall of corn between.

“Baby! Are you okay?” He asks, his spine straightening, his heart skipping a beat.

“I’m like… really high,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear behind the corn barrier.

“I am too, but don’t fret Princess,” his voice drops with a heroic tone. “I will find you, all this corn be damned.”

“Can’t you just… come through the row?” you ask, confusion tinging your voice.

He eyes the tan and green blades of stalks reaching out towards him like they’re ready to infect him, he refuses to become a corn person.

“I’m sorry my love, that’s what they’d expect me to do, we must not cheat. Cheating would cause us to lose the maze, and we don’t want to lose the maze.”

“Okay… so what do we–”

CLANG! A loud noise reverberates from outside the maze. A sober mind would realize it’s just the ramp for the hayride trailer hitting the ground, but to Dieter it’s a warning shot.

“RUN!” he shouts, speeding away, stalks burring past him as he entangles himself farther into the mass mosaic of maize.

He’s left you, he knows this, but now it’s even more important for him to track you down.

He turns a corner and freezes. A friendly face appears, wearing a wide smile and a straw hat.

“Hey! Sir! Hi, I–I can’t find my princess,” Dieter huffs, catching his breath. “Do you know where she is?” He holds his phone up, showing the kind looking stranger your photo that's set as his wallpaper. “She’s wearing my brown fuzzy jacket, I got it in Sundance.”

The man doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at Dieter’s phone.

“Sundance, you know, the place in Utah? You ever been?”

Still no answer.

“Dude, look,” Dieter pushes the phone closer to the man’s face. “Can you tell me if you’ve seen my princess?”

The man ignores every word he says, his eyes stay staring forward.

“Well, fine, fuck me I guess,” he mutters, backing away. “I’ll just leave you alone then, obviously you don’t want to help.”

He retreats from the straw hat man, shaking his head at how rude people can be.

He continues down another path.

Right turn. Blocked.

Left turn. Blocked again.

He must retrace his steps and attempt another thoroughfare. Crossing paths with the straw hat man again.

“Ahh! We meet again,” Dieter says, shaking his head.

Silence still.

“You know buddy!” He steps closer. “You’re really rude!” He jabs his finger into the man’s soft–very soft–chest, straw pokes out from under the man’s collar.

“Oh, shit, sorry dude. DIdn’t realize you weren’t real,” Dieter says, sheepishly, grabbing his straw filled hand to shake an apology before heading down another path.

He feels like he’s getting somewhere, this corn doesn’t look familiar.

He can hear the crowd of the fall carnival get louder as he takes a left instead of right. He hasn’t been taken yet, he’s close! So close to freedom! Feet don’t fail him now, he can see The EXIT sign in all of its rusted and hand painted glory. And yet, a defeated whimper leaves his mouth, the corn barrier stands tall and intimidating, still holding him captive. If he can leave, he can find you help. Call in the reinforcements, find his princess.

“Okay Dieter, okay, you gotta get outta here,” he says aloud to himself, pacing back and forth, yanking his hair, causing it to stand even more haphazardly. “Think Dieter! Think! Think!” he shouts.

“Dieter?”

Your voice on the other side of the corn! You’ve made it out!

“Baby?! Y-you’re out?!” he asks in shock. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Dee, just really hun–”

Another CLANG echoes, he HAS to get out of here. He can’t leave you behind, not when he has the car keys. He hesitates for a moment, before charging through the corn stalks, if he becomes a corn person, then so be it. He HAS to be with you. He’s sure the poison isn’t instant.

He breaks through the corn wall and tumbles to the ground, snapped stalks litter the ground around him, causing quite a scene. He looks up, breathing a sigh of relief when his eyes meet yours.

There you are standing right outside of the maze exit happily eating an apple cider donut.

“Hi,” you smile, through a mouthful of crumbs.

“My princess,” he sighs, a wide, adoring grin spreading across his face. He pushes himself up, wincing slightly. He wishes he had a cape. He bets he’d look real cool right now with a cape billowing behind him as he stands amongst the conquered leaves and bits of broken stalks scattered around him.

“Welcome back, brave traveler,” you smile, offering him the donut.

“I made it,” he breathes, taking a bite of the sweet, cinnamon bread.

“Sir,” a stern voice catches Dieter’s attention. He turns to find a security guard eying him, face set in a firm, annoyed expression. “Looks like someone decided to make their own exit, huh?”

Dieter straightens his posture. “I’m sorry sir–there was a very urgent situation.”

The guard raises an eyebrow. “Urgent?”

“She was trapped,” Dieter says, gesturing towards you, his tone heroic again. “I had to save her!”

A laugh bursts from your mouth. “He got lost,” you explain, shaking your head.

“Lost or not, you two need to leave,” the guard instructs, stepping aside.

“Right then,” Dieter nods. “Come, my princess, this maze has been conquered,” he bows.

You roll your eyes and giggle, grabbing his hand as the two of you walk towards the exit.

Dieter’s back where he belongs–with his princess and an inkling of pride, even if the guard trails closely behind.

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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PEDRO PASCAL The Unbearable Weight Of Massive Talent - BTS BRoll

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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communicating feelings not meanings

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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My Starlight will Guide Me Home🌠💫

Summary: "Marcus Acacius is know as many things, but if you were to ask the man himself I'm sure that he would want nothing but to be known as the father to his beloved daughter who was born out of the love between him and his precious starlight. Historians have often debated over the identity of the mysterious starlight. Edward Gibbon once famously claimed in his magnum opus that Acacius' starlight was a vagabond princess from one of the Eastern kingdoms, but there is no concrete evidence to back his claim."

- Dr. C.C. Philip. 'The Roman Conquest of Numidia'.

A/N: No warning as such (not beta read). I have no idea what I just wrote but it was fun to do so. I hope that you guys will enjoy it as well🥰

r/historyloreNgossip 6 days ago

Eudoxes4lyf

Letters of General Marcus Acacius

I just finished reading R. Dike's "Epistles from the Past", which is basically a collection of translations of personal letters from various individuals across civilizations; I kid you not I sobbed and swooned so ugly when I read the part featuring the letters of Marcus Acacius (a 3rd century CE Roman general) to his daughter which were written when he was out on a military campaign to Numidia.

The man is so Girl Dad coded. That one letter where he is worried about her favourite dolly getting misplaced, while he is out there pillaging entire cities and colonizing the eastern frontiers in the name of Rome😭

Edit 2: I thought the person he is referring to as "starlight" was his wife Lucilla. Is there any extra info on the General's starlight?

Edit 2: I found a copy of Professor Philip's book in the college library. Thanks for the recommendation!

ptolemysiswife .5 days ago.

Omg yesss! The letters are so sweet. We had it on our reading list (it was a different book tho!) this semester and I kid you not I giggled like a school girl in love while reading the General's letters. Poor guy was missing his kid so much, you can't help but feel for him haha

SadguyRumi . 5 days ago.

Did you know that his daughter was born from a slave from the Orient and not his lawful wife?

ptolemysiswife .5 days ago.

Ah yes! The famous starlight. The way he describes her in the letters is so endearing. The man is outright simping for his starlight haha. It's so romantic😩🤌🏻

SadguyRumi . 4 days ago.

It's so funny that a hardened war general was down bad for the mother of his child.

BanksofVaranasi .4 days ago.

I think the OP will enjoy C.C. Philip's "The Dawn and Downfall of an Empire: A War General's Musings". It dives deep into the celebrated General's personal life, and even gives us some clues about his beloved starlight (I'm actively refraining from calling her a slave out of respect for the general who seemed to hate it when others referred to her and their daughter as such) which is backed by actual archaeological findings and not hearsay that other contemporary historians of the time would have us believe.

Hamurabishabibi .3 days ago.

This sounds so interesting. I'm a sucker for feel good stories from the ancient world. Can anyone please upload some of his letters or few wholesome excerpts? I tried looking for the books that OP and u/BanksofVaranasi mentioned but they cost a really pretty penny in my country (damn you conversion rate!)😀 I really wanna know about this starlight person as well😆😅

citethysources .2 days ago.

You're in luck cause some museum (I forgot which) recently uploaded a bunch of N. Maurice's translations of the General's letters (along with some other excerpts related to his life and times) under the section which they titled "Star Guided Letters to Home" on their website. You can check it out, they've curated all the letters in a nice chronological order

Hamurabishabibi .2 days ago.

omg the title!! I'm feeling violently sick ughhh! thanks a lot, I just found the museum's website and yes the section is curated so nicely. I think I'm in love with the web designer haha

Title: Star Guided Letters to Home: the letters of Marcus Acacius and other related documents from the 3rd century CE.

Translator: Dr. Nestor Maurice, MA, MPhil, PhD

Overview: The celebrated Roman general Marcus Acacius was once considered the darling of the Roman populi. Feared by the enemies of Rome, much of history knows him for his infamous exploits in the eastern frontiers of the Roman Empire, and for his brave defiance against the infamous co-emperors- Geta and Caracalla. The following letters were addressed by the general during his year long expedition to Numidia (in present day Algeria) to his only child and daughter Marcia (known fondly amongst the scholarly circles as "Marcia de la Stella"- Marcia of the Stars), and are a testament to a parent's love for their child, which transcends the temporal and spatial limitations imposed upon us by the natural flow of the Universe. Given the age of Marcia de la Stella at the time that these letters were penned, there is a high probability that they were read out to the child by her adopted mother Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius and the legal wife of Marcus Acacius.

______________________________________________________________

Document 1

"The general had a surprisingly soft corner for his "slave" daughter, who was also his only known and acknowledged progeny. He could often be seen holding the wee babe in his arms within the confines of his domus.

It is rumoured that he had her manumitted in the early hours of her birth, and that there was an undertone of fear amongst the General's personal physicians that the otherwise healthy infant would inherit some of her slave mother's more peculiar cognitive functioning.

Nevertheless, it was evident to much of the Roman public that the child had the General wrapped around her tiny little finger; and anyone who dared to call her a bastard or a child of a slave would have to face the wrath of the otherwise austere and good-natured General"

- Cassius Dio, contemporary Roman historian

Letter 1: A Father's Prayer

"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My dear moonbeam, a few moments ago I received a correspondence from fair lady Lucilla. She seemed worried that you haven't been keeping well. Oh how I wish I could be there for you my little duckling. But alas, your failure of a father must fulfil his duty to Rome first.

May our household gods inflict all your pain and suffering onto me! Give my salutations to lady Lucilla, and to my starlight. As always, my days are filled with your worry, and my nights are spent praying for you. Farewell, my moonbeam, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you."

Document 2

"Lucilla to her Attia greetings. Dearest friend, I received your invitation. I would be more than delighted to attend the wedding of your daughter Julia. I still cannot fathom the fact that little Julia is now ready to manage her own household. It saddens me to think that soon enough my little Marcia too shall come of age and become someone's bride. The child is the light in my otherwise dreary existence. Blessed be her sweet mother who brought her into this world!

I fear that my lord Marcus Acacius will be the most agitated when such a time shall come. But above all, I fear for the sake of the man who will come and ask for Marcia's hand in marriage. Give my greetings to your Julia. You shall see me and little Marcia soon. Farewell, my dearest and most longed for friend."

- Lucilla, wife of Marcus Acacius in a letter to her friend Attia dated 215 CE

Letter 2: Birthday

"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My sweetheart, may you be showered with all the blessings that the world has to offer. Every year, on the day of your birth, I've taken the liberty to spoil you to my heart's content. Dearest, my good wishes are always upon you, but what has a father to offer to his dearest child from a battlefield?

Moonbeam, since the day that you were born to me and my starlight as our daughter, I've considered myself the luckiest man in all of Rome; but now, here in Numidia, I've started to appreciate the fact that I'm a daughter's father even more. May you never have to step foot in a battlefield, and may your dreams be decorated with happiness. Farewell, my dearest star child, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you."

Document 3

"Once at a party hosted by Senator Thraex, Lord [name erased due to erosion] made the mistake of mocking Marcus Acacius' paramour whom he decried as a whorish slave from the east.

Acacius in all his fury beat the unfortunate fool in unmitigated rage, and warned the onlookers that he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to anyone who dared to humiliate the mother of his child.

It was reported that the two co-Emperors, who were present at the gathering, had a good laugh over the misery of the man who had been the target of the general's wrath, and even offered the general to execute the "bumbling fool" as a gift to the general"

-Anonymous writer, 5th century AD

Letter 3: Dolly

"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My precious star child, who is dear to the sight, but dearer still when the sight is denied, I was informed of your melancholy by dearest Lady Lucilla! I know just how precious the dolly was to you. My starlight had made it for you when you were smaller than a fig in her womb. I too, cannot help but lament the loss of your dolly. I wish I could be there to assuage your grief and mine.

Moonbeam, I promise to help you look for your dolly once I'm back there with you. The very thought of seeing you again fills my heart with joy in these difficult times. You are always in my prayers my dearest. Farewell, my sweet, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you"

Document 4

"Lucilla to her husband Marcus Acacius greetings. Dearest confidant and husband , you've always been considerate of me and my feelings since the day the late Emperor Septimius Severus had us betrothed. You've been respectful of my feelings for him, and I've always admired you greatly for that. As such, I was elated when you found your love in the form of [name erased due to erosion]. She brought such joy and light to you; and even bore you the most precious of daughters! Little Marcia has helped me get over my grief for my own dear Lucius, and watching her grow swells my heart with happiness and a sense of pride.

But dearest of friends, I must confide in you that the sweet child has been asking some very curious questions about her own identity, some of which I find myself unable to answer. If you could, please help her quench her curiosity. I pray for the safe passage of your campaign. Farewell, my husband and dearest of confidants.

- Lucilla, in a letter to Marcus Acacius dated 216 CE

Letter 4: Starlight

"Marcus Acacius to his Moonbeam greetings. My little Marcia, your poor father is troubled! I don't know how to begin this letter. I can start by describing the auspicious moment when I met my starlight or maybe I should start by describing her. Your mother, my starlight, hailed from a land somewhere in the far East of Rome. Her people called her [name erased due to erosion] but she was known in Rome as Macrina, for she worked in the household of Macrinus. You may know him as the man with the colouring of dawn who once came over, accompanied by his two adopted daughters, to offer you sweets. But you are too young to remember all that.

My starlight would sometimes play the lute at parties organised by Macrinus. She was so good at playing her instrument that you could swear that she had been blessed by the very gods of music. My starlight had a penchant for singing in her native tongue, but she would only so in private, and oh! how blessed was I to have been privy to her mellifluous voice. She would then try to translate them for me using her adorably weak command over the language that you and I are now conversing in. I'll tell you more about my starlight when I get back home to you. For now, I'm writing down a line from a song which my starlight once sung for me.

There’s a desire, there’s a prayer

Both of them have touched the soul of love

Read it from the left or from the right

From the earth till the sky, only love is written

My little cup of honey, you remind me of my starlight so much! Farewell, my Moonbeam, may the stars and starlight guide this letter home to you"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Footnote: Hoii! I had so much fun writing this aiyaaaa! (totally not due on finishing my assignments and finishing my own reading list hahahah). I think the fic is pretty open ended (is it though?). I also chose the Orient cause it truly is a microcosm of the entire world (you get all shapes, colours and almost all race combinations)!! So the reader can customise the appearance of our dear starlight as per their likes and preferences. The orient part could also be my bias speaking cause I'm an aspiring historian whose field of interest lies in countries of the "Orient" (I'm also using the term Orient very veryyy loosely here). I took a lot of inspiration from various historical sources and epistles, so if you come across some of them then do tell!

Anyways, I hope that you guys will enjoy the fic as much as I did writing it huh (It's my first time writing one so I'm sorry if it comes across as cringe)!! Do tell if I should continue this and make it into a series hehe and sorry for any mistakes that I make in advance😽

Do like, repost and comment!! I love those hehe

That one line is from this song at the 2:35 minute mark

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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dont think about how agatha all along could be considered as a queer allegory. dont think about how agathas mom telling her shes born evil is the exact same thing so many parents have told their children after they came out. dont think about how lilia hating the witch stereotypes is the same way queer people who dont fit typical lgbtq stereotypes feel. dont think about how when lilia said i loved being a witch after so much time spent hating it is how queer people feel when they can finally appreciate and accept and love who they are.

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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PEDRO PASCAL in Shakespeare in the Park’s Much Ado About Nothing (2014)

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letsgobarbs · 3 days ago

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when internet people are like “i love gothic literature but i hate anything that discusses incest, sexual violence, oppression, misogyny, abuse, torture, gore, murder, or death”

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letsgobarbs · 4 days ago

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im funny like that

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letsgobarbs · 4 days ago

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im funny like that

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letsgobarbs · 4 days ago

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Part III: The Hero Of My Books

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Summary: Convinced your husband doesn’t want you, you turned to Jack for some help. The situation unravels and all secrets come to light.

Rating: Explicit

Content Warning: YOU 🫵 consider cheating on Tim. But you don't at the end. Maybe it's just a little bit of cheating if you squint. Jack is nothing but a plot device here. creepy neighbour alert. Reader has anxiety. voyeurism. mentions of divorce. classism from an unimportant side character. toxic family situations for all. both Reader and Tim are a bit fruity if you squint. arranged marriage. p in v sex. oral f!receiving. loss of virginity. there is an age gap, but even i don't know what it is, go with what you will.

Author’s Note: I was so deep in the Merge Mansion lore for this one. Found out Maddie’s grandpa was a spy of something which made me think of Jack. So, this entire thing turned out way different than what I thought it was going to be. I'm fairly new to both writing and Tumblr so reblogs and comments are always appreciated. This fic exists in my ao3 as well, but this version is just very very slightly edited. Not even slightly, it’s just re-read and adjusted.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Part I, Part II

It had felt good to say it. No matter how this concludes, it felt liberating to confess. You tried your best to tamp down the little seedling of hope that still sprouted into expectation, “You don't need to say anything, I'm not expecting anything from you.”

You had been a coward, hiding your fears behind the books, and the writing slump, and the lack of sex, and the affair. You had been terrified of not being loved back because you had thought it was a weakness. Your weakness. It had only taken for your husband to think you were cheating for you to realise that, even unrequited, loving him was never a weakness. It was something you were good at. It was your craft, your skill, your art form. You would have never tainted it by cheating. After all, you had celebrated your art form one cheesy, smutty book at a time. The only reason you hadn't been writing well lately was because the distance with Tim had made you too antsy.

And it didn't matter if Tim loved you back. Sort of like it didn't matter whether you were playing singles or doubles if you only cared about playing some tennis. Love was your Olympic sport and you were a gold medalist.

“I love you too.”

Well, that changed everything.

“I can't believe you thought I didn't love you.” Tim came to stand in the doorway of your kitchen, even under the overly warm, ugly kitchen overhead light, you looked divine.

“I was trying to…”—you took a shaky breath—“make a move or something. And, it felt like you were pulling away. You did pull away. And I thought it was your way of letting me know you didn't see me like that.” Tim had moved close enough for you to see his dark eyes behind their black frames. It frazzled you to be so close to him again.

Tim felt his fingers twitch with intent and a faint tingling feel. God, tingles. He’d thought the sparks were only supposed to happen once you actually touched the other person, but here you were, setting him ablaze with that glazed, wondrous look in your eyes. You wanted him. Loved him. His hand came up to gently caress your face, his knuckles softly brushing over your cheekbones to your chin. Sparks. Tim couldn't grasp or hold you without this damn current making its way up his arm and doing his poor heart in.

“I'm sorry”—he unfurled his fingers over your cheek, tips grazing the soft skin under your ears, to gently hold your face—“for being a damn coward. Thought you wouldn't want anything with an old man like me”

“I’ve never wanted anything else. Or anything more.”

Tim angled his lips over yours barely grazing each other, his eyes met yours in a silent challenge. Then kiss me. And you did. You pulled him to you with a hand between his shoulder blades, gently sucking his lower lip to slot between yours. You could do this forever. Tim felt his knees buckle when you traced the tip of your tongue over his upper lip skimming over the bristles of his moustache. He leaned forward to brace himself against the counter behind you, trapping you in between, pressing you closer into his body while his tongue scraped against the smooth underside of your tongue. You broke the kiss with a gasp at the sudden sensation.

A pang of anxiety coursed through you, but it had no place under Tim’s adoring eyes. You incredulously soaked in the moment, tracing your fingers up his spine to entangle the hair curling at his nape. Your other hand rested over his rapidly thudding heart, feeling your own start to dance to his rhythm. The world slowly floated around you, correcting course and tilting on its axis until all your pieces snugly settled with him. Tim’s arm came around your waist as he nudged your cupped face back to his lips in another slow and sensual dance.

Tim rid you of your clothes, forming a trail as he guided you towards the bedroom with affectionate pecks and playful nibbles. Suddenly, he was everywhere, desperate hands palming and stroking your soft skin and mapping the features of your body. Tim charted his hand up the back of your thigh, thumb stretching out to graze the curve of your underbutt as he pressed feverish kisses down your neck. His cotton shirt felt delicious against your exposed nipples. He untucked his shirt as he took teasing nips at your clavicle breathing in the scent of your skin and body wash.

Both of your hands halted his movements, “Stop. I want to watch.”

You sat at the foot of the bed, the movement drawing your attention to the slick that had gathered between your legs. You would've worried about staining the sheets had Tim not taken off his shirt. You watched as he folded it in half before draping it over the dresser. You wanted to tease him about being shy now when he had just flung his fogged glasses across the living room earlier. But it was difficult to come up with words when you were admiring his side profile and the light scattering off his beautiful curls. You took in his furrowed brows as he unclasped his watch, his gracefully sculpted nose, his ruggedly patchy beard, and the freckles that dotted his shoulders and arms. It was unfair how lovely he looked.

“Look at me.”

Tim turned to face you with a quizzically raised brow, noting the command in your voice and the delightful shiver it sent down his back— filing away the moment to explore another day. Tim discarded his undershirt, and you appreciated the muscle in his throat that jutted out to form that hollow notch at its base, the smattering of salt and pepper chest hair that led to the soft swell of his stomach with the wispy trail that disappeared into his trousers.

He had never spent much time thinking about his body, but now he was tempted to peek in the mirror to see what had you so captivated. Tim leaned on a leg, an arm resting on his hip with his other leg stretched out before him to adjust himself, deliberately pausing to slowly palm his dick and stroke it through his pants. He slowly unbuttoned his pants but pulled his boxers down along with his pants, impatiently his mind went to more pleasurable and entertaining things he could be doing as he watched you lean back on the bed.

While Tim was downright pretty, the size and girth of it were intimidating. Realistically, you knew you could take it, but you were always a little scared of pain.

“Are we sure that’s gonna fit?”

Tim couldn't help but break into a little grin as he ran the back of his hand up your inner thigh finding it smeared with arousal.

“That's adorable, we’ll make it fit, baby.”

He joined you on the bed with more kisses as you both awkwardly shuffled upwards. Once you were propped up against the headboard, Tim’s mouth latched onto a nipple while a hand gently cupped the other; his wedding band felt cold against your heated skin making you arch into his mouth.

“Relax… touch your pussy for me. Make yourself feel good.” He whispered into your cleavage.

You rubbed tight circles around your clit mirroring Tim’s tongue as it swirled around your areolas, pausing to flick or suck your hardened nipple— he then gently bit down as he pinched and tugged the other unexpectedly hurtling you off the edge with a gasp.

Tim urgently kissed into your opened mouth, “Please, plea—” his voice broke into a lower octave—“please let me taste you.” He had spread your legs and plunged his head between your thighs before you had finished nodding.

Tim looked ravenous as he took in the sight of your folds, slick and wet. He lapped at the shiny inside of your thigh, savouring his first taste of you with an inadvertent moan. He took his time to graze his teeth against your skin, sucking in little marks into the crease of your pelvis, building his anticipation until you urged him with a roll of your hips.

Tim swept his tongue in a single long lick upwards, parting the lips covering your oozing slit and exposing the clit under your hood. You clutched at his hair and were rewarded with Tim moaning into the tip of your clit. He took his time exploring, guided by the sweet noises you made for him until you were nothing more than a pulsating, throbbing ball of aching need and nerves. You knew Tim was whispering praise into your cunt, but you were so far gone into the haze of pleasure that they went unheard. You didn't even realise when he had pressed two of his fingers down into your vagina while nuzzling your clit. He turned his hand palm-up causing his fingers to graze a spot inside you that hardened your body into a knot before you unravelled under his tongue.

You came to with colours still dancing underneath your eyelids, and your body still shivering in the aftermath of the violent tremble in your limbs. Tim was still pressing sweet kisses above your clit and around your most sensitive nerves soothingly rubbing his palms over your hip only for each stroke to form warm currents and more shivers under your skin.

“You think you can let me up now?” Your legs had wrapped around him to keep him there while you rode out the tremors of your orgasm on his face. It was tempting to just keep him there with your legs straining to frame the broad expanse of his shoulders while he sported his cheeky grin and glazed eyes. But when you reached out to thumb at his dimple you found his facial hair wet and the sudden urge to taste yourself on him gained Tim his freedom. He came up with a mischievous attempt to bite your hand that had been caressing his face.

On Tim’s lips, you were more scent than taste, musky and sweet mixed with the cool mint of his gum. You reared back.

“Did you have gum in your mouth while you went down on me? Because that would be psychotic.”

Tim huffed a warm laugh into your neck, “I don't know, do you wanna spend some more time looking for it in my mouth? You can even pat me down while you're at it.”

“Oh, detective, thank you for complying, we’re just following a process.” There was a teasing lilt to your voice. You sighed into his kiss while Tim rested the weight of him on you. You reached for his cock that lay between you, pressing heavy and warm on your stomach demanding attention.

“Not that procedure, not yet, wait. Just give me a minute. I've made a mess of myself.” Tim had given into the impulse of humping the sheets like he was a teenager again and was a hair-trigger from bursting. The gentle and chaste kisses did very little to stave off the urgent wave building at his spine when your hands were roaming over his back pausing to experimentally squeeze his ass. Naughty minx. But it allowed him enough reprieve to spread your thighs wider, draping them over his own before positioning his cock over your slit. His cockhead gave gentle taps to your clit that sent quivers down your spine. Just as you thought he would be pushing into you, Tim only lazily swayed back and forth gently rubbing his cock over the most throbbing part of you while you desperately clenched onto emptiness.

“The suspense is killing me, please just put it in me.” Your voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

“You’re tensing up on me, honey.” Tim flipped, carrying you over him in his arms.

“Take it the way you like it.”

You notched the tip of him against your slit, sliding down onto him. The heady rush of him stretching you out had your head rolling back, arching your tits back into his waiting palms. You teared up in frustration at a stabbing ache when you could not take more despite pushing yourself down, desperately wanting to be further filled. There was an itch that would be left so unsatisfied if he did not reach deeper into you, you felt so empty and blocked at the same time.

Tim found the little nub between your legs again insistently working it while spreading his fingers to cup the core of you that sheathed him halfway coaxing it to take him in. He guided you into a soft swivel with a warm, rough hand on your hips.

“Good girl.” Your pussy convulsed around him before easing down on him in a single swift motion that had the both of you gasping at the electric sensation.

“You take me so well, pretty girl.” Tim was content to let you find your rhythm. A warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of you enjoying his cock, milking him for your pleasure as you looked down at him with darkened misty eyes.

“Should've done this way sooner. This pretty little cunt is made for me, isn't it?”

The yes’s poured out of you like a prayer, “Tim, it feels so good, please, please, please—” You were so so close, it just seemed as if the release was running away from you, you could cry. It was even more frustrating that Tim wouldn't do anything to help.

“Oh sweetheart, having some trouble are we?” You were vexed, he was enjoying your predicament. A smirk on his lips as you desperately tried to word your pleas to him. Irritated, you finally reached your hand between your legs where you were still frantically undulating over him.

“Tsk, I didn't say you could touch yourself. You're going to cum for me, do you understand?” Tim grasped your hand and encaged it with his own holding it over his abdomen even as you still struggled to reach your clit. His hips bucked up into you at the retaliatory scratch you gave him.

“Yes, please, Tim, just please, touch me, please make me cum.”

“I need you to say my name when you come, okay, Darling? Say my name, baby.” He seemed to have lost all his previous gentility with the quick pinch and tug he gave to your already hot and sensitive clit. You reeled off him as you came but Tim pulled you back down his cock anchoring you into him. You had been chanting his name before you went off the edge, but the orgasm had rushed up on you so fast that you were sure you had stopped breathing for a while, your cries still felt trapped in your throat. Or maybe it was Tim’s cock you felt all the way up into the back of your throat.

He was sitting up with you, still buried hot and hard inside your fluttering cunt. Tim rubbed little circles and patterns into your skin, sending jolts of pleasure to course through you.

“You didn't cum… I'm sorry, just let me—”

“Shh, Shh don't be sorry baby. I'm the one who should be sorry. You’re going to let me cum inside aren't you.” You knew he was asking, but his tone left no doubt that he would spill inside you. He had nothing to be sorry for, you wanted so desperately to feel his hot cum coating your walls. You wondered if he felt the involuntary spasm your pussy gave in a desperate attempt to keep him inside.

“Oh you liked that, didn't you? You're gonna be a sweet girl for me, won't you, babe? Let me use that tight little pussy to get off?”—Tim tightened his grip on your hips—“Be a doll and hold onto my shoulders okay?”

You weren't answering any of his rhetorical questions when he was bouncing you on his cock with quick sharp tugs.

“God, wanted to be a good, kind husband who didn't use his wife too hard on her first time. But this cunt is a trap isn't it, baby? I could live inside you for ages”

You did need to hold onto his shoulders after all. If the thought of Tim using you as nothing more than a cocksleeve to jerk off his cock wasn't hot enough, your previous orgasm hadn't entirely rolled out before another one hit. This time, you did scream his name. You also left scratches over his shoulder, biting into his neck to silence yourself.

The bite of pain finally sent Tim over the edge, as he grasped you further into him. For a moment, neither of you knew where he ended and you began. He could do nothing more than fall back into the pillows taking you down with him. He couldn't even muster up the strength to pull out, not that he wanted to. Tim stopped your devious fingers from teasing his nipples, opting to tip your chin up for kisses instead— craving an affection that didn't further stimulate the jolts of pleasure he was still feeling at the base of his spine.

You could feel Tim softening inside of you, sending a pang of distress to pierce through the fog of bliss at the thought of losing that physical connection to him. Your frizzled brain kick-started to interrupt the peacefully comfortable post-orgasmic haven with your husband.

“Could you hold me tighter?” Tim must've picked up the vulnerability in your voice because both his arms came around you to hold you in a tighter embrace. Your mind struggled to come up with words to fill the silence. It would be completely fucked to ask Tim if this meant they were together now. He did say he loves you but you didn't want to pressure him, maybe it was just sex. You were already married so what if he didn't mean it? But Tim was never one to say things he didn't mean.

You felt Tim trailing soft kisses on your forehead as he whispered, “You’re thinking too loud.”

“I still can’t believe you thought I didn't love you.”

“Well, you didn't seem attracted to me…”

Tim heaved a disbelieving sigh, rolling his eyes at you as he gave a sharp spank, “Oh, I'm attracted to you, alright.” He rubbed your ass to soothe the sting.

“Did you think I was just platonically cuddling with you on our couch watching shitty reality tv—”

“Hey, you enjoy shitty reality tv.”

“—Or that I’m just being friendly when I try to cook your Chinese order at home, you know I live off of takeout!”

Okay, maybe you have been a little stupid. Tim has scoured the internet and attempted so many recipes for your favourite Chinese dishes because the local Chinese restaurant always made your stomach upset. The next closest restaurant was a long drive away from Hopewell Bay. He had even driven you there when you needed your Chinese takeout fix.

“I'm still working on that Szechuan sauce by the way, I promise I almost have it, it’s good but it's not takeout quality yet.” Both of you knew it wasn't remotely going to be as satisfying as a takeout.

There was a niggling itch at the back of your mind, a reminder that you were forgetting something very important. You tried to shrug it off, if it was important it would come back to you, as you settled into smooching Tim again.

“Oh my God, Jack!”

“So do not want to hear another man’s name while you're kissing me.”

“I have something to confess…” Suddenly, you were terrified that Tim would change his mind about you. “I have been watching Jack have sex, I know it's totally weird and I thought I had a good reason— which it was not. But like I'm sorry, I know that's cheating because we're married. And oh my god I cheated on you. Like technically we weren't together together before tonight but I would've been upset if you did something like this for a job—”

“I know.”

“—Like I couldn't blame you obviously because we didn't even know that we liked each other but still.”—Your rambling came to an abrupt stop—“What do you mean you know?”

Tim pulled you down to lay next to him again, as he propped himself on an elbow to look down at you. His fingers gently tucked the strays of your hair behind your ear, thumb reaching out to wipe away the anxious tears you unwittingly shed.

“I felt bad for cancelling on you all the time…” His fingers fiddled with the lobes of your ears, coming down to caress your jaw, “Remember that one time you wanted to go to a shooting range? I said I'd go, but then I talked myself out of it at the last minute and cancelled on you—”

“Yeah, you said you had too much paperwork.”

“—Well, I felt horrible because you would've been alone there and I never wanted you to feel alone so I showed up anyway. And I saw Jack walking up to you and I was glad you were with a friend.”

“So you left?” He'd come all the way there and had turned around and walked away anyway?

“Yes, I know… But then that guy was everywhere with you. Thought you’d made a choice.” Tim shrugged off his comment but it didn't ease the ache that remained when he thought you had chosen Jack.

“So, I may or may not have followed him whenever you made plans to meet him.”

You tried, and failed, to suppress the giddy smile that spread across your face.

“You just, what? Stood there in the shadows somewhere, watching me watch Jack have sex?” Both of you burst into giggles at the scenario.

“My favourite was when he was with Jackie”—Tim couldn't help but laugh through his words—“and I saw you pull out this tiny pocket notepad like you were a critic taking notes. I don't even know how he performed under all that pressure.”

“Well, I probably didn't want to forget what I'd just come up with. Did you know he's helped me write out a mini-series of cowboy romances? Surprisingly good at coming up with angst.”

“That notepad was mine by the way, I’m gonna need it back can't investigate a crime scene without it.”

“Oh, yes, of course, did you want me to leave in the sexy notes I took or…?”

“Leave those in please, you never know. It's how we found Jack had some of the answers to the case. He’s all over the place, he slept with Jackie who had some scoop about the Boulton case, Isabel who worked on the Boulton mansion as an architect, Victoria who wants to buy the estate, and—”

You didn't know why Tim was obsessed with Maddie’s grandma and her case.

“Jack said he knew Maddie’s grandpa Charlie from when they were both working for that alcohol company—”

“Statesman.”

“—yup, something about Charlie being his mentor and friend.”

You burrowed into Tim’s chest feeling the vibration when he hmm’ed at your words, and pressed your lips to his warm skin. You hadn't imagined the evening would play out like this but you sighed in contentment as Tim ran his hands along your back, appreciating the soft planes and hills of your body before his hand came up to cup the back of your head and aligned your lips with his.

“I need to get into these books of yours, figure out how to star in one of them.” You chased his lips with a whine as Tim left you needing more.

“Please don't, it's embarrassing. If it helps, I do write about you.”

“Yeah?” Tim slotted a leg between the both of yours leaving you dazed at the feeling of his thigh pressing against your pussy. You gave an experimental grind of your hips, moaning at the exquisite feel.

“You’ll find”— You broke into a gasp when your clit found the patch of coarse hair on his thigh, adjusting yourself to rub the rest of your pussy across it—“You’ll find all my heroes take after you, Tim.”

He groaned, unsure of whether it was due to your words or because of the mess you were making on his leg. Perhaps both. He felt himself hardening again.

“Detective, will you please let me suck your cock?”

“Depends, be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh baby, then I’ll teach you how to suck my cock the way I like it.”

Tim was tender yet strong, he could share laughs with you but also leave you breathless with his intensity. Sometimes, all he needed was a light touch to make you fall apart for him. And at times he would hold you together so tight in his arms, as if he had anchored your soul to his. It was no wonder he was the hero of all your books.

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