sukitruqui

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 43

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

The night was nearly perfect. No, it was perfect. Meeting Dr. Miller’s parents and getting insight into their family dynamic was so enjoyable I didn’t want the night to end.

Normally, I couldn’t wait to drag him back to wherever the two of you could be alone. When everyone began to say goodnight after their final drink of the evening, I was actually disappointed. His mother and father were equally witty, both in different ways. She was fiery, he was dry but they complimented one another so well. And hearing an embarrassing story or two from Dr. Miller’s childhood was icing on the cake.

Strolling hand-in-hand with him now that the two of us were alone, however, had my stomach fluttering with those butterflies that just wouldn’t go away. Meeting the Miller family heightened my feelings for Joel.

Joel. Joel. It was Joel. I knew I had to get used to that, and in my mind, finally, I was.

When we got to the door of our room, I put a hand on his chest when the two of us turned instinctively toward one another. I looked down and back up to meet his stare.

“This has been a great night,” I told him. It was quite the understatement. My heart was aching in such a way that I knew I had fallen deeper in love with Dr. Miller. I didn't think that was possible - until tonight. My attachment and fear of loss had heightened, and it suddenly made me all the more frightened to lose them - all of them. Joel, Carol, Will, Chas and Franky. I wanted to be a part of their circle; their family.

“Gotta love those embarrassing stories,” Dr. Miller said with a grin, beginning to put the key card into place to open the door.

“You have a really great family,” I told him, as the door clicked open. He allowed me inside a step ahead of him.

“They are great,” he acknowledged. “I honestly don’t know what I would do without them.”

I smiled up at him and I felt a rush of emotion. It could have made me cry if I allowed myself to indulge in it, but I didn’t. When I pulled Dr. Miller in for a long hug, I closed my eyes. He was my rock.

Dr. Miller cradled the back of my head with his hand and kissed the top of my head. “I really do love you, ya know.”

“I love you, too,” I muffled against him. When I pulled back I looked at him and shook my head, “I’m so scared to lose this.”

“Don’t be.” He shook his head.

“I am.” I shrugged, still attaching myself to him, “I didn’t think it was possible to fall any harder for you, Joel, but it keeps happening. It’s you. It’s your family. It’s this. It’s us.” My eyes met his when all of my thoughts finally manifested into a cluster of fast-paced mini-sentences.

“I understand,” Dr. Miller claimed with a nod, “I do. Believe it or not, I have never felt so attached to somebody in my life. It’s rare that I’ve introduced someone to my mother and father.”

“Really?”

“I know we started off this thing kind of unconventionally,” he acknowledged, “And I know we’ve kind of done things in an order that probably wouldn’t make sense to most people, but I’ve felt connected to you since the first time I saw you.”

I smiled and swallowed hard and looked down. Fuck, I was trying not to cry. I hated crying. Especially in situations like this. When a tear fell, I wiped it away and Dr. Miller hugged me again.

“Everything’s good,” he reminded me, stroking my hair as he held me.

“I know.” I managed a deep breath, never allowing myself to get into a heavy sob. I dried the stray tears that betrayed me and flashed him a genuine smile. “It’s just a lot.. in a really good way that I’m not used to.”

“I get it.”

I knew he did. My hand fell to his face and I just looked at him in such a way that activated his need to kiss me. I could taste the whiskey on his tongue and it was more intoxicating than anything we’d had to drink at the party.

“You taste good,” I whispered against his lips, making him chuckle. I laughed along with him and we locked eyes again for a second before he dove back in, kissing me again.

Dr. Miller’s hands found the backs of my legs and lifted high up, gripping my buttocks on both sides as they rode up my dress. When I felt his fingers grip around the fabric of my lacy thong I bit down on my bottom lip.

He pulled them down with ease, toward my ankles. The heels I wore were still on and I allowed him to pull them off first before tossing my underwear to the floor.

I had grown ten times more confident in my own skin since being with Dr. Miller. I found myself far less than perfect, but he made me feel like a goddess without even trying. Without even thinking, I ducked my arms out of the straps of my dress and shoved it down toward my waist until I bared myself fully to him.

Something about the fact that Dr. Miller was still fully-clothed aroused me. Maybe it reminded me of his school attire and I was somehow associating our current situation with all of my office and classroom-based fantasies I still had for him.

I pulled him by his tie toward me and he wasted no time collapsing his body onto mine on the bed as he made out with me with more force. My legs parted, he made himself home between them and when I felt him reaching for the buckle on his pants I let my head fall back against the pillow in anticipation.

When I felt his bare skin against me as his pants slid off his hips, my arms tightened around his clothed-upper body. I whimpered in his ear when he upped our intimacy to the next level. Never in my life had a man felt so completely like home. My body was his to have as freely as my heart was.

I half-expected Dr. Miller to whisper those perfectly spoken dirty nothings into my ear as he moved methodically on top of me. I loved how naturally they rolled off his tongue. But, instead, he kissed along my collar bone, my neck and the tops of my breasts. It wasn’t aggressive and torrid, the way he often commenced our evenings. Dr. Miller was taking his time, moving inside of me at a slow, toe-curling, pace.

I laid back and enjoyed every inch of him. This is what I needed after a night like tonight; after acknowledging how deep my feelings truly were for him. I didn’t even know how badly I needed it until we were in the middle of it.

Dr. Miller pushed back onto his knees, still clad in his shirt and tie, and stared down at me as he held the outsides of my hips. I thought he was in full control until he stopped mid-thrust and closed his eyes, resting his hands on my bent knees. He let out a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

When I felt him exit my body, I whined a little groan of disapproval. Despite him being on the verge of finishing, he managed a smile, still keeping his eyes closed. I giggled out loud and then reached for his tie again, guiding just his lips back to mine.

“I need a second,” he whispered, as his body slowly laid back down on top of mine. Dr. Miller pecked my lips several times in a row.

“Just kiss me then,” I begged, running my hands up the back of his shirt to feel him.

Dr. Miller wrestled with his tie, and I could see it was buying himself the time he needed; the perfect momentary distraction. He got it undone and pulled the shirt up and over his head, before towing the blankets up over us as he tossed it to the side.

With both hands he grabbed my face and kissed me again. The mid-love making foreplay left my body craving him even more. Kissing him, touching him, feeling his unveiled body colliding with mine beneath the covers was my own personal definition of ecstasy. It left me as putty in his hands to mold however he wished when he finally connected himself to me once more.

I was grateful that he had ditched his shirt so I could hold him properly. I hugged Dr. Miller’s body to mine. The warmth that radiated out of him and that scent of the Old Fashioned that still lingered somehow added to the experience

My eyes never opened. I let the rest of my senses take control and didn’t hold back how he was making me feel.

“Dr. Miller,” I whimpered as he finally surpassed the gentle threshold and bit down on my neck.

“Call me Joel,” he whispered back. It was the opposite of what he’d demanded in the past.

My arms tightened around him. “I will after I come,” I whispered again.

“Mmm..” Dr. Miller grabbed my face a little rougher now and we fought for dominance as we made out. I felt him pick up the pace, like the animal had been released from that one sentence.

He had primed me perfectly for this. The buildup was there. My insides were on fire and I knew that any of his thrusts could push me over the edge at any given moment. I held him hard, his erratic breaths landed on my neck.

“Come for me,” he begged in my ear, whispering directly against it as his body lurched forward in rapid succession.

I felt the impending explosion. Thrust after thrust I was closer. I whined. I whimpered. I moaned. Each time he begged me to let it out, and my inhibitions lowered as my orgasm began to creep in.

“Fuck, Dr. Miller.” I cried out his name and then cursed again as I let myself go to the eruption of pleasure.

“Ohhh, fuck..” He continued to thrust but I knew he was coming from how loud he groaned, accompanied by the phrase I’d grown to lust and love, “Ohh… good girl. Fuck. You’re so good.” He came as hard as I did, pumping into me a final series of times as I dug my fingers into his upper back and held him hard against me.

We both breathed heavily as we writhed in the aftermath of our simultaneous orgasms. I hummed a moan into his ear and he let his head fall against the pillow as his body went limp on top of me.

I kissed the top of his shoulder lazily and then let my head fall back again. “Mmm..”

“Mmm..” Dr. Miller echoed. He kissed my cheek and I smiled, still hugging him against me with no intention of letting go. “I’m tempted to just quit my job and use all my money to take you away to some tropical island and just.. drink fruity drinks and do this with you six times a day for the rest of our lives.”

I smiled and moaned again quietly as Dr. Miller began to gently kiss my neck. “Don’t tease me.” I let out a little laugh.

“Mmm..” He planted a long, closed-mouth kiss on my lips. “I’m in this for the long haul, ya know.”

I opened my eyes and looked up as his flickered open at the same time. “You mean that?” I honestly don’t know why I asked that, but a part of me wanted to hear him say it again. It was misplaced insecurity because of how overwhelmingly perfect our situation felt.

“Yeah.” Dr. Miller gave a nod. His eyes studied mine.

“So am I,” I said back, “If you’ll have me.”

“Again and again.” He peppered my lips as he spoke, “And again.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandojojo @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 42

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

The rehearsal dinner. I was an enchanted guest watching the dry run of the wedding unfold. Will stood proudly beside the Justice of Peace and his handful of groomsmen, Dr. Miller included, stood by as a woman rattled off a set of simple instructions.

I sat in the back row of the chairs that were set up to the left and right of a makeshift aisle. The hum of talkative laughter was buzzing behind me from Carol and her girlfriends. Even in their late forties and fifties, the women were happily carrying about the way teen lace girls would. Friendships like that were a rare delicacy; a blessing.

And then the men began their walk around the chairs to the back to meet up with the women. My eyes stalked Dr. Miller, awaiting for his gaze to fall upon me; but I soon recognized his eyes had landed on someone else.

I glanced over my shoulder as an older woman with glasses and the cutest little bob of a haircut made her way toward him. She almost appeared to be half his size, though she was probably just a few inches shorter than me.

Dr. Miller smiled warmly and opened up his arms, nearly scooping the woman up as he placed a kiss firmly on her cheek. And then their hands remained locked as they broke the embrace before she tapped the side of his face gently.

After a short conversation, Dr. Miller extended his arm in my direction and pointed. I froze.

His mother. I swallowed hard and waved before he motioned for me to join them.

I let out a deep breath and made my way down the empty row. I crossed over to where the two of them stood and Dr. Miller welcomed me with a hand against my back.

“(Y/N), this is my mother,” he smiled wide, face beaming, as he looked back and forth between the two of us.

“Francesca Miller,” the woman introduced herself, “But friends and family call me Franky.”

I smiled and didn't know whether to go in for a hug or a handshake, though as I began to introduce myself back, she pulled me in for a hug.

“It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller,” I said.

“It's very nice to meet you,” she said back with a nod, toying with her pearls. “And, please, call me Franky.”

I smiled again and nodded. Dr. Miller’s mother had an elegant, confident exterior; though I could tell she was witty and down to earth just the same.

“Where's your father? He beat me down the elevator.”

Dr. Miller looked around. “He probably took a pit stop at the bar.”

“The jackass,” Franky muttered, making us both laugh. She glanced around for a moment and then summoned Carol, who also claimed she hadn't seen him downstairs yet.

“Your mom is..” I smiled wide, searching for one of the many adjectives that were swirling in my head.

“A bit crazy,” Dr. Miller teased.

“Hilarious,” I corrected, “Adorable.. feisty.”

He chuckled and nodded. “That she is. Dad’s in trouble if he helped himself to a drink.”

“Oh here he is,” Carol’s calm voice made me glance in their direction and I watched as Franky marched up to her husband.

“Chas! Where have you been?” She raised her arms high in the air.

“Nobody was here yet when I came down,” he claimed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“And..”

“And what?” He put his hands out to the sides and I heard Dr. Miller chuckle beside me. Carol then turned toward us, shared a smile with her brother and rolled her eyes.

“Where'd ya go?” She was half his size, but it was apparent she wore the pants in that relationship.

“The bar.” He motioned toward the short hallway he had just rounded out from and Franky threw her hands in the air, speaking in another language in exasperation as she walked away. I was almost certain she was cursing but she winked at Carol and gave a smile when her back was to her husband.

“Dad!” Dr. Miller shouted and waved his father toward us.

The closer he got, the more I could see he was built like a linebacker. For a man I guessed who had to be pushing seventy, simply based on the ages of his children, he looked like he could give Hulk Hogan a run for his money.

“Dad, this is (Y/N).”

“Chas Miller.” He reached out and gave me a gentle handshake, placing his top hand over mine. His bushy mustache smiled as wide as he did.

“It's nice to meet you,” I said to him.

“Pleasure's all mine.” He nodded toward us. “Joel says you met at the university.”

I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yes. A couple of months back.”

“Well, he speaks very highly of you.” Chas gave a nod. In my mind it felt like a nod of approval.

“Chas!” Franky shouted for him before I could respond and he sighed and placed a meaty hand on Joel’s shoulder. “That's my cue.” He looked to me, “Happy wife, happy life.”

“That's right.” I laughed.

“We’ll catch up some more,” Chas vowed. He winked and I could clearly see Dr. Miller’s features when he did that.

When I turned back to Dr. Miller, he was shaking his head with a smirk. “That's my parents.”

“They're adorable.”

He nodded in agreement. “They are. They're good people.”

“They must be happy for Carol.”

Dr. Miller nodded again and pulled me in for a quick kiss. “I'm going to be walking down the aisle with Annie.”

I chuckled. “Well Annie happens to think you're a hunk, so..” I tightened his tie and looked at him with a grin.

“A hunk?” Dr. Miller began to laugh.

“That's the word she used.” I flattened his tie with my hand and looked up at him. “They're good people, too. You all are.”

“Well, you fit right in then.” He kissed my forehead and then my nose.

“I love you so much,” I said to him.

“I love you, too.” He tipped up by chin with his first two fingers and we shared one more kiss. “I think we're going to get started with the walk through.

“Okay. Enjoy.” I took my seat back down as he went to join the wedding party. From afar I soaked it all in - the laughter, the smiles, the banter. It was the exact vibe that should go hand-in-hand with a wedding.

The woman in charge of the procession began the walk-through. I snickered to myself when Joel and Annie strolled arm-in-arm down the aisle together.

Joel. That was one of the only times I thought of him as Joel in my mind, and not Dr. Miller. I had to start referring to him in that way - outside of the bedroom, anyway.

“Can I keep him?” Annie asked in her bold, British accent as they parted ways by the altar.

I laughed to myself and Dr. Miller blew her a kiss that she pretended to catch. As crazy about him as I was, I didn't feel any jealousy about any of it. It was playful and fun. I was happy to be a part of it all.

The others walked down in the same fashion before Carol linked her arm through her father’s as they made their way last.

Despite his macho appearance, I could see tears in Chas’s eyes. They didn't fall, but I was sure the following day at the actual ceremony they would. He appeared to be one of those teddy bear types in the body of an NFL player. It almost made me tear up.

What a beautiful family, I thought. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe one day I would be a part of it. Maybe I would be the one walking down the aisle as Joel waited for me.

I indulged in the fantasy of it all for a moment and continued to soak it all in. At the conclusion of it all, he made his way through the crowd and linked his hand with mine.

“Now’s the fun part,” Dr. Miller said.

“What's that?” I asked him.

“We get to eat.”

“Mmm.” I smacked my lips and he leaned in to kiss my temple.

The night continued on with the same warmth. I didn't want it to end. Chas and Franky grew even more comical after a couple of drinks, sharing funny or embarrassing stories back and forth.

Digging into the Miller family’s memories alongside them was precious - and entertaining. More than once Dr. Miller glanced down with a sheepish grin or placed a hand over his eyes when one of his family members revisited an old memory.

“When he was a teenager he drank our leftover beers from a Fourth of July picnic and filled the bottles with water,” Franky claimed, motioning to her son.”So we wouldn't know he drank them.”

“And then one hot summer day I'm mowing the lawn and go to drink one,” Chas adds, “And I'm like what the hell is this?”

“I remember that,” Carol said, laughing.

“He put them back in the case,” Franky went on. “Filled with water.”

“Evil genius,” Dr. Miller said about himself.

“Yeah a genius alright,” Carol teased. “You got caught within a week.”

Franky shook her head, looking outward in a sort of daydream. “Those days were funny.”

“See what you two are getting into?” Chas asked, motioning to Will and then to me. Again, I was happy to be included.

“I'm very lucky,” Will said to his future father-in-law.

“Me, too,” I added.

“Oh, can we just toast, already.” Carol raised her glass of wine.

“What are we toasting to?” Dr. Miller asked, raising the Old Fashioned he was sipping on. I mirrored them, as did his parents and Will.

Carol looked at Will for an extra second and then back to the rest of us. “To family.”

“I like that one,” Chas said with a nod.

Dr. Miller clanked his glass around with everyone's, leaving mine for last. He gave a little smirk. “To family.”

I nodded back. “Family.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[sukitruqui]

UMMA DELICIA!!!! 🤤🤤🫦🫦

I did a thing 😗👉🏻👈🏻 I could not pass the Heat Stroke trend that’s going around. Here’s my version but with the one and only beautiful Pedro. 🤩🥵

Follow for more on my insta @kingsimpppp

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 41

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

James parked his car right at the spot where he’d last been able to see the figure walking on the security footage from the night of the last murder. He'd sat there for a moment trying to put himself into the person’s shoes.

Would he have parked his car close? Was his residence within walking distance? Did he go out for a late night pizza at the lone store that stayed open after hours for the drunken, munchie-driven calls from college kids? Maybe a drink at the bar?

A drink. Someone would certainly need a drink to calm their nerves after murdering someone. Wouldn't they?

James got out of his vehicle and began to walk the sidewalk. He put his hands into the pockets of his jacket and mirrored the posture of the stranger.

O’Malley’s was first. It would make sense. And so James entered the establishment, starting there.

A short, aging man with alcohol miles plaguing the saggy skin under his bright blue eyes turned and ran a hand over his stark-white beard. He noted James’s attire and made a face, asking blandly. “What can I do for ya officer?”

“Good afternoon,” James started with a nod. He glanced over at the row of regulars, all carbon copies of the bartender, who were staring at him as if to say, ‘what the hell do you want’?

“Do you have security cameras that view the street?” He asked after a brief pause.

The row of old men turned to the bartender in unison, awaiting his answer. He huffed a little laugh and began wiping down the top of the bar.

“That all depends on what you're lookin’ for.”

“Looking to catch the Lady Killer,” James said honesty, prompting everyone to stop and look back in his direction.

“That bastard killing all them college girls?” The frailest of the men asked, extending a wrinkled finger.

James nodded. “That's right. On the night of the last murder I have reason to believe he left campus and rounded onto Bank Street. Lost sight of him on our cameras after that.”

The bartender put his hands flat on the bar and stared at him directly. “Well if ya already got him on camera, what do you need ours for?”

The heads all turned again, a willing audience to the conversation at hand.

“I couldn't make out who he was,” James explained. “Just a dark silhouette.” He whipped out his phone and extended his arm across the way to show the man the picture he'd taken of the figure beneath the light. “That's all I got. I figured if he rounded that corner,” James motioned to the small screen, “That O’Malley’s is next. Maybe he even stopped in for a drink.”

The bartender looked back up with more interest.

“You remember anyone in here the night of February 18th that doesn't normally come here? Some time late into the night, probably near closing time.” James glanced around at everyone present. He assumed they were probably there most nights.

“Always some odds and ends,” the bartender explained. “Lots of regulars, lots of college kids, lots of in betweeners.”

James nodded. “If anyone comes to mind,” he slid a card across the table with his name and number on it, “Let me know.”

“You know,” the same frail old man spoke, “There was a fella who dropped in that night. Sat alone. Shaky hands.” He gently hit the man next to him, “Wilbur you remember? We thought he was balancing out some caffeine kick with a little bit of grandpa’s cough medicine.”

“What did he look like?” James asked.

“Had a ball cap on,” Wilbur explained.

“Yankees,” the first man added. “And a hood. It zipped up. Had some words across the front.”

“What did the words say?”

“I can't even remember what I had for lunch,” he gave a laugh.

“Old? Young?”

“Younger than us but older than you.”

“What did he order?”

“Damned if I know,” he said raising his arms, “I said I noticed him, I wasn't trying to take him home.”

The row of men laughed in unison.

“Thanks.” James nodded again and then looked back across the bar. “So.. about those security tapes..”

…

I walked back down the hallway after the incredible spa day. There were only a few hours until the rehearsal dinner and I felt perfectly content. My body was relaxed, my toes were freshly painted and laughing with a bunch of women all day was like chicken soup for the soul.

When I entered the hotel room, finding it vacant, I took a few moments to myself. I wandered onto the balcony and glanced out at the slopes. Being on a ski resort, in what typically felt like the gloom and doom of winter, made the month of February feel all the more brighter. The dead, cold world felt alive here.

I huffed a smokey breath and went back inside and turned on the water to the shower. Almost immediately u got lost in the steam and my thoughts. Like the weekend before, I didn't want to return home. I wanted to stay in that lively place until spring thawed everything out.

It's not so bad back at the castle, I reminded myself. Being with Dr. Miller was such a treat in itself. That made me smile to myself.

Joel Miller. My professor. The man I fell for without even realizing it until the feeling swallowed me whole. I couldn't imagine my life without him now that he was the focal point of it. It felt like it had been years since I had been in my old bedroom in the little house with Tori - but in reality it hadn't been that long.

I closed my eyes and pictured him. His smile. His voice. The feel of his lips against mine. The warmth of his body. The squeeze of his fingers when our hands were entwined.

Right when I really started wishing him back to our room, I heard the bathroom door creak and then the shower door opened. I jumped only for a second before I recognized it was Dr. Miller. My wish had come true. It was my only wish, really. To be with him.

He pulled me by the hand to him and our lips locked without saying a word as the shower door closed. With my eyes closed I could hear Dr. Miller breathing steadily through his nose above the sound of the water.

“I missed you all day,” he whispered before diving in to kiss me again.

My arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. “I missed you too.” I had. I knew the early phase of a relationship had the ability to feel intense and clingy, but it was magnified for us. And I could use the phrase us with confidence. Dr. Miller was as possessive as I was.

Dr. Miller’s lips parted from mine and then he pecked them again as he reached for the soap. “Turn around,” he said quietly.

I swallowed hard and did as he asked, closing my eyes as he began to draw sudsy circles across my shoulder blades. I let out a deep exhale.

Dr. Miller snaked the bar of soap around, penetrating my breasts before trailing down my midsection. I reached a hand up behind me, gently pulling at the back of his head as he dipped his lips down to neck.

I allowed him to lather up my entire body and watch the soap stream off me into white, bubbly pools by the drain. And then I held a hand out, prompting Dr. Miller to hand over the bar of soap. He gave a barely-there smirk before I eagerly began to return the favor, gently soaping up the top of his chest.

I could tell when he didn't have it in him to hold back anymore after touching him for so long. Dr. Miller topped my hand with his and removed the soap, placing it back on one of the ledges and then pulled me back into a smoldering kiss.

I took the lead and reached a hand down to touch him. Dr. Miller moaned into my mouth and kissed me harder.

He let his hand drop to my hip and pulled up at the back of my thigh. I instinctively let me knee raise high up toward his hip as he lined up at my entrance.

“Mmm..” Dr. Miller still held the back of my leg up and kneaded my breast with the other hand as we continued to kiss. I felt my back hit the cool tiles and I let out a gasping breath.

“I love you,” I said quietly against his lips. Part of me kind of hated saying it at such a cliche time but I couldn't help myself.

Dr. Miller ran his hand up my chest, past my neck to the side of my face. “I love you, too,” he let out a deep breath, “And for the rest of this weekend you're all mine.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 40

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

If you'd like to join in for a girl’s day we're going to the spa, Carol’s text read when I awoke the next morning.

“Well, what am I going to do with myself all that time?” Dr. Miller teased; though after a cozy morning in bed together, he bid me farewell for the day. I knew it would give him a chance to go skiing or snowboarding without having to feel bad about it. I was sure he would link up with Will at some point.

I was nervous when I met up with Carol again, as I had never met her friends that were in the wedding party. There were three of them. Wendy, a cousin she had a close friendship with. Ernesta, a friend that Carol had been close with since her teenage years. And Annie, a British woman Carol had worked with for over ten years at Hillcrest. The two of them had become really close over time.

“This is (Y/N),” Carol introduced me to her circle of pals. “She and Joel have been seeing each other.”

“He's quite the hunk,” Annie teased, making Carol laugh and swat her friend in the arm.

I laughed with them and shrugged. “Thank you for the invite.” Their banter was giving me serious Mamma Mia vibes.

“I hope you like mimosas and massages,” Ernesta said to me. “It's the only way we could convince this one to stay off the slopes the day before her wedding.” She motioned to Carol.

“I can do mimosas and massages,” I assured them, grinning as they welcomed me to their little hen party.

“And pedicures,” Wendy added.

Once the five of us were down in the underground area that housed the spa, all donning bathrobes, I finally let myself relax around them. They were all friendly, though I could tell how close these women were. It made me miss Tori a bit; though I was perfectly content where I was.

“And how long have you been together?” Annie asked as we sat side by side in pedicure chairs with our feet soaking.

“A couple of months,” I explained. It had only been about a month-and-a-half but I rounded up.

“Ahh, new romance. That's the most fun in the world.” She had a friendly, round face and her accent made me smile. Annie was one of those funny, warm souls. I already enjoyed being in her company.

“I really like Joel a lot,” I told her, smiling wide. “He's just..”

“A hunk,” she blurted out again, shamelessly, as she adjusted her oversized glasses.

I chuckled. “Yeah, he's a hunk,” I agreed.

“Do you ladies want to try to salt caves?” Wendy asked, leaning forward in her chair so she could see everyone.

“What in the bloody hell is that?” Annie asked.

“They’re supposed to promote relaxation,” Ernesta explained.

“They have those here?” Carol asked.

Wendy nodded, “We might as well go into this rehearsal dinner fully relaxed, right?”

Annie raised her hand and spoke to no one in particular. “Another mimosa, please!”

I laughed to myself and sat back as the staff returned to prepare our pedicures. It made me realize how badly I needed a girls’ day.

..

James sat in a room in the security building alone. A spread of small monitors was in front of him and he studied one after the other after the other. Despite the case being on the shoulders of more prominent law enforcement officials, James couldn't help himself. He wanted to see first hand if the security footage held any information of the identity of the lady killer.

It had been multiple days. James had spent hours in that room by himself. Solving this insane string of murders had become an obsession. Each time someone was murdered, the obsession grew stronger.

James had looked through one area of campus footage to the next. He kept at it most nights until his eyes grew so strained and tired that he couldn't focus anymore.

The date. The time of the kill. He knew the numbers by heart, almost down to the second. And while the body had been dropped where no cameras were, the person responsible had to be on those tapes somewhere.

That night, after months of searching, James finally thought he had a lead. In one camera from the night of the latest murder, there was a shadowy figure that crossed passed a row of trees near the pond on campus. He almost didn't see it, but after pausing the footage just right, there was a clear pair of legs he could see mid-stride. It was so dark that that's all he could make out - the legs. The upper body blended with the darkened backdrop.

That one almost went unnoticed. But it led James to explore the next camera along the traveler’s path. Again, the figure blended and almost went unnoticed, but there was movement clear as day, especially when he zoomed in.

“I'm gunna get ya,” James spoke to himself as he sipped on a coffee. He never took his eyes off the screen.

The next surveillance camera was similar. Shadowy, unclear movement. Easy missed at first and second glances. But someone was there. Someone was lurking away from Woodbridge’s campus at the exact time the body had been dropped.

“Come on,” he begged. “Show yourself.”

By the time James got to the final camera on campus, the person walked beneath a street light and he paused it.

“Fuck.” James zoomed in and zoomed in again, and then zoomed out. The only thing he could tell was that this was a human being. That's it. Was it a man? A woman? From the stature he guessed a man but he couldn't even be one hundred percent certain of that. Their back was to the camera and they were clad in all black.

And that was it. The person rounded off campus and onto the next street.

James smacked his hand down on the table in frustration. “Damn it.” He slumped in his chair and sighed, staring at the vacant scene before him.

Where did he go?

“Bank Street,” James spoke aloud. His eyes danced back and forth as he thought of the route.

The person took a right onto Bank Street. There was a bar called O'Malley's, Planet Pizza, a candy store and two little clothing shops. Across the street from that was an old time ice cream parlor named Pete’s, Crave Cookies and a sneaker store.

One of those has to have a camera.

James checked his watch, downed the rest of his coffee and then headed out to hit the businesses of Bank Street.

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[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 39

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

The lodge was buzzing. The big, open area was lined with rows of long tables, accompanied by high top tables on the ends. Down one end a group of guys was singing a cheery song that I had never heard before, but it made me smile. People of all ages, all clad in winter hats and hoodies, were slung about in small groups having a good time.

“Beers all around?” Carol asked, once the four of us were seated at a high top table by the bar.

After the elegant night at the winery, and bumping into Carol and Will before they went to the strings concert, I loved that Carol easily slipped into the more casual scene and could sling back beers on a whim. I was really looking forward to getting to know her better.

Dr. Miller rose to his feet and reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. When Will went to stand along with him, he motioned for him to sit. “Everything is on me tonight. What’re we drinking?”

“I saw a beer on tap as I passed by called Road to Ruin,” Carol explained, “I have to try that one.”

“Which means we may be on the road to ruin,” Will joked with a laugh. “A Miller Lite is fine for me.”

Dr. Miller looked at me with a smirk and a subtle wink. I smiled at him. “What kind of beer is the Road to Ruin?” I asked, glancing at Carol.

“It’s a double IPA.” She made a guilty face and looked to Will, who smirked and shook his head.

“I’ll try it,” I said to Dr. Miller.

“Two Roads and two Millers.” He motioned to himself and Carol. It took a second for it to click as he added, “I’ve got more Dad jokes up my sleeve.”

“That’s why I’m getting the Road to Ruin,” his sister joked.

When Dr. Miller went to retrieve our beers at the bar, Carol focused her attention on me. “My brother really seems to adore you.”

“Oh.” I smiled and raised my eyebrows, feeling my cheeks grow hot. I wished I had a drink to hide behind. “Yeah.. I.. I feel the same way.” I was so awkward and I couldn't hide it.

“Honey, don't embarrass the poor girl,” Will put a hand on her forearm with a chuckle.

“I'm just saying,” Carol went on. “You both seem very happy.”

“We are.” I gave a nod and a smile I couldn't contain. “I've never met someone like Joel.” When I sighed out loud, both of them gave a laugh and my cheeks reddened some more. “How was the concert last night on campus?”

“It was very nice.” Carol looked to Will and then back to me. “Elizabeth was one of those students you’ll always remember. She even came back to help out with building our school’s drama club set this year. They spent hours, probably too late most nights, working on all that.”

“Great kid,” Will added.

“What drama production are you guys putting on?” I asked.

“Legally Blonde,” they said at the same time, making Carol chuckle.

“I keep having to chase that little dog around the auditorium, nightly,” Will said with an eye roll and a smirk. “This one’s been eating her dinners alone a few times a week.”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” 

Dr. Miller returned, barely able to carry all four beers, which so happened to be in oversized, frosty mugs. “They asked if I wanted the sixteen ounce or twenty-two ounce beers.” He gave a shrug, “I didn’t think anyone would oppose the twenty-two.”

“Certainly not,” Will said with a nod, reaching for the one Dr. Miller slid in his direction.

“Should we toast?” I asked, gently raising my glass just a few inches off the table at first.

“To Carol and Will,” Dr. Miller raised his glass before anyone could intervene, “May you have the long, happy life together.” He added, glancing at Will, “And to gaining a brother.”

“Amen.” Will tapped his glass against Dr. Miller’s and then mine and eventually Carol’s.

“Amen.” She smiled wide and that same warmth and happiness radiated out of her when she looked at her husband-to-be. “Should we get drunk and fool around?” She asked him, prompting Dr. Miller to plug his ears as if he was twelve years old.

I laughed out loud and Will snickered and shook his head.

“And she’s not even drunk yet,” he said with a laugh.

“Maybe I should’ve gone with the sixteen ounce,” Dr. Miller said, shaking his head with a smile.

“Are you going to do any skiing before the wedding?” Carol asked us.

Dr. Miller extended an arm across the back of the chair and grinned. He glanced at me and then back to his sister. “Possibly some snow tubing.”

“Safer.” She sipped her beer, “Good choice.”

“And are you two going to risk breaking a leg on the slopes between now and Saturday?” He asked them.

“We’re going to skip the black diamond,” Will said, joking around. “But we may take a few runs down the slopes tomorrow.”

“Risky business.” Dr. Miller brought the beer to his lips.

“It’s in our genes,” Carol reminded him.

“I would have to agree,” I chimed in with a shrug, “I mean, you started dating me.”

Carol gave a laugh. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” She purposely looked away and then back right away.

“Already the women side with each other,” Will said, pretending to be exasperated as he shook his head.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Carol reminded him with a little wink.

“Yes, dear.”

The night was fun and lowkey. Dr. Miller went up to get several rounds of beers for the group, denying each person who tried to jump in and pay, myself included. 

The same group of guys down the end that had been singing earlier got the entire room singing Sweet Caroline when it came over the speakers from someone’s jukebox request. It was one of those nights that got sillier and sillier and sillier.

I hadn’t been drunk in quite awhile, but I began to feel the effects of the alcohol and found myself singing along, swaying and holding Carol’s hand as we pumped our fists in the air to the, ‘Ba, ba, ba’ part of the song.

Honestly, I had never seen Dr. Miller so carefree since I’d known him. It was refreshing and rejuvenating to be a part of such a cheery, upbeat atmosphere. All the tenseness from the week had all but vanished. And it felt amazing.

When we finally cashed out and decided to call it a night, we exchanged hugs all around. I turned to Dr. Miller and gave a him a firm kiss on the lips when his sister and Will had rounded out of the lodge.

“You’re not ready to call it a night, yet, are you?” He asked.

I smirked at him. “What do you have in mind?”

Dr. Miller eyed an oversized clock on the wall. “We have about forty-five minutes-”

“Until what?” I interrupted, largely because of the buzzed feeling that left my filter flying out the window. 

He laughed a boyish laugh. “Let’s get our coats.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’ll show you.” He held out a hand and led me back up to the room. We bundled up quickly, despite my several silly attempts to seduce him, and then I let him lead me out into the night.

“Thirty minute warning,” a worker with a bright, red jacket informed us as we made our way toward the thinning crowd on the slopes.

“Where’s the tubing hill?” Dr. Miller asked.

The man extended an arm, “Take that lift up right over there.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, no.” I smiled and laughed as he towed me toward the station to retrieve a pair of snow tubes. We then made our way toward the lift.

When we got there, Dr. Miller helped me onto the seat with a one, two, three and then we were being raised into the cold, mountain air.

“Wow.” I soaked it in. “I’ve never even been on a ski lift. How do we get off?”

“We kind of.. glide and run.”

“Great.” I laughed again. “You may have to catch me.”

“Always.” Dr. Miller continued to stare in my direction until I turned back to him so we could share a kiss.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“For one of the funnest nights.. ever.” It was all I could come up with at the moment and we laughed together.

“It has been fun,” he agreed.

When we got close, he motioned up ahead. “Alright, we have to kind of just jump off and pepper your feet as you go so you don’t fall.’

“I’ll try.”

“Ready?”

“Nope!”

The bar raised and I giggled as he helped me off, stumbling as we went onto the snow. Neither of us fell, but it was hardly graceful.

“Wow, okay!” I reset. I was ready. “Now what?”

“Come on over.” Another man in a red jacket waved us on and we wandered down over toward him. “You can go side by side in these two lanes if you want.”

I could clearly see the man made snow lanes that had been made. They looked like giant, icy slides.

“Ready now?” Dr. Miller asked, taking the lead as he planted his tube and laid head first on top of it where the worker instructed him to do so.

I breathed out a wintery breath and laid down on my tube beside him. “What does the winner get?”

“What does the winner want?” Dr. Miller smirked at me.

“Beers or sex,” the young man butted in from behind us. When we both looked back at him he added, “That’s what people usually bet on up here.”

I let out a laugh and raised my eyebrows. “How about both?��� I asked him.

“Sounds like a win-win,” Dr. Miller said.

“When you’re ready to go, just push yourself to the spray painted red line,” the worker explained, “ Once you’re past that, there’s no turning back.”

I walked myself up with my hands and feet, feeling like a turtle with an upside down shell. When I got to the faint line, I glanced over at Dr. Miller. “Should we count to three?”

“One..” He began, “Two..” There was a dramatic pause and I finally cracked a smile. “Three!”

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[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 38

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I made myself paranoid all day. At work I avoided going down the long hallway to the isolated bathroom for as long as I could. I had been in that bathroom more times than I could count without a thought. My coworkers were right there. There was no chance this mysterious lady killer was in our building. Still, I felt anxious, peed quickly and hurried out there.

The same thing happened on the ride home and the stop for gas. I wanted to get out of there. I felt like death was a dark hanging cloud over the area and I just needed to go. My parents practically begged me to come home, but I assured them that a “girl’s weekend” away was the best thing for me. I didn’t know when I planned to tell them about my much-older boyfriend - who happened to be my professor. I was planning on leaving that detail out.

My eyes hit the rearview mirror as I cruised around. I was tempted to swing through the Dunkin Donuts drive through for a quick pick-me-up, but my nerves even talked me out of that. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and his odd behavior as of late.

Could it be him? Was he actually sneaking up behind me the night he got into it with Dr. Miller on the sidewalk? Would he ever be crazy enough to follow me up this way?

I was suddenly thankful I had put my social media on private. At least there was a digital barrier, not that that would help me in the physical world. When I was certain no one had followed me home from work, I made the turn up the driveway to Dr. Miller’s mansion. I still couldn’t think of it as ours. I probably never would, even if I was lucky enough to marry him one day.

When I got there, the gate was open and I could see him loading up some luggage into the back of the pickup truck. He gave a wave and after parking I greeted him with a quick hug and a kiss.

“You okay?” He asked me, putting a hand on my cheek.

I nodded. “This just feels surreal.” I sighed, “I’m glad we’re getting out of here for a few days. “I need a break from the gloom and doom and the death.”

Dr. Miller nodded and pulled me in for a hug, kissing my forehead. “Now will you consider dropping Dr. Stevenson’s class? I don’t want you on campus.”

“I’m paranoid everywhere,” I admitted, glancing up at him. I shook my head with a little laugh, “I was nervous going down the hall to the bathroom at work today after they told me about the third body.”

“I get it. It shakes you up. If it didn’t there’d be something wrong.”

I looked up into his eyes and we shared another peck of a kiss. My eyes stayed locked on his as I stared up at him.

“What?” he asked.

I gave a half-smile. “Nothing. I’m just thankful I have you.”

Dr. Miller smiled back, “Let’s get the last couple things and we’ll hit the road.” He grinned and tugged on my sleeve, “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

The ride to the resort gave me time to decompress. With each half-hour that passed, I felt the weights of Woodbridge falling off my shoulders. We alternated taking turns listening to songs we chose, talked about anything except for the murders and even played a silly game from passing cars’ license plates at the tail end of the trip.

And then, by nightfall, the gorgeous, illuminated snow slopes came into view as we made our way through the final stretch of the Vermont countryside. It was even gently snowing as we pulled onto the grounds of the resort. Another perfect winter wonderland.

“I wish I knew how to ski,” I said with a laugh, “This looks awesome.”

Dr. Miller, linked his hand with mine as we cruised down the long, bumpy driveway. “Well, there’s always time to learn. I think there’s a hill for snow tubing if you’re up for it.”

“No way.” I knew my face perked up like a small child at the thought of tubing down a hill.

“Way.” He chuckled at my reaction.

We found a parking spot and made our way to check in.

“I wonder who’s here yet from the wedding party,” Dr. Miller said aloud. We approached the front desk of the on-site hotel. “Here for the Brennan-Miller wedding,” he told the woman behind the counter.

“Ahh, yes.” She grinned to herself and glanced up at him. “What’s the name?”

“Joel Miller.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, handing her a card to put on file for the room.

After punching in the information to the computer and retrieving a pair of key cards, she looked back at us with a smile. “You’re on the top floor, room 522. Pool is on floor one. Gyms are on every even numbered room. Continental breakfast runs from 6-10 every morning.”

“Great,” Dr. Miller said with a nod. “Thank you. Have any of the other wedding guests checked in?”

“I can’t really tell you that,” she said, but whispered, “A few of the rooms have already been claimed but I can’t tell you who.”

He chuckled when she winked. “Thanks so much.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

I gave a friendly goodbye wave and made our way with our luggage toward a visible elevator. When we got inside and the doors closed, I glanced over at Dr. MIller.

“You know what being in this elevator alone with you makes me think of?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he took the hint, giving in to a laugh.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Dr. Miller pulled me for a playful kiss.

“You had me wrapped around your finger that first time I had a drink with you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said what I said, “ he told me, still with a sly grin.

“Yes, you should have.”

Our lips met again and we kissed until the little bell rang and the doors swung open at floor five. We both read the little golden plate on the wall across, tell us with numbers and directional arrows which way to go for room 522. 

Each window along the way gave a snapshot view of the slopes, where skiers and snowboarders still whipped around in the dark under the display of bright lights. It was a cool, new atmosphere that I wasn’t at all used to - but would be happy to embrace.

At 522, Dr. Miller placed the key card up to the slot and a blinking green light let us know we could enter.

“Here we go.” He glanced over his shoulder at me with a wink and I trailed him inside. 

Just as I had suspected, the room was another little slice of heaven. King sized bed, small kitchen, small hot tub on an enclosed balcony. When I walked into the bathroom I called him in. 

“This shower has like four shower heads,” I exclaimed, “And two more down by your legs.”

“Well, I know what our first activity should be.” Dr. Miller huffed a laugh and gripped his tongue between his teeth.

“We haven’t tackled that one yet.” I wrapped my arms around him and we indulging in making out for a moment. “I really could use a shower.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time.” Dr. Miller unzipped my jacket and then reached into the pocket of his when his phone buzzed. He read the text aloud, “Meet for drinks in the lodge at 8?”

“Carol?” I asked him.

He nodded. “It’s seven-fifteen now.”

“Plenty of time.” I grinned and unzipped his jacket now. In a jokingly sexy manner I slowly took off mine to reveal the striped sweater I still had on from work.

Dr. Miller laughed out loud and did the same, giving another wink for good measure.

I then tiptoed toward the shower and cranked the lever, almost immediately sending a pool of steam into the small cubicle when I shut the door.

I proceeded to strip down in front of him, flicking my lacy thong toward him with my toes and he hummed a, “Mmm,” of approval.

“I see you’re in a lighter mood,” he pointed out the obvious, still grinning as he removed his jacket and tossed it out the door onto the floor.

“I know a way to make it even better.” I opened the door to the shower and the pitter patter of the water grew louder.

When he joined me inside, the stress of real life all but disappeared. Dr. Miller was the perfect medicine for that. A getaway with him was just icing on the cake.

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

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[sukitruqui]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter III

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm excited to bring to you the next chapter! Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: In which you experience your wedding night and an uncomfortable conversation takes place.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night, virginity loss, female masturbation, handjobs, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, painful sex but also not painful sex, creampie, politics, Marcus gets angry

Word count: 9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/154904269

Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

After you enter the room, Marcus closes the door to his night chambers with a soft click. He secures it to give the two of you an illusion of privacy despite the many servants walking up and down the halls that now belong to you as well, cleaning the rooms of any signs of guests so that new people can relish in festivities tomorrow too. 

“I noticed you regained your appetite. Did you like the feast?” He asks as he starts undoing his sandals with steadier hands than you can muster right now in your anxiety-riddled body, untying them where they stop just underneath his knees until he can step out of them completely. 

“Your cook is better than ours,” you compliment with a little smile, your arms crossed over your chest until you can hug yourself with your palms on your back. You try to self-soothe like when you had first met but the thought of the wifely duties that lie ahead makes your heartbeat pound in your chest in a dizzying fashion. 

“He is your cook now too,” he delves into small talk, trying to make a mundane situation out of something that so evidently weighs heavily on you. He is just about to continue when you hold up your hand to stop him, reluctantly having let go of yourself to signal that you wish to speak.

“Marcus,” you start in a soft voice without knowing where the sentence will go, doing the utmost to make sure that you are not sounding as if you are going to refuse to share a bed with him in case of evoking anger in him. He watches you curiously, graciously allowing you to interrupt him all the while you swallow the lump in your throat, “I must confess that I am nervous.”

You can barely get the sentence out before tears start to well up in your eyes, your throat constricting as you find yourself on the verge of crying. You reach for some of the fabric of your tunic, clutching it desperately as you hold a sob at bay. 

Marcus looks at you with sympathy that shouldn’t surprise you but still does despite the moment you shared the last time you were alone with each other.  

“What bothers you?” He asks despite knowing the answer already. 

“Is it not obvious?” You ask with a whimper, “I am dreading the thing that all wives so desperately long for on their wedding night. I have been told stories of blood and cries, of men being cruel in their passion, and— I know that it is my duty, that this is as important as the ceremony itself but it scares me. What if my body simply isn’t made for this act?“

It is odd to confess something so personal to a near-stranger but you suppose that there is no point in tiptoeing around the fact that you are united in marriage which demands the deepest form of vulnerability towards each other. A tear manages to escape your eye and it rolls down until it drips off your chin. 

“Carissima,” Marcus soothes gently. He dares walk to stand in front of you, his bare feet quiet on the cold floor and even though he can potentially reach out to put his hands on you, he does not, “Goddess Nox has given us plenty of time to take things slowly before dawn. These stories you have heard… I wish you would not think of me as such a brutal man. Our chambers are not a battlefield.” 

You reach up with the back of your hand to swipe away the tears that have started to continuously fall from your chin, catching some on your cheeks before they even manage to go so far. You feel a pang of guilt at your assumptions because Marcus is right and the proof is in the way he kissed you so carefully yesterday when you had asked. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry unhappily and stare down at your feet again, hating the way you come off as a scared child. You are married to a general of the great Roman Empire, meant to exude grace and strength even when the two of you are alone in your home. Your home. These chambers will forever be yours too.

“I know this is difficult but this is something we must do to start our lives together as man and wife,” Marcus coos back at you. He dares to put a hand underneath your damp chin to tilt your head up again, looking into your eyes with his own that seems to be miles deep with their brown color. You whimper but he shakes his head, “No more of that. I will not have you remember your first night in these halls with remorse and terror.”

His hand moves up to cup your whole cheek with how large his palm is, and as you feel his warm and gentle fingers on your skin, you close your eyes and lean into the same kind of touch that had made you explore yourself in bed last night. He smiles as you melt a little, “Very good, that’s it.”

Your eyes shoot open again as he praises you so effortlessly, a warmth spreading through your lower body at hearing words you have never heard from any man before. A tiny drop of need pools in your belly, making you bold enough to make a request, “Will you kiss me like yesterday? Perhaps then I might relax more.”

Marcus nods. You move to remove the crown of flowers that secures the veil covering your hair. You place it on one of the many marble surfaces in the room, handling it with the care that comes from your superstition as to what would happen if you were to tear it. You do the same with the veil, draping it across a chair while Marcus waits patiently. No tears fall from your eyes anymore.

You signal to him that you are ready and you don’t flinch as he leans close, the tip of his thumb resting underneath your chin while the rest of his hand is spread across your face. He pokes his nose into your cheek, pecking you there with featherlight touches of his lips before gently going inward to capture your mouth. 

The kiss is even better than yesterday. It makes you release the fabric of your dress in an instant, your arms coming up instinctively to wrap around your husband’s shoulders. You kiss him back with a desire that must have been asleep in your body because it wakes up as fiercely as linen catching fire. 

“What do I do?” You pant when he gives you a moment to breathe, your faces barely an inch apart. You might drown in his eyes. 

“You trust me,” he replies without hesitation and you can do nothing but nod slightly, so eager to follow orders that it terrifies you a little. You feel his strong hands bunch up the fabric of your tunic that’s draping over your hips as he captures your mouth once more, a soft moan leaving you as his tongue slips past your lips. 

He leads you towards the bed without pulling away. You can taste the honey and fruit from the dessert on his tongue, smell him when he forces you to breathe through your nose when his mouth does not leave yours. He smells faintly of scented oil that a servant probably recommended after a shave along his neck, of sweat and of himself, which you will fall asleep and wake up to for many days to come. He has you not worrying about yourself for even a second, not even when one of his hands reaches for the woven belt around your waist to undo it with utmost care. 

It sways in the air as it falls to the floor, lying forgotten for the maids to clean up tomorrow. He allows you a breath when he breaks the kiss but he takes the air from your lungs once more when his hands touch your shoulders. You feel lightheaded as he slips the tunic off of them, the soft fabric slipping down your arms and chest until it catches on your hips. You have never been this exposed to anyone before, the slightly cooler air outside of your clothes making your nipples harden and catch Marcus’ attention. He admires your bare chest without words at first but it makes you hesitate, knowing how effortlessly he had complimented your appearance when you had first met. However, when you reach up to cover yourself, he shakes his head. 

“You are radiant,” he praises and warmth goes to your face, eyes dropping to the floor at the idea that he might mean it wholly. You gain a shred of courage, pretending that you haven’t looked at the floor again by fixing your gaze on your skirt. You work the draping fabric over the swell of your hips, ripe for bearing children if that is what he should want, and let it pool around your feet. You have already had your blood this month, so you have no garments covering your sex. Suddenly, you are more exposed than you have ever even seen the depictions of Venus. Does he find you just as beautiful now that you are in nothing but the golden jewelry that your mother said he had sent?

Without word, your instincts guide you to sit down on the large bed and Marcus waits patiently while you crawl back on the linen sheets. You move your arms back to support yourself, bending your knees slightly but not daring to let your legs fall open like you know you probably should. You consider the pose of a siren, legs together like a tail and laying to one side to show off the curve of your body. 

“Seems like Venus has favored you. I shall wonder how your father has kept you in his house for so long,” Marcus finally breaks the silence but only to make you smile shyly, stirring up a little laughter and shortness of breath in your chest. Cupid seems to have hit you square in the chest with his golden-tipped arrow, filling you up with desire for your new husband when he says praise so effortlessly. 

“Are you going to join me now?” You ask, finding that nervousness is best fought by being direct. You gaze at his face to read him but you have no clue how these situations unfold, so you are unable to read his mind and foresee his next move. 

“You will not be ready,” he shakes his head. You narrow your eyes as you ponder what he means, watching him undo the knot of red fabric on his shoulder to slip off the top layer of his toga. He hangs it on the chair next to your matching veil. 

“Ready? But I am in your bed,” you let him know of your confusion. When he turns around to face you once more, you gasp at the sight of his sex, the length of it. He is visible through the toga now that the top layer isn’t covering him up anymore. His cock is outlined by it from the way he has gotten hard in response to seeing you naked, a thing you knew was going to happen but never could have imagined what looked like. 

“Come closer,” he says as he stands by the end of your bed. His tone has changed a little but you cannot confirm whether it has to do with him being aroused underneath the remnants of his clothes. It seems like a command now, so you follow through with a pounding heartbeat until your heels are pressing into the mattress right at the edge of the bed. 

“What did you mean?” You ask. 

“When you are alone,” he begins but the tone of his voice is still to the gentler side, his hand reaching out and hovering above your knee. He makes you gasp as he grabs it, carefully pulling it outwards until the most private part of your body exposes itself to him. His eyes only look down briefly, “Do you touch yourself here? Between your legs?” 

You glance away quickly as your heart leaps into your throat. The images of last night flood through your mind and you feel embarrassed, so you shake your head in response, “No, of course not.”

“I don’t believe your words for a second, Carissima,” he chuckles, his dominant hand going up your thigh until he removes it altogether to catch your wrist. He moves your hand to rest between your thighs, “Show me what you do.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you have been holding, feeling the warmth of your cunt against your fingers and how it aches for you to caress the spots you like the most. Your pulse is everywhere now but mostly centered around your clit, the pearl-shaped nub that you have explored just the night before. 

“I don’t do it long,” you babble nervously as you start to touch gently between your legs, two fingers rubbing in gentle circles over your clit. It makes you gasp a little, the sensations in your lower body heightened by being in another person’s proximity as you touch yourself, “I always stop right before… before something happens.”

“There’s no need to stop. Something beautiful happens when you keep going and get to that pinnacle,” Marcus teaches you with a kind expression, moving his hand to push your other leg out to the side. You are opened up to him like a lotus flower but he still doesn’t seem like he will move on top of you yet, crush you with his weight, and fall asleep afterward with horrible snoring that your sisters have joked about. 

You start to feel familiar wetness increase between your legs, your fingers gliding over your cunt easier and making you speed up your touches as the pressure increases. Marcus sees it from the way your slit glistens in the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. He encourages you, his cock even more prominent underneath his clothes, “If you have touched between your thighs, you will know of what I speak. I see it now, the signs of your body welcoming intrusion by making itself warm and wet for me. It will feel like you are missing something… I assure you that I will give it.”

You furrow your brow at those words while you stroke yourself and feel a flutter of pleasure intense enough to make you moan, Marcus’ eyes dropping to his own lap where his length twitches. He readjusts himself with a soft groan and then something clicks. You do feel exactly like he said, perplexed by why you have not noticed the gaping emptiness all the other times you have done this. 

Experimentally, you reach lower to prod a finger at your entrance and you groan at the way it slips effortlessly inside yourself. You aren’t sure what to do next, letting the finger stay still inside of you as you get used to the unusual pressure, but the heel of your hand starts grinding down onto your clit in earnest. 

Marcus steps a little closer at the temptation you bring him with your growing pleasure. He squeezes your thigh and you nearly laugh in surprise when you can feel your walls squeezing your finger, “Will I not hurt you if I… grip you with my…”

You cannot say any of the words you know. Cunt, heat, sex. It somehow feels more exposing, more intimate in a way than the physical gestures you are performing for him. You hear him laugh but his eyes are not cheerful when you find them, instead, they’re dark with lust and you squeeze your digit again. 

“On the contrary,” he touches himself on top of his toga, his stomach rising and falling faster than just a moment ago when he didn’t have a hand on himself, “It’ll feel like I was made for nothing else.”

There’s the familiar gathering inside of your belly. Sweat prickles at your skin, pleasure steadily blossoming from inside of you as you reach a point of no return. This would be where you would stop back home, leaving you sensitive and emotional as you forced sleep onto yourself. This time, you chase the feelings that terrify you.

You feel like the most fragile person ever; like you are made of clay that might shatter at any moment. You clutch at the sheets with your free hand, Marcus’ eyes sure to make you succumb to how brittle you are as he watches intensely. You bite your bottom lip, a small whimper escaping you as you teeter on what you have always shied away from. 

“Don’t stop,” he urges when you hesitate for less than a second. His breathing is ragged now, synchronized with your own as you suddenly realize that you are doing the same thing. He seems better at controlling it than you, “Let it come, so we can enjoy each other.” 

You cannot breathe, snapping for air as you press a little harder on your hard clit. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but then you’ll miss the look on Marcus’ face as he sees you come undone, so you power through and, and… and—

A cry of surprise and pleasure leaps from your chest as you find release. You lift your hips to meet your hand, your index finger slipping out of you as you instinctively know to focus on your pulsing clit. It is like nothing you have ever felt before, going on for several maddening seconds where you don’t know whether to chase more or stop when you can do nothing but tremble from the sensation. 

The linen on the bed is wet underneath you and a cockiness within you tells you that you could handle him tenfold if you wanted. You are disoriented by the heat ebbing out of your body, leaving you in a state of daze and a mix of emotions that you cannot fathom has nothing to do with the wine during the feast. You let your hand rest on your stomach, feeling your panting underneath it and suppressing a giggle that bubbles up all the way from your belly. 

“Will it be like that every time?” You ask and stretch your legs to let your feet hang out over the edge. 

“It can be,” he replies with slight amusement, hiding a lopsided grin. He is standing with his knees brushing against the bed, having itched to get as close as possible without overwhelming you and perhaps scaring you off. He lets your foot brush his toga, “However it might get better with time and practice.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, not sure if you believe that there’s something even better awaiting you somewhere in your future. You stare down between his legs where he must be aching like you’ve been several times in the past. You are already aware that you are wrong in the assumptions you have about pleasure because you’ve learned so much in less than ten minutes. How will it feel when he gives it to you?

“Can I touch you?” You boldly ask and slowly find the confidence to sit up, feet planted on the floor. You are so close to his lap, “When you are undressed?”

“You can,” he nods, not able to hide the surprise on his face as you look curious above all else. He undoes the belt around his waist and lets it clatter to the floor, and you watch with nervous breath how he lets his own garments slip from his body until the whole of him is revealed. It is fascinating to see a man like this, much different from the statues around Rome and particularly where you sometimes have felt scared to look. 

He steps between your knees, looking down at you and the height difference should be intimidating but is not. Instead, there’s the calming reassurance of being watched and guided as you lift your hand to rest your palm on the softness of his stomach. He has muscles there, just a little less toned than what the working men back at the village sport. His arms are what hold his tremendous strength, the effects of carrying a sword or spear on the battlefield. He is gorgeous, you think to yourself while curiosity and unexpected heat stir in your loins. 

Your eyes wander while your palm skims lower. They follow the sculpt of his torso, a long scar weaving itself around his hip distracting you until your gaze settles on the sight of his erect cock. It is much larger than you expected - thick, long, and intimidating but somehow also beautiful - and the thought of it entering you brings new anxiety to your body and mind. 

“You are nervous,” he points out, chest rising and falling slowly as you explore the fine hair on his skin which becomes thicker the further down on his abdomen they are. You run your nails through the trail just below his navel, looking up as his cock jumps at the contact. 

“I try not to be. I’d rather be curious,” you tell him, finally bold enough to touch him where he is hard and straining. You wrap your fingers around his generous girth. He is warm in your hand as you stroke him lightly to simply feel the weight of him and it takes little else before he lets out a low, appreciative groan. The confidence his response gives you makes your mouth water but despite what your brain tells you to do, that seems over the line right now. 

Instead, you look up at him with big eyes as you continue in a rhythm that he seems to like because you can hear the catch of his breath. You think he might stop you when he covers your hand with his own but instead, he adds slight pressure to guide you in how he likes to be touched. 

You hadn’t thought this was how everything would go down. There’s a strange form of equality between the two of you when you are naked together, a comfortable feeling in your chest at the idea of a whole night of giving and taking pleasure from each other being before you. What you had gathered from what Cassius so disgustingly had tried to explain to you whenever you were by the river alone, it was supposed to be a cruel act for the woman. This is not cruel. 

Eventually, Marcus’ breathing has become labored and you know that he is within reach of his own pleasure. However, he tightens his grip on your hand to slow down your movements much to your confusion. 

“You’re a quick learner, almost too quick,” he says with a warm chuckle, removing your hand from his cock. There’s a bead of clear liquid at the tip, threatening to drip down onto your thigh. The room somehow smells sweeter when the both of you have been so close to experiencing a peak together. 

“Why did you stop me?” You ask curiously and let your hand drop to your lap. You can still feel his warmth radiating from his heated skin, it glowing with a sheen of sweat already. 

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” he explains with a few controlled breaths that seem to calm him. His jaw clenches as if he is in pain but he doesn’t sound like you have done anything wrong, “And it will be if I lose myself.” 

“Am I… are we ready now?” You question once more. 

“Lie back,” he orders with a nod. You do as you are told and he joins you on the bed with confident grace, as if he has done this a million times before, the mattress dipping underneath him. Gently, he pushes on your chest to make you lie down on your back. When you are comfortable, he lies down next to you with his body turned towards you. 

You see him come closer and meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a kiss even deeper than the first you’ve shared with him. He makes a noise of approval at your eagerness, cupping your face with a single giant hand while you cup the back of his head with both of your own. You try to initiate more kisses but suddenly his lips descend to your throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pecks along the sensitive skin of your collarbone too. You start to feel impatient for another high with him, another peak of pleasure to dance its way through your veins. 

“Marcus,” you say with your fingers in his hair, “I’m ready.”

“Let me make sure,” he says while the hand on your face settles on your thigh instead. He rakes his fingernails across your skin when he goes inwards, causing you to gasp at the idea of what he means. Are you wet for him? Yes, you are. You know you are. 

Two fingers slide between your legs. He parts your thighs slightly to gain more access and then simply feels the slick that has been dripping from your cunt since you kissed him fully clothed. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of being touched by a man in a place that you’ve been told is your most private. In return, a smile spreads across his face and a satisfied hum escapes him. 

“You’re ready,” he whispers with his gaze fixed on you. Teasingly, he holds his fingers up before you and turns his wrist so you can see your wetness shine in the light. He then puts his digits in his mouth and licks them clean, to which you want to hide your face with a squeak. He describes you as ripe and sweet, juicy like the peaches in the Summer, all the while he shifts his weight and positions himself between your thighs. 

Feeling him like this - the skin of his rough thighs, the coarse hairs that feel nothing like yours as they grace your softness - makes a fresh wave of nerves wash over you. It feels like there’s suddenly a very short time to prepare for what you have come to understand will be a transformative experience. You start to tremble, looking down between Marcus’ legs and wondering how on Earth you are supposed to allow him into your body. Above you, you hear him say your name but it sounds like you’ve been trapped inside a bell jar. 

“We will go slow,” he promises when you look like a hunted doe. He has placed his hands on your thighs to soothe you, letting his calloused palms skim up and down your skin, but you tense up even more since he has barely touched you before. You swallow as he goes on, “You will guide me with your comfort. If anything hurts, I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”

“You will stop if I tell you to?” You ask with uncertainty. A part of you already knows that you will try to power through no matter the pain. 

“Yes,” he promises and removes his hand again when he realizes its effect on you. He places it on your chest instead, feeling your unsteady breaths underneath it, “But I need you to relax, Carissima. Take a deep breath and tell me what you fear.”

You do as he says, heaving for a large mouthful of air that makes your heartbeat settle down slightly as it fills your lungs. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze as you talk about lying with him in such explicit terms. You chew your bottom lip after a few breaths, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Marcus laughs and you feel embarrassed. He shakes his head as he notices, leaning over you to hover just above your lips. You hold onto the arm on your chest as he reassures you, “It’ll fit, I promise on the Gods. Your body and mine were made for this; for the act of making beautiful children.”

You decide to be brave and kiss him now that he is so close, and slowly, as you taste his mouth again, you tangle together in a way that makes sense for what you are about to do. Marcus is close enough to map out every detail of your face, one hand on your hip and the other resting just above your head. You, on the other hand, have grabbed both his bare shoulders, holding onto him tight enough for your fingertips to dent his skin. He has promised that it will be okay if you scratch him with your nails, that he, if he is completely honest, likes that sort of thing. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” you say with determination, feeling the way Marcus lets go of your hip to run his fingers through your folds again. You moan softly as he lets his hand gather wetness, your eyes going down to watch him take his cock in hand and smear it with slick. 

“Don’t look down there, look at me,” he guides you gently as he prods against your slit. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, a gaze in them that holds a mix of desire and restraint. He takes a deep breath that is followed by him starting to push forward, the feeling so intense that you whimper while keeping eye contact. 

“Shh,” he soothes during the initial sensation. There's a painful sting as the head stretches your walls that have never known such intrusion. It makes you breathe rapidly and shudder from discomfort until a cry leaves you when you are breached. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as it burns. It’s a feeling that you can’t describe, a fullness that feels unnatural and natural at the same time. He pushes beyond the thick head and it makes you tighten around him, so much he has to still completely. He looks angry but he isn’t, his teeth gritted as he continues to push despite the danger of finishing, “You’re tight around me, try to relax.”

“S-sorry,” you attempt to follow his instruction, try focusing on the exciting intensity of his gaze, the delicious way he looks at you because he wants you. His weight on you is so heavenly, his skin is warm against yours that is riddled with goosebumps despite not being cold, and the sound of his breathing reminds you of the way your own breath is rapid when you pleasure yourself. 

Yet when you seem to think that the worst is over, he goes a little faster with feeding you his cock and the pain intensifies by blooming into something more sharp. The air inside your lungs feels trapped as your breath hitches but you force it out until it releases into a pained cry. Mostly, you just want to stop but you’re reminded that this has to happen if the marriage is to be successful and legitimate. So instead, you clutch at Marcus’ shoulders and whine. 

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours and stilling his hips. You nod at first but then shake your head quickly afterward, unable to speak in case you’ll sob. He doesn’t seem convinced, “I’ll try moving. I won’t go further in before you can handle it.”

You nod in approval, your heart beating so fast it is making your mind feel clouded. He begins to move with gentle, shallow thrusts of his hips, his eyes glued to you in search of anything that might tell him that it’s too much. The first few moments have you thinking that you might split in half but you find that the repeated fill of your cunt makes everything turn into a dull ache as you get used to it. Your noises are pained yet soft, soon switching to quiet moaning as he moves inside of you. 

“Doing so well,” he praises as you welcome him further without thinking. A sensation that you had thought would only be painful has kickstarted a different kind of feeling. It’s a warmth that spreads through your lower body, pleasure that mixes in with the rest in an almost insistent way. Marcus makes a noise that makes you clench around his cock, and he finds your mouth in a messy kiss, “I’m almost all the way in. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good?” 

You nod repeatedly as you feel connected to him in a way that you never thought you would with another person. He is so deep inside of you and the discomfort that you thought would persist is fading away fast, leaving only a tug of pleasure that tightens more and more. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut as you moan a little louder for the first time. 

Without control of your body, your hips rise up to meet his and he fucks you a little harder. The friction is significantly more intense than what you have felt alone, but you can feel its effects mixing with your previous orgasm’s warmth. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your shared breaths and the scent of sex. 

Marcus’ hand settles on your hip, his incredible strength hauling your leg over his own hip so he can switch up the angle. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches down and pushes hard down on the back of your thigh to open you up even further to him. He stretches so his upper body towers over you and rolls his hips with controlled desire, mouth hanging open a little in his breathless state as he concentrates on making the pain disappear completely. 

It does a moment later. An involuntary moan leaves you when the head of his cock slides over a spot that seems different from every other place inside of you. Your eyes fly open after having been squeezed shut for so many seconds, fireworks going off in your peripheral vision. Your gaze moves down between your bodies to see a faint trace of red on his cock, setting your heartbeat into overdrive. You should be shoving him off now that you are bleeding but what the hell felt so good? He hits the same spot once again to make you cry out and crane your neck. 

“You like that? Was that all I had to do?” He asks with a satisfied smirk, breathing raggedly on top of you as he treats you to even more of the same pleasure. You want to come again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts more insistently if it means him giving you pleasure like that over and over again without fail. As your pleasure starts building into another peak, a shocked laugh leaves you. 

“How do you… How did you—?“ You start. 

“I knew where I wanted to reach. Feel that? That spot is made for feeling good,” he explains with a voice rough with his own pleasure before you manage to finish your inexperienced question, “I wanna hit that over and over, fill you up so you can feel it there for days when I’m done.” 

“Don’t stop,” you groan. 

“I’m not going to,” he promises but instincts tell you to make sure, that if he even falters a little, you’ll feel the frustration of no release like you have since you discovered what is between your legs. You tighten your thighs around his hips, locking your ankles around the small of his back and the move makes Marcus growl. 

He, who you are ready to call a master in the art of love, leans down over you and drives into you like a wild animal. You whimper but it isn’t of pain, the familiar feeling of ecstasy building rapidly between your legs again. He feels huge inside of you, the whole length of him throbbing against your overstretched walls. 

And he kisses you, seemingly not in control of himself anymore when he feels the same pressure in his lower abdomen. It is messy and sweet and rough at the same time, your hands cupping his face until they automatically slide up into his hair. You can feel his chest rub against your breasts, your nipples more sensitive than they ever have been and you moan as a fact runs through your head. No man has ever been this close to you before. Only the sun’s rays or the clouds’ rain has been this close to you.

You come once more with this thought in your mind, the intense and warm feeling hitting you as suddenly as the snapping of a dry twig found in the sun. You arch your back with a groan, feeling it even deeper inside of you than before because it seems to be the spot inside of you that has triggered it. 

“Oh! Oh Gods,” you moan into the air, Marcus’ lips having descended to your now-exposed neck and kissing with the same fervor as he had your mouth. His own noises have grown in volume, his cock seeming to respond to how your heat clenches around it. You have tears coming down your face without knowing why; you aren’t upset but rather quite the opposite. Everything below your navel is sensitive, slick, and used up. 

You feel it as he goes rigid as you have just done, a rough growl leaving him as he has his own orgasm. However, you instantly realize that Cassius forgot to mention something in his horrible renditions of love-making; the sticky, warm waves that come along with a man’s ultimate pleasure. You gasp in shock, looking down between the two of you as Marcus fills you up with his seed.

You cling to him, your hands grabbing at whatever they can while you whimper, and you stare at the milky white ring that forms around his length. He keeps going for a few thrusts more, and the noises coming from your connected bodies are on the verge of making you embarrassed. It’s squeaky and wet, but it’s not making you want to pull away. Instead, it makes you reach up to cup Marcus’ face so you drag his lips to your mouth and kiss him, the sensation of his seed inside of you making you feel more connected than ever.

You kiss for a moment before your husband buries his face in your neck. He leaves you empty when he softens, eliciting a weak gasp from you when you become aware of the sticky wetness smearing your inner thighs. Marcus pants against your already burning skin and chuckles without any particular reason. You are in awe of what has just happened, seeming to somehow know that this was the completion of the act. 

This act, once so unfamiliar and feared, now feels like a revelation to you. The new dimension of pleasure, so uniquely intense and intimate, makes you wonder how anyone gets anything done when they can do this all the time. You are sticky with sweat, dizzy with tears and pleasure, and by the Gods, you want to do it again and again with him. He will not leave this bed until you get tired of feeling this way between your legs. You think of commanding him this but you are already aware that it is an impossibility. He would probably laugh at you but given the way he lifts his head and looks at you now, he might also follow through on your order by sinking back into the mess between your legs.

You miss his weight on you when he rolls off, the both of you staring towards the ceiling. The room becomes very quiet in the aftermath, torches and candlelight flickering around you. You have a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat to no avail and breathing rapidly to catch your breath. Your whole body buzzes, feeling like it is aglow and warm, and you dare sometimes look at your husband out of the corner of your eye. He looks the same but less surprised by the state he is in, clearly experienced and you find it all enticing when everything inside you has shifted.

You let your back and legs relax fully into the bed. Marcus watches as you stretch your body, and there is some kind of tension between you that you cannot put into words. You know it stems from the silence that is also between you, an unspoken game of who breaks it first, and when you dare peek at him, you find him staring right back at you. Your heart rate spikes once more but Marcus holds your gaze in a way that makes you unable to look away. 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat. You see him look at you with a softness that reflects how vulnerable you must look right now. He reaches out to take your hand, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “You are not in pain?”

“No. I– I’m fine,” you shake your head. You say the words and realize that they are true even despite your uncertainty at first. For now, your body feels afloat but you have a gnawing feeling that it won’t last. A thought enters your mind, “What do we do now? I mean, what does one do after being together like this?”

“Well, given our roles and the expectations placed upon our union, there’s a thing that I would like to do. I’d like to help you arrange yourself comfortably if you’ll allow me,” he gently releases your hand and shifts to sit upright beside you. 

You give him a puzzled look, not sure what he is talking about but you nod. It’s natural to trust him, you find, and his proposition intrigues you, “Yes, of course.”

Marcus reaches for the pillow against the headboard on his side of the bed. He fluffs it with care before patting your thigh, causing you to follow your instincts and automatically lift your pelvis towards the ceiling. When you have given him the room for it, he slips the soft pillow underneath your hips to elevate them, resulting in them laying comfortably at a gentle angle. 

Afterwards, he lies back down beside you but this time with his body facing yours. You try to smile at him but there’s embarrassment in your chest as the intention behind his act becomes clear. However, even as he senses your vulnerability, your new husband simply reaches for your hand again to kiss your knuckles. It is soft and intimate, it is kind reassurance in your time of transition. 

A moment after, he guides you to rest your palm just below your navel and places his own on top of it, caressing where new life may spring after tonight if Goddess Juno has the both of you in her favor.

"The pillow will help," he says quietly as he gently feels the soft skin on your stomach, the skin made to carry a child, "To ensure that our union bears fruit. Our alliance is only strong if I put a baby in your belly."

The words remind you of how your partnership is a part of something much bigger than yourselves, something to do with your father’s power and greed that you aren’t sure if Marcus feels too. Yet despite the impersonal nature of your union, the General’s tone is gentle and speaks of more than just mere duty. 

“And while we wait? What then?” You question, daring to entwine your fingers and feeling your chest flutter when he doesn’t protest. 

“We may rest…” He suggests with a smile, “Or, if you prefer, we may talk. It is different in every marriage.” 

There’s something about the way he words it that makes you feel more secure in your situation, that even if this is new territory, he is giving you permission to join in on shaping your relationship. 

You nod, “I think I would like to talk.”

“Then talk we shall,” he agrees without question, “Tell me something about yourself.”

You let go of his hand to place both palms on your stomach, looking to the ceiling as you reminisce about the life you have left behind back home. You tell him about the river all over again, about the sparkles the sun leaves on the surface of it, so beautiful it makes it seem like you can pick them with your bare hands. You tell him about wine and bread from the market, about a secret orange tree that you think only you and your sisters know of, and then you tell him about your sisters who all married for love. 

The latter makes Marcus shift slightly. A fleeting expression crosses his face before he gently clears his throat and gives you a small, hesitant smile to reassure you, “Do you think you’ll be happy here?” 

You take a moment to mull it over. You don’t want to lie to him but he looks so hopeful and sad at the same time, “I suppose that there’s always going to be a part of me that is going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own path and married someone I was deeply in love with, but I hope I will find happiness here. Perhaps it would have been you anyway, you never know. I would be as lucky as my sisters then.”

You say the last sentence with a twinkle in your eye, a soft and playful smile on your face, and Marcus looks almost shy, the importance and duty that he usually carries crumbling. You take the opportunity to see further under the surface, “And what about you? Do you have family that you are close to? I couldn’t help but notice that there were no formal introductions at the festivities.”

He hesitates briefly before answering, “My parents passed when I was merely a child. Thus the military became my family in many ways. I’ve always admired their dedication to each other. The responsibilities for the men I command seem like the next closest thing.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” you say sincerely, touching his wrist gently, “I suppose it explains your dedication.”

He looks modest as he smiles, “I suppose it does.”

There’s a comfortable silence in the large chamber. Marcus looks down at your hand, opening his palm to invite you to place your own in it. You take his hand without hesitation and it feels natural, a thing so calming and warm, which invites you to venture further into his world. 

“May I ask you something?” You ask. 

“Of course,” he replies.

“Our conversation was interrupted earlier by one of your men, and I wanted to ask what was whispered in your ear. I hope I am not intruding—“ You tiptoe into the conversation, hoping your curiosity doesn’t come off too strong. 

He interrupts you, waving a hand dismissively, “We are husband and wife. I support the idea that we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Yes. Yes, I quite agree with that,” you say with relief in your voice, “So you’ll tell me?”

“There was some unrest in the city today. The man was one of my men telling me that there’d been an incident - a confrontation - in one of the town squares. It led to the death of two of my soldiers.”

You gasp, “Gods! That’s terrible!” 

“The loss is shameful and upsetting, yes, but the people are hungry,” he explains simply, “Even the smallest of disputes can escalate when tensions are high. When one feels unheard by leaders, one can be driven to acts one might never have considered before.”

“But surely Rome’s subjects know better than to challenge Roman authorities?” You note with your brows furrowed, suddenly finding yourself speaking words that you have heard too many times around the dinner table at your childhood home, "A firm hand might be necessary to keep the peace. If the people are allowed this kind of behavior towards the empire - and thus the emperors - they might sometimes need to be reminded of their place."

There’s a shift so small that you could almost miss it in Marcus’ expression but disappointment clouds his eyes. You notice it because he follows it by subtly slipping his hand out of yours. He measures you with his gaze for a moment, “You don’t truly believe that instilling fear with unyielding force is the right way to rule?”

You sense his disapproval and feel embarrassed flood your system. With warm cheeks, you sit up and stutter a reply, "I... I suppose that's what I've been taught. My father always says that strength and control keep the empire strong and unwavering."

“And if I ask you to look past your upbringing?” He says it casually but there’s a command in his voice. Suddenly, the security you had felt moments ago is washed away by the feeling of being a mere little girl.

You look down at your hands, not able to keep eye contact despite how close you have just been, "I didn't mean to offend. I don’t— I don’t think I have ever taken the time to consider other perspectives. My father has given little room for such discussion."

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, “And does he seek influence in Rome’s leadership?”

"Yes," you reply hesitantly, still yet unaware of the implications of your words, "He hopes that our marriage might help him gain favor, perhaps even become an advisor to the emperors."

“It seems like your father was unaware of the fact that I served under Maximus Decimus Meridius, a man who believed in ruling with honor instead of fear. He would have done himself a favor by seeking alliances elsewhere if he aligns himself with ruling through oppression. Perhaps he should have married you off to the emperors themselves,” he says firmly, jaw tight and words filled with frustration, tingeing on angry. They come out a lot more venomous than you think are his intentions yet they sting nonetheless and you have to bite your lip to keep tears at bay. 

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I was just repeating what I have always heard,” you stammer, swallowing around a lump in your throat. The vulnerability of your situation suddenly crashes over you like a wave trying to drown you, making you choke on a sob as his hard gaze scrutinizes you. You are young, barely out of childhood, and thrust into the role of a wife. You have never been expected to relay your views to anyone let alone a commanding general of the highest order in Rome. 

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills up the growing distance between you. You try to shift away on the bed but there’s a sudden ache between your legs from the previous activities of your wedding night. It’s shameful to look back at him but you have no one else to turn to right now. A tear escapes your eye but you find the courage to say what you need to say even if it is with a dizzying heartbeat, “My whole life, I have been taught to be obedient, to serve along with my sisters. My mother even. I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Marcus suddenly mirrors your expression of shame, evidently grappling with his own emotions behind his eyes. He gently lifts his hand to catch the tear running down your face until it threatens to drip down from your chin. 

“Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice at you,” he says sincerely. He cups your cheek with a softening demeanor and you allow him, needing the affection and this is where you can receive it, “I know you have your concerns but I hope you can entertain the idea that this union might not just be a different cage.”

You nod, leaning your cheek into his gentle touch and earning a smile. There’s a promise beneath his words and despite everything, you allow yourself to feel hopeful. This man is not your father, actually far from it, and he is offering you something you are not used to; partnership and respect. 

Instead of answering him, you chew on your bottom lip and try to find the same courage that made him apologize so you can address the ache in your lower body. The pillow under your legs is all askew. You try to busy yourself by straightening it, “It has started to hurt where you…— Is that normal?”

"It can be," he says gently, and the hand on your cheek goes to skim over your bare thigh in an attempt to soothe,  "Your body needs time to adjust and recover.”

You pout as you automatically lie down again. You look like a child not getting their way, “Time to recover? Does this mean we can’t do it again?” 

Marcus’ expression flashes with amusement at your eagerness. He raises a brow, “Eager, aren't we? I admire your enthusiasm, but it's important that you give yourself time to heal. Rest might help.”

“Surely there's something else we can do?” You only just abstain from pleading him, tilting your head.

“This, my dear wife, was your husband's subtle way of saying goodnight,” Marcus chuckles quietly and you find that all tension has slipped from the room once more. He dips down to kiss your forehead, the tip of his nose skimming down the length of yours. He stares into your eyes, only an inch from you, “Say it.”

You smile and kiss him softly, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Goodnight, Carissima,” he whispers.You go to sleep next to your general, the man who is slowly becoming the commander of your heartbeat, unaware that your conversation has changed the course of your father’s future gains from your powerful marriage.

.

.

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[sukitruqui]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter II

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm so sorry for the very long wait. I ended up separating the chapter into two parts because it ended up being 13k. Hope you can forgive me!

Chapter Summary: In which you get married to the General. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night

Word count: 5k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/151335016#workskin

Chapter II: A wonderful day for a wedding

Due to the warm night, it doesn’t surprise you when dawn brings the most beautiful sunrise all year. The landscape outside is bathed in gold and when you gently guide a lost bee out of your bedroom window, you feel the warmth of the sunshine prickle your skin.

You have a great deal to do before the carriage ride to the Acacius estate, so you hurry through breakfast - bread and cheese with herbs - to make sure there are enough hours in the morning for your bath, your grooming, and your dress preparations. 

You gently wash off the sweat and sleep from last night by rubbing slow circles down your arms, legs, and chest with a piece of soaked cloth. The excitement pools in your belly as you focus on the dream wedding belonging to the little girl in your heart happening today. The fact that it is arranged by your parents doesn’t diminish the fact that your tunic is beautiful and the festivities will be worthy of the Gods. You have no tears and concerns for Cassius left, you say to yourself, or at least, you’re not allowing yourself to have any left. 

“A perfect day for a wedding,” your mother says as she brings you more water for your bath instead of the maids, pouring the freshly hot water into the tub by your feet. Afterward, she moves to sit on a chair behind you to wash your hair. 

“Mother,” you say while she tilts your head forward, pouring water over the back of your neck, “I want jasmine flowers in the wedding crown, can we please have a maid pick some from the garden? Marcus— I mean, General Acacius will be impressed if I remember our conversation from yesterday.” 

The warm water feels soothing as it cascades down your shoulders, even more soothing is your mother’s fingers detangling your hair with practiced care. You spot her in the full-body mirror along the wall, her face sporting an affectionate smile, “Jasmine is his favorite? The General told you this? He must like you, my daughter.” 

“Mother, we barely know each other,” you let out a little laugh and turn your head back to look up at her. She grins down at you, smoothing her palm over your wet hair to squeeze out some excess water.

“Yet you already care what he thinks,” she points out with a slight hint of teasing. You splash a few drops of water in her direction and she acts outraged in only the way a mother can. The both of you laugh, the bubbling feeling warm in your chest until you also feel melancholic. The feeling that you should have had last night comes creeping up on you now.

“I’m gonna miss you and father,” you say softly and she wraps her arms around you from behind, not caring about getting her clothes wet if it means squeezing you enough to make you feel how much she loves you.

“I’ve been through this two times already. You know we still see both of your sisters. I am not sending you off to another country,” she soothes, rocking you from side to side and pecking the top of your head. You reach up to hold her wrist. 

“I know this but I’m the last bird leaving the nest,” you reply with eye contact in the mirror, corners of your mouth turning downward. You sigh quietly. 

“And father and I will finally be able to have some peace around here,” she tries to make you laugh again. When it doesn’t happen, the tone of her voice changes into something more serious, “I know everything feels safe and familiar here but you will grow to love your new life. Change is good.”

“I still feel like a child,” you lean back into her and stare down at the water that is growing colder, “You should have seen me trying to have a conversation with him yesterday. He is much older and more experienced than I am. I made a fool of myself not just once.”

“Listen to me, dearest,” she releases you from the confines of her arms and lifts your head to find your gaze in the mirror again, “I know that this is not a matter of love. I understand, my dear. This union is a great responsibility, but it can also be an even greater source of joy and strength for you. Your father and I have always wanted what’s best for you, even in situations where it might seem like it is only to our own advantage. Yet think about the possibilities this match will bring you; you will be the wife of a general. You can do anything.”

You nod with an understanding that is still marked by sorrow for the life you will leave behind, the dream of true love delivered by Cupid himself that will not be fulfilled now, “Yes, Mother.”

“And I will say this with confidence,” she continues, now with a gleam of pride in her eyes, “You are not a child, in fact, you have grown into a remarkable young woman. One that you can be very proud of. I know I am.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and eventually, you cannot hold back the breath of air that you have been holding. Your eyes are watery, your mouth grinning with teeth from being reassured so affectionately by your mother. You suppose that you can get through this day with those words playing on your mind, “You had that rehearsed, did you not?”

“Not at all, came straight from the heart,” she giggles and gets up from her seat. She walks to stand at your side, offering you her hand, “Now, let’s get you out of the tub and make you more beautiful than even Goddess Venus herself. Today is a celebration of everything you’ve become and everything you will achieve with your husband. However, remember that General Acacius is even more fortunate to have you and your heart by his side.”

“Thank you, Mother,” you say as she helps you to your feet, holding you steady as you step over the edge of the bathtub. 

She wraps a linen cloth around you, “I’ll send for the flowers right away. The tailor has already been with your tunic this morning, I’ve had the maids hang it in your room.” 

“Perfect,” you smile. You leave the bathroom while another ancilla - a maid - empties the tub, hangs the linen towel to dry, and mops excess water from the floor. 

As you make your way back to your bedroom, you notice your home is abuzz with servants doing all sorts of tasks to ensure a perfect day. They pass you with kind smiles and congratulations, carrying wine in jugs and baskets of fruit and vegetables, freshly baked bread, and flowers for decorating. 

You think back to Marcus’ beautiful garden, wondering how it is taking shape to be the venue for your union. The red roses are sure to compliment your red veil, the marble the golden embroidery on your tunic too. 

But then, as you enter your room, you think about Cassius’ words from last night. In less than a day, you will belong to one of the most powerful families in all of the empire and despite this, it sounded like it did not ensure you the safety that your father had foreseen with this match. Quite the contrary, it seems like you are getting into something that’ll wash the pink and fluffy clouds away. 

However, the concerned thoughts last only a moment as your gaze falls on the beautiful tunic hanging on the wall, just out of the sun’s rays. You smile and sigh, brushing the woven fabric delicately with your hand. It is long and white, embroidered with squared patterns along the shoulder seams and down the short sleeves. You know that Marcus’ own attire will have the same stitching and color, signaling that the two of you are weaved together from now on. 

The veil hangs beside it and is as red as the fires that you have seen built for sacrifices to the Gods. Your mother has taught you enough during wedding preparations for you to know exactly what it is supposed to symbolize; you will be given to General Acacius today and you will belong to him in the same manner as the many gifts that have been given to the many Roman deities, like the coin you tossed in the fountain for Fortuna. 

After taking the tunic off the hook on the wall, you let the linen around your body fall to the floor and slip your wedding attire on. You sit down on the chair by your vanity and gaze at your reflection in the mirror, staring at the woman you have become in such a short time.

You adjust the neckline of the garment, smoothing out any crease that makes you seem less than perfect and then you grab your hairbrush to start detangling your hair. After having brushed your hair for a while and getting lost in the mindless task, a knock on your door distracts your thoughts. 

You quickly get up to hurriedly step behind the room divider in the corner, not wanting to reveal your look before it has gotten its final touches or in case the person seeking entry is your father. 

“Come in,” you say when you are hidden from view. 

However, it is your mother again who carries the wedding crown, which has now gotten beautiful jasmine flowers weaved into it. From the sound of the different footsteps, you deduce that she is followed by two servant girls who have come to help you with the remaining details of your outfit.

“I brought Lupa and Nidia to help you,” she chirps, hands the wedding crown to Lupa with the utmost care, and then gently sits down on the chair by the vanity. She waits as the girls join you behind the screen, “Quickly now, we have to be ready to go in half an hour.”

Nidia has gotten the veil from its spot on the wall, now draping it over the top of your head while Lupa secures it with the flower crown. You can smell the jasmine, feel the soft fabric of the red veil brush your bare arms, and suddenly, the weight of today begins to bear down on your shoulders. You swallow thickly as you look at yourself in the full-body mirror. This summer has changed you since you got the news of your arranged union, and suddenly, as you look at yourself at this moment, you are surprised to see that a bride stares back at you. 

“You look perfect,” Nidia says softly as if sensing your nervousness. She holds your gaze in the mirror and smiles a little when Lupa joins in with a happy, agreeing nod, the both of them adjusting the veil to cascade down your back gracefully. 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully and relax a bit more. At least how you look is going to be talked about the most but then again, will this enhance your future husband’s desire? What will happen when he gets you alone in his chambers? You shake the thought, not used to the idea of being perceived in such a fashion even if you tasted the idea yesterday, “Okay, I think I am ready.”

As you step out from behind the divider, your mother radiates maternal pride and clasps her hands together, “Oh, by Venus, you are radiant! I don’t know what your father was doing with all his worry.”

You try not to overthink that statement and act casual, very much aware that you have not seen him today. Instead, you ask, “Where is father?” 

“He has gone back and forth between our home and the General’s many times today. I suppose that he wants everything to be perfect for you and make you happy,” she keeps her voice high-pitched and cheerful but you can feel your gut telling you that she isn’t completely convinced either. She may have been making jest of you being the last of her daughters to marry but you know that your father sees you as more of a chess piece - the final move out of three - than his blood.

In your wedding attire, sparkling as Lupa gets the box of jewelry and Nadia adorns you in gold, you think again of the way your father had handled the negotiations of your marriage; how little concern he had shown for your thoughts on the matter, and, possibly without intending to, made it clear that this isn’t about love or even your happiness. It is about influence, power, and ascension to something right under the Gods.

“He’s always wanted things to be perfect for us,” you say with a forced smile, though your mother doesn’t seem to notice the strain on your face, “Ever since we were little, it was always about making sure we made the right connections, the right alliances.”

Your mother looks up at you, not quite as oblivious as she tries to convince you of. Her smile softens, “It’s just his way, my dear. He wants the best for you, for all of us, and you like the General! I can tell.”

The best for him, perhaps. You dare ask a question that can only exist between women who understand that you live in a world ruled by men. “Mother, do you think he would have arranged this if General Acacius had been… cruel?”

The silence that follows is thick, and in that moment, you realize that the answer may not be one you want to hear. You stare at her, brows furrowed as you wait for her to say something, but in the end, she avoids your gaze completely. 

“It is time to leave,” she says instead and turns to Lupa and Nidia who have gone completely quiet, “My daughter needs escorting to the carriage. We cannot keep my husband waiting so close to the time of the ceremony.”

You swallow thickly but do not protest, a heavy feeling in your stomach as you are led out of your home, taking in the details of the surroundings that you grew up in for what feels like the last time.

—

Upon arrival at Marcus' estate, you are greeted by who you assume will be your new maid. Ismene is her name, a woman not much older than yourself but with rougher hands, the kind that have known hard labor. She wears a plain tunic and her hair tied back in a braid, curtsying as you step out of the carriage. 

You hear your mother tell Lupa and Nidia to stay back in case it’ll insult Ismene that you have brought maids from your home but Ismene just smiles, her eyes flicking up at you as she bows to catch a glimpse of who she will be serving from now on. 

“My lady,” she greets after stretching to her full height again, a twinkle in her gaze and a gut feeling telling you that she has no ill will towards you, “Everything is ready for you. The General has requested that you go to the gardens immediately where the ceremony will take place shortly.” 

She leads you and your mother through the mansion that is as beautiful as you remember it from yesterday. Except this time, seemingly overnight, the home has been decorated to be fit for festivities later. Your mother walks beside you, her expression calm, but you know her enough by now to sense the tension beneath the surface. She glances around the estate with careful eyes, not having been here before since your father refused it, and is perhaps judging the wealth and power of the man you are about to marry. Maybe, she may even be worrying for you.

You must screen your face from the sun in the gardens, but you still cannot help but notice the red roses and the ivy snaking their way around the columns that surround the spot chosen for the ceremony. Their colors are striking and beautiful against the white marble, eliciting a gasp of awe from your mother. What you also cannot help but notice is the return of the flutter of excitement that stirs in your belly, one that feels out of place among your adult worries. Everything is even more gorgeous than you had imagined in your childhood daydreams. 

“It’s beautiful, truly. The Gods have indeed favored us,” your mother praises in a whisper just as the three of you come to a halt. Ismene has stopped in her tracks just out of sight from the guests who are here to witness the marriage, and she is deliberately quiet to give you and your mother this last brief moment of privacy before everything changes. 

Your mother reaches out to gently touch your arm. In response, you turn to her and are met with her warm and reassuring smile. She cups your face and kisses your forehead. 

“Remember that father and I raised you to be strong,” she tells you with tears welling up in her eyes. You can feel your heart beating harshly against your chest as you recognize both fear and excitement on her face, and you suppose that there’s grief in her following this; her last child leaving home will be the end of her being needed. 

“Te amo in aeternum, Mamma (I love you forever, Mom),” you only just manage to say as your throat feels tight and you can hear footsteps approaching. 

You know it is your father by the commanding pace of the steps, the way the feet strike the earth with determination. He rounds the corner with a small smile on his lips as he sees you. 

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you and immediately holds his arm out for you to take. There’s urgency in his voice even if it is tender at the sight of you, “It is time.”

“Are you ready?” Your mother interrupts, earning a glance from her husband. His presence somehow looms larger after that question, as if he wants to scoff at the thought that you could ever say no. He shakes his arm with an impatient smile when you still have not taken his arm. Clearly, this is not a moment for lingering but a moment for you to fulfill your duty.

You swallow hard and then you turn to your father. With a nod, you place your arm through his, “I’m ready.”

“Then let us not keep the General waiting,” he smiles.

The wedding ceremony is swift and takes place underneath the blazing sun of Rome. Marcus Acacius stands at the altar, his tall and broad figure exuding strength and importance. You feel drawn to the way he looks as he watches you walk down the pathway between the guests, stoic and calm in an attire that matches yours. You feel reassured by him because of this strength, that if everything fails, he will catch you.

When you stop in front of him and your father nods in a way that feels transactional, you swear that you can see his eyes soften. The officiant drones on but you don’t hear a word, the thoughts of last night when you were alone in your bed flooding your mind and causing your heartbeat to drown out noise around you. You can still feel the warmth of your own touch between your legs and it’s so consuming of your attention that you suddenly hear someone clearing their throat. 

“We will now perform the joining of hands, dear,” the officiant repeats and you can see that Marcus is already holding out his palm for you to place your own in. Your face is hot, your cheeks prickling with embarrassment but you recover by not letting it faze you. Marcus smiles ever so gently when your hand takes his and a leather band is wrapped around them. You say your promise to him like you have practiced so many times in the mirror back in your room.

Where he is your Gaius, you will be Gaia. Mother nature. The first goddess. The one who made sense of chaos. 

“Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.”

–

In the early evening, the festivities begin with a banquet that makes the ones your father has hosted in the past pale in comparison. There’s people and food and people eating the food everywhere. Goblets get continuously filled by servants and bread with oil, butter, and cheese gets restocked as soon as it might look like serving platters are emptying out. However, it is not envy that you see on your parents’ faces as they take in the long table that abounds in the season’s most beautiful flowers laid out in rich displays of colors, or the most expensive foods that are replenished before anyone can take notice of their shortages, but rather pride in your mother’s eyes and some sort of distasteful greed in your father’s.

It makes you think of Cassius again, the idea of his stomach growling as he makes his way home from laboring in the fields surrounding your village. He would hate this, you think to yourself, the sight of the uppermost elite of society stuffing their faces but not for nourishment.

You look down at your hands when you start to feel bad for thinking of another man while sitting right next to your new husband. Yet Marcus doesn’t seem to notice the way your shoulders slump. He smiles warmly at each congratulations that he receives while you sit at the end of the same long table and you’re surprised to see that it comes off as genuine each time. He graciously lifts his goblet of wine as thanks, nodding to the faces of men his own age who approach with offerings and gifts. You’ve seen them steal glances at you when they think others haven’t noticed. 

You wonder if Marcus has, if he feels triumphant or enraged by the lingering appreciative stares that you receive right before they go back to their wine. 

It is to be expected with how beautiful your mother has made you for this day, you say to yourself in your new state as an object of desire, but still, you are without much appetite from being stared at. It makes you think of your wedding night and the duty that lies within it. As a comfort, you reach for your goblet of wine frequently throughout the evening and completely ignore the delicious smell of roasted meats and the sight of shiny green grapes and berries that you have on your plate. Right now, they make you feel sick. 

Sensing your discomfort, Marcus holds his hand up to stop an approaching guest and turns his attention to you. His gaze follows the movement of your hand as you lift the goblet to your slightly-stained lips once more. Gently, he reaches out and covers your hand with his, taking the cup away from you.

“No more wine. I don’t want you to feel unwell on our night together,” he says simply and firmly but there’s affection in his command, a concern for your wellbeing. It’s the first time that you see a glimpse of the man you met yesterday. He makes you fold quickly, nod with embarrassment as you in return stare sheepishly at him while he sets down the goblet out of your reach. 

“Of course, my legatus,” you hurry to say, remembering how your mother had urged you to show respect by referring to his rank. You offer him a hesitant smile, “You’re right.”

“I know this is not easy for a maiden as young as you, and I must admit that it is all very overwhelming even for me,” he gives you a smile in return, allowing himself to show brief vulnerability to ease your mind, “But there’s no need to dull your senses, Carrissima.”

“It was not my intention to make you feel like I was unappreciative—“

“I did not think you were,” he interrupts before you can tear yourself down in an effort to humble yourself. He places a hand on yours underneath the table, “Are you pleased with the celebration? I never notice if others are enjoying the festivities. I admit I seek solitude more often than company in these situations.”

“It is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you reply with a nod and realize that you find the conversation less terrifying now. You blame your ease on the amount of wine you have already consumed, “If you want reassurance, a woman can always tell if people are enjoying themselves.”

“And what is your verdict?” Marcus brushes his thumb over the back of your hand. You hide the shiver that goes up your spine, breathe deeply to steady your heart after it has skipped at least a few beats. He must know what his touch does to you after feeling it yesterday.

A burst of laughter from a table nearby catches both of your attention. A group of guests are engaged in lighthearted discussions, chatting cheerfully with each other and getting up when the musicians strike up a song made for dancing. 

You observe them for a moment before turning back to Marcus again, but before you can answer, a man approaches your table with what you assume is more congratulations. You make a mental note to be more present in this, to show your husband and his guests that you are in favor of the union. However, the man leans in close to Marcus, whispering something in his ear. 

You notice a subtle shift in Marcus’s demeanor; the previous warmth in his eyes momentarily replaces itself with a focused seriousness. He nods at the messenger, who quickly slips away into the crowd before you can even register what he looks like.

“Is everything all right?” You ask with curiosity and concern. 

“Yes, nothing to worry about. Just a small matter that needed my attention. I apologize for the interruption,” he assures you but hardly satisfies your curiosity. The seriousness vanishes completely in favor of softness as soon as he looks at you again, “Forgive me for forgetting but I must compliment the jasmine flowers in your wedding crown. They suit my bride perfectly.”

The sudden change in his tone makes your heart flutter, and you realize how intentional his words are, as if to draw you back into the moment with him. You reach up to feel the soft petals of the flowers with your fingertips. You smile genuinely at him, shy from the compliment, “It was already weaved this morning but I remembered you mentioning that jasmine is your favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You remembered our conversation.”

“I wanted to show that I was attentive,” you reply, feeling a connection that wasn’t there just a moment before.

“You’ve certainly succeeded,” he replies with a pleased grin at being surprised by you.

The sunset has crept up on you while you have been in conversation with Marcus for a while, the plate in front of you suddenly having been emptied by you without much thought. You only register the darkness of the night when guests have started to get up from their seats to say goodbye and go home, and panic starts to rise in your throat when the crowd thins out enough for Marcus to send the rest home. 

You've known this night would come, and yet as you get up from your seat, standing right in the middle of all the many tables, it feels like it is brand new information that comes hurtling towards you and frightens you even further. 

With a lump in your throat, you watch the last few faces take their leave, observing how Marcus says goodbye to what you assume are the most important guests. 

When everything is quiet except for the servants’ footsteps, your parents approach you. Your mother is the first to talk, her eyes glistening with pride. 

“My dear, it’s been a wonderful celebration,” she says, gently squeezing you in an embrace. “We’re so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Mother. I’m so grateful you were here to share it with me,” you reply, accepting her embrace warmly and almost desperately due to your anxiety. You can feel her tense up when she realizes that you are hugging her to soothe yourself but she doesn’t say anything. 

Your father stands by quietly. He only nods approvingly when Marcus joins the three of you, “A splendid event. We’re confident our daughter is in good hands.”

Marcus bows his head respectfully, “You have my word that she is.”

Your father turns to you, his expression of importance softening just a bit, “Remember what we’ve taught you, my daughter. Honor and family are paramount.”

“I understand, Father,” you assure him, avoiding his eyes. The surprisingly cool interaction between father and daughter catches Marcus’ attention, and the step he takes closer to you is almost unnoticeable. You feel his arm accidentally brushing yours but you swear that there’s a sort of protectiveness in the featherlight touch even if it is unintentional. It makes exchanging farewells easier.

“Perhaps we should retire as well,” he suggests when your parents are out of sight, “Goddess Nox has already spread her veil across the sky for a while.”

"Yes, I suppose it is time,” you glance up at the stars above, feeling the cool night air against your skin. You wish he would ground you like before.

The both of you make your way to your shared chambers. The short walk feels longer than it should, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with each step. You glance at your husband as he walks beside you, his calm and steady demeanor sharply in contrast with the growing nervousness inside you. The walls of the corridor are lined with flickering torches, and they seem to stretch on endlessly. Though nothing lasts forever and eventually you come to a halt, the door in front of you leading you to your wedding night.

This is it.

.

.

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[sukitruqui]

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate! 

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome. 

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you. 

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said. 

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius. 

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed. 

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer. 

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm. 

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you. 

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones. 

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families. 

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain. 

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move. 

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully. 

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze. 

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision. 

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in. 

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader. 

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone. 

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears. 

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you. 

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?” 

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him. 

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored. 

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“ 

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.” 

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again. 

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth. 

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling. 

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him. 

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly. 

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder. 

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly. 

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.” 

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you. 

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment. 

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.” 

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty. 

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.  

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination. 

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs. 

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours, 

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you. 

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it. 

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. 

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day. 

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body. 

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions. 

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls. 

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground. 

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden. 

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened. 

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?�� You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you. 

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer. 

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides. 

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.” 

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again. 

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows. 

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden. 

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache. 

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out? 

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off. 

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself. 

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that. 

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut? 

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist. 

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen. 

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin. 

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep. 

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs. 

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[sukitruqui]

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

Series Summary: Your father, a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius.

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times Chapter II: A wonderful day for a wedding Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

...

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 37

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Woodbridge University. Another frigid February evening. Another text to James that I didn't want to send. I had to give it to him, he was being a really good friend in light of the awkward interaction the last time we had seen one another.

I waited in my car until I saw him crossing the parking lot and braced myself as I got out.

“Hey,” I greeted, “Thanks for meeting me here. I'm sorry to bother you like this.”

“It's no problem.” James shrugged with a genuine smile. “Not like I have much to do most nights anyway.”

I nodded and looked down, and then back up. “Are we okay?” I asked.

He nudged me with his elbow. “We’re good. I, uh.. I just hope I didn't put a damper on our friendship.” James made a face. “I was bummed out at first when you weren't interested but that wore off a little bit and then I was just kind of bummed that I might've ruined our friendship.”

I took a deep breath, feeling some relief from his response. Finally, someone wasn't mad at me. And this was the guy that I had assumed, of the three of them, would be.

“I'd really like to remain friends,” I told him. “It's just bad timing, I think because I'm with somebody and-”

“Don't even explain. You don't owe me anything. Let's just, for my pride’s sake, pretend it didn't happen.” James shrugged and I smiled at him with a nod.

“Okay,” I then added, “Thank you.”

“Thanks for not making it weird.”

James and I strolled toward the building and I squinted my eyes toward the entrance when I spotted a familiar face. Our eyes met briefly and he did a double take.

“Will?” I gave a wave and he waved back.

“Who's that?” James asked.

“Oh, that's..” I caught myself. Carol’s husband-to-be. Dr. Miller’s future brother-in-law. Shit, I didn't know how to explain how I knew him.

“Hey hun, how are you?” He greeted me with a quick hug and then extended his arm to shake James’s hand. “Will Brennan.”

“James.” He gave a nod.

“I just had a quick chat with one of the guests of honor,” Will explained with a grin. “Will you be playing hookie tomorrow night and Friday, as well?”

His words were vague enough, though my eyebrows lifted and I suspected Will got onto the same page as me. He cleared his throat and glanced at James, “Family gathering,” he added.

“Yes.” I nodded at him and smiled big and borderline awkwardly at my friend. “I already took work off.”

“Great.” Will smiled and then rolled his wrist to glance at his watch. “My lovely bride is late.” He looked back and forth between the two of us, “We’re here to see a former student perform next door in the strings quartet. Brilliant young woman. Excellent musician.” He motioned toward the theater.

“That's nice.” I smiled and nodded, wanting to chat him up some more about the wedding; but I couldn't with James standing right there.

“Ahh.. there she is now.” Will huffed a laugh and shook his head when he spotted Carol’s car practically whipping to a screeching halt in a parking space nearby. “Give her a ticket for that, will ya?” He tapped James with his fingers and gave a laugh.

James snickered and looked at me. “You'll be alright now?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“No problem.” He added to Will, “Nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” Will gave a quick wave and then wiggled his eyebrows as Carol approached.

“Traffic!” She claimed, making him chuckle.

“I'm sure that was it.” They shared a quick kiss and then Carol realized I was standing there and leaned in for a hug.

“Are you getting excited?” I asked, glancing briefly at Will and then more directly at Carol.

She gave a nod. “The last few nights I’ll be spending as a Miller.” Carol looked at Will, “It took me long enough.” Her eyes flashed back to meet mine, “I was sort of a lone wolf for most of my life. I never met a man I wanted to spend all my free time with.”

“I don’t know how I pinned down this free bird,” he admitted with a grin.

I smiled at their interaction. They seemed very much in love and it made it all the more special, in my eyes, that Carol had never wanted to settle down with anyone until she met Will. I was thrilled to know she was getting her happy ending, especially after a rough start in her younger life.

“I’m very happy for you both,” I said, “And I’m honored I get to attend.”

“I just stopped in and said hi to Joel,” Will told her.

“I’m sure he’s working hard.” Carol said in a sisterly, eye-rolling fashion, and thenl turned to me and pointed her finger in my direction, “Keep him on his toes.”

“I will,” I promised with a grin.

They both smiled and nodded before Will checked his watch again. “Ready, my dear?”

“Ready.” Carol linked her arm through his and they gave a final farewell before heading down the lighted walkway toward the school’s theater.

I bid them a farewell and texted Dr. Miller to let him know I bumped into his sister and Will. And then Dr. Stevenson’s class dragged on for the next hour-and-a-half. I was partially focused on the material, partially focused on Trevor and partially focused on leaving the area the following day for the wedding.

With ten minutes left in class, I texted James. I checked my phone every minute or so but he never responded. As I was walking out I sent a second one to see if he was around.

Trevor passed me by without so much as a look. The rest of the class filtered out one by one and made their way to wherever they were going.

I glanced down the hall toward the brown door that led into Dr. Miller’s lecture hall. To kill a few minutes in hopes that James would respond, I wandered down and put my ear to the door.

Inside, I heard Dr. Miller’s muffled voice as he carried on about something similar to what we had learned the night before. I smiled to myself. I couldn't wait to see him now that both of us were past the little spat we’d had the night before.

I glanced down at my phone and when I saw James hadn't gotten back to me, I decided to be loyal to the agreement I made with Dr. Miller and called campus security.

“Hi, my name is (Y/N). I'm really sorry to bother you, but is there someone available to walk me to my car? I just don't feel safe at night since the incidents have happened.” I paused as they responded, “Thank you. I'm in the psychology building.”

I put my pride to the side and wandered up to the main floor. Two other young women were huddled around a cell phone laughing by the entrance and just outside on a bench someone sat alone with the hood of a black Northface jacket pulled up. It was Trevor.

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his thumbs typed away on his phone.

“Shit.” I whispered the word to myself and waited for campus security to show up. When a small white car with a single, orange flashing light pulled up, I wasn't sure if it was for me or not. When the security officer got out and started looking around, I pushed open one of the doors that led out into the cold and waved a hand. I didn't look back at Trevor.

“You called?” The tall, thin man asked.

I nodded. “I didn't expect a car. Thank you for coming out.”

“No problem. Where are you parked?”

“At the back end of the lot over there.” I motioned with my finger and saw the man make a subtle face, most likely because my car was so close, but otherwise smiled and nodded.

When I hopped in the car, I turned and made eye contact with Trevor, who looked away immediately and paid full attention to his phone.

“Thanks,” I said again to the driver. “I usually call James to walk me but he didn't pick up.”

“Oh, you're the one.” The man huffed a laugh and then realized what he had said aloud. When I didn't say anything he added, “James is off duty.”

“He walked me to class earlier.”

His coworker shrugged. “Sounds like he’s.. always willing to help you out.”

The car stopped beside mine and I opened the door. “Thank you.” I have a nod.

“Anytime.” The two of us exchanged a wave and I climbed into my car. Thankfully, my last night at Woodbridge, for the time being, was relatively uneventful.

I wish I could have said the same for my final day of work before the trip. It wasn't long after morning coffee that one of my work friends made the announcement to all of us - one that was dreadfully haunting and raw and real.

“They found another body at Woodbridge!”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[sukitruqui]

PEDRO PASCAL in a new behind the scenes of ‘The Making Of Gladiator 2’

[sukitruqui]

PEDRO PASCAL - PASCALIPSE

We present the complete Filmography of Pedro Pascal, with images of all the works that our Pedrito has done on TV and in Cinema. Enjoy!

Apresentamos a Filmografia completa de Pedro Pascal, com imagens de todos os trabalhos que nosso Pedrito fez na TV e no Cinema. Aproveitem!

Presentamos la Filmografía completa de Pedro Pascal, con imágenes de todos los trabajos que nuestro Pedrito ha realizado en TV y en Cine. ¡Disfrutar!

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 36

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I was hesitant to call Dr. Miller on my ride back up the highway. I knew the situation had left him fuming, and I had to say I was still in a bout of awe at how direct he had been with Trevor.

Fuck. How had I dropped my phone?

I glanced in the rearview mirror every so often and I knew Dr. Miller was right behind me. I really hoped that Trevor hadn't gone through my phone any deeper than the Lock Screen.

He would have called me out on it like he did the ski tickets, right? I had to assume so. If Trevor didn't feel shy about asking why the tickets to the Vermont resort were on my phone, why would he feel shy about confronting me about anything else.

He didn't see anything. I kept trying to convince myself of that. Why hasn't Dr. Miller called me?

I glanced in the rearview mirror again and took a deep breath. He was mad. We were going to fight. I just hoped it wouldn't be blown too out of proportion.

This could cost him his job if Trevor found something out.

My mind was spinning with a web of worst case scenarios. I just wanted it to be the weekend already. Being on Woodbridge’s campus had suddenly felt like I was walking into some warped episode of Criminal Minds or something. As much as I adored the university for being the link that introduced me to Dr. Miller, I equally felt creeped out just by hearing the name of the school.

I checked my phone at the last red light in town before it was nonstop back roads to the house. Nothing from Dr. Miller. No texts or calls. He was still trailing me so I knew soon we would have to talk about what had just happened.

Maybe he doesn't want me driving distracted. 

When we were close to home, Dr. Miller passed me on a small stretch of the road that allowed for it. I glanced over and thought of our first time ever I’d tried to see who was behind the wheel of the Mercedes - before I knew for certain it was Dr. Miller. That seemed like so long ago, but it really wasn't. 

His car whizzed by and he made the turn up the secluded driveway to the home we now shared. I knew it was so he could get out and open the gates. When he emerged from the vehicle he didn't look back toward my car. He walked casually up to the gate, hit the code and only glanced up briefly toward my windshield.

I didn't know why I was so worried. I hadn't done anything wrong. I dropped my cell phone. Who hasn't done something like that before? I got it back. There was a misunderstanding and no one got hurt. All’s well that ends well, right?

I crept in through the gates behind Dr. Miller and we parked side by side in front of the garage. I waited a few seconds and then got out of the car when he didn't. A second later, the driver's side door to the Mercedes snapped open and he rose up out of the vehicle.

“You're mad at me,” I concluded out loud once we were side by side.

“I don't want you on campus,” Dr. Miller said right away. “I'll give you whatever grade you want, just stay away from there.”

“What?” I shook my head, “I can’t do that.”

“Well, you can’t seem to keep yourself out of harm’s way, either.” He took the lead toward the front door and I hurried to keep up with him.

“I haven’t been in harm’s way.”

Dr. Miller whipped around as he struggled to find the right key amidst his frustration. “You had no idea Tyler was behind you.”

“Trevor,” I corrected.

“Whatever the hell his name is.” He finally found the key to the door and aggressively shoved it into the lock.

“No one was after me,” I insisted, trailing him in.

“But what if he had been?” Dr. Miller asked, “What if he had a rope.. or a knife and I hadn’t been there. What if he crept up behind you and..” He turned away, exasperated and unable to finish the thought out loud.

“It was just Trevor!” I challenged. “I’m fine. I’m not going to get murdered on campus.”

“How do you know it’s not Trevor?” He put his hands on his hips and shrugged wildly. “Hmm? How do you know that? How do you know he wasn’t about to drag you down in between the buildings with him just before I interrupted him?”

“Because.. I just know.”

“You don’t know.” Dr. Miller shook his head, “He had his hood up, head down and was rushing up behind you.”

“Forgive me, but I’m not used to being treated like glass,” I said, “Like some damsel in distress. You. Trevor. James.” I shook my head, “I haven’t done anything wrong and that’s how I feel. Like I’m doing everything fucking wrong.”

I stormed away from him into the kitchen and struggled to open the liquor cabinet on top of the fridge, the same way Dr. Miller did when he was stressed or upset. My fingers barely managed to sweep the door open but I got it, and then I began struggling to reach for a bottle of Ketel One.

“Fuck.” I whispered to myself and then turned when Dr. Miller reached up and retrieved it for me, placing it down on the countertop. Our eyes met for a brief second and I angrily glanced up at a a pair of cabinets that were at my eye level. I yanked them open, only to be met with dishes and small plates. Like clockwork, Dr. Miller opened one a few cabinets down and slid a cocktail glass across the marble.

I caught it in my hand just before it knocked into the vodka bottle and poured myself a small helping of the liquor. I had never drunk vodka straight, always with a mixer. Especially not warm vodka.

Fuck it, I thought. Just to be stubborn I drank it straight and immediately regretted it. In my mind, I wanted to down the liquid without so much as making a face and then glare at Dr. Miller. It was a whole pissed off, badass Beth Dutton move in my head. That image crashed and burned when I scrunched my entire face in disapproval and struggled to get the entire gulp down without spitting it out.

The burn. The warmth. The taste. There was no hiding my disapproval.

I heard Dr. Miller chuckle and opened my eyes, trying to salvage one ounce of toughness. I popped my lips together and shuddered from the lingering punishment I’d willed upon myself.

“You could’ve asked for some orange juice,” he said, unable to hold back a smile. “Or cranberry.”

I stared back at him and he casually folded his arms across his chest, still grinning.

“It’s not funny,” I said sternly, giving the glass a light slam down onto the countertop.

“It’s a little funny.” Dr. Miller headed to the fridge and retrieved the juice, pouring some in the glass I’d just drank from.

I needed to get the taste out of my mouth so I gave in and drank half of it.

“I can’t have you wandering alone after dark with two unsolved murders,” Dr. Miller said calmly.

“I wasn’t wandering alone in the dark.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Look for my phone.”

“Alone in the dark.” He shook his head.

“It’s not like I could call someone to come help me,” I argued.

“You could’ve gone to campus police and asked them to help you.”

“And see James?” I raised my eyebrows with my hands on my hips, “I haven’t seen him since that little incident.”

“This is bigger than that,” Dr. Miller argued. “And if not James then ask someone else to help. I can’t be there to watch you every second to make sure you’re okay.”

“And you don’t have to,” I continued to argue.

He let out a deep breath and put his hands on his hips, looking around. “Then I’ll just make sure you get where you need to be every time you’re there. It’s easy with my classes, but when you take your Wednesday night class let me know when you’re leaving and I’ll excuse myself and watch you go.”

“No.” I shook my head.

“At least until the murders are solved.”

“I need to be able to walk to my car on my own, Joel.”

“Call campus police. Please,” he begged, “For me. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Don’t be alone with Trevor.”

I huffed a sigh and finished the juice before placing the glass in the sink. I turned my back and rinsed it out to give myself a minute to think.

“Fine,” I agreed, “I’ll call James and ask him to come walk me to my car. But I have to go to my classes. I can’t just stay off Woodbridge’s campus forever.”

“Fine,” he echoed, though I could see he wasn’t happy about it.

“I have one more class tomorrow,” I reminded him, “And then we’ll be off to Vermont, away from all this.” I set the glass on the drying rack and then walked past Dr. Miller to leave the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” He asked when I rounded out of the room.

“To bed,” I called back to him.

Deep down I knew he was genuinely concerned about my safety. I knew he wasn’t wrong about not being alone at night. But I hated feeling like a piece of glass that everyone thought could break at any minute. I hated being thought of as fragile - or weak. That wasn’t the intention of Dr. MIller or Trevor or even James. But that’s how the constant protectiveness and advice and everything in between was starting to make me feel.

I wandered up the winding staircase to the next floor and didn’t look back as I went into the bedroom. I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them in the hamper before finding an oversized long-sleeved t-shirt to throw on over my underwear.

I didn’t go through my normal nightly routine. I just wanted to curl up, close my eyes and forget about all the dramatic events that had been brought around by the paranoia of the murders on campus. I tossed the fluffy comforter over myself and when I closed my eyes I sensed Dr. Miller enter the room.

He strolled up to the bedside and squatted down beside where I laid so we were eye-to-eye.

“Don’t be mad,” he said.

“You were the mad one.” I had never challenged him quite to this level before, but I couldn’t help it. I was in a mood and I couldn’t shake it.

“I know I was,” Dr. Miller admitted. “And I understand why you feel the way that you feel. I’m just so obsessed with keeping you safe that I’m willing to put everything else on the backburner. If you’re mad at me, you’re mad at me. But if something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t even know what to do, (Y/N).”

Our eyes were still fixed on one another. I finally accepted his olive branch and gave in just a little. “I’ll call campus security if there’s a time I have to be alone at night.”

“Thank you.” He put a hand on my face and then rose to his feet to remove his tie and strip down into his boxer-briefs.

I remained on my side as he slunk into bed, setting the alarm just before he did so. Dr. MIller wrapped an arm around my midsection and kissed the back of my shoulder. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered in my ear.

“I’m not mad.” I sighed and turned around to face him.

“I don’t you being like this.” He smirked smally and let it fade. “I like when you’re looking at me like I’m the only man in the world.”

I managed a smile. “You are the only man in my world.”

“I don’t know, you’ve got the entire campus chasing you through the dark just to give you roses or return your cell phone to you.”

“Jealous?” I asked, finally feeling just a small dose of playfulness running through me.

“Of course I am,” Dr. MIller said, winking at me.

I accepted a quick kiss on my lips and closed my eyes as he cuddled me against his chest. I took in a few deep breaths and felt the heaviness in my eyes begin to take over.

“Good night,” he whispered as I began to drift off. “I love you.”

Good. We’re not going to bed mad at least. “I love you, too.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 35

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I jumped when the local radio station cut in on the silence after just a short cruise onto the main road from the school lot. The deejay’s booming voice let me know that I had been playing my music just a little bit too loud on the ride in and I grasped my chest.

“Wait..” I said the word aloud and frantically searched the compartment below the radio where I typically keep my phone. And then I reached into my pockets, checked my cup holders and rustled through the bag in my passenger seat with one hand. “Shit!”

My phone. Where the fuck did I leave it?

I pulled the car into the lot adjacent to the one I had just come from and gave a more thorough inspection of my vehicle. Nothing. No phone.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I thought for a moment, wondering when the last time was that I had it.

In class? Yes. As I walked out. Yes. I relived the text that Dr. Miller had sent me. That was the last time I remember having it. So, I assumed it had to be somewhere between the classroom and the parking lot.

I exited the side lot, got back onto the main road for a couple hundred yards and then pulled back into the parking lot where I’d just come from. My spot was still available and so I pulled back in, checking the ground around it for a sign of my iphone. Nothing.

“Come on.” I smacked my open hand on the center of the steering wheel and then got out to look around. And then I stopped for a moment. There were texts between Dr. Miller and myself there that I didn’t want anyone to see. I didn’t have a passcode because I never saw a need for one. What if someone reads them? What if someone realizes it’s him who has been texting me? I had his name as ‘Joel’ in my phone, so at least there was some barrier there that wouldn’t lead someone directly to Dr. Miller at first glance.

Chill out and just look around.

I wandered around the parking lot, and then the sidewalk. I went back down the stairwell and into the basement level, even asking random people that were lurking around if they had seen an Iphone laying around. “No,” was the repetitive response.

I gave up on the basement and took the stairs again to find nothing, as I suspected.

Maybe Dr. Miller found it. I hoped he had. He would have recognized it if he saw it laying somewhere.

I was aggravated when I emerged back out onto the sidewalk. I knew I was in a losing battle if I hadn’t found it by now. Still, I walked around the area, looking in every little place I could think of. I hoped I hadn’t accidentally run it over on my drive out. It would be in a bunch of shattered pieces if I had.

“Fuck.” I walked up the dark sidewalk a bit farther and turned back around when I felt someone behind me. Before I could contemplate if the person was a threat, Dr. Miller’s Mercedes came whipping up, invading two handicapped spots and practically screeching to a sideways halt.

My mouth hung open as he hurried out of the car, rushing up to confront the hooded stranger behind me.

“Stop!” The voice was recognizable anywhere. It wasn’t a stranger.

“Trevor?” I wasn’t as startled by his presence as I was Dr. Miller’s in the moment.

“What are you doing?” Dr. Miller asked him angrily.

Trevor pushed the hood of his jacket down away from his face. “I waited around on the chance she'd come back,” he shouted out with his hands raised. I’d never heard Trevor raise his voice. “I was just going to tell her about her phone.”

I whipped my head in his direction. “You found my phone?”

“Yeah, and I was trying to flag you down when you drove off,” he claimed, “It fell out in the parking lot.”

“Did you know he was behind you?” Dr. Miller asked me.

I looked back and forth between the two of them. “No. I.. I was just looking around because I realized I didn’t have it.”

“So, you waited for her on a chance she’d come back but you didn’t call out her name?”

“Not yet,” Trevor went on, “I was about to and then you came running at me.”

“Because I saw a guy in a hood following a young woman,” Dr. Miller went on, “On the same campus where two women have already been killed.”

“Well, I could say the same about you,” Trevor shot back. “I went to check on (Y/N) when you followed her out the back door a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, the night my car was parked in the back parking lot?” He asked, “That night? Would you prefer me walk out the front door to get to the back lot where my car is parked? That wouldn’t make much sense, now would it?”

Trevor glanced down and back up, sort of like a lightbulb went off and he had a ‘duh’ moment.

I felt awkwardly caught in the middle of a giant cluster of misunderstandings. Dr. Miller glared at Trevor. Trevor glared back.

“Whatever you guys think of each other,” I said, “I think you both are just misunderstanding what happened - on both sides of things.” My eyes met Dr. Miller’s apologetically. I was trying to sound neutral and diffuse the situation. “Dr. Miller didn’t follow me out the back, Trevor. I probably shouldn’t have been walking alone, but I wanted to see if the pond was frozen and decided to take a little walk.” Lie. A terrible lie; but who was to argue?

Trevor still had a sour look on his face.

“And I’m sure Trevor didn’t mean any harm,” I told Dr. Miller, “I did lose my phone.”

“He knows,” Trevor said, waving a hand in his direction. “He has it.”

I raised my eyebrows, relieved, “You do?”

“I gave it to him,” my classmate added. “I was going to give it to you tomorrow during Dr. Stevenson’s class, or hand it in to the campus police. I know you’re friends with that guy.” Trevor eyed Dr. Miller again.

“Well, thank you Trevor.” I nodded to him and even put a hand on his shoulder for good measure. I wanted this to end. I wanted to go home. I didn’t want any questions being asked that would make me stutter and choke on my words, or expose my relationship with our professor.

Dr. Miller sucked his teeth from the interaction and put his hands on his hips. He then reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed the phone back in my palm. Our eyes locked and I could see he wasn’t happy.

“Thank you,” I said to him, holding his stare for an extra second. “I’m sorry my mishap caused all this. Everyone should just.. get home.” I nodded. “And I appreciate the concern.. from both of you.” I looked back and forth between them, “But I’m really alright. No one has to come to my rescue.”

“He could have attacked you,” Dr. Miller looked at me with a hard glare, motioning to Trevor again.

“I wasn’t going to attack her!” Trevor shouted.

“Stop!” I shouted out loud. I could see Dr. Miller was having a hard time letting it go in the moment. “Just.. I’m okay. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have walked alone.”

“Well, it seems like it’s a habit at this point,” Dr. Miller said to me now. “Smarten up. There’s a man killing women in the area and you’re out here alone with no awareness that someone’s even behind you.”

“I thought they caught that guy.”

“They didn’t catch anybody.” He shook his head and raised his voice just slightly.

After a brief moment of silence, Trevor looked to me. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I looked to Dr. Miller and I could tell he hated the idea. If he was capable of breathing fire, now would have been the time. He was fuming and it was written all over his face.

“So she doesn’t walk alone,” Trevor added, challenging him.

“Thanks, Trevor.” I looked at Dr. Miller with apologetic eyes and anticipated an argument back at home.

Dr. Miller watched us go and I knew he wouldn’t leave until he knew I was safe in my car. I bid him a casual farewell and allowed Trevor to walk with me the rest of the way. When I glanced over my shoulder toward him, his eyes burned into mine.

“Hey, really,” I said to Trevor as we went, “Thanks for grabbing my phone. I appreciate it-”

“I thought you said you couldn’t ski,” he interrupted.

“I can’t.”

“Well, why do you have lift tickets then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Lift tickets. Vermont. I saw a notification pop up on your phone.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s none of your business. Why were you going through my phone?”

“I wasn’t going through your phone, it just popped up.”

“Well, still, it’s none of your business,” I said harshly, “And if you must know, my roommate Tori booked a girls weekend. I really don’t ski. I just agreed to go so I could get away for a few days.”

“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that instead of saying you were going to see your parents?”

“I don’t know, Trevor.” I shrugged, “We don’t know each other very well. I just.. I don’t know. You shouldn’t have looked at my phone.”

“I know. I wouldn’t have. It just popped up in my face and you had just told me two minutes before that you didn’t ski.”

I sighed and shook my head.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Trevor went on, “I invaded your privacy and I had no right to question you.”

“Thank you.”

“Dr. Miller creeps me out.”

Talk about an abrupt subject change.“Why?” I shook my head and squinted my eyes. I needed this part of the night to be over.

“He had to have been watching you to know exactly where you were when I started to walk up to you.”

“Maybe he was doing the same thing you were doing,” I suggested with a shrug.

“No.” Trevor shook his head, “I don’t trust him. Maybe he was waiting for you because he’s the Lady Killer.”

The Lady Killer. The fucking Lady Killer. I was sick of hearing about this shadow; this lurker. This evil manifested that was making everyone, myself included, fucking crazy.

“Dr. Miller isn’t the Lady Killer. The Lady Killer is Alec Pryor,” I informed him.

Trevor shook his head. “You apparently aren’t up to date on your facts.”

“What do you mean?”

“They found that guy in Pennsylvania. They brought him in for questioning and he had an alibi. There was even camera evidence that he was somewhere else when the second murder took place.”

What?  “Then why would he run?”

“He gave two reasons. One, he thought he was going to be the patsy and go down for the murders even though he didn’t do them.”

“Well, he’s a sex offender. I wouldn’t feel a bit bad for him.”

“But a killer would still go free,” Trevor argued. He wasn’t wrong.

“What’s the second reason?”

“He thought someone was going to kill him.” Trevor nodded toward me. Did I hear him right? Poor Alec Pryor thought someone was going to kill him. Gee, I couldn’t imagine why. 

“Bullshit.” I shook my head, “He’s looking for sympathy.”

“Maybe.” Trevor went on, “But there was evidence to support his claims that someone broke into his home the night he fled. He fled to get away and stay alive.”

“Well, we should all be glad that a sex offender is alive,” I said with heavy sarcasm.

“(Y/N), I want that asshole behind bars as much as the next guy,” Trevor confessed, “And I wouldn’t bat an eye if he died, but you’re missing the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“There is a coed killer still out there who hasn’t been caught. And I hate to say it, but Dr. Miller is right. Do you have a death wish?”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’m out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” Trevor reached for my arm to pull me back. “I just think you should live by the motto, anyone who isn’t a killer is a target. I mean, what if I was the killer tonight and you were just wandering around alone?”

“Are you the killer?” I asked, showing zero concern in the expression.

“No,” Trevor said, exasperated right away. “Me? A killer?” He let out a laugh and I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. “I would worry less about me and more about our professor.”

“Dr. Stevenson?” I joked.

“You know who I mean. I know everyone loves him, including you, but I know he’s hiding something.”

Yeah, he’s fucking me. I would have loved to shout the snarky truth in his face but I would never. Plus, I didn’t want to label the depth of what we had together with a word as simple, shallow and overused as just ‘fucking’. 

“I’ve got to go.” I ducked into my car. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Trevor. And thank you for getting my phone back to me in one piece.”

“You can thank Dr. Miller.” He shut the door once I was in and began to wander away.

I immediately checked my phone and I saw Dr. Miller’s text.

Wrap it up, he wrote, we need to get home.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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[sukitruqui]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 34

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

The night ended more lighthearted. Dr. Miller and I took advantage of the frozen lake and the scenery again, skating around and taking pictures of the winter wonderland. We had a few drinks, went out for dinner, and spent most of the night thereafter in the loft. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have left that little nook in the woods.

“We should rent this place again in the summer,” I said to him. “I bet it’s nice to kayak around.. maybe go fishing.. hike the trails. Oh, and I saw a new, little brewery is supposed to be having its grand opening in May nearby.”

Dr. Miller smiled. “I can book it now for July.”

I loved thinkin about the future, even if it was just a matter of months. For a second I daydreamed images of a tan Dr. Miller by my side, shirtless and glistening in the sun. It made me smirk.

Bidding a temporary farewell to the lakeside cabin was bittersweet, though Dr. Miller already put in a request for the summer before we took off for home.

“The good news is we have another getaway at my sister’s wedding next weekend,” Dr. Miller explained as we hit the highway. “Can you get off work for the rehearsal dinner on Friday? I may cancel Thursday’s class so we can hit the road when you get out of work on Thursday. It’s a pretty good haul up to Vermont.”

I nodded, “Of course. I can’t wait.”

When Tuesday’s class rolled around I decided to confront Trevor on the walk out. His constant stares were starting to bug me and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since the day I’d left Dr. Stevenson’s class to give a sneaky kiss to Dr. Miller in his office. A part of me wanted to ask him what he thought he knew, but I also didn’t want to accidentally rat myself out - or Dr. Miller.

Otherwise, I was very much into the class discussion, and loved how Dr. Miller smiled a certain way when he called on me to answer a question. I loved his class. On a side note, there was a certain level of sneaky amusement I felt from having this secret life with him. No one in the class had even the slightest indication that we lived together, or that we just celebrated Valentine's Day shacked up in a remote, lakeside cabin. There was a part of me that got off on our secret.

“So,” Dr. Miller clapped his hands together. “I'm going to post something for you to read and look over. You'll be able to even discuss points online if you'd like, but Thursday's class will not meet in person. My sister is getting married out of state and I'll be traveling to Vermont on Thursday in preparation for that.”

“Congratulations!” Someone's voice echoed off the walls, making a few others laugh. “To your sister,” the person added, drawing more laughter.

“Thank you,” Dr. Miller responded with a chuckle. “If there are no further questions -”

“Class dismissed,” the group said in unison.

I smiled to myself and stuffed my notebook into my bag. It was always odd to me as I left the classroom. Dr. Miller and I were so affectionate and borderline clingy everywhere else. That's the only part I hated - not being able to be ourselves during that short time frame we had together on campus.

My phone went off and I glanced down, smiling when I saw it was him. 

See you at home.

I glanced toward him and our eyes briefly met as he began packing up his black bag.

And then, as I ducked out into the hallway, Trevor leaned over getting a drink of water. He was one of the only people I ever saw use the water fountain in the building.

I went to call out to him but then decided against it. Why was I about to create a conflict out of nothing? Plus, I reminded myself, he had walked with me to class when I didn't want to walk alone.

I passed by, glancing over at him. Just as he finished getting a drink our eyes met for a brief moment. I looked away and kept walking, using the stairs to get up to the main floor.

Behind me, I heard Trevor clear his throat and then his feet peppered up the stairwell behind me. I yanked open the door to enter the lobby and Trevor’s footsteps came faster.

“Could you hold that, please?” His nasally voice called out.

I sighed to myself but turned around with a half-smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” He hurried to reach for the door and held it so I could go ahead first.

“No problem.” I continued walking and Trevor cleared his throat again as he scurried up beside me.

“Have any plans for the long weekend?” He asked, gripping the straps of his backpack as we wandered toward the main doors.

“Hmm.. I might go visit my parents,” I lied, “But nothing else. You?”

He shrugged. “I may go skiing.”

So am I, I thought, even though I didn't know how. Carol’s wedding. “You ski?”

“Doesn't everyone in the Catskills area?” He snorted a laugh at himself and I smirked.

“Everyone but me.” I smiled back. “I don't know how.”

“I've been skiing since I've been five.”

“Cool.”

“I could always give you lessons. I used to give lessons before I started working for UPS.”

“I didn't know you worked for UPS.”

“For now.” He grinned and followed me out into the parking lot.

I glanced over at him as he continued to trail me out into the parking lot. I felt like he was velcroed to me. He was so close.

“Well, I'll see ya later Trevor.” I reached for the handle on my car as I approached and he cleared his throat again.

What is his deal? I wanted to blurt it out, but I wasn’t the type to be super direct like that. He wasn’t doing anything wrong - just being awkward and slightly annoying.

Trevor raised a hand to wave, almost robotically, as I pulled out of the parking space and edged my way down the rows of cars to exit the campus parking lot. When I was close to a half-a-football field away, I caught a glimpse of him waving his hands wildly in my direction. I wasn’t even sure if he was trying to flag me down, or was summoning someone else. And so, I kept driving. I didn’t see Dr. Miller exit the building.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Miller approached Trevor when he heard the commotion.

Trevor reached into the pocket of his jacket and stared down at the screen of a cell phone. He eyed the screen, reading a notification as it flashed across.

YOUR STOWE, VT LIFT TICKETS ARE NOW AVAILABLE TO PUT INTO I-WALLET. CLICK THE BANNER TO CONFIRM.

Dr. Miller’s eyes landed on the familiar phone cover. He had the urge to yank it from Trevor’s hand and demand why he had (Y/N)’s phone, but he knew he had to restrain himself.

“Who’s the phone belong to?” Dr. Miller asked, knowing damn well who it belonged to.

“I-I..” Trevor looked down at it again and spoke to himself. “She said she couldn’t ski.” He scratched his head and continued to stare at the screen.

“Trevor.” Dr. Miller closed the gap between the two of them. “Why do you have that phone?”

“One of my friends from class dropped it,” he claimed, “She just drove off. I was trying to flag her down.” Trevor slipped the phone back into his pocket and Dr. Miller extended his hand.

“I’ll turn it in to campus police.”

He kept the phone in his coat. “I can do that.”

“I insist.” Dr. Miller nodded and kept his palm facing up a few inches in front of Trevor. “I’m sticking around here anyway to do a few things.”

Trevor stared up at him, and then looked back down to his hand. He didn’t immediately hand over the phone. “Where did you say your sister’s wedding was?”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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