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b3ach-bunn7 · 26 days ago

Text

NONSENSE

You're horrible at technology, and find yourself fliriting with you university's IT customer service.

University!au, noquirk!au, fluff

(side note i love shinsou hitoshi)

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You’re sure your stupid shitty laptop could break world records with how useless and slow it is.

You don’t think you’re much better. You study veterinary medicine so you can name every bone in a cat's ass but it would take you ten years to figure out how to send a Word document to somebody. The only up to being so horrible at technology, is your university has an IT customer service.

It’s weird and you don’t really understand how it works, but according to the front page, you can call anytime from 10am to 3am. With the clock ticking minutes before your submission date, and with an essay due tomorrow, you decide it will be less embarrassing to confess you have no idea how to work the university’s submission system, than not submit at all. You dial the number quickly, biting your thumbnail as it rings a couple times before it picks up. The person on the other line barely said their hellos before you started rambling.

“Okay, I know this is really stupid, but I cannot figure out how to attach my submission to this stupid fucking- I mean, this stupid system. And I have like, twenty minutes before my submission date, so I’d really appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Why would you leave your submission so last minute?”

You frown. You’re unaware that customer support could be so sassy. And also attractive. At least his voice is. It’s smooth and soft, and you press your phone closer to your ear to hear him better.

“Uhm. I don’t need the sass, thank you, I need the help.” You drawl, clicking at your laptop aggressively.

There’s a little chuckle of amusement on the other end of the line. “Apologies, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?”

“Would you prefer sir?”

Your face twists in annoyance. “I’d prefer you to help me.”

“Alright, alright. Okay, so enter the module the work is for, scroll to the bottom.” He pauses slightly so you can follow his instructions.

“Okay.”

“Then click the three dots on the top left. Where it says enter, click that and select your file, then submit.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t the button say submit. Instead of fucking enter.” You grumble, quickly attaching your work and handing it in.

“Not sure. I’ll let the university know.” He says, faux sympathy coating his voice.

“That’d be nice.” You glanced at your phone. You’re not sure what exactly happens now.

“So. Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

“Do I just. Hang up? Now that you’ve helped me?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “Unless you wanna keep me company for the rest of my shift?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You hang up, trying to ignore the small smile on your own face as you do it. You don't have to miss him for long though, because you find yourself calling them back only a few days later after the wifi in your room refuses to work.

You turn it off, then on. You carry your laptop all around your flat and hold it up to the ceiling knowing it won’t make a single difference. You ask your roommate and she is having no issue. It’s only when you’re about two seconds from snapping your laptop in half before you realise you’re not even connected. And after you find out your roommate is fine once more, you find yourself scrolling through your call history to find the IT number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?”

You gape. “It’s you again!”

“Hey, it’s submission girl.” He grins. “You forget it’s called enter again?”

You roll your eyes. “Ha ha. I’m not calling for your horrible comedy, I'm calling because my WiFi isn’t working. You can help me with that, right?”

He groans into the phone. “Do I have to?”

“Yes you have to. It’s your job, IT guy.”

“I suppose. Since you asked me so nicely.”

You sit up in your bed. “Okay. What should I do?”

“Are you sure it’s not just the WiFi being shitty?” He asks.

You hum questionably. “No, I don’t think so. I asked my roommate and she said that hers is fine. And it’s also saying disconnected.”

You pause for a minute. “Wait, how do you know the WiFi is shitty?”

He snorts a laugh. “I’m a student too, idiot. I have to deal with shitty wifi as well.”

“Oh.”

You’re not shocked per say. He certainly doesn’t sound like a middle aged man you’d imagine working in IT. It’s nice to confirm though. And the fact that he is probably around your age means you can keep finding his voice hot.

“What, do I sound that old?”

Definitely not. “Yeah.”

“Shut up. You sound worse.” He mumbles and you tut.

“Horrible customer service. I’m filing a complaint.”

A small laugh is heard from the other line. “I’d rather you didn’t. Rent is not cheap here.”

You lay back on your bed, dragging your laptop up on your knees. “You live in the student dorms?”

“Well, duh. I am a student, after all.”

You roll your eyes. “What year are you?” “Second.”

“Hey, me too! How old are you?” “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

He replies that he’s nineteen, just like you. You wonder if you’ve seen him around before. Maybe he’s even in the same course as you. You could ask for his name, but you think that might be a little weird. That, and you sort of love the mystery around the man. Who knew being so useless at technology would lead to such great things?

Your laptop flickers off, and it’s only then you remember that you called him for a reason. You tap the keyboard and it lights back up, and your anger flares up once more. You huff, and IT guy seems to remember why you called too.

“Right, your wifi. You said it’s working for your roommate?” He asks.

“Yeah. And it’s working on my phone, it’s just my laptop.”

He hums, and you can hear the faint sound of clicking on the other line. “What building are you in?” You raise an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

You smile. “I’m in 4A.”

He takes another few seconds, and you lean your head back on your bed as you wait for him to say something.

“Alright. Your password should be, ‘uab4a’. You wanna try type that in?”

You groan, sitting up again. “I have, like six hundred times. But okay.” You huff, doing it once more.

Nothing. You sigh, defeated. All you want to do is watch some Netflix.

It takes about five tries before IT guy finally starts to get stressed out with you. He tells you to click different things, turn your laptop on and off, restart it. You follow all his instructions to no avail, and you shake your head.

“You know what, maybe I’ll just watch Netflix on my phone.” You sigh, said phone now on speaker and thrown on your bedsheets.

IT guy tuts. “None of that talk. I just don’t understand. We’ve tried literally everything. The only way I-”

Suddenly the other line goes quiet. You grab your phone to check he didn’t hang up and you see that it’s now been 18 minutes of you two on the phone together.

“Why have you gone all quiet?”

“Is your caps lock on?”

You bark a laugh. “Right. Like I’m that stupid to-”

You look down. The little light next to your capslock button is flashing, and your face heats red and IT guy starts cackling down the other line. You write the password once more, in lower case this time, and you let your face fall in your hands at the sign of four wifi bars flashing back at you.

“Oh my god.” You mumble, and IT guy just keeps laughing.

“Oh- Oh my god, you idiot.”

“Shut up! I dont- How did I not realise?” You cry, slamming your laptop shut.

IT guy takes a deep breath. “I really don’t know.”

You shake your head, putting the phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” You mumble.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I think you’re the only person that calls this line, anyway.”

You decide to ignore the nickname, and the tingle it leaves in your gut, and nod. “Good, then. I’m keeping your job for you.”

“So kind. Alright, go watch your show.”

“Night, IT guy.”

“Goodnight.”

Over the next two weeks, you end up calling a handful of times. Your password needs resetting, you accidentally deleted a file. Each inane task ends up with the two of you sitting on the phone for ages afterwards. You learn that he’s an insomniac, and that’s why he always works the night shift. He also lives in building 5B, which is about a ten minute walk from your place. The fact he’s so close, that you could go see him right now, taunts you in the back of your mind everyday. The fact that he was in your university, that he could be your classmate or someone walking around campus.

But, like all things, your horrible internet habits mellow out. After a few days of no problems, you find yourself missing him. You’ve only spoken a handful of times, but he’s funny. He’s sarcastic and a little mean, but in a good way, a way that makes you a little giddy. And of course, now that you want issues, it’s so much harder for you to find some.

Over wine poured in mugs and reruns of you confess to your roommate your situation. She’s a little skeptical of the lack of identity, but she thinks you should just call him again. It couldn’t hurt, right? Worse case scenario, you hang up and the two of you never have to speak again. But best case scenario, you can have a conversation that’s actually about something meaningful. And you can get called sweetheart again.

It takes another two days for you to build up the courage, despite your friend’s support. You wait until it’s late, remembering that he told you he works the night shift, and anxiously dial the number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?” His voice sounds bored, automated, but you recognise it immediately.

“Hey, IT guy.”

You hear a shuffle on the other end. “Hey, it’s my favourite customer.”

“It’s me.” You say nervously.

“So, what is it today? WiFi on the fritz again?” He teases.

It takes a second for the words to get out. “Uh, no, I. I actually don’t need help with anything today.”

“Okay. So what’s the call for?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

Silence. Oh god. You immediately cringe, and you are never listening to your roommate again, because she’s always wrong and stupid.

“Really?” He says quietly.

You swallow. “Really really. Don’t sound too excited.” You joke and he laughs.

“Trust me, I am. I wanted to talk to you again too, but I had no way to. The numbers on our end don’t get saved after every call, so. I was waiting for you.”

You perk up at his words. “Really?” “Really really. I also couldn't ask around. I doubt you go by submission girl in your everyday.”

You walk into your room, hopping into bed. You lay down on your stomach, and place your phone in front of you, resting your face on your arms.

“No, not particularly. Wouldn’t it be weird, though? If we actually knew each other in person this whole time and we never knew?” “Nah, I doubt it. Think I’d remember a pretty voice like yours.”

Your face flushes. “Shut up. ” You say, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool you down.

He snorts a laugh. “What do you study?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wait, that’s sick. Do you get to see cats?”

You grin. “Yes! I volunteered at a shelter last summer, they were so cute.”

He hums. “I love cats. I have one, you know.”

You eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Here? On campus? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Nobody knows about her. We won’t get caught/ She's a good girl, she isn't loud or anything. And my roommate in under sworn secrecy.” He says.

Good girl. There's no way he isn’t talking like that on purpose. You nod your head even though he can’t see you.

“Okay, and what if she came to live with me?” You ponder, and he scoffs.

“I’m not co-parenting my cat with you.”

You’re lucky enough that your room faces the setting sun and now, a soft orange glow covers your room. It’s just cold enough that you’re wearing a hoodie and your fluffiest socks, but your window is still open to freshen the air. There’s a vanilla scented candle on its last life on your bedside table, and you prop your phone up against it and lean back in your bed.

“I could report you, you know. They’ll kick you out the uni.”

IT guy pouts. “You don’t want that to happen. Then you’ll never see how beautiful I am in real life.”

You snort a laugh. “Well, what do you look like? So I know what to avoid on campus.”

He hums thoughtfully for a moment. You yourself have spent countless minutes wondering. Is he tall? Short? Blonde, or brunette, or maybe he’s bald. You have no idea.

“Well. I’m like, 6’1.”

“Yum.”

“Shut up.” He chides, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “And I have like. Kind of long hair. And I always look sleep-deprived, 24/7.”

“Night shifts will do that to you. What colours your hair?”

“Hm. No.”

You protest. “What do you mean no?”

“It’s a dead giveaway! I want to keep some of my mystery.”

He asks you what you look like. You give him the same cryptic descriptions he gave you.

“Wow. I can find you easily now.” He drawls and you grin.

“No matter. We’ll meet one day.” You say.

The two of you end up staying on the phone for hours. It’s unfair how easily you find things to talk about. He tells you about his course, Psychology, and you listen as he rambles in your ear about studies and experiments. As it gets later his voice gets deeper, lacing deliciously with sleep as his voice rumbles in your ears. The time wears on and your eyes start to blink heavily. You look at the time and it’s been three hours. Unfortunately, you are not like IT guy, and not only do you have classes tomorrow, but you need sleep to function.

You yawn heavily. “Look, I hate to be a buzzkill but I gotta sleep. I’ve got a ten am tomorrow.”

“Boring. But fine. I’ll, uh. Talk to you later.”

You nod sleepily. “Night.”

You reach your phone over to hang up but IT guy’s voice rings out, scratchy through the speaker.

“Wait! I- Can I give you my number?”

That’s enough to wake you up.

You sit up on one elbow, rubbing at your eyes. “Your what?”

“Phone number? It’s those numbers you dial in when you wanna call me.”

“It’s too late for sarcasm.” You scowl.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just I’d like to have a way to communicate with you. And call you. And text, or whatever.”

You smile slightly. “Okay. Yeah, of course you can.”

He reads out his number and you jot it down. He hangs up soon after and you send him a quick text.

September 17th

01:20 am

You: goodnight IT guy 😁

IT guy: Goodnight 💜

Life gets much easier with his phone number. Now you can text him during your lectures, during the walk to and from your work. He calls you during his shifts and you keep him company for as long as you can before you fall asleep. Which you have embarrassingly done a few times.

He sends you pictures of his cat. A cute black one called Pesto. You ask for the meaning behind that and he said he was eating pesto pasta when he got her. There’s one picture where you can see his hands in the corner, fingers long and slender and you have to stop looking before your thoughts take a dangerous turn.

Theres a time, maybe a week in, that things between you shift. The playful flirting is upped, and the conversations between you become more meaningful. You start anxiously awaiting a text back, face flushing at the stuff he says sometimes. Maybe it isn’t the smartest idea to fall for a guy who you don’t really know, but you don't care.

He knows Denki, for one. You’d mentioned the name and he’d perked up. Denki was an energetic guy you met at a house party once. And if IT guy is friends with him then that's more than enough confirmation for you that he isn’t a freak.

You tell him more about what you look like. You haven’t sent a picture, but you think he might know enough to catch you on campus. He still hasn’t told you much else, and he confesses to you one night that he’s nervous about it.

IT guy: I don’t wanna be a buzz kill but I’m scared ur gonna be disappointed

You: literlaly shut up

You: idc if u look like a troll

IT guy: right

You: or an ogre

IT guy: is this supposed to make me feel better

You: YES

You: look what im trying to say that i genuinely don’t care because i like u regardless of all that

You: ur smart and ur funny and ur mean but ina good way

You: and u hace a cute cat called pesto

IT guy: so ur using me for my cat?

You: duh..

It’s been two days since that conversation, and IT guy has been much more active ever since. You’d like to think you’ve given him a little boost of confidence, but you don’t care why it’s happening. You’re just happy that it is.

You wish you could reply to whatever he’s sent you right now, but your boss might fire you if he catches you on your phone again.

You like the coffee shop you work at. It’s a quaint little hippy spot that’s a ten minute walk from your place. The pay is good enough, and you like your coworkers. Specifically Tokoyami. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he lets you chatter away to him every time you’re on shift together, and he always has good music recommendations for you.

Today, it’s the both of you on shift. You’re wiping down the coffee machines in the back and you can see him talking to someone at the counter. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s rare you see him talking so animatedly. So you try to get a closer look. And wow.

You don’t know who he’s talking to but you’d like to. His hair is purple. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s a lavender and it looks so soft and fluffy you want to reach out and touch it. His eyes are a deep brown, and there’s heavy bags under them, but they somehow make him look even more beautiful. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face as he says something to Tokoyami and you’re itching to reach forward and eavesdrop. But you can’t. You’re on cleaning duty. Of course you are when a cute guy comes in.

You feel a pang of guilt suddenly, when you remember IT guy. You don’t think you should be thinking about any other guys. Even really cute ones. You get your head down and keep wiping. It’s only a moment later when you hear a crash and your head shoots up. Something happened out in the shop, and a moment later Tokoyami pops his head in the kitchen.

“Someone spilled some shit on the floor. Can you take Shinsou?”

Shinsou. Tokoyamis told you about him before. A friend from university, or something like that.

“The purple haired guy?”

“Yep.”

“Gosh, the famous friend I’ve heard so much about. You never mentioned he’s so cute.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, sorry but. He’s got a little girlfriend texting thing going on.”

You tell him you were only joking and he just pushes you out to the front. You peek a look at Shinsou and he��s looking off into the distance. Deliciously so.

You check his order and it’s just a black coffee. Simple enough. You make quick work of the drink, humming something under your breath as the machine whirls to life. You write his name on the cup in sharpie, and fill it up, pressing the lid and slipping on a cover so he doesn’t burn his hands.

You walk up to the counter. “Hiya. You’re Shinsou? Tokoyami’s friend? He’s mentioned you before. All good things.” You smile as you slide the drink over.

And Shinsou looks back at you like you’ve got two heads. Or like you’re the most shocking thing he’s ever seen in your life. You step back a bit, slightly nervous at the shocked expression on his face.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, your smile falling a little.

“No. I mean yes! It’s-“

And it’s as he’s stuttering through his words you hear it. That voice. That same deep, smooth voice you’ve been flirting with over the phone. And you’re sure your face now looks like Shinsou is the most shocking thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Your face heats up and he doesn’t look shocked for much longer because that same unfairly attractive smirk graces his face.

He leans forward slightly. “Is this submission girl in the flesh?”

“Oh my god. IT guy?”

His smirk widens into a grin. “I go by Shinsou, but. You can call me that too.”

You roll your eyes to the side but you can’t help but keep them on him, an incredulous look on your face. “You were worried for us to meet? You’re fucking hot.” You say.

And he looks even better when the tops of his cheeks dust the slightest red. You smile, leaning forward on the counter.

“Thank you. And you’re beautiful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even in my gross work apron?”

“Especially in your gross apron, sweetheart.”

You feel like giggling like you’re fourteen with a crush again. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not working tonight, right?” You ask.

He shakes his head and purple locks of hair dance around his face. Slender fingers grab the cup and take a sip.

“Perfect. We’re going out.”

Shinsou tilts his head to the side. “Shouldn’t I be asking you out? Seems much more traditional that way.”

“We met on our uni's customer service number. I don’t think anything about this is traditional.”

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guys i LAAAAUUUVVVVV shinsou and like he does not get enough attention or love or fics....... it makes me wanna scream

also this nearly took a steamy turn... with that cellular device.... but i did not because i cba

also i noticed that jason todd fics do so wel compared to my other stuff?? maybe cause hes not as popular but i will keep that in mind my people.

i hope u all enjoyed this! <3

#oneshot #fluff #b3ach bunn7 #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #mha #mha shinsou #mha shinso hitoshi #bnha #bnha shinsou

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hannieehaee · 17 days ago

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can I request for the fluffiest fluff for jeonghan😓 like I just really miss him so much.

It can be at bed time, jh and reader just cuddling and talking/catching up on each other's life with few kisses here and there

take your time on creating requests!!! no need to rush bb. love u and ur works🫶

content: established relationship, pure fluff!

wc: 552

a/n: thank u for ur patience!! i really hope u enjoy what i came up with<3

masterlist

"yeah? what happened then?," jeonghan marveled, fingers tracing the dip of your waist as his other hand pressed against your back, pulling your chests as close as humanly possible.

"are you even listening?", you giggled, hand pushing a bit against his chest so you could look into his eyes.

what you saw when you pulled away was heavy lids almost fully covering tired eyes. jeonghan's face was serene yet completely distracted as he stared down at the expanse of your pajama-clad body — which were his pajamas, by the way.

he made one of his usual noises (maybe a groan or a whine, you were never sure how to describe them), squeezing his eyes shut and opting to nuzzle into your neck, once again dismantling any eye contact between you in favor of even more skin-to-skin contact.

"i'm sleepy, okay? you should be happy you have a husband working night and day for you and the kids," he whined.

you laughed again, "we're not married nor do we have kids, you idiot," you said, hand coming up to his head and playing with it as if it were second nature (it was).

"shh, doljjongie will hear you," he mumbled against your neck, pressing a kiss there afterwards, "keep telling me about your day," he snuck his head away from the crook of your neck for a second, pressing a peck to your lips before going back to the comfort of your skin.

as accustomed, you continued to run your fingers through his hair, "nah, my day was kind of boring now that i think about it. tell me about yours instead," you encouraged.

"nooo," he whined, "you were telling me about your mean co-worker. i was listening," he insisted, "tell me what she did so i can send kwannie to fight her."

his words were muffled and spoken between soft pecks against the expanse of your neck and chest, vibrating between your chuckles at his silliness.

"kwannie? why not you?"

he huffed, "can't risk the money-maker. and kwannie's better at fighting," he argued back.

"isn't my husband supposed to be the one defending my honor?"

"wife me up then," he continued to complain, now leaning back against the mattress, pulling you so that now you'd be the one laying on his nude chest.

his hand went up and down your back, ensuring no distance could be formed between you as you continued to chuckle at his silliness.

"i'll leave that to you," you huffed, "anyways, how was work yesterday?"

"the usual. five hours of dancing, quick lunch, recording for a new comeback. oh, gyu lost a bet and got us lunch, i brought some leftovers back for you, they're in the fridge," he rambled on, absentmindedly tracing his fingers through your skin.

"hmm, thank you, hannie," you dipped to kiss his chest, yawning right after.

"sleep some more. it's my day off, i'll be here when you wake up," he reassured, leaning down and kissing whatever area of you he could reach.

you simply hummed, nuzzling further into him without a verbal response. your bodies morphed together under the sheets, ignoring the sunlight sneaking through the gaps between the curtains and closing your eyes. the only sound surrounding you anymore was your breathing, which eventually harmonized as the two of you fell asleep.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #svt imagines #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader

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readsaboutreid · 10 months ago

Text

Periods Suck | S.R.

this is inspired by lenaleechi on instagram's comic about hating periods as well as the gif above because it gives me mad baby fever so i guess this is season 4 softdom!spencer x gn!afab!bau!reader plus a blink and you'll miss it buffy the vampire slayer reference

content warning: breeding kink and period sex [i'm too stoned to think of any others but if you think of them please add them (kindly) in the replies and i'll add them in later :)]

this is smut, minors dni pls and thank you

"...fuck this, fuck everything and everyone, I am done, I quit," I ramble as I open the door to my apartment and kick off my dress shoes that were painfully squeezing my toes, just adding to my frustration. This case had been particularly mild compared to others but I couldn't help but be in a mood due to the littlest things done by the (admittedly innocent) local police officers. I was so relieved to finally go home and get to sleep in my own bed and curl up with a heating pad and my boyfriend with a Doctor Who marathon.

"Deep breaths, (y/n)," I hear from behind me in a soft, soothing tone as gentle hands come down to rub my shoulders from behind. I know he’s well aware what’s causing me to be in such a shitty mood. His pattern recognition skills are off the chart and while he never outright said anything to me about it he'd always be prepared with hot water bottles and chocolate when this time of the month rolled around. I turn around and bury my face into his chest with a sigh.

"I hate periods, Spencer. They suck," I whine with a sigh, my voice muffled by the knit fabric of his cardigan.

"I know, love," he sighs above me, resting his cheek on my forehead and wrapping his arms around me, "I'm sorry there's not more I could do to help."

"You're helping already," I sigh again, but this time out of contentment as we sway side to side in the entry way. "I wish there was a way I could just, like, stop having them," I mutter, my face returning to the soft fibers that I had come to find so comforting over the years.

Spencer's voice is muffled against my hair as he mutters, "That may be something I can assist you with." I don't even need to see his face to imagine the grin spread across it. Lately, he had been subtly expressing his desire for children, but after JJ gave birth to Henry, his hints have become more pressing. And technically, it was all because of me.

The night was a blur of celebration and drinks, as Emily and Garcia joined me in raising our glasses to toast the occasion. But as we were caught up in the joy of the moment, I couldn't help but let slip that after seeing the pure happiness on Spencer's face at the sight of his godchild a spark ignited within me, igniting a fierce case of baby fever that threatened to consume me entirely. Garcia, the horrible traitor that she is, had messaged a video of my confession to Spencer before I had even finished talking and before I knew it, my phone was buzzing with pictures from Spencer himself - tiny onesies and miniature sneakers - accompanied by words like, ‘just imagine a little genius of our own running around our home in this.’

Without changing his stance, he starts off on one of his typical Spencer Reid rants. "Did you know that scientific research has indicated that orgasms can alleviate menstrual cramps? It's due to the release of endorphins and muscular contractions which help relax the uterine lining," he explains with a slight hint of arousal in his tone, "not only does it address your discomfort, but it also takes care of your other request at the same time."

"We could start trying now, if you want," he suggests with a playful tone, though the subtle hint of desire in his voice sends a jolt of anticipation down my spine and settles between my thighs, igniting a fervent ache. Oh. Oh.

I finally turn my head to meet his gaze, and I am met with intense desire radiating from his eyes. His pupils are dilated, and he licks his lips before gently tracing a finger along my cheek and following up with a soft, "what do you think?"

I interrupt him by pulling his face towards mine, and our lips meet in a soft kiss. Suddenly, I'm pushed against the wall with the command to "jump," and my legs automatically wrap around Spencer as he lifts me up by my ass. Our lips met in a hungry yet tender kiss.

Our breaths come in ragged gasps as he pulls away to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine for confirmation. I eagerly nod, my heart racing and anticipation building. Our lips collide once more, the heat between us intensifying as we lose ourselves in each other's embrace. The world fades into the background as our bodies meld together, consumed by desire. He sets me down and guides me to our bedroom by the hand, giggling slightly with excitement. I know he wants kids and we have discussed having them together in the future but the giddiness of the grown ass man in front of me ends up drawing a giggle from my own throat as well.

As we enter the bedroom, he stoops down to give me a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. He grabs an old black towel I use for dyeing my hair and returns, laying it down on the bed and patting it lightly. He sends me sweet smile full of adoration as he whispers, "after you, my love."

I stumble towards the light switch and turn it off before making my way over to the bed. I take off my top and lay down, the darkness giving me a sense of privacy. Suddenly, I hear a soft sound from Spencer as he walks away. The lights flick back on, and he quickly closes the distance between us with just two steps. Before I can even cover myself up in the glare of the harsh light, he's already crawling on top of me.

"You're so gorgeous," he beams at me again before leaning in to kiss me gently, lowering his hips to rest between my legs as they wrap back around his hips instinctively as he begin peppering kisses all over my face and drawing endless laughs from my mouth, "I'm," kiss, "so," kiss, "lucky," kiss, "to," kiss, "have," kiss, "you."

He moves back, his lips leaving a trail of fire as they kiss and caress my skin. My jaw trembles under the soft brush of his lips, before he slowly trails kisses down to my throat. I can't help but let out a moan as his lips touch the sensitive skin there. His body presses against mine, the unmistakable hardness of his arousal pressing against my hypersensitive center. Every move, every touch, sends electric shivers through my body, igniting a primal desire within me.

My body aches with desire as I struggle to catch my breath. "Please remove your clothing now," I manage to say between deep, passionate kisses. Spencer eagerly strips down and helps me out of my own clothes before settling back between my legs. His arousal presses against the wetness between my thighs, adding to the intense heat building inside me.

"I've been craving this all week, sweetness," he mutters against my neck as he sucks feverishly at the skin, leaving love bites in his wake. "Craving you and your beautiful body." I have no idea how he managed to get me from wildly upset to wildly horny in such a short time, but instead of questioning it, I just let out a moan as I grind my hips against him, begging for his cock to enter me. He continues to tease me by rubbing the tip against my wet slit.

“P-please, Spence,” I whimper, unable to form a coherent sentence through the haze of lust I had become quickly lost within.

Spencer's eyes flicker with desire as he holds himself over me, his hands fisting the sheets on either side of my head. "Say it again," he growls, rubbing his erection against my aching center.

"P-please," I beg, my voice shaking with need.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

"As you wish," he murmurs before slowly sliding inside me. I gasp at the intense pleasure that washes over me, causing my body to arch off the bed and my nails to dig into his back. He begins to move in slow, deep thrusts, filling me completely and igniting a fire within me that threatens to consume every inch of my being.

As our bodies meld together in a blazing inferno, time itself seems to cease to exist. Every touch of Spencer's fingers sends shivers of ecstasy coursing through me, while each caress of his lips against mine ignites a fire within. Our movements are fluid and perfect, each one bringing us closer to the pinnacle of pleasure. I am consumed by an overwhelming sensation, my senses heightened to their limits as our passion reaches an almost unbearable intensity. It feels as though this moment could stretch on for eternity, and I never want it to end. In this single moment, there is nothing else but the all-consuming desire between us, and I give myself completely to it.

My heart pounds against my ribs as Spencer's gaze locks onto mine, his eyes filled with the same ferocity and desire that burns within me. He gives me a wicked grin, and I can feel my resolve crumble as the insatiable hunger consumes me. "You want to have my baby?" he gasps, and all I can respond with is a loud, whorish moan, entirely unable to form any words as his hips start to move ever so slightly faster.

He surges forward, his body fusing with mine in a wild, primal dance. Our movements become more frenzied, our bodies slamming together with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. My breath comes in short gasps as Spencer's relentless thrusts coax an orgasm out of me. My muscles tense, my hips bucking against him, seeking the sweet release from the intense pleasure building up inside of me.

Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word sends me higher and higher, my body arching and bucking beneath him in a frenzy of ecstasy.

Spencer's eyes are locked onto mine as he continues to drive into me, his gaze burning with an intensity that matches the fire inside us both. His hands grip my hips tightly, never losing rhythm as he thrusts into me and coaxes that sweet release from me. My body trembles and shakes with each surge, and I can feel the orgasm building, growing stronger and more intense with each passing second.

A low, guttural moan escapes from Spencer's lips as he picks up the pace, his movements becoming harder and faster. I can feel him growing more desperate, and I know that he's close to his own release.

The pleasurable ache between my legs intensifies, and I know that I'm about to reach that peak. I let out a helpless whimper as the pleasure was threatening to overtake me, and I feel as though I'm being pulled into a vortex of ecstasy. Time seems to stand still, and I'm lost in the moment, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

The bed creaks and groans with our passionate lovemaking, the sound echoing in my ears as I reach for the pinnacle of pleasure. Spencer's eyes are locked onto mine, and I see the same intensity in them that I feel in my own being. We're one, united in our desire for each other, and nothing else matters in this world.

His thrusts become harder and faster, the tip of his erection brushing against the most sensitive part of me with every stroke. The pleasure is overwhelming, and I can feel the orgasm building within me, growing stronger with each passing second. I cling to Spencer, my nails digging into his back as I beg him to take me over the edge.

“Gonna fill you up,(Y/N),” Spencer moans, “everyone will know who you belong to once you’re — oh fuck — carrying my fucking baby inside you.” His words send me falling over the edge and I can feel myself slipping away, my mind consumed by the intense pleasure reaching it's peak as my hips buck wildly.

Time seems to stand still as we reach the pinnacle of pleasure together. Our bodies move in perfect sync, every thrust, every caress, every whispered word fueling the fire that burns within us. The pleasure is all-consuming, coursing through my veins and reaching every cell in my body. I let out a series of orgasmic moans bordering on screams and Spencer smiles down at me wickedly, his eyes never leaving mine as his thrusts become harder and more disjointed as his own orgasm looms on the horizon. His moans grow louder and louder as the feeling of slight overstimulation makes me clench even tighter around his throbbing cock as he reaches his breaking point.

"Please, Spencer," I whisper, "make me yours, sir. P-please, please put a baby in me!"

Finally, with one last deep thrust, Spencer moans loudly and shudders above me, his body rigid as he loses himself in the pleasure of a release he had been building up to for what felt like an eternity. As Spencer's body shudders above mine, I can feel the warmth of his release filling me up, an earth-shattering feeling that takes my breath away. We lay there for a moment, our bodies still joined together, basking in the afterglow of our passion. Finally, with a contented sigh, Spencer pulls out of me and collapses onto the bed beside me.

I snap back to reality, my mind reeling from the intensity of our lovemaking. I can feel the stickiness between my legs, a reminder of the incredible moment we just shared. The room is still, the only sounds being our heavy breathing and the rhythmic beating of our hearts. I reach over to grab the bedside table, searching for a tissue to clean myself up.

"Spencer?" I say softly, my voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he replies, still out of breath.

I flash him a saucy grin, "I think we'll have to make sure we keep trying this before my next period so I won't have to suffer through another one, for a while." I joked, while playfully poking his chest.

He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, "I think that's a great idea, my love." I couldn't help but giggle at his response, feeling a burst of warmth spread through my body.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminalminds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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laneywrld · 9 months ago

Text

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone?

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay."

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications.

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto.

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones."

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.

That anger got him P3.

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.

"Can you walk?"

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that.

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't."

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do."

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.

"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions.

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating.

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!

view all comments

feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces.

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

#black reader #lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x black reader #poc reader #black female oc #lewis hamilton x black female oc #black reader friendly #things lost and things found part two

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oepionie · 2 years ago

Text

—VOICELINES ABOUT YOU. various

Synopsis: Yuuken interrogates some of the boys on the campus about their special someone. Hearing their loving ramblings on you was certainly not what he expected.

Tags: Self-Indulgent, Fluff, Angst if you squint really hard, Reader is not Yuu, Tweels are a bit...too mad in love, I brainrotted so hard, You're Malleus' fiancee, Malleus doesn't know how to tell a joke someone help him

Cw. Riddle's Mother, Overworking, Hospitalizations, Poor living conditions, Illness, Bullying, Allusions to violence, Marriage, Tad bit of possesive behavior, Description of stabbing

WordCount: 2k+ | 💌Masterlist

R.R | RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

About: Riddle's Rose

"Rose? I see you've met that troublesome intern at the library. That's a nickname. Their name is (Y/N) and yes, they are my partner." "A-Ah? I'm so direct? Well, you asked me a question! Though...I would prefer that this discussion end here. I prefer to keep my relationship with them private.”

Chat: Childhood Memories

“Ever since we were young, (Y/N) was quite rebellious. The complete opposite of me as a child, really. They were always sneaking off during the night and coming over to visit me. Mother...didn't approve of them and often screamed in their face. I was quite terrified she would scare them away, though that didn't stop them at all. Haha, I think they got even more persistent afterwards. I am truly glad I met them.”

Personal Story: To the Hospital

“Again...? I see. Thank you, Trey. Hmph, I'll have to schedule another visit once more."

> "Riddle? What's wrong?"

"Ah, Yuuken—It's Rose. They've gotten admitted to the hospital...again. (Y/N) is quite impulsive and tends to bite off more than they can chew. On more than occasion, like now, I would find out about their hospital admissions via Trey days or even weeks after."

>"Aren't you dating? Why aren't they telling you?"

"They claim that they withhold the information from me out of concern for my workload or out of fear of being a burden. Though that is—a sentiment I don't understand. Nothing is more important to me than their health."

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R.B | RUGGIE BUCCHI

About: The Photo In His Wallet

"Where is it?! Man, I'm so fucked if I lost it—Oh?! Oi, Yuuken! That wallet's mine! Man, thanks a lot. I really would've been screwed over if it weren't for you." "Eh? The photo? Shishishishi curious, aren't cha? Hmmm...how 'bout this? You get me a steaming hot meat bun and I'll give you a story time about them."

Chat: A Hopeful Future

"My studies? Course I take them seriously! That's what's gonna' put food on the table one day. Plus, I wanna' give (Y/N) the life they deserve—What'd I mean? Well, if I'm going to be their husband, I want 'em to live comfortably. It's not like we need anythin' luxurious, anyways. As long as we're together and there's enough food to go by, it's going to be all right."

Personal Story: In Sickness and In Health

"....that's good to hear. Please look after 'em, granny. Love ya." The call ends and Ruggie sighs. "That's the best news I've received since."

>"News?"

"Guh-?! Man! What's with you and sneaking up on me!? Yeah yeah—you heard right...news. Granny just called me to talk about (Y/N), their health is looking up. Tell ya' what, I knew that deal with Azul was worth it. I managed to snag some medicine and send it home."

>"Oh? Medicine?"

"Yeah. Ever since my first year of high school, they were sick and bedridden. (Y/N)'s parents don't have enough money for a doctor, so there's not much they can do. Of course, I'm out here doin' my best to help too."

"I really...I really wanna see them up and runnin' again. Hey, who knows—maybe we'll get to make flower crowns for the village kids again...together."

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A.A | AZUL ASHENGROTTO

About: An Interrogation

"Yuuken, you’ve met (Y/N), I hear. Well, as their partner, it's only right that I ask you about it. I assume you don't mind. So, what is your opinion of them? Nothing short of perfection, I hope."

"Hm? You think they're nice? Good then."

Chat: Busy Octoboss

"With all the deals, my maintenance of my academic ranking, and my position as Monstro Lounge's manager, my workload is quite substantial compared to most. And, I regret to say that it does get in the way of my personal life, including quality time with my lover. It tears at my heart, yet I cherish how they're so understanding and patient. Still, sometimes I can't help but think I am undeserving of them..."

Personal Story: Deep Sea Bonds

"My childhood is not something that I appreciate or want to remember. Yet, despite everything I've been through, I do think it is pleasant to look back on the days when I met them. You see, (Y/N) was bullied too. They were just like me, relentlessly bad mouthed and hurt by the kids around us. However, they never failed to greet me every day with a bright smile on their face."

>"What a sunny person."

"They'd also always have the courage and bravery to stand up for me, often taking the brunt of the bullying. I wish I could say I did the same for them...but I was far too cowardly back then..."

>"Wow. You two must be really close, then."

"Of course. They've been through a lot.Which is exactly why I won't allow anyone to speak ill of them anymore." Azul pauses, smiling slyly. "Say, Yuuken. You'll tell me if anyone casts aspersions on my Angelfish, won't you?"

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J.L | JADE LEECH

About: A Helping Hand

"Hm? What's that? Ah, you’ve met my darling pearl. I see. I do notice how you’ve been frequenting Monstro Lounge lately…Have you perhaps acquired a romantic interest towards them? No? Hehe, Alright." "Now, to answer your question, yes, that is right; (Y/N) routinely comes over to visit and aid me in my Mountain Treks. I couldn't be more grateful for their assistance."

Chat: The Pearl Ring

"Oya? I see you're curious about the ring I've been crafting. Well, it's for (Y/N). You see, in merfolk culture, we create handcrafted jewelry to serve as a courting gift. This is one of many ornaments I plan on giving them. Though, this one is...particularly unique. Ah, well...(Y/N) Leech does have a nice ring to it, does it not?"

Personal Story: A Jaded Reaction

"Oya? (Y/N) is spending the night at Ramshackle? Whatever reason for?"

>"Grim wanted to have a game night."

"Ah. I see. How...lovely. What's that? My smile is frightening you? Oho, now is it? Hehe, my deepest apologies. We eels tend to be quite...protective. I so anticipate you to take good care of them. And fret not, as long as you keep them away from any harm, no disputes shall arise."

>"Uh...and if something happened?"

"What if something happened...? Well, I'm sure you wouldn't mind being hunted down the face of the earth, tied up, and pulled down to the deepest pits of the blue ocean, where no one can hear your anguished cries for help...Would you?"

>"..."

"Just joking. I would never do that."

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F.L | FLOYD LEECH

About: A Sea Walnut

"(Y/N)? Aha~~~ You've heard of my little sea walnut? They're so adorable and squishy, yanno!—Is there a problem? If you got a problem with 'em, I'll squeeze you." "Oh? Not scared at all, huh? Ehe~ You sure are ballsy. Tread carefully now, shrimpy~!"

About: Ocean Currents

"Whenever a strong ocean current comes, sea walnut always huddles close to me and grabs my arm. They've always been afraid of being blasted away."

"They used to do that a lot when we were kids, but it never gets old. Hehe~ Sometimes, I lead them to places where the waves are strong, jus' so they can cling onto me! It's so funny to see 'em get afraid and scramble after me when I move too far away. "

Personal Story: Shark Attack

"Hmm~? Oh, what're these bite marks? Rad, aren't they? I got them after fighting a buncha' sharks."

>"Sharks?! Why would you do that?"

"To get these. It's shark teeth. Our anniversary is comin' up, and Jade suggested that I should make some jewelry for them. It's a merfolk courting thing. Azul 'n Jade told me to get them pearls, but I thought that was boring. So, I'm making one with shark teeth instead! Isn't that cool~?"

>"I-I guess, but what happened to the sharks?"

"Ugh. None of them were a fun hunt. The entire hoard swam away so fast. Can you believe it???… I’m not the typa eel who would let my prey get away that easily, though. And it’s not like I had anything better to do. Ehehe! There were so many of those sharks swarming around, but I managed to squeeze them all! Well, it was worth it in the end cuz I got what I wanted. I'll do anythin' for my little sea walnut~"

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J.V | JAMIL VIPER

About: A Hearty Meal

“What am i doing? Well, I'm making some Roast Chicken with Sumac Flatbread. Oh? Who's (Y/N)? Ah, Kalim must have told you, huh. (Y/N) is my partner. They are truly wonderful."

"For example—Though I like to think I'm skilled at disguising my true feelings, the moment I go to see them, they already know what I'm thinking. They have a keen sense of intuition and always seem to know what I need and when I need it. Truly, I'm grateful for such a caring—Ah, I'm sorry. I was rambling again."

Chat: Snake-Eyed Envy

"I can't dispute that a lot of people back home are vying for their affection.That bothers me at times. As Kalim's babysitter-ehem, retainer, I don't have enough time to check in on them every day...However, as cheesy as it sounds, I have yet to meet someone who is as smitten with (Y/N) as I am."

Personal Story: World Left Unsaid

"I soon understood that I was more than the circumstances of my birth, all thanks to (Y/N). In fact, My bond with Kalim has become stronger and more genuine thanks to them. I...realized my hatred for Kalim was just my desire for my circumstances to be different...I didn't hate him at all. Without (Y/N), I would never have understood it."

>"They must be very important to you, Jamil."

"Absolutely. I was terrified that I might lose them after my overblot. But to my surprise, they stayed with me. Naturally, it hurt them, but they were really compassionate towards me and about how much I had to go through."

>"Do they know of what you feel?"

"I...I don't think (Y/N) realizes just how much I cherish them. I don't think now's the right time for that though. I've hurt them too much and I still have a long way to go before I fix things."

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M.D | MALLEUS DRACONIA

About: He's Engaged?!

"I am, indeed, betrothed. Heh. Why are you looking so bewildered, Child of Man? If I'm going to be a king someday, it only makes sense that I would need someone to reign alongside me, no? At first glance, (Y/N) may seem aloof, but as you get to know them more, you'll see that they are actually incredibly lovely and warm."

"You never thought I was one for romance? My, my... What a bold statement, you best learn how to hold your tongue. Have you considered that I could use lightning to smite you where you stand?...Now, now—That was a joke. You don't have to cower in fear."

Chat: Safe And Sound

"My precious treasure tells me that I tend to get protective at times. Though can you really fault a lover for wanting to protect the one who is most important to them in this cruel, ruthless world. One where others will not hesitate to turn on you?"

Personal Story: The Art Of War

"I am actually the first of my lineage to wed someone who is not a noble. You see, (Y/N) is a knight-in-training. And, as you can probably guess, they served as my retainer. To see them at work was truly a magnificent sight to witness. They command attention and radiate strength. While I had always admired them, I could not bring myself to express my true feelings to them. Until...that night."

>"That night?"

"Yes. On the evening of Silver's 16th birthday, someone had rushed at me with a dagger in hand. (Y/N) was the first to respond and took the hit for me...The sound of their screams as the knife tore through their flesh was truly...horrifying."

>"That's horrible! What happened to the guy?"

"Worry not, he was taken care of accordingly....If there is anything I’ve learned from Lilia's many teachings, it’s that the worst calamities that befall an army arise from hesitation. To avoid further offensives, one must deal with and eliminate adversaries as soon as possible. Don't you think so?"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and are very motivating on my end!

Taglist: @keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @anonima-2 @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @chuuchuudreams @taruruchi

↳ want to be added?

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

Note

I’m honor of my first “ramble” about sevika…

I was wondering.. if you could write about performing anal on sevika with a strap but also using a separate dildo to use on her cunt..

Goddddd her ass is just so fucking unbghhhhh in those fuckingn pants… godddd she deserves everythingggggggggg

(I don’t think you got my last request cause tumblr’s being weird but you’re such a good author!!! One of the best and utterly amazing!!)

EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH (and thank u so much this is so fucking nice!!)

men and minors dni

sevika didn't bottom much before meeting you.

to be fair, before you, she didn't do nearly as much laughing as she does now, she didn't smile so much, she didn't eat this often or well...

but you changed a lot of things for her. sevika feels safe with you.

safe enough to bottom just as often as you do. safe enough to admit how much she loves feeling you inside her. how much she loves the stretch, the fullness, the girth.

safe enough to blink up at you shyly one night, a blush high on her cheeks as she whispered out a sweet question-- 'c-can you touch me... here?' -- as she dragged your hand a little lower than her dripping cunt.

you happily obliged. both you and sevika were shocked at how quickly she came with two fingers in her ass and your tongue on her clit.

and now sevika's obsessed with anal.

it's just another thing she's learned about herself in her time with you; she's realized she likes cuddling, that she hates iceskating, that she actually doesn't hate dancing, and that, you know... she's a bit of a slut for anal.

which is how you find yourself here, your wife's legs hooked over your hips, your strap buried in her ass, your second finger slowly working its way into her cunt.

sevika's a fucking mess. she gets so fucking leaky when you're in her ass, you've bought a specialized super absorbant sex towel for this exact reason.

she's been on edge all day-- you'd gently fingered her ass open this morning before shoving one of her biggest plugs in her and sending her off to work, laughing as you watched her waddle awkwardly down the driveway.

you've only been inside her for a few minutes, but there's already a puddle under her ass.

"i-i can take more!" sevika whines. you chuckle.

"i just got this one inside you baby. just relax 'n feel good for me. i promise i'll fill you up like you need." sevika huffs up at you. you snort and pull your fingers out of her cunt to give her clit a slap. "brat." you sigh fondly.

sevika squeaks and squirts a little, and she glares up at you. "put your fucking fingers back in." she demands.

you roll your eyes but oblige. "so needy." you whisper as you sink two fingers back into her cunt, your hips keeping their steady, slow, shallow thrusts.

she's so fucking tight with your strap in her ass, you can feel the tip of your dick moving inside her against your fingers. and she looks delicious. she's drenched in sweat, a blush running all the way down her chest, her thighs and abs twitching as her hands clench the plush towel underneath her.

and fuck her cunt.

she's squelching and dripping around you, her pretty clit's poking out of it's hood begging for attention, her walls slowly stretching around your fingers as you fuck them deeper and deeper inside her.

"i'm gonna--" sevika whimpers before cutting herself off with a bite to her lip.

you pull away completely, leaving both her holes empty.

"what the fuck?!" she growls, shoving up on her elbows to glare at you.

you're too hypnotized by the sight of her pretty holes, both clenching desperately around nothing, just begging for you to fill her again. "you're so fucking pretty." you whisper.

sevika's frustration melts and she collapses against the bed. you gently guide her legs to the mattress, pinning them where they're spread as you duck down to lick one long stripe from her twitching clit, down her cunt, and to her ass.

she's tugging at your hair the second your face is between her legs, babbling nonsense as she tries to get your tongue inside her ass.

you just giggle, the vibrations making her shiver as you kiss and suck her rim.

"pl-- bab-- i wan-- fuck! c'mon!" sevika whines. you chuckle and stand back up again, smiling down at your squirming wife.

"what do you want?" you ask as you trail a featherlight finger over her clit. she's so fucking sensitive it makes you a little crazy.

"fuck me!" sevika demands, even stoming her foot on the mattress a bit. you burst into laughter, and sevika huffs a tiny laugh at her behavior before reaching up and tugging your hand back down toward her cunt. "please." she whispers sincerely, blinking up at you with her wide, sparkly eyes.

fuck. how can you say no to that?

you easily slide three fingers inside her cunt, fucking her until she's shivering before you guide the tip of your cock back inside her.

the moment your tip slides in, sevika's clawing at your shoulders. "more! more, all of it, i need more, fuck me! fuck me!" she begs.

you lean down and kiss her lips; and then follow her request, snapping your hips against her ass as you start to work your fingers against her g-spot.

"fu-u-u-u-u-u-ck."

"there you go, baby." you sigh as you kiss her cheek and lick up a bead of sweat on her temple. your thighs and wrist are soaked in her cum, and her cunt is trying desperately to pull your fingers deeper. "you ready?" you whisper, gently thumbing her clit.

sevika cums. you laugh as you watch your wife fall apart at just the question, and finger her through her squirting, whimpering, desperately-nodding-yes orgasm.

the moment sevika's eyes snap back open, she pulls her claws out of your shoulder and fumbles for the the dildo resting beside her, practically flinging it at you with her excitement.

you giggle, gently pulling your fingers out of her cunt to catch it. it's smaller than your cock, and sevika was begging for you to use a bigger one, but as much as you love indulging the size queen in her, it's her first time doing this.

which is why your hands are shaking a bit as you try to guide the dildo to sevika's cunt. your fingers are still so slick from being inside of her that the didlo slips right out of your fingers. "oh, shit." you curse.

you and sevika both fumble to catch the fluorescent pink dick-- the absurdity of the situation hitting you with full force as it slips flops around in the air.

you both burst into laughter, and you have duck down to nuzzle against her throat, muffling your laugh against her sweaty skin as she tries to contain her giggles.

"you okay?" you ask. sevika snorts and nods, kissing your scalp.

"yeah. you?" she asks.

you take a deep breath and push back up off of sevika, smiling down at her. "i'm perfect." you say.

she huffs and rolls her eyes, then twines her legs around your waist, your cock shifting a bit inside her ass. you both hiss, and then sevika grins wickedly. "here." she hands you the dildo again. "now fuck me."

you smile, bringing the dildo to your lips, spitting on it and moaning. beneath you, sevika shivers, and her eyes grow impossibly wider as you push the cock between your lips, getting it wet for her-- not like she needs it.

still. it's worth it for the way she's looking at you as you bring the dildo down to her cunt.

it slips in obscenely easily.

you nearly cum the moment it does.

"fuck sevika-- how do you feel baby?" you ask.

"i-- ah!" she's gasping and clawing at the sheets. you stop thrusting, and sevika's eyes snap open, glaring up at you. "fuck me!"

you grin down at her and start thrusting your hips slowly as you inch the dildo further and further inside her cunt. you're hypnotized, honored, and hornier than you've ever been in your fucking life as you watch your wife take you. when you finally push all the way in, you stop thrusting, and blink down at sevika with a smile that's surely bordering on insane.

"you're all full of me." you whisper.

sevika cums at your words.

you giggle, drunk off the experience, and start to slowly fuck her with both your cock, and the one in your hands. each thrust has her voice rising in pitch-- one long squeal echoing throughout your bedroom as she squirts and shivers around you.

when she's done, the first thing she does is reach up and pull you down, wrapping her limbs around you like a koala. she's still shivering and heaving, and you still your movement, resting against your wife. "sevika?"

"one second." she says.

you give her time, kissing against the fat of her breast, drawing patterns into her ribs. 'i love you.' you mouth against her neck.

sevika must feel your lips, she must recognize the movement, because she pinches your ass and giggles. "i love you too." she says.

"are you okay?" you ask-- knowing she's probably sick of the question but not caring in the slightest. sevika snorts and smacks your ass right where she's just pinched it.

"just wanted to remember how it feels to be so full of you." she whispers.

now it's your turn to cum at her words.

it catches you entirely off guard, but the moment the words leave her mouth you're gasping a quiet "fuck!" and grinding helplessly against her.

sevika bursts into giggles beneath you, kissing you as you fall apart.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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cry4mina · 10 months ago

Text

Death of Peace of Mind

(Dom!Momo x Fem!reader)

Word Count: 4.6k

Pure Filthy Smut/Maybe fluff if you squint?

Summary: You spend the afternoon being a brat to Momo via text and you pay for it later.

TW: this is literally just fucking. If that’s not something you want to read, please don’t! Strap ons, mommy kink, breeding kink, Momo is a top!, reader is a brat. Yeah.

A/N: Thanks to Momo brain rot for this happening and the moots for listening to me ramble about this for days. @nr1chaedickrider for the breeding kink ideaaaaaaaa.

“Alright babe, I’m leaving for practice…I have a meeting afterwards so I’ll be out a little later than usual.” leaning down to kiss you goodbye as you lay on the couch.

She’s wearing a black cropped tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination, abs and arms out for the world to see. Dad hat holding her hair out of her face and some leggings that hug her figure so beautifully that it makes your mouth water with the thought of tasting her.

Grabbing the back of her head, taking her hat off and pulling her closer to you creating a little more passion, shifting to sit up, holding her tightly while biting down lightly on her bottom lip and tugging.

Momo moans into your mouth, getting lost in you for a moment as you maneuver her on top of you, her knee between your legs and her body pressed against yours. Grinding down on her thigh lightly and running your nails softly over her muscular back in an attempt to snare her into your trap.

“I have to go, my love. You make it so hard to leave when you’re so needy for me. I’ll take care of you later, okay?” whispered merely centimeters away from your lips in a sultry tone, before she stood up and tried to head for the door. Hand not willing to let her go as you yank her back to you, causing her to stumble and fall on top of you.

Momo giggles, caressing your face as she kisses you passionately causing your hips to start lightly rocking against her body again, desperate for her touch.

“Do me a favor, baby?” innocence lacing the tone of her voice as she gets up grabbing her keys and heads for the door.

“Hm?” eyes filled with hunger as you follow her with every movement, hoping she will skip practice and stay between your legs.

“Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone.” Blowing you a kiss with a cheeky smile and stepping out of the door.

Scoffing and rolling your eyes, looking at the clock to see it was only 3:45pm. Even more frustrated knowing she won’t be home until 9ish tonight, you pout to yourself, missing her touch.

You flick on the TV for background noise so you could scroll through your phone and try to keep your mind off of your loving girlfriend.

—

7:30pm on the clock and your want for her only gets deeper, unable to keep her out of your head space for long. The fire in your stomach aches, thinking of the ways she could defile you and resisting the urge to slide your hands down the front of your pants.

Momo was always so sweet and gentle with you, having a dominant streak in the softest way. You wanted to see how far you could push her and if she would actually break when you did.

A smirk on your face as you open your messages, knowing she would be in her meeting around the rest of twice and her managers discussing their latest come back. You were going to insert yourself into her thoughts.

You: Baby

Momo: Hi honey, almost done

You: I need you

Momo: What's wrong, my love?

Momo: Is everything okay?

You: I miss the way you say my name

Momo: ??

She had to know what you meant but you were going to make sure she knew what was going to happen when she got home.

You: I miss the way you taste

Momo: Y/n…don’t start this right now…I told you I’d be home later to take care of you.

Putting your hand into your underwear and snapping a picture of what seems to be you touching yourself and sending it to her. Imagining her face when she sees it, in a room full of people that know her well enough to know when she’s flustered. Her turning bright red in anger thinking you’re doing exactly what she told you not to do.

You: *photo*

Momo: *thumbs down react*

Momo: Y/n…I told you not to touch yourself and you’re doing it anyway?

The plan to push her buttons was in full motion, sensing her annoyance already seeping into the tone of her texts.

Usually, you were on your best behavior for her but not today. She left you aching and unattended, did she really expect you to wait?

You: Maybe…what are you going to do about it? You aren’t here to stop me.

Giggling at provoking her, hoping you’d get an amplified version of your sweet adoring girlfriend.

Momo: You better stop or I won’t give you what you want when I get home.

You: Make me 😏

Imagining the fire behind Momo’s eyes with her jaw clenched in anger made you drip with anticipation of her arrival home. A new game ensued. How many of her buttons could you push before she got home? How angry can you make her before she gets here?

Momo: Fine. If you want to fuck yourself, do it.

Sighing immediately, was she really going to give in so easily and let you get away with this? It barely even started. Glaring into nothing as you toss your phone on the table, only to hear it vibrate again almost immediately.

Momo: You better not stop.

Momo: You aren’t allowed to cum. I want you ready for me when I get there.

The knot in your stomach tightens at the response you weren’t expecting, realizing she was just as ready to play this game as you were as another ping comes through.

Momo: That’s an order.

A smirk made its way to your face, snapping another picture of your waistband, no hand present down the front this time and sending it off.

Half lidded eyes anticipating her response, hips starting to move on their own without any stimulation, just thinking about what she would do to you if you kept annoying her this way.

Momo: Then I won’t help you cum later.

Momo: Why would I want to help a brat who doesn’t want to help herself?

Momo: Maybe I’ll just get you all riled up and leave you soaked and useless, ruining your panties for me.

Momo: I won’t give you anything you want, slut.

Oh, she is pissed. She’s only ever called you a slut once before and you had to beg her to do it. After years of trying to break her of her soft-top tendencies, she was finally catching onto what you wanted from her and applying it full force.

Whimpering into the quiet room you were laying in, a wet spot accumulating quickly underneath you, imagining her with her hands around your throat as you formulate your response carefully.

You: You wouldn’t be able to resist me dripping for you.

You: You think just because I push a few of your buttons, you won’t make me cum?

You: Aren't you going to take what’s yours?

“I wonder how far I can take this…” thinking out loud as you type out your next message. Momo was already furious with you, why not see how far you could push before she broke.

You: Or should I get someone else to take care of me, since you won’t?

Holding your breath as you wait, only having to wait a few seconds before the messages roll in.

Momo: …Someone else?? Oh, honey.

Momo: You are mine. I’ll be sure to remind you of that later.

A wave of heat flushes through your entire body, you loved how possessive over you she was. Always lightly marking you up anytime she could, even in public when someone looked at you a little longer than needed. Momo would pull you a little closer and bite down hard enough for you to moan in an act of dominance.

Maybe this time her marks would be darker.

Momo: You are lucky you aren’t here.

Momo: I’d have you under this desk on all fours, centimeters away from my pussy. No touching. No licking. Nothing.

Momo: Just making you watch me fuck myself.

Momo: Maybe I’d let you suck in my fingers, just to remind you of my taste.

Eye wide at the response, mouth open in pure shock at what she just said to you. You’d never seen her react this way before and you were very eager to explore it.

You: Come home, now.

Hastily typed out. Aching at the idea of Momo fucking the brat out of you.

Momo: No.

Momo: But maybe I’ll show you what I mean when I get there…I’ll make you wish you never started this.

Momo: Don't test me.

Thinking about how you could provoke her more when a lovely idea pops into your head. You slide your sweats off, pull your panties to the side and run your fingers down your slit and gather your slick, spreading it over your folds. Parting your lips, taking a picture of it and sending it off to Momo.

You: *photo*

Momo: My pathetic little whore.

A chill down your spine causes you to squirm senselessly at her response, moaning lightly into the empty room as she stokes the fire building within you.

You: Yes, baby?

Momo: I bet you’re clenching around nothing just thinking about me.

Momo: I’ll get you so god damn close and then ruin every orgasm you have.

Momo: Keep going to see how this ends for you.

Smirking and knowing you have her exactly where you want her.

You: I want you to ruin me and I’m going to push you until you give me exactly what I want.

Momo: Oh baby, I’m going to ruin you.

Momo: But don’t cry when I don’t let you cum.

You: I’ll cum before you get home.

Relentlessly poking at the tensions building between the two of you, glancing at the clock to see 8:18pm. She’ll be on her way home soon and maybe you’ll ignore her until she’s in front of you.

Momo: You better fucking not.

Momo: I swear y/n if i come home and you are anywhere near close to cumming, you’ll regret it.

Five minutes goes by and your phone is vibrating without any break in sight, just watching her messages come in and giggling to yourself as her rage shows its face.

Momo: You desperate little brat, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing.

Momo: You have 3 minutes to answer me or you’ll regret it!

Phone ringing as Momo calls you, smile across your face as you try to answer the phone with a careless tone.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing?” tone riddled with animosity.

“Laying on the couch watching TV…what are you doing?” Nonchalantly thrown back at her.

“Excuse me?” Scoffing at the audacity of you being so calm after what you pulled during her meeting.

“You’re just going to pretend like you didn’t jus- you know what…I’ll see you soon.” hanging up the phone immediately.

You’re surprised as she ends the call abruptly and try to patiently wait for her arrival, deciding to add a little spice to this already heated situation.

Running upstairs and stripping almost completely nude, leaving a trail of clothes behind you. How mad would she be if she came home and saw you touching yourself over your underwear on her side of the bed?

—

You didn’t start until you heard the front door open, slowly sliding your fingers down to your cloth covered folds. You’re absolutely sopping wet when you hear her exclaim at your trail of clothes, followed by an annoyed chuckle.

“Oh…you fucking bitch.” Grimaced through teeth, followed by heavy footsteps up the stairs. Excitement quickly spreads across your face, hastily trying to hide it before she sees.

The bedroom door flies open, slamming against the wall as Momo steps through the threshold with her jaw clenched, brows furrowed, and a scowl that could’ve turned the meanest person into a crying mess.

“What the fuck do you think your doing?” calmly said through gritted teeth as she watches you rub your clit through your soaked underwear.

“Baking cookies.” taking your finger and bringing it to your mouth to slowly suck the slick that seeped through the fabric of your panties off of them, making direct eye contact with a flushed Momo.

“Did you want a taste, baby?” smug in your expression, so proud of how livid she looks, when suddenly a slight smile forms on her face.

This causes your gaze to drop instantly as she goes into your closet and pulls out one of her black silk ties. Leaning nonchalantly onto the frame, making direct eye contact with you as she loops the smooth fabric within itself to create a pair of make-shift handcuffs, slowly sauntering over to you as she tightens a few of the knots before stopping short at the edge of the bed.

“Get up.” cold as ice from her lips, one her eyebrows raised at you as she gathers her hair and pulls it up into a small ponytail, a few locks hanging to shape her face.

Completely stunned by the energy she’s emitting, unable to do anything but gawk at how enticing she looked when she was this angry. Watching it steam off of her when she suddenly grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed, causing you to squeal out of shock.

A hand slides from your stomach up your chest, fingertips dancing on your skin as she clamps her hand around your throat and pulls you up into a seated position, squeezing lightly and getting an inch from your face.

“Since my little slut thinks it’s okay to do whatever she wants, regardless of what I say, I’m going to show you what being a defiant whore gets you.” grabbing one of your wrists as she crawls into the bed behind you, pulling your arm with her and fastening it next to the other one, tightening just enough so you can’t wiggle out.

This new side of Momo had you leaking for whatever was next, watching her remove the black tank top and leggings, exposing her bare breasts and red thong with a sizable wet spot on it.

“Seems like you might like me being a defiant bitch…” slyly said as you tug at the restraints, unintentionally making them tighter as you pull.

Chuckling to herself as she pushes you down onto your back by your chest, going over to the nightstand to pull something out of the drawer where you keep the toys. She throws something on the bed, you were too focused on her to even know what it was.

“Awh, look at how your pussy weeps for me. Aren’t you just a perfect little slut for Mommy?” dragging a single finger up your drenched underwear causing a whimper to erupt from you as she licks your nectar off her middle digit.

“Is my baby so needy? Desperate for me to touch her? You’ll watch before you touch…If I allow you to touch.” climbing over top of you and hovering her cunt so close to your face as she teases you.

“I’ll just fuck myself over your face and make you watch. I’ll make you regret defying me” as a hand descends down to her slit, lightly rubbing her swollen clit over the lace that barely hides it.

Your entire body is on fire as you watch the way she rocks her hips over your face, thighs clenched as she makes sure to be louder than normal for you, torturing you with her moans as she grinds on her own hand, smacking your thighs behind her to stop you from gaining any pleasure by your own doing.

“Please” urgently escapes your lips before you can stop it as you tilt your neck up, trying to taste her. Warm breath causes her to let out a string of whimpers before finding a seat on your chest, legs starting to tremble as she speeds up the pace she’s tracing her slit.

Feeling how warm her slick is as she toys with her clit over the fabric right in front of your face. She’s got the most desperate look in her half lidded eyes as she pulls her panties to the side and makes you watch her spread her wetness around her folds.

“That’s right - fuck -, you better fucking beg.” gasped through blushed cheeks. She’s dripping onto your chest as you squirm underneath her, pulsating the words you rarely heard in the times you’ve seen Momo get a little more aggressive than usual.

“Please, I’ve waited for you all day…I need you.” aching as you plead for her to give you something, anything, to satiate the burn between your legs, slowly starting to thrust your hip light.

“…mmm, do you really think you deserve it after what you did? After all, you can’t do one little thing for me - shit- …why should I reward a disobedient brat like you?” cursing at the sensation she was giving herself.

“Be-...because you love me…?” pouting underneath her, catching her a little off guard. She slows down in her stutter, grabbing you hair roughly as she scoots up closer to your chin.

“Open your mouth.” Harshly stated through gritted teeth, eyes glaring down at your fuck me eyes and smirk of defiance, clenching your jaw just to show her you are, in fact, going to make her work for this.

“ I said, " Open. Your mouth.” half hissed as she tightened her grip on your hair, pulling you up to her drenched core. Sticking your tongue out immediately and tasting the sweet juices of a livid momo.

Scooting closer with legs on the sides of your head, she grinds into you at full force, clit hitting your nose and gliding down to your chin. Simply using your face the way that she pleased when she picks up her speed, how was she already this close?

Her flavor permeates your senses, dripping down your neck as she rides your tongue faster, leaning back to lightly tease your clit over the ruined panties you were wearing, causing you to moan desperately into her core.

Shuttering at the vibrations, bucking her hips faster as she lets out one of the most guttural moans you’ve ever heard from her. Moving your face as fast as you can against her, attempting to help her ride out the feeling, her clenching as your tongue passes her entrance.

“Fuck…now you want to be good for me?” harshly questioned as she gets up off your face and removes her underwear for good. Standing naked before you, muscles on display for you to see before she kneels down between your legs, throwing them over her shoulders and bringing her face to your cunt.

“Do you think you’re desperate enough to cum like this?” taking a long lick right up the center of you.

“Or should I be nice and remove these?” lightly slapping your clit, not allowing you to reply, as she pulls the elastic- completely snapping it to remove your panties, nails leaving marks on your hips as she watches you drip for her, leaking effortlessly onto the sheets.

“Such a shame you lost your touching privileges…I’d love for you to grab my head and ride my face the way you usually do, but I think tonight I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine.” breathed out onto your cunt before she sticks her tongue out, lightly teasing by softly tracing only the tip on your lips, grazing past your clit gently just to hear you whimper for her.

Thrusting as much as you could underneath her grip and she teased you, giving you the smallest stimulation she could just to make you insane, knowing exactly how needy and desperate you were for her. She couldn’t help but make it worse.

“Please Mommy. - mmhm- I need yo-” cut off by the feeling of Momo’s tongue coasting through your folds with ease. Mixing her saliva with your slick, moaning while she explores every part of your cunt. Lapping up your heat and making her way to your clit, lightly suckling on it before backing away completely.

“Momo -please- I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll be good, just please touch me.” aching as you make your offer to your counterpart, whose head is tilted, lips pursed and hunger in her eyes as she looks up at you from between your legs.

“Whatever I want?” questioned back at you before she chuckles to herself, not breaking eye contact.

“I think we knew that was going to happen with or without that offer, honey.” batting her eyelashes at you before winking and slithering closer to you.

A loud gasp from your lips as Momo’s tongue finds your clit again, stimulation immediately causing you to moan her name loud enough to suck harshly at you. A groan from her as she slides 2 fingers into you so easily she doesn’t even need to wait for you to adjust.

“Needy slut’s been thinking about my mouth all day, hm?” between licks as she starts to roughly curl her fingers up, no build up to the pleasure she was giving you. Intense, rough, fast thrusts overstimulating you into speechlessness as your entire body tenses. You’re about to cum and you can’t even tell her.

She realizes what’s happening but it’s too late. You’re already arching your back at the rush of adrenaline when she removes herself from you, fully. Ruining the rest of the orgasm for you, completely causing you to shriek loudly as tears filled your eyes.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” as you try to break your restraint so you can take control.

“I told you that I wasn’t going to let you cum.” smacking your pussy again before grabbing the toy she removed from the drawer.

Your eyes focus on what she’s got in her hands as she’s placing it inside of herself, and adjusting the straps and the front so it grinds when she does. Immediately, you realize it’s the one you never use. The one that’s a little bigger than you prefer.

Approaching you again, strap lining up with you as she slides up across your clit, jolting and groaning curses underneath her. Shockwaves from the orgasm she just stole from you returning, quaking as she slides it back down, teasing you until you start bucking your hips at her.

“Awh, is my spoiled brat rutting against me? So desperate to cum?” catching the tip of the strap at your entrance just to tease you, pausing for a second as she spits on your swollen pussy, making eye contact with you as she does.

Getting up to cut off your pleasure yet again, you are instantly frustrated and on the brink of tears, letting out a wail; you’re beyond words at this point.

Momo rolls you over and arches your back for you, placing a pillow underneath your stomach for leverage. Grinding her strap along your slit again before sliding all the way inside you, bottoming out completely, causing a languid moan to erupt from both of you.

“I don’t care if you cum, I’m going to use you until I do,” laying against you and gnawing at your shoulders, being sure to mark you up while she slowly starts to slide in and out of you. Tapping your hips to signal you to make a wider stance as she sinks into you with great force. Slamming over and over again causing you to jolt everytime she hits your cervix.

Vision is blurred, words slurring and completely a mess as she continues quickly pounding you. You’re incoherently moaning and squealing as she slides past every single sensitive spot inside of you. Grabbing your restraints, pulling you up by them as she rails into you aggressively, chasing her own pleasure.

“You’re just -shit- a fucking toy…for me to…cum in” the sound of skin slapping and guttural noises fill the room when your brain registers what was just spoken. To cum…in? Oh!

“Fill me, Mommy! -fuck baby- Make me yours!” Whimpered out, grinning to yourself as you felt the knot of your stomach tighten. She pounds incessantly into you, clenching around her as she starts pistoning her hips harder.

Momo pulls you flush against her and wraps her forearm around your neck, halfway choking you while one of her hands finds its place on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

Soft grunts falling from her mouth as she bites into your neck harshly before whispering, “gonna fill you.”

The build up inside you is quick as you involuntarily clench around her again, almost stopping her movement in its tracks, seeing stars as you gush around her muted movements, practically screaming as your body twitches against her.

“Good girl,” as Momo’s dominance falters along with her pace, becoming sporadic in nature as she tries to hold you up, attempting to force her orgasm away so she can overstimulate you. Ramming into you with no rhythm at all causing euphoria in your stomach as you clench around her again.

“You’re so lucky this is a strap,” gasping as she tightens her grip on you.

“I’d breed you like the little bitch you are, if I could.” nails digging into your skin, leaving crescent shaped indents along your hip.

“Cum in me” breathed between jolts as she gave her last few hard strokes before she let out a snarl, climaxing as she continued to rock into you, letting you fall back onto the bed as she rode it out in you.

Both of you completely fucked out as she pulls the strap out of you. Letting out a whine at the empty feeling as she unties your hands and picks you up bridal style, only to lay you down on your side of the bed, laying by your side, holding you and shifting hair out of your face.

Kissing you passionately for the first time that night and brings you closer to her. You can’t help but feel a sense of calm facing each other and laying in one other’s arms.

“So…breeding kink, huh? That’s new.” teasing her through your sleep laced voice.

“Don’t ruin the moment, I’m still not happy with you.” Kissing your forehead and smiling, despite her words.

Raising your hand up and pulling her face down to connect your lips, pulling her close to you and grinding down onto the cum soaked strap she was still wearing.

Momo’s hand finds its way to the strap and points it up as you grind causing it to slip inside you. Legs now holding onto her torso as she lightly pumps her waist forward into you.

“Fuck, it hurts so good.” whimpered into her ear, continuing by snapping her hips into you.

“I told you, you couldn’t resist me…why did you even try?” as your third orgasm was approaching, she’s circling your swollen clit with her fingers and watching your face contort with her movements.

“I’m gonna cum,” when she pulls out again, removing her hand from you, quickly undoing the leather on her sides and discarding the harness and source of pleasure to the floor, huge smile on her face.

The absolute earth shattering quack inside of you is almost unbearable as she turns to face the opposite direction, wiggling into her spot and letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Momo…you’re kidding, right?” in disbelief, thrusting your hips into nothing as you whine for her.

“Remember this the next time you decide you want to be disobedient.” sharply exhaled as she drifted into a soft sleep.

Death of Peace of Mind - Part 2 - Sugar

#twice imagines #twice x reader #kpop x reader #wlw #twice fic #momo x fem reader #dom!momo #top!momo #hirai momo #momo x fem!reader #twice smut #Momo smut #hirai momo x reader #momo imagines #momo x reader #twice momo #momo #hirai momo x fem!reader

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spncvr · 10 months ago

Note

HIII I kinda suck at writing so maybe you could take my idea and use your amazing writing skills and make something of it? (Only if you want ofc!!) hear me out yk how Spencer rambles about random facts and everything at the bau imagine if he had a partner (was a profiler as well) and that knew a lot about musics or movies and would ramble about it to him?

Ignore this if it sounds stupid 😭

rambles | s. reid

summary: you talk a lot, spencer doesn't mind.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: okay so idk if this counts as gn!reader?? but reader wears a dress lol. drinking, and again my terrible english,, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hey beautiful!! this deffo does not sound stupid i had fun writing it but this is so bad im sorry i didn't do u justice *crying emoji* also im so sorry this took me forever to finish LMAOOO

masterlist

YOU CAN FEEL it.

In your spine, in your ears. The song’s quiet but it had you in its grip, tight and firm—music’s always been like that to you. It didn’t matter if it was Hendrix, Queen or even Chopin; it has always been the one thing to make you stop dead at your feet. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could possibly describe how it made you feel. Perhaps, you think humorously, you ought to learn another language, or two.

You’re wearing this dress. This sweet, white silk thing that sweeps against your knees each time you take a step. The taste of expensive wine sits against your lips, lingering. The glass rests idly around your hand and your grip is careful. Expensive red wine and a cheap dress don't usually mix well together.

“You okay?”

You smile, teeth and all. Spencer who’s found his place next to you, furrows his eyebrows worry painted against his soft features. He looks tired. But he’s here, with the rest of the team; he always is.

“Fine,” you say, blasé. “You, Dr. Reid?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, “Yeah, fine.” then, “nice dress.” It’s a small whisper.

You brush your tongue against the wine on your lips. The comment catches you off guard—especially when he’s dressed like this and looks at you like that. So, all that leaves your wine-stained lips is a small: “Oh.” then, because you remember your manners you say, “Thank you.”

The song changes, and Spencer smiles, “The songs—” he says “they’re nice.”

“I—” You stop yourself from rambling because really, they’re more than nice. It’s Elle Fitzgerald. She’s—Her voice, her instrument is clear as a bell, with diction that’s almost impossible to misunderstand. Her rhythm is— well it’s, you can set her as the metronome for her own band. Which, well, isn’t exactly easy to do. The way she’s able to scoop and bend her pitches with such precision is, beyond, nice. So the song, really it’s, more than nice, it’s a masterpiece it’s—

“Uh, yeah, s’nice.” you pause, “More than nice, really.”

Spencer smiles, amused, “More than nice?” he echoes.

You clear your throat, “It— yeah. I mean, it’s Fitzgerald, you know…”

“I don’t know,” he says simply.

Figures, you think. “No, yeah. She’s, like, got this tone in her voice, you know? And it’s like she’s the one leading the band— with the rhythm, I mean. As in like, instead of the drummer, which isn’t exactly easy to do. You know, actually, some people say she — she’s got the voice of an angel. Or something along the lines; can’t really remember and—” you pause, slightly embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking.

“Er, sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. The edge of your shoes had suddenly become increasingly interesting. “didn’t mean to go on a tangent.”

Spencer kisses his teeth, and you look up to find him grinning. “No, uh,” he scratches the edge of his eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize for talking about something you like.” He seems to think about his next words as he brushes his hand against your arm. It sends a shiver that lingers longer than the touch itself. Spencer Reid could be so cruel sometimes.

“I love listening to you talk.”

Your dress ends up wine-stained, anyway.

as usual my inbox is always open for requests (or just to talk lol) but it will take 192374 years to actually finish it,, reblogs are soo appreciated !! (u guys r always so kind idk why im asking for them) so is feedback btw!! (despretely in need of some)

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seungfl0wer · 3 months ago

Text

*𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒚*

Pairing: Chan x Reader (GN)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None, however I tried to say very simple things because I still have no clue how to properly take care of my own curls let alone write about how to lol.

A/N: This is a little short however I loved this Request. As someone with “wavy/curly” hair i wish he’d take care of it and love his cute curls. (Also at myself because I do not take care of them like I should either)

-🖤

Laying on your bed scrolling through your phone you hear a loud sigh coming from the bathroom. “You alright in there?” You yell but get no response. With a small huff you get up walking towards the bathroom to see Chan sitting there staring at himself. His hairs a mess like he’s been running his fingers through it.

“What’s wrong bubs?” You ask seeing the frustration on his face.

“I don’t know what to do y/n my hair just feels awful. Like what do I do with this” he says fluffing his hair.

“Well for starters you need to stop getting it dyed so much. Secondly you gotta take care of it better” you say running your hands over his back.

“I do take care of it, I condition and-“ he started before you cut him off.

“Christopher. You have waves, little curls. You need to take care of them.” You scolded.

“Will you help me?” He asked sounding defeated.

“Of course.” You say with a kiss to his nose.

The next day came around Chan was sitting on the couch when you came back from errands. You had did a whole haul of products to help him with his hair. Maybe you went a little overboard but you just wanted the best for him. When you came through the door you smiled wildly at him making him laugh. You had that crazed gleam in your eye.

“What’s that face for?” He asked still chuckling.

“Floor.” You say making your way to him.

“What about the floor?” He asked teasingly.

“Sit your juicy butt on the floor please” you say with a little pout.

He laughs while sitting on the floor. You take your spot above him handing him the bags.

“What’s all this for?” He asked.

“Your hair silly” you say taking the first few things out.

“This is to help defuse your hair, and this is to bring moisture to your scalp. Oh oh and this one helps retain the cute curls you have” you ramble showing him each product.

You apply a few things before bringing him to the bathroom. You gave him a whole run down of things he should be doing. Which order to do his hair in how to dry it. You had gotten silk pillowcases so it would help even thinking about getting him a little silk bonnet.

After just a few days of the routine you could see a Change in his hair. It looked so much healthier so vibrant. His curls were more defined and had a lot less frizz to it. He also seemed much more confident not wanting to put hats on or anything to mess it up. You smiled walking into the room seeing him playing with his hair. He was just glowing he looked so happy.

“Mm someone’s looking good” you say with a little giggle kissing his cheek.

“All thanks you my love” he said smiling widely before pulling you to him. He kissed you lovingly before staring down into your eyes.

“I appreciate you taking your time to help me with this, I really never felt better about it. My hair just looks- good” he said before kissing you again.

“Of course silly, I’m just happy you’re happy. And I’m happy you’re not gonna go bald now.. hopefully” you teased making him tickle you.

“If I go bald you’ll still love me right?” He said.

You nod making his eyes go wide “right!” He said before tickling you more.

“Duh that’s not even a question” you said laughing.

“Good, now I ordered dinner wanna watch a movie?”

“Can I play with your hair?” You said with a smile.

“Duh that not even a question” he teased you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp

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aestas---estas · 5 months ago

Text

A conversation

Simon's in his office, it's early Monday morning and he thought it best to get an early start on his paperwork rather than toss and turn in bed. He had always been an early riser, even before the rigid schedule of military life, not to mention the insomnia and nightmares. But this time, it hadn't been bad, twisted memories or the unexplainable inability to get his body and mind to relax that had made sleep elude him — it had been you. You, in that perfect dress. You, calling him in the middle of the night for help. You, hugging yourself tight to ward off the cold. You, in his jacket.

A knock on the door startles him from his thoughts, and he just knows it's you — he recognises the pattern of the knock, and a glance at the clock on his wall tells him the timing would be right. He grunts in the affirmative, just like always, and watches as you enter his office with a steaming cup of tea and a small biscuit.

“Good morning,” you greet, the smile in your lips as ethereal as ever as you place the cup and saucer on his desk.

“Morning,” Simon says back, following your movements out of the corner of his eye, not truly giving in to the satisfaction to stare. He can see though, that despite the radians of your smile, you look… bashful almost.

“I, uh… I wanted to apologise again for my behaviour last night.” Simon says nothing, keeping his face down as if concentrating on the files he had been working on. A sharp, singular nod was all the answer you got, which only makes you ramble even more. “He wouldn't leave me alone when I said I wasn't interested, as if my no wasn't answer enough.”

You scoff, shuffling a little on your feet as you remember the annoyance you had felt over that.

“So I, uh… I called you. Had to lay it on thick, that's why I called you baby. I'm sorry.” Once again, Simon says nothing, but he raises his gaze to your face. “Should've probably called someone else. You don't deserve to be dragged into my bullshit.”

“Why did you?” He asks, effectively cutting your rant short, and leans back a little in his chair; thighs spread wide and hands cupped in his lap.

“Call you?” He nods, waiting for your explanation with rapt attention and a raised eyebrow you can't see due to the mask. “I don't know. Needed a guard dog, I guess.”

“A guard dog? That what I am to you?”

“N-no, that's not what I… fuck, I'm fucking this up.” You take a deep breath, straightening your posture and finally meet his eyes. “You were the first person I thought of when I felt uncomfortable and unsafe. When you walked me home from the pub that one time… it was the first time in a long while that I didn't feel the need to look behind me. I felt safe. I don't think I ever thanked you for that by the way, so, uh, thank you.”

“Thought you wanted Johnny to walk you home.” It's not said maliciously, and it only serves to confuse you. Sure, you'd had a great time talking and laughing with both Johnny and Kyle, but if you had wanted either of them to walk you home that night you would've said so.

“I never said that,” you supply with a soft yet confused smile. “I'm a grown woman, Simon. If I didn't want you to walk me home I would've told you. If I wanted Johnny to save me this weekend, I wouldn't have called you.”

“But you did call me.”

“I called you.”

It's quiet for a few moments as you both observe the other, something that can't truly be named flowing through the air. “And the kiss?” Simon eventually asks.

“Just a thank you gesture,” you answer with a shrug, feeling your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“That all it was?” He prods, hands still clasped together as he leans forward with his arms on the desk. He's unconvinced, you can tell, and his penetrative gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“No. It's something I wanted to do,” you finally confess, hoping the admission won't be shut down or make your work environment uncomfortable going forward. But with the way his eyes have never strayed once from your form, the way he brought the kiss up and keeps prodding for a truthful answer, you don't think it will.

Simon lets your confession hang in the air for a moment, but you don't back down, only meeting his gaze head on and waiting patiently. “Alright,” he eventually says at length before going back to his paperwork. You don't really know what to make of his response, or lack thereof. It's only when you're halfway out the door to his office that he speaks again and stops you in your tracks, “I didn't mind it. Neither the call nor the kiss.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you answer, throwing him another bright smile over your shoulder. “Oh, and your jacket. I was going to wash it before returning it but my washing machine is acting up and I haven't had the time to fix it.”

“Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”

--- CoD Masterlist

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty fic #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost cod #sunshine x grumpy #my writing #summer yaps

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rxqueenotd · 10 days ago

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damnatio memoriae: PART V

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima', was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

warnings: blood, knife play (?), foul language, pnv penetration, BDSM-ish situations, bloodletting, wlw, drug use, digital penetration, Ancient Rome as a warning within itself.

notes: there are 12,437 words in this chapter alone. I would apologize for not posting for a month, but as you can see, I have been cooking. Made it through Christmas, Hanukkah, my birthday, new years, the fucking dystopian US election, got accepted back to college to try for my bachelors in a totally different sphere than the degree I already hold and let a Leo man take me for a ride all within thirty days so if this chapter is not to your liking, lie to me and tell you love it anyways. As always, thanks to @trashmouth-richie for listening to my ramblings and feeding me words of encouragement. You are my brotha for life. And to @londonfog-chan for putting up with my perpetual absence as I’ve been riding the rollercoaster that has been January. This chapter has been a labor of love but I think it might be my favorite so far. Enjoy!

Caracalla departed hastily, leaving you alone after taking you against the wall, his voice ringing with authority as he barked commands to his guards as he exited your chambers. He was intent on visiting a local taberna, and you felt a twinge of sympathy for the patrons and the staff of the venue of his choosing. The thought of anyone crossing his path in such a foul mood stirred a sense of unease within you, for you knew the trouble that often accompanied him in such a state.

Sleep found you swiftly, even after the events you had endured. You weren’t sure how long you had slept when your chamber door creaked open, revealing Caracalla’s silhouette in the doorway. He lurched inside, bracing himself against the wall as he swayed, then marched toward the bed with determination.

Hastily, he tore his tunic over his head, tossing it aside with little care, followed by his jewels, which he flung onto the chaise beside the bed. Once fully undressed, he climbed in beside you, rolling onto his side to mirror your position. The scent of wine clung to him as he pulled you closer, clumsily reaching for the hem of your sleeping gown to lift it from your body. You arched and moved as needed, assisting him in his endeavor. When you were laid bare before him, he drew you closer into his embrace, his hand grasped your thigh to drape it over his own. You inhaled sharply as his lips brushed over the tender bite mark he had left upon you, remaining still, wary that such a simple gesture might provoke him or send him into a fit of rage.

He nestled his head beneath your chin, pressing your body as close to his as possible, his breath settled into a steady rhythm as he relaxed.

“Tell me you love me.” His hoarse voice spoke softly against the column of your throat.

You sighed, thinking of a million things you would rather say.

“Tell me, Prima,” he leaned up, untucking his head, blue eyes piercing yours, “tell me you love me.”

“Lucius-,” you started, but stopped when a small smile cracked across his lips, a light chuckle falling out from behind them.

“Lucius,’” he parroted back to you, followed by his signature giggle, “it has been ages since I have been called that.”

You let a silence descend around the two of you, hoping he would drop the matter entirely, but he continued to stare at you expectantly.

“I love you. Now please go to sleep.”

With that he was content to reposition himself, breath reaching a steady rhythm against the tender flesh of your neck.

You found yourself thinking that perhaps this was why he surrounded himself with courtesans, like a collection of soothing melodies for his restless soul. Each woman a different remedy for his erratic moods. Then you realized that it mattered not, that they were gone, and the only thing left in their wake was you. A blessing and a curse. A heavy feeling swept over you, followed by a bout of light sleep.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

You awakened on your back, entirely naked, a thin linen sheet barely covering your form. Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, and you swiftly shielded your eyes, groaning at the brightness that pierced your sleepy vision. Heavy footfalls approached, and the sheet was suddenly yanked away.

“My father summoned you an hour past,” Caracalla declared bluntly. “Yet you lie here, sprawled out like a weary whore.”

You groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

“Leave me be to awaken properly,” you murmured, your voice muffled against the fabric.

“That is not possible,” he replied, reaching down to roll you over, pinching your nipple as he dragged you upright.

You yelped, swatting his hand away. He chuckled, a sound both throaty and high-pitched, echoing through your bedchamber as he backed away, holding the sheet with both hands.

You sat upright, narrowing your eyes at him. “Give me that,” you snapped, lunging forward to grab the sheet.

He sidestepped, holding it just out of reach with a smirk. “And here I thought you would be more gracious this morning.”

Ignoring his teasing, you reached again, this time managing to snag the edge of the fabric. With one sharp tug, you pulled it free from his grip, wrapping it around yourself as you stood.

“Out,” you commanded, pointing toward the door.

“Such gratitude for waking you,” he replied mockingly, backing away to give you space to get yourself together, ignoring your command.

You secured the sheet around your body and moved quickly to your wardrobe. You grabbed a plain linen robe, slipping it over your shoulders and tying it at the waist. The soft material was a stark contrast to the silk you often wore, but it would suffice.

The early morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the marble floor. You quickly fastened your hair into a loose knot, pinning it in place with a bronze pin. You were out of time to indulge in the laziness the morning had offered.

The hallway was cool and quiet as you stepped out, the air brushing against your skin. Caracalla joined you without a word, falling into step as you navigated the twists and turns of the private residence. The faint scent of figs and incense lingered, mingling with the distant hum of servants going about their tasks.

Inside the Imperator’s quarters, the scene was surprisingly casual. Septimius lounged on a lectus, his feet wrapped in steaming cloths, hands resting across his chest as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

Geta stood near the terrace, wrapped in a silk robe, his back to the room. Sunlight spilled in through the open curtains, highlighting the slight tilt of his head as he gazed outside. At the sound of your entrance, he turned, his eyes sliding over you and Caracalla before landing on Septimius with an indifferent look.

“Ah, there you are,” Septimius said, waving you over. His tone was light, though his eyes had a way of lingering a little too long.

You moved to the lectus across from him, sitting carefully on the edge. Caracalla stayed behind it, silent but looming, his presence as steady as a beating heart.

Geta didn’t move from his spot by the terrace. His expression gave nothing away, but the weight of his gaze lingered a moment too long before he turned back toward the sunlight. The air in the room wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t exactly friendly either- tension you’d come to expect in their presence.

Septimius leaned forward, crossing his arms with a casual air. “You know, it’s remarkable how you manage to navigate such stormy weather,” he said, his voice dripping with feigned admiration. “Not everyone can handle the complexities of family... or the occasional stormy temperament.” He chuckled lightly, but the glint in his eyes suggested he was enjoying the game.

“I am no stranger to stormy temperament,” you stated, your expression steady as you reached for a cup of wine sitting among a tray of fruits and cheese.

Septimius raised an eyebrow, his smile shifting slightly as he leaned in, clearly intrigued. “Ah, but rain can be quite the tempest, can’t it? I admire your confidence. It takes a certain... resilience to weather it.” His tone was playful, but the underlying challenge was unmistakable.

You took a sip of the wine, letting it settle before responding. “Resilience is a necessity in a world like this. One must learn to enjoy the rain, or risk being swept away.” You glanced at Geta, who seemed to be absorbing the conversation from his spot by the terrace, his expression still unreadable.

“Wise words,” Septimius replied, his voice smooth as silk. “But I must wonder—what happens when the storm grows too fierce? Do you still enjoy it, or do you seek shelter?” He leaned back slightly, his gaze intense, as if he were gauging your every reaction.

You could feel the tension in the air, but you were determined to hold your ground. “Sometimes, shelter is just an illusion. It’s better to face the storm head-on than to hide away and hope it passes.”

Septimius chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the exchange. “A bold stance, indeed. I do appreciate your spirit. It makes for quite the captivating conversation.”

“Get on with it,” Caracalla huffed from behind you, impatience dripping from his words. “What business brings us here?”

Geta turned, arms crossed tightly over his chest, glancing between Caracalla and Septimius with a look of expectation.

“You have acted like children, reckless and foolish,” Septimius began, his tone shifting as he sat up, the gravity of his words settling in the room. He fixed his gaze on Caracalla, speaking over your head, “You cavort with whores right under our noses, and the whole of Rome bears witness to your folly. The taberna you visited last night was paranoid by your presence, and this morning, the staff and patrons are buzzing with tales of your indiscretions.”

“And let me guess,” Caracalla interjected, a smirk creeping onto his face, “Your faithful hound, Macrinus, has kept you well informed of the situation.”

Macrinus appeared at the terrace, a shadowy figure emerging into the room. You realized then what had drawn Geta’s gaze.

“It seems that by merely uttering his name, I have conjured him,” Caracalla remarked with a sarcastic laugh, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

Macrinus raised his hands, palms outward, a sign of mock surrender. He stepped forward with careful deliberation, stopping beside the lectus where Septimius lounged. Folding his hands in front of him, he inclined his head slightly.

“I am here by request,” Macrinus said, his tone calm but firm, “not to meddle in the quarrels of the Imperial household.” He tugged the edge of his toga across his shoulder, smoothing the fabric around him.

“And yet,” Caracalla cut in, moving closer to you, his voice sharper than a soldier’s blade, “here you are.”

Geta cocked his head to one side, studying Macrinus with a faint smirk. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the rustle of fabric as Geta moved closer.

“It is at my order that he is here, brother,” Geta said, spitting the word brother like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

You turned, casting a glance over your shoulder at Caracalla. Confusion flickered across your face as your gaze darted to meet his, searching for answers in his eyes.

“What is this about?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though suspicion tugged at your tone.

“The empire needs an heir,” Septimius said sharply, his words cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. “It is your one duty—to give Rome a future. Yet here we are, without a successor, or any sign that one is to come. Is it your husband’s endless whoring that is to blame, or your taste for plotting with your maids to carry out your schemes? I know not, and frankly, I do not care. What I do know is that this cannot continue.”

His accusation hit like a slap, the air thickening around you. He had seen more than he let on, unraveling the plan you thought he had believed so easily.

“And now,” Caracalla murmured, his hand tightening on your shoulder, “you understand. He will extend the hand of favor even as he holds a dagger to your throat.”

Your jaw tightened, your gaze snapping back to Septimius. The weight of his scrutiny weighed down on you, but you met it with steel in your eyes. Whatever game he thought he played, you would not yield so easily.

“And yet, despite your shared transgressions, you two would make a match worthy of the gods themselves—if only you could cease your scheming against one another long enough to see it,” Septimius declared, his tone edged with amusement. “But because of those very transgressions, you shall both spend the remainder of the season in Baiae.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you turned your gaze to Caracalla, whose face was a storm of fury.

“Exile?” Caracalla spat through gritted teeth. “You would exile the Augustus? The emperor of Rome?”

“How many times must I remind you,” Septimius said as he rose, his movements slow but deliberate. Geta stepped forward to steady him, while Macrinus bowed and retreated. “You are Augustus and emperor only by my will, Marcus.”

The lectus creaked as Caracalla lunged forward, but Geta steadied himself between Septimius and Caracalla, while Macrinus seized Caracalla by the shoulder, hauling him back. Amidst the sudden chaos, you realized your hand had found Caracalla’s, and his grip tightened with such ferocity that you feared your bones might snap.

Even in his weakened state, his feet swollen and discolored like a venomous wound, Septimius’s grin was sharp and unyielding.

“Perhaps a new line of succession is what Rome truly needs.” This time, his gaze did not fall on you, but on Geta, as though he had plucked the very stars from the heavens.

“You serpent!” Caracalla roared at his brother, struggling against Macrinus’s newfound hold, his voice raw with betrayal. His grip on your hand grew tighter, a reflection of his seething rage.

Geta, unmoved, merely smiled as he returned to Septimius’s side, tending to the aging emperor with practiced ease.

“Leave me,” Septimius commanded with a languid wave of his hand, his voice cold and final.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What ails him, exactly?” you asked at last, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the carriage. The rhythmic creaking and jolting of the wheels, each bump in the road, seemed a constant reminder of your shared exile to Baiae.

Caracalla turned his gaze to you for the first time since the journey began, his expression shadowed. “His feet swell,” he said, his tone flat. “To sizes unimaginable. They blacken, as you saw—purple and crude.” He grimaced, as if the very memory sickened him, before turning his eyes back to the window. “And then there is the plague. The dregs of it, lingering from the last campaign. The bloodletting, the vomiting. It comes and goes, but when it comes...” He trailed off, his lip curling slightly.

You grimaced at the image he painted, wondering how the truth about the Imperator had been kept so carefully concealed.

“This is your doing, you know,” Caracalla said suddenly, his voice devoid of inflection, raspy and light, as though he were stating some mundane fact.

“How do you reason that?” you asked, genuinely curious despite the sting of the accusation.

“Your very presence disturbs the balance,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the passing countryside. “And that little scheme of yours—” He turned his head slightly, though his eyes did not meet yours. “Amateur. Endearing, almost, the way you thought you had fooled us all.”

“I believe,” you said, your voice calm but firm, “that regardless of my presence, this house would have toppled under the weight of its own mistakes.”

“Do you?” he asked, tilting his head, studying you now with a glint of something between skepticism and intrigue.

“I tire of this,” you continued, your voice steady but carrying an edge of frustration. When he turned to look at you, you continued, “The endless back and forth. I wish you would decide whether you like me or loathe me.”

He laughed, his signature cackle, the corners of his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Ah, but you will come to learn, dear wife,” he said, his tone laced with sardonic amusement, “that those two are often one and the same.”

“Macrinus,” you let his name roll off your tongue as you searched your memory. “I cannot say he is familiar to me.”

“He wouldn’t be,” Caracalla replied, his voice carrying a tone of indifference. “He was a slave in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, earned his freedom in the arena.”

“An extraordinary feat,” you remarked, glancing at him. “And his influence upon your father? What of that?”

Caracalla shrugged, shifting lower against the cushioned bench, his gaze wandering to the hills rolling past the window. The faint scent of cypress filtered into the carriage through the open slits. Outside, the road stretched ahead, bordered by rows of olive trees.

“The Garmantian campaign,” he began, his voice heavy with recollection. “A few years ago. Macrinus advised my father then. His blood ties him to that land, or so he claims—descended from those desert tribes.”

You nodded, studying him as the sunlight flickered over his pallid features. He turned back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if wondering whether you deserved to know more.

“I led my first unit there,” he continued, almost reluctantly. “Macrinus was at my side. Geta—useless as ever—remained with father, an onlooker on a high ridge above the battle. A coward in all but name.” His lips curled into a sardonic smile. “He spent the rest of his time hidden away with the other scribes and so-called strategists, poring over scrolls instead of wielding a sword. A fitting place for him—among the weak and the overcautious.”

“He—” You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. You tried to push the thought away, to banish it to the shadows of your mind. But Caracalla was not one to let things lie.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice low and sharp, like the scrape of a blade against stone. He leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto you as he reached out, fingers closing around your wrist with an iron grip. You reflexively tried to pull away, but his strength overpowered yours, dragging your hand back into his grasp.

“He is the one who told me about your courtesans,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could reconsider. Your eyes darted anywhere but to his face, tracing the fine carvings on the wooden frame of the carriage, the dusty light filtering through its windows. “He showed me where you were that night—the last night you spent with them. I... I watched for a while, but I left when I had seen enough.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you. Then, with a snarl of disgust, he flung your hand aside, as if the very touch of you burned. His fist slammed into the roof of the carriage with such force that the wood creaked in protest, the sound echoing around you like a thunderclap.

“Stop!” he barked, his voice cut through the air. The driver obeyed instantly, pulling the horses to an abrupt halt. The jolt threw you forward, your palms bracing against the edge of the seat as the wheels ground to a halt on the gravel road.

You watched as Caracalla flung the carriage door open with a force that made the hinges groan. In a single, fluid motion, he bounded down the steps and onto the packed gravel. Two guards immediately stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their faces unreadable but watchful.

Alarmed, you slid closer to the window, gripping its edge. “What are you doing? What madness is this?”

“Horse!” he roared, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the countryside like a war cry. Moments later, a white stallion was led into view by a nervous stablehand, its mane gleaming like ivory under the midday sun.

You leaned farther out, your voice urgent. “Have you lost your senses? What has gotten into you?”

He ignored you, mounting the stallion with the practiced ease. From atop the horse, he turned his gaze back to you—a look of pure disdain etched into his face.

“I will see you in Baiae,” he spat, his tone laced with venom. Without waiting for a reply, he spurred the stallion into motion.

You could only watch as the beast surged forward, its hooves pounding against the earth, kicking up a cloud of dust that swirled in the air long after it had gone. The guards scrambled to follow, their own horses hurriedly prepared, but Caracalla was already disappearing into the horizon, leaving behind the echo of his fury.

Inside the now-emptied carriage, the silence pressed down on you, broken only by the distant cries of cicadas and the soft rustle of the olive trees.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Caracalla stayed gone for three days. On the third night, he finally returned, stumbling into the villa, drunker than a deckhand. His tunic was crooked, his hair disheveled, and he reeked of wine.

“Did you have fun while I sat alone?” you asked, not bothering to glance up from the scroll in your hands.

He stopped mid-stride, squinting at you with furrowed brows. His eyes landed on you, stretched out on the lectus, one foot dangling off the edge, your toes curling lazily as if you hadn’t a care in the world.

“You’re never alone,” he said flatly, his voice slurred, the sour tang of wine thick in the air around him.

“True,” you replied with a shrug, “but that is not the point.”

You rolled up the scroll with a sharp snap, the sound echoing through the atrium like a whip crack.

“Where have you been?” you demanded, your voice cutting through the quiet. “We were sent here for one reason: for me to conceive. Not for you to run around town acting like a whoring drunkard.”

You knew full well where he had been. Metella had been your eyes for the first two days, tailing him to the seedier corners of the city—brothels, taverns, gambling dens. By the third day, her reports were unnecessary. The smell of him now told you enough. Meanwhile, Cassia had stayed behind to tend to you, watching as you fumed, pacing the villa with balled fists.

Caracalla’s mouth twisted into a smirk, his flushed face shining in the lamplight. “You’ve grown bold, haven’t you?” he said, his tone mocking as he leaned against a marble column for balance. “What is it, cara mea? Have you grown bored of the luxury and servants here that you now pass the time by scolding me?”

You stood from the lectus, smoothing your stola with deliberate calm, the sound of the fabric brushing against the mosaic floor louder than it should have been.

“Luxury?” you snapped, stepping closer until you could see the hazy glaze in his eyes. “Do not mistake my patience for contentment. While you waste our time and fortune, the empire waits. Rome waits. You were sent here to do your duty, not to disgrace yourself in taverns and brothels. Or would you prefer I send word to Rome that Caracalla has no interest in producing heirs? That he remains flaccid?”

His smirk faded, and his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. It wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to send a message. “You tread dangerous ground,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.

“And so do you,” you shot back, refusing to flinch. “But unlike you, I know how to keep my balance.”

For a long moment, the two of you stared at each other, the tension stretching thin. Then, his grip loosened, and he let your wrist fall.

“Fine,” he muttered, brushing past you, his steps uneven as he headed toward his quarters. “I’ll do what is required. But do not think for a moment you control me.”

You stood there in the silence, your wrist tingling where his hand had been. When his footsteps faded, you let out a slow breath, your face hardening.

It was only a moment later that you heard the sharp whinny of a horse and the steady thud of hooves on sand. With a grunt, you hauled yourself to the balcony, gripping the iron railing as you leaned out. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you spotted Caracalla, riding off into the darkening horizon. He was headed straight for the heart of the night’s chaos—the very center of hedonism and excess.

Hurling yourself from the railing, your bare feet slipping across the cool floor, you swiftly secured your sandals, the straps biting into your skin as you hurried down to the atrium. At the grand doorway, two guards stood at attention.

“Ready my horse,” you commanded, your voice firm as you draped the light folds of your palla loosely around your neck, a gesture that spoke of both urgency and authority.

One of the guards faltered, his eyes widening as though struck dumb by your words. “Do your ears fail you?” you snapped, your tone sharpened with impatience. “I said, ready my horse!”

“My lady, you cannot ride into the city,” the elder of the two guards replied, his voice steady though his posture betrayed hesitation. The younger guard straightened, his eyes darting nervously around, as if afraid to meet your gaze for long. “It is unseemly for one of your rank to travel without accompaniment, let alone on horseback.”

You closed your eyes, drawing a measured breath before exhaling sharply, a brisk sigh of exasperation.

“If you wish for the household slaves to find your corpse in the ocean and your head upon the beach come dawn, then by all means, ignore my command.”

The elder guard hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he turned on his heel, striding with purpose through the atrium and vanishing through the side passage that led to the stables.

The younger guard remained rooted in place, attempting to maintain composure. You began pacing the mosaic-tiled floor, your sandals echoing softly in the vast space as your hands twisted together. Frustration burned within you, like a wildfire sweeping through dry plains, all encompassing, devastating.

When the elder guard reappeared in the doorway, you strode past him without a word. Outside, the pale horse stood waiting. With practiced grace, you swung onto its back, dismissing the guard's offered hand as though it were an insult.

“I never intended to ride into the city alone, Praetorian,” you said, casting a sharp glance down the bridge of your nose at him. “The two of you will accompany me—if you can keep up.”

Without waiting for a reply, you tightened your grip on the reins and urged the horse forward. The stallion responded instantly, surging into motion as the dull nudge of your sandal found its mark against its flank.

The night wind tore at your palla as the world became a blur of shadow and moonlit sand. The rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth echoed like a battle drum. The roar of the distant sea mingled with the hiss of sand kicked up in your wake, but you paid it no mind.

Glancing back, you caught sight of the two Praetorians scrambling to mount their own steeds. Their movements seemed clumsy compared to your own, and you allowed yourself a fleeting smirk of satisfaction. If they meant to follow, they would have to earn their place at your side.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Baiae stretched out before you as the horse’s hooves hit cobblestone. The city shimmered even in the moonlight, its white marble villas gleaming like polished pearls, their red-tiled roofs descending toward the sea. Steam rose in ghostly plumes from the famed baths, filling the air with the smell of sulfur and salt.

As you rode deeper, the streets grew narrower, lined with colonnades that framed courtyards filled with flickering oil lamps. Laughter spilled out from wine-soaked feasts, the hymns of a lyre mingling with the rhythmic clapping of dancers. Even at this late hour, Baiae did not sleep.

To your right, the black expanse of the sea was alive with reflected light, where torch-lit barges and private vessels floated lazily. Beyond them, the looming shadow of Mount Vesuvius stood silent. The Praetorians, ever watchful, followed your lead as you turned down a quieter street, away from the bustle of the forums and toward the private quarter. The hum of activity dimmed, replaced by the presence of towering gates and high walls.

You slowed your horse as the entrance to your destination came into view—a grand domus perched high on a hill. The vast bronze gates were adorned with intricate mouldings of Neptune and his trident, and from beyond them came the faint sound of water cascading into a central atrium fountain. You had been here before, as a child, remembering its purpose and what you had witnessed of its opulence.

This was not the domain of commoners but of those whose power carried the fortunes of Rome itself.

“Guard the gate,” you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument. You handed the reins to a waiting slave and stepped forward, the weight of the night’s purpose settling on your shoulders.

You paused at the gates of the grand domus, but before you could step forward, the elder Praetorian dismounted and approached, his expression unreadable.

“My lady,” he began cautiously, his voice low to avoid drawing the attention of the slaves nearby. “This is not where you will find him.”

Your gaze snapped to his, sharp and questioning. “Explain yourself.”

The Praetorian’s jaw tightened. “He…” The words hung uneasily in the air, “He resides elsewhere in Baiae—at an establishment by the lower harbor.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the flicker of discomfort in his demeanor. Finally, you gave a nod. “Then you will lead me there. Now.”

“As you command, Domina,” he said, bowing slightly before striding back to his horse. The younger Praetorian exchanged a nervous glance with you before following suit.

Once mounted, the elder guard took the lead, guiding you down winding streets that grew increasingly narrow and shadowed. The splendor of Baiae began to give way to a more primal energy. The laughter was harsher, the music seductive. The lower harbor stretched out before you. Tabernas and brothels clustered together, their facades painted in deep colors, their entrances crowded with figures cloaked in secrecy and sex. Men bellowed drunkenly, women beckoned from balconies draped in rich silks, and shadows moved between doorways.

The Praetorian pulled his horse to a stop before a particular building—modest compared to the grand villas of the upper city, yet unmistakably high class for its kind. Its doorway was framed by carved columns, and a faint, seductive melody drifted out.

“This is the place,” the elder guard said, dismounting and stepping aside. His expression was carefully neutral, though his clenched fists showed his discomfort.

You slid off your horse, handing the reins to the younger guard. The flickering light from a brazier near the entrance cast golden hues across your face as you stepped toward the door, the faint hum of voices and laughter growing louder with each step.

“Wait here,” you ordered, your voice firm. The Praetorians hesitated, exchanging a glance, but obeyed, remaining by the doorway.

Pushing aside the heavy curtain that covered the entrance, you stepped into the warmth and haze of the brothel. The air was thick with incense and wine, the light dim but gilded, as though the entire room were lost in a fog. Figures reclined on cushions and couches, their forms draped in flowing fabrics, their laughter rich and unrestrained.

Laughter rippled through the air, sharp and boisterous, as men gambled at low tables, surrounded by women who hung on their every word. You kept your face neutral, though anger simmered in your chest. As you stepped deeper into the room, making your way through clusters of loungers and revelers, your gaze caught on a scene at the far end of the chamber.

There he was.

Caracalla lounged at a table, his tunic loosely belted, his posture relaxed. His profile was illuminated by the golden light, the faint glint of rings on his fingers catching your eye as he threw dice onto the table with a triumphant laugh. The men around him roared with approval—or fear—it was difficult to tell.

What caught your attention more was the woman draped across his lap, her arm lazily curled around his neck. Her hair, pinned in loose waves, framed a face disturbingly familiar. Her features bore an uncanny resemblance to your own—enough to make your breath catch in your throat. She leaned into him, laughing softly as she whispered something in his ear.

Your stomach twisted, rage and disbelief stirring within you. For a moment, you stood stuck to the spot, your veil slipping further down your neck as you struggled to maintain your composure.

“My lady, are you lost?”

The voice startled you. A woman with a painted face and a sheer stola approached, her expression one of concern. Her kohl-lined eyes searched yours, and her hand reached out to gently touch your arm. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly, her tone maternal despite her surroundings. “It is dangerous to wander too close to him.”

You blinked, your focus shifting to her. “Dangerous?” you repeated, your voice calm but cold.

Her grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly as she leaned in, lowering her voice. “He’s not a man to trifle with. Especially not for a lady like you.” She glanced over her shoulder toward Caracalla, as if fearful he might see her speaking to you. “Come, I’ll take you somewhere safe before he notices you.”

You stiffened, pulling your arm free. “Do you know who I am?” you asked, your words sharp.

The woman hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. “No, my lady, but it doesn’t matter. You’re too fine to be here.” Her gaze flicked to your attire, the richness of your fabric setting you apart from everyone else in the room. “You don’t want his attention, believe me. It will ruin you.”

Her words only fanned the flames of your fury. Your eyes drifted back toward Caracalla, who was oblivious to your presence, his focus entirely on the woman perched in his lap.

Your jaw tightened, and your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The woman hesitated, her painted lips parting as though to protest. Taking pause, she stepped closer, her expression softening with concern.

“Caracalla is not the kind of man a woman like you should ever let too close. He... plays games. Dangerous ones.”

You frowned as her words sent a chill through you. “What do you mean by that?”

She tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder like silk. She seemed to hesitate, wondering how much to reveal. Then she leaned back slightly, her expression grave, yet seductive.

“He has... peculiar appetites,” she said carefully, her voice almost teasing, her eyes betraying the seriousness of her words. “He likes to test people. Push them to their limits. He likes to play with swords—not just on the battlefield. He enjoys seeing how far he can go before someone breaks.”

You stiffened, the insinuation settling in your stomach. “What are you saying?”

Her lips curved into a slow, almost feline smile. “He enjoys pain. Giving it, taking it. There are whispers, my lady. Whispers of him bleeding women just to see how much they can endure. For his amusement. For his... pleasure.”

The air between you seemed to grow colder despite the warmth of the room. Your breath caught in your throat, a thousand questions circling your mind, but you couldn’t find the words.

“Wait,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “You look unwell, Domina. Come with me—just for a moment. Some fresh air will do you good.”

You opened your mouth to dismiss her, but she took your arm again, this time more gently, and began guiding you back through the crowded room.

The din of laughter and gambling faded behind you as she led you through a side door, out into the cool night.

You found yourself standing in a small courtyard, enclosed by ivy-covered walls. A single olive tree stood at its center, its leaves shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The sounds of the brothel were distant now, muffled by the stone walls, leaving only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves to fill the silence.

“Wait here,” the woman said, releasing your arm and disappearing briefly through another doorway. When she returned, she held a small clay cup of wine, the dark liquid sloshing slightly as she walked.

Her movements were fluid, as though she belonged more to the shadows than the smoky room she had found you in. Her piercing eyes studied you as she handed you the cup of wine, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

You accepted the cup, though you did not drink immediately. “You haven’t told me your name,” you said, your voice steadier.

She blinked, surprised, then gave a small smile. “Prosperina,” she said. “It’s what they call me here.”

Her eyes, sheer and piercing, were an unearthly shade of blue, a stark contrast against her tanned complexion.

“Why do you care if I am well?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Prosperina hesitated, then shrugged. “Because I have seen what happens to women who cross his path.” She gestured vaguely to the brothel. “They’re drawn in, thinking they’ll find something—power, protection, even love. But he’s not a man who gives. He takes.” Her voice softened. “And you don’t belong here. Anyone can see that.”

You glanced down at the cup in your hands, the wine’s surface rippling faintly in the breeze.

“Do you have anything stronger?” you asked, your tone cool but deliberate.

Her painted lips parted in surprise, then curved into a faint smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze. “You don’t strike me as the type to indulge, my lady,” she said softly.

You raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes with a look that left no room for argument. “Tonight is an exception.”

Prosperina studied you for a long moment, her gaze calculating, as though weighing whether she should agree. Finally, she nodded, the golden bracelets on her wrists clinking softly as she turned. “Come with me,” she said, her voice low and inviting.

She led you through a narrow passage on the side of the courtyard. A small doorway opened into her quarters. The walls were painted with faded frescoes of nymphs and satyrs, the colors dulled by time. A low couch covered in silken throws occupied the center, while an assortment of small, clay jars and glass vials lined a wooden table nearby.

Her sheer gown clung to her curves like a second skin as she leaned against the edge of the table in her quarters, the lamplight highlighting the rich tan of her skin and the piercing ice-blue of her eyes. She studied you with a gaze that seemed to see more than it should, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

She held up a pipe delicately, her fingers adorned with gold rings that caught the light. The gesture was casual and playful, but there was confidence in her tone, as though she already knew your answer.

When you hesitated, her smile deepened, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, moving closer. “I don’t bite—unless you would like me to.”

She moved like a cat, her steps deliberate and silent, her gaze never leaving yours. When she extended the pipe toward you, her fingers brushed yours, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Go on,” she urged, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It will help you forget, just for a little while.”

Prosperina tilted her head, her lips curving into a sly smile as she held the pipe closer. “A bold woman deserves bold choices,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting. “Breathe in. Let go of everything else.”

Without a word, you lifted the pipe to your lips and inhaled deeply, the smoke burning slightly as it filled your lungs.

The effect was instant. Your chest tightened for a heartbeat before a rush of warmth spread throughout your body, followed by a dizzying sensation that sent you sprawling backward onto the plush couch. The room seemed to tilt and spin, the dim lamp light splitting into ribbons of gold that danced across the walls.

Shapes and colors began to swirl, cascading like liquid through your vision, while Prosperina’s voice became an echo, far away yet hauntingly close. “There it is,” she purred, leaning over you, her dark hair cascading like a curtain around her face. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

You blinked, but the world refused to focus. Shadows danced and shifted, morphing into figures that were familiar and strange. You saw flashes of faces—some from memory, others from dreams. The air felt electric against your skin.

Prosperina knelt beside you, her fingers brushing your temple as she studied you with fascination. “You’re caught between worlds now,” she whispered, her voice velvety and hypnotic. “Do you feel it?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, a strange, breathless laugh escaped, the sound foreign even to your own ears. Your body felt weightless, as though the couch beneath you had disappeared.

“Relax,” Prosperina cooed, her touch sliding down your arm in a slow motion. “Let it take you. There’s no need to fight.”

The room twisted and blurred, melting into something unfamiliar, but familiar at the same time. Prosperina’s face hovered above you briefly, her sharp features smearing like wet paint before disappearing into the shadows. In their place, a figure emerged—a face both familiar and haunting. Geta.

His expression was soft, kind, the way you remembered it when you were children, before the weight of politics and betrayal had driven a wedge between everyone you had once cared for. His lips moved, though no sound came, his words carried away by the same wind that seemed to swirl through your mind.

“Geta,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with longing and confusion. You reached for him, but your hand passed through his form like smoke, the edges of his figure distorting before re-forming. His eyes—so familiar, so painfully warm—locked with yours. For a moment, you thought he might speak, but the image shifted violently.

Suddenly, Caracalla’s face loomed in front of you, his blue eyes filled with anger and frustration. “What are you doing, Prima?” his voice boomed, though you couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. “You think you can escape this? Escape me?”

The world around you shattered like glass, fragments of Caracalla’s image reforming. Now he was standing over you, his hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a growl, filled with something dangerous. “No matter what you tell yourself. No matter who you try to run to.”

You flinched, but the vision changed again. Geta reappeared, his expression now filled with sorrow as though he could see what you had become. He extended his hand, his mouth forming the words Come back to me, though you couldn’t hear him. The image of Caracalla stood behind him, watching with a mixture of rage and jealousy.

The two brothers began to blur together, their features morphing and overlapping until you couldn’t tell them apart. The figures around you spun faster, their voices rising in a symphony of anger, sorrow, and something else—something deeper and more primal, echoing through your bones.

Your chest tightened, the sensations pulsing through your body becoming almost unbearable. You gasped for air, your vision blurred, as a shadow loomed over you again. This time, it was Prosperina, her voice cutting through the confusion.

“Easy, Domina,” she murmured, her tone soothing yet laced with amusement. “You’re seeing the truth you’ve buried deep. Let it come. Let it free you.”

Prosperina’s piercing blue eyes locked onto yours as the swirling haze of the hallucinations ebbed and flowed like the Tiber. Her touch became firmer, her hand trailing from your arm to your shoulder, her fingers brushing the curve of your neck. The room felt distant, the visions melting into shadows as her presence anchored you back in the present.

“The gods have chosen you,” she whispered, her lips so close to your ear that her breath sent shivers down your spine. “And I can see why. You are a force.”

Prosperina’s hands moved along the length of your body, her touch tracing the curve of your waist. Her fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your stola, their warmth igniting a fire that burned through you. You gasped as her touch grew bolder, her hands exploring your skin with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your body arched instinctively into her as her pointer finger stroked your weeping slit, prying you open gently, her name escaping your lips in a whisper as your fingers tangled in her dark hair. Her touch was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure through you, dull and aching.

She leaned closer, her breath hot against your ear. “Domina,” she murmured, her voice low, “you are divine.”

She worked you expertly, finding the spot within you that you had never known existed. Your cunt pulsated around her slender digits, eyes rolling closed, legs trembling. The pleasure was overwhelming, a pressure building within you that left you trembling, on the edge of something you had never experienced before.

Then, without warning, a cry escaped your lips. It echoed softly in the room, but it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. But before you could experience the sensation– give it a name and truly define it– the door slammed open.

The sound shattered the moment like a roll of thunder. Your head snapped toward the doorway, your body stiffening as a wave of cold panic washed over you.

There, silhouetted in the flickering lamplight, stood Caracalla. His piercing eyes blazed with fury, his face twisted in an expression that was equal parts shock and rage.

“What is this?” he roared, his voice cutting through the room.

Prosperina froze, her hands still on you, though the warmth of her touch now felt like fire against your skin. She quickly withdrew, her movements sharp, as she turned to face him.

You sat up, your breathing ragged, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. The haze of the devil’s breath made it hard to think clearly, but the sight of Caracalla’s seething form brought you into the present.

“Answer me, Prima!” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom as he stepped into the room, his gaze darting between you and Prosperina.

Prosperina’s eyes flickered to you, a silent question flashed behind them, but she said nothing, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Caracalla’s fury filled the room, oppressive and suffocating. “My empress,” he spat, the word laced with mockery, “consorting with a whore? Do you have no shame?”

“Leave her out of this,” you said, your voice cold and commanding despite the tremors running through you.

Caracalla let out a harsh laugh, stepping closer, his expression that of twisted rage and cruel satisfaction. “Out of this? She was in you, Prima. Or were you going to pretend she wasn’t just defiling what belongs to me?”

The words hung in the air, cutting through the thick tension. Prosperina’s piercing blue eyes widened, flicking between you and the emperor.

“Empress?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. The color drained from her face as the full weight of what had just transpired crashed down on her. “You’re the empress?”

You turned your gaze to her, an unspoken apology crossed your features for the secret you’d let her unknowingly cross.

But the moment was short lived, shattered as Caracalla’s harsh laugh filled the room again. He gestured toward Prosperina with a flick of his hand. “Yes, Prosperina. Behold your empress—on her knees for you like a common slave.”

“Stop,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through his mocking tone.

As he reached out to grab you, the world around you seemed to tilt, and the ground beneath your feet felt unstable. The effects of the drug were too strong, and your head spun. You reached out to steady yourself but couldn’t find anything solid to hold on to.

“Stop,” you gasped, your legs buckling beneath you.

But Caracalla wasn’t interested in mercy. In one swift motion, he gripped you by the arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist with an iron grip. “You are coming with me,” he growled, dragging you out of the room with no consideration for your protests.

Your mind was a whirl of incoherent thoughts, and you stumbled as he pulled you through the corridors, your vision growing darker at the edges. The air felt thick, and you couldn’t focus—couldn’t think.

“Stop,” you tried again, but your voice was little more than a rasp.

Caracalla wasn’t listening. He half-carried, half-dragged you through the back entrance of the brothel and out into the courtyard. The cool night air bit at your skin, but it did nothing to clear the fog in your mind.

“Up,” Caracalla ordered, his voice harsh, commanding. He threw you onto a horse, and before you could protest or struggle, he was behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist with a grip like iron, holding you steady against him.

The world around you seemed to collapse as the horse jolted into motion. You could barely keep your eyes open, every movement sending another wave of dizziness through you. The drugs had taken hold fully now, and you felt detached from your own body, like you were watching yourself from far away.

Your body felt heavy, your head lolling against Caracalla’s chest.

“Don’t you dare pass out on me,” his voice snapped, sharp and commanding in your ear. His arm tightened around your waist, holding you firmly in place against him. “Stay awake, Prima. You wouldn’t want to miss this, would you?”

A weak sound escaped your lips, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “Can’t...too much,” you murmured.

“Oh no, you don’t get to escape this,” he hissed, his tone low and cruel. “You’re not going to float away into whatever little fantasy that woman put into your head. You stay here—with me.”

You felt his lips brush the shell of your ear, not tenderly but deliberately, his words dripping with venom. “Do you think she could give you what I can? Hmm? Is that what you were dreaming about, Prima? Another woman’s touch? Or maybe it’s Geta, whispering sweet nothings to you while you drift away.”

You stirred weakly, your fingers curling against the reins.

“That’s it,” he continued, his voice a mix of mockery and seduction. “Stay awake. Don’t disappoint me now. Tell me, Prima—did you like it? Did you like the way she touched you? Or was it the thought of me finding you like that thrilled you?”

Your breath hitched, your head turning slightly as though to respond, but your thoughts were too scattered to form words. He laughed softly, a bitter, dark sound. “No clever reply? No self righteous fury? Maybe you’re finally realizing how easily you can be undone.”

His hand, steady on the reins, pressed against your thigh, his grip firm and possessive. “You don’t get to slip away, Prima. Not now, not ever. Whatever you felt back there, whatever fantasies she gave you, they’re nothing compared to what I can make you feel.”

The words were both a taunt and a promise. You shivered, your body betraying you as his breath brushed against your neck, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less dangerous. “Stay with me. You belong to me, Prima, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“Why?” The word slipped from your lips, barely a whisper.

Caracalla’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Why what?” he demanded, his tone sharp and impatient.

You took a shuddering breath, your voice trembling as you managed to form the words. “Why have you never made me feel like that before?”

He stiffened behind you, the tension in his body palpable. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves against the ground, the weight of your question hanging heavily between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and edged with frustration. “What are you asking me, Prima? Why I haven’t coddled you? Why I haven’t wasted time on fantasies and false promises?”

You turned your head slightly, your cheek brushing against his chest. “That’s not what I mean,” you murmured, your voice raw with vulnerability. “I mean... why have you never touched me like I mattered? Like you wanted me?”

His breath hitched, and for a brief moment, you thought you felt him falter. But when he answered, his tone was bitter, almost defensive. “Wanting you isn’t the issue,” he said harshly. “Feelings, tenderness—that’s not what matters. An heir is what matters. Duty is what matters. You think this is a game, Prima? That this empire is built on emotions?”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting through you like a blade. “So that’s it?” you whispered. “I’m just a vessel to you? Nothing more?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his silence deafening. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost grudging. “Wanting you, needing you—that doesn’t change what I am. What we are.”

"What are we?" you asked, feeling a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"Nothing but a fleeting thought until that cursed cunt of yours does what it’s meant to—until your womb carries my heir," he shot back, kicking the horse into a faster stride.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dismounting the horse proved more challenging than anticipated. With Caracalla already on the ground, his gaze burning into you, you shook your head and released the reins. Your feet met the sand, sinking deep into its grains, and you stumbled. As you fumbled, he stepped forward, his hand outstretched to steady you, but you pushed it away, catching yourself just before falling.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, brushing your windswept hair out of your face.

He loomed closer, his brow furrowing in frustration. “You’ve done enough tonight, Prima. Enough of this madness.”

“Madness?” You whirled to face him, your voice ringing out in the silence of the night. “The only madness here is yours!”

Before he could respond, you lunged forward and snatched the dagger from his belt. The two guards stationed at the villa’s entrance stiffened instantly, their hands flying to the hilt of their swords.

“Prima,” Caracalla growled,“Put it down.”

You ignored him, your grip tightening on the blade. “Must I bleed for you, Caracalla? Would that finally make me real to you? Would that amuse you?”

“Enough of this nonsense,” he snapped. He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists.

You backed away as you held the blade out between you. “Isn’t that what you like?” you demanded, your voice rising, trembling with anger. “I’ve heard the whispers, Caracalla. You like to bleed women for fun. You like to push them until they break, to see how far they can go before they shatter.”

His expression darkened, jaw tightening. The guards glanced at one another, uncertain whether to intervene.

“And tonight—tonight, you sat there with a woman who looked just like me.” Your voice broke, your eyes stinging with tears you refused to shed. “She had my face, my hair... Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care? You sat there with her on your lap, touching her, gambling with her like she was some pale imitation of what you already have!”

He froze for a moment, your words seeming to hit a nerve, but then his expression twisted into something dark and unreadable.

“You know nothing,” he said coldly.

“Don’t I?” you shot back, your voice trembling with fury. “You think I don’t hear the rumors? About the swords, the games, the bleeding?” You took a step closer, your eyes locking with his, refusing to back down. “Well, here I am, Caracalla. Bleed me, if that’s what you want. Push me to the edge like you do to all the others.”

Without waiting for his reaction, you pressed the blade against your palm, the sharp edge biting into your skin. You flinched as blood welled and trickled down your wrist, pooling onto the marble floor.

His hand shot out faster than you could react, gripping your wrist and forcing the dagger from your grasp. It clattered to the ground, the sound echoing through the villa. He yanked you toward him, his grip bruising as his face hovered inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

Before he could speak, you wrenched your hand free and swung it hard against his face. The sound of the slap echoed through the space, your blood smearing across his cheek like a brand.

He froze, his head snapping to the side from the force of your blow. Slowly, he turned back to face you, his dark eyes blazing with fury. He drug you to a chaise, twisting your body around to lay across his lap.

Caracalla’s grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your waist as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t learn through words, Prima. Perhaps pain will remind you of who you’re speaking to.”

You froze, your breath hitching at his words, the threat lingering in the air like smoke. Before you could summon a retort, his voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding.

“Fetch me a whip,” he barked, his head turning slightly toward the guards who still stood by the entrance, their eyes wide with apprehension.

For a moment, neither guard moved, exchanging uneasy glances.

“Now,” Caracalla snapped, his tone sharp enough to make both men flinch. One of them nodded and stepped away, his footsteps echoing in the atrium as he disappeared into an adjoining room.

Your heart pounded, each beat loud in your ears as you twisted against his hold, desperate to break free. “Caracalla, don’t you dare,” you hissed, your voice dripping with venom even as your stomach knotted with a mixture of anger and dread. Perhaps, something else. Something you had never experienced under the circumstances you found yourself in.

“Quiet,” he commanded, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you? Now you have it. Let’s see if you still crave it when I’m finished with you.”

Moments later, the guard returned, his face pale as he held out the braided leather flogger with trembling hands. Caracalla took it without a word, dismissing the man with a wave. The guard quickly retreated, leaving you alone with your husband and the weight of what was about to unfold.

He held the flogger in his hand, letting the strands sway lightly, almost thoughtfully, as he regarded you with a dark, calculating gaze.

“Caracalla,” you said, your voice low and sharp as you craned your neck to glare at him. “You’re not doing this.”

“Oh, I am,” he replied, his tone cold and resolute. “Because this is what you want, isn’t it? You want to push me, to test me. Well, here I am, Prima. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He let the flogger brush lightly against the back of your thighs, dragging the fabric of your stola with it, the sensation sending a shiver up your spine. The teasing motion wasn’t meant to hurt—not yet—but it was a warning of what was to come.

“You bleed for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You slap me like you’re my equal. And now, you’ll learn what it means to be mine.”

The leather strands trailed over your skin, their touch deceptively gentle as Caracalla hovered in silence. You could feel his gaze boring into you, and despite the fury burning in your chest, your body trembled under his hold.

“You’ve always wanted to test me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the tense air. “So tell me, Prima, are you ready for the lesson you asked for?”

“Let me go,” you snapped, twisting against him, but his iron grip on your waist didn’t falter.

“You think I don’t see it?” he continued, ignoring your protests, the flogger now coiled loosely in his hand. “You thrive on this—on defiance, on rebellion. You provoke me, hoping I’ll break, hoping I’ll lose control.”

The strands of leather flicked against the back of your thighs, sharp enough to sting but not yet hard enough to leave a mark. Your breath hitched involuntarily, and Caracalla’s lips curled into a grim, humorless smile.

“But that’s the thing about me, Prima,” he said darkly, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t break. I’m the one who does the breaking.”

The next strike came without warning against the bare flesh of your ass, the flogger snapping against your skin with enough force to make you gasp. The sting bloomed instantly, hot and sharp, radiating.

“Caracalla!” you cried out, your voice a mixture of fury and disbelief.

“Don’t call me that,” he growled, his tone cutting through the room like a blade. “When you speak to me, you will remember who I am to you. Say it.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Another strike followed, harder this time, and you bit down on your lip to stifle the sound that threatened to escape.

“Say it,” he repeated, his hand pressing down against the reddened flesh of your ass to hold you steady.

The heat of the blows, the tension in his voice, and the humiliation of your position all made your head spin. The drugs still lingered in your system, dulling some of the pain but amplifying the intensity of the moment.

“You are my emperor,” you spat finally, your voice trembling but laced with venom.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice dark with satisfaction. “And you will remember that.”

He let the flogger fall again, a calculated punishment meant to remind you of his dominance. Each strike sent a jolt through you, but it was the weight of his dominating presence, the control he exerted, that stung more than the blows.

Caracalla’s strikes came slower now, deliberate, as if he wanted you to feel every ounce of control he wielded. The leather strands snapped against the soft flesh of your ass, leaving a burning heat that spread through your skin, through your core. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you bit down on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a cry, though the pain blurred into a strange, disorienting feeling, manifesting an ache between your thighs, and warmth wetness as you squeezed them together.

"Still defiant," he murmured, his tone laced with amusement. His hand settled on your lower back, holding you firmly against his lap, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, like a predator toying with its prey. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Pushing me like this, daring me to lose control?"

"You already have," you spat, your voice shaky but sharp, though you could even hear the vulnerability beneath it. "Look at yourself, Caracalla. Do you think this proves your strength? That this—" You twisted beneath his grip, trying to pull free. "—makes you a ruler? It only makes you cruel."

His grip tightened, and he leaned down, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "You call me cruel, Prima, but you're the one who brought us here." The flogger trailed across your skin now, the sting replaced by a soft drag that only heightened the tension in the air. "You taunt me. Defy me. Challenge me in front of my guards like you're untouchable. And yet, here you are, over my knee, bleeding for my attention."

"You make me hate you," you hissed, though the venom in your words was laced with something deeper, something even you couldn't quite name.

"Do I?" he asked, his voice a low growl. The flogger fell again, harder this time, and the sharp snap against your thigh drew a gasp from your lips before you could stop it. "Or do I make you feel something you can't control?"

The question struck a nerve, and your body tensed against him, though your mind was too clouded—by anger, by the lingering effects of the drugs, by the intensity of him—to form a coherent reply. His free hand slid up your back, the touch firm but not cruel sending a shiver through you.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice quiet but seething with authority. "Admit what we both know, Prima."

Your silence was the only defiance you had left, and it only seemed to fuel his frustration. He tossed the flogger aside, and the sharp clatter against the marble floor echoed in the atrium. Both of his hands gripped your waist now, pulling you upright and turning you to face him. His expression was a storm—anger, desire, and something unspoken all in the depths of his ocean eyes.

"You want to hate me," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a rawness to it that made your breath hitch. "But hate is still a feeling, isn't it, Prima? It's still mine to take from you."

You were a mess, your breathing shallow and uneven, tears pooling in your eyes though you refused to let them fall. Your hair clung to your damp skin, and your body trembled—not just from the pain but from the weight of everything you were feeling, everything that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Your cut palm, still slick with blood, trembled as you tried to keep it from view, as if that small act could give you back some semblance of control.

"Look at you," he said, his voice low and rough, his hands tightening their hold on you as if he were afraid you might collapse. "You think you can sit here, defiant and proud, but you're barely holding yourself together. You're trembling, Prima."

Your eyes narrowed, though the tears made it hard to focus. "And whose fault is that?" you spat, your voice shaking. "You—you make me feel like I'm nothing. You take every piece of me and break it, twist it until I don’t even recognize myself."

His expression flickered for the briefest moment—something like guilt passing over his face before it hardened again. "I break you?" he said, his voice quiet but cutting. "Do you think I don’t feel the same? You think I don’t see how you look at me like I’m a monster, like every choice I make is a crime against you?"

"Because it is!" you cried, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. "You tell me I belong to you, but you push me away, humiliate me, treat me like I’m nothing more than a tool for your empire! How can you expect me to feel anything but hatred for you when you don’t even try to understand me?"

His hands moved to your shoulders, and for a moment, his grip softened. "You think I don’t understand?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. "You think I don’t see you, Prima? I see you more clearly than anyone else ever has.”

The admission stunned you into silence. For a moment, the room seemed to close in around you, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity in them, even if you didn’t want to. Being understood by Caracalla meant, by some measure, you could possibly be like him.

"If you see me so clearly," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, "then why do you treat me like this? Why do you make it so impossible for us to be anything but enemies?"

He closed his eyes briefly, as though steadying himself, before looking at you again. "Because it’s easier to push you away than to let you see how much I want you," he said, his voice breaking just slightly on the last word.

You felt your knees buckle, and this time, you didn’t pull away when he steadied you, his arms wrapping around you almost protectively as he laid you back against the plush cushioned chaise.

"I hate you," you whispered against his chest, though the words lacked the fire they once had.

"I know," he replied softly, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head. "But that doesn’t make any of this less true."

He tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “I don’t need to remind you that you belong to me,” Caracalla said softly, his voice smooth with an edge of menace. “But I will... just to make sure you’re never in doubt. Everything you are, every breath you take... it's mine to command.” His eyes darkened, “And when I’m finished with you, you’ll know it, deep down in your bones.”

It wasn’t long before he traced a path of bites and kisses along your neck and chest, relishing the softness of your belly, his warm hand resting possessively over your mound. A groan escaped his lips as a finger slipped between your folds, the wetness glistening on his finger.

Your response was hushed, tired from the hours of emotionality, from the ecstasy, from the devil’s breath; all you could manage was a soft moan, your head falling to the side in surrender.

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head, his hand tilting your chin to meet his gaze, your own wetness marking the curve of your cheek, “You shall not drift away from me again.”

He knelt on the chaise, pulling you gently by the back of your knees until your thighs rested on either side of his head. You inhaled a shaky breath as his fingers dug into your wounded backside, descending upon you like a man starved for your flesh. In just moments, the coil within you tightened, reminiscent of the pleasure Prosperina had given you earlier that night but even more intense. You tangled your bloodied fingers in his hair, urging him closer to your core, and finally, your voice returned, a wail escaping your lips as you released around his eager tongue.

Your vision blurred as you arched into his mouth, and when you came to, you looked down to find him sucking at the gash on your palm, as if your very essence was the only thing that could nourish him.

He quickly pulled away, his hand gliding across the marble floor until it found what he was searching for. The dagger sparkled in the candlelight, and a knot tightened in your stomach as you wondered what he was about to do. With a quick slash, he cut into his own palm, and you shuddered at the sound of his flesh parting.

When he pressed your wounded hands together, you couldn’t help but groan.

For two nights, you remained entwined with him in bloodied sheets, surrendering to him in every way. His seed marked your skin, streaking your thighs, mingling with the blood from kisses pressed too hard and bites that left their imprints upon taut flesh. He commanded you to learn his desires—to ride him with purpose, to take him deeply enough for your own pleasure, to find ecstasy in his dominance. In turn, he pushed you to your limits, coaxing cries from your lips that echoed through the chamber like prayers to the gods. By the end, your body wore the evidence of him—smudged, crimson handprints and bruises scattered like spoils of war. Exhaustion claimed you, pulling you into the softness of the bed, your heavy-lidded gaze stayed on him as he laid beside you.

Servants had come and gone during the two days, dismissed by his growled commands before they could enter. You caught the sound of his voice—low and steady, discussing affairs of the empire. Peeking through half-lidded eyes, you saw him framed in the doorway, a sheet draped loosely around his waist as he murmured to messengers. Without fail, he returned to you each time, sinking back into the bed to linger at your side, his gaze fixed upon you as you slipped once more to sleep.

The door flew open without warning, slamming against the wall with a force that shook the bed. You laid on your stomach, your battered body half-draped in the stained sheets, your wounded hand dangling limply from the edge of the bed. The cool breeze drifting in from the balcony made your exposed skin prickle, and the intrusion startled Caracalla from his place beside you.

“By the gods, you’ve nearly killed her.” Geta’s accusatory voice broke through the silence.

Caracalla jerked upright, his hand shot out to grab the sheet, draping it over your body before he swung his legs to the floor. “What in all the hells are you doing here, brother?” he growled.

“You’ve ignored every messenger I’ve sent,” Geta snapped, stepping into the room with no regard for the scene surrounding him. His eyes flicked briefly to you, his expression unreadable, before returning to his brother.

“As you can see, I’ve been busy,” Caracalla bit back, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he gestured dismissively toward you.

“And yet Rome burns in your absence,” Geta countered sharply. “But this isn’t about me, nor the senate’s growing distaste for your escapades.”

Caracalla leaned forward, his jaw tightening as he spat, “Then get to the point, unless you came to gawk.”

Geta’s eyes narrowed, his temper held in check by a thread. “It’s Father,” he finally said, his voice breaking faintly on the word. “He is not well.”

Caracalla froze for a beat, “How do you mean?” he demanded, his voice quieter now.

You stirred beneath the sheet, the ache in your body throbbing as you rolled onto your back, pulling the sheet around you. Squinting against the sunlight streaming in, you took in the two brothers.

Geta hesitated, “His condition has worsened,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “He has been unconscious for days.”

For the first time, Caracalla’s composure seemed to crack. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes darkening. “And you waited until now to tell me?” he snapped, though the anger in his tone seemed to mask something else.

“I’ve sent word,” Geta replied sharply, his frustration palpable. “You ignored it. You locked yourself away with her—” his gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to his brother “—and the empire be damned.”

Caracalla stood, his movements abrupt and dominating. “I will decide what damns the empire,” he said coldly, stepping toward Geta. “But if what you say is true, I will not be kept from Rome.” He turned to you, his gaze lingering on your exhausted form, his expression unreadable. “Get dressed. We leave at once.”

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