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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 23 hours ago

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To Those Who Wait 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn't resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Busy?” Vivica hums with doubt. “Again.”

“Sorry, Vic, I just... can’t,” you roll your eyes at your reflection. No, the eye liner is too much. You think mascara’s fine.

“What’s going on?” Her voice rises from your phone as it rests amid the mess of your bathroom counter. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been kind of a bitch.”

She isn’t wrong. You twist the wand of the mascara and pop it from the tube. You sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry. Better reason for you all to go without me,” you say. “I don’t want to bring you down.”

“Hm, fine,” she lets her disappointment through. “But you’re getting coffee with me soon. I’m worried.”

You nod and brush through your lashes. “I’ll let you know what I’m free.”

You sniff as she tuts noisily. “Fine, I’ll wait.”

“Go, have fun,” you insist. “Text you later.”

“Right, sure.”

You tap the red button and the call ends. You slide the wand into place and twist the mascara shut. You fighting a losing battle here. You drop the tube and throw your head back, heaving out a breath.

You don’t even know why you’re doing this. It’s a joke. A date? You’ll just be letting down one more person. You hate to waste Curtis’ time. Hence, why you haven’t told anyone about it. You don’t need them to know about another fuck up.

The phone buzzes. You roll your eyes and press your fingerprint to the screen to unlock. You expect another long lecture typed out by Vivica, instead, it’s Curtis. Is he already here? No, you’re not ready. You bend to read his message.

‘Hey, if you got em, wear sneakers or hiking boots.’

You squint. Huh? Is he taking you on a hike? Wow. Well, you suppose you deserve that kind of effort. Besides, you’re really not in the mood for a crowded restaurant where you have to pretend to know the appetizer sharing etiquette.

‘I can dig some out’ you type back.

You step back and sift through your sparse make up. You pick out a shade of lip gloss closest to your natural hue. Is it really necessary? Why are you even trying? You know how this ends. You pop your lips and snap the cap into place.

Maybe he’s a murderer. Somehow, that doesn’t scare you. Even as the pieces seem to fall into place. He’s taking you out alone. Somewhere he’s kept a surprise, and he told you to bring sporty shoes. You expect you might be running from an axe in the woods soon enough. Not such a dire end considering.

You shake off the absurd thought. You don’t want to look like you went overboard. Curtis has been so casual about all of this. Yeah, casual. Just put on something simple.

The black jeans could easily be mistaken for nicer pants. The turtleneck isn’t too much either. Blue cotton with little white daisies. You’ll put a cardigan over it and pull on your hiking boots. Wow, a dream come true. A date in Sorel avant garde.

Your nerves begin to go wild. You don’t know why. It’s not a real date, it’s a courtesy. He asked so you might as well just go. You grab your phone and wait on the couch, a youtube video babbling unheard from the television.

Your phone vibrates. You sit up. It’s Curtis.

‘Here. I think.’

‘I’ll come down’. You type back.

You get up and hurry around. You grab your crossbody bag and your keys. You shoulder out the door and lock it behind you. Your phone buzzes once more.

‘Right by the door.’

You come out and look around, searching the cars parked along the curb. Your attention is drawn back to the motorcycle between an SUV and Honda Accord. You approach Curtis as he hugs a second helmet under his arm.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers the helmet.

You take it as you process the full picture. The matte black tank, the leather saddle bags in the same shade as his jacket and gloves, the steel gray exhaust and thick tires. You nod.

“Not at all.”

“I shoulda warned you,” he says.

“I’ve been on one before,” you assure him as you pull on the helmet and loop the strap under your chin.

“Oh?”

“I know, I don’t look like the type. I’m not.” You flip the visor down.

“Ah, well, whoever he was, hope he didn’t spoil the ride completely,” he says, “get on.”

He turns and straddles the bike, kick back the stand. You hesitate then reach for his arm. You climb up behind him and swing your leg over. You wince as you land on the seat. Ouch, you’re still a bit sore down there.

“Gonna have to hang on tight,” he pats his side.

“Sure, uh... right.”

You hook your arms around him. This is an easy gag for a man. Get a woman nice and close under the fear she might become road kill. Slick.

“You ready?” He rolls the bike towards the street.

“Ready,” you assure him.

He starts the motor and revs. He angles around and speeds off down the road. You pull yourself closer as the wind tunnels around you. The smell of leather fills your nose as you close your eyes. It’s not awful, is it?

When you look again, you’re head towards the town line. You watch the trees grow thicker as he steers along the country roads. That paranoia rises again. It would be just your luck. Look what happened the other night.

You lift your head and peek over his shoulder. He rides up to a farm and comes a halt. He plants his feet in the dirt and kills the engine. A thrum lingers in your muscles as the roar of the bike dulls your hearing.

“We’re here,” he proclaims.

You take his cue. You get off first and he parks the bike with a kick of the stand. You wiggle the helmet off and look up at the farmhouse and the barn further back. Your brows pinch together curiously.

“It’s not that lame, I promise.” He takes your helmet and hangs it with his on the handle bar. “Friend of mine owns the place. He let me have it for the night.”

“Mhm, good friend.”

“Yeah, he can be,” he removes the saddlebags from the back of the bike and waves you on. “That way, just around the back.”

You nod and turn away. You stride up along the side of the house. It’s an old-fashioned place. Faded wood and peeling paint. You pause before you can pass it completely. You look back at him as he nearly runs into you.

“Everything alright?” He asks.

You look him in his stormy gray eyes, “you’re not going to kill me, right?”

He snorts and his cheek dimples. “I can’t guarantee no blood but that’s far from the plan.”

You frown. What a strange answer.

You shrug and turn back to your path. You come out around the back of the house, sown fields in the early stages of growth behind a large board painted with circles. A ply wood target. A picnic table across from it with a clutter over one half. You cross your arms as you near.

“Hatchet throwing,” he puts the saddle bags on the table. “Thought it would be fun. Something a little less... crowded.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head like a squawking crow.

He lifts one of the axes and holds it up. “Good stress relief.”

“Mm,” you reach for one, less confident in your grasp.

He turns to the target and extends his arm towards it. “You wanna keep a light but sturdy grip,” he says. “You don’t want it to catch.”

He bends his arm back and swings it ahead again, letting the hatchet fly with easy. You flinch as it thunks into the target, just off-center. Your lips slant.

“You got a lot of experience?”

“Well, I started with darts at the bar but didn’t like all the drunks. There’s a place you can pay to do this in town but it’s pricey and loud,” he says. “So... I put this together.”

“Yeah, probably not worth the money.” The words hang in the air, a question whether you mean the activity or yourself.

“Go ahead.”

“Uh, oh,” push your bag behind you and look at the target. “I...” You raise your arm, try to line up your aim, then drop it down. “I can’t.”

“You want a few tips?”

“Think I need them.”

“Alright, no problem. It’s no biggy. Worst that happens, it lands in the dirt.” He comes close and lightly guides you by your shoulders, standing you perpendicular to the target. “Alright, bring it up.”

You raise your arm and he helps you line up. He gets even closer and nudges your feet with his scuffed boots to get you in position. “That’s it, just like that.”

You grip the axe tighter and your eyes widen. Those words hit you like the blade, slicing deep. The body on top of yours, his rasping cooes, and his cruel thrusts. You blink away the vision of Hugh and shudder.

“Here,” Curtis touches your hand, “loosen up. Pull back. Yeah, you got it.” He steps back, “when you’re ready, let it fly.”

He stands away from you and watches. You bite down and stare at the target. All your frustration and fear bubbles in your chest. You narrow your eyes and take a breath. You fling the hatchet without restraint. The thunk in the wood is deafening.

Curtis whistles, “wow, good shot.”

You turn straight to examine the board. Your shot is opposite of his, right on the line with the bullseye.

“Lucky,” you say.

“I dunno, you seem like a natural,” he crosses the ground and pulls out the hatches. “Wanna toss a few more? Build up an appetite?”

“Uh, sure,” you agree. “It is kind of fun.”

“I think so. Even more when you have company,” he approaches and offers the hatchet. “I packed a picnic so we won’t have to chew on seeds.”

You glance at the sprouting fields. You laugh. It was a little fun.

“Got one,” he spins the hatchet in his hand. “You go first. Since you won first round.”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“You were closer so... that’s a win. Champ.”

“Alright, no need for the sarcasm,” you shake your head.

“I’m a sore loser,” he winks. “So, take it easy on me and I might lighten up.”

🎯

The rumble of the engine stays with you as you climb off the bike. Curtis cuts the engine and flips down the stand. He takes off his helmet as you descend back to earth. Literally. Somehow in those last three hours or so, he kept the world from invading your mind.

“That was nice,” he says. “I think.”

You hold the helmet in your hands, a good way to keep them still. You look down and crack a smile. He hangs his on the bike.

“Another one huh?” He says and you pop your head up. “Got another smile.”

You blush and shake your head, “I don’t know. I guess.”

“You had fun?” He asks.

“I did,” you contend and hand over the helmet. “Thanks. For everything.”

“No, thank you.” He holds the helmet at his side and stares at you. The streetlights cast ominous shadows over him. He shifts so his sole scrapes the ground. “I hope maybe we can do it again.”

“Er...” you’re struck by the suggestion. Again? Like a second date. That can’t be real. Not after everything. Oh bitter irony. “Sure, Curtis. I think next time I could let you win.”

“Yeah, next time,” he rasps. He leans in and you realise what’s happening. He’s going to kiss you. Oh.

“Ugh, oh,” you trip on nothing and hop up on the curb. “Oops, sorry, it’s so dark out here.”

He recoils and clears his throat, “yeah, uh, you want me to walk you to the door?”

“Uh, no, no,” you put your palms up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright,” he says despondently. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I’ll text,” he mutters.

“I’ll answer.”

You spin and cringe at your building. You suck. You're a dork. Ew. Ew. Ew.

You march up the walk and don’t stop until you’re inside. You blew it. So close but so far. Just like you expected. Well, then you can be that disappointed.

You retreat to your apartment and slam your phone down. You won’t think about it. He has to drive home and he won’t text tonight anyway. You just hate a date. A date!

Was it really real? After everything? You think so.

You sink onto the couch. You hold your chin and pick your lip. Just another day and you’d be in la la land. This would be heaven. One more day and you may have let him kiss you. Before you were used up and tarnished.

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have just let it happen? Because those things don’t happen to you. Romance isn’t for you. It’s for other people. And people lie. Even Curtis. Maybe he won’t text after all.

You lean back and turn on the television in resignation. You put on an early 00s sitcom with a sadly departed main star. That’s how life is. When it’s good, it goes wrong, or it’s just over. When it’s bad, that’s when it seems eternal.

You cross your legs then think better of that. Even with all the lube, there’s a lot of damage done. Nothing serious, just sensitive. It was your first time. You don’t imagine it gets better.

Your phone buzzes at the end of episode two. You nearly jump off the sofa. Don’t be stupid.

You get up, patiently, and get your phone. You sit down again before you unlock it. The message that comes up isn’t from Curtis. Or Vivica. Or Mila. Or Jerrod.

It’s from WhatsApp. You only ever used that for...

‘You lookin’ for another weekend fling?’

You stare at Hugh’s message. You deleted the conversation but you recognise the number. The two checkmarks turn green to show you’ve read the message. God dammit.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re mortified. You crash back to earth with startling speed. You can’t undo that. Worse, you don’t think you’ll ever get past it.

You clear all your apps and put your phone on do not disturb.

You stretch out on the couch and focus on the TV. Not really. It just glares in your vision as you stare through it. As you can hear nothing but a distant whistle. You stay like that, fractured, until your consciousness slowly falls away.

You’re back in the hotel room. Alone one minute then pinned to the bed. The ceilings tear open as Hugh fucks you. You’re gushing around him, the smell of blood fills the air with iron. You meld with the blankets, shrouded in them, then suddenly thunder roars through the space.

Curtis rides in on his motorcycle. How? A hatchet flies and hit the headboard, glancing by your cheek. You look past Hugh’s writhing body, completely oblivious of the other’s man disgusted glares.

“Slut.”

The word wakes you. You jolt up and hold your head dizzily. The windows are glazed over with the soft tones of morning. You groan and turn your legs over the edge of the couch.

You get up to make your coffee. The dark roast brew and the aroma eases your nerves. You grab you phone out of habit and sit down. You have another message. You put the phone down.

You go back to the kitchen and fill a mug. You drink in silence. You take the cup into the bathroom and shower before you finish the dregs. As you sit to pee, you wince. It’s been a week. It’s still painful but you’re sure it’s all in your head. After all, your pride hurts worse than anything else.

You rinse your cup, pick up your phone, and determine to delete the message. As the chat opens, you’re stopped by the image there. You nearly drop it. Instead, you lean on the counter is gasp.

‘Thot I was ur 1st' the message reads beneath the photo of you and Curtis in the yellow cascade of the streetlight.

The checkmark fills and three bubbles pop up. Fuck. The next text comes quickly.

‘How would ur bf feel about u fucking strangers?’

‘Not my bf. Leave me alone.’ Your thumbs tap furiously and you hit send.

He sends a laughing emoji and the dots appear again. ‘I got a discount. Just 4 u.’

‘No thx. Not interested’

‘Didn’t ask don’t care but think I know who would’

You huff and hang your head back. You don’t get it. Why is he doing this? He got his fee and you got what you paid for.

‘No. Pls don’t message again.’

You bring down the menu and delete the conversation and block the sender. It isn’t until after that that you realise. He took that picture outside your building. He knows where you live. How?

The police? Would they do anything? Would they believe you? You just deleted the evidence.

He’s bluffing right. He just wanted more money. You’re not stupid. Come on. You are a wallet to him, nothing more. You’re not naive enough to think he enjoyed it any more than you did. It’s business to him. He did his job and he got a pretty penny. If you could get that much for a few hours, you’d be hustling too.

It’s just a poor attempt at blackmail. A hail mary for any extra pay check. Too bad for him, you don’t have that type of money. You already splurge on regret.

You’ll keep an eye over your shoulder but you really doubt it’s anything more than greed. He must have a dozen clients. Hm... that thought doesn't make feel you better. You don’t know that you’ll ever really feel good again. Did you ever before?

📱

“I know it’s cliche but I told you, I’m not exactly the creative type,” you settle in at the table and look through the cafe window.

“I told you, I trust your judgment. And can’t go wrong with coffee,” Curtis says.

“Guess not, but I’ve had some shitty coffee in my day.”

His cheek dimples and he tilts his head in agreement, “me too. I’m not some coffee snob but some of the water they serve around town.”

“You’re talking about Smokey’s, right? They serve ash-flavoured piss. Oh, sorry, I...” you give a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.”

“You’re right though,” he snorts.

“Ha, thanks. Mila disagrees. She keeps trying to convert me.”

“Sounds like Jensen but with those acid energy drinks. I told him, he’s going to have a heart attack.”

“Ew, those things are worse. It’s like someone made mountain dew worse.”

He chuckles. That doesn’t happen often. “Wow, I should bring you in as backup. Then he might actually listen.”

The barista comes with your drinks and you thank her. You ordered a tea latte, not your usual fare. Curtis eyes it as he cradles his cup of dark roast between his large hands.

“I’m not much of a tea person but that looks interesting.”

“London Fog. Just very foamy Earl Gray,” you explain.

“Ah,” he nods thoughtfully. Your bag vibrates and you elbow it back on your hip. Not right now, Mila. “Not to be socially awkward but you like horror movies?”

“I like them but they still scare me,” you say.

“Really? Something actually scares you?”

“What do you mean?” You scoff.

He stares at you. “Do you really not know?”

“Know... what?”

“You’re terrifyingly hard to read,” he says. “You’re so lock and key that it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Easy to assume you want to scoop my guts out with a plastic spoon.”

“I’m not much for slashers, I’m more into psychological scares,” you counter then catch yourself. You smile. “Sorry. I’m not... you know, I can be a bitch but I’m not really one.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know, I just don’t know how else to say... if I look at you like a rabid dog, I swear, I’m just thinking.”

“Yeah, Jensen says I have RBF too.”

“RBF?” You wonder.

“Resting Bitch Face, although he started calling it Raging Curt Face.”

You laugh. He does too. The last bit of ice melts away.

“I’m on a roll today,” he says. “So I may as well ask, wanna come over and watch scary movies?”

🍿

The mood is set. The curtains are drawn to darken the room and the television glows as the only source of light in the space. Not much of a beacon as the images on the screen remain in shadow as the grinding soundtrack drones from the speakers.

You sit on the couch, enthralled by the manic horror of the character’s shallow breaths.

You jerk as something brushes over your shoulder. You quickly still yourself as you realise what it is. Curtis stretches his arm over your shoulders.

“Scared yet?” He asks.

You giggle, “only a little.”

He stays close and you don’t push him away. It’s such a weird feeling. To have someone in your space but you don’t mind it. To be honest, it’s comforting.

You stare at the screen as the tension builds. As a loud noise frightens you, you jolt and lean into Curtis. He curls his arm snug around you. Then the next startling twist comes and you turn your face into his shoulder.

“You didn’t say you were a baby,” he teases.

“Oh, hush,” you speak into his shirt.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he grits and brings his hand up under your chin. “I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.”

You glower up at him and he sighs, “don’t look at me like that.”

“How can you tell how I’m looking at you?”

“I can feel it,” his thumb rubs your chin and he leans closer.

You swallow as he keeps coming. You don’t stop him. You’re stuck. Your body won’t answer the screaming in your head. He presses his lips to yours and you let out a soft noise. He presses his mouth against yours for a moment then pulls away.

He’s quiet as you puff you, your heart racing. “Was that okay?”

You cough, “uh, yeah... sorry, I... I’m surprised.”

“Can I do it again?” He asks.

You quiver and nod, “sure.”

He kisses you again. This time his tongue traces the crease of your lips. You open to him, unsure what you’re supposed to do. He delves within as he cradles your head and squeezes you closer.

A warmth creeps up your body. Cozy at first. Intoxicating either. But it keeps burning. Hotter and hotter as his hand slithers down your back. His groan triggers a tickle in your brain and nearly bite down.

You touch Curtis’ chest and urge him away. He reluctantly parts and slackens his hold on you. You stand up without a word.

“Everything alright?” He asks.

“I need your bathroom. Sorry.”

You hurry away, staggering through the dark, and close the bathroom door behind you. You flip the light on and stomp to the tub, sitting on the porcelain as you drop your head into your hands. What the fuck? What is wrong with you?

That wasn’t bad. It was great. You were getting somewhere. You were having a normal experience. It’s like you just can’t let yourself win.

You smack your cheek, then your other. You do it a few more times before you sit up straight. God! What a disaster. What a stupid woman you are. You can’t even blame anyone but yourself. You did this to yourself.

You ran away from Curtis. You came in here to mope. And you hired Hugh.

No, don’t-- that’s not relevant. You’re forgetting that. It didn’t happen. You’re trying to move on. You can move on. Curtis doesn’t have to be your penance; he can be your antidote.

There’s a knock at the door. You stare at the wood.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Curtis asks.

“Yep.” You call back.

“I’m sorry if... if that was too much. If I went too fast,” he says.

You huff and stand. You drag your feet to the door. You make yourself open it and face him. He turned the lights on. You ruined the night.

“I think maybe I should just go. I’m sorry I spoiled the movie,” you say. He doesn’t move.

“What? I paused it. It’s fine. We can finish it.”

“No, Curtis, I’m just... I keep... aren’t you tired of me yet?”

He shakes his head, “no, are you tired of me?”

You clamp your lips and pop them in exasperation. “No.” That makes this harder. Because you aren’t tired of him. Because you do like him.

“So why are you running away?”

He grips the door frame. He’s a big man. He doesn’t have to let you leave but you know if you say you want to go, he will. For a moment, his size reminds you of another person. One who didn’t listen. One who didn’t hear your 'stop'.

“This is really embarrassing but I’m just going to be honest otherwise you’ll just think I'm insane,” you throw your hands up. “I’ve never, uh, never... had... someone before. You know? Never been on any dates, er, until you.”

He nods and his expression stays the same, “alright.”

“So yeah...”

He narrows his eyes, “is that it?”

You stare at him. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about us, you know? About right now. So then or whenever, it’s not important. But right now I can be patient. I can take it slow.” He drops his hand from the frame. “We can just watch the movie. That’s it.”

You look down and slump, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he gently touches your arm. “I don’t want you to be sorry because you did nothing wrong. Thank you for telling me.”

You don’t say anything else. You’re too mortified to muster more than a grumble. You reach for the light switch but he stands as a wall between you and escape.

“One more thing though,” he says, “I’m not just someone. I'm your boyfriend.”

You falter and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, “boyfriend?”

He smiles, “I can wait for my girl. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

He offers his hand and you consider it as your lips curve without a thought. You accept the offer and latch onto his large hand.

“Guess I’ll find out,” you say.”

#curtis everett #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #curtis everett x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #knives out #to those who wait #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #snowpiercer

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salty-autistic-writer · 2 days ago

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"You have to take a break.”

Tommy startles. "Why? I'm fine. I don't need a break. I volunteered to take John's shift tomorrow .."

"That's exactly it," his Captain says, raising a brow, her expression serious. Unbendable. "I can see what you are doing, Tommy. You try to take every possible extra shift, working as much as you can. And it’s about to become a risk I can't take. I can see that you're exhausted. Sooner or later, you are bound to make a mistake. Take a break. Rest. Travel. Or see a therapist. But don't use work to avoid dealing with the personal problem that's clearly bothering you.”

Tommy feels like he's been punched. Panic stirs. Without work, he has no way to distract himself from the fact that this is officially the worst time of his life.

But right underneath the rising panic which turns into a desperate echo of what the hell am I supposed to do now? throbs guilt. Tommy can barely look his Captain in the eye. Because she’s right, of course. And he should know better.

In their line of work being careless and losing focus leads to people dying. It only takes one second of distraction, one little mistake, to crash a helicopter and kill people. One little moment can cause damage that can’t be undone.

Still. Work has been the one thing that had been able to distract him from … everything else.

After leaving the Captain’s office, Tommy is glad he can sneak out of the station without anyone noticing him. He can’t do the fake smiles and the pointless small talk right now. He just wants to go home, fall into his bed and sleep the pain away.

But when Tommy opens the door to his dark, cold and lonely house, he freezes in the hallway. The thought of being here all day and night makes his throat feel too tight. Maybe he should just leave. Leave Los Angeles. Leave California. Leave everything behind. He did it before. He can do it again.

He can run. Like a coward.

Tommy swallows heavily. He pulls out his phone. Once again opening the chat. Staring at what Evan wrote last. He has read the words a thousand times. Had his fingers typing a message. Only to stop. Only to delete everything again. Only to stay silent.

He can keep the words to himself. Like a coward.

Why does it hurt so much? It has never hurt so much before. Tommy has cut more than one connection in his life. He turned away, walked away, back into the loneliness that has always protected him. Now, this same loneliness feels like an abyss without a bottom. He should be able to move on. After all, he never counted on a happy ever after. Nothing good lasts forever.

But if he’s honest to himself, which is scary, he did want this to last. That’s why it hurts so much, right? It couldn’t last, he wanted it to last, but he didn’t want to see it crumble to dust.

He can walk away before disaster strikes. Like a coward.

Tommy sighs. He walks out of his house. Closes the door. He can’t stay here. Alone with his thoughts and their echoes. He can’t.

So he just starts to walk. He’s dead tired from work, but he walks. He doesn’t know where to, he just walks. He barely pays attention to his surroundings, only to the way his feet take one step after the other. His exhausted mind floats, his eyes fluttering shut from time to time. But Tommy walks.

He walks half-asleep until he vaguely registers the shrill screech of brakes being pulled too late and a flash of headlights cutting through the darkness. Tommy stops walking because he’s being swept off his feet.

#oops #bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy fanfic #tevan fanfic #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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luvzxr · 3 days ago

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Little Pougie

Chapter 6

previous and next chapter.

I said yesterday I'd post chapter 6 as well but I got busy so I'm so sorry and we'll get into it right now.

Wattpad

Spotify

Summery; In which fem!reader is the little sister of John B Routledge. Sweet, gentle and innocent. The complete opposite of JJ Maybank but he finds himself falling for her and he stop himself from doing so.

Pairing; Fem!reader x JJ Maybank

Word Count; 1,954

Warnings; Throughout this series there are talks of abuse, drug and alcohol use, trauma, talks of self doubt and wanting to be unalived. Possible smut in the future as well so read at your own risk!

06. Wallow

"Soo... you and Kie?"

"What about me and Kie?" JJ sighed. He was physically there- listening to every word his old pal Pope was saying but his mind was absent. He didn't necessarily want to talk on this subject.

He figured this matter was over with and he'd never be questioned again- yet here he was, having the same conversation he's had hundreds of times but never could shake.

If JJ was honest; it was starting to get repetitive to hear the same question being repeated by multiple individuals.

Pope had a good heart and his mind was in the right place about caring for JJ and his feelings, but sometimes that good heart of his was a major pain in the ass. And it was due to the simple fact that JJ didn't want to talk about it. He didn't have anything more to say about the matter. He knew he hurt the girl, of course- but what was there to do to fix it? What could he possibly do to make up for the fact he shattered her heart completely.

Pope leaned his back against the pillar behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, "you guys haven't talked in weeks man. What's the deal?"

"No deal. She's probably just hell-bent on the facts," JJ muttered, shrugging off the uncomfortable feeling he had rising in the pit of his stomach.

"Facts?" Pope scoffed, his voice only holding onto full seriousness, "she was into you and you just what? Threw that away?" His head dropped slightly, shaking faintly at the ground.

"Yes facts, Pope. And whose side are you on?" The blonde boy spat. His previous Sat position was now standing with his own arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm not picking sides man," Pope sighed, dropping his bold stance altogether, "I just don't understand how you could let that go,"

"Because Pope, I'm not good for her and you know it."

Not good for her

JJ wasn't good for anyone, not even himself. The thought of only clouding Kiara's head with his repulsive decisions only pushed him more to accept the fact he couldn't be with the girl. He wasn't going to kid himself and just hope for the best possible outcome because, In hindsight- the girl was way too good for a guy like himself. Her parents expect a better life for her and she started to destroy it the minute she hung around JJ and the rest of the Pouges, only she wasn't willing to admit that herself.

Kiara had a bright future ahead of her, much brighter than the rest of them and JJ couldn't sit back and watch her throw that away for herself just because she loved him. And he loved the girl, he couldn't deny that any longer than he already had but he loved her just enough to push her away- something he has always done when he knew someone was getting way too close for his liking.

He could feel the way his own friends looked at him; they looked at him like he wasn't a messed up kid who had something worth living up to, he just had to be patient and willing to do his part to get to see that.

The reality was— he didn't have a chance at a better life and he wasn't blind like the rest of them. He knew what his life looked like ten to twenty years down the road and it wasn't sipping on cocktails at midsummers with a nice family, a nice house, or even a nice car, that was just a dream he had.

No, JJ's reality was pinching wallets from the back pockets of Kooks. His reality was busting his ass at a middle-class job only to make roughly enough to keep himself off the streets. His reality was the bar down the road or the sketchy trailer parks he'd pull into just to get a good high. And then after all that— his ending would be a jail cell, facing time only he could blame himself for and no one else. That was his reality.

He despised the feeling of knowing he was disappointing the people he loved most but there was nothing he could do. At least nothing worth doing, that is.

There was no point, really- he was down a path where recovery wasn't an option, and even others around him weren't as stupid as they made themselves out to be to know that. This was inevitable. JJ made peace with that long ago.

"Man-"

"No, Pope. Shut up!" JJ barked. His lips pursed, desperate to talk about something other than the fact he potentially ruined a relationship he shouldn't have.

If it hadn't been for his friend currently visiting him, he'd probably already be downing the last bit of whiskey he had inside his home. He was stressing the fuck out, and he could tell he was by the sudden urge to get wasted in any possible way or get so high that he couldn't tell the difference between fiction and reality.

His father was the main source of everything JJ struggled with- everything.

Ever since JJ could remember- he never went a day without having some type of alcohol or drug in his system, and deep down he knew how poorly it was affecting him but just like any addict; he wasn't willing to stop because he had no one who cared enough, or he felt no one truly cared enough to do something.

Sure, Kiara openly expressed she cared about him but that was a girl who he couldn't let in, and she was also a person who just wouldn't get it. She wouldn't understand how he felt daily, how he woke up every morning in excruciating pain that wasn't only physical- but mental, as well. She wouldn't understand how his mind would run when he was going way too fast for his own good, and she most certainly wouldn't understand how to slow that down. No matter how hard she would try to find a solution, it was just useless.

No one could fix JJ because he wasn't fixable, which was something a lot of people thought would be the most effective. To fix him. Until ultimately, they figured out the hard truth.

The moments where JJ tore himself down were probably one of the hardest situations his friends had to witness.

They were so gut wrenchingly sad to have to stand by, knowing you had absolutely no control over the boy and there was nothing you could say to help him stop taking himself apart- piece by piece. He stripped himself of pride, confidence, and the personality traits that made him who he was.

It was like he couldn't hear you when you tried to comfort him. He rarely ever poured his heart out to anyone because he didn't wish for others to worry about him. He couldn't handle the simple fact that he had people in his life who truly cared about him because that meant facing the truth that he was needed around, and that was something he prayed to never happen. He wanted to someday just up and disappear without a second thought- completely leave the lives of his loved ones because he felt that would be the best option in the future.

It was also hard on JJ- for he couldn't bare the sight of his friends with such pained faces for him, which is why he'd usually take off before any of them could say anything more to him.

"JJ, are you okay man?"

He didn't know why but the hesitant sound coming from Pope made him almost jump out of his own skin.

He was in his own head, something he'd do quite often.

He tried to pull himself out- needing nothing but to focus on something else but it was as if he was trapped inside his own head and was forbidden to leave. On days like these JJ could only hope that the stupid bike stunts he'd pull in the ultimately most dangerous ways would eventually take him.

"JJ!-"

"What?" JJ snapped.

"You can't keep punishing yourself, JJ," Pope continued, his tone of voice changing ever so slightly, "You'll eventually have to let someone in,"

This was a territory that Pope had to be cautious when speaking about, for this was JJ's emotions that not a lot of people came across when they encountered JJ, no matter how long they've known him. The emotions he tried so hard to suppress but each time coming up empty handed.

"So they can take whatever I have left of me and break it?" he sounded pained. He could only vividly remember memories of the days he truly did try; the way he voluntarily put all he had on the table, the way he tried to make things work so many times, and the way nobody could handle just how broken he was. He tried so damn hard to fill that void, that empty space inside of him that screamed to have a purpose. He couldn't handle that, he couldn't just start over again. It would kill him this time.

Pope had no words. The guy was completely speechless.

He could see now, why JJ felt the need to push Kiara away. After putting the most amount of effort into a person, only to come to terms with the fact that it hadn't worked out so many times in the past and wondering if this time would be any different or would end up like every other failed attempt.

"Come on," Pope stood up, grabbing onto JJ's attention immediately.

"Huh?"

"Come on man," Pope repeated, grabbing hold of JJ's wrist and tugging him.

"Where the hell are w-"

"I'm giving you a good time,"

"The fuck you mean goo-"

"We're going to John B's and have a guy's night," Pope interrupted, sounding very proud of himself for being the one to think of it.

"His sister is with Sarah and Kie tonight so the place is chick free. It's a hell of a lot better than leaving you to wallow in your thoughts,"

"I don't wallow in my thoughts," JJ retaliated.

"Yes. Yes you do,"

JJ ultimately couldn't believe what he was hearing. Pope wanted to have a guy's night. A guy's night right after JJ poured out the most depressing side of his life and Pope wanted to have a guy's night.

Not to mention the man practically called him out for being the depressed fuck he was, which would of rewarded him a smack on the back of Pope's head if he hadn't taken started dragging JJ along like a dog on a leash.

JJ wanted to hit him. The man's solution to all of his problems was having a slumber party at John B's. Maybe 'hitting' him wasn't quite enough, for drowning sounded more appeasing to him at the very moment.

'Unfuckingblieveable.' He thought.

The guy was practically dragging JJ through the newly cut lawn and he swore the man was dead until his friend cleared his throat and said, "You need something to get your mind off... well, your mind," That JJ decided he wasn't going to kill him, yet. Because Pope was right, down to a tee; He really did need something to do other than think. It was one of the only few things JJ found the most trouble in getting, for he was the type of person to dwell and rake through a problem for a very long time.

"Hey, wait up man!" JJ tugged on his own arm, relieved when Pope stopped in his tracks and gave his arm a break, "You said Little Pouge wasn't gonna be there?"

"Nah, she's having her own girl's day with Sarah and Kie. Something about bonding. They wanna try to get (Y/n) to be a bit more social."

#jj maybank #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx fic #jj outer banks #john b routledge

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reidhalstead · 2 days ago

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He wants to tell her to breathe so she can get her words out, a clarity that he feels they're both owed. But he risks the backlash of patronising. He's underwater as it is, being dragged to the depths, crying out how he doesn't know how he got here. That out of practice? I'm that bad, huh? Ouch, Anika. Cold. But, it's not about him. She's trembling in the corner of the apartment and he cannot cross the geyser of heat to see she's okay. Though he barely needs to, it's evident that something's wrong.

Booker's frantic hands rub lengths up and down her thigh, scratching at the bare skin, where the redness blooms with each harsh drag of a palm. Reid's standing in the shadows of the apartment, waiting, like he might find his answers in the shaking woman, he might be able to decipher her like a cryptex as often her eyes betray. There's no code in the sudden eruption of turmoil. Talk to me, his eyes beg in a way that's fuelling the self-loathing, drilling deeper and deeper into his heart.

There's blood now, a thin trail rivers down her leg where she's so desperate to get away from him. Swallowing down the idea that she's seen something he hasn't. He wants to follow her, whilst he can — chase her into the darkness of her room and ask her to explain. To remind her they didn't have to do this; no lines crossed, no —

She's crying behind that loaded gun.

Reid's powerless at the other end of the barrel. Eyes widen as he takes a single step back; he can feel the ghost of morning warmth teasing his back if he goes any further. Tensions slip away when he seems to get a slither of an answer. He still doesn't understand, but maybe he doesn't need to. Perhaps she's been intending to do this the entire time and she's got a little lost on her quest to kill him; revelation stings like a slap to the face. He's only hoping she's sober enough to land her shot the first time and he wonders if she knew how much pain and confusion she's caused, long before she pointed a pistol at his chest.

He could move, disarm her, ask her what her problem is —

But he thinks back to the first night they met, in that shitty dive bar, where she put a knife against his thigh under the table; it was a threat then. One that she hadn't been ready to follow through on. Reid had been the one to grasp her hand, and bury the knife deep; watching the features on her face contort. He'd asked her what she's going to do next (and to no surprise, she hadn't known). The terror then, is almost pathetic in comparison, because he's now seen the real thing on Anika's face when here, half-dressed and drunk. The buried part of him that he once proclaimed to be the hunter mantra, wants to ask her how far she's come since then. A trigger is the same as the pressure on a blade, he thinks. But he's too defeated, too broken in his own turmoil, to do anything but stand there in her crosshairs. Lifting his head, he lifts his hands slowly, in a half-assed surrender. "Anika." He tries again, to snap her out of whatever has caused her this much grief. "Whatever I did... you're going to shoot me for it?" It's an extreme end of the scale, he supposes. In his boxers, and her in his shirt. But, no matter how callous, or faux-joking he is, something's crumbled them completely and they're just husks with their entrails scattering the floor between them. The hands fall back down to his sides because he knows it wouldn't make a squat of difference to this woman. If he steps back, then he hits the sunlight and if he steps any closer to Anika, she'd probably pull the trigger on instinct. "We don't have to do this, okay?"

Hindsight says — as it scolds him for his weakness, that he should have walked away when they were whiskey-drunk in that corridor.

When she looked down at her hands. they trembled with the last remnants of his touch, as if coming down from a high that had billowed through her mare moments ago. Hands that now reeked of him, stained with all that he was made of, like she's been elbows deep inside his chest cavity, squeezing at the muscle that had long stopped working. How long exactly, she didn't know nor did she care to know of any details. She didn't need to know the exact day and time when his heart had ceased beating, just that it was beyond repair now. That was enough to have her put distance between them, rip whatever thick mist of fogged up breaths and reprehensible desires had wrapped around her eyes like a blindfold, and tight around her wrists like silky ropes, that bounded her feet and squeezed at her throat too — “Wha— You— Fucking Christ—“ sharp exhales ripped through her lungs.

Anika felt tricked, poisoned, drunk (stupid, stupid, stupid) left in the ashes of a paradise burnt.

She'd slap herself sober, just to find the strength to stomach all that truth he'd shoved down her throat. It made her sick to swallow it, so she held it in, letting it form a prominent lump in there. It's why he entertained this, wasn't it? Because he must've thought she'd enjoyed his wicked nature, that she had been as blood thirsty as he was, that she could survive him if given the chance, because as much as she hated to admit it, they were too much alike. He'd find that funny, wouldn't he? He might find it hilarious how a woman with such stomach for monstrosity and a penchant for decay wouldn't be caught dead in his cold embrace.

All she could hear was blood rushing in her ears. Nothing he said was audible, and she wouldn't let her eyes dip down to his mouth to read what was on it. Nothing he said mattered. When she looked at him, it felt like something sharp had sliced her throat. It made that chunk of honesties, that she couldn't swallow, bleed out. As if her body was rejecting the truth. Organs, and blood vessels were spitting it out. No, no, no — not real. Because denial was easier, denial meant nothing would be lost to the void, denial meant she was still all wits and power; just a little bit lonely, just a normal amount of hungry, just barely desperate to be the clay in his hands — let trusting fingers make her something less gruesome, less monster, more woman. A woman with less scars, with no evidence of defeat on her body, no death wish tucked beneath her tongue.

But she'd rather cut off his hands, then ever let him touch her again. How long would she have to scrub hers raw, to rid them of it? The memory, like a nasty stain. She was already rubbing palms red absentmindedly, mentally chanting — get it off, get it off—

Anika must've looked crazy, like bit by a rabid dog. First crawling away, tearing a long bloody scratch on the back of her leg at the sharp edge of the coffee table in all her haste, then running off to her bedroom door that appeared double before her. What the fuck are you doing? Deflect, deflect, deflect. Her eyes were moistening now that panic had fully settled, and rage was leeching on. She snatched her gun from the side of the bed, locked and loaded with wooden bullets. Then sloppily wiped at her eyes with the heels of her palms and walked out slowly — slower, than she wished with her aim pointed at him and her eyes determent to kill all that they've left in there, drop a lit match and burn the entire apartment down, chase and strangle every ghost of past versions of them, every reminder that threatened to become her own achilles heel.

Her heart was erratic and his was stopped. The loud realization in her mind, that couldn't stop banging on her person like a drum. The closer she got, the more monster she felt. "What the actual fucking fuck?" words laced with blame. Because this was all him — all his goddamn fault, for surviving her twice, for making her dream of something other than ash and death. Ironic, that it was all he was — dust and rotten bones. And she had foolishly failed to read the signs, to follow the pattern that although vague had been there all along. Like footprints in the sand — fleeting, there one second and gone the next. Maybe she was the shore — washing them away, every chance she got, just to hide the truth from herself. Bury it deep somewhere at the bottom, with all the corpses.

Has she known all along? No, shut the fuck up — thoughts jumbled and disorientated.

#o: a.booker #event: halloween

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chronal-anomaly · 2 years ago

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Do you ever just -

#the comics always make me sad why I do this to myself #she sure acts invincible for having a literal glowing weakspot on her chest #The risk of her falling back into Time here too is just #ah #proof too that any damage to it hurts like a motherfucker #probably just sending pulsing electrical shocks into her ribcage and organs #which cannot be good for you #Look at her clutching onto the couch for dear life #as if it would fade away under her fingers #holding onto Emily's hand #trying to memorize her face if this is truly the last time she'll see her #maybe she can stay sane this time; stay sane for Emily #anyway I am suffering and I'm making the rest of you suffer!!!#Lena “Tracer” Oxton is the only thing on my mind 90% of the time thanks bye #( ooc. )#Also the fact that she has parts on hand at home tells me that she's done this before #and had to fix it Herself #maybe not as severe but yeah

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nightingale-prompts · 4 months ago

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Danny adopts himself

It's a common joke in Gotham that Bruce Wayne will adopt any black-haired and blue-eyed traumatized boy he finds. So much so that even he leans into it. But he was completely shocked when Damian confronts him about having a new brother that he did not want.

Bruce could barely get a word in when the rest of the family arrived upset that they weren't told about getting another sibling after Damian texted the family group chat (for once).

Damian had encountered a boy around Drake's age moving stuff into what was an empty room. The room was now furnished top to bottom with glowing green lights, tapestries of stars, random artifacts, several telescopes, and model rockets.

He knew the moment he saw the black hair and blue eyes that his father had taken in another ward.

Apparently Bruce was the last the know about his new "son" who was currently rearranging furniture and asking to help Alfred with dinner.

Said dinner was an uncomfortable as Bruce was grilled by his kids on his addiction to adoption. Simultaneously they tried to get to know the new addition to the family.

It was easy to see that Damian didn't like Danny but it was equally easy to see that Danny could cow the boy like a border collie on a lamb. When Damian thew a dagger the teen caught it with one hand as it passed his face and then slid it across the table back to Damian.

"Try again. " Danny said "And this time don't aim to miss on purpose. If you want me dead you need to do better."

Damian put the knife away and huffed.

Tim and Danny hit it off almost instantly. The way they were able to bounce their thoughts back and forth made Tim believe that he found an equal.

Danny was able to understand Cassie immediately with just look in eachothers eyes like he was reading her mind but not in a creepy way.

Jason of course noticed the strange energy in the air around the kid. It was soothing. Like lavender wafting in the air. Well lavender for everyone else for him it was like opium. His eyes felt heavy like he had eaten a handful of poppy seeds. At the same time he felt full, like he had eating a full meal after starving for a week.

Whatever it is Damian was feeling it too. The demon looked even more his age as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The crease in his brow gone.

Duke on the other hand was more on edge as his eyes flickered towards Danny before looking away. He had something he wanted to ask about the glowing boy but since no one can see it or just isn't saying anything he will keep quiet for now.

Next was Barbara who teased the new kid.

"So how do you like your new family? Ready to be the new robin?" She asked.

"Im robin." Damian mumbled groggily.

The others were waiting for Damian to finally fall asleep and glared at one another in a challenge to be the one to pick up Damian and put him to bed. Dick was winning.

Speaking of Dick, as expected he was off the wall excited to learn more about his new little brother. He wanted the full story as to why Bruce took him in. He could almost certainly guess it was because of a tragic situation and Dick was already ready to handle it as the greatest big brother ever and he wasn't sharing the title no matter what Barbara said. Even if she was Stephanie's favorite.

Bruce cleared his throat and the table went silent. "So, Danny. Where exactly did you come from? Why are you here? And how did you know who I am?"

Everyone went white. Did they all just risk their identities believing that Danny was a new Robin? Why didn't Bruce say something? Not even a signal for the protocol they would use.

Danny frowned looking a bit hurt.

"What do you mean, Bruce? You said you owed me. You said you'd give me anything I wanted if saved your son. I even helped you get back home when you got lost in time." Danny huffed feeling betrayed.

The table went silent.

Bruce made a few calculations in his brain before something must have come to mind. "I lost my memory for a bit so I need a bit of proof."

Danny placed a batarang on the table. The batarang had an engraving on it in a code that only Bruce knew.

"You told me to show this to Alfred when I came. We had a deal, Bruce. You promised me whatever I wanted." Danny huffed clearly insulted.

Just like Danny had said the code was the one Bruce had made. However this code wasn't a promise to grant a favor but to welcome someone new to the family. Past Bruce must have had plans to take the boy in but told Danny something else to lure him here.

Bruce recognized that everyone was right and he has a problem now that he's looking at it like this.

#dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #duke thomas #tim drake #red robin

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FOUR

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion; health risks; insecurities. chapter one┆chapter two┆ chapter three

You were curled up next to Rafe, head on his shirtless chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breath.

You could hear the crash of the waves. His fingers were tangled in your hair, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you ever think about the future?” You asked, not even sure why you said it.

Maybe it was the mood, the quiet.

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek.

“Future? Baby, we’re in the future right now.” He tilted his head to look down at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight, making them almost glow. “What more do we need?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious. What’s next for us?”

He was quiet for a second, and you held your breath, waiting. Sometimes Rafe had this way of avoiding real talk. He’d joke, or deflect, or turn the conversation back to something easy.

“You,” he said, his voice low like he was confiding you a secret. “You’re what’s next. What’s always next.” His arm tightened around you, pulling you into his lap.

You smiled, that stupid, giddy smile that probably made you look ridiculous, but you didn’t care. His breath tickled your forehead as he kissed you there slowly.

He was so sure in that moment, like nothing could touch you two.

You lifted your head, just enough to look at him.

His face was so clear, each detail spot on, you could reach out and touch it. His messy beach hair, the way it fell into his eyes, his crooked smile, that scar on his chin from when he’d wiped out on his bike in high school.

All of him was yours.

“Promise?” You asked, like a part of you needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance.

Rafe leaned in, his lips grazing yours before he whispered against them, “Promise.”

He had this way of making all feel so simple, like the future wasn’t some big, scary thing.

“I’m never letting you go,” it sounded more like a prayer coming from his lips, fingers tracing small circles on your arm, sending these tiny electric shocks through you. “You’re stuck with me, Thornton.”

“Good.”

But then something changed.

His grip loosened. His warmth started to fade, and you blinked, confused. You lifted your head, trying to find his eyes, but his face was different.

Blurred. Distant.

“Rafe?” You whispered, reaching for him, but he wasn’t there.

The warmth was completely gone, replaced with cold, empty air. You turned, searching for him, but all you saw were shadows where he used to be.

The waves crashed louder, and you realized you were alone. Just like that, everything was gone, everything he promised, was gone.

You sat up in bed, gasping, hands instinctively going to your stomach in the darkness of your bedroom.

He wasn’t here. He was with her. You were alone.

Pregnant.

You tried to stabilize your breathing, wiping away the tears that had slipped out during your sleep. The bed felt too big, empty without him. And the memory of his touch, his words, felt cruel now.

You stared up at the ceiling wondering how a memory could feel so real, so vivid, but that was all it was. Just a memory. Just another piece of the past you kept chasing.

You looked down at your stomach, your hand still resting on the bump, if you could call it that. You weren’t showing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. You knew it was.

Your very first appointment was in a few hours, and the thought of it made you want to throw up.

You needed to know how far along you were. It would be easier to stay in bed and let the what ifs spiral in your head than to face them, but you didn’t hold that privilege anymore.

You dragged yourself out of queen-sized bed, avoiding the mirror as you moved around the room.

You didn’t want to see your reflection right now, you dreaded facing the girl who had let herself get into this mess.

You threw on a pair of loose, old sweats and a hoodie, one that swallowed you whole, hiding everything.

The kind of outfit that made you feel invisible, and right now, that’s exactly what you wanted. It’s not like anyone around here cared much anyway, rich girl or not, kooks were experts at pretending.

You grabbed your keys, your phone, and the one thing you couldn’t forget today —courage.

One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.

The appointment was soon, and you needed to get there. You kept reminding yourself that you’d figure it out once you knew how far along you were, everything would make sense after that.

The drive there was a mess, the anxiety and anger, you didn’t want to acknowledge today were taking turns messing with your head.

You didn’t want to think about how you’d once imagined a future with Rafe, how he’d promised you a lifetime under the sun.

You could never feel guilty about keeping this from him. He’d made his choices, and now you had to make yours.

You rolled up in your car and had to park in the visitor lot, trying to sneak in like you weren’t a whole mess of nerves behind the wheel of a brand-new Range Rover.

It was practically empty, which was fine by you, less people to run into, less eyes on you, since every second you spent there was a second someone could recognize you.

Someone could see, that was the last thing you needed — for this to become some juicy little rumor for the Kildare gossip mill to chew up and spit out.

You pulled your oversized sunglasses lower on your face, hoping they’d hide the fact that you were shaking.

You hated the fact that you were even in this position as you sat there, tapping your foot impatiently, checking the clock every five minutes like it was some kind of countdown to freedom.

Every noise from the hallway made you flinch, like any second someone familiar would burst through the door, see you there.

You winced in horror when your name was called out, following the nurse leading you down a sterile hallway that smelled of antiseptic. You tried to keep your mind off the fact that this was the first step toward the most life-altering decision you’d ever have to make.

"The doctor will be in soon."

Times like these you wished you’d chosen a private clinic, but you had to avoid as many kooks as possible, even if it meant slumming it in this hospital.

This was real.

Sitting down on the exam table, the paper crinkled under you, the sound making you cringe. You felt so small in that room, so alone. You’d always had someone—Rafe, even Topper. But right now, it was just you.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the table as you waited.

It felt like forever before there was a knock on the door, and the doctor entered.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Madison," she greeted you, offering you a smile as she sat down on the stool beside you. "How are you feeling today?"

What the fuck were you supposed to say? That your life was falling apart? That you didn’t know what to do?

So you settled for a, “"I’ve been better," looking anywhere but at her.

She nodded like she understood, she’d most likely heard it all before.

"Alrigh’, we’re just going to take a look and see how far along you are, okay? I’ll need you to lay back."

You did as she said, leaning back against the stiff pillow, trying to relax.

"This is going to be a little cold," she warned as she reached for the ultrasound gel.

A little? You nearly jumped off the table as the gel hit your stomach, cold and slimy, like ice against your skin. You winced but tried to keep still as she spread it over your lower abdomen.

The machine whirred to life, and she placed the probe on your stomach. You sucked in a breath, trying not to cry as the screen lit up with grainy images.

She moved the probe slowly, methodically, her eyes glued to the monitor, and you couldn’t breathe.

You forced your eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at the monito, refusing to see. You couldn’t let yourself get attached, not like that.

If you saw what was on that screen—if you saw the shape of something, anything—it would kill you. Your breaths were shallow, and your fingers clenched the sides of the exam table, gripping the paper until it tore under your hands.

Dr. Madison was quiet as she moved the probe over your skin, you knew she was seeing something. You could hear the beeping of the machine, the faint hum of the monitor.

"Okay. Looks like you’re about thirteen weeks along."

"How long is that?"

"Almost 3 months, give or take."

No, that couldn’t be right, you’d barely felt any different.

You were at thirteen weeks. Just over the line.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

"Thirteen?" you repeated, like maybe if you said it out loud, it would make more sense. But it didn’t.

"Alright," you told her, voice even, like that number wasn’t echoing in your head, smashing through the calm you’d been faking this whole time.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Madison eyes scanned your face, probably trying to gauge how much of this you were even absorbing. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

A lot? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

The doctor cleared her throat gently. “In North Carolina, after twelve weeks, the options for termination become much more limited unless it falls under specific conditions like rape, incest, or a fetal anomaly. I know this might be overwhelming, but I’m here to walk you through what’s possible.”

You nodded, but it was a lie. You weren’t hearing any of it, you were already listing other possibilities, another place.

Your mind was a step ahead, planning out the details, flights, or maybe driving. Somewhere where no one would ask questions, where you could walk in and get this over with.

Just slip away for a couple days.

She kept talking, saying something about other options, but you weren’t hearing it. It sent your heart into a stampede.

"Thanks, Doctor," you said when you realized she was done speaking, your voice perfectly polite, perfectly controlled.

It felt like you were watching someone else speak.

You were nodding like you understood like you had a plan. Inside? You were screaming. Your thoughts were a mess, colliding into each other—Oh my God, what now, what the fuck are you going to do? So much more work just because you were stupid enough to wait.

Dr. Madison gave you this list—appointments to schedule, things you should and shouldn’t do, prenatal vitamins to pick up. She might as well have been speaking a different language for all you heard.

You mumbled something that sounded like “thanks” as she handed you the prescription, barely glancing at the paper.

“Is there really nothing I can do?”

You couldn't confide your plans to her, for obvious reasons.

“I can’t advocate for any illegal options, but I understand your concern. If you were just a week earlier, we could have discussed a simple outpatient procedure. However, now you’re facing a more complex situation.”

You never felt so frustrated in your life, “But I’m—I can get you anything. You don’t understand, I can pay—”

“Miss Thornton,” she interrupted, her voice firm yet sympathetic, “I know you’re not trying to bribe me right now. I need you to understand that legality and ethics come into play here. What you’re suggesting isn’t something I can support or even discuss further. We have to work within the framework of the law.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the temptation to lash out at her.

“So that’s it, then? I’m just supposed to accept that I’m stuck with this?”

“There are still options we can explore together. We can discuss what’s next in terms of prenatal care, adoption, or even resources that might help you if you choose to carry the pregnancy to term. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’re beyond the legal limit for a straightforward abortion.”

You blinked rapidly, “Adoption?”

The idea of keeping the baby made your stomach bend into a different shape, but that alternative felt just as wrong.

She looked at you with genuine empathy.

“I understand that this is overwhelming. The decision is ultimately yours, but I need to emphasize that time is of the essence, and the choices you make today will have lasting implications.”

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in that sterile room with your head spinning.

You couldn’t even fucking remember the last time you felt normal. Now, you were staring down the barrel of a pregnancy you didn’t even know was this far along. The doctor’s speech about vitamins, checkups, and avoiding alcohol bounced off around in your head.

You swallowed down the nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness, grabbed your purse, and walked out like nothing had just changed.

You shoved the papers into your purse without a second thought, your mind already screaming to get out, to run, to go somewhere.

Anywhere but here.

As you walked out into the waiting area, you spotted a mother with her toddler, the kid giggling and playing with his toys. Would your baby be that happy? Would they giggle like that?

No, no, you couldn’t go there.

Your fingers were numb as they fumbled for your keys, and you somehow managed to get into the Rover.

The second the door slammed shut, the tears you’d been restraining started to fall.

All you could think about was getting far, far away from here, somewhere no one would recognize you, where people didn’t know your last name or expect you to show up to some debutante ball with a well-behaved husband, a kid on each arm, perfectly polished.

"Fuck..." you whispered through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut like maybe that could make it stop. But it didn’t. Your whole body was trembling, hands shaking so hard you couldn't hold the wheel right.

You leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to catch your breath.

Thirteen weeks.

You couldn’t stay here, in this parking lot. You needed to go somewhere safe, somewhere that made sense. You needed them.

Without really thinking, you turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot.

You didn’t even know where you were going at first, your body knew, the same familiar route you’d taken too many times. You didn’t realize where you were going at first, but once you passed the last stoplight before the cemetery, it hit you.

You parked haphazardly, not caring if your car was straight or if anyone saw. This was the only place you could think of. The only place that wasn’t ruined by all the mess in your life.

Your parents. Your sister.

Their graves were tucked away in the back corner, under the big oak tree that had been there for as long as you could remember. You parked the car and got out, the ground crunching under your feet as you made your way to them.

You sank to your knees in front of their headstones, your fingers brushing against the cool marble as if touching them could somehow make them feel closer. They’d been gone for five years, and no matter how many times you came here, that fact never got easier to swallow.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, stopping to bite down on your bottom lip hard to keep from completely breaking down. “I’m so... I’m so fucking lost.”

The wind rustled the leaves above you, and for a second, you wished it would just take you away too. Make everything disappear.

“I’m pregnant.” You spit the words out, voice cracking, like admitting it was burning your throat. “Thirteen weeks,” you added, saying it out loud for the first time. Your hands curled into fists, fingers digging into the grass.

The tears came back, harder this time, and you bent forward, clutching your stomach, forehead pressing into the ground as if you could just bury yourself there.

“I can’t—I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your voice broke completely, turning into a sob that you couldn’t stop. You were crying so hard you couldn’t even breathe, gasping, like you were drowning in it.

“Why aren’t you here?” you cried, “Why did you leave me? Why did you—” but the words caught in your throat, turning into another round of weeping.

You stayed for a long time, curled up on the ground, crying so hard it hurt, until the tears finally slowed, until you felt empty, drained.

Afterwards, you sat back, wiping at your swollen eyes with the back of your hand.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, this time softer, “And I can’t... I can’t tell him. He’s with her, and I—I just can’t.”

You sniffed, cleaning your nose with your sleeve, feeling ridiculous and broken all at once.

Your breath hitched again as you forced yourself to stand up, even though every part of you wanted to collapse back onto the ground.

They were gone, it was just you. Alone. You think that’s why there was this tiny persistent voice in the back of your brain whispering things you weren’t ready to hear.

This was a chance, wasn’t it? To finally have someone again, someone you didn’t have to say goodbye to.

The second the thought crossed your mind, you felt a gush of panic, a nauseating conviction that you were nowhere near capable of raising a child. You barely remembered to take care of yourself, so how could you possibly take care of a baby?

It felt so fucked up to you, to think this could be a “fresh start” or something like it—no, you weren’t naïve enough to believe that. Not when you’d barely coped to get through the last five years.

You remembered the doctor’s voice, factual, mentioning adoption.

Carrying this baby only to hand it over to someone else—someone who might be better equipped—Could you do that? Carry a piece of your family’s future, only to give it away? It felt wrong.

You were halfway to your car, still wiping the tears from your face, when you heard someone call your name.

“Hey... Is that you?”

You froze. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone, especially now. Not here, not like this.

Turning slowly, you saw her — Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s sister — standing by her mom’s grave.

She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers, brown eyes narrowing as she took you in. She looked like she'd been here a while, but the moment she saw your state, she dropped what she came here to do.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising with worry.

Her eyes, so different from Rafe’s, scanned over you, taking in your bloodshot eyes, the messy hair, the way your clothes were dirty from sitting on the ground too long.

You hadn’t taken sides when her and Topper split up; you’d just known, deep down, that they weren’t right for each other. He had this stubborn, idealized version of her that she could never live up to, and that had been the beginning of the end.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tell her you were fine, that you didn’t need her sympathy right now. Instead, you just stood there like a fucking idiot, eyes wide, as Sarah dropped the flowers and rushed to your side.

“Hey, hey,” she panicked, as if she was talking to a wounded animal. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Sarah touched your arm gently, and that’s when it hit you, the fear, the panic, the loneliness — it overwhelmed you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding on tight.

You didn’t even care how desperate it looked, how messed up you were right now. You just needed someone.

She froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then she softened, her arms wrapping around you tightly. She was warm, solid, and so there, and the moment she hugged you back, the floodgates opened for the millionth time that week.

You started crying again, silent but hard, your face buried in her shoulder as your whole body shook.

Sarah didn’t say anything; didn’t ask questions, just focused on holding you tighter, her hand smoothing over your back like she was trying to calm you down. The kindness of it, the warmth,you hadn’t grasped how much you needed it until right now.

“Shh, it’s okay,” her voice was soothing. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You hadn’t seen her in months — not since everything went down with her and Rafe after Ward died.

The whole family had fallen apart after that.

Sarah had cut ties again, another fallout with Rafe. Things between them were always like a ticking time bomb, and Ward’s death had blown everything wide open. You knew they hadn’t been on speaking terms since.

It made this moment even weirder, seeing her here, of all places. She looked different, too, she was carrying her grief, her pain, that wild spark in her eyes a little more dim than you remembered.

As you pulled away from the hug, you blinked through the tears, and her face came back into focus. She was still looking at you, her brows knitted with worry, the wildflowers she’d brought for her mom now forgotten on the ground behind her.

She looked like she was about to ask a million questions, but she was waiting for you to speak first.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you finally said something, trying to wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. It was a lame thing to say, but you couldn’t find any better words.

Sarah gave a small, sad smile, shrugging a little.

“Yeah, I just… I come here sometimes. To see my mom.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and you could hear the strain behind it, “I guess I needed it today.”

You understood the feeling all too well.

You both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and you could tell she was dying to ask why you were here. Why you looked like you’d just been rolling around in the dirt.

Instead, she said, “You okay? I mean, really?”

In some weird way, you’d always thought you’d be able to keep this part of yourself locked away, hidden and safe where no one could see it

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just… rough day, you know?” Your voice was hoarse, still shaky from the crying.

Sarah frowned, not convinced. She stepped closer, her hand hovering near your arm like she wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if you’d let her.

"You sure? You don’t look fine."

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some air. It’s been a lot.” You didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to unload everything.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just a little.

“Okay. But… you know if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, right?”

You blinked, not really sure how to answer to that, nodding away, hoping she’d drop it.

“I know I was just Rafe’s little sister,” she continued with pursed lips, “but you’ve always been like a big sister to me. Okay? Him being an asshole to both of us doesn’t change that. Ever.”

You could see she meant it. This wasn’t just some passing offer out of pity, Sarah was genuinely worried, wanting to be there for you.

You just nodded dumbly.

Sarah smiled softly with that same old Cameron determination. “Seriously. Whatever’s going on, I’m here.”

You stepped back, breaking the small bubble of comfort, you didn’t even realize you’d let her create.

“I should probably go,” you awkwardly muttered, brushing your hair out of your face and trying to straighten out your hoodie like that could somehow make you seem more put together. “But thanks, Sarah. Really.”

She just watched you with that worried look still across her face, but then she nodded. “Anytime.”

You turned to leave, feeling her eyes on your back as you walked away, your steps slow on the grass.

The loneliness had been suffocating, and even though you didn’t tell her anything, just hearing Sarah say she was there, that she still saw you as family—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

It wasn’t like anything was magically better.

You used to think this island would keep you safe forever, that it was big enough to hold your problems.

Now, it felt like it was shrinking around you.

You were curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees.

You’d googled “abortion options United States,” expecting answers, but all you found were long lists of restrictions, rules, states drawing hard lines.

You already knew that in North Carolina, you were already past the point of no return. So you kept digging, checking every single state until you found one, a random thread on some forum, that talked about New Mexico.

No restrictions on timing.

You scrolled, following link after link, getting deep into some Reddit threads, reading accounts from women who’d done it, who’d had to pack up their whole lives, fly out, handle everything on their own.

No one to tell, just a flight, a few days’ stay in a place that looked nothing like home, just to try and get back to normal. The whole time you were reading, this weird sense of relief and fear entwined in your gut.

So you can get out of this.

By the time you shut your laptop, your head was pounding but at least you had something that felt like a plan.

The next morning, you woke up before the sun, tossing on yesterday’s clothes and brushing your hair as best you could with one hand. You scrolled through the numbers you’d scribbled down last night and dialed the first one.

You had to it straight away, without a chance of backing out. So you closed your eyes with all your might and hit call.

A woman’s voice picked up on the fourth ring.

“Women’s Health Center, this is Amanda. How can I help you?”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal. Like you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“Hi. Um, I’m calling to see about scheduling… an appointment. I’m about thirteen weeks.”

“We do have availability. Our next spot is ten days from now.”

Ten days. Shit. Could you wait that long, or was that too soon? Shouldn't you think about it some more?

Maybe you needed more time.

Or maybe you shouldn’t be doing this at all.

You were already running through a hundred different what-ifs, a panicked mental list of everything you hadn’t thought through.

“Is that… is that the soonest?” You surprised yourself by asking.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could hear the kindness in Amanda’s voice.

“Yes, it’s our first available spot for a procedure beyond twelve weeks,” she informed you, “We’d also want to complete a few assessments with you, along with some necessary paperwork and counseling. I can walk you through everything if that helps.”

You nodded automatically, realizing a second too late she couldn’t see you. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I’ll go over a few things with you, so you’re prepared. Do you have a pen handy?”

You grabbed a random envelope and pen from the countertop, jotting down every detail.

“You’ll need a form of ID, proof of residency—we’re required to check for that. Some basic insurance information if you have it. You’ll also have some health assessments here when you arrive, mostly standard but including a psychological evaluation just to ensure everything’s covered from a health perspective.”

It was all just words, logistics. You weren't exactly processing the information, just robotically writing it down.

“There’s also a mandatory counseling session we’ll need to go through. In case you have questions, or concerns. This will all be confidential, but it’s for your safety, both physically and emotionally.”

“Right,” you said, just to say something. You didn’t know if you even wanted to talk about it, not with her or anyone. You just wanted this to be over with.

“The procedure itself is straightforward, but it’s still a surgery. It’ll last anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, with a little more time afterward for recovery. We’ll go over any complications with you once you’re here—risk of infection, bleeding, discomfort. We make sure you’re clear on what to expect before anything happens.”

You forced yourself to nod, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Got it. I’ll—yeah, I’ll get the paperwork together.”

"Just one last thing," Amanda added, "Given the nature of the procedure, we ask that you bring a companion along, someone to stay with you. They don’t have to be in the room, of course, but they’ll need to be present to help you get back safely after."

Your hand stopped. A companion?

"What?"

The small sense of peace was gone in a heartbeat.

You wanted to tell her that it would be fine, you’d figure it out, because, rationally speaking, who could you ask or who would you even trust with this?

"It's a requirement,” Amanda clarified, “For your safety. You’ll need someone there with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Right. So, like… a friend? Or…” You trailed off, trying to hide the fear overcoming your senses.

“Exactly,” she said. “A friend, a family member—just someone you’re comfortable with. It’s standard procedure for anything this involved.”

A friend. Family. Someone who could sit in that waiting room and just… know everything. You didn’t even have anyone who could know you were pregnant, let alone be with you for this.

“The total will be around $3,500, which we typically split into a down payment and a final balance due at the time of the procedure. We can take payment in cash, card, or even a wire transfer if you need that flexibility. We’ll also require a 20% deposit to hold your spot, which you can pay over the phone now or through our secure online portal.”

You glanced at the envelope where you’d jotted down notes, biting your lip as you stared at the numbers. “Right, um, yeah, I can do the deposit now.”

“That’s perfect. One moment, please.” There was a click as she transferred you, and while you waited, you blinked down at the deposit amount.

Seven hundred, you thought. Seven hundred dollars just to hold a place. It was nothing to you and yet it felt monumental.

A robotic voice greeted you, and you keyed in the card information, watching the screen as it processed. The payment cleared, and you felt the strangest sense of finality.

It was real, stamped and sealed.

Amanda returned to the line, “Thank you for taking care of that. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

“No, that's all. Thank you."

“Of course. We’ll see you in ten days.”

Now you were at this god for saken country club brunch. Why you even came, you had no idea.

Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to feel normal.

You were trying so hard to look casual, like you hadn’t just been on the phone with a stranger, scheduling the most personal appointment of your life.

Thankfully, Ruthie had canceled last minute — some emergency with your cousin, no doubt. Small miracles. The last thing you needed was her crazy ass analyzing everything you did.

The spread of food on the table looked like a minefield of smells.

Just the sight of the eggs benedict made you want to hurl on your seat, and the fruity smell of the mimosas wafting through the air was…torture.

You’d kill for a sip, maybe even two.

You were watching the sunlight catch on the bubbles, sparkling like they were tauting you. The craving was there, whispering thoughts that felt equal parts impossible and unavoidable. The idea hovered, tempting you with a cruel promise.

A few mimosas could maybe make this go away, couldn't it? Maybe you’d get lucky and this nightmare would just end on its own.

But the thought made you sick.

You could almost feel it, this new life clinging to you, sticking around no matter how much you wished it’d leave. There was some echo of a moral sense—some annoying, reasonable, voice within your head that wouldn’t let you grab the damn mimosa even though your fingers were twitching for it.

What was the problem if you were getting rid of it anyway?

You forced yourself to look away from the mimosas, knowing that just one glass might make you feel something—anything—other than this sick dread.

With an effort, you forced yourself to say, “Water, please.”

Of course, the universe just had to have its laugh, because the one bringing it wasn’t just any waiter.

It was Sofia.

How come everyone got a break from shitty things happening to them, and you didn’t?

You must’ve been really awful in your past life.

Perhaps you were one of those medieval villains who ordered people to be drawn and quartered, or some spoiled empress tossing servants into dungeons for looking at you wrong.

How else could you explain it? Life kept pilling more shit on top of you. Or maybe it was less about karma and more about some fucked up endurance test. You were still here.

Rafe’s latest… girlfriend? Hookup? Whatever the hell they were, she had that title, and now she was in front of you, all fresh-faced, her apron hugging her like she’d just walked out of some pinterest brunch board.

Her hair was pulled back in this cute little bun, and her face held that perfectly innocent smile that made you want to scream.

She was practically glowing.

Her skin had that effortless, sun-kissed warmth like she’d just gotten back from the Maldives or something. Not a shadow under her eyes, not a single stray hair — just this easy, perfect beauty that looked even more surreal under the soft morning sunlight.

It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you felt like a mess. Dark circles, a slight breakout on your chin, and an overall look of someone who hadn’t slept in… weeks? or was it months?

The last good night before nausea became a part of your daily life, and the constant anxiety kept you up at all hours, staring at the ceiling and wishing it’d all just disappear.

And here she was, gliding around like she was untouched by anything so messy, so…human.

You glanced down at your outfit, the pristine, tailored Miu Miu set from the new collection —the cropped blazer was light and airy, perfectly cinched at the waist, with sleeves just long enough to make it feel sophisticated but breezy, paired with a sleek, high-waisted mini skirt, the whole ensemble skimmed your frame effortlessly, made just for you.

You knew you looked expensive, the kind of look people envied, even if they’d never admit it.

Every stitch, every button on this outfit screamed privilege and class, and yet here you were feeling like some tragic, half-dead version of the old you.

Why the fuck were you even comparing yourself to her? She was still a pogue, for god’s sake.

Rafe’s latest toy or project or whatever, you had no business even wasting brain cells on her. So what if she looked a little too chipper, too perfect?

She wasn’t worth the mental energy.

Just as you forced yourself to refocus, Sofia reappeared, setting a glass of water in front of you with that same innocent, syrupy smile.

“Here’s your water,” she chirped.

You hated that sound.

She didn't look or sound in-your-face or territorial, more salt on an open wound.

Just hours ago, you were piecing together plans to get rid of the very thing that tied you to Rafe, and now here she was.

You gave the glass a pointed look and then raised your eyes to meet hers. “I asked with ice.”

No, you didn’t.

You were supposed to be above this kind of petty bullshit, weren’t you? But the bitterness rooted in your gut like the mimosas you wanted so desperately.

“Oh?” Her face froze, that little smile twitching just a bit. “You did? I must’ve heard wrong. I’ll be right back with it.” She looked genuinely flustered as she turned to head back to the bar, her apron fluttering behind her.

You caught yourself feeling the tiniest bit pathetic.

An unspoken vendetta against the girl serving water? Really? You almost felt a little ridiculous… almost.

“Oh, beautiful girl!”

It was Mrs. Aldridge, an old friend of your mother’s, all pearls and Chanel, her wrinkled hands wrapped around her mimosa.

“How’s your darling Rafe? I haven’t seen you two in ages!”

Instead of thinking better about it, your eyes slid over to Sofia.

She was setting the glass down, her face draining of color, frozen mid-action like a deer caught in headlights. It was almost too perfect.

You were gonna have fun with this, putting on your best sympathetic casually as if you’d had this conversation a hundred times.

“Oh, we’re not together anymore,” you said, tone dripping with faux sweetness as you nodded in Sofia’s direction. “She is.”

Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened, almost bulging out of her head as she followed your gaze, putting two and two together with the slow, scandalized horror that only old-money kooks could manage.

You could hear her brain struggling to comprehend the fact that Rafe Cameron was now involved with the server.

The other women at the table leaned in, whispering behind manicured hands and designer sunglasses, eyebrows shooting up as they stole obvious glances at Sofia.

She was still standing there, stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something. You half-expected her to look annoyed, maybe give you the scathing glare you’d be giving her all morning.

Instead she looked like she wanted to disappear into the woodwork.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice trailed off, her eyes scanning her from head to toe with the kind of judgmental precision only years of country club experience could bring.

She cleared her throat as if she could somehow undo the fact that the help had captured Rafe Cameron’s attention.

“I suppose he’s… rebelling, then?” Another old lady muttered, eyebrows raised in suspicion, already delighted by the gossip forming on her tongue.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who knows? That’s Rafe for you.”

You took a sip of your water, feeling satisfied as murmurs spread across the table, surprise and judgment all directed squarely at Rafe and Sofia, who looked like she might faint on the spot.

You couldn’t lie — it was the most fun you’d had in weeks.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Aldridge mused, her gaze fixed on Sofia, who was now engaging another table with her bubbly personality. “But bless her heart, she doesn’t quite belong here.”

“Definitely not,” you clicked your tongue, allowing the disdain to seep into your voice, even as a small part of you felt like a spineless bitch for feeding her to the sharks.

“New money, if you ask me. I can’t take them seriously. Remember when Ward was just a pogue with big dreams, trying to make a name for himself.”

You saw her again, just a gimplse of her still taking orders with that big grin, still doing her job.

This was exactly what you’d wanted, right?

To see her squirm in her hand-me-down shoes, to show her the world she’d trespassed on wasn’t as welcoming as she might have believed.

But your conscience decided to make an apperance, one more time, slipping in with a knowing sigh. You wanted to hurt Rafe, not her.

This was cruelty, plain and simple, the girl was only trying to survive.

She was dealing with these judgmental eyes and assumptions, probably used to being reminded that she didn’t belong, that she didn’t measure up, and you were sinking to that same level of entitlement and superiority.

The satisfaction wasn’t as sweet as you’d thought it would be. Dragging her into it was cheap, easy, like pushing someone off balance simply because they happened to be standing there.

You forced a giggle to match the others, playing the charade, but inside, something started to feel uncomfortable. You knew what it was like to be scrutinized, to have them pick you apart, to whisper behind your back.

You remembered how much it hurt.

To these people, you were only steps away from that same old judgment. If they knew about the appointment...their conservatives asses would ruin your reputation.

They’d tear into you in the same way, a scandal spread in manicured lawns and private golf courses.

Mrs. Aldridge leaned in conspiratorially, her aged perfume filling the air. “If he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself like this.” She sighed, looking at you like she expected you to agree.

You took a breath, one that felt painful, because were you really about to do this shit?

“It’s Rafe’s life,” you replied, shrugging. “Maybe she makes him happy. Who knows?”

The table quieted, a few eyebrows raised, flabbergasted that you hadn’t indulged in more snide remarks. At the end of the day, the life you wanted — it wasn’t this.

Maybe it was time to let some of it go.

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lbhslefttiddie · 13 hours ago

Text

a few Thoughts on the matter (somewhat long?):

the separation anxiety is real bad. yqy is no longer able to trust that sqq will not die or perhaps just vanish the Second yqy turns away. this drives sqq a Little bit insane bc for a minute he thinks yqy thinks he's not capable of taking care of himself. yqy is just not fully able to believe this is real and that he isnt going to lose xiao jiu all over again (and again, and again, and again—)

its only a matter of time before sqq figures out yqy's whole Thing is something that cannot be attributed wholly to poor teaching or care while he was gone. its fun bc in this world theres literally no one at all who could know the truth besides yqy, who is, of course, incapable of speaking about it. sqq is piecing together a working theory about some sort of curse he encountered during the time they were apart that deeply traumatized him, but whatever it is, it seems no one else ever found out about it....

honestly its good for the prev sect leader that the xuan su/ling xi caves bullshit isnt a thing anymore, because if it was sqq would have eventually pinned the prev sect leader as responsible for how deeply fucked up yqy is (which isnt wholly unfair) now and probably would have killed her lmao

yqy has lost all ability to pretend that sqq is not always his first priority. he wears the visage of placid geniality and reliable older brotherisms easily, because its worn itself into his skin over countless lifetimes, and he has not changed in that he is generally kind and avoids conflict, but when if comes to sqq he is not capable of remaining mild anymore. man cant even pretend to listen to the other side, if sqq says it went like this then it went like this, and he gets real threatening real fast when something presents itself as a risk to sqq. and everyone just has to sort of Deal With It, because yqy is Insanely Fucking Strong in this au, and sqq is, somehow, actually the only thing keeping him from tearing the world apart at the seams or otherwise tanking the sect

sqh never makes it to sect leader; yqy already knows about his future betrayal, so the instant sqq clocks the suspiciousness of him not dying from that one demon encounter his ass is getting investigated to hell and back; if he is caught he would get executed; though, given the cleverness and sheer drive to not die that fuels sqh (either iteration), its possible he would avoid that fate, whether by fleeing the sect or covering his ass well enough, but he will never be trusted enough to rise to peak lord in this life

yqy is so caught up in the I Don't Need Anything Or Care About Anything As Long As Xiao Jiu Is Okay mentality that romance does not even exist in his mind, and if it did, he would never dare threaten what he has for something that he doesnt need. sqq, however, is going to eventually decide that the best way to communicate that he isnt going anywhere is for them to get married

though he still went though most of his canon childhood trauma, sqq is much better better off emotionally here, because A) it is not even possible to doubt that yqy cares about him more than anything in the world and would have saved him if he could and that he tried so, so hard, and B) fussing over the mess that is yqy keeps him thoroughly occupied such that he cannot wallow in self hatred or start beefing with preteens or what have you

this does probably fall into the category of aus where lbh goes to bai zhan instead of qing jing because sqq could not give a single shit about lqg in this world

funny enough there is like a 70% chance lqg dies in this universe. theres a non-zero chance that with yqy unable to part from him that sqq just wouldn't end up going into secluded cultivation at the time that lqg is in the ling xi caves, and if he goes into seclusion With yqy there's like a 50/50 chance yqy would kill lqg himself. it might mot even be on purpose too, if qi deviating lqg tried to attack sqq, yqy could possibly smack him aside and do enough thoughtless damage then, considering his own strength and lqg's weakened state, to accidentally kill the guy. but also theres a definite possibility of him killing him on purpose for attacking sqq

if lqg dies then i think it would be so funny if lbh and lmy got together (not romantically; lbh definitely wanted to smash lqg in this au) to exact revenge on yqy but like. nothing comes of it ever. bc what are they gonna do? yqy is stronger here than he was in pidw canon, and with sqq always at his side all his weaknesses are covered. sqq himself could of course be identified as his primary weakness, but the man is untouchable in this au, both physically and in terms of his reputation; yqy is the one who killed lqg and straight up fucking said as much as soon as they left the caves; sqq is a distant master in this au but not abusive, he probably doesn't even remember lbh exists; hell, he possibly doesn't even know that ning yingying exists in this au, and even if he did he doesn't have a reputation as a lecher, and lbh and nyy likely never even met; yqy specifically made sure to kill qht so that she could never come back to punish sqq for letting her live, and with that there is no one left alive besides themselves who knows they once were slaves, nor of sj's involvement with wyz; sqh has been dealt with years ago, which means the immortal alliance conference demon invasion never happens, which means lbh never falls into the endless abyss, least of all by sqq's hand (and even if he had its not like anyone in the cultivation world would fault sqq for killing a heavenly demon in itself), which also means lbh will never find xin mo or become as powerful as he did in pidw. and even if they HAD things to accuse sqq of, his standing amongst his martial siblings in this life if MUCH better than once it was; they will stand for him in the name of sect solidarity.

all of this is to say that lbh and lmy might try some plots but nothing would ever come of it; perhaps eventually they will leave the sect in anger and end up falling in with the huan hua palace master, and perhaps this would eventually lead to an intersect war, perhaps, but nothing would come of that, either, and there's no guarantee that even the hhpm would try to fuck with that (gesturing at yqy) in this lifetime

equally likely that what would actually come of it is lbh finding out the truth about sxy and tlj and tanking hhp from the inside. as he deserves.

meanwhile lmy has split from lbh once its become clear they weren't going to get anywhere in avenging her brother and has since found herself in good company at tian yi overlook

in the 30% chance that lqg doesnt die in the ling xi caves, he may or may not become a fun occasional addition to qijiu sexytimes

more seriously, sqq and lqg do not have the same animosity they did in their original lifetimes. lqg still respects yqy for his strength but he does recognize that if sqq were a different person, he could have had yqy destroy half the world before anyone managed to stop him, and to recognize that he necessarily has to respect sqq as well. it helps that there aren't any sussy rumours about sqq in this life fro them to fight over.

meanwhile yqy remembers that in lifetimes where lqg has lived past the caves incident, he has been willing to put his life on the line to defend sqq, which is like the only metric by which he measures anyone's worth these days. sqq, for his part, can appreciate both the value of a dedicated guard dog who is capable of leaving his side for extended periods of time, and the physical prowess and stamina that accompanies the bai zhan war god's very pretty face

suddenly seized with the desire to write/draw a few short little scenes from the world after the events of You Can (Not) Redo (the uh. the yqy timeloop fanfiction. not the evangelion movie which i named it for) because it is, generally speaking, a happy ending, but also yqy is left deeply, deeply broken in ways that would be both fascinating and hilarious to explore

#svsss #qijiu #yue qingyuan #shen jiu #tbh hard to say which possible outcome i prefer both are interesting to me

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illusioninfnty · 3 months ago

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I'll Take You to Heaven

જ⁀➴ Childhood Best Friends : Day 7

feat. Josh Washington ᯓ★ A game of seven minutes in heaven has you and your best friend revealing your feelings for each other...and then some.

warnings! : NSFW 18+, takes place during prologue, dual virgins, dry humping, fingering, handjob, getting caught (kind of)

ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3

“Ugh, c’mon, it’ll be fun!” Jess tugs at your arm, annoyed at your resistance to her suggestion—a game of seven minutes in heaven.

“There is no way in hell I’m agreeing to that,” you say. Tensions were already high in your friend group, and you didn’t want any fights happening while all of you were stuck in the Washington’s cabin for a weekend, stuck in the middle of the snowy mountains. Emily was pissed because Hannah had feelings for Mike, Chris and Ashley had feelings for each other and refused to tell the other, and you didn’t want to even think about what Jess was doing with getting close to Mike. You didn’t want to be around to witness the inevitable chaos this game would bring.

But really, you couldn’t be one to talk. You, Chris, and Josh had been inseparable since you were kids, and throughout your time of being friends with Josh you had slowly developed a crush on him. You knew you could never tell him, for fear of ruining your friendship. You valued him too much to risk that.

“You’re so booooring.” Jess rolls her eyes at you, before whispering into your ear.

“Shut up!” You yank your arm out of her grasp, heat rising to your face. “What the fuck do you know about that? That’s not why!”

Her eyes light up. “So it is true!” A smirk rises to her face, but before she can say anything else, a hand falls against your shoulder.

“Ooh, what’re we whispering about over here? Keeping secrets from dear old Joshie, are ya?”

Mortified that Josh almost heard you guys, you almost want to hug Jess for speaking first as you can’t find anything to say.

“Hey Josh. You’ll play, right?”

He grins. “You know I’m down for anything.”

“Well,” Jess turns back to you, “you need to convince her to join us. Such a party pooper.”

Josh turns to you and throws his arm around your shoulders, forcing you to lean into his side. “Aw, c’mon honey, you can’t leave me alone with these idiots.”

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, knowing you didn’t have it in you to deny Josh. “Let’s play this stupid game.”

Jess squeals as she grabs your arm, leading you (and Josh, who’s hand hasn’t left you) into the living room, where everyone is seated on the large carpet.

“Look who I’ve found!” Jess says in a sing-songy voice. Cheers ring out and the group opens up some space on the floor for the three of you to sit. You and Jess take a seat between Ashley and Matt, while Josh sits next to Chris, almost directly across from you.

“You’re first.” Emily says, shoving the empty glass bottle in your direction. “Since you were the last one to show.”

You didn’t have the strength in you to protest, hoping that this game will be over quickly and hopefully no fights break out. You just wanted one quiet night without any of your friends arguing with each other.

As you spin the bottle, you just pray it lands on someone who you knew you could actually deal with being alone for seven minutes, like Beth or Sam.

But as long as it didn’t land on Josh, you were okay with it.

The bottle slowly comes to a stop, and you see the neck of it facing opposite of you.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes slowly move up to see the person the bottle points towards, and you’re met with Josh’s green eyes staring right into you.

Just your fucking luck.

Jess giggles from beside you as she drags you to stand up. Josh slowly gets up across from you, strangely quiet as Chris seems to nudge him slightly.

As Josh steps his way around the group, Jess grabs you both and pulls you away. “Have fun in there, lovebirds!”

“Yeah, don’t forget to wear protection, man!” Mike calls out from behind you. You stick up your middle finger behind you and you and Josh enter the designated space for this game, a fairly spacious storage closet with only the moon providing you two with any sort of light.

As the door locks you plop down onto the floor, your head falling into your hands. You hear Josh take a seat next to you, a hand coming onto your shoulder as he rubs circles into it with his thumb.

“What’s got you down, honey? Thought we were supposed to have fun tonight.”

“It’s nothing.” You sigh, turning to your friend. “Really, I’m okay.” You wince with how fake it sounds as it leaves your lips. You hated lying to Josh, but how the hell were you supposed to tell him you’ve been in love with him for years.

“Really?” Josh raises an eyebrow. “’Cause you’ve barely spoken to me all day.”

You throw your head back, your actions of trying to make sure Josh doesn’t find out about your crush on him finally catching up to you.

“What is it then?”

His voice is firm, and you know by that tone there’s no way you can avoid the topic now.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” you mutter.

“Oh yeah? Try me. We’ve known each other for years, I’m sure I’ve heard it all.”

“You haven’t heard that I’ve been in love with you since the sixth grade.”

He lets out a laugh, and your heart drops to your stomach. “Sixth grade? That’s when I had pimples and shit!”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, giving him a punch in his shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t say I had good taste, did I?”

“Even if you didn't, it sure as hell works out for me, considering I’ve liked you even longer than that.”

You grow silent at his words, taking in what he said. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.” He narrows his eyes. “Unless you’re fucking with me?”

“Why would I be fucking with you?” Josh stays silent and you roll your eyes. “Don’t piss me off, dude.” You go to push against him to get more space but Josh grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers with his own. Your heart starts beating rapidly in your chest feeling his warm palm against your own.

“Please don’t call me dude before I’m about to kiss you.”

You gasp as Josh leans in and captures your lips, closing your eyes and indulging in the sensation. The kiss feels clumsy, his lips clashing against your own in a way that exposes the lack of experience, but it's made up for with passion. Josh leans into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you allow yourself to fall into his embrace. Your hands come up to either side of his head, one moving to run itself through his hair as he groans into your mouth.

He pulls away just as you do to get some air. You both pant heavily, staring at each other, and a bead of saliva that connects you two breaks.

A grin breaks out across Josh’s face, and a shy smile finds its way onto yours. He rests his forehead against your own, bringing a hand up to stroke your cheek. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that for,” he murmurs.

“Trust me,” you say, “I know.”

“Four minutes!” You hear Jess from outside faintly, and you jump slightly in Josh’s hold. “There better be some action going on in there!”

“Guess we better give the people what they want.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

Your lips find his again in an instant, and this time this kiss is more desperate—more passionate. Josh’s hands run up and down your body and you moan into him, your back arching as your breasts squish themselves against his chest. You’re sitting in his lap now from how close you two are, and you start to move your hips against Josh. Josh groans into your mouth, and you take that as an opportunity to shove your tongue in there. Your tongues clash as you sloppily make out, drool escaping your lips as you clumsily figure out the best way to do it.

Josh ruts his hips up into you, keeping you still with his hands around your waist. His cock hardens against you, and the friction of his jeans rubbing into your clothed slit has you moaning into the kiss. His hands tug at your hair, and you already know that it’s going to be hard explaining the mess of it when your time is up.

You break away from the kiss as a particular loud moan leaves your lips, inside choosing to bite into Josh’s shoulder as a way to conceal your noises.

“Wait,” you say, before you and Josh go any farther. He looks up at you expectantly. “I haven’t done anything like this before,” you admit, nervous about your lack of experience.

Josh smiles, running a hand across the back of his neck. “Me neither. We can figure it out together.”

Pride washes over you at being Josh’s first, even though you know it’s not something you really have to be too happy about. But you’ve grown up with the guy, pretty much experiencing all of life together with him. It only made sense that you had each other’s firsts in this way, too.

You let yourself fall back into Josh’s embrace as one of his hands leaves your waist to reach into your sweatpants. It takes him a bit of fumbling but he eventually finds your pussy, teasing it through your soaked underwear. The squelching sounds of your wetness cause you to bury your face into the crook of his neck, embarrassed by how obvious your arousal was.

Josh chuckles at your reaction, his fingers continuing to pet you and you buck your hips into them.

“S-shut up,” you argue weakly, not wanting to see his face as he teases you.

“Didn’t say anything,” he whispers into your ear.

You figure that the only way to get Josh to stop teasing you was to beat him at his own game. Your hands reach down to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, and you hear a halt in breath as his fingers falter slightly in their rhythm as you stick your hand down his pants, palming at his bulge.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “feels good.”

You hum, moving your hand across his bulge as he ruts his hips against you. He leaves kisses up and down your neck, causing you to gasp and squeeze him harder, a groan tumbling from him.

“Fuck yeah, hon, keep doing that.”

You finally move your hand into his underwear, wrapping it around the full girth of his cock as you stroke him at that same pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you.

“Josh,” you whine, pressing your body to him as close as you can. “Gonna cum.” One of your hands digs into his backside trying to find some stability as the other continues to stroke him.

His pace quickens and broken moans escape you as you buck into him frantically, a loud moan falling from you orgasm onto his fingers.

Josh isn’t too far behind as you hear a groan from him and a warm stickiness envelopes your fingers.

You reach around and thankfully find a roll of paper towels in the storage closet to wipe your hands with.

Josh leans up and kisses you, and you sigh into it, bartering with yourself that it’ll be the last one before you’ll begin cleaning yourself up.

“I am approaching the door.”

Chris’s voice rings out as you and Josh jump back, eyes wide as you stare at each other.

“I am about to put my hand on the doorknob.”

“Fuck,” you groan, hastily trying to fix your appearance so that you don’t look like you were two seconds away from fucking.

The door opens and Chris stands in front of you two, an unamused look across his face.

“You’re lucky I was able to convince Jess to let me do this,” Chris sighs, turning his head away for a brief moment so that you and Josh can try to make yourselves look a little bit more presentable. “Although I think I’m the unlucky one now.”

Josh turns to you, snickering. “Aww, honey. Cochise cares about us!”

“Ooh, you loooove us.” You imitate exaggerated kisses in Chris’s direction, and then give Josh a kiss on his cheek.

“Man, I’m really gonna have to be the third wheel now,” you hear him mutter to himself, although loud enough that you and Josh can still hear.

“Ashley’s still waiting for you,” you tell him, teasingly.

“Fuck you, guys,” he retorts, spinning back around and walking back towards the living room. “I’m gonna need a drink after this.”

Josh pouts mockingly as he holds your hand. “Aw man, without us? Don’t worry, we’re all gonna get drunk off our asses tonight.”

Chris shrugs. “Go crazy, I guess. I really hope you two aren’t some of those horny drunks.”

You wink at him as the three of you cross into the living room, the sounds of your friends’ voices growing louder. “Can’t promise you anything, bud.”

#josh washington x reader #until dawn x reader #josh washington smut #until dawn smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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neo--queen--serenity · 8 months ago

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This episode really highlighted how close Marcille, Laios, and Chilchuck actually are.

The viewer is used to seeing our main characters behave like coworkers up to this point—even friends—and they express normal, understandable levels of concern and fear when their other party members are in danger. But when the nightmare attacked Marcille, it brought out sides of Laios and Chilchuck that the viewer hadn’t seen before.

Laios immediately notices when something is wrong with Marcille, and he tells the others as soon as he’s sure of the problem. Chilchuck and Senshi then follow Laios’ lead as it becomes clear that he intends to make her get some rest.

We see Chilchuck’s hands lay out the bedroll and Senshi’s hands set up the pillow, working in almost perfect tandem as Laios physically wrangles Marcille into bed.

Senshi is in a similar perspective as the viewer, and mostly sits and watches the ordeal unfold. He doesn’t have a shared history, like these three do, so he helps in little ways, but mostly waits on standby for direction.

From here on out, it’s mostly Laios and Chilchuck who take over in planning how to help her.

It’s uncommon for Chilchuck to openly show such distress and worry for one of his party members. He’s used to Marcille being able to defend herself; he’s used to her being capable and strong. He immediately defers to Laios for instruction, (rightly) assuming he will know what to do.

This actually produces a reaction close to real fear from Chilchuck, who outright SMACKS her in a panic to wake her up before getting any further information.

Laios has to quickly stop him, explaining that he could truly hurt her if he interrupts the attack this way. He tells them how he’s going to wake her, and he doesn’t hesitate. He jumps straight in, explaining what he’s doing for the others so that they (Chilchuck) won’t be afraid.

Chilchuck doesn’t question him once. He just does what he can to hurry along the process. He tucks Laios in with his blanket as soon as he lays onto Marcille—an unnecessary action that betrays how much he cares for both of them.

And Laios succeeds in helping Marcille out of the nightmare’s grasp. While trapped in her mind, he reassures her, protects her, tells her how much she’s valued and appreciated. He isn’t embarrassed or sheepish about it, either; he openly declares these things like it’s the most normal and obvious thing in the world.

He gets her out, he saves her. He did the exact thing he set out to do, even though he’d never done it before, and only had Falin’s secondhand information to work with.

Once he wakes, Chilchuck immediately checks on him to see if he’s alright. Chilchuck is clearly still rattled, displeased with having to wait while both of his close friends were unconscious, fighting a battle neither he nor Senshi could see or help with.

Marcille wakes up shortly after Laios, but Chilchuck is still on edge, worrying that she’ll fall back asleep. Laios, too, has a moment of alarm when he makes sure she won’t close her eyes again.

Once he takes the subdued nightmares out of Marcille’s pillow, only then do Laios and Chilchuck relax.

Laios, for his part, remained calm and collected almost the entire time. He did not show panic or fear when it became clear that Marcille was being attacked, nor when he told the rest of the party what he’d be doing to help her. And once the nightmares had been collected from her bedroll, he gently explained what happened, to everyone else’s horror.

Seeing this, it’s not a huge surprise that the Touden party is so successful. We’ve seen Laios handle danger with a level head; we know he’s capable.

But it’s an entirely different kind of talent to face a threat that’s targeting one of your closest friends—which can make even the most competent fighter sloppy out of fear of losing them—one that requires a high-risk, specific rescue style that none of you have ever tried before. And then pull it off flawlessly. Like damn, these guys are lucky to have him.

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lewisvinga · 8 months ago

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sneaky link | jude bellingham x sainz! reader

summary; y/n knew it wasn’t the best idea to sneak jude in while her family was out at dinner. but she couldn’t help but risk it despite her overprotective brother

warnings; cursing

word count; 956

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03 @c-losur3 @fall-bambi

note; before you all ask no i’m not okay w the kroos news

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Oh shit,” Y/n mumbled as she heard multiple cars pull up into her driveway. She quickly gets up from Jude’s lap and looks out her bedroom window. She mentally curses when she sees the cars of her parents, brother, and sister in the driveway.

“What happened?” He asked curiously, lifting his head from her pillow.

She picked up his white t-shirt and zip-up hoodie from her makeup chair and chucked it at him. “My family came back earlier than expected. Hurry! Put your clothes back on!”

A laugh escaped from his lips as he sat up on her bed. He sets his phone down and catches his clothes. “You weren’t complainin’ 5 minutes ago when you were on my lap and-“

“Yes you’re very hot and as much as I appreciate you shirtless,” Y/n huffed, watching her brother shut the door to his Ferrari. “My brother wouldn’t.”

“I swear he’ll like me.”

“Just because you play for Real Madrid doesn’t guarantee that Carlos won’t go all crazy big brother on you.”

“Yeah but-“

“Y/n!” Her mother’s voice called out for her from the bottom of the stairs. “We came early and brought back dessert. Come down to the backyard!”

Y/n and Jude shared the same wide-eyed look. Whenever he visited especially late at night, the backyard patio was where he usually snuck out since there were cameras in the front door. With her whole family outside, it would be more difficult to get him out.

She hears the back door open and close, meaning they’re all outside. “You can get out from the side-“ She turned back to face her boyfriend and noticed he was still shirtless. “Stop distracting me!”

Jude couldn’t hold back his laugh from her panicked face. She glared at him as he wiped the tears from his eyes, taking deep breaths to try to stop laughing. “Okay, okay, fine! I’m sorry.” He said in between laughs, putting on his white shirt.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried though. I’ve met your mom already.”

Y/n sighed and grabbed her ugg slippers. “My mom. You’ve met my mom. Not my brother or dad.” She mumbled in reply. She remembered the time she brought a boy home when she was 15. Boy did her brother scare him away. Ever since then, she swore she wouldn’t bring a guy around Carlos not until she knew he was ready to see his baby sister be an adult.

“He can’t be that bad.”

She gave him a glare and he raised his hands up in defense. She grabbed his hand as she slowly opened her bedroom door. She looks down the lengthy halls before quietly and carefully dragging him towards the staircase.

“Now, keep quiet because I don’t need Carlos seeing you,” Y/n whispers to Jude who nods in response. They made it to the bottom of the staircase and were about to rush towards the side doors when a familiar voice stopped them.

“Don’t need me seeing who?”

The couple froze in their spots, both too scared to turn around. She felt her heart stop for a second when Carlos cleared his throat again. “Y/n.” His voice was stern.

She gulped and slowly turned around. She stood in front of Jude but that did little due to his height. She was met with her brother's stern gaze. His jaw was clenched, clearly unhappy at the sight of his baby sister with a boy.

Carlos knew who Jude was. Being a Madridista since birth meant he knew every player, especially one who helped them win the league. The Ferrari driver was a fan of the English player, at least he was until he saw him standing behind Y/n.

“He was just leaving-“

“Why is he here?”

“Hello, Jude, nice to meet you,” Jude said with a smile. He held his hand out but Y/n immediately slapped it down. “What? I’m trying to be nice!”

She glanced back at her brother and took a step closer to him. “Por favor, Carlos. No hagas de esto un gran problema.” [please, carlos. don’t make this a big problem] She quietly said. “Has hablado bien de él. No cambies tu opinión ahora solo porque el es mi novio [you’ve talked good things about him. don’t change your opinion now just because he’s my boyfriend]

Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows were furrowed up, showing how much she wanted her brother to be calm about her relationship. Jude was confused as he stared at the Sainz siblings. He only knew so much Spanish and certainly not to the extent of understanding all of what his girlfriend said.

Carlos lets out a deep sigh as he gently pats her arm. “Vale.” [okay] He says after thinking for a few seconds. “So what, is he your sneaky link?”

His words caused Y/n to gasp as the English player bursted into laughter once again. “Carlos! I just said he’s my boyfriend!” She exclaimed, ignoring the feeling of her face burning up as her boyfriend balanced himself on her and tried to stop laughing.

“Why’re you sneaking him out?”

“Because of you!”

Jude takes a deep breath before standing back up straight. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout sneaking behind your back. It did kinda seem like I was her sneaky link.” He said with a smile, gently poking her cheek.

Carlos gave him a glare which made the Real Madrid’s player smile fall. The Ferrari driver immediately smiled before pulling him into a side hug. “Oye, no more sneaking around with my sister. You’re an amazing player on the pitch and just because you’ve saved us many times doesn’t mean I’ll be easy on you for dating my sister.”

“Got it, no more sneaky link meet-ups.”

“Jude!”

#footballer x y/n #football player x reader #football x reader #footballer x reader #football imagine #football imagines #football scenarios #football one shot #jude bellingham scenarios #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #carlos sainz x reader #formula one x reader

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anyarose011 · 16 days ago

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Agape

Pairing: Lucius x Reader

Summary: After the Roman Empire had fallen, birthing the Republic, you and Lucius had finally found a moment to breathe in each other's presence. Over a few years' journey of healing, you find that is both exhausting, yet all the more fulfilling at the same time.

Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past SA, Depictions of Grief, Violence, Angst, Miscommunication, Historical Inaccuracies [I tried my best to make it kind of accurate], Nudity (sexual and non-sexual), Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex (f receiving), P in V Sex

Paul Mescal's facial hair in All of Us Strangers, if you can hear us, please save us. Nobody ask me how I went from "’Oh, I’m just gonna write some scenes about healing from trauma, and the rest is smut! Easy!" to then making it just a little longer than the first part. I'm a yapper, but holy shit XD. Anyway, this is just shameless pRopAgAnDa at what I personally view a husband to act like (even in modern times). So, without further ado, thousands of words of hurt/comfort and smut.

Word Count: 16.4k

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You were a lucky child. When you were twelve and your friend was married off to a man who was forty-two, you asked your father when you would be married.

He tucked you in that night, saying that he wasn’t certain, and that you had nothing to fear; for he wouldn’t promise you to a man who was in a war the same year you were born. He would have to know him personally as well, saying.

“It’s easier to like a man than have to plan his assassination if he dared lay a hand on you.”

You like to think he would have approved of Lucius; he was the once heir to the Roman Empire.

You don’t think he would have approved of your…informal marriage.

“A year.” Lucius stated as the two of you sat together in one of the piazzas. “As long as we are not separated from each other for more than three days, Rome will view us as married if we live in the same household for a year.”

You hummed. “And why should we care what Rome views?”

“Men won’t stop their advances on you if they saw you as my sister.” he explained. “Even as a wife, that doesn’t stir them.”

“It’s a very Christian belief of you to have.”

“But it makes them think thoroughly on if they want to risk tainting you.” Lucius finally looked at you. “Knowing that I would break every finger they touched you with.”

Even with his proclamation, you merely shrugged. “Being the emperor’s favorite whore, I doubt they would care.”

He sighed. “Do you want to know what my mother wrote? Her final words that will forever be with me because they are in ink? ‘Take her as your wife.’”

It had only been one day since Lucilla’s death, since Rome had become a Republic, and no one knew exactly what to do.

Yet…even at the mention of her presence, you felt tears spring to your eyes.

How you hated crying; and crying and crying.

“It is wise.” You finally settled on. “The people here too must see me as a traitor.”

“You would be dead if they did.”

“It’s still early.” You smiled sadly. “I desired to be free of the emperors, but all they must have saw was lust for power.”

Lucius sighed. “If it is a concern, then I believe it is best to leave Rome.”

Suddenly, you were no longer afraid for your life. You scowled. “Leave the city you risked your life to liberate?”

“It is not just my own life I need to think of now, is it?”

“Then think of mine.” you began. “I don’t wish to leave. Where would we even go? I know nothing outside of Rome.”

This would have been solved if you somehow still had the house you grew up in. The moment Geta claimed you, it was gone. Even with the fall of the Empire, and the birth of the Republic, you could not take it back.

Among many other things, you could not take it back.

“We’ll live just outside the walls.” Lucius suggested. “A farm perhaps a few miles from here-.”

“-A farm?” You questioned. “You know how to farm? Because I sure don’t.”

“I’ve lived longer on a farm than I have in a palace.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. You also weren’t in the position to bargain. Even though it wasn’t going to be what most would deem an ‘official’ marriage, he still owned you. That was how it always was, whether living outside of the Roman walls or not. Still, you had to try.

“I will learn as much as I need to,” You shook your head. “but I will find a job in the city. You cannot believe I will be shut out-.”

“-Do you want to share a room, or would you like your own?”

You furrowed your brow. “What?”

Lucius restated. “We don’t have any money to buy a farm, so I’ll build us one. Do you want your own room?”

You had only known him for a grand total of a day and a half (if you were to add up all the previous times you had spoken to him before Macrinus’ death), so needless to say, his offer shocked you; more so, it impressed you.

“Isn’t it odd for a man and wife to not share a bed?” You asked.

“So, you want to share a room?”

“No.” was your immediate response. “I just…”

Am not used to compromising with men without them threatening my life.

“Won’t it cost money to build a house?” You asked instead. “None the less, more for another room?”

“I only want you to be happy, if we’re to be married.”

There you were, asking every question and not being satisfied with his answers, yet he was remaining patient.

“Thank you.” You bowed your head in thanks for just a second before questioning. “I am still allowed to have a job in the city? It will help with the cost, of course.”

“Where exactly do you intend to work?”

He said your name; not ‘Julia’, the name you had whispered to him in his cell. Lucius was the only one who had said it to you, for you did not even tell Lucilla or Marcus. It still felt strange hearing it on your lips, nonetheless, his.

Still, shaking your discomfort away, you hummed humorlessly. “I know two women who run their own businesses; hairdressing and tailoring. I’m better at hair than clothes, but not so much. And you?”

He sighed. “I’ll see if there’s any other farmers needing a hand.”

“You’re going to work for a farmer to build a farm?”

“It sounded more bizarre in your head than when you said it aloud, did it not?”

That was the first thing you found out about Lucius after all the bloodshed and heartbreak of the last week:

He spoke with such a straight tone, you did not know he was joking until he would smile just a hint; you couldn’t really call it a true smile.

You managed to grin. “I suppose it makes sense. You should find one that will let us sleep there.”

And he did. A farm just a few miles outside of Rome took both you and Lucius in. It was substantial, housing five chickens, two cows, three pigs, four horses, and seven human children. Albeit the children helped with the chores, but the eldest was only ten and could not manage any of the heavy lifting whatsoever, which was where Lucius came in.

From sun up to sun down, he’d work on the farm. The farmers, Atticus and Diana, let you sleep in the barn of all places. The hayloft was nice for the both of you; enough space to spread out but not be right next to each other. There was also somewhat of a wall between the two of you, giving the illusion of separate rooms.

It was certainly an adjustment for you; had been sleeping on the softest of beds for months, but even so, you just missed the bed from your old house.

Lucius fell asleep the second he laid on the hay.

Dreams and nightmares were always a peculiar thing. Some days, you would dream of your mother and father, some days, they would be of Lucilla and Marcus.

You had nightmares of what befell you before coming to the farm; Macrinus and his manipulation, Caracalla’s temper, Geta…

Yet, the worst that would happen would be you waking up more tired than the night prior. You knew Lucius was having nightmares too, but every time you approached him, he would lie and say he was fine, or simply not want to speak of it.

You stopped asking.

For the first few days on the farm, you were put to work by watching over the younger children when their mother was busy. Somehow, it was the older ones you didn’t mind, it was the youngest baby who was a handful.

It’s morbid to say, but you always wondered how any of them survived infancy.

Luckily, you managed to get back to Rome after perhaps a week of being stranded on the farm. It was almost an hour walk, and you had gotten up even before Lucius had, but it was worth it.

It wasn’t that you felt dead as you were on the farm per say, but walking through the streets brought a certain kind of life back into your steps.

You spent a good portion of the day trying to find the hairdressers you talk to Lucius about. Just as you were about to give up and try again tomorrow, something caught your ear.

Hebrew.

You turned over your shoulder and saw a man speaking in Latin to another man and a pregnant woman. The father had spoken in broken Latin before turning to his wife, speaking quickly in Hebrew as if to ask her what to say.

One of the men began to yell, and you rushed over, speaking to the patriarch of the family.

“What’s going on?” You asked quickly.

His eyes grew as if you were the first person in Rome to understand him (you probably were). “I paid for a bag of peaches fairly; two bronze, yet they’re saying it wasn’t enough.”

You turned to the men behind you. “He says he gave you two bronze for the peaches.”

“It was three.” The Roman man gritted his teeth.

Tilting your head, you tried. “Show me your stand so we may see.”

It was perhaps stupid of you to challenge him; yet, he controlled his tempter and led you to his fruit stand. The sign by the peaches indeed said ‘2’, but there was also a good amount of peaches blocking the bottom half of the sign.

When you moved a few, it read ‘3’.

You smiled, looking at the man who spoke Hebrew. “It is three, but it’s not your fault this brute didn’t notice either.”

He nodded, returning your grin before handing the men another copper. With an few mumbled exchanges, the man and his wife were on their way.

“You have Judeans in your family?” The man crudely asked.

Still, you decided to reciprocate his crassness with kindness. “I actually speak five languages.”

He rose his brows. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

He hummed, holding his hand out. “Isidorus.”

“Julia.” Was your immediate response as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles. It wasn’t even your own choice to say that name; it was what you lived by. Retracting your hand, you shake your head and said your own name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-.”

“-All of Rome knows who you are.” He interrupted. “Do not be afraid of your own people. Most of them were there simply a week ago when you tried to slay Macrinus but was there to comfort lady Lucilla in her final moments.”

You only nodded, not wanting to be praised. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“With certain.” He nodded. “You are with child; only a monster would harm a woman carrying.”

The events of the past weeks had made you forgotten about the false babe. Luckily, the fear upon your face could be used to your advantage.

“Are you not well?” Isidorus questioned.

You dropped your gaze, stammering your tone. “The…I lost the child.”

He looked down as well. “Oh…I’m so sorry.”

“No,” you shook your head. “it’s…it feels odd. His father was terrible but…”

“Why are you perusing Rome unchaperoned?” He changed the subject.

“My betrothed is being put to work,” you immediately answered. “and I am scouring the streets to find my own.”

“What has your luck been?”

“Nothing.”

Isidorus hummed. “I could change that.”

Even at the thought of what he was alluding to, you smiled. “Good sir, I am not in the position to sell my body-.”

“-None of that.” he waved his hand. “My brother works down at the entrance of the city gates. They’re always in need of translators.”

You nodded, considering. “When may I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow?” He asked. “Midday at the gates with many people watching so you do not feel threatened?”

The two of you laughed, and you agreed. “I shall be there. Thank you.”

“Anything to help a woman of the people.”

You walked all the way back to the farm with a skip in your step. Even at dinner, you were more talkative with the rest of the family. Lucius certainly took notice as the two of you were settling down for the night.

“You seemed better today.” He complimented, laying onto his bed of hay.

“So, I’ve been absolutely horrible the rest?” You teased, peeking around the wall of the hayloft.

“No, just what I think you were like before everything; more yourself.” He explained. “Did the hairdressers go well?”

Leaning against the wall, you crossed your arms. “I’m actually working as a translator down by the city entrance.”

He gave you a look. “How’d this come about?”

“Well,” you began. “I overheard two men arguing, one was speaking Hebrew, and I asked him what was wrong. There was a misunderstanding over peaches of all things, I helped them talk it out, and it was solved with no bloodshed. The vendor said his brother works at the gates and is always in need of translators and offered to meet with him tomorrow. It will be midday and so many people around; do not worry.”

Lucius nodded. “I’ll accompany you.”

“Did you not hear what I just said? I shall be fine.”

“I have no doubt you would.” You knew that was a lie. “One of the scythes broke today, I’ll need to buy another one in the city.”

You didn’t know if that was a lie or not, but it wouldn’t surprise you if Lucius would sneak out in the night and break equipment simply to go with you.

Sighing, you went behind the wall to your side of the hayloft. “Fine.”

To no one but Lucius’ surprise, Isidorus had not lied about his brother, nor the job offer. Of course, the brother had been off put at a woman being the translator (because everyone knows that they are the lesser sex). Still, after some convincing (you talked to a Greek family, a man from Anatolia, and two brothers from Persia), he said you could be put to work.

Lucius stood there the whole hour you had proved yourself.

“You couldn’t have gotten the scythe while I worked?” You questioned him while walking home.

He kept his gaze on the road before him, carrying the farm equipment. “It was engaging to watch.”

You hummed. “I could see how engaged you were while you stood like this.” You crossed your arms and scowled.

“I did not look like that.” He scoffed.

“You did so!” You refuted, lowering your voice. “My name is Lucius Verus Aurelius, the Last Gladiator, son of Lucilla and Maximus, grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

He looked down, mouth upturning a little. “I do not sound like that.”

“Is that a smile?!” you gasped. “Gods above, I never thought you could unless you were attempting humor!

“Away with you, woman.”

You only laughed as the sun was starting to set.

There was something called a “Fullmoon” period in a marriage. Most now would say it’s “Honeymoon”, but the period in time where a man and woman were in a complete state of euphoria together was called “Fullmoon” because it only lasted for a month.

You and Lucius (even with your strange circumstance) were not immune to this.

A month later, when you had fully settled into a mundane life of working in different areas for hours upon hours, the only times you saw Lucius was when you ate dinner with the farmer’s family, and before going to bed.

It didn’t’ effect you that much for the first three months, as you both were still on good terms and were fine simply cohabitating without affection. This marriage was purely for protection and to honor Lucilla’s wishes.

Then…Lucius came to you one day, saying that together, you both had enough money to build a farm. He already had a patch of land picked out from the help of the famer who employed him. It was five miles away from the farm you stayed at. Five miles more of a journey to the city.

You would move in once the walls were built, which he said would only take a week or two.

It was too fast for you.

Still, you had to go along with it, because you were to be his wife; nothing more. Even so, nothing out of the ordinary besides your hidden, simmering annoyance happened between you two.

The first day construction was to be done was when light was shed upon it.

“Lucius!” You called his name as you approached him and a few other men hauling the wood and stone that would be used. It was mid-twilight when you ran to them.

He furrowed his brow, walking towards you. “Aren’t you meant to be in the city?”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shook your head. “I asked for the day off because of the house. He said I-.”

“-You need to go back and tell him you’ll work.”

Your smile fell from his usual, monotone demeanor. “He doesn’t expect me to come in today-.”

“-Then he’ll be happy to see you.”

“May I just talk for a moment?!” You yelled.

His said nothing.

Sighing, you began. “I will be useful in any capacity. If you need me to help dig for water, measure supports, lift anything-.”

“-Your shoulder cannot carry-.”

You retorted. “-It might be the shoulder you shot, but it’s the shoulder I have to live with, and I will tell you if something is too heavy to carry.”

It hadn’t been the first time you brought up your shoulder after Rome was free. Yet, in the past, it was always out of good fun; something to say to him when you didn’t want to carry as little as an egg from the chicken coop. You told the children the story too why you had to set one of them down after carrying her for so long.

You expected them to cower away from Lucius when he returned for supper, but instead, they all tackled him to the ground to defend your honor.

They didn’t hurt him of course, and you laughed until you couldn’t breathe.

Yet, at that moment, you said it with nothing but disdain; and he heard it in every word. You thought it would have been enough to guilt him into letting you help, you made sure of it.

Lucius titled his head back toward the main road. “Go on, now. The sun will be up soon, it’ll be better to walk without daylight beating down on you.”

The audacity he had. Usually, on the times you’d have disagreements of sorts, you’d try to leave with dignity; perhaps a word of sarcasm or two.

No, you simply turned on your heel and marched away in a huff.

You were harsher that day when translating, and you were still angry by the time the day ended. You ate dinner outside by yourself (until three of the seven children came outside to eat with you), and did not utter a ‘goodnight’ to Lucius before laying down to sleep.

Neither of you spoke to the other for days after that.

It was one morning, not even when the sun was out, as you tried to tiptoe around him, did he ask from his makeshift bed.

“Do you remember where the house is?”

You nearly fell off the ledge of the hayloft. “What is wrong with you?!”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes!” you whispered, afraid to wake the whole farm. “Why?”

“We made the water pump, and the walls and floors are finished. We’ll be able to sleep there now.”

“I don’t see the appeal in sleeping in a house with no roof.”

“I’ll put half of it on today. Tell your foreman too that you won’t be able to work for the next week.”

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I’m teaching you how to tend to a farm.” He wrapped his blankets tighter around him and turned his back to you.

And you continued on your way; making the long trek to the city, which would only be longer when you moved to the house.

When your work was over, you walked and walked. You took a short break at the farmer’s house, making your final goodbyes to the children, and gathering what little belongings you owned.

As you tried to leave, Diana stopped you. She was leading one of the horses, a berber, behind her.

“Take her,” she handed you the reins. “you shouldn’t have to walk so far.”

You shook your head. “I simply cannot-.”

“-I insist.” She smiled. “She’s yours now. Think of it as payment for helping me with the little beasts that are my children.”

Smiling politely, it soon faded. She took notice. “What is it?”

“…I’ve only ever ridden once, and I was a child.”

She sighed yet was still kind. “Come on, my husband’s horse is at your farm. I’ll ride back with him.”

Despite your inexperience, it was actually nice riding a horse. It was perhaps the closest you could ever come to flying in your lifetime; maybe that’s why you enjoyed it. As you were nearing your soon-to-be home, you saw a familiar silhouette along with some others.

Atop the house, against the setting sun, you watched as Lucius continued to add tiles to the unfinished roof. His shirt was off, and even with night beginning to set in with the cold air, he was still breaking a sweat from the rigorous work. You would be a liar if you say that you didn’t catch yourself staring, and it was Diana who had to take the reins.

“What a fine home!” She broke you out of your trance, and when Lucius looked in your direction, you snapped your gaze away.

Lucius nodded. “All that needs to be done is the roof.” He jumped onto the ground just as you were sliding off the horse. He gave you his hand as you were, and you took it.

“Thank you.”

Atticus and the other workers went to a lone tree where their horses were tied. Atticus then approached both you and Lucius.

“Well,” he smiled. “it was lovely hosting the both of you. Please come back as often as you can; I’m sure the children will miss you.”

You all exchanged your final goodbyes, and it when everyone rode off away from you, did you realize something. This was the first time in a while you were alone with Lucius that wasn’t when going to sleep or waking up.

“Do you have a name for the horse?” Lucius asked.

Turning over your shoulder, you led the steed to the tree, petting her as you began to tie her up. “Not at the moment. She’s yours too, do you have any?”

“You’ll be with her more; you should name her.”

Humming you looked at him when you finished securing the horse. “You asked them to give her to me, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “They asked how they could repay you for taking care of their children, I mentioned how it would be a longer journey to the city once we moved here. That’s all I did.”

…He was better at asking for forgiveness than for permission; that was another thing you learned about him. Still, you nodded your appreciation, inspecting the area around you. It was quite beautiful even with its plainness. The fields stretched on for miles, and there were no tall buildings to cover the night sky. Even the unfinished house brought a sense of happiness to you.

Something that was, at least partially, your own.

“Where will the barn and chicken coop go?” You questioned.

A hint of a smile played on his mouth, but in Lucius fashion, did his best to hide it. “You were complaining about not having a roof, and now you wonder about things for the animals?”

“Perhaps I’m more interested in farming that you are.”

“I’ll teach you.” he led you into the house. “Come on.”

The front living space was large, and in the corner of it had an oven, so that was where the kitchen would be. Lucius showed you the two rooms as well; each having a single pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll begin planting tomorrow.” he announced. “I don’t think I’ll have to wake you up.”

“You won’t.” You nodded. “Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Goodnight.” He said your name.

You didn’t think you’d ever get over the sound of your own name from his lips.

You named the horse after your mother. Well…not the exact same name, but a similar one. It was quite a scene too when confessing to Lucius you could exactly remember how to ride a horse by yourself.

He didn’t laugh at you, that was what greatly surprised you. He spent an hour teaching you, and you were able to ride her on your own.

Farming was more difficult than you thought it would be, but not so horrible either. Yes, where Lucius was patient with you for the first few days, he made a few snide comments as time passed. Nothing outright mean, but still enough to get under your skin.

Still, you managed to pick it up within the few weeks after that.

He had even let you help him finish the roof of the house; something you didn’t expect him to do. After living in the house for a month, both of you managed to buy actual beds for your rooms, among other luxuries like a few tables and chairs for the main living area, and utensils both for cooking and for eating.

The bathroom was completely bare. Having spent all the money on everything else, it would take time for the both of you to buy a bathtub. Bathing wasn’t a problem back on Atticus and Diana’s farm, but now being away from them, you would be forced to rely on the public baths in the city…

Even with some bathhouses having baths only for women, that did not stop men from forcing their way into them.

You didn’t mind being dirty for weeks on end.

The two of you fell into another pattern of life; you going into the city and spending hours translating foreign dialogue, and Lucius working on the farm for most days, sometimes accompanying you.

There was…something else strange as well.

It was always a coin toss on what weeks Lucius would speak to you or not.

Yes, he was always a man of few words, but this was different. There were some days when you asked him about his day, he would tell you what boring tasks he did. Than, on others, it was just one word: “Good.”

Never “Bad”, never “Just okay”; only “Good”. Even when you knew it wasn’t, that’s all he would say.

And you could endure it.

It had already been a little over half a year since the two of you started living together. In the eyes of Rome (as mere Plebians), you would be married once a year passed.

This was perhaps the best marriage you could as for as a Roman woman. Still…every day that Lucius would not speak to you only brought more dread upon your shoulders.

When he stopped even looking at you, that was when you went to Diana one day.

“It’s so lovely to see you.” She smiled, setting down two cups of wine and sitting. “It’s felt like ages!”

With her youngest baby on your lap, you chuckled, taking a sip of your drink. “You honestly didn’t need to get the wine out.”

“Nonsense!” She waved her hand. “It’s a celebration just to be in your presence. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

“How’s the farm? Lucius?”

“Well,” you took another sip, setting your cup down. “the farm has been alright. I know at least how to properly water crops and know when they’re ready to harvest or not. I help Lucius sometimes, but…he likes things his own way. He was a farmer too, I understand.”

She hummed. “And as a betrothed? I hope having your own home would help; to me, you two treated each other more like acquaintances than anything else.”

All you could do was avoid eye contact and bounce the giggling baby on your knee.

“Ah.” She sighed. “So not much has changed?”

“We both talk more than we had at your far, but somehow, less at the same time.” You explained.

Diana reached over and held your hand, asking softly. “When was the last time you were intimate?”

As if she were a man, you tore your hand from hers. “What?”

“I do not wish anything to be forced upon you,” she stated first. “especially with what has happened to you. But…it is still important, especially to your future marriage.”

“We…we haven’t done anything in…months.” You were not going to tell her you hadn’t even seen him naked. You were not going to tell her you hadn’t done you “duty” as a woman.

She nodded. “There must be something plaguing his mind terribly.”

“I know that!” You cried. “He just won’t tell me.”

“Men do not like talking,” Diana sighed. “I have been married to Atticus for fifteen years, and even after ten children, there are parts of his past I still do not know of. What Lucius frets over is important though. You must dig your heels into the ground and let him know you are not doing anything until he tells you what he has issue with.”

The baby on your lap cooed as you held her, reaching for parts of your clothing. Diana took her from you once the baby started fussing, and you offered her a grateful smile.

“I’ll try my best with him.”

She squeezed your shoulder. “He will come to his senses. If not, then he truly hit his head too hard in the Colosseum.”

Except, you couldn’t confront him when you got home. Even though the sun was only beginning to set, when you arrived, the house was silent. You peeked into his bedroom and saw that he was already fast asleep.

With a sigh, you finished your nightly activities, and when the sun went down, you were in your own bed.

The nightmare was unlike any you had before.

Hands from all around you reached out to you. Some grabbed clumps of your hair, stuck their fingers into your mouth, caressed the most intimate parts of your body, or even tear your skin off.

You blinked and then you were in the palace, surrounded by cloaked figures. Someone forced you onto your back, and you looked up and saw Geta, raising a knife high above his head before diving it into your stomach. He carved it out before digging his hands into the opening he made and pulled out your womb.

After sitting up in bed, you had thought you awoken. When you opened your bedroom door, you were welcomed to a field of reeds, seeing nothing for miles. All but a silhouette in the distance. You could not make out it to be a man or a woman; all you knew was that you needed to run to them.

Yet, even as you dashed through the fields, calling out a name you do not even remember, your feet sank into the ground with each step.

The earth swallowed you whole before you could even reach them.

You didn’t awake with a scream; you didn’t even awake with a cry. You did awake in a sweat. Sitting up, you slowly pulled the blanket away from your body. Your stomach was unwounded, and nothing had happened.

Without knowing why, you rose from your bed and slipped on your sandals. Not even putting on a robe, you walked out of the house into the cold, night air. Numbly, you treaded through the tall grass away from the house and stopped.

The stars above you watched as you fell to your knees, and the past finally had the last laugh.

You wept for your mother (whose touch you never felt).

You wept for your father (who you had to take care of the same way he took care of you).

You wept for Marcus (the first man outside of your father to ever see you as a person).

You wept for Lucilla (the woman who saved you in more ways than one).

You wept for the innocence you lost to the twin emperors (and how you mercilessly killed them).

You wept and wept, until you felt bile claw its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

The tears did not stop even after you were finished.

Two hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you tried to tear yourself away with a sharp cry. You were turned around, and even though your tears blinded you, you could see that it was Lucius.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his eyes grown.

You couldn’t speak clearly, only shaking your head and saying ‘No’ over and over. Lucius led you to the water pump and sat you down by it. Cranking the handle until the water flowed freely, he cupped his hand to catch some of it before gently washing your face.

The cool water grounded you, and your sobs began to slow. Once you were only left with shallow breathing and a stuffed nose, Lucius finally sat beside you.

“What happened?” He asked again, although, returning to his normal, straight-toned self.

“Bad dream.” Was all you said.

He said nothing at first. Then, looking down at the grass beneath him, he said. “Would talking about it help you?”

It was meant to be a helpful question, but it only angered you. “You ask that now? After I run out into the night screaming?”

Lucius squinted his eyes. “Why does that bother you?”

“I know you have nightmares too.” You scoffed. “I have asked you dozens of times if you wish to talk to me about them, and you have always said no. You’ve never once asked me about mine, so how dare you expect me to tell you about it now when you cannot even share yours with me!”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head.

You stood up, walking back to the house. “You’re right, it isn’t fair.”

He jumped to his feet. “You can’t walk away without telling me why this is troubling you.”

“You first.”

“What?”

You turned to face him. “We are to be married in less than a year, at least ‘In the eyes of Rome’ as you say, yet you do not even look at me anymore!”

His shoulders fell, and he shook his head. “I am looking at you-.”

“-I ask you how you are these days, and you lie to me every time.” You interrupted. “The few instances you allow me to work beside you, you criticize every little thing I do. I understand that I am the farthest thing you wanted for as a wife-.”

It was that word that struck a chord. Despite saying it every so often those past few months…it was only then it occurred to you that where Lucius was your first husband…you were not his first wife.

He tore his gaze away from yours, as if he knew you had figured it out. You sighed. “Gods above…I’m sorry for what has happened to her, and I will never know the loss of a love like that…but I cannot be viewed as her replacement-.”

“-Who told you that you were?” He sharpened his tone.

You swallowed, knowing that this would all end in tears no matter what you said. “You do not tell me anything. I will never ask you to care for me the way you cared for her, but she is gone-.”

“-I couldn’t do anything after she died but weep and watch her body float into the ocean.” He hissed. “I vowed to kill the man that slaughtered her, and I didn’t. It had been perhaps just a month since her death, did I promise myself to another woman. I have dishonored her memory three times.”

“I do not know how long you need me to apologize for something I could not control, but I will if that means you will stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate that I will be your wife!” Your voice was growing hoarse. “I don’t understand it at all. I will be whatever it is you wish me to be in few months’ time, because you will own me. Even if you wish me to be dead, it shall be done because what I want will not matter-.”

“-Must you make everything about yourself?!” He finally yelled. “Would it soothe you if I said I despised every part of you? That if Jupiter himself came down and offered me my old life in exchange for you, I would give you up to him?! Would it give you any peace of mind if I told you I would have rather died in the arena than live a thousand years with you?”

You had expected him to at least pause after he made his confession. To at least have the courage to look you in the eye and watch as the words sunk into your being. Yet, as soon as he finished, he stomped back to the house; and you were alone outside again.

The tears upon your face glimmered from the light in the sky above you, for all you could do was stare at the little farmhouse Lucius had built for you.

How strange that something you once saw as a sign of devotion, was now revealed to be one of complicity.

He had admitted his disdain for your future marriage. You knew that it would be loveless (you would never escape that), but you wished at least for respect. Seeing as how you were not even going to have that, you dragged your feet over to the tree where your horse was tied up. Mounting her with nothing but the clothes on your back, you raced down the pathway.

For the first day, you had stayed at Diana and Atticus’ farm. You said nothing about Lucius, and tried to spend the most time with the children to avoid any questions.

On the second day, you finally went back to the city. Even though the man in charge of you yelled louder than Lucius had at you, it did not phase you. You merely nodded and returned to work. With what money they paid you for the day, you spent it on a room at the safest inn you could find. You had another nightmare that night. Not as horrible as the one two days prior, but awful enough for you to lay awake until the sun rose.

The third day seemed to be ordinary, until you finished your job, and you were promenading along the market. As you eyed the fruit at Isidorus’ stand, a man came to stand beside you.

“Good sir,” you heard Lucius’ voice. “do you have a wife?”

Isidorus nodded. “I do.”

“What from your stand would you give her if she was angry at you?”

He eyed you before smiling at Lucius. “My ears to listen.”

You turned, promptly walking away. Of course, Lucius followed.

“I didn’t know you confided into strangers about our qualms.”

“He’s not a stranger.” you kept trying to lose him. “And gifts will not suffice for an apology this time.”

He got in front of you, uttering your name. You stopped, sighing. “What else have you come to say to me?”

“That I am a fool.”

Although you weren’t necessarily expecting him to admit it, you only nodded. “You very much are.”

He began. “For my entire life, I was not allowed to be entirely truthful with others. Whether it was how I felt in the moment, or even my own name. I’m not used to the freedom of being candid with one another. And I have been mistreating you; I have provided a home, but I haven’t provided your wellbeing. Ari-.” Lucius paused, breathing through his nose. “Arishat and I lived on a farm, that was all I knew while being a husband. I will love her until the end of my days, but that does not give me the right to neglect you. I will…I will try with all my being to share my thoughts with you.”

You stared at him, feeling as if you would blink, and you would awaken from another dream. Yet once you did and saw that he was still in front of you, you said.

“I didn’t mean to insult your memory of her.”

He shook his head. “I believe she would hit me if she were here and saw how I treated you.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. “Truly, for everything. I…it’s not only you, I don’t know if I will ever feel like myself after…everything.”

Lucius already knew. Still, looking around himself, he then said. “Where is your horse?”

“The inn I’ve been staying at has a stable. You walked the whole way here?”

“It’s what I deserved.”

“You smell horrible.” You mustered a shy grin.

He mirrored you, looking away. “I have for a while.”

“I do as well. I was…I was going to brave the baths; would you like to join me?”

Your offer took him by surprise. Usually, a question like that would be an invitation to more salacious activities to take place. Still, what took him aback more was how you were initially so afraid of the public baths, yet there you were.

“I shall.” He agreed.

Thus, the two of you walked beside one another. There were many baths in Rome, yet it would be challenging to find one that had a separate bath for women and one for men. By the time you reached the third bathhouse, you sighed.

“This will do.”

Lucius shook his head. “I’ll ask the workers at this one if they know-.”

“-No.” You stopped him. “It’s fine. I wish to speak more with you.”

He was still hesitant, but gave in. The two of you entered and drifted off to the separate changing rooms. It was strange that the bathhouse had rooms for the different sex to disrobe, but not baths itself.

After locking your clothes away, you ventured out into the main pool. You were welcomed to an array of naked bodies. You weren’t entirely innocent of course, even before everything. You were never to see any of these people again; it was Lucius you would live with.

Quickly, you disappeared half of your body under the surface of the water and clung to the wall of the large bath. Other people around you laughed and socialized, only putting you more in the eyes of men who only came to the baths for one thing.

Yet, before you could take a moment to worry, your eyes fell to Lucius who entered. You soon averted them and felt the water shift beside you as he entered. You turned to look at him, leveling yourself with the side of the pool, essentially shoulder to shoulder with him. The hear radiating off of his body onto yours reminded you too much of that night months ago; the one where you whispered your name into his ear.

“What were you like as a boy?” You questioned in an attempt to hide how flustered you were.

He hummed. “Why do you ask?”

“If you wish to be more honest with me, than I think it should be best to stary with something minor.”

“I understand. I was spoiled growing up in the palace. Still, I wished nothing more than for adventure. All my life, the mere thought of war and battles were taught as a way to bring glory to the empire; pride for one’s family. I had gotten my foolish wish when Maximus died, and my mother sent me away from Rome.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “I ran all across the land until I was thirteen, where I finally settled in Numidia. I had changed my named too many times to count and settled upon Hanno.”

Your attention did not waver for a moment. When he was finished you asked. “How old were you when you left?”

“Eight…” There was a sad silence between the two of you. A silence held in almost reverence for all the troubles he had been through. “What about you?”

Even with your uneasiness to answer your starkly different childhood, you did so; also have been promising to be honest with him. You spoke of your father, your past friends, the house you grew up in. He never once looked upon you with envy or hatred.

“Your father sounded like a good man.” He said.

“He was.” You nodded, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I think he would have liked you.”

“I can only hope.”

The conversation halted after that, unknown if you should wait for him to ask a question, or for you to ask another. Both of your eyes drifted around the bath house as people filtered in and out. When your gaze fell back onto Lucius’ you watched his eyes flicker to something behind you. Before you could utter a word, he placed his hand upon your bare back, bringing his lips to the space between your ear and your jaw.

It all happened so fast you had no time to react, and your body shivered upon the feel of him being so close to you.

“There’s a man eyeing you from behind.” He whispered into your skin. “Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me. I’m sorry.”

You pulled away slightly, doing as he told. He traced circles on your back with his thumb, staring intently at you. Even as you shrunk under his eyes, they did not frighten you.

Deciding to play along, you trailed your hand up his bare arm until resting on his shoulder. You felt his skin erupt into goosebumps and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Okay?” You asked.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just…it’s been a while.”

Anyone with any sense knew that meant more than one thing. It had been a while since he felt anyone’s touch; nonetheless, a naked woman’s.

From behind him, you saw a small group of girls all looking at you. They all looked a little younger than you, and acted like so, giggling loudly and talking without a care in the world. It was only then that you noticed they were looking at Lucius.

“Is there someone eyeing me now?” He attempted to tease you when he noticed your gaze.

You nodded, no hint of humor behind your voice. “A good few of them.”

“Is that so?”

You removed your hand. “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t mind what?” He pinched his eyebrows together.

“…Getting your release from a woman that isn’t me.” You were puzzled by his seeming ignorance. “You’re a man, I understand-.”

He said your name with somewhat of gasp. You didn’t listen one bit.

“No, I mean it. I will not be more selfish than I already have been, expecting you to remain celibate because I don’t think I will-.”

Lucius said your name again and you stopped. Even when you did, he said it a third time as if to know he had your attention. He continued to run his fingers up and down your back.

“I will not dishonor you-.”

“-I have been dishonored several times before, it does not matter-.”

“-Listen to me.” He said softly yet firmly. “Even if I desired someone carnally, it is not selfish of you to want my loyalty. I’m not a boy who wishes to bed anything that breathes. I don’t think I can do so with someone I do not have any deep feelings for. You are my wife, and I will not treat you less.”

He didn’t call you his ‘betrothed’. As if, the moment you accepted his apology, you were already his other half. To hear him speak with so much certainty after neither of you knowing what any day would bring…it brought an astonishing comfort you never knew you needed.

“Thank you.” You felt like your heart could beat again.

“You don’t-.”

“-No but I do. I don’t…I don’t think I could give you anything of myself if you wanted it. It’s still…I remember a lot of what Geta did to me, and I forgot it at the same time. It doesn’t happen a lot in my nightmares, but it still does. That one night you found me he…he cut out my womb and held it in his hands. I thought I woke up, but I didn’t, and I think I was in Elysian Fields, but I only saw a shadow. I don’t know what any of that means.”

Lucius let you finish all of the anxiety you had thrown onto him. Still, releasing a shallow breath, he said.

“You die in most of my dreams.” He clarified. “The bad ones, I mean. A lot of people do, but you’ve been in them the most. There are times I see both you and Arishat, or my mother, or all three of you and…those are the worst. The night I found you outside, I couldn’t…I had a horrible dream that I couldn’t even see your face, but I knew it was you when I found you hanging in the Colosseum.”

If the both of you weren’t naked and, in the bathhouse, you would have embraced him. Yet, with the most understanding look in your eyes, you brought your hand to the base of his neck, his loose curls between your fingers. You swore you felt him relax into your touch for just a moment.

“I’ve known everyone to have their own beliefs of dreams.” You whispered. “They’re meant to predict the future, they reflect the past, they are punishments, they are blessings, and they mean nothing. I wonder if it’s possible they are all of them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

“I do.” Lucius unknowingly leaned into you just ever so slightly. You grinned from ear to ear, pulling your hand away from him. “I believe you need to cut your hair.”

He chortled. “I’m not spending anything on cutting it. It’s fine.”

“I’ll cut it then.”

“I would rather be stabbed.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic.” you playfully swatted him. “There’s a reason I would’ve been a better hairdresser than tailor.”

The two of you teased one another for a minute longer after that. Than, even though the conversation died, it was not in vain. There was a quiet gentleness and protectiveness as you both shared a short distance between each other while bathing. Lucius kept his eye on you more than you did him, knowing that it was always possible a man could try to take advantage of you.

When all was said and done, you got your horse from the stable at the inn, and the two of you rode back to the farm with a newfound understanding of each other.

More than a year and a half have passed since the fall of the Roman Empire and its subsequent birth of the Republic. Your strange marriage with Lucius grew into a friendship of respect and understanding. You both talked more than you had when you were first betrothed, even if your busy schedules remained the same.

The farm had improved after its first harvest, even raising enough money to build a chicken coop and house a few chickens. The house itself was more furnished, and the two of you managed to purchase a bathtub, no longer needing to use the public ones in the city.

Both of you had changed as well. Even with what minimal farm work you did, it built both your strength and stamina. Lucius had begun to grow out his facial hair; not much for it to be an actual beard, but more so just under his nose. You’d joke about it looking like a caterpillar, to which he would lightly shove you away.

After the intimate discussion the two of you shared, it was only then you both realized you still didn’t know much about each other. Most importantly, the little things that made each of you a person.

So, you’d take time to get to know one another.

You were helping Lucius pull weeds around the crops when you found out he had ripped a monkey’s throat out with his teeth during his very first gladiator fight.

You were reading a collection of poetry one night when Lucius told you that you mouth the words of whatever you’re reading if you find it most interesting.

During supper one night, Lucius ate the entirety of the plate only to then eat whatever else you hadn’t. That was when your theory was proven right; he does forget to eat sometimes.

Both of you had tried to keep the housework to an equal amount; if he cooked one night, you’d clean the kitchen and vice versa. Yet, some remained stagnant; you always cut his hair, yet he always changed the horses’ shoes.

Cutting his hair was perhaps your favorite way to speak with him.

“Remember to clean your sandals before coming in next time.” He reminded you as he sat on a tree trunk outside. “You tracked in mud.”

Standing behind him while trimming small hairs, you shook your head. “My apologies, master of the house; it was downpouring and I was freezing.”

“Serves you right, I’d say.”

You placed the tip of the shears against his neck. “What else do you have to say?”

He snickered. “That you’re an astonishing woman who I am blessed to have.”

“Wrong answer, all lies.” You pretended to stab him, only to bring the shears back to his hair.

“I’m not lying!” Lucius laughed.

You only gave him a ‘tsk’ before continuing. “Are you sleeping any better?”

He said nothing at first. Your eyes drifted down to his hands and saw him pull on his tunic; another telltale sign of his nervousness.

“I keep seeing my mother’s face.” He admitted. “Only her face, nothing else.”

“It was the third night last night, right?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Would you want to hear a dream I had a few days ago to make you feel better?”

“Better because it was happy, or because you think I’ll feel happy I wasn’t you?”

“The latter.”

“Tell me.”

You turned his head to the side gently, continuing your work. “I stood in front of the entire senate of Rome, and they were all laughing at me. I don’t even know what I said, they only laughed and laughed.”

“Is that not what happened to you in the waking day?”

“No, they listened…I think.” You shook our head. “It more so angers me that, in the waking life, I presented logic to them, and they still chose Macrinus who showed nothing of the sort.”

“Some men like to speak of only desiring logic yet run away with their emotions once it is presented.” Lucius stated. “What had you told them?”

“That all of Rome would continue to riot if they killed Lucilla.” You said grimly. “I still don’t understand; they had their proof of the rage Rome’s children could feel when their general was killed, the only reason the city did not fall was because Macrinus was slain. I’m done.”

You set your shears down and Lucius stood, shaking the fallen hair off his clothes. He turned to you.

“If it matters at all, I think the only reason this house hasn’t fallen is because of you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, you shoved him playfully. “Away with you, you’re just as much of the reason as I am.”

“I do all that I can.”

There were moments like this where you would not speak of childhood memories or events of your day. These moments were reserved for the days where it felt like time slowed down just to give you two the grace to speak about them in more detail.

With only a single candle between the two of you one quiet night, you told him how you have to walk a different path in the city sometimes simply to avoid brothels; hating the sounds you would hear from inside, the stench of cheap perfume and sweating bodies burning your nose, the men who would brag to their friends about the women they had.

At breakfast one day, before the sun had even rose, Lucius told you about a time when he was ten, still on the run. He had gone into a man’s house with the promise of food, only to then be hit the head with something so heavy, he was knocked out. He had awoken in a dark room, but managed to find a curtained window, and escaped. He never knew what would have happened to him if he had woken up just a minute later.

There was tenderness you shared with him that you had never shared with anyone in your life.You sht

That was only more apparent on one fateful day.

The first bad omen for the day that morning was when you had run out of sugar for breakfast that morning. The second was when your horse was extra stubborn as you rode her into the city; it was so out of the ordinary, you wondered if you did something to make her hate you.

Still, everything was fine once you went to work. At least it was for the first half of the day.

There were aggressive people from across the land coming into the city you certainly had to deal with, but the worst was when a man twice your size bluffed you with a slap. Even so, the other men you worked with had yelled and sent her away.

That day though…there was a woman with a look in her eyes.

You thought you had seen pure rage when you had been with Geta. Yet, that day was a lesson to you; wrath had many faces.

She mumbled in Greek, but you did not know what she said at first. Then, she attempted to speak Latin. You politely told her you could speak Greek, and so with exhaustion, she told you that she was going to visit her mother.

When asked for her mother’s name, she didn’t say it. After asking again, she became enraged, yelling at you that she should just be able to be let in. When you resisted, she grabbed your bad arm, yanking it to pull you closer to her.

The pain shot through your shoulder like a bolt of lightning, and you cried out. She tugged on your hair as the men beside you tried to pry her away from you. Luckily, she didn’t manage to yank any of it out once the men forced her away from you. Tears fell freely over your face as you cradled yourself, unable to stop the sobs from leaving your lips.

They let you leave early yet paid you as if you were there the whole day.

The ride back to the farm wasn’t any better, but at least your steed took notice of your heartache and was more merciful to you. When you made it home, you slowed her down when you saw Lucius limping towards the house.

You both stopped where you were, staring at one another as if you weren’t supposed to be seeing the other.

“Why are you back so early?” He asked first.

“Why are you dragging your foot?” You asked second.

Lucius took a deep breath, and you saw tears in his eyes. “I fell.”

The only time you had seen him cry was when burying Lucilla; it wouldn’t be from simply falling. You slowly pulled yourself off your horse but did so quick enough before he could rush to help you. You wished nothing more than to pull him into the warmth of the house, to sit him down and tend to his wound to distract you from your own.

Yet, the moment you took his hand, he began to weep.

“Oh Lucius.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to cradle his face. He wrapped both of his arms around you, bringing you onto the ground with him. You yelped a little when he squeezed your bad shoulder too tight, and he pulled away.

“What happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You need-.”

“-What happened?!”

Knowing he wouldn’t stop asking, you told him. “Someone at the gate attacked me. Pulled on my bad arm, my hair…it wasn’t as bad as you’d think-.”

“-Where is he?” He lowered his tone and his demeanor.

Your jaw dropped into a surprised huff. “She is long gone by now, and even if she wasn’t then as my husband, you should stay with me instead of wandering the streets of Rome hoping to find someone to be your anger’s victim!”

Though he still wore that rage upon his face, it soon fell once he saw your own tears fall from your eyes like dewdrops on flowers. Lucius laid himself flat on the dirt, and you sat above him.

“I have been married to you longer than I had been to Arishat.” He confessed. “I knew her for longer, but-but not as deeply; no, I-I knew her more than…I don’t…It’s been long since her death, yet there are moments I think of her, and I cannot stop crying.”

You never knew this was in his heart. You knew to never speak of Arishat, only listen whenever he would bring her up (even so, it was once in a blue moon).

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled, trying to pull himself together. “I know she is gone, and I shouldn’t be-.”

“-You shouldn’t what?” You interrupted. “Remember her? You think I wish for you to forget the woman you so loved?”

He shook his head. “No, but it’s selfish of me to-.”

You were the one to make him lose his words this time. With both hesitation certainty, you placed his head into your lap. It was too late for you to stop once you did, and you felt your own body tense. Then, upon taking a look at his body battered from rigorous work, and another at his face, which relaxed with his eyes fully shut, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Lucius,” you sighed. “never will I think you are a horrible man for mourning her. You missing her shows just how much you adored her, and how she was a treasure to you. In another life, above all, I wish I could have met her. You are not in the wrong for wanting to see her again. I know you do not love me-.”

“-I do love you.” He opened his eyes upon saying it.

Your heart felt as if it was going to beat itself out of your chest and run away when he said those four words. To preserve your sanity, you took it a different way and smiled sadly.

“Not in the way you loved her.” You said softly. “But what else more can I ask for in a husband than one who treats me with a gentleness I did not know was possible? One who has been there to protect me even before we were married?”

Lucius took a deep breath, rubbing his face to clear away his tears. “You’re too good to me.”

“Gods above,” you groaned tiredly. “we can go back and forth on who deserves each other. Let us just go back into the house, have supper, and sleep.”

“I would like that.” He hissed as he went to stand.

Helping him, once he was on his best foot, you said. “You never told me what you did to your leg.”

He looked behind him at the field. “There was a snake and a rock.”

You gave him a look. “And what happened with them?”

“I don’t wish to speak of it.” He said grimly.

In any other instance, you would have laughed. Yet, as his eyes were still heavy from crying, you just nodded. The both of you helped each other into the house, and you sat him down on one of the several cushions in the living area.

“Your arm,” he asked. “how bad is it?”

You shook your head. “Just really sore. I think she might have left a nasty bruise or two somewhere, but I won’t know yet.”

“Put one of the cloths in the pot with water and put it over the fire.” He told. “Take it out after a few minutes, let it rest for another, then put it on your shoulder. It should help.”

“Thank you.” You stood, doing so, saying. “I swore we had bandages somewhere. I’ll make something for you to drink too; I bought some herbs just last week.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off of you as you worked. If it were any other man, you would have felt unsafe; yet, it was only Lucius.

Little by little that night, both of you helped heal one another.

Half a year passed since that night, and you and Lucius had only grown closer. Perhaps as close as you could be with a man who was not your husband by choice.

Not much on the farm had changed; you two were living comfortably, and happily, almost making all the turmoil from the first year worth it. The both of you decided to make more visits to Atticus and Diana’s home, realizing just how much you both missed having someone to talk to outside of each other; but that did not mean you had to keep things hidden of course.

If anything, you shared everything with each other.

So much so, that when Lucius asked you why you held onto him longer when he embraced you on your birthday, you told him the truth.

“I don’t want every time we touch to be when it is in turmoil.” You explained, growing meeker. “And I…I’ve missed the feeling of it when it has not been forced upon me.”

Lucius stared at you with a look you had never seen from him. He had been gentle with you many a times, but they way his eyes fell into yours…

He took a step closer to you, and when you showed no sign of discomfort, he took your face into his hands. Your eyes shut at the feeling of him, and he pressed his head against yours. Never in your life had someone’s breath upon your skin feel so immaculate.

From there on out, it always seemed like you had to have a hand on each other one way or another.

It started with holding hands whenever walking through the city together. He used to ‘lead’ you through the crowds in the past, but more so with a hand hovering over your back. No, him holding your hand meant he would have to go where you would go if anything were to happen.

Alongside this, he’d reach over and hold it at Atticus and Diana’s house; whether it was during dinner, or simply just talking. The eldest child had said what the rest of the household had been thinking.

“They’re finally acting like they’re married!”

Because even when there were no other eyes besides yours, he would still hold your hand. You wonder if it ever became a way for Lucius to ground himself; because it certainly did for you.

You hugged him more often as well. Those used to be for ‘substantial’ occasions; those being celebrations or heartbreaks. Now, they were incorporated into greetings and goodbyes. Of course, it only took a few weeks before they were than made into simple desires.

He would be cooking dinner, and you would come beside him to embrace him. You would be gathering eggs from the chickens, and he would wait for you to set the basket down before tossing his arms around you.

At night, it was normal for you both to trade spots as one of you would read a story, and the other would have their head in the other’s lap.

This happened on so many occasions, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise for what Lucius proposed next, but it did.

“If you don’t favor the question I’m about to ask you, then you are allowed to never speak to me again.” He said, his feet hanging off the arm of the lecti couch you both bought that year.

“Well,” you scoffed, sitting on the end of it. “I will have to speak to you again because we live together.”

��Would you want to sleep in my room tonight?” Never in your life had you thought that would have been his question. When you didn’t speak right away, he backtracked. “I don’t expect you to. I understand if-.”

“-The nights are growing colder.” You stated, no visible uneasiness. “I’ve noticed it, and I don’t think any number of blankets could warm me.”

He swallowed thickly, and this was perhaps one of the first times you’d ever seen him like this. “Yes…it’s cold.”

You nodded, and another beat of silence fell between you two. Standing up, you tugged at the seams of your dress. “I-I’ll go change.”

“Yes,” he sat up. “I shall as well.”

Disappearing into your room, you tossed your day clothes off then slipped on a nightdress. After pacing around the floor for a few moments, you gathered the courage to go out into the hall and knock on Lucius’ door.

It was opened as if he was standing right behind it.

He wore just a plain, tattered tunic, and said nothing; yet, you caught his eyes run down you before immediately bringing them back to your face. You were not even in his room yet, and already your body grew warmer.

“May I come in?” You asked.

“Yes, of course.” He stepped aside and you entered.

Somehow, you were no longer man and wife; you were two people who had just discovered a strange, yet burning, feeling that you both held for one another. A feeling that you were both afraid to say aloud…because then it would be real.

The only light in his room was from the moon just peeking through the curtain of his one window. Looking around, you saw that it was still just the bare minimum; a bed, a small table beside it with a lamp, and a dresser. The only others things of note were his sword leaning against the wall, and just a few dirty clothes on the floor.

“I-I tried to clean before you came.” He mentioned.

“Is the rest under the bed?” You asked.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

Before you could change your mind, you pulled the covers off one side of the bed and slid under them. Glancing behind at Lucius, you saw him wear a look where you knew he wanted to say something.

“What is it?” You asked.

“That’s usually the side I sleep on but-.”

You rolled over to the other side. “Are you content now?”

He wheezed, moving to his designated side, slipping under the covers. “Very.”

“Good.” You smiled up at him.

His own mouth lowered as you could see him thinking. He then said. “I don’t expect us to do anything.”

You watched as his eyes dropped from you, as if it was too invasive just to merely look. Thinking from only your heart, you scooted closer, resting your hand on his arm. You ran your fingers up and down his muscles, but then guided his arm to wrap around your waist.

“Okay?”

He hummed, pulling you just a little closer. “Yes.”

“And we’ll just lay together?” You whispered. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else.”

And that’s what you did. The compete truth was that you would caress him only to remind yourself that it was Lucius and not Geta. His arms, his back, his face…he was nothing like him.

After a few more nights, you told him that as you both lay awake, unable to sleep. He had pulled you on top of him that night, saying that you could see his face better in the moonlight. You only giggled, hiding your face in his chest; even that was too much for you.

It was easier to tell each other things in the darkness. You always knew that, but with being in the same bed (you had not gone back to your room for a week), the words flowed out of both your mouths.

“After my father died,” you said one night as you laid on your side facing him. “I would stroke my own hair or even my arms and pretend they were someone else’s. Even when I was with Geta.”

Lucius stared at you, then immediately began to caress your cheek. You shut your eyes, sighing at the feeling.

“I never thought I’d be able to sleep next to another woman again.” He whispered.

“And now?” You looked into his eyes.

He stopped his movements, but did not remove his hand. You watched every part of him. How his chest heaved shallowly, his arms tensing ever so slightly, but his eyes…gods his eyes. They were heavy as they looked at you; a look that made your heart flutter and not shutter.

Swallowing your fear, you sat up and inched closer to him. Your face hovered above his, and your breath heated his skin. His hand continued to trace shapes about your cheek, and shutting your eyes, you placed your lips upon his.

It was the gentlest kiss you ever shared with a man.

You had pulled away, dreading to see how he felt. When your eyes befell his gentle smile, and his other hand came up to cup your face, you kissed him again.

And again, and again, and again.

You climbed upon his lap without pulling your lips away from him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He sat up, his own arm encircling your waist and drawing you impossibly closer.

Lucius parted from you, and as you whined at the loss of his lips, they soon settled upon your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your chin. Your heavy pants turned to soft grunts as he kissed down your neck, his mustache scratching your skin in just the right way.

Your hands settled into his hair the lower he traveled, moving your night gown off your shoulder to kiss your collarbone. You felt yourself becoming intoxicated from him, and only then noticed you had been for a while.

Oh, how you wished you could bottle up his laugh, his strength, his stubbornness, and get drunk every night. His kisses only added fuel to the fire that was your desire for him.

He sunk his teeth into your skin, and your body, once enflamed, ran cold.

“No!” You tore yourself from his lap, nearly falling off the bed.

Lucius said your name, leaning forward on instinct but soon stopped once he saw you crawl away. “I’m sorry.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. All you knew was that you needed to go, so you did. Cradling yourself in your arms, you got up from his bed, rushing out of his room and into yours.

You half expected him to knock on the door, then, when you wouldn’t answer, him yell and curse you before breaking it down. Yet nothing of the sort happened. You heard his own door open, and you saw his shadow on the other side, but he did not touch your door. He left after a moment of waiting.

When his own door shut, did you finally cry.

You told yourself that night, you would wake up far earlier than Lucius would so you simply wouldn’t have to see him.

When you awoke, you did the exact opposite. You laid in your bed, trying to return to sleep, only to be forced to lie in the dark. The sun rose into your room, and you heard Lucius’ door open. Still, you did not get up.

It was quite comedic, actually. With your door still shut, he knew you were still home. How he tried his best to keep quiet for you, yet his footsteps had always been heavy, the front door had always creaked, and you could always hear him cursing under his breath every time.

When you knew he had left the house, that was when you stood from your bed, slipping on your sandals. You didn’t bother changing out of your nightdress, leaving your room, and then the house.

Lucius was amongst the chickens when he saw you. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise upon his face at the sight of you. You walked to him until there was little space between you.

“Last night-.”

You took his hand from his side, placing it upon your face. He rubbed your cheek with his thumb as if it was natural. Kissing the palm of his hand, you trailed it down to your clothed breast. He breathed your name with hesitance, but you shushed him. You held his hand there, not taking your eyes off him.

“I will show you, one day.” You told him. “I will show you the mark Geta had made. The one where I myself can scarcely see it, yet I know that it haunts me. But now…” You brought your other hand up to his face, tracing your thumb over his lip. “I just want you to understand.”

He kissed the pad of your thumb, nodding. You embraced him, and he held you with both gentleness and ferocity. The rest of the day carried on as normal, yet you aided him with the chores on the farm.

You went to bed with him that night, but it was the first time he did not entrap you in his arms. You knew he was still afraid of hurting you, but you would be a liar if you said you weren’t thankful for the space.

Still, he would feel your touch every day; whether it was something as small as brushing his hand, or as substantial as kissing his cheek.

As the both of you lay awake one night, you played with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Could I lie on top of you?” You asked.

Lucius looked over at you, nodding. “You never need to ask.”

“I want to.” You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. “I never want to force you to do anything.”

His eyes fell to your hips before returning them to your face. “I’ll tell you if I wish to not do something. I hope you know you can as well.”

“I do. Would you like to touch me?”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

You moved his hands to your hips, which he held firmly, yet not enough to hurt you. You leaned down so your lips touched his.

“No teeth.” You said.

“No teeth.” He repeated.

Lucius sighed into your mouth as you kissed. Despite how you were on top of him, the kiss was sweet, shy even. When you pulled away, you trailed your lips from his cheek to his ear.

“Do you dream about me?” You rasped.

He said nothing, and you continued to kiss every part of his face besides his lips.

“It’s okay.” You kissed his Adam’s Apple. “I want you too.”

“Yes.” His breath hitched.

“What was I doing in your favorite one?” You kissed his pulse point.

“You,” he breathed sharply through his nose. “you’re touching yourself.”

“Would that please you?” You sat up in somewhat surprise, resting your hands on his chest. “To watch me do so?”

He shook his head. “I want to do what pleases you.”

It felt foreign to hear someone say they want you to feel good. Instead of cowering from it, you faced it head on. You kneeled for a moment, hiking your gown up to your hips before sitting back on your ankles, exposing yourself to him. Lucius’ jaw clenched at the sight of your naked center, and he drew his hands away from your hips, falling them into fists upon the mattress.

“I wish to watch you as you watch me.”

Without looking away from you, he drew his hand down to his cock, pulling it out from under his tunic. Your eyes grew just a hint. There was no doubt upon him being more well-endowed than others, but it was still different from how you imagined.

Shutting your eyes, you trailed your fingers over your cunt, your thumb playing with your clit. The sounds of Lucius’ smothered grunts, and the skin of his cock on his fingers only added to your pleasure. Digging deeper and moving faster, you felt a coil within your stomach tighten when you opened your eyes and saw as Lucius’ gaze bore into yours.

Light moans escaped your lips as your hips moved with a mind of their own, watching the man beneath you take pleasure from his own hand. It was him chanting your name like a prayer that sent you over the edge. With your eyes shut, the coil within you snapped, and pleasure filled your veins.

Not long after, you felt a warmth coat your nightdress. Opening your eyes, you looked down and saw the white-hot residue of Lucius’ release. Your gaze drew to his cock, still clutched in his hand, yet red with droplets of white running over his knuckles.

You don’t know what possessed you to, but you lowered your mouth down to clean him with your tongue.

“Gods be good!” He huffed, laughing your name.

“What?” You wiped your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

Grinning like the devil, you slid off the bed, walking towards the door. “I hope it’s a pleasant one then.”

He sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To change. You dirtied me as well.” You teased.

“Take one of my tunics from the dresser.”

It almost made you laugh that he didn’t want you to leave for even a second. You opened the top drawer, grabbing the longest tunic you could find before facing him. “Close your eyes.”

He laid on his side, putting a pillow over his head. Many would find it strange how the both of you would see the most intimate parts of yourself while doing one of the most intimate acts together, yet you didn’t want him to see you naked.

But Lucius never thought of it as strange. He knew what you had been through, and never once judged you.

When you were clothed, you slid into bed, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re a good man, Lucius Verus Aurelius.” You whispered. “I will tell you that until the day you die, or when you finally believe me.”

He squeezed your hand, relaxing into your touch. You never slept so peacefully until that night.

You always had to see him whenever he would touch you so intimately. There would be nights where there was only a single candle in the room either while he caressed the swell of our breasts, or the inside of your thigh as you sat on his lap.

His fingers were too much for you at first, but he never ridiculed you. When you whimpered at the feeling, he retracted them, kissing your eyes. You asked him again to try, and he whispered praises into your hair as the pain from a dry spell soon turned into pleasure.

It was usually at night did these moments of exploration occurred. In the day, the most you would ever do was kiss. That is, until the first time you cut his hair since the discovery of feelings.

“I don’t want to get hair on your floor.” Lucius said as he sat on the floor, leaning his back against the foot of your bed. It was hotter than sin that day. He wore nothing but a loincloth, but that barely did anything to help him from the heat. You wore essentially a thin shift that would usually be under your dress; yet again, because of the heat, that was all you wore.

You sat on the bed, legs draped over his shoulders as you cut his hair. “It’s your floor too. You built the house.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I haven’t slept here for a while now. Besides, I will clean up.”

“I had no idea you favored doing domestic work now.” He turned and pressed a kiss to your knee.

You slapped the back of his head. “Don’t move! I’ll give you a bald spot if you do so again.”

“Yes, my mistress of the house.” He joked.

“You’re horrible.”

“You just told me I was a good man not so long ago.”

“And I can just as easily revoke that title.”

He stayed silent the rest of the time, but not from any underlining anger. Simply from his at ease posture, you knew he was smiling.

He smiled more those days.

When you were finished, you tossed your scissors aside, but Lucius’ hands settled upon your thighs, not allowing you to get up. You scoffed.

“What is it?”

He turned to face you, kneeling up to meet you. “I wish to try something, but only if you wish it as well.”

You rose your brow, but smiled, kissing his nose. “It will be difficult if I do not know what it is.”

Without drawing his eyes away from yours, he slid his hands up your thighs, bringing the bottom of your shift with it. It seemed normal at first, but once he lowered his mouth, your chest tightened.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“I want to kiss you there.” His breath caressed your cunt and you mewled at the feeling. “I think you’ll enjoy it, but we don’t have to.”

Your heart changed from beating in fear, to then in anticipation. You loved how he kissed your lips, and every inch of your skin that was not covered, what would it feel like to have his lips there?

Kissing the top of his head, you laid on your elbows, nodding.

“Let me hear you say it.” He nosed the inside of your thigh.

“Yes.” You sighed. “Please.”

He lowered his mouth back down, pressing the lightest of kissed onto your center. You groaned through shut lips, only for them to part open as the hairs of his mustache tickled you whilst he began to lap at your wetness.

Tossing your head back, you sat up, running your hands through his hair, unconsciously rolling your hips to meet his mouth. His groan reverberated through your body, only adding to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Lucius, Lucius,” you babbled his name until it didn’t sound like a word.

His nose bumped against your aching clit the same time his tongue penetrated your cunt. You yelped as that familiar, tightening feeling swept over you. His half-lidded eyes would stare up at you every once in a while, as he would continue to drink from you as if he had been stranded in the desert. Just as you were on the brink of release, you drew him away from you.

“What-what is it?” He huffed. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pressing your lips to his before scooting further up the bed. With one last breath, you pulled your shift over your head, revealing your bare body to him. His gaze ran over your figure unashamedly.

“Come here.” You beckoned.

He crawled onto the bed and over your body, yet still looked at your face. You took his hand and laid it over your breast. His body ran cold at what was on the side of it. A bite mark.

“He branded me all those years ago.” You confessed. “And it has not left since.”

Geta…

You ran your hand up his chest. “I love you, and I trust you with every part of my body. I need you to know that.”

“I love you.” He echoed, pressing the tenderest of kisses to the mark and you gasped lightly. “I have for so long now; I…I need you.”

“Then have me.”

He sat back on his knees, unwrapping his loin cloth and tossing it to the floor. Precum leaked from his sweltering cock as it stood upright like a pillar. You crawled over, kissing every inch of his face and climbing into his lap. He drew his arms around your waist, his finger tracing circles into the small of your back.

“I don’t know how long I will last.” He puffed heavily. “It’s been so long.”

“I just want you inside of me.” You kissed his jaw, taking his cock into your hand and sinking down onto it. It had been a while for you too, and while you were soaked, it was not enough to completely subside the tightness. “Just…wait.”

“I could die happy if all you wanted was for me to remain still as you’re above me.” He said into your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, sinking your nails into his skin because that was the only way to remind you that he was still there. The further you sunk down on him, the easier and more pleasureful you felt.

“I’m going to move now.” You said into his shoulder, and you did.

Slowly, at first you relished in the quiet slapping of skin and the breath moans leaving both you and Lucius’ lips. He trailed a syrupy line of kisses down your throat until he bowed his head to place them upon your chest.

“Your name,” Lucius said into your skin. “tell me your name.”

You gave him a look as you rolled your hips into his, yet sighed your name.

“Again.” He breathed, latching his lips around the tip of your breast.

You did.

“Again.” He kissed the hollow of your throat.

You leaned into his touch, saying your name a third time.

He repeated your given name, than following it with ‘Aurelias’. Your movements stilled, yet he did not care.

“You are the most cunning woman I have met, and you are my wife.” He stated, never looking away from you. Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw the same for him, and you gave him a messy kiss before resuming faster this time.

After months of being called a name that did not belong to you, especially whenever in the bedroom, Lucius was doing everything to remind you that you were yourself again as you felt pleasure.

It felt as if, after two years, ‘Julia’ was finally gone.

You chanted his name as if it was your favorite prayer, burying your hands in his hair and kissing his lips.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius…”

Because, just like you, how long had it been since his true name was uttered whilst in the throes of pleasure?

He moaned into your mouth, holding onto you tighter. You squealed when he rose up onto his knees, latching your legs around his waist and only crying out sharply when your throbbing clit ran across his pubic hair.

“Come on, come on,” he urged into your ear. “I know you can give it to me.”

“Lu-Lu-!” You moaned, running your nails over the thick field of muscles that was his back.

He said your name over and over again, until it was one word that was the end of you.

“Please.”

You came with your vision blinded from the state of euphoria you had reached. Lucius still held you above him even as his legs began to quake, bouncing you on his cock. You felt as though you were suspended in air when his groans stammered, and you felt strings of his cum paint the walls of your cunt.

Slowly, he lowered the two of you onto the mattress, laying you on your back like you were the most precious treasure in the world. You kept your legs around his waist, breathing with him with your chests glued together from your sweat.

“Lucius-.” You began, trying to shift under him.

“-Just,” he grunted. “just another moment. Please.”

How could you deny him? Every kiss he gave was loving as he laid upon you. His cock had grown soft, and even you were aware that you could’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t careful.

When he pulled away from you, you let out an involuntary whine.

“I thought you wanted me to get off you?” He kissed your stomach when he stood up.

You shoved him playfully. “Just clean me up and come back.”

“So controlling.”

Still, he did what you asked, bringing a soaked washcloth from the bathroom and cleaning you. You groaned out of both the cold water hitting your hot skin, and the heat from the air itself.

“We should’ve waited until night.” You whined.

“Why?”

“I’m suffocating from the air outside!”

Lucius hummed, tossing the washcloth aside and looming over you. “Then that forces us to wear nothing today, so that we might cool down.”

You nodded. “Perhaps you aren’t as feeble minded as I thought.”

He settled behind you, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling your back to his chest. Even though his cock pressed against you, the two of you were completely exhausted from the heat of the day’s work, and the heat of what took place only moments before.

The only sound was that of the cicadas singing in the summertime. Sometimes, a breeze or two of wind would bounce the curtain off the window, but for the most part, just the even breathing you shared with Lucius was all you could hear.

Lucius’ mustache rubbed your skin when he placed a kiss to your neck. “What’s going on inside of your mind right now?”

You grinned. “A proper wife would say that I was thinking of you.”

“But that’s not what it is.”

“It’s something that has nothing to do with anything of note.”

He squeezed you. “Spit it out, woman.”

Sighing, you felt a sense of dread in your heart; both for your thoughts, and also how your husband would react. So, you tried your best to explain it.

“Do you even wonder how you will be remembered?” You began. “Spoken from mouths? Written in books? Painted on walls? They’ll remember Lucius, the Lost Son, the Last Gladiator…What will they remember of me, if anything? Rome’s Cleopatra? Her Delight? A whore to the twin emperors? I like to fantasize that they will name me the first woman who sat upon the emperor’s throne, even if it was as the last of its consul. Yet, even if they name me…I will be Julia. The name of a slave, the name I only accepted when he would press me into the bed so roughly. I only survived because I would need to tell myself that he was doing all of it to Julia, not to me.”

It felt quieter in that room, even though the sounds outside did not cease. Lucius gently turned your body towards him, and he stroked your face with the back of his hand.

“You’re crying,” he uttered your name, frowning.

You wiped your eyes, wanting to hide from him. Yet, he did not allow it, pulling your hands away from you and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“Would you wish I remain silent, or share with you what is in my head?” He asked.

“Talk to me.” You answered.

“I never cared of what history would see of me.” He stated. “Even as a boy. I know that we are different in most aspects of life, but I believe it serves no one to wonder away how we will be viewed long after we are dead. I do not care if or what a stranger thinks of me in a lifetime later. I care how Atticus and Diana see me. I care what their children think. Above all, I care of what you see me to be.”

You pressed your head against his. “You’re pigheaded and quite foolish sometimes.”

“And it matters you say that.” He pulled you closer. “Because that is what you will tell others when I pass on.”

“You know I don’t think that is all you are.” You remined him.

“I do.” He nodded. “I will know you for your wit, and your protective nature, and your kindness.”

“I never truly thought of myself as kind.” You gave a pained smile.

“That is how I see you.” He kissed your brow. “And what I will say with my last dying breath.”

You wondered how such a man as himself could exist at the same time you did. A man who hated you prior to everything yet laid with you in bed. A man who treated you with a tenderness you never thought possible.

A man who could be the last person on earth with you, and you would only feel at peace.

You did not need to say anything to him. Simply by the innocent smile that spread across your lips, did he know. You fell into the most comfortable of silences together as you laid naked in the summer heat.

The both of you were lost to time as we all shall be one day.

Perhaps you lived on that farm for the rest of your days, or perhaps you moved to a different land.

Perhaps you had ten children, perhaps you had only one, or perhaps you had none and were content with each other’s company.

Perhaps you died before him, perhaps he died before you, or perhaps you both passed onto the Elysian fields together.

All that truly matters, at the end of all things, is the life the two of you led together, and what you and loved ones remembered the most of it.

#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #hanno x reader #lucius x reader #lucius verus x reader #lucius versus x reader #gladiator 2 spoilers #Youtube

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saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3

it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.

satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.

suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.

you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.

“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.

he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.

“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”

“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.

“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”

“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”

“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”

he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”

“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”

“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”

“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”

gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.

riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.

for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.

you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.

“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.

“everything,” he whispers.

he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.

“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”

“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”

“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”

“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”

your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.

“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”

“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”

“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”

he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.

suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.

“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”

“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”

“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”

he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.

you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.

“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”

somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.

“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”

“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.

people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.

“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”

“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”

“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”

“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”

“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”

he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.

“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.

“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”

“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.

“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”

and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.

“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”

“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”

he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔

#operation: heal suguru!#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x you #geto angst #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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misctf · 2 months ago

Text

The Demon's Curse

Here's the final Halloween story I have for the month! Hope you enjoy it- I do plan to work on the requests I got soon- please feel free to keep them coming too. Thanks everyone and enjoy!

_______________________

“This can’t be real.” Luke thinks, as he stares blankly at his professor.

The brunette looks down at the ancient book his professor gestures to. If it was any other situation, he and his bros would be laughing. There’s a detailed illustration of a large demonic figure, surrounded by six muscular men. All of whom are on their knees, sporting vacant eyes, caged cocks, and large asses. A seventh sits atop the demonic figure, his ass impaled by its meaty cock.

“So you see, this demon...” His professor continues.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He only visited Ms. Galva- an isolated crone living at the edge of town- to apologize for his fraternity brothers. They threw toilet paper across her lawn and smeared shaving cream on her home. All part of a decades-long, yearly tradition the night before Halloween. And Luke, as the recently appointed risk manager, did not join them. He even tried to stop it. But Jim wasn’t about to give up on tradition. Luke tried to apologize to her the next day. He was not expecting her to finally lose it after years of mistreatment by the community. Warning him that he would get what he deserved.

“Luke, are you listening?” Luke snaps back to the present and looks over at Dr. Finnigan, “You know, I was quite intrigued as to why you wanted to discuss this particular demon.” The older man says, “He is a fierce one. A demon of sexual deviance.”

“I just heard the name somewhere.” Luke lies. In truth, the day after his visit with Ms. Galva, the demon visited him. Telling Luke to refer to it as his new master.

“I pity the man who meets this demon.” Dr. Finnigan continues, “He torments his victims for six days, up until finally taking them.”

“Yeah...” Luke mumbles, trying to discretely adjust his boner. For the past six days, his cock remained rock hard. Yet no matter how much he tried to jerk off, he couldn’t reach climax. The sensation now tortuous, “What do you mean by take them?”

“He takes them to live eternity as...as its... well...” He gestures to the book and Luke gets the idea. He feels his stomach drop, a wave of nausea washing over him. His situation becoming all the more dire- today was day six.

“Is there any way for someone to...”

Dr. Finnigan shakes his head, “Not when they’ve been taken.” Luke’s heart skips a beat, “But for the curse to be unleashed in the first place, the victim’s name must be written in a book of the damned. If that book is destroyed, well...”

“The curse is lifted.” Luke finishes the sentence and receives a nod from the professor. He feels a sense of hope, “Thank you, Dr. Finnigan.” He smiles, and the brunette stands up and quickly leaves, his mission clear.

_______

“I think I know what book you’re talking about.” Stacy says, “Ms. Galva keeps it on a pedestal in her living room.”

Luke sighs, “Are you sure? I don’t want you...”

“I will. I’ve been bringing her groceries for months and we’re friendly. I’ll grab the book.” She replies with a small smile.

Luke returns the smile, unable to verbally express his gratitude. Not only for her believing him, but for helping too. He met Stacy at a mixer, where it was clear the two had feelings for one another, however, no moves were made. Yet now, Luke was determined to ask her out after this was settled.

“I can go over right now. She’s expecting me.”

Stacy leans over and kisses him on the cheek, causing Luke to blush. And with a quick wave, she leaves. Luke sighs and falls back onto his bed, his thoughts racing. But he’s soon interrupted as the room around him heats up. Sweat pours from his skin and he removes his shirt. The heat becoming unbearable.

“Luke.” Luke jumps when he hears the voice echoing around him, “Oh Luke...” It taunts, “It’s almost time Luke.”

“Leave me the fuck alooooohhhh.” He moans as an invisible hand strokes his hardened dick.

“I can’t wait, Luke. I can’t wait to fuck you for the first time.” The demon moans, “To make you mine. For all eternity. Just my beautiful muscle slut.”

Unwanted images of his future fill the young man’s mind. His ass bloated with fat and muscle. The demon’s hand’s groping and squeezing his juicy mounds, causing him to moan. He can hear himself begging for the demon’s cock. His voice filled with lust and desperation.

“No please...” Luke pleads, shaking his head. Trying to dispel these images.

The room returns to its original temperature and Luke is alone again. The young man breathing heavily. His body covered in sweat. It was only a matter of time, and Luke knew his time was soon.

“Hey bro, you good?” Luke grimaces at the sound of Jim’s voice, “I’m setting up a bonfire. You interested?”

“I’m good, dude.” Luke replies, wincing as his dick throbs.

“Suit yourself.”

----------

An hour later, Stacy returns- book in hand. Luke could barely contain his relief. He hugs her, not bothering to put on a shirt.

“We... we should take care of this.” She says, her face reddening.

“Yeah, for sure.” He replies, blushing and rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, “I think I know what to do with it.” Visible from the window, Jim’s bonfire rages.

The two hastily approach the dancing flames. Luke can see Jim near the forest, grabbing more wood. Some thunder rumbling in the distance. The brunette looks over at Stacy and smiles. And the two toss the book into the flames. It makes a hissing sound as it slowly burns, and for the first time in days, Luke feels a sense of peace wash over him.

“We did it.” He mumbles, “We...” His words are cut short as Stacy kisses him deeply, and runs a hand along his bare chest.

And a few moments later, they’re back in his bedroom. Kissing passionately. Her hands running along his chest. His own hands moving up her shirt. He moans as she moves lower, removing his pants and exposing his throbbing dick. It had been a few days and he was ready. And as she sucks him off, he lets out another moan. He could feel himself getting close. And closer. And closer still. Yet after a few minutes, no climax. Stacy is clearly tired at this point, and looks up at him.

“Is something...?”

“No, no, it’s great.” Luke pants, “But...”

There’s a knock at his door and the two quickly fumble to redress. Luke walks over and opens it, to reveal Jim.

“Hey dude.” He says with a grin, “I saw you throw something into the fire.” He holds up the charred, yet very much intact, cursed book. He can hear Stacy gasp, but he’s too shocked to react, “It started raining and put it out.” Luke stares at the book, his heart pounding in his chest, “But dude, this thing looks pretty expensive. You sure you...?”

“No, no, no!” Luke says, a sense of dread filling him as he backs away, “We need to...”

The sound of wood cracking fills the room as an arm reaches up from the ground and grabs Luke’s leg. The young man yelps as he falls flat on his back. Jim and Stacy look on in horror as more arms reach out and restrain Luke.

“No please!” He shouts, as he struggles against the muscular arms, “Fuck! Get off me! Help!”

He watches as his pants burn away, leaving him exposed. His erect cock throbbing more intensely than ever before. He cries out as he feels something cold and metallic wrapping around his dick, forcing it to soften. The sensation is unbearable as his manhood is forcefully restrained.

“Ah please, fuck!”

He writhes as a cage secures itself around his dick- sealing it away for all eternity. Never to find release. He cries out again as his muscles start to contract and relax rapidly. His lean figure beginning to swell with meaty muscle. He begs for mercy as his pecs violently expand, the new growths partially obstructing his view. His arms and thighs follow- becoming engorged with meaty muscle. He cries out as his bones crack and shift, accommodating his new mass and height.

“No please...help me...” He begs, his voice deepening. He looks down at his stomach as his abs forcefully pop into existence. And he realizes with dread that he’s taking on the features from the men in the drawing- the demon’s personal muscle slut, “I can’t... Someone! Please help me!” Arghhhhh!”

More images of his future start to flash through his mind. He can see it more clearly than ever- his vacant eyes, his mouth and ass filled with his master’s cock. Master? Luke’s eyes widen as he realizes his mind is betraying him too.

“Not... not my master...” He grunts, trying desperately to free himself.

But even with his newfound strength he is unable to. And as the hands grope his growing ass, Luke cries out again. But this time in unwanted pleasure. He can feel them teasing his hole, preparing him for his new master. Weakening his resistance.

“No, don’t! Ohhhhhhhhh...” He moans as the teasing fingers push deeper into him.

He barely registers the embers that singe away his body hair leaving him hairless. Even his messy brunette locks singe away, leaving him with a buzz cut. The only similarity now between the writhing muscular man and the former Luke are his terrified eyes.

“You’re ready.” A voice whispers in his ear.

“No! Wait!” Luke feels the hands grip him tightly. And then they pull him down.

The room around him begins to vanish. The horrified looks from Stacy and Jim disappear from view. And as he’s dragged to his new life, his mind starts to break. He tries to think of anything besides his caged cock and throbbing, needy ass. But he can’t. His name, memories, and dreams are locked deep in his mind. Tears of frustration fill his eyes as he tries to access them. But suddenly, he’s on all fours, panting heavily. When he looks up, he’s greeted by the sight of his new master’s meaty cock, which slaps him in the face. He whimpers and slowly looks around at the other men- his new brothers. And then his attention turns back to his master. A sudden, unbearable, and desperate hunger begins to fill him. His tongue falls from his mouth. His eyes half-lidded and vacant.

“Welcome Luke.” His master says with a grin, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

________

The storm rages outside as Dr. Finnigan goes to close his book. But something catches his eye.

“Odd.” He mumbles, inspecting the picture closely. Instead of seven men with the demon, there are now eight. The eighth man is bent over as the demon fucks his ass. The new man’s mouth opened wide in an endless moan, “I could’ve sworn... I must be getting old.” He mutters, closing the book.

#male tf #male transformation #mental change #straight to gay #forced tf #dumber tf #muscle tf

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caramelkoo · 2 months ago

Text

before we shatter — jjk [two]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 5.1k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : ANGST, eventual fluff, mentions death of a loved one, mentions of Alzheimer's disease, strong language, mature, cheating (not by the main characters), jungkook will piss you off but he's deserving of love too :((, slight making out but nothing else. i think that's it, please mention if i missed anything.

a/n : OH MY GOD IT TOOK ME FOREVER !!!! here it is my pookies <333 i hope this will heal the past trauma that part one caused yall omfg. i love you so much and send an ask if you want to. You're so so cherished.

Jungkook’s fingers press on the digital lock before it beeps, indicating the door has been unlocked.

“Babe, I’m home”

He expects his girlfriend, Nicole to say anything in response but, on the contrary, all he gets is pure silence. Not a single person breathing the same air as him inside the house. His eyebrows crease in utter confusion and he wonders if he she went outside in order to run any errands.

Nicole is a fashion designer who he met when she was appointed to design his concert outfits for the group’s previous world tour. At first, there were some stolen glances, eye contacts, and innocent touches but when he found himself looking for her in the room full of people, it had to be more than that.

At the risk of sounding like a nervous wreck with zero experience with women, Jungkook had walked back and forth approximately 46 times before he took up the hatchet to ask her on a date, to which she’d smirked and whispered a yes in response.

Listen, Jungkook is a confident man. Add a confident yet adorably shy woman beside him and you have got yourself the perfect mix of charisma and charm. Not to say that he was not totally enthralled by her. He genuinely wanted to get to know her better and that’s not only because she was confident, of course.

Ordinarily, he’d find her on the couch going through her designs or making herself the 50th cup of coffee. It all really depends, but tonight the eerie silence surrounding him makes his stomach hurt. A nagging feeling arises in his chest and he hopes everything is okay.

He releases a breath and walks further in towards the bedroom. Who knows, she got tired of working all day and went in there to take a nap.

Much to his disappointment, just as his hands grip the doorknob, a moan comes from the other side of the wall and he freezes.

“You’re so good to mommy, aren’t you?”

He can’t mistake the voice even if he tries to. He hears it all day, every night by his side.

Nicole has complemented him in every spectrum of their relationship. She’d been equally successful, equally fun and adventurous, and matched every desire and aspirations of his.

Tow bodies, one soul if you will.

Turns out, she lagged behind on the spectrum of honesty.

Knowing he can’t be just standing there and not find out who she’s been fucking behind his back, he twists the knob and pushes the door open. The moan which earlier caused his heart to momentarily stop now turning into a full blown scream.

“What the fuck?”

You might prefer to think that Jungkook was the one to exclaim that, but no. Sitting on the bed with wide eyes and no clothes is his manager, Tae moo. Next to him is Nicole, trying to cover herself up with the help of the duvet as if she’d not spent the majority of nights sleeping beside Jungkook in the very same state after he’d made love to her.

“Jungkook, baby. I can explain”

His jaw goes tight, voice turning shaky. “Get out of my house.”

Fierce eyes are pointed at the manager the whole time and he doesn’t even bother to look at Nicole. As if someone had set his non-existent pants on fire,Tae moo hurries and plucks whatever fabric he can from the floor and rushes outside.

When Jungkook finally glances at Nicole, she’s got the same look on her face which she does when she wants something from him but can’t get herself to form the words. Desperate and pleading.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, tone acidic when he asks, “Why are you still here?”

“What?”

“Why? Did he fuck the common sense out of you?”

She blanches at his words, clearly not expecting him to talk like that. “Please don’t talk to me like that. I told you I can explain.”

Jungkook can’t help but let out a chuckle infused with bitterness and disbelief, “What could possibly justify you fucking my manager, Nicole. Were you lonely? Did I not give you enough love and attention? Was my dick not enough for you that you just had to jump on another one?”

Every word that comes out of his mouth has an intention of hurting the woman in front of him. Standing there when Jungkook tries to figure out any possible cause of this betrayal, he registers something.

While Jungkook was thriving because of the fact that he has a woman who supports him and keeps him on his toes, holds him when the world gets mean to him, the said woman was using him to feed her ego. He had been indispensable for her to gain the popularity that was left for her. The truth that he'd been a ladder all along for her in order to climb till success hits him like a torrent and an ache throbs through his chest.

“Why would you need another designer when I’m here?”

“Jungkook c’mon, all my friends are gonna be there. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“Do they not let you post your girlfriends on your official instagram profile?”

Everything falls into place like a missing piece of puzzle fitting into space. Additionally, Nicole had not even gotten close with any of Jungkook’s friends’ girlfriends and he’d decided not to dwell on the fact for his own peace.

Arguably, some people just don’t click and that’s fine. Except, those people don’t denounce other women behind their back. Her adulterated personality was oozing out of her and he managed to miss it.

“I don’t know, babe. Her dress was too revealing. Take it from a fashion designer when I tell you she was not fit for that dress”

“Isn’t she too touchy with her boyfriend in public? I mean I understand you’re in love but jeez”

It is often said that when you’re in love, you’re unable to see your lover’s flaws because you get blinded. Blinded by their beauty, their charm, and their affection towards you. Safe to say, Jungkook can relate.

“Get out”

‘Please just liste-”

His pitch goes higher. “RIGHT.NOW”

Subsequently, he had been off the market for two whole years. Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t escape the endless amount of impolite and not to mention personal questions about his relationship during the interviews.

“Jungkook, you were seen coming out of several restaurants and clubs with a woman a few years back, but we’ve not seen her for a while now. Is there something you’d like your fans to know?”

“The ladies out there are having a field day because it seems our favourite superstar, Jeon Jungkook is single again”

“Is there any chance of us getting to see the mysterious woman again?”

Fucking exhausting.

Then, one fine day, he met you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Maybe, the trust issues made home inside of him after he found his ex-girlfriend naked and sweaty on his bed with his manager. Maybe, you can blame it on the fact that he had still not gotten over the agony caused by his past relationship.

It’s almost like the words that come out of his mouth throw him two years back to the very same room where he tasted the vile taste of betrayal.

“Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?”

The sentence is so absurd and disgusting that you can’t stop your hands from connecting with his face with a hard force. His face turns sideways as his skin stings because of the slap.

“Watch your tone with me, Jeon Jungkook.” The words are barely a whisper as you gulp, flying into a rage and hoping he eats his own words.

You’re half naked, your hair's a damn mess and you probably have a swollen face with boogers in your eyes, but at this moment, you have to stand up for yourself without caring about any of that. You can’t be the person to take first hand beating of something you haven’t even thought of doing.

When he looks back at you, you wish someone was holding you because your legs feel weak. The look of betrayal and anger is long gone and now the only thing that exists behind those big doe eyes is hurt. A pain which makes you want to disintegrate.

“Baby, I didn’t mean-”

“You know what, _____? I would have seen this coming. I was a fucking fool to even wish for a normal bond with someone without some shit happening to us.”

You watch him storm out the door, slamming it so hard it rattles on its hinges after throwing the blue file on the bed. Your feet remain frozen to the wooden floor and you hope he comes running back in, says he’s sorry and he wants to talk it out.

“Some shit”. He just called the whole situation shit.

A terrible labyrinth of anger, guilt and grief traps you as you find yourself wishing that a tight hug could fix the scattered pieces and mould your relationship back into one beautiful piece.

The words on the report stare back at you as they somehow feel more painful now that your boyfriend is aware of them. He knows he’s got into something he hasn’t signed up for and the thought that before you could even explain everything to him, before you could even tell him that you would rather die but hide anything let alone information as huge as this, he’d walked out.

Placing the file on the nightstand, you go through your usual morning routine. Take a shower, change into fresh clothes and take your supplements.

Everything is blurry to you, the feeling of loss lingering deep in your chest, slightly aware of the fact that physically, Jungkook is nearby, mentally? You’re not so sure.

Despite your better judgement, you walk towards the kitchen with the motive of making your breakfast and you find Jungkook looking for something under the couch with two suitcases standing in front of the door. Was he gonna leave without letting you know? When did he even pack?

You take a deep breath and release, knowing exactly what he is looking for, “Are you looking for your glasses?”

He straightens back up and holds your gaze. There’s a bit of delay before his answer reaches your ears. “Yeah um, I can’t seem to find them anywhere”

A minuscule smile forms on your face, “They’re inside the bedside drawer. I kept them there cause you know, you tend to lose them”

He doesn’t share the humor as you feel a pang in your chest intensifying. It’s suddenly so quiet that you can hear your as well as his breathing. And it’s uneven. Has your home always been this quiet?

You clear your throat, eyes finding the suitcases behind him, “Heading somewhere?”

He does the same and looks back at you. “Yeah uh, you remember Jimin calling me yesterday when we-,” he pauses, “Well, I have to go overseas to promote the album and get done with some other formalities”

You flash him an understanding smile, feeling utterly shattered inside and not sure if you should ask him as to why he didn't bother to let you know or just let it slide. The question is right at the tip of your tongue but thinking better of it, you gulp it back down.

“Of course. How long will you be gone?”

He slides his hands inside his front pockets and sighs, “Probably a week. You can’t be precise when it comes to promotions.”

“Alright,” you halt, “Uh.. do you want me to get the glasses for yo-”

“No, I've got it.” He says as he excuses himself. When he comes back, the glasses are resting on his nose making him look even more beautiful than he already is in your eyes.

A faint memory of you wiping his glasses for him with your slip dress comes to the surface and you hide a smile.

You watch him round the kitchen counter and pick up his jacket. As he grips the suitcases with both of his hands, the gleaming bracelet catches your attention.

What are the odds of him preparing to live without it on his wrist? What are the odds of him preparing to live without you?

You’re not surprised when he begins walking out the front door without saying a word. But you know you have to. You have to let him know that you don’t have any intention of giving up on him.

With your palms turning clammy, you speak and prepare yourself for whatever comes back as a response, “Wait”

His feet come to a stop, but him not bothering to turn around does nothing to ease your ache if not adds to it.

Swallowing, you continue, “Whe-when you come back, I want to talk it out. I want you to know that you mean too much to me for me to hide such a major information from you and one that has to do with both of us at that. Yes, I held back for a while but that’s just because I wanted to forget,” the damn tears are threatening to fall yet again, “I wanted to feel for the last time what it's like to be in your arms, your warmth before I break your heart and mine in the process,” Your fastening heartbeat causes you to grip your cardigan in a tight fist,

“Can I at least get a hug?”

His shoulders visibly go tensed as he admits over his shoulders, “I’m afraid if I so much as look at you for more than a second, I will break.”

With that the front door opens and closes, leaving you with nothing but warm tears. You try your fucking hardest not to take his statement as face value but god you want to curl up and die. Although, you know none of this is your fault. If only you could see what the future holds, everything could have been much more bearable.

You’re scared you’ll lose everything— him, your happiness, your future together.

You’re scared you’ll burn.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

For as long as he can remember, Jungkook’s childhood had been filled with vivid memories of his parents’ kisses, them being madly in love with each other, dancing in the kitchen, planning picnic dates and thousands of giggles. He had been blessed with a mother who loved his father more than Jungkook has ever seen someone loving the other person, and his father reciprocated the love tenfold.

Along with the love he also had another emotion wrapped around his heart in a tight grip. Fear. Fear that all of that would dissipate. You know, how sometimes when you’re too happy, there’s just a fucking voice inside of you screaming, “It won’t last long”?

That’s exactly what he used to feel. The root of the fear was a mystery to him and he even tried to forget about it, thinking it might be just a pipe dream.

Except, it was not.

And then one day, like a bolt from the blue, Jungkook’s dad was gone.

He still remembers the day very clearly when he saw his dad’s body being carried away on a stretcher, heavy and cold. Meanwhile, he just stood there with fat tears streaming down his cheeks, his mom arms stopping him from running behind his father.

Then, if that was not enough to break him, he lost his mom. Not physically but mentally when her mental state started to deteriorate over the next few years. Before he knew it, his mother totally forgot about his identity as well as his father’s. Apparently, that left a scar far too deep.

What’s it like to forget the ones you love?

Even though Jungkook had made peace with the fact that his mother will never return the same way he’d known her for, a small part of him still hopes. After all, what’s so wrong in hoping?

His feet drag him down the long hallway filled with wooden brown doors until he stops and stands before one. He clears his throat as he watches the woman just lie there and stare into nothing in particular.

When he gains her attention, a smile breaks out from her lips, “There you are. I knew you would come, Jimin.”

Jungkook runs a palm over his chest, a futile effort to soothe the ache.

“It’s Jungkook, mom. Your son”

“My son? How do you know my son?” The vivaciousness long gone from his mom’s voice.

He swallows and gets further inside the room. He doesn’t try to push it because he knows for a fact that even if she recognizes him today, if tomorrow he comes back he’ll be either Jimin or Namjoon or some random man he’s never heard of.

“How are you doing?”

His mom sighs, a pout on her lips as she looks down, “Still the same. I asked the nurse for a cup of tea hours back but she seems to have forgotten about it. That witch.”

He chuckles, sitting himself on the stool. “I’m sure she’s bringing it in for you.”

Her eyes move over to the window and settle on the maple tree outside. Just watching it. Jungkook ponders if she remembers chasing him under the maple tree when he was a child. It’s his favorite memory.

“A kind woman stopped by a few days back. God knows what her name was but she had this.. sad look in her eyes, as if someone had snatched something away from her and she’s broken over it. I wonder if people look at me and feel the same amount of sympathy that I did towards her that day. I’m not a fool, I know I’m sick. I could be dead by tomorrow for all you know,” she releases a small sigh as Jungkook waits for her to continue.

Except she doesn’t and in that moment, Jungkook just…. knows.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook’s eyes have not left the silver bracelet on his wrist for a while now, brushing it with his fingers lightly as if that would help him rectify his mistakes. He wants to slap himself whenever he remembers the look on your face when those cursed words left him. You looked so broken, so tired.

The woman his mother mentioned is you, it’s so obvious. Something about the way she told him about you made him want to swallow a fistful of iron nails. Fuck even that would hurt less. For a second he saw himself at her place and that made his insides twist in such a way that he didn’t understand.

What if one day he just wakes up and doesn’t remember you? What if it all just disappears? Her memories, your smile, your sweet giggles, your moans, your touch.

The thought itself makes him want to rip something into pieces not to mention rip his own heart into pieces.

Jungkook can hardly walk through the veil of darkness which fills the hall. He holds his phone screen up for light, calling out for you.

“Honey, you home?”

No response. With his heart in his throat he starts moving towards the bedroom. Gripping the doorknob, he twists it as the door clicks open. Before he can start panicking because of the empty room with nothing but his own stuff scattered around, a cough reaches his ears.

His brows crease into a frown, confused. “_____, I’m starting to worry.”

Another cough follows, making his breath pick up its pace. Following the sound, he finds himself standing outside the guest room’s door. Wasting no time he pushes the door open as he watches you on the bed covered in layers of blanket with sweat all over your forehead.

He rushes to you in a quick second, heart beating fast. “Hey, hey baby,” voice coming out as gently as possible, “You okay? Why are you here?”

Your eyes land on his face as you sniff. “This is what happens when you eat your weight in a bucket full of ice cream on a Sunday night.”

Jungkook’s expression flashes with relief, grateful that it’s nothing more than an unfortunate cold.

“You should leave.”

He blinks, “What?”

“You're more contagious to the cold than anyone I know, baby. Go. I’ll be fine”

To be honest, he could give zero fucks about catching a cold right now. He holds your gaze for a long moment before standing up.

A quick look of hurt passes through your eyes, but you recover just as quickly.

“If you think I’m gonna leave you here in this state then you underestimate my love for you, honey. I don’t know if you remember, but you wanted us to talk once I come back and I want you to get better and get talking, alright? God knows how I managed to have survived two weeks without you by my side, but now that I’m here, you’re going nowhere out of my sight.”

“Jungkoo-”

He interrupts, “As for those reports, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if we can’t have kids normally as most people do,” he runs his hands through his black locks, messing them up as he continues,

“In every sense of the word, I just want you. I want you right here with me, holding my hand and making me the happiest motherfucker ever. We’ll try something else. We’ll adopt, we’ll go with IVF, we’ll-”

“Jungkook”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe, baby”

So he does as he fills his chest with air, taking a moment to relax. Reaching over, you take his hands in your soft and warm ones, caressing his knuckle tattoo.

“Do I have the permission to be selfish just for one more time?”

He offers you a weak smile, “You were never selfish to begin with, my love.”

Your hands pull him towards you until he’s lying down by your side. He wraps his arms around you, holding you so close you’re almost one.

Jungkook presses a kiss on your clammy forehead followed by one on the tip of your nose, “You okay?”

“I am now” you whisper, letting your head drop weakly forward to pepper kisses across his hoodie clad chest.

“I’m gonna speak now and I want you to listen, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your fingers clutch his hoodie in a small fist as you begin, “I lied about babysitting Coco and I’m sorry about that since I know we promised to never lie to each other, but I had a reason for that. I was at the hospital when you called. I knew you would be at the studio and I didn’t want to put you through that when you’re working,”

You look up at him, eyes full of love and affection, “When I was young, my mom showed me an orange butterfly which I immediately fell in love with. I played with it for hours before I went back inside the house. I let it go, wishing it would visit me again. I had to let that butterfly go, Jungkook. Because I knew I couldn’t keep holding onto it. I was gonna do the same with you that night. I had it all planned out, I was gonna let you know about my infertility and then I was going to ask you for a breakup. Thankfully, I didn’t. Do you know why?”

Resigned, Jungkook shakes his head as a teardrop falls.

“Because some things and some people are worth staying for. You’re worth staying for. I was stupid enough to think that I would survive without you, that I would be able to weather the storm without you by my side.”

You’re sobbing now, sniffing as your fingers wipe Jungkook’s tears away.

He cups your cheek, his fingers brushing featherlight on your skin as the most tantalizing caress. “You don’t have to. I’ll never leave you, baby. You’re it for me. I can’t breathe without you, _____. Do I want a family one day? Of course, Do I want it without you in it? Over my dead body. You’re my present and I very much have the intention of making you my future too. With all due respect, but something as trivial as that report is not gonna stop me from doing that.”

A heavy moment of silence hangs in the air as he just stares at the love of his life, he didn’t even realize when the power came back, illuminating the whole guest room.

You are the first one to say, “I love you.”

“I love you the most.” he declares as his lips brush with yours with immense gentleness and love.

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah honey?”

“What do you think about calling our daughter, Ji woo? If we ever have one?” your voice comes out muffled because of the way you’re snuggled against his chest.

His lips stretch into the biggest grin ever, chest filling with pride because the woman who he loves the most in his life asked to name the girl he’d love the most in his life after a woman who loves him the most in her life. Even if she doesn’t know it.

“I’d love that.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Few years later

“What-” you gasp as your body goes tense for a quick second before relaxing against Jungkook’s chest. His arms circling around your waist, making you feel cozy and at home.

“You really need to stop scaring me like this.”

“Why? I can’t hug my wife now? I know you secretly like back hugs.”

Wife. The word still holds the same love and power as it did the first time he asked “Will you be my wife and make me the happiest man in the world, honey?”

You let your head fall back against his chest and look up at him, “You know what? I do.”

“I know you like the back of my hand, wifey.” he says, leaning down to drop a light kiss on your forehead.

“I love it when you call me that, but right now you’re distracting me.” Your hands start running over his forearms, caressing. It’s like a habit for you. You need to touch him whenever you can, feel him close to you as much as possible. He’s always so warm and soft, it makes you all fuzzy on the inside.

His mouth nibbles on your ear, making you shudder. “I don’t think so. Besides I barely get to have you for myself these days.”

You sigh and just let yourself relax in his hold. The past few days have been hectic to say the least and nothing can heal you better than being in your husband’s arms. “How was practice, baby?”

Jungkook has been working on a new album resulting in him spending most of his time in the studio. You miss him, of course, it’s only normal, but you’re also beyond proud. He took a momentous break from his work the same year you guys were facing issues and he didn’t so much as leave your side, promising to always stick around. Through thick and thin as he said in the wedding vows.

He ignores your question and sucks on your neck, making you groan.

“Jungkook” His lips find yours and he steals a kiss, hands pushing under your sundress as he caresses the back of your thigh. Goosebumps break out all over your body and you curse at the fact that he still holds so much power over you. Your legs go weak and your clutch onto his shoulder for support.

As he lets your lips go with a loud pop, you open your eyes and look at him.

“What are the chances of me getting lucky tonight?” he asks, hands still under your dress, now grazing your ass.

“It-”

Before you could answer him, the sound of tiny footsteps running towards you both reached you. And there she is, your prettiest five year old letting out the biggest shriek after she sees her daddy all but falling down from enthusiasm.

“Da!” her feet pick up the pace as she runs towards him with arms wide open.

You detangle yourself from your husband’s hold and he takes a step back.

He crouches down and catches your little girl, Ji woo, in his arms. Groaning as she crashes into him. “Ooff”

“Da, I missed you. You’re coming to the picnic with us, right? Mommy says you are.”

You watch him laugh and peck her chubby cheek. “Of course, sunshine. Nice daddies never miss picnics with their daughters, do they?”

As they talk like their goofy selves, you just take a moment and watch. By the grace of all things good, you’ve had the chance to visit almost everywhere in the world, but this right here is the best view. After musing about it, you and Jungkook decided to go with IVF and you’ve not regretted it ever since. Hands down the best decision of your life.

Waking up and seeing your husband with your daughter sprawled on his chest as she lets out tiny little snores, watching her fall in love with the same eyes as you did, going on family dates, going to his concerts wearing the same outfits and whatnot. It’s more than enough for you to thank your lucky stars that you stayed.

“Mommy, daddy says he’ll not steal my strawberry this time.”

You offer her a gentle smile. “Daddy is a little liar, baby”

She lets out the cutest gasp ever, cupping Jungkook’s face with her tiny hands. His face is so big in her hands it’s almost chucklesome.

“Is that right, daddy?”

He playfully narrows his eyes at you as you stick your tongue out. “Mommy’s just jealous because you love daddy more. Now, what do you think of making those bracelets together?”

Ji woo’s face lights up like the fourth of July and she starts squirming like a little butterfly in his arms, flapping her arms. She’s been asking for her own bracelet after seeing the silver one on Jungkook’s wrist for years now. He suggested custom making one and she got so excited one would think he got her a pet dog or something. Although, he’s considering that too. Nothing surprising there.

When it comes to Ji woo, Jungkook is a loser in love. You’ve never seen him looking at another girl the same way he looks at his daughter. Besides you, of course. It’s innocent, pure and all things perfect.

Before they both leave, she gives you a kiss on the cheek, covering her eyes when your husband pecks your lips.

Your eyes find the butterfly tattoo on your wrist, sometimes seeing it in your daughter. Excited, lively and someone who makes you want to wish it never disappears, the only difference?

Jungkook’s not afraid that everyone will let him go and you’re not uneasy about how you will have no reason to not let go.

You’re healed.

He’s healed.

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