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[cripplecharacters]

Writing a Schizophrenic Character: Everything But Hallucinations

Plain text: Writing a Schizophrenic character: Everything But Hallucinations

Hey! Mod Bert here. 

So: you’ve decided to write a character with schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder (there are other disorders on the schizophrenia spectrum but I will be focusing on these for today)

You’ve done it, you have their hallucinations and maybe even delusions picked out. Maybe they are one of many who experience auditory hallucinations or maybe they also have visual hallucinations or a combination. Maybe they have olfactory hallucinations as well. They may have persecutory delusions or delusions of reference or something like Cotard’s delusion or clinical lycanthropy. Awesome, you’ve done it!

What, I hear you say? What do you mean that’s only 2 of the 5 components needed to be diagnosed with schizophrenia? What do you mean, you don’t need to hallucinate at all to be schizophrenic?

What Goes Into a Diagnosis of Schizophrenia

Plain Text: What goes into a diagnosis of schizophrenia

Not a lot of people realize there’s more to schizophrenia and schizoaffective than just hallucinations or delusions. There are 5 diagnostic criterias that are needed for schizophrenia, and only 2 of the 5 are needed for a month, with larger symptoms happening for six months or more. Let’s get into it.

Delusions

Hallucinations

Disorganized speech or thinking*

Disorganized or unusual motor behavior (catatonia)*

Negative symptoms (avolition, anhedonia, flat affect)*

I’m going to focus on disorganized speech/thinking, catatonia, and negative symptoms.

Disorganized Speech/Thinking

Plain Text: Disorganized Speech/Thinking

Schizophrenia and related disorders are often called “thought disorders” for a reason. Speech and thinking can be extremely affected, and for people like me this can be one of the first and most striking examples of an episode coming. Some people will always have disorganized symptoms that will flare during episodes. A myth is that schizophrenia can be indistinguishable with medicine: most people will have some level of symptoms even during moments of peace or “remission”. More on remission later. 

So, disorganized speech. Some examples are: word salad (schizoaphasia), thought blocking, poverty of speech (alogia), pressurized speech, clanging, and echolalia.

Word salad: a combination of words that do not make sense together. Often called schizoaphasia for its similarity to jargon in Wernicke’s aphasia, this is instead a disconnection with the brain and not due to damage to the language part of the brain.

(Example: the salad would be yellow in the fat cow).

Thought blocking: A severe loss of thought, often paired with connecting two trains of thought that are not connected

(Example: I went to the………Do you like grapes?)

Poverty of speech: A lack of organic responses to speech or organically speaking, it can be severe enough that a person only responds to questions or in one word responses. Can also happen in severe depression.

(Example: Person A: Did you do anything fun today?

Person B: Yes.

Person A: Oh, what did you do?

Person B: Store

Person A: How was it?

Person B: Fun)

Pressurized speech: A sort of frenzied way of speaking associated with psychosis or mania.

Clanging: Connecting phrases together because of what they sound like instead of meaning

(Example: I went bent tent rent).

Echolalia: Repeating word’s and phrases. Commonly also associated with Autism Spectrum Disorder. 

(Example: Person A: I went to the store.

Person B: To the store.)

These are not the only examples but they are some ones I thought I'd highlight, either because they’re well known or I have experience with them, or because they’re famously thought of with other disorders as well and I wanted to point out how things overlap.

Personal experience: I had severe alogia for the duration of my last and worst episode. People thought I was mad at them because of the clipped way I spoke and the lack of really speaking. It got me in a lot of trouble. I didn’t realize what I was saying was different or weird (I have the least insight when it comes to my speaking patterns affected by my schizoaffective, meaning I can’t hear any difference and all of this is from repeated conversations with my mom, who was my caretaker for a bit and knows the most about my speech and what it means). The best solution was talking with people and being honest and educating myself and others. I don’t know about others, but I couldn’t have used AAC at that time.

Catatonia

Plain text: Catatonia

Fun fact: catatonia means unusual motor behaviors! Any unusual motor behaviors mean catatonia. This includes what we think of when we think of catatonia in schizophrenia (inability to move) as well as the opposite (being unable to stop moving) as well as strange movements and ways of holding and moving the body! Catatonia in the DSM-5 includes 3 or more of these 12 behaviors:

-Agitation unrelated to external stimuli

-Catalepsy

-Echolalia

-Echopraxia

-Grimacing

-Mannerism

-Mutism

-Negativism

-Posturing

-Stereotypy

-Stupor

-waxy flexibility

I have some experiences with catatonia-like symptoms but since they were never identified as such I’ll skip those for now. I will say that catatonia is a symptom that can happen in many disorders besides schizophrenia as well.

Negative Symptoms! Yay!

Plain text: negative symptoms! Yay!

So a positive symptom (Hallucinations or delusions) are symptoms that add something to reality or a person. Negative symptoms are symptoms that take away. There are 5 A’s:

-Alogia (Again, poverty of speech, our favorite)

-Avolition (Lack of energy and motivation)

-Affect (Blunted affect, or a flat way of speaking)

-Anhedonia (Lack of pleasure in things that used to bring you pleasure, often thought of with depression)

-Asociality (Lack of interest in social events and relationships)

There are also often cognitive changes including thinking and memory, information recall, understanding, and acquisition, and so forth. 

Schizophrenia and schizoaffective often (but not always) happen with what’s called a prodromal period. This period can be months to years (mine was a little less than a year) and mainly consists of negative symptoms. Slowly, positive symptoms are added. There are thought to be stages to schizophrenia including prodrome, active phases, and remission.

I’ll talk about that a little for a second because I’m currently in remission and no one knows what that means. I was diagnosed with schizoaffective depressive type in January 2021. As of February 2024, I no longer qualified to be rediagnosed because my symptoms were strongly under control and no longer severe enough to qualify for a diagnosis. They also didn’t distress me or impact my daily life severely. Day to day now I still have mild symptoms and take my antipsychotics (trying to go off them have made it clear that I still have some symptoms I choose to keep medicating) but I haven’t had a delusion in 2 years and been hospitalized in 3. There’s always a possibility of another episode but I work with my team to keep myself one step ahead if that happens.

What I want from a character with schizophrenia

Plain Text: What I want from a character with schizophrenia

Alright the writing advice part. What do I want from a character with schizophrenia or schizoaffective (which is schizophrenia plus either depression or bipolar). 

-Characters with caregivers.

-Characters using coping strategies (recording hallucinations to tell if theyre hallucinations, taking medication, having service animals that greet people so they know if they’re a hallucination, using aids for the cognitive symptoms like sticky notes and organizational tools)

-Characters who know other characters with their disorder, either online or in support group or through running in similar circles

-Characters having autonomy

-Characters who aren’t the killer or horror victim. I know it’s cool to have the schizophrenic protagonist in horror, and I love horror, but I don’t want to read about the horror being symptoms the whole time

-Characters who are in magical scenarios, who are in fantasy and sci-fi. The schizophrenic princess and the schizoaffective robot technician aboard the spaceship.

-Medication and hospitalization treated casually. Sometimes we need higher care. That’s morally neutral

-Characters with negative symptoms and speech symptoms.

-Characters with catatonia! 

-Characters with other disorders as well

-characters with side effects from medicine treated casually

-Characters with cognitive symptoms

Thank you for reading this incredibly long thing! Happy writing!

[lovebugism]

i adoreeee your sm!! would you write eddie x cheerleader!reader where they have their first time together? in his room in his trailer uwu? hurt/comfort 💕😭 and ofc she’s friends with the hellfire club and sits with them at their tableeee at the cafeteriaaa awwwgshsgsgsg

ty for requesting :D — a summary of the day after your first time with eddie munson (established relationship, brief hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of sex but no real smut | 0.9k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

You enter Hawkins High that morning with a subtle ache between your thighs. A distant panging from within you feel strangely proud of. A soreness that makes you feel brand new.

You spare a brief glance at Eddie from the corner of your eye. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he picked you up that morning (or since he dropped you off the evening before that). Your chest swells with a sparkling feeling. You bow your head to hide your smiling, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone’s looking at you — that your deepest secrets have somehow made the headlines of the school paper.

“I feel like everyone’s staring,” you admit in a whisper when the two of you pause at your adjoining lockers. Your words are nearly drowned out by the droning of a thousand conversations. Your hands shake with the lock.

“Of course they are,” Eddie scoffs, leaning against the forest green metal (‘cause it’s not like he carries his books around anyway). He grins down at your timid form and shrugs. “Why wouldn’t they be? Look at us.”

He chuckles under his breath and waits for you to laugh with him. You never do. You just duck your head and reach into your locker for a history book, more content to hide within its confines. Eddie burns.

“I— I didn’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about,” he murmurs, more seriously now, as he takes a small step closer to you. 

“No, I know!” you blurt, gaze averted. “I just… I just feel sorta weird.”

“Like… Bad weird?”

“No! It’s— It’s not like that…” You don’t know how to put your swirling feelings into words, so you trail off and regret mentioning anything at all. 

Eddie watches you shut down before him. His chest pinches as he reaches for you.

“Hey… There’s nothing to be worried about, okay?” he coos to you with a wavering, crooked smile. “No one knows shit except the two of us— And trust me, I’m gonna be thinking about it all day—”

His attempts to make you laugh work this time.

You smack his shoulder with a quiet giggle, and he laughs harder at himself.

“I’m serious!” he says, cradling his arm.

“You’re annoying,” you correct, still smiling.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Eddie croons. “I need something to think about until next time…”

You meet his boyish grin with narrowed eyes. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Munson.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughs.

You shrug without a word and shut your locker with a soft clang.

Eddie’s smile fades as you walk away from him. “Wait— What does that mean?” he shouts to you, but receives no answer as you disappear into the bustling crowd.

—————

Alone at the Hellfire cafeteria table, you read silently and wait for the rest of the club to take their seats. Jeff is first, ‘cause his mom always packs his lunch. Dustin and Mike are second, and Eddie is third. Your boy arrives with a sudden kiss to your cheek that startles you for a fleeting moment.

“Missed you,” he mumbles in your ear.

“It’s been three hours,” you laugh.

Eddie follows you when you flinch away from him. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he croons, ducking down to press a kiss to your neck. Until you shove him away, at least, face burning at the blatant PDA in front of the rest of your friends. You turn back to your book and try to ignore their unwavering eyes.

“You guys are gross,” Dustin grumbles through a mouthful of fries.

Eddie slumps down in his seat at the head of the table. His lips curl into a lopsided smirk as he tilts his head. “You’re just jealous, Dusty-Bun.”

“Um, excuse me, but I have Suzie, in case you forgot. And she’s hotter than Pheobe Cates— I have nothing to be jealous of,” Dustin rambles, then flashes you an apologetic glance. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you murmur.

“Oh. Right,” Eddie nods, slow and sarcastic. “You mean your very real, not fake at all girlfriend?”

“She’s real!”

“You guys are acting clingier than usual,” Mike observes in his usual monotone.

Gareth arrives at the table then. His tray clatters as he sits down across from you. “It’s ‘cause they had sex,” he tells the raven-haired boy with a nonchalant shrug.

You freeze, breath catching as your heart drops to your stomach. You turn to Eddie with wide, uncertain eyes. You couldn’t hide your shock if you wanted.

Eddie’s face houses a similar horror. “I didn’t tell him. I swear.”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” Gareth scoffs and takes a too-big bite of his burger. His eyes flit between the two of you as he talks through the wad in his cheek. “I can practically smell it on you guys. You’re like a couple of cats in heat.”

“Well, only one cat would be in heat, so technically…” Dustin trails off at the glare Eddie gives him. “Sorry. Not helping.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” Gareth chuckles at his best friend’s simmering anger, ketchup clinging to the corner of his mouth. He slaps the boy on his leather-clad shoulder and says, “It’s about time you get laid, man— I was starting to worry.”

“Says the virgin,” Eddie quips and steals a fry from his tray.

You swat his other shoulder.

“What?” he winces playfully.

“You were a virgin, too, asshole,” Gareth grumbles.

“Yeah. I remember it like it was yesterday,” Eddie says within a whimsical sigh.

“That’s because it was yesterday, idiot.”

[rainydayathogwarts]

Omg I saw your post and I love it!! What about like lestrange!reader that’s absolutely nothing like her parents and now that they escaped Azkaban she’s not just worried for her but for her boyfriend(you can insert any guy here) and she suggests for them to break up and he just immediately refuses!! Basically just fluff

In this together - George Weasley

based on this post - i LOVE how this request came in instantly i was so happy writing this!! summary: when you find out that your mother, Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped Azkaban, you have a crisis, thankfully short lived due to your boyfriend's care for the situation cw: flinching away from parent but idk if that's a mention of abuse. wc: 1k+

The blood drained from your face as you stared at the newspaper, your mother’s horrific laugh ringing in your ears despite the eery silence of the moving image in front of you. Your tea went cold, steam evaporating into the Great Hall’s frigid atmosphere. Everyone’s energy was low, accusatory stares aimed towards you despite your fearful nature at the discover of your parents’ escape from Azkaban. Dropping the newspaper on the table, you stared straight ahead, noticing how several students instantly averted their gaze from you through your peripheral vision. Escaping the hungry stares of the students in the Great Hall, you were ignorant to one pair of eyes worriedly observing your retreating figure.

You remember your last visit to Azkaban, a mandatory yearly visit, added into your mother’s plea deal. Whilst your father had gone down easily, pleading guilty to all his crimes, Bellatrix had demanded you visit her once a year in order for her to take the plea. Of course, as a baby you had no one to defend your word, and the condition of your visits immediately became inked into the plea agreement. You had sat across from your mother, head bowed down in submission, grateful that you’d become a legal adult in just a couple of months, and you’d never have to visit her again. Bellatrix had tried reaching out to you, touching your face, but she’d immediately been pulled back by magical forces. Forces which almost blinded her from the way you flinched away from her, losing balance on the small visitor’s stool you sat on.

Bellatrix had scowled, fury engulfing her body at the sight of her own daughter violently jerking away from in fear. In the midst of her anger, she had stood up, slamming her cuffed hands down on the table in a flurry of metal clanging and high pitched ringing. She screamed until her face turned red, causing aurors to pull her away while another ushered you out of the institution. Now, you feared for what she might do to you now that she was free. Her obsession with your life had allowed her to discover information about you whilst locked in the prison, further alarming you every time she revealed a layer of knowledge she knew about you. 

A loud call of your name across the hallway had you sharply spinning around in front of the large snake statue adorning the entrance to the slytherin common room. Your shoulders slumped in relief at the sight of George running towards you, his fiery hair blowing away from his face as he hurried to reach you. The furrow in your eyebrows didn't relent, worry still engulfing your body. When George reached you, he didn't hesitate to tug your body into his in a warm hug. You held your boyfriend close to you, shutting your eyes tightly. “Hey.” He spoke up, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Do you want to skip Hogsmeade this week? Spend some time here instead?” You nodded silently, feeling the tremor in your hand at the shock of the situation, shutting and opening your mouth, painfully aware of the way George was analysing your face.

“What is it?” He asked, watching as you formed the words in your head, eyes scanning the room. “George. We’re not, it’s not safe for us. I don’t know what she’ll do to me, but she’ll kill you if she finds out.” It was George’s turn to furrow his eyebrows, trying to make sense of your sentences as he pulled away from you, holding your shoulders at arm’s length. “You being in a relationship with me isn’t safe as long as she’s out of Azkaban.” You clarified, giving him a pointed look despite the unwanted tears building up in your eyes. “Sweetheart,” George smiled in spite of the situation, leaning his head down so he was levelled with you. “Lovely, if you’re trying to break up with me it’s not going to work.” A single teardrop rolled down your cheek at the gravity of the situation and you sniffled, wiping a hand across your cheek to wipe the wetness away.

“Oh, darling.” George mumbled, bringing you back into the hug, pressing his lips against your forehead without kissing you. “We’re in this together, yeah?” He whispered against your skin. When you didn’t nod, he pulled away from you slightly, though he kept you in his arms, repeating his words. “We’re in this together, okay?” You nodded, replying with a shaky “Okay” which left him satisfied. After a while of keeping you in his arms, you finally spoke up again. “I don’t want her to hurt you.” George brushed strands of hair away from your eyes, pressing fluttering kisses all over your face, his hands cupping your cheeks to keep you in place. You huffed, a smile finally making its way onto your face after he set another dozen kisses on your cheeks and forehead. You giggled, hands coming up to push your boyfriend’s face away from yours, but he tucked his face into the crook of your neck instead, pressing kisses there.

“If she tries to hurt either of us I assure you my mum will be stood there with a slipper in each hand.” You scoffed in amusement, laughing loudly when he added “Deadly weapons these.” 

George fully pulled away from you, snaking a hand into yours and intertwining your fingers, muttering the password for the slytherin common room. The passageway opened, and you strolled into the common room, leading George up the stairs towards your dorm, listening as he said. “Anyway, you’re safe at Hogwarts for now, and then you’ll be with the whole family during the Christmas break anyway.” Your eyebrows shot up, and you glanced towards George, humming as you asked “Am I?” George stopped in his tracks, looking at you suspiciously. “What you think you can come spend the summer with us and then never come home again? Mum would throw a fit. She said we can even share the bed this time, so you know she really likes you.“ 

[wendichester]

helloooo! :D I wanted to ask if you’d ever write for cas? It’s completely okay if not, only do what YOU want <33

BUT I also had a thought so hear me out:

Dean calling the reader a pet name for the first time, and not really realizing what he said but the reader is just like 😵‍💫 all blushy caught off guard because THE Dean Winchester just called her honey as if they didn’t confess like a week ago 🧍🏻‍♀️

remember to eat and hydrate, I hope you sleep well too💙

-💫

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆🔧 honey,

summary. you're dean's honey .ᐟ

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 469

notes. this is just wholesome and... relatable. and i'd definitely be down to write for our sweet sassy angel cas! do you have a specific scenario in mind? 👀

The clang of tools against the Impala’s hood fills the garage, a melody as familiar as breathing. You’re perched on a stool nearby, half-focused on the book in your lap, but mostly on Dean. His hands move deftly as he tinkers under the hood, a smear of grease streaked across his jaw.

“Pass me the wrench, would ya?” he says, glancing at you with those green eyes that always manage to make your stomach flutter.

You nod, leaning over the workbench to grab it. When you hand it to him, his fingers brush yours—just a brief, fleeting touch, but enough to send a spark racing through you.

“Thanks, honey,” he mutters absently, turning back to the car.

Your brain short-circuits.

Honey?

Did Dean Winchester just call you honey?

You blink, replaying the moment in your head to make sure you didn’t imagine it. No, you’re sure of it. He said it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The book in your lap is forgotten as you try to process the anomaly. A week ago, you and Dean finally confessed your feelings for each other, and while things have been a bit more... touchy-feely, this? This is new.

“Uh… you good over there?” Dean’s voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts. He glances at you again, brows furrowed slightly.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, totally fine,” you blurt, your face heating up.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “You sure? You’re lookin’ a little pink.”

“I’m not pink,” you mumble, pulling the book back into your lap and staring at it like it holds the secrets to the universe.

Dean shrugs, clearly oblivious to the bombshell he’s just dropped on you, and goes back to work. But the damage is done. The word honey keeps bouncing around in your head, making your heart race and your palms sweaty.

Minutes pass, and you try desperately to regain your composure. But then Dean turns to you again, wiping his hands on a rag. “You wanna grab lunch? Burgers sound good?”

“Sure,” you manage, your voice a little too high.

Dean tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Seriously, what’s up with you? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” you protest, even though you’re about two seconds away from combusting.

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “C’mon, let’s go, honey.”

There it is again.

You let out a small squeak, your cheeks flaming as you follow him out of the garage. Dean doesn’t even notice, but you’re left reeling, wondering how someone can casually call you honey and not realize they’re turning you into a puddle.

And as you climb into the passenger seat of the Impala, you can’t help but smile, even through your embarrassment. You're Dean Winchester’s honey.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles

[thewretchednight]

Long Time No See.

Dom!Jinx x Fem!Piltie!Virgin!Reader! Ft. Pow’ Pow

Warnings: Gun fucking, Home invasion, Name calling (Bitch,Esc), mentions of stalking, Slight choking, over stimulation, Squirting, oral. I believe that’s it. If there’s anything thing else feel free to inform me. (Also only proof read twice so sorry for any mistakes thank you @tobyslover for proofreading and fixing it for me.)

Men and minors DNI

You sat in your chair staring at the notes on your desk. You were tinkering around with a new idea that popped into your head. It was fairly late and to be honest with your self you were just sitting and spacing out.

To be fair with yourself needed some time for your brain to just shut down. The sound of the clanging of your window made you jump to attention. Metal fell onto the marble floor with a clang. You stood wiping your eyes nearly tripping over your own feet. 

‘ Whatsa’ firein bullet? ‘ The familiar voice of Jinx coming from the window behind your seat. ‘ Fuck- You look absolutely wiped out or your wits pumpkin. ‘ She took steady strides towards your form letting out a gentle giggle. 

‘ What do you need Jinx… ‘ you huffed glaring at her, giving her a wave of your hand in annoyance.

She paused in her tracks lifting her hands in defense, giving you a mock pout before grinning letting out a hum. She let her arms fall to her sides her stature loose.

‘ Whatsa’ wrong mouse? ‘ She smiled moving closer to you. Gently placing a hand on your chest she pushed you. Stumbling back you fell into your chair. You looked up at her sneering, once you faced up at her your face softened your eyebrows furrowing. Her eyes were no longer blue you noticed. But now they were pink, you could swear they were glowing. 

Swiftly sitting down in your lap hands placed on your shoulders lazily, she spun the chair gently picking something off your clothing. ‘‘ Whats the matter with your eyes-?’ You asked examining her. 

She’s different…

‘ It’s been four years and all you can say is what’s wrong with my eyes? ‘ she snapped eyebrows furrowing her eyes flickering with annoyance and something else…. Impatience? You quickly changed the subject shifting under her uncomfortably ‘ What do you want Jinx?- ‘ you snapped. 

‘ What? Can’t I not visit anymore? ‘ cocking her head to the side her cheek nearly touching her shoulder. 

‘ You’ve never visited befo- how do you know where I lived?- ‘ you questioned looking up at her then looking at the window which she broke, Was she stalking you?  ‘ Never mind that. Why are you here? What do you want. ‘ you mumbled looking back up at her red’violet eyes.

‘ Mmm~ Attention? ‘ she giggled out. You grumbled ‘ Couldn’t you see I was in the middle of something bitch? ‘ You grabbed her wrist of the hand that was stroking your hair. She gave you a look of offense before rolling her eyes. 

‘ The middle of you drooling onto your little scribbles? Yeah. I found it less important than me though. ‘ She grinned. The shine of the metal and the barrel of the gun she sneaked out of its halter made you go cold. The metal connected with your skull making you freeze at the contact. You looked up at her eyes wide. She mocked your expression laughing maniacally after leaning back daring to fall off your lap. ‘ Now let go of my hand toots. ‘ You fallowed the command letting go of the appendage. ‘ good girl! ‘ she pinched your cheek letting the hand that held the gun fall to her side.  

‘ I love when you think you’re all tuff n all,  till I bring out the toys. Honestly so cute!~ ‘ she squealed 

‘ Look at you now~ not so tuff after all, Huh mouse? ‘ she mocked.

‘ I could give you over to the enforcers. After All you were the one whom bombed the high council. ‘ you warned gritting your teeth. ‘ Oh…~ but you can’t… can you? ‘ she placed the barrel under your chin cocking the gun. You shut your eyes tightly. You shook your head swallowing thickly. Jinx leaned into your ear ‘ Thought so. ‘ 

The boom of the gun made your ears ring the shattering of glass fallowing right after. You shuttered gently looking up at her. She grinned placing the gun on your desk, you glanced at the metal, of course Jinx saw your eyes dart over to the weapon. She laughed humming ‘ Mmmh~ No I don’t think so sweetheart. ‘  she smiled waving her pointer in-front of your face. 

She flipped herself so she was sitting longways on your lap letting her legs hang off the arms of the chair. She picked up one of your notes like it was a rotten banana peel before taking her other hand ripping it In half. ‘ oops~ hope this wasn’t important. ‘ she smiled up at you of which you returned with a scowl. 

‘ Ughhhhh~ ‘ she grumbled ‘ Your so boring. ‘ she pouted throwing the paper into the air. She stood up from your lap back faced to you. She rose her arms in the air stretching with a gentle groan. You took your chance grabbing the gun on your desk. You stood up swiftly, you grabbing one of her braids yanking her back into you. 

Putting her into a headlock you held the gun to her head. She tilted her head back a wicked grin spreading across her face. You gave her a disgusted look wrinkling your nose. She reached a hand up gently caressing your cheek gently. You froze for a second before pressing the gun harder into her skull.  She smiled softly running her hand through your hair digging her nails into it. 

‘ You still love me~ Doncha’ bullet? ‘ she whispered. 

You hated her so much. You thought she was dead. But yet… she was right… you did still love her. 

‘ It’s been a four years.. A four Powder. ‘ you mumbled. 

‘ Mm- sorry, mmbut I was kinda busy bein’ undercover, n all‘ she said shrugging. ‘ You’re really that self centered… ‘ you scoffed pushing her away from you strolling over to your bed sitting down on the edge. She pouted fallowing you gently crawling back onto your lap straddling it. ‘ I didn’t know if you were even alive.. ‘ you mumbled. ‘ I’m here now though~ ‘ she cooed lifting your chin.  

‘ you don’t understand- ‘ you started yet quickly cut of with a pair of lips swallowing your protest. 

‘ You just don’t shut up huh- ‘ she muttered against your lips ‘ blah blah blah- something I’m selfish m’ right? ‘ she huffed. ‘ well- ‘ you mumbled ‘ Your quite the talker yourself there Pow- ‘ 

Before completing your sentence again she kissed you again, hungrier this time, her petite hands wrapped around your neck her thumbs gently pushing into the cushion of your neck slightly blocking your airway. 

Immediately you choked on your own spit grabbing her arms breaking her kiss your wide eyes staring at her wild ones. ‘ What the matter mouse? It’s Mkay. I won’t kill ya or any thing. ‘ she let go with one hand gently stroking your hair. 

‘ Lemme make it up to ya toots~ ‘ she scooted closer to you in your lap quite literally closing any space you had left. 

You opened your mouth to speak placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘ Ahah- Shhh~ ‘ she  whispered holding your chin forcing you to look up at her. She shoved her lips against yours once more heated that time. 

She pushed you back against the mattress keeping her hand on your chest gripping your loose shirt. Her Red-Violet eyes looked nearly luminous. She trapped you between her and the mattress,  her lips attacked the flesh of your neck teeth nipping your sensitive skin. 

‘ Fuck-~ ‘ you whimpered weakly under her, you reached to wrap your hand around her neck. Soon as your thumb grazed over her clavicle the cold metal of her pistol met with your head again. 

‘ Mmm~ I don’t think so sweetheart~. ‘ she cooed. You’ve already long forgot about that pistol that you left at your side as soon as she crawled into your lap. 

‘ Off~ ‘ she nudged your hand with the gun. You obeyed quickly moving your hands to her sides. ‘ Much better Pumpkin~ ‘ she murmured laying the pistol down next to your head. 

Her hands groped your body roughly, her mouth jumped between your lips and neck leaving sloppy marks and kissing leaving your skin coated in saliva.

‘ Hey-~ slow down… ‘ you whispered carefully caressing her face. She shoved your hand away her fingers slipping under your shirt starting to lift it till she realized it had buttons… 

You remembered her despising buttons, quoting " They take too long “ 

Before you could react. The dagger she kept sliced open the thin fabric you wore. Slipping it off your shoulders she threw the ruined garment aside, leaving you exposed at her will.

‘ Powder~.. ‘ you groaned her tongue licking around the outside of your breasts. 

She reached up placing a hand on your chest her classic chipped pink and blue nails scraping against your skin. Her lips moved up to your neck again her thumbs gently massaging your breasts. 

You reached up fumbling with the her crop top. She pulled away from your skin to help you out by finishing your work pulling the leather over her head throwing the garment aside.

Pulling her back in for a kiss. Your fingers explored the various scars and other marks all over her body, moving her hands up to her shoulders you gently pressed your fingertips into them earning a groan from her. 

‘ Awfully quiet for someone who talks a lot. ‘ you teased the female pulling one of her braids gently. ‘ Awfully needy for someone who wanted me gone a few minutes ago. ‘ she replied in her usual manner giving you a little giggle. ‘ Shut up. ‘ you hissed kissing her your hands pulling at her hair. Pulling away after a few seconds she sat up on her knees. She unbuckled the arsenal around her waist. Bullets, Little satchels filled with who knows what, a dagger or two. You watched her place it carefully on the floor. Her gaze immediately moved back over to you her fingers hooking under your pants. Fumbling with the drawstring. She un tied your loose knot that you made to keep the garment on your body. She toyed with the now loose waistband before yanking the garment down your legs in one swift motion, the warmth of the room hitting your skin pleasantly. 

She leaned down gently kissing your stomach ever so slightly moving down to kiss near the rim of your underwear, she pulled away slipping down her own pants. Your eyes devoured her form eyes trailing down her body. 

‘ Take a nice long look toots~ ‘  she smirked glancing down at your dumbfounded form.

‘ Anyone ever tell you how incredibly gorgeous you look? ‘ you muttered, watching her thumbs tease the elastic of her pants. ‘ M’ think your the first to tell me n’ those words ‘ she replied with a gentle smile slightly pulling down the cloth covering her hips. Giving you a judgmental look at how intensely you were staring at her hands pulling down her garment painfully slow. ‘ You’re basically drooling over me, Toots. ‘ she pointed out snapping you from your trance. 

‘ I- I surely am not…! ‘ you stammered getting defensive at her words. She laughed at your response discarding her pants at the moment tossing them to the side. She crawled on top of your body straddling you. You quickly shut your trap at the realization of her being on top of you. Her nails running down your body leaving red trails behind them as they reached your hips. ‘ Someone shy now? ‘ She mocked toying with the waistband of your underwear, which was, let’s be honest soaking at this point. The female cocked her head to the side her red violet eyes looking up at you hazily. ‘ No- ‘ you said defensively your eyebrows furrowing. ‘ Good!~ ‘ she squealed dragging your underwear down throwing them aside. 

You opened your mouth to follow up your "No" before you were quickly thrown off by her slinking down your body. Her hands pulling your legs apart to make space for her. Her lips connected with your heat, her tongue sloppily lapping up your juices. You stumbled on your words making a  rugged groan leave your lips. ‘ Fuck! ‘ you hissed out throwing your head back. Her hands grasped each your hips pulling you in closer. She plunged her tongue into your dripping hole. Quickly becoming dissatisfied with her method she latched onto your clit. Replacing two fingers into your hole instead of her tongue. 

Not a few more seconds passing by, you could feel your orgasm build like a ticking time bomb getting ready to explode. ‘ Mmgf- Jinx~ ‘ you grumbled your body tightening under her grasp. ‘ I’m gonna~.. ‘ You warned the female. She hummed in response, the vibrations of her hum making your toes curl like her fingers abusing your cunt. A few more thrusts of her digits has you coming undone within her tight grasp.

’ Jinx… Mmgh too much- ‘ you squirmed under her once she didn’t stop, becoming more and more overstimulated under her lips drinking you up. 

‘ You can handle it… ‘ she muttered into your cunt. The female pulled away wrapping her hand around the gun by your head. She opened the cartridge which held the bullets letting them fall onto the ground with clangs. 

‘ what are you doing?- ‘ you asked fear creeping into your words ‘ Mmmh~ making sure of your safety. ‘ you cocked a brow sitting up only to be shoved back down. Her hands shoved your legs apart the cold metal of the barrel brushing up against your folds.

Shuttering you looked up at her your hands gripping the sheets in anticipation. Her head cocked to the side examining the way your hips flinched. ‘ Are you- still? ‘ she grinned looking up at your embarrassed face cheeks a bright pink. She giggled gently, running the barrel up and down your slick gathering your juices.

She slipped partially of the gun into you making you scream feel like it was splitting you open. “ mmmh~P-Powder!~ ‘ you moaned arching your back off the bed. She leaned down biting down onto your neck harshly before kissing around the visible mark leaving a few others around the flesh of your throat, she then slipped a few more inches of the gun into your heat starting to thrust the hunk of metal in and out of your dripping hole

‘ How do you feel about pow’ pow taking you? Good?~ ‘ she mocked with a grin her nose grazing your ear gently as she took in your scent. Despite the pleasure and her arousing sentence, you were confused.

Who was pow’ pow?

You couldn’t worry yourself over it for long after you felt the knot start to untie in your abdomen. You glanced down at her seeing the bulge of the gun every time it re-entered your body. The sight threw you off the edge, your head lolled back simple moans escaping your lips. You felt light headed your vision blanked for a moment. You opened your eyes to see a pleased Jinx. Sittings on your lap licking the stinky wetness off her beloved gun. 

‘ Din’ know you could squirt there bullet ‘ she smiled tossing the gun to the side leaning down to kiss you deeply. ‘ If I’ve known that little tid-bit of information, I would’ve taken your little virgin ass sooner toots. ‘ 

‘ sorry I waited so long~ ‘ she cooed slipping off your limp body. She rolled you over on your side causing you to groan your chest still heaving. She slipped behind you wrapping her legs around your bare waist her smaller body pressing up against you. She pulled the blanket over you nuzzling into your back. 

‘ I’ve missed you Powder…. ‘ You mumbled, your voice hoarse. ‘ I've missed you too bullet… ‘ she whispered back kissing your neck ‘

Morning. Your body ached. You sat up hold your head a massive head ache burring your thinking process . You looked to your side seeing it empty. You frowned looking around the room in a haze finding no trace of the female. Disappointment washed over you as you moved to the edge of your bed your feet finding the cold marble of your floor. You stretched, you flinched at the sudden sting of pain that burned on your collar bone. You whined getting up quickly moving to your vanity you read " Property of JINX " carved into the skin of your flesh. 

You flushed at the thought of this. You looked around a little more grabbing the robe which hung on the chair in-front of your desk. You stared down at the desk for a moment. Your eyebrows furrowing all your books of research and papers of your project were all gone. Your heart sped up looking all over your apartment for said research to no avail. You froze infront of the mess of your bed realizing where they could’ve gone. Or whom they could’ve gone with. 

Jinx. 

Please do not steal, claim, or repost any of my work. Thank you

[loverangels]

all mine

pairings: luke castellan x fem!reader

synopsis: luke won't hesitate to show anyone you're all his.

The clang of metal on metal echoed across the training grounds, mixing with the laughter and grunts of kids sparring under your watchful eye. You had been tasked with teaching the younger campers swordsmanship, and while you loved the challenge, it was more like wrangling a group of overly energetic kittens than training warriors.

Leaning against a wooden post, Ryan from the Apollo cabin stood nearby, his bow slung casually over one shoulder. He was in charge of teaching archery to the same group of kids, and your breaks often overlapped, giving you time to chat while the campers practiced—or in most cases, ran amok.

“Looks like someone’s been promoted to babysitter,” Ryan teased, his sun-kissed face breaking into an easy grin as he nodded toward a pair of kids wildly swinging their swords at each other. “Think they’re trying to joust or something.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a laugh. “It’s like herding cats with weapons. They’ve got more energy than sense.”

Ryan chuckled, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight as he leaned a little closer. “Well, if you ever want a break from that chaos, I can offer a much calmer lesson. How about trying archery? No wild sword flailing involved—just focus, patience, and a bow.”

You gave him a skeptical look, crossing your arms. “I think I’ll stick to swords, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he pressed, flashing a boyish grin that always seemed to get the younger campers giggling. “The kids won’t mind if we borrow a bow for a minute. It’ll be fun! Besides, you’re already teaching them something—why not learn a new skill yourself?”

Before you could protest, he was already grabbing a spare bow and quiver from the stand nearby. “Here,” he said, pressing the bow into your hands. “Let me show you.”

“Ryan, I don’t think—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, stepping behind you. “Just hold it like this.” His hands guided yours to grip the bow properly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Straighten your arms a little. Good.”

Your heart skipped slightly at the proximity. His voice was low and smooth, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear as he adjusted your stance. “Now, draw the string back,” he said, his hand brushing your arm, then settling lightly on your waist to steady you.

Your face warmed as you tried to focus on his instructions, convincing yourself this was just part of the lesson. He was just being helpful, right?

“Okay, aim for the center,” Ryan continued, his voice encouraging. “And... release!”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the target dead center, earning a chorus of cheers from the kids nearby.

“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms up in triumph. Ryan grinned widely, his excitement mirroring yours. “I told you, you’d be great at this—”

Before he could move closer or even finish his sentence, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“Luke?” you breathed, startled, recognizing the familiar warmth of his touch immediately.

You blinked, suddenly reminded of what he’d been doing not long ago—working with the kids in the Arts and Crafts cabin, helping them string beads for their camp necklaces. You’d passed by earlier, stealing a glance as he patiently worked with a group of little campers, his usual sharp edges softened by the way he guided their hands with practiced ease. Seeing him in that light had made your chest feel oddly tight, a mix of admiration and fondness that you couldn’t quite shake. And now, here he was, standing behind you, but with none of that softness in his stance.

Before you could say anything else, his lips crashed down on yours in a deep, possessive kiss that sent your thoughts scattering. His hand rested firmly on your hip as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. The world around you seemed to blur until there was only him—his warmth, his touch, his undeniable presence.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him, dazed and breathless. “What... what was that for?” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Luke’s brown eyes burned with intensity as he glanced at Ryan, who stood a few feet away, frozen in awkward silence. “Just making sure there’s no confusion,” Luke said smoothly, his arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

Ryan cleared his throat, his expression tense as he gripped the bow tighter. “I, uh... I should check on the kids,” he muttered, his jaw tight as he turned on his heel.

“Yeah, you should,” Luke said sharply, his voice dripping with finality.

“Luke!” you hissed, glaring at him as Ryan stormed off, fists clenched at his sides. “Was that really necessary?”

Luke turned to you, his jaw still tight, though the fire in his eyes softened slightly. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?” he demanded. “And how close he was? His hands were all over you!”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “He was just showing me how to shoot, Luke. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to him,” Luke muttered darkly, his arm tightening around your waist as if to prove a point.

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss. This one was softer, slower, meant to reassure him as much as to silence him. When you pulled back, his lips lingered against yours, his brown eyes locked onto you.

“Luke,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “You don’t have to worry. I’m yours. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as a slow, confident grin spread across his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and smug. “All mine, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as his grip on you remained firm, his eyes gleaming with pride. You might have been exasperated, but one thing was certain: Luke Castellan never left any doubt about how much he cared for you.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SAFE & SOUND — PART 1 PREMIERES @ 15th JAN WED 0000 KST

Navigating one year post-apocalypse, when the dead began to walk and the living proved to be no better, you decide that trust is a luxury you can no longer afford. But after a run-in with a group of seven peculiar survivors, you learn that there are bigger problems than just the undead roaming the streets. You also start to wonder if there’s more to survival than simply staying alive.

word count: 13.6k

featuring: enhypen as themselves

genre: dystopian, post-apocalyptic survival, horror/thriller, slow burn, angst

taglist: open! comment, send ask or submit the form on my profile to be added!

notes from nat: starting the new year with a bang 💥

TEASER

Rotten.

The can of tuna you’ve risked your life to retrieve from the mart in the next neighbourhood is rotten. Just like everything else roaming the streets.

The smell hits you first, sharp and metallic, curling through the air like a mocking laugh. It’s only when you peer into the greyish sludge that you know for sure. Gagging, you launch the can across the dimly lit room. The clang as it hits the wall feels louder than it should, echoing against the hollow silence. A greasy smear marks its path before it rolls to a stop.

Your stomach tightens, but not from hunger—not entirely. It’s exhaustion, or frustration, or both, a familiar cocktail of feelings that churns in your gut. You press a hand to your stomach, willing it to stay quiet. The small victories matter now, even if they’re as simple as keeping quiet.

“Figures,” you mutter, wiping your hands on the knees of your tattered jeans. The word feels heavy in the thick silence of the abandoned community building you’ve been calling home—a makeshift fortress that’s only just kept you alive for the past year.

The windows are boarded up with planks you scavenged from nearby wreckage, letting in only the faintest cracks of moonlight, casting fractured shadows on the walls. The small corner where you sleep is enclosed by a barricade of furniture you've managed to tie together with ropes and scraps of cloth you’ve gathered. It’s not perfect, but it’s held so far.

Outside, the telltale groans of the undead float through the night air, mingling with the distant sound of screams and breaking glass. You’ve learned to tune it out, to pretend that the world hasn’t fallen apart.

But every so often, when the noises grow too close or too many, the illusion shatters, leaving behind a pit of fear in your stomach that no amount of fortification can fill.

You lean back, letting your head hit the wall. The cracks in the paint catch against the rough weave of your jacket, the sound gritty and small. Your mind drifts back to that fateful day, the day everything went to shit.

You’d only been living in Seoul for a month, you were barely unpacked, just starting to memorise the labyrinth of subway lines, the shortcuts to your university. University acceptance had felt like the first step towards something bigger, something brighter. You can still see your parents’ faces, lit with pride, when you shared the news. Getting into a university in Seoul—it’s like gaining instant bragging rights for life.

Except now, none of it matters. Those things out there couldn’t care less about your alma mater, whether you’re earning a six-figure salary or pulled from the gutter. To them, you’re just another meal on legs—flesh, blood, and bone all blending into the same, mindless craving.

You’d always thought you’d know what to do in a zombie apocalypse. Every movie and survival guide said the same thing:

Avoid the cities. Get out fast.

So when the news started to break, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed a bag—essentials only—and set out, determined to make it back to your parents in the province. You didn’t even pause to think about how impossible it might be.

But the city had other plans. You hadn’t even made it ten blocks before the streets were overrun. A tide of chaos, of screams and shoving bodies—alive and not—forced you off course.

The community building was a last-ditch refuge, its doors flung open to anyone desperate enough to run for them. You’d barely made it inside before the barricades went up. It wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing about survival ever is.

At first, it felt like a haven. There were enough supplies to keep everyone fed—if barely. Dozens of survivors shared the space, most of them too old or too scared to leave. The rations were thin, one meal a day if you were lucky, but it was enough.

You and a handful of the younger survivors took turns venturing out, gathering what you could from nearby shops and houses. It wasn’t much, but it worked.

For a time.

When the convenience store was stripped bare, you moved to the supermarket. When that was picked clean, you ventured further. Each trip took you deeper into danger, the risk growing with every step. Supplies dwindled. The fear grew sharper, harder to ignore.

People started to die—some to the undead, others to hunger, and still others to the kind of cruelty that only surfaces when survival is on the line.

You learned quickly that it wasn’t just the zombies you had to fear. You’ve seen it firsthand: the way desperation changes people.

At first, it was small things—arguments over ration sizes, whispers of distrust. But then the small petty arguments turned into fights, and fights turned into bloodshed.

One by one, people either left to take their chances elsewhere or fell victim to the chaos within. A high school student, he had barely turned eighteen, stabbed a man over a tin of peaches. A woman abandoned her own mother to save herself when the barricade was breached.

Survival strips away more than flesh—it strips away the pretence of civility, leaving only the raw, animalistic instinct to endure at any cost. It’s not just the undead that keep you awake at night—it’s the memory of what people are capable of becoming.

So when the barricade failed during a particularly viscous storm and you’d barely escaped with your life, you dragged what little you could salvage to this corner of the building, patching up the holes as best as possible. Alone, because it was safer that way.

Now, alone in the faint light of your makeshift fortress, the weight of it all presses down on you. The loneliness, the hunger, the constant, gnawing terror—it’s all too much. But you shove it aside, because there’s no room for weakness here.

Weakness gets you killed.

Your stomach growls again, insistent, and you grit your teeth. You’ll have to go out again soon. The thought sends a chill through you, but there’s no other choice. Survival doesn’t wait for fear to subside.

Taking a deep breath, you stand and reach for your weapon—a rusted crowbar that’s seen more use than you’d like to admit. Tomorrow, you’ll go out again, search for food, risk what’s left of your life to keep it from ending.

For now, you sit in the dark and listen. To the groans. To the screams. To the sound of your own ragged breathing. And try not to dream.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Heavy Part 2

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Heavy

Summary Austin overpowers you with his strength—but this time you bite back.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin unrelenting-overpowering -playful • neurodivergent reader• easily distracted reader•teasing• dirty talk•being pinned •being crushed •kissed breathless•mild suffocation with a bicep•love biting Austins bicep • manhandling• sex on a couch • sex against a wall• orgasms • creampies • Austin doesn’t realize his own strength •Austin accidentally leaves love marks

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 💗Written by popular demand dedicated to 💝 @unicoo @soft-mama-reads @magicovento @burnthheparaphilia

Heavy Part 2

The house is quiet except for the faint grunts of Austin working out in the courtyard in full view of the living room. The rhythmic clang of weights and the sharp whir of a jump rope pulls your attention, distracting you from an otherwise routine morning.

As you glance out the window, you catch glimpses of him in action. His focus is unshakable, his body moving with precision, muscles flexing and glistening under the thin fabric of his muscle tee. Each jump of the rope is perfectly timed, the rhythm steady and unbroken, channeling every ounce of energy into his routine.

For a moment, you forget about the tea cooling in front of you on the table and the notifications piling up on your phone. The sight of him, so determined, so powerfully focused as he works out draws you in, making everything else fade into the background.

He has a photoshoot later in the afternoon and insists he has to look “perfected,” as he calls it. You know him well enough to recognize the slight edge in his tone when he mentioned the shoot—it’s not just another gig— It’s Esquire—Being on the cover is a big deal, even for someone like him, who’s always cool under pressure but tends to get a little high-strung when the stakes feel personal.

Seeing him fully in his routine you return to laying on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your phone while the TV plays a rerun of a show you’ve already seen. Your mind is scattered, drifting from one thought to another, completely unfocused.

When Austin walks in from the courtyard his broad shoulders nearly fill the doorframe. He’s now shirtless, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his chest from his workout. 

His biceps flex as he sets down his water bottle, and even though you try to act unfazed, your eyes betray you, lingering on the way his muscles move like they have a life of their own.

When he wipes down with a towel, you assume he’s heading to the shower, and slowly sink back into the couch losing yourself in your phone again. 

You begin reorganizing your photo gallery—renaming albums, sorting screenshots into folders, and deleting duplicates with meticulous precision—completely absorbed in the task.

But before you can finish renaming a folder titled “Our Getaways,” Austin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Hey,” he says, his voice carrying a deep, teasing tone that makes your heart flutter. “You’ve been staring at your phone all morning.” He confirms.

You blink up at him, your thoughts scrambled. “What? No, I haven’t.”

He towers over you lying on the couch, his arms crossing in playful challenge. “Yes, you have, and I know because you haven’t even looked at me this whole time.”

You grin, intentionally teasing him. “Why would I? You’re just working out…in the courtyard all shirtless…and… muscly.”

He grins mischievously and before you can react, he pulls you up off the couch as though you weigh nothing. “Muscly, huh? I’ll show you muscly.” He teases.

“Austin!” you yelp, half-laughing, half-protesting as he pulls you down on the couch to straddle his lap, his arms caging you with an unfair ease.

You squirm and struggle, the feeling of being held against him arousing you in the most thrilling way. His biceps flex as he adjusts his grip, keeping you firmly in place like it’s nothing at all.

“Where do you think you’re going hm?” he teases, his voice low and amused effortlessly countering your every move . “You know you’re not getting away from me.”

His voice is playful, but the way his strength surrounds you is forceful. Your hands instinctively find their way to his arm, fingers pressing into the hard muscle as you try to lift it, struggling to break free.

He easily resists your efforts and you can’t help but marvel at the power he doesn’t even seem to realize he has.

“It’s not fair!,” you grit out, but there’s no denying the way your lips curve into a mischievous grin. In a burst of impulsive frustration, you lean forward and sink your teeth into the peak of his bicep, biting hard enough to make a point.

“Did you just bite me?” he laughs filled with amusement, the playful attack doing absolutely nothing to him. His hands tighten firmly around your arms as he shifts his weight, effortlessly pinning you beneath him on the couch in retaliation.

“What was that supposed to do hm?” he teases, his tone low and filled with mock curiosity. “Did you really think that little bite would help you get away?”

You squirm under him, your protests half-hearted at best, and he smirks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “What’s next, huh? Kicking? Scratching? You really think you can take me down?”

His chest presses against yours, his solid frame a pleasant heaviness that makes your heart race, the sheer presence of him overwhelming you in the best way.

“Y-your too—Too much ” You groan squirming under him with no chance of escape

“Too much huh?” he repeats, his lips brushing your ear. “Says the girl who just bit into my bicep like a little bunny rabbit.”

You try to protest, but his weight keeps you pinned, the sheer presence of him thrilling in ways you can’t explain.

He tilts his head closer, his voice dropping lower. “Are you going to apologize for that little bite —or do I need to remind you how to behave?”

Your cheeks flush, as a small, breathless, “Sorry—Austin” escapes your lips.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he confirms and his lips claim yours in a kiss that steals whatever air you had left. 

His kiss deepens as hand moves with confidence, sliding down to the waistband of his sweats tugging low enough to free his impressive cock.

He pulls back from the kiss, a smirk played on his lips as he hooks his fingers into the edge of your yoga leggings, pulling them down with effortless strength—a constant reminder of just how much you’re at his mercy.

“You’re awfully quiet now,” he says, his voice thick with amusement and something more primal. “What happened to all that squirming?”

You barely have time to respond before his cock presses against your slick entrance making you gasp, his teasing words trailing off into nothing as he thrusts inside.

A desperate little cry escapes your lips, the sheer size of him overwhelming as you tighten around his cock, feeling every inch of him as he settles deep inside 

“You’re not going anywhere,” he rasps, his weight pressing you into the couch, pinning you completely. His powerful arms cage you in on either side, making his strength undeniable.

Your breaths hitch, turning into gasps as his hips move with unrelenting precision, thrusting deeper into you. The way he uses his strength so effortlessly to keep you in place sends a rush of pleasure through you leaving you moaning and whimpering under him on the couch.

“Austin,” you gasp, your voice trembling as his full weight crushes into you, and his eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, watching every flicker of your struggle as your shallow breaths draw a smirk to his lips.

His hips rock against you in a steady, powerful rhythm, each movement purposeful and consuming. The force of him leaves you breathless, and you cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into the hard muscle desperate to hold on as his intensity builds, leaving no room for anything else.

Each thrust presses him deeper, as his hands moves to your hips gripping tightly, his fingers digging into your skin with a strength that promises to leave bruises as you lay powerless beneath him.

“You—like this—don’t you?” he grunts, as he thrusts his hips forward “Being pinned down… knowing there’s no escape.”

Your lips part, but no words come out, just a choked gasp as your nails drag down his back, your body instinctively tightening around him in response.

“Admit it—” he rasps, his tone thick with heat, “You love it when I hold you down like this,” he confirms, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

A breathless moan is your only response, your body arching beneath him as he drives deeper, his muscles flexing as each thrust becomes more consuming than the last.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, his tone laced with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk as his pace grows harder, bolder, leaving you completely undone beneath him.

Your walls clench tightly around his cock as you begin to orgasm, the overwhelming sensation stealing the breath from your lungs. Your gasps turn into desperate, shallow breaths as your body struggles to arch beneath him, trembling uncontrollably.

Feeling your walls flutter as you come, he presses more of his weight against you, his chest crushing yours as he leans down. He shifts his arm, lifting his thick bicep over your mouth, muffling your moans as you gasp for air against the firm muscle.

You kick and squirm violently, your movements barely shifting under his overpowering strength. Your struggle as you fight for air ignites something primal in him, his eyes glinting with teasing, dark intent.

His voice drops, low and, as he leans closer. “Come on, do it,” he taunts, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “C’mon, do it little bunny. Bite me—just  like you did before.”

Your moan is muffled as your desperation and impulse collide, and you sink your teeth into the hard curve of his bicep. 

The moment you do, a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips vibrating against your chest. His hips snap harder, his thrusts turning rougher, matching the wildness of your bite.

“That’s it,” he growls, his tone heavy with satisfaction and pleasure. “I knew you couldn’t resist it.” He rasps . His bicep flexes against your teeth as he thrusts deeper, and you moan in pleasure as your orgasm takes hold. Your body trembles against his unrelenting strength, pinned completely under his control, leaving you utterly lost in the heat of him.

His arm slides from your mouth and your moans that escape are raw and unhinged, matching his low groans and sharp breaths. His muffled curses spill against your skin as his lips brush along your neck between each thrust, his movements unrelenting as he buries himself into you over and over again.

When he finally starts to come, his thrusts become punishing, his hips colliding into you with unrelenting force as his head drops to your shoulder. His breaths are heavy and uneven against your skin, the sounds he makes sharp and ragged, his body thrusting against yours with desperate intensity.

Your soft whimpers of pleasure spur him on, and his hips jerk violently, each movement, pushing you both to the edge. His hands slide to your waist, his grip tightening as he holds you firmly in place.

With a final, deep thrust, his cock twitches inside of you as he comes.  Surges of his release spill  into you as a guttural groan escapes his lips, your voices intertwining as you both moan in pleasure.

His lips capture yours in a deeply passionate kiss, his tongue teasing yours as you gasp for air, fighting against his intensity.

When he finally slows, he eases up as his heavy cock slips out of you, watching  the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Then his eyes narrow, the softness of his features tensing as he notices the faint bruises blooming on your arms where his hands had gripped you too tightly.

His fingers brush over one of the marks, guilt flickering across his face. “Baby I bruised you” he says, his voice apologetic. 

Before you can respond, he leans down, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the bruised spots on your arms, as if trying to soften the marks of his intensity. “I’m so sorry” he whispers. 

Then his attention shifts to your hips, his jaw tightening as he sees the even darker marks there, vivid and unmistakable. “Baby…,” he says his voice trailing off with guilt as his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin where his grip had been strongest. “I didn’t even realize.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you sit up slightly, taking in the sight of the marks on your body. “Don’t apologize,” you say, your voice soft but certain as you  glance up at him with affection. “They’re mine now—My love marks.”

His eyes meet yours, a flicker of curiosity in his expression as pulls  back, then both of your eyes land on the bite mark etched in his bicep. The deep indentations of your teeth red and stark against the hard muscle.

“Looks like you left your own love mark,” he says, as he flexes his bicep slightly, the muscle shifting beneath the imprint.

You bite your lip softly as you smirk, a mixture of pride and guilt flickering in your eyes as your fingers brush over the bite mark. “Had to even the score somehow,” you say your eyes lighting up secretly thrilled by your mark on him.

His smiles as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours . “Guess you’re good at leaving lasting reminders, huh?”

“Mmm—,” you reply scrunching  your nose feeling your cheeks warming with a twinge of guilt, as your fingers trail over his bicep. “This is more like proof I wasn’t holding back.” You admit.

His smile deepens, his lips returning to yours for another kiss, slower this time, filled with tenderness. “My cute little bunny” he replies against your lips, his voice soft but firm. “Never hold back with me.”

The morning moves quickly as you and Austin get ready for his Esquire photoshoot. He’s dressed and ready, standing by the door with his bag in hand, while you’re still muttering to yourself, frantically rummaging through your bag in search of your phone.

“Baby, please,” Austin calls out, glancing at the time with a mix of urgency and amusement.

“I know, I know,” you mumble, distracted as you empty half the contents of your bag onto the dresser.

You know you can’t make him late—not again. His team has already warned you, and Austin, ever patient but firm, had even gotten you a watch to help with your habit of constantly misplacing your phone.

“Where is it?” you mutter, frantically checking your closet for the third time before finally using the watch to beep your phone. It buzzes loudly from the vanity, mocking your efforts as it sits in plain sight

“Okay, okay,” you say hurriedly, grabbing the phone and pulling your purse over your shoulder.

He sighs in relief, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We might actually be on time for once baby,” he chides.

You roll your eyes playfully as he grabs the keys, holding the door open for you. “I’m learning,” you remark with a smirk, slipping past him. “Slowly, but I’m getting there.”

He chuckles, his hand grazing your back as you both step out. “I’ll believe it when it’s not a last-minute miracle,” he teases, locking the door behind you.

When you arrive to the outdoor shoot location, the crew is busy with excitement.

The photographer greets Austin enthusiastically, clearly thrilled to see him, while the rest of the team scurries around adjusting lighting rigs, testing camera angles, and setting up props.

You settle under the shade of the outdoor tent in a fold out chair, watching as Austin mingles briefly with the crew. He radiates confidence, but you know him well enough to see the small signs of his nerves—like the way he bites his lip when he speaks and how he runs a hand through his hair more than usual.

The excitement dims slightly when Austin heads into the wardrobe trailer. Within moments, an assistant rushes out, her expression tense as she hurries over to the photographer.

The photographer immediately gets on his phone pacing back and forth with it pressed to his ear, frustration etched across his face as you hear snippets of the conversation.

“First the scratches, and now he has an actual bite mark on his arm. Is it avant-garde, or do we cover it?”

Your face flushes bright red at the implication, heat rushing to your cheeks as you sink lower in your chair and you glance toward Austin when he emerges fully clothed near the setup.

His eyes flick to yours, catching the mortified expression on your face and his lips curl into a knowing smirk as your brows knit together in guilt.

He just shakes his head slightly, clearly amused, before walking to the main set.

His effortless charm takes over as he climbs onto the lifeguard tower they’ve chosen as the backdrop for the first round of shots.

The leather pants he’s wearing cling perfectly, accentuating his long legs and lean build, while the white tee keeps the look clean and classic.

As the photographer starts directing, you watch as the crew moves with practiced precision, adjusting reflectors, angling fans for the perfect wind blown look, and shifting lights to get the exact mood they want. The photographer calls out directions:

“Turn your head slightly to the left Austin —perfect. Relax the shoulders. Give me that brooding look. Now lean back—yes, just like that.”

When Austin leans back resting his arms over his head to show his muscular arms, your eyes immediately catch your bite mark in his bicep, bold and unmistakable, and you bite your lip feeling the embarrassment flaring all over again.

The makeup artist rushes forward, brush and powder in hand, climbing the rungs trying to cover the mark even more. They dab at it repeatedly, but the raised edges still show.

“Don’t worry, this is what Photoshop is for,” the photographer says flatly, waving the makeup artist off with a touch of impatience.

Austin looks directly at you from his perch, his self conscious expression unmistakable due to the attention his bite mark is getting.

You wince, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You know how much he prides himself on his clean and classic image, and that this sudden shift in his focus wasn’t what he’d envisioned for the shoot at all.

Sitting under the tent, you can’t help but wonder if the choice to stay covered was his or the photographer’s. Austin had been so excited about doing shirtless shots earlier, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt knowing your impulsive actions might have ruined his plan.

Austin, ever the professional, powers through each pose and direction with effortless focus. As the shoot continues on you’re fascinated as he transforms with each new outfit—a sleek trench coat and suit, followed by jeans and a worn tee paired with a rugged duster jacket.

He’s stunningly handsome, every look effortlessly suiting him, and as you watch him move with such ease in front of the camera, you can’t help but smile.

As he catches your eyes at the end of his final set, his gaze is sharp and intent, making you feel both nervous and curious about what he’s thinking.

Despite the shoot’s success, his stare is a silent reminder that he hasn’t forgotten how you marked him, leaving you wondering what he might say—or do once you’re alone.

By the time you finally make it home, you’re completely drained. Seeking comfort, you dive onto the couch, immersing your self in your phone as the rest of the world fades away.

Austin sits in the arm chair of the living room, now in blue adidas track pants and a white tee, but he still hasn’t shaken off the sharp energy from the shoot.

He scrolls through the photos on his laptop, reviewing the proofs sent over by the photographer.

He glances toward you, noticing how focused your face is as you watch another tutorial video.

“Did you have to bite me that hard?” he asks, his tone exasperated.

You turn to look at him with wide eyes, your cheeks heating at the memory. “Austin, I didn’t mean to,” you defend, your voice tinged with guilt, knowing this moment was coming.

“Mmhm,” he replies, still scrolling through the photos on his laptop. “I’ve got your little love mark immortalized in half the proofs from today,” he says, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. “The makeup artist gave up, you know. Photoshop will officially be doing the heavy lifting… unless maybe, you’d prefer I just leave it…” he says giving you a pointed look.

“Austin, I’m so sorry,” you finally say, stepping closer, your voice soft with guilt.

“No, you’re not,” he counters, and as he stands there’s a hint of something challenging in his gaze as he steps toward you.

“You actually smirked when you saw how hard you bit me. Don’t try to deny it,” he confirms, his voice his voice edged with accusation as he moves closer, almost leaving no space between you.

You take a small step back, your movement halted as your back brushes against the wall behind you. He follows without hesitation, closing the distance with ease. His hands find the wall on either side of your head, caging you in as his eyes lock onto yours.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he asserts, his voice filled with heat as he leans in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “And you’re not sorry at all, are you?”

Your breath hitches as his proximity overwhelms you, his broad frame pinning you against the wall. His weight presses into you slightly, his hands staying firmly in place on the wall as he tilts his head, his gaze dark and full of intent.

“I think you liked leaving your little mark,” he slowly grins, his tone a mix of accusation and amusement, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. “Maybe even a little too much.”

Your heart races, caught between the weight of his words and the intensity of his closeness.

“I-I didn’t,” you stammer, your voice now uncertain, faltering as his eyes narrow. The weight of his gaze is sharp and assessing, making it impossible to hold his stare.

“You’re lying,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding. “Say the truth.”

“I-I’m not lying!” you protest weakly, but the flicker of hesitation in your eyes betrays you.

Before you can think of a response, he steps closer, his hands grabbing your thighs as he effortlessly lifts you, pinning you back against the wall. You gasp as he wraps your legs around his waist, his broad shoulders pressing into you, his strength leaving you completely at his mercy.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice deep and thick with intent as he adjusts your position, his arms holding you firmly in place. “Say you wanted to mark me,” he whispers, his hips pressing firmly against yours, his arousal unmistakable. “Don’t make me force it out of you.”

You bite your lip, trying to resist, but the way his hard body holds you against the wall, his muscles taut and overpowering, sends heat coursing through you. Your breath quickens, arousal building as his words linger in the air, igniting something undeniable. Looking directly into his eyes, you whisper a soft, defiant “No,” fully aware of what you’re inviting.

His hand goes to the waist band of his adidas track pants, lowering them with ease and freeing his hard throbbing cock.

With one swift motion, he slips your panties aside lining himself up and thrusts into you hard, the force of it stealing your breath as your head tilts back against the wall gasping for breath.

The intensity builds with every powerful thrust, his grip on you tightening as he holds you in place effortlessly, his strength overwhelming and intoxicating.

You cling to him, your body trembling as he pushes you to the brink, your mind dissolving into pure satisfaction. You don’t just accept it—you love it, surrendering completely to his raw, unrelenting passion he unleashes it.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough as his lips hover just over yours, his eyes locked on your face. “Say you wanted to mark me”

“Yes!” you cry out finally, unable to hold back. “I loved it! I loved leaving my mark on you!”

A satisfied smirk spreads across his face as he captures your lips in a hard, searing kiss, his hands anchoring you against him as his hips move relentlessly.

His strength keeps you pinned as he drives you higher, your cries of pleasure swallowed by his mouth until your release hits, and you tremble uncontrollably, orgasming in his powerful arms.

His movements become erratic, his breath catching as he groans deeply against your lips. His body tenses, his grip on you tightening as he buries himself deep, releasing in powerful surges, the heat of his come sending a final shiver through you.

Your breaths are in heavy gasps as the intensity finally eases, his movements slowing as you both calm down. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning as his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

“I told you not to hold back with me,” he confirms, his voice low and filled with teasing affection.

You shiver, your fingers trailing over the mark on his bicep, feeling the hardness of his muscles still flexed beneath your touch. “I didn’t want to admit that I liked it,” you say, a small smile curving your lips, your voice soft.

“I know you liked it,” he replies, his smirk turning darker as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your heart race. “Next time—just don’t mark me the day of a photo shoot, hm?” he adds, gesturing to his bicep.

You grin, looking into his eyes, basking in the hidden approval of his teasing tone. Unable to resist, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you let your lips do all the apologizing, knowing that no mark is needed to prove he’s yours.

END 💪🏼

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[creatur3featur3]

Street Rat p2

word count: 3.6k (WOO ON A ROLL LOVES!!)

A/N: DEFINITELY out of my writers block! only took about, 3 hours? usually takes me like a full day when i'm unmotivated but here we are!

----Enjoy Loves----

Okay so maybe you were following Sevika around for weeks on end now, but it wasn't exactly your fault- it was hers.

All that being nice and giving you food, or just being human and providing for someone who obviously couldn't take care of herself properly. She had been dying to get you off her tail with you following her like a stray dog constantly, you were ruining her reputation with your weird attachment to her. 

The regulars she played cards with gave you weird glances but she always seemed to scare them off from bothering you when you were digging around in people's dumped junk with a stern gaze. You definitely seemed to live up to your name of a street rat with your constant wandering off to find someone that shined under the dim lights of the Undercity’s lamp posts, she had even gotten you a small bag as well which had honestly surprised you.

You scoffed when she threw it to you, “Are you serious? I don't need this shit.” you spat sharply, god she wished she could rip that  sharp tongue out of yours out of your mouth. She set down her cup, whatever liquid she was drinking sloushing out.

“You think I don't see you storing your little trinkets out in dumped boxes? You're pathetic, the amount of times I've seen people swipe from your little stashes is ridiculous.” Your brow furrows at her words, you're not pathetic, you're smart, hell- brilliant even! “WELL, Miss.im so smart, i'll have you know I have many stashes around the city,”

“and how many of them stay full?”

you pause.

“...like.. three maybe…” you admit with a pout, “Then take the bag” she says sternly.

You grumble as you snatch the bag off the table, examining it with cold eyes but muttering a quiet “thank you” under your breath- then you're gone.

You choose not to stick around her during the day, too many eyes, you stay on the outskirts of the city- just like today. 

you squirm up the broken fire escape, trying your best to host yourself up with- little success. You hate to admit that Sevika’s ‘gift’ was actually pretty helpful, much more storage for cogs and other useful stuff- only downside is that you put way too much stuff in it.

“come on!-" You hiss under your breath as you hang onto the railing, trying to throw the bag up onto the floor of the fire escape so you can get yourself up. Such you were fit, your worked out a good amount, but.. your weren't exactly sure what to really work out.

The bag thudded onto the rusty fire escape with a loud clang, the sound echoing down the alleyway below. You winced, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had heard. The last thing you needed was some nosy thug poking around while you were mid-scramble.  

"Stupid bag," you muttered, wiping sweat off your brow. The thing had been helpful, sure, but damn if it wasn’t heavier than you thought it would be with all the “essentials” you’d crammed into it.  

With a deep breath, you grabbed the edge of the fire escape again, gritting your teeth as you hoisted yourself up. Your muscles strained against the weight of your own body, your arms trembling as you kicked your legs to get some momentum. “Okay... almost there...”  

Finally, with a groan, you managed to drag yourself up, collapsing onto the cold metal floor with a loud huff. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the dim, flickering lights of the Undercity’s skyline, panting like you’d just run a marathon.  

“Maybe I should’ve worked out more…” you mumbled, glaring at the bag now sitting innocently beside you.  

The memory of Sevika tossing it to you came to mind, her cold, stern gaze practically daring you to argue with her. She hadn’t been wrong about your stashes getting raided—half of them were basically public property at this point—but still, you’d never admit she had a point. That’d be giving her too much satisfaction.  

As much as you hated to admit it, the bag was starting to feel like a lifeline. Not just because it kept your things safe, but because... well, it was from her.  

You sighed, sitting up and brushing your hands off on your pants. “Whatever,” you muttered to yourself, swinging the bag over your shoulder again. “It’s just a stupid bag. Doesn’t mean anything.”  

As you climb further up the ladders you find yourself at what you call, home. The climb had left your muscles burning, but as you finally pulled yourself up to the top platform, a sense of relief washed over you. This was your little corner of the world, tucked high above the chaos of the Undercity, where few dared to tread.

"Home sweet home," you muttered, glancing at the haphazard setup before you.

The patchwork of old carpets and threadbare blankets was hardly luxurious, and the wooden crates stacked into a leaning structure could barely be called stable. Still, it had its charm—if only because it was yours. 

You ducked under the slanted “roof” of your makeshift tent, the faint smell of oil and dust filling your nose as you tossed the bag onto the ground with a loud thud. Sliding down onto the pile of blankets you called a bed, you let out a long, drawn-out exhale, the tension in your shoulders finally releasing.  

After a few moments, you sat up, rolling your sleeves as you reached for the bag. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got this time,” you murmured to yourself, the habit of talking aloud in your solitude one you never quite managed to break.  

One by one, you started pulling items from the bag: cogs, rusted bolts, wires tangled like a bird’s nest, a couple of scraps of metal that might be useful if you ever found a decent buyer. You laid them out in neat rows, sorting them with a critical eye.  

“Junk, maybe useful, definitely junk, hmm… potential,” you muttered, setting aside a few pieces you deemed worth keeping.  

Every so often, you paused to examine an item more closely, holding it up to the dim light filtering through the cracks of your tent. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you found a small, intact gear with its teeth still sharp. “Hah, not bad,” you said to no one, setting it aside with a sense of triumph.  

This was your ritual, your little piece of order in an otherwise chaotic world. Sorting through the refuse of the Undercity, finding bits and pieces that others had discarded without a second thought—it wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. 

Your contented sorting came to an abrupt halt as the distant noise filtered up through the layers of steel and grime below. First, it was the sharp crack of something breaking—glass, maybe, or a chair being hurled against a wall. Then came the muffled yelling, too distorted by the distance to make out the words.  

You froze, your fingers hovering over a twisted wire. It wasn’t unusual to hear fights in the Undercity; hell, it was practically the soundtrack of the place. But this time was different.  

This time, you recognized the low, gravelly tone of one of the voices. Sevika.  

Your stomach twisted as you strained to listen, hoping you’d misheard. But there it was again—her voice, cutting through the chaos with a sharp bark of anger.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, scrambling to your feet. For a moment, you hesitated, torn between staying put in the safety of your little hideout and the nagging pull of curiosity—and maybe worry—that pushed you toward the ladder.  

Another crash, louder this time, made the decision for you. You grabbed the strap of your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the edge of the platform. Your heart pounded as you carefully climbed down, your usual annoyance at the shaky fire escape forgotten in your rush.  

By the time you reached the lower levels, the noise had grown louder, more distinct. You crept closer, ducking behind a stack of crates as you peered around the corner.  

There she was, Sevika, in the middle of a small brawl. Three guys, maybe more, circled her like vultures, but she looked as unfazed as ever, her mechanical arm gleaming under the dim light as she sent one of them flying with a single swing.  

Your first instinct was to turn back, let her handle it. She was Sevika, after all; she didn’t need help. But as another thug lunged at her with a broken pipe, something in you snapped.  

“Damn it,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the crate as you tried to come up with a plan. Or maybe you’d just jump in and wing it. Either way, you weren’t about to leave her hanging.

Though your- stupidity gets the best of you as you reach for a broken glass of whatever and throw it at one of the men, hitting his head

The moment the glass shattered against the man’s head, you felt a rush of pride. Bullseye. But that fleeting sense of accomplishment was quickly replaced with a cold, sinking feeling as the three men turned toward you, their expressions darkening like storm clouds.  

He wiped a hand over his face, now dripping with blood from a jagged cut the glass had left, his glare locking onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ve got a death wish, kid,” he growled, taking a menacing step forward.  

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, your bravado evaporating in an instant.  

Without another thought, you turned on your heel and bolted, your heart pounding in your ears as your boots slapped against the slick pavement. Behind you, the sound of shouts and heavy footsteps echoed as the men gave chase.  

“Stupid stupid stupid!!” you hissed to yourself, dodging around a stack of broken crates. This wasn’t exactly the first time your mouth—or in this case, your impulse to throw things—had gotten you into trouble, but this? This was a new level of stupid.  

You ducked into a narrow alley, squeezing through the gap between two rusted pipes as the men shouted behind you. Your pulse was racing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you scanned the area for an escape route.  

Up ahead, you spotted a ladder leading to one of the upper platforms, the kind you’d climbed a hundred times before. “Come on, come on,” you whispered, practically leaping toward it.  

As you grabbed the rungs and started to climb, one of the men reached the base of the ladder, cursing loudly. He jumped, his fingers grazing your ankle, but you kicked out with a frantic yell, forcing him to let go.  

“Keep running, street rat!” one of them yelled.  

“Oh, I plan to!” you shouted back, your voice dripping with sarcasm despite the panic clawing at your chest.  

You scrambled onto the platform above, your legs burning and your breath coming in ragged gasps. From this vantage point, you could see Sevika below, taking advantage of your little distraction you created. For a split second, you thought about doubling back to help her, but another shout from below reminded you of your own predicament.  

"She better appreciate this," you muttered bitterly as you darted off into the shadows, praying you could lose your pursuers before they decided to make good on their threats. 

–

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Sevika snarled as you sat next to her at the little market you had come to know for your routine feeding, “those guys could've and would've killed you!” She hissed.

“I was helping!” you grumble, “Helping doesn't mean almost getting yourself killed!” Sevika shot right back.

“You should've been able to take those guys easily, they were so much smaller than you!”

“I had it.”

“Didn't seem like it Toolbox.”

“Stop calling me that,”

“Toolbox.”

“Street Rat.”

“Mines cooler anyways.” you hum, Sevika scoffs with a shake of her head, “You fucking wish.”

“Well,” you start, shoving the fruit you had stuffed in your bag into your mouth, biting into it sharply, the juices running down your chin- “I deserve a thank you.”

“You are not getting a thank you for making me worry,” Sevika spat, “awww, so you do care!” you hum sarcastically, “oh, my heart might just explode with joy!”

Sevika rolled her eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t pop out of her skull. “Don’t flatter yourself Rat. I care because you’re a liability. If you go and get yourself killed, that’s just one more mess I have to deal with.”  

You snorted, chewing noisily on your fruit. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Sevvy.”  

Her glare could have melted steel. “Call me that again and see what happens.”  

“Sevvy.” You said it sweetly, almost a purr, batting your lashes for extra effect.  

The mechanical fingers of her arm clenched with a faint hiss, and you couldn’t help but grin, even as she loomed closer, her presence casting a shadow over you. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she growled, voice low and dangerous.  

“And brains,” you added smugly, leaning back as if her looming didn’t faze you. “I mean, I did save your ass, remember?”  

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “If by ‘save’ you mean ‘made my life infinitely harder,’ then yeah. Thanks for that.”  

You bit into your fruit again, savoring its sweetness as you shrugged. “Same difference. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”  

“I’d sleep better, that’s for sure.”  

“Awww, Sev, you’re so sweet,” you teased, wiping juice off your chin with your sleeve. “No wonder people love you so much.”  

Her lips twitched, like she was fighting back a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re useful sometimes, Street Rat. Otherwise, I’d have tossed you into the gutter by now.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, grinning despite her insult. “Admit it, Sevika. You like having me around.”  

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath as she turned her attention back to her drink. You took that as a win, leaning back against the table with a satisfied smirk.

“So,” You hum as you throw the finished fruit onto the street, “Where we going now?”

Sevika stood up, pushing in her chair and throwing her cloak over her mechanical arm “I'm, going home.”

You frowned, tilting your head like a confused pup. “Home? What about me?”  

Sevika glanced over her shoulder, her expression flat. “What about you?”  

You scoffed, standing up and brushing the crumbs off your clothes. “I thought we were a team now.”  

She barked a laugh, the kind that was more mocking than amused. “Team? Don’t flatter yourself, Toolbox. You’re just a stray I can’t seem to shake off.”  

You put your hands on your hips, leaning forward as you shot her a challenging glare. “Stray or not, you’d be bored without me, and you know it.”  

“Bored?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow as she adjusted her cloak. “More like finally at peace.”  

“Sure, Sev, keep telling yourself that,” you quipped, falling into step beside her despite her best efforts to stride ahead.  

She stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a sharp glare. “What do you want, huh? A place to crash? A warm meal? Or do you just like annoying me?”  

You grinned, not missing a beat. “Little bit of all three, honestly.”  

She exhaled sharply, clearly trying to rein in her irritation. “You’re impossible.”  

“And yet, here we are,” you said with a cheeky shrug.  

For a moment, Sevika just stared at you, her jaw tightening as if she were debating whether to knock you out or just walk away. Finally, she shook her head, muttering something about bad decisions as she turned back toward the street.  

“Fine,” she said gruffly, not bothering to look back at you. “Follow me. But don’t think for a second this means I like you.”  

Your grin widened as you fell into step behind her. “Of course not, Sevvy. This is purely professional.”  

“Call me that again, and you’re sleeping in the gutter.”  

“Love you too,” you teased, earning a sharp growl from her as the two of you disappeared into the crowded streets of the Undercity.

God she hated you.

As you follow her not too far behind she doesn't look back- until she hears a loud CLUNK.

She looked back to see you diving into a dumpster, your legs propelling yourself further into it.

Sevika stopped dead in her tracks, her mechanical arm twitching slightly as she turned to stare at you, her expression an unreadable mix of irritation and disbelief.  

“What the hell are you doing now?” she called out, her voice carrying that sharp edge of exasperation she reserved just for you.  

Your legs flailed for a moment, kicking at the air as you wormed your way further into the dumpster. “I saw something shiny!” you shouted back, your voice muffled by the metal container.  

Sevika pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. “Shiny? Are you a crow now?”  

“Shut up, it might be important!” you countered, your voice ringing with mock indignation.  

The dumpster rattled as you rummaged around, the sound grating on Sevika’s nerves. She glanced around, noting the amused—or horrified—looks from a few passersby. She sighed deeply, her patience wearing thin.  

“You know,” she said, her tone flat as she leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed, “there’s a fine line between being resourceful and being a complete idiot. Guess which side you’re on.”  

You didn’t respond immediately, too engrossed in whatever treasure you were hunting. A moment later, you popped your head out of the dumpster, holding up a slightly dented but intact pocket watch. “See? Totally worth it!” you declared, grinning triumphantly.  

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A broken watch?”  

“It’s vintage!” you argued, shaking the watch for emphasis.  

“Yeah, sure. Vintage trash,” she shot back, turning on her heel. “Let’s go, before someone mistakes you for actual garbage.”  

You hopped out of the dumpster, brushing off your clothes as you jogged to catch up with her. “You’re just mad you didn’t see it first,” you teased, tucking the watch into your bag.  

She didn’t respond, but you swore you saw her roll her eyes as she picked up her pace, trying her best to ignore you.

But your voice was grating, the way you chatted away about god knows what, trying to take apart the watch as you walked, proving to Sevika by the brand name on the inside of the watch that it was definitely worth something.

“See? I told you, I know what's useless or, worthy!” You hum happily.

you were definitely a lot different from when Sevika first saw you, when you were a lot more sharp and,I guess hateful. Now here you are, talking her ear off about some history behind the watch.

Cute.

Sevika shook her head firmly, no, absolutely not, you were not cute or anything like that, you were a dingy kid from the streets, probably not even 26, you had your whole life ahead of you.

Sevika’s gaze flickered over to you as you babbled on about the intricate history behind the watch, your hands working quickly to twist and turn its parts, barely looking up as you walked beside her.  

“Mm-hmm, sure, sure,” she muttered, her focus on the path ahead, though her mind was starting to wander despite herself. You were relentless, a flurry of words and energy that kept bouncing from one topic to the next, your excitement practically buzzing through the air. It was almost impossible not to listen to you, even if she didn’t want to.  

But cute? No.  

You were just some kid, a street rat, sure, but not in a pathetic sense anymore. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Maybe it was how you had this endless drive to find the value in everything, even when it was so easy for someone like her to overlook. Or how your once sharp edges seemed to have softened over time, the constant biting sarcasm now replaced with, well, an actual willingness to communicate, to engage.  

God, what the hell was wrong with her?

She tried shaking it off, focusing on the weight of her boots as they hit the cracked pavement. She was not about to get all sentimental or soft. That would be a mistake.  

“I’m serious, Sevika,” you continued, eyes sparkling as you looked up at her, “I could sell this for a few cogs. It’s pretty rare, maybe even more than that if I find the right buyer!”  

She made a noncommittal sound in her throat, but inside, something shifted just a bit. You really are something else, she thought.  

Her mind screamed at her to pull away, to put some distance between herself and you before she made a mistake, but here she was, still walking beside you, letting you prattle on and on.  

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t go blowing it on something stupid,” she muttered, though there was a flicker of something in her voice that she quickly smothered.  

You gave her a sidelong glance, not missing the subtle change. “You really do care, huh?”  

She didn’t answer, instead pushing her shoulders back and picking up the pace, determined to ignore the way her heart seemed to tighten. She could still feel the eyes of the people around you—at least, that’s what she told herself.  

But maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just about saving you from getting yourself killed anymore. Maybe... she was just stuck with you, whether she liked it or not.  

“Keep dreaming, kid,” she said gruffly, her voice betraying none of the warmth creeping up her spine.  

“Aw, you're soft, Sev," you teased, and she felt her chest tighten even more.  

"Shut up, Streetie," she snapped, the words coming out far too fondly for her liking.  

“Streetie? that's a new one,” you giggle slightly, seeming to notice before you cleared your throat.

(what do we think about making this a series Loves?)

[echo-riot]

Power with a hint of passion Passion

|| Ambessa Medarda x reader ||

The grand chambers of Ambessa Medarda’s estate radiated opulence. A roaring fireplace cast a golden glow across the room, dancing over polished wood and deep red velvet. You stood near the window, gazing out at the distant city lights of Piltover, but your attention was stolen by the presence behind you.

Ambessa entered, her commanding stride filling the space. She was dressed in her usual armor, though the chest plate was unfastened, revealing the sculpted curves of her collarbone and a hint of her cleavage. Her sharp golden eyes raked over you, assessing, as if you were both her conquest and her prize.

“I thought I told you to wait for me,” she said, her voice deep and smooth, tinged with amusement. She placed her gauntlets on a nearby table with a deliberate clang, each motion intentional.

“I didn’t realize I needed permission to admire the view,” you replied, your voice steady, though her presence always made your heart race.

Ambessa smirked, the corner of her lips curling upward. “Careful, darling. I don’t tolerate insubordination.” She closed the distance between you, her towering frame casting a shadow as her fingers brushed your chin, tilting your head up to meet her gaze.

Her touch was deceptively gentle, but the power behind it was undeniable. “You challenge me in ways no one else dares,” she murmured, her voice low, almost a growl. “It’s infuriating. And intoxicating.”

Her other hand rested on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles through the fabric of your clothes. The heat of her palm seeped into your skin, igniting a spark of anticipation.

“You should know by now,” she continued, leaning in until her breath ghosted over your ear, “I always get what I want.”

You shivered, caught between the urge to defy her and the desire to give in completely. Ambessa chuckled softly, clearly savoring your reaction. She was in no rush—control was her domain, and she wielded it effortlessly.

When she finally kissed you, it was anything but tender. Her lips claimed yours with a fervor that left no room for doubt. Her hands moved with precision, one sliding to the small of your back to pull you closer, the other brushing over your jaw to keep you exactly where she wanted you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the cool press of her armor against your chest, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from her body. It was a reminder of her duality—both warrior and lover, steel and fire.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were alight with triumph. “Let me make one thing clear,” she said, her voice a husky whisper as her thumb brushed over your lower lip. “You’re mine. Always.”

[heylittleriotact]

First Line/First Page: Fuck It, We Ball Edition ™️

@emmg tagged me and shared a nightmare inducing portion of whatever fresh hell she’s working on that features an absolutely fucking TERRIFYING take on EmmLich, so you can mark me down as scared and horny.

I’m tagging @xxnashiraxx, @allofthebarks, and @preciouslittlebhaalbae

This is the first page of my smutty imagining of Emmrich and Rook’s dinner date in the Necropolis - you’ll have to stay tuned for the smut though, I’m afraid - it’s a bit further down the WIP💀

🩷💀🩷

Neve was right - I should have worn the old shoes…

She shifted her thigh upward slightly and pressed the ball of her foot into the ground, freeing her right heel from stiff new leather and hiding her grimace of relief behind the rim of her wine glass as she wriggled her somewhat crushed toes now that they weren’t crammed together, fighting for space in the narrow toe box.

There were a perfectly good pair of well broken in heels sitting in her wardrobe back at the Lighthouse that would have been more than acceptable to wear to dinner with Emmrich, but no, she had to go to Dock Town earlier in the day with Neve who had all but insisted she buy herself something nice for the occasion.

‘Not saying you don’t know how to clean up - I know you Watchers are a well put together bunch, but I don’t know… maybe you’ll have a nicer evening if you’re not sitting across from Emmrich wearing the same clothes you wear to make funeral arrangements with people?’

‘I’m almost certain he’ll be sitting across from me wearing the same clothes he wears to make funeral arrangements with people,’ Amina had pointed out, and Neve laughed.

‘How sure are you about that? I’d put my money on him showing up in the most formal, four-piece ensemble he owns if it helps his chances of getting you into bed tonight.’

She had a point - not about sex. She knew perfectly well that months of burning tension shrouded under a polite mantle of academic professionalism had become increasingly difficult to ignore now that they were… well - now that they were… together. That particular shoe was going to have to drop sooner rather than later, unless… She wrinkled her nose at the very thought: unless he was the sort to take a courtship so seriously that abstinence from intimate activities was expected until she shared his last name…

No… surely not. Not judging by the way his hands wandered and his lips eagerly roamed her throat when he kissed her against the Lovers’ Grave.

All well and good, but she didn’t want to overdress for the occasion - how embarrassing would that be? How obnoxious?

Her face reddened at the imagined awkwardness of waiting for Emmrich at the eluvian, dressed in a floor-skimming evening gown and gloves, her mass of sleek black hair time-consumingly plaited and pinned up to emphasize the small amount of grave gold that she did own, retrieved from its dusty velvet lined box for the first time in years because she hasn’t had occasion - nor the desire to actually wear any of it - unlike her gentlemanly new companion who clanged and clattered around everywhere he went like a sentient drawer of silverware.

He’d inevitably appear, descending the stairs from the library wearing what he wore every day - that well-loved waistcoat, a crisp clean shirt, and his favoured combed Druffalo wool trousers. He’d look as handsome as always, and not at all underdressed for a romantic dinner in the Necropolis, and his eyes would widen at the spectacle of her dressed like she was off for cocktails with the King of Ferelden. The corners of his mouth would twitch and he’d clear his throat in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

At her.

At how entirely stupid she looked.

‘It’s dinner - not a wedding proposal, Neve.’

‘If you say so, but if there’s a cummerbund involved, you owe me five gold.’

‘He wears a cummerbund every day,’ she sighed, turning and pulling open the door to one of the many clothing boutiques populating the market district.

[aspens-dragons]

oh

i cant believe im doing this.

rotumblr. give me your best relationship advice.

[theelizamanelli]

Tengoku

Reina Iyashi wants a normal, mundane existence until Satoru Gojo takes a special interest in her uncanny ability to bring people back to life (or so Itadori says) and offers her a job as his assistant at Jujutsu High. Tags: 18+, satoru gojo x female oc, boss x assistant, golden retriever x black cat, forced proximity, slow burn, romance, smut, masturbation link to all chapters link to ao3

note from the author: so sorry for how long it has taken to update this fic, I appreciate the comments/asks - they all inspire me to continue writing. I hope you enjoy!

——————————————————————————————————

Chapter Sixteen

——————————————————————————————————

Warmth spread along Reina’s face as she gazed at the sky, the sun beaming down. The suitcase trailing behind her clanged against the uneven sidewalk. With an exaggerated huff she yanked it over the curb. 

Shielding her eyes from the light she drank in the sight of the tall building stretched in front of her. Striding through the door, Reina nodded politely at the attendant standing near the entrance - swiftly refusing his attempt to assist with her bag. 

Reina scanned the lobby, her eyes landing on a familiar sight - a handsome white haired man leaning against the front desk. 

Gojo tipped his glasses down to drag his stare along Reina’s body before piercing her with a smile. An unfamiliar sensation echoed through her stomach.

“Good morning, Iyashi.” he purred before handing over a card. Reina yanked it from his grasp, scowling. 

“Good morning, Gojo. Could you have picked a hotel further from the airport?” Reina bit out, pulling her battered suitcase to her side.

“If you booked the travel arrangements, we would have ended up in entirely separate buildings.” he laughed, heading in the direction of the elevator.

Reina had offered to fly in separately, Gojo was requested at a meeting within the city a day prior. What would have delighted her mere months ago proved to be rather inconvenient. She hadn’t noticed the effort Gojo went through to ensure her life went smoothly. 

He held the door open for her as she sidled in next to him. 

“I am eager to see how you plan on making up for our last sleeping arrangements.” Reina rolled her eyes, warmth spreading on the back of her neck at the memory of waking up tangled on top of Gojo at the inn.

She reached back, placing her cool hand on the area - careful to avoid his gaze. 

“Oh, you’re going to like this one.” Gojo stepped out of the elevator, leading her down the hallway. 

He gestured towards one door at the end, “Yours.” Before his finger slowly moved to the one next to it, “Mine.”

“Good.” Reina pushed past him and entered her room. Her eyes darting to the side as she watched Gojo do the same. 

She sighed as she closed the door behind her, placing her back against the wood. There was a feeling threatening to spill through her body. One that felt surprisingly similar to disappointment.

Pushing her suitcase through the room, she placed it in the corner before throwing herself onto the king sized bed.

“See? I knew you would like it.” a voice sounded near the entrance of the room. Reina bolted upwards, her eyes connecting with Gojo’s.

Her brows furrowed as she realized he was leaning against the frame of an open door - one that led straight into his room.

A slow smile spread through his face as hers burned. 

——————————————————————————————————

A hurried knock at the door shattered the tension in the room. Reina continued to scowl as the gloating Gojo strode over to let in the visitor.

Itadori burst into the space, excitedly exclaiming, “Did you show her the conjoined rooms?” 

“Did she hate it?” Fushiguro stood in the doorway, holding it open for Kugisaki before entering. 

“More importantly, did she beat you up?” she asked with a laugh, venturing over to where Reina sat. She plopped down next to her, running her hands along the comforter. “Her room is way nicer than ours, sensei!”

“That’s because I actually like her,” he replied. 

Itadori threw the patio door open, both of his hands wrapping the railing as he admired the water. Kugisaki muscled her way next to him, shielding her eyes from the sun as she mimicked his expression.

He pointed towards the beach enthusiastically, “Let’s go swimming!”

Kugisaki whipped around, looking at Gojo pleadingly. He pretended to consider whether they could, dramatically placing his hand on his chin.

“Get your swimsuit, Iyashi!” he exclaimed, the two raced past him and back towards the exit.

Gojo strode towards his room, he slowly inched the door closed - his face occupying the remaining space. 

“That cute pink one you packed,” he winked before it clicked shut. 

——————————————————————————————————

The ocean glittered against the sky, appearing to extend endlessly along the sandy outline. The heat clung to Reina’s curves, sweat beginning to accumulate on the back of her neck. 

Repositioning underneath the umbrella, she looked on in amusement as Itadori attempted to push Fushiguro into the waves. He fought him off valiantly until Gojo snuck up behind, pulling him under with a hearty laugh. 

Kugisaki stretched alongside Reina, propping herself onto her elbows she yelled, “Don’t let him treat you like that, Megumi! Come on!”

Reina laughed as Kugisaki stood - brushing the sand from her body. She raced towards the water, Gojo prepared himself for an attack with a smile playing on his lips. 

Her eyes softened as he gently flipped Kugisaki into the water, careful to avoid her neck. The laughs echoing through the air were enough to warm Reina’s heart, a reminder of Gojo’s character.

She swallowed hard as he started towards her, the sunlight reflecting on his glasses and creating a sheen on his abs that forced Reina’s to tighten. 

He towered over her, she watched a droplet of water slide from his bellybutton to the edge of his swimsuit. Her eyes dragged along him until she met his gaze.

His glasses slipped onto the edge of his nose, his blue eyes trailing her swimsuit before smirking. Reina straightened, one of her hands smoothing the seams of the pink fabric.

He leaned down to grab a towel, his arm brushing hers.

“You’re so obedient sometimes, Iyashi,” he whispered.

He chuckled as he admired the slow build of warmth erupting through Reina’s body. Gojo dried off before collapsing in a dramatic heap next to her. She handed him a water bottle, careful to avoid his gaze. 

The sound of erratic splashing and squealing captured their attention. Sitting in silence, they were unable to do anything but admire the three. Reina stole a glance at Gojo, her smile faltering at the tinge of sadness in his eyes.

She reflexively reached for him, her hand resting on his knee - as if waking him from a dream he startled slightly at the contact. Gojo offered her a small reassuring smile, placing his hand on hers. 

“Your students are lucky to have you for a mentor. Whatever happens, remember that you have given them every tool necessary to survive,” Reina squeezed his knee before releasing her hold. “They aren’t them, stop torturing yourself.” 

Gojo leaned back, his gaze angled towards the sky. A long stretch of silence before he sighed, “You can’t be smart and hot, Iyashi. It’s not fair.”

Reina breathed out a laugh, shaking her head. Gojo stood up with a groan before turning towards her.

“Alright, your turn.” he brushed his hands off, extending one in her direction.

Reina furrowed her brows, “Oh, no.” 

“Oh, yes.” Gojo re-extended his hand dramatically.

“Seriously. I’m good.” she replied firmly.

“Stop torturing yourself and have some fun, Iyashi.” Gojo raised his eyebrows in her direction, he gave her a moment to surrender. When she made no sign of moving he darted out, pulling her quickly upwards by the arm.

Reina squealed at the sudden movement, Gojo managed to raise her into the air in one fell swoop and was now gleefully carrying her over his shoulder towards the ocean. 

Itadori laughed at the sight of Reina beating her fists against Gojo’s back, her legs kicking as the waves sprayed onto her back. 

——————————————————————————————————

The steam curled through the air as Reina stepped onto the damp tile. A droplet of condensation rolling down the mirror as she wiped her hand over the surface, revealing her pink tinged face. 

Her eyes followed the trickle of the water, reminding her briefly of light skin covering a muscled torso. Reina’s imagination drifted to what could be underneath that swimsuit, how easily she could drop to her knees in front of him. How good he would taste. How sweet his moans would sound in her ear.

“Iyashi! I require a kiss goodnight, please!” yelled Gojo through the door, pulling her from the fantasy. Shaking her head softly she wrapped herself in the robe before turning the knob.

Gojo leaned against the bathroom door, a pair of gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips - Reina’s eyes darted to the edge of the fabric before quickly returning to his eyes. 

“In your dreams, Gojo.” she rolled her eyes, striding towards her suitcase. She found herself fighting the urge to turn in his direction if only to have the opportunity to admire his bare torso. 

He sighed dramatically before returning to his room, leaving a noticeable gap as he shut the door behind. She watched as the light dimmed on the other side.

Reina continued to settle down, drying her hair and sorting through her suitcase. Bending over the organized section of clothes she slowly lifted a familiar pink set of intimates. 

The image of Gojo’s outstretched, teasing hand dangling the lace flashed through her mind. Reina squeezed her thighs together unconsciously, biting her lip. Before she lost the courage, she stood abruptly - ripping the robe off and sliding the set on. 

She jumped into the bed and pulled the comforter to her chin. Breathing heavily, the silence filled the room before Reina nearly burst into a fit of giggles at her idiocy. 

She stared at the dark ceiling for what felt like hours - her imagination relentless and unforgiving. Memories turning over of her pushed against the wall of an alley or laid on top of a desk. 

Sliding her fingers along the undercurve of her breasts, Reina mindlessly trailed downwards. She closed her eyes and slowly filled her vision with large, soft hands. 

Tracing slow circles over the pink fabric, echoes of Gojo’s voice replayed softly in her ear. Reina could nearly feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, whispering words that she ached to hear. 

A shudder slid through her body as a finger slipped underneath the fabric, gathering the accumulated wetness before increasing the pace. A small, strangled moan slipped from her lips - Reina froze. 

“Don’t stop,” Gojo stood in the doorway, his hair tousled slightly - illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.

Reina swallowed hard, heat spreading through her body. Gojo slowly walked to the edge of the bed, his eyes dark as he stared down at her.

“I said, don’t stop,” he repeated. 

She licked her lips, a small bit of hesitance before her fingers started to move again. Gojo reached out a hand, grabbing onto the edge of the comforter and sliding it onto the floor. 

Reina lay bare in front of him, unable to keep her eyes off of his chest as his breathing quickened. He drank in the sight of her, admiring the soft curve of her thighs. She longed for him to reach out - to run his hands along her but he stood still. 

“A little faster, Iyashi,” Gojo said firmly.

Reina hastened, her heart racing as she noted his growing hardness. There was a familiar tightening sensation beginning to build.

As if he could sense it, Gojo swallowed hard before he stated in a low tone, “Look what a good little girl you are.”

“A little faster now,” he slid his own hands along the edge of his sweatpants, “You’re such a good listener.”

A raspy moan slipped from Reina’s mouth, “Oh, fuck.”

“Iyashi, please, I want to hear you,” Gojo cocked his head to the side. He was intent on keeping his hands to himself much to her dismay. 

“Gojo, please,” Reina moaned, the pleasure was riding a tight string - one that she could feel close to snapping.

“Cum for me,” demanded Gojo. 

In an instant, she came undone - writhing against her fingers as Gojo stood over her. 

Knock knock knock.

Reina jumped, her head whipping towards the door. Gojo groaned, extending his hand in her direction. He pulled her from the bed and slid the robe over her before answering the call.

“So help me God, if someone isn’t dying…”

“Too late for that,” Kugisaki stood in the hallway, Itadori behind her - noticeably out of breath. 

Fushiguro leaned against the wall, “How about a dead body in the hotel lobby?”

——————————————————————————————————

chapter seventeen

if you want to be notified when a new chapter is posted

[queers-gambit]

The Strength in Honor [ part 3 of 3 ]

prompt: well, well, well, if it isn't the consequences of your own actions. let the Games begin.

pairing: General Marcus Acacius x female!Aurelius!reader

fandom: Gladiator II -> no masterlist

word count: 8.3k+

warnings: spoilers, blood, character injury, canon character death, Acacius survives, drama, depiction of canon complicit physical violence, epilogue, very lil tiny smut, very lil tiny NSFW, depiction of happiest ending author could think of.

part one: read here part two: read here

The gladiators perked up when the sounds of struggle echoed from a distant tunnel; torchlight glowing brighter the closer the approaching intruders got. While restrained to their cells, most prisoners peaked out to watch as multiple guards were required to wrangle an irate General Acacius into an empty cell.

"You're no men of mine," Acacius snarled at the guards as they shoved him to the ground before slamming it shut; keeping bars between the feral man and themselves.

"No, General. We're the Emperor's."

He scoffed, "Hardly men of Rome, then."

"Do try to get some rest, General," another tacked on smugly, "you'll need your wits about you if you're gonna save your lady by," he raised his voice to ensure everyone heard, "fighting every man here!"

There was a grumble from the gladiators, Lucius' arms poking out to rest between the bars; keys heavy and hidden on his hip. He glared at the man he'd been convinced he needed to kill; the man he told Macrinus he wanted in exchange for being his champion; the man he thought would avenge his wife's death. Yet as he listened to the guards taunt him, he heard his aunt's voice pleading with him to understand the General was not the enemy.

He ignored the Wisdom of Venus in favor of his own anger.

The Praetorian Guards spat on the General before laughing and taking their leave; several hushed voices whispering to one another as a distant door clanged shut.

"General? General Acacius?" Someone questioned from the dark.

"Yes?"

"General," the voice insisted, "the hell's going on? What're you doing here?"

Lucius watched Acacius approach his cell door with narrowed eyes, taking the bars in hand as he identified, "Augustus?"

The guard winced as he neared the cell, "Ah, hell, it is you, thought I was seein' shit at first."

"Solider," Acacius greeted.

"Is the plan off?"

"What?"

Augustus shook his head, "The Lady Aurelius was here not long ago, sent Ravi to gather your men. Is the plan off?"

Lucius watched in real time as the General blinked slowly in remembrance, giving the Gladiator time to note the scattering of facial injuries. "Y/N sent Ravi to gather the men?"

"Yes, General."

"Good, good," he nodded, then shaking his head in disappointment. "I don't know what's to come next, soldier, we were betrayed."

"What?"

"The Emperors... They knew, yet I don't think specific details were shared as I saw no deployment to intercept my men yet."

"So they threw you down here?"

Acacius nodded, "In the morning, I am to fight all of you for the life of Lady Aurelius. There's no use in hiding it now: the Lady and I have been involved in an extramarital affair nearly 20 years."

"Jesus, Mary-Mother, and Joesph," Augustus scoffed, head cocking in confusion. "Why not just marry her?"

"I had planned to," Acacius admitted, "after the war, when the fighting was done, when I returned to Rome. I even had a ring," he smirked sadly, "but before I could propose, Lucius Verus died and widowed Lucilla. The Emperor asked me to marry her instead, for protection."

"He did not know about you and Y/N?"

"I'm sure he had his suspicions, we were young and dumb; not very good at hiding anything."

"Why accept? If you loved Y/N, why marry Lucilla?"

Lucius listened intently as Acacius admitted, "Because General Maximus told me to honor our Emperor, honor Rome. There was no denying Lady Lucilla's hand in marriage."

"But you and Venus never quit, huh?" Augustus snickered, "My man!"

"Just loved her too much to stop," Acacius shrugged, shaking his head. "Couldn't ever let go, and even now, I can't. So, tomorrow, I will attempt to fight you all - but we all know, the Emperor's are orchestrating a plan now to ensure I do not succeed."

The creaking of an opening iron door made both men pause their conversation, looking up in time to spy Lucius stepping from his unlocked cell. He watched the way Acacius straightened up with a knowing look; understanding his aunt must've had enough time to tell him about Lucius before their downfall.

"Hanno," Augustus tried to intercept, "how'd you - "

"Is it true?" He directed at the General.

Acacius let his eyes shift from guard to Gladiator; noting how Augustus did not seem phased by his unlocked cell. He asked "Which part?" for clarification.

"Loving Lady Y/N for 2 decades, Maximus telling you to marry Lady Lucilla?"

"All of it," he nodded. "Though my marriage to the Lady was not all bad, she... She just..."

"She wasn't Y/N," Lucius filled in, sounding neutral; neither angry or offended on his mother's behalf, but also not elated on his aunt's either.

"Nobody was - nobody ever will be again," Acacius told him. "Without her, Rome will be set adrift. You should all prepare."

"You speak as if it's already over."

"Weren't you listening?" Acacius snapped. "I am to fight you all, by myself. The Emperor's will ensure neither of us walk away - though, they will try to get Y/N, they spoke of their desire for her."

Lucius and Augustus shared the same expression of disgust, upper lips curling. "They can try," Augustus scoffed, crossing his meaty arms. "Your men still march for the city, General, and the men in these cells stand with you. What's the plan?"

"'Plan'? There's no more plans, kid, it's over. We lost."

"Not yet," Lucius mused, "the Games have only just begun."

"Look," Acacius shook his head, "when we face each other in the arena tomorrow, there will be no way out. I only ask for a swift death for us both. Should the Emperors ever get their hands on her, I fear death will be Y/N's only relief... Do not condemn your aunt to such a fate, she's the best of us and deserves better."

"No, the answer is simple, is it not?" Lucius asked, looking around the other cells of gladiators. "You hear that, lads? Your General Acacius must fight us all tomorrow to protect his lady-love! To protect Venus!" Flesh and metal banged on iron cell doors, a gentle hoot answering his rhetorical inquiry. "He says give him a quick death!" Another round of door-banging. "Know what I say? I say! The answer is simple! The Emperors intend for the General to fight us all - so none of us will fight!"

"What?" Augustus asked over the approval of agreeing gladiators. "Hanno, the hell do you mean? We'd all get shot by the archers!"

Lucius smirked, "There is strength in numbers, my friend... And 2,000 men loyal to the General march for the city. So long as the Emperors have a show, we keep them drawn in and locked on us, fully distracted - they won't so much as notice the city being sacked."

"There need be no sacking, the city is ready to fall," Acacius inputted, eyes narrowed at Lucius.

"All the more reason then," he smirked.

Augustus chuckled, "Oh, hooo! Hear that? I think Hanno has a plan, lads! Should we hear him?" The gladiators banged louder, "I asked, should we hear him!?" Now, they roared in agreement, making Augustus smirk at Lucius and cross his broad, bulging arms. "Go on, then. What's the plan, Hanno?"

Acacius leaned on the bars of his door, ready to take his orders like any good soldier.

The General was collected first from his cell, provided a change of clothes, his armor, and weaponry. Before he disappeared from sight, his head turned to catch Lucius' eyes; either man nodding subtly in agreement to what they had strategized all night.

The Praetorian Guards gathered first at the doors, posted along the inner arena of the Colosseum with archers lining the walls between sand and spectators. Acacius watched from the tunnel as a huge, decorated wooden cart was lugged into the arena by decoratively-matching white horses; you tied to a broad post in the center; dressed in a gorgeous white chiffon dress. You were accessorized in gold, but what caused instant anger from the crowd wasn't just the sight of you... But the sight of you, bound and bloodied.

Geta's Guards were none too gentle in their "watch" of you that night. Your nose bled, bottom lip split down to your chin, apple of your cheek cut open and weeping down your neck, over your collarbones and into the shoulders of your dress. Your wrists were raw, shoulders strained as your arms were bound behind you. In a twist of cruel irony, your maids - including the one who betrayed you - were bound in chains to the cart, as well; surrounded by the Senators who had agreed to your plans of usurpation.

"Gracus," you called to the old man closest to you. When his eyes met yours, you heaved, "I'm so sorry - for all of this."

"You need not apologize, my Lady," he warbled, hands bound before him in a sign of prayer. "This was what we knew could happen, yet we still sided with you. When it comes to Rome's best interest, that is where those most loyal must stand - no matter the consequences."

You nodded slowly, blinking back emotion - still feeling handsomely guilty.

"LET HER GO!" It was heard echoing from the stadium seating; more and more voices joining in their own protest. The archers lining the walls turned to prevent the packed rows of citizens from getting too close; causing tensions to mount as the people did not like such a brash reaction.

In the spectator's box, Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat pompously with Lucilla and Macrinus; waving to the booing crowd. Over them all, the Master of Ceremonies cried out, "People of Rome! Oh, hear me now, my good friends! People of Rome, settle! Settle yourselves! For today, you bear great witness to our Republic's great and fair justice!" The crowd growled and jeered. "Today... Today, great people, we witness the Gods judgement! Today, General Marcus Acacius," the crowd now cheered, "shall face the whole of the Emperor's gladiators in an effort to protect his long-standing affair partner, Lady Y/N Aurelius!"

The people stirred as your head bowed in shame. The Master of Ceremonies paused to let his words marinate, Geta smirking as he misunderstood the mumbling crowd to be displeased with you and Marcus.

"Who cares!?" It was cried.

"Let her go!"

"MERCY!"

"DON'T DO THIS!"

"Just let them be together!"

"LET HER GO!"

"MERCY, EMPERORS, MERCY!"

You could see the way Geta shifted in his seat with discomfort as nearly all citizens of Rome begged and pleaded for your mercy; to allow redemption, to seek penance, that this was not justice just because it was labeled as such.

A door opened across the arena, your head lifting in time to see Marcus striding out of the tunnel to the cheers of his loyal spectators. Your chains rattled as you stood upright from the post, tears mingling with blood down your neck as you watched him march to his death. Around him, Praetorian Guards moved from their place along the outskirts of the arena to surround him and your cart.

Acacius came to a halt, surveying the arena before locking his eyes with yours. "Are you hurt?" He asked. Your head shook, the tears did not lessen. "Good. Stay strong, my star, I'll get you outta here."

You nodded, truly believing him for a reason you didn't understand. Was love truly so blind? Perhaps.

Unknown to you, Augustus was galloping through the city to meet with Acacius' men at the city gates; intending on leading the first wave into the Colosseum. The gladiators burst from their cells and slaughtered the Emperor's men left behind; gathering at the gates of the tunnels to watch as General Acacius saluted the few of his men unlucky to be placed in the Emperor's guard. Several freed gladiators were sent through the Colosseum to neutralize as many archers as possible while the fighting inside the arena began in a brutal fashion.

For what it's worth, it was a glorious attempt by the Praetorians - but this was General Marcus Acacius they fought! Trained by General Maximus - the Spaniard, himself! He was a soldier foremost and for the first time, had something tangible and real and in his hands to fight for. The men in black armor fought well, for all it's worth - but you were on the line and Acacius wasn't in the clearest states of mind. There was no stopping him. There was none that could stand against him yet.

Until Lucius lead few gladiators into the arena next, signaling the next stage of their plan was in motion. "Acacius!" You warned, struggling in your restraints, "Behind you!"

He dodged out of the way of the last solider, swinging his sword around to lacerate the man's neck; splattering his face with a spray of blood. He panted, backing up a few paces towards the cart, leaning a hand to a wheel spoke. "Are you all right?" Acacius asked, looking exhausted but still strong.

"Are you!?"

"I'm fine," he assured, looking up at you with a smirk, "but you need to get ready, love."

"For what?"

"We're gonna need you to put on a bit of a show, hey?"

"Who the fuck is 'we'!?"

"Just - get upset when you see us fight, my Lady, really give 'em a show. We need all of their attention on us for as long as possible."

"Please, Acacius, what's happening!?" You begged, yelping shrilly and flinching when an arrow thumped into the meat of your inner thigh - managing to graze the femoral artery, causing blood to trickle down your leg at a mild rate as your dress slowly soiled with a blossom of blood where the arrow was embedded. It was a very deliberate hit, the crowd 'oohing' in union as every set of eyes darting over to see Geta standing at the stone banister with a smirk as he lowered his bow. "Oh, he's fucking lost it!" You squirmed in discomfort, whimpering in pain, lifting weight off the injured leg; the crowd enraged.

"Fuck - how bad is it? Y/N, please, my love, I know it hurts but talk to me!"

"It's not bad," you assured through your warbling tone, managing to look down and note the front of your dress. "No, no, not bad, it's embedded, plugging the wound. As long as we don't pull the shaft out, I should be fine."

"Acacius!" Lucius bellowed, charging over the sand.

"Wait - wait - wait - what's happening!? Don't! Acacius, please, please, that's Lucius! Do not - you cannot kill him!" You nearly forgot all Acacius had just said when he was forced to engage with the obviously angry Gladiator. "Lucius! Lucius, don't! Please! Please! Fuck honor, you two, this isn't worth your lives!" You felt flooded with genuine fear as your nephew gave your lover a real fight; both equally challenged, hacking at one another in dramatic flares. They moved all around, forcing the other gladiators to take new positions - keeping the attention of the crowd: commoners and the wealthy alike.

Then, after a wave of panic faded, your maid, Melody, reminded, "My Lady! The General said to keep their attention, remember? Put on a show?"

"What?" You asked the woman who hadn't betrayed you. The one who did was posted behind you - dead from the Praetorian Guard managing to get to her before Acacius could get them. Only few Senators were still standing.

"You have to scream - make a big deal of their fued!"

"Fuck," you breathed in mild confusion - then, like a crack of lightning, you understood. "Don't!" You begged them with a cry, "Please! Acacius! He's my nephew - you cannot! LUCIUS! LUCIUS, PLEASE!"

"Keep going," Melody encouraged, eyes on the crowd from her position facing the watch box occupied by Royal Romans. "They're all listening, keep going!"

You pulled against your chains, "Lucius! Mercy, mercy, nephew, please! Let us leave in peace - don't do this! I beg of you! Spare him!"

"Something's happening..." Melody informed with narrowed eyes. "Geta's on his feet - keep going, my Lady! Louder! Get hysterical!"

You were no actress but still put on your best show. "LUCIUS! NO!" You screamed authentically when he swiped his sword up through the spear Acacius wielded - severing it in two. "Ah, for fuck's sake, you two! Come off it, please!"

The fighting seemed oddly personal and poetic; the two dancing tunelessly through the sand, dressed in blood. You heard Melody gasp when Acacius backed off Lucius, kneeling to the ground at the Gladiator's mercy; her picking her chains with a spare hair pin. The two exchanged a few words you could not hear, both Emperors on their feet to watch with Macrinus and Lucilla standing just behind them in earnest wonder. When Lucius looked to Geta and saw his thumbs-down, he looked to Acacius and mumbled something else. Then... He knelt, too.

Geta appeared enraged for a long moment, almost ready for the Guards to shoot them both dead, before Lucius was climbing to his feet. He left Acacius with his knees in the sand, you perking up as Lucius paced a large circle before calling loudly, "Emperor Geta! There's been a request made!"

"Deadmen don't get requests, Gladiator, but living ones take them! Should they want to remain living!" The Emperor called back, trying to remain aloof.

"Is this," he pointed his blade back at Acacius, "how Rome treats her heroes!?" This caused the crowded Colosseum to hiss in anger, growing more restless with each word from their favorite Gladiator. "Since it is the Emperor who passes judgment, since it is the Emperor who has decided the General dies - should it not be by his hand?"

Geta scoffed gently, "I gave the order, I need not swing the sword."

"But in the name of honor, you should," Lucius smirked, offering his weapon. "Here, come, take mine! You say the General dies, you yearn for the Lady Aurelius? Come claim it all like the greater leaders before you!"

Knowing he was being called out, Geta chuckled, "You've a sense of humor, Gladiator, as much as you're a poet, I see. Now, prove you're a solider and kill the General."

"I would think it just and fair to come from you, Emperor," Lucius refused, lifting his arms with his voice, "and the people of Rome came for a show! Are you not entertained!?" The crowd roared deafeningly as if to agree Emperor Geta should enter the ring himself, foolishly, he thought, as Commodus once did. Lucius paced another circle as the archers were clashing with citizens still, facing the spectator's box and pointing his sword, "Come, Emperor! Nobody else can swing their sword, there's none present who will fight their General. The men here, they know loyalty! And honor! And love! They will not fight your man, let alone kill him. So, come! You must - if you want him dead, come, kill him."

Macrinus approached Geta and began rushing his words of advisory, telling the Emperor he should prove to the people he was fair - not tyrannical - by passing this sentence; to 'just' step in the arena. "I am not as vain as Commodus, I need not kill the General myself," Geta told him with a snap.

"It's just a show for the people, don't you want them to get their worth? Or turn unruly from their disappointment and resentment? Think about it: they've been sat here, all day, in the sun, hungry and thirsty, after having paid to watch their city-favorites fight to the death. They want to be sated - so, perhaps seeing their Emperor pass his own sentencing would be enough to satisfy them."

"And with what protection for myself?" Geta snarled, "My men are dead, all that's left are slaves."

"There are still archers, take the few Praetorians from here," Macrinus offered, cocking his head.

"What safety is this you offer?" He seethed.

"C'mon, Emperor!" Lucius taunted again. "Come down! Disband Rome's General for yourself!"

"I should shoot the fool now," Geta considered, nodding to the archers in the box. They strung arrows to their bows and aimed at Lucius, making the crowd jeer and boo; for the Gladiator to lift his hands in innocence, backing away a few steps; and for his mother to protest. "But!" Geta announced to the Colosseum, "I am merciful!"

The crowd cheered lazily, more so in excitement as Geta waved the archers down and was strapped in flashy, never-before-blooded armor. The procession of Praetorians from the box followed him to the mouth of the gates; surrounding the Emperor and jogging inside. Surviving, straggling gladiators just milled about their strategic positions, watching carefully, as the Emperor approached Marcus - still on his knees.

Your eyes widened as a ruckus was heard from above, a shrill scream of terror sounding before a body dropped - dead - into the sand. It was a woman from the crowd, tossed over the side by a Praetorian. This caused people to fight back and for Emperor Geta to startle as it was discovered Augustus was successful in leading the first wave of men into the city; soldiers and gladiators working together to dispel the archers and any Roman loyal to the Twins. Marcus smirked and easily lifted to his feet, making Geta stumble back a couple steps as the General seethed while swinging his sword in hand, "What was it I said earlier? You'd sooner die than touch my Lady?"

Geta's eyes widened as he looked up to you chained on the post, seeing the blood on your dress and trembling. "Now, Acacius!" Lucius shouted as chaos descended onto the Colosseum; the Gladiator fighting a Praetorian a short distance away. "We haven't the time! It's now or never!"

"M-Mercy - mercy!" Geta begged, trying to back away but tripping over a dead body. He sprawled pathetically in the dirt, trembling hand lifted as if Marcus was his savior, "Mercy, General, please! MERCY!"

You watched as Marcus swiftly swung his sword, cutting steel through the Emperor's neck - sending his head rolling away to the sounds of Caracalla's shrieks. They did not last long.

Marcus instantly turned and sprinted for the cart, you gasping his name and pulling on your chains painfully when an arrow found his shoulder. It sent him off course slightly; enough to stumble, leaving time for a second arrow to find his thigh. This time, he tripped into the dirt, head bowed in pain as you begged him to get up; heart in your throat, fingers slippery from the blood you drew from open wounds caused by the sharp edges of your cuffs.

You whimpered nervously as the fighting turned chaotic; all Senators dead, several fires started, the ringing of swords drowned by the sounds of people screaming. If there were any Gods, today, they turned a blind eye to Rome; making you feel isolated, as if your father's faith had finally been sucked from your soul as you watched Marcus snap the arrow from his thigh. He reached for his shoulder blade and grimaced as he ripped the arrow out, too. Slowly, he found his feet and started forward again; limping the rest of the way to the wagon.

Melody freed herself and instantly scrambled to start on your cuffs, too; trying to be strategic together and adjust so she could cower behind the post and work.

Lucius looked up in time to see Marcus clamor onto the cart, just feet from you before an arrow suddenly lodged in your abdomen - just merely inches from your sternum. It made Acacius freeze before all but materializing in front of you just to throw his body over yours in protection from other flying weaponry. Lucius looked to the box - where the arrow had once more come from. What he saw both slowed time and made his blood boil.

Emperor Caracalla's corpse was slumped in his seat, and above him, Lucilla wrestled for the bow in Macrinus' hands before he was overthrowing her from the balcony. Lucius winced when her body landed in a small mushroom of dirt, sprinting across the arena to slide on his knees at her head.

"What did you do!?" He gaped, trying to support her broken neck but fearing he'd make it worse.

"What... What was necessary... For my... My family..." She managed to get out between strangled breaths, fading fast. Yet, before the light could fully extinguish, her eyes brightened in recognition and reached for his cheek, whispering with the ghost of a smile adorning her lips for the last time, "My son... My Lucius."

But her life was swept into the wind before her fingers could ever find purchase on his flesh. "Mother?" He whispered, finding her eyes unseeing; her arm falling and body turning limp. Emotion clawed at his throat as he asked again, "Mum?"

There was no response.

Lucius heaved a heavy sigh and left Lucilla in her place as respectfully as possible, racing towards the wooden cart in time to witness Meldoy free you from your chains and for Marcus to settle you on your back. He smacked the arrow from your gut and thigh - not pulling them out, but just swiping the excess wood from his way. "Acacius!" Lucius shouted, rushing into the cart's edge to catch himself. "Is she...?"

"She's alive, but there's blood," Marcus informed, using both his hands to straight-arm press into the wound of your gut - thigh seemingly fine to leave alone for now. Nervously, he added quietly, "Too much blood, Lucius."

"Get her to the healers, the army's moving in," he nodded, quickly surveying the arena as Melody made her escape through an open gate. "They've taken out almost all the Praetorians."

"And Lucilla?" Marcus asked, seeing Lucius shake his head; so his bowed and he cursed quietly. "Hey, hey," he rushed when blood splattered over your lips, chin, cheeks, neck, and some flecks reaching your chest from your coughing. "Don't speak, you're all right, love, I've got you," he assured as calmly as he could, Lucius noting the way your face scrunched in delirious pain. From where your dress appeared the most concentrated with blood, he assumed you were struck in at least one or two vital places. "What happened to Lucilla?" Marcus questioned, looking to Lucius.

"Macrinus. I imagine she's the reason Auntie's not dead right now - looked like they were wrestling, she might've knocked the arrow off course."

"I imagine," Marcus repeated in agreement.

"Do you see him? Macrinus, I mean, do you see him?" Lucius asked, both men trying to see through the chaos. "We need to end this now with him!"

"There," Acacius inclined his chin across the arena, directing Lucius' attention to where Macrinus was stealing a horse and galloping out of the Colosseum. "Go! Go, Lucius!" He encouraged.

"Keep her alive!" Lucius barked, rushing for one of the other white horses; running alongside before kicking off and leaping onto the steed.

"Yeah, I fucking plan to, kid," Acacius muttered, looking around for an exit strategy. "Fucking hell," he saw nothing but fighting, gore, tragedy, devastation, carnage.

"General!"

"Augustus! Here!"

The former gladiator rushed for the cart, tugging the reins of another horse behind him. "C'mon! Let's go! You have to move, General, you can't stay here! Only a single squadron made it into the city, Macrinus sent his men to delay the rest!" Augustus panted, holding the animal steady as Marcus started apologizing to you profusely. You whimpered when he lifted you in his arms, roughly maneuvering from the cart and lifting you on bare horseback.

"We owe you, friend," Marcus nodded, smacking the soldier's shoulder before taking claim of the reins.

"Just get her somewhere safe and meet us at the city limits," Augustus panted, offering the General a leg-up onto the horse before slapping its hindquarters to send the couple off through the Colosseum at a gallop.

For three days, you slept. For three days, Rome was expunged of the Twin Emperor's reign of tyranny. For three days, bodies burned. For three days, General Marcus Acacius sat at your bedside in palpable worry.

"How is she tonight?" Lucius questioned softly, stepping into the med-bay with a tray of food that would, once more, go uneaten.

"Breathing still," Marcus answered.

Lucius sighed, "Why don't you go clean up, General?"

"I'm General no longer," he corrected, "I was stripped of my rank."

"As if anything those two did will permanently stick," Lucius scoffed with a roll of his eyes, setting the tray aside. "Go bathe and feed yourself, Acacius, I will sit with her tonight."

"I can't leave her," his head shook in refusal, "I won't."

"You did before," Lucius noted with a sigh, taking a seat in the only other spare chair in the room on the other side of your medical bed. "You met us at the gates of the city after the Colosseum."

"It wasn't easy," Acacius snipped, "and I was better help there than with her - she's got the healing touch, not me. No... No, I just cause injury, it seems."

Lucius could hear the exhaustion in the General's voice, understanding this didn't come from lack of sleep. "And now? As she rests, what help are you to her now? You know she wouldn't approve."

He chuckled dryly, "I wouldn't forgive myself if she woke and I wasn't here."

"She'd not forgive you if she woke and you had wasted away."

"You two are so fucking loud," a third voice grumbled, making both men nearly fall out of their chairs from sitting up so fast.

"Y/N?" Marcus reached for your hand, his other lifting to pet over your head.

"Who else?"

Lucius shared relieved laughter with Marcus, your eyes begrudgingly opening. "There she is," your nephew mused, "welcome back t'the world, Auntie."

"Fuck this," you grumbled, letting him help you sit up a bit.

"Gave us bit of a scare, love," Marcus whispered.

"Hm," you considered. "Well, seeing as I'm awake and you two are here, I take it... Things... Worked?"

"First, here," Marcus insisted, offering a simple cup of water to your lips after you were settled upright. He tilted the goblet for you, careful not to let you gulp it - but the sweet relief of water on your cottony tongue was too good to resist. You drank greedily. "Easy, easy," he cautioned when you coughed a little, pulling the chalice back to let you breathe. "How're you feeling?"

"Stiff," you admitted with a grimace. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Uh, 's bit of a blur at moments," you sighed, rubbing your eyes as you thought deep. "I remember the Emperors, the post, you two fighting. Then there was... Geta's head, the Praetorians fighting citizens and gladiators... The army, I remember the army got there, right?"

"Yeah, good," Lucius encouraged.

"Ah, shit, I got shot," you remembered, opening your eyes to regard your thigh.

"The healers got it out in one go," Marcus told you, "didn't cause damage - you should heal easily from that, my star. But you can't put pressure on the leg for a few days more, not until the cauterization set."

You nodded slowly, "That's... Good to hear. What happened after? I... I think I remember getting shot again? Ah, fuck, did I get shot twice?"

"By Macrinus," Lucius confirmed. "Got yah right here," he reached out to gently pet the bandaged wound, "bled a good bit."

"But the healers got the arrow out," Marcus was quick to assure, "and it was an easy enough wound to close after."

You prodded the area gently, asking, "Didn't come out so easily as the first, did it?"

"You can tell?" Lucius asked curiously.

You nodded, "It's sensitive all around, makes me imagine they had to pry the wound open - maybe even wriggle the arrow to dislodge it."

"It wasn't as clean, no, love, but it's out," Marcus sighed. "You're not in danger any longer."

"No, ma'am," Lucius smirked, watching Marcus settle a little more in his chair. "Not from your wounds or external enemies."

"Hm?"

"We've control of the Empire."

"You've been coronated?"

"Not yet - thought I'd wait a week, see how you progress. For now, we're cleaning up where we can."

You smirked, "So... It worked?"

"Yeah, the plan worked," Lucius nodded, "which," he sighed, leaning back casually, "miiiight not work out so well for you two in the end."

"I beg your pardon?" Marcus sneered, looking ready to lose his mind and stomach contents.

Lucius chuckled, "Ease up, you two, Gods. I only mean, I know you both long for retirement, but with Lady Y/N's knowledge of the Empire, Marcus, your experience as Rome's General, and both of your insights to Emperor Aurelius' vision of Rome... I thought you two might be of use in how we proceed."

You immediately insisted, "There is no need for expansion, Lucius. The Emperors wanted India and Persia - but I fear we've too broad a hold to control already to worry about territory."

"Agreed," Acacius sighed. "Rome's too many mouths to feed as is, and with respect, Lucius, we're both exhausted of war."

"I do not intend to prolong war, but end it. End Rome's expansion - there's far too much of this Empire already being neglected."

You looked at Acacius, "Told you he was right for this."

"I didn't disagree."

"I remember you doubting my judgement."

"I would never!" He gasped comically, offended you'd accuse him of such a crime. Lucius snickered with a shake of his head, standing from his seat.

"Listen, uh," he cleared his throat, "while relationships might be strained for now, I do hope we might rebuild together. I held plenty of resentment towards you both - all of you, in truth. Yet now, I can see the Strength it took to Honor yourselves after years of being the Empire's puppets. I would see such strength and honor rewarded, perhaps... A house in the countryside?" You offered a bashful smile with a small chuckle of amusement, watching a bright grin stretch across his lips. "I'll send a healer in to check on you," he told you softly, squeezing your hand, "and I'll be back tomorrow. Yes?"

"Yes, good," you agreed, watching him out the door. When it shut, you sighed, "What of Lucilla, Marcus?"

You half-expected her to burst into the room, unable to look away from the door; knowing the answer before Acacius even opened his mouth. "She didn't make it, my love," he whispered. "Macrinus, he... He shot you, but it didn't kill you," his other hand laid over your bandaged abdomen; warming the wound.

"Right."

"Lucius thinks it's because Lucilla intercepted Macrinus' attack - but in the struggle, lost her life."

You paused for a long moment, relishing the feel of his hand - warm and heavy in yours - tracing idle patterns on your skin. "So, we're only here because of her?"

"I think so."

You were both silent outside of the scrape of his chair drawing closer to your bedside. With hands tangled and tightly woven together, Marcus let his forehead rest against yours in the first moment of peace you'd known in two decades. The idea of "winning" felt farfetched, inconclusive in some manner; and just as you lifted back and opened your mouth to question this peace, Marcus quickly assured first, "It's just us, my star. It's finally just us, we can rest."

Perhaps the Gods hadn't turned their backs completely on Rome yet. How could they? When the evidence is right in front of you, now pressing his lips to yours in sweet relief.

epilogue

In the weeks following his coronation and your wedding to the General, Emperor Lucius Verus secretly employed Rome's finest (surviving) contractors and carpenters to erect a gorgeously secluded homestead beyond the city limits. It took less than half a day's ride, but still felt like a far-enough ride, the home wasn't near the city's stench; it was legitimately nestled in the countryside, naturally secluded and protected. There were trees, fields of wild barley, an abundance of wildlife, and just the smallest of streams that surrounded the home.

He thought it was perfect.

So, the new Emperor commanded something quaint yet sufficient be built upon a newly paved road that only he frequented. He trusted you and Marcus to Rome's handling, finding little time to sneak away and view the progress being made. It was impressive how quick the builders built.

One morning, Lucius sent for you and Marcus, insisting there was something beyond the city he needed your opinion on. So, you each mounted a stallion and spurred from the city with a gaggle of newly appointed Praetorian Guards left in the dust - desperate to keep up. It was evident you, Marcus, and Lucius had all spent much time on horses; your seats natural, gait quickened as the fundamental feeling of freedom took over and sent you galloping all the faster. Over fields, through mud, kicking up grass, the three of you rode hard and long - but mostly out of playfulness.

You couldn't remember ever seeing Lucius like this, beaming and almost carefree; like the weight of Rome had evaporated and he could be "Hanno" again - whoever the hell that was. You decided you liked watching him, just noting little things here and there about your nephew; traits of your father, of his, of your sister, and yes, sadly, your brother, too; but that was just how genetics worked. He seemed approachable like this, not the brutal Gladiator that tore a baboon's flesh with his own teeth or bested Rome's General.

He was just a guy. Some... Dude. You'd say a kid, but he was full grown - wise, aged, knowing.

Lucius slowed his horse first, you and Marcus doing the same; trio trotting up a hill as Praetorians still galloped from behind to catch up. Upon climbing to the top, you discovered a home in the valley below, your horse whinnying your question, "What's this?"

"Your estate," Lucius answered easily, both hands casual on the pommel of his saddle. "Thought it was close enough in case anything happened or I needed you - you needed me - something or other," he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck, "but still remote enough to remain private."

"What's that?" You pointed to a small add-on to what looked like the main house.

"Oh, I, uh, took the liberty of building myself a bit of a guest house. You... Don't mind, do you?"

"I only mind you didn't include it in the main house," you teased, shifting your horse to sidestep closer for your arm to wrap around your nephew's waist. "Are you being genuine?"

"You think I jest?"

"If you do, it's not very funny," you warned.

"It's not a joke, this is serious," he promised, casting a knowing look towards Acacius over your head. "Welcome home."

It didn't take long for you and Acacius to settle in. The house wasn't overly large that you would grow weary in your age here, but still the size considered comfortably privileged. You had a set of maids and few personal guards - all of whom were housed on their own new estates, curtesy of the Emperor. Yet besides them, you were alone - and most days, you assured the staff they need not bother at all. You found domestic work strangely comforting after decades in politics, under this ruler and that; finally able to have a little control in your life by tending your own gardens, changing your own sheets, perhaps even cooking for your own husband.

The walls were nearly all made of retractable doors that could still be closed and reinforced in storms. Curtains hung from the rafters, creating a ethereal environment for you to glide through on bright, sunny days to the sounds of a picturesque stream trickling. Most mornings, you stood in awe of your new home, amazed at such subtle beauty long since taken fro granted - now, coveted in your retirement. And most mornings were then interrupted by your husband beckoning your back to bed and insisting you need not rise with the sun now.

Old habits die hard, however. Especially when the baby in your womb took solid form and began to wriggle around your guts in a mostly pleasant feeling, it was enough to keep you up some nights. This particular morning, you were laid on your back to a cotton blanket, moaning loudly as your husband feasted on his choice of breakfast: the honey that oozed from between your thighs. Your stomach had begun to swell with a bump, just barely stretching the cauterized scars that only now faintly reminded you of that day. Marcus swore it was his seed that made you taste different, perhaps sweeter; the grey in his beard glistening from your sloppy arousal as he indulged himself. One hand kept you pried open (as if you'd ever cut him off or resist), the other slithering up your body to paw aggressively at your swollen, sensitive tit; pinching and tweaking your nipple in time with his lips sucking and tongue tickling your clit.

Right there in wild lavender, tickled by wisps of barley, you met your peak - thigh clenching around your husband's head as the Gods intended. This was your reward after decades of service, of sacrifice.

"Fuck," Acacius muttered when you released hold of his hair, watching him lick his mouth when his eyes met yours, "you think it'll ever get old?"

"What?" You asked breathlessly as he gently maneuvered your legs off his shoulders to slowly crawl up your form. He left a few kisses in his wake.

"This," he smirked against your lips, sweeping his tongue against yours to mingle spit and the taste of your arousal. "The taste of you," he continued, "the smell," he let his nose nuzzle up yours, "the feel," he ended, pulling your thigh up his hip.

"I do doubt it, if it hasn't after 20 years."

"Good," he purred, trying to line himself up naturally, but not entirely successful. So, not wanting to lose the feeling of him, you reached between you to keep his cock at the mouth of your cunt so he could just push inward. You groaned in union; mouths open; all but exchanging hot air between you as Marcus bottomed out.

From this position, it was languid and lazy; slow and feeling. Each thrust felt anew, his balls tickling the slick down your lower lips, all but pushing the air from your lungs as he went. His hand kept a vice grip on your thigh as he moved, the other firmly planting on the blanket beside your head as it was evident his orgasm was mounting the sloppier he got, humping into you with a roll of his hips.

"Fuck's sake," he grit, "you're so fucking wet, my star, this is - it's - it's all I fucking need, but it's too good - I can't, I can't hold on, oh, fuck."

"Don't," you moaned in encouragement, directing his eyes back to yours. "Don't hold back anymore, please, I don't want you to ever hold back."

"But the baby - "

"Is fine, Acacius, worry about the mother right now!" You laughed, reaching to hook your hand around his neck and yank down. Your lips met in messy union, humming, moaning against one another; so, imagine your surprise when all you had to whimper was, "C'mon, husband - " and...

"Fuck!"

You laughed lightly when he dropped - not his full weight, but enough - onto your chest, face fully in your breast; balls contracting as he winced from the sudden release of his pleasure. Manicured fingers raked through sweaty, salty grey hair; relishing in the feeling of being safe, at home, in peace; finally married, pregnant, and at liberty to couple at your own leisure in the sunshine and grasses. You grinned, laughing lightly in absolute bliss. There was no way this was real life, it was impossible to think it was finally your reality after being deprived of openly loving him for 2 decades.

Acacius tried to question what was so humorous, but it only came out as a bewildered moan; reverberating in your flesh.

"Why does that get you there, my love?" You teased, pecking his forehead as his cock gave a last few pulses. "Oh, that's right, the great General Marcus Acacius of Rome meets his end like a ruddy-faced teenager from the weight of his emotions!"

Marcus chuckled against you, slowly lifting up to find your lips spread in amusement. "Aye," he agreed, "but only from the weight of emotions for my wife."

You smiled bashfully, admitting, "How silly, that word, 'wife', or 'married'... 'Husband'. It still sounds a little untrue. Almost unreal, fabricated, as if it's a joke being used against us. Like an insult somehow. Now, we're to be parents, too?"

He frowned, still sheathed within your gummy walls but with both elbows now planted on either side of you so he could pet your hair from your face. "It's very true, we've just gotta train your ear to accept it," he whispered, taking your hand and presenting your ring. "See this? Know what this means?"

"That I am yours?"

Acacius scoffed and laced your fingers, "You're not property for me to own, my morning star, you are revered. The absolute prize, earned from years of service and turmoil to this Empire, your father. And in turn, I am who will protect you, love you; admire, respect, adore, cherish you. This ring means we are bonded in this life and the next, that we travel this path and every path beyond, together." He kissed your gemmed ring chastely, swearing, "It's you and I from now on, pretty girl. It's only us."

"That sounds too good to be true," you admitted in a whisper, lazily kissing one another. "Just us?"

"Just us."

"Promise?"

"Swear on my life," he rushed against your lips.

"Then tell me, sweet husband," you whispered, "what do you call that?" You couldn't help but laugh, pointing in the distance over his shoulder. Acacius torqued his torso to quickly turn over, spying Lucius on horseback atop the hill; waving his arm in glee.

"Oh, this fucking kid," Acacius groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder. You clung to him tightly in humor.

"He's the Emperor."

"Still a fucking kid, interrupting us. Thought we moved out here to get away from everyone and all their shit? Aren't we retired?" Marcus groaned, begrudgingly pulling out of your heat to spill his spend onto the blanket beneath you. He sat up to cover your bare body with his, pausing to gaze down at you fondly and caress the bare bump; then reaching for the meek clothing that had been tossed aside. "Did you know he was coming?" Acacius asked, both dressing swiftly as Lucius began his canter down the hill.

"No, he didn't send word ahead," you pointed out, "and it's still early morning, look, the doves are still out. Oh, he must've left in the middle of the night..."

"Think something's wrong?"

"Let's find out," you nodded, Acacius standing first in a simple wrapped around toga; reaching down to assist you to your feet. Your hand gently caressed your belly as you thanked him, both barefoot in the grass as you approached the deck of your open-concept home.

Lucius released his horse with your own in the paddock, opening his arms in grandeur as he jogged up the short steps to reach you. "Auntie, mh," he greeted, kissing your cheek sweetly with a tight embrace, "oh-hoooo, you're glowing! Look at yah." He pulled back only to offer his hand to Marcus, "General."

"Emperor," your husband greeted stiffly but still kindly, "to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?"

"Hm, yes, I, uh... I should've sent word ahead," he winced, grinning sheepishly. "I did not mean to interrupt your marital acts, though, I can see it's already paying off."

You tisked your tongue and nudged his shoulder as you supported your bump with one hand. "Tell us, what news? What's wrong? What brings you all the way out here, Lucius?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong. I am starting my tour," he proudly announced, "and the road takes me past here, so... I might've wanted to, you know, stop a bit early..." You looked back to the hill, finding it bare for several long seconds, then back at Lucius - who avoided your eyes comically.

"Oh, Lucius, you didn't..."

"What?" Acacius asked. "What did you do?"

"I... Did nothing... Wrong, per se," Lucius amended, slowly backing up into the house with hands held in innocent defense.

"You snuck out!?" You gasped shrilly. "Lucius! You cannot do such things as Emperor - the whole of the city would burn if they thought something happened to you!"

"They know where I usually am!"

"Not when you sneak out in the middle of the night! Praetorians will flood the country looking for you!" You swatted at his beefy arms, him laughing and trying to back away; never hitting hard enough to leave marks, mostly just with enough force to cause a sound. "And that will scare the citizens! And the occupants of the city, and the fucking Senate, since the Emperor himself has now gone missing!" Acacius watched with a fond smile and followed as you backed Lucius into the home. "Just look at you, boy! Look! Look what politics does! You've lost weight - they not feeding you at the Palace? Oh, bullshit, there's so much, it's often left over. I'll have a word with them - c'mon, come, come, come, you must be hungry after riding all night. Speaking of, why did you?"

Lucius shrugged with a smirk and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, yours latching around his waist; both strolling towards the kitchen as he quipped, "Just missed you, I guess."

[ part one: read here ]

[ part two: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist -> no Gladiator II masterlist

[pamperedollie]

previous | next

XOXO. જ⁀➴ TWO

. ۫ ꣑ৎ "i’ll do it.”

summary. the gossip of last friday have followed you into your own life, and the only way you can get out is by embracing it

word count. 4.3k

warnings. language, some semi 18+ implications ...

The clang of the metal echoes through the hallway as you slam your locker shut, your head falls forward, resting against the cold surface. You let out a heavy sigh. What a morning.

A scattered ocean of gossip and murmurs surrounding you grows louder, and louder with each passing second.

“Is that her? Oh my god.”

“I feel so bad… can you imagine how embarrassing that is?”

“She’s not as smart as I thought if shes messing with a guy like him.” you hear a familiar voice causing you to slowly turn to the group with glares sharp enough to cut glass, and you recognize where the familiar voice came from. 

Taylor Beaufort, steps forward. Her innocent wide eyed look made you feel a small ounce of remorse, then you remembered those painful words she just spewed. You couldn’t help but recognize the irony, Taylor–the poor girl. She’s been dating Evan Ortiga for a month, blissfully unaware of his wandering eyes. Everyone but her knows.

“Taylor,” a bitter chuckle escapes your lips as you slowly cross your arms, “I know you’re not talking–”

Before you can finish, your attention is ripped away. A familiar figure emerges from the crowd, practically demanding your attention, his presence sucking the oxygen from the room. Drew, your fellow subject of these baseless rumors.

“We need to talk,” he mutters, his tone low and husky. You stand your ground, remaining silent. 

He drags a hand down his face, letting out a loud groan before he–without your response–grabs your arm.

Against everything you stand for, you don’t protest it. The warmth of his hand stills you. It’s strange, how easily the guy can quiet your instincts to fight back. He had a way about him, he felt so dangerously familiar, you knew not to get caught up with him.

He leads you into an empty classroom surrounded with windows, closing the door with a soft click. Drew exhales slowly, leaning against the door as if he’s holding it–and the world that surrounded us–shut.

For a moment, you just look at him, oddly enough you can’t keep your eyes off him. His black compression shirt clinged to his chest, soaked with sweat from gym class, his damp hair stuck to his forehead in messy clumps and his gym shorts sat low on his hips, stopping right before his thighs.

Realizing what your doing, you force yourself to blink, to not let your eyes linger for too long. Too not let him notice how your pulse skips every time you do so much as glance at him.

“You know this’ll just make things worse right?” you mutter, breaking the silence.

A slow, humorless chuckle escapes from his lips. He grabs the towel from around his neck and lightly dabs his forehead. “Whatever, let them talk. I’m more worried about you.” unexpectedly his tone softens, his gaze concerned.

Who is this guy, and what has he done with the Drew Vanderbilt you’ve grown to know and despise?

Your defenses falter ever so slightly, just for a second.

“I’m fine” you reply, but your voice betrays you, barely above a whisper. Attempting to regain the power, you step closer, closing the space between you two until you can the heat radiating off him. “But this shit? Is only going to make things worse for me. So why don’t you do me a favor and stay the hell away from me, Drew?” 

Your words hang in the air, you don’t look away from him, not for a second. Then, his eyes meet yours, stormy and unreadable. His breath, hot and heavy from running up the stairs to see you, fans across your face as you inhale sharply.

For a moment, the two of your are still. His jaw tightens as his gaze drops down to your lips before flicking back up to yours eyes. Your heart pounds painfully against your ribs, your pulse screaming at you to retreat, but you stand your ground. 

Then, shattering the tension, Drew steps back, his mouth struggling to curve into a small, dry smile. “Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice lower now, “Whatever you want.”

He lingers for a bit then turns and walks away, leaving the air in the room colder, emptier. 

You stand their frozen, you loathe him. Hating his stupid confidence, the way he doesn’t flinch no matter what you do, the way he looks at you like he’s daring you to crumble.

You hate that he’s he’s beginning to creep under your skin.

You push open the door and step into the hallway where a small crowd has gathered, their eyes snapping to you as if you’re the headline of the hour.

You sigh, taking no action as you know that whatever you do will only fan the flames of scandal.

It’s only noon and the weight of this day feels as if its harshly pressing down on your shoulders. One more class to endure, and of course this one has to be your personal hell.

AP Calc is filled with faces you’ve spent the entire day trying to avoid. Alexa, and her posse, the main trio, their presence impossible to ignore. Of course, Alexa and Evan lounge carelessly, their work untouched. Unsurprisingly Damson is the most on task out of the group, making sure they don’t fall behind.

The low buzz of whispering cuts through the air, and you don’t have to puzzle yourself trying to figure what exactly–or who exactly–it’s about.

“Can’t believe Drew is hitting that, good work bro…” the sharp words cause you to turn in your seat, your glare landing on Alexa and Evan. “Excuse me?” you question, your tone sharp enough to draw blood.

Their heads snap up as they notice you, caught completely off guard like deer in headlights. Alexa rolls her eyes in that exaggerated sort of way that makes you wish they’d to get stuck like that. “Nothing that concerns you, Y/N” she says, her voice dripping with venom. Alexa hates being called out–it’s written all over her stiff shoulders and tight jaw.

“Great!” you reply, your voice laced with obvious sarcasm, “That’s what I thought.”

The tension in the room grows as you can see Alexa’s snap her pencil in anger, she grits her teeth, forcing a dry smile. 

Suddenly a low voice cuts through the hostility, “Could y’all stop being ashsoles and do you work?” Damson mutters, his words quier but firm.

You can’t but let out a soft chuckle. Damson and you had always been cool, despite your disdain for his group of idiot, dirtbag friends. He had obviously been extra nice to you throughout this situation because of you finding him and Ryan, but still, it was sweet. 

You smile faintly and refocus on your work, it all comes to you so much easier now that you haven’t been overthinking about everything. Ryan’s words really had the power to switch a flip, suddenly everyone was clicking, and your grades climbed almost effortlessly.

You leave your internship a little earlier than usual today, the clock barely ticking past three. Your work had been quite uneventful. The most noteworthy news of the day was word of a new intern joining the political correspondence team, but you barely gave it a second thought.

The whispers though, were impossible to ignore, the man who’d be joining the team was apparently pretty well-known amongst new yorkers, known as this smart, educated, “dreamboat”. Your work friends were just as swept up in the frenzy as everyone else, they’d vowed to take the long way to the fourth floor just to catch a glimpse when he starts next week.

But you? Honestly couldn’t care less, you couldn’t afford any distractions especially in a dire time like this.

A couple weeks back, you overhead a conversation between your mentor and another designer that shifted everything into sharper focus. A Junior Designer positions was opening up, and they were watching the interns closely. This opportunity wasn’t just a job, it was your dream wrapped in chic silk and sequins. This role meant access to everything you had worked for and more, including the upcoming Paris Fashion Week, to help however you could in that, was a dream.

The stakes simply couldn’t be any higher, so you spent every night perfecting your designs, every morning fetching coffee orders without a single spill–it was all for this. So no, word of a new, hot intern didn’t make your spirit falter in the least.

When you arrive home you’re in a rare bright mood, the day was confusing and now it was over–and it was still daytime. You waltz around the penthouse, savoring the solitude of being home alone with nothing to do. You prance to the  couch and flop down, ordering food as you put on your favorite show. It’s just you, the glow of the screen, and takeout on the way. What a perfect night in.

two hours later

BZZZ BZZZ

Another tag from Gossip Girl, the third one you’d been mentioned in. This time, you don’t panic at the sight of it, you calm yourself, clicking the notification you read aloud.

“Hookup classroom?!” your voice falters, the words cutting through your practiced composure like glass. Of course. That’s why everyone had been staring when you left. Your mind scrambles, looking through the comments and replies.

Before you can truly spiral your phone distracts you, Ryan was calling, without much thinking you knew what the subject of the call would be. You decline it, texting her instead:

i alrd know girl, i’ll call u l8r 

You sink deeper into the couch, letting the hum of your show drown out the scattered thoughts in your head. Then your phone vibrates again. Assuming its Ryan again, you thinks its urgent and answer without looking. 

“Ryan, I said I’d call–”

The words catch in your throat, freezing mid-sentence as the voice on the other sends a chill down your spine.

“We need to talk”

You know that voice, low, familiar, and maddeningly self-assured. Drew.

“How did you get my number?” you ask, forcing an edge in your tone to mask the spike of panic you felt at the sound of his voice.

He responds, but his connection falters, chopping his words into small unintelligible fragments.

“I need–your–”

“What? Repeat it?” you reply as your frustration climbs.

“Need–to–” 

“Dude, I can’t hear–”

Then–without a word–the line goes dead.

A new message pops up almost immediately.

Probably; Drew Vanderbilt: You’re staying at the Bellemont, right?

Yeah, why? :You

Read 6:30pm

You stare at the screen, not looking away once, your heart thumps as the silence stretches. He’s enjoying this isn’t he? Making you wait, after a call like that. You call him again. Once. Twice. Six times. Finally, he picks up, his connection a bit better making his words clearer.

“What’s your room number?”

Before you can think, you respond. “555.”

The regret fills you almost instantly, as you leap off the couch. You scramble to fix yourself up, brushing off the crumbs from your food and tugging on a hoodie. Why is he here? Why are you letting him in? 

The buzzer rings. You press the intercom, leaning on the wall you let out a shaky sigh.

Drew steps inside, his eyes sweep over the messy living room. His expression shifts to something you can’t quite explain–judgement? Amusement? Maybe, remorse?

He then turns to you, “Caught you at a bad time, didn’t I?” he says, his lips curving in a way that makes your skin itch, setting your nerves on edge.

“What? No, obviously not,” you blurt, throwing a blanket over the mess of a couch and sit down, crossing your legs as if that might restore some of your dignity.

He shifts to sit beside you, his movements more casual than usual. He sported baggy jeans, a fitted white tee, and sambas. He leaned back, manspreading just enough to claim space. He adjusts his glasses with a slow precision that felt almost deliberate. 

“Listen,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got something that’ll get us both out of this mess.” 

You fold your arms, refusing to look at him knowing it’ll mess up your entire demeanor. “Drew, I told you I don’t need–”

“Oh my God,” he groans loudly, cutting you off. His head falls back, his exasperation filling the air. “You just don’t get it, do you?

You glare at him, trying to fight your composure unraveling. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking for your help,” he says, leaning forward now, his face so close that you catch the faint scent of his cedarwood cologne. “I’m catching just as much shit for this.”

His eyes lock onto yours and for a moment, the air between you shifts. You swallow hard, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you finally let it out, your voice wavers, cracking slightly.

“Neither did I,” he shoots back, his voice soft but razor-sharp, “But here we are. So what do we have to lose?”

Against all better judgement, something in you is urging to you to hear him out. Everyone already believed the rumors, it was to late to fight it now, he was right. What did you have to lose?

He exhales sharply, almost like he’s trying to steady himself. “We have to…” He pauses, turning his head away from you, his voice drops to a low murmur. “Give them what they want.”

You help but chuckle at it, “I’m sorry?” you say a sly smirk curling at you. Drew–utterly embarrassed and at your mercy. His jaw clenches as his gaze darts to the floor as though he was avoiding the sight of your obvious amusement in his discomfort. 

“We just have to make them think the rumors true. Only for a little while,” he mutters, his voice getting lower and lower as if it physically pained him to admit this to plan to you. He turns back, head up, posture stiffened, he finally meets your gaze. “Then they’ll get bored and move on. They always do.”

He uncrosses his arms, shifting slightly closer to you, observing you as you think it over. You notice the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips when his gaze moves down landing onto your legs, the fabric of your spandex shorts rutching a bit at your hips. His expression shifts, you can see his confidence rekindling like a spark to a flame.

You don’t give him the satisfaction, straightening your shorts out, giving him a pointed look. His smile doesn’t fade, if anything, it grows. 

It almost felt like he was assessing you, taking in every bit of you, he leans back and tilts his head.

“So?” he breaks the silence, but at that moment you feel your own eyes betraying you, flicking over to his biceps where his tights sleeves strained against his arms. You catch yourself too late and snap your gaze back to his face, realizing what that knowing look of his meant. The silence stretches thickly between you.

“But why?” you finally ask, clearing your throat to mask your embarrassment. “Why do you care so much? Gossip Girl’s eyes have been on you since you were a freshman.”

His smirk fades, replaced by something more guarded. He leans forward towards the TV, licking his lips before he answers. “No, not like this. This time they’re really digging, and I’ve got shit I can’t let get out, shit they’re too close to finding.” his voice lowers, his gaze dropping again.

You tilt your head, curiosity buzzing in your chest. What could Drew Vanderbilt, of all people, possibly be hiding? “So what do you need from me?” you ask, fluttering your eyes a bit, you sit up straight.

He looks at you with a mixture of disbelief and relief, he hadn’t expected you to even consider this far. “Make em’ think you’re head over heels for me. I’ll do the same, so much so that they’ll grow to hate it–and leave us alone.”

A fake relationship, trouble. You couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as him, his entire demeanor just grew to be all too unbearable. You were afraid, afraid of what something like this might do to you, how it might change you. 

But for some reason, god knows why, when it’s Drew asking–Drew who’s looking at you now like you’re the only person who can save him–it doesn’t seem so bad. Still, you hesitate, every bone in your body screaming at you to stop. “It’d be hard for anyone to be head over heels for you, Drew,” the words going against everything you’ve felt in that moment, you add, “Fine, under one condition; tell me what your hiding. Relationships are built on trust, Vanderbilt.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but the smirk doesn’t fully return. Instead, he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not that simple.”

You arch a brow. “Is it serious?”

“Not… really,” he mutters.

Your smirk returns. “Then I guess you’ll just have to live in fear of your not-so-serious secret coming out.”

He groans softly, running a hand down his face. “Fuck, Y/N…” he stands abruptly–and to your dismay–he walks towards the elevator door. Pausing with one hand hovering over the ground floor button, he glances back, his brows furrowed just enough to give his expression a slight flicker of vulnerability. “Could you at least think about it?”

But that slight frown wouldn’t work on you, were you attracted to the idea? Maybe… but you weren’t gonna do something this drastic for some guy you barely know if he couldn’t atleast be vulnerable with you. 

“Bye-bye, Drew” you say, your smile sharp as you throw him a wink.

It’s finally Friday, the last day of your internship before the new recruit arrives, you’ve poured everything into this week. Working tirelessly, staying after hours to assist your mentor designer with preparations for her upcoming fashion show. 

The studio was quiet, the sounds of sewing machines and rustling echoed through the room. Your hands were busy arranging swatches when the door beside you swung open, making both you and your mentor whip around in surprise.

Standing in the doorway was the one and only,

Nova Kaine.

Your idol and worst nightmare.

The very sight of her made your heart slam against your ribcage. She wasn’t just a designer–she was the designer, her presence was nothing short of terrifying. 

Her gaze swept over you with the precision of a blade, sharp, as if she were dissecting every inch of your being. She held something in her hand–a gold sequin sketchbook. Your sketchbook, the one you’d frantically been searching for over the past few weeks.

“This yours, Ms. L/N?” she asked coolly, her tone laced with venom. She glanced down at the cover, your name curling off her tongue like it left a bitter taste.

You throat tightened as you rushed forward, of course, your first meeting with the women you’ve always aspired to be had to be like this. “Y-Yes, Ms. Kaine, thank you so much, I’ve been–”

She cut you off, lifting the sketchbook just out of reach, almost as if she was taunting you with it.

“These designs…” she began, flipping it open.

Your stomach dropped. She’d seen everything, that sketchbook was different, you rarely took it to work as it was home some of your most raw, personal–experimental designs. They reflected who you were, stripped naked, in a way you never intended anyone to see.

“...They’re incredible,” she finished, her tone shifting slightly. “Great work, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a bus. Incredible? From Nova Kaine?

Before you could stop it, your mouth fell open as the moment twisted in something surreal, something out of a dream. As you tried to form words your palms grew clammy, you struggle to manage a weak nod and a trembling smile.

“Are you aware there’s a Junior Designer position open?” she asked

Sweat gathered at your temples, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, swaying back and forth, fighting the urge to fidget. Your thoughts raced faster than you could comprehend them.

“Yes, M-Miss,” you stammered, nodding uncontrollably. 

“Well I think we should meet about it soon,” she says, closing the sketchbook with a harsh snap. Her gaze softened ever so slightly, if you blinked you could’ve missed it. “I’d love to have someone like you in my corner during Fashion Week.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” you replied, the words barely escaping your lips.

With a small nod, she turned and left the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Then, you and your mentor locked eyes. The room erupted into quiet squeals of disbelief and excitement.

This was it—everything you’d ever wanted, right within reach. And for once, it didn’t feel like a far-off dream. It felt real.

A couple days later you find yourself sitting face to face with Nova Kaine at a sleek, upscale restaurant in the heart of Manhattan. This moment–this lunch–was everything you’d ever dreamed of and more.

The space buzzed with quiet luxury. Waiters floated by in crisp uniforms, carrying silver trays, while sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting soft shadows on the marble tables. Nova barely glanced at the menu before ordering a Diet Coke. Out of intimidation, you ordered nothing but a water and an appetizer of garlic bread.

“So, you’re not getting any food?” you ask, trying your hardest not to cross any lines–the question’s shaky as it leaves your lips.

“Oh this shouldn’t take long,” she replied curtly, adjusting her collar. “I’ve got dinner with someone in about an hour.”

The words hit you like a wake up call, while this meeting meant everything to you, it was a mere footnote in her bustling day. You adjust your blouse, letting out a nervous laugh. You begin cutting a small piece of garlic bread to keep your hands busy. 

“So,” she began, her tone sharp and direct, “I want you to know you’re probably our best intern. I’m sure you realize this position was practically waiting for you, right?”

You choke a bit on your saliva, all you can do is let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head in humility. 

Nova leans forward, crossing her legs with this effortless poise. “You’d be perfect for the position,” she said, her words deliberate, “but there are two very important things you need to know. First, it’s full-time, Second, you’re representing the new generation of vogue, so you need to maintain a squeaky-clean reputation.”

Her words swirled in your mind, stirring equal parts excitement and dread. A full time designing position at Vogue meant everything–but it came with costs. You had to switch to online classes in the afternoon, you didn’t desire to return to the struggle of juggling school and work you experienced the first months of your internship.

And then there was your reputation.

Wasn’t it good? you wonder. You’d never been involved in any scandal…wait. The events of last Friday. The hookup classroom. Gossip girl, and Drew Vanderbilt all come back to you.

Your chest tightens thinking of all the ways you’ve gone wrong, the weight of your silly mistakes settling in.

Nova’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts like a knife, silencing them completely. “That means no rumors, gossip, or scandals. So I have to ask…”

You stare down at your half cut bread, unable to meet her piercing gaze.

“This…situation with that Vanderbilt boy,” she said, her tone tiptoeing around dissapointment, “that’s not some fling, right? You understand how damaging that could be to your chances if it is–right?

You couldn’t get a single word out, your thoughts raced in your head too fast for you to speak. Every part of you wanted to deny, to tell her the truth, to undo this mess–but you couldn’t possibly do that. Not now.

“N-no” you stammered, your voice barely intelligible. You force yourself to look at her, eye-to-eye, flashing a stiff uncomfortable smile. “We’re serious. He’s…he’s my boyfriend, actually.”

The lie struggled to leave your lips, you felt as if you were holding in a bit of vomit in your mouth, but it was too late to take it back.

“Good!” Nova said, her tone suddenly chipper as if you’d passed some sort of test. “Well then, we’ll get things sorted out for your start date. Since you’re still in school, there’ll have to be some adjustments, but I’m sure we’ll make it work.”

The conversation was wrapped up quickly after that, the weight of your lie lingered. What have you done? Gossip Girl had wormed her way into your life and now stood between you and your dreams. You embraced her rumors to get by, but at what cost?

The walk home was slow and shameful, you knew what you had to do. And yet, before could even take out of your phone, Someone had beat you to it.

Your phone buzzed, his contact lighting up the screen. You paused for a bit before you answered, you knew what this would be. As much as you pushed back, you and Drew were practically tied together at this point, there was not stopping it. You finally answer, hesitating a bit.

“You win, I’ll tell you, but–”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry for putting you in that position, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke a word, then you heard a low chuckle on the other end

There was the Drew Vanderbilt you knew.

“Where are you?” he said, his tone teasing but kind.

[sinsofnivan]

LISTEN LISTEN-

hear me out

what if you got chased by mutated!Krauser only for him to corner you? 😳

ENSNARED. — JACK KRAUSER x YOU! — SMUT!

SUMMARY: you're a researcher hired by wesker, tasked to dissect major jack krauser's corpse and study the plaga in it. but a corpse isn't warm, or have a functional heart and respiratory system. they sure as hell don't talk.  or:  the plaga in krauser's body won't let him die as a means to preserve its species.

PAIRING: JACK KRAUSER/you.

TAGS: monster fucking, AU where krauser can control his mutation because i say so, monster fucking, slight blood, some tentacles, tweaking with canon abit, monster fucking, mutated arm/hand-knife fucking (?), did i tag monster fucking?, size difference, dumbification, mind break, forced orgasms, crying during sex, he chases you, DUBIOUS CONSENT, tagging body horror just in case, mating press, full nelson, pussy drunk krauser, FERAL KRAUSER, scent kink??, he's just really in heat here lol

WORD COUNT: 4491

A/N: also, just to note. his corpse was found “un-mutated."/no monster arms.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

you've walked in this surgical theatre many times—done operations, dissections many times. but for some reason, dread weighs your steps heavier. you're almost unwilling to push open those doors and uncover the corpse laid on the gurney, but you have to. you know you have to. 

you've cut open corpses many times, fully aware of the horrors they've endured just from their injuries alone. you wear gloves, but you know you can't wash off the blood on your hands. you forget their faces eventually, but—

jack krauser isn't a stranger.

he was your colleague, having nothing in common but your employer. sent together in spain, you were the brains, he was the brawn. krauser protected you, came for you when you became stranded in the laboratory, sent you away without him. it was the last time you saw him. the last time you saw him alive.

now he's laid before you, covered by a white cloth stained with his blood.

you dreaded it. it takes you a minute or two to touch it with your gloved hands, and then—

what the fuck?

his face—it was covered in blood, but he wasn't even pale in complexion. his lips were still pink, plump. almost like he's full of life. you peeled off a latex glove, pressing the top of your bare hand against his forehead, and—there's no mistaking the heat emitting from his dermis. and it wasn't just his forehead, but his whole body, too. chest, abdomen. 

you frantically peel off your other glove, pressing two fingers right below his jawline. it's subtle, weak, and almost imperceptible, but it's there. it's right there. you tugged on the cloth, letting it completely fall, and you cradle his cheek.

"krauser? can you hear me?" 

they said he was dead. that his corpse has been transported off spain and into your private lab. that they checked him and he was gone. you lean in close, bringing your ear close to his nose, and you squealed when his breath tickled the inside of your ear. it startled you, understandably so, jumping back and bumping against your table full of tools—some of your apparatus clanging on the floor. his hands spasmed, and you only noticed now that most of his lacerations have healed up, the gash that split his arm into two was practically gone. 

"k, krauser?"

your voice echoed in krauser's ears. it's so sweet. so comforting. it's a warmth that embraces him, welcomes him when his heart begins to beat again. his pain is gone, and the image of you, his pretty little scientist, flashes before his eyes. it's heavy, at first. like his limbs are nothing but weights. but he sees you in his memory, he hears you, he feels you—and he wanted nothing more than to touch you.

to hold you, to smell you, sink his teeth in you, bury his cock in y—

the light is blinding, and krauser's body jolts awake. his hands, they're no longer mutilated, only scarring and a red line forming on where the skin splits and tears. his chest is dried with blood, but there's no knife, not even a hint of it, and then— 

"oh my god,"

your scent fills krauser's nostrils, and his cerulean gaze averts to you. sweet little thing. he thinks. "doc," he croaked out, getting up from the gurney and almost falling to the floor. you rush to his aid, helping him back up on his feet. your scent is stronger. sweeter. he wants to bury his face in your neck and—

"here. h, have a drink." you skitter around the laboratory, grabbing a bottled water for him to drink. "i, i can't believe this," krauser only grunts, chugging down the water. "they said you were dead," "this look dead t'you, doc?" he can't be dead. who's going to breed his pretty little researcher full? you took the empty plastic bottle from him, setting it aside somewhere. you glance at his irises—and they were just as bright as you remember, except his pupils were dilated as he stared at you. "let's get you cleaned up, c'mon,"

at least ten different lab protocols are being broken by bringing him—a dangerous specimen—into the showers; telling him to wash off the blood and to stay put as you retreat somewhere to bring him clean clothes. as you looked for clothes his size, you can't stop thinking about it, can't wrap it around your head. he came back to life—as him. he recognized you and had no aggression. you're assuming it's the work of the plaga in krauser's body. this was a breakthrough. 

though, it seems like you've spoken too soon, because by the time you return to the showers, it's ransacked and wrecked. long, deep lines are carved into the cement of the bathroom, like someone had been slashing it with a sword. 

"y/n, is that—is that you?"

krauser's voice is back in the surgical theatre he was brought into, and your eyes widen when he emerges from the room. and now you notice how his left arm—the bones of his left arm—had mutated into something similar to a giant blade. the other one was normal, holding up your used glove into his nose. "oh my god," the spare clothes fall on your feet. "i thought you left . .i thought you left me, y/n," instincts take over you, running back to the direction where you came from. 

"wait, y/n, wait!"

you didn't dare look back, because his footsteps tell you that he's right behind you. "not gonna hurt you—!" clearly, that was a lie. you didn't see it, but he almost grabbed a hold of your shoulder, and barely missed. the lustre of his mutated arm—the blade—is slammed against the walls of the hallway, accidentally opening a few doors and destroying a few wires that kept the lights on. krauser sees you turn to the room to the left, but was met with a barely-lit cafeteria. all this furniture, but not a single you in sight. 

you tried to keep your panting to a minimum as you skittered behind the counter. the dark gave you an advantage, and you figured crouching would give you more chances to move around undetected. "don't leave me, y/n. i need you. got even cleaned up f'you. isn't that what you wanted?" krauser whined, and you peeked through the glass as you watched him flip every desk and chair with just one swift move of his arm. "damn it!" he shouts, and you duck just before he could see your head. 

"i'll find you—i'll fucking . . find you. you know i can smell you, right?"

fuck. fuck . . you had to get out of here. the safest place in your lab would be the observation cells. the glass is tough, seriously tough, and only you had access to the doors. it wouldn't be too far from the canteen. you could hear his frustrated grunt, destroying the door of what you think is the pantry. "i love a good hunt, y/n!" you recoiled at the sight of the door being thrown across the room.

"you can't hide forever. come on, y/n. let's not drag this out." the closer he got, the louder you could hear the water and the blood drip from his body. a minute passes, and you could feel your stomach twist in fear when the steps have stopped. just the dripping. 

you slowly raise your head back to the counter, and you shrieked when you realized he had been staring at you this whole time. "thereeee you are. don't run. i was wondering when you'd show that pretty— hey, come back here!" you scramble, heels almost slipping on the smooth floor, but you managed to crawl away, and out. krauser's growl echoes in the empty room, destroying everything that was before him out of frustration. 

the observation cells shouldn't be too far—you knew these halls by heart. even if he destroyed the lights, you knew your way, and where to turn. you had no time to turn on the switches as you entered the study area, your steps pausing in front of the observation cell's door and frantically swiping your ID into the keycard slot.

WELCOME, Y/N.

it greets, the metal door opening for you, and you practically throw yourself into the dark, unlit cell. a sigh escapes you, relieved. you don't hear krauser, and you hoped he's somewhere away from you. you needed to alert wesker. even if you don't, he'll be around soon. 

BIOWEAPON DETECTED. ACTIVATING LOCKS. LIGHTING SYSTEMS SET TO: MINIMAL VISIBILITY.

STRUCTURAL DAMAGE DETECTED. EMERGENCY FAILSAFE DETECTED. UNLOCKING SEQUENCE UNAVAILABLE.

"oh my god," overhead lights slowly activate, and you back yourself into a corner when you see krauser's muscular silhouette. fuck, you were an idiot. "i warned you not to run," you braced yourself for the worst as krauser approached you, his bigger frame looming over you. but he doesn't tear you apart. quite the opposite, actually, you realized that both his arms have now mutated—and the other seemed more grotesque and complex than the blade hand. still, it resembled his hand in a disturbing way.

closing the gap between both of you, the first thing he does is press his nose onto your sweaty jaw, taking in your scent and growling. "delicious," he whispered, his mutilated left arm caging you in place. "d, don't hurt me, please," you whined, and krauser chuckled. "oh no, baby. i could never," you could feel a thin, tendril-like appendage caress your cheek. it's slimy, sticky. "i need you. need you to be my wife. be my mate. gotta get you stuffed full," 

your eyes widened. "no, no! krauser, we—mpffgh!" his lips are on yours, and you could taste the minty toothpaste and the copper of blood. you didn't kiss back, you can't, this was wrong. he could kill you, but you can't push him back—he was twice your fucking size. his tongue forces your lips to part, and you whimpered when he began to graze the blunt edge of his blade arm onto your thigh, your dress hiking up in the process. 

al of your whimpers are muffled. even in this frenzied state, you couldn't deny how much of a great kisser he was. he took charge—which was, well, very in character of krauser—grabbing your waist with his terrifying, gargantuan hand, forcing you to grind your cunt against the edge of his weaponized arm. its bumps sickeningly against your clit, and you can't deny the pleasure that sends sparks all over your body. 

once krauser parts from your lips, he doesn't waste any seconds, kissing your neck and never hesitating to sink his canines onto your skin. "mine," he whispered, tongue temptingly lathering the pillowy flesh of your lobe. "stayed alive f'you. could hear your voice in my earpiece." you're tiny, compared to his enlarged, contorted hand, and it was way too easy for him to tear the fabric off your frame. "krauser, i—," there's not many words you can squeeze out, because krauser doesn't want to hear it. doesn't wanna hear how you don't want him because that's not true. he's seen how you look at him, how you smile at him, how you laugh at his shit jokes—you want him. it's not true that you want him to stop. not true. nottruenottruenotttruenottruenottrue

you groaned in discomfort when his giant hand tightens around your waist, and he maneuvers you as if you were just a doll, throwing you on the unused bed and quickly getting on top of you. the support of the bed breaks, and you shrieked, holding on to him. he shows no reaction, only latching his mouth on your nipples; teasing the squishy, perky ends with his teeth.

the rest of your clothes are torn off, and yet you don't feel a bit of the cold. his warmth—heat, actually—was more than enough to keep you from freezing to death. "you even got us a comfy room. think this'll do for our first honeymoon, sweets?" his trail of bites and kisses head south, tongue teasing the edges of your panties. "i'll take you to—," smooch. "greece. and then—," smooch, smooch. "to croatia—," krauser was practically on his knees by the time he was settled between your legs. the small bed left little to no room for someone his size, but he didn't care. 

"how does that sound, baby? hm? gonna be my pretty little wife," 

you're not given a chance to respond when krauser obscenely pressed his nose into the outline of your pantied cunt, inhaling deeply like you’re oxygen. "don't—fuck! don't do that," you mumbled, slapping a hand on your mouth. you felt so hot, so embarrassed, felt like y'were gonna pop. "hoooly shit," from above, you could see how his eyes rolled back, how he leaned back in to take in to take a second, third, whiff of you. it was so depraved, so . .

krauser strips off the damp fabric by hooking the small bone that curved from his blade arm, and you raised your hips to help him. this immensely pleased krauser. "little slut. eager to let me taste you?" he cooed, and your hips bucked when he began to rub the dull part of his blade against your clit again. "h, hnnng—!" you whimpered. his blood smears on your cunt, and god—krauser was obsessed. this was his blood. his own twisted way of marking you. 

"mmm . . " 

once he gets his tongue on you, he can't pull away. he physically can't stop kissing that pussy, teasing your hole with the tip of his wet muscle. your moans grow louder, subconsciously pressing his face more into your cunt. "so fucking—hmppff. . so fuckin' good," his vox buzzes against your slit. he could taste the metallic flavour of his blood mixing with your own arousal. bittersweet, delectable.

hard t'breathe through his nose when he's busy usin' it to compensate for the lack of attention on your clit, perversely movin' his head side to side as if he could delve deeper into you. "mm, fuck," he groans against your cunt. "h, haa—fuck!" you can't believe you're doing this, actually enjoying what this . . monster was doing to you. "krauser," you whimpered, and krauser hissed when you tugged on his golden, blood-stained locks. 

his face is covered in your slick; milky cream smeared all over his chin and mixing with his saliva. "so good," krauser huffed, his gaze not breaking yours. he loved seeing you like this. docile. "so, so good," his cock ached. ached to feel something. ached to stuff you balls fucking deep. "mine. your pussy's mine," krauser’s taunts are followed by rapid flicks of his tongue on your clit and you can't sit still. can’t keep your hips in place when you involuntarily hump him, when your body's asking for more.

your back arches so sluttily, it's such a shame how he misses the sight, but that's okay. how your clit spasms around his mouth—lips now wrapped around your sensitive bud—and how you squeal and cry his name, it makes up for the shortcoming. you can’t see his face, not when your irises are receding back to your sockets, but his cheeks are hollowed, your poor clit having to deal with intense pleasure as he sucked on it like a good mate should. your body’s pinned in place, and you’re forced to take it. forced to feel that orgasm quickly creeping up on you. 

“jack—♡! waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait!” 

hearing you call him by his given moniker only fuels this already bottomless greed, and soon enough, you’re cumming in his mouth. tugging his hair, letting your body quiver as an orgasm washes over you. your screams echo in the cell, and you could hear how you’ve soaked his face, how he hungrily laps all of it up; tongue all the way down to your ass, up, up to your mons, just to ensure that he won’t waste a single drop. now you smell just like him. “fuuuuuck, y/n,”

your legs feel like jell-o. your body slumps on the broken bed, mind in cloud 9 and feeling nothing but euphoria. it took you a while to notice your krauser bestowing all these kisses onto your jaw in an attempt to bring you back to reality. "y/n," he called, and your gaze steadies, seeing krauser hovering atop you. "hnn . . " "shh, shh, i'm here. you're fine," his lips are all over your face, sweetly bestowing kiss after kiss after kiss. "legs open, baby," you hear him whisper. and you, you're not any better. the moment you're parting your legs for him, krauser makes himself at home, settling between it and letting his cock rest on your cunt. stomach, actually. 

this isn't your first time having sex, seeing cock—but fuck. monstrous is an understatement. "y'like it, girlie?" he taunts, moving his hips and letting your slick soak all of it. "it's big," you huffed. "is that even going to fit?" "it will." krauser was practically growling at you. it has to. you were made for him. just him. "guide it in." krauser demands, and you oblige, holding it and slowly letting the thick crown prod at your tip. 

his hips impatiently move, and at least two inches were forced into your hole. it earns him a wail, as pleasure overwhelms you. "sh , shit—, so tight," he shuddered, that first stretch being nothing but absolute bliss for the both of you. he doesn't wait for you to loosen up, plunging the rest of his cock into your cunt with a feral growl. 

there's a warmth on your cheek, and you realize it's his spit—he's fucking drooling just from putting it in. "love—oh my fucking god—i love your pussy," there's nothing stopping him from pounding you, his hips are practically moving on its own. "j, jaaack . . h, haaaah . . . !" the vice on your waist only made his cock graze the deepest parts of your pretty cunt, essence smearing around the base of his shaft and balls.

"gonna—gonna breed you. mine . . you're fucking mine. you're mine," 

it's what he hears in his head. what all he thinks about. what only matters in this moment. 

it didn't even hit you that your eyes were closed, when his arms—the bladed arm no longer mutated—began to wrap around your ankles. krauser had lifted your hips in the process, and you now both had a clear view of the bulge in your lower area of your tummy. "that's me—lookit' that, baby. that's me . . that's—!" he snarled, canines baring as he forced himself as deep as he could—"me. fucking me."—to show you that was him, alright. "that's me. go on, feel it,"

krauser's prey, you, immersed in your concupiscence and need—mindlessly caress the protrusion, biting your lip and feeling your cunt twitch. "yeaah . . you like that, don't you?" "uh-huh . . ♡," his merciless thrusts resume, and you feel the skin in that area swell with every shove, and shrink back when he's dragging his cock out aaaall the way to the tip. y'didn't need to ask him to fuck you faster, because he's back to impaling you with his monster cock, slamming into you again and again and again. not gently, too. never. krauser never looked like the gentle type, and it showed with his harsh pounding. poor little you can barely keep up, barely think. 

but you loved it. your cunt sure did, wetly squelching as he rut into you. "deeper—deeper, please. please," fuck, fuuuuuck—his balls twitch at your pleading. you looked so fucked out already. so needy, he could practically see the hearts in your pupils. letting his figure anchor your legs, his body replaces his grip; ankles now digging onto the crooks of his traps, he locks you in place with a mean mating press, and even meaner thrusts as his tip kept kissing, bruising your cervix.

"d, deep enough for 'ya, baby?" 

a laugh rumbles from his throat after hearing your answer—if he could call it that—it's nothing but your scandalous mewls. nothing understandable. it spoke volumes for him. his ramming is relentless, driven by ferality. even in this position, with all the work tasked to his hips, it doesn't seem to hold him back, not fatigue, not even difficulty. 

krauser's tongue drags over your slack-jawed mouth, your teeth, and it's not long until his mouth is locked with yours. it's sloppy, hardly passes as a kiss, but it'll make do. after all, krauser has all the time to kiss you in the future anyway. it's hard to reciprocate, hard to even maintain a proper liplock, because his thrusts are just so damn nasty—took all of your strength and logic away!

"needed to . . needed to do this since i laid my e, eyes on you," krauser babbled once your lips are separated, forehead resting on yours. "knew i—knew i needed you then . . oh, baby. fuck, fuck . . " "need y'too. need you, jack. need youu . . h, hnnnngh . . " you don't know what you're saying anymore—mouth movin' faster than your head—but if it was comin' out of your pretty lips, it must be true. 

his hips are forcefully slamming down on you like there was no tomorrow, starved and animalistic. it made your toes curl, made you cry out his name and hold on to his arms as he fucked you hard and deep. the pain has long subsided, and once you've adjusted to the leg-shaking stretch, it's nothing but euphoria, nothing but pleasure. something you didn't know you craved for, til now. 's all what your fucked-out pretty head can think about. 

but it's not enough, krauser thinks. because you're still lucid. still fucking conscious. 

he's gotta—gotta be a good mate, gotta be good to the bearer of his kids. gotta fuck you harder! just when you thought he can't go any faster, he does. you're not given the chance to ponder how he has the stamina, because every single thought that doesn't involve his cock turns to a blur. 

he's pistoning his hips brutally into you, your cervix forced to accommodate his tip. you feel it, almost like a triumphant pop! when the bulbous crown's enveloped with a second ring of tightness. "oh m , my— uhnn! g, gooooooddd—♡!" 

your eyes cross, and with him caging you in place, you're just forced to feel it all, feel all this pleasure. feel him force an orgasm out of you as he kept pummeling that creamy fucking cunt. "oh, baby. there you go. such'a . . so good, yeah? keep squirting. ♡," it's almost like nothing happened, and he keeps fucking you to overstimulation, loving how he could experience your cunt quiver around him. 

clear liquid is dripping from him, and fuuuuck, your fucking smell just fills the room. he knows it's this damned parasite that makes your scent thrice as delicious, but he doesn't care. doesn't fucking care. just you. 

all he cares about is youjust youjustyoujustfuckingyou

all of your strength is practically gone. not like you needed it, when krauser was there to manhandle you. and for once, he's showing signs that he's human—his thrusts beginning to get reckless and frantic. it's obvious he's close to spilling his load into you, and krauser wants nothing more than to breed your fucking womb.

you could feel your nipples graze upon his built chest when your spine curves beautifully. despite faltering and losing the rhythm he had maintained early on, it's just as vigorous; fulfilling his unspoken promise to ruin you or anyone else. i mean, who else could batter your sensitive womb like he does? who can even compare? nobody.

letting a growl reverberate in the cell, he's plunging into you so deep you could feel his pubes graze against your sensitive clit. you could hardly miss the hot sensation of his cum filling you and overspilling. you're not talking, obviously, and krauser wasn't, either—brows narrowed together as he whimpered through the toe-curling ecstasy. it's fucking messy and leaks everywhere, and all you could do was whine as he bred you, rutting into you a few more times before practically slamming down his body weight onto you.

you're in heaven, you think—seeing white and feeling weightless? yeah, you were. 

krauser sloppily sucked on your tongue, his own filthy way of kissing you, as he stayed still. he swears he can still feel semen spurting out. "mhff . . baby," your spit's all over him, and fuck, it was so nasty, he loved it. "y/n, sweetheart. come back," his kisses trail over to your jawline, and with a territorial bite of his teeth, your eyes are flashing open. "hi," you weakly, craning your neck. "hi, baby," like you weren't marked up enough, krauser added a few more bright red hickeys that branded you his—only his. it looked perfect on you. all you needed was his last name, he thinks.

you could hear him transform back to his original state—unmutated and owning normal-sized hands and arms. it was definitely a little nasty, hearing crunches of bones and the squishing of tender flesh. yeah. you definitely needed to get used to that. 

"don't pass out on me, baby. 'm not yet done,"

"what?"

━━━ ♱ ━━━

you can't tear your eyes away from your cunt, as if krauser has trained you to keep your gaze ONLY on your cunt. his arms are hooked under your weak legs, muscular chest pressed against your sweaty back, and fucking sprawling you and that creampied, filled pussy open for everyone to see as he held you in place in a full nelson. this was krauser's third round, and you've lost track of what time it is and how many times you've cummed on his cock. 

not even the thought of wriggling and squirming away filled your head. you shamelessly begged him to fuck you, begged him to make everyone know that you belonged to him and not caring a single bit about the depraved words you babbled out. 

your eyes widen when you feel something thin, slimy, slithering on your skin, on your hips. it's coming from his strong forearms, snaking its way up, up on the back of your thighs. "k, krauser what's—what's th , thaa— h, hngg, fuuuuuuck . . ♡!" your question is quickly answered when the tendrils gently wrap around your clit, kneading and mimicking a sucking sensation. 

krauser laughs when you're forced to cum, your squirt splashing onto the unbreakable glass wall, right in front of your boss—who's been watching for maybe about an hour now. yet you only registered his figure just now, and for some reason, your cunt twitches in anticipation. 

"yeah? y'like being fucked in front of someone?" 

he chuckled mischievously, adjusting his hold on your head so he could pound you just a little faster. you're mortified, humiliated, being locked in place in such a provocative, vulnerable way, but your cunt's betraying you, pulsating and leaking more creamy slick onto krauser's cock.

"he's been watching us, baby. listening. right from the start. like what you see, wesker?"

end.

A/N: hi! sorry ive been gone. i'd like to wish you all a belated happy holidays and a happy new year! i've been so busy, and i got really sick after christmas, so i've been kinda resting. sort of. i think this one is sloppy too, i'm currently recovering from a deadly writer's block. thank you so much for reading! mwaaah! <3