#Massimo x reader

[hopelesslys-world]

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME | CH. 6

WARNINGS: NON-CON, Age Gap ( Massimo is 34 reader is 20 ), sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral (both female and male), yandere themes, stalking, KIDNAPPING, violence, harsh language, murder...

Tell me if I missed something... ( As you can see most of those warnings will make their appearance in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...not edited

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐈́𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔́𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 problems. The driver opened the door for Massimo while you were stuffing your things into your bag—they must have spilled out to the seat during the drive. Massimo rounded the car and opened the door on your side, offering you a hand. He was being very gallant, and in that linen suit of his, he looked simply overpowering.

As both of your feet touched the ground, he discreetly grabbed your ass, pushing you gently toward the entrance. You sent him a shocked glance—that was behavior worthy of an adolescent boy. But he only smirked, sliding his hand up to your back and leading you to the terminal.

That son of bitch...

You’d never had all the check-in formalities done so fast. All you had to do was pass through the building. When you emerged on the other side, another car picked the two of you up and drove you to a small plane.

As much as you enjoyed this whole process of being in an airplane, you couldn't help but be nervous and make your heart stop pounding.

You sat down on a plush leather couch, Massimo soon joined you sitting dangerously closer than you liked. A bottle of champagne arrived but you paid no mind to it wanting to get over with this flight in a calm and quick way as possible.

With Massimo on your side though your whish seemed utterly impossible...

His hand rested behind your hand, not touching you, just settling on the couch. His leaning towards you was obvious as hell, however you knew very well where this was leading.

"You know...I can't get off my head the image of you naked in the shower this morning." he said in a low seducing tone that made your heart pound faster each passing second.

You blushed heavy crimson from embarrassment and shyness and turned your head away from his close face. "No need to be shy with me now, princess. There's no shame wanting to get high in pleasure..." His fingers touched your chin making you look at him, your faces inches away from each other. "...What's a real shame is denying what you feel. You know that I'll be more than happy to provide you with everything you'll need."

Massimo's hand moved from your chin slowly down to your leg, sneaking in your bare skin from your skirts cut giving you strokes in the inside of your thighs that every now and then neared so close to your cunt.

As much as you wanted to give in, your untouched pussy was becoming wet with arousal, however, the incidents happening a few days prior kept your guard up and your reputation high. "No. I can't..." Your hands grabbed his and shoved it away from your thigh.

The Man in Black sigh heavily plopping back to his seated position. "You're making this harder than it has to be Y/N. It doesn't have to be this way." He declared in disappointment shaking his head in disapproval.

You tried. You tried really hard to keep your thoughts to yourself, Massimo provoked you all the fucking time it was impossible!

"Well, excuse me that I don't want to sleep with the man I know for a week, to be more specific the man who kidnapped me." You smiled sweetly at him, then your face got all pouty again.

He scoffed, you could imagine him rolling his eyes at you. "You need to move on, princess. You pouted enough already don't you think? You were so good and obedient today... don't ruin my mood...I want to reward you. Will you be my good girl?"

Massimo pulled you closer leaving a kiss on shoulder his hand behind you caressed your neck softly—teasingly with his fingers as his lips left kitten kisses which trailed upward, to your neck, to your throat and lastly your jawline before his movements came into a halt.

You needed to stop him, you had to stop him, you couldn't let this happen it wasn't right.

What the hell changed!? Just like this morning you despised him and then you wanted to have sex with him!? It doesn't make sense! Nothing makes sense anymore!

Was the sexual provoke too much? Or was it something else ... something deeper? Stockholm Syndrome perhaps. You've heard of this lot's of times from your friend who studied phycology... must be it.

"Answer me baby." He whispered.

Hesitantly, you nodded. Not wanting to awaken a heated argument.

"Use your mouth, baby girl. I want to hear you say it." Massimo looked you in the eyes, his dark brown eyes became completely black with lust and need.

"I will." You replied quietly, obviously meaning it untill he crossed another line.

"Come with me." The Man in Black said eagerly.

He stood up then lifting you up, he lead you in a corridor which was getting narrower in this part of the plane. Massimo had to turn sideways to squeeze through. You entered a dark room with a bed in the middle.

You have to be stupid to not realise where this was going. It was entirely your fault, you let the strings too loose and got his confidence to get laid with you too high.

As soon as he closed the door he attacked your lips in a raw, desperate, way. Catching you surprised, your hands shot to his broad chest pushing him away but he didn't budge at all. Instead his tongue found yours, kissing you more passionately.

The back of your knees found the mattress and the Man in Black slowly lowered you to the soft sheets.

His lips left your mouth and attacked your neck leaving behind red marks in very visible spots. You had to act quick, he didn't even know that you were a virgin. You knew that this wouldn't be a pleasant experience, he was too fierce and worked up to be gentle.

"Massimo, please stop. You have to stop." You begged breathless by his hungry kisses.

"Tell me the real reason. Tell me why you won't let me have you. I know that you desire it as much as I do. Tell me." Massimo demanded.

Should you answer him? Probably, it was time he knows the truth anyway. Maybe he'll stop being so impatient and shameless.

"I've... I've never...done something like this before..." You admitted with your cheeks turning beetroot red.

It was obvious that he was shocked, definitely expecting another reason to your hesitance. His surprised expression turned into a smirk, "Aw, are you still a virgin? Poor baby, doesn't know what she's missing..." He bit his lip.

"Ugh, stop it already." You said in embarrassment turning your body away from him.

Massimo pinned you back to your previous position, "You might think that I'll quit wanting you, but I never step back from such a challenge... And to know that I'll be the first and only to claim you...fuck...you can't imagine how hard I am for you baby girl. Don't worry I'll teach you everything, I'll as gentle as I can, promise."

Despite your fear, you always wanted to do it, you were just too scared.

He started kissing you again this time a little more softly, his trail of pecks reached downwards again, to your line of breasts stopping altogether to take your skirt off you.

You lay still, squeezing your legs together, debating with yourself if you wanted to continue or not.

“Massimo, I'm not sure—” you started.

“I'll make you feel so good. Don’t be afraid, baby girl,” he said, pushing his hand between your legs. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You squeezed your legs together even harder, whining softly with fear. “Shush,” he whispered. “I will part your legs now and start with just one finger. Relax.”

You knew he’d do as he was saying whether you wanted it or not. So you attempted to relaxed. “Good, just like that. Now spread those legs wide for me.”

You shyly did as you were told only that you slightly unsqueezed them

“You’ll be a good girl and do what I say now. I don’t want to hurt you.” Delicately, he started to kiss you on the lips while his hand slid down. With his other hand, he held your head, deepening the kiss. You yielded, and an instant later, your tongues were dancing, quicker and quicker. It was the first time you've allow this to happen.

“So good for me,” he breathed into your ear as his hand reached the fabric of your panties. “I love how obedient your are. Now, be still and don’t move.”

Massimo’s fingers slipped into the most intimate spot of your body which no one else have touched before. Slowly, with his lips right next to your ear, he explored further inside of your thighs, gently stroking them with two fingers, teasing you.

He rubbed your clit and you let out a breathless moan, he stroked up and down collecting and producing more arousal making a slippery little mess. Finally Massimo slid inside your unused pussy. It hurt a tiny bit, you hissed at the new sensation and squirmed relentlessly.

“So fucking tight. Don’t move and be silent. Do you understand?”

You nodded whimpering. His finger sank deeper, until it was all the way in. You clenched your teeth, trying to remain silent, while he started to move, subtly and sensually, inside you. His middle finger slid in and out, while his thumb softly fondled your clit. Your eyes closed and felt his weight subsiding and then shifting downward. You stopped breathing. His finger didn’t stop.

Massimo reached his destination. Suddenly, he slipped his finger out, making you wince. But then you felt his breath through your panties and your heart beat faster and harder.

“I’ve dreamed about it since I first saw you. I want you to talk to me when I start. Tell me if I’m doing it good. Direct me. I want to give you your first ecstasy,” he breathed, pulling your undergarment down your legs.

On instinct, you brought your legs together, embarrassed.

“Spread them wide for me. I want to see you.”

You appreciated his gentleness, the fact that he wanted you to feel more comfortable during your first intercourse. You slowly did as he told you and heard him inhaling deeply. He spread your legs wider, piercing you with his gaze, sinking deeper into you most intimate, secretive places.

“Touch me,” you moaned, unable to keep quiet anymore. “Please...”

Hearing that, he started steadily rubbing your clit, leaned down and sank his tongue in your wet cunt, his movements dynamic. You grabbed his hair pulling roughly, head rolled back at the new euphoric feeling. With the fingers of one hand he spread the lips of your pussy, wanting to reach that most sensitive spot.

“I want you to come, and I want to torture you with more orgasms until you beg me to stop. I want you to look at me. I want to see your face as you come, again and again.”

“Open your eyes Y/N” he demanded his mouth and fingers stopped.

Between your legs, Massimo was at the same time sexy and terrifying. He swooped in again, his lips caressing my clit, and two of his fingers impaled you. You closed your eyes, feeling pressure on your lower stomach.

“Massimo,” you whimpered.

His fingers kept stroking expertly, while his tongue never stopped.

“Kurwa mać!” You shouted in you native tongue as you came for the first time in your life. The orgasm was long and strong, overwhelming. Your body was taut like a string, trapped by what Massimo was doing. When you felt the orgasm subside, he rushed at your exhausted, tender, and sensitive clit again, almost painfully. You clenched your teeth until they grated, squirming—impaled by his two fingers.

“Please, no more...” your voice was weak cried after the next wave of painful bliss overcame you.

The Man in Black slowly relented, let your body cool down, softly kissed and stroked all the places that were hurting now. Your hips collapsed to the mattress when he was finished. As you lay still, he slowly pushed himself up, reached for the nightstand, fishing out a box of wet wipes. Gently he wiped the spots he had been attacking with such passion just a moment ago.

“See, I kept my promise this time,” he winked, and disappeared back into the main compartment.

You kept still for a moment longer, analyzing everything, but you couldn’t believe what had just happened. You only knew two things; that you were so sore now and that surely the feeling of regret washed over you.

Fuck, you regretted that stupid decision! What had gotten into you and allowed him to do this!? A stay tear escaped however you were quick to wipe it away.

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When you returned, Massimo was sitting in his seat, biting his upper lip lost in thought.

You sat down opposite him awkwardly, having no idea how to act around him anymore.

“So... what are our plans for today?” you asked quietly.

He smiled and poured another glass of champagne handing it to you.“You’ll learn in time. I’ll do some business and you’ll get to play the mobster’s girl,” he said, boyish amusement illuminating his face.

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When you landed, a pair of black SUVs and a whole security team was already waiting for you. One of the men opened the door for you, then shut it as you made yourself comfortable in your seat. Each time you saw those cars, you thought they held a little bit of magic—the way they moved all that stuff from place to place. How did those guys and those cars manage to keep pace with Massimo?

What broke your chaotic reverie, probably fueled by all those orgasms, were the words of your oppressor, uttered into your ear.

“I can't wait to be inside you,” he whispered, and his hot breath paradoxically chilled you to the bone. “To deflower that pretty tight pussy of yours. I’d like to feel your wet cunt close around my cock.”

Your breath hitched suddenly at his filthy words. You chose not reply and instead close your eyes and try to calm down the frantic beat of my heart. It grew a bit steadier. Out of nowhere, Massimo’s warm breath vanished, and you heard him saying something to the driver. The words were unintelligible, but after a few seconds, the car veered off the road and stopped. The man stepped out, leaving you two completely alone.

“Sit in the passenger seat in the front,” Massimo said, pinning you with his cold, black stare. He didn’t look like he was about to move himself, which seemed a bit strange.

What has gotten into him all of a sudden? Honestly, you didn't know if you could ever be able to handle his roller coaster mood swings...

“Why?” you asked, disoriented.

Massimo’s face took on an expression of annoyance, and his jaw clenched. “I’ll repeat it one last time: move or I’ll move you myself.”

Again, you couldn’t help it—his tone made your hackles rise. You wanted to resist, if only to see where it took you.

“You order me around like a dog. I am no dog.” you inhaled, intending to berate him for treating you like that, but you didn’t manage to utter another word. Massimo pulled you out of the car by force and then threw you into the front seat. He pulled your hands back, behind the backrest.

“Not a dog. A bitch,” he hissed, tying your hands with some kind of strap. Before you realized what was happening, you were sitting tied to the passenger seat, and the Man in Black sat behind the steering wheel. You started to wriggle your fingers, trying to feel your way around, turns out you'll never found out wutb what he tied you with.

“You like to tie women up?” you asked as he was fiddling with some settings on the dashboard.

“It’s not a question of preference in your case.”

He pressed the ignition button and a woman’s voice from the GPS directed him as he started to drive.

“My back hurts. And my arms,” you said after a couple of minutes.

“Well, I’m hurt, too, but for an entirely different reason. Want to compare?”

You knew he was angry or frustrated. You couldn’t differentiate between those two feelings in him, but you had no idea what you had done to cause this. And even if it wasn’t your fault, he was taking it all out on you.

“Ty cholerny, uparty egoisto,” you whispered in Polish. You damned, stubborn egomaniac. “As soon as you untie me, I’ll smack you so hard you’ll have to look for your teeth on the ground,” You ranted, still in Polish.

Massimo slowed down and stopped at a traffic light, turning to you and fixing you with a furious glare. “Now repeat that in English,” he growled.

You smiled disdainfully and spewed a whole litany of profanities in Polish—all directed at him. He didn’t move, but his glare was growing more furious by the second. As soon as the light turned green, he stepped on the accelerator.

“I’ll get rid of your pain. Or at least take your mind off it,” he said, his right hand found his to the cut of your skirt. His left hand was still on the steering wheel, but the right one slipped under your panties.

You squirmed and jerked in your seat, cursing him and begging him not to do it, but it was too late. “Massimo, I’m sorry!” you cried, trying to get out of his reach. “I’m not in pain anymore! And what I said in Polish—”

“Not interested in that anymore,” he said. “But if you don’t pipe down, I’ll have to gag you. I’d like to hear the GPS if you don’t mind, so shut up.”

His hand slid deeper into your underwear, and you felt a wave of panic flooding you. At the same time, you grew completely docile and stopped resisting.

“You promised you wouldn’t do anything against my wishes and be gentle,” you whispered, leaning back.

Massimo’s fingers irritated your clitoris smearing the wetness that slowly appeared by his touch.

“I’m not doing anything against your wishes. I’m just making sure your hands aren’t in pain anymore.” His touch was growing harder, and the circular motions were sending you down the abyss of his absolute power over you, as much as tried to resist it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and reveled in the feeling he was giving you. You knew he was acting on instinct—he had to divide his attention between two things: driving and punishing you.

You squirmed in your seat, when the car suddenly stopped. You felt his hand leaving, you thanked the universe for siding with you this time, not having to satisfy him with you orgasming again.

“We’re here,” Massimo announced, killing the engine.

You stared at him from half-closed eyelids. A voice in your head was screaming, raging and cursing him. You didn’t have to say it aloud. You knew well enough what his motivation had been. He wanted you to beg him. He wanted to show you how much you desired him, despite rebelling against anything and everything he said and did.

"That's great," you replied, rubbing at your wrists. They hurt so much. “I hope whatever was hurting you has stopped,” you said.

Here it was—that big red button in his head again. The Man in Black shot out with an arm, pulling you over himself, so you sat astride him with your back to the steering wheel. He grabbed you by the waist and pressed your cunt against his hard manhood. You gasped at his bold movement, raising your hips so you didn't sit on him.

“What hurts me,” he hissed, his fury threatening to boil over, “is that I haven’t used that mouth and pussy yet.”

His hips met yours again without your permission and were undulating lazily. That movement and the pressure of his penis made you breathless.

“And you won’t for a long, long time yet,” you whispered, “In fact, I have very much regretted what we did back in the plane.” you added deathly serious.

He froze, watching you closely, looking for answers to questions yet unasked, jaw clenched.

Your silent battle was interrupted by knocking on the window. Massimo lowered the glass, revealing the not-too-surprised face of Domenico. That guy certainly looks like he’s seen everything, you thought.

He said a couple of sentences in Italian, ignoring your position, and Massimo shook his head quickly. You had no idea what they were talking about, but it was clear the Man in Black wanted to have nothing to do with what Domenico was suggesting. When they were finished, Massimo opened the door and stepped out, keeping his hold on you.

You headed toward the hotel he had parked the car next to. You were still clutching him—he didn't let you down so you had no other choice, your legs around his hips. You could feel the surprised stares of the other guests as you passed them without a word, Massimo keeping a poker face.

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[ series masterlist ]

TAGLIST: ( THANK YOU ❤️ (if you want to be added comment in the chapters or send a message:) ) @lucidlivi , @sousydive , @lightdragonrayne

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[multific]

The Storm Before the Calm

Massimo Torricelli x Reader

Summary: A misunderstanding leads to days of painful silence between you and Massimo. Frustrated, you leave the estate for space, only to get caught in a brutal storm.

The silence between you and Massimo was deafening.

It had been days since your last real conversation, a simple misunderstanding spiralling into something neither of you had the patience or pride to fix.

You missed him, his touch, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

But his cold indifference cut deep, and you refused to be the first to break.

Frustrated, you left the estate, needing space to clear your head.

The Sicilian air was thick with humidity, the sky an ominous shade of grey.

You barely noticed the shift, too lost in your thoughts, until the first raindrop landed on your skin.

Then another. And another.

Within moments, the sky unleashed its fury.

The rain fell in heavy sheets, the wind howling as you struggled to find shelter.

You were too far from home now, drenched and shivering, your stubbornness having led you into the heart of the storm.

Then, through the chaos, you heard it.

The roar of an engine.

Headlights sliced through the rain, and before you could even process it, the car jerked to a stop beside you.

The door swung open, and there he was.

Massimo.

His expression was unreadable as he stepped out, the rain instantly soaking his perfect suit.

His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than the storm itself.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, voice rough, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, but he was already reaching for you, his large hands gripping your arms as he pulled you under the shelter of his body. “You could’ve gotten hurt,” he murmured, his breath warm against your chilled skin.

His hands ran down your arms as if checking for any signs of harm.

“I didn’t mean to be out this long,” you admitted softly, watching as something in his expression cracked.

His grip tightened for a second before he exhaled sharply. “Dio, I’ve been going insane.” He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the rain—or maybe the tears you hadn’t realized had mixed with it. “You left angry. I thought-” He stopped, and for the first time in days, you saw it.

The worry. The fear. The cold expressionless eyes were now filled with every emotion.

“I wasn’t leaving you,” you whispered, pressing a cold hand over his racing heart. “I just needed to think.”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged.

“Then next time, think in the house. With me.”

You barely had time to nod before his lips crashed onto yours.

He tasted like rain and something more profound, like a man holding back far too much for far too long. And when he finally pulled you into the car, wrapping you in his jacket, you knew the storm between you had finally passed.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[namuhdasyrev]

Me patiently waiting for the next 365 days to come out so I can get more fanfiction of Massimo to read COZ i just know girls are gonna be crazy for him!

[ador3sturniolo]

Jealous

An - Oh my gosh this man is so fine!! I know he’s not a sturniolo triplet but i just can’t get over him so i wanted to write something for him. Enjoy my loves! Also this is my first time writing smut so sorry if it’s bad 🫣

MDI 18+

Paring - Massimo X FemReader

Summary - Massimo gets jealous

Warnings - Smut, Tension??

Requested - No

It was a quiet evening in the city, the kind where the world felt like it was moving in slow motion, wrapped in the comfort of soft lights and murmured voices. The venue was upscale, a modern restaurant tucked away on the outskirts of town, frequented by those who sought luxury and privacy.

You were seated at a table near the back, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses fading into the background as you sipped on your drink. The man across from you was charming, well-dressed, and made a point of keeping you engaged with interesting stories and laughter. You’d met him earlier in the evening at the bar, where the conversation had been light and easy, and you had enjoyed the company. But there was something about him that felt fleeting, like a momentary distraction, not something that could hold your attention for long.

Still, you couldn’t deny the conversation was pleasant, and as he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowered with a flirty undertone, you felt a tug of curiosity. His proximity was too intimate, the air between you too thick, but before you could take another sip of your drink, a sudden, sharp voice broke through.

“Is everything alright here?”

You turned in surprise. Standing at the edge of your table, his frame towering above, was Massimo. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of curiosity and something else flickering beneath the surface—something darker. A storm was brewing behind his calm expression.

You felt your pulse spike at the sight of him. Massimo. The man who always seemed to command a room without even trying. His presence was magnetic, impossible to ignore.

The man across from you stood up politely, offering Massimo a handshake, though there was a noticeable tension in the air as they exchanged looks. “Everything’s fine,” you said quickly, hoping to diffuse whatever tension had already begun to brew. But Massimo didn’t take his eyes off you—not even for a second.

“I see,” Massimo replied, his voice low, a hint of coldness in it that hadn’t been there before. “I didn’t realize you had company tonight.”

You couldn’t tell if it was the sharpness of his tone or the subtle flicker of something possessive in his eyes, but something shifted. The man across from you noticed it too, his smile faltering as he glanced back and forth between the two of you.

“Actually, I should be going,” the man said, his voice faltering slightly. “It was nice meeting you.” He gave you a polite nod, his eyes lingering just long enough to register the tension in the air before quickly walking away.

You watched him go, a feeling of unease creeping into your chest. You had been enjoying the evening, but now, under Massimo’s gaze, you felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn’t sit down immediately, instead hovering next to your table, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched tightly. The air between you two was thick with unspoken words.

“I didn’t expect to see you with him,” Massimo said, his voice so controlled it barely masked the tension. “I thought you and I had an understanding.”

You blinked, not sure if you were hearing him correctly. “Massimo, it’s nothing,” you began, trying to explain, but his expression didn’t soften. If anything, it became even more intense.

“It’s not nothing,” he muttered, his gaze narrowing, focusing on the empty seat where your date had just been. “You were laughing with him. Leaning in close.” His jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you, the space between you shrinking. “You never laugh with me like that.”

You felt your heart race, a mix of excitement and something else—something raw and unspoken—beginning to take hold. He was jealous. Massimo Torricelli, the man who always seemed so in control, was visibly upset by the thought of you with someone else. It was both thrilling and intimidating.

“Massimo, I was just talking,” you said softly, hoping to ease his mind, but the look in his eyes told you that wasn’t enough.

“Talking?” he repeated, his voice lowering. “I don’t think you understand. You’re mine, cara,” he said, his words deliberate, like a warning wrapped in something more dangerous. “And I don’t share what’s mine.”

A small chill ran down your spine at the possessiveness in his tone. His eyes darkened as they focused on yours, and you felt an undeniable pull—like a magnetic force drawing you toward him.

“I don’t want you talking to him,” Massimo added, his voice quiet but full of command. “I don’t want anyone else thinking they can have you, not like that.”

You swallowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “You’re being unreasonable,” you said, though there was a hint of challenge in your voice, knowing it would only make him more determined.

Massimo’s lips quirked into a small, dangerous smile. “Maybe,” he said softly, leaning in closer. His breath was warm against your ear as he added, “But I don’t like seeing what’s mine slipping away.”

Before you could respond, he was standing in front of you, his large hand cupping your chin gently, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your pulse spike. “You’ll have to make it up to me, cara,” he murmured, his voice suddenly quiet, almost possessive in a way that made your heart race.

His words felt like a promise, a quiet but undeniable claim over you. Your mind was spinning, torn between the electric tension in the air and your desire to test the boundaries of his jealousy. And as his thumb brushed over your lip again, you felt your resistance begin to crumble.

Massimo’s jealousy was no longer just a reaction—it was a desire. One that would burn between the two of you for as long as you allowed it to. And tonight, it seemed you weren’t going to stop it.

With one final look, Massimo leaned down, pressing his lips against your ear, his voice hushed but full of intent: “Come with me.”

Massimo drove you back to his apartment, rushing inside and locking the door

As the door to Massimo's apartment closed behind you, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The hustle and bustle of the city outside faded away, leaving only the intoxicating energy between you two. Massimo's gaze locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and protectiveness that sent a thrill through your body.

He approached you slowly, each step deliberate, as if savoring the moment. When he reached you, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. The warmth of his palms ignited a fire within you, and you could see the raw hunger in his eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and filled with urgency.

You nodded, your heart racing as you took a step closer, feeling the heat radiating from him. “I want you, Massimo. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

With a growl of desire, he crushed his lips against yours, the kiss deep and possessive. His hands found your waist, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips before exploring the depths of your mouth. You melted against him, feeling his strong body press against yours, every touch igniting a wave of sensation.

Massimo’s kiss consumed you—demanding and intense, leaving no room for thought. The moment his lips met yours, everything else faded. The world outside the study ceased to exist. It was just him and you. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you might slip away. You had never felt anything like this before—his possessiveness, his need for control, all wrapped in a kiss that made your head spin.

You let out a soft gasp when his lips left yours, only to feel his breath on your skin as his mouth moved to your neck. He kissed you there—slow, deliberate, each press of his lips a claim, each touch sending heat rushing through you. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid strength of his body against yours. The tension between you both was palpable, thick and electric.

Massimo’s lips finally parted from your skin, but his gaze never left yours. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, an unreadable emotion swirling within them. “You’re mine,” he murmured, voice husky with a mix of desire and dominance. “I don’t share, cara. Not with anyone. Not ever.”

His words echoed in the room, the weight of them sinking into your chest. Part of you felt the heat of excitement at his possessiveness, the way he staked his claim on you so boldly. But another part of you felt a rush of adrenaline, like you were walking a fine line between pleasure and danger.

“Massimo…” you breathed, your voice trembling. You weren’t sure if it was from fear or anticipation. “You don’t need to be jealous.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t I?” His hand moved to your waist again, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your dress, pushing it up just slightly. The move was casual, yet the intent was clear—he wanted you, wanted to feel you beneath him. “I don’t like seeing you with another man,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous level. “It doesn’t sit right with me.”

The words sent a flutter of heat to your core, and despite yourself, you felt your body respond to him. He was so sure of himself, so completely in control. There was no question in his mind about what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

He took a step back, his eyes never leaving you as if he were studying your every move. “Take off your dress.”

The command hit you like a shock, and for a moment, your mind raced, questioning what you were about to do. But there was no time for hesitation—Massimo was not a man who waited for permission. He had a way of making things happen, and in that moment, you realized that you were going to let him.

Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you to unzip the dress, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your feet. The air was cool against your exposed skin, but the heat between you and Massimo was enough to burn. You looked up at him, his eyes dark with desire, and the way he stared at you made your breath catch in your throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer now, but still full of raw, possessive heat. He stepped forward again, his hands skimming your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, before moving up to cup your breasts, his touch almost reverent. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now.”

You gasped at the intensity of his touch, your body arching into his hands, instinctively seeking more. Massimo’s lips met yours again, but this time, it was different. It was slower, more deliberate. He kissed you like he was savoring you, taking his time, feeling you, exploring every inch of your mouth as though it was a treasure he had found.

As the kiss deepened, his hands wandered lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties. The touch was gentle at first, almost teasing, but when he felt you shiver beneath him, he became more insistent.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

You met his gaze, desire swirling within you. “I want you, Massimo. I want all of you.”

With that, he captured your lips again, his hands working swiftly to remove the last barriers between you.

Massimo took his time, trailing kisses down your body, worshiping every inch of you as he moved lower. You could feel his lips teasing along your thighs, sending shivers of anticipation through you. The sensation was intoxicating, and you could hardly contain your moans as he explored you with a fervor that made your head spin.

When his mouth finally found you, it was overwhelming. He moved with an expert touch, eliciting gasps and moans as he worked you closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck ignited a fire deep within you, and you felt yourself spiraling into pleasure.

“Massimo,” you cried out, your hands tangling in his hair as you pushed your hips against him, craving more.

He looked up at you, the intensity in his eyes only fueling your desire. “That’s it, baby. Let go,” he urged, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

With each passing moment, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. And when you finally let go, it was like a wave crashing over you, pulling you under in a tide of ecstasy.

Massimo didn’t stop; he continued to tease and coax you through your release, prolonging the pleasure until you were breathless and trembling beneath him.

Once you came down from your high, he moved back up your body, his lips finding yours once more. The kiss was deep and filled with the promise of more. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew he was just as affected by the intimacy you shared.

“Now it’s my turn,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself above you.

With a mix of eagerness and urgency, he entered you, filling you completely. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as he moved slowly at first, savoring every moment.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his voice low and filled with need.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him to go deeper, to lose himself in the moment. The rhythm between you built, each thrust sending you higher, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of you, lost in the heat of passion.

As the intensity grew, so did the connection between you. With each movement, you felt your bodies melting together, the intimacy binding you in ways you never thought possible. The sounds of the city outside were drowned out by the symphony of your breaths, the whispers of your names, and the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

Finally, as the waves of pleasure washed over you both, you reached your peak together, a crescendo of ecstasy that left you breathless and entwined, hearts racing in unison.

In the aftermath, you lay wrapped in each other's arms, the intimacy of the moment lingering in the air. You could feel the warmth of Massimo's body against yours, the steady beat of his heart a comforting reminder of the bond you had forged.

“Always,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

And in that moment, everything felt right.

——————————————————————————

AN- Hey! I wanted to try a new style of writing for this one so that what i did! I hope you guys like it!!! ☺️

[ltash]

"Wicked" Pt-3

SimonGhostRileyxf!"Rose"reader

From her highschool bully to her wicked bodyguard, from Simon to Ghost.

Palm Jumeirah, Dubai - Midnight.

The lights inside the mansion flickered, once-just a glitch, a flutter of voltage-but Rose's pulse skipped all the same. It always did now. The walls felt too close. The air, too quiet. No house this beautiful should feel like a cage, but hers did. Behind its manicured gardens and imported marble, the mansion wasn't a home. It was a gilded prison.

Massimo had made sure of that.

She hadn't been allowed to leave in weeks. Her phone was replaced. Her laptop filtered. The staff now wore polite smiles that never met their eyes. Rose had grown used to surveillance: the cameras hidden in chandeliers, the microphones embedded in vent grilles, the locks that clicked shut when they weren't supposed to.

But she still had one ghost left in the machine.

She padded barefoot into the darkened study, the only room she was never searched in. Inside the antique desk drawer was a tiny circuit board connected to a hidden port-one she'd built herself back when she still had freedom. It looked like a piece of the HVAC system, but under the hood was a different story.

She was about to use her only remaining ally: an old AI security system she had personally installed before her staff were replaced. It's disguised under the house's climate control and lighting apps-Massimo's men never even noticed it.

Late at night, she writes a command.

A hidden SOS, encrypted and buried under code.

She can't name herself, can't give details.

Just:

Her fingers trembled as she typed into the dim screen.

>High-value civilian. Palm Jumeirah. Hostile containment. Request immediate covert extraction.

She uploads it to an old abandoned GitHub repo registered under a pseudonym she once shared with a boy who used to sit at the back of her chemistry class.

Simon Riley.

The message was anonymous. There was no name, no coordinates. Just metadata buried in lines of an old GitHub repository registered under a long-forgotten pseudonym.

A joke. A nickname from school. One she had once shared with a boy who never smiled.

She didn't even know if he was still alive.

She hit send.

And hoped the wind still remembered her name.

Location: Undisclosed SAS Safehouse, Northern England

Simon was SAS now. Special Forces.

Callsign: Ghost.

The alert came through on a cold Thursday night.

He monitors that GitHub repo out of habit. It's nothing but sentiment, a scar he keeps reopening.

He hasn't checked it in years.

Until he does.

Simon Riley sat in the quiet glow of his monitor, the rain painting war patterns against the window behind him. He barely touched the internet. Except for this.

He hadn't checked the repo in years. It was a dead habit, something he did every few months. Nostalgia with no reward.

Until he saw it.

> Last push: 2 hours ago.

Encrypted within the code wasn't just a distress call.

It was her.

Rose.

He didn't breathe for nearly a full minute.

Ghost stood slowly, fingers curling into fists as a cold burn lit up in his chest. He hadn't heard her name since he'd buried it. Since the night he left without a goodbye.

His blood runs cold.

Encrypted in the code is a name he hasn't heard in half a decade:

"Rose."

He goes to his superiors.

The request is unofficial. Shadow ops.

But the words hostile containment and high-value civilian raise flags.

It gets buried under a private bodyguard detail ordered by a powerful British defense ally with silent interest in Massimo's dealings.

No name. No address. Just Palm Jumeirah, high-value civilian, hostile containment.

Enough for an unofficial op.

And the name that gets assigned?

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

His name was the first one on the assignment.

48 Hours Later a black SUV rolled past the iron gates like it belonged there.

Rose stood in her hallway, arms wrapped around herself, watching from behind the curtains.

One man stepped out. Alone.

Massimo's guards stood straighter.

Tall. Broad. Black tactical gear that looked too sharp for Dubai's heat. A skull mask covering his face, balaclava beneath it. His eyes were cold, unreadable. Like winter.

He didn't speak as he passed the guards. Just handed a sealed letter.

Authorization for close protection detail.

One of Massimo's men, it said.

Rose didn't buy it. But she didn't argue.

She stood at the top of the stairs as he entered, heart hammering.

He looked up at her.

And she, she froze.

There was something about him.

Something terrifying and familiar.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He stopped just a few steps from her, the skull mask gleaming under the crystal chandelier.

"Ghost," he said. Just that.

The name tasted like ash.

Her voice trembled. "You're one of Massimo's men?"

"Something like that," he answered. Low. Controlled. British accent like frostbite.

She swallowed. The fear in her blood was real. She'd seen hitmen. Thugs. Brutes.

But this one was different.

An Alpha among the wolves.

Massive, silent, lethal.

The black cargo pants hugged his powerful thighs like a sculptor's sketch in motion. Every inch of him said: do not cross.

She stepped back as he approached. He didn't follow.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," Ghost said quietly, almost too softly for a man like him.

But she was.

Terrified.

Because deep inside her, something screamed that she knew him.

And that scared her more than anything else.

The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. Not the peace of luxury, but the silence of surveillance, the kind of silence that watches you breathe.

Ghost stood by the edge of the marble balcony, framed by the dim amber of Dubai’s dying sun. The call had come. The assignment given. No backup, no fanfare, just a flight, a briefing, a skull mask, and a destination: Palm Jumeirah.

He hadn’t expected it to be real. The message hidden in the GitHub code had been too poetic to believe. Too her.

But it was real.

Rose was here.

And she was in trouble.

48 Hours Earlier, She had stared at the blinking cursor for what felt like hours.

> "High-value civilian. Palm Jumeirah. Hostile containment. Request immediate covert extraction."

No names. No cry for help. No traceable language.

Just enough to mean something, to the right person.

Rose encrypted the text in base-64, nested it into an update in an abandoned GitHub repository linked to a fake climate control API, something she and Simon had once joked about building back in school. Back when he was still just Simon. Before he disappeared like mist.

She hit commit.

And prayed.

Now...

The skull mask stepped through the threshold like a shadow that had grown legs. Black tactical gear. Gloves. Thick black cargo pants that stretched over thighs built like war machines. Combat boots that echoed like the ticking of an ending.

The guards nodded, not questioning his clearance. Massimo trusted him now. The cover had been placed well.

She was in the living room. Pale as bone, curled up in a silk robe on the ivory settee.

She looked up, and froze.

The skull.

The mask.

The height.

The weight of him was a presence.

“Who are you?” she asked, voice small, breaking.

He stood still.

"Name's Ghost," he said finally, voice deep and northern, cracked like winter pavement. "Massimo brought me in for security. I’m here to watch you."

Her brows creased, fear threading through the delicate angles of her face. “I don’t need another one of his men watching me.”

He tilted his head, slowly.

“No offense, but I’m not one of his men.”

Her throat worked. She stood, slowly. The robe fell just enough to show a bruise. Faint. But there.

His jaw ticked under the mask.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said. “That means you’re not stupid.”

A beat passed. The chandelier hummed above them.

She turned away, but not before he saw the tremble in her hands.

He had to earn her trust. Carefully. Quietly. Not with the truth, because the truth was dangerous. To both of them.

Not yet.

So he watched. And waited. And followed. Like a loyal shadow.

Simon Riley was gone.

There was only Ghost now.

And she didn’t know him.

Not yet.

But soon, she would.

The sun bled orange into the Gulf, casting golden ripples across the water as the massive white yacht sliced through the marina like a predator in silk. Palm Jumeirah, glittering like a crown in the ocean, had seen its fair share of luxury, but even here, the arrival of Don Massimo Toricelli turned heads.

Ghost watched from the top floor of the mansion through a sliver in the blackout curtain. He recognized the yacht, custom-built, three decks, helipad, and a private lounge with imported marble flooring. He’d studied it in the brief.

His yacht, a gleaming, multi-million dollar Leviathan, rocked gently in the turquoise water, tethered just off the private dock of her Palm Jumeirah estate. It gleamed like his ego, always visible, always looming.

Massimo was coming.

And that meant trouble.

The Italian stepped off the yacht with the confidence of a man who owned the world and everything in it. Black suit sharp enough to cut, sunglasses shielding eyes that never missed a detail.

The black Maserati had barely stopped outside the mansion before Massimo Toricelli stepped out, flanked by his two most loyal bodyguards. He wore his usual armour of a designer three-piece suit, sunglasses despite the low golden sun, and that chilling smirk that made Rose’s stomach turn. The man smelled of cologne and control.

He carried a box in his hand. Velvet black. The kind of box that didn’t contain anything simple.

Rose was summoned to the lobby. Always summoned, never invited.

Inside the mansion, Rose was being prepped. She didn’t want to go downstairs, Ghost could see it in her face. Her robe was replaced by a floor-length designer dress, her makeup immaculate. A doll on display.

She descended the marble staircase slowly, her every step echoing in the grand, hollow luxury of the mansion she couldn't escape. The lobby was vast, double height ceilings, Italian chandeliers, crystal vases she didn’t pick, all curated to reflect a life she no longer had control over.

He stood in the corner of the marble lobby, arms crossed, skull mask reflecting the light from the chandelier above. Every nerve in his body burned.

Then the door opened.

Massimo entered like a storm in human skin.

Massimo sat in one of the velvet armchairs like he owned the place. Because he did. Or at least, he owned the cage around her.

"Bellissima," he purred, his voice smooth and poisonous. “Dubai suits you.”

Rose managed a smile, tight, hollow. “Massimo.”

Ghost stood in the corner, near the mirrored console table. He was motionless, silent, a black sentinel in full tactical gear. Skull mask on. Hands behind his back. The perfect blend of menace and restraint.

Massimo glanced at him once, indifferent. "You can leave us."

Ghost didn’t move.

Rose lifted her chin. "He stays."

Massimo gave a faint chuckle and gestured dismissively. "As you wish, tesoro."

He reached into a bag one of his men handed him and pulled out a velvet box.

"Cartier," he said simply, like it was an apology. "For your good behavior."

She took it with stiff fingers, murmured a thank you that made her mouth taste like ash. The necklace inside was encrusted with diamonds. Cold. Lifeless. Like a chain pretending to be a gift.

Ghost’s hands curled into fists in the shadow of his sleeves.

Massimo’s eyes flicked toward him.

“And you must be the new shadow. What do they call you? Phantom? Skull?”

Ghost didn’t move.

“Ghost.”

Massimo chuckled. “Fitting. Let’s hope you’re as loyal as the last one.”

Rose shifted, her discomfort palpable. Ghost could feel it in her silence.

Massimo turned his attention back to her. “I’ve missed you. We’ll have dinner this weekend. I’ll have the chef flown in from Florence. You’ll wear the necklace.”

He leaned in closer, voice a whisper of threat and lust. “Say yes.”

She didn’t answer. Just nodded.

Massimo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You look tired. Are they feeding you well? Are you sleeping?"

Rose said nothing.

He smiled wider. "Still so stubborn. That’s what I like about you. We’ll talk again soon."

Massimo straightened, pleased with himself.

“Until then, cara mia.”

And then he stood. Kissed the air beside her cheek.

Left as quickly as he arrived.

He left the box in her hands and turned, his coat swaying as he walked out. The doors shut behind him.

Only then did Rose exhale.

Ghost stayed still. Watching. Planning. Rage crawling up his spine like wildfire.

He couldn’t move. Not yet.

He hadn’t called Task Force 141.

Because this wasn’t the moment.

But it was coming.

And when it did, Massimo wouldn’t walk away.

The moment the double doors shut and his footsteps faded, she turned and ascended the stairs quickly, almost running.

Ghost followed, his boots quiet behind her.

She reached her bedroom, the velvet box still clutched in her hand like it had burned her.

Once inside, she hurled it across the room. The lid snapped open. The necklace hit the floor with a sharp, cold clatter, scattering light across the marble.

She sat down beside it. On the floor. In her silk gown. Head bowed, fists clenched, tears pooling in her eyes like they had nowhere else to go.

Ghost stood by the door. Watching. Silent.

She didn’t notice when he stepped closer.

Until he knelt down beside her.

"You don't have to do what he says," he said softly.

She looked up, startled.

He reached forward, hesitantly, almost reverently, and wiped the tear trailing down her cheek with a gloved thumb.

Her breath hitched.

And then...

He extended his hand.

Palm up.

The same way she had, years ago, trembling in a glittering gymnasium, her heart in her throat as she offered her hand to a boy who never took it.

"You don't have to deal with this alone," he said gently.

Her eyes widened.

She stared at the hand. At the shape of it. The calloused palm. The curve of his fingers. So familiar.

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Simon...?"

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just nodded.

The silence cracked around them like thunder.

Her lips parted, her chest rising with a thousand emotions she couldn’t name.

He slowly removed the mask.

And there he was.

Simon Riley.

Older. Harder. Scarred. But still him.

His eyes locked onto hers.

"I came back for you, Rose."

And this time, when she took his hand, he didn’t let go.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dating Yandere Massimo Torricelli Would Include:

Massimo is quite obsessive, like he'll want to follow you around every, single, day. He's also quite possessive, so if he thinks you're being too friendly or flirty with another guy, he'll do anything to keep you on a leash.

He's controlling and dominant, he wants you to listen to every word he says, and he has a short temper. He'll probably have a few angry outbursts at you, he's also very jealous and will get quite mad if another guy even looks at you.

Massimo will also do anything to keep you, whether that's keeping you locked up in his house, or just making sure you never leave his side.

He'll also threaten anyone who gets in his way of you. He thinks he knows what's best and will always make the decisions in the relationship, he also likes to constantly remind you that you belong to him and him only.

Massimo also loves to mark and claim his territory, whether that's kissing you in front of other people or marking up your neck so other people know you belong to him.

He also likes to show you off like a prize, so he'll always take you out in public just so everyone knew you belonged to him.

Massimo is also pretty possessive when it comes to your body, he doesn't want anyone else to touch you. He also likes to use his strength and size to intimidate you, he'll probably pin you against the wall or a different object so you'd know who's in charge.

Massimo is very jealous. If he thinks another guy is flirting with you or even just being too friendly, he'll get extremely angry and will probably try to start a fight with the guy. He'll also get mad if you even look at another guy, he wants all of your attention to be on him, and him only.

Massimo loves to reassurance you, he likes to always tell you how much he loves and needs you. He's very much possessive, so he'll constantly tell you that you belong to him. He'll also make sure to remind you how beautiful you are and that he's the only one who can touch and love you.

He's very dominant. Like he'll constantly have his arms around you, or hold your hand, or even just put his hand on your thigh. He'll also give you small kisses on the cheek or the forehead. He'll also always stand very close to you, like really close.

For good behavior he'll probably get you gifts, like jewelry or clothing. For smaller things, like doing housework, he'll just give you a small kiss on the cheek. He also likes to reward you with small kisses on your neck or shoulders, if he's feeling really frisky.

Fighting with Massimo is quite difficult, because he'll always think he's right. He's very persistent and will never back down from an argument. He will scream at you, call you names, or even get physical with you. He won't let you win, and will argue with you for hours, until he gets to say that he was right the whole time.

Massimo is an affectionate man when it comes to you. He'll constantly be touching you, whether it's holding your hand, having his arms around you, or even just playing with your hair.

He'll always be holding you close and he'll constantly be wanting to kiss you. He also loves cuddling and will always want you to be in his lap.

Massimo likes to spoil you on dates. He'll take you to expensive restaurants and will always get you the most expensive item on the menu. He'll also usually buy you gifts, like nice jewelry or a really expensive bag you've been wanting.

He'll also treat you like royalty, hold the doors open for you, pull your chair out at the table, and just constantly want to touch you, to let other people know you're his.

Massimo is very possessive, so he wouldn't let you break up with him. He'll think of any excuse he can not to let you break up with him. He'll probably cry, beg, threaten you, even say that he'd kill himself if you broke up with him. He'd do whatever he can to keep you with him, he'd never let you leave him.

Massimo is a ruthless mafia boss, so he has no problem killing for you. If he thinks someone is trying to hurt you or take you from him, he'll probably kill them in an instant. He has no morals or remorse, he'll do whatever it takes to keep you in his possession.

Massimo wouldn’t have a traditional shrine per say, but he has a whole folder of photos of you and him. He has photos of you sleeping, smiling at him, standing next to him, or doing whatever. He also has a lot of videos of you saved on his phone.

He probably wants to marry you as soon as he can. He thinks you belong to him, and he wants to make sure everyone else knows that you're his. He'll probably propose pretty fast, and he'll plan out a whole big, elaborate wedding.

He really, really wants a family with you. He’ll bring up how he wants children very quickly, he’ll constantly talk about the children he’s going to have with you. He’ll also probably already have a list of names he wants for the kids.

If you didn't want to have kids, he'd get angry and probably get really frustrated with you. He thinks its your job to give him children, and he doesn't really care if you don't want to. He'll make sure that you get pregnant, whether you want to or not.

“You belong to me. Every inch of you is mine. Your body, your mind, your soul, they all belong to me. You are mine, and you'll always be mine. I'll never let you go, no matter what. You'll never leave me, I won’t allow it. You belong to me, and no one can have you.”

1

[espvngs]

literally begging more people to write for massimo 🙏 he was so popular i have no idea how there isn’t a lot of fanfics for him 🥲

[angelsworks]

Hiiiii I hope this is not super annoying but I saw you liked my recent post and was wondering if you would write for Massimo? if not it’s all good 🥰

I would totally be open to writing for Massimo. I love reading other people’s works for him. Any ideas specifically for him?

[massimosundayfanpage]

i just watched 365days. i rate it 9 von 10. 😀.

[hopelesslys-world]

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME | CH. 5

WARNINGS: NON-CON, Age Gap ( Massimo is 34 reader is 20 ), sex, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral (both female and male), yandere themes, stalking, KIDNAPPING, violence, harsh language, murder...

Tell me if I missed something... ( As you can see most of those warnings will make their appearance in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏, 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 outside. You felt a slight depressed feeling approaching you, not to mention that you were starving like never before.

Right as your brain woke up, you felt someone’s hand lying heavy on your waist. Massimo was sleeping next to you, spooning you from behind leaving no space whatsoever, curled into a ball just like you with his arm around you securely.

Moments of yesterday's fight flashed before your eyes and disgust washed over you. What was he doing here? Being all cuddly and shit? If he won't apologise for his behaviour then you're in for a much terrible year.

You were afraid to move, to wake him, and you had to go to the bathroom. Slowly, you started to slip from under his arm, lifting it delicately. Massimo took a deep breath and turned over on his back. He was still asleep. You got up and headed to the bathroom tiptoeing.

After you were done with your business, you took your clothes off and went to the enormous shower. You turned the water on letting it soak you. Taking your loofah and using a generous amount of heavenly scented soap you began to scrub your body.

The door slammed open suddenly. It was the Man in Black. He was ogling me, not even trying to act cool.

A surprised scream left your mouth and hurried to cover up all your lady parts. "What the hell" you murmured to yourself

“Good morning, baby girl. May I join you?” he asked, rubbing the sleep off his eyes.

At first first all you wanted was to rush at him, pummel him with your fists for what would have been the thousandth time, and throw him out. But your experience of yesterday's fight told you that it would comedown to nothing and only elicit an abrupt, violent, and unpleasant reaction.

Instead, you replied, “You wouldn't leave even if I told you to. So be my guest.”

Massimo stopped rubbing his eyes, frowned, and froze, dumbfounded. He must have thought he had misheard you. You had thrown him off balance.

Time to finally put Plan C into action I guess. You thought mischievously.

You couldn’t change the fact that he had just gone in behind you and seen you naked, no other man had seen you like this before. It was for a brief moment, though. Your hands hugged your breasts protectively while you crossed your legs tightly preventing anyone from seeing your bare womanhood.

Slowly, Massimo approached the expansive shower, grabbed the shirt from the back of his neck and tore it off with one fluid motion. You backed up against the shower's wall, surely but hesitantly you removed one of your hands and began scrubbing again. Keeping your eyes glued to the floor tiles not daring to meet his burning gaze.

Massimo entered the enormous cubicle and turned on the second shower head. There were four of those in total, not counting the gigantic water jet panel that looked like a bathroom radiator.

“We’re leaving today,” the Man in Black said impassively. “We’re going to be away for a couple of days. Maybe weeks. I don’t know yet. We’ll drop by some galas and parties, so take this into account while packing your things. Domenico will take care of everything. You just tell him what you need.”

In the end, your curiosity won. You turned his way and saw Massimo standing with his arms propped on the wall, letting the water flow freely down his naked body. The first man you saw naked in real life and not movies.

The view was overwhelming— toned leg, shapely buttocks, muscled belly were all testament to the enormous work he had to do to keep his body in such perfect shape. Your eyes stopped wandering not wanting to push your luck and create sly comments from him.

The soap disappeared from your body, you turned off the water and moved forward to leave the shower. Without warning Massimo grabbed your arm and you slammed softly to his chest with a gasp. You could feel his erect cock touching your lower back.

"I wanted to say sorry for yesterday, you made me so furious I wasn't able to control myself." He kissed your shoulder. You didn't move. "I want to be gentle with you Y/N, but I don't know how...will you teach me how to be gentle?" His lips started to trail toward your neck and his large hands roamed your waist.

You nodded. Your body was rebelling against you, where did that even come from? He was so mean to you and now you wanted to fuck him?

What the hell!?

"I have to get ready." You said desperately wanting to get out of there.

He let you go with no complaints and you rushed out. You grabbed a bathrobe on your way and threw it over myself, running through the door.

You shut yourself in the ginormous closet until you heard him leave. You sat at a bench scolding your subconscious that wanted you to sleep with him. How did that thought even crossed your mind, it was sick! You didn't know what time it was or how long you stayed in there.

Suddenly, you heard someone knock on the room's door, unwillingly you gathered your wits and left the closet to go and answer the door.

It was no other than Domenico, "Hi." You greeted. You moved aside to let him in, he was holding two gigantic Louis Vuitton travel bags.

The young Italian smiled. “Hey, you are leaving in an hour, so I thought you could use some help, miss. Unless you don’t want me to…”

“Stop calling me miss. I can’t stand it. Besides, you can't be that older, so let’s skip the formalities.”

Domenico smiled and nodded, signaling his consent. “Can you tell me where we’re going?” you asked.

“To Napoli, Rome, and Venice,” he replied. “And then the Côte d’Azur.”

You opened your eyes wider, surprised. You had never been to all those places. You haven’t seen so many places in your whole life!

“Do you know what we’re to do in each of those places?” you asked. “I’d like to know what to take with me.”

Domenico walked over to the closet. “I do, in fact, but I was told not to spoil it for you. Don Massimo will make everything clear in time. I’ll help you pick the right outfits, don’t worry.” He winked at you. “Fashion is something of a hobby to me.”

“I’ll trust you fully if that’s the case. If we only have an hour to prepare, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Domenico nodded and disappeared in the cavernous closet.

"Domenico," you said. He quickly spun around to meet your face. "Could you by any chance bring me something to eat? I'm starving to death here..."

"Consider it done." He then speed dial someone on the phone and arranged you a meal in Italian.

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Fifty minutes later, you were standing in front of the mirror, packing your cosmetics into one of the leather bags. You'd tied your hair neatly with a hair clip, Domenico picked a red maxi skirt and a white top, along with white heels and jewellery that complemented the outfit perfectly.

“Your things are packed,” Domenico said, passing you your bag.

“I’d like to see Massimo now, please.”

“He hasn’t finished his meeting yet, but—”

“Well it's about time he does, ” you interrupted disdainfully, leaving the room.

The library was one of those rooms whose location you had committed to memory. You headed down the corridor, and the patter of your hills reverberated from the stone floor. As you reached the right door, you took a deep breath and pulled on the handle. You went inside and felt a shiver running down your spine. You hadn’t been here since your first conversation with the Man in Black, only a while after waking up from your deep sleep.

Massimo was sitting on the couch. He wore a light linen suit and an unbuttoned shirt. Next to him sat a man with graying hair—very handsome and a lot older than Massimo. A typical Italian, you thought. Longish hair combed back and a well-groomed goatee. Seeing you, both of them jumped to their feet.

The first look you got from Massimo was ice-cold. As if he wanted to scold you for interrupting his meeting. But as soon as his eyes swept your entire silhouette, his stare seemed to grow less severe. He said something to the other man, keeping his eyes on you, and started walking your way. He approached you and leaned over, kissing you on the cheek.

“You look lovely,” he whispered, planting the kiss. He took your hand in his and led you to his friend.

“Y/N, meet Mario—my right hand.” you walked over to the man to offer him a hand, but he swooped in, grabbed you by the shoulders, and kissed you on both cheeks. You still hadn’t grown used to that. Where you come from, you only kiss your closest friends and relatives.

“Consigliere,” you said with a smile.

“Just Mario is all right.” The older man returned your smile. “It is good to finally see you in the flesh. Alive.”

Those words rooted you to the spot. What did he mean, “alive”? Had he assumed you wouldn’t live to see him? Your face must have shown some of your emotions, as Mario quickly explained, “There are paintings of you all over the mansion. They’ve been there for years now, but nobody ever believed you were real. You must be as astounded as we are.”

You could only nod.

“I won’t lie: this whole situation is a bit surreal and daunting. But we all know I have no power over don Massimo, so I humbly accept each and every one of the three hundred and sixty-five days he has given me.” Irony was your new best friend now, you rolled your eyes.

Massimo burst out laughing. “Humbly…” he repeated, turning to his companion, who immediately joined in the merriment.

“I’m happy I could improve your mood. Now, I’ll wait in the car so you can enjoy my absence,” you hissed, sending them both an ironic smirk. As I turned you back on them and headed to the door, you heard Mario say, trying to hold back the laughter, “Indeed, Massimo, it’s just as if she was Italian.”

You ignored that and shut the door behind you. You stopped before you exited the house and went out to the driveway. The image of the dead man lying on the paving stones flashed before your eyes. You swallowed, took a furtive look around, and headed in the direction of the SUV parked outside. The driver opened the door for you and gave you a hand as you stepped inside.

Your iPhone was lying on the back seat, right next to your laptop. You squealed with glee, seeing both devices. You turned the phone on only to find out that your password was changed.

You tried and tried again until you were made to stop by the phone's security.

That fucking bastard!

In that moment, the car door opened, and Massimo deftly slipped inside. He took a look at your hand. The iPhone was still in it. "Why did you change my password?" You asked your vision going red. That also means that he scrolled through it as well!

“I don't trust you that much, just yet. You will only talk with your relatives under my supervision.” he replied casually. He pressed the button and then the black glass separated us from the driver.

“The last stop of our trip will be Warsaw. It won’t be as soon as you’d like, but calling your parents more often from now on should assuage her concerns and give us more time, so you can call them whenever you want- while I'm with you.”

That was good news. “Thanks I guess...” You turned your head away looking at the window.

Massimo kept his eyes on you for a moment longer. Then he lay his head on the headrest and sighed. “I’m not so bad. I don’t want to keep you here against your will. I don’t want to threaten you. But, tell me: would you stay of your own will?” He fixed you with a searching stare.

You turned away. Would you stay? Of course not. Without second thoughts.

The Man in Black was still waiting for a reply, but didn’t get one, so he turned to his iPhone, scrolling and reading something on the Internet.

The silence was unbearable. You needed someone to talk to. Maybe it was because of your longing for home. Still looking through the window, you asked, “Where are we going now?”

“The airport in Catania. If the traffic is light, we should be there in less than an hour.”

Another good thing, you enjoyed flying a lot.

Massimo reached into the glove compartment and took out a black paper bag. “I have something for you,” he said, handing me the package.

You frowned and sent him a questioning look.

The elegant gold lettering on its front formed the words “Patek Philippe.” youknew that name. There could only be one thing inside. You also knew how expensive those watches were. “Massimo… I…” your eyes wandered back to him. “I can’t accept that.”

He laughed out loud, sliding on his aviators. “Baby girl, this is one of the cheaper gifts I’m going to give you. Besides, don’t forget you don’t get to decide for another few hundred days. Open it.”

You knew this was going nowhere—arguing with him never did. It could only lead to misery for you, especially since there was nowhere to run now. You pulled a black box from the bag and opened it. The watch was marvelous—pink gold encrusted with little diamonds. Simply perfect.

“You have been pretty isolated today. I had to reward you. I know I’ve taken much from you, but you’ll start getting it all back now,” Massimo said, fastening the watch on your wrist.

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[ series masterlist ]

TAGLIST: ( THANK YOU ❤️ (if you want to be added comment in the chapters or send a message:) ) @lucidlivi

DON'T BE AFRAID TO SPAM WITH LIKES AND COMMENTS. I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE IT IF YOU COULD REBLOG THIS POST <3

[multific]

The Widow and the Don

Massimo Torricelli x Reader

Summary: He came to offer condolences. He stayed to keep you breathing. But as the walls fall between you and Massimo, a darker truth about your husband’s death begins to surface.

Your husband’s funeral was a blur of black veils, cold condolences, and the scent of lilies so thick it clung to your skin for days.

They all told you how sorry they were. How tragic it was. How he died too young.

No one mentioned how afraid he’d been the last few months. Or how he’d wake in the night, soaked in sweat, whispering a name.

Massimo Torricelli.

You’d never met the man.

Only heard of him in whispers, in half-spoken warnings behind locked doors. He was your husband’s rival.

A king in his own right. Untouchable.

So when he showed up at the funeral, black suit, face unreadable, you didn’t know what to expect.

He brought no bodyguards. No condolences. Just himself.

And a single white rose.

He placed it on the casket and looked straight at you. His voice, deep and low, barely rose above the wind.

“I didn’t come to gloat,” he said. “I came to see if you were still standing.”

Then he left.

He didn’t reach out again. Not for weeks.

You thought that was it.

Until you opened your door one rainy evening to find him standing there with an umbrella and a bottle of wine.

You should’ve shut the door.

You didn’t.

You had tea the first time. Wine the second. Silence the third.

He didn’t try to charm you. He didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t dangerous. But there was something else behind his eyes, something wounded. Something honest.

One night, in front of the fireplace, you finally asked him.

“Did you hate him? My husband.”

He looked at you for a long time. Then nodded, just once.

“Yes. But I never wanted him dead.”

You believed him.

And that terrified you.

You didn’t mean to start needing him. But grief is lonely. Cold. Quiet.

Massimo wasn’t.

He didn’t speak in soft platitudes. He didn’t try to fix you. He just stayed, grounded, solid.

He brought you food when you forgot to eat. Stood behind you when you couldn’t walk into the bedroom alone. He listened when you broke.

And once, just once, he held you when you sobbed so hard your body gave out.

“I feel like I’m disappearing,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said. “I see you.”

It was inevitable.

The kiss.

It happened late, after too many shared glasses of red wine, when his hand brushed yours and you didn’t pull away.

He looked at you like he was waiting for permission. You gave it.

And when he kissed you, it wasn’t violent. It wasn’t possessive. It was reverent.

As if you were holy.

But the truth didn’t stay buried.

You found it in an envelope hidden in your husband’s study—letters, threats, a deal gone wrong.

Massimo hadn’t killed him.

Your husband had planned his own betrayal. And it backfired.

You brought the evidence to Massimo, shaking.

He read it, then set it down carefully.

“I suspected,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be the one to show you.”

“And you didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”

“I thought you deserved peace. Not war.”

The next morning, you packed your things.

He found you at the doorway.

“I’m not leaving because of the truth,” you told him. “I’m leaving because I’m falling in love with the man I was raised to hate.”

His voice was low. “Then stay.”

You hesitated.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“So am I,” he said, stepping closer. “But I would rather face a thousand enemies than live one day without you.”

You stayed.

And together, you rebuilt, not just a home, but a life.

Years passed.

Grief faded.

Love didn’t.

Massimo never tried to replace your past. He just made sure you had a future.

One night, as you watched the stars from the same balcony where he first kissed you, he took your hand.

“I was your enemy once,” he said.

You smiled. “Now you’re everything.”

And he was.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[yandere-romanticaa]

Probably one of my least favorite things I have ever given birth to. I still can't fathom the fact this piece of crap actually has over 100 notes, let alone MORE.

Is this how people feel whenever they look at dark fiction romance??

𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?

❝ Ladies, imagine your worst nightmare, like getting kidnapped, having a boyfriend that controls everything about your life and stares at you as you sleep every night, or dating a guy who watches the Fast and the Furious movies unionically, whatever. Now imagine if all of that stuff happened to you - but the guy was attractive?! ❞ - Alex Meyers, "365 days is the worst movie I've ever seen...", June 23rd, 2020.

❤️ NOTE: 365 Days is probably the worst movie I have ever seen in my whole entire life. That's why I set up the challenge of trying to make Massimo into... something, I honestly don't know what. Did I succeed? I don't know, you be the judge of that! It was also very hard trying to keep a straight face while writing this! I actually feel like punching myself for even bringing this into the world...

yandere! massimo torricelli x fem! reader.

The firm grip of his hand on your waist was a reminder of where exactly you stood in this relationship, if you even stood at all.

Massimo Torricelli was a man who was accustomed to the finer things in life and would accept nothing that he deemed to be beneath him. Be it food, clothing, women, his own men that worked for him, he would never lay a finger on anything lest it caught it his attention or he thought it was useful in one way or the other.

You often wondered what he saw in you to begin with.

The chatter of voices and the clinking of champagne glasses brought you back down to Earth as you remembered where you were. The scent of lit vanilla candles cradled your senses as the gorgeously dressed men and women paraded themselves around the ballroom, each person looking more ravishing than the next and all eager to prove their wealth and status to each other.

Pathetic, you thought to yourself.

It was unparalleled of how they all left themselves open, all of their fears and insecurities left on full display as they tried to hide themselves between fake grins, wretched laughs and intoxicating alcohol and other such substances.

The man who accompanied you tonight could not have been more different than the goons and fools that were tailing you like shadows.

Massimo Torricelli hardly had any time for himself let alone a crumb to spare for anyone that failed to exceed his skyhigh expectations. The man was the personification of every single Gucci suit, the scent of dark cologne and the lingering feeling of the burning end of a cigarette bud that was put out on soft flesh.

He always made sure to leave a mark wherever he went.

That included you as well.

To the other party goers you were Massimo's little treasure, the apple of his eye - someone who they could hopefully use against him, either by blackmail or wooing you themselves so that you could put in a good word for them.

The thought made you laugh. Your opinion was irrelevant, no matter how much Massimo claimed for the opposite to be true.

You were trapped in chains upon chains of riches and dirty secrets that no one would ever uncover.

Massimo would make sure of it.

[miss-tarja]

El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt. 6)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, emotional distress, scheming, emotional conflict, mild fluff towards the end, suicidal tendencies, mentions of death, slow burn burning, heartache, gun manipulation, emotional meltdown, reckless behaviors, manipulation, sociopathic tendencies (Massimo)

Summary: Massimo keeps planting seeds of pain as you try to end it all.

A/N: Thanks for your patience towards this lil thing <3 The plot keeps moving! Hope you like. Reblogs and feedback much appreciated <3.

“So…” Xina exhaled as soon as the privacy of another room welcomed her and Miguel with the click of the lock. “Wanna tell me why should I help you this time?” 

Miguel’s shoulders tensed, shrinking with a hint of awkwardness in the way. As much as he preferred to do things on his own, he knew help eventually would knock on his door and reproach him for avoiding it too long. And coming to none other than his ex wasn't exactly the way he had envisioned such a thing. But the woman was one of the smartest people he had known in the business so far. 

Another mark got added to your black list of annoying traits. You were making him go back to places he once promised himself wouldn't return to. You were pushing him into somehow confronting things he had left almost done. However, he was grateful that Xina was a pithy thinker. She understood with little and asked no questions. It worked better that way for them. 

“Cause you'll get a good cut out of it." He gestured while pulling a cigarette from his pocket.  

Xina nodded, unamused for a moment as she took the cigarette from his mouth in a silent warning to not pollute her sanctuary with the smell, to then throw the piece of vanilla scented cigar to the trash. The gears in her mind worked like a perfectly oiled machine and curiosity always prevailed within her. 

“And?” she urged, and Miguel rolled his eyes. He knew that look miles away. The kind of look that sooner or later would coerce him into speaking the truth. A trait that amused him when they dated back then. 

“Nothing else.” He shrugged, “Just need your help to locate a man to finish a little thing pending on the side. Thought you might be interested, since I know you enjoy hunting assholes down."

“How thoughtful." Her brow quirked, "And does that woman have to do with that little thing?” 

Silence filled the room for a second, but Xina's giggle interrupted it, with her hands up in the air with a feigned surrender when Miguel glowered her way.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that. You goddamn well now you have a penchant for showing off your conquests. Tacky as they are." Her hand dismissed him, "Must say, I'm surprised, though. This one is... different. Didn’t think you were into eight-to-five job sort of women." 

“Xina.” Miguel warned, irked and she just chuckled. 

“Guess we're making the right choices in women now, huh? As for your thing on the side, why not ask Dana about it?” Although the pettiness dripped from the question, Xina had to give the brunette some credit. She was cunning, not at her level, but smart enough to call Miguel's attention and give his ego a good stroke. 

“She could never do it. And she's dead. Now, can we focus on things that actually matter? Did you read the file I sent you?”

Xina just watched him for a moment before sighing. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Too busy with other things. Though, I heard about the shooting. Sorry for your men's loss. Is Gabriel okay?”

Miguel just nodded, briefly. 

“He is. Came to check up on me the next day. But enough of it." He pulled the chair closer to her main computer. "Long story short, I’m looking for a man, a corrupt lawyer that owes me a shit ton of money. He vanished into thin air. Need to locate him, or to see if he’s left the country.”

“Well, shock me. Who's the poor soul that crossed the devil?” 

“That woman's husband.” Miguel's mouth soured not only at the title of said man, but at the sudden image of his face coming unannounced first seats in his mind. Like a plague that haunted him for the wrong reasons. 

Xina had to blink a couple of times to let the information sink in properly. 

"...Right. If you're here, it means not even her knows about his whereabouts."

Miguel huffed. "She didn't even know he had a secret life. Tried to pry the information-" 

"Ugh, stop." Xina scrunched her nose, "I don't wanna hear how you fucked her already." 

Miguel just chuckled and crossed his legs in front of her. "Guess my methods are getting old." 

"I'd say predictable. Maybe you're not being patient enough to pry it out the correct way from her."

"Time's running out, Xina. Patience is not a luxury I can afford right now. I need to find that man." His eyes raked over the different screens, revealing the many attendees too into their business. Some danced, others drank to their hearts' whims as new ones arrived. Yet Xina's voice snapped him out of the steering thoughts. 

"Of course you do. It's not that simple though." 

"It never is. I know much. Every time I think I've found something, it turns out it's nothing but crumbs from shit unrelated." He sunk deeper in his seat, "And the fucking cherry of all this? I've got a snitch in the family." 

Xina whistled lowly, a little hiss escaped her mouth with disapproval marring her pretty face as she shook her head. 

"And it all started with that woman."  

"Ah c'mon. You're just frustrated at her for not giving you what you need. And I’m not  talking about breaking the bed every night.”

"¡Es un dolor de huevos!" He groaned, "Always crying for that asshole and being dramatic instead of being helpful, and-" (She's a pain in the ass!) 

Au contraire of Massimo's unwelcomed remembrance showing up, the sudden memory of your face contorted in the sheerest of pleasure as he pounded into you, came to his mind for a brief second, interrupting his thoughts for a moment.

"And?" Xina teased, But Miguel wasn't having it. 

"Xina, por favor, focus."

"Por favor, what?" She huffed, "Must I remind you that's how you and I started?" 

"Yeah. And look at us now. I'm surprised you haven't syphoned one of my accounts by now." He grumbled 

The boss herself rolled her eyes, slapping the back of his head softly, earning an annoyed huff from him. "You're frustrated ‘cause you, a control freak, don't know how to deal with unexpected things."

And God, he hated when she was right. For someone that prided into being a cold-headed thinker and collected man, the lack of control in any aspect of his life was unthinkable. An error from life itself. A glitch that he would fix sooner or later. 

"Unexpectedly or not, Kingpin is after her." 

Xina slicked her hair back, a habit she adopted from the man before her, to then walk towards her equipment. Slender fingers typed elegantly the password over the worn keyboards, granting herself access to her database.

"I understand the urge of you to find her husband, but why does Kingpin want her?" 

"El cabrón este made her sign things she shouldn't. She thought she was helping him with business related stuff. But, the asshole was just making sure to not leave his traces behind, and put her as the main target.” He paused to wet his lips. “The FBI has all the evidence with her signature in it. And you know those cabrones sell themselves to anyone paying a good cut." (That son of a bitch) 

"Just when you think men can't go any lower, there's that guy."  Xina shook her head, repulsed, but even she knew pronouncing those words would be like indirectly challenging the corrupt man to be worse. 

"That's why I need to find him. If Kingpin catches him, my money is gone."

Bullshit 

His mind corrected. Miguel knew he was feeding himself big spoonfuls of seasoned lies. As much as he couldn't care less about people, needlessly dragging innocents to shady business wasn't something he indulged in, as it meant more unnecessary trouble in the long run for his empire. 

Unfortunately, you had seen and known too much to go by as an innocent. As you bore the mark of a target,  bright and dazzling on your back, not only because of the man that swore to protect and love you at the altar. But for doing such a simple thing as to remain at MIguel’s side.

El Diablo knew that even if you hadn't done something wrong, men like Kingpin wouldn't take the time to tell apart the rotten apple from the rest, and would discard the whole batch instead without much thought. 

Xina kept typing, listening with perked ears to his complaints. It was rare when something managed to upset him this much. For a moment she didn't know if to mock him for the righteous karma he got for wronging her in the past, or to pity him.

An empire was put on his shoulders with non-trustworthy men surrounding him, resulting in restless nights because of said people and other things plaguing his mind sure did take a toll on his broad shoulders. Trust was as sacred as his beliefs yet, he couldn't even trust his shadow now. 

"Well, that's not a bad thing, is it? Sure the money part sucks, but at least she won't be your problem anymore. Or you'd rather get rid of her yourself?" 

The question weighed his other thoughts down. Would he? He didn't have a reason to actually keep you, beyond being a guarantee he knew wouldn't be claimed at this point. A keepsake that was surrendered unwilling and unknowingly in his hands, and always prodded his brain with the same question. If he knew Max wouldn't pay him, why keep you around? 

"Can't leave loose ties, can't I?" 

The words came out in automatic, but the promise in them, nonexistent. Empty of the end he always delivered his foes with flying colors.

Xina seized him for a second longer and hummed, as if pondering. 

"Well, Imma need the guy's complete name and phone number."

Massimo Alessandro Bianchi. 

Lawyer at 23, master in laws at 27, successful and professional, charming husband at 30, one of the most acclaimed lawyers in New York at 32, and the most wanted man from underworld dons at 34. He had played God over men's rules for so long, that late justice was an inconceivable concept for him.

Aaron had given him the news he needed and wanted about you, yet few things had surprised him greatly. 

To starters, he didn't think or rather refused to believe El Diablo would take the extra mile to protect you. Even if that meant you getting fucked by the criminal Don himself. And not that he didn't enjoy sex with his wife, but money and power had been weighing more in his messed up priorities since a long time ago. 

Although you remained in the top five of that list, your spot was always the latest. Aaron had scratched the first one, to know about your status. His own hands had scratched the second, by getting rid of the evidence by burning his home and frame none other than Miguel for it. And now that he knew you were alive and good, and no traces would get to bite his ass later, he moved to the next. Your parents. 

Ever since the devil showed up at his doorstep and took you and very important documents away from him, he called his favorite group of officers to help him out. Not only did he untie himself, but searched through other hidden compartments to see if they had been ransacked by that demon’s imps. When he took what he needed, his home turned into one of the biggest bonfires in the city. 

And every time your parents called you, he always picked up with loving excuses of how much you both were enjoying an impromptu vacation in Italy. Or how you were sleeping after long hours of lovemaking as you both were trying to make them grandparents. He had them both in the dark for so long that they eventually stopped asking. Until he revealed the most convenient part of the truth to them. Causing a meltdown to your mother as soon as she learned you were missing.

Their anguish had just started, but like the compassionate man he was, Bianchi was here to end their suffering.

His steps guided him to the elevator, after presenting his ID card to the guard assigned to the spot. And once inside he smiled, satisfied at the magnitude the whole show had gained. He truly had outdone himself this time. Hiring guards for your parents security sure was a must, but the fake victim act needed to be up at all times. 

Sometimes he purposely didn't sleep to appear more disheveled, he let his beard grow to keep the charade of a worried and hardworking husband, who did everything he could to find his missing wife, afloat to gain the pity of those around him. 

So far it worked. Massimo had even gotten a few sympathizers within the firm. His cases were assigned to someone else in a show of support for him to solely focus on finding you, and getting the bad guy behind bars. A true hero. A phony one that had tried a lot of methods to make himself cry, to try to achieve that worn and burnt out man look. 

His face adopted that somber and distant stare, but this time he had to be more convincing, especially with the news he wanted to deliver. He squeezed and rubbed his eyes a bit too hard to redden them, and practiced his sniffing before reaching the stage where he would deliver one of his best performances so far in this self made tragedy. 

The doors swung open and he walked over yet another guarded door. His eyes became heavy with sadness the more he approached, and when the guards stepped aside to let him in, his hand hesitated to knock. Adding bonus points to the commitment in his role as some guards stared for a second longer in his way. 

But Bianchi was brave enough to knock, and in matters of minutes the wooden door swung open, revealing a man with a gentle looking but distressed face. His relief lasted less than a heartbeat and the lawyer was urged to get inside by him. 

“Massimo!” Your father yelped, alarmed, nearly dragging him inside.

“Henry.” The defender’s voice turned solemn, adding even more distress to your parent’s worn spirits. 

Your mother rushed to your devoted husband. Her gentle hands pried the cold coat away from him and put it on the hanger.

“Please, tell me you’ve found her.” Your father pleaded, anguish shrouded his features as tears peeked in the corner of his eyes.

Bianchi had to take a deep breath and gesture with his hands to keep the animosity down, tensing your parents even further. 

“Please tell us!” Your mother pressed

“I need you both to please take a seat. Especially you.” He instructed your mother and she shook her head, dread soaked her from head to toe.

“No. No! Where is my baby, Massimo?!” She pleaded. Your dad joined her as soon as her voice broke, holding her close in a poor attempt to keep her together for the upcoming blow. “I know you’re doing your best, but it’s been almost a month since we’ve known anything about our daughter! Where is she?!” Her voice trailed into an incomplete and choking sob.

“I’m…I’m really sorry, Mira.” Massimo gulped, swallowing the imaginary knot in his throat, as he pulled an envelope and gave it to Henry.

“Wh… What’s that?” Henry’s throat became arid, breaking his voice as well, “Massimo, what is that?” His eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the capitalized letter inscription in the back of the envelope. 

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

CRIMINALISTICS FORENSIC REPORT

Mira had to hold onto Massimo’s arms since Henry's were too numb to take over. She wept, and wept hard, while pleading to the heavens for it to be a cruel joke. Cause if it was, she’d stand it. She’d bear the disgust of the universe's tasteless pranks when it came to his beloved ones, if it meant to hear that it was all an atrocious lie later. Yet his son in law’s words did little to solace her bleeding heart.

“I’m really sorry, I… I tried everything in my power to recognize her but…” Massimo gulped, trying to get his broken voice out. Thankfully for him, Mira’s desolated weeping gained him some time to think of his next words. 

“What happened to my daughter?!” Henry, half angered and half broken, demanded. “You were the one I handed her over to protect! And now you tell us she’s dead?! How dare you!” 

“You think only you have the right to cry over her?! I’m a fucking widow! I’ve lost my wife, my home! EVERYTHING! Because of my job.” His voice finally broke in a breathless shout. Maybe in another life he could’ve been a marvelous actor cause Henry looked away, as if ashamed for accusing him of such heinousness, “You think it was easy for me to know she was scared and then ending up searching for her through charred shit, cause I couldn’t get on time to save her from that psycho?!”

Mira recoiled from the outburst into her husband’s shaky embrace, staggering on her steps and reasoning.

“You think it was easy for me to get to the lab and receive a bunch of samples instead of my wife?!” the defender shouted with glossy eyes, and his words were enough to get Mira’s body collapsing from a nervous breakdown. The news had been too much for her already frail mind.

“Mira! Mira!!” Henry held her close, gasping and trembling. Massimo rushed to help him, but Henry pushed him away. Too volatile and antsy to let any other man close to his rattled wife. “Get away. Get out!!!” He exhaled furiously, trying to calm his erratic and panicky breaths as his mind tried his best to regain control over his emotions and functions. His hands cupped his wife’s paling countenance while laying on the floor with her. Sobbing and sniffing for the sudden loss suffocating them both with a vice-like grip.

Massimo gathered himself and left the envelope in the closest surface available and stepped away, cleaning his face from the dripping tears rolling down. 

“I’m sorry I’ve failed you both.” he sniffed, “But I promise you… That madman will pay. I’ll make him rot in hell for ripping a part of me.” He gulped, trying to drown yet another imaginary sob. “Miguel O’Hara will pay for burning everything I’ve loved.” 

With an unflinching resolution shining in his eyes, Massimo left the apartment, leaving the agonizing couple to deal with the shocking news, the mourning and evidence described in the report within the envelope. 

That’ll have them busy. 

“Call an ambulance right away.” He instructed a nearby officer as he got into the elevator. 

As soon as the doors closed in his face and isolated him from the main scenario, with a swipe of his hands he erased all traces of misery and despair from his now triumphant face. 

A smile spread wider in his lips upon recognizing his breakthrough. They’d be out his way for quite some time, too busy with a funeral and someone else’s ashes to care about his doings. And, if he played his cards right, Bianchi was sure he’d get some time off the firm to finish his own business and move on with his plan. 

He’d be free soon. Freedom was two more steps away. He could almost taste it, sweeter than the perfume you wore whenever you tried to get him into bed with you. Scrumptious like the rush of adrenaline coursing through his brain each time cocaine reached past his lungs, after sniffing it out from a woman’s cunt before eating her out like a possessed man. 

And now with a third objective marked off his list, it was time for the next in line, even if this one took a little longer than anticipated. Miguel. His prosecutor, his torment, the demon that haunted his sleep and the new owner of his favorite toy. Massimo had shared you enough. It was time to pull his doting husband mask on again. 

After what it seemed like never ending hours, Xina finally could find a potential lead that would reduce his search ratio considerably. She searched and he replied to the questions Kwan threw at him, there was no time to waste with physical distractions. 

Miguel was too irked and bored to cave in, and Xina was too focused into cracking the many security codes the FBI database had to deepen the search. 

“It would all be better if I had Lyla here. Messy as she is, she’s quicker in interpreting this programming language than I am.” Xina mumbled, pursing her lips, completely vexed at the admission and at the program that kept changing lines every certain amount of seconds. 

“Call her then.” Miguel pressed with a roll of his eyes, which got Xina gifting him a brief deadpan. 

“Once she’s on the dancefloor there’s little I can do. Pray she’s not drunk. She gets too chatty and bold with whomever she’s partying with.”

“Thought  you liked having fun as well?”

“Hunting assholes like these, yeah. Not dancing.” Xina nodded, with a satisfied smirk in her gorgeous features.  

Miguel in the meantime had glued his eyes towards the screens displaying in the back once more. His eyes wandered through them, skimmed through the many images changing until his stare remained still in a single spot. Curiosity got the best of him as he watched through a specific screen in the middle. 

His eyes became unable to tore away from it as the scene displayed before him. It was Lyla, dancing until her feet were sore, singing from the top of her lungs, or so the image gave away, with none but you. 

You laughed, wooed, even drank as if tonight was special. As if tonight all your problems would be solved and forgotten. It was a new side of you he didn't know and much to his surprise, it amused him. 

It amused him to see you so damn loose and happy, unlike the defensive and reluctant woman he often found within the sheets of his enormous bed or couch. It all depended on his mood. If he was easygoing, the day was peaceful between you both, gaining him a few jokes here and there from you. But if he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, everything was chaos and a sour day. 

But none would prepare him for witnessing Lyla’s, pulling you closer and closer until your mouth collided against yours. And he blinked when you pulled the hacker by her neck to deepen the kiss. His brows couldn’t help but widen at first to then furrow. Still deciding whether it was out of anger or confusion. What was going on? 

¿A qué juegas, ratoncita? (What are you playing at, little mouse?)

Xina followed his line of sight and gasped, almost embarrassed. 

“Goddammit, Lyla…” She mumbled, pressing a button and a bouncer stepped in right away. 

“Bring Lyla and the woman, please.” 

The bouncer nodded and scrambled off quickly. 

Miguel on the other hand stood, his eyes despite being a little photophobic, adjusted perfectly into the dazzling neon lights surrounding you, to focus on you being yanked away from the kiss by Gabriel. Not that he blamed him for such a thing, he knew Lyla and her persuasive ways with people were always effective. Especially if they’ve been acting weird. 

You have been acting out of your curious persona lately. You didn’t approach him for questions, nor bothered him in the slightest, causing the deafening silence to give him discreet jumpscares here and there. If it wasn’t for the gps attached to your ankle, his men would already be looking for you. It was too risky to leave you unsupervised.

You were quiet. Too quiet for his likings, and much to his dumbfound, he almost yearned for a dose of  those snarky remarks you threw at him. But now everything you gave him was silence and brief stares, honoring beyond perfection that pet name he gave you. He didn’t like it one bit. He was lucky if he heard you say good morning or evening his way. 

He knew he shouldn’t care a single ounce about it, but even a devil like him was aware that whenever a woman acted that way, everything was far from being okay, and he was the only possible culprit in the game. And yet, nothing had prepared him for what happened next. 

As in slow motion, his eyes watched with rising dread and an unknown feeling constricting his chest, at the way your hands reached for Gabriel’s face. Almost too lover-like. 

What are you doing?

His mind demanded, more at you than at the poor control he had over his body, incapable of tearing his bewildered eyes from the scene. These widened when your hands held Gabriel on the spot, and pulled him for a kiss. Just like you had done with Lyla. No matter how much he needed to break the unwilling visual contact from the show you were giving everyone, his gaze remained fixated on your lips and how these devoured Gabriel’s. 

Although his brother froze on the spot, a wave of… something stirred the need to punish him tenfold for not reacting quickly and ending the kiss right away. Was he enjoying it? Was Gabriel enjoying mocking him by letting his problem to kiss him? He had to, or else he would’ve broken the kiss by now. 

But oh, the scorching anger and that stupid something flared in his chest when your eyes met his. Defying him openly with an unsaid ‘fuck you’ his way. Just when he took in properly the spectacle, his eyes finally managed to avert. 

Xina however had been analyzing every of his moves, acting like a silent watcher as everything unfolded right under her nose. A silent chuckle escaped her mouth upon the sight of Miguel’s evident conflict, switching between your stunt with Gabriel and his reaction. She didn’t know if to praise you for the bold move, or pat his back in a comforting gesture, cause even she felt the distraught energy irradiating from El Diablo. 

But he looked away, focusing although absent minded in the blinking screen of his phone, apparently reading the notification’s bar log, until the door echoed with the bouncer’s knocking. 

Lyla bursted in and hiccuped a smile, then approached Miguel with stumbling and ditzy steps. 

“I’m so sorry for kissing your… your-” He hiccuped again and Xina caught her before the hacker ended up in El Diablo’s lap. 

“Can you stop embarrassing me for just five minutes?” Kwan hissed as she took a giggling Lyla away from Miguel, to put her gently on a nearby couch. 

You on the other hand sat outside the room, if you were leaving soon, why even bother to make more social life among them? And low key, your mind was too far gone into the many scenarios running in your mind to pay attention to Miguel.

“Guess our reunion is over. Will send the details to you soon.” Xina dismissed him as she asked the bouncer for a glass or bottle of water.

Miguel stood and slicked his hair back, walking over the door. The first one coming to his sight was Gabriel. That gulped and stared his way like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, and awkward. The youngest of the O’Hara only managed to look away as he cleared his throat. 

“She’s on the stairs and-”

“Tell Ben to prepare the car.” He interrupted dryly as his eyes scanned the hall, or rather the end of it. 

Just as Gabriel had said, you were there in the stairs, slumped against the cool wall, staring into nothing. 

Gabri just nodded and disappeared as fast as his feet managed to. There was an unspoken rule he always obeyed despite the blood connecting them. 

To not touch what was his. 

Sure you were far from being his favorite person, but if Miguel had already laid eyes on you and bedded you, it meant you were off the table, even if accidental. He wasn’t in the mood, nor the time to fuck around and find out again. His eldest brother could be quite creative when it came to punishments whenever he misbehaved. 

Miguel’s steps however echoed your way, announcing his presence with ominous moves. You didn’t flinch when he stood tall and proud next to you. 

“It’s time to go. Move.” He spoke, yet you didn’t move, instead, just yawned and rubbed your face, trying to wash away the alcohol written all over your cheeks and eyes. And this got his jaw tensing. “I said, move.” 

“Manners wouldn’t be bad for you.” Unlike Lyla, your alcohol intake offered a bit more resistance towards it, and you had diluted it through constant glasses of water to avoid ending up completely wasted. Your brain was aware, but your body staggered slightly as you stood. 

Miguel had to muster everything in his power to not bite a comeback, but the speed you were walking sure did increase his brewing anger. How dare you speak to him about manners when you had kissed his brother before his every eyes and could barely stand on your own, while he was trying to get a hold of your husband? 

Without much saying, he stood before you and threw you over his shoulder. 

“W-What are you doing?! Put me down!!” You shrieked while trying to remove yourself from his shoulder, but your sight was everything but stable. It swooned, twisted and bent underneath you, as if it would swallow you whole if you fell. Your hands held onto him, clawing at the end of his back. His hand however curled around your thighs, to hold you in place as the other one, delivered you a firm spank, stilling you completely.

“Cállate ya. (Shut up already) You barely can walk on your own and smell like fucking cheap wine. Thought you had more standards than that.” 

“Oh scre… screw you.” you hiccuped, “You’re the least to talk about standards.” 

Miguel had to stop for a moment to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but you were proving hard to deal with. In other times, he’d reply with the same high spirits as yours, but right now the anger and other unknown feelings plagued his mind, ruining any form of interaction. 

Some people outside stared at you both as he approached the car. With ease, he pulled you away from his shoulder, pushing him inside the car. The heat of your body had increased, he noted. He didn’t know how much you had drunk, but sure as hell you’d wake up hungover tomorrow. That if you didn’t put yourself in danger. 

“Help!” You yelped and kicked, “Help!” 

But none of the attendees in line outside aided you, given your current stupor, they thought nothing alarming was happening. If anything, It only made Miguel put you down on the floor to then push you into the back seats as he slammed the door shut. It was enough cue for Ben to drive away. 

Miguel caught Gabriel’s eyes for a moment. His lid twitched and his lips scowled, and Gabri looked away. A submission gesture that earned a satisfying huff from Miguel. 

“Take a turn on the left. We’re going to Queens.” 

“Wait… wait… what about the hotel?” You mumbled groggily, the alarms flared in the back of your hazy head but Miguel ignored you completely. 

“Go to Copper Boulevard and then stop at Ember Towers. Tell Peter and Jessica to bring our stuff there.” 

As much as you wanted to protest and give yourself a voice for him to listen to you, the haziness in your brain saved you from opening your mouth to say something potentially stupid that would only add more fire to his already brewing anger. With a pout, you curled once more on your end of the seat, as Miguel looked through his window. Devoting himself to silence. 

For a moment, your brain played a graceless joke and tricked you into seeing none other than Massimo sitting there. A painful déjà vu crossed your memory, forcing you to relive for a brief moment the way Bianchi used to ignore you whenever you were ‘too emotional’ for the night. 

“Miguel…” You called through a careful mumble, pressing to see if he’d even look your way, “Where are we going?”

Silence welcomed you instead. His mind was too enraptured by the messages displaying on his screen to pay attention to you. But in truth, he was holding back his tongue to say stuff that would probably make the rift between you wider. And the least he wanted was to take more of what he could manage in his plate. 

You didn’t talk during the rest of the trip, as you had slowly fallen asleep. 

Your head swayed and lolled to the sides. Your eyes managed to slowly open, sadly they didn’t recognize the place they were in. Marble floor extended left and right, a tinge of golden rimmed them on the edges. Your whole body floated, almost too comfortable as if someone was taking you to a peaceful realm. 

The grip adjusting underneath your knees only broke the illusion of you floating, and when you looked up who it was, your heart raced, making half the stupor to leave your body in a go. Your head craned to see the door sliding open, revealing a place that looked like Miguel's personal penthouse. 

Unlike the tower he lived in, the place was almost empty, stripped from its deco. Except for a couple of scarce furniture scrambled in strategic places like the living room you were both in, the main bedroom and of course the kitchen. It was the basics as the rest would come later.

You heard Gabriel’s meek voice telling him that he had business to attend, that he was sorry. But Miguel ignored him, and rather put you, a tad brisk, on the couch. Earning immediately a protest kick in his forearm as he had startled you while he removed your shoes.

“Stay still.” He warned

“No! Let me go!” You half mumbled, half startled, earning a growl from him as he tried to get your dressed feet.

“Mira que si eres un dolor de huevos horrible… Stay the fuck still! You’re gonna hit yourself.” (You’re such a pain in the ass.)

He grumbled, hovering now his arms over your shoulders, but your mind was still on cloud nine of alcohol and melancholy didn't help by showing up. You slapped his hands away with a firm no. And it was the last straw of his patience. He took you by the arms and lifted you, shaking you briefly to see if that made you come to your senses. 

“Fucking stop!” He shouted. “You’ve got no idea what I’m sacrificing for letting you breathe another day!” The words dripped with venom as his face hovered over yours. His fangs bared to you as you struggled to push him away. Unlike other times, fear was completely absent in your head and heart. 

“Then, fucking kill me!” You defied. Tears pooled in your angry eyes as you looked at him straight in the eyes. “If I’m such a burden for you, fucking kill me and get rid of me like you told Gabriel you would!” 

His hands loosened their grip for a moment. Realization didn’t hit him with all his might as he tried to place your spite. He didn’t remember talking to Gabriel recently, except for… 

Oh…

Your hands pushing him away and unsheathing the gun from his waist, was enough dose for his eyes to widen, disturbed as you turned the gun’s cannon and placed it under your chin.

“Stop!” He shouted, horrorized for a second while your fingers tinkered with the weapon, struggling to get the damned security pin off. “Gimme the fucking gun!” Never in his life his fingers worked so fast to neutralize someone. His fingers curled on the weapon and pulled back, just in time as a gunshot echoed through his ears with an acute ring, buzzing through his system. 

The bile rose in the back of his throat, his mouth turned arid, swallowing was too painful and for a moment his chest trembled with an unwelcome guest from his repertoire of feelings he rarely paid attention to. Panic. He had panicked for a moment. Not because of the gunshot. No. Panic because you still wanted to get the gun from his grip as tears rolled freely down your flushed cheeks. 

“¿¡Qué mierda te pasa?! (What the fuck is wrong with you?!) You’re gonna kill youself!” He roared, still perturbed as he threw the weapon away from your reach, and you screeched and punched his chest.

“You’re just like him! You’re just like Massimo!” You bawled, completely out of wits. The sudden weight of the events finally crashed on your shoulders, unable to hold it anymore. Too heavy on your feeble psyche. The kidnap, your beaten husband, your missing parents, him, his world, everything. Everything was turning your head upside down. “You fucking liar!” 

But your words only made him cage your torso tighter with his broad arms. If anyone could look at you both, would say that you were hugging. But in truth he was containing you to prevent your meltdown to worsen as you struggled and even punched his chest harder in an agonizing attempt to break yourself free from your misery. 

“You just used me!” You wept and gasped, and he pulled you tighter, unabling you to move. Yet, you squirmed, desperate to breathe and be away from him. “And you keep using me!”

Miguel’s eyes darted back and forth between you and your shaky hands. He could feel the speedy thrumming of your heartbeat, that threatened to stop at any second. Your words hammered in his chest with such power, that the comparison between him and Massimo had stung a bit too much than he actually wanted to admit. 

And even despite the terror spreading through your body, your mouth kept spilling what you didn’t have the courage to tell him while sober. The alcohol had won over you, unleashing the dam of your chaotic thoughts, while you kicked, screamed and cried in his chest, until your own legs gave up. Much to his own shock, his body had gained self control as he was unable to let you go. Instead, it had locked you in a tight embrace. 

Too on edge to free you and give you the power to commit another unhinged trick. You had seen death face to face and hadn’t hesitated to end it all, you had welcomed it even. You had even begged to be released to finish your task. And then quiet. You had quieted down.

Your hands slowly loosened their grip on their own and clutched onto his back, holding him in a such grip, his throat gulped laboriously as your body collapsed in his arms, causing both to fall onto the couch. You fell on top of him, and he caught you with ease. 

“Ratoncita…” He whispered and tensed as soon as the first open and maudlin sob escaped you. Then another, until turning into that familiar cry only those in real anguish let out. He swallowed again. 

“He doesn’t love me, Miguel…” You hiccuped with trembling lips and shaking your head, finally grasping the truth behind your next words “Massimo never loved me…” 

The realization hit him differently this time. He sighed, glad that your strength had vanished, but also conflicted. The pain in each syllable coming out of your pretty mouth held so much heartache, so much hurt that for a second his mind stopped to ponder properly what kind of man did this to a beloved one? 

What kind of heartless man would abandon his wife in such a risky situation that probably would put anyone in the psych ward?. And by the looks of your outburst you sure as hell needed it. But it also made him wonder with a question he refused to find an answer to. Cause even he had limits when it came to his violence. 

Did Massimo beat you? 

“Why… why won’t he love me?...” your weeps vanished into the soft, yet soaked by tears shirt. The warm and moist feeling of your liquid pain staining his chest, puzzled him greatly as it stirred and poked awake, even if little, that urge of protection and comfort 

“I don’t know, hermosa…” He shook his head, his voice toning a good couple of angry notes down, but it wasn’t strident like when he started yelling, it was soft. Almost comforting if it wasn’t for the sudden hatred simmering in between lines. “His loss, though.”

His words made you crane up to meet his stare, and his chest constricted for a second longer than necessary upon the sight. Beautifully defeated, anxious and weary. Staring at him with more questions in those pretty eyes he could barely answer. 

“He’s not paying you up, is he?” 

He gulped and shook his head. And your head hung for a second before giving yet another sob, staring back at him. 

“He doesn't care what happens to me anyway, never did.” Your voice trailed off. Even in these messed up entanglement of limbs and heartache, the heat irradiating from his body resulted in an unexpected comfort. 

Once the initial resilience of escaping vanished, your hands relaxed completely, sauntering over his chest to finally cup his face. His pupils dilated and a breath escaped his mouth as you placed your head against his. 

“Why haven't you killed me yet?” More like why haven't you ended your suffering with me yet? 

“I… I don’t know.” An honest answer. Too honest perhaps for his likings, and it didn't help that the beat of his heart had somehow matched yours in that crazed tempo only hummingbirds managed to achieve when your nose rubbed against his. 

“Then, kiss me.” Your mouth was already hovering over his but Miguel pulled away, enough for those eyes of yours to turn glossier and rounder at the evident rejection. 

However his hand cupped yours in return, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. Taking a feel of your trembling lips. He didn’t know what confused and perturbed him the most. The emotions you put him through in a single night and the outcome of so many bad decisions resuming into you asking for a kiss, or the words coming out of his mouth

“I’f I’m to kiss you right now, you won’t remember it.” you blinked almost stupidly at him to then press closer once more. He pulled back again with a tender yet warning look.

“Maybe I want to forget.” You mumbled, half asleep, half staring into his soul. Yet, you let him maneuver your body until you rested on his chest, back in your original position. 

The warmth of your body mixed with his was the unexpected and calming antidote for your chaotic outburst. His hands for once had the opposite effect in a foe, as your breaths evened until the weight of your world crushed your eyes resistances and put you to sleep. Completely drained from yourself. 

Maybe he had turned softer over the years. Or maybe you had pressed the correct buttons for his walls to crack enough and let the man underneath to allow himself to feel a bit more beyond responsibility and duties. The heartache had been real in his life as well, giving you both another thing in common.

“And maybe I want you to remember.” He murmured in a faint whisper. 

Massimo sure made it all about business. But now that your tears had soaked his bones and your pain permeated his soul as you rested in his chest, stripped off your dignity, it had turned completely personal. 

And may God or mercy protect the man that turned things personal with him. 

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@aaaaslaaaan

[thehighladywrites]

Interview me

pairing: ceo!rhysand x secretary bimbo!reader

summary: life is hard and you need a job to stay alive. naturally, you apply at a simple job at a company you know nothing about. Well, except for the fact that your boss is a smokeshow.

warnings: swearing

amara’s note: i’m so fucking hyped for this series guysss i have so many ideas hihihihihihihi

explore azriel’s bimboverse !

explore cassian’s bimboverse !

“Shit, shit, shit—I’m soooo not gonna make it!”

Your heels clacked dramatically against the glossy, stupidly expensive floors of an even more expensive skyscraper. Ugh, why did life have to be so unfair? You were made for luxury, not working, but apparently, rent and shopping sprees didn’t pay for themselves. So, you had reluctantly applied for a simple, cute little job—being the personal secretary for some CEO.

You sprinted toward the elevator, practically flinging yourself inside just as the doors were about to close.

“No—wait! Please hold it!”

A man’s hand shot out, stopping the doors. You stumbled in, panting, before beaming up at him.

“You’re very nice! Thank you, mister!”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes slowly dragged down your body, lingering on your barely-buttoned white blouse and tight little skirt that hugged every curve.

“Yeah, no problem, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with something you were too busy fixing your hair to pick up on. “You work here?”

“Oh, um, not yet! I think I’m actually gonna get fired before I even get hired because I accidentally overslept. My alarm is sooooo weird.” You giggled, fixing a strand of hair.

He chuckled, pressing a button. “What floor?”

“The top one! I’m here to be the CEO’s secretary.”

His smirk widened, his eyes practically devouring you. “Oh yeah? Lucky guy. He’d be a damn fool not to snatch you up.”

You blinked, confused. “Huh? I mean I haven’t got much experience, not sure he’s be that lucky.”

His creepy grin didn’t falter. “Yeah. Sure that’s what I meant.”

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out onto his floor, but not before leaning in just a little too close.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and sticky.

The second the doors shut, you frowned to yourself as you went up the floors until a ding took you out of your trance.

A slim, tall, stupidly beautiful redhead stood before you, clutching a neat stack of papers. She looked so put together—her sleek bun, her expensive-looking glasses, her perfectly ironed blouse. Ugh. She totally looked like someone who knew how to do her job.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from the sheer luxury of this office. The marble floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rich people smell. Was this really where you were going to work? Oh my god.

The redhead cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed with your gawking. “Ms. L/N? Mr. Rhysand is ready for you.”

“Oh! Right! Yeah, of course!” You smoothed down your skirt and stepped forward—business wear was so not your thing. It totally oppressed your usual style and it made you look too corporate-y.

The redhead sighed. “This way.”

You nodded, flashing her a big, dazzling smile as you followed her down the hallway.

“Mr. Rhysand is a very busy man who doesn’t tolerate mistakes. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

She gave you a slow, judgmental once-over before scoffing. “And maybe try dressing like a professional instead of a hooker.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Oh… is this too much?” You glanced down at your outfit, genuinely puzzled. “I thought it was classy. It’s Massimo Dutti.”

The redhead’s expression didn’t change. “Just don’t waste his time,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away.

Shrugging, you smoothed down your skirt and took a deep breath before pushing open the office doors. Whatever. You looked cute, and that was what mattered.

You stepped into the office, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Your breath hitched as you took in the sheer luxury of the space—floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the entire wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The furniture was sleek, dark, and expensive, the kind you only saw in glossy magazines.

Rhysand stood by the windows, hands in his pockets, suit tailored to perfection. The late afternoon light poured in behind him, casting his tall, broad-shouldered frame in a golden glow. His dark hair was effortlessly tousled, and when he finally turned to look at you, piercing eyes locking onto yours, your stomach did a little flip.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You were pretty sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. He was stupidly handsome. Very young and very attractive. Sure, he looked older than you but still. You had expected a greying man to be the big boss.

“You’re late.”

His voice was smooth and rich—like honey and sin wrapped in silk.

Your lips parted slightly. Right. The interview. Not staring at your ridiculously gorgeous potential boss.

“You’re… young.”

Rhysand’s brow arched. “Excuse me?” His tone was warm, maybe even amused, but his expression remained unreadable.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I mean—I just—I meant to say there was something wrong with my alarm. I swear I’m not usually late!”

Heat crawled up your neck. His voice alone had you all flustered, and the way he was looking at you? Yeah, this was bad for your focus.

Rhysand hummed, watching you for a moment longer before nodding toward the chair in front of his desk. “Right. Let’s begin.”

He walked over, effortlessly graceful, and leaned against the edge of his desk—half lounging, half scrutinizing as you sat down, smoothing your skirt.

”So,” Rhysand leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his thighs as he studied you. “Tell me why you think you’re the right fit for this position.”

You straightened, flashing him your brightest, most confident smile. ”I’m very organized! And great at, um… scheduling things and answering phones! I’ll do whatever you want and need.”

Rhysand’s lips curled slightly, the hint of a smirk playing at the edges. His violet eyes flickered with something unreadable as he watched you, head tilting just a fraction.

“Whatever I want and need?” His voice was smooth, dangerously amused.

You blinked, nodding obliviously. “Yep! I’m super dedicated. I’ll make your coffee, organize your files, take notes, remind you of meetings—oh! And I’m a great assistant. I’ll be there when ya need me.”

Rhysand let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good to know.” His gaze swept over you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm before he leaned back, arms crossing over his chest again.

“So, tell me, what do you know about this company?”

Shit. You knew absolutely nothing. His eyes narrowed, clearly seeing right through you. Damn it. You only had one option left. You flashed him a saccharine smile. You’d charm your way out, even if it was tacky.

“I’m sure you’re doing super important work, Mr. CEO. I’m just here to support you in all your very important tasks,” you said, stalling and distracting him with your charm.

Of course, Rhysand saw right through you. He could see right through your game, but he let you believe you were in control. You were quick, clever, and undeniably sweet—something about it intrigued him.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward slightly, clasping his hands together on the desk, and trying to hide the amused smirk that was growing on his face. “You certainly sound like someone who could handle the demands of my busy days.”

Not really. There were at least a hundred more qualified candidates he had interviewed, all more experienced and better suited for the job. But Rhysand wasn’t interested in any of them. He did what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was you.

His smile softened slightly as he leaned forward again, arms crossed. “You’re hired,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “You start tomorrow.”

You blinked in surprise, but then your smile brightened as you stood to shake his hand. “Thank you! I won’t let you down!”

Rhysand’s grip was firm, his thumb brushing lightly over your wrist. A small, knowing smile curved his lips. “I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect mistakes, nor do I tolerate them.”

There was no malice in his words, just quiet confidence—like he already knew you’d be just fine.

You swallowed, nodding quickly as he slid a sleek manila envelope across the desk, along with a heavy, expensive-looking pen. You hesitated for only a moment before pulling out the papers, scanning through them quickly.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes widened as you reread the number, making sure you hadn’t misread. That much money—for what? Just following him around, keeping his schedule in check, answering a few calls, and being… supportive?

Woah.

Trying to mask your shock, you steadied your hand and signed where needed before sliding the papers back toward him. You stood, reaching out to shake his hand again, this time with newfound excitement.

Rhysand clasped your hand in his, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. His smirk deepened slightly. God, he’s enjoy this.

“Welcome to the job.”

[rinnieisthecutest]

"I WON'T NEED 365 DAYS"

『//Ehmm... Guys I did it again!!!! This is a good sweet Crowe x reader (definitely HIGHLY self-motivated! Also when I wrote it it was like 5 am and I had just finished watching 365 days si DON'T BLAME ME IT'S ACTUALLY MY REVIEW OF THE FILM PQUAHAHAH���

Type: Gn!reader x Crowe

Tw: Just some SWEET n YOUNG love!!! A bit suggestive but not nsfw. NOT PROOFREAD And there are spoilers of 365 days!!!

masterlist

MORE UNDER THE CUT

«Hi Crowe! Come inside» you smile as you greet your friend inside your house: you invited him for a movie night, as in your official first ever sleepover. He agreed right away, and now here he was: sitting on your couch, long brown hair finally set free of that loose braid he usually keeps during the day, his bright blue eyes focused on the screen as chooses what movie to watch with you.

Suddenly, his soft voice snaps you out of your trance «Hey, you're supposed to look at the screen not at me» you suddenly blush, falling deeper in the couch as you sigh «i was just looking at... Something» «Something, sure... So what do you think of 365 days? What is it» as you let out a little scream at the mention of the film you shook your head «Oh hell naw! You'll never catch me watching that film! It's so cringe!» «And that's why we'll watch it right now!» .

And that's why you're now watching one of the most cringe movie you have ever seen, the worst part? You actually like it.

As you lay on the couch, you can feel Crowe scoop a bit closer to you «You can rest your legs on mine if you want to» sometimes you wonder If he feels the same things you feel, because there is no other way a man could ever look at you the same he did. With such devotion, basically telling you how much he valued you just with his eyes. That's why you did it:, you rapidly placed your legs on top of his, humming contentedly as you kept watching with weird amusement.

«Ok wait but why is he actually a consent king?» you can feel him chuckling, his voice making your heart flutter «Why do you have to speak in TikTok terms? And he did actually try to sexual assault here... And basically kidnapped her... And-» then, you threw a cushion at him «Let the lore unfold!».

«Ok what the actual fuck am I looking at right now» you said, as you paused the movie «That was a whole fucking prop! Why the hell did they show that yellow veiny prop!» as you screamed against the paused screen: showing the main character's love interest, Massimo, getting a blowjob from a woman, your friend Crowe was currently laughing so hard he couldn't even speak anymore «Now... That was bad!» he managed to squeeze a few words out, as you kept screaming. «This was the third blowjob of the day» Crowe exclaims looking at the scene in front of you both «I swear to God if they don't fuck right no- omg yes!» you raise your fist, giggling as you watch with attention how all the sexual tension finally unravels «Hey, thought you didn't like it» «I don't, but I mean... I have waited long enough for them to fuck! Finally!» he let out a chuckle in response, slowly getting closer to you.

And then, suddenly, you felt it: Crowe was mindlessly caressing your legs, playing with them as he kept his gaze focused on the movie "I love you too" that's what Laura, the main character, just said to Massimo «Ok but why am I liking it» he smiles, finally focussing on you «And here you said you didn't like it» «Well... I mean... It's cringe, like try reenacting one of those scenes and you'll realize!» and with those words it somehow seemed like an idea popped in his mind «Oh my god... Let's do that! Won't it be fun?» «But I was jok-» you got cut off abruptly by his movements, as he swiftly got you on top of him «Now, say you love me, y/n» «Wha- Crowe!» «It was your idea!» you giggle at his actions, a faint blush on both of your cheeks made sure to remember you just how much you liked him. As you finally gave in, the scene started.

«You know... I won't need 365 days» he looked at you, with a fake confusion almost getting broken up by laughter «but... Why?» «Because two months were enough... To make me fall in love with you» then, his expression changed, almost as if he was too deep into it «Say that again...» «I love you» a deep silence stretched between the two of you, until he whispered in your ear «This is the part where you kiss me» and that's when you couldn't hold it anymore: you crashed your lips over his, as his hands found your hips holding you closer to him. When you both pulled off to get some air he smiled: a loving look in his eyes, one that tells you he's been waiting long enough for this to happen. «I love you too, y/n» with that, he kissed you again, holding you dearly against himself, the movie now long forgotten. That's too bad, you'll have to keep the grand finale for later, as for now the only thing you desire to do is to reenact a few more accurate scenes with him.

©Rinnieisthecutest

ALL ART CREDITS GO TO THEIR RIGHT OWNER.

[streets-in-paradise]

Girl, THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING PIECE OF FANFICTION I HAVE EVER READ!!!!

For real, this was so well written I felt i was reading the fragment of a chapter on a novelization incluiding a new character. This trascends fanfiction, this is …

Perfect, more than perfect! I don't deserve you as a writer friend, holy fuck you are freaking amazing!!

Calming myself down a bit, I noticed how we both enjoy a similar concept because in the fic i am preparing for you we also have a part of the reader exposing something and Maximus getting invested in what she tells during a " omg, he is paying attention to me! look how focused he is, i think he likes my company! " moment.

Our simp minds think alike and I love that. We both thought " I want him to listen me and find me interesting as we bond through discussion of higher concepts in a mundane scenario"

As a final note of my comment, your fic was so inspiring that my daydreamer ass came up with a made up soundtrack for what I was reading. It is not culturally accurate, but i rushed to search to enrich my experience because the radio inside my mind started to play it while I was reading.

It's more than a fic, a deleted movie scene.

Tender Fires

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, with a few hints of spice)

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with another Maximus fic! This is actually part of a larger narrative in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where she tends his wounds and they fall in love but have to fight their feelings because he intends to leave to keep her safe. As always, this fic is written from the deepest longings of my lovestruck heart, and I hope that love is obvious :) Thank y'all so much for your kind words about the last fic, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“You’re up late.”

At your words, Maximus turns his head to look at you, and a soft smile crosses his lips. His features are etched in shadow, flickering with the dancing firelight.

He’s seated in front of your kitchen fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing deep into the flames as if searching for some hidden meaning within. You would never have known he was in here if you had not been awakened by the loud cracks of thunder outside and come in search of the warmth of the fire.

An autumn storm, a midnight fire, and the most captivating man you have ever known, dressed only in his plain white sleeping tunic. It seems like a combination intended to lure you into trouble.

As you move to sit in the chair beside him, he looks back into the hearth, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I have stayed awake staring at many fires in my life,” he tells you quietly, his voice deep and thoughtful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at him, looking for the scar on his ribs. He has been with you for a little more than two weeks now, helping you with odd jobs around the farm as his strength returns. His wounds, though still vulnerable, have healed quickly, and you are relieved to see no signs of further injury on the parts of his skin that you can see.

“As have I,” you reply, eyes still lingering on him. “Though for me, it has always been the same fire. This one.”

He hums in response, nodding slightly. You have never sat by this fire together at night, and you are bewitched by the way the light dances over him, makes his golden skin shimmer. The lines of his arms and shoulders are limned in shadow, the firelight flickering on his handsome features.

You are overcome with a desire to put your hands on him, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body, but you cast your gaze on the fireplace instead.

“I envy you that,” he answers softly, after a short reflection. He glances up at you, studying you intently. “A home fire, always burning in the same place.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you.

Every day, the thought of him leaving you is more painful. At the moment, as you sit close enough to listen to him breathing, the thought is unbearable. Your home is his home now, and you long — more than you have ever longed for anything — for him to realize that he belongs here.

His shadowed eyes search yours a moment more, then return to gazing at the flames.

You take a deep, steadying breath to calm yourself. Your hands are trembling, and you smooth them over your skirt, hoping he does not notice how nervous you are from this simple interaction.

“Tea?” you ask quickly, pushing yourself to stand and get a bit of space between the two of you.

He glances up again, and your heart clenches at the gentleness in his expression. He nods. “Thank you.”

Have his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? Are you imagining the way his gaze lingers on you, drinking in every detail of the way you move?

You can feel the tension in the room thickening, your own heart beating faster as you fill the kettle with water and set the tea leaves to brewing. Somehow, sharing space with this man is so much more intimate at night, with a storm raging outside and a warm fire bringing extra heat to the atmosphere.

Even more astonishing to you is the fact that you are not afraid of this powerful soldier. He is strong enough to do anything he wishes to you, to take whatever he obviously wants. But even now, standing here in your night shift, with your hair and your defenses down, you have no fear of him.

If anything, you wish he would initiate a touch, a kiss, anything that would lead to the passion that has been haunting your dreams every night.

Such as your dream last night. You can still feel the sensation of your body thoroughly tangled with his, your limbs entwined, his hands pulling your skirt up to your waist. Your cheeks burn when you remember all the places he kissed in your dream, all the places he touched and explored and pleasured. Such thoughts make you ache all over again, especially now that you are standing so close to him.

A blinding crack of lightning, followed by the roar of thunder, pulls you from the dream-memory of his mouth hot on your throat.

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you ramble on the first topic you can think of. “My father used to tell me stories beside this fire,” you announce as you hang the kettle over the fire and settle back into the chair beside him. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even as a smile crosses your lips at the memory. “I always begged him to tell me ghost stories even though they frightened me.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at you curiously, a smile of his own playing at his lips. “What kind of ghosts do you have in these parts?” he asks, leaning on one arm of the chair to look at you more squarely.

Somehow, having his full attention focused on you is unnerving, undoing, arousing. You can hardly find the words to speak.

His eyes are still on your face as you feel a deep blush burning in your cheeks. You hope he will attribute it to the warmth of the fire, not your intense reaction to the way he gazes at you. If he only knew how much more heated you are by his presence.

“My favorite is the Howling Woman,” you blurt out, glad that your voice is not as unsteady as you feared. “She wears all gray, with her head covered. She’s been seen in these mountains for decades.”

He does not interrupt you, but your breath catches as his gaze wanders across your face. An absent smile is still on his lips, and he seems to be content to simply watch you, to let his eyes trace the lines of your face, your neck, your hair where it tumbles over your shoulders. His gaze is searching, admiring.

How will you find the strength to hide your desire when one look from him could bring you to your knees?

Clenching your jaw and willing the kettle to boil faster, you continue your story determinedly. “They say she was the wife of a farmer who was killed after being thrown from his horse. She found him with his neck broken.” You pause, still breathless from the effects of his undivided attention. “She went mad and drowned her own children. When she came to her senses and realized what she had done, she walked into the wilderness to die.”

You wait for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he does not. He is still leaning on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes captivated by the sight of you in the firelight. You can almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down — where your shift does little to hide the shape of your figure.

But somehow, his watchfulness is not an act of seduction. He seems genuinely swept up in your story, spellbound by the sound of your voice. He listens to you intently, curiously, and waits for you to continue.

“But to punish her for her crime,” you continue, blushing even harder, “the gods cursed her to wander these mountains and valleys for eternity, never able to die and meet her family in the afterlife.”

It is the sound of your voice, you realize now. His gaze wanders over your features slowly, as if measuring them, but his silence persists the longer you speak. It is as if he cannot bring himself to interrupt you, so captivated as he is by your voice.

“She still walks at night,” you finish, finally allowing yourself to look deep into his eyes. There seems to be no end to them, no way to pull yourself out of the gaze that holds you captive. “She wanders, calling and wailing and howling.”

He swallows hard, licks his lips, though you guess he does so unconsciously. A shiver runs up your spine, and not from your ghost story.

You lean forward, just an inch or so, to finish the story. “They say you can hear her best on a night like this,” you whisper, and the silence between you is so concentrated that you feel you might choke on it.

His gaze flits down to your lips for a moment, and in this flickering firelight, surrounded by warmth and desire, you think he may kiss you.

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder outside, one that makes you jump at its suddenness. You both look away, realizing how intently you have been gazing at one another for an inexcusably long amount of time.

The tea in the kettle is boiling at last, and, glad for the distraction, you lean forward to take it off the fire. Your two cups are sitting on the table beside you, and you fill both before handing one to him. He nods his thanks, and the two of you sit quietly for a few moments, looking deep into the firelight.

He is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks softly, with that pleasant raspy quality you have come to recognize in him at night.

You smile and lean back in your chair to sip at your tea. “Of course,” you confirm lightly. “Don’t you?”

His expression grows quizzical, and he doesn’t lift his eyes away from the fire. He takes a sip of his tea, thinks for a long time before answering. You are more than content to sit in silence with him, but he finally comes to an answer.

“No,” he tells you quietly, still mesmerized by the dancing flames. Eerie shadows prance over his fine features. “Spirits do not wander the earth after death. They go to the afterlife.”

His voice is calm and even, but resolute, assured. You have talked so little with him about such things, and you cannot deny your curiosity at learning more about what he believes.

“How do you know?” you press, unconsciously leaning toward him.

He does not move for a moment, just grips his cup tighter and sharpens his gaze at the fire. “I have seen enough death to feel certain of it,” he declares, then turns his head to look into your eyes again. “If ghosts could exist,” he tells you softly, gently, “then I would be haunted by them every moment.”

Your heart aches for him now, for the pain and grief he carries with him always. His life has been difficult, laden with the weight of many lives and much responsibility. Even in a peaceful haven like your home, he is ever followed by the burdens of his past, no matter how much comfort and peace you have offered him.

“Perhaps they do not wish to speak to you,” you suggest, tilting your head to show that you are teasing him. “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know in the world.”

His haunted expression softens as he looks at you, taking in the meaning of your words. As before, his soft smile smoothes the lines in his face, lifts a bit of the weariness etched into his features. You can’t help wondering if he realizes your effect on him, if he craves these moments of tranquility and comfort as much as you do.

“I am sure of that,” he tells you in a low voice, and your heart turns over at the simple passion in his eyes.

You lapse into silence once again, each of you drinking your tea and losing yourself in thought. Your own ponderings are of him, wondering what he is thinking. He has seemed burdened ever since you found him sitting by the fire, and you long to know what worries him.

If he only knew how your heart leaps at the sight of him, how you long to cradle his face in your hands, to kiss him until all his burdens are lifted, until all he knows is this deep, all-consuming love that has swept over your heart like an autumn storm.

The thunder continues to roll outside, the rain pelting your roof relentlessly, but the warmth of the fire and the pleasant constancy of his presence is comforting.

You do not press him for several long minutes, letting him mull over his worries in silence until both of you have finished your tea. When you set your two empty cups on the table beside you, you finally decide to inquire, pushing your chair a few inches nearer to him and leaning on one arm of the chair so you can look into his eyes more closely.

“What troubles you?” you ask softly, and he finally lifts his head, dark eyes burning into yours with all the intensity of the hearth fire.

His voice is hardly more than a whisper when he replies, “Ghosts.”

“Memories?” you ask, entranced by the way he slowly leans forward, closing the distance between the two of you one inch at a time. Your skin suddenly burns, aching for a touch, one simple touch, that will answer your constant longing for his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, in which he seems to ponder the consequences of what he wants, he finally lifts one hand and trails his fingertips down the side of your face.

“Shadows of things I do not understand,” he murmurs absently, and he traces the line of your jaw with fingers so gentle you cannot imagine them ever wielding a sword.

He gazes at you more openly now, his eyes traveling down to your lips as his thumb brushes over them. You suppress a shudder at the contact, and he strokes your lips a few times, transfixed by the sight, before sliding the backs of his knuckles down the column of your throat.

Stars in the heavens, if he only knew how your body is aching for him, how you respond to the slightest touch he gives you.

You finally find your voice to speak. “Is it your men?” you ask softly, as if the room has suddenly been overtaken by a spell.

He sighs, brow furrowed deeply in thought. “They were not my men,” he replies at last, still stroking his fingers down your neck. “Not the ones who betrayed me. My men were loyal, courageous.” His voice is thick with sorrow, and you sense that recalling this memory is painful for him. “They were my brothers,” he half-whispers. “They would have risen up in rebellion if they had known.”

Your heart aches again at the sadness in his voice, the sadness he works so hard to disguise throughout the day. Somehow, in the darkness, in the stillness of nighttime, he seems more vulnerable.

“Why does the Emperor want you dead so badly?” you finally venture to ask.

His hand stills on your neck, eyes not quite focused on your face. He seems to be traveling back in time in his mind, and he draws a deep breath as he thinks. Almost as if he does not realize what he is doing, his hand wanders to the base of your neck, absently stroking the sensitive skin there.

It’s all you can do to hold still, to keep from betraying how perfectly wonderful his touch is to you.

His voice is low and measured when he answers your question. “I once received favor that he believed should have been his.” He pauses, then raises his eyes to meet yours meaningfully. “By his own father.”

His words take you aback, and you know he must notice your wide-eyed stare. “Marcus Aurelius?” you squawk in disbelief. “You knew the great Emperor?”

“Yes,” he replies, his face softening into a smile at the memory. You are shocked by the revelation, but his fond smile warms your heart after seeing his heavily burdened expression a moment ago. 

He presses on, though his hand is now running softly over your shoulder, skimming over the top of your thin shift. “I was young when he took me under his wing,” he explains, eyes tracing the path his hand is making on your shoulder. “I had won some small battles, and he saw in me potential for greater things. He made me what I am today.”

He strokes your shoulder once, gently, then removes his hand, as though he cannot trust himself to keep touching you there. Again lifting his deep blue eyes to meet your gaze, he looks at you so tenderly, so affectionately, as he raises the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You want to melt, to close your eyes and sigh in pleasure at his simple touch, but you fight for your composure. “He must have been a great man,” you manage instead, meaning every word.

“He was the greatest man I have ever known,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through your hair at your temple now. “He is the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.”

You have noticed how the man is drawn to your hair whenever you leave it down. He seems fascinated with it, with the way it cascades through his fingers when he cards them through it. His attentions are so gentle, so unobtrusive, as if he is unable to keep himself from simply admiring your beauty in this soft firelight.

“And that is why the Emperor envies you,” you observe to keep from losing your breath.

“Yes,” he answers quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “He believed that his father wanted to pass on his power to me.”

You nearly startle in surprise at his words. Not only the commander of the northern armies, not only a confidante of Marcus Aurelius, but the rightful future emperor himself?

You almost feel dizzy, though you’re not sure if it is from the shocking news or the way his fingers keep brushing your temple as he plays with your hair. “Did he?” you prompt him breathlessly, genuinely curious.

He ponders for several long moments, letting your hair stream between his fingers. You are entranced simply by looking at his features — his dark eyelashes, his sharp nose, the gentle creases by his mouth. He is so exquisitely lovely to you, so unaware of how deeply he affects you.

“I do not know,” he finally admits, tracing the side of your face before letting his hand fall back into his lap again. “He never told me.”

His words silence some of the shock you were feeling at wondering if you were in the presence of a man who was supposed to have ruled Rome. The thought of this man, this humble, honest, unpretentious warrior, ruling such a corrupt and conniving empire is almost unthinkable.

You are struck by the absence of his touch, and he seems hesitant to initiate any more contact now that he realizes how close he has drawn to you. He’s still watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction to his touches, but you cannot resist reaching out to him now.

Your fingers seek out the necklace that hangs down to his chest, a simple cord bearing two wolf’s teeth on the end. You have never asked him about its origin. You handle it carefully, and the man barely breathes as your hand hovers over his chest.

“What would you have done if all this had never happened?” you ask softly, caught in the intimacy of this quiet moment. “Would you have been a soldier all your life?”

Your question is a heavy one, full of unspoken desire and curiosity. You can tell he senses that desire by the way his dark eyes burn into yours, by the way his chest rises and falls more quickly, as if you are taking his breath away just by touching his necklace.

He thinks for a few moments, still gazing deep into your eyes. “I always imagined I would die in battle,” he tells you, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “There seemed no other fate in store for me.”

Your heart tightens, and you let go of your loose grip on his necklace. Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, to make contact with his body somehow. His words have struck a chord in your heart, reminding you how grateful you are that this world-weary soldier has come to your home, to your hearth, instead of falling on a battlefield hundreds of miles away.

With your pulse racing, you press your hand flat against his chest, splaying your fingers over his heart. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, you can feel his heart pounding like a war drum, perfectly in rhythm with your own.

Oh, how you long to press your heart against his, to be wrapped up in his arms, so thoroughly tangled with his body that you cannot tell where you begin and he ends.

His breath comes more quickly now, his lips parted and his eyes scorching yours with a hunger that stirs your blood.

“But,” he begins in a hoarse whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up, “I did imagine, sometimes…” He pauses, licks his lips again, takes a slow breath, “that if I did have a chance to grow old… I might…”

He halts again, his voice dying in his throat. You press your palm more firmly against his chest, and his heart skips a beat beneath your hand. You can feel his skin burning hot under his shirt.

“Tell me,” you whisper, and a look of unadulterated desire flashes across his face.

He leans close to you, close enough that his breath skims over your lips. “That I might one day have a home,” he breathes. “A family.” He sighs softly, the longing in his voice especially evident. “A life of peace always seemed… unlikely.”

The hesitation in his words is palpable, and suddenly his own larger hand is covering yours, pressing it tight against his chest. You realize that he is relishing your touch the way you relished his a moment ago.

After holding your hand against his heart a moment longer, he grasps your hand in his, lifts it to his lips. Your own heart skips a beat now, when he presses a slow, languid kiss to the back of your hand.

“And now?” you whisper, breathless and tingling with need.

He breathes against your hand, slowly and calmly. “Now,” he echoes, his voice rumbling in your bones. “Now a life of peace seems impossible.”

No. No, he cannot mean that. He cannot still mean to leave you when his gentle eyes speak of the passion he holds for you.

“It does not have to be,” you insist, lifting your free hand to touch the side of his face. He actually sighs at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips are slightly parted, and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and kiss him until he can breathe nothing but your name.

His eyes remain closed when he responds, your hand still cradled in his. “To believe otherwise would be foolish,” he tells you, though his voice is anything but resolute. “Dangerous.”

You stroke the side of his face tenderly, enraptured by the way he reacts to your touch. He seems so relaxed, so overwhelmed when you caress him gently. The thought suddenly strikes you that this man has probably never been touched this way — not as light as a feather, with such love and affection that he can feel it beating in rhythm with his heart.

When you brush your fingertips down his neck, over the sensitive skin of his throat, he makes a sound so soft, so unguarded, that you nearly come undone for him right there.

“Are you not well acquainted with danger?” you whisper, leaning in closer to him. He opens his eyes when he feels you drawing nearer, and his fathomless eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You want him to stay. You want him to love you as you so desperately love him. You want him to never stop looking at you the way he is now.

And when you press your hand flat against the side of his neck, your gaze fluttering over every perfect feature of his face, his soul opens to you, and you see all the love you bear for him reflected deep in his own eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes, and he leans forward to close the few inches that separate your lips from his.

The first sensation that strikes you is his blood pulsing in his neck, hammering against your hand as you caress him. His own hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place while he presses his lips against yours.

There is no hesitation in this kiss, no second-guessing or reluctance. His lips move against yours in a rhythm so natural that you wonder if he has imagined this as many times as you have.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, drowning in your kiss like a dying man seeking air. You can feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, so unaccustomed to any attention as passionate as this. The man lifts his other hand to cradle your jaw, still kissing your lips, gently but insistently, over and over and over.

This is what heaven must be like, you realize distantly when his tongue slides against yours, every inch of your skin tingling in response. His undivided attention, his unashamed desire for you is so arousing, so delightful in every way.

You can feel your cheeks burning, your skin heating up, the longer his hands linger on your face and neck. His fingers stroke your jaw, and his other hand grips your hair just hard enough to hold you in place. He is still reveling in your kiss, still using his lips and tongue to draw out the softest moan you have ever made in your life.

As soon as he hears it, he moves his lips to press against the corner of your mouth, much as he did the first time he kissed you in the barn. He trails his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he passes.

Thoroughly excited by his kisses and touches, your mind is all too eager to provide any number of tempting images. When he dips his head to one side, lips touching the place where your jaw meets your neck, all you can imagine is the careful way he would undress you, lay you down, and make love to you, slowly and gently but passionately.

He drags his lips down your neck, his curious tongue coaxing another soft sound from you. Again, your mind flashes to all the ways he might use his tongue on you, all the places he could seek out and tease until you are so dizzy with pleasure that all you can say is his name, over and over.

Another press of his tongue, and it takes all your strength not to beg him to take you right here. You can imagine it so easily, the way he would grip your waist, your hips, the way you would wrap yourself around him and touch every inch of his bare skin if he would only give you the chance.

What would you not give to see him shudder in pleasure, to throw his head back and hold you tight as you cling to him and make him feel the same thing he ignites in you?

It’s at that moment that he whispers your name, tenderly, reverently, like a prayer, against the soft column of your throat. Your whole body shudders in response, your hands tightening where they have landed on his broad shoulders, and he finally fulfills what you have been aching for.

One strong arm wraps around your waist, the other around your upper back, and in the space of a breath the man has pulled you against him, leaning you to the side so that you are cradled in his arms across his lap.

You are suddenly very aware of how thin your shift is, of the way he must be able to feel every curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers are gentle where they wrap around your waist, and you feel with heightened awareness all the strength of his own body, all his powerful muscles and vigorous energy.

All you can do is sigh in pleasure as he keeps his head buried in your neck, still kissing your sensitive skin as though he cannot get enough of you.

You can barely take a breath, so overcome with the multitude of sensations he ignites in you. His hand flexes against your waist, and you respond in kind with your fingers digging into his back.

You have the distinct impression that the man is having to physically restrain himself from going further, that all he wants to do right now is yank open your shift and kiss his way down your bare body. As irresistible as that thought is, you let him take the lead, and he chooses to simply kiss you rather than ravish you.

He is a noble man, a man of honor, and though your body is aching for him to truly make you his, you take pleasure in his self-control, his respect for you.

His fervent kisses to your neck finally slow, and he breathes against your skin as though trying to memorize you. When he nuzzles his face against your neck, all you can do is close your eyes in absolute ecstasy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and it’s his turn to shiver with pleasure, pulling you even closer against his body and resting his lips against the curve of your neck.

He goes still in your arms when you stroke his hair, slowly and tenderly with your fingertips. Again, you are struck by his reactions to your gentle touches, by the way he melts into your arms as though overpowered.

Several long moments are spent in that position, with you cradled against his chest, his face against your neck. You would be content to stay like this all night, just listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beating against your side.

But the moment passes, as all moments do. Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and you can’t help but jump a little in his arms.

As if pulled out of his daze, the man smiles softly against your neck, strokes your back soothingly in a way that only serves to make you arch your body against his. A moment later, he lifts his head from the crook of your shoulder, letting his face brush against yours as you disentangle yourselves.

Though you have just spent the last few moments passionately embracing and kissing, and though both of you are still flushed and breathless with exhilaration, the following moment is not awkward. You do not look at each other as you part, but you can sense your own relief and contentment in him.

You do not know what will come of this. You do not know if he will stay much longer. But in a moment like this, with your lips still swollen from his kiss and your skin still burning from his touch, you feel as though no heartbreak can be as vast as this perfect fulfillment you feel with him.

You stand slowly, glad that you are not as unsteady as you feel, and you lift the kettle off the fire just to have something to do. You can feel the man’s eyes on you, though he does not speak.

“It is a fierce storm tonight,” you comment, almost without realizing that you are speaking. The silence between you was comfortable, but you long to say something, to know that he is still at ease with you.

He takes his time in responding, especially since you have your back to him. “Yes,” he says simply, his voice deep and husky.

Stars, how you want to hear that voice in your ear, in your bed, murmuring to you while you both reach the height of your shared pleasure.

You swallow hard to banish your intrusive thoughts. You move to set the kettle down in your cabinet and scramble to think of something else to say. Rain continues to pound against your roof, sending a slight chill through the air despite the warmth of the fire.

“Will you be warm enough tonight?” you ask over your shoulder, still conscious of his eyes burning into your back.

Again, he takes his time answering. “Yes,” he finally replies. “Will you?”

You let the question hang, still standing with your back to him. You hope he can understand your wordless answer, especially after sharing such an intimate moment.

The only warmth I crave now is the heat of your body against mine.

Still trying to avoid meeting his eyes, you half-turn to pick up your two empty cups from the table. Doing so makes you lean against the side of the little square table, and you notice with great surprise that it does not tilt dangerously to the side as it has for the last several months.

The table legs are perfectly even now, and you suddenly raise your eyes to look at the man squarely. He is gazing at you with the oddest combination of expressions — desire, contentment, admiration, sorrow, longing, affection, and several others you cannot name.

“You fixed my table,” you observe, genuinely struck by the kindness of his simple gesture. You don’t know when he did it, but sometime in the last few days he must have noticed the unsteadiness and taken the time to fix it somehow.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “It needed fixing,” he replies simply.

Your heart leaps into your throat, though you can’t say quite why. Despite the fact that just a moment ago you were wrapped up in his arms, sighing while he covered your neck with kisses, you are much more affected by his modest demonstration of kindness — fixing something of yours that was broken.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, returning his small smile with all the warmth blossoming in your heart.

You finish your task, setting the two cups in the cabinet to be washed tomorrow. The storm outside has quieted somewhat, but you can still hear the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof and walls.

Quiet thunder rolls in the distance as you turn to look at the man again. He is still seated, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows, gazing at you curiously.

This is what you want: this man in your home, always, sharing your fire, sharing your space, looking at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

The words spill from your lips before you can consider them. “My father always told me that a storm can make a person change their mind about anything.” You hear the significance in your own words, and you press on anyway. “He said it’s in their nature to bring about transformation.”

The man’s darkened eyes do not leave yours for a moment, and you hold his gaze steadily, wanting him to hear your unspoken plea.

Stay with me. Let me love you as I do in my dreams.

His face does not betray any decision, but his gaze is tender, filled with a weary longing. His eyes explore each feature of your face as gently as his fingers did a few moments ago.

“Perhaps I will listen to it for awhile, then,” he murmurs, and your heart sighs.

All is not lost. You must simply wait.

As you start towards the doorway that leads to your bedroom, you pause beside his chair. The man is looking up at you with eyes that melt you to your very soul. Overcome with your affection for him, you lift one hand and stroke the side of his face, smiling down at him fondly.

“Goodnight, general,” you whisper, and your heart whispers, Beloved.

Before you can drop your hand, the man wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his lips. An unhurried kiss to the back of your hand, one that sends another shiver down your spine, and he releases you. His eyes burn into yours, intense, ardent, yearning.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and your heart hears his whisper, Beloved, long after you have slipped into the next room.