#Changing of the Guards Parade | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theetherealbloom · 5 months ago

Text

TAKE ME DOWN TO LIFT ME HIGH

Summary: In the grand city of Rome, you, a senator's daughter, are entangled in a world far removed from your aristocratic upbringing. Your chance encounter with General Marcus Acacius, a renowned gladiator and war hero, changes your life forever.

Paring: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AU, PWP, Some Plot and more smut, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Fingering, PIV, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, Canon Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism (it’s ancient rome, babe), Sneaking Around, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, Boobs,

Word Count: 6k

A/N: The amount of research I had to do for this was insane. I was more obsessed with Greek Mythology than Roman so I needed a refresher. Hehe, there’s not a lotttt of drama, but it leans more into the smut side and just cheesy over all plot lol and a little fun ceremony in the end. Everyone say thank you to @wheresarizona for listening to me go feral over Marcus. Go send her some love cause she deserves it :>

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Song: Selene by NIKI

| Main Masterlist |

The return of General Marcus Acacius was an event of grand opulence. The streets of Rome were alive with screams and celebrations as he rode his golden chariot, smiling and waving at the throngs of admirers. It was as if the bloodshed and death that marked his victory were distant echoes, easily forgotten by the jubilant crowd.

"Long live General Marcus!" someone shouted.

"A true hero of Rome!" another voice rang out.

You weren't supposed to be in the crowd. Your place was at home, learning household chores such as cooking, cleaning, and weaving—the essential skills expected of a Roman matron. Yet, here you were, hidden beneath a hood, blending with the common folk as you watched the celebrated general parade down the street.

As the parade came to an end, you discreetly followed behind the procession, your eyes fixed on General Marcus Acacius. He was dressed in white and glittering gold, a stark contrast to his usual attire of blood-stained armor and weapons. Even though he was smiling and waving at the crowds, you could see the disdain in his eyes for such a grandiose display.

You had heard stories about him, rumors whispered amongst the noble families of Rome. They spoke of his ruthless acts on the battlefield, of his unwavering loyalty to Rome, and of his preferences. Yet here he was, parading through the streets in all his glory, hailed as a hero by everyone.

You couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite everything you had heard. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

Your mind was filled with thoughts of General Marcus Acacius, wondering what kind of man he truly was beyond his reputation as a war hero.

As you stood there, trying to remain inconspicuous, your eyes met his. The connection was electric, almost as if the gods themselves had intervened. Marcus’s gaze was so intense that it seemed to pierce through the crowd and find you alone. He noted every feature of your face, his expression betraying a hint of fascination.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat and quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned and began to scurry home, the thrill of the encounter leaving you breathless.

Your pulse raced as you made your way through the bustling streets of Rome, trying to push aside the image of General Marcus Acacius's piercing gaze. You couldn't understand why you were so affected by a man you barely knew, but there was something about him that drew you in.

You managed to sneak back into your room, just barely slipping past the household guards. Being the daughter of a senator afforded you certain privileges, including an education that many girls your age could only dream of. Your studies typically included reading, writing, and arithmetic, equipping you with the skills necessary to manage a household and participate in society. You were also taught music, dancing, and literature, for understanding and appreciating poetry was considered a virtue for a Roman woman.

As you settled in your room, the memory of Marcus’s gaze lingered in your mind. The image of his rugged face, scarred from countless battles, and his piercing eyes was etched into your thoughts. There was something about him that was both terrifying and captivating.

A soft knock on your door interrupted your reverie. It was your handmaid, Lydia, her expression curious.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

You hesitated, then sighed. "I went to see the procession."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "The general’s return? You could have been caught!"

"I know," you admitted, "but I had to see him."

"Why? What could be so important?"

You bit your lip, unsure how to explain the inexplicable pull you felt towards the gladiator general. "I don't know, Lydia. It's just... when our eyes met, it felt like something changed."

Lydia shook her head, her expression a mix of worry and understanding. "You must be careful. The world outside is not as forgiving as the walls of this villa."

The days following the procession were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't shake the image of Marcus from your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his intense gaze, felt the inexplicable connection that had sparked between you.

The grand villa of your father was abuzz with preparations for the evening’s banquet. Slaves hurried to and fro, setting tables with fine silverware and arranging elaborate floral displays. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers.

Tonight, your father, a respected senator, was hosting a dinner in honor of General Marcus Acacius. The entire house was a flurry of activity, with guests arriving in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the atrium. You stood near the entrance, feeling the weight of your responsibilities as the senator’s daughter.

Your mother approached, adjusting the drape of your stola with a critical eye. “Remember, you must be on your best behavior tonight. This banquet is crucial for your father’s alliances.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. Ever since you had seen Marcus in the parade, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The memory of his piercing gaze had haunted you, and now he was here, in your home.

"Come," your father said, his hand on your back guiding you through the crowd. "I want you to meet someone."

You followed, your heart pounding in anticipation. As you approached, you saw him standing there, taller and more imposing than anyone else in the room. Marcus Acacius, the hero of Rome, the man who had invaded your thoughts and dreams.

"General Acacius," your father began, his voice carrying the weight of his status, "allow me to introduce my daughter."

Marcus turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his gaze remained unwavering. "My lady," he said, his voice like velvet, "it is an honor."

General Marcus was the most strikingly handsome man you had ever seen. His chiseled features were framed by dark brown eyes beneath thick, black eyebrows. His long, aquiline nose and firm mouth, accentuated by a sensuously full lower lip, completed the picture of rugged masculinity. He stood tall, towering over most men, with a lean, muscular body and broad, powerful shoulders.

His hair, a captivating mix of salt and pepper, was cut short and fell in loose curls around his head, with distinguished grey patches in his beard that added to his allure.

"The honor is mine, General," you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed.

"Please, call me Marcus," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We are, after all, in more intimate surroundings."

Your father chuckled, clearly pleased with Marcus's easy charm. "I will leave you two to get acquainted," he said, patting Marcus on the shoulder before moving away to mingle with other guests.

The moment your father left, the air between you and Marcus seemed to crackle with electricity. He took a step closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you. "I must confess," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "I have been looking forward to this moment."

You swallowed hard, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. "As have I," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Marcus's eyes darkened with desire, and he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your knees weaken. "You are even more captivating up close," he said, his voice husky. "I find myself drawn to you, like a moth to a flame."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand slid up your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel it too?" he whispered.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, his scent, his warmth, the sheer power of his focus on you.

As Marcus's hand continued to caress your arm, you felt your heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves. You had never been this close to him before, and the realization that he was interested in you sent a wave of exhilaration through your body.

His lips brushed against your earlobe, making you shiver. "I want to know everything about you," he murmured, his voice sending sparks down your spine. "Your hopes, your dreams, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry out for mercy."

You turned towards him, meeting his intense gaze. "I want to know about you too," you said, feeling bold in his presence.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned closer. "There is not much to tell," he said modestly, though the way his eyes roamed over your face suggested otherwise. "Just a soldier who has dedicated his life to serving Rome."

But there was something more behind those words, something hidden beneath the mask of duty and honor. You could sense it in the way he held himself, in the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't believe that," you said firmly. "There is so much more to a person than their profession."

Marcus's smile widened into a grin as he took another step closer to you. "You are wise beyond your years," he said appreciatively.

The room around you seemed to fade away as you became lost in each other's gaze. It was as if there was no one else in the world but the two of you.

Suddenly, a loud noise broke through the moment – someone had knocked over a vase nearby. The sound jolted both of you back to reality and Marcus stepped back slightly.

"I should go check on that," he said regretfully.

Marcus's lips lingered on your skin for a moment longer before pulling away to look into your eyes. "I promise, we will continue this conversation another time," he said softly.

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. You couldn't wait to spend more time with him and get to know him better.

As Marcus turned to leave, you couldn't help but watch him walk away, his confident stride and broad shoulders filling you with a sense of admiration. You sighed dreamily and turned back to the feast, only to be greeted by your handmaids with teasing grins.

"What was that all about?" one of them asked, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively.

You feel your cheeks heat up, trying to hide your excitement. "Nothing," you said coyly. "Just a conversation."

As the guests were seated in the triclinium, the air was filled with the sounds of conversation and the clinking of goblets. You found yourself seated across from Marcus, who looked imposing in his formal attire. His presence commanded the room, yet his eyes frequently strayed to you, a subtle intensity in his gaze.

The evening progressed with toasts to Marcus’s victories and speeches praising his valor. You tried to focus on the conversations around you, but your mind kept drifting to the man across the table. Finally, you could bear it no longer. Under the pretense of needing fresh air, you excused yourself and slipped out into the garden.

The cool night air was a welcome relief as you wandered through the manicured paths, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating your way. The garden was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively banquet inside. You found a secluded bench and sat down, letting out a sigh of relief. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the villa created a serene backdrop as you tried to gather your thoughts.

As you sat there, the faint sound of a conversation caught your attention. You turned your head slightly, realizing that a group of senators had gathered nearby, their voices low but urgent. You recognized the voices of some of the most influential men in Rome, including your father.

"I hear that Emperor Caracalla is eager to stage a grand spectacle," one senator said, his tone conspiratorial. "He wants to solidify his power and win the favor of the masses."

"Indeed," another replied. "I heard he plans to pit some of the finest gladiators against each other. And there are whispers that General Marcus Acacius himself might be forced to take part in the games."

You felt a pang of concern at the mention of Marcus's name. The thought of him in the Colosseum, fighting for his life, was almost too much to bear.

"Emperor Geta is not pleased with this idea," a third senator interjected. "He sees it as a waste of a valuable military asset. But Caracalla is determined. He believes a victory in the arena will elevate Marcus to legendary status, securing loyalty from the soldiers and the people alike."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed their words. The political machinations of Rome were ruthless, and it seemed that Marcus was caught in the middle of it all.

As the senators continued their discussion elsewhere, their voices drifting away back into the villa, you felt a presence behind you. You turned to see Marcus emerging from the shadows, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He moved silently, his powerful form cutting through the darkness like a predator stalking its prey.

"My lady," he said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It seems we both seek refuge in the quiet of the garden."

"Marcus," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I overheard the senators. They plan to have you fight in the Colosseum."

His expression darkened, and he closed the distance between you in a few swift strides. "I know," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The emperors play their games, and I am but a pawn. But tonight, I do not wish to think of such things."

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, the warmth of his touch igniting a fire within you. "Tonight, I only want to think of you."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with a tantalizing softness. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming over your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His touch was both possessive and gentle, his need for you evident in every caress.

"Marcus," you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair. "This is madness. If we are caught..."

"Let them find us," he murmured against your lips. "I would rather face the lions in the arena than be without you."

His words sent a thrill through you, and you responded with a fervor that matched his own. Your bodies pressed together, the heat of your passion driving away the cool night air. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other.

"Promise me," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "Promise me you will come back to me, no matter what happens."

"I swear it," he said, his voice filled with determination. "No matter what the emperors or the gods throw at me, I will return to you."

With those words, he captured your lips again, sealing his promise with a kiss that left you breathless.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

His voice, a velvety whisper, sent a wave of desire flooding through you as he murmured, "I want you. Here. Now."

The moon was high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden, as Marcus pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed over your body, igniting fires with each touch. You could feel his desire for you, and it only fueled your own.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you up and pressed you against the garden walls. His body hovering over yours as he trailed kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you couldn't contain the moan that escaped from your lips.

With a growl of need, Marcus captured your lips once again while his hands began to explore under your dress. The feeling of his warm skin against yours sent shivers down your spine as he traced patterns along your thighs.

"Marcus," you gasped between kisses. "We shouldn't-"

"Shhh," he whispered, gently sliding your white cotton robe off your shoulders. "I can't resist you any longer.”

Marcus unexpectedly reached out his large, rough hands and cupped each one of your breasts, weighing them in his palms. Your body jolted at the sudden touch, your skin tingling under his warm heat. You could feel the calluses on his fingers, hardened from years of wielding swords and other battle weapons, leaving tiny marks on your delicate skin like a trail of fire.

As he squeezed and rotated your breasts gently, desire surged through you, igniting a deep longing within. You wanted to surrender yourself completely to him, to offer up not just your body but your very being to his every whim. The sensation was so overwhelming that you yearned to throw your head back in abandonment and give in to the all-consuming pleasure he evoked.

The protests that had escaped your lips now transformed into guttural moans of pleasure as his skilled fingers worked their magic on your most sensitive spot. Every touch sent electric shocks through your body, making you shiver and writhe against the wall. As Marcus trailed his fingertips over every inch of your slick flesh, you felt yourself becoming more and more lost in the overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each stroke, your body arched further off the wall, desperate for more of his touch. It was like a symphony of sensations, building and crescendoing until you were completely consumed by the intensity of it all.

He slid a finger between your legs and pushed it deep inside you. Pleasure shot through your body, causing you to arch and writhe as he expertly stroked your tight passage.

"My lady, you have an incredibly tight cunt," he grunted out, his voice strained and revealing his own growing arousal. His features twisted in pleasure and his eyes glinted with a primal lust.

He firmly grasped your aroused nub and slid another finger into your tight, welcoming entrance. "We have to be quiet or we'll risk getting caught," he whispered in your ear.

You nodded eagerly, pleading, "Yes, anything. Please."

As his skilled fingers gently rotated over your sensitive clit and his other digit pumped inside your wet, pulsing core, you couldn't help but surrender to the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. From the moment his eyes locked on yours, you knew you were his to be used however he pleased, your body a vessel for his insatiable desires. With each expert movement of his fingers, you felt yourself spiraling into a dizzying state of pure ecstasy, completely at his mercy. Your flesh responded eagerly to his touch, begging for more as he claimed you as his own.

The General's gentle touch on your skin was electrifying, bringing a growing pleasure to your body that felt almost overwhelming. You could feel yourself getting too hot, too tense, and you were afraid of releasing the intense climax that was building inside you with just a single touch.

"Oh Goddess," you gasped, tilting your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes as your desire became sharper and more urgent.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as his long finger penetrated you, rotating and rubbing inside your core while his other fingers worked relentlessly on your sensitive clitoris. Your body squirmed against the intense pleasure, your hands grasping at his muscular arms to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming sensations. He chuckled softly as you began to move your hips in a circular motion, still continuing to bring you pleasure with his skilled touch for several minutes. Just as you were about to reach the edge of climax, he eased off slightly, keeping his movements quick and light.

But eventually, your body tensed up and convulsed, your movements erratic and desperate, your breaths coming in short gasps. As the tension in your loins grew tighter and tighter, you let out a high-pitched wail and reached the peak of ecstasy. Your walls pulsated around his probing finger, which was now coated in even more of your warm juices.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Marcus gently turned you to face him again. His white robe and short toga were cast aside, leaving him naked in front of you. He stood tall and proud, his lean and muscular frame on full display. But it was his erect penis that took your breath away. It was massive, thick and much longer than average, standing rigid and red above a nest of dark pubic hair.

His impressive and exposed physique took your breath away as you gazed upon it. "Oh, my Goddess!" you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed by his sheer size.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached out and grasped your thighs, pulling you closer to him. He leaned over your body, closed his fist around his member, and guided the tip towards your still-dripping entrance.

He managed to get the thick bulbous tip of his penis through your opening. You immediately felt stretched and full. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling in an effort to accommodate him. “You big brute, you’re tearing me apart.”

He clenched his teeth, sweat starting to matt his silver and grey hair at his forehead. The pleasure of being inside such a tight flesh was almost dizzying, and he had to pull in all of his control to prevent himself from plunging completely inside of you.

That would come later, he promised, once you had been well oiled by him. He pushed again and managed another inch, and slowly continued to advance his penis inside your channel.

“You’re so tight,” his voice was harsh and strained, as if in pain. It wasn't too far from the truth; she felt tight around him, almost like a vice grip. But despite the discomfort, she was so warm and smooth inside.

With a groan, he slid the thick bulbous tip of his penis into your opening. A sharp pang of fullness shot through you as your body stretched to accommodate him. You gave him a pouting look, your hips wriggling and contorting in an effort to ease the pressure. "You big oaf," you playfully scolded, though there was a hint of pleasure in your voice.

He clenched his teeth, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he fought for control. The sensation of being inside such tight, warm flesh was almost overwhelming, and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He promised himself that he would give in completely once you were well-oiled by him.

He pushed with all his strength, feeling the resistance of your body as he slid deeper and deeper inside. The walls of your channel were smooth and slick, clenching around him like a vice. He couldn't hold back the grunt that escaped his clenched teeth, a mix of intense sensation coursing through his body. It was a pleasurable pain, like being held in a fierce embrace by someone who loved you too much - an exquisite torture that he never wanted to end. But with each slow and deliberate thrust, he knew that the pleasure would only intensify, building to a climax that would leave them both breathless.

Slowly but surely, Marcus eased his penis deeper into your body. With each inch of progress, you both felt the intensity of your connection grow stronger. Your entire body trembled with each thrust he made. When he was halfway inside you, Marcus used his fingers to stimulate your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your core throbbed with ecstasy as Marcus took advantage of your relaxed muscles and thrust deeply inside you until he was fully engulfed.

You and Marcus both groan at the same time. He quickly covers your mouth with his hand, gently hushing you. "Shh, my Carissima... I know it feels good, but we must be quiet. We can't risk your father catching us in this compromising position." The General continues to stimulate your sensitive spot, using his fingers to tease and moisten it further.

Your hips continued to rock and push against his manhood, your desire growing with each movement. You leaned back and moaned as General Marcus Acacius took full control of your body. He held onto your hips tightly as he thrust deep inside you, the pleasure intensifying for both of you. It was clear that neither of you was far from reaching the peak of ecstasy.

You let out moans and contorted your body as the large, broad, man moved back and forth between your legs. As your face twisted in pleasure and your head thrashed about, you experienced this unfamiliar sensation called sexual pleasure. Your climax came quickly and intensely, feeling like it lasted for several minutes. You threw your head back and let out a scream as the intense pleasure broke through between your thighs. A hot wave of pleasure spread throughout your body, causing your hips to writhe against Marcus'.

As your body trembled and released into an intense orgasm, you felt Marcus' muscles tighten beneath you. A deep, primal roar escaped his lips as he too reached the peak of his climax. The sound echoed through the gardens blending with the rhythmic pounding of your heart and breath. It was a moment of pure, raw passion that left you both gasping for air and tangled in each other's embrace.

As the intense pleasure slowly subsided, you became aware of the small droplets of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the grass. It was a sign that your virginity had been taken, marking the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.

General Marcus Acacius carefully pulled out of you and helped you to sit up. You could see his concern in his eyes as he looked at the blood staining his robe on the ground and your thighs.

"Are you hurt, Carissima? I didn't mean to be so rough..." he asked, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "No… I'm fine," you managed to say.

He let out a sigh of relief and gently wiped away the blood with a nearby cloth. You winced slightly at the slight soreness between your legs but it was nothing compared to the intense pleasure you had just experienced.

Marcus held you close, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. "You were amazing, my love," he whispered in your ear.

A flood of emotions washed over you as you realized what had just happened between the two of you. You had shared an intimate moment with General Marcus Acacius, someone who was forbidden to you because of your status as a daughter of such nobility. And yet, in that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the overwhelming feeling of love and desire that consumed both of you.

Your mind was spinning, knowing all too well what would happen if anyone found out about your relationship with the General. Your father would surely punish both of you severely and possibly even sell one or both of you off.

Even with the knowledge of what had just happened, and what could, it was difficult for you to feel remorse or embarrassment. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment that you had never experienced before.

Marcus chuckled warmly and gave you a soft kiss on your lips. "You are truly something special, Carissima," he said with adoration in his eyes.

You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of happiness wash over you. Despite the risks and consequences, being with Marcus felt like the most natural thing in the world.

But as the reality of your situation sank in, a sense of worry crept into your mind. How would you continue this relationship without anyone finding out? How could you possibly be with Marcus when your father would never allow it? Or worse, your father having you marry someone else?

Marcus brushed his fingers against your cheek, and it felt like he could read your mind. "We will find a solution, my love. I promise I will marry you and make you my wife," he whispered to soothe your fears.

The weight of Marcus' words settled heavily in your heart. The thought of being married to the man you loved filled you with joy and hope, yet the reality of it all seemed impossible.

"How could we possibly make that happen?" you asked, your voice laced with worry.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt. How could someone as powerful and respected as General Marcus Acacius be able to marry someone like you? You were just a daughter of a nobleman, while he was one of the most influential men in the kingdom.

Marcus spoke with unwavering assurance, his gaze locked onto yours. As you looked back into his eyes, all your doubts and fears dissipated. You were certain that he would do anything to keep you safe and by his side. "We will find a way, my love. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife."

"I believe in you," you said softly, placing a hand on his chest.

Marcus smiled and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips gentle and loving against yours. In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away except for the two of you.

"But we must be careful," Marcus reminded you, his tone serious once again. "We cannot let anyone find out about us until the time is right."

You nodded in agreement, understanding the risks that came with your relationship.

"We must also gain your father's approval," Marcus continued. "It won't be easy, but I am determined to prove myself worthy of you and your family."

You couldn't help but admire Marcus' determination and love for you. Despite the challenges ahead, he was willing to do anything to be with you.

As the sun began to rise, you woke up in your room with a smile on your face. Today was the day that Marcus would finally meet with your father and ask for your hand in marriage. You could hardly believe the moment had arrived, the day you had dreamt of for so long.

Ever since he had first confessed his love for you, the two of you had been meeting in secret, stealing moments together whenever possible. The clandestine nature of your meetings had made your bond even stronger. The thought of being with Marcus made every challenge worth it.

You dressed carefully, choosing your finest gown, and adorned yourself with simple yet elegant jewelry. Your heart raced with anticipation as you made your way to the garden where the betrothal ceremony would take place. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves created a serene atmosphere.

In the garden, your father stood with Marcus, deep in conversation. The sight of them together filled you with a sense of pride and hope. Marcus, in his formal attire, looked every bit the honorable and powerful man that he was—a general respected by all of Rome.

Your father turned to you, his expression warm. "My dear daughter," he began, "today is a momentous day as the gods have blessed us. General Marcus Acacius has proven himself to be a man of honor and valor. It would be a great honor for our family to be united with his."

Marcus stepped forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is my greatest wish to make you my wife," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise to honor and protect you for all the days of my life."

The betrothal ceremony commenced, a formal ritual between your two families. Your father and Marcus exchanged respectful bows, symbolizing the joining of your households. Gifts were presented, and the dowry was discussed and agreed upon. A scribe stood by, ready to document the agreement in a written contract.

Marcus then produced a small, ornate box and opened it to reveal a beautiful finger ring. "This ring," he said, "is a symbol of my commitment to you, a tradition that stretches back through the ages."

He took your hand gently and slid the ring onto your finger, his touch sending a thrill through you. The ring was exquisite, a delicate band adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of ancient craftsmanship.

"You honor me with this gift, Marcus," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion.

Marcus smiled, his eyes full of warmth. "The honor is mine, my love."

With the ring in place, you turned to the scribe, who handed you both the written agreement. You signed your name carefully, your hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within you. Marcus signed next, his signature bold and confident.

Finally, the moment came to seal the betrothal with a kiss. Marcus stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, sweet kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in that perfect moment.

As you pulled away, you saw the approval in your father's eyes and felt a rush of joy and relief. You were now betrothed to Marcus, the man you loved, and your future together was set.

"Let this day be the beginning of a lifetime of happiness," your father declared, his voice filled with emotion.

Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Together, we will face whatever the future holds," he promised.

And with that, your hearts intertwined, you knew that your love would endure, growing stronger with each passing day. The journey ahead was full of promise, and with Marcus by your side, you felt ready to embrace it all.

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baelarys · 5 months ago

Text

𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚, 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚

Aegon II targaryen x Reader Sister targaryen

word count :

Warning : anguts, Chapter 5 spoilers, Insest

Author's note : I honestly felt very bad for Aegon in chapter 5

Your stomach turned and a grimace of disgust adorned your face as you saw the head of the imposing creature being paraded like a trophy through the streets of King's Landing. Followed by this, a wooden box that contained the body of your husband, Aegon.

“The gods are going to punish us,” you said contemptuously, drawing the gaze of both Aemond and Alicent.

Aemond approached you, his expression cold and controlled.

"It's the nature of war, Y/N. We must accept the consequences," Aemond said in a firm voice, showing no apparent interest in the matter

You looked out at the crowd, your hands tightening their grip on the small stone wall of the balcony.

"They see us as gods, they see the dragons as deities," you said in a suppressed voice, your words echoing with a mixture of pain and frustration. "But they will realize that we are only flesh, as fragile as they are."

You looked away at your mother, Queen Alicent, who also looked worried. Without another word, you retreated, moving towards Aegon's room. Upon arrival, the guards made way for you, bowing their heads slightly in respect.

The room was full of maesters bustling around, trying to do everything they could to tend to Aegon. Alicent followed you closely, her anguished expression reflecting the weight of the situation. She approached Maester Orwyle, who was carefully cleaning Aegon's burned and ash-covered face.

"Its alive?" Alicent asked, her voice heavy with restrained desperation.

“His Majesty remains with us for the moment,” Orwyle explained, his professional tone trying to convey a glimmer of hope.

You watched uneasily as the maesters lifted the Valyrian steel armor from Aegon's chest. The sight of his skin lifting up, revealing fresh, sticky flesh, made you make an involuntary grimace of disgust.

Aemond entered the room and stood next to you. You hadn't noticed until then that Blackfyre was hanging from his belt next to his sword. You little bastard, you thought to yourself.

"He can recover , Maester Orwyle?" You asked, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Orwyle paused for a moment, assessing the extent of the injuries before responding.

"It is difficult to say with certainty, my lady. The injuries are serious, but we will do everything in our power to ensure your improvement," he said, his tone full of caution.

You left the room to give the maesters space while they tended to Aegon's wounds. Crossing the threshold, your eyes met Helaena, who was standing next to one of the pillars in the hallway. His face, usually serene, reflected a mixture of anguish and concern.

––––––––

You returned to Aegon's room once the maesters had finished treating his wounds. Entering, you approached the bed carefully, watching Aegon with a heavy heart.

Half of Aegon's face was burned, and his fractured leg was nearly split in half. He shifted a little in his bed, letting out a small moan of pain. The sight of his suffering moved you deeply, but you knew you had to maintain your composure.

“Aegon, I'm here,” you said softly, taking his hand tenderly.

Aegon opened his eyes slowly, his gaze searching yours. Although his features were distorted by pain, he tried to muster a smile.

“Y/N…” he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible.

"Don't talk, you need to rest," you advised, squeezing his hand gently. "The maesters have done everything they can. Now you must focus on recovering."

"If only you had listened to me," you said softly, your voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and reproach. "But you are a fool, Aegon. Always so stubborn."

Aegon let out a soft sigh, his gaze meeting yours, filled with regret and something that might have been regret. You knew that arguing about what had happened wouldn't change anything, but you couldn't help but feel the frustration that had been building.

"I'll take care of ruling while you recover. You don't have to worry," you added, leaning down to place a small kiss on his lips before taking a seat on the other side of the bed.

The thought of Aemond taking control filled you with unease. Aegon might be a stubborn and reckless king, but Aemond would be an implacable and ruthless ruler. You couldn't allow his rigid and severe vision to prevail in these delicate times.

Aegon tried to respond, but exhaustion and pain overcame him. He surrendered to sleep, his breathing still labored but calmer.

As you stood by his side, your mind filled with resolutions. You would not allow Aemond to give a single order. You would temporarily take the reins of the kingdom, ensuring that decisions were made with wisdom and compassion.

For all you knew, Aemond had taken over as Prince Regent, but you wouldn't let him take all the reins of power. You walked quickly to the council room, where the meeting had already begun. The guards opened the doors for you when they saw you stop in front of the room.

The lords stood up when they saw you enter, except for Aemond and Alicent, who watched you with interest.

"Your Majesty, what are you doing here?" asked Ser Criston, who now held the position of Hand of the King. Aegon's choice to put someone who only knew strength in such a diplomatic position had always struck you as a questionable decision.

You walked to the center of the room with natural authority, eyeing each member of the council before answering.

“I have come to ensure that the kingdom remains in order during King Aegon's recovery,” you said in a firm voice, making it clear that you were not there to argue.

Aemond watched you with a mix of challenge and curiosity. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined not to give up even an ounce of power that could result in reckless decisions.

“With all due respect, sister, I am already taking charge of the affairs of the kingdom as Prince Regent,” Aemond said, his voice filled with cold authority.

"I know, Aemond. But I am the queen, and it is my duty to rule in the king's absence," you replied, looking directly into Aemond's eyes with unwavering determination.

Aemond frowned, clearly irritated by your statement, but before he could respond, you raised your hand, cutting him off with studied calm.

“Get up from my chair,” you said, your voice resounding with a mix of firmness and serenity.

The silence in the council room was palpable. All eyes were on the two of you, and the air was thick with tension. Aemond looked at you with fierce intensity, but finally stood up with a sharp gesture.

You approached the chair with quiet grace, taking your place at the council table. The lords, recognizing your authority, sat back down, while a servant brought you a new cup which they filled with wine. Aemond, after a tense moment, took a seat in the chair across from you, his gaze fixed on you.

"Ser Criston, what is our position?" you asked, your voice firm.

"We have taken control of Rook's Rest," Ser Criston answered, his tone confident.

"And the head of Princess Rhaenys's dragon?" you inquired, as you leaned back in your chair, taking in the information, your fingers tapping lightly on the rim of the glass.

“The traitor's dragon,” Aemond interjected, clearly annoyed, his voice sharp.

You turned your gaze to him, your eyes shining with a mix of determination and authority.

“Traitor or not, Rhaenys was a Targaryen, and she will be given a burial like any other dragon rider,” you declared, your voice echoing firmly in the room.

Aemond frowned, but did not immediately reply. The lords exchanged nervous glances, while Alicent watched silently, evaluating every word and gesture.

"We cannot allow our own blood to be treated with disdain, even in times of war. We must show respect and maintain our dignity," you continued. "I will order that the remains of Princess Rhaenys be prepared for a proper burial."

Ser Criston nodded, taking note of your words.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he responded, his voice showing renewed respect.

Aemond finally broke the silence, his tone still filled with defiance.

"Let's not forget that we are at war. Showing respect is one thing, but we must be ruthless with our enemies" he said, his gaze fixed on you.

"I know, Aemond. And we will be ruthless," you replied, your words filled with steel. "But our strength also lies in our ability to maintain our principles and our humanity."

After ending the meeting, you stood up gracefully and left the council room. Arriving at Aegon's room, you found that he was still asleep, his pale and serene face contrasting with the visible wounds that were still healing.

You carefully approached the bed, feeling a lump in your throat seeing him in that state. You sighed softly, letting go for a moment of the weight of the war and politics that now consumed you. You took a seat next to the bed, watching his calm and regular breathing.

You carefully stroked his head, your fingers gently sliding through his blonde hair, now messy and dull. With each caress, you felt a deep connection, a longing to offer him comfort and protection in the midst of his fragility. His skin, still warm to the touch, responded slightly to your touch, as if his body recognized the security that only you could provide him.

You leaned towards him, placing a light kiss on his forehead. You stayed there, with your face close to his, listening to his breathing and feeling his presence. The silence in the room was almost sacred, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his breathing and the beating of your own heart.

While your fingers continued their journey through his hair, your other hand gently rested on his chest, feeling the weak but constant beat of his heart. You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself a respite in that small sanctuary of peace.

Your movements were slow and careful, each touch loaded with love and dedication. You didn't need words to express what you felt; Every caress, every kiss on his forehead and cheeks spoke of your commitment and devotion. You leaned slightly, resting your head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in the physical closeness, feeling his warmth and the soft movement of his breath under your cheek.

Time seemed to stop as you stood there, wrapping Aegon in a cocoon of tenderness and care. Despite the wounds and the pain, in that moment, in that silent intimacy, you felt a renewed strength, an unwavering certainty that together you could face any adversity.

With a final sigh, you lifted your head and gently kissed his forehead again, sealing a silent promise to always be by his side. You stayed there, not moving, allowing the tranquility of the moment to settle in your heart.

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another-lost-mc · 1 year ago

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a new dating sim catches your eye and asmo is absolutely 100% not jealous at all.

a date with death | asmodeus x gn!reader

cw: sfw (slightly suggestive towards the end). pet names (asmo calls reader darling, sunshine). vague spoilers for parts of the game (up to day five). silly fluff and jealousy over 2d characters.

word count: 1.2k words

a/n: I really like this game (a date with death) btw, I definitely recommend it.

"I tried that new game you've been playing."

Asmo's comment catches you off-guard and your eyes slowly blink open. You were on the verge of sleep, warm and content with his chest pressed against your back and his arm draped loosely over your waist. The words are muffled slightly against your shoulder, his lips leaving a sticky trail from the hydrating mask he smoothed over them as part of his nightly skincare routine.

You've been playing a new dating sim lately. You knew Asmo peered at the monitor over your shoulder to see what you were up to, but he didn't seem all that interested. He didn't give any indication that he wanted to play it himself, either.

It's not the first romance-based game you've played in the Devildom and he never cared before. He thinks it's cute when you find a character that appeals to you. Sometimes he watches you play through the stories, or he'll listen with a smile while you talk about the game later.

When you offered to play other games with him in the past, he insisted that was Levi's area of expertise. That didn't prevent him from finding his own ways to enjoy your hobby with you though. He preferred to indulge you with a little bit of roleplay instead: parading around his room dressed like your favourite characters, imitating their speech patterns and mannerisms to sweep you off your feet, and seducing you as if they had come to life.

(Later, he seduced you properly as himself because no one can ever love you as much as he does).

But he knew right away that this particular game was different. You giggled at your desk while you tapped away at your computer. It made you smile in a soft and charming sort of way. It irked him that some pictures and words on a screen drew that sort of reaction from you the same way he did.

You lean back and glance at him over your shoulder. His expression is hard to read in the dark, but you can feel the heavy weight of his stare on your face. "I didn't know you wanted to play it. You should've told me! Did you like it?"

"Not at all," he declares firmly, and you can't help but chuckle at his sharp response.

"Really? Why not?"

"I'm so glad you asked, darling," he says as he turns over and sits up suddenly. He flips on the lamp beside him, and he rubs the back of his hand against your cheek in apology when you wince as light illuminates his room. He plucks something off the bedside table and waves it in your direction with a flourish. "I made a list!"

You give him a skeptical look as you roll over to give him your full attention, and he clears his throat and taps the top of the page. "My first complaint is the ridiculous title: I Made a Bet and Have to Survive the Next Seven Days Without Falling in Love With a Babygirl Reaper Who Wants My Soul! Seriously? The title alone should warn you how terrible it's going to be."

"That's not what it's called in the human world," you explain with a shrug. "I don't understand why they changed it here, it's a little bit silly."

He tsks under his breath. "Silly indeed. Where do I even begin with this so-called love interest? It's almost like the creators have never met a real reaper before. I can assure you most of them aren't as nice or cute as they make him out to be." The look he shoots you next is oddly serious, and it sends a chill up your spine as his words sink in. "I recommend not getting too close to their kind. Thirteen seems docile enough, but I prefer your body and soul to remain in one piece."

You're not sure how to begin to respond to that little speech, but he pokes the paper with his finger and continues reading his list of "glaring issues" with the game. The complaints get more ridiculous and obscure, and it's only when he gets to the bottom of the page that the reason for his sour mood dawns on you.

"...and when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he calls you 'sunshine.' He has some nerve - that's what I call you. Remember when Mammon thought it would be funny to call you his sunshine too?" A dangerous gleam twinkles in his eyes before it disappears just as quickly. "At least he learned not to do that again," he murmurs under his breath.

You shuffle over on your knees and swing your leg over his thighs so you can sit in his lap. "Do you have any other complaints on that little list of yours?" you ask him with a teasing smile.

He huffs in frustration and his frown is adorable - of course he has one more grievance to share. "That stupid reaper doesn't even know your favourite flower. Tomorrow I'm going to buy you the biggest and most beautiful bouquet you've ever seen."

He finally drops the paper but neither of you spare it a second glance as it falls over the side of the bed and flutters to the floor. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes your waist gently, slumping his head against your chest with a drawn-out sigh. "I don't see what you like about him."

"Oh, Asmo." You run your hands gently through his hair as you hide your smile against the crown of his head. "Are you telling me there's a video game character you're actually jealous of?"

"Of course not," he mumbles into your collarbone, mouthing softly at the skin with little flicks of his tongue but it's not quite enough to distract you. "I wanted to see what all the hype was about." His teeth graze the bottom of your throat and you swallow down a quiet moan. "I found it extremely disappointing, by the way."

You cradle his jaw gently and tilt his head up so you can kiss the corner of his mouth. "You're so cute when you pout," you coo softly, just to watch how his cheeks turn pink. "I hope you know that he could pop into existence and appear outside your window right now, and I still wouldn't be interested in him. He's not you."

The words seem to soothe him a bit if the purring in his chest is anything to go by. You kiss the tip of his nose and let out a quiet squeak when he grasps the back of your neck and pulls you down so he can kiss you.

Repeatedly.

"You're right, darling." Kiss. "He's completely irrelevant," kiss "and I've already forgotten what his name is."

The world tilts suddenly as Asmo flips you onto your back and braces his weight on his hands. You giggle when he leans down and noses along your jaw. One of his hands slowly glides down your chest and tugs at the hem of your shirt, lifting it up and tossing it aside without a second thought.

"Let's see if I can make you forget his name too, hmm?"

read more: asmodeus masterlist | obey me masterlist

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodeus x reader #asmodeus x reader #obey me x reader #gn!reader #x reader

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isagrimorie · 5 months ago

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The BAU Team Target Board

Criminal Minds Evolution 17x09

I love this board because it mixes Character/Actor photos. The more candid photos are definitely (especially for JJ and Penelope) AJ Cooke and Kirsten Vangsness.

I wish my copy of the episode had better quality so I could read what's on the files.

The yellow stickers for the characters:

Tara Lewis

Pilates at the Gym every Monday.

Jennifer Jareau

Takes the same route to work every day.

Babysitter every Wednesday.

Has two cars: Audi and Honda.

So... JJ is definitely going to change her route and maybe change it up every other day. Also, change schedules for the babysitter.

And possibly sell and buy new cars.

Emily Prentiss

Cigarette Smoker

Faked Death

Big House with 2 Car Garage.

Travels outside of town.

First: Erica Messer is really happy she got Emily to smoke this season when she fought so hard to get that to happen on the OG show.

Faked Death -- see this is where things start to go, where and how are they getting this information on Emily? Especially with the photos of Emily undercover as Lauren.

Also, now Luke and Tara may have some inkling about Emily's past.

Big house with 2 car garage - Okay, money bags Prentiss!

'Travels outside of town' - WHERE DO YOU GO EMILY?? Do you still do the whole Sin to Win Weekend in Atlantic City? WHAT IS THAT ABOUT? How much is the buy-in? Probably more than $50,000 buy-in Rossi had to pay for during that one episode.

David Rossi

Multiple food deliveries a week, usually Chinese takeout.

Goes for a walk at 7-- around (?)

Penelope Garcia

Leaves House Every Morning at 6AM.

Luke Alvez

Bedroom on top floor - last window

Leaves kitchen side door open during the day.

Walks dog early on the morning before sunrise.

Guard dogs?

Parades around towel after shower.

LMAO. The last one.

Edited: @overpoweredcacti suggested the kitchen side door bit is on Luke’s side and that makes sense because I was confused because I could’ve sworn she was in an apartment too!

#tv: criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #criminal minds 17x09 #criminal minds spoilers #tara lewis #jennifer jj jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #luke alvez

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ryanmarshallryan · 7 months ago

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Pride Pool Party

Here is a vore story inspired by a scenario requested by @malebellyvore987

Nathaniel and Jonathan were having a lot of fun celebrating their first pride month together as boyfriends. They went to the local parade and watched all the fun floats go by, waving to their friends who were marching along among the floats. Nathaniel’s younger brother, Hector, had never been to a pride parade but had always wanted to go, so they let him tag along.

“I think Mario’s hosting a pool party sometime later today,” Jonathan mentioned to Nathaniel as they watched a gay men’s chorus march by blasting Chappel Roan, “did you wanna stop by for a bit? Maybe after we drop off Hector?”

Before Nathaniel could chime in, Hector who had been listening blurted out “Pool party! I wanna come!”

“Hector, this won’t be like one of your college frat parties,” Nathaniel responded, adjusting his sunglasses in the hot sun, “I think the dress code is speedos… or less.”

“C’mon we don’t have a pool, and it is soooo hot. I don’t have a problem with guys there assuming I’m gay,” Hector retorted.

“Yeah, but isn't this like your first pride? We don’t wanna overwhelm you too much,” Jonathan added.

“Guys relax, I can blend in. Anyways I’d spend most of my time under the water, not bothering anybody…” Hector replied, now beginning to pull his sweat drenched shirt off over his head, “but I’ll let everyone enjoy the view.”

“Gross,” Nathaniel joked when Hector revealed his skinny toned frame. Someone on a float whistled at him and Hector spun his shirt around over his head in response.

After making their way back through the crowds and taking the subway, they found their friend Mario’s apartment complex and headed over to the secluded pool area.

The scene had been decked out in the vomit of a rainbow monster. Multi-colored streamers adorned the fence. A rainbow-sequined fabric was strung up near a box of props for photo taking. The pool was littered with rainbow and pool donuts, and the snack table was arranged as well with donuts adorning rainbow designs. Hector admired some particularly lewd posters hanging by a changing area, and saw a caption underneath that read like “Made by an actual, full-time gay man, not but some money hungry conglomerate that showers the world in rainbows only one month a year.”

Nathaniel and Jonathan found their way into a changing area, visited with Mario and chatted a bit, then dove into the pool to cool off for a bit and socialize with the other swimmers. Jonathan began to remark “where’s Hector,” when they saw a flash above their heads as Hector jumped over them in only his underwear and did a cannonball in the center of the crowd.

“Well, there’s your answer,” said Nathaniel, wiping water out of his eyes.

Hector stayed true to his word and began exploring under the water to get out of the heat. At one point he came up to Jonathan and Nathaniel and whispered, “I’ve never seen so many yahoos in my life!”

“Yahoos? You sound like you're twelve,” Nathaniel replied.

“Hector, maybe don’t stalk guys' junk from under the water,” Jonathan added, “It’s kinda weird.”

“Only admiring, don’t worry,” Hector said, then pointing to a guy across the pool, “He’s been doing it, too.”

“I think I’m gonna go dive into the pool,” Nathaniel said, searching for an excuse to leave this uncomfortable conversation.

Hector nodded goodbye, then went off jumping back underwater and splashing nearby swimmers who were caught off guard.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that everything was going great, willing the universe to not let his brother mess up his pride pool party day. Apparently the universe had other plans. For the moment Nathaniel opened his eyes and lept head first to dive into the water, he saw a slim figure approaching from the depths of the pool, that was not his reflection.

It happened very quickly. Hector, who had been playing around sitting on the bottom of the deep end, then coming up for air at the last second, zoomed to the surface and opened his mouth as wide as he could to take in a big gulp of air. But instead he got a face full of his brother, Nathaniel, who slammed hard into the back of his throat, and kept sliding down with astonishing speed into his rapidly expanding stomach. Nathaniel felt his arms crumple against his body, as he was forced to curl up, tightly encased in the balloon of his brother’s stomach. Hector, had the wind knocked out of him from the unexpected gulp of Nathaniel, and experienced a short period of shock as he tried to suck in air but could not pull down his diaphragm.

Jonathan swam over, planning to greet Nathaniel in the pool, and wiped the water out of his face to find Hector, who was now wheezing with his torso under the water.

“Hector, are you okay? Did you swallow a bunch of water or something?” Jonathan asked, concernedly.

Hector tried to respond but was still too out of breath to form words. But a guttural, mumbled and grumbling sound issued out of his throat. Hector took one more deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but instead found another voice issuing from out of his throat saying, “Oh he swallowed something all right!”

Jonathan looked down in surprise. He assumed the large view of Hector’s gut was simply an illusion of the light refracting in the water. He plunged under the water, opened his eyes to the stinging chlorine, and put his ear to Hector’s deformed and distended belly, which was forming the exact shape of his boyfriend in fetal position. He could hear frustrated grunting.

“Hector, you ate my boyfriend? You ate your brother?” Jonathan yelled in confusion.

Hector replied with a sheepish, toothy smile to show apology. “In my defense he literally dove down my throat,” Hector replied, now rubbing his tight gut.

“Regardless of how it happened, it’s time to get him out. Right now,” Jonathan tried to push on Hector’s stomach, but ended up just pushing Hector through the water to the shallow end. Swimmers they passed by stopped the conversation to gaze at the unexpected view of the tight man-filled belly emerging out of the water. “Nothing to see here people, unless you got some emetic drugs or something.”

Jonathan got Hector up against a wall of the pool and continued pushing, but that just made Nathaniel more uncomfortable, and as he tried to wriggle around to avoid being squeezed too hard by the stomach and added pressure of Jonathan’s hands, Hector moaned in discomfort as his insides were pressed tightly against his spine to make room for the comparatively gigantic mass in his gut.

Next, Jonathan made Hector open his mouth wide again, and tried to shove his arms down Hector’s throat to grab Nathaniel and pull him out. This not only did not work, it had the opposite result, as Hector’s peristalsis kicked in and he began swallowing Jonathan as well.

Jonathan had just enough time to yell “I need a big strong bear to pull me out of this!!!” before his head was sucked in along with his arms into Hector’s powerful esophagus.

By the time the bears had been summoned, Jonathan was up past his groin into Hector’s mouth and throat, and his arms and head had reached the stomach. Jonathan and Nathaniel got closer than they ever got before as they were crushed between Hector’s clammy stomach walls, with tingling stomach acid and sweat making it difficult to grip onto one another.

One of the bears reached his arms around the slender waist of Hector from the back and picked him up, with pressure on the lower half of Hector’s belly. Two other bears grabbed hold of Jonathan’s legs, which only the lower half of were showing outside of Hector’s mouth. Mario came over too and started chanting “1… 2… 3… Heave!!!” over and over again. LIttle by little, inch by inch, they pulled Jonathan’s body back out of Hector’s maw. Jonathan was trying his best to hold tight to Nathaniel, but as his head made it past Hector’s face, he felt his hands slipping. Luckily one of the bears noticed, grabbing onto Nathaniel’s wrist and pulling with a great might.

Once Nathaniel and Jonathan were freed from Hector’s surprisingly powerful and durable stomach, the lot of them waded in the water with the bears, all catching their breath. The guys thanked the bears, who thanked them for an unexpected and interesting experience. One of the bears tickled Hector’s belly and joked that the little’s stomach was much bigger than his eyes it seemed. The other bear that had held Hector from the back gave Hector a slap on the butt, and swam on.

The last of the bears admired Nathaniel and Jonathan saying, “Hey if you two ever wanna have fun inside a gut that’s actually roomy enough to hold both of you, send me a message.” He pulled a sticky note pad and a pen out of his pocket and wrote his number down twice and gave it to each of them. The bear gave them a wink, and swam backwards, letting his belly rise above the water, looking like a whale coming up for air.

“How did that guy have a dry piece of paper in his pocket?” Jonathan asked.

“Honestly a lot of surprising things happened today and that’s the least of my concerns,” Nathaniel replied.

Jonathan held the paper up out of the water to avoid getting it wet, “Well, it could be fun to try something new.”

Mario dove into the water next to them and came to chat. “All right, Hector? Maybe refrain from eating these lads in the future,” he said, patting Jonathan and Nathaniel on the backs, “but if I run into any willing meals I’ll send them your way,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, no, that was all an accident, I didn’t mean to - wait, there are guys willing to - ” Hector began.

“Thanks so much for hosting, Mario. Sorry for my brother. He gets nervous and starts stress eating in crowds,” Nathaniel cut him off.

“No I don’t! Don’t make me - “ Hector began again.

“Well don’t just be food, come eat some! We’ve got a great buffet over by the changing rooms. And I mean eat as much as you can, I do not have the fridge space for all of this,” Mario implored them.

“I think I know a guy who could definitely help with that,” Nathaniel said, just before playfully punching Hector in the gut. “Race ya,” and they were off to the buffet to fill their bellies, and enjoy the rest of the pride pool party.

#gayvore #m/m vore #male vore #pride

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fishnets-fingers · 1 month ago

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Can I Have This Dance?

“I can recall the dressmakers sewing buttons on your shirt,” she points out, pushing off the door as she saunters towards the dresser. Her eyes unashamedly rake over the exposed skin of his chest.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder.

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from inside his jacket pocket. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg bereft of the gold rope.

"I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

“Allow me,” he says, quickly bending down. He looks up at her asking for permission and she nods. He carefully places her feet on his knee and fastens the gold chain, moving it around so the lotus motif faces him. His fingers linger and before he knows it he’s leaning down to press a kiss on her foot.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

warning - smut oral (f receiving), handjob

Word Count - 10.8k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST

….

விருந்து. Feast. Harry’s had many dinners in his life that he’d consider a feast, whether that be hunched close to a boiling pot of stew - absorbing the warmth of the cracking fire - on the ship with his father’s crew, stuffing his face by a candle post near a hole in the wall inn at a foreign country, tearing pieces of cured meat as he rationed his supplies on his missions, and gobbling up anything comestible with the Crown Prince at battle tents. But he’ll never forget the fanciest dinner, the Princes extended an invite for him to come dine with them one night after his riding lesson. So, he put on his best clothing, slicked back his hair using aloe vera, walked into the palace for the feast, and was seated beside the younger Prince. Despite the sumptuous spread in front of him, his eyes kept drifting over to the Princess, who was hunched over the province’s ledgers - absentmindedly chewing - at the other end of the table, shooting glaring looks when they got too rowdy.

Compared to that palatial dinner he’s experienced, the informal dinner at Handuman was pompously grandiose. A feast of sorts. The King, Queen and their children of Handuman sat amongst hundreds of flickering candles. The table was filled with bronze statues and sampaguita garlands weaving between the plates of food. The Queen had just finished telling the Chola Princesses and her children the story of Rosita and Delphin - a favourite bedtime story of hers. She was gracious and kind, often stopping by the servants and guards' quarters to make sure that they were acclimated from their travels. The Queen’s fondness for the two young Chola Princesses only grew since their first interaction, especially since they asked her questions about her homeland - the Philippines. Harry heard from the Guard Captain that the King was very impressed by Y/N’s ingenuity, when it came to changing some of the finer print of the trade agreement.

He'd been in and out of the castle, following up on some leads for the Crown Prince, but he’d made sure to run the security detail with the guards several times before handing over the reins to the Captain - who’d been the Princess’ shadow since the moment they set foot here. The elephant parade and accompanying fanfare led by the Handuman Prince at the port made it clear that it was more than just a warm welcome; he was trying to tout himself for Princess Y/N.

This particular night, he found himself standing a few feet behind Y/N’s seat beside the captain. The two best friends were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, when Y/N tittered pointing at Princess Shobhita’s lap. He couldn’t see their expressions, but whatever the Princess Royal said, made Shobhita pick up the tassels hanging from the end of her braid and smack Y/N’s arm playfully, making the two giggle. The door bursts open, just as Shobita opens her mouth to say something, and the Handuman Prince saunters into the room.

“Princess Y/N,” he calls. “I have something for you.” He claps, grabbing a velvet box from the guard behind him.

Harry peers to see a necklace with three rows of large jagged white uncut diamonds with irregular long pearls dangling at the bottom. It was an impressive gift but Y/N’s jewellery collection was intricate and magnificent, telling the story of her kingdom and the artists who made them. How gaudy, he thinks.

“Thank you, Prince Vinay. Certainly very gracious of your family,” Y/N nods a thank you towards the King and Queen.

“Only the best for our visitors. I did not forget about you Princess Shobita.” He passes a small brooch to her. She responds with a shy thank you but Y/N notices the corner of her best friend's mouth pulling downwards.

“One could well appreciate the thought you’d put into both of our gifts,” she said sweetly, but it wasn’t lost on Harry that Y/N was pointing out his tactlessness. The Handuman Prince’s generosity towards Y/N’s best friend was merely an afterthought. It was evident that Prince Vinay disregards people unless they’re beneficial to him.

Prince Vinay plops down on the vacant chair at the other end of the table, reaching for the stuffed quail. “Father, did you know that the serfs get paid in Chozhamandalam,” he rolls his eyes, making the King chuckle. “It’s foolish,” he pointedly stares at Y/N.

“It’s hardly ludicrous. I do not think it is just for generations of people to be bound to serve a Crown if they do not wish to.”

“Princess Y/N, people should know their place,” he bluntly states.

“What place would that be?”

“Beneath us, of course.” Prince Vinay laughs. “You plant the seed of social mobility amongst them and they will think they are capable of ruling the world.”

“My Prince, do you not think remuneration is vital for the well-being of palace staff?” Shobita asks.

“A large dose of fear amongst the serfs is all one needs. You would know more about loyalty and fear of the crown better than most, would you not? You are a vassal princess after all,” he sneers.

Harry’s body prickles with rage at the blatant disrespect demonstrated towards Shobita. And the way Y/N’s fingers tighten around the plush armrest, his body springs to a renewed state of alertness ready to intervene. The Guard Captain leans forward in anticipation of the Princess Royal, despite the Princess Royal’s history of maintaining her composure.

“I am done for the night,” Princess Y/N declares. “It was a wonderful spread, my Queen,” she nods graciously, standing up and Princess Shobita follows along.

“Darlings, stay. You have hardly consumed anything,” the Queen implores.

“Princess Y/N, Princess Shobita,” the King clears his throat. “Do not take dinner table conversations to heart.”

“I am not, your highness. It has been a tiresome day of negotiations for a mutually beneficial treaty and I wish to retire.”

“Goodnight, your highnesses,” Shobita says and they both curtsy before leaving.

When they were out of earshot, Shobita pipes up, “I can’t believe you walked out.”

“Would you rather I tell him off for disrespecting you? Twice.” Y/N raises her eyebrows.

“You cannot be quick tempered. We are here for Crown’s business,” Shobita reminds her.

“I am well aware,” she mutters, turning a corner.

“Princess Y/N,” the Captain catches her attention. “The bedchambers are to your right.”

“I am taking a stroll through the garden. They have lilies that bloom at night, I am told. Do you want to join me, Shobs?”

Her friend nods, “Some fresh air ought to do us both some good.”

“Would that be a problem for you two?” Y/N turns around to face the two men.

“No, ma’am. Although I can’t say the same for Harry here, he has had a certain vigour for the nightly excursions since we arrived” the Captain says.

Harry throws him a dirty look. The Captain has gotten in his face about the importance of a fitful night’s sleep to be more alert and he has politely asked him to keep his nose out of his business. He knows the Captain’s pride does not take to the fact that the Crown Prince had put him in charge of the guards.

Princess Y/N raises her eyebrows at him curiously, and before she could comment, Harry reassures the two women, “It would not, your highnesses.”

////

“I do not think it wise to make our way to the markets, Y/N,” Shobita advises, perching on the closest chair next to the window overlooking the sunrise . “The ball is in two days and I reckon everyone in town wants a glimpse of you.”

“You worry too much, Shobs.”

The younger Princess sighs, there was no changing her friend’s mind once she desires something. “How are you planning to convince the Captain for a market visit?”

“Harry is in charge of security,” Y/N reminds her. “I can get him to agree to it.”

“You seem fairly confident with that.”

Y/N shrugs. “I know how to get my way.”

Shobita narrows her eyes. Y/N rarely referred to the spy by his given name and lost was the tone of vexation that came when talking about him. Shobita was no ingenue; she presented herself in a way that was taught to her. The way that delighted people around her. The Princess Royal was brave, generous and curious, so she sought to guide herself in a timid and magnanimous manner. In her reluctance to conduct herself in a boisterous way, she hoped to inspire people to treasure their quiet strength in the face of perseverance. After all, she was raised to become one of the Queens of Chozamandalam the moment she drew her first breath, she only thought it apt to show her people that there was more than one kind of fortitude. But it does not mean that she was oblivious.

She first picked up on the lack of unease in Y/N a few days into their voyage. The way she seemed to look forward to nightfall on the ship, the way she was hunched over the star maps with a look of determination that was only present when Y/N wanted to prove her brothers wrong, the way she would quickly break into a coy smile upon her return to their cabin at dawn. She had deduced that something else was occupying Y/N’s mind, pulling her away, inhibiting her from pondering over her self professed bleakness of the seas.

“What?” Y/N asks, breaking her away from her thoughts.

“You never wish to speak to, Mister Styles,” she points out.

“I do not wish to, yes. But I still have to.”

“Because he is a spy?”

“Precisely. And until we are in Handuman, the head of guards.”

Shobita nods. “Are you not irked that you have to convince him to get to visit the markets?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “What are you fishing for, Shobs?” Her interactions with Harry on the ship only happened in the cover of nightfall away from prying eyes. And since they docked at Handuman, she had made certain that there was not a single glance shared in his direction. She had been busy with her minister and the Handuman court the past days, and he was off doing whatever her older brother had requested him to do.

“Nothing.”

“Look,” Y/N takes a deep breath. “I absolutely hate that the mighty Crown Prince has commanded his way to let the spy,” she laces all the contempt she could muster in that last word, “be incharge of my whereabouts. I want nothing to do with any of it. Truly. But I want to go to markets with my best friend and he annoyingly is the only one who could approve of the visit. So I am merely playing nice to get my way.”

“Alright. Lead the way.” Shobita points to the door and they make their way to the guard quarters.

Need to be more cautious, Y/N thinks. If she is acting in a way that allowed Shobita to pick up on something, then it’s only a matter of time before she lets her guard down in front of her handmaidens. Once they catch wind of anything, gossip spreads like wildfire and it is the last thing she wants. Y/N does not wish to lie to her best friend but this is not the first time she has kept troubling information to herself to not cause Shobita any distress. Did whatever that has happened between her and Harry warrant a conversation? A few shared kisses, hesitant touches, and whispered sweet nothings aren’t novelty for him.

“Your highnesses,” an echoed chant comes after the two princesses' arrivals are announced to the room.

“Let Mister Styles know that we are to depart to the markets in ten minutes,” Y/N commands.

“He is not here, ma’am,” the youngest guard pipes up from across the room.

“Where is he then?”

“We do not know.”

“You do not know?” Shobita repeats, shaking her head.

“I see him leaving the quarters every night, your highness,” another soldier says.

“We believe he makes his way to the, um-” the youngest guard stops abruptly and scratches his hair, and the men in the room share a look.

“Well spit it out,” Y/N says impatiently.

“We believe he is making his way around town to get with the courtesans,” he says quietly.

The handmaidens giggle behind the Princesses. One even whispers, “Of course he is off sampling Handuman’s offerings.” They are silenced by Y/N’s stare.

“Decorum,” Shobita reminds them.

“Soldier!” The Captain’s voice booms as he makes his way to the room. “You are not to use uncouth language in front of your royal highnesses!” He makes his way to the two women and bows.

“Humble apologies, my liege,” the young soldier nods, before scurrying away.

The doors burst open and Harry saunters in and stops in his tracks at the scene in front of him. “Majesties,” he curtsies.

“Ah, man of the hour,” Y/N scoffs.

“I apologise for my absence, Princess. I was out running, um, errands.”

“We depart to the markets in five minutes, Mister Styles.”

“Princess, the Crown Prince has explicitly stated that I am not to permit excursions to places where security threats cannot be fully contained.”

“Did the Crown Prince also explicitly state that you are permitted to scurry around in the town brothels, Mister Styles?” She spits that question out with vehemence.

“Your majesty-”

“I do not care. Make haste,” she turns without sparing a glance behind.

Harry catches the way the Captain throws him an arrogant smirk and he cannot help roll his eyes.

“Best clean the stench of the whores from your flesh Styles,” he comments.

“You know why this is a bad idea, Captain,” he implores. The Handuman Prince was on a boar hunt - a royal tradition to be carried out before a ball. The game is then roasted meticulously by the cooks and proudly presented as the standout meal. Harry personally thinks of it as an excuse for Prince Vinay to show off that he possesses the capable skills for a hunt, even if he has not participated in a single battle before.

The Princesses were not extended an invitation to participate in the boar chase aligned with Handuman customs, it is the men who hunt for game, and even then the invite would be futile. Princess Y/N thinks of the act of hunting animals as an efficacious show of brute strength.

Harry shivers remembering the time he had seen the aftermath of Prince Vinay’s inebriated blood lust at the Chera hunt two years ago. The Captain had been there with him as well. Prince Vinay had repeatedly missed his shot with the deer and the alcohol he consumed did not help with bettering his aim. The evening ended with two women killed: one strangled as Prince Vinay took her and the other with a sliced jaw to better accommodate his girth. He had remembered the look on the Captain’s face when he had returned from overseeing the cleanup of the mess that had befallen at the whorehouse that evening.

“The path to the castle is through those markets and the hunt might be done in a few hours,” he continues. “Prince Vikram would not take kindly if the Princesses crossed Prince Vinay’s path.”

“I will accompany you as well. No harm will befall the two,” the Captain assures him. “We will take every soldier we have.”

////

Harry could feel the buzz of fervour and anticipation as they made their way through the market. The air was laden with scents of fresh delicacies and ripe fruits. Stalls adorned with colourful tapestries were accompanied by merchants in simple tunics clamouring for Princesses’ attention. “Ripest pick from the garden, your highness!” Cried out a merchant brandishing a reddish brown fruit in the palm of his hand. Y/N stops in her tracks mesmerised, she had not seen a fruit like that back home.

“What are they called?” She picks one up from the tall stack, marvelling at the fuzzy texture of the skin.

“Velvet apples, Princess,” he replies, quickly offering her a freshly cut piece. She bites into it hesitantly, taken aback by the hints of caramel that manages to escape through the tart and sweet taste. “Shobita, you must try this!”

“You must take one crate home,” the vendor insists.

“Captain, can you see to it that these crates get to our ship on our eve of return? I would also like a few saplings from his garden to take home.”

“I will see to it, ma’am.”

She produces two gold coins and presents them to the seller.

“Thank you.” The vendor examines the gold, bowing for the graciousness bestowed upon him.

Laughter of children carried over as they darted between people’s legs holding the colourful trinkets that were gifted by the royal visitors. Harry could finally begin to understand why Princess Y/N insisted on visiting town markets. The chatter of the throng idly walking by, the music floating from a group of sullen teenagers, the weathered face of an old woman holding all the secrets of herbs and potions in her cart, women floating from one stall to another in search of the freshest produce and game with a basket looped around their arm humming a melody, men busy haggling as coins clink busy sniffing out the best deal as they barter, all accompanied the warm gleam of the sun was picture perfect. The markets were the pulse point of the town to experience its river of humanity.

The sea of crowd parts for Y/N as she moves, while the onlookers let out several gasps in awe. He is unsure what garnered a gasp - the dazzling display of ornate wealth or her countenance battling the radiance of a thousand suns. I bet it is the latter, he thinks. “Finest silks from the Orient!” A merchant calls out, the one from which Shobita purchased two spools of bright red weaves. Harry quickly glances towards Y/N, who was busy enjoying the puppet show with the rest of the townsfolk. He hangs back with two other guards, on the lookout for the arrival of the hunting crew, while the others surround the Princesses.

“Would you like some sweets, Sir?” A small boy asks, pushing a rickety cart in front of him. “My mummy makes the sweetest treats in all of Handuman.” There were only a few on display.

“These sell out quickly?” He asks.

“Aye, they are gone by the time I get to the market,” he replies, casting a glance towards the direction of the Princess, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards.

“This upsets you lad?”

“I was hoping that Princess Y/N would get to taste one. That would make mummy merry but seven measly sweets is not enough of the Princess’s attention.” He sighs, turning the cart around to head back home.

He examines the colourful cylindrical wax wrappers and before he knows it, the words slip out of his mouth, “Can I tell you a secret?”

The boy nods. “I would not tell a soul.”

“The Princess enjoys a sweet treat. Loves them lots that she does not bear to share them,” he whispers.

“I do not wish to share my sweets too!” He exclaims. “But mummy says I must because it makes my sisters cry.”

Harry laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair. “How about I buy these sweets from you and make sure to hand deliver them to Princess Y/N and tell her about you and your mother?”

“You would?”

“Uh huh. I got into some trouble with the Princess this morning, I think your mummy’s sweets might get me out of hot water.”

He laughs as he makes quick work of wrapping the last of the sweets in a banana leaf as he hands it over. Harry pockets them and hands the boy ten silver coins. “The Pastillas only cost seven coppers.”

“These are for you and your mummy from Princess Y/N.”

“Thanks Mister!” The little boy gleams and treads back home.

////

Y/N’s eyes are closed, face tilted up, her lips pursed in a thin line, breathing in the flowery scent at the edge of the garden. During her daily evening walks on the grounds of Queen’s quarters, she stumbled upon a patch of wildflowers of bright pinks, oranges, reds, yellows and purples dotting the tall blades of green grass. It was behind the tall hedged maze - the only spot in the garden that had not been manicured to perfection - dwarfed by the expansiveness of the former. Even without tender affection from the gardeners, the soil rewarded the onlooker with stunning beauty. A quiet tranquil after the liveliness of the market and the tension that radiated from both the Captain and Harry. Y/N noticed their collective sigh as their shoulders slumped in relief the moment they stepped foot inside the castle.

The market had been a wonderful distraction from what she had learned this morning: Harry’s dalliances. She cannot believe that she had let her guard down around someone like Harry, someone widely known to be indecent. Had you not learnt from the stories handmaidens told about the men and women he had lain with? She chastised herself. She had despised him, the freedom he had to mindlessly pursue corporal pleasure, the swagger he carried himself with, the self assured confidence he had in his ability to charm anyone into bed, the way his lips curled up in an arrogant smile when he would catch her looking, and most of all, his utter disregard over others - always in pursuit of putting himself first. And you still fell into his trap, her jaw tightens, trying to keep the anger at bay. She parts her lips, breathing in through the nose, letting the buzz of insects take over the noise in her head.

“Can I have a word, Princess?” Harry's quiet voice breaks through the silence. He had just relieved the soldier on guard, taking his place a few feet behind her.

Her eyes remain closed and Harry sighs, “Y/N.”

She stands still.

“This morning, I -”

“Mister Styles,” she responds with venom, “I do not want to be disturbed.”

“I know and I will leave you be after I-”

“Stop it,” she warns with a withering look.

“Guards!” She yells, and three come hurrying towards them. “See to it that Mister Styles retires for the day. I am sure he would appreciate his sleep after a night of..,” she trails off as she looks back at him with contempt. “A night of exertion.”

“If you wish, your royal highness,” he mutters dejectedly, walking away.

Y/N sighs, watching his figure disappear into the castle. Idiot, her mind taunts, making her shake her head. She signs the guards to leave her alone as she bimbles around the grounds, kicking off her shoes wanting to feel the blades of dewy grass underneath her feet, the cleaners back home would not appreciate the grass stains on her silks and any other day she would have lifted the fabric up but she was not in a mood to be courteous. She isn’t sure how long she’s walked or if she was still in the compound of the gardens when she stumbles onto a pond and perches on a stone overlooking it, hand absentmindedly coming to play with her anklet. The water at the pond's edge is still, reflecting the powdery blue sky and the green of the trees. But the middle is dotted with broad, waxy leaves that float lazily, rising above the surface. The flowers stand tall - pinks, purples, and white - smooth and translucent in the sunlight.

The light caresses the edges of the pearls, glinting golden. Some shy away from the warmth, curled tightly into a bud, needing a few more coaxes from the sun’s rays. It’s quiet, apart from the occasional splash and rustle from the fishes darting beneath the leaves, and the quiet hum of insects flitting about. She smiles at how the pond seems to be a quiet haven - ancient and ethereal - despite the busyness of housing its own micro ecosystem.

“Princess Y/N,” Princess Vinay calls out loudly. “I have been in search of you.”

“Prince Vinay,” she greets him from the bench. “I seem to have lost track of time marvelling at the beauty of these flowers.” She twists around to find the Handuman Prince making his way towards her still in his hunting attire. The buttons seem to be done up in the wrong manner, the leather vest pulled over haphazardly, and his shirt untucked bunched around his waistband.

“The beauty of this filthy marsh,” he laughs. “You jest, dear Princess.” He stumbles closer to her. “It is the night jasmine you must admire. They are only grown in palace grounds. Fit for us nobility.”

The scent of alcohol permeates off of him and she straightens as it hits her nostrils. “It is indeed a fragrant blossom but something about lotuses -”

“Princess. Princess,” he tuts. “These flowers even bloom in the town's sewage ditches,” he slurs. “Even the common folk do not covet them. A Chola Princess Royal such as you must distance yourself from this abominable excuse of a flower.” He sways and regains his balance by leaning against the tree trunk.

“How was your hunt?” She asks - heart rate rising - hoping to be rid of the Prince by letting him brag about his alleged kill.

“Splendid. I managed to capture the biggest boar of the season. I had slain it with this very blade,” he unsheaths his swords and presents it to her - tripping over his feet as he did.

She quickly takes it from him, careful to not make any contact with his hand, and makes a show of examining the weapon.

“This blade has been with me for many hunting trips. It is a sign of true bravery,” he steps closer to her.

“Indeed.” Y/N agrees, standing up from her seat, taking a step backward.

“What do you think, Princess Y/N? Have you witnessed what true bravery looks like?” He whispers, gaze trailing down her body.

“One can certainly deduce your strength and bravery from how clean and sharp the blade is,” she slowly starts moving away from him. “The blades my brothers bring back from their hunts are dull and soiled.”

“My strength impresses you, Princess?” He reaches for her hand.

“It impresses your subjects,” she dodges his question, bringing her hands behind her back. “That is what matters.”

“It is a shame,” he slurs. “That you would rather eat like a rabbit tomorrow than feast on the game.”

“I should be heading inside, my Prince.” She says firmly, eyes darting around for signs of any guards and disappointment quickly floods her when she finds no one. Her heart picks up speed.

“Do you know where I have been?” He pushes himself from the trunk and stalks towards her.

She shakes her head.

“Of course, it is not proper to tell such things to a lady,” he chuckles. “But I know how you women speak. I visit the brothels after a hunt. I find it to be the most rewarding conclusion.”

She stays quiet, stepping back.

“I wonder how Chola women are. I have yet to sample one of you.” He laughs. “Do you think I would be disappointed, Princess?”

“This is highly inappropriate. I will take my leave,” she answers, turning away but he’s quick to grip her wrist.

“You Cholas,” he chuckles. “You think of yourselves as high and mighty but you should know that one of your guards has been frequenting the whorehouse. Every night from what I hear.”

“What my guards do outside of their working hours is not my business.” She tries to wiggle her hand free but it only makes him clamp down harder.

“I fucked five sluts bloody an hour ago, Princess Y/N. Do you want me to show you what I am capable of?”

“Let me go, Vinay. I order-” He grips her jaw, silencing her.

“Silence,” he slurs, squeezing her cheeks harshly, forcing her lips apart. “Fuck,” he leans in sniffing her neck. “Fuck,” he groans. “Maybe I still have it in me to put the Chola Princess in her rightful place.” His free hand goes to undo his trousers, looking down to locate the drawstring.

Y/N uses that to her advantage and sinks her teeth into his hand clamping down forcefully, making him yelp. She drives her knee up his crotch with her might. He falls to his knees, eyes bulging in pain. “You bitch,” he curses.

She slaps him. “Shut up, you coward.”

Prince Vinay looks up at her, eyes watering, and he opens his mouth to say something but is quietened when he hears the Captain call out for her. “Here!" She yells out, and he rushes towards them with Harry hot on his heels.

“I will see to it that my father punishes you,” he spits out, rocking back and forth cupping his groin in pain.

“Are you going to tell the King that his son - the brave and strong Prince Vinay who has allegedly slain several wild boars - was brought to his knees by a woman? Let’s see how your senate and court respect you then, you puny scum.

“Go ahead!” She taunts him.

“Your highness, we have been in search of you as soon as we heard that the Prince had entered the compound-” the Captain stops, taking in the scene in front of him, lips curling up imperceptibly in a proud smirk.

“Princess, are you hurt?” Harry asks, eyes filled with concern.

“I am unharmed, Mister Styles.”

“Was he untowards with you, Princess Y/N?” The Captain questions.

She shakes her head. “He did not get a chance to.”

“Harry and I will handle the situation. We best get you back to your chambers.”

She nods, before turning towards Vinay, “I do not want to see or have you breathe in my or my company’s direction for the next few days. You will come forward to announce a twenty percent tax cut for our cargo ships using your docks at the ball or I will see to it that your people see you for the miserable pathetic excuse of a man you are.

“You know how us women speak,” she smiles at him, echoing his words from earlier, turning around leaving the Prince of Handuman writhing in pain on the ground.

////

Thousands of candles light up the vast ballroom of the Handuman palace, flowers strung all around, Hanuman’s potent toddy - maireya - flowing generously into the guests' glasses, people whirling around to the quartet, but the most impressive of all was the giant boar placed at the King’s table that was roasted to perfection.

Handuman customs were different from what Harry was used to from back home. They required the guards and staff to be dressed appropriately. Princess Shobitha had handed the guards their formal suits a few hours before, and had explained that Princess Y/N had the dressmakers specially make each of them to fit Handuman’s standards. The guards’ suits were simple - black with a leaping tiger embroidered in the lapels. The Captain’s suit was a light grey with the Chola crest on the lapels but it had small marigolds - his husband’s favourite flower - embroidered in a straight line, running down the length of his sleeves. Harry’s was a sage green suit with a silver green silk shirt with the house crest, with a sailors collar and braided white threads - similar to the knots he’d used to secure the masts - running up from his front pockets and around the cuffs of his sleeves. What caught his attention was a motif of a black bunny painted on the white button of his trouser; it looked shabby, the lines were crooked - almost like one had done it hastily in a bobbing vessel. Did Y/N do this? His mind goes back to that night on the boat, his chest blooming remembering the way she’d sweetly smiled at him when he told her that he grew up thinking that the shadow on the moon came from the bunny who lived there. You need to set things straight with her.

Harry notices the way people gasp from amazement when Princess Y/N moves past them, hand in hand, with Princess Shobita. He is tailing the two of them with the Captain tonight. The Captain was busy watching Prince Vinay like a hawk, while the two women were busy conversing with the lord and lady of the southern Handuman province. They took care of the situation two days before, calling over to his guards and fabricating a story about how he had tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take much to convince them, so they both deduced that him passing out drunk was not an unusual occurrence.

Her laughter tears his gaze back to her. He’s been doing that a lot since the start of the night. Looking at her. A compulsion to take her in every few minutes in an attempt to convince himself that she wasn’t an image his mind conjured from his dreams. Y/N stepped out of her chamber clad in a cream silk saree and a matching corset - shoulders bare, skin luminous, hair pinned up to bring attention to the choker gifted to her by the Handuman family - with the fabric pooling and falling deliciously against her curves.

He has been vying for her attention throughout the evening but she seems content ignoring him, flitting from one person to the next, keeping herself occupied, she’d even asked to dance with the Captain - who’d indulged in her with laughter as they spun around for three songs - when she saw him approach her. He’s left with no option but to approach her this way, using Handuman’s traditions for his benefit.

“Princess Y/N,” he says, approaching from behind as she takes measured sips from the glass of toddy. He extends his hand towards her, palm inviting hers, “Can I have this dance?”

She quickly looks to Shobitha beside her and turns to face him. She knows that he knows that in Handuman a lady can’t refuse an offer to dance from a gent. She gives him a smile that’s reserved for the public - a polite one that does not let you in on her feelings. “You may, Mister Styles,” she quietly says, handing over her glass to her friend and placing her hand in his.

He squeezes it reassuringly, as he leads the two of them to the dancefloor. They bow as the music picks up. She places her left hand firmly on his shoulder blade and he holds the other outstretched. He begrudgingly leaves space between their bodies as he puts his hand on her shoulder blade. When they move, he’s surprised at how effortlessly she’s matching his footwork with his galumphing ones. He hasn’t danced the waltz in years - his father taught him because it was his mother’s favourite - and he never once thought it would ever come in handy. But she is forgiving when she glides with him, moving with him in a way that concealed his missteps.

“That must have been one hell of a kick to his balls,” he chuckles, trying to break the ice after a few minutes. “He’s hardly looked your way tonight.” Prince Vinay has kept away from them, moving the other way as the Princesses made their rounds, barely touching her hand when he’d handed over the quill when they signed the treaty, gaze trained away from them and now, busily ushering a young maiden out the ballroom.

“Some people ought to be reminded what I’m capable of,” she replies icily, glaring at him.

“I am well aware, Princess.”

“Why did you ask me to dance?”

“You were avoiding me, your highness,” he replies.

“And you still can’t seem to take the hint.”

“I want you to know what I was doing at the…,” he trails off.

“Brothels,” she finishes. “Mister Styles, I don’t care for your explanations.”

“Even if that meant knowing why the Crown Prince sent me here.” He spins her around.

She laughs dryly. “I am sure my brother did not send you here to screw your way through the whorehouse. Even though that’s what the two of you do back home, isn’t it?”

His cheeks tinge pink, heat rushing to the tips of his ears, and he clears his throat. “I did do that, yes. But I haven’t in several months, Princess. I swear. Not after…”

She looks up at him, his tousled hair dark under the candle light, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to reveal the ridges of his chest, eyes glimmering green as he holds her gaze. She noticed the way the ladies at court made moon eyes at him throughout the evening and as much as she tried distracting herself with pleasantries, their swooning bothered her.

“I don’t care much for your sweet talk, Mister Styles. You got what you wanted. You charmed a Princess into kissing you. Now you can move on. Another notch on your bedpost, right?” She says quietly.

“Y/N,” he says firmly. “Stop that. I do not regard what transpired between us with such frivolity. Listen to me, please.”

She stops as the song ends but he does not let go. He looks down at her earnestly and murmurs, “Please.”

“One more song, Harry,” she sighs, signalling to the quartet to continue.

“One of the men your brother managed to capture at the camps,” he looks around out of habit to see a few eyes on them. “Maybe we should talk about this more privately.”

“People are not going to suspect my guard to be divulging secrets in the middle of a dance with a ballroom full of people. Go ahead,” she prompts.

“They’re whispering amongst themselves,” he notes.

“Hold me closer,” she commands, and he does, bridging the distance between the two. “There. That’s enough gossip to hold them over until the song’s over.”

He smirks, stepping back into waltzing and she follows suit. “I was asked to go straight to camp when I delivered your message to Prince Karthi in Lanka because of this prisoner.”

“What about him?”

“He had scars all over his body. When they had tortured him, they had found a branding on his shoulder. Two fishes,” he tells her quietly.

Her eyes widens and she falters to a stop, but Harry pulls her along, floating along the dancefloor. “How old was he, Harry?”

“Mid seventies.”

Y/N’s heart picks up speed. Branding, apart from livestock - was prohibited in the Kingdom but that particular branding was one given by her grandfather to traitors fifty years ago. Specifically to the traitors from the Pandiyan Kingdom. Hundreds of years ago the South was ruled peacefully by three kingdoms: the Cheras, the Cholas, and the Pandiyas. People were allowed to move freely between the borders, trade flourished, and the families remained friends until the Pandiyan King had struck a deal with the foreign clan and had murdered the Chera King. He had invited the Chera family under the pretence of a feast and had slaughtered the ruler and his heirs. It left the Kingdom in shambles with the aristocrats clamouring for power amongst themselves in the Chera Kingdom - unable to come to the aid of the Cholas when the Pandiyan King had attacked. Her grandfather had fought hard with his men for decades to restore peace to the realm. And during the decade long war, all the Pandiya royalty were slain and most of its people had become a victim to starvation because their King had funnelled all their resources into war.

The people that remained had pledged loyalty to the Cholas, a few migrated to the North, and the Pandiyan empire crumbled. It had taken several years for grandfather and father to foster normalcy and growth in their kingdom - both old and newly acquired. Her father was crowned into an empire that was turning around from the ravages of war.

“The traitors were all killed. Hundred and sixty three of them,” she remembers from the records.

“Spin,” he tells her, lifting their outstretched arm up and she twirls. When she faces him, there’s a furrow between her brows.

“If he was killed, why are you here?” She asks, before resetting her face to look composed with a polite smile.

“He’d mentioned something about an heir. ‘A child coming to claim his birthright,’ he said before Prince Vikarm had killed him.”

“Vikram’s such a hothead. You could not keep him around to ask him more questions?” She rolls her eyes.

“I wasn’t around for his beheading,” he says dryly.

“If there is a child that would mean…” She trails off, shivering at the images of civil unrest, and the threat to their safety of their empire. Their succession.

“Prince Karthi stayed back at your castle to go through the bloodline records,” he tells her. It all makes sense for her, why her younger brother had uncharacteristically hung back in her castle - going against their fathers orders - under the guise of seeing her off on this journey. “We also found a crumpled paper he tried to swallow. It was the coordinates to one of the brothels here in Handuman.

“That's why I’ve been going there all these nights,” he continues. “I wasn’t going for the solicitors, Y/N, I’ve been trying to follow the lead.”

“Do you think they are in on it?” She asks, looking over to Prince Vinay and his parents.

“No, they are unaware. I’ve been trailing them too.”

She nods. “Very well. What did you find at the brothels?”

“Not much but the women talked about a man who’d come in once a while to collect coin from the keepers.”

“You think it’s the person that was caught?”

He shakes his head. “This was someone younger. His face is always covered, never talked but two women recalled seeing a tattoo on his wrist. Two fishes. That’s where my lead ends.”

“Thank you for telling me, Harry.”

“Don’t be angry at your brothers. They did not want to worry you until they’d found substantial evidence.”

She arches her eyebrows in surprise. “How?”

“I think I know your expressions quite well, Princess,” he chuckles.

“Oh, do you?” She smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, as he dips her dramatically, before hoisting her up.

“The music’s ending,” she notes.

“I know,” he smiles wistfully.

“You’re not terrible at waltz,” she jests, leaning against him as they sway. “Could use some practice with your feet though.”

He laughs. “Could use some practice with my lips too.”

“Harry Styles!” She lets out a giggle, before restraining herself, aware that everyone in the ballroom was now looking at them.

“How about we give these people something to gossip about, Y/N?” He asks.

He was right. People will talk. Sure she danced with the Captain and laughed throughout for three whole dances. But no one would care, given his avuncular disposition. She’s been intensely conversing with Harry for two songs. Surely there are a number of stories going around so far about whatever that was transpiring between them. She needed to give the audience something big that would pull their attention away from their conversation. So, she nods as the song ends and he lets go of her.

He bows, sinking down on his knee, bringing her hand he was holding to his lips. “Princess Y/N,” he says loudly before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “It was an honour.”

////

It’s past midnight when Y/N manages to retire from the ball. The party had morphed into something more rambunctious after the Handuman King and Queen bid their farewell. Dances got more suggestive, music got more rowdy, and the younger members of the court surfeited on alcohol had started passing out a pungent herb to smoke. Despite the insistence of people, she managed to get away with Shobita stating they needed to catch up on rest before they set sail tomorrow.

The heavy wooden door creaks as they swing open, revealing the soft twinkle of her candlelit chamber. She leans against the doors, locking it shut, and lets out a sigh. Her gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the way the flames flicker, casting long harsh shadows against the stone walls. The lingering scent of coral jasmine and rosewater fosters a sense of sanctuary within her. She is more than ready to wash away the hours of bearing royal duties and expectations off of her skin. Windows carrying a cool breeze from the dark of the night, makes the thick velvet tapestries billow, and that catches her attention. “You’ve got to step up your spy game, Mister Styles. My handmaidens shut the windows when I left the room,” she says.

Harry steps out from behind the curtain, with a sheepish smile, eyes shining in the buttery glow of candlelight.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder.

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from the pocket of his trousers. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg is bereft of the gold rope. She had no doubt that she’d fiddled with it to a point where she’d loosened the clasps.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

She gasps, hand going to steady herself on the table. “Harry,” she murmurs.

“Been craving this since our first night on the ship,” he confesses, gazing up at her. He traces her soft skin with his lips, thumbs massaging the soles. Her anklet tinkles from her squirming but he continues to pepper kisses.

“It tickles,” she giggles, tugging her feet from his grasp..

He rises swiftly, hands coming to cup her cheeks. “Did you really believe anyone could hold a candle to you? All the men and women I have fucked never stood a chance.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, but he continues. “You’ve ruined me, Y/N.” The green of his irises disappears, replaced by a blooming lust. “I may be one with the shadows, surrounded by lies and deception but I only speak the truth when I am with you. You are all my mind can conjure in dreams. You are all I see in the poetry I read. Your smile, your eyes, your wit, your grace, your lips…” He trails off, bumping his lips on her cupid’s bow. “I swore an oath to protect your kingdom, I swore to my best friend - your brother - that I would protect you from threats during this voyage and a part of me intends to honour those promises until the end of time. But you’ve claimed a part of me, one that goes beyond loyalty. A part that a spy like me never intended to give away. And you have it - you haunt me. Ever since I first laid eyes on you.

“I swear, Princess, I did not seek solicitors. I went to the brothels as ‘the shadow,’ the spy of the Chola heirs. Not as Harry. The man whose life belongs to you.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. Not knowing what to say, she gets on her tiptoes, a hand weaving in his curls as she crashes her mouth to his. Harry responds with vigour, groaning as she glides her tongue against his. Chest heaving, fire stirring in their bellies, and the air around them crackle with electricity.

“Y/N. Wait,” he whispers, tearing himself away from her. He opens his eyes to find her looking up at him in confusion. “I want to savour this.” He steps away from her and his hungry eyes rake over the way the light bounces off her skin. He picks up a candelabra and places it on the wooden dresser.

“Do you know how ravishing you look?” He mutters, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

“Are you going to draw this out, Harry?” She asks, chest heaving, eyes hooded with lust. “I am used to getting what I want, when I want.”

“You’ll get what you want,” he bends down and whispers, his lips moving against the shell of her ear. “Who am I to deny the Princess Royal?”

He cups her face, thumbs stroking her heated cheeks, and he teasingly brushes his lips against hers. His hands move down, brushing the column of her throat, along her collarbone, and Y/N’s eyes flutter close feeling the zips of electricity under his touch. He removes the loose end of the saree that hangs over her shoulders, undoing the pleats tucked into her waistband delicately, and tugging the fabric so that it pooled at her feet. He takes in the sight in front of him: Y/N just in a pair of white panties and the silk corset that pushed her breasts up in a delicious way. She stood proudly in front of him, head held high, gaze piercing through.

“You’re overdressed, Mister Styles,” she notes, kicking the fabric of her saree away, reaching to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. She tugs his shirt from his pants, nimble fingers quickly unbuttoning the one button he has secured at the end. She brushes her fingers over his chest, nails grazing his nipples that harden under the attention. “You have a fine body,” she comments, rocking up on her toes to press wet kisses down the side of her throat. “Must spend a lot of time on it.” She squeezes the firm muscles of his abdomen.

He nods, unable to take his eyes away from the path her hand takes down his belly button, fingers dusting along his happy trail. She tugs on the button, smiling up at him. “I couldn’t resist,” she mumbles, finger tracing the outline of the bunny.

He grabs her hands when she goes to unbutton his trousers. “I don’t think I would last if you keep smiling like that while pulling down my trousers,” he confesses.

“We certainly wouldn’t want that now, do we, Harry? After all you’ve got to live up to the rumours, however exaggerated they may be,” she smirks.

He’s stunned. No once has someone held themselves as his equal while having sex. He’s used to people mooning over him, eyes cast down, eager to please, and here she was jesting, like it wasn’t her first time. “No exaggerations. It’s all true,” he says, affronted, making her giggle.

He shrugs his shirt off, arms circling her waist as he walks them back until Y/N bumps against the bed. “Can I take this off?” He asks and deftly unhooks her corset when he gets a nod. He sucks in a breath as it falls off, “Fuck me.”

Y/N reaches down and peels off her panties and beckons him close. He’s imagined the sight in front of him countless times, but nothing comes close to this sight of her. The wanton in her eyes, the swelling in her lips, the cascade of her long hair, the fullness of her breasts, the deliciously puckered nipples, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the dip of her waist, the pudge below her bellybutton, the curve of her hips, the dusting of dark hair at her groin, the sporadic white stripes running down her thighs, and those damned anklets decorating her feet.

“You’re drooling, Mister Styles,” she chuckles.

It took an immense amount of restraint on his part to not feel her up when they’d kissed in the past. He tried hard to not let his hands wander away from her waist. He’s certain that restraint was something he can’t exercise anymore. “I don’t think there’s a word in any language that could convey the beauty in front of me. And even if there was one, I don’t think it will do you any justice. No dream of mine could compare to how breathtaking you are. Truly. You are beyond imagination, Princess.”

Her cheeks heat but she does not have any time to respond because he’s busy capturing her lips, hands cupping her breasts. She hums relishing in the pleasure that seeps in her veins, spreading through the corner of her being. He kisses the top of her breasts, smiling at the way she shivers under his mouth.

“So soft,” he groans, breathing in her scent, as he toys with her nipples. She’s eager, pushing her chest forward, hands finding purchase at the back of his head, guiding his head down.

A low mewl escapes her mouth as his tongue leaves against her nub. His hands glide down to her bum and he squeezes it, teeth tugging her sensitive nipple. “Harry,” she moans, full of need and his determination to take it slowly crumbles. “Lay down,” he says, hurriedly. “I need to bury myself in your thighs. Please.”

Harry gets on his knees beside her on the mattress, leaning down to kiss her cheeks, breathing in her floral scent. He kisses her as he tenderly moves her hair away from her face. His hand travels down, and stops at the curls of hair at the junction of her thighs. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yes,” she replies, a furrow appearing between her brows. He smooths it away with his thumb. “Harry?”

“What is it?” He kisses the crescent birthmark by her chin.

“My handmaidens tell me that men do not enjoy pleasuring a woman with their mouth. You should not feel an obligation to do so because I am a Princess.”

He pecks the corner of her mouth. “My only obligation is to deliver on what I said that night in your tower.” Another peck on her cupid’s bow. “Make your body feel things that the Kamasutra failed to mention.” His fingers skate between her thighs, finding her damp, he moans.

“Fuck, Y/N. I really want to kiss you here.” His fingers brush against her folds and she gasps. “Will you let me?”

She parts herself and he settles between her legs, hitching her left thigh up to plant kisses on the inside. When he gets to top, he switches to her other thigh, trailing his tongue up biting down on a stretch mark.

“Fuck,” she grunts, chest heaving in anticipation. He feels his trousers getting tighter but he brushes it away, laying down on the mattress and uses his thumb to part her folds.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, blowing on her heated flesh. He swoops in, burying himself in her, taking in her potent scent. He uses tongue to lick her from her opening to her clit, mewling at the taste.

“Ah, Harry,” she moans, fingers burying themselves in her hair, and he continues lapping her up, making lewd sounds as he continues. His tongue flicks the bundle of nerves that’s swollen and she cries out.

He looks up at her to find her eyes scrunched shut, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, arching up from the sensation. “Do you feel it?” He asks, hands clamping down on her thighs.

She nods, opening her eyes to find him staring at her, with every flick of his tongue a zip of pleasure shoots up from her nub to her spine. The faster he does it the stronger she feels these bolts sizzling through her cells. He continues looking at her and he moans, “You taste heavenly, Princess.”

“More,” she demands, tugging on his curls. And he does, wrapping his lips around her clit, he suctions softly in quick successions and she shudders, back arching, thighs clamping down on his head.

He suckles her through the orgasm, feeling chuffed to be the only one who's making her feel this way. He smirks when he hears the tinkle of her anklets as she’s riding it out. “There we go. One more, Y/N, give me one more.”

“Harry,” she squeals when his fingers replace his tongue, rubbing quick circles on the oversensitive bundle of nerves. He dips his tongue in her opening, teasing her. She tries to get up, gritting her teeth at the fire raging deep in her belly, and she balances herself on her elbows to get a look at him.

Her wild eyes take in the way his eyes are closed, as he hums to himself as he kisses her. It seems her handmaidens were wrong, Harry doesn’t seem like not enjoying himself. Her fingers curl around the sheets when he pinches her clit and she comes undone for the second time that night crying out his name.

“Fucking hell, that was-” he’s unable to find words. So he settles by peppering kisses to her centre, as she comes down, body relaxing into the mattress, gasping for air. He wipes her slick on her face using the back of his hand, before adjusting the tent in his trousers.

“I want to help you with that,” she tells him.

He shuffles out of his trousers, and sits at the edge of the bed. Y/N follows suit, scooting beside him. He notices her staring at his cock, already beaded with precum from their actions before, and he twitches under her scrutiny. “What? My manhood’s got you speechless,” he laughs.

“I’ve never seen one before. Would you say you are an average representation of the male reproductive organ?”

“More than average I’d say.” He says, suddenly flustered. “Bigger than most, honestly.”

She cocks her head to her side. “That isn’t what I’m supposed to say is it?” She asks. “My handmaidens say I’m supposed to stroke a man’s ego and tell them that their manhood is impressive.”

“Princess, I do not give a fuck what your handmaidens say.”

“What would you like then, Harry? Can I touch you?”

“Please. Feels like I’m going to burst,” he whines.

Her touch is feathery, curious as she feels the velvety hardness of his throbbing member. “You feel heavy against my palm,” she notes. He lets out a shuddering breath. “You like that?”

“Yes.” He kisses her. “Spit in your hand,” he tells her. And she follows, wrapping her hands around - fingers barely enclosing him. She pumps him slowly. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that.”

A bead of cum blurts out, when she plays with the tip. “Y/N,” he moans. She leans forward, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she moves her hand faster, and he pants against her lips feeling himself climb.

“How many nights have you dreamed of my hands wrapped around your cock, Harry?’ She whispers against the shell of his ear.

“So many, Y/N,” he manages to get out before whimpering at the way she twists her hand around him.

“Does this live up to your expectation?” She asks, mouth nipping the spot she’s found in his throat that makes him putty in her hands.

“Uh huh,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping the edge of the mattress, toes curling at the pleasure that bubbles at the base of his spine. Her mouth continues to suckle down his chest, tongue flicking his nipple like he did hers.

He whimpers, “Kiss me, Y/N.” And she presses her lips to his in a scorching way, and he comes, hot thick ropes, spilling on his stomach and down her hand.

He quickly reaches to the floor and wipes the remnants of his orgasm from her hand. “Why’d you do that?”

He looks up at her confused, “I thought yo-”

“I wanted to taste you like you did me,” she states, looking straight into his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he laughs. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he kisses her forehead, reaching between her thighs to wipe her clean.

She winces, hands clutching onto his arms at the over stimulation. “I know. Just a moment.” He tosses his shirt on the floor.

She leans against his chest, arms circling his neck and he wraps his arms around her, fingers playing with the bumps of her spine.. They stay quiet, relishing the cool wind against their sweaty skin, feeling their racing hearts calm down. He buries his nose in her hair, amazed that it smells like flowers too.

“Are you okay? With everything that happened?” He asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She nods. “What about you?”

“I’m certain that this is a dream,” he sighs. “That we’re in court back home, and you are busy fucking me with your eyes- Ow!” He recoils, a sharp sting shooting against his love handles from her pinch.

“I did not fuck you with my eyes, Mister Styles.” She tells him firmly, but the heat blooming her cheeks tell him otherwise.

“What was the pinch for?”

“To prove that this isn’t a dream,” she laughs.

“I don’t think a Princess is supposed to go around pinching her spy. What would the Queen Mother say about your unbecoming behaviour, your highness?”

She frowns at the mention of her grandmother. The Queen Mother had always insisted that she uphold her duties to the people. ‘A Princess must always put the interests of the Crown before hers,’ she’d told her. Did you act in the interest of the Crown tonight? She knew how lucky she was to have the King let her act in her own free will. She knows the weight she carries on her shoulders to be worthy of her father’s decision. To prove the naysayers otherwise. She was the only Princess Royal in the history of the Chola kingdom to step into administration. She made decisions independently without needing approval from the King or the Princes.

“Y/N,” his voice pulls her out of her reverie. He tilts her chin up. “Do not do that to yourself.” “Don’t let your duties stand in the way of the choices you make for yourself,” he says firmly.

She nods, this was something someone like Harry would never understand. He would never understand that the sole purpose of a Princess was to expand the empire and forge allies through marriage. Never understand that the power she held at court was an anomaly, not an exception. That her parents and the elders trusted in her judgement to choose her spouse, without pressuring her.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he exclaims, grabbing his suit jacket. He fishes out colourful cylindrical wax papers from his inside pocket. “I got you sweets.”

“Sweets?” She takes one from him, unwrapping one.

“Yeah. Got them at the market. Figured I needed something to soften the blow. Get me out of the doghouse.” He pops one in his mouth.

“You were going to bribe me with sweet treats?” She bites into the milky, peanut filled delight.

“Figured it was worth a shot,” he shrugs.

She hums in delight as the sugary concoction melts in her mouth. “I think I’m going to have to be angry with you more often.”

He laughs, watching her unwrap her second candy.

“I can try and bring more home,” he sighs. He can’t board the boat with her tomorrow. She knows that. He has a mission to complete. To figure out who that man was with the Pandiyan house tattoo on his wrist. To help her brothers and her piece together how that escaped traitor knew him. To uncover if there really was a surviving Pandiyan hair.

He would have to play a role tomorrow, making up an excuse as to why he couldn’t join their party. Maybe he would be so drunk somewhere that he’d oversleep, missing the ship's departure. The many deceit and roles he took on as a spy. But that was tomorrow. His work could wait. For now, he was Harry. The man who had his arms wrapped around the woman of his dreams. He still had a few hours left with Y/N before he would have to slip away, leaving no trace of him behind. So, he focuses on unwrapping the candies he’d bought for the one he fancies, until the first light of dawn.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #princess!y/n #princess!reader #spy!harry #indian!princess #fishnets-fingers #harry styles fanfiction #can I have this dance #forbidden hours

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 years ago

Text

Eddie was acting weird.

Well, he was always a little weird. But this was weirder than usual.

For one thing, he kept sneaking into the bedroom as soon as he got home from work, not even acknowledging that Steve was cooking dinner in the kitchen. He always came up behind him and kissed his shoulder before going to shower. Always. But not for the last couple of weeks.

Then, Steve noticed he would be on the phone with Hopper of all people. It’s not that they didn’t get along, they’d moved well past that, but they didn’t exactly seek each other out for conversations. He waited until Steve was in the shower or already in bed, which rubbed Steve a bit wrong. Eddie never hid shit from him.

But the turning point, the moment that Steve decided he needed to say something, was when Eddie went to dinner with Robin. Alone.

Eddie and Robin were friends. Some would even say close friends. It’s hard not to be when you face what they have together. But they always hung out with Steve.

So when Steve found out they’d been out without him, he confronted Eddie.

“What the hell are you up to?”

Steve was maybe coming off as a bit of an asshole. His hands on his hips like he was ready to discipline a child, his face serious, voice stern. But he had to know what was going on.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, not used to being at this end of Steve’s mom pose. He usually stood behind him with a smirk, arms crossed in front of his chest to emphasize his disappointment and amusement at whatever child had earned it.

“What do you mean?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Dinner with Robin? Without me?”

“Am I not allowed to be her friend without you?”

Eddie’s voice had turned guarded in a way that it hadn’t been with Steve in years.

Steve paused. Something was wrong. Eddie wouldn’t be acting like this if it wasn’t something big.

But what could he possibly be talking with Robin and Hopper about secretly? Was he in trouble? Were they trying to charge him with something from years ago? Why would he go to Robin about that and not Steve? Why would he have to sneak into the bedroom every evening?

The math wasn’t adding up, but Steve nearly failed math two years in a row so maybe he shouldn’t try to make the calculations.

“Are you in trouble? I can help. We can go somewhere. Hopper doesn’t have to know. Is he helping you? He should, he knows you’re innocent. They can’t even charge you for anything anymore right? There’s like, a statue of limits or something?”

Eddie was staring blankly at him.

It must be worse.

Maybe he was going into Witness Protection and Steve couldn’t come so he was trying to plan how to tell Steve. Oh God, Steve couldn’t let him go with no idea where he would end up or what his name would even be.

“Eds, please. You can’t go. They may not give you a choice, but you could maybe write to me so I can follow you? I’ll change my name too.” Steve felt tears in his eyes, and he hated it. He hated that his reaction to this was panic and crying as if he was the one in trouble and on the run. “Do they know we’re a package deal? And Robin. Robin will have to come. Is that what you talked about at dinner?”

Eddie was still just staring at him.

“Eddie please. Talk to me.”

Eddie shook himself out of his stupor, looking down at the floor and mumbling something Steve couldn’t quite hear.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I’m taking you to Disney World.”

That was not a sentence Steve ever thought he would hear. Especially not from Eddie fucking Munson.

His first reaction was to laugh, but when he saw the way Eddie’s face fell, he stopped.

“Um. Okay. You’re serious,” Steve let his thoughts wander as he watched Eddie’s whole body tense the way it did when he was working himself up.

Steve thought about how they had watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade last year and saw a float from a new Disney film, he couldn’t remember which one now, but he remembered turning to Eddie and saying, “you know my parents never took me to Disney World? All that money and they spent it all on their exotic vacations and cruises and left me at home.” Eddie had looked at him like he broke his heart before he said “Wayne could never afford it so I never really bothered to ask.”

And it wasn’t that a lot of their friends had been. Growing up, more kids spent time at beach resorts or the lake for summer vacations. Disney was still so new to people, it seemed like a pipe dream for anyone who didn’t have at least a middle class income.

But Steve saw the commercials. He watched the movies. He secretly loved the idea of a whole park dedicated to the childhood happiness and magic he felt when he watched them.

But he never asked his parents, and by the time he thought he could try to go, he was “too old.”

He’d given up on the thought.

Eddie was playing with his rings nervously, still avoiding eye contact with Steve.

“You’re taking me to Disney World?” Steve felt his voice break as the realization washed over him.

Eddie was somehow finding the money to take him to a place he’d secretly wanted to go since he was a kid, even though it was a place he probably didn’t want to go, and he’d wanted to take him so badly he somehow involved Robin and Hopper in the planning process.

God, he loved him so much.

Steve stepped closer to Eddie, hesitantly reaching out to pull his hands apart and lace their fingers together.

Eddie finally looked up at him and Steve couldn’t help leaning in to kiss him softly.

“You’re taking me to Disney World.”

Eddie nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“How? When? Why does Robin know? Why does Hopper know?”

Eddie chuckled before he placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead.

“Robin knows because she’s been arranging everything. I couldn’t really do it here and work’s been busy so I couldn’t do it there. She offered to help. We’ve been planning it since last Christmas.”

Steve felt himself fall even more in love. Somehow, the love of his life and his platonic soulmate have been planning this incredible trip for him for six months and had only recently given anything away.

“Hopper knows because I did have to make sure I could leave the state. I know my name was cleared, but I just wanted to be certain. Then, he got involved with the planning because he wants to take El and Will this year.”

Steve was gonna start crying, probably any second. He could feel the lump in his throat getting thicker.

“I’ve been saving up anything extra for months. The kids all put in some money to buy your ticket. Mrs. Wheeler let me use Mr. Wheeler’s airline miles to book the flight so it was only about half the cost. Mrs. Henderson gave me her work bonus to put towards the hotel at Dustin’s insistence. Apparently she usually uses it to send him to camp, but he didn’t want to go this year. So. Yeah. Surprise?”

Steve was crying.

Everyone had played a part in this happening, and Eddie was the man behind it all.

Steve threw his arms around Eddie’s neck and jumped to wrap his legs around his waist. He did this all the time, so Eddie only stumbled a little before settling with his hands under Steve’s thighs to hold him up.

“I love you so fucking much,” Steve said against Eddie’s shoulder, tears staining his shirt. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve's temple, letting his lips linger for a minute before pulling away.

“So we leave this weekend.”

Steve dropped his legs, immediately panicking about the trip.

“What? What about work? I have so much to do. How long will we be gone? I’m supposed to bring Dustin and Will to a show Sunday. Oh no. I don’t even have a bathing suit. There’s a pool at the hotel right?”

Eddie kissed him, effectively shutting him up, though not quite quelling his panic.

“I’ve already arranged all that. Mike got his license and got permission to drive them. Robin got you off the schedule. There’s a bathing suit in the bag I’ve been packing slowly for weeks.”

“Oh my God, that’s what you’ve been doing. I’ve been standing here waiting for my hello kiss while you secretly pack things for a surprise trip to Disney World. I’m so stupid.”

“Hey. None of that.”

Steve nodded once distractedly. Yeah, yeah, no talking negatively about his own intelligence or whatever they all made him agree to.

“When were you gonna tell me? When we were on the plane?”

“As if you would have arrived at an airport without asking me ten million questions,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “I was gonna tell you tomorrow night at dinner. Will even made this card that had clues inside.”

“Shit, I ruined it.”

“Sweetheart, no. It’s okay. I won’t tell Will. You can still keep the card. It’s a really cool design. He made Disney World look like a D&D game, said you’d probably not get all of it, but thought it was cool. It is, and I think I want him to design a tattoo for me when we get back, but I may have to call the shop in Indy I go to and –”

It was Steve’s turn to cut off his rambling with a kiss.

“I can’t wait to go with you. I can’t believe you would want to.”

“I’d go anywhere with you, you know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #steve goes to disney world #i believe in my heart and soul that steve heals his inner child a lot at disney world #is that projection i hear #nooooooo couldn't be #i do not have the time to continue this right now but maybe someday #or if someone wants to take this on i would give you a hug and forehead kiss (if i can reach)

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clairdelunelove · 1 year ago

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okay, but, neighbor!ghost that doesn't usually celebrate halloween– that is, until his pretty neighbor shows up at his front door with a plateful of pumpkin-shaped cookies.

the spooky tradition was never one for him to celebrate. too many memories associated with terror, fright, and horror. his childhood never provided him with a safe space for him to indulge in the fun activities that many children his age would’ve enjoyed. pumpkin carving with a present family. trick-or-treating with a couple of his elementary school friends. apple bobbing at a local fair. all the festivities that caused people to glow with delight. laughter abundant in the air. hence, halloween was disguised as an excuse for people to use when they desired genuine company. a relief from the typical, dull work/school day. a justification to huddle up and share a slice of serenity. instead, it serves as the opposite for him. dread fills his body while recalling his manchester childhood. with tommy crawling to the edge of his meager bed, adorned in a crude skull mask. a means to scare him. hollow eyes cutting right through him in the shadowy room. a scream ripping from his mouth as his palms become sweaty, body kicking into overdrive. fight or flight instincts consuming him. his fault for letting his guard slip. a mistake he rarely committed now. a mistake he’d never fall victim to ever again. but he’s older now. knows that this specific day is the highlight of some people’s year so he doesn’t rain on their parade. simply withdraws from the excessive decorating that some tend to do. flicks off his porch lights that night, too. doesn’t want to get the neighborhood kids’ hopes up if they see that there’s signs of life within his flat. also discovers that the constant ringing of his doorbell is aggravating and having to frequently grumble, “no candy tonight,” is too bothersome. so he’s not one to celebrate halloween– that is, until there’s a soft knock at his door.

neighbor!ghost who’s cautious about answering the door. because who would need him at this hour? if the base required his presence then they’d phone his landline if it was an emergency. no need to show up at this hour. his dark eyes briefly glance out the nearby window to catch sight of the dusky sky. hues of orange swirled with streaks of titian red that created the perfect backdrop for the evening. the weather had gotten cooler, also. with sharp gusts of wind nipping at the uncovered portions of his face and having to swap out his well-worn shirts for thermal long sleeves. preferred autumn for this sole reason because he’d have to rake up the fallen leaves. gave him a task to complete on the lonesome days when the base didn’t need his presence. he’s mentally checking off a to-do list (did the smoke detector need changing? was the sidewalk covered in leaves? did the ceiling lights need replacing?) when there’s another soft knock. “bloke’s insistent,” he grumbles with a roll of his eyes, “but I’m not buying anythin’.” assumes it’s just a door-to-door scam. or probably people collecting for charity. yeah, those people never let up.

neighbor!ghost who knows that curiosity killed the cat but he argues that satisfaction brings it back. he reaches a hand out to ease out the small piece of paper he stuffed inside the door’s peephole. a tactic he uses for extra security and privacy. never know if an unusual situation will arise. shifting forward, he presses closer to the peephole and focuses his gaze through the small opening. nothing. he huffs in disbelief. can’t believe he’s going through the entire 5 stages of grief solely because of a knock at the door. seriously, how bored must he be to spend this much time on a simple gesture? “wastin’ my bloody time,” he says while narrowing his eyes. yet, his calloused hand grips at the doorknob and twists. perhaps double checking could quell his curiosity.

neighbor!ghost who’s lips draw together to instinctively blurt, “scram,” before going completely silent at the sight of you. the threat falls flat. you’re practically glowing at his doorstep. despite the lack of actual lighting, due to the fact that he prefers his place shrouded in the night’s shadow, you’re still nervously smiling up at him. a vision wrapped in an intricately knit sweater to combat the chilly evening and pretty eyes that follow him when he braces his arm against the doorframe. “hi,” you quickly regard him with a wave of your hand, eyes still trained on his uncovered bicep. Swirls of darkened ink and intricate patterns that failed to conceal toned muscle. accumulated from years of being in the service. and you assumed such a large man would be grim and solemn; unwilling to give you some of his time. yet, his hooded eyes regard you with an inquisitiveness that causes your heart to thrum harder against your chest. it’s clumsy and the tips of your fingers are trembling but that only intrigues him. he can’t help but mull over the fact that your greeting sounds like a bird’s gentle chirp in the early mornings. it’s polite, sweet, and he craves to hear more of it.

neighbor!ghost who discovers that if he wordlessly stands there for long enough, you’re compelled to fill the silence. it’s a rather endearing quirk. prefers it, really. he’d rather listen to your angelic voice than hear his surly one. you initially waited for his response but you’re met with quietude and his perceptive gaze. he’s an expert in ridding people of their ulterior motives. you, however, you’re as kindhearted as they come and his verdict is proven correct when you reveal a tray of cookies to him. “made these earlier,” your gaze darted to the floor before quietly confessing, “wanted to drop some off to you.” the platter of sugar cookies gleamed up at him and ghost blinks– once, twice, three times. there were various designs (pumpkins, ghosts, bats) that were carefully decorated with royal icing in autumn colors. they looked perfect and he’d argue that they were better than the ones that he snagged a peek at from the local bakery. “it’s one of my favorite days so,” you cheerfully mention and cue him to take a cookie, “happy halloween.”

neighbor!ghost who typically doesn’t reach for sickeningly sweet desserts but for you he’d make an exception. he grabs one that you offer to him and rumbles genuine praise, “thanks, sweet thing,” while taking a bite. the nickname provokes a flurry of want within you. you, however, tamper down the desire while you watch with wide eyes. he thoughtfully chews and nods in approval, a movement that draws your focus to him. finishes the treat without any prompting. and with his small confirmation that he enjoyed it, the brightest smile graces your face. the sight festers a warmth within him– one that causes his thoughts to regularly return to you. always. he supposes he could get behind this “halloween” thing if you were the one showing up at his door.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley imagine #ghost x y/n #ghost x you

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sleepy-fiction · 16 days ago

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A Friend from Noxus

Ambessa x Silco

2k estimate

Ambessa never would have thought the ruler of Piltover's underworld, Silco, would be so her type.

tgs: sfw, budding romance, silly virus, barely proof read, family dynamics uhh yers

an: I wanna write them freaking but also I wanna read abt then freaking sorry someone else gotta do it pls pls pls I wanna read it so bad

Noxions paraded down the streets of Zaun, forcing their way down the sweaty, drenched roads. The air tasted of fresh spite and mighty prowess, sharp enough to cut through the smokey fog of the undercity. Her soldiers burst through the doors of Silco's lair, their efforts immediately greeted by Sevika, who stood large and ready before them.

"Stand down. We are not here to battle," a husky voice ripped through the fog. An ebony hand guided a soldier out of the way, revealing the seven foot lioness, that was Ambessa. Sevika's eyes flickered up to meet hers, not a second of hesitation ebbing in her eyes.

Ambessa smiled cunningly, but Sevika only clicked her teeth. "We are Noxions! We're not--"

"Cut the flattery, W'dya want," Sevika spat, eyes burning with control.

Ambessa hummed deliciously, "Mmh... The strong recognize the strong," she sighs with a cackle, "We want to talk to your 'Silco' about Shimmer. We can make a trade of some sorts. Noxus has plenty to offer... Weapons, armor, or plain metal for your- hmm... Experiments," her eyes flickered to Sevika's arm.

There was a brief moment of slience. Sevika crossed her arms and analyzed the foreigners again and again, a pillar of strength, calculating the odds. When the odds were right, she sighed, and Ambessa knew it immediately. "Alright. Your goons. Have them wait out," Sevika demanded.

"Ooh, why yes, but of course," her slivery voice turned as firece as hot coals as she commanded, "Soldiers, wait on me," poping every t and humming every "mn".

Ambessa was brought to the heart of it, her matured eyes scanning every detail of his facility, all before she was brought to the grand door. Sevika knocked and soon entered, stating Ambessa and her business here.

Ambessa was engulfed in the smell of ashen honey, smooth vanilla with aged vintage flare. The kind of smell that was distant and plain, your atypical person would enjoy it. A smell that clashed with the burning iron and charocaled oranges that followed Ambessa. A smell that forced you to acknowledge the iron-heavy, intense flavor long before the ebbing sweetness of oranges. A smell not familar or likable to most.

And to the large and proud chair that stood tall and erect, Ambessa quickly realized that Silco was just another goon. Sevika marched over to it, leaned to whisper, and Ambessa, for the briefest of moments, dropped her guard. Silco was to be atypical, tall, muscular, and

A creaky, riveting voice slithered out, "So you want to know about shimmer. Does Noxus even care for it?" The chair swung around, revealing a skinny, short, older man. He was a little younger than her, but aged in years, his hair coated with sleak sliver strands. His eyes were lidded in silent power, silent maturity, slient, deadly, prowess.

It was weird.

How her fierce heart quivered for a moment. She scanned him deeper, more than she would anyone else. No longer was it about collections, no, deciphering him became her new goal. He was her exact opposite. Were she stood large and foreboding, frontly powerful, he sat small and calculated.

Not a bit of him was even briefly intimidated by her stature, by her title-- by her.

She smirked.

Hmm. She liked small. He was handsome too. What a treat for her. A tasteful bite of candy.

She could imagine the crunch.

Her eyes stood with a different allure, and Silco noticed the change quickly. Something only seasoned negotiator would pick up on, something that flew right over Sevika's head. It was the playful tug at the corner of her full lips, the tiniest etchings of longing brutal in her stare. It was direct, accompanied by a quick raise of eyebrows. "Of, but of course. It's like I always say, the strong recognize the strong. And your beautiful Zaun has its glorious knack for inventions. Chemical and mechanical. We Noxions... Haha, we prefer to use our force. But, good always lies where expansion can be made."

"And you, my friend," she husks, "sit at the pinickle of expansion." Her voice was loud and proud, something he was quick to note of.

She began to move towards him, stepping into the light and closer to his old, damaged eyes. He found it hard to find a place to rest his eyes, whether it be her curvaceous, might body, thode bountiful muscles, or those oredatory eyes. Eyes that found a way to single him, the Silco- king of the undercity- out like a lost puppy.

It irrated yet intrigued him.

Such confidence etched in playful tests and somehow convinced him he was young again. An annoyed smirk slipped out the corners of his mouth.

He'll play your little game, Ambessa of Noxus.

Every step she took seemed to boom in the quiet room. The vibrations of which are strong enough to rattle some of the flimsier trinkets on his desk. She was marching up to meet him, to check him, that ferocious gleam in her eyes pinning him down in his spot. And when she came close, laying her palms on his desk, looking down over him, he met her too; dropping both his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, and resting his lips against his interlocked fingers.

He bore up into her eyes, small encompassed by her, but still unbreakable, like a small but venomous thorn. And she, she took up his entire view, swallowing him in an endless chocolate sea. But chocolate was ever sweeter when aged and tarred in the dew of time.

No longer did Silco find that this conversation was going to be about anything really meaningful.

He hummed, the brief fog of a chuckle escaping his mouth. He rested the front of his chin against his hands and spoke, purposefully being louder to try to rattle her, "What if we Zaunites don't need your help? We can find perfectly good materials here," he said.

Ambessa was one step ahead, her eyes drifting down to the flimsy trinkets on his desk. Her index finger poked at a ratty, defected monkey bomb sat next to a picture frame she couldn't clearly see; then her eyes found Sevika's arm again. "Is that so? Is this what Zaun defines as high quality? Oh, then we Noxions must have poor taste and even poorer understanding of your culture," she boomed.

It was enough to make Silco laugh, truly laugh. The sound was a short, airy crank, dead in seconds but followed by oddly warm eyes. Eyes warm enough to raise an eyebrow from Sevika. It was weird to her. They were too close, Ambessa never inched away from his face, and he never backed off either. He had already proved his prowess? So why did he not back... away.

When thebgears finally hitched in Sevika's brain, she cringed severely. "Silco," she muttered, not quite loud but not quite soft; ans stood awaiting orders.

He snapped out of his daze for a moment, "That will be all, Sevika," and waved her out, and she left the room, not even looking back for a second. "Does our Zaunite guest enjoy foregin wine," He asked, standing up moments after to fetch a bottle and two glasses.

Ambessa eyed him down as he stood, her eyes flickering down to his ass, grinning, and absorbing as much of his smaller frame as she could. He was mysterious and intriguing, and he had a nice view. It had her wondering if he was the type to quiver, or better, to beg and to pleaded.

But, she was getting too ahead of herself, wasn't she?

"Yes, but only if our new Zaunite friend will accompany me," she grinned. Ambessa took this moment to finally sit down, sitting in a chair infront of his desk and flipping that picture frame from before over to her. Silco returned and poured their glasses, the tart aroma filling the air. It was a deeply aged wine, the smell sharp and pugnent. Her favorite kind. God, it was ridiculous how excited it made her.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this. So... Teenage-like. Giddy over dick.

And speaking of, her eyes flickered back to the picture frame, finding a teenaged-blue-haired girl beaming back at her. "Ooh, is this your daughter? I have one myself," she chimed delightedly.

Silco chuckled, sinking back into his chair, his darkened eye scanning the edge of the picture frame. "What can be more undoing than a daughter," he sighs, swirling his glass and giving it a sniff.sniffs.

The words shook her, forcing a deep sigh out of her, "Aah. Precisely," she shook her head.

He asked, "Fresh wound?"

She scoffs, "Tell me about it. Her plans are--"

He continues, "Ambitious, Ludacris, Childish... Oh, and the foreboding one, borderline terrifying." He hums into his glass and takes a much needed sip.

Ambessa's eyes seem to weaken, her face showing the smallest glimpses of sadness. Her tone is airy, "Yes... All of the above." She lays the picture down, grabbing her glass and taking a sip. The wine is tart at first but blossoms into a heavenly fruity shower. Bliss escapes her at the taste. "I don't know how to get through to her."

"Who does? They listen when they want to. And as painful as it is you're...."

"Forced to let them go," Ambessa smiles.

His eyes find hers, "Precisely my... Noxion Friend." It's her turn to laugh now, the sound is not short or creaky, it's loud and full. So adverse to everything about him. He likes it.

How strange.

His smile is sly, there's this weird fulling sense of pride that bubbles up knowing he made her laugh. It's an addictive flare. He wants to do it again. He wants to hear it one more time. The quietness that remains after, as they drink in sweetened silence, is filled with subtle fondness.

And by the time they finish their glasses, and Silco serves them another, they've completely forgotten why they were meeting in the first place. And somehow.

They've turned from aaged veterans into dickish, stupid, young adults.

Silco wouldn't be able to explain, let alone place the moment when south turned southern. The moment where he found Ambessa leaned over the desk again, the moment when her large hands imprisoned him to his chair, and her sweet, orange breath mingled with his vanilla. The moment when her lips met his so stupidly, and her large tongue devoured his- so absurdly.

Overtaken by adversity, over taken by her subtle handsome charm, subdued into place, just where she wanted to devour him, but like a prickish thorn he played yet never fell into her submission. His hand reached and caressed up her cheek, turning his head and deepening the kiss; smoothly slurping up more of her delectable mouth. He could hear the muffled surprised laughter escape her, and he drank it up like holy water. His hands entangling her grey, beautiful curls, and encasing them tight into her fingers.

Tight enough to make her hiss in annoyance, and as she pulls out of the kiss with a hardened glare, she's met with this dubiously smug grin. Her eyes flickered with excitement.

She never took Silco for a brat.

Things were moulding and melting. It was like everything was beginning to disappear around her. Silco's grey strands seemed to disappear within a moments notice, his wrinkles softening, his smile perky and bright. And it was weird, how weight seemed to be lifted off her own body, and her hair, melting into the deep, red locks she seemed to have forgotten about.

"Brave little rabbit," she barks, her large palm scooping up his soft cheek. Her thumb forces its way into his mouth, and he releases the tiniest noise of surprise and catches her thumb between his caines. She shudders, "Ooh..."

A long black bang strand seems to slip out from his slicked back hair, and she brushes it away as she sneaks into another deadly kiss. To which was no cure, burning impossibly fatal. Knowing that now, there was no part of her that genuinely wanted to stop this.

"Oh god. I'm not gonna' call you mom, y'know," a voice broke through silence.

At the sound, Silco immediately shoved Ambessa away, her pretty red locks turning back into grey, wild curls. And oddly enough, he became very aware of his ragged breathing. He stoof up, eyes shooting to a ledge above him, where blue braids hung.

"Ja-Jinx," he stuttered as he slinked his hair back.

"What on earth, Child? Have you no manners," Ambessa suddenly barked, gazing up at the girl. She quickly recognized this 'Jinx' as the girl in the photo, her eyebrows pinched flat. She looked immediately at Silco, crossing her arms in distaste. He seemed to sink away from her gaze, desperately wiping the bashful sweat from his forehead. "Have you not taught her anything at all?"

Silco opened his mouth to speak, but only a ghastly stammer escaped him.

"Well? Order her out," her eyebrows only pierced sharper. She was a mother herself. She knew the rage that would inflict her if someone ordered out Mel in her home, so she dared not to send the 'Jinx' away. Not without permission.

Silco grumbled something, "Jinx! You need to leave."

Jinx furrowed hed brows, spinning her gun, not even looking at them, "No."

Silco seemed to shrink up even more, his hand going to pinch his temples.

Ambessa barked at him more, "Go on! Is that all you are going to take?"

"I'm weak to her," Silco grumbled.

"You need to introduce that child to discipline. Only through strict rules will a child learn to grow. She will never respect you this way! Strict rules, Silco. Strict, rules," Ambessa said.

Silco sighs, "She is grown enough, she will learn through time that--"

With an airy cackle ever so reminiscent to Silco's, the wild child jumped down and landed harshly on the desk crouched, her eyes finding Ambessa's sharply. "Oh god! Dad! My step mom is ruining my life," she hollered.

Ambessa gasped in horror, her eyes flickering to the muddy shoes on his desk, "My lord! This is unruly!"

Jinx only laughed more as she slipped off the table, crying sarcastically, "I never wanted you to get a divorce! This new woman is ruinning my lifeeeugh- God!"

"Oh no! You will not talk to us this way! If you will not say something I will," she gazes at Sikco one last time before turning back, "Listen, you will respect--"

"Whomp, whomp, can't hear ya', toots," Jinx opens the door to leave and slams it behind her.

Ambessa's jaw falls as she slowly sits back down in her chair, irritated fingers drumming against the arm rest. She can hear the nervous, misplaced steps of Silco behind her, as he releases a stressed, raggedy, old man cough and sinks back into his seat as well.

Ambessa continues her statement, "And she just does whatever she pleases?" She turns in her chair, now facing Silco, his forehead dropped in his propped up hands on his desk.

He says defeatedly, "Yes..."

"She is undoing because you did not teach her discipline," she scoffs.

"I know. I have. She will be alone in this world forever, I won't be here for a few years longer-- I-I need her to know she can count on me... As much as she can. This world will... It has no room for people like us," he hisses.

Ambessa sighs, "It would not hurt to tell her no once and awhile."

He cries elated, "I do! She doesn't listen."

"Ha," Ambessa laughs, the sound booming.

"Hm, and yours does?" He huffs, and the laughter halts.

"My Mel," she pauses to finds the words, but continues with a stammer, "My Mel... Well. Alright, alright. Alright... I wont tell you how to fix up your child, and you certainly will not mine..."

"Perfect," he chuckles, clicking his tongue.

"But! All I am saying is... You need your personal life as well... Don't you?" Her eyes flicker to him with regained childish passion. The kind of glare seasoned with playful allure, one he's made impossibly aware of. And oddly enough, she's only met with bashful, wide eyes.

He croaks, "You... You want to see me again?"

Ambessa laughs again. This time, it's loud and hearty. She reaches and cups his face, tracing his face in her massive hands.

"Even though that was a total disaster?" He laughs in disbelief.

"I have always taken a liking to the helpless, and hoe the children would say it, 'geekish' types, hm? Yes, we may see each other again. But," she pauses dramatically, poping the T, "Nowhere even near where your wild girl can find you. And most certainly, no one must find out about this arrangement, Silco."

She said his name. He never realized how little she said it and how befitting it sounded from her lips.

"But of course, my Noxion friend."

#ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa league of legends #arcane silco #silco #silco x ambessa #ambessa x silco #silbessa #silessa #ambilco #arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane fic #arcane finale

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defensenow · 5 months ago

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aworldinsideaperson · 3 months ago

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Loss-Robert “BOB” Floyd

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x wife!reader

Plot: The worst day of Bob’s life.

Warnings: Critical injuries, medical themes (probably many inaccuracies), Angst, sadness, potential for death, car accident, talk of Carol Bradshaw’s death.

Word Count: 2,967

Robert Floyd had few fears. If asked, he would say the list of things that scared him was rather short. Spiders, talking to new people, and death. Though as he walked in circles around the hospital waiting room he wondered if the only thing that truly terrified him would come to pass.

He couldn’t tell if it had been seconds or hours since he arrived, a phone call he never expected to receive putting him in auto pilot; one moment standing beside his friends smiling to being in the faux comforting waiting area trying to piece together the words the doctor had uttered.

Accident. Bleeding. Severe. Surgery. Everything we can. Everything we can. Everything. We. Can. Bob Floyds one, true, debilitating fear coming to fruition. The loss of his wife.

He was hardly aware of his surroundings, pacing in a never ending circle, determined to walk a hole into the floor of this hospital. One by one his friends came, calmly laying a hand on his shoulder and taking a seat to watch Bob’s cyclical parade of one.

Phoenix stood from her seat, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder as he came to a stop. “Bob, why don’t you sit down.”

His head shook violently as the tears came to his eyes and his breath caught as he stuttered quickly. “I- I- I can’t. I can’t shit- sit c- c- cause they’re gonna- gonna be out any- ugh- any second and ugh they’re um- they’re gonna - they’re gonna tell me she’s okay and- and I- I just- I just- I gotta be ready. Cause- Cause if I'm standing they’ll know who to talk to and- and there won’t be any kind of um mix up with- with who to- who to talk to. So I’m gonna stand and I’m gonna wait and- and she’s gonna be fine. She’s gonna be fine and- and- and- and-” He could feel his heart beginning to race again and he found it difficult to get a breath as the panic began to rise in his chest once again.

Nat took his hand and squeezed to tightly in hopes of grounding him as she spoke gently. “What if I stand for a little while, you sit, take a breath, and I’ll stand. So they know.”

Looking into her eyes Bob took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.” He said softly as he squeezed her hand and moved back to the seat Natasha had vacated.

Bob sat between Bradley and Jake, taking a deep shaking breath, and Natasha stood. She took up post for her backseater, pacing in his place; half an hour she paced before Bradley took her place, then Jake after him. A change of guard every thirty minutes as each of his coworkers, his friends, his family, took turns standing and pacing and waiting. His people being there for him as much if not more than his wife.

As Bob stands, ready to let Maverick have the seat he’s vacating is when news finally comes. Striding toward the naval group was a tall man with a stoic look. “Mister Floyd?” Feeling as though the air has caught in his chest once again Robert Floyd only nods and takes a single step closer.

He tries to keep his head high with confidence as the man before him stands rigid and places his hands behind his back, his face still set without emotion. Bob is sure he’s about to get the worst news of his life, quickly playing out if anyone would be fast enough to stop him from walking into traffic. Then the doctor’s lips start to move.

“My name is Doctor Michaels, would you like to go somewhere more private?”

Robert Floyd looks around the room, filled with some of the people who cared about him most, people who’d kept him alive, people he’d kept alive, his family, and he shook his head as tears began to well up in his eyes.

Nodding, Dr. Michaels continued. “Your wife is on her way out of surgery and into recovery. Making it through the surgery was tough but she did make it. She is by no means out of the woods and I don’t want to give you a false sense of hope but you can come back and stay with her while we monitor her and get a room ready.”

Dr. Michaels began to walk away, leading Bob toward a double door as he continued to speak. “Over the next few hours we can discuss the extent of her injuries and what recovery may look like going forward.” He stopped beside a clear glass wall and Bob averted his eyes, keeping his focus on the doctor as he continued to speak. “She’s not out of the woods but making it through the surgery should be seen as a positive step.” Reaching out and placing a hand on Bob’s shoulder Dr. Michaels attempted a reassuring smile of sorts. Peaking for the first time at his badge he saw a yellow line across the bottom and the word ‘Resident’ in bold script. He wondered if this was the first time he’d had to deliver poor news. If the worst day of Bob’s life was a sort of milestone for the young man before him. “You can head in whenever you’re ready.” Squeezing his shoulder Dr. Michaels turned away and continued to walk down the hall.

Squeezing his eyes tightly Bob breathed deeply and finally turned to the door the opened automatically before him. Stepping inside the room he was greeted to a barely lit room, two nurses moving beside his wife tending to her. Tucking a blanket around her legs, hanging bags from her IV pole, quietly finishing and moving from her bedside. Both nurses gave him a small, sad smile as the left the room.

He couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor. The beeping. The pumping of the ventilator. He wasn’t ready to attach the surrounding sounds with an image. It feels like an eternity before he feels he can look at her. She doesn’t look like herself. Hooked up to machines, bags of medication dripping into her body, bruises and cuts marking every inch of skin he can see. It’s not until he sniffles that he realizes the tears he’s been bottling for hours have finally broken free. He moves slowly across the room, sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed. He reaches out to brush his fingers over her hand, fingers then slipping into her palm and drawing patterns on the soft skin. The only place that seems to be free from cuts.

Letting out a breath he trains his eyes on the face of the woman he’s loved for so long. “Hello there Mrs. Floyd, it’s me, Mr. Floyd your husband. I’m here darlin’.

Hours had passed, the sun long since set when a hand was once again placed on his shoulder. His fingers still drawing on the skin of his wife’s palm as he looked up at several staff members shuffling into the room. The woman holding his shoulder spoke gently. “We’re going to transfer her to the ICU now. The process of moving patients can be overwhelming for family so if you’d like to come with me I have some paperwork for you to work on; you can it back to the waiting room and I’ll come get you when she’s all settled?”

Bob shook his head, turning back to look at the woman he loved. “I’d much rather stay.”

“Truthfully Mr. Floyd-” She began before being cut off by Bob.

“It’s Lieutenant. Sorry she’s always on me about correcting that.” He didn’t have a habit of interrupting people. In fact if his mother had been in the room she would have attempted to scold him like he was a little boy again. But his wife was always addamet about correcting his title. Said he worked hard for it and deserved to have it recognized. She’s been so proud of his promotion she’d moaned lieutenant for hours that night.

“Lieutenant Floyd.” She began again. “Truthfully, she’s due for more sedation and there is a probability that she’s come out of it enough to experience some significant pain during the transfer. You need to take care of yourself too and you don’t need to experience that. Please. Let me come get you when we have her all settled.” She reached for the hand he had dangling over the armrest and squeezed it in her own. “I promise you if things take a turn in the time you’re away I will come and get you quicker than a flash.”

Bob looked into her eyes and as his shoulders relaxed he nodded. He squeezed wife’s hand once more, and whispered that he’d be right back as he kissed her forehead. Then he turned from the bed, following the woman out of the room and towards the nurse’s station. With a sad smile she hands him a stack of papers, a clipboard, and a pen.

“Here is that. Take your time with it. There is a lot of information and questions in there so don’t feel like you have to do it all at once.” Turning around she reached for a large opaque bag with the hospital’s name and logo printed on the front and handed it to him. “Here are her belongings. Most of the clothing was unsalvageable but everything is in there except…” Her eyes darted around the space in front of her as she searched for something. “Aha! This is the jewelry she was wearing when she came in, including her wedding ring.” Placing the small bag in his hand and wrapping his fingers around it as she squeezed his hand tightly. A feeling of comfort passed through him as she held it tightly. “I’ll come get you the moment she’s settled.”

Looking into her eyes Bob took her in for a moment. A short woman, early 50’s, graying brown hair and deep brown eyes radiating kindness. She reminded him of his mother and tears came to his eyes again. “Thank you.” His words hardly audible.

“Do you need help finding the waiting room?”

Shaking his head Bob slipped the small bag into his pocket. “No, I remember. Thank you ma’am.” She nodded and Bob turned to walk back to the room where his nightmare started.

Walking back through the double doors he looked up to find the waiting room still half full of faces he knew and a gentle smile came to his face. “What’re you guys still doing here?”

Mickey answered. “We wanted to be here in case either of you needed anything.”

Shaking his head Bob found two empty seats, placing the contents of his arms in one and plopping down heavily into the other. “You didn’t need to do that. It’s been hours.”

Natasha moved to the other side of her friend, draping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in for an awkwardly angled hug. “We needed to be here for you. How is she?”

“Not good. Critical condition they say. They’re transferring her to the ICU and they’ll come get me when she’s settled.” He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees as he closed his eyes and tried to focus his breathing.

“How are you?” Jake asked, today one of the few times he’d been truly kind to Bob.

Looking up at him, his body still resting forward, Bob let out a huff that was reminiscent of a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” Leaning back again, eyes trained on the floor as he spun his wedding ring around his finger. “You guys should head home, it’s late and I’m sure we’ll still be here in the morning.”

“At least let us see her. Let her know that we’re here for her and that we’re with you. Whatever either of you need, we’re here.” Maverick insisted.

Looking around the room, the eyes of his friends trained on him as they all nodded in agreement so Bob nodded too. Tears filling his eyes at the love surrounding him. “Thanks guys.”

For 45 minutes the group sat in near silence; startling at every opening door or foot step rushing past. When the woman from earlier came into the room Bob made sure to take note of her name tag. Elizabeth. Social worker. She smiles warmly as she approaches Bob, taking note of the gaggle of people following along as they arrive on the 8th floor. Trekking down the hall in a single file line until they reach room 875. Directly across from the nurse’s station. Bob grabs Nat’s hand and squeezes tightly as the two of them walk into the room, everyone else lining up against the wall to wait.

He can hear Nat suck in a breath but to Bob it’s a better sight than before. The room is a little brighter, there’s a tv playing the Food Network attached to the wall, a wall of windows and they’d turned off the sound of the monitors so at least he wouldn’t have to hear the incessant beeping though the sound of the compressing ventilator still filled the room. His wife is still covered in bruises and cuts, but she looks like she’d been cleaned up. Most of the dried blood was gone, and it looked as though someone had at least attempted to smooth her hair. Sitting in the hard recliner beside her bed, Bob took her hand again and the tension in his shoulders eased. “Let everyone know they can come in when they’re ready.” Bob didn’t move as she left the room and returned with their flock.

For several minutes everyone just stood watching. Watching as her chest moved up and down. Looking at a woman whose face they knew but the could hardly recognize in the current state. Then slowly but surely they stepped up to her bedside one by one.

Fanboy taking her hand and whispering a prayer before kissing it and making a sign of the cross.

Rueben with a crack in his voice assured her that she’d be okay as he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

Jake had tears welling in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Bob from behind and squeezed him tightly. “I live the closest. Call me if things change.”

Coyote stayed by her feet, his face hard as he gently patted her ankle and quickly left the room.

Maverick kissed her forehead, telling Bob he’d be back in the morning.

The last three in the room, Bob, Nat, and Bradley. The three of them sat silently for some time; Natasha in the chair opposite Bob and Bradley on the couch built into the wall beneath the windows. Eventually as the clock signaled the end of one day and beginning of the next Natasha stood, pressed a kiss to her good friend’s head and turned to Rooster.

“You comin’ Roo?”

“Actually Bob, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay.”

Giving Bradley a sad smile he let his head fall to the side as it shook. “You really don’t have to do that Brad.”

“I want to.” He assured.

Bob nodded and Phoenix said her goodbyes, hugging her backseater extra tightly and then leaving the men alone in the room.

Bob sighed, his hand still gripping tightly to his wife’s. He leaned back in the chair and turned his head to face Rooster. “So, why’d you want to stay?”

Bradley leans back slowly, running a hand through his hair as he looks up at the ceiling. “Um, my mom was in the hospital when she died. She had been doing pretty good and we were expecting her to get out soon so no one was there. Well, no one but me. One second we were laughing and talking about going on a road trip before I left for college and the next,” His eyes were now trained on the ground, emotions surfacing that he rarely let others see. “Well the next she was gone.” Standing up, Rooster took the seat on the other side of the bed and took her hand in his. “I was alone when my mom died and I know that Mrs. Floyd here is going to make a full recovery, but on the off chance that I’m wrong, you don’t deserve to be here alone.” Bradley looked over at Bob who’s tears were once again finally spilling over.

“Can I have a few minutes alone with her right now?”

“Yeah. I’ll go find us something to snack on, gotta be a halfway decent vending machine around here.” He stood and walked out of the room, the door closing behind him.

Bob sits in silence at first. His head devoid of thoughts as he watches his wife’s chest move up and down in time with the only sound in the room. He’s holding her hand, remembering the very first time their hands touched all the way back in the 7th grade. How her fingers had brushed against his so softly as they sat side by side in the library. It happened six times before Bobby swallowed his fear and took hold of her hand firmly. Their hands had been so small then but he remembered them fitting like puzzle pieces when their fingers interlocked. Their hands had grown but they always managed to still fit together perfectly.

Bob closed his eyes tight, lifting her hand to his lips he pressed a kiss to the back of it before he looked at his wife’s face and spoke firmly. “I don’t know if you can hear me baby, but if you can, don’t give up on me.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd fic #tw: surgery #tw: medical #tw: injury #tw: accident

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rosenapppiing · 1 month ago

Note

Why does v look so mad to be purple?

its not that she hates the PURPLE- its actually quite a nice break from the neon yellow that plagued their every waking moment for like, a decade? - but its the idea that cyn could still be around, parading as N's friend just to stab them in the back as soon as they lower their guard. its the despair and rage at the realization that V is NOT free, she has no control over her appearance or actions, her strings just swapped hands to someone more inexperienced. she feels betrayed and saddened and almost IMMEDIATELY attacks uzi right after she comes to.

so its not the purple (that sticks even after uzi tries changing display color- she cant) but what it REPRESENTS. for V, its proof uzi is just another puppet of cyns, and v should really stop hoping for freedom

#IT GETS BETTER ! EVENTUALLY <3 #murder drones #murder drones au #purples drones #asks

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pulisicsgirl · 1 year ago

Text

gonna be the death of me - mason mount

summary: as his publicist, Y/N is willing to do whatever Mason needs to make him comfortable at his latest sponsored photoshoot

pairing: Mason Mount x publicist!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: no established relationship, suggestive language, sexual tension(??), they're both down so badly for each other it's insane

requested: no

notes: surprise!!! I think I speak for all of us when I say we were caught completely off-guard by Mason's new Nike ad... 🫣 But anyway, I was inspired by it to write out a blurb or two, but this one just kept going and it turned into a full-length fic 🤭 So... enjoy?? Also, I couldn't pick only one picture for this fic so please enjoy both of these

As a publicist, there was nothing unusual about you attending an event with one of your clients. Especially when it was for a sponsored ad that you’d had a large part in organizing. But something about this one felt different—a nervous, fluttery feeling in your chest as you walked in the front doors.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Mason, a client of yours that you maybe fancied just a teeny tiny little bit, no matter how hard you tried to convince others that it wasn’t the case.

Or maybe it was the fact that the partnership you had organized for him involved him modeling in nothing but his underwear.

Yeah, it was probably that.

In an effort to remain professional, you had done everything in your power to remain cool and collected that day. You had waited for Mason to arrive, meeting him at the doors before the two of you strolled into the building to determine what needed to be done and where he needed to go.

If Mason was honest with himself, he felt like he was a bit out of his depth with this photoshoot. He had never even been someone to parade himself around topless, let alone in only some tight-fitting underwear.

He had agreed to the shoot months ago, when things hadn’t been going so well for him. He had been struggling with his transfer to a new team and thought that maybe trying something new was just what he needed to snap him out of it. Unfortunately, it had taken quite some time to iron out the details, and now Mason’s nerves were getting the best of him.

So when one of the staff involved in the Nike shoot had approached him, a bottle of body oil in her hands, his stomach sunk to his feet. He only half listened as she explained that it would make the shots look more appealing.

“We understand that this can be a bit uncomfortable, so if you’d like to have someone from your team that you’re more familiar with help you apply it, that would be completely fine. If not, one of the stylists can assist you.” She gestured toward the team of people who had put a few light touches of makeup on his face just about 20 minutes ago.

The Nike team had been nothing but wonderful and accommodating with Mason the entire day, and he really appreciated the effort they had put into making him feel comfortable. He was momentarily relived by the alternative he had been offered, but the relief was short-lived when he realized that the only person on his “team” was you.

The staff member guided him to a cozy dressing room just off the hallway from the main area and explained that he could change and leave his things in this room until the photoshoot was over. There were a few sets of the underwear that he would be modeling laid out for him and a robe hanging to the left of the door.

Mason changed and spent the entire time trying to convince himself to just have one of the Nike staff help him. He didn’t want to make things weird. Part of him did want you to rub your hands all over his body, but he didn’t want the first time you did it to be for something like this.

No matter how much Mason tried to muster up the courage, he just couldn’t shake the way that the idea of a complete stranger oiling him up just compounded the nerves he was feeling, to the point that it made him feel sort of sick.

So minutes later, he was approaching you, body covered by the robe that they had provided for him. You noticed, as he shuffled in your direction, that he was fiddling with his fingers, a nervous habit of his. That, combined with the sheepish look he gave you as he stopped at your side, confirmed that he was feeling a bit anxious.

“Hey, Mase. You doing okay?”

Mason had to ignore the way his heart fluttered at both the nickname and the expression of concern on your face.

“Um, yeah, I-“ he started, stumbling over his words a bit. “If I’m honest, I’m pissing myself at the moment.”

Your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, knowing how difficult it must be to be paraded around like this.

“You’re going to do amazing, okay?” you smiled at him, and he only nodded in response. As he shifted back and forth on his feet, you knew there was something else on his mind.

“Um, could you… could you actually do something for me?”

“Anything, Mase. What do you need?”

Having worked with numerous high-profile clients, you learned that when a client asked for something, the answer was always “yes” and if it was something you couldn’t do… well you needed to figure out how to do it anyway. But Mason had never been one to give you much trouble. He had always been extremely kind and considerate of you.

“This is, um… well it’s a bit strange, and if you want to say no that’s completely fine, but,” he paused, taking a brief glance up at your face before he spoke quickly so he didn’t chicken out. “They gave me this oil I need to put over my chest and back and everything and they said I could have someone from my team apply it so it would be someone I’m comfortable with.”

He took another short pause as he tried to gauge your reaction. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he was saying. He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression.

His team… you’re his entire team today. He means you.

“If you don’t want to, it’s completely okay. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t—”

“Mason, it’s okay,” you rested your hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still feeling a bit hesitant. “I would really appreciate it. I’m just… I’m feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing, and I’m not overly fond of the idea of a stranger putting their hands all over my body.”

But you are fond of the idea of me putting my hands all over your body?

You mentally slapped yourself, trying to rid your mind of the filthy thoughts that were running through it.

“Don’t worry about it, Mason,” you smiled at him reassuringly, masking the way that your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your throat. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

That was absolutely not what you were there for.

So that was how you found yourself following Mason into the dressing room that Nike had set up for him.

You couldn’t help the little flutter in your heart as you noticed that, rather than leaving them on the floor, he had neatly folded his clothes in a pile and placed them on a table in the corner of the room. You weren’t sure why that small detail affected you the way that it did.

Mason untied the belt of the robe, slipping it from his shoulders and tossing it over the back of the chair. You cast your eyes to the floor, suddenly feeling flustered at the sight of his nearly naked body, covered by only a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.

It blew your mind that anyone who looked like he did could be feeling nervous or insecure about showing himself off. But Mason was merely human, after all, like anyone else.

You did your best to be as calm and causal about the situation as you possibly could. Mason approached the large vanity in the room, pointing you to the bottle of oil he had been instructed to apply to his body sitting on the counter in front of the mirror. You unscrewed the cap, placing a bit in your hand and telling Mason that you would start with his back.

You figured starting there would give you a moment to collect yourself before you had to look at him, face-to-face.

You rubbed the small amount of oil between your palms to warm it before placing them flat over Mason’s back and the touch of his skin on yours felt like an electric shock. You didn’t miss the way that the muscles in his back tensed slightly when you first touched him.

You spread the oil over the soft skin, from his shoulders, down to his waist. As you rubbed it into his lower back, you couldn’t help but admire how the underwear he was modeling hugged his bum.

No! Stop! Get it together, Y/N!

You tried to force yourself to think of anything else—anything other than Mason and his bum and the fact that you were oiling up his naked back.

You began analyzing the kind of oil they were using for the shoot (you had to come up with something, right?). It was sort of light and didn’t make his skin look greasy, like a swimsuit model or anything. It more so had the appearance like he had done a light workout and worked up a thin layer of sweat.

I can think of a few activities we could do to work up a sweat…

You shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of whatever this effect was that Mason was having on you.

Deciding that his back was finished, you stepped around to Mason’s front, pouring a bit more of the oil into your palms and running your hands over his arms.

Then, the only bit left to do was the bit that you didn’t know if you would survive… his chest and stomach.

You discreetly tried to take a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek as you started at the top of his shoulders, brushing your hands over his collarbones before your hands drifted lower. You felt the heat rushing into your cheeks.

Mason prayed silently that you couldn’t feel the way his heart was hammering in his chest as your palms smoothed over his skin. He felt like every inch of him was on fire as you touched him in a way that was more intimate than you ever had before.

But as he tried to focus on anything other than how much you were putting him on edge, Mason glanced down to your face and realized he wasn’t alone in how he felt.

He watched as your cheeks burned bright red and you refused to look even remotely close to his face. He felt suddenly a bit lighter at the realization that you were just as tense as he was.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one that was nervous here,” he mumbled quietly, attempting to break the tension in the room.

He could tell you were fighting the grin that took over your face almost immediately. “Oh shut up, you,” you tried to keep up appearances, but it fell flat and Mason could read you easily. You both giggled softly.

You finished up the last bit of his torso, smoothing your hands down his sides, over his Champions League tattoo that you tried to admire without him noticing, and across his tummy. You noted the tiny mole on the upper part of his stomach, swiping a finger over it as you brushed the last bit of oil onto him.

You took one step back from him. “Alright, I think that should do it,” you spoke as you tried to wipe at an itch on your face with the back of your hand.

Mason noticed a shining spot of oil that you left behind. He stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you as he lifted a hand, wiping it off of the tip of your nose with his thumb.

You gazed up at his face, unable to get away with just gluing your eyes to his torso the way you had been before. The look in his eyes was unreadable as he dropped his hand from your mouth to your jaw, just slightly pulling your lower lip down with his thumb, watching your reaction closely.

The tension between the two of you could’ve been cut by a knife. You felt as though you had stopped breathing as the you stood there, neither daring to make a single sound. Your eyes darted around his face, taking in all of the features you had never noticed before. His hand continued caressing your jaw as you held your hands cautiously on either side of him, afraid to make more of a mess with your oil-covered hands.

Abrupt knocking on the door of the dressing room caused you both to jump, snapping out of the sort of trance you had been in.

“We’re ready for you in 5!” a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Both of you took a step back from each other, suddenly aware of how close you had been standing. Mason cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to gather himself.

“Will you be alright?” you asked, remembering how nervous he had been feeling just a few minutes ago.

“Y-Yeah, I-“ he hesitated for a moment. “Yeah,” he repeated, this time a little more certain.

Seeing how flustered you had been at seeing him the moment he had taken off the robe and how you had blushed at your fingers touched his skin had been the confidence boost he needed to be a little more sure of himself. Seeing the way that you had reacted to him made him feel ready to go out and do the photoshoot.

You watched a soft smile pass over his face, and you wondered what could possibly be going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“Alright,” you giggled at his expression, now seeming much lighter than he had before. “I guess you should head on out. I’ll clean up here and then I’ll be right there.”

Mason nodded, slipping the robe back over his shoulders before he turned to walk out of the room.

With the sudden boost of confidence, he spun on his heel, dipping his head to place a quick kiss on your cheek, and then he was out the door before you had the chance to react.

Your eyes went wide as you took a moment to process everything that had just happened. When you turned to the vanity to begin tidying up, you caught sight of your beet red cheeks. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as the biggest grin took over your face.

This boy was certainly going to be the death of you…

tag list:@landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fic #footballer fic #footballer imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount fanfic #mason mount one shot #mason mount blurb

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