#I mean I think maybe that’s leaning too much into fanfiction

[ru-inn]

“So they knew each other for a long time before Eden”

Neil Gaiman what exactly does that mean?! Were they acquaintances? Two people that worked together? Did they consider each other friends?? Or was it more they crossed paths sometimes??

This is going to haunt me everyday for the next few years cause any of these options have so many implications…

[keikikait]

hiii can i request rafe or jj reacting to the reader getting nipple piercings??

ɢᴏᴅᴅᴇꜱꜱ (ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

read my other jj fic here!

pairing: jj maybank x pouge!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 2.9k 

summary: you get nipple piercings and your boyfriend is eager to get his hands on them

warnings: SMUT 18+, smut under the cut, nipple piercings, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, dom!jj & sub!reader, mention of p in v (although no protection is mentioned, it is implied), i've never gotten nipple piercings but i tried to be as accurate as possible, although i do know that touching them or kissing them after is a big no-go, this is a fanfiction lol.

a note: the skin colour in the photo isn't correlated with the reader's skin colour. i just like the picture! and, also, a BIG THANK YOU for 500 followers! i know in the grand scheme of things, 500 isn't a lot, but i never thought i would get this far! thank you all, i love you all so much!!!!

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You pull away breathless, lifting your arms as JJ pulls your top off before tossing it aside. He pulls you into his lap, kissing down your neck as he unclips your bra, the black fabric joining the tank top discarded on the floor. JJ kisses down your neck, lips brushing over your collarbones as he slowly kisses down your sternum. You squirm in his lap, his hands roaming over your curves as you feel his cock pressing against you through his shorts. 

“Mmm, you're so soft,” JJ murmurs, fingers dancing along the edge of your panties. His other hand cups one of your breasts, thumb teasing over the nipple. “You know what would really suit you, baby?” He brings his thumb and pointer finger together and squeezes, tugging at your nipple harshly.

You gasp, your back arching, your chest pressing against his. You whine as he pinches and squeezes again. “What, Jay?”

“Little piercings here,” He pinches your left nipple. “And here,” He pinches your right nipple, grinning at the way you squirm and wiggle. He leans in close, hot breath fanning over your ear as he whispers, “Fuck, it’s making me hard just thinking about it. Two little bars, just begging to be played with,” His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, tracing over the sensitive skin of your lower belly. “I bet you'd look fucking stunning if they were gold. Or maybe silver. Fuck.”

“You know,” You breathe heavily as he tugs and twists your nipples again. “I’ve been thinking about getting some.”

“Oh yeah?” JJ chuckles, giving your nipples another sharp pinch before releasing them. His fingers continue their path south, slipping beneath the thin fabric of your panties to stroke over your slick folds. “I'm more than happy to help you pick out the perfect bar.” He rubs his thumb over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder. “Because I gotta say, imagining your cute little nipples adorned with sparkly jewellery while I eat this sweet pussy... fuck, that's even hotter.”

“I’ll get them then,” You pant out in between moans. “Just for you, baby.”

JJ groans low in his throat, hips bucking up as he grinds his cock against you. “For me? Oh, pretty girl, you have no idea how much that turns me on,” He slips a finger inside you, curling it to hit that spot that makes your legs tremble, your back arching as a strangled whine escapes your lips. “But don't forget, these pretty tits are all mine too,” His free hand reaches up to pinch and squeeze your nipples. “I want to see those piercings, feel them against my tongue when I suck on your nipples,” He adds a second finger, pumping them in and out of you faster now, thumb still circling your clit. “Gonna make you cum so hard on my fingers, pretty girl. Then I'm gonna bend you over and fill this tight little cunt with my cock.”

You squeal as he picks you up and flips you over, pinning you underneath his weight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You kept your promise to JJ.

After researching and asking around Kildare, you found your piercing studio; Prickink just across the thoroughfare on the mainland. $175 for both the piercings and the jewellery. You would get simple silver bars for now, but they had the cutest pink heart nipple rings that you wanted for after they’re all healed. Only the best for JJ.

You push the door open, walking into Prickink, greeted by the buzz of tattoo guns and the smell of rubbing alcohol, 80s rock playing softly in the background. The receptionist smiles when she sees you approach the counter, holding your ID and a wad of cash. “Hi, welcome to Prickink! How can I help you?” She's decked out in tattoos, covering her arms and chest, with a cute nose ring with a bat charm on it and large gauged ears. “Piercing or tattoo?”

“Uh, piercing,” You say nervously. “I have an appointment today at 12:30 with Yvette.”

“Alright, lemme see here…” The receptionist types away on her computer. She confirms your name before taking your ID and checking it. “Nipple piercings?”

You nod. “Yeah. Kinda nervous, but it’ll be worth it.”

She hands you your ID back. “Nerves are normal, but everything will be alright. Yvette is one of the best in North Carolina,” She types on the computer before looking back at you. “Alright, it’ll be $175 including the jewellery. We can’t put in the heart rings until your piercings heal, but you’re welcome to take them home. Will it be cash or card?”

“Uhh, cash.” You say, pulling out $175. She takes the cash and recounts it, sliding a consent form over to you to fill out and sign. You check every necessary box and sign your name, handing it back to her.

“Alright. You can go and sit down, Yvette will come get ya when she’s ready.” She gestures over to the seating area where a few other people are waiting. Some have their phones out, some reading a magazine, and some were waiting as couples excited to get their matching tattoos.

You sit on one of the chairs, pulling out your phone and scrolling, trying to calm your nerves. It would hurt, yes, but everything would be okay. JJ would be more than happy to help you clean and take care of them. You wait for almost 10 minutes before Yvette rounds the corner, calling your name. You stand up and follow her through the hallway, shoving your shaky hands into the back pockets of your shorts. 

Yvette leads you through the tattoo shop, passing a few different rooms before arriving in the last one at the end, closing the door behind you. There’s a tattoo chair, a small stool, and a shelving unit built into the wall full of supplies. “Alright, take a seat. I’ll need you to remove your top and bra. You can set them on the stool right there.”

You take off your shirt and your bra, folding them and setting them aside on the stool before sitting down on the chair, leaning back against the seat. You clasp your hands in your lap.

She sits on the small stool at the end of the chair, putting on a pair of nitrile gloves. She grabs a thin black marker and holds it up to your chest, making a small dot at the centre of your left nipple, before marking the right as well. “Alright. Any questions before I get started?”

“How long is the healing process?” You ask. “I just… I have an eager boyfriend, ya know?”

She lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one plenty of times,” She puts the marker down. “Well, it’ll usually take about six to nine months for you to fully heal. It varies person to person, and a bit if it’s done right but a good guideline.”

You nod, leaning back in the chair. “Okay. Sounds good.”

She scoots forward slightly, the stool rolling smoothly on the wheels. “I’m going to start with the left one. Deep breaths, and try not to move too much.” You nod again as she wipes your nipple with an alcohol prep pad before pulling out a fresh needle, picking up the clamp with her free hand.

It all happens so fast. One second you’re feeling the cooling sensation of the pad, the next second you’re in unbearable pain. You keep still, gripping the armrests so tight your knuckles turn white. You let out a shaky breath as Yvette slides the bar in, twisting the ball bearing closed. “Alright, one down. You need a second?”

“Yeah,” You say breathlessly, your face growing hot. “Holy shit.”

She sets the needle down, giving you a pat on the knee. “Yeah, that’s the worst part. Nerves are in there and it’s super painful. Once I’ve got the second one in the painful part will be over, and you can just sit there and look cute.”

You laugh, even though you didn’t find it particularly funny. Yvette dabs up some of the blood as you shut your eyes, taking deep breaths. “Okay. I’m ready.”

You grip the armrest again and prepare for the second needle. This time it goes a lot smoother. One pinch of the clamp, a quick swipe of the prep pad, a slide of the needle and a twist of the bearing. “And, done,” She says. “How you feeling?”

“Good,” You say. “A little lightheaded. I got cookies in my bag though.”

Yvette smiles as she puts the clamps down. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one either. It’s perfectly normal. Let me just tape some gauze over them before you get dressed again. I would recommend leaving the bra off,” She gets up from the stool and heads to the storage cabinet, picking out two thin strips of gauze with some medical tape before returning to you. She places them over your nipples, then tapes down the edges. “Keep those on until tonight, then you can take them off to shower.”

You sigh. “Alright, cool. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Now, make sure you don’t play with them while they’re still healing. You’re gonna want to,” She chuckles. “I would also avoid all swimming, even if it's in a pool. There are a lot of bacteria that you don’t want that getting into the piercing,” She hands you a business card from one of the shelves. “Call or come back if you have any questions about healing.”

“Sweet, thank you. Have a good day.” You say, pulling your shirt back over your head. You tuck your bra into your bag before heading out of the piercing studio. You pull out one of the cookies and munch on it while you head back to your car, a small smile on your lips.

JJ is going to love them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You push JJ down to sit on the edge of his bed, running your fingers through his hair. “I got something I wanna show you, baby.”

He smirks, putting his hands on your hips as he sits, fingers dipping under the waistband of your leggings. He leans closer, the smell of your shampoo filling his nostrils, your hair still damp from your shower. “Oh yeah? What is it, pretty girl?”

“Did you wash your hands like I asked?” You ask, moving your hands to rest on his shoulders.

He shrugs nonchalantly, not bothering to remove his hands from your hips despite your question. “Yeah, yeah, course I did. Don't worry about it,” He reaches up to grab your ass, pulling you flush against him. “Now, show me what you've got for me.” You roll your eyes, moving your hands from his shoulders to grip the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it over your head. Your new piercings glitter in the lowlight of his room. 

JJ's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of your newly pierced nipples, his gaze fixated on the glinting metal, his cock hardening in his sweatpants. “Holy shit, pretty girl…” He trails a finger over the barbell piercing your left nipple, watching intently as it twitches with the movement. “Look at that. So fucking sexy,” He leans in, taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before switching to the other side to do the same. “Mmm, love the way it feels against my tongue, fuck you’re so fucking sexy,” He releases your nipple with a pop, looking up at you with a hungry grin. “Do you like having them played with?”

You let out such cute, soft little gasps as he rubs his thumbs over them. You nod, grabbing his biceps. “Yeah, Jay. I like it a lot.”

He chuckles, rubbing his thumb around them slowly. “Good, baby, I’m glad. You look so fucking sexy, baby. Like a goddess,” He wraps his arms around your waist and spins around, throwing you onto the bed and climbing on top of you, pinning your hips down with his own. “When they’re all healed up, you should get those rings that have the connecting chain. Wanna tug on it and hear your sweet little whimpers.”

You giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Only if you promise to play with them often,” You reach down, rubbing your fingers over his hard cock, feeling it strain against his shorts. “Got ‘em just for you, my love.”

JJ groans, hips thrusting into your touch as he grinds his hardness against your palm. “Fuck, you're killing me, baby. I'll play with them every damn day if you want,” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim yours. Breaking away, he pants, “Need you naked, now. Remember what I said last week? I wanna eat you out and watch how you look when you cum with your nipples all pierced.” 

With swift movements, he tugs your leggings down, sending them flying across the room. He yanks down your soaked panties, pocketing them for later. “Christ, you're dripping wet already,” JJ groans, spreading your thighs wide. He buries his face between your legs, lapping at your slit hungrily. “So fucking sweet…”

You squeal, back arching as your thighs clamp down on the sides of his face. Your hands immediately fly to his hair, gripping and tugging on the blond strands. “Fuck, JJ!” He moans loudly, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your core as he laps at your clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the sensitive nub. His hands grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he devours your pussy. He pulls back slightly, blowing cool air over your wet heat before diving back in, tongue delving deep to taste your arousal. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, his favourite taste in the world. 

“Mmm, fuck, you taste amazing, baby,” His voice is mumbled as he sucks your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before releasing with a pop. “Gonna make you cum so hard, pretty girl. Wanna hear you whine and cry for me.” He resumes his relentless assault on your clit, fingers digging into your thighs as he eats you out like a man starved, one hand going up to tweak your right nipple.

Your jaw goes slack, and you throw your head back, thighs trembling against the sides of his face. “Fuck, JJ, please!”

JJ looks up at you, eyes dark with lust, saliva dripping down his chin as he continues to feast on your pussy. His eyes are drawn to the silver studs on your cute little nipples, and his cock throbs as he slides two fingers inside you, pumping them in time with his licks and sucks on your clit. “Please what, baby? Tell me what you need,” He murmurs against you, the words vibrating against your clit and making you shiver. His free hand moves to your left breast, rolling and pinching the nipple roughly. “Wanna hear you scream my name when you cum, wanna feel your little pussy gush, but you gotta ask for permission, baby.” He redoubles his efforts, sucking harder on your clit as he curls his fingers to hit that magic spot inside you. Your body starts to quake, toes curling, as your orgasm builds.

You gasp, trying to find your voice. “Fuck, please JJ, please let me cum! I’ve been good! Please!” You tug on his hair, back arching off of the bed.

JJ smirks against your pussy, blowing more air directly onto your clit. “Alright, alright, baby. You can cum, but only because you asked so nicely,” He sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue as he pumps his fingers fast and deep inside you. At the same moment, his hand moves back up to your right nipple, rolling the stud between his fingers and tugging.

The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge, your body convulsing as your inner walls clench tightly around his fingers, pulsing with each wave of pleasure that crashes over you. JJ moans in satisfaction, continuing to lap at your spasming pussy, drinking in every drop of your release. Only when your tremors subside does he finally pull away, licking his lips clean of your juices. He gazes up at you, eyes shining with pride and desire. “That's my good girl. Fuck.”

You let out a strangled whimper as he kneels, pulling his shorts down before climbing over you. He pulls his hard cock out, fingers brushing over the tip to gather some pre-cum, spreading it out over his length as he jerks himself off. JJ grips his shaft firmly, stroking it in long, even motions as he hovers above you, his heavy balls slapping against your thigh with each pump. Pre-cum beads at the tip, leaking steadily as he gets closer to the edge.

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, abs clenched tight. “You're so fucking beautiful like this,” he rasps, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin, the glint of metal on your nipples, the messy hair around your face. “Can't wait to bury myself deep in this perfect cunt and fill it up. Fuck.” He leans over you, lining himself up before starting to push in, giving you time to adjust to his size. He pauses for a moment, savouring the feel of your hot, slick walls wrapped around him, before starting to move, one hand going to tug on your new piercings.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

let me know if you want me to do this prompt with rafe!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora, @odairtrqsh, @wearemadeofstardust0, @rafesbabygirlx, @slumnit, @babygirlwilly, @rafeyswife (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

join my permanent obx taglist here!

[theetherealbloom]

IF THERE'S NOTHING LEFT - CH.2

Chapter Two: Hold On For Dear Love

Summary: You, a skilled healer, are brought to Rome by Senator Gracchus under the pretense of treating gladiators and Roman elites. You work with General Marcus Acacius to fight against the cruel reign of the twin emperors. Through danger and shared hope, your connection becomes a source of strength as you both dream of freeing Rome.

Paring: General Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, ANGST, Fluff, SMUT, Age-Gap(ish), Ancient Rome, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, War, Romance, Politics, Alternate Universe, Eventual SMUT, Slavery, Sexism, Misogyny, Guilt, PTSD, Rebellion, Empires, (Very Light) Strangers-to-Enemies-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Crowds, Shouting, Animals, Duels, Loose Historical Fiction, Kissing,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: Chat, I am giving the reader a super vague background, like it won't matter too much, lol. You’re here for the vibes, and so am I ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ So this entire fic isn’t gonna be overly complicated, I don’t think this is the fic for that. I mean, they put sharks in the Colosseum, so… we’re going to take some liberties here and there for funsies. It’s fanfiction, it’s supposed to be fun :> ALSO YA’LL I GOT INTO A GROOVE. I wasn’t planning on updating til next week but the words kept coming to me and suddenly I’m done with chapter two hehe. AND YES YES SHUSH NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUT. MAYBE. Ok enjoy girlies heheh.

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!

Song: Hymn To Virgil by Hozier

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

SENATOR THRAEX’S PARTY — DAY

The grand villa was alive with music, laughter, and the heady scent of roasted meats and spilled wine. Senators, high-ranking officials, and Rome's wealthiest citizens mingled among trays of fruit and platters of delicacies, their voices filling the air with a cacophony of conversation and self-indulgent boasts. Courtesans draped in sheer silks wove through the throng, their laughter as light and false as the smiles of their patrons.

You stood to the side, partially hidden in the shadow of a marble column. The position offered a semblance of privacy while giving you a clear view of the room. You made mental notes of the faces present—senators, generals, and merchants, all drunk on wealth and power. Their alliances and rivalries played out in every guarded glance and overly polite toast.

Senator Gracchus approached you with a goblet of wine, his face etched with age but kind. “You look like a soldier observing a battlefield,” he remarked dryly.

You smiled faintly, accepting the drink. “It feels like one. Though I’m not sure which side I belong to.”

Gracchus chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “In Rome, one must always choose a side, my dear. Even if that choice is to appear invisible.”

Before you could respond, a voice interrupted. “Ah, the daughter of misfortune graces us with her presence.” Senator Thraex’s saccharine tone drew the attention of those nearby. He strode toward you, his beady eyes alight with thinly veiled mockery. “I was just telling Gracchus how tragic your loss must have been. Your poor parents—what a terrible end.”

Your jaw tightened, but you forced a polite smile. “Your concern is appreciated, Senator. They are at peace now.”

Thraex clasped his hands, feigning sympathy. “Still, such a pity. A young woman like you, left all alone in this cruel city. Surely by now, you should have found a husband to protect you from its dangers?”

The words stung, though you refused to let it show. Keeping your tone steady, you replied, “I fear my reputation for independence precedes me. Not all men wish to marry someone who refuses to play the meek lamb.”

Gracchus coughed into his goblet, poorly disguising a laugh, while Thraex’s smile faltered. “How... peculiar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “Though perhaps not surprising. It would be difficult to find a suitor for one so... outspoken.”

The room seemed to hum with energy as Thraex’s face, darkened with irritation from your earlier remark, shifted into a mask of forced hospitality when his gaze landed on a man entering the crowd—a towering figure wrapped in silk and jewels, his presence as commanding as it was enigmatic. You followed Thraex's movement as he moved to greet the man, a name rippling through your thoughts: Macrinus.  

You had heard whispers of him before. A former gladiator who had fought for his freedom, now a powerbroker in Rome. He supplied food, wine, and oil for the empire’s armies, manufactured weapons, and even maintained a stable of gladiators. His name carried weight, his connections extending into the darkest corners of Roman politics.

As Thraex approached Macrinus, his false charm returned, his arms spreading wide. “Macrinus!” he greeted, his voice dripping with exaggerated warmth. He clapped the man on the shoulder with an enthusiasm that bordered on theatrical. “I knew the provinces could never contain you.”

Macrinus accepted the embrace with a faint smirk, his dark eyes scanning the room with calculated ease. “I’m just here for the games,” he replied, his tone casual, though there was a hint of something sharper beneath the surface.  

Thraex chuckled, his grip lingering on the man’s shoulder. “Ah well, you won't be disappointed. Rome has all the games that men like you like to play.”

“Men like me, cracks men like us.” Macrinus shot back, his grin widening. “I know nothing happens in Rome unless you… tasted it first! ”

Thraex laughed at the jab, the sound too loud to be sincere. Their exchange continued, a dance of veiled threats and mutual amusement. You lingered at the edge of the room, doing your best to blend into the shadows, your ears straining to catch every word.  

Thraex handed Macrinus a gilded chalice of wine, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “What's this we hear about you being interested in standing for an election to the senate practice?”

Macrinus stiffened, his surprise poorly concealed as he let out a dry chuckle. “Me? You know, I don't even know how to use an abacus,” He sipped his wine before adding with a wry smile, “but I do understand that… it's customary for your guests to make wagers at these affairs.”

Thraex’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smile didn’t falter. “How large a sum did you have in mind?”

Macrinus tilted his head thoughtfully, the jewels around his neck catching the light. “A thousand gold aureus?”

Thraex’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Two,” he countered smoothly.

Macrinus glanced at the courtesan draped over his arm, as if seeking her approval. The woman gave a slight nod, and Macrinus shrugged, turning back to Thraex. “Denarius,” he said simply, the single word carrying enough weight to silence Thraex for a fleeting moment.

Macrinus walked away with an easy swagger, leaving Thraex standing alone with his forced smile slipping into a scowl. The flash of irritation on his face, so quickly concealed, didn’t escape your notice.  

You couldn’t suppress a small smirk of your own as you turned your attention elsewhere. Rome’s elite might dress themselves in finery and smiles, but it was clear that every word exchanged tonight was a thread in the intricate tapestry of power. Threads you were determined to unravel.  

The air in the grand hall shifted, thick with anticipation as the crowd clustered toward the edges of the room. The glint of opulence—golden goblets, silk-draped tables, and jewels adorning the guests—clashed against the dark reality of what was about to unfold. Your eyes lingered briefly on a figure across the way: a man, bound in chains, sitting quietly. There was no fear in his expression, only a smoldering anger that made you uneasy.  

The sound of clapping drew your attention back to the center of the room. Senator Thraex, ever the showman, raised his voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Stand back! Stand back!” he called, his tone a mix of authority and delight.  

You stepped aside, blending into the edges of the gathering, as the spectators parted to form a circle. The twin emperors, Caracalla and Geta, lounged decadently on their perch, surrounded by concubines who laughed and whispered among themselves. Their indifference to the gathering's undertones was maddening.  

Thraex turned toward them with an exaggerated bow. “My emperors,” he began with a grin before addressing the audience. “Lords, ladies, senators—tonight, for your entertainment... the art of combat!”  

Excited gasps rippled through the room, the revelers’ reactions equal parts anticipation and bloodlust. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Thraex gestured dramatically toward the two men brought forward—one was the same figure you’d seen earlier, still brooding but now standing tall.  

“And now,” Thraex continued, “the barbarian, versus from my own stable, the mighty Vijay!”  

The crowd erupted into applause as Vijay, a towering figure in a yellow tunic, was escorted forward. His opponent, the gladiator from across the room, now squared his shoulders and met Vijay’s gaze.  

“It is your gladiator?” Emperor Geta asked, his tone laced with mild amusement, as he glanced at Macrinus.  

Macrinus inclined his head respectfully. “It is, your Majesty.”  

Chains were removed from both men, their freedom feeling more like a death sentence. Thraex began to set the terms. “Three rounds, hand-to-hand—”  

But Emperor Caracalla’s voice cut through. “Swords!” he barked, his grin wicked.  

The room fell silent.  

“We want swords. A fight to the death!” Caracalla continued, his voice rising with glee. “No quarter to be offered, or given!”  

Thraex hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment, but the guards stepped forward, placing swords into the gladiators’ hands. You felt your stomach twist as the two men began circling one another.  

The gladiator of Macrinus spoke first, his voice calm but edged with pleading. “Brother, come now. Let us not kill each other for their amusement.”  

Vijay’s only response was a roar as he lunged, his sword slicing through the air. The next moments were chaos. Blades clanged as they met, sparks flying from each blow. The room seemed to shrink around the violence as tables splintered and decorations toppled.  

The climax came when Vijay’s sword slipped from his grasp in the scuffle. The other gladiator seized the opportunity, driving his blade into Vijay’s chest. A sharp gasp escaped you as the larger man crumpled to the marble floor, his blood pooling beneath him.  

The victor tossed his sword to the ground with a clatter, breathing heavily, his face and tunic spattered with blood. Around you, the crowd erupted into applause and cheers, their delight in stark contrast to your quiet horror.  

“Remarkable!” Emperor Geta exclaimed, standing as he clapped his hands. He approached Macrinus with an approving nod. “Congratulations.”  

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Macrinus replied smoothly.  

Geta then turned to the gladiator, studying him with newfound interest. “From where do you hail?”  

The man said nothing, his jaw set, his silence defiant.  

The tension in the room grew thick. Even you found yourself leaning forward, curiosity mingling with unease.  

“Speak,” Geta commanded sharply. When no answer came, his impatience boiled over. “I said speak!”  

Macrinus stepped in quickly, bowing his head. “Your Majesty, he is from the colonies. His native tongue is all he understands.”  

The gladiator finally raised his head, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way: but to come back from hell, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.”  

The poetry stunned you, the eloquence jarring against the brutal spectacle that had just unfolded. Around you, the room fell silent for a beat before Caracalla broke into a laugh.  

“Poetry!” the Caracalla declared, grinning as he turned to Macrinus. “Very clever, Macrinus. Very clever indeed.”  

Macrinus bowed slightly. “To amuse you is my only wish, your Majesty.”  

“We are amused,” Geta said, though his gaze remained fixed on the gladiator. His voice rose as he addressed the room. “And we all look forward to seeing your poet… perform in the arena.”  

“As do I your majesty's.” Macrinus gestured to his guard. “Viggo,” he said softly, and the guard stepped forward to escort the gladiator out of the room.  

As the crowd began to disperse, murmurs of excitement rippling through the air, you remained rooted in place. Your eyes followed the blood trail left by Vijay’s body as it was dragged away. The victor—dripping in another man’s blood, yet unbowed—disappeared through the doors, his haunting words lingering in your mind like a ghost.

LUCILLA'S VILLA — LATE AFTERNOON

The villa of Domitia Lucilla stood as a serene contrast to the chaos of Rome—a sprawling sanctuary of pale stone walls and gardens heavy with the scent of roses and citrus. The late afternoon sun stretched shadows across the courtyard as you entered, the weariness from Senator Thraex’s debauched gathering weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Lucilla awaited you, standing poised near a column. Her cream stola shifted with the breeze, but her sharp gaze was unwavering, as if she had been expecting this moment.  

“You’ve returned,” she said, warmth in her voice tempered by the gravity of her expression.  

“I have, my lady—”  

She waved off the formalities with a flick of her wrist. “Enough with that. How many times must I tell you?”  

“Habit,” you replied with a faint smile, though it lacked its usual brightness.  

Her lips twitched with amusement, but concern quickly took its place. “And how was Senator Thraex’s gathering? As intolerable as I feared?”  

You sighed, the grotesque excess of the night flashing briefly in your mind. “More wine than wit. And blood, of course. Always blood.”  

Lucilla’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing just enough to betray her displeasure. She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Rome devours itself with spectacle. It leaves nothing but emptiness behind,” she murmured.  

You nodded but didn’t speak. The heaviness of her words settled heavily on you because they were true.  

“And Thraex himself?” she pressed, tilting her head.  

You hesitated. “He made his usual jabs about my… unmarried state. Feigned sympathy for my family. And spent an inordinate amount of time with Macrinus, the arms dealer. It seemed more calculated than casual.”  

Lucilla’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind already turning. “Macrinus does not waste his time on frivolities. If Thraex is courting him, there’s more at play.”  

“Something to do with the games tomorrow, perhaps?” you suggested. “He seemed eager for them.”  

Lucilla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s possible. His ambitions are endless, and I fear his alliances will be the ruin of many.”  

“Rome always finds a way to drag us into its mire,” you muttered bitterly.  

Her hand on your shoulder tightened briefly, reassuring. “Then we tread carefully. But not tonight. Tonight, we focus on what lies ahead. The senators will convene soon, and General Acacius is to join us.”  

You huffed a soft laugh, though it carried a trace of exasperation. “A grand gathering in his honor, and he doesn’t bother to attend the festivities.”  

Lucilla arched a brow, her expression turning sly. “Were you hoping he would?”  

Heat rushed to your face, and you fumbled for a response. “I—no, of course not. I just thought it odd.”  

“Mm.” Her tone was noncommittal, but her knowing smile made you glance away.  

Before you could dwell on your embarrassment, Lucilla turned down another garden path, leaving you to follow. It was there, amid the soft hum of cicadas and the golden haze of the late afternoon, that you saw him.  

Marcus Acacius sat beneath a pergola, his broad shoulders bent slightly over a parchment, a quill poised in his hand. A goblet of wine sat forgotten beside him, the scene unexpectedly tranquil for a man of his reputation.  

Lucilla glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “It seems you’ll get your wish after all.”  

Your stomach twisted at her words, but before you could form a protest, she disappeared around the corner. Left to your own devices, you took a steadying breath and approached. The crunch of gravel underfoot drew his attention, and he looked up, his dark eyes softening as they met yours.  

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t return,” he said, his voice low and warm, though a flicker of relief betrayed him.  

You tilted your head, folding your arms as you came closer. “And I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the party was meant for you.”  

Marcus chuckled, setting down his quill. “Crowded rooms filled with drunken senators and empty promises hold little appeal. I prefer the quiet.” He gestured to the bench across from him. “Join me?”  

For a moment, you hesitated, the unspoken tension between you filling the air. But then you sat, folding your hands neatly in your lap.  

“The games tomorrow will be particularly… extravagant,” you said, glancing at the parchment. “I’m to serve as a healer for the event.”  

His brow furrowed. “You’ll be in the arena?”  

“Not in it,” you replied quickly. “But close enough.”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “It’s barbaric. They celebrate death, and you’re left to mend what’s left behind.”  

“It’s Rome,” you said with a shrug, though the bitterness in your voice was unmistakable.  

“Does it not anger you?” His voice was steady but insistent, his gaze searching yours.  

You hesitated before answering. “Every day,” you admitted quietly. “But anger doesn’t heal. It doesn’t save lives.”  

His hand moved, resting near yours on the table—not touching, but close enough that the space between felt charged. “You do more than heal,” he said after a moment. “You remind us of what’s worth saving.”  

The sincerity in his words made your breath hitch. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.  

“I only do what I can,” you said finally.  

“And it’s enough,” he replied, his voice firm.  

Silence settled between you, but it was not empty. It was heavy with questions left unasked, with the unshakable feeling that you knew him from somewhere beyond this life.  

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.  

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”  

He smiled faintly. “A truth.”  

You studied him, the edges of recognition tugging at your mind. “Have we met before?”  

His hand stilled, his expression unreadable. “Why do you ask?”  

“It’s the way you look at me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like you know something I don’t.”  

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, softly, “Perhaps I’m just trying to understand you.”

“And do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.  

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on yours, as if he were searching for something—something hidden behind the words you didn’t say. His jaw tightened, and then relaxed, his hesitation drawing out the silence until it felt like the whole garden held its breath.  

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting an amber glow across the courtyard. The scent of citrus blossoms drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of oil from the bronze lamps. You and Marcus sat across from each other, the heavy quiet between you punctuated by the distant hum of the city below.  

“I think,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “that you’re not as much of a mystery as you’d like to believe.”

You said nothing, the truth of his words settling over you. He wasn’t the first to try to understand you, but he was the first whose attempt didn’t feel like an invasion. Still, you kept your silence, hoping it would shield whatever he thought he saw.  

Marcus leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering, though his tone softened. “You wear your defiance like armor. It suits you, but…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “Even armor cracks under enough weight.”

Your chest tightened. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet understanding, and that somehow made it worse. You turned your eyes to the horizon, watching as the light bled into dusk.  

“And you?” you asked at last, your voice quiet, almost tentative. “What cracks your armor?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he looked away. For a long moment, you thought he might deflect or let the question fall unanswered. But then he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, the facade of the unshakable general slipping.  

“The things I’ve done,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “The wars. The lives I’ve taken. I tell myself it was duty. For Rome. For honor. But when I close my eyes…” His hand curled into a fist on the table, the scarred knuckles white with tension. “I see their faces. The ones I killed. The ones I couldn’t save. Sometimes, I think that’s all there is left of me. Blood and ghosts.”

His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt the sharp sting of his pain as if it were your own, and it stirred something deep within you—a desire not to fix him, but to let him be broken without shame.  

“There’s more to you than that,” you said softly, surprising even yourself with the conviction in your voice. “Let the brokenness be felt, Marcus, until you reach the other side. There is goodness in the heart of every broken man who comes right up to the edge of losing everything he has.”  

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those fierce, commanding eyes—betrayed a flicker of something fragile. “And if the edge is all that’s left?”  

You shook your head. “Then you find your way back. One step, one breath, one choice at a time. You’ve already come this far.”  

A faint, wry smile tugged at his lips. “You sound certain.”  

“I am,” you said simply. “Because I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen men lose everything and still find the strength to rebuild. You’ve endured so much, Marcus. And yet, here you are.”  

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, the air between you felt impossibly heavy, as though the weight of both your pasts had settled there. But then, something shifted—just a fraction—and the tension eased.  

“Tell me,” he said quietly, leaning forward. “How does someone like you—someone who speaks of goodness and second chances—end up in a place like this?”  

You let out a soft laugh, though it held no humor. “A long story,” you said, your tone laced with irony.  

He smiled faintly. “I’ve got time.”  

The simplicity of his statement caught you off guard. You studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of mockery, but found none. He was patient, steady, like a man who had weathered every storm and learned to endure the waiting.  

You hesitated, then began to speak—not all at once, but in fragments. You told him of the choices that had brought you here, the moments of defiance and loss that had shaped you. He listened without interrupting, his focus unbroken, as though each word mattered.  

When the story faltered and the silence crept back in, Marcus spoke again, his voice gentle. “You’ve carried much on your shoulders.”  

You shrugged, your gaze fixed on the table. “Haven’t we all?”  

He nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Perhaps. But not everyone carries it as well as you.”  

The compliment startled you, and you looked up to find him watching you with something like admiration. It wasn’t romantic, not yet—but it was real, and it unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite name.  

“You don’t know me well enough to say that,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”  

Something in his tone—a quiet sincerity, unadorned by pretense—made you pause. You realized, with a small jolt, that you wanted to know him, too. Not just the general, but the man beneath the armor.  

“Maybe,” you said finally, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you’re patient.”  

His smile widened, just a little, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “I’ve learned to be patient,” he said. “For the right things.”  

And as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, you found yourself wondering if, perhaps, this was one of them.

The room was dark, the faint glow of torchlight from the grilled window casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. Lucilla stood beside you, her sharp eyes trained on the guards below as they exchanged shifts. She watched silently, her body tense but still, until the last of them disappeared around the corner.  

With a soft sigh, she turned back into the room and extinguished the candles one by one. The light died away, replaced by the cover of darkness. Outside, a guard’s voice called up, noting that she must be retiring for the evening.  

You remained quiet, holding the lamp as Lucilla adjusted her robes and pulled up the hood, the fabric obscuring her features. The air felt heavier now, laden with unspoken tension. She glanced at you, her gaze sharp even in the dim light.  

“Are you ready?” she asked, her voice a low murmur.  

You nodded and pulled your own hood over your head. The warmth of the lamp in your hand was a small comfort against the chill of the night.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her hands gripping your forearm briefly as she said your name. “You must know,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, “if you do this with us, there is a possibility that we may be discovered. And the penalties—”  

“I’m aware,” you interrupted gently, meeting her gaze. There was no hesitation in your voice.  

She studied you for a moment longer, then nodded, a faint flicker of respect passing over her features. Without another word, she turned toward a small shrine tucked into the corner of the room.  

Kneeling, she rolled back a slab of marble with deliberate care, revealing a narrow passage that led downward. The air that seeped out was cool and damp, smelling faintly of earth and stone.  

Lucilla motioned for you to follow, and you descended after her, the spiral staircase winding tightly into the depths. Your lamp cast shifting shadows on the walls, and the faint echoes of your footsteps seemed louder than they should have been.  

The tunnel at the bottom was carved with care, though the stone showed its age. Lucilla moved through it with practiced ease, her robes brushing against the walls as the passage widened and opened into a massive underground catacomb.  

You stopped short, your breath catching at the sight. The vaulted ceilings arched high above you, their grandeur almost otherworldly. This place was built for eternity, every detail a testament to early Roman splendor. Statues of gods and long-dead ancestors stood sentinel, their marble faces solemn in the lamplight.  

Lucilla’s steps slowed as she approached a series of crypts. Each one was marked with the bust of a family member, their likenesses carved into the stone. She stopped before the bust of Marcus Aurelius, her father, and laid a hand on its smooth surface.  

“Father,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both reverence and sorrow, “protect us and guide us.” Her fingers lingered for a moment before she turned away, her expression unreadable.  

You wanted to say something, to break the silence, but the words escaped you. There was a sacredness here that felt unshakable, a weight you couldn’t quite explain.  

ANTECHAMBER — MINUTES LATER  

The air in the antechamber felt thick, like the weight of centuries pressed down upon you all. Torches lined the stone walls, their flickering light casting wavering shadows on faces lined with tension and purpose. The damp chill of the underground space only added to the solemnity of the moment.  

Lucilla moved forward with practiced grace, her head held high despite the gravity of the meeting. The first man stepped into the torchlight, his wiry frame and sharp features softened only by the faint trace of a smile.  

“Gracchus,” Lucilla said warmly, extending her hands. “Old friend.”  

Gracchus clasped her hands briefly, his grip conveying both respect and concern. “My lady. I wish we were meeting in better times.”  

Lucilla’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sun shone once—it will shine again.”  

Gracchus raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a sardonic smirk. “And what in heaven’s name does that mean?”  

Before Lucilla could answer, a low, resonant voice emerged from the shadows. “It means hope, Gracchus.”  

You started slightly, your heart skipping as a figure stepped forward. Marcus Acacius. The flickering light caught the edges of his armor, making it gleam like liquid fire. His presence filled the room effortlessly, his broad frame and steady gaze commanding attention.  

Gracchus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh yes. He is shiny.”  

Marcus didn’t react to the jest, but his eyes flicked between Lucilla and Gracchus before settling briefly on you. His gaze held for a beat too long, making your pulse quicken.  

“Did I startle you?” he asked, his tone smooth but edged with faint amusement.  

You straightened, tightening your grip on the lamp you carried. “Not at all,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.  

The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips, but he turned his attention back to Gracchus, his expression growing serious. “We want to take back the city. To restore Rome to what it should be.”  

Gracchus’s expression darkened, doubt creeping into his voice. “An exciting venture. When?”  

“On the final day of the games,” Marcus replied firmly.  

Gracchus raised a skeptical brow. “How?”  

Marcus’s jaw tightened, the tension clear as he measured his words. “My army waits for my command at Ostia. Five thousand soldiers loyal to me will enter Rome. I intend to arrest our emperors in front of the crowds at the Colosseum for their crimes against the Senate and the people.”  

A long, heavy silence followed. Gracchus exchanged a wary glance with Thraex, who stood silently in the background. The two senators appeared burdened with years of cynicism, the spark of belief long extinguished.  

Lucilla broke the quiet, her voice sharp and resolute. “We cannot continue to see Rome damaged, sliding further into corruption and decay.”  

Thraex snorted softly, folding his arms. “Does he want to be Emperor?”  

Marcus’s gaze sharpened as he shook his head. “I am a soldier, not a politician. Rome will be yours to administer and—”  

Gracchus interrupted him, his tone cutting. “Your father spoke of returning power to the Senate. But that was a generation ago. Much has changed. The people haven’t seen hope for years, and—”  

This time, Marcus’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “Rome is not yet ready to be a republic, but with time—and guidance—a vote by the people, for the people, would mean—”  

Lucilla placed a steady hand on Marcus’s arm, quieting him. She turned to Gracchus, her voice calmer but no less determined. “Rome can live again. Do we have your support, Gracchus?”  

Gracchus hesitated, his gaze shifting to you, then back to Marcus. Finally, he nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Lucilla, you are the daughter of Marcus Aurelius. He had my loyalty, and so do you.”  

Lucilla allowed herself a small smile. “A political answer, but good enough. Senator Thraex?”  

Thraex hesitated, his eyes flickering to you. He seemed to brace himself before speaking. “Politics follows power, my lady. Take back what is rightfully yours, and the Senate will support you.”  

The room seemed to exhale as the senators gave their tentative agreement, but Gracchus’s gaze lingered on you. His voice softened. “I vowed to your parents I would take care of you. To give you a life beyond this... chaos.”  

Your grip on the lamp tightened as you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “There is no point in life if the future of Rome is nothing but an abuse of power and position.”  

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Marcus’s expression shift. His gaze rested on you, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were seeing you in a new light.  

The torches flickered, their flames casting light on faces filled with determination and shadows that hinted at the dangerous road ahead. You glanced at Marcus once more, and his eyes caught yours, a faint, unspoken understanding passing between you.  

THE COLOSSEUM — DAY

The air around the Colosseum is alive with a chaotic energy that hums through the sprawling crowd. The great amphitheater towers above, its shadow sprawling across the dusty streets. Vendors shout over one another, selling honeyed dates, roasted nuts, and cheap wine. Children dart between the throngs, their quick fingers snatching at coin purses while wide-eyed newcomers marvel at the spectacle before them.  

As you approach the towering Capitoline Arch, your eyes lift to the imposing statue of General Marcus Acacius atop a marble plinth. The sunlight gleams off the bronze plaque beneath, bearing the inscription: ACACIUS, VICTOR AFRICAE.  

You pause, a faint sigh escaping your lips as you take it in. The statue is majestic, carved with precision to capture his strength and valor, but there’s something about its stillness, its perfection, that feels wrong. The man you’ve come to know is far more complicated than the warrior immortalized in marble.  

Pulling your hood closer to shield yourself from prying eyes, you make your way toward the entrance of the Colosseum.  

Outside the massive arena, the crowd is dense, funneling into the arched entrances like water forced through narrow channels. The scent of sweat, baked bread, and dust clings to the air.  

A wagon lumbers past, its wheels creaking as it pulls into the rear gates of the Colosseum. The iron gates groan shut behind it with a finality that makes you shiver.  

Your eyes catch on one of the gladiators stepping down from the wagon. He is broad-shouldered, with a grim expression and scars that tell stories of survival. Recognition flickers in your mind—he was at Senator Thraex’s gathering, one of Macrinus’ men.  

For a moment, his gaze meets yours, sharp and searching. You quickly turn away, the weight of his stare lingering like a brand on your skin.  

COLOSSEUM UNDERCROFT — DAY  

The undercroft is a world unto itself, hidden beneath the grandeur of the arena above. The air here is damp and stale, filled with the mingled scents of blood, sweat, and the earthy musk of the animals kept for the games. Torches line the stone walls, their flames barely cutting through the heavy gloom.  

You step carefully, the hem of your robe brushing against the uneven stones beneath your feet. Around you, the sounds of preparation echo—metallic clangs of swords being sharpened, the low murmur of prayers whispered by gladiators, and the distant roar of the crowd above, a constant reminder of what waits beyond.  

A sudden shout breaks through the noise, and you flinch instinctively, your hand tightening around the lamp you carry.  

“Keep moving!” A guard barks, shoving a gladiator forward.  

You press yourself against the wall to let them pass, your eyes following the line of chained men as they march toward their fate. The air feels heavier here, thick with despair and the metallic tang of blood that never quite fades from the stone.  

The main chamber opens ahead, a cavernous space carved from the bedrock, with a stone memorial spanning two centuries etched into one of the walls. The names carved there seem endless, a testament to the lives given—or taken—beneath this roof.  

You step into the room, your eyes searching for Ravi, the healer who has been your closest ally in this grim underworld. He is leaning over a battered table, his thick canvas coat bristling with the tools of his trade—scalpels, needles, and small bottles of tinctures.  

Ravi glances up as you approach, his dark eyes meeting yours. He nods, his expression weary but kind. “You’re late,” he says, his tone more teasing than reproachful.  

“I was delayed,” you reply, setting the lamp down on the edge of the table.  

Ravi straightens, his hands covered in the telltale stains of his work. “Delayed by a statue, no doubt,” he says with a smirk, nodding toward the hallway you came from.  

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Not just the statue. The entire crowd outside could rival an army.”  

He chuckles softly, but his humor fades as his gaze shifts to the tools laid out before him. “It’s a mad world out there. And in here. They’ll call it glory, but we know better, don’t we?”  

You nod, your fingers brushing against one of the bottles of tincture on the table. “How many today?”  

“Too many,” Ravi replies grimly. “It always is. But if we don’t patch them up, they’ll be thrown back into the arena like lambs to the slaughter.”  

You glance toward the memorial wall, the endless names a stark reminder of what happens when healing is no longer enough. “And yet they cheer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.  

Ravi follows your gaze, his expression hardening. “They cheer because they’re too far away to hear the screams. From up there, it’s just a show.”  

A heavy silence falls between you, the weight of his words settling in the space like a tangible presence.  

Finally, Ravi breaks it, his voice quieter now. “You could have been anywhere. A villa in the hills, a proper clinic, somewhere far from all of this. Why here?”  

You meet his gaze, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “Because someone has to be.”  

Before Ravi can respond, the distant blare of a cornu horn echoes through the chamber, its mournful call summoning the combatants to the arena.  

Ravi exhales, shaking his head. “That’s our cue.”  

You nod, grabbing the lamp and turning toward the corridor. “Let’s hope today isn’t worse than the last.”  

Ravi follows, his canvas coat swaying as he moves. “Hope’s in short supply here,” he mutters. But then, as if to lighten the mood, he adds, “But if anyone can keep these bastards alive, it’s us.”  

A faint smile pulls at your lips as the two of you head toward the chaos waiting above. The sound of the horn grows louder, blending with the roar of the crowd—a noise as relentless as the tide.

The roar of the Colosseum was muffled slightly where you and Ravi stood in the shadow of the lower arches, but the sight above was impossible to ignore. Caracalla and Geta had already taken their places in the royal seats, their expressions imperious yet lacking true command. The crowd’s response to their arrival was lukewarm, tepid applause barely rippling through the masses.  

Ravi glanced at you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They can’t even fake enthusiasm for their own Emperors. Telling, isn’t it?”  

You nodded grimly, shifting your gaze to the arena floor where the fight’s Master of Ceremonies stood, clearly tense. He gestured sharply to the musicians, prompting them to play a fanfare in a desperate attempt to rouse the audience.  

Through the giant copper horn mounted on a stand, his voice bellowed, “Citizens of Rome! These sacred games are held to honor the victory of Rome over the barbarians of Numidia—”  

You winced at the crude remark, the words cutting through the air with their arrogance.  

“And to honor Rome's legionary commander, General Justus Acacius!”  

At the mention of Acacius, your eyes instinctively sought him out. There he was, emerging in white and gold, a gleaming figure against the harsh backdrop of the Colosseum. His presence was magnetic, commanding without effort. He moved with the same purpose he always did, though you could sense a tension in his posture, a reluctance masked by the pageantry.  

Lucilla followed close behind him, her chin lifted with practiced grace. When the Master of Ceremonies announced her name—“Lucilla, the daughter of Emperor Marcus Aurelius!”—the crowd erupted into thunderous applause, a stark contrast to their earlier indifference.  

Beside you, Ravi let out a low whistle. “They still adore her.”  

“They always will,” you murmured, watching as she ascended to the royal seats under the guise of honor, though you knew better. The two Centurions flanking her were not mere escorts but guards, a subtle display of control that would escape the average onlooker.  

From this distance, it seemed she embraced the accolades, her every gesture perfectly measured. But you caught the slight flicker in her expression when she glanced toward Acacius.  

“You honor us with your presence. Speak to the plebeians, Acacius,” Geta commanded, his tone laced with condescension.  

You held your breath, sensing the reluctance in Marcus’s stillness. He exchanged a look with Lucilla, brief but telling, before his gaze swept across the crowd, searching. When his eyes found yours, something in his demeanor shifted—resolve, perhaps, or a need for grounding.  

Finally, he rose, stepping to the railing as the crowd quieted, anticipation thick in the air. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the expanse with ease.  

“I am not an orator, nor a politician,” he began, the simplicity of his words a sharp contrast to the pomp surrounding him. “I am only a soldier. Real heroism is not the stuff of games.”  

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and intrigue mingling as Acacius’s words sank in.  

“It reveals itself to us only in the service of life itself,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “I have seen bravery in men during war, and from women, too—bravery that does not falter in the face of fear but rises to meet it. And even, once, in this arena.”  

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against you. Though his gaze never left the crowd, you felt as though those words were for you alone.  

“If you pray,” Marcus’s voice deepened, his tone almost pleading, “pray that the gods will deliver us bravery like that. Because Rome needs it now.”  

The silence that followed was profound, the kind that held more weight than applause. Then, slowly, the crowd erupted, their cheers cascading through the Colosseum like a wave.  

You watched him step back from the railing, his expression inscrutable as he returned to his seat. But as the applause thundered on, his eyes found yours again, and in that brief moment, you saw it—something unspoken yet unmistakable.  

Ravi nudged you gently, breaking the spell. “He’s good, I’ll give him that.”  

You nodded, your heart still pounding. “Better than they deserve,” you said softly, though your thoughts were far from the Emperors.

The tension in the Colosseum was recognized as the opening ceremony came to an end. Caracalla and Geta clapped from their royal seats, their applause mechanical and devoid of genuine enthusiasm. Below, the Master of Ceremonies stood nervously, his voice amplified by the great copper horn.  

“From the South Gate... fighters from the stable of Macrinus of Thysdrus!”  

Your gaze darted to the southern entrance, where the gladiators emerged into the blinding sunlight. You recognized one of them—Hanno of Numidia—whose name Ravi had told you earlier. The crowd greeted them with scattered boos and jeers, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the arena itself.  

Hanno walked with measured steps, his expression stoic as he led the small group to the center of the arena. His shoulders bore the weight of more than just the armor; you could see it in his eyes.  

“And from the stables of our Emperors Caracalla and Geta themselves: Glyceo the Destroyer!”  

The eastern gates creaked open, revealing a towering figure clad in ornate armor, seated atop a great white rhino. The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers, the noise reverberating through the stone walls. The rhino trotted with surprising agility, its hooves kicking up clouds of dust as it carried Glyceo with the ease of a seasoned warrior.  

From your vantage point, you saw the glint of weapons strapped to the rhino’s side—an axe, a sword, a mace, and a bola. Glyceo reached for the mace, gripping its heavy handle with a confidence born from countless victories.  

The first gladiator dared to challenge the beast, stepping forward with his sword raised. He attempted to dodge the rhino’s charge at the last moment, but the creature’s speed and precision were unmatched. The horn struck him with brutal force, sending him flying across the arena before the rhino finished him off with a savage thrust.  

Your stomach churned as the body was tossed aside like a ragdoll. The crowd’s cheers only grew louder.  

Hanno stood still, his gaze fixed on the carnage. Then, almost imperceptibly, he crouched and scooped a handful of sand from the arena floor, letting it sift through his fingers. The gesture was hauntingly familiar—a ritual Maximus had performed before every fight.  

Beside you, Ravi murmured, “Do you see that? He remembers.”  

You glanced at Lucilla in the royal box, noting the flicker of something in her expression—recognition, perhaps, or sorrow. But she quickly masked it, her face hardening as she turned back to the arena.  

The rhino charged again, this time with Glyceo’s mace raised high. Hanno sidestepped at the last possible moment, but the rhino’s horn clipped him, sending him sprawling. Dust clouded the air as the beast wheeled around, disoriented by the sunlight.  

Hanno was quick to act. He flung the remaining sand into the air, creating a bright, blinding curtain that obscured his movements. The rhino charged again, unable to see clearly, and slammed full force into the arena wall. Glyceo was thrown like a ragdoll, his body hitting the stone with a sickening thud.  

The rhino staggered, its massive frame reeling as it struggled to regain its footing. Hanno retrieved his sword and advanced on Glyceo, who was already scrambling to his feet. Their blades met in a clash of steel, sparks flying as Glyceo’s superior strength began to overwhelm Hanno.  

You leaned forward, gripping the stone railing as Glyceo delivered a brutal series of blows, forcing Hanno to his knees. The crowd chanted, their bloodlust palpable.  

Lucilla gasped, turning away, her hand trembling as it gripped the edge of her seat. Even Macrinus, who had been watching with a calculating gaze, shook his head slightly.  

Glyceo raised his short sword, poised to deliver the final blow. He paused, turning to the royal box for approval.  

“Shall we spare his life, brother?” Geta asked, his tone mockingly casual.  

Caracalla shrugged, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing some blood.”  

Geta ignored him, his attention shifting to Lucilla. “Lucilla, shall we show mercy?”  

Lucilla hesitated, her voice trembling. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, choked with guilt and something deeper.  

Geta stood, raising his fist. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as he slowly extended his thumb upward, granting Hanno his life. The Colosseum erupted in cheers, but the celebration was short-lived.  

“No,” Hanno said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.  

The crowd stilled, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.  

“No mercy,” he repeated, his tone resolute.  

Geta’s face twisted in disbelief. “Gladiator, we have spared your life. No one refuses—”  

“I will not accept mercy,” Hanno interrupted, rising to his feet despite the blood dripping from his wounds. He turned to the royal box, his gaze unwavering. “I would sooner face your blade than accept Roman mercy.”  

The crowd erupted in chaos—laughter, jeers, and shouts of encouragement mingling in a cacophony of sound.  

“Fight on, then, fool, and die,” Geta spat, his face reddening with embarrassment.  

Glyceo lunged, his mace swinging in a wide arc. Hanno ducked, his movements fueled by desperation and fury. With a final burst of strength, he seized his fallen short sword and drove it into Glyceo’s abdomen. The mighty gladiator staggered, his expression one of shock before he collapsed, lifeless, into the sand.  

The crowd roared its approval, chanting Hanno’s name as he stood victorious. From the royal box, Macrinus smiled, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. You couldn’t help but watch Hanno with a mixture of awe and apprehension, your heart pounding as the weight of the moment settled over the arena.  

COLOSSEUM HOSPITAL ROOM — NIGHT

The dim light of flickering oil lamps cast wavering shadows on the rough stone walls of the makeshift infirmary. The smell of blood, sweat, and burnt herbs clung to the air like a heavy shroud. Ravi moved methodically among the injured, tending to other gladiators with a calm, steady hand.

You were left alone with Hanno. He sat on a wooden stool, his posture tense despite the exhaustion etched into his features. A deep, jagged wound marred his upper arm, the torn flesh angry and raw. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, drawn to the scent of blood and sweat.

You crouched beside him, your hands deftly inspecting the wound. “This needs to be cleaned and stitched up,” you murmured, glancing up at him briefly. His eyes met yours, dark and unreadable.

He broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

You paused, meeting his gaze again as you answered, giving your name. You nodded toward the other side of the room. “That man over there is Ravi. We’re both doctors—or as close to it as you’ll get here. More men die of infected wounds than in the arena itself.”

Hanno tilted his head slightly, watching you as you prepared the tools of your trade. “This is going to hurt,” you added, your tone both matter-of-fact and soft.

You handed him a small pipe, its carved edges worn smooth from use.

“What’s this?” he asked, examining it with mild suspicion.

“Devil’s breath and opium,” you explained. “For the pain. Breathe it in.”

Hanno hesitated for only a moment before placing the pipe between his lips. He inhaled deeply, his expression neutral as the sharp, bitter taste hit his tongue. Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing steadied.

“The effects are different for us all,” you said gently, noting the way his features softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.

When his eyes opened again, they were hazy, unfocused. “Your voice…” he muttered, blinking at you as if trying to place something familiar.

“What about it?” you asked with a small smile, distracting him as you began cleaning the wound.

“It’s… nice,” he replied, his words slow and slightly slurred. “Kind.”

You gave a soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand. “Don’t get used to it. This part isn’t going to feel so kind.”

He took another draw of the pipe just as you began stitching the torn flesh with catgut. The needle pierced his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, coughing as a puff of opium-laden smoke escaped his lips and drifted into the air between you.

“Where’d you learn your trade?” he asked, his voice rough but steady.

You kept your focus on the stitches, your hands moving with practiced precision. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve got a light hand,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You glanced up briefly, the corners of your lips quirking. “You don’t strike me as someone who hands out compliments easily.”

The faint flicker of the oil lamp threw warm shadows across the stone walls of the infirmary. The low hum of muffled groans and whispered prayers filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood and herbs. His dark eyes, hazy from the drug, remained fixed on you as you worked.  

“I don’t,” he murmured, his voice soft and slow. “But I’ve had enough wounds stitched up to know the difference between butchery and care.”  

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and a soft chuckle escaped you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“It is,” he said, his tone unusually earnest.  

Your laugh echoed softly in the quiet room, and his lips curved in response. Hanno was inebriated now—high on the devil’s breath and opium. He looked at you, his gaze almost childlike in its wonder, as if the haze had stripped away some of the weight he carried.  

“What we do in life echoes in eternity,” you said suddenly, your voice a mix of reverence and melancholy.  

The words hung in the air, timeless and heavy. You paused, your fingers stilling over the bandage.  

Hanno blinked, as if chasing a memory. “I feel I know those words…”  

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t take credit for them. They’re written on a tomb here, over the bones of a gladiator.”  

He let the words sink in, his gaze distant but thoughtful. You returned to your work, your hands moving with practiced precision as you tied off the final stitch and smoothed the bandage over his wound.  

“There,” you said, leaning back to admire your handiwork. “I think that should hold.”  

Hanno’s eyes drifted to his arm. He reached out, almost absently, and ran his fingers across the crude stitches. His touch was featherlight, as if testing the reality of it.  

You stood, gathering your tools and reaching for the pipe still clutched in his hand. But before you could take it, he brought it to his lips again, inhaling deeply. The motion was slow and deliberate, his dark eyes fixed on you through the curling smoke.  

You paused, watching him, but said nothing. After a moment, you gave a small nod and turned back to pack away the rest of your supplies.  

“Why did you let me take another hit?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, as if the opium was tugging him toward vulnerability.  

You glanced over your shoulder, your expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, we need the pain to go quiet for a while.”  

Hanno held your gaze for a long moment, his lips curving into a faint, lopsided smile. “You understand more than most,” he said quietly.  

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words lingered. As you turned back to your work, his voice broke the silence again, softer this time.  

He said your name a tender echo in the quiet room. “Do you believe it?”  

“Believe what?” you asked, not turning around.  

“That what we do in life echoes in eternity.”  

You stilled, your hands tightening slightly around your tools. Finally, you turned to face him, your expression thoughtful. “I think… the choices we make, the lives we touch—they ripple outward. Whether it’s eternity or just a fleeting moment, I think it matters.”  

Hanno’s gaze didn’t waver, even through the haze of the drug. “You matter,” he said, his voice low but steady.  

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.  

Your throat tightened, but you forced a small smile. “Rest now, Hanno. You’ll need your strength.”  

He didn’t protest, but his eyes lingered on you as you turned away, your heart inexplicably heavier and lighter all at once.

LUCILLA’S VILLA – EVENING  

The villa shimmered under the moonlight, its alabaster walls soaking in the silver glow. Marble columns cast long shadows across the flagstones, and the air hummed with the gentle chorus of cicadas. Somewhere in the gardens, the delicate aroma of night-blooming jasmine mingled with the faint tang of the sea breeze.  

You stood at the edge of the terrace, a delicate glass of spiced wine cradled between your fingers. The cool air kissed your skin, but it couldn’t chase away the heat simmering beneath—an ache born of exhaustion, frustration, and something you dared not name. The day had unraveled like a tragedy, the gods watching with cruel amusement as you struggled to hold it together.  

Behind you, the sound of soft footfalls broke the stillness.  

“You stand there as though the weight of Rome rests on your shoulders,” a voice drawled, smooth and familiar.  

You turned, finding Lucilla leaning against the stone archway, her golden hair catching the light of the lanterns flickering nearby. She regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and knowing—Lucilla had a way of reading people like scrolls, unrolling their secrets with unnerving ease.  

“Does it not?” you replied, attempting a wry smile, though it faltered before it could fully form.  

Lucilla stepped closer, her movements fluid, regal. “Rome’s weight has crushed stronger people than us,” she said softly, joining you at the balustrade. “The key is learning when to carry it—and when to set it down.”  

You scoffed, swirling the wine in your glass. “And how often do you set it down?”  

Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Far less than I should.” She glanced at you from the corner of her eye. “But I’m not the one standing out here, staring at the stars as though they hold the answers.”  

The faint humor in her tone was a lifeline, grounding you. “If the stars do have answers, they’re not sharing them with me,” you muttered, shaking your head.  

Lucilla’s expression softened, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on your arm. “The answers aren’t in the stars,” she said. “They’re in here.” She tapped lightly against your chest, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve already carried so much. Don’t forget you’re allowed to put it down—just for a while.”  

Her words settled over you like a balm, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of distant laughter interrupted, drawing both your gazes toward the villa’s golden glow.  

Lucilla sighed, stepping back. “The night calls,” she said, her tone laced with resignation. “Goodnight.”  

“Goodnight, Lucilla,” you replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows of the villa, her presence leaving an unspoken promise of strength in its wake.  

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the night’s hum. You exhaled, leaning against the wood, letting the day’s exhaustion seep into your bones. But the solace was short-lived.  

“Finally,” a low, gravelly voice murmured from the shadows.  

You startled, your hand flying to your chest. “Marcus!” you hissed, your heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”  

He stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the flickering lantern light. His tunic was slightly disheveled, and his dark curls fell across his brow, softening the hard planes of his face. Yet his eyes—those piercing eyes—held a fire that made it impossible to look away.  

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “Not tonight.”  

You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to rebuff him. “And you thought sneaking into my quarters was the solution?”  

Marcus’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been on my mind all evening,” he said simply, the weight of his confession hanging between you. “Do you know how maddening it is? Seeing you, hearing you, but never being close enough?”  

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, trying to keep your composure. “Marcus, this—whatever this is—it's dangerous. You know that.”  

“Danger is nothing new to me,” he said, stepping closer. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself rooted in place as he closed the distance between you.  

“Marcus…” you began, but your voice faltered as his fingers brushed against yours, tentative and fleeting.  

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will. But if you don’t—”  

The unspoken promise in his words sent a shiver racing down your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, but instead, you found yourself tilting your face toward his touch as his hand cupped your cheek.  

“I’ve seen you fight for others, care for them,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw. “Let me fight for you. Let me care for you.”  

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, unbidden and unwelcome. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you said, your voice trembling.  

“I do,” he countered, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I’m asking anyway.”  

His breath was warm against your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance, your mouth meeting his in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender.  

The world fell away in that moment, the chaos and the danger replaced by the warmth of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless.  

You pulled back, your chest heaving, your hands clutching the fabric of his tunic. “This doesn’t make the world any less dangerous,” you said, your voice barely audible.  

“No,” he agreed, his gaze locked on yours. “But I’d burn the world to ash just to feel the heat of you.”  

His words sent a shiver through you, a dangerous mix of devotion and desire. And as he kissed you again, softer this time, you realized that perhaps the fire he promised wasn’t something to fear—but something you’d already been consumed by.  

[jellybuttons]

Crowley's "oh" moment wasn't him realizing that he's in love

Okay so we've all talked about the scene where Nina asks Crowley if Aziraphale is his "bit on the side" or whatever and Crowley has that visable fanfiction "oh" moment on his face afterwards. And I know a lot of people think it must have been Crowley realizing that he was in love with Aziraphale, but that's never sat right with me. Crowley is emotionally repressed and oblivious, sure, but he's been down bad for that angel since the beginning. I just can't believe he didn't know it the whole time. That can't have been what he was reacting to. Hell, just the nervous swallow he does at the beginning of that conversation implies that he knows exactly what Nina is about to ask him, meaning he at least already has that idea in his head.

I think what he was reacting to was Nina's last comment, "other people's love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own" (I'm quoting from memory but I got the gist of it).

Crowley has been in love for a long time by this point. He's also, for that entire time, understood that nothing can be done about it. Up until Armageddon failed, there was no universe where Crowley and Aziraphale could safely be together, and Crowley cares too much about Aziraphale to truly risk his safety (although he does have his selfish moments--that need to know that Aziraphale cares for him too, that he's not completely alone in this partnership). Nothing could change, so there was no point in doing anything about it.

In the few years post Armageddon, though, it seems like QUITE a bit has changed for the two of them. Remember, these are two immortal beings...a few years is milliseconds to them. But in those milliseconds, it seems like Crowley has become a regular establishment in the bookshop, glasses off and all. Aziraphale felt comfortable enough with him to ask to borrow the Bentley, Crowley's prized possession and his literal home. They've gotten COMFY in a very short amount of time, objectively, and I'm sure it felt like big change to Crowley, who knows better than to ask for things he doesn't think he can have.

But Nina's comment. "Other people's love lives always seem so much more straightforward than our own". A direct parallel to exactly how Crowley has been thinking about her and Maggie this whole time--two people who just need a push (romantic awning, anyone?) and everything else would fall into place. Easy. Uncomplicated.

Crowley's "oh" moment isn't that he's in love with Aziraphale. It's that maybe being in love with Aziraphale doesn't have to be complicated.

Other people's love lives DO seem more straightforward than Crowley's own. But if Nina feels that way about him, as sure as he is about her and Maggie...could it be that easy? Could he have that with his angel? I don't think at this point that Crowley has any doubt about whether or not Aziraphale feels something for him (whatever that something may be in Crowley's mind), but after all...Aziraphale asked him to slow down. So he's been taking it slow. Hanging around more. Leaning into his space. Soaking up every second of Az's smiles like a dying man, content with whatever he's given.

But Nina. She thinks they're together already. No doubt in her mind. She thinks it's so straightforward, that of COURSE they're together, two people who look at each other with that much love in their eyes must be, right? And I think that "oh" is Crowley's realization that maybe it IS straightforward. After all, they're them, right? No more Heaven, no more Hell, no actual reason they couldn't just...be together. In that moment, Crowley isn't realizing that he's in love with Aziraphale. He's known he's in love for a very long time. No, that moment was him realizing that, maybe, he can stop pretending not to be, that maybe all they have to do is stop pretending they aren't everything to each other. Does he need to slow down if there's no danger to avoid?

When Nina and Maggie confront him at the end, encourage him to confess...objectively, I don't think Crowley as a character would agree to anything nearly that vulnerable without a LOT more convincing. But he does agree. And you could argue that it's because of Gabe and Beez, sure, but when has Crowley ever used other angels and demons as reasoning behind his choices? No, consistently, Crowley has followed humans every time. Gabe and Beez are nothing but conveniently timed examples. I think that even without G and B running off together, Nina and Maggie could've convinced him after nothing but this "oh" conversation with Nina.

When Crowley is choking out his confession in the final 15 of episode 6, so desperate to make Aziraphale understand...he says "we're a pair, a group, a group of the two of us, and we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't". That's the point he's trying to get across. They can stop pretending, they can stop pretending, please, god, stay here Aziraphale and don't make him keep pretending.

Please, Aziraphale, he's saying. Don't go back. I only just realized that it doesn't have to be complicated. He realized that, maybe, finally, he was allowed.

Oh, he thought, out there on the sidewalk with Nina, there's nothing left but me stopping me from being happy.

Oh, he thought, while Nina and Maggie urged him to communicate, the couple that so perfectly mirrored his own wants, I could tell him how I feel.

Oh, he thought, as Aziraphale looked at him with excited eyes and explained that he wanted them both to go back to Heaven, that Crowley could become an angel again, that they could go right back to working for the very thing that had been keeping them apart for thousands of years. Oh, oh god. I thought it was over. I thought we were free. I thought that, finally, maybe, it could be easy. Maybe we can stop pretending.

And he kissed him. Because fuck, just like with Nina and Maggie, he thought it could finally be easy, but then communicating didn't work and nothing was easy and all he had left was one fabulous kiss and vavoom and he was desperate and off script and so, so scared and then he was alone in the Bentley, driving away from the bookshop, completely alone.

Maybe Crowley should've kept pretending. It would've hurt less.

[diorgirl444]

From one matt dilly girl to another...🤨

cowboy!dallas how do we feel

Like full on texan accent omggg- 🤭🤭

you get it oh my godddddd. maybe bcs i’m english but this is so mouthwatering to me i can’t even lie to you!!! so much that i’ve written a few cutesy lil hcs for it xxx

cowboy! dallas winston x farmer’s daughter! reader

warnings: bad writing! (girlies i’ve never kissed anyone or flirted so my expression only comes from writing fanfiction so it may not be the most realistic i’m afraid), fem! reader, very self indulgent, unspecified time period. poor understanding of american history i’m english please go easy on me, idk how many words <3

• okay so i see your cowboy! dallas winston and i raise you runaway outlaw! dallas winston posing as a farmhand on reader’s family farm

• i’m thinking he’s an outlaw because after getting in a fight with his alcoholic father he ran away with their horse and in order to survive he stole from carriages and things. a regular billy the kid you know?

• except it’s not easy for a seventeen year old out on his lonesome on all that land and with the law looking for you. but he has no choice so he keeps running till he reaches a farm far, far out west. that night he is so, so tired that he hides in their barn planning to wake up early so he doesn’t get caught.

• but he hasn’t been able to sleep properly in days so he fully crashes. he wakes up that morning with a girl leaning over him pressing her cool hand to his forehead, the sunlight from the open barn makes her hair like a halo and she’s in a beautiful white nightdress and so he briefly wonders if he’s died and she’s one of heavens angels.

• the allusion shatters when she’s realised he’s woken and she calls “daddy he’s alive!” and then his eyes widen and he realises there’s a whole family crowded around him. he excepts to be shouted, to be threatened maybe even hit but instead the wrinkled old man who he assumes is the father of the house says in a gruff but not unkind voice “you got a place to stay son?”

• dallas is vaguely aware that he doesn’t know these people that they could report him to their nearest sheriff or worse eat him or something gruesome like that. but something about the apple cheeked girl, the twin little boys in mismatched plaid and the kind eyes in the wrinkled faces of the parents has him feeling at ease and so he admits “no sir”

• the mother nudges her husband who nods before speaking “well sonny you’re in luck. i’m in need of a farmhand. can’t pay ya but i can offer ya food and board for you and that horse of yours. does that sound like a deal boy?” dallas nods, hardly believing his luck.

• the girl smiles widely and softly whispers to him “i told daddy we should keep you” he decides not to tell her that she could keep him forever if she wanted. maybe it’s a bit early for that yet.

• he falls into a routine pretty quickly at the farm. he does all the hard labour that the father of the house is too old to do now like cutting firewood or rounding the cattle up. he always catches sight of the girl picking fresh fruit and prancing around the farm in her cute little cowboy boots and his heart aches.

• what he doesn’t know is the parents have noticed the way him and their daughter look at each other or ankles press together under the table so they’re always trying little things to get them together. like sending her out to give him glasses of sweet iced tea or getting him to ride their horses with her.

• it finally happens though late one hot august evening. the farm is lazy for a change with most people napping trying to beat the heat. she’s eating cherries and staining lips and hands on the porch swing whilst intently a very sweaty shirtless dallas work on the farm.

• he catches her looking and grins saying “you know what they say about cherry stems?” she shakes her head, batting her lashes at him absentmindedly and he seems to grin even wider.

• “well if you can tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue. means you’re a good kisser” his honeyed southern tone drawls out.

• almost in a trance she hands him a cherry stem and flushes bright red when he cockily sticks his tongue out flashing the knotted up cherry stem. “my turn” she tells him trying to distract herself from the growing butterflies in her stomach.

• “nah doll i got another way to check for you” before she can ask what is, he’s leaning over the porch railings and kissing her. she eagerly kissed him back letting her cherry stained fingers grab onto his hair and he’s groaning slightly against his lips. they probably would of gone further has it not been for the cough behind them.

• they awkwardly pull away, her with red cheeks and dallas with red ears and they meet her fathers gaze “happy to see you two finally pulled it together but if you’re gonna act like dogs in heat do that where the lord can’t see you, hm kids?” he gives them a knowing smile as he walks off.

• and well they listen to him and disappear off the barn hand in hand just as they one day will leave the local chapel dressed in white….

[rmd-writes]

Home for the Holidays

firstprince | M | 9.3k

When Alex discovers that Henry's Christmas plans involve staying in their apartment alone, he does what any good roommate would do and drags Henry along to his family Christmas at the lake house. It's a win-win situation, since everything is better for Alex when Henry is around. Henry is his person. Completely fucking platonically, of course.

Alex is aghast. Mostly because what Henry is saying to him is unfathomable. And apparently he’s been spending so much fucking time with Henry that he thinks words like ‘aghast’ and ‘unfathomable’ now, what the fuck. “You’re what?”

Henry leans against the kitchen counter facing him, one long leg crossed over the other. “I’m not going home. I’m just going to stay here on my own for Christmas. I’ll read my favourite books and get a takeaway, maybe do a face mask,” Henry says, sounding a little too much like he’s explaining something to a toddler for Alex’s liking. Then, his mouth curves in a way that Alex knows means he’s about to tease him. “I think I’ll actually enjoy it. It might be a novel experience, having some peace and quiet around here with you gone.”

“Oh fuck off.” Alex shoves Henry’s chest. “As if you wouldn’t miss me.”

The tips of Henry’s ears go pink. “I, uh, well—”

“You should come home with me,” Alex suggests, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter beside Henry.

“Sorry?”

“Come to the lake house with me. For Christmas,” Alex adds, in case that isn’t obvious. He’s growing more excited by the idea with every passing second. “June and Nora will be there, I can take you to Franklin Barbecue and Dad and I will cook while Mom grills. And there’s so much food for Noche Buena, dinner never really stops, it’s just a never ending feast. Oh! And I’m gonna get us matching ugly Christmas sweaters because we’ve gotta beat the girls – don’t tell them I called them ‘the girls’ they’ll be mad and—”

Suddenly, Alex really fucking wants this. He wants Henry to come home with him for Christmas because Henry is his best friend and if he’s honest with himself, he’s going to miss Henry and his stupid floppy hair and the smell of his gross Earl Grey tea and the way he makes Alex’s coffee if they’re apart over the holidays. They’ve only been living together for six months, but in the year since they’ve become friends instead of enemies, Henry’s become a constant in Alex’s life.

“—So, will you?”

“I don’t want to impose,” Henry says slowly.

“You won’t be imposing! Dad always puts me in the room with bunks anyway so there’s definitely a spare bed.” Alex places his hands on Henry’s broad shoulders and turns him so that they’re facing each other. “Say yes.”

read on ao3

This fic is part of the don we now (even more) gay fanfiction collection - a gift fic exchange between friends. Thank you to all of them for allowing me to boss them around again this year - I love you all very much 💖

Extra thanks to @welcometololaland for making time to beta this for me and to @howtosingit for his help with it too

[acourtofmusings]

Penumbra - Series Introduction

pə-ˈnəm-brē : a space of partial illumination between the perfect shadow on all sides and the full light; a grey area

Pairing: Azriel x Reader Total Word Count: tbd

Summary: The inner circle has been sorely lacking a well-versed scholar, and luckily for them Y/N happens to bump into Nesta at a local romance book lovers convention. Her arrival comes just in time to flank reports that an ally of the Night Court is plotting something world-shattering. Despite every warning bell going off in her mind, she offers her assistance and finds herself enveloped in a dangerous game. Everything is at stake, and Y/N finds herself with a whole lot to lose when a certain Spymaster steps out of the shadows and into her light.

A/N: My falling-asleep fantasy scenarios have been extra intriguing recently, so naturally I'm turning to the world of fanfiction. For now, enjoy this teaser.

Chapter One (coming soon)

If there had ever been one thing that proved itself a constant in your life it was your need for the concrete. Black or white, those were the options. But ever since you had found yourself intertwined with the rambunctious group sitting with you in the large VIP booth at Ritas, things had steadily been muddling up into a daunting shade of grey. You smile at the sound of Cassian's boisterous laughter and take another sip from the drink you have been nursing for the better part of an hour. Nesta's calculated gaze lands on you from her place next to her mate.

"Y/N," she purrs, "You feeling okay?"

You nod and set your drink back down on the tabletop, tracing the rim with your finger. Your gaze begins a slow sweep across the other members of the inner circle, all sucked into their own individual conversations.

"I'm fine, Nesta. Just...taking it all in."

She lets a corner of her mouth quirk up, her subtle version of a well-meaning smile. "You'll get used to the noise eventually. They can get a bit caught up in themselves, but they mean well. Give it time."

Your gaze eventually settles onto the brooding spymaster who is currently nursing a double scotch on the rocks with the same level of disinterest as you. Shadows curl lazily over his shoulders, framed by powerful wings that are tucked tight against his back. He's leaning back into the cushion of the booth seat, listening to Mor's umpteenth dramatic tale of the evening. The movement of his shadows camouflages the swirls of black ink peeking from underneath his button down, and you take a moment to try and decipher what parts of the mesmerizing display are alive and which are tattooed. You fail miserably, reminding you again just how much you can't stand the nuance that surrounds this group of powerful fae. You force your eyes back over to your new friend, who now holds a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"Perhaps you should put down all of those ancient texts and become a spy instead."

You furrow your brow at her suggestion.

"Why would I do something like that?"

She chuckles to herself and pulls her own glass to her lips, finishing the remainder of the brightly colored drink. "You certainly enjoy starring just as much as he does."

You feel heat creep across your neck as you realize you were caught, and hope the swig of your drink that you take is enough for her to think it's a flush from the alcohol. You twist your face at the taste and shiver slightly as the burn runs down your throat.

"Thats what you get for ordering the well liquor," Nesta teases, "Rhys would happily add you to his tab if you stopped being so fucking stubborn. And don't think that amusing display gets you off the hook with me."

Cassian's wings perk up, and the nosy general turns to the two of you. "What display? What did I miss?" He leans down and speaks not-so-lowly into his mate's ear. "Is she finally relaxing? The both of you are way too boring for my taste right now." You feel heat burning up the sides of your neck and flooding onto your cheeks. Maybe your nervousness was coming off a bit standoffish, but you hated to think it was affecting anyone else's evening.

Cassian flags down a waitress and points between you and Nesta. "Excuse me miss, these two need to catch up. Get me two of something good and strong, please." He looks to you and wiggles his eyebrows "Add it to the High Lord's tab."

You begin to protest, looking apologetically to the waitress. "Oh, no thats okay, you really don't have to--"

"--add it..." Cassian insists, "to the High Lord's tab." The waitress smiles and nods, walking away to input the order. Cassian winks at you, smiling warmly. "You're sitting with the big boys now, sweets, no need to shy away from it. Rhys has money coming out of his ass, might as well put it to good use."

Rhys hears his name coming from his intoxicated brother and also turns his attention to you, violet eyes dancing with the same wicked amusement that often adorns Nesta's gaze.

"Ease off Cas," he chides, "I'm not that rich." The High Lord of the Night Court smirks. "Relax, Y/N, I'm not worried about what you spend on my account tonight. Or any night, for that matter. You're doing us all a massive favor, it's the least I can do."

You breath a sigh of relief and smile gently at him, and he returns it before looking back over to Feyre and Amren. Perhaps things were grey now, but maybe with enough time they could sort themselves out. Maybe you could actually find yourself settling into the rhythm of this group. As you feel yourself ease up, the waitress comes back with two bubbling cocktails.

A pair of hazel eyes train intently on you from the opposite end of the booth, marking your conversation and body language with acute awareness. Your timing was too coincidental. He had an odd feeling about you, one that his shadows seemed to enjoy egging on with their consistent pleas.

Need to know more. Let us learn more.

Azriel took a sip of his scotch, gaze still locked onto your form and only half listening to the tipsy giggling of his friends around him.

[morgana-larkin]

I got a prompt messaged to me from someone who would like to remain anonymous. The prompt is: Ok basically the reader is pregnant and Melissa is super protective. And they are married. Also somehow in the fic Mel got reader pregnant (like magic baby - or something like that)

I really liked the prompt and had a lot of fun writing the fic. So just pretend that Mel can get reader pregnant when she cums inside her. I mean it’s fanfiction, not realistic. Lol. Anyway…it’s basically just under 3000 words of protective and sweet Mel. I’m thinking of maybe writing a part 2 of Mel and reader has parents more since I wrote more of reader being pregnant. Let me know if you would want a part 2. As always, not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: On to the Chessy prompts! I would also like to thank my 2 birds for not repeating any words that I said when tumblr glitched while I was posting this and I had to restart it.

Mine

Warnings: smut, so much sweet Mel it’ll warm your heart (I mean it did for me and I wrote it 🫠), a bit of swearing at Mel but it’s funny

Words: 2.9k

Your hands clutch ginger hair as lips suck your nipple and you let out a gasp. The same lips go to your other nipple and sucks on it as well. That mouth is fucking magical with your body and those lips trail a path of kisses up to your lips and kisses you. As the kiss ends, you look up and see the lust in the eyes of your wife Melissa. Melissa is teasing your entrance with your fingers right now and she goes to lick the outer skin of your ear and give little bites and you let out a whine.

“Something you want, Amore Mia?” Melissa whispers seductively in your ear.

“Mel…baby, I need you.” Is all you manage to say.

“I’m right here Amore.” She teases you and pulls back to see your face and you look up and see the smile, the same smile that you love.

“I need you inside of me.” You tell her and she grins.

“As you wish Mia Amore.” She tells you then lines her strap with your entrance and enters you fully. You gasp in pleasure and your wife smiles at you and gives you a second. You nod then she starts moving in and out of you slowly then speeds up. “You’re so beautiful Amore, so fucking beautiful.” She says and you grab her head and pull her down to kiss her. You love it when she compliments you, it’s one of your love languages and she knows it and she loves complimenting you.

Melissa goes to rub your clit as she’s close since the strap is rubbing her clit everytime she moves. “Mel I’m so close…so fucking close.”

“Let go Amore, I’m so close too.” She tells you and that pushes you over the edge as you come with a moan, your wife comes right after and you feel it drip inside of you.

*3 months later*

You make it to the toilet just in time to lift it and throw up as Melissa holds your hair up. Melissa ran after you, knowing you’re experiencing morning sickness again.

“It’s ok Amore, let it all out. Not disappointed at all that our baby is rejecting my food.” She jokes and you laugh then throw up again. Melissa rubs your back soothingly and you lean into her touch. “I’m sorry that you keep having morning sickness everyday.” She tells you with an apologetic smile.

“It’s ok, we wanted to become mothers and I’m happy you got me pregnant.” You tell her and she smiles warmly at you. “I hope they have your hair and eyes.” You add and she laughs.

“Well I hope they have your cute little nose and chin.” She says as she boops your nose and you giggle. “Are you done?” She asks and you nod and flush the toilet. She lets go of your hair and helps you up. She gets you some water, mouthwash and gum to which you accept all gratefully.“We gotta go to work now Amore.” She tells you and you nod.

You both get into the car and she drives you both to school. You both met at Abbott when you started there 6 years ago. She tried to avoid you at first but couldn’t resist your charm and became attracted to you and you couldn’t help but get attracted to her either. She got the courage to ask you out after flirting for 6 months then got married 4 years later.

You both walk into the break room with one of her arms around your waist. “Here, sit down and I’ll make you some tea to hopefully get right of that morning sickness again.” She tells you and you nod.

“Still having morning sickness every day?” Barb asks and you nod.

“That little Tesoro keeps rejecting my food. Starting to wonder if they’re actually mine.” She teases. You give her a look and she smirks at you and giggles. “Here you go Amore.” She says as she hands you the tea and sits down beside you. “You’re starting to show Amore. I still can’t believe we’re having a baby.” She tells you excitedly.

“Well I haven’t had sex with anyone else so it’s obviously yours.” You joke to her and she laughs. From the moment you both found out that you’re pregnant, she vowed to protect you and the little Tesoro at all costs. She already protected you anyways, she’s even punched a guy in the face at a bar when he wouldn’t let you go.

*3 more months later*

“Hey baby.” You ask Melissa as you’re laying in bed and she’s brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed.

“Yes Amore?” She tells you and spits the toothpaste out of her mouth into the sink.

“The little devil is kicking inside me again.” You tell her with a pout and she giggles.

“Give me 2 minutes and I’ll scold them.” She tells you with a laugh.

“I still don’t know why they only listen to you. They’re already favourtising.” You pout and she laughs again.

“Oh hun, don’t worry, they’ll love you as well.” She says as she gets into bed next to you.

“I hope so. I’m the one carrying the devil.” She smiles at you and gives you a kiss on the lips. She then puts her head on your thigh and talks to the baby.

“Little Tesoro, what did I say about kicking mommy?” She says and rubs your belly. As she rubs it, she suddenly feels a kick and jolts up then looks at you then back to the belly then back to you. “Was that a kick?” She says and you nod.

“I’m happy that you finally felt one.” You say. You told her the baby kicked for the first time 2 weeks ago and she pouted as she missed it. She tries to get them to kick again but never catches it. This was the first time. You look at your wife who’s watching your belly and her eyes start to fill with tears. “Oh come here baby.” You tell her and open your arms out to hug her. She moves and puts herself in your arms and rests a hand on your stomach. “Of course they stop kicking me after you talk to them. I was telling them to stop for 5 minutes.” You say and she lets out an airy laugh. “They better listen to me when they’re outside the womb.” You complain and your wife looks at you with a smile.

“I’m sure they will.” She says and kisses you. You could find out the gender at your ultrasound next week but you both want it to be a surprise. “Do you have any ideas for girl names?” She asks and you nod.

“I was thinking Caterina.” You say and she lifts her head and looks at you surprised.

“You want to name the baby after me?” She asks and you nod.

“I remember the meaning of your middle name when you told me. Pure. Which both you and the little one are.” You tell her and her eyes fill up with tears again.

“What about boy names?” She asks as she curls up in your arms again.

“I thought of Luca, meaning…”

“Light.” She finishes for you with a smile.

“Ya, do you have any ideas?” She nods.

“For a boy I was thinking Nico, and for a girl I was thinking Amelia. If it’s a girl and we name her Amelia then you can nickname both of us Mel.” She states proudly and you laugh. “Are you sure you want to go with an Italian name? Cause we don’t have too.” She says and you smile at her.

“I already told you that I want to do an Italian name. I love a lot of Italian names that I saw when looking. Your name is Italian and I love it.” You tell her and she kisses you.

You’ve been getting a lot of attention lately with your belly since you’re 6 months pregnant and a lot of people have been touching your stomach and it’s driving Melissa insane. She keeps giving glares and sometimes actually grabs the hand on your belly and pulling it off. She doesn’t like people, that’s not her, touching you.

She did that with Janine last week. Janine touched your belly but then Melissa came into the break room and saw it. She quickly stood beside you and pushed Janine’s hand off then hugged you and mumbled “mine” while glaring at Janine. A few parents have been doing it too but then quickly stopped when Melissa kept coming beside you with an arm around your waist and glaring at them.

You and Melissa have started building the baby room with a crib, a rocking chair, a little bookshelf with baby books to read to them and a couple stuffed toys.

Every day at lunch, she kept moving a chair over so you can put your feet up and then after a week, the chair suddenly stayed there, you think Melissa had something to do with that. Every morning and afternoon or whenever the halls were busy, she wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you through the hallway of children so you didn’t fall.

Melissa keeps attending to your cravings every day, she always asks what you’re craving tonight before she makes supper. She makes whatever you’re craving for you and sometimes has to make something for herself if she refuses to eat what you’re craving.

“Your cravings are getting worse.” She told you one night and you pout.

“Tell that to the little one, not me.” She laughs and does just that.

“Tesoro, will you start craving some Italian food, your mommy is missing my cooking.” She tells your belly and you giggle.

“I really am.” You say and she smiles and kisses your forehead.

You go on maternity leave a month later and you’re bored out of your mind. Melissa texted you on your first week off at every chance she got and video chatted you on lunch and during her prep period. When she got home she cuddled with you on the couch and nuzzled her head on your chest and talked to your belly while listening to your heartbeat. The first time she heard the baby’s heartbeat she was filled with tears and she got a video of it and plays it all the time.

She helps you up the stairs ever night, she started that when you were 5 months pregnant and she hasn’t stopped. She got you a little shower seat when you couldn’t stand for long without your back hurting too much. Every night she motions for you to lay down between her legs and gives you a small shoulder and neck massage. She’s always careful and makes sure not to push on any point that might send you into early labour. You usually fall asleep between her legs while she massaged you and she quickly became an expert at removing herself and lying down beside you without waking you up.

As for the sex, your sex drive went through the roof when you hit 4 months pregnant and it hasn’t slowed down since. The first day it hit you, you two had sex 4 times, she didn’t complain at all. At least until it happened 5 days straight and you kept waking her up at midnight cause you woke up horny and couldn’t fall back asleep. She’s given you quickies many times in the car before school, during lunch and after school. A few times she’s even done it in school in one of your classrooms as you two both had a prep period at the same time, she had to cover your mouth the entire time. She had to get a vibrator for you that was quiet in case it got really bad and you needed to get off and she was either busy or tired.

It seems the more pregnant you get, the more touchy and protective she gets. She’s next to you as much as possible and always has an arm on or around you somewhere. She wants to cuddle all the time at home while talking to the baby. In public places, like the grocery store, she usually has an arm wrapped around your waist as you push the cart. If you need anything, even small things, like refilling your water bottle, then she’s on in a second.

In your 8th month is when she was full on momma bear. She kept insisting that you stay seated, she went grocery shopping alone or said you had to be in a wheelchair if you came with her (which you stayed in the car every time), she got whatever you needed so you wouldn’t have to stand and got you headphones so you can listen to music if the baby was being a little devil and she wasn’t around. One day you did trip and fall on your stomach and she rushed you to the hospital and they told both of you the baby was fine after checking. And that only made her more protective and you barely stood all day.

One day while she was at work, you felt contractions getting closer and closer together. You thought it was Braxton Hicks contractions since you're only 8 months pregnant but they didn’t stop, you knew you were in labour. You quickly called Melissa to which she immediately threatened Ava to sub for her and rushed home to bring you to the hospital.

The labour was long, it was 10 hours before the little Tesoro was born. You kept swearing and yelling at Melissa, especially when she kept telling you to breathe like you both were shown in parenting classes. Barb was there too, holding your other hand and kept trying not to laugh when you kept yelling at Melissa

“I AM FUCKING BREATHING!” You yelled at her ones. “YOU GOT ME INTO THIS MESS *screams when contraction hits* YOU FUCKING BITCH!” She didn’t take any of it personally.

“That’s it, let it all out, yell at me about anything and call me whatever you want.” She told you when you first started yelling at her. At one point, one contraction got so bad that nothing she was saying was helping so she screamed with you.

When you were pushing, she kept telling you that you’re doing great and to keep pushing.

“I AM FUCKING PUSHING SO FUCK OFF! TELL ME TO PUSH ONE MORE TIME AND I’LL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE!” You yelled at her when you got annoyed.

“And I’ll still love you.” She replied to that and kept holding your hand. You squeezed so hard while pushing that you almost broke her hand, she didn’t complain about it at all. The baby finally came and they said it was a girl. As soon as they brought her to you for skin to skin contact, you named her.

“Hi, little Amelia.” You said and she looked at you and welled up with tears.

“You went with my choice?” She said and you nodded.

She kissed you while the baby was on your chest and Barb took a picture of you all as a family for the first time. After 10 minutes of skin to skin, then you handed Amelia over to Melissa to hold. As soon as the baby was in her arms, she started crying while talking to her daughter for the first time face to face.

“Hi my little Tesoro. So you’re the little trouble maker who kept kicking your mommy.” She joked and you laughed. Melissa looked at her daughter with little ginger hairs and her green eyes with your little nose and chin, just like you both imagined.

“My two Mel’s.” You said to her as she held the baby and she giggled.

You fell asleep after breastfeeding Amelia for the first time, and Melissa stayed awake and held Amelia while sitting in the chair next to your bed. She kept humming or singing some Italian lullabies that she sang to your belly at night when you were pregnant.

Melissa got a month off of work after Amelia was born. Ava had it all set up for her when Melissa requested a month off after the baby was born when you went on maternity leave.

The first month you both kept taking turns when Amelia cried. You had to use the breast pump and a bottle as she was premature and couldn’t suck the milk out of your breasts long enough.

After a month, Melissa had to go back to work and kept calling you and requesting pictures throughout the day. The first day she went back to work, you brought Amelia to see her at work at lunchtime. Although you were a little early and got there a few minutes before lunch and surprised Melissa at her classroom. All her students said “aww” when Melissa held her baby before class ended. At lunchtime she brought you and Amelia to the break room and introduced Amelia to everyone.

Barb held her first, even though she visited a few times in the first month to help you guys get some proper sleep. All of them took turns holding Amelia for a few minutes and then handed her back to Melissa who smiled at her daughter and held your waist.

Barb looked at her best friend and couldn’t be happier for her as she looked the happiest she’s ever been, holding her daughter and her wife at the same time.

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

If you want to be added then let me know!

[maya-caffrey]

Stuck in my head

pairing: neal caffrey x fem!reader

words: 3.2k

summary: Neal Caffrey, Ward of the state, CI by circumstance, Conman by choice, has taken a particular liking to the fence he's actively trying to get arrested while undercover, much to his chagrin.

timeline: this is fanfiction land. time stands still and we dance on canon's remains

warnings: baby this is fluff, no surprises, I swear. maybe a small one somewhere but it's good, I promise

ps: (Y/f/n) is (your/fake/name), (y/n) is (your/name)

"Peter I am telling you, we can't arrest her."

"Because we have no evidence yet? Yeah, I got that."

"No, I'm saying we shouldn't even be pursuing this case in the first place. I don't think she's a fence."

Peter rolled his eyes at Neal's protests and proceeded to ignore the rest of his rant, much like he had since the beginning of the case. For some reason Peter cannot quite understand, Neal has been opposed to working this case ever since the first time he went undercover as George Devore, art collector, to set up a meeting with (Y/f/n).

To the residents of the stakeout van, the meeting was normal and went swimmingly, meaning the next meeting, where the handoff would be discussed, would be enough to put the nail in the coffin and close the case, essentially arresting (Y/f/n) and finally getting the name of the buyer they have been tracking. But to Neal, or rather, George Devore, this seemed like the worst thing in the world at the moment.

Back home, Neal decided to pour his heart out to the only other person who he thought would lend a happy ear. But instead, he was met with merciless judgment from Mozzie.

"Neal, you have a problem when it comes to beautiful women. I say this from a place of love. And perfect recall"

Neal feigned being hurt, even though he knew damn well his only problem with (Y/f/n) was that she was stuck in his head ever since they first met. He had no solid reason, but he was sure she was not just a regular fence for stolen art. She did not carry herself with that shifty cunningness one might find in a con artist, but rather with an air of authority. She seemed honest and sure of herself, which was the first clue he noticed that she may not be a con artist. Her textbook knowledge of Degas was not helping her case, and her being gorgeous was only making things worse.

He remembered the time he showed her the Degas. As she leaned forward to examine the painting he’d brought as bait, he caught a faint hint of her perfume—something light, maybe jasmine? Neal told himself it was just an observation, but even Peter had once told him he had a way of letting the little details trip him up.

Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day.

______________________________________________________________

"Your work is simple. You need to discuss a time and place for the handoff, get her buyer's name to confirm we have the right guy, and have her admit on the record that she’s knowingly trafficking stolen art," Peter said, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Once we have her on tape saying anything that implicates herself or her buyer, we can move in. So keep it casual, stay in character, and—" Peter shot Neal a warning look. "—don’t get any ideas."

Neal managed a tight smile. "You’re really worried I’ll blow it?"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "No, I’m worried you’ll fall for it. There’s a difference."

"Peter, I’ve got this," Neal replied, a bit too quickly. "She’s just another suspect."

Peter crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Good. Keep it that way."

Neal exited the surveillance van to the restaurant where he was meeting (Y/f/n), mentally cursing himself for picking the most romantic spot in town. Although it was George Devore who was meeting her, Neal Caffrey wished it was him instead.

As Neal entered the restaurant, the low lighting and soft jazz in the background felt more intimate than he’d intended. The tables were spaced just far enough apart for privacy, and the scent of roses mixed with fresh bread filled the air. It was a perfect place for a date—not a takedown. He adjusted his cufflinks, reminding himself that George Devore was here to discuss business, but Neal Caffrey couldn't shake the feeling he was here for something else entirely.

The moment he saw her seated at their table, he could feel time slow down around him. His heart, pounding so loud, threatening to give himself away, and his feet were reluctant to move forward. Reminding himself yet another time what he was here for, Neal took the other seat at the table and was greeted by a warm smile.

As he took his seat, the soft lighting cast a warm glow on her face, and Neal couldn't help but notice the way her eyes caught the light, just for a second. Her warm smile and the skip of his own heartbeat threatened to unravel him. He swallowed, hoping she couldn't see how tightly he was gripping the edge of the table under his hand.

“Mr. Devore, you’ve picked quite the place, I must say.” She glanced around, taking in the candlelight and cozy atmosphere with an approving smile.

Neal cleared his throat, managing a relaxed grin. “Please, call me George,” he replied, leaning back slightly, trying to match her casual tone. “I figured someone with your refined taste would appreciate a little ambiance.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ambiance and art—my weaknesses.” She tilted her head, studying him for a moment longer than was comfortable. “So, George, what’s next on our agenda?”

Neal felt his pulse quicken. The way she looked at him, with a blend of curiosity and confidence, made it difficult to remember that this was just business. “I thought we’d finalize the details,” he said smoothly, though his mind was racing. “Make sure we’re all on the same page… especially about your buyer.”

She had this way of tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear just before she spoke as if gathering her thoughts in a gesture as practiced as her knowledge of art. For someone supposedly in the business of deception, she was oddly composed, almost serene. And that calm was getting to him.

"Well, my buyer is a man who really values his privacy, you know how it is." Neal could feel his focus shifting away from their conversation and was almost sure he'd stutter if he said another word. He knew that to get anything from her, he'd have to give up something as well, as a show of trust. Or you know, he could tank the entire investigation by naming the buyer himself and spooking the poor fence.

"Really? Because word on the street is, you've got Orwell Anders lined up for the Deg-" She casually reached for his wrist, her fingers grazing over the watch. In a swift motion, she turned it off—he'd almost missed it. Neal's breath caught as he realized she knew exactly what it was.

"How did you know—Who are you?"

"How long until your agents move in?"

"A couple minutes, if I don’t respond."

"In that case, I’ll get straight to the point. Neal, my name’s (Y/n). I’m with the FBI—Homicide Division, specifically. And yes, I know exactly who you are. I’m undercover to take down Orwell Anders. Part of my operation involves meeting him as a fence, which is why I’m here. I thought we were on the same side, but it’s clear you’re investigating me, and that’s a problem. I can't let you derail this case, especially since we need him for murder. I turned off your watch because your van is compromised. I’m sure you can figure out who’s responsible for that. If they've heard any of this from the van, it's over."

Neal blinked, trying to absorb everything she’d just dropped on him. His mind raced, but he kept his face neutral. “So, let me get this straight,” he said slowly, his voice steady despite the chaos inside. “You’re working for the FBI… and you’ve been undercover, posing as a fence to get close to Anders? But now you want me to back off, or what? Help you catch him for murder?”

She didn’t flinch at his disbelief. Instead, she leaned in slightly, her voice low and urgent. “I didn’t want to pull you in, Neal. But now that your team’s involved, I need you to understand—we can’t afford to lose him. We need solid evidence to tie him to the murder. If you keep investigating me, it’ll ruin everything.”

Neal studied her, trying to find a crack in her story, but there was nothing. Just the same calm, controlled demeanor he’d seen in her earlier, only now there was something sharper, more desperate underneath it.

“You’re telling me that all this—” He waved a hand, gesturing to their whole encounter, the charade, the tension between them—“is a setup. And you knew all along who I was?”

Her expression softened just a fraction. “I had to, Neal. But this isn’t about you. It’s about stopping a killer.”

He leaned back in his chair, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in dynamics. This wasn’t how he’d imagined things would play out. She wasn’t just another suspect. She was part of the game. The rules had just changed.

“So, what now?” Neal asked, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were sharp, focused. “You want me to help you take down Anders, but you need me to play nice? Or should I just keep pretending I’m the clueless art dealer you think I am?”

She paused, eyes narrowing slightly, but there was an unreadable intensity behind them. “I don’t need you to pretend, Neal. I need you to trust me.”

"You could've gone to Peter or Hughes with this. You knew I'm a CI. You knew I was on a case. Why go with the charade?"

"I guess I thought I was helping with your investigation? I hadn't realized you were looking into me at that point." She almost looked guilty for having to have put him through that.

Neal’s mind spun with everything she had just revealed. The weight of her words hung between them, a fragile thread of trust that could snap at any moment. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. The lines were blurring in a way he hadn’t expected, and as much as he wanted to shut this down, something about her calm confidence made him hesitate.

She watched him, waiting for him to make a decision. Finally, Neal took a deep breath, trying to push aside the growing unease in his gut.

“Okay,” he said, his voice steady, but with an edge of suspicion. “Let’s say I believe you for a second. What now?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached over and placed her hand gently on his wrist, the same place she’d turned off the watch earlier. Her fingers lingered for a moment, before she spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Turn it back on, Neal. I need you to stay in character, to help me take him down. If we’re going to get Anders for both the murder and the stolen art, we need him to make a move—one he can’t deny. And right now, I need your help to make that happen.”

Neal’s chest tightened at the request. He didn’t want to help her. He didn’t want to become a pawn in whatever dangerous game she was playing. But he had no choice. The mission was bigger than just the art, and from the way she was looking at him, he knew this was their best shot.

He let out a frustrated sigh, but reached for his wrist with a reluctant motion. Slowly, he turned the watch back on, the familiar hum buzzing against his skin.

“Fine,” he muttered, looking up at her. “But you owe me one.”

She gave him a brief, almost imperceptible smile. “You’ll get more than you think.”

Neal watched her as she leaned back in her chair, her posture shifting from casual to calculating, her eyes never leaving his. She was in full control now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she always had been. All he knew was that he liked it.

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

The next day, they were back in the briefing room. Peter was already in his usual spot, running the meeting as he always did. Neal couldn’t help but notice (Y/n) walking in, though. She was a stark contrast to the playful, teasing woman he'd met the night before. Today, she was all business.

In her pantsuit, with her badge and gun, she looked right at home. The transition was seamless, and for a second, Neal wondered just how much of that was the real her. The woman who had handled the dinner situation with such ease had just stepped into her role without missing a beat.

She offered Peter a quick smile, then took her seat, her posture shifting from relaxed to focused in an instant. There was no sign of the laid-back charm she had shown before. She was more chipper and excited than the nervously calm person he had seen yesterday.

"Morning," she said, her voice warm but professional. It was clear this was her zone, and Neal respected that. But a part of him couldn’t help but notice the contrast from last night—the way her eyes seemed to soften just before she turned away like she was still adjusting to the change.

Peter began the briefing, detailing the next steps with his usual focus. Neal stayed quiet, letting Peter run through the plan. But his attention kept drifting to (Y/n). There was a quiet energy between them, something unspoken that he couldn’t quite shake.

“Alright, team,” Peter said as the briefing wrapped up. “Neal, (Y/n), you’ll be tailing Anders. We need to get something concrete, so keep your eyes open.”

Neal nodded, but he was still processing everything. Working with (Y/n) felt… different. She had a way about her, an energy that made it hard to stay entirely focused. She wasn’t acting like someone undercover, yet Neal couldn’t help but feel there was more to her than what was on the surface.

As the team started to shuffle out, Neal lingered for a moment. He caught (Y/n)’s eye again as she packed her things. Her gaze softened just a little before she turned back to her bag, though Neal was certain she hadn’t meant to let it show.

“You good?” he asked, trying to keep things light, though his voice had a slight edge to it. He wasn’t sure if it was the case or the connection that was making him second-guess himself.

“Yeah,” she replied, meeting his gaze with an easy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You?”

“Never better,” Neal said with a shrug, though he didn’t really believe it. His pulse was still a little too quick, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Peter called from the door. “Neal, (Y/n), let’s go.”

Neal and (Y/n) fell into step, heading toward the door. Neal could feel her presence beside him, just a little too close for comfort in a way that was making it harder to concentrate. He glanced at her quickly, catching the faintest blush on her cheeks. It could’ve been nothing, but something told him it wasn’t.

They walked in silence for a moment before Neal broke it, his voice low, as if testing the waters. “You ever do anything like this before?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah, but it's always more fun when you’re with someone who’s as good as me.”

Neal chuckled, his usual charm slipping back into place. “So you’re saying you’ve never worked with a partner as handsome as me?”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, something soft in her expression. She didn’t answer immediately, her attention focused on the task ahead, but Neal noticed her glancing at him again, just for a moment too long. And this time, it wasn’t just the mission that was on his mind.

Something was starting to shift—between them. And though Neal tried to push it away, he knew it would only be a matter of time before everything between them came to a head.

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

The bust went down as smooth as they could’ve hoped. Anders didn’t stand a chance, caught entirely off-guard by (Y/n)’s meticulous planning. Neal watched her in action, directing her team with precision, her voice steady and unyielding. She was completely in her element, and for a moment, he was genuinely impressed—maybe a bit more than he wanted to admit.

Once Anders was cuffed and led away, Peter nodded toward her, clearly impressed himself. “You know, we could use an agent like you at White Collar,” he said, half-serious, but the glint in his eye suggested it was more than a passing thought.

She let out a small laugh, a hint of sadness mingled with amusement. “Funny you’d say that,” she replied, hands on her hips. “This is actually my last case with Homicide. I’ve just been transferred.”

Neal’s eyebrow arched, intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Transferred?” He leaned in, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you.”

(Y/n) smirked, tilting her head as she met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe. Though, from what I hear, it’s hard to keep up with you, Caffrey.”

“Oh, I think you’d manage,” he shot back, eyes glinting as he stepped just a bit closer, their shoulders nearly touching. “After all, I wouldn’t mind a little… competition.”

She held his gaze, her smile widening just a fraction. “Competition? Careful, Neal. I don’t play nice when I’m winning.”

Peter watched the exchange, clearly amused, before clearing his throat and muttering, “Alright, save the flirting for the office.” His words hung in the air, casual but with enough weight to make both of them suddenly feel exposed.

Neal’s easy grin faltered, his usual charm suddenly thrown off-balance. He looked away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets and adjusting his stance, trying to seem nonchalant. “Flirting?” he echoed, a hint of forced laughter creeping in. “I wouldn’t call it… flirting.”

(Y/n)’s expression tightened, and she crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I mean—it’s not like that,” she muttered, glancing at Neal and then away, her tone coming out sharper than she intended. “This is just professional courtesy, right?”

Neal chuckled, a little too loudly. “Exactly. I mean, you know me, Peter. I’m just… courteous.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, watching the two of them stumble over their words, clearly enjoying the unexpected reaction. “Uh-huh. Just professional courtesy,” he repeated, the skepticism obvious in his voice.

(Y/n) looked at Neal, a slight flush creeping up her neck as she tried to regain her composure. “Exactly. Nothing else to it.”

Neal opened his mouth, as if to agree again, but no words came out. Instead, he gave a stiff nod, forcing his usual confidence back into his posture. “Right. So… I’ll see you around, Agent,” he added, voice slightly strained, and he quickly looked away, almost as if he couldn’t stand meeting her eyes.

(Y/n) nodded curtly, avoiding his gaze as she muttered, “Yeah, see you, Caffrey.”

As she turned to leave, Peter stifled a laugh, and Neal, sensing Peter’s amusement, shot him a defensive look. “What? I wasn’t… it’s not…” But he knew there was no winning this one.

Peter simply shook his head, chuckling as he clapped Neal on the shoulder. “Sure, Neal. Whatever you say.”

[moonydustx]

So I have this thing...

I need more Law x Reader fics pleeeaassee (；ＴДＴ)

Anyway...

May I ask a reader (up to you what gender) reacting to law proposing to her? Which I doubt canon law would even do but I guess since it's fanfiction, who cares if it's Canon, right???

OMG, this is incredible, hold my hand and I'm with you on this, thank you so much for the request. In my HCs on the Law (I will still post them) I think if it was important for him to do it without even blinking. Surely it would be something more discreet, a small ceremony between just two? I don't know, I might be rambling too much.

Apologies because I didn't have much time to review and maybe I got carried away writing it. I hope you enjoy!

Important: italics are for flashbacks and character readings aloud.

The proposal - favorite moment (part 01)

Part 02 - Part 03

Law counted the minutes until night arrived, it was one of his favorite moments. That was when you would sneak around the submarine and end up knocking on the door on it. In most of these situations, you didn't get out anytime soon. He's not much of a follower on the calendar, celebrating each month together - and come to think of it, everything happened so naturally that it was decided on which day it started to be difficult for you to be a boyfriend.

Like so many other nights, you found yourself doing what was one of the only things Law could name as a hobby. You were nestled between his legs, your body resting on his chest as you attentively read another book. He found himself leaning against the wall, one of his hands resting on his body while with the other he tried to leaf through one of the new editions of Sora comics that he had picked up on the last island he visited.

He had already lost count of how many times the two of you had wasted hours tangled up in his bed reading and something else he was used to hearing you sniffle at something, like you were doing this time. His eyes looked away from the painting and went straight to where you were reading, just out of curiosity. The other times you were sniffling, he had found you reading about some character who died, some reunion, some couple who got together. This time, from what he could see, it was a marriage proposal.

He already knew it was an important topic for you. He also knew that if he had to choose to spend his entire life with someone, it would be you. Law had thought about the hypothesis a few times and when reading the small excerpt from the book, he let himself think about the idea.

"Wow." your feet were planted in front of an immense showcase. Dresses were stacked side by side in various sizes and textures, some with huge trains and others full of silk.

"Don't tell me you're one of those marriage freaks." Ikkaku planted himself next to you, next to Bepo.

"They are beautiful." the bear confirmed, touching the glass.

"Not freak…" you tried to find the words, you really didn't want to sound like a crazy person. "I mean, marriages are two people coming out in love to the world, to the government, to whatever god they may believe in or to no god at all, as if nothing could intervene or separate them."

"Okay, insane then." Shachi appeared behind you, mumbling.

"Actually, that's a nice way of thinking." Ikkaku replied to him, watching you just shrug. "And I won't deny it, they are beautiful dresses."

"Time to go." The captain's voice echoed closer than you imagined, as if he had been there the whole time listening.

Seeing the crew members move forward, agreeing to the captain's request, Law took a few seconds to evaluate the display that had distracted everyone. He could just be daydreaming, but one day you would look incredible wearing a dress like that along with the new name you would carry. Ms. Trafalgar.

From that day on, the idea of ​​proposing to you never left his mind, Law just needed to find the perfect opportunity and it appeared before his eyes.

"Okay…" your choked voice took him out of his reverie. "That's enough tears for today and I'm getting sleepy." you closed the book, turning towards him and snuggling even closer against Law's body.

"Do you mind if I keep reading some more?" he asked and you just mumbled no. His hand got tangled in your strands of hair and it didn't take long for unconsciousness to take you away.

Law gave himself a week to put the plan into practice. The small room at Polar Tang was tidier than usual however you could notice Law more tense than usual behind his back.

"Everything is fine?" you asked, quickly turning to face him. Law seemed distracted from the book in his hands.

"Everything amazing." his lips quickly touched the top of your head. It was now. All the other battles he had faced had not even come close to the anxiety he felt at that moment. "That book you were reading last week?"

"Ah, it's this one. I'm almost done. It's a period romance, princess, knight and all the little things that involves." you laughed, knowing that from your description he would hate the book. "There's no point trying to convince me to read Sora, this one is much cooler."

"So cool you were crying the last time you read it." he said in a teasing tone.

In a casually planned way, even if it went unnoticed in your eyes, he placed the comic he was reading on the bed.

"It's because he was so sweet to her, made an amazing statement."

"Really? Let me see." He moved even closer to your back, looking for space on your shoulder to follow the written words and find the perfect cue.

"Here. Can I read it?"

"Please." he asked, feeling his hands sweat cold.

"Of all the countries I've visited, I don't think I've ever found a home except in you. You've been my home, my safe haven." You started reading, already feeling yourself melting with those words. At the same time, Law took out a small box hidden behind one of the pillows. "So let me be the sword that protects you, the heart that loves you infinitely. I thought happiness would only find me in the next life until I found myself lost in you. What do you mean by that, my love? So, the The knight fell to his knees, the wounds of the battle he faced seemed not to bother him, not when Annya's eyes rested on him. Annya then heard the four words that carried a lifetime of promises…"

"Would you marry me?" Law's voice echoed alongside yours.

Before you could ask what he thought, a small black box appeared in your field of vision. Inside it, a golden ring with a small heart symbol glittered. The book fell from your hands, finding your lap, as you turned to your boyfriend.

"Law?" at that moment, your voice was not the most reliable. As shaky as she was, your vision was blurred by what you suspected were tears. Your hands covered your lips, still not believing what you were seeing.

"Maybe my sword heals you more than defends you, but that doesn't mean I'll let anyone hurt you in this world. You're my home, my safe haven and I can't wait for you to be my wife. I'd even kneel, but It's a little complicated." he smiled, seeing you still paralyzed on top of him. "So, would you marry me?"

"Yes." the first time came out as a whisper. "Yes Yes Yes!" with each new time the word left your lips, you allowed euphoria to take over your body.

Law took your hand, placing a small kiss before putting on the ring and repeating the gesture, as soon as the jewel was in the place where it belonged. His hands pulled you so your legs were around his waist.

"That's…" you even tried to speak, but it was impossible to put everything you felt at the moment into so few words. You saw him pull out a ring that was the same color as yours, without all the details. "Let me do it."

Before he could put it on his own finger, you took it from his hand and repeated the same thing he had done to you. He placed a small kiss between the tattooed fingers and let the jewelry take its rightful place.

"I don't believe." You looked at your hand and then at him. "Law, that was so amazing."

"You're incredible. I can't wait to see you become Mrs. Trafalgar. My beautiful, smart, a little crybaby…" he wiped away your tears, bringing a laugh from your lips. "My dear wife."

"I love you so much." you cupped his face, taking his lips to yours.

Even though it was full of emotions and promises, it was a calm kiss. Law, like you, wanted to record every second of that moment, every inch of skin kissed, every touch.

In the end, Law was also a marriage nut - just with his dear Lady Trafalgar.

----

Little extra:

Law was never a big fan of public displays of affection, but that morning he had made an exception. Seeing you happy, showing off your new ring and the promise of marriage, ideas of what to do on the date, honeymoon suggestions. He couldn’t deny it, it was amazing to see how happy you were with the whole situation.

His happiness was short-lived when he saw three sullen faces - one of them looking like a bear - sitting in front of him.

"So Law, my friend." Penguin began.

"Shut up, it's me."

"But I'm his best friend." Bepo grumbled.

"What do you want?" he asked, trying to understand what the three were discussing so much

"Which of the three of us will be the best man?" Shachi warned and Law watched the three in front of him cross their arms and wait for a response.

Before he could respond, Law felt two arms slide and lock around him.

"We haven't decided that yet guys. We can talk about it later." you asked and watched them begin to argue among themselves who would be what.

"Thanks." Law muttered, making you laugh. You bent down to his ear level.

"And you, I'll be waiting for you in the room. I got someone to cover my duties today, now I want to continue feeling what my dear fiancé can do for me." In contrast to the whispered and sexy voice that left your lips, you left a chaste kiss on Law's cheek and left towards the dorms.

[whereforarthur]

What If We Were More Than Friends

Request: Chris x GN (GN = Gender Neutral) reader read Fanfic" fic🤣 just cause I think I would be funny. Like he's making it for a video (obviously) and asked you to be in it, either you together or friends and if it's friends, one if not both of you have a crush on each other... even the fans can see it but you're both oblivious. Maybe it ends with a date (if you're not together already)

Pairing: ChrisMD x GN!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2.7k

*****

He smiled and all I could think was "oh shit."

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Chris said, rubbing his hands together as he sat in front of the camera, his eyes sparkling with excitement. His friend, y/n, perched on the edge of the couch next to him, looking slightly nervous but equally eager to start their latest YouTube collaboration.

"So, what's the topic today?" y/n asked, fidgeting with the hem of their shirt.

Chris smirked. "You're about to find out," he said, leaning back and picking up a stack of printed pages from the coffee table. "We're doing something a bit different. Fanfiction readings!"

The room filled with the sound of rustling paper as y/n's eyes went wide. "Wait, what?!" they squeaked.

Chris chuckled. "Relax, it's just a bit of fun. You know, to mix things up." He flipped through the pages, a smug grin playing on his lips. "And I've picked out the best ones, too."

The nervousness on y/n's face grew palpable as they leaned in closer. "What do you mean by 'the best ones'?" They couldn't help but wonder if their secret crush had stumbled upon any of the more…intimate fanfictions. The room felt suddenly too warm, and they wished they could shrink into the cushions.

Chris looked up, his grin widening. "Oh, you know, the ones that really showcase the creativity of our amazing fanbase." He cleared his throat dramatically. "Let's dive in, shall we?"

y/n's heart skipped a beat as Chris began to read the first fanfic aloud. It was an innocent enough story, detailing an imagined friendship between him and the reader. But as the words spilled from his lips, y/n couldn't help but feel a strange warmth spread through their chest, a tingle that made their cheeks flush. They glanced at Chris, his eyes focused on the page, and for a moment, they allowed themselves to imagine the scenario playing out in real life.

The second story, however, took an unexpected turn. The plot shifted, and suddenly the characters were in a much more intimate setting. The air in the room grew thick as the fanfic grew steamier, and y/n felt their eyes widen as the scenes grew more explicit. Chris's voice remained steady, but y/n could see the faint blush creeping up his neck. They tried to keep their face neutral, not wanting to give away the tumult of emotions they were feeling.

Chris's inner monologue was a whirlwind of confusion and excitement. He'd read fanfics before, but never with someone else in the room, especially not someone he had feelings for. The words on the page seemed to leap to life, and he couldn't help but visualize the scenes with y/n as the protagonist. The way their eyes searched his every time he looked up, the subtle shift in their posture as the story grew more intense—it was all too much. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool.

The room felt smaller with every passing sentence, the words on the page echoing in his head like a siren's call. He wondered if y/n had noticed the heat rising in the room or the way his breath had become shallower. It was getting harder to focus on the task at hand, his thoughts wandering to the possibility of the scenarios playing out in real life. He forced himself to keep reading, his voice a little shakier than before.

y/n's mind raced as they listened, trying to piece together the storyline while also trying to ignore the racing of their heart. The tension was palpable, and they could feel it coiling around them like a snake ready to strike. They shifted uncomfortably, the fabric of the couch sticking to their damp palms. The fanfic was definitely not what they had signed up for when they agreed to do this video.

Chris's voice grew hoarser as he continued, the words becoming more and more difficult to pronounce without betraying the internal battle he was fighting. The plot had moved on to a heated argument between the characters, which somehow seemed to mirror their own unspoken tension. He took a deep breath, hoping it would help to steady his racing thoughts.

y/n's eyes flicked from the page to Chris's face, then back again, their heart pounding in their chest. The fanfic was getting too real, too close to home. The way the characters interacted, the passion in their words—it was all eerily familiar to the feelings they had been trying to suppress. They couldn't help but wonder if Chris was feeling the same way, if the lines between reality and fiction were blurring for him as well.

Chris looked up, his gaze locking with y/n's. For a moment, the silence was deafening, the weight of the unspoken understanding between them threatening to shatter the fragile barrier they had built. The fanfic had laid bare their hidden desires, and now they were forced to confront them. The room felt like it was spinning, and Chris's hand trembled as he held the paper.

"I think… I think we should stop here," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure if it was the right call, but the intensity of the situation was overwhelming. He could see the shock in y/n's eyes, but there was something else there too—relief?

y/n nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air as they both took a step back from the edge of the cliff they had been teetering on. "Yeah, let's… let's end the video," they murmured, their voice laced with a hint of disappointment that only added to the confusion swirling in Chris's mind.

They both stood up, the sudden movement feeling awkward and forced. Chris placed the stack of fanfics back on the coffee table, his heart thumping against his ribcage. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, in front of the camera. He had always been the one making the jokes, the one keeping things light and entertaining, but now he felt like he was in a spotlight, unable to hide his true feelings.

y/n busied themselves with shutting down the recording equipment, their movements jerky and uncoordinated. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until the final click of the camera broke it. They turned to face each other, the weight of the moment pressing down on them like a heavy blanket.

Chris cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, that was… interesting," he said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears.

y/n offered a small smile, trying to play it off. "Yeah, definitely a new experience," they said, their voice shaky.

They couldn't ignore the fact that the fanfics had hit too close to home. As he uploaded the video, he felt a knot in their stomach. The anticipation of the fans' reactions was both thrilling and terrifying. He had been so caught up in the moment, in the heat of the readings, that he hadn't considered how their chemistry might appear to the outside world.

The comments section was a minefield of 'shipping' and speculation. "Chris and y/n need to get together already!" read one. "The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife!" said another. The evidence of their unrequited feelings was laid bare for all to see, and Chris couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and a strange sort of validation.

The video went live, and the notifications began to flood in. Comments, likes, and shares piled up at a dizzying rate. The thumbnails they had chosen were innocent enough, but the fan's interpretations of their reactions to the steamy fanfics were anything but. They watched in horror and fascination as their subscribers dissected every glance, every touch, every awkward pause.

"It's like they're reading our diaries," y/n murmured, scrolling through the comments with wide eyes.

Chris winced. "Yeah, I know." He leaned in closer to the screen, his cheeks flaming red. "I didn't realize it would be like this."

y/n bit their lip, scrolling through the comments with a mix of fascination and dread. "Some of these are pretty intense," they said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of their mouth. "I mean, we're just friends, right?"

Chris chuckled nervously. "Of course we are," he agreed, a little too quickly. "It's just the fans reading into things, you know how they are." But deep down, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to their words. The way their eyes had met, the electricity that had crackled between them during the more intimate moments of the readings—it was undeniable.

The days following the video's release were a whirlwind of activity. The video had gone viral, and their inboxes were flooded with messages from fans shipping them harder than ever before. They tried to ignore the comments, telling themselves it was all in good fun, but it was difficult to ignore the way their hearts fluttered every time they saw their names together in a romantic context.

During their weekly coffee meet-up, the tension was unbearable. Every shared laugh, every accidental touch, felt charged with new meaning. The 'what if' lingered in the air, thick and potent. They talked about the video, the outrageous fan reactions, but their eyes kept darting away from each other, as if afraid to acknowledge the truth.

"It's just a bit of fun, isn't it?" Chris said, his voice a tad too bright. He took a sip of his latte, the warmth doing little to calm his racing thoughts. What if they weren't just friends? What if the fans had seen something that they had been too blind to notice?

y/n nodded, their eyes flicking to Chris's before darting away again. "Yeah, just fun," they echoed, but the tremor in their voice suggested otherwise. They had always been comfortable around each other, but now there was an unspoken something that hovered between them, a dance of unsaid words and unacknowledged glances.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at Chris's flat, that y/n finally gathered the courage to break the silence. "Chris, I need to tell you something," they began, their voice barely above a whisper. Chris looked up from his laptop, his brows furrowed in concern.

"What's up?" he asked, setting his work aside.

y/n took a deep breath, their heart thudding in their chest. "It's about the fanfics," they began, fidgeting with their hands. "I mean, I know we were just reading them for the video, but… I think maybe the fans aren't entirely wrong."

Chris's eyes widened, and he leaned in slightly. "What do you mean?"

y/n took a deep breath, their cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. "Well, I mean… I think there might be something more to it," they said, their voice shaking. "I've had a crush on you for a while now, and reading those fanfics out loud just made me realize how much I want those scenarios to be true."

Chris's eyes searched y/n's, a mix of shock and hope swirling in their depths. "You… you do?" He felt his own heart racing, the confession catching him off guard.

y/n nodded, their gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah, I do," they murmured, playing with the edge of their sleeve. "But I didn't want to say anything, you know, because I didn't want to mess up our friendship."

Chris's mouth went dry, his mind racing with the implications of y/n's confession. He had felt the same pull, the same desire, but had never dared to voice it. "But what if it doesn't have to mess anything up?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with hope.

y/n looked up, their eyes searching Chris's face for any sign of reciprocation. "What do you mean?"

Chris took a moment to gather his thoughts, his heart thumping so loudly he was sure y/n could hear it. "I mean," he began, his voice soft, "what if we gave it a shot?" He took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively to touch y/n's arm. "What if we weren't just friends?"

y/n's eyes grew wide, and they froze, the warmth of Chris's touch sending a jolt through their body. "Are you…are you saying you feel the same way?" They could barely get the words out, their voice a breathless whisper.

Chris took another step closer, his hand sliding up to gently cup y/n's cheek. "I've had feelings for you for a while now," he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. "But I didn't want to ruin what we have. I just didn't know how to tell you."

The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, each shallow inhale and exhale a testament to the nerves and anticipation that had been building between them for so long. y/n's eyes searched Chris's, looking for any sign that this was a mistake, that he was just playing along with the fanfiction narrative.

But what they saw in his gaze was raw and unfiltered—desire, hope, and a hint of fear. It mirrored their own feelings perfectly. "Chris," they breathed, their hand reaching up to cover his. "I've felt the same way."

The moment hung between them, heavy with potential, until Chris leaned in and pressed his lips to y/n's. It was a soft kiss, tentative and questioning, but it was enough to set off a spark that had been smoldering just beneath the surface for far too long. y/n's eyes fluttered closed, and they leaned into it, their heart racing with excitement and relief.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily, their eyes locked. "Does this mean…" y/n began, their voice trailing off.

Chris nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah," he said, his thumb brushing over y/n's cheekbone. "It means we're not just friends anymore."

The revelation was like a weight lifted, and the air in the room seemed to shift. They both knew that there was no going back, that they had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. But instead of fear, they felt a thrill of excitement.

Their first kiss had been awkward and unplanned, but it was real. And as they stared into each other's eyes, the tension of their unspoken feelings dissipating like mist in the morning sun, they realized that maybe, just maybe, the fanfics had been onto something after all.

They decided to keep their newfound relationship a secret for now, not wanting to deal with the fallout from their devoted fanbase just yet. They had enough to figure out on their own without the added pressure of public scrutiny.

But as they sat there, fingers laced together, watching the sun set over the London skyline, they couldn't help but feel like they had stumbled into their very own romance novel. The fanfics had given them the nudge they needed to acknowledge their feelings, and now they had the chance to write their own story.

The days turned into weeks, and their relationship grew stronger with every shared glance and whispered confession. They discovered a passion in each other that went beyond friendship, a love that had been hidden in plain sight all along.

And as they lay in bed one night, the fanfic that had started it all spread out on the floor beside them, they couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Who knew our fans were such great matchmakers?" y/n mused, their head resting on Chris's chest.

Chris kissed the top of their head, his arms tightening around them. "I guess we owe them one," he said, his voice filled with affection. "But let's not tell them that just yet."

Y/n chuckled, their eyes sparkling with mischief. "Our little secret," they whispered, and Chris's heart swelled with love for the person who had been by their side all along, unknowingly holding the key to their heart.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx

[qsphyxias]

idk if your requests are open but i was wondering if you could write a (tom)peter parker x male reader fluff because i really enjoyed the other ones that you have written 🫶🫶🫶🫶 much love

if you read yaoi and/or bl regularly as a woman, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; peter parker x male! reader

warnings ; male (he/him) reader, cussing, (tom holland) peter parker, established relationship

note ; love me some classic peter parker fanfiction - and thank u for requesting!! not sure how long this has been sitting here for whoops

words ; 0.8k +

"Hey, boyfriend." You snickered, hanging your head over him. Multiple strands of hair followed your sudden movement — blocking your view of him, or rather, his view of you.

He looked up at your face and pushed the strands of your hair to the side of your face without thinking much of it. The smile he beamed right back at you made you feel as if he was trying to move away curtains that revealed a most breathtaking view — you, his wonderful boyfriend.

As cheesy as it sounded, the way you looked at him and leaned down made his mind play one of the most righteous theme songs of the Star Wars trilogy. The feeling of your face against his hand, the desire to just hold you and never let go, the heat of his blood rushing everywhere, it was scary. Peter could hardly think straight when you let a small smile shine through your expression, where was he supposed to look? What was he supposed to touch?

As if on instinct, Peter's hands that were once placed on either side of him on the bed, took action and slid up your waist to gain a little bit more control once he saw you close the distance a bit more by resting on your elbows instead of your palms when hovering over Peter.

His grip caught you by surprise, who knew he could be so initiating?

"Is... Is that okay?" He murmured, watching your expression, terrified he was maybe too assertive this time.

He already went through this struggle with where to touch, back when he thought he only liked girls — but now, it's different. Despite all those experiences, It's like he had to relearn everything about the boyfriend world. It's not the same, because this time, he's the one with the boyfriend, not so much the one having to worry about his role as the only boyfriend in the relationship.

And Peter really doesn't want to fuck it up with his boyfriend.

To his shock and awe, you snorted, dismissing all his worries with one single breath.

"Peter, your heart's made of pure gold, isn't it?" You sighed as you fully relaxed into your new boyfriend's arms, letting your arms slide underneath the small of his back and lock softly.

With your eyes closed, and ear against his heart, Peter could comfortably wear his expression of pure exasperation as he settled into your embrace — not having to worry about you reading his face.

"Uh," Peter leaned his head back against the pillows to think, causing his throat to relax under the pressure of gravity — producing a scratchy tone in his larynx, once could only describe it as infatuation-inducing. "Well, maybe. I mean, I let you be my boyfriend, didn't I? I must be a saint!" He joked, a complete 180 to his previous attitude as he attempted to lighten the heavy romantic tension. A smile adorned his face with ease as he looked down at you for a (hopefully) good reaction.

You opened your eyes to playfully glare at him, "I take back what I said; your heart's made of pure lego — it's completely evident."

Peter feigned offence, "Hey, what makes you say that?" getting a bit more comfortable, he rolled over to face you instead of having to crane his neck down, keeping his hands flush against your back throughout.

"The way your joints click and clack, the way you get all stiff and plastic-like when you get nervous, the way you're practically indestructible — not to mention how much space you allow Lego Star Wars to take up in your heart; there's lots of things, Peter. " You laughed near the end of your mini-speech, fiddling with the the collar of Peter's shirt right in front of your point of view.

"And hey, you're basically built like Lego Batman with those 12-pack abs. Not that I'm complaining..." Peter flushed at the blatant flirt directed at his body.

"I did not come here today to be berated, s/o." Peter chose to ignore the last thing you said, "and I do not get 'plastic-like' when I'm nervous." Peter frowned, to which you chuckled.

"You came here because you missed me, be honest." You corrected.

"Well... Yeah, but you don't have to say it out loud." He mumbled, his shy expression breaking into a grin when he saw you smile first.

"Why not? it's true, isn't it?" You closed the distance between the two of you even more, chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, lips-to....

Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned up to kiss him, shuddering when you felt his hand rub your back with a gentle force, pulling you impossibly closer to him to fully close the distance.

As the two of you kissed, Peter held you close and vowed to himself in his head, to always protect you. Because to protect you, means he'd be protecting precious moments like these.

[sexy-n-stressed]

Deck the halls Pt. 2 (Conner Kent X Male Reader)

Not me editing out the parts where I said I would write smut in this part hehe. I was going too but after the LEGO scene I just couldn't it was too adorable.

I'm writing this at a bus stop, which I will be stuck at for the next 20 minutes, and then stuck on a bus for another 35. I mean, why not write fanfiction while sitting next to a stranger and an old person. Enjoy hehe.

Quick update: the guy behind me is reading this over my shoulder so, uh, you enjoy too.

————————————————————

The words barely left Conner’s lips before you were nodding in a way that said you were a little too desperate. You were desperate though, so.

You struggled to keep yourself contained as you ascended the staircase behind the boy. What was about to happen? A tryst? A menage e tois? You barely knew what those words meant, especially not the French one. Why were you thinking those? Passing by doors to rooms you'd never been in, it was almost like a guessing game. Which room belonged to THE superman, and which room belonged to the equally as famous toilet.

Conner slowly opened the door to his room, most likely to avoid ripping it off of it's hinges. “This is the room the Kent’s let me- I mean, my room”

Conner’s room was practically empty, with only a bed and a small lamp on a desk across the room, and was rather small for both a kryptonian and a house of this scale. You couldn't help but think of Harry Potter and the closet. Speaking of closets.

Conner awkwardly stood there, trying to gauge the emotion on your face, like he was worried you wouldn't approve.

“I like it, seems cozy” Cramped and cozy were practically synonyms anyway, right?

He smiled, before rushing over to the bed, and reaching under it, pulling out a tub of LEGO’s. “Wanna play LEGO?”

You almost giggled, from the absurdity of the situation and the fact one of the most dangerous individuals on earth was playing with LEGO, but seeing the look on his face, you couldn't say no.

And that's how you and Conner wound up on the floor of his room playing LEGO, with you making structurally sound lego towers, and him smashing them down as a makeshift dinosaur or robot rampaged through the ‘city’. You had to admit, it was pretty fun. And he looked like he was having the time of his life.

“So, how long have you been living with the Kent’s” You asked warily, watching as Conner’s eyes looked up from the LEGO’s before snapping back down

“Um, a couple months now.” He looked nervous, like he was hiding something.

“Have they been treating you well?”

“Well, Ma is always nice to me, making sure I finish my plate and picking out church clothes.” His eyes drifted to the door, “But everyone else is still..”

You leaned forward, placing a hand on the boy who was seemingly much more complex then the angry brute you'd heard others whispering about.

“I'm… a clone. Of Clark.” Oh.

I mean, you guessed you could see the resemblance. The raven hair, the chiselled jawline, the intense musculature. But he seemed nothing like Clark. More… real, in a way. Clark seemed so above everything else, like he was a God and as much as he wanted to be human, he was just better. More perfect. Not that he did it on purpose. Maybe it was just your perception of him, knowing that he was Superman and all.

“Not just Clark though, Lex Luthor too. The rich guy and the supervillain trying to destroy Clark.” Conner clearly knew about the conflicting emotions Clark must have over him, with him being both a perversion of his genetic code and partly related to his biggest enemy.

“They all pretend they're ok with it, but they're not. I hear them talk about what to do with me, whether I should be trained or…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant.

“Well, then they're stupid.” Conner cocked his head.

“If they don't see you for who you are, then screw them. You’re Conner. Not just a clone of Clark.” His expression showed he’d clearly never heard those words, even among the worlds so-called ‘virtuous heroes’.

Unable to find the words, Conner just leapt over and embraced you, crushing the LEGO city you both had created.

“You’re worth more than what others see you as Conner, don't forget that.”

[fogdraws]

A Softening of The Brain

A Sherlock Holmes fanfiction based in "The Valley of Fear"

“John.” The sound of my first name stopped me on my tracks; Holmes never used it, as did the costume go. “Would you be afraid,” he whispered, “to sleep in the same bed of a lunatic, a man with a softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?” This could have so many implications, so many ways to interpret it, but no matter what sense I made of it, there was only one answer. “Not in the least,” I said with some difficulty, regaining the breath I had lost before. “Sherlock, I'd never leave you.” That, I turned to regret just after it came out of my lips — too revealing. Or... what if that scene from the canon had another meaning? One that's more... romantic.

Or... Read it down here! vvvv

It were odd times, the days I'd passed at Birlstone, investigating the murdering of Mr. Douglas. Odd would not suffice; I had witnessed some things that I would really rather not.

Now the moon was high and I laid down in a double-bed — the best we could find in this small thing they call town — with a book resting on my lap, its words stubborn to be read. My mind, nevertheless, was still racing, taking every chance to turn to Holmes’ being: what would the man be doing right now?

It is of Holmes' doing, this disappear-first-explain-after situation that keeps doing numbers to my heart, as much as it is of my doing to let myself worry about him. How could I be tranquil when I don't know of his well-being?

The detective had gone out after saying something very sparse about the case — mysterious and dramatic, just like always. Maybe he'd come back today, maybe tomorrow, maybe a week from now. No one knows; sometimes I think that neither does he.

I had just put the book onto the bedside table when I heard Holmes’ shoes hit the ground: slow and light, much like he does when he knows I’m supposed to be asleep. Of course, he knows I’m not. He knows pretty much everything — lying is not an option really, but you can make do with omitting half of the facts and hoping he’ll buy it.

Accepting the false as truth for your own self, sometimes, serves as a better lie than conjuring anything new. Protecting it, controlling yourself where you can, and letting yourself when it’s convenient to do so. That, I should say, I have acquired quite the ability to do since I’ve come to live with Holmes.

The old door clicks open and Holmes’ face pops out of the slit of light that comes out of it. His thin aquiline nose is beautifully contoured by the dim illumination, making his face look absolutely otherworldly against the brute finishing of the inn’s walls; I ended up staring for more than would be adequate. The world was still hazy from my tiredness, and the words, hard on my tongue.

“Hey, Holmes”, I started, “have you found anything out yet?” His tall, lean figure turned away for a second, sending my mind into a rush, longing for his gaze: I hadn’t seen him enough, observed him enough. The excuse I created then was that I worried only for his well-being, that I’d felt the need to look over for any wounds as is the first instinct of a proper doctor. That would be set to be a doubtful truth for me and for the world.

My eyes are startled as a dim candle is lighted by those delicate, though strong, fingers of Holmes’, sending me flinching slightly, the sleep still washing out my mind and senses. All of the sudden, he is coming closer to me; I sit up.

Now, I’m wide awake — his head is so close to mine that I can feel his controlled breathing. Holmes certainly doesn’t feel mine, for it had stopped completely at some unknown point, out of some feeling I couldn’t acknowledge without it becoming too evident.

I take in his face, his smell, his heat: no one would look at him from a distance and think Holmes a man of such comforting ways. As little as his sole presence was enough so that you could relax and feel like yourself again. This man really is majestic.

“John.” The sound of my first name stopped me on my tracks; Holmes never used it, as did the costume go. “Would you be afraid,” he whispered, “to sleep in the same bed of a lunatic, a man with a softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?”

This could have so many implications, so many ways to interpret it, but no matter what sense I made of it, there was only one answer. “Not in the least,” I said with some difficulty, regaining the breath I had lost before. “Sherlock, I'd never leave you.” That, I turned to regret just after it came out of my lips — too revealing.

“Ah, that's lucky,” was the last thing any one of us uttered that night. Maybe both of us were afraid of what could come out of further conversation. I, certainly, was.

In the most absolute silence — Holmes had this kind of disturbing ability to do little to no noise — and in almost pure darkness, he started undressing himself slowly, until only the boxers remained. This inn of ours, see, had the worst bathrooms any of us had ever seen (and that says a lot, considering that we both had our fair share of doubtful stayings), which made changing inside them virtually impossible.

That meant we had to change in the room, something that wasn’t really a problem before, since we made the effort to be alone while doing so. But now, I deduced, it was too late at night. And we were tired. And we weren’t seeing much because of the darkness. And we were friends, for god’s sake! Two men, just that. Partners, only at work.

A nightgown was put over his long body. I turned my face towards the wall: allowing myself to such temptation was not an option. To Holmes, probably, this was an act done with no ulterior motives, but to me, oh, to me, it was torture! A display of everything I could never dream to have, right in front of my nose. Sherlock seemed embarrassed too; the whole ordeal was done quickly, and I am grateful, for if it was to go on for longer still, I would bear it no more.

The bed was a double one, but still rather small. I’d suggested that I sleep on the floor, but Holmes refused, claiming that the hard floor would cause my shoulder to hurt. Then, he said he’d do it instead, but I also didn’t let him. We had stared at each other for some seconds, before going back to whatever we had been doing before; the decision was made, and there was little to do but accept it.

The candle was unlit: we were now in complete darkness.

A newly-familiar weight settled just beside me on the bed, moving the covers until they covered us nicely. The atmosphere was cold, but in this old small place — full of cracks and pests and whatnot, the air dusty with misuse — I felt more than sufficiently warm. Comfortable. Cosy. Holmes' knees gently touched my sides, and somehow his hand ended up close to my arm, knuckles barely touching my bare skin; I dared not to move.

When I woke up, Holmes was closer, much like we gravitated towards each other during the night: just enough that I could feel his breath on my shoulder, his hand laying limp on my chest and moving with the rise and fall of it. It was impossible to say which one of us did it. Maybe both.

Laying very still, should I wake him up, I admired the mess of strands that was Holmes' hair. Dark and flowy, they framed his face nicely as if each one of them were just meant to be there.

I dared to push a loc off of his eyes. At that, they opened, causing me great panic — which I would not dare to show — grey irises barely visible before closing again in a lazy motion. Holmes' slumber is light, I should've remembered. The palm of his hand stiffened and was swiftly removed from where it laid.

Minutes later, the detective jumped off the bed and went on to his day, like nothing ever happened this last night. I accompanied him, as I always do, and it was a great day with great discoveries, as it always is with him. But I would not let it be.

I got in the room first; Holmes had gone on another errand I'd never hear the resolution. Sat upon the bedsheets, I awaited his presence in uncontained anxiety, mind trying to make sense of what I had heard yesterday. What had he meant with it? My thoughts kept turning to improbable possibilities, which I quickly shut down, only for them to arise, once again, minutes later — things that were but figments of my fierce imagination. Images of bare shoulders, parted lips and thin hands aroused my mindscape at every opportunity; this man, Holmes, tested all and every one of my limits without even knowing he was doing so.

After what seemed an eternity, Holmes' figure entered the room with an unprecedented heaviness. Living with the detective had its advantages: since staying at Baker Street, I had become more observant, and did as much as picking up some skills from him. As my heart raced, I looked up and saw his face go through a plethora of emotions when spotting me, like his did the very same. “Are we not discussing what you said yesterday? At night.” I said, words hard to find in an aching throat.

Holmes gave a violent start. “I did not mean anything by it, for I didn't think before talking.” The detective finished his point with the clink of metal on wood, putting down the candle he held with force. It almost went out. “It's best you forget it ever happened, Watson.”

“No, we are not letting this pass. Holmes, hear me. No one says something like this with no end in mind. You must be aware I'm here for you. Always. Forever.”

“Do not press your head to this matter, Watson. It isn't worth your time.”

“Was it about the way I write your character in The Strand? I do not think you of any bad. I am not leaving you, no matter which kind of insane you must think you are. What would be so dire that it’d make me flee?”

“Please, John.”

“It's only for the public! You know that. You've said it yourself: I romanticise everything, see facts that aren't there; make up thoughts I didn’t have. Omit the ones I have, even!”

There was a pause; silence. Silence, only in words, for his mind seemed ever so active, and he made it as to go away, exit the room more than once, never going through the action of fully turning around. Holmes’ lips parted a few times before he was able to direct his speech at me again.

“It's not that, Watson.” A pause. “It is that I am no normal person. Should anyone see me as myself, I would be promptly dead, and my reputation, ruined. You needn't have any more preoccupation than what you already have with this case.” At that, Holmes turned his head around to face anything but me.

“Then I don't know what to think anymore. Is this what you want of me? Confusion?” My voice cracked in distress. I didn't notice when I had gotten up, nor when I’d placed myself so close to Holmes’ figure. The candle flickered, encasing him in periods of light and shadow; but never taking away those eyes, that mouth, that nose, all features as though they were sculpted by the most skillful of artists.

“No! It is, John, that you matter so much to me, that you make me sick of the heart, of the brain and of the body.” That forced a breath out of my ribcage; my mind raced with no ending line.

“I… what?”

Holmes seemed physically struck with the realisation of what he had really professed, the gravity of his words. For a man whose whole ordeal was calculating the possibilities — the words — before doing — saying — anything, he sure did look surprised by his own self, eyes darting all over me in a panicked frenzy: deducing what I would say or do next. Holmes had told me, before, that I was one of the few people he couldn’t read all that easily. That made me interesting, according to him.

What I would say next was, indeed, a good question. I, myself, had no idea what to think. Blood pumped through my veins quickly, and I felt hot all over — had Holmes meant what I thought he did? I took one, two steps closer to Holmes' figure; our hands brushed slightly, sending chills down my spine. “Sherlock.”

Holmes backed away slightly from me. “This is wrong,” he warned in a sorrowful tone, much like he mourned something that could never be his. Something I also did for the longest while, since meeting the detective; discovering we both felt the same agony, over the same problem, was positively soothing.

I glanced at Holmes lips — thin, but almost welcoming, as if they were meant to meet mine. “I know.”

“You're staying?”

I placed both hands on Holmes’ clothed chest; it rose and fell erratically, almost in synchrony with the beating of the heart that lay inside it. Mine must’ve been doing the same.

“Only if you want me to.”

Holmes’ lithe hands moved to cover my own, holding them tight. We were close, closer than we had ever been, as the detective inched forward and did what I had yearned for so long: our lips met and gave way to a chaste kiss, leaving me breathless and desperate for more.

“Oh, I surely do,” Holmes answered before pressing his lips against me again, this time more passionate. I let mine part, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and kissed back. It was better than anything I could ever imagine, heat surging deep in my body as we moved in unison.

That night, we went to bed early, but not to sleep.

[ladymoody]

Hi could you right a story with cook from skins? i barely see fanficts about him. thank you if you do it 🙏🏻

SUGAR

james cook x fem!reader

︎warnings: nsfw +18, drugs, alcohol, mention of death, irresponsible driving, explicit language, fingering, squirt.

word count: 1,4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

"so… she's with freddie now?" I asked. cook and effy had recently broken up and he couldn't stop thinking about her. once, when he came over to sleep at my place, I even found him crying in the bathroom and it was a sorrowful sight. he told me how well effy had treated him, and how later she switched to a heartless behavior. he had tried to replace her many times with some flings but he told me it didn't feel the same because he deeply knew effy, meanwhile, he didn't even remember the names of the girls he fucked for fun.

"yeah. I saw them making out on the bus too the other day."

"oh cook..." I shifted a bit more on the couch, snuggling up to him to comfort him.

"it's okay, y/n." he moved his hand in the air as if he meant to diminish the importance of the matter. "I'm over it."

"I don't think so, cookie."

"don't call me that, you know I don't like it." he chuckled. "I'll call you sugar if you don't stop."

cook used to call me sugar when we met. he said the fragrance I used was so sweet that it reminded him of a sugary drink.

"you know it makes nostalgic."

"I'm well aware of that." he grinned, tickling my side slightly.

"what if we hang out like we used to?" I said.

"what do you mean? you mean getting drunk and high?"

"maybe. late night car drive without a destination?"

he lifted his eyebrows and hesitated. "what if we crash? getting drunk and driving doesn't sound so smart, ya know?" he brushed a strand of my hair off my face.

"cook, do you actually care? just take the highway, everything will be fine." I smirked, looking at him in the eyes.

both of us didn't really care about dying. death wasn't such a big deal after all, especially for two teenagers like us who had lost everything — cook's parents were divorced and both very absent. the only relative he still had was his little brother who lived with his mother so he rarely saw him. just like cook, I didn't have a father as he had moved out when I was very little and my mother passed away a couple of years before due to overdose. I currently lived with my aunt, who used to drink a lot of alcohol as well and didn't care about me.

“you’re right. fuck it.” he smirked and left a quick kiss on my neck before getting up from the couch and grabbing his jacket from the hanger.

I smiled at him and followed him into the hall, picking up my leather jacket as well.

(skip time)

we had settled in his car — our jackets were thrown in the backseats, cook’s shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top and my window rolled down to make the wind blow my hair. we were heading to the highway.

“I love the night.” I affirmed after taking a sip of the bottle of vodka in my hand.

“me too. it’s so calm and quiet… it makes you want to screw the silence up with some good sex and loud parties.” he took a puff from his spliff. I laughed.

“jeez, cook… you really are bold, ain’t you?” I ruffled his short hair for as much as I could. “I’m glad you’re thinking about something different other than effy.”

cook’s expression changed into something darker and more serious. I had touched a soft spot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought this topic back.”

“it’s okay, y/n. you didn’t do it on purpose. then effy can go fuck herself. I’m tired of being her little puppy she uses every time she wants some good sex because mr mclair is a bloody inexperienced incompetent.”

“you’re right. fuck her.”

“fuck her.” he repeated more to himself. there was silence for a couple of minutes, just the sound of the wheels on the road and the other cars passing by. I felt the awkward moment building between us two, so I glanced at cook and leaned in to kiss his cheek quickly, then I set my vodka bottle down.

cook smiled at the gesture and turned his head to give me an affectionate look. "I should be sad more often if it means getting you to show me affection."

I chuckled and nudged his arm, "shut up". the silence fell again.

there was a bit of tension between us too, as if we wanted to say so many things but couldn't. "I was thinking..." he began.

"how many years have we known each other for?" he continued.

"I don't know... 4... 5?"

he didn't answer me as he kept staring at the road in front of him, and I was growing suspicious, but not so later a little idea popped up in my mind.

"you'd like my help, cook?" I asked. my voice was lower than before and I leaned in as I caressed his cheek.

cook smirked. I understood what he meant and he understood I understood what he meant.

“let’s try, come here…” he muttered as he pulled my thighs towards him. I got the hint and climbed over him, sitting on his lap and resting my legs on his. he wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me in place and left the other one on the steering wheel.

I leaned in and grabbed his face with my hand, squeezing his cheeks slightly to pull him to me and kiss him. he happily kissed me back, now moving the hand from my waist to the back of my neck, and deepened the kiss, tapping his tongue on my bottom lip, which I merrily allowed and let him in.

I moved to straddle him, grinding back and forth slightly as we made out. the road didn’t have any turns and he just had to drive ahead, so the chances of getting into a car accident were very low.

I started feeling his cock pressing against me, shamelessly begging cook to free it. “you’ll make us crash, sugar.” he pulled away enough to speak — our lips still very close.

“just keep driving. everything’s gonna be alright.”

cook was beyond an expert in kissing — I knew effy had been lucky to have him and now it was just her loss. to be honest, I had never thought of cook in this way, only in a friendly way, but there was something that screamed “attractive” every time he talked to me about his flings and how good he made those girls feel. a small part of me wished to be taken by him and be one of his whores, and somehow I had managed to do it right now. maybe I wasn’t a whore, but we were definitely on the edge of having sex.

cook slipped his hand inside my panties as our lips moved together, and thrusted two of his fingers between my folds. I gripped him instantly, making a low moan as I felt them pump inside of me. he soon added another finger, and then another one.

oh god.

I was almost stretched to my limits as I rode his hand, completely in a heaven of ecstasy. cook kissed and sucked on my neck as he moved his fingers, leaving me a few marks but slightly visible. I knew I was very close to my release.

“cook… I…” I whined.

“I know, sugar. cum on my fingers, will ya?” he muttered against my ear. and that was quite what made me let go fully and give myself to him. I threw my head back, lifting slightly from his lap as he didn’t slow his pace down a bit — then I cried out and squirted on his shirt.

“oh my god!” I got down from the high. I was a panting mess, my back now pressing against the steering wheel which honked as soon as I leaned back.

cook took his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, licking and sucking. “taste like sugar.”

I tiredly chuckle, my eyes still struggling to stay open completely.

“I’ve always known you were this good…” I confessed.

“we should do it again sometime, mh? it helps me a lot.” he faked a pouty tone, using the effy matter as an excuse to take me again.

“naughty boy.” I leaned in and pecked his lips.

[whaledenwtf]

Vegeta x Reader -

Hihi!! The last fanfiction I wrote was the Kratos x Reader. I love Vegeta, so I'm writing a fanfiction. This has also been cross-posted on AO3 here: Link Enjoy this Smut-fest.

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Choking, Dom/Sub dynamic, Use of Pet names/Nicknames, Praise and Degradation, Oral (Male and Female Receiving), Fighting, Blood, etc. Porn with Plot, basically 

Vegeta is also a little OOC, especially after seggs, so warning for that too!

WORD COUNT: 6197 Words (Jesus Christ)

Hope you enjoy this story ~

It had been probably, the WORST week of your life. You got evicted because your landlord ended your lease - can landlords even do that? what a dick, you thought to yourself. That, plus the massive training block you've been experiencing AND the fact you had just ended the worst date have really made you crave a night of forgetting everything. You're so grateful for alcohol and Bulma. Both were incredible distractions and can help you forget everything.

"Thanks again for letting my stay here until I could get back up on my feet." You tell her after taking a sip of your rum and coke. She waves you off, lifting her feet up onto the couch, tucking them under herself and getting comfortable.

"(Y/N), I'm serious when I say you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. You don't understand how much I need a friend in this house." You giggle.

"What do you mean?" Bulma groans, and takes a massive gulp of her vodka sprite.

"My parents... are my parents-" That, you could understand. They are a handful. "And Vegeta's always been a pain in my ass. Especially since I got back with Yamcha-" You almost spit out your drink.

"WHAT?!?!" You gasp out loud, before whispering, as if you were conspiring. "Since when? What happened to 'working things out' with Vegeta?" You were curious, as she went on and on... and on and on about fixing things with Vegeta for the sake of Trunks.

"I mean, there's definitely love for him as the father of my son. But that love can only get me so far. We understand that we aren't meant to last. Plus Yamcha has gotten better at communicating his feelings and his wants. He's definitely not the same person who cheated on me years ago." Bulma stated matter-of-factly. You furrow your brows.

"So why's Vegeta still live here?" Bulma takes a sip of her drink and ponders her response.

"Well... At the beginning it was because I would miss him too hard, and I couldn't imagine a world without him in it. Now, its partially because of Trunks, and partially because-" She leans in close, and whispers in your ear. "I feel bad for him. He really only has Trunks now..." She bites her lip as she moves back to her spot.

"He'll find someone. He's... very attractive and sets his mind to things and sticks to it. I mean, sure, his pride is his greatest weakness, but he definitely has more pros than cons, especially now." You always found Vegeta attractive, but that was a given. Both Saiyans (and Broly, when you think about it) are very attractive beings. You wonder if its Saiyan genetics that make such handsome men, or if it really is just pure luck.

"Ou~" Bulma purrs. "Want me to set you two up? I'm sure he wouldn't mind. He can already tolerate you and has complimented your strength-" Your eyes widen.

"What has he said?" You lean in, excited. Bulma smirks knowingly.

"Maybe this planet isn't doomed after all." She puts on her best Vegeta impression, which makes you giggle.

You spend the rest of the night chatting and getting drunk with Bulma, by the time you both head to bed, its almost 3 am. You stumble through the halls, bumping into different doors. You open your bedroom door, and walk to your bed. When you collapse, your eyes are closed and notice that your bed is warm... and hard?

"Woman! Is there a reason you're in my bedroom? It's 3 AM, some of us train around here." You snuggle deeper into the mass.

"S-ry 'Geta. M'drunk." You slur out, with zero environmental awareness.

"GO IN YOUR OWN ROOM!" He whisper yells, trying to push you off. You whine, cuddling your face into his neck and inhaling. He instantly freezes up, and you feel heat pool up his neck towards his face. Eyes still closed, you smile softly.

"Mmm... smell good." You lay your face directly on his pulse point, blissfully unaware of the speedy pitter-patter of the Saiyan's heart.

"Woman-" He whisper-yells. "Please get out of my room." His voice is pleading, and your mind seems to begin feeling guilt.

"Can't. Can't walk. 'M too drnk." You whisper into his neck sadly, sniffling as tears spring to your eyes. Your body was vulnerable, especially so under the effects of alcohol, and Vegeta feels concerned. On the one hand, he is uncomfortable with physical touch, but on the other, the way your breath hits his pulse point has brought his Saiyan instincts out, and he does not want to take advantage of one of the only women in his life who finds him tolerable- semi tolerable? he thinks to himself. He sighs.

"Lemme carry you then." You hum.

"Thank you, Princey." You leave a small peck on his neck. Insignificant to you, probably, but meant too much to Vegeta. From his limited understanding of Earthlings and their tolerance to alcohol, it lowered inhibitions, but also could bring out instincts. Do you trust him? That question unloads a can of worms in Vegeta's head, as he lifts you in a bridal carry and walks towards your room, which is a short walk from his door. Despite this, it feels like centuries. He watches your face as you slowly fall asleep to the rocking of his movement as he carries you. What if you DID trust him? Vegeta knows he is not a good man, perfectly shown through his relationship with Bulma, or lack of. He couldn't keep a woman, who, he would never admit, helped him through a lot and even gave him a son. A son he hasn't even taken care of much! Vegeta's brow furrows and he stops walking in the middle of the hallway, which stirs you from your light slumber.

"'Geta?" You ask him confused, still drunk. He looks into your eyes, and can't help but admire their colour.

"Almost there-" He whispers softly. You gaze at his face, before reaching a hand to his forehead. The soft touch to his face makes his eyes widen.

"You should smile more. You're handsome when you do." You whisper, before your hand falls from his forehead, and lingers on his cheek, holding him softly. Vegeta's brow unfurrows, as he watches you. He then walks you to your room, and prepares to leave you at the door.

"Tha-nk y-ouuu 'Geta." He helps you out of his arms so you could land on your legs, though you did so a little unstable. You kiss his cheek quickly, and giggle before opening and closing the door behind you. Vegeta is stunned in place, holding the cheek you kissed as a raging blush flushes his entire body.

"Ugh, my head." You groan as you walk into the kitchen, where Vegeta and Bulma are bickering.

"Yeah I'm in pain too. Wish I could use a Senzu bean-" Bulma jokes, but Vegeta cuts her off.

"What a stupid use of a Senzu bean. You'd be wasting it to get through something ridiculous." He bites at her, and she rolls her eyes.

"Normally, I'd fight you, but I'm in too much pain and care too little about your opinion." You wince, and can tell those words hurt Vegeta a little, no matter how much he hides it.

"Woah Bulma, 'ts a little much. Let's all just have coffee, breakfast, and then we'll all feel better." You speak up as you walk past Vegeta, brushing his shoulder with your hand as a sign of respect, and defense. Vegeta looks at you with an eyebrow raised, and you raise one side of your lip slightly, smirking at him. You loved Bulma, but sometimes she says things she regrets, especially when hungover. She groans.

"Coffee sounds great." You giggle, as you make coffee for you three. You pass everyone a mug, and take a sip and sigh into the warm mug.

"I'll make us breakfast. What do you want, Vegeta?" You ask, looking at him over the rim of the mug. Bulma raises a brow.

"Why are you asking him?" You hum looking at her.

"Cause he's gonna be eating the most portions. I'm already making eggs and bacon, but he'll probably want something else, right 'Geta?" Your eyes switch from Bulma to Vegeta, and you can see the tips of his ears blushing, before he crosses his arms and turns to look away from you.

"Tch. Make me three steaks on the side, woman!" You roll your eyes at Bulma, who chuckles.

"All right, your highness. I'll make them rare and also feed them to you?" He smirks at that.

"Finally, someone who can understand the worth of a Prince-" Bulma rolls her eyes.

"Being the prince of 3 people is like calling me the queen of nothing." Vegeta's head snaps to her, and he growls.

"What a fitting title for someone who brings nothing to my life-" Bulma's eyebrows raise, and so do yours.

"Okay Vegeta, let's calm down~" You hold his shoulder, and rub it, eyes widening as you can see his hair flicker between blonde and brunette quickly.

"Tch. She's insufferable!" He cries out, effectively calming himself down.

"You're BOTH insufferable, actually. Both of you need to fucking relax." You tried not to swear often, but they were annoying you. Both of them shut up, eyes wide.

"I'm gonna finish cooking, we are going to eat calmly and quietly, and then I can go train for a bit before I-" You're taking the bacon out of the oven when your phone rings, and Vegeta grabs it for you.

"Who's calling?" You ask him as you grab the device from his thick hand.

"Tinder James? What kind of a first name is Tinder?" Vegeta raises a brow and you cough, eyes wide.

"He's calling you back?! PUT HIM ON SPEAKER." Bulma shouts, excited. You roll your eyes, but answer and put him on speaker while you cook.

"(Y/N) here." You respond.

"Hey sweetheart. Sorry I had to cut our date short yesterday, you know how it is haha-" You roll your eyes as Bulma mimics the movement of vomiting. Vegeta stays silent, watching your face. You had a date yesterday? He's upset at this information, but would never tell you that.

"Its fine-" You start to respond. "I mean, if you wanna continue the date tonight I'm game." He cuts you off.

"Continue... our date?" You ask confused.

"Yeah? I didn't hit so I thought you'd want me to hit it-" Both you and Bulma actually guffaw at that.

"Something funny?" He asks confused.

"Listen here, sweetheart-" You start sarcastically "You weren't gonna hit. You spent the whole date checking your phone and texting. I'm not stupid and I'm not someone who you can push around. We aren't gonna fuck, so stick your dick elsewhere. Oh! And delete my number." You hang up before blocking the number, turning to grin at Bulma. She laughs and high-fives you after you turn off the stove-top, eggs ready. You pile the eggs and bacon onto plates and get going on the steaks while handing the plates of food to Bulma and Vegeta. They start eating, and by the time you finish the steaks, Vegeta has finished his portions.

"Here you go." You hand the pile of steaks to him, and eat your meal. He doesn't touch his food, and looks at you expectantly. He harrumphs to get your attention.

"Yes?" He raises a brow.

"Why aren't you feeding me?" You laugh in his face. You pick up a piece of bacon from your plate before shoving it in his mouth. He choke on it, eyes wide looking at you.

"Eat your damn steaks." You tell him as you shovel eggs into your mouth and wink at him. Bulma laughs at him, as she picks up the empty plates and puts them in the dishwasher. Vegeta stays quiet and starts to eat his steaks, but you can see that his hairline is flickering blonde, but he wears a small smirk on his face.

The next couple days you don't see Vegeta at all. Normally, it wouldn't affect you, but you felt... saddened by the lack of his presence.

You are walking past the Gravity Chamber when you hear a massive explosion, and shouting. You sprint towards the Chamber, worried.

"Stupid Earthlings and their stupid creations!" You smirk at the angry Saiyan, who is hugging a robot, his hair a dark blue.

"Cute look, Vegeta. Is she your new girlfriend?" You tease, smirking at him. He turns to looks at you, and the tips of his ears turn pink.

"Woman! How dare you joke about the Saiyan Prince and his taste in women?" He grumbles loudly, walking closer to you. His hair goes back to brunette, and you can't help but admire his handsome looks.

"It's okay Vegeta. I won't tell Bulma~" You say in a sing-song voice, winking at him. He drops the robot before crushing it with his feet. You raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.

"These ridiculous jokes must end! Where is the respect for royalty? An understanding of- of greatness?" He asks you, getting closer. You look up at him, and bite your lip.

"I apologize for my humour, my prince-" You tell him, as you curtesy. "I'll make sure to only sing my praises of your existence, your majesty." The tips of his ears are deepening into a dark blush, and his cheeks are also discolouring.

"That's more like it, woman! Though, Saiyans always greeted me on one knee-" you cut him off, grinning.

"You want to see me on my knees? Dirty prince." His whole face turns red, and you can feel his Ki rise significantly.

"Y-you vile woman! Such tactless behaviour- such a dishonourable sneak attack!" He stutters angrily, his eyes becoming a beautiful teal and his hair a vibrant blonde, once again. You giggle before rubbing his chest to calm him down.

"I'm only kidding 'Geets-" he grumbles looking away from you, face still flushed. He snaps out of Super Saiyan, and his blush lowers significantly. "Hey, wait a minute! Why don't we train together?" His head snaps back at you, intrigued.

"Why should I train with you?" He asks unkindly. You roll your eyes at his attitude.

"Well, for starters, your little playroom is broken-" his eyebrows furrow and he is reminded of his loss. "Secondly, I've had the worst training block in my life. I can't do anything right and having someone like you train with me will surely help!" He ponders this for a moment.

"Fine. But only because, as you put it, "my playroom is broken"." You smile at him, and grab his wrist to drag him to an open field far away from Bulma's ire.

"Tch. We could've flown here." He crosses his arms, raising a brow.

"Yeah, but sometimes walking through nature helps clear the mind, and prepares me for a battle." You say, as you roll your shoulder and stretch your body.

"C'mon Vegeta, I know you've said that I am a competent fighter-" Vegeta cuts you off angrily.

"Does that putrid woman share all my secrets?!" He goes back into Super Saiyan, getting into fighting position. You giggle as you also stance up.

"She's being harmless, 'Geta." He comes towards you first, fist almost breaking through your block.

"Jesus Vegeta. You need to slow down so the rest of us can catch up!" You huff out, faces close together. You blush as your eyes wander to his lips.

"I will never "slow down" so that a mere Earthling can catch up to the Prince of all Saiyans-" You punch his gut as he speaks, and he barely reacts to it, eyes widening. You aim a kick to his ribs, but he quickly grabs your calf, and spins you. You use your other foot to kick his sternum, and fly up in the air. You dodge and hit eachother, nothing that would really need a Senzu. Then you decide to up the stakes.

"I've been practicing this technique- CATASTROPHIC CANON-" [note: idk man im trying] A massive ball of red-hued Ki shoots towards Vegeta. In his mind, the move sounded idiotic, so surely he could handle its power. The ball then splits into three and hits him from all angles. He's never seen a move that did that! He was impressed, but it could be stronger.

"That was cute, woman! Let me show you a real show stopper- GALICK GUN!" You tried to dodge, but it was too late. Like a meteor, you crash into the ground under you, creating a crater around your body. Vegeta's eyes widen as he flies towards you, worried.

"Woman!" When you don't answer, he walks closer, concerned.

"Woman?-" Your eyes were closed, but your chest was still moving. "Y/N?" He's right next to you now. You grab his ankle, and flip him so you land on top of him. You sit on his lap, and hold his arms up over his head, panting loudly. Blood is dripping down a gash from your forehead, and he can't help but find you to be the most beautiful being he's ever seen.

"I-" You inhale. "Win-" exhale, looking deep into his eyes. He tries to break out of your hold, but you grip his wrists tightly, and he flinches.

"That was dirty!" Vegeta protests, blushing. You get closer to him, your breathes mingling.

"I'll make sure to play nicely next time, Prince Vegeta-" His lips catch yours in ah instant. Your lips mold to his perfectly, and the small moan you let out is not unnoticed by the Saiyan. Your grip on his wrists loosened, and he takes advantage of your vulnerability to flip you under him. Your thighs wrap around his small waist, and you pull him closer to you, grinding up to him.

Your open your mouth and you begin another battle. His tongue and yours lash against eachother, and you further explore his mouth, tracing your tongue over his teeth. Your tongue caresses over his canines, which were sharper because of his Alien heritage. You puncture yourself on them, and he moans out when a drop of your blood lands on his tongue. You pull away to look him, eyes wide.

"Please-p-please Vegeta." You whimper. He looks at you, panting slowly.

"Call me by my real title, sweetheart." You moan, pushing forward to kiss his neck. You lick up and down his pulse point. He moans into your hair, and you feel a rush of slick leave your body. He sniffs the air around you before groaning.

"I can smell you sweetheart-" You whimper into him, before licking up to the shell of his ear.

"Please Prince Vegeta. Please touch me." He pulls you up off the ground, still grinding into you softly.

"As you wish, princess-" He shoots off the ground, flying quickly back to Capsule Corp to continue what you had both started. As he flies through the skies, you continue to lick and kiss his neck, before biting down on junction between his neck and shoulder. He growls in your ear before pulling away to look into your eyes.

"Do that one more time and I'll make sure you can't ever walk again." His focus goes from one eye to the other, and you can't help the surge of need that flows through you from his attentiveness.

"That better be a promise, my prince-" Before you could end your sentence, he's already landed on his balcony, and has slammed the door open with his foot. He kicks the door shut behind him and lays you on the bed. He watches you for a moment, as you wriggle to lean on your elbows and look up at him.

"Why are you staring at me?" You ask curiously, a blush forming on the apples of your cheeks. He bites the fingertip of one of his gloves, pulling it off, before mirroring the action for his other hand.

"You remind me of the women from my planet-" You roll your eyes at him.

"Usually during sex, you don't tell the person you're about to sleep with they remind you of someone else." He barks a laugh at that, trailing his hands near your ankles, pulling off your shoes and working his way up your legs, caressing the muscles there.

"You're strong- physically and mentally. You're talented in many trades, multi-faceted. Powerful-" he begins to kiss his way up your torso, his warmth bleeding through your clothing. "Intelligent. Beautiful. Alluring. You have an air around you-" He cuts himself off then, having kissed his way up to your face and stopping.

"You possess much more than any of the women of this planet. You call to me in ways the people of my planet never did. You're much more than the sum of all these things together. I've always thought this." He murmurs as he looks into your eyes. He sees your eyes shine before you speak up.

"I've always admired your strength-" You begin to say as you caress his arms, before pulling his calloused hands towards your lips and kissing each fingertip, each scratch and mark that makes him, Vegeta. "You're much more than your physical prowess Vegeta. You're mental fortitude, after everything you've been through- continue to go through-" You exhale loudly. You hold his face in your hands.

"You are the ultimate warrior. You always compare yourself to Goku but in my eyes you will always be more than he is." You thought you saw his eyes water, but he burrows his face into your neck before taking a deep breathe.

"Princess, I need you. I've wanted to conquer this body like the thousands of planets I've conquered in the name of the Saiyan Army. I want to watch you quiver underneath me as I take everything you have to offer- and much more." He growls out, showing his teeth. You whimper, once again getting wet at his words. He plays you like an instrument- and he's the maestro. You quickly pull off your clothing until you are naked under him. He admires your body quietly, before looking into your eyes.

"Fuck me Vegeta. Breed me like I'm yours." He bites his lip looking at you.

"You already are mine. I'll make sure to mold your body to mine, woman-" You bite down on his neck, as a form of chastising him.

"Don't call me woman-" You warn him softly. He groans in your ear and his hands roam your curves. His fingers find the peaks of each breast, twisting and rubbing with the pads of his fingers. Your hands wander across the planes of his body that are still covered by his blue training gear.

"What should I call you, Y/N?" He asks you softly, before taking your right nipple in his mouth.

"F-Fuck Vegeta. Please call me yours, call m-me princess~" He groans at your words, his arousal showing through his clothes. "Show everyone who I belong to-" You never felt so dirty in your life; pleading for a man to call you his, never in your life could you imagine the submissive turn this took. You want to take control back, so you flip yourself back on top. He looks up at you, biting his lip.

"Such a good princess for me. Pleasing your Prince like a good girl~" You growl at that, grinding down hard into the clear outline of his heavy cock. You begin to tug on the collar of his training gear.

"I'm gonna rip this off of you and ride you. I wanna be a good girl for my Prince." He smirks at that, before his eyes widen at the ripping sound his gear makes. You pull the tattered fabric off his body, nails lightly scraping the surface of his skin.

"So handsome, and strong. Perfect for protecting me~" You whisper in a sing sing voice, before kissing down his body. You start from his lips and work your way down. You can tell your bites and hickeys are already mostly healed, so you leave a couple more before kissing his pecs and lavishing his nipples in attention. He covers his mouth to muffle a moan, as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Don't shy away from me now Vegeta. Let me hear you." You tell him, pulling his arm away. He pants at you, eyes wide.

"T-these damn sneak attacks!" You grin at his words.

"I'll show you a sneak attack-" You begin the sentence, before gripping his cock in your hand. Its girth is unimaginable, your hand barely closing around it. His length is above average, and you could already tell you would spend many days worshiping his cock if you could.

You slowly thrust your fist up and down his length, watching how his cock pulsed under your hand. You could tell there was something peculiar about it, like the small ridges near the head and the particularly thick vein on the underside. Your other hand goes to his balls, which seemed to have already been straining for attention.

He whimpers as you touch him, but swears as soon as your tongue touches his slit.

"Fuck~ just like that princess-" You moan around his cock, taking the head into your mouth and giving it small sucks and kitten licks.

"Such a good little Earth whore for her Saiyan Prince- f-fuck. Can't wait to fill you with my royal seed." You didn't realize Vegeta was so vocal during sex. You pull your mouth off him and sit on your haunches, slowly stroking your up and down his cock.

"W-why'd you stop?" He asks angrily, hair flicking to blonde for a moment. You hover over his body, before grinning.

"Let's put that mouth to good use-" You sit on his face looking down at him. You hear him inhale through his nose deeply, before he looks up at you, lust prominent in his eyes. You bite your lip before tugging on his hair, and in a moment his fingers latch onto your thighs, and his tongue takes a wide lick up your slit. You look into his eyes to see him staring at your face. His tongue continues to take wide licks, before it enters inside your pussy. He licks up the juice that leaks out of you, groaning under you. You moan out his name as he does so, and hear him muttering under you.

"Taste so good for your Prince. Such a good girl-" You moan out loud, before you have to use your left hand to hold yourself up. You stretch your right arm behind you, and grip his cock, before giving him a sloppy handjob. He grunts under you, before unhooking his left hand from your thighs and spreading you open. You caterwaul when his tongue finds your clit, swirling and giving it attention while he lets his thick middle finger stretch you out by entering in and out of you slowly.

"F-Fuck Vegeta." You knew you were being too loud, and were worried about an audience outside the door.

"That's right princess. Tell everyone who this pussy belongs too." The slurping noise he makes is whorish, and your mind instantly clears of all thought.

"Fuck-fuck-FUCK!" You begin to grind on his face, slick leaving you in waves.

"That's right Y/N. Tell me what you want-" He enters a second finger inside of you, the stretch delicious.

"Want to cum- need to cum so badly Vegeta! Please please please-" You beg him, your hand and body moving in tandem with one another.

"Gonna make this pretty pussy cum all over my tongue-" He mutters, grinning. You look down and see the predatory look in his eyes.

"Please Daddy- please let me cum~" You're just blabbing random words, brain short circuiting at the intense pleasure between the apex of your thighs.

"Daddy?" He grunts at that.

"Want me to be your daddy?" You don't answer him right away, but he gets a response out of you when he takes his mouth away from your pussy and bites down on the side of your thigh, canines breaking skin. You groan in pain, the pleasure being elevated by his roughness.

"Answer me princess." He demands, fingers still entering and exiting your body languidly.

"Y-yes Vegeta. Be my Daddy, my Prince. F-fuck. Just let me cum!" You beg him, tears in your eyes at the edging Vegeta put you through.

"What a good girl. Such a good girl for daddy-" His lips latch onto your little pearl, sucking and licking, with his canines bumping into the sensitive bundle of nerves. The attention serves to be too much, and your sight goes white. You cum on his face, but more than that you squirt a little. He continues to suck on your pussy, the twitching and wailing from the body above him not stopping his actions.

He licks up your mess, enjoying that all his senses are surrounded by you. When your body goes lax he releases you, laying you under him to continue his caressing and kissing on your body. He pays particular attention to the junction of your neck, where he leaves a deep bite. The bite snaps you out of your euphoric ride, eyes widened at the sudden pain. You must've made too much noise, because Vegeta covers your mouth with his hand, as he licks up the mark. You can already feel the skin begin to mend itself, as his Saiyan saliva speeds the healing process. His hand releases your mouth when you're no longer whimpering in pain.

"Now everyone will know who you belong to-" He grunts at you, his hands caressing your torso and the undersides of your breasts. You look into his eyes, panting at his attention.

"Fuck me." You tell him, touching him on his forearm. He grins at you, sharp canines stained with your blood.

"Excuse me?" He asks you, acting galled at your words. Without answering him, you push him to sit on his haunches between your thighs. As you do so, his eyes wander your body, his tongue reaching out between the seam of his lips to lick them. Your hand trails down your body, and as you begin to pant with need, you spread your pussy open, and his eyes widen at the sight of your slick leaking out.

"Fuck me, Saiyan." Your voice was authoritative, and without warning, Vegeta growls and pulls your thighs closer to him.

"With pleasure, princess." He pushes your legs all the way down, your knees bumping into your shoulders. You grab your legs by the backs of your knees, and he takes his cock in his hand and strokes your pussy. When his tip would bump into your clit you'd moan loudly and he'd chuckle at you, breathless.

"Look at you; your crumbling resolve left you cock hungry for the Prince of all Saiyans." He begins to push himself into you, the stretch of his cock nothing like the stretch from his fingers. You find yourself flinching at the intrusion, and Vegeta notices. He pushes himself all the way in slowly, before putting you both into a mating press. Your nipples were sensitive dragging against his chest. He looks into your eyes and whispers.

"You're doing great, sweetheart. Such a good princess for daddy-" His hand snakes between your bodies, and begins to rub your clit as he begins to move. The minor pain from the girth of him begins to ebb away, and pleasure begins to take its place.

"F-fuck Vegeta. So b-big." He chuckles, before groaning.

"Princess. You're so fucking tight. Gonna fuck this pussy good. 'N make you squirt again." He mumbles out, words slurred by the feeling of your pussy squeezing him. You whimper at his words, beginning to grind into his cock as he moves.

"H-harder Daddy. Fuck me good. P-Please-" You beg, almost weeping with tears running down your cheeks. . He wipes your tears before using both hands to brace himself onto the bed.

"Anything for you." He says passionately. It struck a cord in you, the sincerity of his words making you gaze at him with love. The intensity of your coupling is one you've never experienced, and your body and soul feel overstimulated by everything Vegeta. His thrusts are strong, and your legs slip out of your hold as you grip the bedsheets under you, needing something to ground yourself.

Your legs wrap around his hips, and the heel of your foot bumps into the patch of fur at the small of his waist where his tail used to be. He moans out, his voice loud. You notice him blushing as he looks into your eyes. His thrusts go harder, and he grabs both your hands to lock his fingers with yours.

"Just like that princess- fuck." He grunts. You reach up to lock your lips together. Your bodies have become one at this point, with a feeling of oneness you had never felt in your life. You begin to purposefully rub the heel of your foot into the patch of fur, as you near your release. After a couple strokes of your foot, he shouts into your mouth, cumming into your pussy.

The twitching of his cock triggers your release, and you cum around his cock. You stay together for a moment, tongues languidly rubbing against eachother. He pulls away softly, panting. He begins to pull himself up, to watch where you are both connected. He groans again.

"Look at you princess. Creamed around my cock. Such a messy girl-" Your pussy twitches and he bites his lip. His eyes flicker teal for a moment.

"Don't tempt me to ravage you again, (Y/N)." You grin at him, acting coy.

"Sorry my Prince." He smiles softly at you, pushing hair away from your face. He then pulls out, and you whimper at the feeling of cum leaking out of you. He pushes his fingers into you, scooping up his seed and filling you back up.

"None of my seed should go to waste. You're the perfect mate." He growls possessively.

"Is that so?" You ask him. He nods. After a couple minutes of silence, he pulls his fingers out slowly, and you moan softly. He chuckles at the sound, before going into his bathroom. He closes the door for two minutes. You sigh, turning yourself so your laying on your side, leaning your head on your hand. You watch the door, eyebrows jumping when you hear a bang and a muffled "shit" through the door. Not a moment later, Vegeta leaves the bathroom with boxers on and a damp hand towel in his grip. He comes towards you, and slowly pulls you into his lap.

"What's all this?" You ask him softly, voice hardly louder than a whisper.

"After a Saiyan mating bite, the male is supposed to take care of the female. I'm going to clean you up and take care of you." His voice has mellowed out, with a softness which you haven't ever heard from Vegeta.

"Mating bite?" You ask curiously. Vegeta slowly wipes your neck, before moving to the apex of your thighs, cleaning your combines releases from you.

"Saiyans don't normally mate for life, but when we do we bite each other. Some scars, like mating bites, don't heal and we use them as markers of possession. Its to make sure female Saiyans don't get taken advantage of. It also helps mix our scents." You hum softly, eyes fluttering closed at his gentle strokes on your weak body.

"So I am yours?" You ask gently. He hums, before his other hand goes to stroke your hair.

"For life." Your eyes widen as you look at him. He looks nervously at your face. You pout and huff angrily. He flinches at your anger, and before he could apologize you cut him off.

"Well that's not fair. How am I supposed to mark you back?" His eyes widen.

"You're.. not upset at me?" You smile up at him, taking his cheek in your hand and rubbing it with your thumb.

"Out of all the people on this planet I'm the only one who can handle you most of the time. If that isn't an admission of love I really can't think of one-" You get pulled into a hug, and you hear him sigh sadly. You rub his back up and down.

"Listen Vegeta, I meant those words I said before. I really do admire you, and I do want to stick by your side. I mean, a warning would have been nice-" You say jokingly. He huffs a laugh. "But I really love being with you." You pull him away from you, and you see a small tear in his eye. You pull him forward and kiss his forehead.

"But never call me woman again!" You tell him warningly. He laughs out loud at that, and smiles widely.

"Alright, princess." You both lay back down, cuddling and spending the rest of your day in bed, ignoring the outside world.

END

---

BONUS:

"Vegeta isn't answering his phone-" Goku says worryingly to Bulma, who he bumped into while looking for the missing Saiyan.

"Yeah, he was busy." Bulma answers, before a full body shiver goes through her. Goku looks at her worried.

"Are you sick Bulma? And Vegeta knows we are training today-" Bulma snaps her fingers in his face.

"Goku, he's with (Y/N)." Goku looks at her confused.

"Are they training?" He asks innocently.

"Horizontally." Bulma says chuckling, before walking away. Goku looks down and thinks.

"Is that a better way to train?" He asks himself.