#Someone who is using blood to destroy blood around him

[mattnott]

𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in wich your boyfriend thinks the best way to spice up the relationship is by playing hide and seek. WORDS. 4.7K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally have no fucking idea, i was having a mental breakdown and this came out.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, knife play, kinda mean!mattheo, porn w//plot, aged up characters, rough sex, established relationship, unprotected pnv, hard chocking, swearing, ass slapping, licking, making out, blood kink.

masterlist -> navigation -> mattheo masterlist

Being satisfied.

Mattheo was sure that he was not asking for too much. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself over and over again for the last few weeks, but lately, satisfaction seemed out of reach—almost like an impossibility—and no matter how hard he tried, a fucked up emptiness was still there, tattooed on his very being as the control flipped down his fingers.

It was maddening. Absolutely maddening. He was certain he was losing control of his own body, of his mind, and just that thought alone made him feel nauseous; he felt like someone was twisting his stomach, slowly and painfully; and that wasn’t him. Being fucking miserable like this? That had never been him.

He was Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake.

He never lost control; he thrived on it—he was the fucking embodiment of control. He controlled himself, his actions, and, most importantly, everything around him: Quidditch strategies, his routines, his grades, but above all, his relationships and everyone around him. But lately, everything felt off...vague, as if everything he had carefully built was slipping away, leaving him exposed and raw.

He felt like a wreck, in every sense of the word.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just affecting him anymore; the worst part was that it had started to affect his relationship with you. You, the only person he genuinely gave a shit about, the only person who mattered to him, the only person he couldn’t let slip away. That was the fucking problem.

In the beginning, everything was perfect, so goddamn perfect that sometimes he was fucking terrified to wake up and find out it had all been a dream, a goddamn illusion that his own mind created to punish him. The truth was that being with you was like a goddamn drug—in the best, most fucked-up way. It was addictive, intoxicating, and never lost its thrill. 

The way your bodies fit together, how you let yourself get lost in the things he did to you, how he knew your body by the tip of his tongue—it was all fucking exciting. And you? You never dared to say no to anything he asked, no matter how sick it sounded; that was what made him want to keep you locked up, all to himself.

And for a while it was all he needed.

But Mattheo wasn’t the type of man who loved gently or held himself back when it came to relationships. He never knew how to give just a piece of himself, and in return, he took everything from you, consuming you in ways that were almost humanly impossible. He always wanted to possess, to have power, and with you, it was no exception. 

No matter how much he tried to suppress it, the need to control you, to use you, was becoming unbearable, and Mattheo was sure that it was turning into physical pain; he could feel it in his ribs.

And besides all that bullshit, lately, the little control he had over you felt more fragile than ever, as if something had shifted in a weird way, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it was fucking there, eating him alive, almost destroying his mind and opening his ribs; there was a part of you he could no longer reach, no matter how hard he tried, and it was driving him insane—he was furious with himself, and a twisted part of him was even furious with you.

He knew it didn’t make any sense, at least not to him. After all, he still fucked you in every way he could—rough, slow, and sometimes, when he was feeling nice enough, even with a strange kind of tenderness, Mattheo fucked you until you were both so drenched in sweat that your bodies stuck together like glue. But even that wasn’t enough.

He was not satisfied. 

It wasn't that being with you was horrible... fuck no! He would never say that, because he knew that if he did, it would only be a lie to hide the sexual frustration that was haunting him like a ghost. And if there was one thing he definitely wasn't, it was a liar. Besides, you were the only girl he dared to touch more than once, the only one he didn't toss aside like the others, the only one he fucking surrendered himself to—not just to blow off steam.

He knew he couldn’t be with anyone else but you. But lately, something was missing, something different, something more obscene, something more…him.

Mattheo couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to spice up the things in your relationship; he was done with the same shitty routine over and over again—he needed to push the limits of what he had with you, to push you further, to fuck you even better than he ever did.

He needed to fight for the relationship, fight for you.

It was then that an idea popped into his mind. A game. Something as twisted as it was intimate, something that would push the two of you into new territory that would push him toward the satisfaction he so desperately sought.

Hide and seek.

He knew it was probably a sick idea, a really sick one, but the way the thought consumed him, how it gripped his mind, and how the mere idea of hunting you down in a dark room with nothing but his filthy thoughts and a knife made his cock throb was impossible to ignore, especially after weeks feeling like shit, like a failure as a partner.

The truth was, Mattheo couldn’t stop himself—not when every nerve in his body burned with the desperate need for the satisfaction he craved and not when he finally found a way to solve his problems. He couldn't let you slip away, not when you were the only one who ever mattered to him.

He’d spent way too much time drowning in frustration, feeling his satisfied façade crumble, feeling the control he valued so much slip through his fingers like fucking sand.

But this—this fucked-up, twisted game—was how he’d take it all back. How he’d finally feel in control again, finallyfeel like he had all of you exactly where, to him, you truly belonged. To remind himself that you were still his—to wreck, to ruin, and to use however he wanted.

And that thought alone sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins.

So Mattheo approached you with caution, whispering sweet but fake words to tempt you, tracing his thumb along your thigh, offering you a false sense of security that he was waiting to take away. Looking into your eyes, almost pleading, begging for the uncertainty to finally leave them.

He offered you space to process what he wanted, making you think you had a choice, even though he knew he had already pushed you toward a thing you couldn’t refuse. And when you finally said yes, satisfaction washed over him, and he wasted no time pushing you into the game.

The small room was dim, with the only light coming through the large crystal windows. The setting afternoon sun streamed through the colored glass, casting soft, vibrant hues over the dusty old furniture and the cold stone walls. Strangely, it brought an odd sense of comfort and freedom to a space that otherwise felt heavy and stifling with what was happening inside.

The room was silent except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his slow, deliberate steps. Somewhere in the darkened corners, Mattheo moved like a shadow, his fingers wrapped around the cool silver of the knife, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

He wasn’t rushing—no, he wanted to savor this, to draw it out for as long as possible, and he knew that even if you couldn’t see him, a part of you could feel him and listen to his footsteps.

You were in the other corner of the room, your back pressed against the edge of an old desk, the cool wood biting your skin through the fabric of your shirt, your breath was shallow as you tried to stay as quiet as possible, determined not to catch Mattheo’s attention. The dim light filtering through the colored glass windows barely reached you; keeping you concealed in the shadows was the only advantage in this twisted game.

Every inch of your body felt wired, tense, your pulse quickening with each passing second, yet you could feel your pussy starting to get wet with anticipation of being haunted.

“Sweetheart.” He called in a purr, his voice smooth, slicing through the silence. It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d given you time to hide and entered the room, and you couldn’t help but press your hand to your chest, trying to steady your racing heart. “You’re hiding well... it’s almost cute, really.” Mattheo’s words were filled with mockery as he moved his head around, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room, searching for any sign of you.

He stopped near a bookshelf, casually flipping the knife between his fingers, the blade gliding effortlessly with every lazy movement. His dark brown eyes scanned the room, and he held his breath, savoring the familiar, sweet, and addictive scent of your perfume that filled his nostrils, quickening his pulse and making his heart skip a beat with anticipation. Yet, the scent was still too faint, and he knew you were still far from him.

And that made him even more eager to play, to catch you and use you as he wanted.

He tilted his head slightly, straining to catch any sound, but the room remained silent, save for the faint rustle of old books settling on the shelves and the distant hum of the castle beyond. Mattheo chuckled to himself. You were good—too fucking good for your own good. He couldn’t hear a thing. No sharp inhale, no shift of weight against the wooden floor, nothing to give you away. And he couldn’t help but feel a strange sensation of pride.

A slow, cruel smirk curled at the corners of his lips as he tapped the flat side of the knife against his palm, the sound barely breaking the silence of the stone walls. You were making this interesting—dragging it out, pushing him to the edge, making him hard, testing his patience. But patience? That was never his strong suit, and it never would be.

Mattheo’s footsteps echoed faintly as he began to move again, the knife still shifting between his fingers with that unnerving ease. His eyes scanned the room attentively, every inch of it, studying the shadows, waiting for the slightest slip—a twitch, a breath, the faintest shift in the air that would give you away.

But nothing did.

You held your breath even longer, your hand pressing against your chest as your fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt in a futile attempt to steady yourself against the nervousness that made your heart pound violently against your ribs—and the need now pulsing deep in your now wet cunt.

“Are you trembling right now, aren’t you?” His voice was a quiet hiss, the words almost dripping with a twisted amusement that sent another shiver down your spine. You could hear the satisfaction in his tone, his words dripping with that familiar sense of control. “Holding your breath? Hoping I’ll just walk right past you?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the voice in your head cursed as you felt his footsteps drawing closer, desperately trying to control the frantic pulse of your throbbing cunt.

Despite Mattheo’s footsteps, the room felt too still, too quiet—like you were holding onto every second, every inch of space between you and him. But he still could smell you, your scent growing stronger with every passing moment, enough to make his pants tighten around his cock, and then he finally could hear the faintest breath that made his blood burn with desire through his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to push you, to see you crack, to take this game further until you bleed.

His hand clenched tighter around the knife, the grip intensifying as he took another step, shaking his head violently to refocus on the task… breaking you? Well, that could come later.

He was going to make sure of it.

Your breathing quickened with the adrenaline, your heart pounding violently against your ribs as his footsteps grew louder, the vicious scent of his cologne intensifying with his proximity. You gripped the fabric of your skirt between your trembling fingers in a futile attempt to calm your nerves and to stop the excitement that was now dripping between your legs, hardening your nipples.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re close; I can feel it.” Mattheo’s voice came out sweet, and you knew that was the exact opposite of the intentions that had him searching for you so eagerly. “You’re really making me work for it, huh?” He asked, gently squeezing the knife in his palm, the weak lights of the room casting the shadow of the metal on the wall in front of you. “Cute.”

You cringed at the falsely sweet tone his voice carried as you tried to hold your breath even tighter, bringing your trembling knees to your chest in a nearly stupid effort to stop your pussy from growing even wetter at the sound of his manipulative words.

Mattheo stopped suddenly, his brown eyes flicking across the big dark room, narrowing slightly as they scanning every corner for any sign of you. His fingers toyed with the knife, the blade catching the light as he stood still, trying to hear even the smallest sound.

He could feel the impatience growing, clawing at him, but it didn’t dull the ache in his cock—in fact, it only made him harder. The thrill of catching you, of fucking you into the oblivion, made the excitement burn even more.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, love,” he said again, his voice rougher than before, almost like a threat. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’s going to be for you.” He chuckled low, sending a shiver down your spine, and your heart raced even faster than it already was.

You glanced up at the ceiling, noticing how his shadow was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He was getting closer to your hiding spot, making you instinctively rub your legs together in a desperate attempt to ease the heat growing between them.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, his impatience growing as he scanned the room once more, searching for any shadow that might betray your position.

When no sign appeared, he sighed again, this time with a touch of irritation; the silence was starting to get to him, but it didn’t last long, because a wicked idea flashed in his mind, and a cruel smirk curled on his lips, and in an instant, he slammed his foot against the wooden floor with all his strength.

The loud sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed through the empty room, so sharp against the silence that without thinking, without noticing, you jumped back, slamming into the table behind you. The movement was small but enough to knock over a stack of books, which crashed to the floor, the noise even louder than his footsteps.

You couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath, realizing the mistake you’d made, your heart nearly leaping out of your throat.

Mattheo stopped instantly, a low chuckle slipping from his lips as he tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. His eyes locked onto the spot where the books had fallen, and a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. He tilted his head mockingly, his gaze glinting with amusement when he caught a small glimpse of your head peeking out from behind the desk where you were hiding from him.

Without giving you a chance to run, he moved toward you swiftly, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls, blending with your shallow, frantic breathing, and before you could even blink, Mattheo was right there, standing over you like you were nothing but his goddamn prey.

“Finally found you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, the way he said “sweetheart” making it clear he was loving every second of your discomfort. His eyes never left yours, and he could feel his pants tightening around his hard cock as the panic in your eyes grew.

Oh, there it was—the excitement he had been craving for so long.

You swallowed hard, your hand gripping the edge of the table you were leaning on for support, trying to ignore the dampness already soaking through your panties and the way his eyes were still locked onto your body, his fingers casually playing with the small knife in his hand as you stood in front of him.

“Yeah, i guess you found me” you said, your voice shaky as you tried to steady your shaky legs. “Satisfied now?” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though all it did was make his twisted smirk grow even wider.

Mattheo took a final step, standing right in front of you. His free hand landed on your hip, his grip so tight it would surely leave a bruise. The coldness of his palm against your warm skin made you shiver involuntarily, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, knowing laugh at the way your body reacted to him, your pussy tightening at the rough, throaty noise.

It was always like this, always—you trying to hold your ground while your trembling legs threatened to give out, even if you tried to resist the urge to drop to your knees right in front of him, you trying to challenge him, when in reality, all you wanted was to have your wet pussy filled with his big cock and feel him pump you full of his cum.

The same thing happened each and every time, regardless of how you two fucked, and he felt dumb for ever thinking that this time would be different.

Still, he wasn't complaining, since it made the game much more entertaining.

“No, not yet,” he whispered, leaning forward, your faces so close that his warm breath brushed against your skin. His free hand massaged your hip gently, his thumb stroking your skin in a way that was both mocking and soft, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs.

Mattheo’s hand left your hip, his fingers tangling in your hair with a strength that had you gasping in surprise as he yanked your face closer to his.

His breath mingled with yours—hot—and you could feel the press of his hard cock against you; still, he kept his lips just out of reach, teasing you. “Be a good girl,” he whispered, the words almost a command. “Show me your tongue, love.”

“And why?” you asked, your voice trembling as you tried to keep your composure, but it was impossible. The air between you thickened as he pushed his hips forward, his clothed cock pressing against the top of your panties, making you whimper.

“Show. Me. Your. Fucking. Tongue.” He repeated like a command, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you even closer. The grip on your scalp made a sudden soft escape your lips—somewhere between a moan and a whimper. “Now.” He ordered, and you quickly opened your mouth, your wet muscle sliding out to meet him, and you felt his cock throbbing harder against you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised you almost softly, and before you could react, he stuck his own tongue out of his mouth and gave yours a slow, tentative lick, making you shiver and whine with the contact, and then before you could even open your eyes again, he crashed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, full of teeth and tongue.

You moan into the kiss, feeling your tongues roughly clash against each other, teeth hitting with an brutal force as you taste each other’s lips, almost as if you were claiming again a territory that had belonged to both of you for a long time.

Your lips moved against each other in a frantic and aggressive rhythm, your tongues so intertwined that neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began. Mattheo let out a low groan, his cock growing even harder as the kiss deepened, and his grip on your hair loosened just enough for his hand to slide under your skirt.

He grabbed the flesh of your ass tightly, squeezing it tightly with a strength that would surely leave a mark before yanking you forward, grinding your hips against his, forcing you to feel the full weight of his hard cock pressing against you.

“Such a good fucking ass,” Mattheo growled against your mouth, fingers digging harshly into your ass as he thrust his hips into you, the rough friction making you whimper against his lips, your cunt dripping from the pressure alone.

He could already feel his damn frustration fading away, little by little.

His hand tightened on your ass, pulling you closer, making you gasp at the sudden pressure. Before you could react with another whine, you felt his teeth bite your bottom lip, breaking the skin enough to make the taste of your blood linger in both of your tongues. He grunted in satisfaction, savoring the familiar taste, and you felt how hard he was pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

Without warning, he slapped your ass sharply, the impact leaving you surprised, a mark of his fingers on your sensitive skin. Almost immediately, he gave another slap, this one softer but still enough for the sting to make you shudder, biting down on your already bloodied lip.

Mattheo moved away from your body a little bit, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he kept just enough distance to leave you yearning for more, wanting him to finally fuck you the way he intended there and then. His pupils were dilated as he looked at you, and you met his gaze, agitated and breathless.

"Mattheo, please!" you pleaded, trying to ignore the pain on your lip, your brow wrinkled slightly due to the lack of friction you were experiencing. Yet, he only laughed, mocking you, finding it amusing that you were nearly as frustrated as he had been previously.

“Oww, are you anxious, sweetheart?” He blinked, pretending innocence, the hand that had been gripping your skin now tucking a stray lock of your messy hair behind your ear in a mockingly sweet gesture. “Poor, poor girl…” he taunted you, his eyes drifting to the small blade in his free hand, anxiously waiting to mark your skin.

He already had the prey; he only needed to cut it.

Mattheo pressed the flat edge of the knife against his palm, his grip tightening as he slowly dragged it down your skin. A shiver raced through you, and you held your breath as the cold, sharp blade grazed your sensitive flesh.

“What you’re trying to do?” you asked, your voice shaky as you watched the knife press harder against your skin.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed your back against his chest, your feet stumbling to catch up as he dragged you with him. His arm locked around your stomach, keeping you pressed to him, making your head spin, and a soft gasp escaped your bruised lips when you felt his hard cock pressed against your ass.

Mattheo’s grip tightened around your waist, his chest resting against your back as he roughly pushed you into that position, giving him a better view of your ass. Another gasp escaped your lips when you felt his hand slide up to your throat, his fingers tightening around your skin, almost like a reminder of who was in control. Who the fucking prey was.

“Stay fucking still,” he breathed against your ear, his breath hot as he continued to press his clothed hard cock against you, and you obey, trying to ignore the pain of his grip tightening around your neck.

Your pulse hammered under his strong grip, your throat tightening as you swallowed, yet Mattheo only tightened his hold in response, his satisfaction growing with every painful whimper that escaped your lips and every shudder that ran through your already weak legs.

His other hand—the one holding the sharp knife—moved slowly down your stomach, the handle brushing against your skin as he slid the blade lower and lower. Mattheo couldn’t help but smirk even more as he felt your body tremble again and again, his cock pulsing, sensing the way you seemed to shrink back against him.

Mattheo was savoring every second of it, watching you squirm, watching the nerves take over, watching you hold your breath, waiting for the inevitable pain. That was what he wanted, what he needed—to regain control, to own you. You, the one who held his heart in your hands like it was nothing. If he controlled you, you could never hurt him, never break his heart, never crush it with your touch. So, he was just taking the safe option.

Control you before you even realize you were controlling him.

In a swift move, he yanked your skirt and panties down, exposing the soft flesh of your ass even more and your wet folds to the cold air. The sudden vulnerability made your stomach twist in a mix of nervousness and anticipation, but you barely had time to process it before Mattheo thrust one of his knees between your legs, forcing your thighs to open wider, giving him a clear view of your cunt.

“Such a perfect little pussy…” He whispered against your ear, his breath sending goosebumps down your body. “Hands on the table. Now,” he ordered. His hand remained firm on your neck, choking you, his voice dripping with dark mockery, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. And he did. He knew, and he planned to use it all to his own advantage.

His fingers clenched around your neck more tightly when you hesitated, pressing with such force that you choked slightly—the gesture almost like a silent warning.

"You really think you can disobey me, slut?" He whispered, letting out a dark, dry laugh as he rubbed his covered length on your bare cunt, causing you to whine. “You know better than to piss me the fuck off. Especially when I have a knife in my hand. Don’t fucking test me.”

You followed the command, stifling a moan as his hands tightened around your neck, your shaking hands resting on the wooden surface, your fingers turning white from the pressure.

Mattheo hummed in approval, rocking his hips harder against you, and you instinctively rolled your ass against him, eager for more contact, his grip on your neck loosened just enough for his thumb to caress your jaw—mocking, almost caring.

Then, he finally pressed the cold blade into your ass, and you held your breath, feeling your heart slamming against your ribs.

He muttered, "Stay still," and bit down on your ear. You leaned into him—into the pain—knowing that this would be the closest thing to comfort he’d ever offer you in that moment.

And just when you let yourself relax a little on his grip, the first cut came.

Your eyes snapped shut with the new contact, and you trembled as the pain of your skin being sliced open hit you. Mattheo let out a chuckle, his cock throbbing harder at the sound of your whimpers and the sight of your eager, exposed pussy.

He pressed the blade harder, dragging it slowly and painfully across your skin, cutting through the soft flesh of your ass, still marked by his slaps.

Another shock of pain coursed through your whole body, and you let out a soft whimper, trying to move instinctively. But Mattheo’s grip on your neck only tightened, keeping you locked in place.

He wasn’t going to let you escape, not now that he was so close to getting what he wanted, to the satisfaction he was craving.

“Shhh, it’s just a game. Stay still, or you’ll make it worse.” His fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your breath enough to make you struggle against his hold. Your head spun, your body fighting for breath, but strangely the adrenaline only turned you on more.

Reluctantly, you gave in, your fingers loosening their grip on the table as you allowed yourself to sink into his hold.

“Just like that, let me take care of you.” His voice dripped with false sweetness, but you let yourself fall for it, ignoring the burning pain in your marked ass as you tried to convince yourself it was worth it.

Mattheo dragged the knife further down, the cold blade scraping roughly over your skin, cutting into you and leaving a trail of blood behind before it finally tore through your flesh. You bit your lip hard, fighting back the scream clawing at your sore throat, your legs instinctively parting, offering him a clearer view of your dripping folds.

This time, it wasn’t just a cut—it was a permanent mark.

“Mine.”

The final stroke completed the “e,” and with each precise cut, you felt the heat of your own blood dripping down the curve of your ass, making your legs tremble more and more. The pain was sharp, but it made your heart race violently against your ribcage in a way you couldn’t explain; and yet his heartbeat mirrored yours, as if, after everything, he had finally regained control over you again.

Mattheo step back slightly, his hand loosening around your neck as he looked at the mess he’d made. He watched as your blood poured down your ass, staining your skin, tracing the deep cuts in thick, red lines. His eyes then moved lower, taking in the sight of your pussy pulsing with need, as if it were calling for him.

Fuck, he wanted to fuck your pussy so bad.

He placed the knife down slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he felt his cock straining against the zipper of his pants, watching your chest rise and fall, and your nipples pressed against the fabric of your shirt. His hand slid down to your ass, his fingers tracing the bloodstained marks, feeling the warm liquid collect beneath his nails.

Mattheo licked his lips before bringing his fingers to his mouth eagerly, sucking them clean, licking with the taste, savoring the metallic taste, as if, absorbing it as if by magic, your blood would mix with his.

“Your blood tastes so fucking good,” he muttered, sucking harder on his fingers. You blinked slowly, trying to keep the tears from spilling down your cheeks.

After one last slow lick of his fingers, Mattheo holds you again, a groan escaping his throat as he looks at your dripping cunt, and without wasting another second, he freed his hard cock from his pants, and with a single thrust, he slid himself inside your pussy.

“Ah, fuck!” You cried out in surprise as Mattheo's rigid cock entered you without warning, the force of his penetration making you almost sob. Yet instead of pulling back, he drove himself deeper, relishing the way your tight pussy clamped down on his throbbing cock. A low moan rumbled in his chest as he felt the familiar sensation of your inner walls around him.

“Even after all these months, you're still so fucking tight.” Mattheo groaned against your ear, his hips slamming against yours, the brutal force causing the blood pooling in your ass to trickle down and coat his skin. Each thrust pushing him deeper into your cunt, until the head of his cock was almost kissing your cervix, making your tender folds throb with the strange pleasure.

Fuck, he has been begging for this for months. Months begging for control, for satisfaction, and it was finally there; it was finally in his hands.

His hand tightened around your neck, making it hard to breathe, but he didn’t care. He only drove his cock deeper into you, forcing a loud moan from your lips as the pain from the fresh cuts burned through your skin, leaving you no chance to speak, no chance to even gasp his name.

You were almost certain that if he choked you just a little longer, or five more times, maybe even less, you’d be completely out of air—left to die right there with his cock still buried inside you.

But even though you couldn’t say his name or form a single coherent word, that didn’t stop the loud, desperate moans from spilling out of your bruised lips, your cries turning into broken, incoherent pleas as his grip on your throat tightened, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Yeah, just like that—moan like a fucking slut for me,” he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His large palm slid over your stomach, pressing you even harder against his muscular chest, forcing your fresh cuts to rub painfully against his bare pelvis. The sharp sting made you bite your lip to stifle a cry, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table as another type of pain spread through you.

The pain only pushed you closer to your orgasm.

Mattheo’s grip on your neck tightened, making it almost impossible for you to breathe, let alone moan. His hot breath ghosted over your ear as he fucked your pussy with deep, brutal thrusts, each one so relentless that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow. Yet you didn’t say anything letting him chase what he needed.

“Only letting go of your throat when you fucking come like a bitch, sweetheart.” Mattheo moaned in your ear, his hips fucking you faster, burying himself to the hilt as he felt your walls clenching around his dick, signaling your climax. He knew that his own release was close, but he refused to acknowledge it, determined to push you over the edge first like a sick competition he was playing alone.

With three more thrusts, both you and Mattheo felt your pussy clamp down around his rigid length, your whimpering cries echoing through the room as you came, making him grunt in satisfaction. He finally loosened his grip on your throat, allowing you to gasp in relief, but he didn’t stop. He slammed into you one final time before his release hit him like a wave, his cock pulsing violently, spilling his hot cum deep inside your cunt.

After a moment of silence, Mattheo carefully pulled his cock out of your pussy, his breath still ragged as he watched his cum spill out of your hole, then he gently traced his fingers over the “mine” carved into your skin, brushing the marks softly, almost reverently, as if he was looking at a piece of art. The satisfaction he craved now has a permanent mark on you.

“Are you good now?” you asked softly, feeling the exhaustion take over your features as you tried to steady yourself and keep your eyes open despite the pleasant pain.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on your bruised neck before whispering, “You can say that, sweetheart.”

© mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

hate this shit, the smut sucks but the idea is good, bye bye.

thank you to my girl @bucksplum for helping with the last paragraphs, i love you a lot <3

it’s 4 am so if you want to be rude, i will visit you in your nightmares or worse… (tomorrow i might edit better…or not

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

[codegeassfacts]

A Collection of Code Geass Season 1 Informations from Various Sources and Interviews // Canon

I've reunited in there all of the various information I couldn't fit into full fleshed out post and only kept the one with sources (that mostly came for Celiss Galvea Geass legacy), that were mentionned in various corner of the web, so there might be some missing as I don't want to share rumors/unconfirmed material. You'll be able to find the same similar Collection for R2 right there.

The title “Code Geass” was a fairly last-minute decision (the tentative title was “Lelouch of the Rebellion”) The production team were in a panic over the lack of a proper title; “We need a title to design the title logo!” etc. (ura de net geass!)

An 8 hour meeting was held to determine C.C.’s name and real identity. Supposedly none of the participants ate or drank throughout the whole thing (Okouchi: “Give me something to eat!”) According to Yoshino, whenever he thought the meeting was about to come to an end, someone would start up again and the meeting would continue with no end in sight. XD . (ura de net geass)

The hero wasn't meant to be an anti hero like Lelouch, but an ace pilot, just like in most anime from SUNRISE (Taniguchi/Okouchi Interview)

At first Lelouch had white hair, Shirley had blue hair and the Ashford uniform was red, that's why some old school scans show the characters with those colors.

Kallen's first name was Akira, then Kallen (Mutuality Artbook)

C.C. had a name during the creation phase, it was Sera, but nothing says it stayed the same, in Stage 11, Jun Fukuyama, Lelouch's voice actor actually spoke her real name but they decided to cut his voice during the montage. (Mutuality Artbook + DVD commentary) Yukana's voice work profile also used to say the name of her character in Geass was "Sera/Cera."

There was a classement of the boobies size of the girls of the anime which went out in a magazine and you'd be glad to learn that Milly has the biggest boobs of them all ; Lelouch's mother is a close second and Kallen takes the third spot. (Newtype)

Lelouch's line in Stage 14 when he erases Shirley's memories "if there is another life…" was supposed to end up like that "…let us be lovers" but it was eventually cut out. (Shirley gave the full line in the best phrase award session stage 14 to 25 of the first DVD of season 1)

When asked about a possible romance between Lelouch and C.C.,(During S1) Taniguchi said that for that to happen, Lelouch would need to see C.C. as a human being, for he was currently seeing her as some kind of alien (That's why he was about to take a blood sample in Stage 11) (Newtype interview)

About romance, Taniguchi said there would be romantic devellopment for Lelouch in season 2 and that it was left out of season 1 to focus more on Lelouch's goals (destroy Britannia, happy world for Nunnally) and him setting up his rebellion to avoid complicating matters (pash ! interview )

Kallen's story was moved to R2 when it was announced they'd be getting a season 2, that's why she became less present within the second half of season 1 (Fake Okouchi interview)

Suzaku isn't a virgin and is said to be experienced, but we don't know who the lucky girl was ; We know his first love was an older woman, that's probably why he had some form of relationship with Cecile, even if she'll be more of a big sister than a lady mama for him eventually. (Commentary DVD of Turn 19)

Zero was meant to kiss Kallen at the end of the first season to give her courage and determination after being shaken up; she was meant to remember the scene during a fight, but the kiss was removed because Season 2 was coming and a lot of arrangments had to be made around Stage 20 (Megami Magazine /Fake Okouchi)

Kallen doesnt know how to cook, if she tries to make bread, it will turn into ashes; (Kallen's character information given to her seiyuu, Ami Koshimizu)

Jeremiah was meant to die at the beginning of season 1 but he had so much popularity within the staff (and in 2ch) that they chose to bring him back to life. Twice. (Taniguchi interview)

Zero was one of the first character to be created, Okouchi wanted a masked man because a Sunrise anime without a masked man didn't seemed right (Taniguchi x Okhawa Interview)

In case the sequel wasn’t greenlighted (they already received the OK for it back in December 2007 at least), they had an alternative route prepared for the story to take, one which would have ended the story in episode 23. It would have been a non-conclusive ending though; according to Taniguchi it was more of a “psychological” ending for Lelouch like the Evangelion Ending (Taniguchi Interview)

Kawaguchi said Lelouch had Euphemia phone number on his phone because they certainly exchanged their numbers when they met on the deserted Island. (Ura de net Geass)

Mao’s repetitive clapping didn’t exist in the scripting stages; Taniguchi was the one who later added it to make him “more annoying”. (Ura de Net Geass)

Originally, Toudou was supposed to join Lelouch’s side much earlier. They talked about the Diethard and Toudou shot in the ED. All were baffled by it; Conclusion: “Only Taniguchi knows.” (Ura de Net Geass)

Stage 19 was written by Yoshino ; supposedly he requested to do it, saying “Oh well, if (Okouchi) wants me to write a script, I might as well do the island arc.” (he’s more or less the fanservice supervisor for this show) According to him (and the Newtype Taniguchi + Fu-kuyama interview), this was how Lelouch’s trap was supposed to work: Lelouch successfully digs a proper hole –> However, a boar appears behind him –> Lelouch tries to Geass it: “Lelouch Vi Britannia orders you to SIT!” –> Geass doesn’t work on animals –> Lulu Quality Tragedy ; However, Taniguchi changed it all, telling Yoshino: “Well, in the first place, Lelouch isn’t capable of digging such a hole…” (Ura de net Geass)

The reason why the writers made Kallen stand on Gawain’s shoulder instead of getting into the two-seater cockpit with Lelouch in Stage 19: “There’s no way Kallen will hand over the 2nd-pilot position to anyone else once she’s in there.” Good point. (Ura de Net Geass)

According to Tanaka, right after the airing of Stage 22, three of his friends rang him up asking “What the hell was that? I need to know what happens next!” etc...; According to Kawaguchi, “some of the viewers may have been satisfied with the handshake in episode 22, but actually, a lot more people would have been upset…” (Ura de net Geass)

After episode 23, the production team received letters from fans saying “Okouchi is so evil”, “Dark Okouchi” etc, and he didn't liked that (Ura de Net Geass)

Discarded Season 1 plotlines :

Kallen's father was first hinted as being someone important by Okouchi, when he claimed his occupation couldn't be revealed back in March 2007 (Okouchi 28 questions interview from Animage)

Suzaku was meant to have an unrequited love, and it was hinted as being an important subplot back in the day ; The hints strongly pointed at Nunnally. (Fake Okouchi)

Suzaku was meant to be linked to Geass, that's why he reacted to C.C. and to the ruins in Kamine Island, in relation to his superhuman abilities; He didn't had a Geass though (perfect Stage Mook Interview)

Cecile's seiyuu said her character had a "painful sibling relationship" in the past, and she was allowed to reveal that because it wasn't going to appear anymore within the show. Cecile's relationship to Suzaku was basically discarded) A scene with Suzaku was also seemingly cut out from Stage 20 (Magazine preview back in S1.) * What happened to Naoto (Kallen's brother) ; The writers considered bringing him back but then couldn't find a place and decided to let him stay dead (Audio commentary Stage 4 + perfect Stage mook interview)

That's about it for the various miscellanous information I could find for the first season; Now that I have gotten several of those magazines, expect more full blown articles from those whenever I'll have more time.

Hope you enjoyed.

[r4m1el]

can you tell i like the classpect system and fixated on nothing else besides maybe trolls

Bro you’re scaring the hoes with your cringe crossover aus

[cupcakedieabetes]

DPXDC PROMPT: DEMON TWINS, BUT DANYAL NEVER REVIVED

Imagine Danyal never getting revived by the Pits after he had to battle Damian to the death. Ra's instantly destroys the body at the last breath that Danyal takes because he knows that his daughter will have a moment of weakness and he wasn't willing to let a weak one live. I'd like to put them around the ages of 5-6 ish.

Damian thought it was normal, and treated everything as fine because it was always expected of him. His twin was the weaker one after all. All emotional and soft despite the training. He has never called his brother "Akhi" bc he was weak and refused to acknowledge him as a brother

Meanwhile, Talia was grieving her son. Danyal who was just like his father where the people in League would call weak because he was reluctant to kill and was very soft at heart. That's when she made plans to remove her only remaining child from the League and overtake her father.

So Damian was sent off to his father.

Now, Danyal Al Ghul has been reincarnated into Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. He was born and raised in the Fenton's family and has no idea about his past life.

Now, I kind of want Danny to get turned into a ghost at a younger age. Maybe age 10 so Damian would be 16, so there would be an age gap of 5-6 years.

Damian has lived with the Waynes for years now. When he was younger, he didn’t and had never regretted killing his brother. After all, was it a surprise that the moment he entered the Manor, he tried killing Tim? He had already killed one brother, more over his own blood, so what is another, if not an inferior one due to having no relation to him at all?

But now, he regrets it so much. But it's been years, and he barely even remembers Danyal's face. He didn’t tell his family bc he didn't want them to grieve over a family that was long dead. That was practically destroyed the moment he died, so there was nothing left of him. He has no memories of his brother either, only his name, so how could he offer comfort to the other bats when he couldn’t even tell some stories about him either?

The bats are now tied up by a cult, and Damian was in the center of the sacrificial circle.

The cult was summoning someone of Damian's deceased family or something like plot convenience for a summoning. To use them to fight against the bats bc how sad it would be bc they would have to fight against a dead family member that was controlled by them. Damian was struggling bc it could be anyone from the League.

Then, to his horror, it was his brother who was summoned. He was suspended in the air in a fetal position asleep, but he appeared transparent with a tail.

"Danyal" He said, horrified. He appeared older for some reason, but the instant he was summoned, he knew it was him.

Batman, who was trying to reach for Damian, stared at the sleeping ghost. He appeared similar to Damian and his mind did the mental math. He didn’t know exactly when did the ghost died, but judging by his age, he looked to be about the age Damian came to the Manor. And judging by how anguished Damian looked, he came to the right conclusion that the ghost was Damian's brother, his son.

He mourned. This was simultaneously the oldest and the youngest he would have ever seen.

That is also what the rest of the bat thinks and comes to the conclusion of. They broke out of their restrains due to fury and stuff, and the circle is erased, the ghost gone before they had a chance to use him against them.

Meanwhile, (pre-Ghost King maybe) Danny just jolted in bed, confused about what happened bc he had a feeling he turned into a ghost. But he shrugged it off and went back to sleep.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VIII

series masterlist - part seven

Pairing - Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary - The pot finally boils over.

Warnings - 18+, minors dni, historical inaccuracies, mentions of injured animals, reader is briefly intoxicated, dub-con, forced proximity, obsessive/possessive/unhealthy relationships & behavior, biting, dirty talk, reader is traumatized, alcohol consumption, violence depicted, blood, gore, vomit, slight breeding kink

Word Count - 5.4k

The cuffs on your wrists felt unnatural and heavy. They were not unlike the cuffs that slaves wore to signal who they belonged to, although yours were dotted with jewels and made with solid gold.

They had a matching necklace; a big, chunky thing that made you feel as though you were about to topple over. The jewelry paired with the fine clothing made you feel unrecognizable. Anyone who looked at you would not assume you had once been a simple worker.

The crowd roared with excitement and the sound created a buzz in your ears. Never had you thought you would have to endure the games again; once had been more than enough for you. Now, not only were you being forced to watch the games, you would be doing so from a prime viewing position.

It could have been your imagination but you felt as though you could already smell the scent of blood in the air. Cloying, suffocating. You reached up a hand to adjust the necklace and quickly dropped it when Geta side-eyed you.

You had thought the games would distract them from you. Their attention had become even harder to shake since your room had been destroyed. Crushed under the weight of it, you were desperate for a break that would not come.

Once again you had been placed on a wooden chair, but this time it was between the seats of the emperors. A position of honor. You wanted to tear the jewellery from your body and flee, disappear into the crowd and become invisible once more.

Occasionally you would catch the eye of someone in the crowd. You were getting used to receiving that same pondering look from everyone you saw. They wanted to know who you were, why you were sitting with the emperors, why their hands were all over you.

It was as if they were stripping you of you past, moulding you into someone who was more suitable. Dressing you up as they would a prized doll. Jewelry, clothes - there was even a smearing of kohl on your outer lids.

Would your friends recognize you if they saw you now?

The emperors were dripping in luxury. Draped with expensive clothing with the most intricate of patterns and colors you could not even name; you couldn't help but admire them up close. They looked every bit the gods you had believed them to be.

Caracalla's enthusiasm was palpable. He kept yanking you close to his side, pointing out things in the crowd or regaling you with tales of past games. You nodded numbly through his explanations, too wrapped up in your own nerves.

Geta was unusually twitchy and it took you a moment to realise that he, too, was eager for the games to begin. Your hands clenched around the fan you had been given and you glanced over your shoulder, at Lucilla and her husband.

General Acacius was striking man. Tall, muscular and certainly handsome. Together, he and Lucilla made an impressive couple.

Geta leaned close and hissed, "Is there something particularly interesting back there?"

"I have never seen a General before," you said stiffly, returning your attention back to the arena.

Geta's lips twisted and he placed a warm hand on your thigh, squeezing.

The crowd adored Acacius. Geta instructed him to speak and he did so, offering a few coarse words before returning to his seat beside his wife. Geta and Caracalla earned similar applause, likely because of the food that had been provided. People were all too easy to please.

With that, the games began.

Your face tightened as several men rode out on exotic animals, swiping and slashing at the gladiators to thunderous applause. It seemed such a waste - both of human and animal life. You snapped open your fan and attempted to breath steadily.

Caracalla pushed a cup of wine into your hands and you drank it down in its entirety. It was more potent that what you were used to and you leaned heavily on the side of Geta's throne, exploring the bitter taste in your mouth.

Both emperors were enraptured by the games. When the first man died you gasped, craning your neck to watch him flail in the sand. Red blossomed around him and it felt as though it took hours for him to finally go still.

The smells were getting to you. Blood, filthy men and animals. You stuck your nose into another cup of wine and attempted to drink slowly.

"That gladiator is talented, is he not?" Geta asked.

"Certainly," Caracalla agreed.

You felt their eyes on you, gauging your level of interest. You busied yourself with another cup of wine, drinking it down in big gulps. You felt nervous and yearned for a distraction. You had found one in the bottom of your cup.

Once your cup was empty Geta signalled for it to be filled again. Your hand trembled as the attendant topped up your cup. You stared at the woman and she finally met your gaze and dipped her head.

"My lady," she said.

You breathed slowly out of your nose. You were so far from a lady it was comical. Could no one else see that? Could they not feel it the way you felt it?

Caracalla pinched your waist. "My lady," he cackled. "You certainly look the part."

"It is all thanks to the generosity of my emperors," you smiled tightly.

Caracalla's attention was pulled from you once more when the crowd cried out. He got to his feet, pressed himself to the edge of the box for a better look.

Geta eyed you, an unfamiliar look on his face. "You are going to be drunk by the end of this if you continue."

"I am thirsty," you lied.

It had been an age since you had last been drunk. And never off of something so exquisite. The wine drowned out the roars of the crowd and the squealing of injured animals.

Miserable, you scanned the crowd. How could they dislike the emperors when they, too, were so bloodthirsty? As long as it was not theirs, they did not care. How was that any different to Geta or Caracalla?

Nauseous, you finally set down your cup. It would not do to make yourself physically sick.

Geta ran and finger down your inner arm before entwining his hand with yours. The physical affection startled you and you would have moved if you didn't feel so suddenly ill.

He called for a refill - of water this time. He used his free hand to push the cup into yours, telling you to drink.

"Fool," he shook his head, "you should not have drank so quickly. Now sit up and look amused."

You did your best to sit up straight and do as he had ordered. Whenever you began to shiver or look away his hand would tighten on yours ever so slightly. You were almost grateful; the last thing you wanted to do was humiliate yourself in front of any curious onlookers.

Even shaded from the sun you felt hot. So many heaving bodies pressed together generated almost unbearable heat, even from your position in the emperor's box.

An hour slipped lazily by. You felt every moment of it even in your drunken state. Men died below you like flies. The crowd devoured every death until they became meaningless.

It took a moment for you to realise why Geta was getting to his feet. The games were almost over. There was one man standing and another on his knees. Both were bloodied and dirty, sweating in the hot sun.

The winner looked up to Geta for his answer. Geta paced for a moment, palms upturned as though asking for guidance from the gods. It looked real enough from where you sat; you could not imagine how he appeared to those in the crowd.

Geta held out his hand, shaking as though coursing with power. You stilled, leaning forward. What would he decide? What would the gods decide?

When Geta flipped up his thumb you nearly vomited with relief. The crowd went wild, rising to their feet and screaming for the hero in the arena. Relief - albeit temporary. The man would likely meet his death before he earned his freedom.

Your feet felt unsteady as you attempted to get up. Geta saw you sway and locked your elbows together, jerking his head at Caracalla who appeared on your other side.

If you spoke to Lucilla or Acacius you did not remember it. The emperors were doing a good job of making it look like you weren't about to spill all over the floor. You leaned heavily on them, teetering down the steps like a newborn babe.

The journey back to the palace felt torturous. Geta's hands wandered, encouraged by your inebriated state. His rings were cool against your skin and you welcomed his touch, sagging into his side. Pleased with your reaction, he peppered tiny kisses behind your ear whilst scolding you for drinking so much alcohol.

Geta's forwardness would have been startling if not for your current state. The heat of the afternoon sun combined with the wine was making you delirious.

Once you were back in the confines of Geta's rooms, Caracalla placed a smacking kiss on your lips.

"You taste of wine," he commented, squeezing your chin. He leaned in for another kiss, relishing the taste.

You took a step back, evading Caracalla's grabbing hands. He pouted and followed, hands tight at your waist. You swayed in his arms, letting your head drop onto his shoulder. The jewelry he wore dug into your forehead but you felt paralysed.

"I am not well," you moaned.

"Poor girl," Caracalla cooed, hands cupping your ass. "She cannot hold her wine, brother."

He released you and you sank to the floor, curling into a ball and breathing heavily through your nose to ward of the nausea. Foolish indeed.

You could hear Caracalla and Geta arguing but it barely registered. Your thoughts turned slow and syrupy and you succumbed to the alluring lull of wine-fueled dreams.

Sleep was filled with feverish dreams. Crowns of golden laurels, soft hands, red hair. You awoke sweating, dizzy and alone.

Staggering to the table, you poured yourself a cup of water. It went down smoothly, soothing your throat. Geta's rooms were empty and you were, for once, blissfully alone.

The cuffs had left indents in your skin and you hissed as you pulled them off, followed by the chunky necklace. You rubbed at your neck, absentmindedly tracing the patterns it had left on your skin.

You poured yourself another glass, lowering yourself to the floor in a sitting position. The sky had darkened considerably since you had slept and it left you feeling disorientated.

Lifting your hand to your eyes, you patted gingerly at the corners, pulling away to see kohl still on your fingers.

You no longer felt entirely fearful around the emperors. There was always a level of uncertainty, naturally, but it was exhausting to constantly be afraid. They would always be unpredictable and you would never be able to fully understand them but you had come to feel somewhat. . .secure.

You did not know what you had done to deserve this. Both the positive and the negative.

Your days all blurred together in a smear of gold and red. They had inserted themselves in your life - or, rather, forced you into theirs.

They could still have you killed at any moment. The way Geta had looked at you when he caught you staring at Acacius had turned your stomach. How far would you have to push to have the full brunt of that aggression turned on you?

Their violence was something you had to keep reminding yourself of. You had seen it with your own eyes and heard so much worse. Yet it was hard to remember when none of it had been directed at you and it made you feel like a traitor to those who had been beaten bloody and killed on the orders of Geta and Caracalla.

Sighing, you got back to your feet. You put the jewelry back on. It was probably best the emperors did not see you took it off without their permission.

With no one around to tell you otherwise, you left the room under the pretence of searching for the emperors. You needed to get out of Geta's rooms for at least a little while.

There was a Praetorian waiting outside the room. For you, you realised. He told you that the emperors were in a meeting of sorts with Macrinus and that he was to bring you to them once you awoke.

You nodded. "I'd like to go this way, please."

The Praetorian allowed you to lead him the longer way round. He did not comment if he noticed you dragging your feet.

Being trailed by a guard felt strange. It had been enough just to have their eyes on you, now they were ordering others to watch you as well. You did not have it in you to protest. Whatever boundaries you had had been crushed by Geta and Caracalla days ago.

The shadows deepened the longer you walked. Cool air floated through the windows, dusting across your cheeks. The scent of food and smoke was in the air. You inhaled eagerly, a smile forming on your lips. In a moment like this it was simple to pretend everything was normal.

It disappeared as you went further into the palace. Once you entered the entertainment hall you stalled, glancing about at unlit walls. It was an odd place to be when it was empty of revellers.

A thump sounded from behind you and you glanced over your shoulder at the unexpected noise. Everything stopped as the guard fell forward, clutching at his throat and trying to stop the red river that was pouring from it.

He fell to the floor, amour clanking, body spasming. Your mouth parted and you tore your eyes from his body, meeting eyes with the man who had slid up behind him and slit his throat to the bone.

Iron, you thought, it stinks of iron.

There was nothing unusual about him; he looked like any man you would pass in a market or brush shoulders with in the hallway. The only thing that stood out was the knife he held and the serious expression on his face.

"Who - who are you?" you spat out, staggering back.

There were no guards in sight other than the dead one on the floor. Never had you so yearned for the sight of a Praetorian. Your hands twitched at your side, desperate for a weapon of your own.

"It does not matter," he said. "This is nothing to do with me. Or you. Not really."

There was no time to consider his words. He dove at you and you screamed and raised your hands. By some luck the knife glanced off of the cuff and clattered to the floor. The man considered this for only a moment before tackling you to the floor and securing his hands around your throat.

Being choked was more painful that you expected. You could feel the grinding of your bones beneath his hands, the full weight of his upper body being forced down onto such a fragile body part.

You could feel your legs flailing on the floor behind him. Your hands scrabbled at his fingers but you could not get him to release. Finally you turned your attention elsewhere, clawing at his eyes until he gave a shout and released you.

Turning on your stomach, you heaved painful breaths and tried to blink the bleariness out of your eyes, crawling frantically across the floor to reach the dropped knife.

The man swore and, still clutching his right eye, ran past you. You grabbed at his ankles and he fell with an almighty thud.

Each breath felt like agony but you had the knife in your hands. Shaking, you held it with both hands and pointed it at your attacker.

It was him, you thought, he broke my wolf.

This time, when he charged, you were somewhat ready. You swung your arm back and slashed with the knife. Blood splattered over the marble as he wrestled with you for the weapon.

"Please," you sobbed through clenched teeth, "please, please."  

You could not say how it happened. Only that, in one moment the man was on top of you and the next he was looking up, distracted. Sensing a moment of opportunity you slid the blade through his fingers and into the side of his neck.

Free once more, you screamed. The sound was painful and croaky and muffled by blood falling into your open mouth. You turned your head to the side and vomited. You could not tell what was wine and what was blood.

The man fell off to the side, suffocating on his own blood, writhing amongst it.

Everything ached as you struggled to sit up. Your ribs, your wrists, your throat. Your lungs were on fire as you took huge, greedy gulps of air. You would never take it for granted again.

A heavy hand fell on your shoulder and you screamed again, scratching at it and trying to get away.

"Shhh," Geta hauled you up from the floor, "shhh, it's okay."

His eyes were wide and he could not stop looking at you and the men on the floor. There was so much blood. He could not tell how much of it was yours.

"No," you sobbed, "it is not okay. He tried to kill me. I killed him. I killed a man."

Before, you had been so angry at the person who had destroyed your carving. You had thought you wanted to see him dead. And maybe you had - but not by your own hand!

You were covered in his life's essence. It would stain more than your clothes.

"Praetorians!" Geta roared. His entire body was shaking in unbridled rage, you could feel it.

"He killed that Praetorian," you said numbly, pointing.

Caracalla appeared next to you, furious. "Good!" he cried, "What use was he if he could not protect you?"

You flinched as Caracalla kicked the corpse of the fallen Praetorian. It made a disturbingly meaty sound and you would've thrown up if you hadn't already emptied your stomach.

Caracalla knelt beside your attacker. "This one is still alive, brother. Barely."

"No, no," you shook your head. "I killed him."

Guilt was clawing it's way up your throat. You had ended a man's life and you did not even know why it had happened.

Caracalla pulled the knife from the man's neck and he jolted. You gasped and stepped back further into Geta's arms. The man let out a garbled moan and Caracalla spat at him, plunging the knife once, twice, into his neck again.

"You did not kill him," Caracalla said, "I did. See? It will be okay."

The tears would not stop coming. You looked down at yourself and saw nothing but blood.

Geta cupped your cheek and forced you to turn to him. "What did he do to you?"

"He strangled me," your own hands came up to encircle your throat. "Hurts. Bad."

Geta's nostrils flared. Praetorians had began to fill up the room behind him but you could not focus on them. Caracalla was in front of them, furious. He kept pointing over at you, gesturing wildly, his voice getting louder and louder.

"He - he said it was not about him," your words hardly made sense to your own ears but you continued, "or me. He was on top of me, strangling me -"

"Shhhh," Geta soothed once more, cupping your face. "It will be okay."

"I'm covered in his blood," you said, "how can it be okay?"

Geta called over a woman. She was elderly and appeared kind. She took your hand in hers and squeezed.

"Take her to our baths," Geta ordered, "we need to see how bad the injuries are."

"No," you shuddered, "what if someone else comes?"

Geta considered this, his own eyes wide and frantic. You sensed that he wanted to go with you but he needed to deal with the Praetorians.

In the end, he chose six of them to accompany you and the woman to the baths. He watched you leave the room as though he couldn't bear to tear his eyes from you.

Numb, you followed the woman. You would have been too afraid to go if not for the sheer amount of Praetorians accompanying you.

The woman led you down an unfamiliar route until you came to an ornate set of doors. Upon opening, steam spilled out and soothed your aching throat.

A bath suddenly seemed appealing, the urge to be clean overtaking any of your reservations. The woman gestured to go with you but you shook your head and told her she could wait outside with the Praetorians. Being alone was scary but your trust of strangers was slipping away.

The bath was huge and the waterwould come up to your neck once you were sat. There were several tiny windows littered across the top of the room to reduce the steam. Small enough that no-one could climb in. There were petals scattered across the surface of the water and bottles of oils and perfumes littered the side. There was a small set of steps leading up to it, allowing you to clamber over the sides. This was the bath of the emperors.

Breathing heavily, you peeled your blood-soaked clothes from your body. The blood had begun to dry and tugged at your skin. You stripped as quickly as you could and dumped your clothes in the corner.

You stepped back, biting your lip, before bending down and arrange them so that you could not see the blood. You ran your fingers over the cuffs, reluctant to take them off. You could see a slight indent in one where the knife had threatened to pierce you.

It took a moment but you eventually took it all off, laying the pieces reverently on top of your clothing.

Naked, you shivered. You let your hands explore your body, searching for any injuries. Apart from your throat and several cuts on your hands you could not find any. The gods had been merciful.

You tip-toed up the steps before bending and seating yourself on the edge. The stone was comfortingly warm beneath your bare ass. You slipped your toes in and moaned at the delicious heat licking up your calves.

You allowed yourself a moment to adjust before sliding in. The sensation was incredible, the water clean and scented. The heat seemed to help your throat and you ventured further in.

The water on the outskirts of the bath came up to your shoulders in place but varied in shallowness. As you neared the centre it began to deepen until you were kneeling. You half walked half swam to the furthest side, pressing your back to the edge and curling in on yourself.

Blood flaked from your skin in the water. Although you wanted it off of you, you could not bring yourself to touch it.

Your eyes fluttered shut. The only sound was that of the water. Exhaustion settled in every line of your body, battling with fear. Someone had tried to kill you.

He was dead now. By your hand and Caracalla's. A combination of relief and guilt stirred in your gut and you buried it deep, recalling your previous words.

Kill or be killed.

The hinges of the door squeaked as it opened and you sat up, almost spilling water over the edge. Your heart calmed as Caracalla entered, his eyes rounding at the sight of you in the bath.

You said nothing and watched as he shut the door, eyes never leaving you. He began to tug off his own clothes, expensive accessories clattering to the floor as though they were nothing.

Something else stirred in your gut at the sight of his chest, dusted with hair. Your eyes drifted lower, naturally, until they settled on his cock, bare and twitching against his thigh.

The tip was flushed red. It was thick and longer than you had imagined, nestled in a bed of reddish-brown hair. It seemed to perk up beneath your gaze and you swallowed, eyes jerking up back to his face.

His expression was one of pure want. The blatant desire did something to you, made the ache in your throat fade. You watched as he climbed into the bath and made his way to you, water lapping at your shoulders.

Caracalla stopped in front of you and settled his chin on your knees.

"Show me where it hurts," he urged. It reminded you of that first night in his room.

You found his hand under the water. He was watching your face carefully, looking for something. You brought up his hand and settled it on the base of your throat.

"Here," you croaked.

Caracalla's hand was gentle. He reached over your shoulder to pick up a woven cloth, dipping it into the water and dabbing at the blood crusted on your face.

It was a bad idea to let him touch you the way he was but no part of you wanted him to stop. You yearned for a distraction, for tenderness in the wake of such violence.

So you let him pull your knees from your chest. His breathing got heavy at the sight of your breasts and he wiped at your chest with a cloth, wiped your arms and legs until there was no more blood and the water took on a pinkish tint.

You reached out to grab his hand and he stilled, eyes bleary but questioning. You gently tugged the cloth from his grip and brought his hands up to cup your breasts.

"Oh," he breathed, palms firm against your puckered nipples.

"Please," you begged.

Caracalla's hands left your breasts to cup your face and slot your lips together. His tongue flickered into your mouth, drawing a languid moan from you as you melted in his hands.

You shuddered in his hands as his tongue began to massage yours. When he parted from your lips you felt dazed, blood buzzing in your ears. Caracalla urged you up, higher out of the water until your breasts broke the surface.

The feeling of his mouth on your breasts was intoxicating. You let your head fall back, burying your hands in his hair in encouragement. He lapped at your nipples, teasing them, before taking them in his mouth and sucking.

"Gods," you purred, "Caracalla."

He pulled from your nipple with a wet pop, looking at you with red cheeks and damp hair. His breathing was ragged and you could see the wetness on his lips from where he had kissed you.

"You want it too," he rasped, hands coming to part your knees under the water.

Then he seemed to change his mind. With some careful rearranging, he got you out of the water and perched on the side of the bath. There was enough room for you to sit back, half supported by the wall.

You felt a little dizzy at how exposed the position left you as Caracalla knelt and spread your knees. Your hands fluttered at your sides, not entirely sure what to do.

"Elysium," Caracalla moaned, eyes glued to your cunt and the wetness that was glistening on your puffy folds.

He tucked his arms under your thighs and moved you until you were right in front of his face. He took one, long lick from the bottom to the top of your cunt, eyes on yours the entire time. He lapped at the wetness gathering at your entrance, parting your lips to expose even more of you because he wanted to see and taste everything.

Babbling incoherently, you let yourself be feasted on. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure, your only connection to earth being Caracalla's hot tongue flicking across your clit. He watched your every reaction greedily, determined not to miss a thing.

He ate like a man starved, devouring your wetness with broad strokes of his tongue that left you reeling.

You jolted when one of his hands left your thighs, delving under the water. It pumped rhythmically, sending ripples across the bath.

Fire seared across your skin. "Are you. . .?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Your cunt is so pretty. Tastes like ambrosia."

Your orgasm pulsed through you, made you draw your legs up to your body and cry out. Hips undulating, you rode out the shockwaves of your orgasm on Caracalla's tongue as he stroked his cock beneath the water.

Before you could think, Caracalla rose from the water. Water sluiced down his body, his cock was heavy and flushed against his stomach. His eyes were scorching and he grabbed himself and positioned you at the edge of the bath.

"Wanted this," he said, "wanted you so bad."

He positioned the fat head of his cock against your cunt, rutting against you several times until you could hear the slick mess you had made. You keened when he sank inside in one slow move, all the way in until your hips were flush together.

Panting, he pressed one bruising kiss onto your lips, keeping you pinned with his cock until you were practically writhing, yearning for movement.

"Fuck me," you cried wantonly, "Caracalla, need you to fuck me."

From the moment he pulled back his hips and slammed into you, you knew there was no denying it. You were his. Would soon be Geta's too. A part of you whispered that you would do terrible, terrible things so long as he kept making you feel like this.

Caracalla must have read it on your face. "Tell me you're mine."

"'M yours," you breathed, rolling your hips to meet his.

Hands on your hips, he rolled into you as though you had been made for this - made for them. When your eyes threatened to flutter shut he cupped your cheek, directing your gaze to downward and to his cock pumping inside of you.

"Need you to see this," he swore, "want you to remember how good I made you feel."

You were not sure you could ever forget. The room became an orchestra of sloshing water and slick, wet sounds from your union, punctuated by Caracalla's possessive words.

"You belong to us," he thrust into you as though that would make you believe it. "Ours. With us, always."

"Yes, yes, yes," you babbled, believing it entirely.

Everything had been working up to this moment; you could see it now. There was no need for confusion or fear when there was this. Blissful, mindless pleasure.

When Caracalla slotted his hand between you and began to rub tight circles on your clit, you nearly lost your mind. Your nails dug into his back and then his hips, drawing him impossibly closer and urging him on. No experience you had had before compared to this and pleasure was quickly mounting again.

"I can feel you," Caracalla fucked into you harder, faster, "can feel you tightening on my cock. You want me inside you, want to be ours forever."

You squeezed your eyes shut, white light splintering across your vision as you came once more. Caracalla followed close behind you, rutting desperately and palming at your breasts until he reached his own orgasm. He rode it out, hips stuttering into yours as his chest heaved and he partially collapsed onto you.

He did not pull out of you immediately. He pressed soft kisses to the base of your neck and your cheeks, whispering filthy things into your ears. You did not push him away. Instead you ran your fingers through his damp hair and let him nuzzle at your jaw.

Finally, he pulled out. You bit your lip at the feeling of his seed spilling out of you. Caracalla ran a finger through your swollen folds, collecting some on his fingers before pushing it back in. You whined a little but held still, letting him push his seed deep inside of you.

"I hope it takes," he whispered, nipping at your lips.

You slid back into the water, boneless. You had heard other women talk about their sexual experiences before, about how sometimes when you gave in the man lost all interest. You had had two partners before but had never cared enough about them to be bothered when you lost contact so you were not sure what to expect with Caracalla.

If possible, he was more affectionate than before. He pressed his body tight to your side, hands busying themselves with your breasts and exploring your inner thighs. Insatiable.

Caracalla picked a glass bottle from the side, pouring the oil in contained into his hands. You held still as he oiled your shoulders and body, covering you thoroughly.

"Smells like you," you said.

He giggled before pushing the bottle into your hands and turning around. He had several scars on his back and chest that seemed to have healed. You bit your lip at the scratches that now adorned his back along with several puncture marks from your nails. He shuddered when you ran your fingers across them.

You let the oil pour across his back and began to massage it into his skin. He sank into your touch until there was no space between you and his back was pressed against your chest. Intimacy was something you had not experienced in a long time and you almost teared up at how relaxed you felt.

Caracalla took the bottle. "Don't cry," he cooed, "no more tears because of those animals."

"No more tears," you agreed.

It had been a very fucking long day.

Author’s Note - okay guys how did I do??? Let me know with notes/comments/reblogs and asks!!! Interactions with you guys is my favourite thing♥️

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[dronningreid]

Between letters.

When reader has been acting weird lately, Reid thinks she's going to break up with him but she's actually terrified because she has to give him some life-changing news.

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: Reid is hopeless, reader is a little mean because she doesn't know how to deal with the stress of her secret. Both must work on their communication. English is not my first language (if i forget something let me know, this is my first time doing this)

word count: 2.6K

a/n: Hello! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read what i wrote with so much love. I have written books, stories, poems but never a fanfic and i must admit that i enjoyed this a lot. Well, without further ado i hope you enjoy this and let me know if you liked it.

It is said that we should wait for good things. But it is so difficult to wait for them when we find ourselves in such a deep abyss, where we believe that the only thing we need is that warm ray of joy to get us out of the pond, to save us from dying in agony.

Spencer needed that warm ray of joy after Maeve's death. He desperately needed to feel alive again, but he had to wait what seemed like an eternity for you to come into his life.

Yet every devastating event like that leaves wounds that bleed into scars, some take perhaps too long and as the blood pours out, it destroys hope.

That's what happened to Reid. Because the day Maeve died, his hopes of having a wife and children, of having a family, died with her…

You came along a couple of years later. You admit that winning Spencer over was something that took time, it was slow but it was worth every second.

You were also thankful that he wasn't like the other jerks you dated before, who thought you would die for them just because you were the one who made the first move.

And that was the difference between you and Spencer. You never let that get you down, you kept trying until you found the one. Who knew it would be someone with three PhDs? Your trusted tarot reader, duh. But you didn't believe it, the guy seemed too perfect to be real.

But there he was, spinning around in his swivel chair when you first walked into the BAU bullpen.

"Who is he?" you asked with a curiosity you hadn't experienced in years.

"Oh, that's Spencer. One of our resident geniuses." The sweet Penelope Garcia cleared up your doubts.

Spencer.

The name tasted so sweet on your lips, it sounded so right. That was the day you decided he would be for you.

Of course you needed some extra help. You were trying to win over someone who hadn't dated in a long time and was also a bit reserved. Luckily for you, Morgan's advice scared him off so you followed JJ's, although it also helped that he was definitely mhm curious? about you.

Well no, he actually thought you were a little crazy for staring at him so intently from a distance. And he thought you were weird, but he was too so it just made both fit together like puzzle pieces.

The relationship seemed to be going great, both loved each other and he couldn't imagine his life without you. But if Spencer Reid had learned something in his life, it was that happiness lasts much less time than pain.

You were acting a little weird around him lately, you were irritable and he definitely knew you were hiding something.

"I think she's going to break up with me." One day he decided to confess his feelings to Morgan, when they were alone in the conference room.

Morgan frowned and dropped the current case file onto the table. “You’re kidding, right?” But with no response, Morgan knew otherwise. "Reid. She loves you so much it makes me a little sick.”

Reid remained with his worried expression. "She's slow to respond to my texts, she avoids me, and there's definitely something she's not telling me.” He counted your recent actions on his fingers before crossing his arms.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're profiling her."

Reid frowned. "What? Of course not." Yeah, that means of course yes.

Morgan shrugged. "Just talk to her or ask the girls, they should know something." This time he gave some good advice, not like the ones he used to give you.

Reid did as Morgan told him, but absolutely no one knew what was going on with you. Although everyone agreed that you were definitely hiding something.

You took a sip of coffee. "I watched that movie last night. People said it was really funny but I found it boring, although I admit the plot twist made me cry.” Yes, lately many things made you cry and it wasn't because of your moon in Pisces.

Anderson nodded. "Exactly! I couldn't even finish watching. I fell asleep."

“Anderson, would you excuse us for a minute?" Reid's appearance was a surprise, his insistence on talking to you wasn't.

"Of course, see you later." Then once Anderson left, Reid stood in front of you.

"What's wrong?" He got straight to the point, not like the previous times.

"Me? Nothing's wrong, I'm perfectly fine." But the drumming of your fingers on your coffee glass gave you away.

"Oh, of course." He crossed his arms, oh no, it seems his infinite patience turned out to be finite.

You immediately took a defensive stance. "Yes. I was perfectly fine before you came to interrupt my conversation with Anderson."

"About movies?" He didn't say it, but you knew he thought it was a nonsense, at least now that he was definitely irritated.

“Yes!" Your outburst earned you a few glances from the other agents. But both were too wrapped up in the tense conversation to deal with them.

"Sure, you have time to talk to other people about movies, but you don't even say a damn good morning to me.” You had to be careful what you said, you were in unfamiliar territory now, as Reid didn't usually swear.

"You're overreacting." Yeah... That probably wasn't the most brilliant thing you've ever said, but you were trying not to give away your secret, at least not yet.

“Overacting?” He was offended by your words. “You talk to everyone in the building except me. You used to spend as much time with me as possible, did I do something wrong?” A hint of fear and insecurity crept into his annoyed tone.

You shook your head. “Of course not.”

He put his hand on your shoulder. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” His tone was firm, but not harsh. Although it was obvious that he wasn't making a request of you.

"Spencer, I already told you that nothing is wrong with me." You emphasized the nothing.

He exhaled in frustration, he was 90% sure that this would work. "Fine! Then don't tell me anything." His patience had run out and he wasn't going to beg you anymore. It had been a week like this and he couldn't take it anymore, so he let go of your shoulder and walked away without even looking at you or giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Everything was dark, you reached for the light switch and then the spotlight illuminated your apartment. It was a less warm space without Spencer there.

You sighed before throwing your bag on the couch and closed the door.

You stood there for a couple of minutes staring at the lonely space. Well since you became Spencer Reid's girlfriend there weren't many lonely nights, mornings or afternoons.

You would definitely prefer him to be here right now, rambling or mumbling a foreign language movie to you. But for now you had to keep your secret, and that meant keeping Reid away.

The growl of your stomach snapped you out of your mind, so you headed straight for the fridge. But the smell of something made you nauseous, so you immediately ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet.

Yes. You had to hurry to sweeten this horrible memory with a concerned Spencer who would hold your hair and rub your back while you threw up.

After dinner and take a warm shower, you were tired enough to do anything else, so you settled into bed to sleep. But your brain had other plans…

"You look... not very awake." Tara commented as soon as you dropped your coat on the back of your chair.

"I only slept three damn hours," you nearly growled before throwing yourself into the chair and running your hands over your face. You needed a liter of coffee.

Tara stopped typing on her computer and looked at you. "Is this something to do with your strange behavior the last week?" When she got no response, she said your name seriously.

You pulled your hands away from your face. “I…” you began to fiddle with the rings on your fingers, the burden of unspoken words beginning to weigh on your shoulders. "God, why does everyone suddenly care about my fucking life?" You opted for annoyance as the perfect disguise for your vulnerability.

"Hey. None of us want to bother you, but we care about your life because we are your friends and we love you." Tara used a serious tone, like a scolding, but there was genuine affection behind her words. "Besides, Reid is suffering because of your attitude."

A pang of guilt hit your chest. “I don’t want to hurt him.” You whispered.

“I know.” She walked over to your desk. “But you’re hurting him, even if you don’t mean to.”

You swallowed before looking up. "It's just that there's something..." You took a deep breath, this was harder than you thought. "Things are changing, things are definitely going to change if I say this, it's going to be real and I don't know how to feel about it. I need someone to tell me what to do, because I feel so lost."

Tara placed one of her hands over yours. "Well, if I'm going to help you, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her voice was warm.

"I want Spencer to know first." But your half-hearted answer was enough for her to know.

"In that case you should tell him, because none of his PhDs include mind reading." She made a little joke that actually made you smile.

"Yeah, I know. He'll probably solve everything out like he always does." Then you looked straight at his empty desk, at the nameplate: Spencer Reid. "But I want to give him a surprise, something that will make him happy. I can't just walk up and say hey…” Then you forced yourself to close your mouth when you realized you were going to say more than necessary, although in reality Tara already had her suspicions.

"Okay, I'll help you." She sounded very determined and you really appreciated her help and that she wouldn't question you as much as the others.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You spun around in your chair and then had an epiphany, but not like the Taylor Swift song. "Crossword!" Your excitement got you the looks of several agents in the bullpen, luckily one of them was Tara.

"With a secret message?"

"Yes. It's literally the best way." You said excitedly.

But in your mind everything was easier than it really was.

You ruffled your hair as you forced yourself to think more, giving you a splitting headache. "When did I think this would be a good idea? Doing a crossword puzzle for the average person is easy, but not for a genius with an IQ of 187." You dropped your head onto your desk.

"You need help."

"But who's as smart as Spencer?" You muttered defeated, still with your head hidden between your arms and the wood of the desk.

Someone ruffled your hair. “Mhm. Tesla? Einstein?”

You immediately raised your head, only to see the famous Derek Morgan. “They’re dead.” You snorted.

Morgan raised his hands in peace. "Hey, what's the bad mood, baby girl? I just answered your question." He let out one of his signature laughs.

You rolled your eyes. You wished you could turn off some damn switch that was responsible for making you so easily angry. God, WHY? You were starting to get desperate.

"Blake!" Another epiphany, you were really on top of it. You didn't even explain it to Tara, you just ran to the parking lot to get your phone which you had forgotten in the car.

Alex Blake was happy to help you put together a crossword puzzle for Spencer. Although she warned you that he once solved one in about five minutes.

Yeah, well, you were going to take the risk.

Once the crossword puzzle with the secret message was ready, you set out to find Reid.

As you were leaving Garcia's office he was getting out of the elevator, but he didn't even notice you. He continued on his way and god, why did he look so attractive?

"Spencer." You caught up to him as he walked up the stairs.

"Not now, I'm busy." He replied with a seriousness not typical of him.

"With what?" You frowned.

"I said I'm busy." I didn't even look at you as he continued walking to the conference room.

You called out to him, but he ignored you. “We need to talk.” You said seriously, raising your voice.

He stopped in his tracks immediately, freezing halfway. He had never experienced anything like this before, but he knew well what we need to talk meant.

He turned to look at you, with an expression that betrayed nothing of what he truly felt. "I said I'm busy, we'll talk later." That didn't convince you. “I have to do a geographic profile and you have to work on victimology like Hotch asked you to.”

The end was near? You were beginning to doubt and he was very sure, only that he would delay it as much as he could.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You were about to give up, but you really needed him to know. So you resorted to plan B.

"Derek Morgan, my favorite person in the world." You appeared in front of him, with a big smile.

Morgan let out a light laugh. "Yeah sure, what can I do for you, gorgeous?"

"I think Spencer is upset with me."

"He definitely is." He said it without hesitation and it definitely didn't help the state of your aching heart.

"Okay..." You handed him the crossword puzzle. "Could you please give him this for me?"

He picked up the crossword puzzle. "If you think he's going to forgive you for avoiding him for a week just by giving him a crossword puzzle that he'll finish in two seconds, you might be right."

"Just give it to her, okay?"

"Of course. But in exchange for Penelope being the godmother.”

You immediately frowned, but you reacted a little late because Morgan had already left to deliver your order.

From your desk you watched everything. From how Morgan entered the conference room to give Spencer the crossword puzzle to how the bastard answered it in five minutes. When it took you like three hours to do.

But the best part was when he realized the secret message and ran out of the conference room.

But when he saw you, his quickened steps took on a much, much slower pace.

"Tell me what's true." His low tone sounded like a plea.

A slight smile appeared on your face. "Yeah. That's why I've been acting weird, you know I can't keep secre-"

Your words were cut off when his lips met yours. In a kiss so sweet and soft that it was enough to dispel every single one of your doubts.

A few seconds later, he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you wanting more.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb. "You didn't have to do a crossword puzzle to tell me you were pregnant."

"I wanted to surprise you." You whispered.

A smile that could light up this whole town formed on his lips. "I love you so much." He then kissed you warmly again.

🏷️ @floraisunwell

And so it was that the foundations that had crumbled with Maeve's death slowly re-emerged. They began to build themselves again with your arrival and now with this news, their foundations were stronger than ever, because at last he was going to have the family he had dreamed of for a tortuous time.

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

[discoursedumpster]

@puppypalice what do you think a Zionist is, though? Because this implies that there's some kind of Zionist organization or political party that people can join.

As far as I can tell, there are two different definitions people are using for "Zionist."

People who don't think Israel should be violently destroyed.

A specifically Jewish movement of people who love genocide in general, or genocide of Palestinians in particular.

But there's not an organization for either of those things.

You seem to be picturing the second definition? But like... what are they joining? The IDF?

I know they're not joining some evangelical megachurch that wants Israel to exist so that the End Times can come or whatever.

Because nobody is protesting those. They rarely even get mentioned.

I know they're not joining Hamas/PIJ/PFLP, despite the fact that Sinwar said he would fight until the last child in Gaza; despite Haniyeh demanding "the blood of Gaza's children, women, and elderly;" despite the fact that Gazans loathe Hamas for starting the war, routinely torturing and executing dissenters, and committing countless atrocities against them over the past 15 months.

Because at best, nobody gives a shit about Hamas. And at worst, they buy the propaganda that Hamas is "the Palestinian resistance." (Instead of the We Want To Live movement and the Gaza's Liberators movement.)

Are future historians going to be saying this about anyone who hates and opposes Hamas? Because that seems to be what usually gets Gazan activists, and Jews, denounced as Zionists.

If so, that now includes not only most of Gaza:

But also, the rest of Palestine:

That's from one of the co-organizers of the We Want To Live movement, who has twice been jailed and tortured by Hamas for organizing marches in Gaza.

He's only 24, and he's repeatedly put his life on the line for Gaza's freedom. And there is not one person in the pro-Palestine movement that will platform him, or anyone like him. Even Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib -- another Gazan activist, one who hates Israel significantly more than Howidy -- gets pre-emptively blocked.

Anyway, the context for the whole "they'll call them Zionists" thing was that the Hind Rajab Foundation filed 12 complaints against IDF soldiers.

Which does make it seem like that must be what everyone's going to be called Nazis for joining?

The Hind Rajab Foundation is chaired by a former Hezbollah member: Dyab Abou Jahah, a Belgian man from Lebanon who also:

founded a Holocaust denial group;

has repeatedly called for the violent destruction of Israel;

says Europe makes "the cult of the Holocaust and Jew-worshiping its alternative religion";

questioned the existence of the Nazi gas chambers;

and calls gay men “AIDS spreading faggots”...

...just to hit the highlights.

The article notes that there were no troops around when Hind Rajab was killed. Which is news to me, because I only learned about it on social media.

So basically, a guy who is at best a Nazi apologist started a group named after someone who wasn't killed by the IDF, but who he wants us to think was. And now that group is running "a campaign... to identify Israeli soldiers who have published videos to social media in which they commit, claim to have committed, or appear to endorse committing potential war crimes, and to file complaints against the soldiers on that basis."

@stoptheantisemitism blocked me after I said you can't just report people you assume must have committed a war crime. Because surely you can, since "they've posted themselves committing atrocities all over social media" or whatever.

But in fact, the article they posted literally says that the campaign includes people "who appear to endorse committing potential war crimes."

And no matter how despicable or disgusting that is, it's also absolutely fucking silly to be like, "Hey!! Sri Lanka!! SRI LANKA!! This guy who tweeted about wanting to burn Gaza City to the ground is in your country right now!!! Arrest him!!!!!!"

The fuck you want Sri Lanka to do about that??? He didn't commit a crime on their soil, and he's not a citizen of their country.

So I'm assuming you're talking about the IDF. But what's the point of saying that future historians will imply people were Nazis for joining the IDF even if they don't hate Palestinians? People are already calling them that today.

More to the point, it's not like there's a massive movement to move to Israel and get permission to join its military.

Is the point just to make sure we damn everyone in the IDF, whether they personally hate Palestinians or not, whether they were conscripted or not, etc?

Is the point just to call them Nazis?

Is the point to minimize the Nazis by deemphasizing what they did?

Because it seems important that Hitler not only industrialized mass murder and killed a peak of 500,000 people a month, but also:

declared a state of emergency,

seized dictatorial powers,

stripped Jews of their citizenship,

made relationships and sex with them illegal,

pressured white people to boycott all Jewish businesses,

and banned them from leaving the country without turning their property and money over to the Nazis,

none of which Israel has ever done to either the Palestinalsians, or its own Arab citizens.

like, I would assume that nobody is making a conscious attempt to minimize what the Nazis did. But it minimizes what they did either way.

[sir--cumference]

Its dawning on me how completely unhinged jayce and viktor's arcs were in s2. Like i was fully chilling feeling confident we'd get some friends to enemies shit, some nasty fights, maybe a last minute reconciliation and acknowledgement that nothing will ever be the same. I was like riot would never make them canon theyre too cowardly to make men kiss

Now im just like.... Jayce brings Viktor back to life with the thing he promised to destroy bc its evil? Ok word love it. Viktor leaves him for saving his life and breaking his promise? Hot. Viktor becomes jesus, healing shimmer leprosy? Turns into a hivemind? Uses other peoples bodies to be like "hiii jayce! Look what i did! :D Come say hi i missed u!"?? Jayce shows up all dirty and rugged with ptsd from wherever he was and just KILLS HIM with no explanation? We find out Jayce was in the future where everyone is a fucked up broken cunty robot husk? He meets future jesus viktor who is lonely bc he turned everyone cunty and robotic? Jayce promises him to murder him? BUT Viktor's brought back by singed using werewolf vanders blood and creates his giant hivemind of fabulous porcelain gaybots? He uses one to dance around and choke Jayce out and climb him like a koala on a eucalyptus tree all the while begging him to join the hive mind? All in front of Jayce's (ex?) Gf? I cannot help but stan. He cries in the astral plane when jayce says no i will not become part of your robot fungus network? Viktor becomes 8 or 9 feet tall, long metal face split in half plus creepy mask PLUS giant glowing third arm claw thing and confronts jayce and is just happily spewing nonsense about how he solved all of humanitys problems in a strangely cheerful horrifying slavik robot voice? Jayce is like please stop youre insane, all pouty, and Viktor just starts to fly and chokes him again? Two choking scenes?? Okay. Jayce finds himself in the same position as his metal husk self from the future and surrenders to Viktor immediately and the second he sees normal human viktor in the astral plane hes like "your imperfections make you BEAUTIFUL"? ekko knocks viktor on the head with a time travel device, breaks his face, and now Viktor's like oh shit maybe i actually kind of fucked up? Jayce tells him he saw him in the future and future vik told him life without Jayce is "fields of dreamless solitude"? They astral hug and Jayce gives him the stone magic Viktor gave him as a child and is like lets hold hands and disintegrate and save the universe together? They explode in a flash of bisexual lighting while touching foreheads????

Nothing about this made sense and i ate up every second. Truly a new standard for queer representation. We dont want kisses we want a nonsensical fever dream. I want to feel like i rode a roller coaster backwards and then someone threw a drink in my face and lit me on fire. Fuck me i guess? (Positive)

[d3stinyist1red]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟸

yan light who is the sassiest man you've ever met

yan light who literally looks at Misa up and down in such disgust, it literally its like a popular mean girl looking at a nerd like damn hoe

yan light who wraps his arms around you, and literally says the sweetest things to you but then when it's Misa, he acts like she doesnt even exist

yan light who tells you he has to pretend to be misa's bf crying, like he's actually crying tears, blood, sweat, and everything

"b-babbyyy!! I d-dont wanna be wit-with that g-girl, I pro-promise!!"

"wife, does this mean I'm free?"

"Y/n L/n, leave me and I swear to God, i will roam the fucking earth searching for you."

yan light who even a complete stranger could tell he doesn't like Misa at all compared to you, he literally hugs you in public, kiss your jaw, hold your arm, hand, meanwhile with Misa, the farthest thing he has ever done was pat her shoulder 💀

yan light who in college, spends all his free time searching for you to hang out

yan light who memorizes your schedule, waiting outside your class whenever the bell rings

yan light who now sleep over at your house because he loves searching through your closet, searching for a hoodie that smells the most like you

yan light who literally thinks of ways to absolutely destroy ur TV and phone, he's quite literally only in some tight black shorts and ur hoodie and u don't wanna devour him??? Why tf are you tryna watch Tom and friends when he's literally there suggesting sex

yan light who you don't pay attention to all night, watching some Tom and friends cuz that shit mad entertaining, and light is over here rubbing his thighs together, glaring at the TV

Yan light who grabs you hand and puts it on his thighs, making your hand grip them.

Yan light who looks at you for a reaction, but you were STILL not bothering to look at him,

yan light who was pissed and sassy at you the whole night, turning his back to you and huffing, furrowed eyebrows

"hey, aren't ya gonna hug me? im cold"

Yan light who scoffs but turns around and begins to cuddle you, head between your boobies, forgetting why he was mad in the first place

yan light who wants to cut handcuffs on both you and him so you'll NEVER be seprated from him, literally wanting to bawl and cry at the thought of him without you

yan light who feels like he cant breath without you

yan light who literally thinks about the worst thing happening to you when you dont answer his call or text within a minute, about to start pulling at his hair and chewing on his nails with a crazy look on his face

yan light who memorizes your voice, the way you walk, the way you eat, the way you clean and everything just because hes that obsessed over you

yan light who is so close to using his death note on misa just because she managed to small talk you, glaring at her with such hatred you would think she killed his dog or sum

yan light who always making sure he holds the door open for your and giving you snacks when you dont have any

yan light who buys you things you've been recently talking about, telling you he deserves a kiss for what he did for u

yan light who is ur jealous lil wife <333

SOMEONE HELP NO MORE REQUEST P<LS ITS LIKE I SOLD MY FUCKIGN SOUL OMG I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START ATTHIS POINT

JKJK SEND REQUESTS IF U WANT

[themissinghand]

Genshin Impact: Beneath His Gaze

Summary: In which you’re Capitano’s executive assistant who’s a little too good at their job (and coincidently, very good-looking too). 

Or, Capitano hates competition, after all, you belong to him. 

Pairing: Jealous! Il Capitano x Strong! Male Reader ft. Pantalone and Dottore 

Note: Yes. Capitano single-handedly took me out of my writer’s block. That 5.0 update was quite something. This became longer than I ever expected. 

Warning: Slight NSFW. Possessive behaviour, flirting, biting and non-consensual touching. Capitano has claws and sharp tongue.

★・・・・・・★

Il Capitano is a fearsome man. 

True to his title, he is powerful but honorable, respected yet feared by all. Perhaps it was his tall statue, the dark mysterious mask he dons, or maybe, it was his silent demeanor. 

Or perhaps his ruthless means and aura that screamed death.  

People do not simply stroll up to Capitano like they would with Tartaglia, but he detests flies regardless.

Then he met you, with almost an impressive statue matching himself, but with a much more…approachable face. Pretty as the Damselette would call you. 

You were competent, strong, and most importantly, adaptable. A face that could be remembered from either side of the light and dark. 

People described you as the face of an angel, but cunning like the devil. Hence, he promoted you to his only assistant (after all, he needs no assistants, much less bodyguards). However, you seemed to do more than what is required for a mere assistant. 

“Master. Please, have some tea.” When you bring him tea and snacks in the middle of work.

“Master, the weather is cold outside, please take this.” When you give him a heat pack, imbued with your pyro powers. 

“Master, please allow me to take care of these vermin for you.” When you reduced his anger with a slight touch on his hand on his sword, which almost would have destroyed a major section of his mansion. 

Capitano will not admit it, however, his life seems to be filled with a lot of noise, albeit it becoming much easier, and warmer.

“Don’t you think Commander (Y/N) would make a good malewife?” 

Capitano freezes in his steps. Honed in battle, naturally his senses are much more sensitive than others. 

“Are you drunk? I know you’re gay, but how could you go after the Commander? Didn’t you remember how terrifying he was when he almost worked us to death in training?”

There was a little infuriating laugh. 

“But, have you seen him smile and compliment us? Can you blame me? Have you seen others ogling at his half naked body after training? Hey, didn’t you have a crush on him?” 

“T-That was before, and quiet down. Someone might hear you.” 

“I wonder how he would taste…” Steps resumed in the halls, this time, they were quick, but silent. 

“You’re crazy. C’mon, let’s go before someone hears-” 

“Think about it, he has a big chest, and his ass-” 

“Shut up-” 

Suddenly, a large shadow casts over them and they slowly turn around, suddenly feeling cold all over. 

“Master-” 

A scream, before silence finally returned to the halls. 

“Master.” Il Capitano hands you his coat as always, often stained with blood. 

But as always, it was never his.

“Master, Allow me to serve you tea. I obtained this from Sumeru, and it has quite the enticing scent…” 

Again, you chatted as you prepared tea for Capitano, starting from small pleasantries, to his schedule and current affairs. You stood beside him as always and even though your Master did not say a single word of response to you, you knew he was listening. 

Everything was a routine and a reward to you, after all, you were very honoured to assist someone as highly regarded as Il Capitano. 

As fearsome as your Master appears, he allows you to speak your mind, and use his authority as necessary. It was difficult to obtain his trust and you were happy with your progress, even if you had to hide your disgusting feelings for him.

Yes, you had a crush on this man who everyone fears. 

After all, who doesn’t like a rich, powerful, and respected man? 

“Sit.” Suddenly, your Master commanded you. You stop in your ramblings at his command, and you obey. Respectfully seating yourself to his right with a look of quiet surprise. 

You were used to following his orders without question, but Capitano rarely asked you to sit with him like this. Normally, you were too busy managing his affairs or reporting on the state of his forces to sit idly.

As well, he did not touch his tea once today. 

Capitano’s mask obscured most of his face, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and intense. It was as if he was measuring you, trying to read your thoughts, though you kept your face carefully neutral.

Finally, he took a slow sip of the tea, his silence stretching on as he continued to watch you. You shifted slightly in your seat, feeling the intensity of his focus, but you didn’t falter. After all, this was Capitano—your Master. You had served under him for years, and you pride yourself on your ability to remain composed, no matter the situation.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a low rumble. 

“Do you know what they say about you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question. 

“What do you mean, Master?”

“The Fatui agents. The ones who flirt with you. The ones who look at you as though you are theirs to claim.” Capitano’s words were clipped, and you could hear the irritation lacing his tone. 

“Do you know how they speak about you?”

Your brows furrowed as you recalled those moments. A fleeting regret crossed your mind; you should have dealt with those pests like everyone else.

After all, you’ve maintained your image and physical appearance only for your Master, and no one else. 

“Master, please forgive me, I will ensure this will not happen again. I assure you that their actions do not affect my duties.”

Capitano’s eyes darkened, his claws gripping the arm of his chair with enough force to make the wood creak. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

The tension in the room thickened, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of unease. Capitano rarely raised his voice or showed any outward signs of frustration, but now… there was something different in the air.

“I… don’t concern myself with such things, Master,” you answered carefully. “My focus is on serving you and fulfilling my responsibilities.”

He stood abruptly, his large form towering over you, casting a shadow across the room. His claws reached down, grabbing your wrist with a firm but controlled grip. 

“And yet, they continue. They think they can speak about you as if you’re theirs to take, as if they have any right.”

You looked up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, the tension that simmered just beneath the surface. It was an emotion you hadn’t expected from him, at least not toward you.

Could it be-

“Master, I—”

Before you could finish, Capitano pulled you up from your seat with one arm, his strength undeniable as he carried you effortlessly. Your breath hitched as you were suddenly pressed against his chest, the cold metal of his armor a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

"You're mine," he growled, gripping your waist. "No one else can touch you."

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared up at him, mind spinning as you adjusted and adapted as you always had. 

This was new, unexpected. 

You had always been his assistant, his soldier, but now… it was clear that Capitano saw you as something more—his. 

A slow, sly smile tugged at your lips. 

“Master, I am loyal to you.”

Capitano’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. 

“Then show me. Let them know you’re mine.”

His words sent a tantalizing shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself questioning whether you were just his assistant… or something far more dangerous.

In the dim light of Capitano’s private quarters, the air was thick with tension—unspoken, yet undeniably present. 

It had become a dangerous game between the two of you.

You stood by his desk, pretending to review the reports you had brought, while Capitano’s presence loomed behind you, closer than necessary. His claws brushed against your lower back, the contact brief but enough to send heat through your body. You didn't flinch; instead, you leaned into his touch ever so slightly, your pulse quickening at the daring proximity.

"You’re late," he muttered slowly, his voice like gravel, yet there was no malice in it—only something darker.

You turned to face him, a smirk dancing on your lips. 

"I had to ensure no one would notice my absence. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation, Master."

His eyes, cold to the world, burned with a heat only you had the privilege of seeing. Without a word, he reached for you, pulling you close with a force that left no room for protest. His lips were on yours in an instant, urgent and commanding.

His claws roamed your body, memorizing every line and muscle as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

"Careful, Master," you whispered against his lips, your voice teasing. "If we’re caught…"

He silenced you with another kiss, rougher this time, his grip firm as he pressed you against the desk. 

"No one will dare." 

You reveled in it all. 

As his executive assistant, your dedication to work and training had caught the attention of many, including some of the Harbingers.

One evening, after a rigorous training session with Capitano, you quickly changed to a clean appearance and immediately rushed to your Master’s office. However, it seems there were people waiting for you in the halls, which seemed to be a common occurrence recently. 

This time, it wasn’t just Fatui Cicin Mages or Agents though. Much more difficult, but not hard to handle. 

After all, you worked your way up to this position for a reason. 

“Well well well, who do we have here?” 

“Lord Dottore, Lord Pantalone. How can I be of assistance?” Dottore’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he observed you, something you were keen to notice. 

“A fine specimen indeed…” He approached you casually as you stayed still and kept your eyes low. 

Pantalone, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a sly grin. “I must say, you look like someone who could handle more than just being an assistant. I’m sure we could find a place for someone with your… capabilities.”

You pretend not to notice their serpentine eyes, or the sudden arm over your shoulder, or the slow squeeze on your bicep, and you couldn’t help but shiver when an arm grabbed your waist. 

“How about working for me? I’ll be sure to treat you well.” A seductive whisper to your ear. And you feel trapped beside these powerful men. 

Truly evil. 

You returned a little smirk, which somehow seemed to intrigue them even more. 

“I serve and am loyal to my current Master, however, I am honoured to receive your offer.” 

Before they could respond, you felt a familiar but imposing presence approaching you. Heavy steps that suddenly decided to reveal itself.  

(Y/N).” His voice was deep, drawing all eyes to him.

“Master.” You greet him as usual, and you hear a little ‘tch’ from beside you. 

The halls fell silent. Pantalone and Dottore straightened, their casual airs replaced by a more respectful demeanor. Capitano’s gaze was locked onto you, and you shivered in slight excitement knowing that he was angry.

“You’re late.” Capitano states before walking off, as if prompting you to follow him. After you bid farewell to the two other amused harbingers, who seemed quite intent in touching your muscles one last time before letting you go. 

You followed your Master down the hall into his office, the tension between you palpable.

Once the doors shut in his office, Capitano turned around, and you felt like you couldn’t move or breathe. 

“You are quite the vixen.” Sharp claws wrapped around your throat and raised you up to his eye level. 

Before you could respond, his lips crashed onto yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. The sudden intensity took you by surprise, but you quickly found yourself responding with equal fervor.

When he finally pulled away, you felt breathless as you stared back at him.

“You enjoy their attention.” he stated, disappointment evident in his voice.

“You’re mine, and yet, you dare covet something more?”

You met his gaze with a smirk, showing your true colours. 

“And if I enjoy their attention?”

Capitano’s eyes darkened further. He pulled you into another heated kiss, his claws gripping your hips firmly. You were sure that would leave some bruises.

“You must be punished.” 

“Master-urgh!” You resisted the urge to scream as sharp teeth sunk into your collarbone, and an alien tongue swept over your neck. 

It was the right choice as you felt a pair of eyes glaring at you, so you remained silent before he dropped you onto the floor. Instantly, you inhaled sharply and struggled to catch your breath as you quickly kneeled for your life.

“Please, forgive me, Master. My life is yours.”  

For Capitano, he felt a sick satisfaction seeing you beg like a little dog.

Il Capitano believed he had to tighten his leash. 

During the next few days, you did your best to focus on your work, trying to push aside the lingering tension. But you could always feel a pair of cold eyes constantly on you. Especially when you interact with other people. 

“Well, well, how is our little assistant holding up?�� Pantalone grinned as he cornered you again in the hall. “How long before Capitano locks you away, hm?”

Dottore chuckled darkly, his fingers lightly trailing down your arm, sending a shiver through you. 

“The offer is still on the table. We’d take good care of you,” he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “You’d be in much better hands.”

With the same fake yet alluring smile, you slowly back away from their touch. You didn’t need to say anything after all, you could practically feel him coming.

The familiar sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor.

In an instant, Capitano was beside you, his claws gripping your shoulders firmly. Without a word, he pulled you away from the two Harbingers, his strength overwhelming as he practically dragged you down the hall. Pantalone and Dottore watched with amusement, smirking at the sight of Capitano’s thinly veiled rage.

You didn’t even have a chance to speak as Capitano led you into his private quarters and slammed the door shut behind you. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes—what little you could see through his mask—burned with a mixture of anger and desire.

“You’re mine,” Capitano reminded, his voice low and dangerous. 

Before you could respond, he lifted you with ease, your feet leaving the ground as he pinned you against the wall. His massive claws gripped your waist and ass, claws digging into your flesh as his lips crushed against yours in a kiss.

You gasped into the kiss, and wrapped your legs around him. He clawed at your chest as if he was trying to prove a point—that you belonged to him and no one else, and you whimpered when you felt pain.

And despite everything, you found yourself leaning into him, drawn to the darkness that radiated from him.

"Master, I'm yours."

His touch was intoxicating, and even though you knew how dangerous this was, you couldn’t help but be pulled deeper into the web Capitano had spun around you.

[lulunothulu]

“So you think I’m hot?” Pt. 3

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: After nursing you to health, Tyler finally makes a move on you…and you may or may not want to accept it

Contents: some swearing, some blood, and LOTS of fluff

Word count: idk but I think it’s long 😂

Catch up here: Part 1!! Part 2!!

“Y/N!” You hear Kate call from outside. “Are you okay in there?”

You’d fallen asleep after Tyler brought you back to your hotel room. Did Tyler ever leave? If he did, you weren’t going to be able to open the door for Kate. You’re about to panic when you realize there’s something heavy on your stomach.

Not something…someone.

Fuck.

You turn to your left to find a sleeping Tyler cuddled up against you, an arm draped on your stomach the other under your head.

“Y/N, if you can’t get up let us know,” you hear Javi say. “We got an extra key from downstairs.”

FUCK.

“I’m fine!” You yell, startling Tyler but not waking him. “I have crutches but I’m just resting! You guys go on and get data from yesterday’s tornado.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asks.

“Yes!”

“Okay, well text us if you need anything,” you hear her say before their footsteps fade away.

You sigh, turning to Tyler who’s wide awake and smiling at you.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” you say.

“So I’m a beauty now?” He teases.

“I swear to god Tyler it’s too early for this shit.” You smile.

Tyler only smiles at you, just staring.

“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Nothing,” he tells you, crossing his arms behind his head. His biceps bulge in the long-sleeved flannel, making your heart flutter.

Why did that make you wanna touch them?

Tyler notices the way you stare at him and smirks, pumping his bicep muscles in a playful manner. You clear your throat and begin to get off the bed, forgetting about your leg.

“Ow, fuck,” you seethe, your breath hitching in pain.

Tyler sits up in bed, scrambling to your side of the bed before squatting before you.

“Are you okay?” His green eyes searching yours for more signs of pain. “Do you need some pain killers?”

The way his hands hold your right leg makes you feel all tingly inside, the way he looks at you doesn’t help. He’s waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong, worry etched on his handsome face. Even the way his hair, normally styled to perfection, is now all messy seems to do things to you.

Warm and fuzzy feelings begin to form around your heart and you can feel the annoyance you once had for him, melt away.

It’s making you want to do something reckless.

“I’m fine, Tyler,” you tell him. “I forgot about my injury.”

His eyes calm, softening on you before he nods and sniffles.

“You’ve never called me by my first name,” he says softly.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

You stare at one another for a few seconds that feel like hours. The longer you stare, the more you realize how attracted to him you are.

Fuck this is gonna be a problem.

“Do you need me to help you change the bandages?” He asks, clearing the silence.

You nod, handing him the wrapping on the nightstand.

Very carefully, Tyler removes the bandage around your thigh. Concentration fills his facial expression, brows furrowed and tongue out. He stops when you suck in a breath, head jolting to face you.

“Sorry, it’s still kinda tender,” You apologetically tell him.

He smiles up at you before continuing with the dressing.

“So where are you from?” He asks.

You grit your teeth in pain before answering, “Originally, Chicago. I grew up in Tennessee though.”

“What brought you to Tennessee?” He continues.

You realize he’s trying to keep you distracted from the pain and flash him a thankful smile. “My parents wanted to reconnect with nature. They have a little ranch out there.”

“What got you into tornadoes?” He asks, now finishing up with the bandaging.

“There was a really bad tornado,” you whisper. “My family’s farm was destroyed. I think I was eight at the time.” You chuckle. “My Mom was screaming for me to get away from the windows but all I wanted to do was stare up at this beautiful tornado. It was so surreal, it looked like the one from the Wizard Of Oz.”

You smile at the memory. “Mom was so mad when I turned to her and said ‘Look mom, it’s so pretty’.”

Tyler chuckles, hands still on your thigh, lightly caressing the skin below the bandage.

“What about you?” You ask. “What got you into chasing?”

“When I was a kid, I was driving with my aunt,” he starts, smiling at his own memory. “This beautiful cyclone just crossed our path and I couldn’t help but stare. It was gorgeous.”

He laughs before looking down at your leg.

“I was so entranced by it, I didn’t realize my aunt was screaming bloody murder. She was absolutely terrified.”

“Where you?” You ask. “Terrified?”

He looks up at you, the sight of him still kneeling before you making you warm.

“I was.”

Without thinking, you lean forward, placing your hands on Tyler’s shoulders.

They’re warm, muscular.

You snake your hands up his neck, resting on either side of his face. You brush your thumbs on his cheeks and back to his ears, watching as Tyler’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his eyelids flutter.

You didn’t know what came over you to do that. You felt the urge to do it so you did it.

When his eyes open again, you smile at him. Genuinely and thankful.

“Thank you,” you start, whispering as if someone would hear you. “For helping me.”

Tyler leans forward, just inches from your lips. His head was tilted up, waiting for you to finish crossing the line you dangled right before him.

“You’re welcome, darling,” he whispers right back.

You open your legs, scooting forward to have him between you. Arms wrap around your waist as Tyler pulls you close, careful not to touch your bad leg. You hold on tightly, wrapping your arms around Tyler’s neck as he lifts you.

You’re so close now, you wanted to kiss him. This was nothing like you’d ever imagined. Never mind with him.

For the few months you’d known him, you wanted to strangle him. But maybe it was just your mind trying to make sure you don’t fall for him. After all, he was your type.

Tall, handsome, rugged, and absolutely annoyingly reckless.

“Tyler,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I would really like to kiss you,” you tell him truthfully.

“Me too.”

“But I’m in so much pain.”

He quickly says you down, still holding you by the waist. “I’m sorry.”

You smile, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Try again in a week when I’m healed.”

He smiles down at you, leaning close and kissing your cheek.

“Deal.”

A/N: Okay yes, I’m gonna have a part 4 bc they NEED to kiss 😂

Next part!!!

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I’m BEGGING You 🙏🏼

Write de Delete Pressure ending

'I've got him now..I can put an end to this.'

That was all you could think about as you stared down at the monster, the fishman you once bartered with, seeing how utterly pathetic he looked.

Finally.

Finally.

You've caught him in his latest hideout, and this time there was no escape for him.

It's quite ironic considering you were the one who's been running away from monsters for so long, never having the means to fight back. All you could do was hide and pray that they wouldn't find you.

After having lost count how many times you've perished to the anglers, Pandemonium, and all the others...you figured Sebastian, your "only friend", would be your safe haven from those savage creatures.

But after someone in a previous team accidentally triggered their recently-purchased flash beacon in his shop....you realized he wasn't any different from them.

Not after he nearly choked them out, breaking the tool with a spiteful warning to never try that again--as though convinced they did it on purpose--before throwing them to the ground.

They died instantly, blood pooling all around their head, and the only thing Sebastian was concerned about was needing to move his shop to a new hideout.

Oh, and of course, the items they left behind after their corpse was retrieved.

Then the next time you met him, somebody else tried to do the same thing with intentions to annoy him....and he shot them point blank in the chest. No warnings. No mercy.

That's right.

He had a shotgun hidden beneath his coat. Something that Urbanshade wouldn't dare allow you to possess lest they detonated your gear for even looking at one.

But now that they've given you clearance to eliminate him by whatever means necessary--so long as it was only used to target him and not to escape or damage any property--you were currently holding that same weapon in your hands.

It had one shell left in the chamber, as Sebastian used up the rest during his pursuit of you.

He must have caught wind of the orders the overseers gave out, as he closed his shop and became completely fed up with your attempts to reach the crystal.

Now that Painter was no longer able to stall your progress after you destroyed him for good, he was next on the hit list.

Eyefestation was on it, too, but she would be...difficult to contain. She was the least of your worries.

He, on the other hand, could be easily cornered if you were persistent enough.

The bastard tried playing dirty, at first--sending anglers after you, getting Eyefestation outraged enough to fry your brains, and even distracting you so a Wall Dweller could feast on your body. All before you could even reach Door 50.

You were more than angry.

You were livid at these cheap tricks of his, constantly yelling his name and daring him to come face you himself....and indeed he did at some points, armed with nothing but his gun, claws, and teeth.

True to his document, he was surprisingly fast for his size, able to crush you in a vice grip with his tail, leave deep gashes in your flesh, shoot you point-blank, and even throw you into the dark pits of the ruined facility.

As expected, you came back again and again, finding new ways to outsmart him.

This time, you had the crystal in your possession and repaired the cables in the ocean floor, but your mission wasn't over yet.

Sebastian refused to let you leave, and HQ demanded one final task from you: kill him, lest he sabotaged the submarine that was your only ticket out of here. They refused to send it until the deed was done.

While it became difficult to leave even a scratch on him at first, you managed to wound him more and more every time with makeshift weapons like planks with nails or anything you had at your disposal.

Now it was all finally coming to a head, as you've got him cornered, seeing his clothes shredded and his flesh bloodied from all the fighting.

And while you weren't in any better shape yourself, with your uniform a bit tattered and the crystal's container bearing scratches from his claws..he was in a far worse state.

He wasn't even trying to fight you anymore.

He just curled up in the corner of the room, hand pressed to his chest--his white shirt bleeding red--and the bandage on his third arm having become undone, revealing a reopened wound.

"You've lost, Sebastian." You huffed. "This ends here."

"....gh...ngh...."

You removed your scuba mask so he could see the fury in your eyes, and how they also stung with betrayal. It consumed your heart, leaving an ache greater than the physical ones you felt in your legs.

Once, you liked him, his company, and his attempts to make jokes and light out of grim circumstances.

Once, you considered him a friend and a humble shopkeeper who was just trying to help those who used to be like him: prisoners wrongfully incarcerated such as yourself.

Once, you could never imagine Urbanshade giving you the orders to kill him AND be willing to follow through with them.

That's all changed, however.

"They were right..you're nothing but a goddamn animal." You spat, watching the way he shuddered and gnashed his teeth. "You're just like the rest of them. You're all killing machines."

"...no.." Sebastian managed to choke out, looking up at you through his matted black hair, wheezing. "D-Don't..say that..I'm nothing like them.."

"Maybe you aren't a complete savage, but at least they didn't steal from me. At least they didn't act like they were my friend."

"......"

"Even Painter was honest with me about his intentions. He knew you weren't gonna come back for him..so I did him a favor. And he thanked me, Sebastian. If only I could've put you out of your misery just as easily."

"Go..to...to hell.." He clutched his torso, his jacket slipping off his shoulders as he coughed. "Go to hell.."

"I'm afraid that's where we're both heading." Frowning, you could feel your finger sliding towards the shotgun's trigger. "It's waiting for all of us. No matter how innocent or guilty we are. But unfortunately for you...I'll be a little late to the party."

He said nothing to that, but when you were about to speak again, he mumbled something. You tilted your head, wondering why he was suddenly looking off into space. "What did you say?"

Blinking several times, you grew alarmed as he suddenly raised his hands up to his face. Then you heard the sniffles, and a drawled-out whine that sounded like something from a wounded animal, and it was all coming from the utterly broken and defeated sea creature before you.

"...m...mom..?"

"Huh?"

"Are you there? I...I-I don't wanna die.."

Was this another trick of his? To feign weakness so you could let your guard down?

That's what you wanted to believe, and yet...as he began to cry and curl in on himself, you started having doubts that he could be this manipulative when he was so, so weak and near death.

"M-Mom..everything hurts..I-I need you...please..please, please, please..help.." His voice broke, tears dripping onto the concrete floor as he tugged on his hair and lure. "Ayudame..ayudame.."

Now he's lost it.

His sobs were the only sounds that filled the room, aside from the humming lights and sounds of the sea's pressure constricting the hulls of the blacksite.

You hesitated, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt.

How could you have forgotten?

He's mentioned a family several lifetimes ago, back when you were a naive expendable eager to have somebody to chat with who recalled their humanity. At one point, after obtaining his document, he began opening up to you a bit more about his past. Before Urbanshade and their cruel experiments.

He had a mother and siblings...his father figure was likely absent, but you knew it was rude to question that. So you let him talk about them and what he remembered. He'd never know for sure if they moved on from his "execution", or even if they were still alive at all today...

Either way, the worst feeling for him was that they'd never know he was found innocent of those crimes that got him on death row. And even if he was somehow freed...what would they think of him?

Probably as a monster, no doubt.

Yet despite it all, he cried out for his mom anyways, wanting nothing more than to be in her arms again. He had given up on attacking you and spewing vile threats in your face.

What was the point? You would just come back over and over again, and he'd run out of ideas eventually.

He was just so tired of fighting.

He wanted it all to stop.

Watching how quickly he fell apart in front of you constrained your heart, and for a moment you wondered if there was another way out of this situation--a way that didn't require one having to kill the other...

Until your diving gear began to beep.

'Shit..' Suddenly you were snapped back to the cold hard reality, as your eyes shifted to the broken experimental scrambler on the ground. It was still sparking, showing signs of irreversible damage.

Now that it no longer blocked out any communications from Urbanshade, the cameras could see you and their target in the same room together, with you hesitating to complete the mission and take the shot.

And to them, hesitance showed disobedience...and they've told you that was cause for immediate execution.

You were still an expendable. Someone they can replace in a heartbeat.

The noises seemed to snap Sebastian out of his own trance, as he looked up at you with tears staining his scaled face, blood leaking from his mouth.

He could only stare at you with resignation.

"I'm so..tired.."

Regrettably, you nodded and raised the shotgun, forcing your hands to be steady. You couldn't afford to waste anymore time, not when the beeping had gradually slowed down, allowing you to focus.

Without needing to exchange further words, you two knew the true enemy here..the one who put you both into these horrible, horrible situations in the first place..

But unless you act now, they were just going to find someone else to finish the job.

No.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'll make this quick."

It had to be you, as much as you wish it wasn't you.

If only you met him under better circumstances.

He just nodded and closed his eyes.

And you fired.

You looked away as soon as his body slumped to the floor, already growing nauseous over what you've done. The shotgun fell out of your hands, landing with a loud clatter, but it was finally over

He was gone. Silenced forever.

The beeping stopped completely, before you heard HQ come back online with one last message:

"Z-13 has been eliminated. Good work. Now leave the weapon on the floor and head through the marked doors that will lead you straight to the submarine dock."

Somehow, your weary legs managed to move towards the green-lit doors on their own, and during your long walk to the dock, the crystal's container thumped against your pant leg.

Even when you finally got to rest inside the submarine as it took you away from the blacksite, you felt as though....you didn't even deserve to rest after what you did. You felt like you've committed a crime worse than the one that put you here in the first place.

They made you take a life to earn your freedom.

But why did it have to be his life?

Was there truly no other way?

[yeonjuns-beanie]

In Odio Est Amor

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, descriptions of blood and violence, some exhibitionism, lustful/cathartic sex, angst, mutual pining, talk of death, oral(f receiving), think that’s it

summary: in a trade gone bad, you’ve been sought out by macrinus due to your animalistic combat skills. stuck in the camp of gladiators, Hanno is assigned your sparring partner. your existence is a bitter reminder of what he lost but in hate we find love. 

a/n: saw gladiator for a second time and i felt compelled to write, seeing as i CANNOT stop thinking about lucius/hanno. he’s just too hot. considering the historical timeline, this is a little inaccurate, seeing as gladiatrices were banned in 200 AD. hopefully, this will be up to par with the rest of the amazing writers in this tag. hope you have a great day! 

lucius verus x female!reader 

word count: 7.4k

Being the only woman in the camp of gladiators left you feeling like a chewed piece of communal meat that was too tough to swallow. Stuck in a loop of forever being spit out, only to be soon placed in the mouth of another slobbering animal. 

Anything beat the damnation of being a courtesan. 

The life you lived before was that of sexual servitude, left to your own meticulous devices of survival. Even with your promiscuous occupation, you found ways to be exceedingly picky. It was the only way you could save the last bit of dignity that you had left. Caracalla, saw a means to see an end to your persnickety nature when you denied him of the favors he requested. After the exile and potential murder of his late wife, most of the other courtesans never denied his requests, but when you were placed between his legs and met with unsightly sores as the base of his shaft; you couldn’t find the gall to risk your health. Especially, not for some entitled tyrant who was destroying Rome for all that it was worth. 

You told yourself that this would be one of the few clients you’d swallow your pride for but instead, you forced him to vomit his. Your refusal birthed a mirage of embarrassment and shame shrouded in anger and a battle cry for your death. After being whisked away by his servants, you were foolish to think that this would be the end of the interaction. As you walked the path home, you were overcome with wilting anxiety. In the moment where you felt you might be able to make it safely back, you were bombarded by royal guards. 

Pummeling you to the ground, your fists connected with as many faces as possible. When your coiled hands of fury and fright failed you, you resorted to more primal behaviors. Using your teeth to stall your enemies, shreds of crimson skin stained your mouth, but alas–you were severely outnumbered. One man struck the back of your head and covered your face with a burlap sack. Feeling metal cuffs being placed around your wrists, you allowed your bones to relax in your defeat, understanding that you were once again shackled to the fall of Rome. 

They tossed you around like garbage. You knew that’s how they saw you and could only imagine what Caracalla had said about you for them to be so rough. Dragging your body across the gravel, you fell limp in their grasp not caring where you ended up next. Soon sleep draped over your body and you hoped that your eyes would fight fluttering open, leading you to an everlasting sleep. 

When you awoke, you were in a stone cell clad in your dirtied stola. The ends of the dress were speckled with dirt and the low, modified neckline was frayed as if someone tried to tear it open. Sitting up on the bed you peered through the bars of your royal cage, your eyes landing on sweaty, shirtless men across the way. Walking to the bars, you could see that a few guards were patrolling the area, but you couldn’t help to notice that it seemed you were the only woman in these cells. Before you could find the strength to call out to someone, a brown-skinned man costumed in elaborate robes and jewelry came up on the other side of the cell. 

“Ah! You’ve awakened. And just in time, I must say, you get to prove your worth to me this morning.” “Excuse me?” “Apologies, suppose it would be a common courtesy to inform you what your new duties are. I have to admit, I saw you last night, tearing into those guards like a feral banshee; very similar to my barbarian.” 

Barbarian?

Your face contorted in confusion, wishing that the antics of storytelling would be removed from the conversation; however, judging from this man’s outward appearance you doubted you’d be awarded the luxury. 

“A gladiator of mine likes to eat monkeys. Proven to be one my best fighters, and seeing you behave as equally inhuman if not more than him, especially…after hearing what you did–I have to say I’m overjoyed to have a barbarian of beauty to bet on as well.”

Your face soured, realizing you were slavery bait. No better than cattle waiting to be slaughtered. 

“I’m not fighting for you.”

“Ah, my banshee, you see–you aren’t fighting for me. No…but rather your freedom. Fight for me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your hand struck the metal bars of the cell. The ringing of the bars reverberating off the chambers of the stone prison. It was equally as haunting as the shriek of a banshee in the dead of night. Frustration and agony rushed through you, demanding a destination for its release, the rusty bars alchemizing the brunt of your fury. The only way out was through. Through blood, through agonizing pain, through the tears of what was left of your family name, through ruin. You let your mind wander about what could possibly satisfy the seething, bitter ache that now resided in your soul. 

The fall of Rome? Its mighty walls finally crumbling due to its horrific excuse of the ruling.  A damning plague? Disease wiping out all of those who were destined to meet the divine in some display of retribution? Or perhaps, the death of Geta so that Caracalla could choke on the verity of his despotic rule? Each thought seemed chaotic enough to satisfy the storm of rage within but there was only one thing that would snuff the flames. 

“Caracalla’s head.”

You stormed to the cell gates, fire breathing out of your nostrils and rage swimming in your irises. If he were to fall headlong, a bloody trophy for you to display, your hunger would be satiated. You fought tooth and nail your entire life, to be something more than a slave and here you were being pawned off for entertainment. Justice demanded her dues. 

“There she is. Now, put these on and follow their orders, I’ll be with you soon.” 

The cell gate opened and you were handed an olive green tunic, strophium, and subligar. Sighing as you looked at the fabric in your hands, you braced yourself for the long road ahead. Nodding to the man you realized something before he walked off.

“What was your name?”

“Macrinus. Yours?”

You hesitated, the weight of your given name threatening to roll past your lips. This couldn’t be your legacy–a woman discarded for the entertainment of others, her last shreds of dignity wrung dry and tattered. No one would seek the truth, nor would they care for the details of your defiance toward Caracalla. They would crave the story spoonfed to them by a diluted man. 

A savage. 

A wanton woman who was too picky in her own right in a poor attempt at survival. A woman who denied a royal the spoils he believed to be his right. 

A whore. Nothing more. 

That would be the glorious legacy, at least that would be the emphatic story the town would cry if this were to result in your untimely death. And yet, as you bored your eyes into the man on the other side of the bars, something about his presence loomed like a shadow too wicked to trust. The unsettling dissonance was difficult to ignore. Should he ask for the truth of your life, you’d give it willingly, but something in his gaze served as a warning: this truth would bear no fruits for you. 

“Nero.”

“That’s not your birth name, is it?”

“My birth name will die with Rome, if I see it fit.” 

Macrinus nodded a knowing smirk painting his lips before he walked off. 

In your new robes, you sat on the bed, waiting for your cell gate to be opened. In your dissociative state, you noticed all the different colors in the dirt and the different sizes of the rocks and pebbles. Wondering how long it took for these fragments of eternity to be reduced to small scraps of their original form. The squeaking from the gate tore you from your thoughts and a man dressed in typical gladiator armour greeted you with something mixed with disdain and pity. 

“Come. Time to train.”

You rose, the stretching of your limbs and the movement towards the man wrought with apathy running through your marrow. Was the struggle ahead worth the anguish that came with it? Would surrendering your life and facing judgment by the gods to everlasting torment bring a sense of solace in its finality? Would there be any reward in this life or the next for a soul being unmade by its own hand to escape imprecation? 

Your head hung as you followed the man outside, leading you to a gathering of burly men in tunics with all love for life stripped from their faces. They were bruised, scabbed, and jaded by the torment they’d been subjected to; but of course, the entrance of a woman breathed some vitality back into them. In the time spent in your cell, you had braided your hair away from your face, leaving your imminent beauty on display despite the rags they clothed you in. It was as if the world silenced around you as you walked in, your head now held high in the presence of others. A ringing filled your ears as your eyes landed on a ragged man, a cold detachment surrounding his aura. He was staring. A jaded expression tracked your every move as you took the open seat next to him, not uttering a sound. 

You hung your head again, hoping to ignore the invasive and curious gazes of the other men. Clasping your hands together, you prayed to the Gods to give you the strength to survive. Your prayers were cut short as you heard Macrinus’ voice echo over the various sounds of the training camp. 

“As you all can see, we have a new barbarian joining our ranks today. She is destined to earn her place in the arena just as all of you. Her late arrival means her trials begin in full. No. Mercy. Since my barbarian, Hanno, claimed victory in the hand-to-hand combat two days ago, perhaps it’s only fitting that you, Nero, show us the skills that spared you your life. After all, they chose to throw you in the gladiator pit instead of severing your head. Hanno, Nero, up!”

Macrinus clapped his hands together to urge haste in movement from you and whoever Hanno was. As you stood, you realized the body next to you was also rising in stature. Gazing in his eyes this time, there was an emptiness that stirred. For a moment you saw a flash of sorrow in his eyes and you furrowed your brow in response. He was built and you began to wonder what your limitations were for combat. You stood in between the benches of men and the elaborate chair Macrinus was sitting in, planting your feet in the dirt in a fighting stance. You waited for Hanno to reciprocate the stance but every time he leaned his body down, he stood back up in apprehension. Shaking his limbs in rejection, he turned to Macrinus. 

“This is not right. To fight a woman in these…in any conditions. Pick someone else.” 

“You will fight her or all deals are off. Who’s to say she’s not a worthy opponent? 

Your shoulders lifted lazily, dropping them with a defiant slouch as your face cast a dismissive look. Without hesitation, you settled back into your stance, surging at Hanno. You landed a jab straight to his jaw before drifting around his ankles, creating a tornado of dust that wove through his defenses. A storm of grit and determination fueling your fury. When he fell, the sorrow in his eyes was swallowed and replaced by vexation. You dodged his punches with precision, though his fist made home in your gut, dropping you to the ground. You hobbled up slowly, coughing out the bitter dust in your throat before lunging at him again with savage resolve. 

He was an equal opponent, but you were determined to win. Tapping into the same energy from the night before, instinct ravaged your body as you lept on his back, raining blows of rage down on his chest. His attempts to rid you of him only fueled your fire of wrath more and you grabbed a fistful of his hair. You let loose a scream that was sharp enough to sear the air, a blistering echo to the ears. Baring your teeth you were disposed to bite.

“Stop!” 

Macrinus’ voice bellowed through the camp ceasing the dog fight in front of him. You hissed at him, an animal seized mid-hunt. Hopping off of Hanno’s back, you stood in front of him and bowed in tense submission before walking with your head hung low back to your seat. Macrinus stood and gave a calculated, smug look towards the man clad in leather armour that brought you down here. 

“Hose her down and cell her with him. Balance already hangs by a thread in this camp. We must keep vigilant. I believe two invasive species, separated, will incite chaos. Keep them together and maybe those who resist them will have enough strength to endure” 

You raised your head slowly, turning to look at Hanno seated next to you, commiseration flooding your features. You were surprised to see the same look staring back at you. Pressing your lips in a fine line, you rose and followed the guard to the bathing chambers. 

~*~

Your muscles ached, the hot water soothing the pain radiating through your limbs. You assumed it was Macrinus, but there was folded fabric at the edge of the bath. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you draped the clothing over your body, only to find that it barely reached your mid-thigh. You knew you’d be asking for too much to be treated with some note of decency, but at least you were able to clean yourself. The guard walked you back to the cells and as you passed your previous one being occupied by another man, you realized the orders from earlier were not a bluff and you’d have to face Hanno like a fool. 

As you walked down the corridor, men in the other cells were whistling, catcalling you to come stay in their cell instead. Claiming that they could show you a better time than Hanno or the emperor. 

The word spread like wildfire. Once a whore, always a whore. 

You hung your head, hoping that somehow if you wore your shame on your sleeve you’d disappear from all the madness. The squeak from the cell bars ripped you from your thoughts and you looked at Hanno apologetically before seating yourself on the bed across his. 

“By Gods, why do they have you in here?”

You shook your head, trying to will away the tears that were welling up in your eyes. His first words to you weren’t vulgar or accusatory, they were forged of concern and despondent curiosity. You licked your lips, caging them in between your teeth in an attempt to swallow the burning ball of emotions that was bubbling up your throat. You turned to face him finally, swallowing your fears and accepting your fate. Something about him told you that you could trust him. Sighing, you found your strength to speak. 

“I assume you’ve heard the echoes of what I’ve done?”

Hanno nodded slowly.

“There is some verity to the words but not all. I know you may find it difficult to see truth in such a claim, especially as I stand before you clad in garments of odium, bestowed so graciously upon me. But know this– I am more than a mere cyprian. Indeed, I am Rome’s poorest excuse for one, and that very deficiency is what has landed me in the arena.” 

“What is this deficiency you speak of?

“Being too particular in whom I offered services to. I only did what I did to survive…and now, I must survive for sport–entertainment for eyes who would care less if I lived or bled out in the dirt.”

Hanno looked down at his hand, fiddling with the ring that adorned his pinky finger. 

“I also…I want to apologize for my behavior earlier today. He christened me a ‘barbarian of beauty’ –figured I needed to give him a reason to keep his favor. I do hope you understand, but still, the animalic behavior was unjust.” 

“No need. We must survive, by any means necessary. I only wish the Gods decided a different fate for you.” 

Hanno’s breath became heavy but sparse. He seemed to be reminiscing on something but wouldn’t dare let the words fill the air between you. He mumbled something you couldn’t quite catch and you were about to inquire but his low voice painted the silence first. 

“Your name, it’s not Nero, is it?”

Your body separated itself from your mind and you stared at Hanno with fear and uncertainty. Your birth name was shallow on your tongue but heavy in your throat, begging for someone to see you for more than just your flesh. To attach an identity to the body more than an insult. You shook your head and turned to the makeshift window toward the ceiling, seeing a navy blue begin to stroke the sky in its image, hoping that something would give you the strength to share yourself the same way you had done when it was at the expense of others. Hanno’s hand encased your own and brought you back to the conversation as the gesture startled you. 

“I’m not your enemy. Remember we’re ‘barbarians’, only the two of us.” 

Sighing, he swallowed his pride and revealed his belly to you. 

“Hanno is not my name, and I’ve not always been Rome’s favorite beast. I’ve come to know I bore a name that mattered. Lucius Verus Aurelius. The Prince of Rome. A name I may never be able to reclaim in glory.”

He paused tightening his grip around your hand as if seeking comfort. 

“There was a dream of Rome, one that my father fought for. But through slaughter and slavery, power won over the people and now we wade in the remnants of what once was. In search of the hope that someone or something will restore the honor.” 

Lucius let go of your hands and brought one of his calloused ones to his face, Rubbing the stress-ridden features away as the scratch of his beard caught your ears. You watched him attentively, waiting on bated breath for him to speak his next words. He leaned closer, the gap between seeming to never have existed. He gazed into your eyes, searching for something you knew not of until he uttered them in the next breath. 

“You remind me of her.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Something you’d miss again if you weren’t so focused on him. With more chest to his tone, he admitted.

“My wife. She burned like you do. A flame that never quit dancing. A warrior who refused to bow–they stole her spark. The same day they made me a slave. A bitter goodbye, I shared, but when I look at you…I see her ghost.”

There was a touch of venom in his last words. They seemed to have meant good will but the taste was sour in your mouth. A moment fleeting once again. Even in your vulnerability, your search for someone seeing you for you, you were a reminder of something else. You paused, taking a deep breath in before you spoke. Removing your hands from Lucius’, you stared at him with the cracked concrete resolve that you walked through life with. 

“Y/n. Y/n L/n is my given name. My father was once an accredited soldier here in Rome, but he tried to overthrow the twins. With that political betrayal came familial shame and poverty. Sinking deeper into poverty I couldn’t watch my mother fail. My beauty had always been prominent, so I exchanged my virtue in an effort to clear our debts and save what dignity my mother had left.” 

Tears began to well in your eyes as you thought about the orders that were carried out against your family. 

“They slaughtered her.” you began, voice trembling like a frayed string. 

 “As I spent hours severing my pride, they cornered her. There was never a debt–only a performance of humiliation, a spectacle of shame to the so-called traitor.” 

You stood, staring out the cell bars before turning to face him again, your shadow stretching across the stone from the torch on the wall. 

“My father raised a viper. A soldier to bear his name in honor. But those tyrants–these incompetent rulers–they’ll soon choke on their arrogance. I will have his head.” 

“Who?”

“Caracalla. I may have sold my poise for survival but I will not suffer my health for the pleasure of a rat.” 

You sat beside Lucius, your words heavy in the air. 

“I carry the guilt, a constant companion. I reminisce the fragments of life I had before all of this and now I reminisce of what it felt like to live a life unspoiled by the fear of death. The scars of my servitude are my food for that arena. This isn’t about freedom it’s about reclaiming a dream they stole.”

You felt Lucius staring but you didn’t dare return the gesture. You were naked, said too much about yourself, you only hoped that you could keep his favor. 

“We should get some rest. God knows the entertainment we’ll be performing tomorrow.”

Standing up you settled back into your bed, curling your body into a fetal position with your back facing the wall. You tried your best to maneuver the fabric of your dress to cover yourself but soon gave up on the endeavor and just stared at the ground covered in shadows of yellow and orange. 

~*~

Sleep evaporated in a single breath as the cacophony of clamoring metal and gruff voices jolted you awake. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you dressed in the olive garments from yesterday, the scent of sweat and earth still clinging to the fabric. In the corner, a pile of gladiator armor taunted your peace. With a heavy breath escaping you, you braided your hair, coiling it into a bun. Every strand you attached a prayer of strength to. The weight of Lucius’ gaze bore into you, his presence going unnoticed until now. He lingered, his eyes flickering between your own and the twisted knot of hair at your nape. 

“Something on your mind?”

“You mirror her as if she’s still here.” 

You noticed where his eyes were landing and gently touched the bun. A tight-lipped, bitter smile cracking your face. Rolling your tongue around your teeth, you spoke. 

“Whoever your wife was” you murmured, unspoken and unintentional venom in your tone, “do not look for her in me. Whatever regard you hold her in, I could never–honor the shadow of her memory. I am a poison.” 

You meant no harm but your words were dripping in acrimony. You hated that throughout your life, you were always seen for something other than yourself. The epitome of you, torn to shreds and left screaming. Y/n was never seen and how could she be? A family name forgotten in a smear campaign and a life lived of shame, what was there to be reveled in? You abhorred that he saw someone much more valuable in you than you deemed yourself worth. You were a ghost. A shallow reminder of what he once loved. 

The cell thickened with unsaid words, Lucius opened and closed his mouth, betraying the storm of thoughts that swirled within him. He walked toward the cell door, grabbed your blade, and passed it to you with care.

“I see you, Y/n, and your strength. Fight for your name today and do it with intention.”

You nodded, swallowing the bubble of hatred and sorrow in your throat. Standing you grabbed the grip of the blade, steadying its weight in your fingers. You heard the other cell gates opening and you waited to be released. Adrenaline and ferality coursing through your veins. 

The walk to the arena was short but brutal as the sun scalded your skin. As you stood in the shaded maw of the tunnels, you felt water sloshing at your feet. The rays of the sun blinding your eyes in its reflection. You watched Lucius walk to the front of the group, a commanding presence blanketing the air. 

“This is about survival! Survive!”

You followed his lead, wildly unprepared for what was to happen next. The feeling of the water squishing between your toes made your skin crawl but a shiver of fear soon took over as you saw the vessel you’d be fighting on today. Suddenly, the water made sense. You took a seat towards the front awaiting Lucius’ command. Your hands gripped the ore tightly and you looked at the bearish man next to you who greeted you with mockery. 

“Hope your teeth come in handy in the water.” 

You stared forward, fire in your eyes. You separated from your body feeling an unknown level of rage sear your being. You heard an announcer on the other side and the gates were released open, water rushing underneath the boat. Quickly scanning your surroundings you noted with disgust how the arena had turned into a spectacle of chaos. Floating vessels on either side filled with poor bastards, desperately seeking a second chance at life in this gauntlet of survival for the entertainment of nameless faces. 

Lucius commanded the ship valiantly, some men perishing to the sharks or arrows from the opposing side. As the boat was steered to demolish the other ship's ores, you felt a surge of rapid excitement run through you as you watched the shards of wood penetrate their skin. Leaving them in either complete agony or to bleed out amongst their crew. 

In one more calculated steer, Lucius’ ship barreled into the side of Roman’s warship, debris shooting into the air and clanking back down on the deck. All hell broke loose. You watched Lucius hail down from his post, sword in hand as he slaughtered two men with unusual ease. You’d seen a rage poor out of him that you never seen actualized in anyone but yourself. Your eyes caught Caracalla’s as he sat in his imperial chair watching with glee as your limbs froze in anger. You were one of the last to flee the boat and the game announcer made sure everyone saw your unease as you comprehended your reality. 

“It seems our newest gladiatrix hasn’t earned her sea legs.”

Unbridled fear and rage soiled you as you stared at the crowd with wide, brazen eyes. You growled, tightening your grip on your sword, and ran into the chaos with reckless abandon. Your resolve didn’t care who your sword struck, just as long as your bloodlust was satisfied. Helmets adorned with hideous plooms made your targets easy to strike and you made it worth your while. Your blade was stained crimson and you clawed at their exposed skin just to ensure their death was agonizing. Flesh caked under your nails, the dried blood becoming sticky in your palms. 

Baring your teeth, your back was hunched and heaving in the air. You snarled seeking your next victim within the chaos. A blade slashed your arm, leaving fresh garnet to ooze from the wound. You looked up into the emperors’ box seeing Caracalla leaning forward in his seat pouting at the outcome in front of him. Macrinus was behind him, hands steepled together as he hid a smirk from the rest of his peers. Hearing the announcer’s grating voice echo in the Colosseum, you stalked your next target. 

“What an animal! She’s worse than our sharks. Perhaps, we should have put her in the water instead!”

Laughter erupted in the area and you looked around feeling a sense of helplessness begin to wash over you. You were giving them exactly what they wanted. Stomping around on the deck, you were planting your sword into already dead soldiers just to feel the destruction of their flesh through your blade. Your eyes landed on a lone bow with a perfect arrow clattered on top of it. You dropped your blade, the metal clattering against the wood of the ship. Blending in with the chaos around you, you picked up your new weapon and drew your arrow back. Slightly hidden by the tattered sails, your attack was camouflaged by those in front of you. Lining up the point with the emperor’s box you let the arrow spring free. When you dropped the bow and stepped from behind the ragged sail you were defeated to see that the arrow had lodged itself in the side of Caracalla’s throne. 

“TRAITORIUS!” Emperor Geta cried. His yell acted as a death knell for the arena. 

Lucius whipped his head around from where the arrow hailed and when his eyes landed on yours he stormed to you shaking you to bring your spirit back from the brink. You heard nothing he said. They would remember you if it was the last thing you did. Your eyes were locked in on the imperial daises relishing in the fear that briefly flashed their faces. 

~*~

Retired to your cell, the air was thick between you two. You avoided his gaze and didn’t dare to speak. You had cleaned yourself prior, but you were still picking at flecks of dried blood under your nails. 

“That was heedless what you did today.”

“I said, I’d have his head. I missed. The fear he held filled me well. Tomorrow is a new day.” 

“And what if they saw the attack, what revenge have you then?” His tone grew more accusatory as he stood, his figure imposing. You spoke to the ground, not having the strength to fight with him.

“Then at least I died trying. Something my father wasn’t granted the courtesy of.”

Lucius paused, trying to find the right words.

“You fought like a storm.”

You raised your head to face him, surprised by his change of tone. You silenced the flutter of happiness you felt from the praise, but your small smile didn’t go unnoticed. 

“A storm drowns as easily as it conquers. I was blinded by rage today. They got exactly what they wanted.” 

Lucius’ frame softened as he sat next to you and you traced the stitches of your battle wounds. It suddenly became usually silent within the camp, the crackle of a fire pit out in the quad of the prison, the burning bark of the torch, and the occasional shuffle from a guard were all that echoed through the halls. 

“You’ll ruin your skin if you keep at it like that. Leave it be, y/n.  You’ve endured enough today.” The flicker of care that painted his words was the antithesis of his rough exterior. It challenged you and your vulnerability. 

“And if I don't?” your breath shaky in its opposition. “What would it matter?”

“It matters to me,” he spoke quickly. A note of something raw in his tone. You turned to him, the silence that filled the cell now was an entirely different energy. Startled by the vulnerability etched into his face and the weight of his gaze, you were stripped of your defenses. The shell you encased yourself in crumbled to dust, exposing the fragile girl beneath. Your body moved before your mind and you scooted closer to him, your shoulders brushing feeling the heat radiate off him.

Lucius exhaled, a sound that harnessed the weight of everything unsaid. His hand came to rest on yours, the gesture done out of harmony rather than dominance. The scruff of his beard tickled your forehead as you raised your face towards his. In the soft glow of the torchlight, both of your eyes said a thousand words in complete silence–then your lips met. Not with haste but with an aching tenderness that your soul burned for. The outside world ceased to exist, enraptured with one another in this moment.

The kiss started soft but your breaths soon became heavy, vacuuming air through your nostrils out of fear that if your lips disconnected this moment would disappear. Lucius moved his hands to capture your waist and slotted his hand under your thighs to move you into his lap. It was then that you broke the kiss, uncertainty filling your being once again. 

“What’s wrong?” Concern laced in his tone, afraid that he made you uncomfortable. You sighed, feeling unwanted emotion rise viciously up your throat like heated bile. 

“I want this to be more than just a fleeting moment. I don’t wish for you to see me as the whore they’ve so harshly crafted, nor to feel like a conquest for you–a prize so easily won.” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, unable to hide the waves of emotion well. Lucius caressed your sides, soothing you as you sat in the pit of regret and sorrow of what you had done in life. Your head hung, but not for long as Lucius’ thumb and forefinger raised your head to look at him. 

“Do not tether yourself to that title. It is not chains of eternity that shackle you to it. Y/n–it is a false truth whispered through the minds of shallow men to make you small. To me, you are no more a whore than a flame is a shadow. Your light burns through the weathering of rain, igniting your strength.” He paused, his eye contact unwavering to show that every word he spoke held the weight of complete veracity. 

“If you wish to stop, say the word. But know this–my desire is not conditional, no debts or games to be played. What happens here is your command.”

Lucius’ hand came up to wipe the tear that you hadn’t realized fell. It was overwhelming to feel such acceptance. You believed every word and let yourself soften into his embrace, wrapping your hands around his neck and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Thank you–I…Iwant this. I want you.”

His lips found yours, this kiss more searing than the last. Your hands tangled themselves into his hair and your hips rolled in rhythm against his own. His hands trailed down the sides of your curves before finding refuge in the fat of your ass, squeezing the flesh with zeal.

His hips stuttered as he squeezed your flesh and you could feel the bulge beginning to form underneath his tunic. You rolled into the feeling, both of your breaths labored in wanton desire. You pulled your lips away only to pepper kisses down the length of his neck, swiping your tongue up before you bit the lobe of his ear. The faint taste of sweat fired you up even more and you couldn’t get close enough to him. 

Curling your fingers into the fabric that clung to his chest, you pulled him close suffocating his lips to yours. In a moment, he had positioned your body so that your back was laid down on the bed and Lucius hovered over you. Taking in your form for every strand of beauty you were worth—a dangerous hunger flashing in his eyes. 

Your hair was splayed underneath you and Lucius moved a few strands away from your face before placing kisses on the length of your jaw and down the column of your neck. Lucius placed a lingering kiss upon your lips before resting his forehead against your own. His breath mingled with your own as if to rid you of all the pain and uncertainty you had felt throughout your life. He wanted to replace all those negative feelings with something raw and unbreakable. 

You trailed your hands down the front of his body before looking back into his icy eyes, seeing a new emotion swirl in them. Your actions were no longer reigned by caution but falling victim to a deep, unspoken yearning. 

“Let us be whole in this moment,” you whispered, the words dripping in true desire. “Let our bodies tangle and relish in the ecstasy.”

Lucius didn’t answer with words, but instead captured your lips in a kiss that stole your breath. It devoured and soothed you in one fell swoop. His touch was firm, but tender, massaging your body with something more than lust. This was a testament of humanity amidst the terror of your world. 

With ease, Lucius removed you from your clothes, leaving your body to be painted by the distant flames. When he stared at your naked form without saying a word, you soon grew self-conscious and wanted to cover your body from his raking eyes. Catching your hands in his, he gave you all the reassurance you needed. 

“Don’t hide from me. Let me see. One should feel so blessed to lay their eyes on you, like this.” 

Lucius kissed down the trunk of your body, leaving flowers to bloom in their wake as he made a path down the valley of your breasts. When he reached the area above the mound of your sex, he paused and looked up at you for permission–eyes showing you a hunger you’d never seen before. You nodded as you gently spread your legs wider, giving him complete access to you. His eyes were blown wide as he dipped his head to meet your petals. His nose teased the top of your clit and the anticipation was driving you mad. Before you had the chance to beg him to touch you, his tongue swiped up your folds, collecting a puddle of arousal on his tongue. 

Your body shivered in shock and pleasure, your hips jolting forward and your back arching slightly. You threw your head back, shuddered air falling past your lips. Your hands immediately found solace in Lucius’ hair, gripping the strands as he lapped at your garden. Soon your hips were rolling in rhythm with his tongue and you could feel the heat begin to pool in your lower stomach. Your muscles tighten and release with each passing second of foretaste. 

“...Lucius…I,” he lifted his head only for a moment to shush you. “I’ve got you. Cum for me y/n.”

You let the feeling of pleasure swallow you whole as he dipped two fingers into your cavern, your walls sucking him in greedily. The added stimulation brought you over the precipice of your rapture and your body wriggled with euphoria against Lucius’ mouth. When your spirit settled back into your body, you giggled breathlessly. Second nature soon taking over as you lifted yourself from the bed.

You moved forward, your hand feeling his cock through the tunic and you felt a salacious urge brew rapidly within you. Lucius quickly rid himself of his clothes, his sculpted body on display for you to indulge in. When you moved yourself to your knees and began to return the oral favor, Lucius’ hand stopped your head from its descent and guided you to look at him. 

“No,” his voice was laced with desire but thick with command. You could see his resolve crumbling a bit in front of you. “This is not about me. It’s for you. You’ve done more than enough in this life, let me return a fraction of that and allow me to give it all to you.” Lucius pushed you and laid you gently back down. His face rested against your own, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered into it. 

“I want to hear your pleasure, not just give into mine. You owe me not a thing,” he paused feeling a bit of his dominance morph into a teasing leviathan. 

“You want this?” 

You nodded rapidly, your hands wrapping around his arms just needing to feel his skin against your own. You looked down between your bodies. His cock hanging heavy off of his frame, tip flushed with desire. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, needing to feel his length somewhere inside of you. Lucius swiped his tip against your folds, soaking his shaft in your arousal just to show you exactly who was in control. 

His tip pushed at the entrance of your heat, your brow furrowed in ardent zeal as you squeezed around the small bit of length that was inside of you. Lucius held the base of his cock guiding it to the hilt until your bodies clapped at the connection. He brought his arms down to rest on his elbows, bringing his face closer to yours to watch your expressions contort in fervor. You couldn’t help the sound that escaped you as he buried himself inside of you and on instinct you covered your mouth to muffle the sounds. 

Lucius removed your hand from your mouth, his smile wicked as he shoved his tongue in his cheek. 

“Let them hear. Serves them right for locking us in a cage together.” 

He began to move, his thrusts deep and slow. Closing your eyes, you felt every ridge and curve of his cock. Dragging out your pleasure in the most beautiful way imaginable. The clap at the end of each thrust was unmistakable and you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care. You almost wanted everyone to hear the lustful wreckage he was throwing you in. 

Opening your eyes, the closeness of his face caused you to writhe against him and moan out. The sounds amplified by the stone in the cell, leaving everyone else outside at the mercy of your cries. 

“Lose yourself in me.” 

Lucius pushed himself up so that he could grab your hips and deliver more calculated thrusts. Each time he pushed in, you could feel his tip kiss your cervix with pure carnality. Your moans were low in timbre but grew more frequent as you felt the knot in your loins begin to tighten at the new speed. 

There was a sheen of sweat across Lucius’ chest, a bead dripping down his brow. He brought himself back down and tortured you with the same bruising pace. 

“Cum for me. Cum with me.” 

He captured your lips in his reminding you that this was more than just lust at work. Your sounds were swallowed by his mouth as the heart of your wanton need contracted around his length in lascivious rhapsody. He fucked you through your orgasm before pulling out and painting your stomach in his alabaster drippings. 

Lucius hovered over you, taking in what just happened. As you held eye contact with him, you snuck your hand down to the milky portrait and scooped up some of his salty sap. Bringing it to your mouth, you sucked on your finger, savoring the taste. He groaned at the sight and you smiled at him when you released your finger with a pop sound. 

Lucius stood up, grabbing the poor excuse of a blanket off his bed, and used the corner to clean you of him. Wiping the stain of his cum in the dirt, he threw the sheet back to his bed. Grabbing your robes and motioning you to stand up, he covered your body. 

“No one else needs to see you like this.” 

The gesture was warm and his words held a sense of finality to them. As if he were counting on the fact that you’d never go back to the life you lived before. Lucius covered himself in his tunic. Pheromones, and earth flying off the fabric as he lay down on the bed. He opened one arm and nodded his head toward himself to motion you to lie down with him. The fit was tight but that didn’t matter at this moment. 

The quiet lingered, heavy with everything you hadn’t said. Lucius’ breath came slow and steady as you traced patterns over his body, his hand soothing your arm—an unspoken promise in such gentle touches. 

“You deserve more than survival. I’ll fight for that. I’ll fight for you.” 

The weight of his words settled in your chest, and you allowed yourself to believe for the first time in a long time. To believe that the life ahead could be yours. Not stolen or dictated. With the warmth of his steady presence, you curled into him. Letting the moment take root in the deepest parts of you. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone. 

please don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoy my writing! :D

© yeonjuns-beanie ‘24

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

My Friend, the Zombie

Summary: Leon is a zombie and reader finds him slumped in a dark alleyway. But unbeknownst to reader… he’s a needy zombie?

Warning: smut. mentions of blood and periods. cunnilingis.

A/N: sorry I haven’t posted any ff but I’ve been fighting my university nonstop😒 anyways, I didn’t know whether to turn this into a smut or a fluff but I ended up going with smut because I’m horny.

Leon S. Kennedy. A well known agent in the DSO, former rookie cop turned into a government weapon. He’s built this reputation around him that made him become respectable around his colleagues. No one would’ve guess that the Leon Kennedy would soon come to an end.

-

Months passed after the outbreak happening in the city. You were out with your friends hanging out at some Target parking lot when all of a sudden, a group of undead rose from the nearby forest just on the other side of the road.

Sometimes you wondered how you ended up in this mess. Now you were roaming the streets with your backpack full of looted items and your combat knife that you stole from the body of a military soldier you stumbled upon. Why was this happening to you? You wondered and wondered but you never came to an answer.

The town was dead. A literal ghost town—well—zombie town to be exact. Somehow, you’ve managed to survive this long. Of course life wasn’t simple. You ate less to conserve as much food as possible for the next day. You haven’t taken a shower since the power had gone out. But that was the least of your concerns. It wasn’t like you were going to bump into someone at this point in life.

You almost believed you were the only human left on earth.

Dumpster diving became a hobby for you. The amount of things people used to throw away were too precious to leave in the dumpsters.

“Jackpot,” you muttered under your breath when you stumbled upon a dark alleyway with three dumpsters. It wasn’t New York but you almost convinced yourself it was.

Your footsteps were quiet against the wet concrete under your boots. It had been raining nonstop the past following days, storms were rampant and almost everything was destroyed.

As you rummaged through the dumpster, there was groaning from the corner of the alley. Your movements still as you looked up from the trash and towards the direction where the sound came from.

You weren’t a rookie when it came to killing zombies. Surviving meant killing so it was natural that you unsheathed your combat knife and held it at the ready firmly in your hand as you took cautious steps.

It was dark, maybe a little too dark for your liking but it wasn’t like anything you haven’t experienced before.

“Hungry…” you heard someone say. It was the voice of a man, deep and guttural. At first, you thought it might’ve been a human so you quickly put your knife away and ran towards the person.

But as you got closer, you saw you were completely wrong. There against the wall sat a man who had been bitten and infected. Your heart hammered inside your chest as you looked down at him slumped figure.

His skin was pale and his veins were dark blue and black. His eyes were bloodshot red but you can still see the blue in them. His blonde hair was disbelieved, it seemed as if he had been fighting. His clothes were bloodied and there was blood around the walls and floor.

Questions and concerns circled around your mind as you looked around him. He looked weak but he also looked like he was ready to pounce on you at any minute.

“Hungry…” he said again, this time his voice becoming raspier and hoarser than before. It amazed you how this infected man still had the ability to communicate with words. Most zombies you’ve encountered were mindless monsters ready to eat humans as if it was their last dinner.

“You can talk?” You asked the man, looking down at him with an analytical eye. The man looked up at you and a groaned scoff escaped from his bloodied lips.

He cocked his head to the side, his direction being pointed towards the body of a zombie whose legs had been cut off. It didn’t worry you though. That zombie couldn’t even move, it just snarled at you both.

“Here,” you fished into your pockets and retrieved a granola bar. Great, dinner for you was gone now. The man eyed you for a minute longer before he slowly brought his hand out and took the bar from you.

He unwrapped it and almost immediately munched on the snack. He hummed and closed his eyes as he felt some food finally enter his system, he finished the bar rather quickly. But it wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger.

You, as unimpressed as you were, couldn’t help but notice his attire. He looked like some kind of character that was like an agent or something. His black shirt had rips and it was stained with blood. His cargo pants contained holsters for what you assumed were guns and knives but he didn’t have them.

“What happened to you?” You asked as you sat in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at you, almost perplexed at why you even sat in front of him while he was still very clearly infected.

He didn’t answer to your question, he was still wary of you but there was a certain gaze in his eyes.

Hunger.

His eyes remained on your neck but then he stood up and took slow and staggering steps towards you.

“You smell…” he started. So he can talk. He just chooses not to. He narrowed his eyes at you as he tried to put your scent into words.

And then, without warning, he quickly pulled your wrists and pressed your body against his. He stuffed his face on your neck and took a heavy sniff on your skin, he groaned as the scent infiltrated his nose.

“Smells good,” he whispered. He dragged his tongue around the pulse point of your neck. You tried to fight him but something told you that he wasn’t all that dangerous. He seemed human. A little too human.

He pulled back and gave your body a once over, something else caught his nose. His nose flared as his eyes narrowed at you.

“Blood,” he whispered as he eyes you suspiciously, “you’re bleeding…” I croaked out in a raspy voice. You looked at him confused.

Bleeding? You clearly weren’t injured so what—oh.

He could smell that you were bleeding from your period. You mentally cursed yourself, is that why that hoard of zombies were following you earlier today? No wonder.

He took a step towards you, almost as if wanted to smell you again. But this time, you didn’t fight it. You were almost amused as to see what he was going to do.

At first, you thought he was going to lunge at you and bite you. But it took you by surprise when all of a sudden, he leaned down and grabbed your ankles. He then pulled on them, causing you to fall on your back. You looked at him perplexed, was this a new of attacking someone?

“I want to taste,” he voiced in a hoarse tone. His voice was deeper and almost needy. He wanted—no, he needed to taste you.

He was a starved man and you were the perfect oasis he could feast on. He got on his knees and settled between your legs but he didn’t do anything yet.

He may be infected but he was still a gentleman.

“Please,” he begged as he looked at you with pleading eyes. His mouth was watering, he could practically taste the metallic blood on his tongue and it was driving his primal instincts crazy.

“Please let me taste you,” he whispered again as his hands traveled along your thighs. You were almost tempted to say no and kill him on the spot. But he was handsome and he seemed smart. Maybe you’d keep him for your journeys.

With a slight nod of your head, he didn’t waste time on taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion.

His tongue darted out and he licked his lips upon seeing the sight of your bloody cunt in front of him. It was like a buffet for him. He slowly eased himself further on the floor as his face neared your entrance. The strong coppery smell of your blood made him act like a whole different man.

He went from needy and pleading to one that wasted no time in ravaging you. He traced his tongue along the slit of your entrance, tasting your blood that had caused his body to shiver. He groaned a guttural groan and waiting no time in darting his tongue inside your cunt to lap at the blood, making sure to suck and clean you off.

You were shocked but when you felt his tongue, the sensation made you throw your head back and grip his hair tightly in your hand. You pulled his head closer as he continued his ministrations with his tongue. He flicked and licked everywhere he could.

His hands gripped at your hips as your moans filled the air and it was enough for him to just keep going. For a moment, all he could think about was quenching his devilish hunger. To finally be able to feast on such sweet and addictive blood was like a miracle.

He knew you were getting aroused and although this was something new for you, you couldn’t help but feel attracted to it. To this.

You’ve only ever heard of men eating women out on their period but to actually experience it made you feel blessed. Maybe not all men were bad. But was he even considered a human? You didn’t know and you didn’t care. His mouth on your cunt felt good.

Slick and blood dripped down his face and for a moment you wondered if he could breathe. He hasn’t pulled back at all to catch his breath, he was a possessed man. Starved and munching on you.

The coil in your stomach started to stretch as he kept eating you as if you were a five star restaurant. He didn’t stop, he only went faster. His lips were firmly pressed against your cunt as his tongue swirled inside you, licking and tasting each ounce of blood that came from within you.

“I’m gonna—“ you said as you gripped his hair tightly. He only grunted in response and dragged his tongue along your slit until he found your clit, he flicked it with his tongue before he sucked on it. But the smell of blood was intoxicating and he couldn’t help but dive back into your bloody pussy.

He felt your walls pulsate and around him as you grinded your hips along his face. He didn’t fight against you, in fact, he encouraged you.

Your body arched as you came around his face and he licked off any remnant of blood and cum that came out of you.

He looked up at you as he watched your chest heave up and down from coming down from your high. His lips pressed one final kiss on your cunt before he pulled back and wiped the juices off his face with the back of his hand—before he licked the back of his hand.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered and stood up. He took your clothes from the floor and held them to you.

He watched as you got dressed but he didn’t attack. For a zombie, he seemed rather nice and friendly. For now at least.

“Let’s make a deal,” you said after you caught your breath, “You help me and in return I’ll let you do this again.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicious. It seemed like a good deal. Almost too good, “How do I know you won’t lie?”

“You’ll just have to trust me,” you said as you smirked at him and patted his cheek, “Come now. We’ve got places to explore and loot.”

As you began to walk ahead, he couldn’t help but scoff at your assertive nature. He thought you were crazy for wanting him to join you but he also couldn’t pass the chance of eating out your blood again. So, he followed behind you.

“By the way,” you started as he walked next to you, “You didn’t answer my question. What happened to you and how can you talk?”

He looked at you with a raised brow and a smirk, “I got the vaccine years ago but I still got ambushed.”

“Okay… but how do I also know you won’t do that to me?” You asked with skepticism.

He maintained that smug smirk on his and he stopped walking as he stared down at you, “You’ll just have to trust me.”

He began to walk ahead as you remained shocked, he just gave you your own words. A dry scoff escaped your lips and you quickly ran behind him.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[kunikuyu]

Until he gets tired.

Heian Era! Ryomen Sukuna x Male! Reader

Warnings: 🕊️ DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Dom! sukuna, sub! reader. reader is simply crazy. Size kink, cut play, mention of the term 'sex slave', dub-con, sex even when passed out, bulge in the belly, begging, abusive relationship, words written intentionally wrong, sukuna has two dicks, fainting, monster romance (for obvious reasons). DNI MINORS.

Summary: Being Sukuna's partner is something completely insane. Aside from the fact that Sukuna is incapable of loving anyone, he seems to take a twisted pleasure in hurting his partners. Every night, [Name] knows that the next day, he will wake up completely destroyed.

The climate was pleasant. Not too cold, not too hot, a gentle breeze blew through the walls and windows of Sukuna's temple. But what made everything scary and strange were the screams that came from inside.

Today was a special day. [Name] and Sukuna, the king of curses, had completed a hundred years together, as partners. Normally no one would celebrate this, since... Who would want to stand next to Sukuna? No one would be crazy enough to do that.

But, [Name] is.

"Uhm~ 'Kuna..."

The ancient sorcerer purrs. [Name] was sitting in the lap of the curse, skin completely exposed for anyone to see, but protected so no one can touch. And of course no one would touch, who would even dare to come close to the one who is so 'well taken care of' by Ryomen Sukuna. His chest was already completely red and full of small cuts, which were leaking almost invisible drops of blood. He didn't even know how he managed to stay awake anymore, it seemed simply impossible not to pass out there. Not because of the small and insignificant loss of blood, but rather for the pain in his lower parts.

[Name] couldn't move, couldn't even dare breathe wrong, if he didn't want to get slapped in the face. It seemed like an impossible task, and it really was, since Sukuna's dick wasn't just anything, or just an organ. It was big, ridiculously big, it seemed like a joke to imagine that it could fit on someone. So much so that only the cockhead managed to enter the sorcerer's body.

But Sukuna didn't care at all, of course not. He smiled when he saw his flushed face, expressing pain and clearly distorted pleasure. And instead of helping, he only makes the situation worse, squeezing hard around [Name]'s entire length so that he's unable to cum. This felt more like a punishment than a reward for staying by his side for so long.

"Such a dirty little whore... Are you that used to it? Don't you even scream in desperation for me to get out of you? I don't know if I find this interesting or pathetic." He says, with his typical arrogant and self-centered tone.

Deciding that he would take things more seriously, the King of Curses pulls [Name]'s hands close enough to him, so that the younger man is completely lying on top of Sukuna, being the perfect target for the all-out aggression the older man has in mind. He liked seeing his partner like this, but he much preferred seeing him screaming and crying because he couldn't handle his dick.

[Name] lets out a howl of pain as his severed chest is thrown hard against Sukuna's chest. It was like a thousand needles going into his skin because of the small cuts located in the area, but he still managed to find pleasure in the pain.

"Sukuna...! That hurts...!"

"I know."

Suddenly, agonizing screams of pain can be heard from far away. The screams were definitely from [Name], who was now being fucked mercilessly. He drooled against the other man's shoulder while still going through the trouble of jerking off his other cock. It was always so painful, the older man's balls aggressively slapped his ass, while his dick reached the deepest layer of his body, crushing his prostate with ease.

"Stop, please!~ Sho painf- ah!"

He doesn't even have time to complain before another of Sukuna's tricks is revealed. The two bodies completely glued together served so that the mouth on the monster-man's stomach could willingly take in [Name]'s red and swollen cock. He doesn't even know what to feel. It hurts, but he's about to cum!

And...

...To faint...

This lasts all night, and several times, [Name] even faints. It didn't end until Sukuna got tired, and he could never easily get tired of his beloved sex slave. When [Name] wakes up in the morning, a small pool of blood was formed on his bed, and next to the bed, a calm and silent Sukuna was cleaning his own body, which was dirty with fluids from both of them. When looking at his body, the sorcerer realizes that his chest was no longer the only thing that was bleeding, but his entire body. His belly was even full, certainly from Sukuna's loads of cum, which were clearly not few. He can barely stay awake for long before passing out again from exhaustion and blood loss.