#+ she has no idea how to arrange things in a way that makes sense

[captainhongjoong]

it should not be time yet for my period but it really feels like it is. i’m about to kill my mother over furniture

[o-uncle-newt]

I just got a bit more time in my schedule and I'm hoping to get started on a Sayers-and-Jews reading list, if anyone has any suggestions! I just really feel like I've never seen anyone talk about how WEIRD the apparent received wisdom is of "Sayers was in a relationship with a completely secular Jew who tried to convince her to have premarital sex she was religiously uncomfortable with, which NATURALLY made her start writing about Jews, but a totally different kind of basically fetishized ultra-conservative type than Cournos was." There are clearly missing links there- not an obvious or intuitive connection at all- and I have my own ideas of what they are and am so curious if it's already been written about.

[beloveds-embrace]

I think it would be so funny if Duke Price, before he and the other warms up to duchess, finds out that his wife has been secretly getting money via trade and whatnot and being offended. Like, why not come to me, your husband, for money??

And she just straight up tells him that she doesn’t trust or like him or his lovers. After all, who would trust a cheater?? And he just, spirals? Like omg my wife doesn’t like me? My wife thinks I’m a bad person? But I’m not!! I give her money, I don’t make her have sex with me, I even let her pick her own dresses!! How could my wife not like me?? So now he’s trying his best to get Duchess to like him but she’s just, so done. Done with him, done with his affair partners, done with everything. Just let her have fun with her stocks and leave her alone

I genuinely think the moment dukedom 141 senses that Duchess doesn’t care about them, they suddenly want her to care about them, a real “I only like you when you don’t like me” thing

!!! I love this idea sm omggg thank you for this ask anon, I hope you enjoy!

Dukedom au masterlist

The fire crackled in the hearth of the study, casting shadows across the room. John stood behind his desk, his fingers gripping the edge as he stared down at the ledger in front of him. You sat across from him, your posture poised, your expression cool.

“This,” he said, his voice low, “isn’t just improper. It’s disrespectful. You’re my wife, Duchess. If you needed money, all you had to do was come to me.”

You tilted you head, the barest hint of a smile on you lips, though it lacked warmth. “Why would I do that?”

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes the longer he stared and listened to you. “Because I’m your husband. It’s my duty to provide for you.”

You replying laughter was sharp, humorless. “Provide? Is that what you call this arrangement? You married me because you needed someone to handle your duchy while you gallivanted with your…” you hesitated, lips pursing as you considered your next word. “…partners. And you expect me to trust you? To come to you with my needs?”

John blinked, taken aback by the venom in your tone- a tone you’ve never aimed at him before. “I’ve done nothing to make you distrust me, Duchess-”

You scoffed. “Haven’t you? You think I don’t notice the whispered conversations, the way I’m barred from certain parts of the house, the way your men watch me like I’m a threat? You think I don’t know that I’m an outsider in what was supposed to be my own home?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t finished.

“And it’s not just you,” you say, your voice rising. “Your butler, Kyle, your chef, Johnny, even your precious Duke Riley. They’re all loyal to you, John. Not to me. I don’t even need their loyalty, just some respect. Why would I put my trust in people who clearly see me as nothing more than an inconvenience?”

“They don’t think that.”

Your gaze bore into him, unflinching. He didn’t think you’d ever given him such a cold stare, and he didn’t like it. At all. “Don’t they? Tell me, John, when was the last time any of them looked at me as anything other than someone they have to put up with? When was the last time any of them looked at me as more than just an obligation? When was the last time you did?”

Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the distant ticking of the clock and the crackling embers in the hearth.

John’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’ve treated you with nothing but respect,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve never forced you to-”

“To share your bed?” You interrupted, your tone icy. “How magnanimous of you. Truly, I’m blessed to have such a kind and generous husband.”

Your sarcasm stung more than he cared to admit.

“I give you freedom,” he argued, grasping at any straws. Your words rang true, but John still found it hard to accept. “You’ve wanted for nothing since our marriage. You have everything you could possibly need.”

“Everything,” you repeated, your tone mocking. “Except trust. Except companionship. Except a reason to believe that any of this-“ you gestured vaguely at the room around them, at the duchy, at your marriage. “- is real.”

Your words hung in the air, cutting deeper than any blade.

Over the next few days, John found himself haunted by you words. You didn’t trust him. You didn’t trust any of them. And, worst of all, you didn’t like him.

At dinners, you were distant, answering questions with clipped politeness but offering very little else, conversations ending curtly. When you weren’t working on your secretive ledgers or taking solitary walks through the estate, you spent your evenings reading in your chambers, the door firmly shut against him and his men.

Kyle noticed the change immediately, of course, something squirming in his chest unhappily. “She’s colder than a January frost,” he sighed one evening, setting a decanter of brandy on John’s desk.

Price sighed right back at him. “Not exactly helping, Kyle.”

“I’m just saying, she’s got every reason to be,” Kyle continued, unbothered by John. “She’s a stranger in her own home. You can’t expect her to warm up to us when none of us have given her a reason to. We’ve mucked up.”

John scowled, downing a glass of brandy in one go. “She’s my wife. She should trust me.”

“Trust isn’t something you’re owed, John,” Kyle said, his voice softer now. “It’s something you earn and you and I both know none of us has given her any reason to earn it.”

Kyle was right, of course. But-

John’s attempts of mending the trust between the two of you were clumsy at best.

He tried joining you during your walks, only to be met with polite indifference.

“Shouldn’t you be with your men, Your Grace?” You asked one time, your tone as sharp as the winter air.

“They’ll manage without me.” he replied, though your pointed look made it clear you truly thought otherwise.

At dinner, he attempted conversations, asking about your day and your interests. You answered with politeness, but your gaze rarely lifted from your plate. Even Johnny’s attempts to brighten the atmosphere with your favorite dishes were met with little more than a murmured “thank you.”

Simon, ever observant, pulled him aside after one particularly stilted dinner where it got so awkward you didn’t finish your meal or had dessert before you left. “You’re trying too hard, John.” he said, his voice low. “You are just stifling her.”

“What am I supposed to do, Simon?” John snapped at last. “She doesn’t trust me. She doesn’t trust any of us.”

Simon’s expression didn’t waver. Ever since he’d learnt of that conversation you’d had with John, what you’d said and thought about them all, Simon has been thinking it over his mind again and again. “…Then stop treating her like a problem to solve. Start treating her like a person. We failed her once, can’t fail her a second time.”

And so, one evening, John found you in the study, the room dimly lit by the glow of a single lamp. You were hunched over a ledger, your brows furrowed in concentration.

“Duchess…” he breathed out. “Do you need help?” The question comes out tentative.

You glanced up, your expression unreadable beyond the tiredness he could see clinging to you. “I’m fine.”

Still, John lingered in the doorway, unsure of his next move. “I wanted to apologize,” he said at last, no longer beating around the bush. He was done.

Your quill stilled, and you looked up at him, your eyes wary.

“For what I said,” John continued anyways, stepping into the room. “And for how I’ve treated you. You were right. About everything.”

At last, your gaze softened, but you didn’t speak, letting him continue.

“I never wanted this to be such a… cold arrangement for you,” he said, voice faltering. “I didn’t realize how much I’d… neglected you. I am truly sorry, Duchess.”

“… what brought about this sudden realization?”

John hesitated, and then he sighed. “I… I want you to trust me. To trust us.”

You laugh was bitter and cutting, just as it had heen on that day. “Trust you? Trust the men who keep me at arm’s length, who whisper behind my back, who make it clear every day that I’m an outsider? Forgive me if I’m not so easily swayed, Your Grace.”

Your words struck him like a blow, but he held his ground. “Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice earnest. “Let me earn it, my Duchess.”

You studied him for a long moment before finally speaking. “… We’ll see.”

And for the first time, John felt a good flicker of hope.

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

omg PLSSSS do a sequel to ‘under a false alter’ like PLSSS ANDDD i wanna know everything about them

how’s married life? how has she adjusted to marriage? what does he think about her? i need banter i need sexual tension I NEED EVERYTHING PLSSS oh and lots of smut THANK YOUU

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀ ᴡᴀʟʟs

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Wife!reader | WC : 10k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN | Under a False Alter

Summary: No matter how hard you try, you can't seem to escape your new husband, not that your father makes it any easier for you.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, grinding, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Implied age gap, Scars, Voyeurism, Spitting, both give switch vibes, the reader has a little angsty past, biting, misogyny, almost drowning

A/n: I've never been so grateful for the amount of love this has received. I hope I do it justice with this part two. Lots of love and joy. ALSO, WE GET A MARCUS POV AT ONE POINT hehe

It had been three days since your "marriage" to Marcus, and the silence between you two had been a welcome respite. The tension in the air was thick, each of you occupying your own space, minding your own business. You hoped it would stay that way. Mornings were spent in relative peace, with Marcus at one end of the breakfast table and you at the other.

Taking a bite of a grape, you glared across the table where your father sat with his mistress, Aurelia. The sight of her playing with your father's hair made your stomach churn. The woman who had tormented you for so long was now lounging comfortably in your home, smugly flaunting her relationship with your father. They exchanged whispered words and glances filled with a shared history that excluded you. Aurelia's laughter echoed off the walls, a sound that grated against your nerves.

You noticed Marcus watching them too, his expression unreadable as he observed the easy familiarity between your father and his lover. As if sensing your gaze, Aurelia's eyes flicked towards you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her gaze as if daring you to disrupt their blissful morning routine. It was a calculated move, a reminder that despite your marriage to Marcus, some things remained unchanged.

"My love, we should go to the villa," Aurelia cooed, her eyes darting towards you with a malicious glint. She was clearly enjoying your discomfort. You could practically taste the bile rising in your throat at the sight and sound of her.

Your father chuckled, his voice warm and affectionate. "Ah, my dear Aurelia, always full of wonderful ideas," he replied, his hand finding hers across the table. His gaze met yours briefly, a hint of apology in his eyes before returning his attention to Aurelia. "Perhaps we should make a day of it. Just the two of us."

Aurelia leaned in closer to him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or we could make it a family affair," she suggested with a sly smile, her gaze flickering towards Marcus and then back to you, her implication clear.

Marcus tensed beside you, his jaw clenching subtly as he watched the exchange. His eyes briefly met yours, a silent question lingering between you. You shrugged imperceptibly, unsure of what to make of Aurelia's suggestion.

"We'll see," Marcus finally interjected, his tone neutral but his gaze fixed on Aurelia. "It might be a good idea to get some fresh air."

Aurelia chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on Marcus for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to your father. "Yes, fresh air could do us all some good," she agreed, her smile widening as if she had won some small victory.

The comment landed heavily, striking you with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Father, that is not—" you began to protest, but Marcus cut you off.

"Parents don't come on a honeymoon," Marcus interjected firmly. "We'll go alone. It's tradition."

Your father looked to protest, but Marcus continued, a subtle urgency in his tone. "It’s important for us to have time alone to... solidify our bond," he explained, casting a meaningful glance at your father. "Besides, it would give her a break from the current... dynamics here."

Your father's brows furrowed as he considered Marcus's words, his gaze shifting between you and Aurelia. It was clear he was torn, wanting to spend time with his lover but also recognizing the benefit of giving you some space away from Aurelia's influence.

"Very well," your father conceded, though his expression remained stern. "But remember, you must be back by fall. And I expect you to return with news of an heir."

The ultimatum hung heavily in the air, weighing down your heart. Visiting your mother was a rare privilege, one you couldn't afford to pass up. But the thought of being with Marcus, of possibly bearing his child, filled you with dread.

"You can't be serious," you whispered, turning to face your father. "You can't make me do this."

His expression was unwavering, a stern reminder of the power he held over you. "It's for your own good," he said simply. "And for the good of our family."

Marcus's gaze remained locked onto yours, a blend of authority and challenge. "It's settled, then," he declared firmly. "We'll leave in the morning."

You bristled, your skin tingling with a mixture of anger and an unwelcome flicker of desire. "This isn't over," you warned, your voice quivering with emotion. "I won't be your pawn."

A dark chuckle escaped Marcus, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I never thought you were," he replied coolly. "But we are bound together now. Whether you like it or not."

The next morning, you found yourself in a lavish carriage, the countryside rolling by in a blur of green and gold. Marcus sat opposite you, his gaze unwavering as he watched you. The silence between you was heavy, fraught with unspoken words and simmering tension.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I hate everything about this."

He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you?" he asked, his tone almost mocking. "Or do you hate that you can't control it?"

You glared at him, your fists clenching in your lap. "You think you're so clever," you muttered. "But you don't know me. You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I intend to find out."

You turned your gaze away from him, looking out the window as the scenery shifted. The villa was near the ocean, a place you knew well. It was where you had grown up, where you had spent countless days playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. The familiarity of the landscape brought a rush of memories, both comforting and bittersweet.

Despite the beauty of the place, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The promise of seeing your mother again was the only thing that had convinced you to agree to this honeymoon, but the thought of returning pregnant filled you with dread. You knew your father’s ultimatum was a trap, a way to ensure your compliance and submission.

"I won't return pregnant," you said firmly, breaking the silence. "I'm only doing this to see my mother."

Marcus leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You think you can control that?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can decide what happens between us?"

"I can try," you retorted, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I won't let you dictate my life."

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You’re stubborn, I'll give you that. But you underestimate the power of our bond. We are married now, and that means something."

"Not to me," you said, your voice trembling with anger. "This marriage is just a prison, a way to control me."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, his tone softening slightly. "We could make it something more, something real."

You scoffed, turning back to the window. "I doubt that," you muttered, your heart heavy with resentment and fear.

As the carriage continued its journey, you lost yourself in thoughts of the past and the uncertain future. The villa by the ocean, once a place of joy and freedom, now seemed like a gilded cage. The waves crashing against the shore were a stark reminder of the turbulent emotions within you, a mix of anger, sadness, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite extinguish.

When the carriage finally arrived at the villa, you were both relieved and apprehensive. The grand entrance and the familiar scent of the sea filled you with a sense of nostalgia, but the presence of Marcus at your side was an ever-present reminder of the new reality you were forced to accept.

As you stepped out of the carriage, Marcus placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward. The touch was both possessive and surprisingly gentle, a contradiction that left you feeling even more conflicted.

"We'll make a fresh start here," he declared, his voice tinged with sincerity. "No more fighting. Let's give this a real chance."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then we keep trying," he said simply. "Until we do."

You studied him intently, trying to gauge the truth in his words. The weight of his gaze held yours, earnest and unwavering. After a moment of contemplation, you spoke, your voice tinged with skepticism. "What makes you so sure we can make this work?"

Marcus sighed softly, his hand falling to his side. "Because I'm not here to control you," he explained gently. "All I want is communication. That's all we need to make this work—open and honest communication."

His words resonated with a truth you hadn't expected. Despite your reservations, a flicker of hope stirred within you. "Communication," you echoed, testing the word on your tongue. It sounded simple, yet laden with potential.

You'd been at the villa for two days, and despite everything, you had managed to avoid Marcus and even sleep in separate bedrooms. Meal times were awkward, the silence between you both louder than any words could have been. You had resolved to stay like that for the entire three weeks your father had given you to "get pregnant." But your alcohol tolerance had other plans.

Each morning, you found yourself waking early to escape to the farthest corners of the villa, the sprawling gardens and the serene lake providing a much-needed sanctuary. You spent your days wandering through the lush greenery, finding solace in the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves. Marcus, it seemed, had taken a similar approach, retreating to his own activities and leaving you undisturbed. The villa was vast enough to make this evasion possible, yet each evening you couldn't help but feel the walls closing in, the loneliness amplifying your homesickness.

The memories of your mother haunted you. The villa, though beautiful, reminded you painfully of the home you'd left behind and the loving presence of your mother. You missed her gentle voice, her comforting embrace, and her wisdom. The separation weighed heavily on your heart, each passing hour a reminder of the emotional distance that now lay between you.

It was late afternoon when you asked one of the maids to bring you a drink. A mistake, you realized too late, not specifying how strong it should be. Without your father's supervision, you had indulged far too much. The room spun around you, and your vision blurred as you stumbled your way toward the dining room.

You pushed open the heavy door, the sudden light from the chandelier making you squint. Marcus was already there, a book in his hands, but his eyes snapped to you the moment you entered. You could feel his gaze like a weight on your skin, making the room feel even hotter than it already was.

"Well, if it isn't my estranged bride," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He put down his book, his posture straightening as he watched you struggle to find your footing.

You squinted at him, the light from the chandelier making your head throb. "Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out more slurred than stern.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Start what? Observing the obvious? You're drunk."

You staggered forward, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "I'm fine," you insisted, though you nearly tripped over your own feet.

"Fine?" he echoed, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You're a mess."

You shot him a glare, your temper flaring. "Like you care," you spat. "You're just loving this, aren't you? Seeing me like this."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening. "No, actually, I'm not. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Better a fool than a tyrant," you retorted, your fists clenching at your sides. "You think you can control me, just like my father."

Marcus's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "I don't need to control you," he replied, his hands gripping your arms. "I just need you to stop acting like a child."

You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "Don't touch me," you hissed, your anger boiling over. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

His eyes flashed with irritation. "Someone has to since you clearly can't handle yourself."

"You're such a pompous ass," you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you really think I wanted any of this? To be stuck with you?"

His grip tightened, but his voice remained dangerously calm. "You think I wanted this either? To be saddled with a spoiled, reckless girl who can't even hold her liquor?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, the alcohol fueling your reckless words. "I hate you," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I hate everything about this, and I hate you."

Marcus's eyes darkened, his grip on your arms firm but not painful. "Good," he said, his voice low and intense. "Use that hate. Let it drive you. But don't you dare make a fool of yourself in front of everyone."

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "You don't get to tell me how to feel," you choked out. "Or what to do."

He sighed, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not trying to control you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself."

You glared at him, your vision blurring. "I don't need your help," you insisted, though even you knew how weak it sounded.

"Too bad," he said simply, lifting you into his arms with ease. "You're getting it anyway."

You struggled weakly, your head spinning. "Put me down," you demanded, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Not a chance," he replied, carrying you toward his room. "You're staying where I can keep an eye on you."

You hated the feeling of being so helpless, so dependent on him. "You're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you're stubborn," he retorted, his grip on you firm but gentle. "But I'm not leaving you like this."

He pushed open the door to his room and set you down on the large, plush bed, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary. You tried to sit up, but your body refused to cooperate.

"I'm sleeping in my room," you said, trying to push yourself up, but failing miserably.

"Not tonight," Marcus said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knelt in front of you, removing your shoes with careful precision. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

You glared at him, though it lacked any real heat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He looked up, meeting your gaze with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "But only because I finally get to take care of you, whether you like it or not."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I don't need your help," you repeated weakly.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe not," he said softly. "But I'm here anyway."

You tried to maintain your defiance, but your vision was blurry and your body was betraying you. The alcohol had dulled your senses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You attempted to sit up straighter, to keep the conversation going, to keep your mind sharp. But the effort was in vain. Your head felt heavy, and your eyelids were drooping despite your best efforts.

"Don't fall asleep," you murmured to yourself, the words slurring together.

Marcus's expression softened, and he crouched down beside the bed, his face level with yours. "You need to rest," he said, his voice gentle.

"I can... stay awake," you insisted, but your body had other plans. Your limbs felt like lead, and the comfort of the bed was becoming impossible to resist.

Marcus reached out, his hand brushing a lock of hair from your face. "Just sleep," he urged. "I'll be right here."

You tried to fight it, tried to keep your eyes open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. As you stared into his eyes, the intensity of his gaze was the last thing you saw before everything went dark. His eyes held a depth that made your heart ache, a mixture of frustration, determination, and something else you couldn't quite name.

Your breathing slowed, and you felt yourself slipping away, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. Marcus's presence beside you was a strange comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you weren't alone. His hand lingered on your face for a moment longer, his touch surprisingly tender.

The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was his face, the worry and care etched into his features. Your final thought was a confused jumble of emotions, a mixture of anger, defiance, and a reluctant sense of safety.

I watched her struggle to stay awake, her eyelids fluttering as the effects of the alcohol took hold. Her earlier defiance had melted into a fragile vulnerability that tightened my chest. Despite everything, there was something about her that stirred a protective instinct in me.

She hated me, and I couldn't blame her. This marriage wasn't her choice, just as it wasn't truly mine. But here we were, bound together by circumstances beyond our control. I had accepted the arrangement with a single, desperate hope – to escape the life of a gladiator. To live a life where survival wasn't measured by the swing of a sword.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I watched her sleep. She looked so peaceful now, a stark contrast to the fiery woman who had spat venom at me earlier. Her reputation had preceded her – wild, unladylike, with a rebellious streak that made her father's blood boil. Any other man would have turned her away, seen her as too much trouble. But not me.

I was no stranger to trouble. Hell, I lived in it every day in the arena. So when this opportunity arose, I took it. Perhaps, deep down, I saw a bit of myself in her – trapped, fighting against the current, desperate for a way out.

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking softly under my weight. The villa was quiet, save for the soft sounds of the ocean outside. It was beautiful here, far removed from the chaos of our everyday lives. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a place for new beginnings.

But that was wishful thinking, and I knew it. We were too different, too stubborn, and too caught up in our own struggles to see eye to eye. Still, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe over time, we could find common ground. Maybe I could help her see that not all men were out to control her, to use her.

As she slept, I couldn't help but reflect on our wedding night. I had been a little drunk, my senses dulled by the wine and the weight of what lay ahead. I hadn’t known what to expect, and the confusion of hate and passion made me feel odd, out of place in my own skin. She had initiated sex that night, surprising me with her boldness. Yet now she pretended I was nothing more than a rodent, something to be tolerated.

But I wasn’t blind. I saw the way she looked at me, the physical attraction she tried to mask with disdain. It was confusing, this mix of desire and loathing. I wanted her, but I wouldn’t force it. I refused to become the monster she seemed to believe I was.

My eyes wandered over her sleeping form, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed out over the pillow. She looked peaceful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine a future where she looked at me with that same peace when awake.

I remembered the way she had clung to me on our wedding night, her body warm and pliant against mine. The way she had moaned my name, her defenses lowered, just for a moment. It felt like a betrayal that she could feel so passionately in bed yet treat me with such coldness during the day.

Watching her now, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment. She had fallen asleep in my presence, a small step forward in this tangled mess we found ourselves in. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was a way for us to find common ground.

The exhaustion from the day's events washed over me, and I settled into the chair, unable to tear my gaze away from her. She shifted slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips. The urge to go to her, to hold her and comfort her, was strong, but I stayed put. Pushing her now would only drive her further away.

As my eyelids grew heavy, I thought about the road ahead. The days would be long and difficult, filled with arguments and misunderstandings. But for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could make this work. Maybe we could find a way to understand each other, to build something real from the ashes of our forced union.

With that thought, I let myself drift off, the rhythmic sound of her breathing a strange, comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, we had this moment of fragile peace. And in the quiet of the night, it was enough.

You woke up with a slight headache, the overwhelming scent of a man filling your senses. It was a heady mix of sweat, leather, and something distinctly masculine. You sat up, and the room spun a little. A groan escaped your lips as you checked to make sure your clothes were still on. You didn't remember him taking off anything other than your shoes, but he was still a man, after all. Your eyes landed on Marcus, uncomfortably slouched in a chair facing the bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The sight of him asleep, vulnerable, stirred something unfamiliar in you, but you quickly pushed it aside.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood up slowly, testing your balance. The headache pounded behind your eyes, a painful reminder of your overindulgence. You made your way to the washbasin, splashing cold water on your face, hoping it would help clear the fog in your head. After a moment, you straightened, took a deep breath, and left the room, eager to put some distance between yourself and Marcus.

The villa was quiet as you made your way to the dining room, the only sounds the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lap of waves against the shore. The familiarity of it all made you ache with a longing for simpler times. You remembered your childhood here, playing on the beach, carefree and happy before the world became so complicated.

As you entered the dining room, a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl and a single, raw egg. She approached you with a polite smile, her eyes downcast.

"Good morning, my lady. I've brought you something to help with... pregnancy," she said, her voice hesitant.

Your eyes narrowed, and you snapped, "I'm not pregnant. The only remedy from an old wife I want is a hangover remedy."

The maid's eyes widened in surprise and fear. "I'm sorry, my lady. It's just that raw eggs are believed to help with getting pregnant. I meant no offense."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Just bring me something for this headache, please."

She nodded quickly and scurried away, leaving you with the bowl and the raw egg. You stared at it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. The idea of swallowing a raw egg made your stomach churn, but you knew that in the world you lived in, old wives' tales often carried weight.

Moments later, the maid returned with a cup of herbal tea and a damp cloth. "Here, my lady. This should help."

You took the tea gratefully, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid soothed your throat, and the bitter herbs began to work their magic on your pounding head. You sat down at the table, placing the cloth over your eyes and leaning back in the chair.

The quiet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You peeked from under the cloth to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He had changed into fresh clothes, but the scent of him from the night before still lingered in your nostrils.

"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"Not really," you replied, your tone sharp. "What do you want?"

He walked over, sitting across from you. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You glared at him, the words from the previous night echoing in your mind. "I don't need your concern."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You were quite the handful last night."

"Well, if you hadn't dragged me off to bed like some helpless damsel, maybe I wouldn't have been," you shot back, the anger flaring up again.

"You're right," he said, surprising you. "But I didn't want you hurting yourself. Despite what you think, I don't want to control you."

You scoffed, lowering the cloth and meeting his gaze. "You keep saying that, but your actions say otherwise."

He sighed, rubbing his temples as if he, too, had a headache. "Look, I know you didn't want this marriage any more than I did. But we're in this together now. Fighting each other isn't going to make it any easier."

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes catching you off guard. You wanted to lash out, to keep up the walls you had built, but something in his demeanor made you pause.

"Why did you accept this marriage?" you asked quietly, the question that had been nagging at you since the wedding.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "I hoped it would be a way out," he admitted. "A way to escape the life of a gladiator. And yes, I knew of your reputation. But I also knew that any other man wouldn't have accepted you, not with the rumors."

His honesty disarmed you, the anger slowly seeping out of you. You wanted to understand his motives further, but another question gnawed at you.

"So, you did this for your freedom?" you asked, trying to grasp his intentions.

"And maybe for yours too," he said softly, his eyes meeting yours again. "I know what it's like to be trapped in a life you didn't choose."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask, and it left you feeling more conflicted than ever. You didn't know if you could trust him, but you couldn't deny the small spark of hope his words ignited.

The sound of the waves outside grew louder in the silence, as if echoing the turmoil within you. You took another sip of the tea, letting the warmth spread through you, grounding you in the moment.

Marcus shifted in his seat, breaking the silence. "Do you want to visit the pier?" he asked, his voice tentative.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "The pier?" you echoed, memories flooding back. You remembered visiting the pier with your mother, the laughter, the carefree days. Since returning to the villa, you hadn't gone to see it. The thought of revisiting that place brought a mix of nostalgia and longing, but also a sense of trepidation.

"Yes, the pier," Marcus repeated, watching you closely. "I thought you might like to see it."

You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to reject his offer out of sheer stubbornness, to prove you didn't need anything from him. But another part of you, the part that missed the simpler times, yearned to go.

"Why do you care?" you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about caring. I just thought it might be nice for you to see it again."

You glared at him, trying to keep your walls up. "You think taking me to the pier will make everything better? That I'll suddenly forget everything and be grateful?"

"No," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I don't expect anything. I'm just offering."

The sincerity in his voice made you falter. You hated the way he could make you feel so uncertain, so conflicted. But the thought of the pier, of the memories it held, was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," you said, your tone laced with defiance. "I'll go."

Marcus nodded, standing up. "Meet me at the front door when you're ready."

You finished your tea and stood up, taking a deep breath. You made your way to your room to change into something more suitable for the walk. As you dressed, your mind wandered back to the days with your mother, the laughter and the joy of simpler times. You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

When you stepped outside, Marcus was waiting by the villa's front door. He gave you a brief nod, his expression unreadable. You walked down the steps and joined him, the air thick with tension.

"Let's get this over with," you muttered, starting down the path that led to the pier.

The walk down the small hill was silent at first, the only sounds the distant calls of seabirds and the gentle rustling of the trees. You kept your eyes forward, determined not to let Marcus see the turmoil within you.

"Did you ever come here often?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.

"Yes," you replied curtly. "With my mother."

He nodded, glancing around. "It's a beautiful place."

"It was," you said sharply, quickening your pace.

Marcus matched your stride easily. "You know, you don't have to be so hostile."

You shot him a glare. "I wouldn't have to be if you didn't keep treating me like some delicate flower."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Trust me, there's nothing delicate about you."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "And what exactly do you know about me, Marcus?"

"Enough to know you're stubborn as a mule," he retorted, a smirk playing at his lips.

You bristled, your temper flaring. "Well, at least I'm not a brute who thinks he can solve everything with his fists."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think of me?"

You turned to face him, your eyes blazing. "That's exactly what I think of you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, quickening your pace down the path to the pier. The sand and salt air grew stronger as you neared the shoreline, the familiar sights and sounds stirring a bittersweet nostalgia.

When you arrived at the pier, you paused, taking in the scene before you. The wooden structure stretched out over the water, the waves gently lapping against the posts. You could almost hear your mother's laughter, feel her hand in yours as you walked together.

Marcus stood beside you, his presence a steadying force despite your irritation. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the pier.

With a sigh, you stepped onto the weathered planks, the wood creaking slightly underfoot. You walked in silence, the only sound the distant call of seabirds and the gentle lapping of the waves.

As you reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the horizon. The sea stretched endlessly before you, a vast expanse of blue that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

Marcus joined you, his gaze also fixed on the horizon. "It's peaceful here," he said quietly.

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of calm. "It is."

For a moment, the tension between you seemed to fade, replaced by a shared appreciation for the beauty around you. But the peace was short-lived.

You turned to leave, but your foot caught on a loose board. The world tilted as you stumbled, losing your balance. With a yelp, you plunged into the water below. The icy shock of the sea stole your breath, and you struggled to stay afloat, panic surging through you. The water was a merciless force, dragging you under. Your limbs flailed wildly, but you couldn't seem to break the surface. The salty liquid filled your mouth, choking any attempt at calling for help. Your heart pounded, every beat a frantic plea for air as you fought against the pull of the sea.

In the midst of your panic, a shadow loomed above you. Through the haze of water and fear, you saw Marcus diving in. His strong arms encircled you, pulling you upwards with a force that felt both powerful and reassuring. "I can't swim!" you wanted to shout, but the words were swallowed by the water. Instead, you could only gasp, your chest burning as you fought to breathe. Marcus's grip was unyielding, his strength a lifeline. He hauled you to the surface, your head breaking through to the sweet relief of air. You coughed violently, expelling the seawater that had threatened to drown you. Your vision blurred, but you felt Marcus's steady hands guiding you to the shore.

The sand was a rough but welcome texture beneath you as Marcus laid you down, his grip loosening now that you were safe. You continued to cough, your lungs heaving as you expelled the last of the water. You were soaked to the bone, the chill of the sea clinging to your skin. Marcus stood over you, an amused glint in his eyes despite the concern etched into his features.

"I thought you said you grew up here," he remarked his tone light but edged with teasing.

You glared at him through your exhaustion, still catching your breath. "Just...shut up," you managed to rasp, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment as you realized how helpless you'd been.

He crouched beside you, his expression softening slightly. "You should have told me you couldn't swim," he said, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his teasing demeanor.

You sat up slowly, brushing sand from your wet hair. "I didn't think it would matter," you muttered, annoyed more at yourself than at him. "And I didn't expect to fall in."

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I was here to save you."

You shot him a withering look. "Don't let it go to your head."

He grinned, clearly enjoying your irritation. "Too late."

You pushed yourself to your feet, shivering as the cool breeze hit your wet skin. "I need to get cleaned up," you said, more to yourself than to him.

"Do you need help with that too?" Marcus asked, his tone mischievous.

You glared at him again, but there was a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not a chance."

As you made your way back to the villa, you couldn't shake the conflicting feelings that Marcus stirred in you. His arrogance was infuriating, but there was something about his confidence and the way he had jumped in to save you without hesitation that you couldn't ignore.

"Your father said you grew up here, and you can't swim?" he mocked, shaking his head. "What kind of life have you led?"

You glared at him, anger and humiliation warring within you. "Not that it's any of your business, but my mother didn't want me learning. She was afraid of the sea."

He raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "And you? Are you afraid of the sea?"

You looked away, the memories of your mother's fear mingling with your own. "Maybe," you admitted quietly.

Marcus sighed, helping you to your feet. "You could have told me."

"And you could stop assuming you know everything about me," you shot back, refusing to meet his gaze.

He paused briefly, then chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

Standing there, dripping wet and shivering, the earlier bickering had faded, leaving behind a tentative peace. The walk back to the villa had taken an unexpected turn, yet as you gazed out over the water, a curious sense of calm settled within you.

He remained quiet, and you welcomed the respite of silence as you reached the villa. You marched inside, heading straight for your room. The maids hurried over, their eyes wide with concern.

"Prepare a bath," you ordered, stripping off your wet clothes. "And make it quick."

The maids hurried to obey, filling the tub with steaming water and adding fragrant oils. You stepped in, sinking into the warmth with a sigh of relief. The water soothed your aching muscles and washed away the sand and salt.

As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. The bickering with Marcus, the fall into the water, his unexpected rescue. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions he stirred in you, the blend of anger, frustration, and something else you couldn't quite identify. The bathwater's warmth wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you let out a long, slow breath, trying to relax.

Just as you were beginning to feel at ease, the door to your room creaked open. Your eyes snapped open, and you saw Marcus standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he realized you were still in the bath.

"Gods above, Marcus!" you shrieked, sinking deeper into the water and grabbing a towel to cover yourself.

He quickly turned his back, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't know you were still in here!"

"What part of the closed door didn't you understand?" you snapped, fumbling to wrap the towel around yourself.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he said, his voice slightly muffled as he faced away from you. "About what happened today."

"Can it wait until I'm dressed?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sighed. "I suppose it could, but I thought we should clear the air sooner rather than later."

You finished securing the towel and stood up carefully, stepping out of the tub. "Fine, just... turn around and give me a moment."

Marcus nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. You quickly dried off and pulled on a simple, comfortable dress. The fabric felt soft against your skin, and you let out a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, you can come back in," you called, tying your hair back with a ribbon.

The door opened again, and Marcus entered, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You waved a hand dismissively. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He chuckled, then grew serious. "I wanted to talk to you about learning to swim."

You raised an eyebrow. "Learning to swim? Now?"

He nodded. "Yes. After what happened today, I think it's important. You grew up by the sea, but you can't swim. It's something you should know, for your own safety."

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. "And you think you're the one to teach me?"

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug. "Besides, it might be a way for us to... not bicker so much."

You let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head. "You really think swimming lessons will solve our problems?"

Marcus gave you a small smile. "It couldn't hurt to try."

You thought about it for a moment, the memory of the cold water and the panic still fresh in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Learning to swim would be useful, and maybe it would help ease the tension between you.

"Fine," you said at last. "I'll let you teach me. But if you mock me, even once, I'll throw you into the sea."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll go down to the beach and start there."

You gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. Tomorrow morning."

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe this would be a step towards something better. Or at the very least, it would give you a chance to prove you weren't as helpless as he seemed to think.

You were dreaming so sweetly, the air from the balcony streaming into the room, bringing with it the scent of the sea. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant call of seabirds blended into a lullaby that cradled you in its arms. In your dream, you were walking along the beach with your mother, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves.

Suddenly, a hand on your shoulder jolted you awake. "Get up!" Marcus's voice was a harsh whisper in the pre-dawn darkness.

You blinked, disoriented, your mind still clinging to the remnants of your dream. "What...?" you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"It's time to start your training," he said, pulling the curtains open. The sky was still a deep indigo, with the faintest hint of light on the horizon.

With a groan, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still half-asleep. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"Good," he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Get dressed and meet me outside."

You quickly changed into a simple tunic and tied your hair back, the cool morning air nipping at your skin. As you stepped out onto the balcony, the first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. You made your way to the front of the villa, where Marcus was waiting, looking annoyingly alert.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" you muttered, stifling another yawn.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to make the most of the day. Unlike some people who would rather sleep through it."

"Some people prefer not to be woken up at the crack of dawn," you retorted, crossing your arms.

"Maybe if some people had learned to swim earlier, we wouldn't be here now," he shot back, starting down the path towards the beach.

You followed him, the cool sand squishing between your toes. "Or maybe if some people weren't so insistent on dragging others out of bed, they could have a more peaceful morning."

He chuckled. "You know, you could just admit that you need the lessons."

"I don't need them," you grumbled, "I just don't want to drown."

"Same thing," he said, shrugging.

The beach stretched out before you, the waves gently lapping at the shore. As you walked, the sound of the sea grew louder, filling the air with its soothing rhythm. The familiar scent of saltwater brought back memories of playing on the sand as a child, carefree and happy.

"Alright," Marcus said, stopping at the edge of the water. "We'll start with the basics. Just try to relax and trust me."

"Trust you," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "That's a lot to ask."

He gave you a patient look. "I know. But if you can't trust me, trust that I don't want to have to save you every time you fall into the water."

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. But if you mock me, even once, I swear I'll throw you in."

Marcus laughed, a genuine, warm sound that surprised you. "Deal."

As you waded into the water, you could feel your tunic growing heavier, clinging to your skin. You paused, looking down at the soaked fabric. "This tunic is going to get ruined," you muttered, more to yourself than to Marcus.

With a huff, you turned your back to him and carefully pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it onto the shore. The cool air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you stood bare before him. You waded back into the water, feeling exposed but determined not to let it show.

Marcus watched you with an appraising gaze, his eyes tracing the curve of your shoulders and the lines of your back. There was a moment of silence between you, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. Then, without a word, Marcus reached for the hem of his own tunic and pulled it over his head.

The sight of his bare chest took you by surprise. His skin was bronzed from days under the sun, muscles defined and powerful. Droplets of water clung to his torso, catching the sunlight in a way that made you momentarily forget your irritation. His presence was commanding yet strangely comforting, like a force of nature you couldn't resist.

You tore your gaze away, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. "Alright, enough staring," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Marcus chuckled softly, stepping into the water beside you. "Just making sure you're not the only one feeling exposed," he remarked his tone light but tinged with something deeper.

You scowled at him, but there was a hint of a smile playing at your lips. "Don't get too comfortable," you warned, trying to regain your composure.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no venom in the gesture. "Enough of your smugness. Let's just get this over with."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Who says I'm not comfortable already?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. "Just focus on the lesson, Marcus."

He nodded, the teasing glint in his eyes softening. "Alright, let's get started then."

Marcus led you into the shallows, the cool water lapping at your ankles, then your knees. He moved with an easy confidence, his presence reassuring despite the lingering tension between you.

"First, we need to get you comfortable with the water," he said, his tone more serious now. "Can you float on your back?"

You hesitated, the memory of your earlier panic still fresh. "I can try."

"Good," he said. "I'll support you. Just relax and let the water hold you."

You lay back, feeling his hands under your shoulders and lower back. The sensation of the water buoying you up was strange, but Marcus's steady grip kept you grounded. You focused on the sky above, the blue expanse calming your racing heart.

"See?" he murmured. "You're doing fine."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "For now."

Marcus chuckled, his hands firm and reassuring. "Now, try to kick your legs gently."

You did as he instructed, the water resisting your movements. It felt awkward, but you persisted, trying to find a rhythm.

"That's it," Marcus encouraged. "Just like that. You're doing great."

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

Marcus grinned. "I told you. Now, let's move a bit deeper."

He guided you further into the water, his grip never faltering. As the water reached your waist, you felt a flicker of unease but pushed it aside. You were determined to prove you could do this.

"Alright," he said, stopping when the water was up to your chest. "Let's try some basic strokes. I'll show you, then you copy me."

You watched as he demonstrated a simple stroke, his movements smooth and confident. His muscles rippled under the water, every action purposeful and efficient. You tried to mimic him, feeling clumsy in comparison.

"Good," he said, nodding. "But keep your elbows higher. Like this."

He corrected your form, his touch gentle yet precise. You adjusted, trying to follow his guidance.

"Better," he praised. "Now, let's keep practicing."

You continued the lesson, each new skill building your confidence. As you practiced, you couldn't help but feel a growing respect for Marcus. Despite his arrogance, he was a patient and effective teacher.

After a while, Marcus called for a break. You waded to shallower water, grateful for the reprieve. As you stood catching your breath, Marcus studied you thoughtfully.

"You're not afraid of the water, are you?" he asked suddenly.

You shook your head, surprised by the question. "No. I just... never learned to swim."

"Why not?" he pressed, curiosity lighting up his eyes.

You hesitated, the memories tugging at your heart. "My mother... she despised the sea," you began softly. "She preferred the safety and serenity of the countryside. My father, on the other hand, adored it. Most of our family's wealth came from his sea trade ventures. He built his entire empire on the waves."

Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, clearly intrigued. "So your mother didn't share his love for the sea?"

You let out a bitter laugh. "No, quite the opposite. She was terrified of it. She hated the constant worry every time he left on a voyage, the endless nights spent alone. She never understood his obsession with the sea. Their marriage was arranged, just like ours. But unlike us, they never found common ground."

"And your father?" Marcus asked, his tone gentler now.

"My father loved the sea more than anything," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "He saw it as a source of freedom and wealth. He would spend months at a time on his ships, overseeing his trade routes, and ensuring our fortune grew. The sea was his true mistress."

Marcus seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful. "So your mother lives in the countryside now?"

You nodded. "Yes. She moved away a few years ago. Couldn't stand the sight of the sea anymore, or the memories it held. She wanted peace, a life without the constant fear and loneliness."

"Do you see her often?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

"Not as much as I'd like," you admitted. "She visits sometimes, but my father keeps her at a distance. He's still bitter, even after all these years. He sees her as weak, unable to embrace the life he chose."

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sounds like we're both products of difficult marriages."

"Indeed," you replied, meeting his intense gaze with equal fervor. "But I don't want to be trapped like my parents."

Marcus's eyes softened as he stepped closer, his hands finding your waist with a gentle certainty that sent a thrilling shiver through you. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his torso, feeling the strength of his body supporting you effortlessly.

"We won't be trapped," Marcus assured you, his voice low and steady, filled with promise. "Not like them. We'll find our own way, together."

His words, spoken with such conviction, resonated deep within you. The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored your own, forging an unspoken bond between you.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of gold and pink, casting a serene glow over the water, Marcus leaned in closer. His warm breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon amidst the tranquil sounds of the sea.

With a tenderness that belied his usual stern demeanor, Marcus brushed his lips against yours in a feather-light kiss. It was a moment suspended in time, charged with unspoken desire and the promise of something more.

You responded eagerly, your heart racing as you deepened the kiss, surrendering to the intoxicating connection between you. The barriers that had once stood firm melted away with each tender caress of his lips, leaving only the raw, undeniable truth of your shared desire.

 As the kiss grew more fervent, Marcus's hands roamed your body, their touch both possessive and tender. He guided you out of the water, each step a testament to his strength and control. The cool breeze hit your wet skin, but the heat between you and Marcus was undeniable, a fire that neither the sea nor the morning chill could extinguish.

 He laid you down gently on the sand, the grains rough yet grounding beneath you. His eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Would it really be so bad to at least try for a baby?" he asked, his voice a mix of longing and challenge.

 You bristled at his words, your defenses rising again. "I'm a child myself," you retorted, your voice trembling with both defiance and uncertainty. "How can I bring another life into this world when I'm still figuring out my own?”

Marcus's gaze softened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. "No one said it had to work," he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "But we can try. Together. We can make our own Path.

 His words were a balm to your fears, a promise of partnership rather than domination. As he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, you felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble. The passion between you was a living thing, a force that demanded to be acknowledged.

 Marcus's hands moved with purpose, exploring every inch of you with a reverence that made you shiver. You arched into his touch, your body responding to his in ways that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. His lips trailed down your neck leaving a path of fire in their wake.

 "Marcus," you breathed your voice a mix of need and wonder. He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

 "We don`t have to do this if you're not ready," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But know that I want you. I want us to have a chance."

 You searched his eyes, finding a sincerity that both scared and exhilarated you. "I want you too," you admitted the words a leap of faith. "But this... it changes everything.”

"Then let it change us," he murmured, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss deepened, a blend of urgency and tenderness that left you both breathless.

You felt the rough sand beneath you as Marcus pulled you closer, his hand gripping your cheek firmly as he kissed you passionately. His touch was both possessive and reverent as if he were handling a precious porcelain doll. His hand traveled down your body, caressing every curve with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss, the sun reflecting off his body, making him glow with an almost ethereal light. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hand traveled lower, caressing your upper thigh before spreading them, giving him a place to stabilize himself. You felt his length prod at your thigh, the heat of his desire palpable.

Unable to resist, you pulled him in for another kiss, feeling his hips move into your body, his erection grinding against your thigh. "God, you're hard," you murmured, pulling away from the kiss to take in his disheveled appearance.

"I've been hard as a rock since we started the lesson," he teased, his voice thick with lust. He captured your lips again, his hand wandering down to your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Marcus," you gasped your voice a mix of need and frustration.

He smirked against your skin, his lips trailing down to your neck, where he bit softly, making you wince. "You dick," you muttered, but your protest was cut short by a moan as he rubbed his length up and down your slick wetness.

Leaning over you, Marcus positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes dark with desire. "I know you want my dick," he said with a smirk, pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched at the sensation, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he began to move. He lifted your legs slightly, pushing your knees to your chest, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you completely almost overwhelming.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle your whimpers, but they quickly turned into borderline screams as he brutally fucked into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and frantically grab at the sand for some stability. You could swear he was rearranging your insides, his cock hitting your G-spot with relentless precision.

Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense pleasure he was giving you. You didn't think getting fucked like this was physically possible, didn't think you were capable of feeling such intense pleasure at the hands of a man.

Marcus's smirk widened as he leaned down, his eyes following the bulge on your lower belly. "Yeah, feel it," he mocked, resting his forehead against yours as he bottomed out again. "Got you stuffed all the way in, huh?"

You couldn't even argue, your eyes brimming with tears as he pressed his palm harder against the bulge. Your eyes clenched shut, but his relentless thrusts only edged you further. He gripped your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him. "No, you keep looking. Taking me so good, gonna—fuck, gonna have to ruin you."

Tears welled at the corners of your eyes as the pressure within you built to an almost unbearable peak. You were so close, so desperately close to the edge. Sensing your state, Marcus's gaze flicked to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the tears that threatened to spill over.

"Ask nicely, goddess” he grunted, picking up the punishing pace once more. "Use your manners and I'll give you whatever you want." His hands moved to your thighs, forcing them against your stomach, letting him push into you deeper. The sensation made your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening immediately.

"Please... for fuck's sake, let me cum or I'm gonna rip your stupid perfect cock off the second we're done," you managed to grunt through gritted teeth.

He chuckled breathlessly, his hand returning to your clit, pressing rough and rapid circles against it. "We'll work on that," he laughed softly, feeling you rapidly slipping towards the edge. He didn't let up on his ruthless motions, finally pushing you over the brink.

You were loud. Probably too loud. Your scream of release echoed along the shore, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. Marcus followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release sending one last wave of pleasure through your already trembling body.

As the intensity of the moment faded, you both lay there, tangled together in the sand, breathing heavily. Marcus's forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to try," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice surprising even you.

Marcus's smile widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. "If it feels that good every time," you added with a playful smirk, "I might not mind at all."

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in to brush his lips against yours once more. Just as you were beginning to lose yourself in the kiss again, a voice suddenly called out from behind you.

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The voice was stern, and authoritative.

You and Marcus scrambled to cover yourselves, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as you fumbled with your discarded clothes.

Realization dawned on the guard's face as he took in the sight of Marcus's distinctive, regal features and your own disheveled state. His expression quickly turned from stern to horrified as he realized who he was interrupting.

"I-I'm so sorry, my lord, my lady," he stammered, turning an alarming shade of red. "I didn't realize—"

Marcus, still half-naked and laughing, held up a hand to stop him. "It's alright," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

The guard's eyes darted around, clearly trying to avoid looking directly at either of you. "I'll just... I'll just be going now," he mumbled, backing away quickly before turning and sprinting down the beach.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking the tension that had been lingering. Marcus joined in, his laughter a deep, infectious rumble that made you forget all your worries, if only for a moment.

Once the laughter had subsided, Marcus turned to you, a mischievous look in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper, "there's always the sea. No guards to interrupt us there."

You raised an eyebrow, your own smile widening. "Is that so?" you asked, the idea sending a thrill through you.

"Absolutely," he replied, standing up and offering you his hand. "Shall we?"

You took his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. Together, you made your way to the edge of the water, the cool waves lapping at your feet. Marcus's presence beside you felt grounding, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of the playful breeze and the gentle rush of the sea.

As you reached the water's edge, Marcus pulled you into his arms. The sea welcomed you both with its refreshing embrace, its coolness a stark contrast to the heat that had built between you. You chuckled softly at Marcus's promise, spoken against your lips.

Marcus pulled you into his arms, the sea providing a refreshing contrast to the heat between you. "I promise," he murmured against your lips, "no interruptions this time."

PART 3

[p0orbaby]

Dancing in the Dark

summary: a tactics coach and a vice captain walk into a bar… have a not so secret relationship

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

a/n: i asked for requests and someone sent me this gem

word count: 3.1k

-

Leah texts you at exactly 12:02 a.m., a time she insists is “late enough to avoid suspicion but early enough that we’re not knackered in the morning.” The precision of it is very Leah—practical, calculated, with just the faintest whisper of rebellion. It’s always the same text—Room 308—as if she’s writing it for a stranger who might need the address for their sat nav. She never adds punctuation. You think that’s intentional, a way of keeping it casual, devoid of any intimacy that could be misconstrued.

You’ve stopped bothering to reply. It’s not that you don’t want to see her—want isn’t the word for what you feel when you see her name flash on your screen, but it’s close enough. It’s that typing on my way feels excessive when the answer’s already obvious. She knows you’ll come. You know she knows. And there’s something about that silent agreement that feels like the only part of this whole arrangement that makes sense.

The desk lamp casts a faint yellow glow across the room as you pack up. Your laptop goes into the bag first, followed by the notepad you’ve been using to scribble ideas for tomorrow’s strategy meeting. You pause to carefully align its corner with the edge of the desk—a habit you’ve had since you were a child, though you’re not sure if it’s a quirk of personality or a learned behaviour from years of Catholic school and its draconian rules about neatness.

Your hoodie is next, slung over the back of the chair like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. It’s an old one from university, the logo cracked and peeling, the sleeves stretched from too many washes. It smells faintly of your laundry detergent—a scent marketed as “ocean breeze,” though you’ve always thought it smells more like cheap fabric softener and an overactive imagination. Nothing about it suggests the ocean, or even a breeze. It’s more akin to the air freshener in a Southend-on-Sea rental cottage, the kind with faded floral curtains and a broken kettle. You wonder, briefly, if Leah would find this thought amusing. Probably. She has a way of laughing at things that don’t seem funny until she does.

The hotel corridor is silent, save for the distant hum of a vending machine and the occasional creak of overused floorboards. You walk quickly, your trainers barely making a sound on the patterned carpet—a gaudy, swirling design in shades of burgundy and gold that seems to scream corporate retreat. You keep your eyes trained forward, as if avoiding eye contact with the carpet will somehow render you invisible to anyone who might happen to step out of their room.

You’ve mapped out every staff member’s room, memorised the most efficient route, and calculated the probability of running into someone based on their known habits. Karen from PR always goes to bed early, probably still jet-lagged from the US tour. The physio, Jamie, is a night owl, but he’s more likely to be glued to Netflix than wandering the halls. Leah finds this level of detail ridiculous.

“You’re acting like MI5 is going to raid the place,” she’d said once, sprawled on her bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Her hair was still damp from the shower, a faint halo of gold catching the light as she turned her head to look at you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know”

She’d been peeling off your shirt as she said it, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, her eyes glittering with amusement. You wanted to argue, to tell her that fun is precisely what you’re having, in the only way you know how to have it: meticulously planned, risk-assessed, and executed with the precision of a military operation. But then her hands had moved lower, and the argument had dissolved into something else entirely. Something much harder to put into words.

-

Room 308. You knock twice—firm, precise knocks that betray none of the absurd nervousness bubbling under the surface. The kind that makes your palms clammy and your chest feel like it’s trying to audition for a drum solo. The knocks are part of a ritual now, as familiar as tying your boots before a match or double-checking the pitch markings. Three sharp raps, never four, because three would seem impatient, and two would feel too casual, as though you’re dropping by to borrow sugar or ask for her Netflix password.

The door opens almost instantly, as if she’s been standing on the other side, waiting for you. Leah’s dressed in one of those oversized T-shirts she always wears off the pitch, the kind that blur the line between effortless and lazy. This one is black, or it might have been once, but it’s faded now, the fabric soft and worn thin at the seams. The logo across the chest is barely legible—AC__ME—as though it’s been through the wash one too many times. You can’t tell if it’s a nod to Arsenal, a subtle homage to Wile E. Coyote’s endless misfortunes, or one of those niche designer brands that only appear on people with a six-figure salary and a curated Instagram aesthetic. It’s probably the latter. Leah strikes you as the kind of person who’d know what Vetements is and pretend she doesn’t care about it while secretly owning three pieces.

“Hey,” she says, stepping aside to let you in. Her voice has this easy warmth to it, like she’s just woken up from the kind of nap that makes you forget what year it is. There’s a hint of amusement in her tone, the faint lilt of someone who’s just thought of something funny but isn’t planning to share it with the group. You’ve always liked that about her—how she can hold a joke in her mouth like a secret, like it’s something she doesn’t owe to anyone else.

“Hi,” you reply, because what else is there to say? Hello feels too formal, like you’ve shown up for a job interview, and anything else—anything softer, more intimate—feels dangerous. Like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff just to see how far you can lean before gravity kicks in.

Her room is a mirror image of yours, down to the garish burgundy carpet and beige curtains that don’t quite close properly. It’s a symphony of stereotypical hotel design, where the furniture all looks like it’s been bolted down as a precaution against theft. But there’s something different about hers, something distinctly Leah. It smells faintly of her perfume, a citrusy Chanel scent you’d once looked for in John Lewis out of curiosity. You’d sprayed it onto one of those paper tester strips, only to feel your lungs contract at the price tag. It smells like sunshine and sharp edges, and now it’s permanently tangled up in your memory of her.

The bed is unmade, the covers thrown haphazardly across the mattress like they’ve been caught mid-escape. One pillow teeters on the edge, a casualty of her apparent inability to sleep neatly. There’s a half-empty bottle of water on the nightstand, its label peeling from condensation. A pair of socks—crew-length, white with a small Nike tick—lie abandoned on the floor near the foot of the bed, one inside out. The room is messy in a way that surprises you. Leah, who is precise and meticulous on the pitch, leaves her personal space in a state of mild chaos. And for some reason, it makes you smile. It’s humanising, like finding out that superheroes still get toothpaste on their shirts.

You step inside, careful not to trip over her trainers—Adidas Sambas in a muted beige tone, scuffed at the edges but somehow still immaculate in their coolness. The door clicks shut behind you, the sound punctuating the silence like a full stop. You turn to face her, and she’s leaning against the dresser now, her hands resting in the pockets of her shorts. She’s watching you, her eyes half-lidded and impossibly blue, the kind of blue that makes you think of open skies and lost afternoons.

“What?” you ask, because the weight of her gaze always makes you self-conscious, like you’ve walked into a room wearing mismatched socks.

“Nothing,” she says, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You just look…” She pauses, letting the sentence hang in the air like an unfinished melody.

“What?” you repeat, a little sharper this time, though you’re smiling too.

“Like you’re trying not to smile,” she finishes, pushing off the dresser and moving closer.

And maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying not to give away how much you like this—the quiet intimacy of it, the way she looks at you like you’re the only person in the world who knows what this feels like. Maybe you’re trying not to admit how much you want to reach out and touch her, to close the space between you with a single step. But you don’t. Not yet.

-

The sex is unhurried, languid. Leah moves with the same precision she does on the pitch, her hands mapping the curve of your waist, the line of your jaw, like she’s planning her next move three steps in advance. It’s the same deliberation you’ve seen in her during matches—the way she reads the game like it’s written in a language only she understands. But this isn’t a match. There are no spectators, no whistles, no rules, just her and you and the slow, deliberate way she’s undoing you, piece by piece.

Her kisses are deep, focused. They land with intent, the kind that makes you forget your own name, let alone the fragile, tenuous boundaries of this arrangement. Her mouth lingers on yours, then moves to your neck, her lips brushing just beneath your ear. She doesn’t bite, not yet, but you can feel her teeth graze your skin, an unspoken promise that leaves you gasping, your fingers curling into the rough fabric of the hotel sheets.

Her fingertips press into your skin—not hard enough to hurt but just firm enough to leave the ghost of her touch behind, as though she’s marking her territory. They trace the length of your back, down your spine, to your hips. Her thumbs skim over the waistband of your joggers before she tugs them down with a kind of casual confidence that feels maddeningly unfair. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always does.

“You’re so quiet,” she murmurs, her voice low, teasing. She presses a kiss to your collarbone, her hands slipping beneath your shirt to push it up, her palms warm against your ribs. “That’s not like you”

“I’m—” You try to respond, but her mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and the words catch in your throat.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice smug as she moves lower, her lips trailing down your chest, your stomach, her pace agonisingly slow. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips instinctively, barely registering the soft laugh she lets out, the sound dark and smooth like melted chocolate.

There’s no rush. Leah’s always like this—methodical, unhurried. She knows how to take her time, how to keep you teetering on the edge until your body feels like it’s no longer your own. She kisses her way back up, pausing to nip at your jaw, your shoulder, the place where your pulse beats just beneath your skin. Her hand slips between your thighs, her touch deliberate, controlled. And you’re gone.

It’s like a tidal wave, slow to build but devastating when it crashes over you. You’re not sure when you start begging—if it even counts as begging, the broken sounds spilling from your lips without your consent—but Leah doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seems pleased, her smirk pressing against the hollow of your throat as she mutters something you’re too far gone to catch.

At some point, she presses her forehead to yours, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She murmurs something—low, unintelligible, a slurred mix of swear words and your name. Or maybe it’s not your name. Maybe it’s a prayer. Maybe it’s both. You don’t ask her to repeat it. You’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe, your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer like you can merge into her, like you can stop time if you just hold on tightly enough.

By the time you collapse onto the mattress, tangled in the hotel’s suspiciously rough sheets, you’re vaguely aware of how loud you’ve been. The walls are thin. The kind of thing where you can hear your neighbour’s TV murmuring away or the occasional flush of a toilet. It’s almost comedic, really, the way you’d tried so hard to avoid being seen earlier, only to make it painfully obvious now. You half expect a knock on the door, some irate teammate demanding silence.

Leah doesn’t seem to care. Of course she doesn’t. She lies beside you, her face flushed, her hair falling loose from the ponytail she’d barely tried to secure. She’s smirking, the way she always does after these nights, like she’s just scored the winning goal and nobody else on the team noticed. Her arm brushes against yours as she stretches out, her skin warm and damp, her breathing slow and even.

-

The next morning, you arrive at breakfast twenty minutes late, a record even for you. You’ve spent the better part of that time in front of the mirror, tilting your head at impossible angles to assess the carnage Leah left on your neck. Hickeys, in various stages of bruise-like blossoming, dot your skin like a battlefield casualty report. You try concealer—two layers, then three—but it only makes you look like you’ve dipped your neck in cake batter. After an extensive wardrobe evaluation, you settle on a jumper with a collar just high enough to obscure the worst of it, but not so high that it screams I’ve made several poor life choices and am now concealing the evidence.

You enter the dining area cautiously, your eyes scanning for witnesses like you’re in the opening sequence of Casino Royale. The room is loud with the sound of clinking cutlery, chairs scraping against linoleum, and conversations overlapping in a way that is both chaotic and oddly comforting. You spot Katie McCabe first, standing by the buffet with a bowl of cereal that is more milk than anything resembling a solid. Her spoon hovers mid-air as she glances at you, then swivels her head in Leah’s direction, who is seated at a corner table, scrolling through her phone like she has never made a suspicious noise in her life.

Katie’s eyes narrow, and her mouth stretches into a grin so wicked it should be trademarked. She sets her cereal down and makes a beeline for you, walking with the kind of determination that belongs exclusively to people with too much time on their hands and absolutely no regard for personal boundaries.

“Well, well,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes dart to your neck, then back up to your face. “Someone had a busy night.”

You freeze. Instinctively, your hand twitches toward the collar of your jumper, but you stop yourself. Guilty behaviour. Act normal. Be cool. You shrug in what you hope is a convincing display of nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, don’t play dumb,” she says, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. “What’s that, then? Tactical bruising? Working on a new game plan?”

“I slipped in the shower,” you deadpan. It’s a lie so bad it physically hurts to say, but the alternative is giving Katie McCabe ammunition, and you’d rather die than give her the satisfaction.

She snorts. “Jesus, you’ve got to at least try with these excuses”

You glare at her, but it’s useless. Katie is like a shark in open water—she can smell blood, and she’s circling. She follows you to the table, sliding into the chair next to yours without so much as an invitation. Her cereal sloshes precariously in her bowl, milk dripping onto the edge of the table. She doesn’t notice. Or doesn’t care.

Leah, of course, is completely unbothered. She’s leaned back in her chair, scrolling through her phone like she’s reading the football section of The Guardian and not actively trying to avoid eye contact with you. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie that looks suspiciously like yours. Katie clocks the hoodie immediately and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Not yet.

“Just to clarify,” Katie says, her voice loud enough to carry to the next table, “are we calling this a team-building exercise or…?”

Leah doesn’t even flinch. Without looking up from her phone, she says, “Mind your business, McCabe”

Katie lets out a delighted laugh, stealing a slice of toast from your plate like she’s earned it. “Oh, it is my business,” she says, buttering the toast with an enthusiasm that borders on offensive. “You lot kept me up all night. Thought someone was being murdered in the next room. Turns out it was just—”

“Katie,” you interrupt, your voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. Your face is burning, your ears hot enough to fry an egg on.

Katie leans back in her chair, utterly unrepentant. “Relax,” she says, taking a bite of the toast she stole. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now”

She winks at you, a gesture so insufferable you consider lobbing a teaspoon at her head. Instead, you glance at Leah, whose lips are twitching at the edges, betraying the smirk she’s desperately trying to suppress.

You shoot her a glare that you hope translates to I will kill you later, but she only raises an eyebrow, as if to say go ahead, make my day.

Katie’s still watching you, her grin as infuriating as ever. “You’re lucky it was me who heard you,” she says, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Imagine if it had been Beth. She’d have the whole squad doing impressions by now”

Leah finally looks up from her phone, her expression cool, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “You done?”

Katie holds up her hands in mock surrender, her grin never faltering. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, try keeping it down. Or don’t. Makes for great entertainment”

You slump in your chair, burying your face in your hands. You can feel Leah’s gaze on you, and when you finally peek through your fingers, she’s smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, but actually smiling, like this is the most fun she’s had in weeks.

You make a mental note to kill her later. Or maybe kiss her. You haven’t decided yet.

[alchemistc]

Donato spots it first - Tommy's been fidgeting with the just-too-short sleeves of his shirt for the past ten minutes, fingers curling into the ends of the arms, thumb sliding along the hem like maybe he could make them long enough to fully cover his wrists just by thinking really hard about it. It's stretched tight across his shoulders, the neck hole feels too high, biting into his skin, and Tommy is absolutely certain it's been hemmed in at the fucking waist, because he can barely keep the damn thing tucked into his pants.

(The cost of having those fucking magnificent gazelle legs is apparently torso space.)

"You shrink your shirt in the wash again, Kinard?"

Tommy's been begging their vendor to switch to a jersey blend for years because 100% cotton undershirts are a goddamn bitch and a half to maintain.

Tommy thinks about ignoring the question entirely. They've been razzing him for weeks about the way every single smile line in his face has been putting in overtime lately.

And then she gets a closer look at it. The merch is usually the same cross-department, but every once in a while some probie will get stuck with the task of ordering a few extras to have as backups around the station and they'll go a little too hard on customization. Like, for example, the one he'd picked off the top of his clean laundry basket without looking in his rush out the door this morning.

Lucy's eyes narrow. She reaches forward, pinches the 118 emblem blazing across the breadth of his shoulder, takes in the color and sturdiness of a shirt he definitely can't play off as being old enough to have been from his own time at the One Eighteen.

Donato grimaces so mockingly Tommy nearly warns her that her face'll get stuck like that. "Christ, Kinard, how fucking domestic are you two?"

(Three days off together after a week of getting by with random texts, their schedules nearly opposite, and when Evan had stared at his overnight bag on day two and realized he didn't have any spare undershirts he'd pouted up a storm about the fact that if he had to go back to his place it didn't make a lick of sense to turn right back around to Tommy's, so Tommy had just thrown Evan's dirty undershirt in with the rest of his own laundry. And then prompted Evan to throw all his other stuff in the wash too. Halfway across the city, Evan is definitely rolling too-long sleeves over his palm with the tips of his fingers and Tommy does not have time to think about how much he likes the idea of that )

"He doesn't even know my how I take my coffee," Tommy snipes, like that avoids the question, and across the locker room Johnson slams his locker shut with a snort.

"Because you've been using his increasingly more desperate attempts to figure it out as some weird intricate mating ritual for three months now."

"It's about --."

"--the journey, not the destination," they both interrupt, eyes rolling, and Tommy doesn't bother to try to hide the grin in his face.

"He just wants to get it right so bad."

Donato's face is unimpressed. "Ugh. Can you please stop being so smitten right in front of me? I'm gonna throw up."

Tommy leans in for the kill. "Your wife ever buy you flowers, Johnson? Because I've been trying to decide how much thought went into the arrangement he brought me on Saturday, and I figure -." He dodges the palm Johnson extends towards his face with a bark of bright laughter.

---

Evan 2:15 PM

Boyfriend privileges are a SCAM

Evan 2:15 PM

Why is YOUR NAME on the back of this shirt? There's no way that's standard

Evan 2:16 PM

Chimney's being homophobic

Evan 2:19 PM

Nvm Gerrard saw it and now I'm just sad he didn't actually have a heart attack about it

[waywardangel-wilds]

Peeta is always open to drawing or painting anything for Katniss and she's frequently taken him up on it. It's usually not that difficult for him, he loves the chance to paint, to refine his skills. Katniss loves having not only a reminder of certain memories but also a physical representation of Peeta's enduring and almost quiet love for her. And it's easy. Natural. That is until Katniss looks at Peeta one day and asks, "Would you do a self-portrait for me?"

That's hard for him. The sketches are never quite right, the colors are off. Katniss doesn't ever nitpick at his paintings, and she isn't being unkind or anything, but she always looks at the drafts with an uncertain expression only to say, "Somethings not right, Peeta."

Peeta gets frustrated. Why can't he just do this painting? He asks Katniss what is off about the sketches, and it's always a thousand little things. His eyes aren't that severe. He's supposed to have freckles there. His mouth is softer in real life. His hair doesn't curl like that. His expression is off. He can never seem to get it right. What is it about this painting?

They're lying on the couch one day when Katniss says, "Maybe you just can't see yourself the way I do."

That makes him curious. How does she see him? They start trying to figure that out. He says that she should describe his face to him as if he were a plant for the book, and maybe they could arrive somewhere accurate.

Katniss finds it a little funny, even odd, he's himself. He has to be more familiar with his own face than she is, but she humors him. They sit down in his studio together and begin.

It becomes an exercise in getting to know her, somehow, on a level that he hadn't explored before. She spends a long time talking about the shape of his eyes, the fan of his eyelashes, and the color of his irises. Her cheeks stain with embarrassment, and his heart knocks against his ribs, trying to escape, maybe even trying to reach out to her.

She has something to say about details he'd never even thought of before. The angle of his chin, the exact colour of his hair. She has descriptions that don't make much sense to him too. His smile is like spring and his scars are like marigolds. When given time, Katniss ends up arranging a whole bouquet of wildflowers with her descriptions.

He loves her. He already knew that. Heck, people on the other side of the country already knew that, but he'd had no idea, somehow, he still had no idea the depth of Katniss's devotion. It's beautiful and seemingly never-ending and it fills his own heart with joy.

They create the portrait together, after many hours spent alone. It's a painting of his own face, yet, it holds a deep intimacy and he can't seem to look at it without smiling and blushing like a fool. He doesn't think of it as his, even if it's a painting of himself, the painting is wholly Katniss's. He presents it to her when he's finished and Katniss smiles warmly, looking down at it with such affection. She hangs it in the hall, near the bench where she keeps her arrows so she can look at it when she leaves every morning and when she comes back home. That part of the house is very private, he doesn't even really go there that often, so it feels special. To know that Katniss wanted to bring him there with her, in her own way.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SUGARDADDY!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains extremely filthy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Daddy kink, breast play, praise kink, reader is younger than anakin but she's also off the age! (which means i won't give her specific age, but she's definitely NOT a minor). Lightly relationship with benefits (at first)

Author's note: and he happened to be the rich CEO 🤭

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is at the restaurant for a high-stakes business meeting with some important clients. He’s there to close a deal, his mind fully focused on the negotiations, but the moment he spots you, his attention falters. You’re the one serving his table, and despite the chaos of the busy restaurant, he can’t take his eyes off you. Your charm, your smile, the way you carry yourself—it’s all incredibly enticing to him. He’s captivated by the way you interact with customers, maintaining grace under pressure. After the meeting, Anakin leaves an exorbitant tip, much larger than necessary. Along with it, there’s a business card with just his name and number, a subtle but unmistakable invitation for you to contact him.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, after you muster the courage to text him, he invites you out for coffee, a subtle test to see if you’re interested. He’s direct but not pushy when he suggests an arrangement—offering financial support in exchange for your company. At first it surprises you, since it's uncommon for you to gain interest from older men..but, he was polite, very polite (you couldn't help but compare him to guys your age). Seemed like a true gentleman with specific needs you were suggested to fullfil

Sugardaddy!Anakin who makes it clear that he’s not interested in just a transactional relationship. He wants to spoil you, yes, but he also craves your genuine presence, your wit, and your warmth.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who made you sign NDA before any further actions. And after that, the first few dates involved extravagant dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, shopping trips where he insists you pick out anything you like, and even trips to luxurious resorts. He loves seeing you adorned in the finest things that his wealth can buy.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his powerful position, Anakin values privacy and keeps your relationship under wraps. He’s protective of you, not wanting the media or his corporate world to interfere.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often sends his private driver to pick you up, whether it’s for a date or just to bring you to his penthouse after a long day. He makes sure you’re always comfortable and safe.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a soft spot for you that his colleagues would be shocked to see. He’s attentive to your needs, whether it’s something simple like remembering your favorite coffee order or something more intimate, like understanding when you need space or affection.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is fiercely protective

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes a genuine interest in your ambitions and goals. Whether you’re in school, pursuing a career, or exploring new hobbies, he’s there to support you—financially and emotionally. He offers advice, mentorship, and even opportunities within his vast business empire.

What starts as a sugar daddy arrangement quickly grows into something deeper. Anakin finds himself genuinely falling for you. The way you challenge him, care for him, and bring a sense of normalcy to his chaotic life makes you more than just a 'sugar baby'

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, the stoic CEO, surprises himself with how open he becomes with you. He shares his fears, his past, and his hopes for the future. You’re the only one who gets to see the man behind the powerful exterior.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who doesn't mind age gap although, when you're sometimes showing him something he has no idea what it is (like social media and stuff). So he's kind of a boomer..just a tiny bit..

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes you on spontaneous trips to the most exotic destinations. Private jets, luxury yachts, and five-star hotels are the norm. He loves the idea of you experiencing the best life has to offer, especially when you’re together

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often works late into the night, but he makes time to talk to you before bed (sometimes it'd be a call but sometimes it'd be a small talk face-to-face);

He sighed as the door clicked shut behind him, the exhaustion of the day slipping through him as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Despite the fatigue, the thought of coming home to you brought a sense of peace. “How’s my favorite girl doing?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up after walking into the living room.

“I’m alright… just dying to get some sleep,” you murmured with soft voice.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took you in—curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized shirts that nearly swallowed you whole. The sight was enough to erase any lingering stress. “Poor girl,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“S’okay…” your eyes heavy with sleep.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his arms slipping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. With your legs wrapped around his waist, your face snuggled to his shoulder z he couldn’t help but notice how precious and absolutely beautiful you looked, wrapped in his shirt, with no make-up on. It was a simple moment yet with you in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is attentive and loves to make you feel special in every way. He’s dominant yet caring (so it makes him a soft dom), always ensuring your needs are met. So the intimacy between you two is intense;

you'd had sex almost daily over the last two months but you, nor him, would never initiated it in half-public before. It wasn't something you'd do, you were more of a private person however...the slight possibility that the driver could glance in the mirror and see you sent a strange thrill cursing down your stomach..

Well, you live once..

It wasn't your first time giving Anakin a blowjob, yet, you still couldn't fully get used to how big he was. How thick and long.

With your watery eyes, you whimpered, tasting the salty sweetness of him before swirling your tongue around his head. Slowly, softly at first, as if checking the territory, them you did it with more confidence, falling into the rhythm of just sucking, licking and bobbing till you were soaked

It shouldn't turn you on like it did. But yet, the feeling of his member filling your mouth, his large hand sank in your hair, his soft groans and whimpers made you twist yourself in pleasure.

Your eyes watery, your underwear wet, your nipples hard and this sensitive skin that burned with never ending fire for this man made you completely forgot how you got here, where you are or even where you're supposed to go

"That's right baby..take every inch like a good girl.." the words slipped through his lightly opened mouth in a moan

He grips your ass cheeks tightly, spreading them apart to get a better angle as he thrusts into you from behind. "Look at this ass, baby...so fucking perfect... gonna fucking own this ass..." He growls, his hands moving to slap your right cheek hard.

You were a mess; holding for dear life to the kitchen counter with nothing but moans leaving your mouth. Not even your eyes could stay open anymore, as they rolled or closed automatically in the feeling

He hisses through his teeth as he feels your squishy walls clench around him, gripping him tightly "That's it, baby...take it all...You're being such a good girl..." h his hands moved to grip your hips tightly as he continues to thrust with more intensity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the kitchen.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves having you ride him;

His fingers dug into your hips, encouraging you to set a faster pace as his own hips lifted to meet yours, the two of you falling into a rhythm. "just like that, baby...you look so good on top of me"

"yeah?" You whimper out, feeling like going crazy with his member deep inside you

His hands slide up your waist to your breasts, cupping them gently as he praises you. "Definitely..riding me like a real cowgirl.."

your mouth opened to let a moan escape your lips and, to feel more, you sped up a little bit

He grins wickedly up at you, his hips bucking upwards to meet yours while he toys with your peaks "You like that, baby? Like daddy playing with your pretty little toys?"

"love it" your mouth lightly opened in pleasure

"Good girl...gosh..could stay buried inside of you forever." Anakin lets out a groan, his eyes rolling back as the feeling of you sinking down onto him once more and it suddenly gets too much to bear. "Fuck, baby...you feel so good...such an eager girl to please me..keep that pace, baby...want to watch you fall apart on top of me"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves when you visit him at the office, especially after hours when most of his employees went home

Sugardaddy!Anakin who even if makes love to you a bit roughly sometimes, he can for sure be very gentle;

He slowly enters you, his touch gentle as he cups your face tenderly. "gonna go nice and slow, alright?" He whispers softly, his hips moving in a gentle rhythm. "if you wanna stop just say the word.."

"okay" you whimper

He enters you inch by inch, his touch gentle as he kisses you passionately. "You're so tight, baby...feels so good..." his pace slow and gentle. He leans down and kisses you slowly as if you were a ceramic doll he was scared to break "my beautiful girl.. doing so good for me"

your warmth enveloped his senses and it only made him more crazy for you. You just seemed so perfect to him. Even your flaws were something he deeply cherished, found captivating, irresistible

"you okay, baby?" He whispers softly, his voice laced with autonomical concern. "wanna go slower?"

"yes, please" you whisper-moan

He slows down even more, his movements almost imperceptible as he carefully makes love to you. "there we go...so slow and gentle...just for you, baby..." He leans down to kiss your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin. "love you so much, you know? Gosh, could do anything for you.. you have me wrapped around your finger.."

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a particular obsession with lingerie. He frequently buys you the most luxurious pieces—silk, lace, and satin—in colors he knows you look stunning in. Seeing you dressed up in something he chose just for you ignites a fire in him, and he loves taking his time to remove each piece, savoring the reveal of your body

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a possessive streak, and it shows in how he wants to leave marks on you—not just hickeys, but subtle reminders that you belong to him. He’ll trace his fingers over the marks later, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sees the evidence of your passion..but stil..;

He was laying on his side with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if you might slip away in the night. You were slowly drifting off to sleep, in comparison to anakin, whose sleep eluded him. He lay there quietly, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of your body in the darkness, as if rediscovering them for the first time.

His gaze lingered on the spots where his touches had left their mark. Faint hickeys dotted your upper thighs and hips, and a few more adorned your neck and collarbone. He couldn’t help but admire the evidence of his desire for you, the way he’d claimed your body as his own. The possessive satisfaction he felt was undeniable, yet there was also a tender need to ensure that his passion hadn’t caused you any pain.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"No... I'm fine," you murmured half-asleep

"You sure?" His fingers brushed over one of the darker marks, tracing gentle circles on the sensitive skin of your hip.

"Mhm... it's nothing serious"

He hummed in acknowledgment, though the worry still lingered. He couldn't shake the need to make sure you were truly okay. His hand slowly moved up to gently push your hair aside, exposing the smooth skin of your neck and shoulder. Leaning in, he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing against the tender spot he had marked earlier. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice a mix of apology and affection

"It's okay, really" you whispered back, your hand finding its way into his messy curls. Your fingers gently stroking through them as if to soothe both him and yourself.

He pressed another soft kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger against it. The warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the feel of your hand in his hair finally began to ease his mind. Holding you close, he let the lingering guilt fade, quickly replacing it by the comforting knowledge that you were safe and okay

Sugardaddy!Anakin who enjoys the thrill of teasing you in public settings, knowing you have to keep your composure. A subtle hand on your thigh under the dinner table, his fingers tracing dangerously close to your inner thigh, or whispering in your ear about what he plans to do to you later, all heighten the anticipation for when you’re finally alone.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, over time, begins to consider a more permanent relationship with you. He starts dropping hints about you moving in, or even starting a family someday.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's definitely into some roleplay (but mostly you surprise him with them)

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is open to exploring new things in the bedroom, and he enjoys introducing toys into your sex life. Whether it’s a silk blindfold, a vibrator, or even some light bondage, he knows exactly how to push your boundaries while making you feel safe and loved.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his dominant and sometimes intense nature, Anakin is always attentive to your needs afterward. He makes sure you’re comfortable, bringing you water, wrapping you in soft blankets, and holding you close. His fingers gently stroke your hair as he whispers sweet words, grounding you after an intense session.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's more of a type of guy to send you flowers when he's out for business trip or etc

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a habit of giving you jewelry that symbolizes his ownership. A necklace with his initials, a bracelet that matches his watch

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves playing with your breasts;

"Dirty little thing, aren't you? You just love when daddy plays with your big tits, hmm?" his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples

"Mhm.." you lightly wriggled on his lap, feeling the well known hardness poking between your legs

"And you're mine, aren't you, love? This beautiful girl wouldn't leave me, now would you angel?"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who had an actual conversation with you about taking things more seriously, if you even wanted. And soon later he proposed to you

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[awxcoffeexno]

the patient - part 1

toxic!loganhowlett x reader

like real people do

series masterlist | fic masterlist | part 2 >>

summary: logan's in love w jean, ur in love w logan, and he comes to your bed every night that he cannot spend in hers.

content: more angst, the awxcoffeexno special. terribly, terribly toxic relationship between reader and logan. they both need copious amounts of therapy. this one-shot takes place in the x-mansion where reader is a student of the professor and logan is... well, logan. reader also has powers, you'll learn of them as you go.

warnings: all mentions of jean are actually referring to the phoenix who is extremely mentally unstable, logan mandhandles the reader quite a bit but never hurts her, the relationship portrayed is horribly toxic.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: wowowow im so happy the world is FINALLY sharing in my obsession with logan, he's such a cutie patootie. this fic isn't my best but it's an idea I've had for soooo long that i just had to have a crack at it.

you can sense him coming 3 minutes before he's made the decision to seek you out.

you sit up straight at your desk, eyes flicking down to the research paper you've been working on with the professor. you decide to get the last paragraph in, fingers scrambling across the keyboard to finish your thoughts before logan makes you forget everything.

and then he's at your door, throwing it open without knocking.

"good." he grunts. "you're here."

stepping inside, he locks the door and turns to you. and fuck, you hate this. you hate when he's like this, you hate everything about this arrangement.

well, almost everything. how could you possibly hate the way he walks over to you and leans down, brows set in a deep frown, pulling you up by your jaw? how could you possibly hate the desperation, the need, in his eyes as he he flutters them shut, pressing his lips to yours? how could you possibly hate the smell of wood and tobacco and... logan... as he slips his hand off your jaw to painfully wrap around your throat?

but when you slip into his mind, quiet as a cat, making sure not to give your presence away, his thoughts are swirling mostly with one person. and it's decidedly not you.

"no," you gasp into his warm mouth. "no, logan."

he grunts in protest, moving his mouth from yours to your neck.

"logan, please..." you try again, pushing your hands between you both. you reach for his cheek but grabs your hand in a vice grip and yanks away from you. he will not let you touch his cheek, he will not let you use your powers on him.

"what?!" he snaps. "what do you want."

he hardly even notices his own actions as he uses the same hand to also ensnare your other wrist, squeezing tight to let you know not to even attempt wriggling free.

you swallow thickly and look into his glowering eyes. "you know i don't like it when you... when it isn't about me. when it's about... her. i can't stand it. it feels... wro–"

and his free hand is wrapped around your jaw. you've done it again. you read his mind without his permission after years of him telling you off about it, years of him telling you to "back the fuck off, bub."

but you can't help it. you do it all the time. he lets jean do it. why should you not be allowed? why are you always lesser to him than she will ever be?! especially when she hurts him so much he has to come to you to lick his wounds clean?

jean's... broken. you're perfectly fit. jean's hardly ever there to give him what he needs, you're always by his side, before he even knows he'll need you. it's just how your powers work, and you don't hear him complaining about using the future for his advantage. and yet all he does is think about her. even when he's here to fuck you.

"logan, how about you let me go and go back to carrot top?" you say, evening your voice out in that way you do when you know you can talk people into things with your hand on their cheek. but your hands are both trapped in his crushing grip and there's no way he's going to let you move them.

he's glaring at you. gauging you. and you slip into his thoughts again – yup, he's dreaming of ways to kill you. you snort. well, at least you're on his mind now.

"get the fuck out of my head." he growls and lets you go roughly, shoving you back. you stumble back but hold your ground. he would never actually push you hard enough to hurt.

that's the easiest part about loving logan. feeling safe even when it hurts.

you take a deep breath and restart, voice still even.

"logan?"

you watch his shoulders sag in defeat as he leans against the window sill and sighs.

"logan, i... i just..."

he looks back at you, eyes sluggish. tired. "you just what?"

"i don't like being your... stress ball." you sit down on the bed, massaging your temple because you cannot read his thoughts anymore. he's spending a significant amount of his energy blocking you out.

"don't hear you complainin' when i'm balls deep in you most nights."

you cringe at the crudeness and rub your face. he stands up a little straighter at your reaction, having realised over the years that all your anxious tics reside in your face. the way you rub it, the way you harshly massage your temples, the way you chew on your lip and pull the little baby hairs out of your hairline. and now you're all that is on his mind.

he carefully pads over and crouches down in front of you. eyes softer, way gentler. his hands slip around your wrists again and tighten but this time his grip is friendly, comforting. he's trying to ground you.

"me on your mind, sweetheart?" he says, voice heartbreakingly soft. you simply nod so he continues, "mmm... i hurt you today?"

a lot, you want to say. all you ever want is her. your jean. the jean you'd do anything for even when she's trying to drag the animal out of you and turn you into a beast, logan.

"a little." you settle.

he shifts both your wrists into his left hand and slips his right palm onto your cheek. "how can i make it better?"

you swallow thickly. you have to choose your words wisely. none of your powers would be useful right now, so you lean in and kiss him first.

"i'm scared." you sniffle. "scared of losing you to her completely. you love her, lo. so much you let her chop your mind up into little pieces and put it back together every single day."

his eyes fall in a rare moment of vulnerability so you don't let go of your momentum.

"she's hurting you so much," you whisper, aching to reach out for his cheek and take it all away. "i cannot keep fixing the wounds that she creates."

his eyes snap up to you at that. "well, if you don't want this–"

"no! that's not what i'm saying, james! fuck, i want you! i need you. but it's all i've become to you," you whine with a pathetic sob. "a way to fall asleep at night. a means to an end. a solace from all the pain."

"when you know that that's what this is... that you can take my pain away..." he looks at you, his dark eyes accusatory.

and fuck, what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? what kind of doctor turns a patient away? a patient so desperate for care?

so you close your eyes and let the ache wash over you. several minutes pass in silence and he starts to get up.

"you're right," you finally mumble.

when you open your eyes he's still looking at you.

"i'm sorry. i don't know why i did what i did. of course i want to help."

he's immediately scooping you up and lying you down. logan's easy like that. he never asks too many questions.

he kisses you, softer than he ever has before and starts working his way down your chin and neck and... how does it always end like this for you? with you giving in and him having his way with you. with you under him, tears in your eyes because you do not want him to stop but it hurts so badly to be his second. his second priority, his second thought, his second need.

will you ever be able to deny him?

"open your mouth, sugar." he coos, slipping two fingers past your chewed up lips to let you wet them.

your eyes roll back into your head as you suck on his digits, body reacting in tandem with his.

no, there is no way you would ever deny him anything.

"logan?" you whisper when his pulls the fingers out.

"hmm?"

"i love you."

"i know."

--

i have once again risen from dead. i hope you liked this xxxxxxxxxxx ily

love, d <3

--

part 2 >>

[celandeline]

Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

Farleigh X Reader, SMUT - tw for cheating, reader both cheats and is cheated on

part two

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules. 

Always stand to his right, so that he can hand you whatever he’s holding without having to think about it. Let him pull you into his lap whenever he wants, even if you’d really rather just sit next to him - always sit next to him. Laugh at the jokes he makes, even if they aren’t funny. Help him with his coursework when he asks, pretend that you need help with things that you know he’s good at so he doesn’t feel stupid. Pretend that he can make you cum. Pretend you don’t know he’s cheating on you.

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules - but the perks are worth it. 

The necklace he got you for your birthday costs more than your first car, and if you ever sell it, will easily cover rent for at least a year. Designer clothes have a habit of appearing in your dorm room unannounced, always in your size - just because Felix likes when you look good next to him. No clubs are too exclusive to get into, there’s always a booth in the back of the pub reserved for you, people bend over backwards just for the chance of being in Felix’s vicinity - so naturally they’ll do anything for you. 

You’re using him as much as he’s using you - it’s mutually beneficial. You get to live within his innermost circle, he gets to have someone to bring home to his parents so they don’t start looking into arranged marriages after graduation. You have no intentions of actually marrying him, god no - you’ve heard him talk about how many kids he wants, there’s no way in hell you’re pushing out six - but you’ll take what you can get. Felix is a comfortable rung on the social ladder you’re trying to climb. 

“Right, love?” 

Felix’s voice drags you out of your thoughts and back into reality - the warm lighting of the pub casts everyone around your table in a warm golden glow. You’re pressed against Felix’s right side - always his right side - his arm perched on the back of the booth around your shoulders, casually possessive. It’s a little funny how possessive he is, considering how often he cheats on you. On his other side, Annabel nurses a pint, her overlined eyes locked on Felix, utterly enraptured. 

Across the table, India looks at him with the same hunger, even though her head rests on Farleigh’s shoulder. Farleigh looks how you feel - utterly bored, his eyes wandering the room as he idly smokes a cigarette. He’s always been prettier than Felix. More interesting too. If you weren’t trying to climb the social ladder high enough to marry rich and not have to work a day in your life, he’d be who you’re pressed against instead of Felix. There’s something about him that’s always given you the sense that he sees right through you, but it’s exciting. You know he knows why you’re here next to Felix, with a diamond he bought you around your neck. But Felix has no idea - he thinks you’re in love with him. 

It’s laughable, how in his own head he is. 

Still, you feed into the delusion, that practiced sugary-sweet smile playing at your lips as you look up at him. “Mhm.” You hum, picking up your pint and sipping at it. 

Felix grins wide, and turns back to Annabel. “See?”

Annabel rolls her eyes, leaning around Felix to pin a look at you. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

The animosity that every other girl within a fifty mile radius directs at you is the one drawback of being Felix’s main piece. Your smile turns a little sharper. “Yeah.” You admit easily, setting your pint back down. “But I know Felix enough to know that he was probably right.”

Across the table, Farleigh snorts. 

Your eyes slide over to him, and he meets your glance. Ever so slightly, he tilts his head, a dry smile playing at his lips - a silent, really?

You tilt your head in the same direction, mocking - yes, really.

Felix turns back to Annabel. “I’m always right, Anna - best get used to it.”

She rolls her eyes again, but this time it’s playful - flirty, even. You can already see how the rest of tonight is going to play out - Felix will make some excuse about drinking too much or not feeling well or whatever else his idiotic brain can come up with, and disappear back to his dorm room to fuck her. Tomorrow, of course, you’ll act like you’re none the wiser. In two weeks time, when the guilt starts to get at him, a new pair of heels or a Dior skirt will find its way into your closet. 

Simply the way of things. 

Pulling away from Felix’s hold, you make to get up. He glances at you, concerned, but you only smile, and kiss him on the cheek so that you can slide out of the booth. “Gotta use the loo.”

You brush your hands down your skirt as you stand up, and start towards the back of the pub, where the bathrooms are, tossing a look over your shoulder back at the table. You catch Farleigh’s eye, and hold it for a moment. His lips curl upward around his cigarette. With Felix likely going home with Annabel, your schedule for the night just opened up…

Maybe tonight’s the night you do something - someone - just for yourself. Set your plans for the future aside for once, and just have fun. After all, you’re confident Felix will be none the wiser - you know exactly what not to do after watching him fumble around with any and every other girl that’s caught his eye. 

You disappear into the bathroom, Farleigh’s gaze still on you. 

The noise from the pub is quieter here, just a dull hum seeping in through the walls. You lock the door behind you, and inspect yourself in the mirror. You smudge the dark eyeshadow around your eyes a little more, and fluff up your hair so that it doesn’t sit so lifelessly against your head. Your sex appeal back in place, you splash some water on your hands and pat them against your skirt before you leave, stepping back out into the pub. 

As expected, Farleigh is waiting for you, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, finishing off his cigarette. A quick glance back at the table lets you know that you were right - Annabel and Felix are gone. India’s moved onto Jack now, laughing a little too loud at something he says. 

“Felix said he wasn’t feeling well, all of a sudden.” Farleigh drawls, bringing your attention back to him. “Annabel’s walking him home.” There’s a touch of humor in his voice that you appreciate - he knows just as well as you do what they’re off to do.

“Shame.” You say, not bothering to try and sound actually sad at all. It wouldn’t fool Farleigh anyway. “Got tired of India?” You snatch the last of his cigarette from his fingers, finishing it off in one drag and dropping the butt to the floor, stamping it out with my boot. 

Farleigh watches you, his eyes half-lidded. “Is there such a thing as not being tired of India?”

“She’s not all bad.” You say. 

He tilts his head, that wry smile coming back to his face. “She’s not trying to fuck you.”

You can’t help but grin at that. “Touche.” You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of India’s flirting - but if Farleigh’s boredom is anything to judge by, she must not be very good at it. 

Silence falls between us, and you let yourself look at him, eyes tracing down the lines of his neck until you reach the hollow at the base, and then back up to his lips.

“So.” Farleigh says. 

You meet his eyes again. “So.”

He grins, foxlike and charming. “You wanna get out of here?”

The walk back to campus is short, but it feels longer with how much you talk about with Farleigh - school and America and family and money and Felix and a million other, less important, things. It’s the most intellectually stimulating conversation you’ve had in a long time, and the most you’ve genuinely laughed in a while too. It’s everything you’ve been missing with Felix - and it makes the war between your want for fortune and fame in the future and your want for genuine connection rage all the more. 

It comes to an end all too quickly for your liking, as you reach the steps to your dorm. 

You slow to a stop, and Farleigh stops as well, looking down at you, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Does it ever bother you?” He asks.

“What?” You reply. 

“That he cheats on you.” Farleigh clarifies. 

It’s a complicated question to answer, so instead you turn it around on him instead. “Does it ever bother you that he’s fucked India?”

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “That’s-”

“He does it to literally everyone.” You press on. “I stopped caring a while ago.”

Something contemplative washes over his face, and he just looks at you for a moment, eyes searching yours for something. His next question is quieter. “Who would you pick, if you weren’t stuck with him?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not stuck with him.”

Farleigh looks at you, obviously amused. “I can see you trying not to roll your eyes every time he opens his mouth.”

You shrug. “The pros outweigh the cons.”

“So cynical.” He taunts, stepping closer. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious who I would pick if I wasn’t with Felix.” You say, letting him back you up the steps until your back is against the door. You look up at him, and meet his eyes. 

He grins. “Yeah, but I want you to say it.”

“It’s you.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “Like it would be anyone else-”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, a moan leaving him as you deepen the kiss without waiting, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and vodka and it’s made all the more delicious by the little noises that keep working up his throat, elicited when you grab him by the belt and pull him closer so that you’re chest to chest. He groans when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull away, tugging him with you by the mouth. When you release him, he still follows after you anyway, chasing you for more. 

Fingers still dancing on his belt, you smile. “Come up to my dorm with me?”

“Yes, fuck, please.” He already sounds debauched, and it sends a spike of heat straight down to your core. Felix would never deign himself to beg. 

You push open the door to the dorm building, and start up the stairs, Farleigh trailing only a half step behind you. You fumble with your keys once you reach the door to your room, and Farleigh latches onto the back of your neck, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin that send a shiver up your spine.

Once you get the door open, you drag him inside and kick it back shut, locking it behind you. 

Farleigh’s back on you in an instant, mouthing under your jaw. You wind a hand into his curls, pulling his head back from your neck. “Don’t leave any marks or Felix-”

He rolls his eyes, and cuts you off. “Duh.”

Without any more preamble he dives back into your neck, kissing along the length of it until he makes his way back up to your lips. You meet him in a kiss greedily, pushing off the door behind you and walking him back towards your bed. He hits the bedframe and breaks the kiss to sit on the edge. With a grin, you’re climbing into his lap and gently pushing him down until his backs flat against the mattress. 

He’s so pretty like this - curls splayed out across your duvet cover, hands gripping onto your hips like you’ll float away if he lets go. You run a hand under his shirt, rucking it up so that you can see the way his stomach flexes when you touch him. Slowly, you dip your head down to lick a trail up his abdomen, never breaking eye contact. 

He tips his head back with a shaky groan. “Oh, fuck.”

You grin, shifting forward so that you can nose under his jaw, lips ghosting across the shell of his ear. “What about you? Will India get mad if I-”

“Don’t fucking care, I want you to do it anyway.” He says, a little breathless. He’s so responsive - every little groan and whine shoots heat straight to your core. If sex with Felix was like this, maybe you wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love with him. 

You sink your teeth into his neck just below his ear and he keens, his hips knocking up into yours. His fingers dig into your hips, bunching the fabric of your skirt into his fists like he’s holding on for dear life. You take the opportunity to start the slow roll of your hips as you work a chain of hickeys across his neck, scattering them artfully around his collarbone. 

Deft fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your spine until you get the message and pull it off yourself, flinging it somewhere in your room. Farleigh wiggles out of his own shirt underneath you, pushing the offending garment off the edge of the bed. Freed of your shirt, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra as well, tossing it in the same direction. 

Farleigh’s eyes fall to your tits immediately, and you swear you can see his pupils dilate. “I see why Felix keeps you around-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say with a smile. Even when you have him in your bed, he’s the same old Farleigh. It’s a breath of fresh air after having to pretend you like when Felix calls himself ‘daddy’. 

Your skirt is next, and then the tights you’d had on underneath it as Farleigh works on his trousers, kicking them off the end of the bed. Only your underwear left, you resume grinding against him, watching as his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he uses his grip on your hips to work you over him harder. 

“How do you want me?” You ask, leaning down to press more kisses along the length of his neck. 

You expect him to respond - to tell you to turn over on all fours or ride him reverse cowgirl - but he only sighs in the back of his throat. “Whatever you like, baby.” 

You press your lips to his in another greedy kiss, licking into his mouth and swallowing up the moans that slip past his lips. He’s not making it easy to think about going back to Felix after this. Felix, who calls himself ‘daddy’ and manhandles you around however he likes and hasn’t made you cum a single time. You can feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your underwear from how malleable Farleigh is underneath you - how he looks at you like he’d gladly do anything you ask him to. 

You slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and shuck them down his legs. Your own underwear are next, and then you’re grinding on him again, spreading your wetness up and down his length. 

Farleigh’s grip tightens, and he tips his head back again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he moans. “Mm.” He picks his head back up enough so that he can look at you. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to go down on you but - mm - I don’t think you need it- oh fuck!”

Rising up on your knees, you line him up and slide down him in one drop of your hips, lodging him inside of you. He’s longer than Felix is, but skinnier too so the stretch doesn’t sting as much. God, it’s like he was made for you, with how easily he reaches right where you need him to without even trying. You start to bounce, planting your hands on his chest for leverage and tossing your head back, losing yourself in the feeling. 

Farleigh whines, a high pitched breathy thing that sounds like it’s been forced out of him as you start to move. Gently, you pry his hands away from your hips and pin them down over his head, just because he lets you do it. It’s a rush - that he’ll let you do whatever you want and take it happily - and it goes to your head. He strains against your grip but you don’t let up, working yourself up and down his cock just to watch his eyes roll up into his head. 

“What- ahh, what are you doing?” Farleigh chokes out, straining against your grip again. 

“Whatever I want.” You croon, whispering against his lips. 

He snags you in a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting so that his hips meet yours on every downstroke. A sharp gasp forces its way out of your throat as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and you can’t help but smile at him. It’s almost a novelty, the way he works with you instead of against you like Felix often does. 

He grins back up at you, and tilts his chin upward to kiss you again. Breathy, he says, “Felix is an idiot.”

You choke on a moan as a particularly hard thrust jolts through you. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t know what he has.” Farleigh says. “I’ve fucked India and - fuck - Annabel and they’ve got nothing on you.”

You laugh and moan at the same time. “You don’t have to - mm - be nice just so I’ll let you cum in me.”

“I can be nice.” He breathes. 

You ghost your lips over his neck. “You’re never nice.”

“I can be nice.” He insists, turning his head so that you can litter kisses along the length of his neck. You trail upwards until you reach the lobe of his ear, biting gently at the skin. “To you.”

“Careful.” You say. “Better stop now or I might think you’re in love with me or something-”

Farleigh tenses up beneath you, as a long groan escapes from his lips as he throws his head back. He thrusts three more times before he stills, slumping back down to the mattress, panting hard. His eyes flutter open, blown wide as he looks up at you. 

You can feel a smirk playing on your lips. “Did you just cum?”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed. “Maybe.”

You laugh, and kiss him. “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I’m good.” He insists, working his wrists free of your hold. “I can still- here, just-”

He pulls you to his chest and rolls on the mattress so that you’re underneath him now, and resumes fucking into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. The change in position makes the feeling all the more potent, and a moan slips out from your lips. 

Winding your arms around his shoulders, you rake your nails up his back, and feel him shiver against you. “Farleigh…”

“Don’t fucking do that.” He laughs. “I’ll cum again.”

You toss your head back against the pillow as he speeds up his thrusts, obviously trying to get you to cum before he’s too spent to keep going. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the feeling of him against you, the tickle of his curls against your neck, the breathy moans that slip from his lips into your ear, the feeling of his teeth against your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin-

“Farleigh-” You start, only to cut yourself off as the coil finally snaps and pleasure shoots through you. “Oh fuck-”

He groans, and shoves his face deeper into your neck as his thrusts slow to a stop. He slumps again, flopping on top of you with a long sigh.

When you come back to your senses, you tug on his hair until he grumbles. “You are such a dick.” You say. “I said no marks.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles into your skin. 

“No you’re fucking not.” You retort. 

He lifts his head out of your neck, that foxlike grin on his face again. “No I’m not.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” You ask. 

He pulls out, and flops back down on the bed next to you, nosing back into the crook of your neck as he slings an arm over your chest. “Makeup. Wear your hair down.” He shrugs. “It’s Felix - he’ll probably think he did it.”

You rest your chin on the top of his head, the aftershocks of pleasure running through you. “‘M never having sex with you again.”

Farleigh snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

You smile into his hair, because he’s right. Of course he’s right. There’s no way in hell this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence. 

[prodbyton]

🎀cw. smut +18 mdni, dom!eunseok, situationship!eunseok, sub!reader, fem!reader, yn making eunseok jealous on purpose, yn is a little tipsy, degradation (barely), rough sex, protected sex (yay), other idols mentioned for plot hehe. not edited so if theres any errors look away :3

⭐️ wc. 3.5k (OOPS)

🎧 in the closet michael jackson

“eunseok, what are you doing here?” you almost walked past him, doing a double take once you recognized the tall male resting on the wall of the crowded club.

“i could ask you the same thing,” he looks at you up and down, grinning slightly when you shifted under his gaze.

“im here with my friends”

“mhm, and where are they now?” he questions you when he realizes that no one he’s seen you around before was accompanying you through your stroll around the establishment, and knowing you were probably drunk he didn’t want a stranger to be the one to get your attention.

“wony left with her boyfriend, and ryujin is talking to some girl over there” you pout, moving closer to the boy and placing your hand on his shoulder, he looks down at your face then to where your hand rests, trying to get a good idea of your sobriety before he chooses how he’ll continue the conversation.

“feeling left out?” he raises a brow and you nod, hand going to his chest, playing with the lining of the leather jacket that covered his body that you were craving to see. “why don’t you go find some guys to hit on?”

“thats what i’m doing right now, isn’t it?” you look up at him, catching his eyes before he fights back a chuckle. you bite the inside of your lip, watching him react the way you like. getting him nervous was a skill only you had, no matter how he tried to fight it, he felt a shiver run through his body whenever you touched him.

“you’re drunk, y/n. lemme take you home?” he grabs your hand that drags from his chest to his shoulder soothingly. at least that’s what he tells himself, trying to ignore your attempts in seducing him.

“im not drunk, just horny” oh. he’s not surprised by your bluntness but its good to know you want him this bad in your sober state.

“i should get you home then. wait for me here while i bring my car around, pretty”

it was honestly perfect that eunseok was at the club at the same time as you, you planned on texting him when you were ready to leave. if you were lucky (like now,) you hoped he would take you back to your place or his and fuck you like he always did if you were in your right mind. sometimes you two wouldn’t even make it there and would just fuck in his car, you were too captivating for the boy and when you leave the house in your revealing outfits, how could he resist you? after all you called him of all people, and that fills his chest with pride.

after a night of drinking and dancing with other men, you would always call eunseok to take you home. the thought of you grinding on other men and possibly doing more with them while you weren’t under his supervision makes his skin crawl but he won’t admit it, you two aren’t together and its not his place. you just want a good fuck, and eunseok will always be there to give it to you.

once he’s out of your line of vision you try to find ryujin, going to let her know that you’re leaving and that you’re safe.

“your little boyfriend coming to get you again?” she gives you that look she always has when eunseok is the topic of conversation. there was more to your little arrangement with him that she was able to sense, even if you two deny it. the way he would spend the night with you after you two had sex, the way he would buy you food and anything else if you asked, the way he’s always conveniently free every friday night to come pick you up from whatever party or club you were at, he was always there. you two were friends with benefits, so he’s just being a good friend. a friend that fucks you absolutely stupid. a friend that looks at you with hearts in his eyes.

“he’s not my boyfriend, and he was already here, which saved me a desperate text” you roll your eyes and do a little shoulder dance, giving her a hint on what tonight’s activities will be.

“mhm, have fun babes”

you finally walk out of the doors, the brisk air of the night hitting your sweaty skin makes you shiver as you find eunseoks car. he leans on the door of the passengers seat, staring at everyone leaving the club and looking for you. he watches the way you walk to his car, studying your frame and focusing on the way your legs look in that dress. he also takes note of the way your face contorts in discomfort from your heels, making sure to remember to carry you up to your apartment once you two get there.

“you’ve officially hit #1 on my roster, for being such a gentleman” you joke as you stand in front of him, and he raises a brow.

“who was #1 before? and what was my ranking?”

“definitely in my top 10,” you pretend to think, getting eunseok riled up called for a great fucking once you got home. “and i’d say #1 was probably… sunwoo”

“baby, we both know sunwoo couldn’t possibly fuck you nearly as well as i do. and who do you call whenever you’re horny after a party?” he grabs your chin with his hand to keep your eyes on him, and you press your thighs together at his assertiveness. you almost have to hold back a whimper, he’s just so hot. “thought so. now get in the car, it’s cold”

the car ride was comfortable. eunseok let you have aux per usual, and he smiled to himself at the way you sang along to every song. he parks his car next to yours — a spot you reserved just for him, a spot you told him was just a regular guest space so it wouldn’t go to his head. so he wouldn’t get attached — and he runs to the passengers side of the car to open your door, and once you’re out of the car he’s picking you up. you yelp at the action but you’re thankful, your heels were staring to burn from the time you spent standing in your heels.

eunseok knows your apartment inside and out, in the darkness he’s able to navigate the two of you to your bedroom and place you delicately on your bed. you sit on the edge and lean on the palms of your hands while the boy turns on your bedside lamp, keeping the room at a comfortable brightness to keep you in the mood.

“look so pretty tonight baby, who were you trying to impress?” he lifts your leg to take off your shoes, caressing the skin of your calf as he slides them off your feet.

“sunwoo” theres a playful glint in your voice and eunseok stills. he gives you a look, one you know means that you pushed one of his buttons. you like that look, cuz it means he’s gonna fuck you into the mattress if you keep pressing it.

“wrong answer. wanna try again?” he smiles, giving you a chance to take back your (unfunny) joke.

“wanna fuck me?” you push your chest up into the air, and eunseok tsks at your behavior. you were so desperate for him, going as far as getting him jealous and irritated just so he can fuck you.

“keep acting like a brat and see where that gets you” he raises his brow as a warning, and you think now you’ll drop your little bratty act and be a good girl for him, but why not push his buttons one more time?

“gets me far with sun-” you can barely get his name out when eunseok his pushing your thighs open and leaving a sharp slap on the skin of your inner thigh, causing you to yelp. he keeps his hand there as he brings his body down so his lips are by your ear and you shiver, his thigh just an inch away from your core. you want to shift your body so you can make contact, but eunseoks fingers are digging into your thigh to hold you down.

“don’t know why you like pissing me off, just wanna get fucked like a slut, huh?” his words go through your ear and straight to your clit, and you have to once again stop yourself from whimpering.

“want it so bad, seok”

he hums, finally deciding to give you what you want. his lips attach to your neck, leaving hungry open mouthed kisses across the skin while his hand grips your thigh tighter. his other hand is traveling up your waist up your your chest. he gropes your tits, and you sigh at the feeling of his fingers making contact with your nipple. he doesn’t say anything to you, just groping your body.

taking his mouth off of your neck, he removes both hands off your body and you whine at the loss. he takes in your already fucked out state, smiling to himself at how easy it was to get you worked up. he pushes your body down onto the bed, not too rough but hard enough for your weak body to fall easily. thats before he grabs your waist hard, flipping you onto your stomach.

“ass up, baby” he taps your thigh, and you quickly find your balance to sit on your knees, keeping your face in the pillows how he likes. he mutters a good girl while he lets his hand lay on the swell of your ass, bringing it down the arch in your back before bringing it back up. he repeats the action, this time letting his fingers catch the fabric of the tight dress you wore, bringing it down so it bunches up at your stomach. he groans at the pretty lace panties you wore under your dress, wet patch prominent on them as you wiggle your ass in the air as a hint you want him to touch you.

“you made a mess in your panties” he coos at you as his fingers slowly hook onto the hem of the garment, pulling it down and seeing the string of your arousal that clung to you. you whine, pushing your face deeper into the pillow in embarrassment. eunseok really was the only one who could make you like this — completely soaked through your panties and have you so submissive despite your fiery personality. your pride and common sense left your body when it came to him. you didn’t care how stupid you looked begging for attention from a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend, you didn’t care how your friends would tell you to leave him alone if you two weren’t going to make it official, you couldn’t care when he was always there for you regardless of your arrangement, you couldn’t care when he makes you feel this good even when he’s barely touching you.

he brings his thumb to your core, gathering the slick thats dripping out of you before pushing it inside of you and you gasp, body jolting at the contact. he takes his thumb out of you and drags it down to your clit, pressing on the nub forcing a moan out of you. his finger circles your clit a few times and you can feel yourself getting wetter, and your body feels hot.

you grind against his finger, and he presses harder. “just fuck me already”

“gotta stretch you out first pretty girl,”

“dont care, want- need you now” eunseok groans at your eagerness. he knows how much you struggle to take him fully if he doesn’t prep you first, but with you pissing him off all night maybe you can struggle a bit.

he steps off the bed to get himself undressed, nearly tripping as he steps out of his pants. he grabs his wallet out of his jean pocket and pulls out a condom, tearing the packet open with his teeth and sliding the condom on. he hisses, he hasn’t touched his cock at all this whole night, too focused on how jealous he was and helping get you off.

getting back on the bed, he pumps himself a few times before placing his hand on your ass, lining up his cock with your hole. he presses in slightly, tip prodding at your entrance but not enough for you to feel him.

“seok-”

“show me how bad you want it” grabbing a fistful of your ass, he lets go to bring his hand back down harshly on the skin. you cry out, body jerking forward before eunseok is holding you in place.

you move your arms into a better position, moving your head from off the pillow so you could look behind you. you rest on your elbows, bringing one arm behind you so you could reach eunseok. the tip of his cock was so close to pushing inside of you, and when you push back onto him it almost gets fully swallowed by your wet heat. without his support its hard for you to get him inside of you fully and you whine, pushing back harder onto him in an attempt to get him inside of you.

he wants to laugh and tell you how pathetic you look trying to fuck yourself on him, dick not even inside you and you’re moaning. he wants to tease you and tell you that this is why he preps you. wordlessly, he pushes his tip inside of you fully. the both of you let out sounds of pleasure as your cunt takes him in.

it takes you a minute to relax around him, letting him push all the way inside of you. you feel so full, the pain from the stretch subsiding and you crave more. you move forward, letting him slide out of you almost completely until just the tip is inside of you before you press your ass to him, squeezing around his cock as he bottoms out again. your body trembles under his hold, the way he stays still with his hands on your ass, and he grips the flesh tighter each time you move.

he lets you get yourself off on his cock, giving you words of encouragement to keep going and slapping your ass each time your pace faltered. you felt like you were on cloud nine, but it still wasn’t enough. you couldn’t get him deep enough, and you weren’t moving fast enough for your own and his liking.

“fuck me, eunseok”

that's all he needed to move one of his arms to push your lower body back into the mattress, grabbing both your arms to put them behind your back and snap his hips forward. he fucks you with purpose, your body is weak under him as he builds a fast pace. you can feel the way his dick stretches you out with each pull, and you can’t help the way you clench around him each time his hips kiss the skin of your ass.

“pussy so tight for me, just for me right?” he lets his jealousy peek through, moaning and leaning over you to press his cock deeper inside of you. your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sensation, you open your mouth to moan but nothing comes out.

“yes, just for you- all for you” your voice is slightly muffled by the pillow, but eunseok can hear you and he’s satisfied with your answer. he thrusts harder, and you can feel the pressure of your orgasm building up in your stomach. “close, so close”

he could feel it, he knows once you can barely keep your eyes open and you cant let out any sounds that you’re going to cum soon, like you’re holding your breath anticipating the orgasm he’ll be forcing out of you.

except he’s not fucking you anymore. he’s pulled out of you and let your body fall limp against the mattress, body trembling and the shock of being deprived of sweet realease finally comes over you. your tense muscles stop you from sitting up and grabbing at him, all you can do is turn your body around so you’re on your back, weak no’s and please leave your mouth as eunseok watches you.

denying you an orgasm was evil, he knew it. but you deserved it tonight. and honestly, he was going to cum soon as well and needed a breather. he can never last long when he fucks you from behind, and fucking you in that dress — that goddamn dress you wore tonight, he swears he would’ve taken you in front of everyone in that club.

once he feels like he’s tortured you enough, he spreads your legs open, inching closer to you and lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. he holds onto the flesh of your thigh tight, and he uses his other hand to guide his cock back into your hole. it’s quick, and you almost scream with how deep he feels in this position.

he’s so pretty, focused on where your bodies connect as he finds the pace that makes you react the best. you stare at his face, the way it contorts in pleasure as he tries to get you to your peak. then you look at the way the muscles on his stomach contract, how you see his toned stomach glisten in the dim light of your room each time he pushed back into you.

“this pretty pussy is all for me right?” his free hand moves to your clit and you moan loudly as his fingers rub tight circles around the swollen bud. your throat was dry as you tried to get a word out.

“y-yours, seok-” you had a hand in the sheets, fingers turning white as the other goes to the back of eunseoks neck. you hold him close to your face, body bending almost uncomfortably but you felt too good to care.

“you like when i fuck you like this?” his words were warm against your lips, eyes locked in on yours as he talked to you. you were so close you could almost taste it.

“love it, love your cock, love it so mu-mngh” you were cut off by a rough kiss to your lips, his tongue swirling in your mouth once before he pulled away, face still close to yours as he looked in your eyes.

“i love you”

shit. fuck.

you didn't have enough time to process the words that left his lips before you were cumming, moaning right in eunseoks face and he pressed his lips to yours again. you tried your best to kiss back but your vision was going blurry and you were fading in and out of consciousness. he lifts his body up so he can fuck you faster, fingers still on your clit as your pussy spasmed around him. his orgasm hit him not too long after, hips stilling while he filled the condom up with his cum.

he took his fingers off you, pulling out of you and letting your body rest for a moment before he has to clean you up. he sits there, realizing that he just told you he loves you mid fuck. he doesn’t know what he should do — nothing he could say could help his case. what if you don't feel the same way? what if you did but he says the wrong thing? he doesn’t want to fuck this up. he’d rather have you like this than to not have you at all.

you were asleep now, eunseok wiped his face with his hands before getting up. he rid himself of the condom he wore and got a towel to clean you up with, shushing you softly when you whimper at the sensitivity. he put his boxers back on before walking out of your room, making way to your kitchen to get you some water. he sits you up and makes you drink it, telling you that you were so good for him and that you need your rest.

once you both were cleaned up, eunseok gets into bed with you and spoons you under the covers. before you let your fatigue take over, you let your brain recover the words said before you blanked out.

“did you mean it?” your voice was soft, a part of you hoped the boy was still awake, so he could tell you what he meant. but another part of you wished he was still asleep, you didn’t want to bear the emotions of being rejected right before you went to sleep. not while he was still here, in bed with you.

“of course i meant it. now go to sleep, pretty girl. we’ll talk in the morning”

a/n: when i tell yall this was supposed to be at most 1.5k but i got carried away… eunseok makes me crazy. i hope you guys enjoyed it <33

[adrienneleclerc]

Meet The Family

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Charles decided it was a good idea to meet Y/N’s parents before his next Grand Prix, and it turned into meeting the entire extended family.

Warning: bad writing, spelling and grammatical errors, Spanish

A/N: this is the first time we have an established relationship between Charles and Y/N, yay! Their meet cute is inspired by how Billy and Camila met in the show Daisy Jones and The Six

Y/N met Charles at the supermarket in Monaco. Charles was in the produce aisle when someone came behind him.

“Hi, excuse me, can you…?” Y/N started and Charles turned around.

“Sign something for you? Um, I don’t have a pen, do you have one?” Charles asked.

“Uh, I was going to ask if you could move over so I could get some spinach. Or if you could grab the spinach for me, either way, I just need spinach.” Y/N said. Charles felt embarrassed and handed Y/N the spinach. “Thank you.”

“Sorry, but you don’t know who I am?” Charles asked.

“Should I? I’m not from here.” Y/N said.

“I could tell by the American accent. I’m Charles Leclerc.” Charles put his hand out and Y/N shook it.

“Y/N L/N. So tell me, Charles Leclerc, why should I be asking for you to sign something?” Y/N asked teasingly.

“Sorry about that, I swear I am not conceited, it’s just a lot of people in Monaco know me for what I do and I’m always approached with things to sign.” Charles said.

“Okay, and what do you do?” Y/N asked.

“I’m a formula 1 Scuderia Ferrari race car driver.” Charles said. Him and Y/N started walking around the supermarket together, not wanting to block anyone.

“Ooh wow, a race car driver, that’s pretty big. I’m not really into sports in that way. I could bump into a New York Yankee back home and not even know it.” Y/N said and Charles chuckled. “So tell me why are you here at the supermarket? I assume you would have a private chef that takes care of all the cooking and grocery shopping.” Y/N said.

“You would think that, but I mainly have to cook for myself. I am on a strict diet so I have to buy whatever Andrea tells me I should buy.” Charles commented.

“Who’s Andrea?” Y/N asked.

“My personal trainer.” Charles said.

“Makes sense, you are a high performance athlete after all. I gotta continue my shopping, but it was nice meeting you.” Y/N was going to walk away when Charles held on to her wrist gently.

“Before you leave, how about you give me your number. I could invite you to a race and make a formula 1 fan out of you.” Charles suggested.

“Wow, has that line ever worked?” Y/N asked.

“You tell me, this is the first time I’m using it.” Charles said. Y/N smiled, very flattered that the good looking monegasque wants her number.

“It’s working, i think it’s because of your eyes, maybe a little because of your dimples, but mainly that accent.” Y/N says, Charles gives Y/N his phones and she added her number.

“Remember that you’re the one with the accent in Monaco.” Charles said. Y/N gave him his phone back and Charles checked the contact information. “Let me take a photo of you for your contact.” Charles said, Y/N nodded and pose for the photo. “Beautiful, I’ll text you later.” Charles said and Y/N waved goodbye before heading to a different part of the supermarket to get what she needed.

Now it’s 6 months later, Y/N is definitely a Formula 1 fan, always rooting for Ferrari, but she’s also rooting for Checo and McLaren. Y/N was in her apartment cooking when she heard the door open and it was Charles with his luggage.

“Muñeco, did you come here from the airport? I thought you were going to come back tomorrow.” Y/N said, approaching him to kiss his cheek and help him inside.

“I was, but I have a surprise for you. You know how you said you’ve been missing your parents?” Charles asked.

“And New York in general, but continue,” Y/N said.

“Well i have arranged for us to go to New York and I can meet your parents.” Charles said and Y/N stayed silent. “You don’t like the surprise, chéri?” Charles asked sadly.

“No no no, it’s not that, it’s just…I never told my parents I had a boyfriend.” Y/N admitted as she walked back to the kitchen to continue cooking.

“What? They don’t know about us?” Charles asked. “How do they not know about us?”

“Well they don’t follow me on social media, obviously, and I don’t really call them often because if the time difference.” Y/N said, stirring the pot of pasta.

“Are you sure you miss your parents?” Charles teased and Y/N hit his shoulder playfully.

“I do, i miss my mom’s cooking, you have no idea how much I miss my mom’s lomo saltado. It sucks that your strict diet doesn’t allow you to eat some of the more delicious meals from my culture.” Y/N said,

“You and food. You think you can call them today and tell them about me?” Charles asked.

“Once it hits like 4pm over there, I’ll call. My parents should be home by 3 but I want them to chill a little before I bombard them with a monegasque boyfriend.” Y/N said.

“Would it be a FaceTime call or a regular phone call? Should I be with you when you tell them? I am so nervous.” Charles admitted.

“You’ve had other girlfriends before.” Y/N said.

“Yes, but I already knew their parents one way or another, do you know how small Monaco is?” Charles asked.

“I’m aware. I’ll call them and let you know when to come in and say hello.” Y/N said.

“Sounds good. I’ll stay and eat with you. I’ll stay until our flight to New York.” Charles said.

“When is our flight?” Y/N asked.

“In 3 days.” Charles said.

“Okay, that gives me enough time to pack. Are we flying private?” Y/N asked.

“Oh darling, of course we are.” Charles said.

After eating, they were watching a movie and Y/N checked the time, it was 10pm, it was 4pm in New York.

“Hey muñeco, Im gonna call my mom, okay.” Y/N said. Charles nodded, moving away from her on the couch. Y/N FaceTimed her mom, waiting a few second until she picked up.

“Mi niña, y este milagro? Por qué me estás llamando? Pasó algo malo?” My girl, and this miracle? Why are you calling me? Did something bad happened? Y/N’s mom, Elena, asked worriedly.

“Ay Mami, no pasó nada malo, te lo juro. Papi está contigo?” Oh mom, nothing bad happened, i swear. Is dad with you? Y/N asked.

“Eh sí, permítame un segundo. Enrique! Ven, tu hija nos está llamando!” Uh yeah, give me a second. Come, your daughter is calling us! Elena yelled and Enrique came into frame.

“Hija, cómo estás? Que milagro que nos estás llamado.” How are you? It’s a miracle you’re calling us Enrique said, Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Sí lo sé, es un milagro, pero les estoy llamando porque tengo noticias. Tengo novio.” Yeah, I know, it’s a miracle, but I’m calling you because I have news. I have a boyfriend Y/N said.

“Mira eso, otro milagro.” Elena said. “Y cómo se llama, que hace?” Look at that, another miracle. What’s his name, what does he do?

“Eh, pues aquí está. Charles, come introduce yourself.” Oh well, he’s here Y/N turned her phone so Charles is in frame.

“Eh hola, me llamo Charles Leclerc.” Charles leaned into Y/N’s ear and whispered “they speak English, right?”

“Yes, we speak English, Chuck.” Enrique said.

“Its Charles.” Charles corrects.

“Bueno Charles, what do you do?” Enrique asked.

“I am a formula one driver for Scuderia Ferrari.” Charles said.

“Anyway, les llamé para decirles que vamos a visitarlos en unos días. Así puedes conocer a mi novio mejor, él de verdad quiere conocerlos, no sabes lo emocionado que estaba cuando me dijo sobre el viaje.” I called to tell you guys that we will be visiting you for a few days. Like that you could get to know my boyfriend better, he really wants to meet you, you don’t know how excited he was when he told me about the trip. Y/N said.

“Está bien, vamos a preparar tu cuarto para que pueden venir, adiós, mi niña.” Alright, we’ll set up your room so you can come over, bye. Elena said and she hung up.

“They hate me, don’t they.” Charles said.

“You are the first boyfriend I ever told them about. You are my first boyfriend so it’s normal.” Y/N said.

“You have no idea how much I love being your first.” Charles kissed her. “Do you think I’ll be able to win over your parents?”

“I think you will, what’s not to love about you? Beside the fact that you don’t put on sunscreen.” Y/N said

“Ha ha, mon ange. I have a good feeling about this trip, it’ll be fun to see where you grew up.” Charles said.

Charles and Y/N we’re on the plane to New York.

“Do you think your parents would like these gifts? I’m having second thoughts.” Charles said.

“Muñeco, please calm down. My mom has always wanted a Dior bag and I’m sure my dad would appreciate that Rolex you got him.” Y/N said.

“Maybe I should have got him a Richard Mille, it would be like a statement, ‘i make enough money for your daughter to never work again’, I think all parents want that for their daughter,” Charles said.

“Well they also don’t want me to depend on a man so the Rolex is perfect. A little bit about my parents, my mom, Elena, is a housekeeper, my dad, Enrique, is a City worker, he’s an electrical engineer. My mom loves handbags, she has a whole collection which we usually get from the outlet mall. Both my parents grew up ‘poor’ back in their countries, but it’s all good now, they’re working class people. My dad is really into cars so maybe you could talk to him about that.” Y/N said. Charles was typing on his phone. “Are you taking notes?” Y/N giggled.

“Yes! I’ve never been this nervous before,” Charles confessed.

“Relax, muñeco, they are going to love you.” Y/N kissed him, hoping he would relax. Charles pulled Y/N onto his lap and they stayed like that for the rest of their flight.

Charles got a rental car from the airport, he chose an Audi, and drove to her parents’ place.

“You couldn’t have picked a cheaper car?” Y/N asked.

“Compared to what I drive, mon ange, this is the cheapest car I could have rented.” Charles said, parking the car.

“Nope, I’m parking, get out.” Y/N said, taking her seatbelt off.

“My parking is getting better.” Charles said, getting out of the car.

“It’s still not good, muñeco.” Y/N said. She got into the driver seat and parked the car, she got out of the car. “Can you get our bags, cariño?” Y/N asked. Charles kissed her before opening the trunk to get their bags. They made it up the stairs and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal Elena.

“Ay, mi niña, It’s si good to see you again. Come in, come in, leave your stuff, we were just leaving.” Elena said, moving to the side, Y/N and Charles walked into the house.

“What? What do you mean you were just leaving?” Y/N asked. Charles left their luggage in the living room and sat on the couch while Y/N and Elena talked in the entrance.

“It’s Saturday, princesa, your Tia Hilda is having a carne asada to celebrate her son graduating high school.” Elena said.

“But mom, can you please get to know him first before we go? We are always early and I know you hate helping Tia Hilda with the decorations.” Y/N said.

“Tienes razón. So Charles, tell me about yourself. Enrique!” Elena said, walking into the living room, sitting on a chair opposite of the couch. Y/N sat beside Charles.

“Well i am 26 years old.” Charles started.

“Really? Y/N here is only 21.” Elena said. Enrique walked in and sat on the other chair.

“Yes, I know Mrs. L/N, but we have a lot in common and I believe we are good for each other.” Charles said, holding Y/N’s hand.

“Interesting. When you were dating Giada and Charlotte…” Enrique started.

“Papi!” Y/N exclaimed, surprised that her dad would look up Charles’s dating history.

“Did you say the same thing to their parents?” Enrique finished.

“With all due respect, sir, each relationship is different, those relationships were in different points of my life. I don’t see myself breaking up with Y/N any time soon. For right now, she is what I need in my life, she understands me, comforts me, she feels like home. I guarantee that anything Y/N has wanted I have to her, but she doesn’t depend on me for anything. De verdad amo su hija y espero que nos podemos llevar bien.” I truly love your daughter and I hope that we could get along Charles said. “My teammate and friend is Spanish so I learned a little. I learned more when I started dating Y/N.” Y/N looks at him with heart eyes, she is so in love with him.

“You seem like a good guy, it was really big of you to come all the way to New York to meet us.” Enrique said,

“Thank you, I actually have gifts for you.” Charles said, opening the luggage to pull out the Rolex to give to Enrique and the Dior bag for Elena,

“Oh it is beautiful, thank you, Charles. Now let’s go to the carne asada, Y/N, tell him how to get there, we’ll see you in a few.” Elena said, putting the bag away while Enrique puts on the watch. Y/N’s parents left the house and Y/N starts looking for her house keys.

“Found them, let’s go.” Y/N said, they left the house and locked the door,

“Mon ange, I barely survived meeting your parents, do you really think I can meet your entire family?” Charles asked, they started walking to the car.

“I believe in you, oh and you can’t say you’re on a diet, that’s offensive.” Y/N said, getting into the car.

“What?” Charles asked as he got in the car.

“You’re gonna have to eat what they’re serving, I’m sorry, you’re eating rice, grilled steak, chicken, ribs, hamburgers, hot dogs, shrimp if we’re lucky, you’re break your diet today.” Y/N said.

“Ugh, Andrea is going to kill me.” Charles started the car and followed Y/N’s direction to the house.

“Yay we made it, I wonder if Christina is here.” Y/N said, getting out of the car after she parked it.

“Who’s Christina?” Charles asked,

“My cousin. Well, my mom’s friend’s daughter, I call her my cousin.” Y/N said. She opened the gate to enter through the backyard,

“You just open the gate?” Charles asked, closing the gate behind him.

“Yes.” Y/N said looking at him, she then saw some cousins and aunts and uncles. “Hola hola!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Y/N!” The family shouted, all of them getting closer to her for a hug.

“Quien es el güero?” Her Uncle Hernando.

“El güero es mi novio, this is Charles Leclerc.” Y/N said. She heard a scream.

“No way, you’re dating Charles Leclerc, you could have told me.” Her cousin said,

“Charles, this is Christina, my cousin, he’s an F1 fan.” Y/N introduced them,

“It’s nice to meet you, Christina.” Charles said, shaking her hand,

“Oh my gosh, I am such a huge fan. When Lewis becomes your teammate, can you bring him over? Like Can that happen?” Christina asked.

“Maybe, I’ll ask the next time we plan on coming to New York,” Charles said.

“Yes! I made picarones, we’re supposed to have them later but I guess I can make an exception for il predestinato.” Christina said, leaving them to get a picaron.

“You’re gonna like it, it’s so good, she better bring me one.” Y/N said, a few moments later, Christina came with the picarón. Charles took a bite,

“Mm, it’s delicious.” Charles said, moving the picarón to Y/N so she could get a bite.

“Mm, best batch yet, Chris,” Y/N said,

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing,” Christina said.

“Everyone, it’s time to eat!” Archie, Hilda’s husband.

“Okay so don’t serve yourself the sauce, please don’t, okay?” Y/N said,

“Why not?” Charles asked, sitting at the table,

“Because it’s spicy.” Y/N said.

“I like spicy food, chéri.” Charles said.

“This is Mexican spicy, not white people spicy.” Y/N said.

“I think I can handle it, I’m gonna have some rice and shrimp off the grill.” Charles said, getting up to get a plate and serve himself some Mexican rice, grilled shrimp, and added salsa on the shrimp. He sat down and took a bite of the shrimp. “Hm, it good.” Charles started coughing and fanning his tongue. Y/N stifled her laugh while standing up to get a beer from the cooler. She opened the bottle and gave it to Charles who’s eyes were tearing up.

“Are you okay, muñeco?” Y/N asked.

“Why is it so spicy?” Charles asked.

“I think Monica was angry when making it.” Uncle Eduardo said. Monica hit his shoulder.

“I wasn’t angry.” Monica said, taking a chip to dip in the sauce. “This is good, I don’t know what y’all are talking about,” Monica said.

“So Charles, you drive for Scuderia Ferrari? You must be away a lot.” Archie said.

“Yeah, I’m away a lot, but Y/N comes with me to some of the races when she can.” Charles said, sipping the beer.

“Yes, the Suzuka Grand Prix was great, loved walking around Japan, was so much fun.” Y/N said, eating food.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Archie said.

“Yeah, and next weekend we will be in Spain.” Charles commented.

“You think you’ll win?” Mauricio, a cousin, asked.

“I hope I win, but it’s more than certain that Max will be in P1.” Charles admitted.

When they were finished eating, Charles played soccer with Y/N’s younger cousins, letting the younger cousins win.

“He’s really good with kids.” Christian told Y/N.

“You’ve seen all those posts about him with kids, it’s no surprise.” Y/N said.

“You seem really happy with him.” Christina commented.

“I am. I was worried about him meeting everyone, but I think it turned out better than I imagined,” Y/N said, watching the little kids tackling Charles to the ground and he’s just laughing.

The carne asada ended and Charles and Y/N were in the car.

“I think your family likes me. I’ve been invited over for Christmas.” Charles said and Y/N laughed.

“You think your mom would be okay with you spending Christmas in New York?” Y/N asked.

“Well she could come with us, and Arthur, Lorenzo, Charlotte, I want our families to meet each other.” Charles said.

“All in due time, muñeco.” Y/N said.

“I like when you call me muñeco.” Charles said, kissing Y/N.

“Okay, muñeco, let’s go, my parents are probably waiting for us.” Y/N said, Charles kissed her one more time before driving home.

The End

Hope y’all liked it! Comments are appreciated, let me know if you want to be tagged in future one shots

Tag: @prettypink11

[cinnamoodles]

what are ur favorite anthony bridgerton five

hi! i'm assuming this says fics, and i am SO HONOURED that you trust me to recommend my favourite fics to you!

first up… the amazing and fantastic @fayes-fics, one of THE MOST skilled writers alive. she never misses!

some of my personal favs from her are:

➥ a beneficial arrangement [ ⭐️ ]

a marriage pact with a viscount. what could possibly go wrong?

➥ rescue and ruin

anthony rescues something for you… and it will likely lead to your ruin.

➥ the friends+ series

modern AU. series of fics that feature anthony & journalist!reader’s burgeoning relationship.

those are just a few of my favorites, but READ HER ENTIRE MASTERLIST! you will not regret it, promise.

secondly, a series of fics by the wonderfully talented @rubysunnday, and once again, be sure to read all of her masterlist!

➥ take my hand

as much as y/n appreciates anthony’s matchmaking efforts, it’s hard to accept them when he’s the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

➥ a long, long time

y/n has waited a long, long time for anthony bridgerton to finally decide to get married. but by the time he finally decides to find a wife, y/n has run out of time and anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

➥ it’s a bad idea, me and you [ ⭐️ ]

y/n was ready to give her entire heart to anthony bridgerton. only for him to shove her aside in favour for sienna rosso. but, now, sienna is gone and despite what y/n keeps telling herself - anthony truly does own her heart.

now, for the queen of the modern!anthony au, @eleanor-bradstreet! some of my favorites from her are…

➥ gala

you attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

➥ locked out

when you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

➥ take me instead [ ⭐️ ]

you and anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

next we have @colettebronte, BRIDGERTON SMUT AUNTIE HERSELF WOOO!

(warning, these fics are VERY mature, and include BDSM and other possibly triggering material).

➥ rise and breathe

newly arrived back in london after a long journey across the mediterranean sea, you encounter a pathetically drunk viscount bridgerton the night he is rejected by sienna rosso. after a sobering morning on all counts, you sense that he is indeed lost and in need of a new purpose and direction. through submission and service, he may just find it.

➥ what (who) are you doing on new year’s eve?

a mysterious benefactor invites you to ring in the New Year with them.

➥ kinktober day ten: blindfolded

your tenth evening with your client. day ten for kinktober. I’m going with two prompts tonight, blindfolded and massage.

finally, we have some individual fics that stole my heart.

➥ diamonds and pearls by @multiharlot

diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage.

➥ enamoured by @dreamwritesimagines

everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst. yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. they had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight. regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss. that assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though. you were nowhere near ready.

➥ right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch

you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

➥ right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

the only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a viscount. surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. or the one where your arranged marriage with anthony bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

➥ melt away by @healmydesires

the night you give your love and body to your husband.

➥ sham, pride, and illicit affairs by @peeterparkr

or, the story of how you rejected his proposal because you once loved him.

➥ enchanted by @imthebadguyyy

you and anthony don’t need words to converse.

➥ better man by @midnightfictionlibrary

anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

➥ no longer in denial by @iwritefandomimagines

anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

➥ the language of flowers by @cinnamoodles (shameless self plug)

you and anthony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but what happens when his world turns upside down? will he open his heart and let the woman silently pining for him in?

AHH ok that was it, and these are the bridgerton fics i love with all of my soul. thank you so much for your ask, it was so nice to see all these wonderful fics again.

xo, lottie !

[miaoua3]

Hello,can you write something about scoups (arranged marriage or sugar daddy)?

hii! sure i can! im gonna go for sugar daddy hcs because that’s more my style (and also because arranged marriage trope never really made sense to me unless your parents force you to marry them so lmao). anyway i hope you enjoy this!🫶

Sugar Daddy! Seungcheol Headcanons:

sugar daddy! seungcheol who got jokingly told he should find himself a sugar baby because he has this all money that he barely spends so might as well “invest” that money and at the same time find someone to spend his days with since he’s been kind of miserable and hard to look at because of how lonely he’s been these last few years

sugar daddy! seungcheol who at first dismissed this idea, thinking it’s ridiculous- who would even want to spend their evening with miserable 35 year old ceo that is a bit socially awkward and stoic at times?

sugar daddy! seungcheol who however couldn’t stop thinking about this ridiculous idea for days until finally, purely out of curiosity (liar) made an account on one of the apps for that sort of stuff, who put way too much thought if the picture he was using as his profile picture was good enough

sugar daddy! seungcheol who spend many nights surfing on that app, swiping left and right, talking to many women who were trying way too hard to impress him and who were lacking this little something that he was looking for, though he wasn’t sure what that something was

sugar daddy! seungcheol who then one night came across your profile, who was mesmerised by your beautiful eyes from the get go, who swiped right so fast, hoping that you would swipe right too…only to see that you already matched him

sugar daddy! seungcheol who spend days talking to you, who was being so respectful and cute, always asking about your day first before anything else, who always says that he doesn’t really like talking about his job and that he would much rather spend listening to you talk about whatever you want

sugar daddy! seungcheol who finally got the courage to ask you out after two weeks of talking every day to you

sugar daddy! seungcheol who made sure to prepare the best possible date for you even when he had little to no experience with dating, who pulled up to your apartment complex in his best audi, who spend entirely too much time slicking his hair back, clad in his best armani suit, who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for you in front of his car…until you stepped out in the most beautiful red dress ever, making his heart stop beating for a second

sugar daddy! seungcheol who took you to the best restaurant in the whole seoul city, who made sure to be the biggest gentleman ever- opening the car doors for you, as well as every other door, who kept his hand respectfully on your back as he walked you to your table, who pulled out your chair for you, who made sure to pick out the best wine according to your tastes that you mentioned him the first week you were talking

sugar daddy! seungcheol whose heart squeezed with pain when you finally told him the reason behind you joining the app, who gently held your hand as you explained to him how unsupportive your parents were of you pursuing your dream and getting the degree for it, how you have to work multiple jobs to make the ends meet and how you actually just got off work before the date and how you only had an hour to get ready for it

sugar daddy! seungcheol who made sure to take care of you after that date- inviting you on dates every few days, paying you way too much for it than you previously agreed on, after a month you were able to quit one of your jobs, making you have more free time to go on dates with seungcheol (which was totally his goal), who also bought you so many nice stuff because “every beautiful woman should be able to have the nicest of things she dreams of having”

sugar daddy! seungcheol who even after three months of seeing each other and spending almost every day together still refused to sleep with you- you were just so young, more than 10 years younger than he is, who didn’t want to taint your innocence with his dark thoughts and fantasies

sugar daddy! seungcheol all but forgot about his promise he made to himself about not sleeping with you the second you kissed him like a starved woman and with your beautifully big and shiny eyes asked him to fuck you

sugar daddy! seungcheol who didn’t think he would be so into being called ‘daddy’ in bed until one night when he was pounding into you mercilessly, his hips slapping against the skin of your ass, your tear filled eyes looking up at him as you let the word slip out, which made every thought disappear from his mind, focusing on making you cum around his dick while moaning “daddy” the whole time

sugar daddy! seungcheol who started constantly referring to himself as your daddy in bed, he could be fucking you against the glass window of his luxurious condo, his chest pressing against your back as he’s pounding your pussy, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he asks you “who’s your daddy? hm? does daddy make you feel good? cum. cum around daddy’s dick, cream around it”

sugar daddy! seungcheol who after months of this routine eventually caught feelings for you, who was so afraid of messing this up with you, but who couldn’t being himself to stop from seeing you, from taking care of you, who hoped that his feelings would eventually just fade away with time

sugar daddy! seungcheol who let out the biggest sigh of relief when you admitted to him your feelings for him in a shaky voice, who immediately kissed you senseless as he too, in a shaky voice, admitted “i love you too, so so much my sweetheart”

sugar daddy! seungcheol who gets upgraded to boyfriend! seungcheol and who couldn’t be happier about it. who moves you in with him within a month of you two being officially together, who makes you focus all of your energy on your studies (and him)

sugar daddy! seungcheol who was the best thing to have ever happened to you❤️

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

i hope this is okay for you! i think i overdid it on the daddy kink but oh well lol

[darlingsblackbook]

Distant Echeos 4

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Arranged Marriage AU

Summary : The time of an old pact, promising your hand to the heir of the Gojo clan, has come. It is now your wedding, how will the two of you continue from here?

Warnings : Angst, depressed reader :(, lonely reader :(, mentions of weightloss and not eating.

AN : Part four ♡

Previous parts : 1, 2, 3

Gojo Satoru

I didn’t come home often.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because it was easier that way. Easier to avoid the awkwardness, the tension that hung between us like a thick, invisible fog. Easier to stay away than confront what I’d been feeling since that damn wedding day.

But tonight was different. I wasn’t even sure why I decided to stop by this time. Maybe it was the guilt, gnawing at me like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

Maybe it was the exhaustion creeping in after a long week of missions and endless responsibilities. Or maybe, deep down, I just wanted to see her, to make sure she was okay.

I hadn’t been home in over a week, and though I knew Y/N wasn’t the type to complain, something about her silence had started to bother me.

I opened the door quietly, stepping inside the penthouse with its usual pristine cleanliness. The familiar scent of the place—something subtle, floral, that I always associated with her—lingered faintly in the air.

Everything looked exactly the same as I’d left it. Except… not quite. The furniture was in place, nothing out of order, but there was a thin layer of dust on the surfaces, as if no one had touched them in days.

The usual sense of care and attentiveness that she always brought to this place felt like it was missing.

The energy was off.

I frowned, walking further in, my senses on alert in a way they rarely were at home. Something wasn’t right.

The kitchen was spotless, of course, but the sink was empty, the counters bare. No dishes drying, no evidence of food having been made recently. A quick glance in the fridge confirmed it—half-empty containers of food that looked like they’d been untouched for days. Leftovers from meals that had gone uneaten.

The eerie quiet that filled the place started to press in on me, and an uneasy feeling twisted in my gut. It was too quiet. Too still.

Had she… left?

The thought hit me harder than I expected, sending a strange jolt of panic through my chest. I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, the idea that she might have just packed her things and gone felt… wrong. Sure, I hadn’t been the most attentive husband, but she wasn’t the type to just disappear without a word. Was she?

I moved through the living room, glancing around for any signs—anything that would tell me she was still here. Her shoes were by the door, neatly placed like always. Her bag was on the small table near the entrance, untouched. It didn’t look like she’d left. But why was everything so quiet?

My feet carried me down the hall, toward the bedroom—the one she had claimed as hers. I hadn’t been inside since we first moved in, and I wasn’t even sure if she’d want me to go in now. But I needed to know. I needed to see if she was still here, if she was… okay.

The door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness spilling out into the hallway. I pushed it open quietly, stepping inside.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight against the windows, letting in only the faintest traces of moonlight. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and that’s when I saw her.

Y/n was curled up on the bed, wrapped in a thick bundle of blankets, barely moving. For a second, I thought she might be asleep, but there was something about the way she lay there—too still, too quiet—that made my chest tighten.

I stepped closer, my gaze falling on her face. The dim light made it hard to see, but as I got nearer, I noticed something that made me pause. Her cheeks looked a little hollower than I remembered, her skin paler. And then, the worst part—the part that made my stomach twist with guilt—I realized she had lost weight. Not just a little, but enough that it was noticeable, even in the dim light.

She hadn’t been eating.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring at her small, fragile form wrapped up in those blankets like she was trying to disappear.

What the hell had I been doing?

I knew I’d been distant. I knew I hadn’t been there for her. But I hadn’t realized just how bad things had gotten. How much she had been suffering because of me.

The silence between us had been easier for me to deal with. I told myself that keeping my distance was for her sake—that it was better this way. After all, it wasn’t fair that she had been forced into this marriage. She hadn’t asked for it any more than I had. She deserved better than to be stuck with someone like me, someone who couldn’t give her what she needed. What she deserved.

But looking at her now—seeing her so small, so worn down—I realized I had been wrong. Completely, utterly wrong. My absence hadn’t made things easier for her. It had only made her feel more alone.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I crouched down beside the bed, watching her quietly. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t stirred, but I could see the faint rise and fall of her chest, slow and steady.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, just staring at her, but my mind was racing with all the things I should have done, all the things I’d failed to do. I’d been so caught up in my own frustration, my own anger at this situation, that I hadn’t stopped to think about how much worse it had to be for her.

I was Gojo Satoru—the strongest sorcerer in the world. I didn’t have to answer to anyone, didn’t have to rely on anyone. I could have walked away from this marriage and still been fine. But Y/n? She had been forced into this life with no choice, no control. And I had just… left her to deal with it on her own.

I thought keeping my distance would protect her, that it would make things easier for her if I wasn’t around to remind her of the life she didn’t choose. But all I’d done was make her feel like she didn’t matter. Like I didn’t care.

But I did care. More than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

The truth was, I hadn’t been avoiding her because I didn’t want to be here. I’d been avoiding her because I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I cared. I cared too much. I hated seeing her trapped in this situation, stuck in a marriage with someone like me. I hated that she had been forced into this life, and I hated that I was part of the reason she was suffering.

But now, seeing her like this—so fragile, so alone—I realized that my distance hadn’t protected her at all. It had only made things worse.

I let out a slow breath, my chest tight as I watched her, my mind racing with all the things I should say, should do. Apologize? Promise to do better?

But what good were words now, after all this time?

I stood up slowly, my gaze still fixed on her as I tried to decide what to do. I could leave, give her space like I always did. But something in me knew that wasn’t the answer. Not anymore.

Instead, I gently pulled the blankets up a little higher around her shoulders, making sure she was warm, and then I turned to leave. Not because I was abandoning her again, but because I needed to figure out how to fix this. How to fix us.

Because, for the first time, I realized that I didn’t just want to make things better for her out of obligation. I wanted to make things better because… I cared. More than I had ever allowed myself to admit.

And I had been too blind to see it until now.

♡

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[racke7]

De-aged and injured Danny

Danny is found out by his parents. They don't take it well.

Clockwork is very upset about this, because he'd gambled on almost-certain odds of them being chill about it. So now he has to run damage-control before this very unlikely time-line goes even further off the deep end.

Unfortunately, Danny needs to be in the living world, not the Infinite Realms. Which means that Clockwork needs to put Danny somewhere safe. Somewhere where nobody will find him.

And double-unfortunately, the only place that remotely fits this bill is to contact Lady Gotham.

City-spirits aren't... super-reliable. They're Neverborns who very very rarely consider "humanoid shapes" worth figuring out. So they just kind of... exist. An ectoplasmic presence that's undeniable, but also extremely difficult to have a conversation with.

Thankfully, Lady Gotham is (for all of her... quirks) generally very hero-aligned. Which is why she's the best one to ask for sanctuary for Danny.

Danny who Clockwork de-aged as a way to "limit his injuries" of being vivisected.

Lady Gotham agrees, but she only has one "safe place" to put him. And her Knight is a little bit too paranoid for her to just dump an injured child in his lair, without causing more trouble than it's worth.

But it's hardly a difficult thing, to arrange a few things, and place Danny in a spot where his injuries will cause her Knight to hurry to his aid.

Such as... in a room filled with medical equipment, right next door to where Joker has just lost a fight with Batman.

Things escalate somewhat when Batman finds him and makes some assumptions about what Joker has been up to. Tempers run a bit high, someone loses a few extra teeth, someone else has to physically drag Bruce off Joker's body before he beats him to death, and the Joker considers the whole thing a grand old laugh (he has no idea what's going on, but it sure pissed off Batty, and that's always a treat).

Of course, the Batfam has to actually investigate the scene, evacuate Danny, give Danny medical aid, and then also ask Danny about what happened.

Danny wakes up and is very confused about a lot of things.

He's no longer being vivisected. Great. Love that part.

He's somewhere he doesn't recognize (the Batcave). Could be good, could be bad. At least the bed is pretty nice?

He's very small. This feels like a personal attack. He might not have gotten a good growth-spurt yet, but taking away what he had is cruel and unusual.

And there's a weirdo in an... armored bat-costume? Who isn't setting off his ghost-sense? What the hell kind of "normal" person wears something like that?

Still, Danny does answer the questions that Batman asks him, because... well, there's a green post-it-note in his pocket that says he shouldn't lie.

So Danny tells Batman about his parents cutting him up "for science". And Batman hears that the Joker somehow managed to hire two mad scientists who (upon the tiniest bit of suggestion from the Joker, who'd definitely seen the similarities between Danny and Jason and thought it would be a "funny prank") had leapt at the opportunity to vivisect their own son.

This is definitely worrying, because from the phrasing, they'd been "wanting to do it for a long time". And considering Danny's slow heartbeat and low body-temperature? They'd been wanting to do it because he was a meta.

So, somewhere out there (the Bats had found no trace of the two) were two deranged lunatics who wanted to cut open metas to "see how they worked".

Batman does the very reasonable thing and actually contacts the rest of the Justice League with their descriptions, just in case they'd managed to leave Gotham before the Bats had tracked them down.