#Their resume must be a nightmare

[radarchives]

[void-my-warranty]

Sack of Flour (18+)

Service Dog Johnny Part 7 (full part list here)

“Get your monthly while I was gone?”

“Mhmm.” You don’t look up from your hobby things at the table, chewing on your mouth as you try to get it right. 

“How was it?” Simon asks. From across the kitchen comes the soft, slow chopping sounds of someone with mediocre knife skills and an aversion to being cut. 

“Fine,” you reply with a sigh. “We were slow at work, so I took breaks. Wasn’t as bad as last time.”

He gives you an acknowledging grunt, and the chopping pauses for a few seconds before resuming. “Touch yourself while I was gone?”

Craft momentarily forgotten, you twist your head to see him tossing onion skins in the trash, as if that’s just some natural, catching-up sort of question. 

“A little.”

He leans his hands in the counter to look at you, those little lines around his eyes creasing with a smile. “Get that toy out finally?”

You roll your eyes and go back to your project. “Yes, actually.”

“On my bed, was it?” 

You’re determinedly not looking at him now. “Mhmm.”

“I missed you, darling.”

Okay, nevermind. You flash him a happy smile. “Missed you too.”

There’s a stretch of comfortable silence after that, where Simon is busy with the cooking and you’re allowing yourself some mental recuperation before the work week begins. 

He’s been in quite a good mood today. It makes you wish you had pried into his nightmares earlier, wish you had known there was some shameful burden he’s been carrying. It’s so much better, knowing. You can’t work through these parts of him if he never shows them to you. Can’t really know him, unless he allows it.

“Playing with Johnny tonight?”

You exhale when something goes a little bit wrong with your project, and you have to retrace your steps to fix it. “Uh, no, I told him no sex tonight, just come over for food.”

The air shifts. It’s heavier now, in a way that you recognize as Simon gathering his thoughts before he says something. You peer over to try and gauge his expression, figure out what you said wrong.

“When’s the last time you got to cum?” he asks casually, turning his back to get the stove going. 

A timid laugh leaves you, not really sure if he’s joking or not. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”

That’s when you get his full, stupid attention on you, making your knee bounce under the table while you endure his ‘I’m not going to repeat myself’ face.

“Okay,” you relent, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Um…. Four or five days ago, maybe? Actually, no, last weekend. Really, it’s fine. I just… I don’t know. I really don’t want him to feel used.”

“Mhmm.” Simon turns away again, a hand propped on his hip and the other one hovering over the pan to check the temperature. “Me ‘n Johnny have been sitting in dirt and sweat for two weeks. I think you should let him make his own choice.”

Okay, but that would require being both honest and selfish at the same time, and your sexual needs are simply not worth doing that.

You must be taking too long to reply, or maybe staring at the table too intently, because he clears his throat a little and says, “And if I’m honest, I haven’t heard your pretty little noises in two weeks, and I’m a mite hard up for it.”

A tingle of interest sparks between your legs, effectively drowning out your previous embarrassment. Simon’s turned back to toss the onions in the pan, but you know he’s just using it as an excuse to hide for a second. Your eyes float over his broad back, the movements of his arm as he works. You’re thinking about this morning, waking up to him wrapping himself around you and sighing so deliciously into your hair. 

“Simon,” you prompt quietly, waiting for him to turn and meet your eyes. “You know, you’re really easy to love.”

He does that subtle shake of his head. “Don’t be givin—“

“Shut your mouth, or else I’m going to grab that knife and hold it on your neck until you do.” 

Your enormous boyfriend sets down the spatula without a sound, turning fully to face you with his eyes suddenly dark and foreboding.

“Don’t,” you warn, trying to scowl back, even though you’re smiling like an idiot. 

He doesn’t even have to look behind him, just clicks the stove burner off and takes a step toward you.

“Simon Riley, I’m warning you.” You desperately push your craft farther into the table so it will be spared. 

The sizzle of the onions begins to die as he closes the distance, and you shriek as he scoops you up into the air with a, “Where’s your fuckin knife now, you little ankle biter?”

Two days of not shaving unfortunately means he has a weapon, and he doesn’t hesitate to assault you with his prickly chin, weaseling it into your neck while you squeal and wriggle in his arms. 

“You’re gonna— make me— horny—“ you gasp out, fisting his hair in an effort to prevent tickles. 

“Rubbish, and you know it.”

His phone dings in his pocket, but he ignores it.

You finally manage to yank his face away from your neck, but he just nips at your exposed ear, forcing another peal of laughter out of you. “That’s probably Johnny!” you argue breathlessly. 

“Mhmm.”

“You need to check it. He’s lost or something. Broke his other ankle.”

Simon sighs, giving you one last play bite. He slings you straight over his shoulder as if you’re a sack of flour, wrapping his arm around your thighs and digging into his pocket with the other hand. 

“Oh my god,” you huff, unreasonably entertained by the downward view of his ass. 

“Ahh, yeah, Johnny’s here.”

Oh no.

Wait.

“Don’t you fucking dare—“

To your horror he just starts walking with you like that, ignoring your frantic screeches and death threats. You can practically feel the self satisfaction etched into his body as he gets you all the way to the hall, and you’re helpless to do anything but prop your arms on his back, freezing in place and holding your breath when you hear the door open. 

“Hey, Johnny.”

There’s a suspicious silence then, and you can perfectly imagine the look on Johnny's face, confronted with your whole ass stuck next to Simon’s head. You just know your boyfriend has that deadpan expression plastered on, the one he uses whenever he’s fucking with someone. 

“Got some wine,” comes Johnny’s amused voice.

“Cheers, mate.”

You wind back as far as you can, furiously smacking Simon’s ass with one solid hit, and you’re rewarded by his pained grunt and a highly satisfying sting to your palm.

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

XIII. The Missing (+18, Smut, MDNI)

I made this picture on psd lol lemme know if you liked it :)

“Amor gignit amorem.”

Love begets love.

Blood. All you could see was blood. It was all over the place. The mountains, the trees, the rocks, even the waterfall cascading ahead – everything was bathed in a crimson hue, covered in blood. The smell of blood filled the air as if it had obliterated all other odors. You tried to run away from this ominous place, but you realized that your feet were stuck in red mud like a swamp. The more you moved, the deeper you sank. You screamed for help, but no one heard, no one came. When you were up to your neck in the mud, you gasped for breath and screamed for the last time before the red mud swallowed you.

“Aurelia?”

The voice you knew so well echoed in your ears and then around you. The voice made mud disperse, allowing you to resume breathing.

"Aurelia?" He called out again, and you opened your eyes.

Marcus's face, beautiful in its own way, was right before you. Once you realized that he was looking at you with his brown eyes, the effect of the nightmare you had seen turned to dust and scattered around and disappeared. Marcus pressed his fingers on your forehead. Were you sweating?

“My love? Are you alright?”

“I am. I think I had a nightmare.”

“I think so too.” He sounded a bit concerned. "Would you like to tell me?"

You shook your head, looking away. Marcus exhaled deeply. "Aurelia, my love, I want you to forget the story I shared about the first man I killed. It's not the same as what you did. You were simply protecting yourself. You didn't have a choice and you did the right thing. However, the man I killed, he was innocent. I was following orders, but that's no excuse. You do understand what I'm saying, do you not?”

He propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at your face, cupping your chin and turning your face to his. He was dressed in a cream tunic, the moonlight filtering gently through the window behind him and falling on his shoulders and hair.

“I understand and I appreciate that, but it doesn't change the fact that I killed someone."

He took your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed the top of it. “I'm glad you did it. You saved me and you. Or should I say all three of us?” He put his hand on your belly.

You smiled; it was a relief to hear him saying that.

You were momentarily taken aback to realize you were still in your room in Domus Severiana. When did you arrive? Did you sleep until nightfall? Your memory was hazy. The last thing you remember is killing someone and becoming a murderer.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked, looking at you. His hair was bathed in the blue moonlight, however you were focused on the cut on his cheek.

“Why are we here?”

"You mean, you don't remember?"

You shook your head.

"Hmm, after... Well, we arrived here. You were a bit tired and looked like you needed a bath, we both were." He smirked.

Right, you both looked pretty clean compared to what you recalled from the last time. That's when you suddenly remembered how he'd undressed you and put you in the bath tube, how he cleaned you up until your body was free of blood and dirt. Then how he carefully dried you, carried you to your room and put you to bed. And how he stayed with you until you fell asleep. But that was it – you didn't remember anything else. So he probably had his own bath afterward. You felt annoyed with yourself for not being able to help him with his bathing and dressing.

“I remember now,” you murmured.

“Are you sure you are alright?” His hand stroked your belly. He was asking about both of you.

You put your hand on his and smiled. “Your son must be as much of a fighter as you are. He's still holding on tight.”

He smiled and kissed you on the belly. “For a moment, I thought I'd lost you two. It was far worse than any kind of torture.”

You put your arms around his neck. "You saved me, you came back to me, and I'm truly grateful for that."

"You saved me too, don't forget that princess. I'm proud of you for using your knife effectually."

You tensed up a little as you remembered that moment. Marcus noticed it straight away and kissed your temple. "There's no need to feel guilty about that. I know it won't be easy, but I'm confident you'll get through this. Do you wish me to tell you how I know?"

You nodded.

"Because you're my Aurelia. You're strong enough to overcome anything, yet you're tender enough to think of everyone you care about."

He pressed his lips to yours. You realised how much you missed his kiss, his voice, his smell, his touch, his sweet words, everything. When he pulled back, you felt your heart ached.

"Why don't you try to get some more sleep? You must be feeling tired." He covered you with the sheet, turned towards you and cuddled up to you, putting his arm around you. You turned your head and noticed that his eyes were closed. You pursed your lips. You weren't tired, you just needed him. However, he must have been quite tired, so you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. But it didn't work. Your body was already burning up. The sweet masculine smell of his skin made things even more difficult. You felt your throat go dry. So you turned towards him. But this caused your breasts to brush against his arm. He opened his eyes and pulled his arm back. You felt your face flush, and you turned the other way. You smiled to yourself, pleased that you'd managed to seduce him without meaning to.

“Aurelia, that's worse.” He whispered.

You soon figured out what he was talking about. You could feel him growing just behind your hips.

"Apologies." You murmured. You moved yourself on the bed a little, trying to break the physical connection between you. But his strong arm grabbed you and pulled you towards him almost roughly. Your back hits his chest. You could hear him breathing heavily, his hot breath hitting your cheek. You giggled mischievously.

"You only had to ask," he said huskily. You gasped as you felt his lips on your neck.

"I thought you wouldn't want to, seeing as you're tired.”

He turned you towards him, in a fairly forceful manner, “Do you really think that's possible my lady?” He shook his head slightly. “I don't think so.” His lips almost touching yours, you've been craving a kiss from him. “Not when I've been thinking about you all the time, not when I've been looking forward to this moment badly.” And then finally he kissed you passionately. Gods! You’d really missed his kiss. It wasn't just him who'd been looking forward to this moment.

His hands, eager as usual, grabbed the end of your tunic and slid it up your legs, helping you out of it. You smiled when you felt his hands on your exposed skin. You bit your lower lip as his lips replaced his hands. You were getting impatient; your body was burning, as if on fire, and your breathing had turned into hot steam. As he planted kisses on your knees before spreading them, you resisted him, trying to make it fun.

He snickered. "Why are you hiding from me what is already mine? Wish to play?" He lifted your legs against your stomach with his strong hands. You were taken by surprise and felt out of breath. He ran his fingers and then his lips over it, from heel to thigh, as if memorizing it, first one leg and then the other. He was careful not to leave any part of your skin untouched, but he did it so slowly that you were sure you were dripping wet by now. It might have been romantic or seductive at first, but it was getting to be too much and your patience was running out. It was good when he was gentle, but it was better when he was rough. He must have heard your inner voice, grabbed you by the legs, pulling you hard against him. You held your breath as he lifted your legs, placed them on his shoulders, and buried his head between them. Fortunately, he was no longer gentle when he used his tongue to enter you and give you unbelievable pleasure. You clenched the sheet as he licked and sucked your most sensitive spot mercilessly like a starving man. He continued his pattern, teased you until you thought you might go mad, breaking it occasionally to suck at your sweet spot or nibble at the folds of you. Meanwhile, he ventured his tongue within you, each time probing a little deeper, until finally he slid as much of it into you as he could and you could not help but cry out at the feeling of it swirling inside of you. Soon, the moans he’s coaxing out of you are only got louder and louder and you lifted your hips up to meet his mouth, your toes curling. Marcus squeezed your hips and increased the pressure of his mouth, tongue, and lips, taking you to the very top of the sky as your loud moans filled every cavity of the large room. Your vision was blurred, your heart racing.

It’s at this moment that he pulled back completely, leaving only the warm air touching you, and you let out a mortifying groan which turned into mewling. Marcus laughed at you and you opened your eyes to see his mouth and chin are covered with your wetness. He kissed you deeply, pushing what he could of it between your lips with his tongue. "You're the most delicious thing I've ever tasted," he whispered into your mouth. "A splendid dessert just for me to taste." You licked his bottom lip, tasting yourself, realizing that he was right. He kissed you again and this time with more passion quickly turning into a feverish lust.

You reached out to touch his tunic, but his consuming kiss was so intense that you failed. He smiled, his warm breath touching your cheek. Then he smirked, spread his arms wide and told you to undress him without speaking. Giggling, you got up on your knees and did as he said, running your hands over his shoulders after throwing his tunic gods-know-where. You frowned as you noticed the new scars on his body, he watched you patiently as your fingers travelled over each one. He put a finger in your temple, then over your eyebrows as if to smooth out your frown and slid it through your hair, running it through it as if combing it.

"You're the only one who can heal,” he murmured. Then he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you towards him. He held you tight, making sure there was no gap between you. You smiled as you realised he was getting impatient between your inner thighs. His glorious length was caressing your entrance and your body already squirming to be his. Thinking he was going to lay you back down, instead, he grabbed your hips and fell backward, pulling you on top of him. Now you were sitting on him, you looked down at him in surprise, and he grinned.

He licked his lips. “Ride me.”

Biting your lower lip with excitement, you placed your hands on his chest, rotated your hips and settled on top of him, slowly taking his length into you. He gripped your hips and guided you into the right position. When you felt him deep inside you let out a moan of pleasure and leaned into him. Your hair was falling in his face, and you teased him with it by shaking your head covering his face completely with your hair. He smirked and gathered your hair and put it over one shoulder as you rode him in slow movements. Then he started to speed up his thrusts by moving his groin. You were completely like impaled on him and it felt like absolute bliss and you never wanted this feeling to end. You leaned in to kiss him feeling the overwhelming pleasure was pushing you dangerously close to the edge. He was grasping and kneading your breasts in a strong and possessive way with both of his big hands as he kissed you passionately and rubbed his thumbs over your nipples. He grabbed your hips in a bruising grip and squeezes as he thrusts into you so hard and powerfully that you scream out loud in shock, like he's some kind of beast and he's almost making you beg desperately for more. He moaned and growled through clenched teeth as he marked you and claimed you and made you his. Your heart was beating so fast that you felt like it was going to burst. You pressed your lips together to suppress your upcoming scream but failed. Everyone in the palace would hear your moans and know what you were doing, but it didn't matter right now.

Marcus hit your sweet spot with each glorious thrust and soon you began to feel your soul leaving your body and your surroundings became hazy and blurry and white lights began to appear, you cried out as the most intense emotion erupted from every nerve in your body and you felt you were flying, weightless and free, the feeling of pure pleasure racing through every part of you. His moans and grunts became muffled as the pleasure overtook you. He pulled you hard against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around you and you felt him fill you up with his hot liquid, his thrusts stuttering. You were resting your head on his chest while he buried his face in your hair. You stayed like that for a while until your breathing calmed down. Marcus loosened his grip around your body and you felt his lips on the top of your head as his hands travelled slowly down your back. You could hear the sound of his heart thudding against his chest, it soon settled and you felt him soften inside you. He grabbed you round the waist and slid you onto the bed and you snuggled into him. He lifted the sheet and covered both of you, wrapping one arm around you and thus ensuring your usual ritual of falling asleep peacefully.

The morning sun was filtering through your eyelashes, casting a yellow light over your face as you blinked sleepily. Opening your eyes, the first thing you saw was Marcus' beard, his chin, and his lips. Those wonderful lips you couldn't get enough of kissing. His eyes were still closed, his sweet breath caressing your forehead as you watched him sleeping. He was so incredible, so beautiful. You felt a little upset when you saw the new scar on his cheek though, but it wouldn't prevent the perfection of his face. It made you love him even more. It was impossible to describe how much you love him, but "eternity" was probably the closest description.

Just yesterday you hated this big room, but now that he was lying next to you, in your bed, the room didn't seem so bad to you anymore. With his presence, the room had become a safer, more beautiful, and more significant place. After a few moments, you found yourself drawn to his face once more and felt the urge to kiss him. You softly pressed your lips to his. You then pulled back and saw his lips curled into a smile, opening his eyes. His brown eyes were as dark and expressive at night as they were buttery and warm in the morning. They were enough to blow your mind every time.

"Morning," you said softly.

"What a lovely morning this is," he said with a smile, running his hand through your hair.

"It certainly is," you smiled back.

He leaned over and kissed you. His kiss was gentle and passionate. But you were ready for him to kiss you deeper. He slowed his kiss but you tightened your arm around his neck. He laughed between his lips and pulled back, you frowned. He laughed even more at your reaction.

“My lady, I love it when you're eager, but don't you think you should get a little more rest?”

You blushed, batting your eyelashes. "I've really missed you."

“Same here,” he said, placing his hand on your belly and stroking it softly. "Is it alright for the child if we make love this often?"

"He's fine, I'd know if there was anything wrong." You replied. You then grasped his hand, placing it on your thigh. "I need you, Marcus, please."

He smirked. "I think I've raised my wife to be as lustful as I am." He chuckled.

You giggled naughtily. He kissed you roughly this time. Your heart began to beat with excitement. He squeezed your thighs and pulled you closer to him. Since you were already naked, the process didn't take long and he quickly lifted the sheet covering your body and settled on top of you. You had already spread your legs for him. His lips moved to your neck, collarbone and sternum, sucking and licking as he made his way down your body. As you ran your fingers through his hair, you felt him get harder at your entrance. He grabbed your hips again with one hand and entered you easily giving you incredible pleasure. His other hand travelled over every possible part of your flesh. You held your breath as he ran his hot tongue over your breasts. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper into you, and he let out a loud moan.

"So needy," he said, his voice low and husky, his breath hot on your nipples. He kept nibbling on your breasts, sucking them with a growing appetite. As you began to feel like you were almost losing your mind, his lips met yours again and turned into a hungry, thirsty kiss. His thrusts fastened and you let out little moans of sweet pleasure as you dug your fingers into his flesh. He broke the kiss to push a few strands of hair away from your face. His intense gaze held yours captive while making you his. Soon he wrapped his hands around you and buried his head into your collarbone. His thrusts deepened, and he increased the pace at an incredible speed. Your back instinctively arched, but his grip was so tight that it was impossible to move. Your loud moans filled the room, and the satisfying sound of your bodies slapping together echoed in.

You screamed his name over and over, he let out a great roar and reached his climax at the same time as you. His lips sucked and nibbled your chin as he slowing his thrusts. You closed your eyes tight, bit your lip hard, curled your toes as you savoured the last moments of the amazing pleasure you were feeling. He released his grip on you and kissed the areas of your skin that had become reddened with great tenderness. You were still breathing heavily and had your eyes closed. Marcus placed his hand between your breasts and was surprised to feel your heart beating fast under his palm.

“My love, are you alright?”

You inhaled slowly and deeply through your nose and then exhaled. “My breathing... has become... much quicker now... It takes me a bit longer to settle.” You panted.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead and pulled out of you, wrapping his arms around you to embrace you close to his chest.

"I should have been more gentle with you," he said, running his fingers through your hair. "I couldn't control myself. Forgive me."

Your throat felt a little dry, so you took a moment to wet it and swallow. "There's nothing to forgive, my love, you are wonderful."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

Suddenly there was the sound of drums, which startled you. Marcus sighed. It would seem that this was an announcement of Caracalla's passing and details of the funeral arrangements. 

“I am the one who killed him,” Marcus said, looking you in the eye.

You nodded. "You did the right thing. I was almost losing you because of him. He tried to take everything from us."

"In a way, he kind of succeeded."

"How do you mean?"

"Villa," he muttered. You felt your chest tighten. Marcus stroked your cheek. "Cato said it was plundered and the slaves were taken which means they must be detained."

"Where could they be?"

"I have a few guesses. We'll find them, but first I must find Geta. Before the funeral-"

"How do you mean you have to find him? Is he missing?" Your voice was louder than you wanted it to be.

"Yesterday, I had entrusted three of my men to protect him. They arrived in the evening. They were certain it was Macrinus. They said: His men intercepted Geta's carriage and attempted to kill him. There was a skirmish between them and one of my men took him into the alleys to protect him, and probably died while doing it so. However, nobody saw Geta die. He is nowhere to be seen though.”

"Gods! Where could he be?”

"That's what I need to find out," he said, kissing the top of your head and getting out of bed. He then put on his tunic. "There may be some concern if the people don't see him at Caracalla's funeral, and if Macrinus is able to convince the senate, which is a possibility. He would then proclaim himself emperor." He turned to look at your concerned face. He sat on the bed, stroking your cheek. You let out a soft moan when you felt pain where he pressed his thumb. Your face was probably bruised where Flavius had hit you before. His eyes were filled with anger. "I should have chopped that bastard's hands and body into pieces." He hissed.

“I'll be alright. You simply find my brother, please."

“I will, I have to.” He was stroking your bruise carefully. “I know you care about him.”

You measured his gaze, “He's my brother, and it seems he's the only one left.”

“I’m aware, but the thing is, I’m not sure if he sees you as his sister.” His gaze had changed. Could it be jealousy?

“Marcus," you objected.

“It's tough for me, sharing you with someone else, even if he's your brother. As if that wasn't enough, there's a man's look in the way he looks at you, which is really frustrating for me.” His voice was sharp.

You took his hand and looked him in the eye. "Marcus, I love you and I am yours. Nothing or no one could ever change that, never."

"I know that my love. If he is still breathing, that is the reason.”

You exhaled, and he gave a faint smile in return. "Anyway, my lady. I must take my leave now." He kissed your cheek and stood up.

"Where's your armour?" you asked, standing up after him.

"It needed to be clean, the slaves were looking after it." He said, holding the door handle, he then eyed you up and down. "What are you doing?"

You looked at your stola in your hand, trying to understand his question. "I am getting dressed to come with you." You replied.

"No, Aurelia, you are not coming with me. I want you to stay in the room and rest," he said in a commanding tone.

You put on your tunic in a somewhat stubborn manner. "Please don't ask me to stay in the room. I was locked in here for days, as I'm sure you're aware."

"If you're going to be safe, it's better that way," he said firmly.

You laughed hysterically while you were wearing your stola. "Forgive me, General, but there is no way I am staying in this room in your absence."

Marcus sighed deeply. "Why are you so stubborn?”

"Please, at least let me go downstairs. The slave girl saved my life yesterday, I really must go and see her."

While you were putting on one of your sandals, you noticed he had fallen silent. He then stepped towards you and bent down in front of you. He was tying the laces of your sandal. "I am truly sorry, my lady," he murmured. You touched his shoulder to stop him.

"Or the girl..." The words got stuck in your throat.

Marcus paused then quickly tied the other sandal laces and sat down beside you, wrapping his arms around you. You couldn't stop the tears, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Many lost their lives, including my soldiers. They were like brothers to me and I lost them. All because of Flavius and Caracalla. I take some solace in the fact that they are no longer alive. Macrinus is next," he said in a stern tone.

"Marcus, what about our family? I can't lose them too."

"We won't. I'll look for them once I find Geta. I'll find them, I promise."

"Let me come with you, please."

He frowned. "Aurelia." His tone indicated that the matter was not up for discussion.

You twisted your lips. "Then don't prevent me from leaving this room." You touched his arm. "Besides, this wound doesn't look good, I should make a herbal mixture. It could get infected.”

"Alright then, but I'm leaving Cato here to look after you. I don't trust anyone else. Not with Macrinus still out there."

You smiled. “Understood, General.”

He smirked, kissed your cheek, and held out his hand to you. "My lady.”

As you walked into the courtyard, you saw Octavius and two other soldiers.  They noticed you and nodded.

"Tell me where Cato is at once." Marcus said to Octavius.

"He's resting, sir. His wound seems deep."

You touched Marcus' arm. "Let me examine his wound," you demanded.

"I believe the palace medicus would have attended to his wound, wouldn't he, Octavius?" Marcus asked, turning to him, awaiting an answer.

"I have learned that Emperor Caracalla had the medicus killed, sir.”

You and Marcus exchanged glances. Even though Caracalla was now dead, he had left behind some unfortunate memories, some of which were irredeemably awful.

"Octavius, I need you to stay here and ensure the safety of Lady Aurelia," Marcus said.

"As you say, sir." Octavius nodded.

Then he turned to the others. "Aris, Felix, you two come with me. We need to find Emperor Geta at once."

"Yes, sir." They both said.

"So you two are here!"

You all turned your heads towards her.

"Can you tell me where my son is, General Acacius? What are you doing here instead of finding him?" Julia asked in a defiant tone.

Right. Now his mad son had finally died, she was free too. You refused to meet her gaze. Marcus too, ignored her and turned to you. "My lady, I need to leave now. Octavius will stay here with you. Please be safe.”

"Do not worry about me, you just find him. I will be waiting for your return." You said with a smile.

"Can't you hear me? I asked you a question!”

Marcus turned to her. ‘'Lady Domna, if you don't mind, I was just about to take my leave," he said in a kind but firm tone. He than gestured for his men to step forward. He looked at you one last time before leaving the courtyard, then looked meaningfully at Octavius, who nodded. Octavius then approached you. From the way he moved and his protective demeanour, you came to know why he and Marcus had exchanged glances.

You ignored Julia's angry glare. "Octavius, take me to Cato, please."

"This way, my lady," he said, pointing ahead.

"Aurelia, where are you going? There will be members of the Senate and their wives coming to pay their respects today. Shouldn't you stay with me?"

You paused, taking a deep breath before speaking. "You're speaking as if you're my mother, Lady Domna."

"I may not be your mother but Caracalla was your brother."

"If you hadn't asked me to kill him weeks ago, I'd thought that you were in mourning right now."

"How dare you? Of course I am!" Julia's voice was loud, but when she realised Octavius was tense, she decided to lower it. "No one loved my son more than me. Whatever I have done was for him. You'll understand when you have a child of your own.”

You sighed. "I don't need your advice nor your lies. You can save them for your guests. Now, if you will excuse me, I have someone to heal." You said in a warning tone. Then you turned on your heel and left the courtyard with Octavius following you behind.

Upon Marcus's arrival with Felix and Aris at the location where Geta was last known to be, it was the hour when the streets of Rome would typically be at their most active. However, a period of mourning had been declared until the funeral, resulting in a notable absence of activity on the streets. Marcus dismounted and conducted a detailed examination of the tracks on the ground, checking every corner and stone in the hope of discovering even the slightest trace.

When he was unable to find any, he ordered his men to spread out and survey the area. He was himself engaged in searching the surrounding area. After walking for a few streets, he had the feeling that he was being watched. He soon found the person who was watching him. However, he did not reveal this to the man. The man was dressed in ordinary attire, wearing a black cloak over it. Marcus entered the courtyard of a house and waited nearby, near the wall near the entrance. As soon as the man stepped through there, as he had planned, he grabbed him and put his pugio to his throat.

“Who the hell are you? Speak!” he barked.

However, the man did not speak, he struggled, but Marcus was stronger and would not let him go. Before long, though, he pulled out a dagger with his free hand and lunged at him. Marcus saw this and grabbed his hand and pushed him hard. The man stumbled and before he could recover, Marcus had already drawn his sword. Since he didn't have a sword, the man was clearly frightened and took a few steps back before running out of the courtyard. Marcus smiled and then gave chase. He followed at a relaxed pace, curious about where he was going. But soon man started to run faster so did Marcus. After chasing him for a few streets, Felix saw them from a distance and ran over to the man and jumped on him. By the time Marcus got there, the man was already on the ground.

"Well catch, brother," Marcus said with a grin. Felix grabbed the man's hands and held them behind his back. The man tried to break free but couldn’t.

"Sir, I also had someone following me, but I couldn't catch him."

Marcus frowned. Were there more men? He looked at the man with a stern gaze.

"Whose man are you? Speak or I'll make sure you never can," Marcus said in a sharp tone, pointing his sword at the man.

The man refused to speak. He was certain that he must be Macrinus' man. A short while later, someone called out to Marcus, addressing him by his title. It was Aris, running towards them, followed by several men, all dressed similarly to the man they had captured. A few more men came from up and down the street, and they formed a circle around them. Marcus put his sharp sword to the throat of the man they had caught. They were outnumbered by eight.  One of them who Marcus figured must be their leader, took a few steps forward.

"Release my man now, General Acacius!"

"Tell us who you are and why you were following us, first.”

The man raised his arms in a friendly manner. "We're on the same side, General. There's no need for all this."

Marcus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "On the same side, you say? Which side is that I wonder? Speak at once!"

"We are also searching for Emperor Geta, as you are. However, Macrinus' men are present in many places."

"So you're saying you're not one of them?"

The man laughed. "No, of course not. I am Lexus, from Leptis Magna, and so are my brothers here. We heard that our elders, our relatives, had been murdered by Caracalla. So we came to Rome on a letter from Lady Domna. We have been keeping an eye on things for some time now."

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "So you're the one who provided her with the poison that drove Caracalla mad, were you?”

The man gave a grin. "You're pretty clever for a soldier, General. I'll give you that. Well, Caracalla was already out of control, so we had to find a way to bring him down. You see, we had to do this because if he was declared a tyrant, all his decisions would be invalidated. However, it is you who killed him, so we must say thank you for that." The man bowed his head. Marcus released the man he had captured. The man ran to his friends.

Now everything was clear. Julia had been planning this since her return maybe even before.

"I assure you that no harm will come to you or your wife, Princess Aurelia. Our only desire is to find Emperor Geta at once.”

Marcus looked at him with a sharp gaze when he mentioned your name. You wouldn't dare harm her anyway, he thought. "If you were monitoring the situation from afar, why didn't you find Emperor Geta by now?"

The man let out a deep sigh. "Macrinus and the commander of the guards were making it difficult. We've lost two of our brothers since we arrived, because of them. Anyway, we will kill the commander and then him. We are simply seeking an opportunity."

"The commander is dead, as for Macrinus," Marcus sheathed his sword with a sharp noise. "I will kill him eventually, but now I must find Emperor Geta, so you'd better stay out of my way while I do so.”

Marcus gave the order to his men to follow him, and they did so without question. The others looked at their leader, who gave them a firm nod to let them go. As Marcus strode away from them and down the street, he saw a boy watching them from the corner of a wall.  The boy immediately turned and ran away as soon as he realised he had been spotted.

"Aris, catch that child!" Marcus commanded. Aris did not hesitate and ran towards him. Marcus and Felix strode purposefully towards them, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. A shrill scream rang out. And when they turned the corner, they saw Aris had caught the boy. He was holding the child with one hand and a very familiar object with the other.

“Sir, I found this on this little rascal!”

It was the bronze crown that belonged to Geta. Marcus ran towards him and took the crown from his hand.

"I did not steal it sir! He gave it to me, I swear, to all the gods!" the boy cried.

Aris shook him, "Don't lie, you little brat! Tell me, where is the owner of the crown?"

Marcus commanded, "Aris, put the boy down."

"But sir-"

"I told you to put him down." His tone was stern. Aris nodded and obeyed. Marcus approached the boy, crouched down to his level, touching his shoulder. "Who gave you this boy? Tell me. We won't hurt you, I promise."

Soon, they heard footsteps and another boy ran towards them. He was older than the other.

"You stupid! I told you!" He shouted at the little boy. Then he looked at them. His eyes widened as he noticed Marcus. "Or, are you General Acacius, sir?”

Marcus stood and smiled at him. "That's right young man, I am General Acacius. But how did you recognise me?"

"Sir, I recognised you by the armour you are wearing, an armour embroidered in gold with the great Medusa on your chest!" he said excitedly, pointing to his armour. Just like in the murals! But the real one is certainly better! Right?" He asked the little boy with a smile.

He clapped his hands excitedly. “Yes! Yes, indeed!"

Marcus smiled at them. "Well, nice to meet you then. Now, can you tell me where you found this crown? I suppose you know who it belongs to, don't you?"

The children looked at each other and then back at Marcus. "He gave it to us himself, but I warned my brother that we should head together. But he did not listen! He always does it to upset me!”

“Slow down boy, slow down.” Marcus touched his shoulder. “Emperor Geta. Did he really give it to you?”

The boy nodded.

“Then where is he? And where were you heading?”

"The Emperor Geta has entrusted us with his crown in case they don't believe us. We were on our way to the Palatine Hill."

"I see now," Marcus said. "You don't have to do that anymore. You just take us to him now, we need to get him home safely, you know what I mean, don't you?" He rubbed the boy's head.

"Yes sir!" He shouted, standing at attention like a soldier.

Marcus smiled. "Good boy.”

When Marcus arrived at the place where the children had brought them, he was astounded. This was the poorhouse. The place you frequented and told him about. However, the place had clearly been refurbished. It no longer looked as shabby as it used to. The children noticed them and ran towards them. They examined his armour closely, their eyes filled with curiosity. Marcus smiled at them, recalling your words about this place. The children were well-fed and now wore proper clothes. He soon recognised Geta by his blond hair. He was sitting at a table with his back turned, next to him was an old woman. She was handing him a bowl of food.

"I'm not eating this, you old hag! Not in this life or the next! Don't you dare force me, or I'll throw up on you like a fountain!”

The woman noticed Marcus who was approaching them. Geta turned his head and his eyes widened. He leapt to his feet. "Acacius!" He shouted with a big smile spreading across his face. But then his smile faded instantly. "Acacius, why in the name of the Gods are you so late!"

"I apologize for the late arrival, Your Highness. Have you been here the whole time?”

"Yes, unfortunately I spent a night in this filthy place. Can you believe it? It's absolutely horrible!" His eyes met those of the people around him, who had heard him but not seem to care.

"My men informed me that there was a fight and the man who was protecting you was murdered. They looked for you afterwards but couldn't find you anywhere."

“Your man protected me until his last breath. After that, I ran into the alleys, but then I stumbled and fell, hitting my damn head on a stone." He pointed to his head, indicating the small wound in the corner of his forehead. "The children told me they brought me here. I opened my eyes and was in a daze. You can not even imagine the shock I had when I saw these brats around me!"

Marcus smirked. "Those brats saved your life. Good thing you're alive. We've been looking for you."

"This is yours, Your Majesty," Aris said as he handed the crown to Geta.

Geta took it and placed it on his head. “Well, we must leave then, I don't want to stay here any longer.” He came over to Marcus, bouncing a bit, clearly in pain. He then put his hand on his shoulder, Marcus sighed but helped him to walk.

"I shall have a very good bath when I get home.”

In Marcus' absence, you spent the day tending to Cato's and Octavius' wounds and preparing herbal ointment for Marcus too. People, including senators and their wives, kept coming by to offer their condolences until dark. Caracalla's body was laid down in the middle of the great hall, open-faced. A white cloth with a gold pattern embroidered around the edges was covering him up to his neck. The priestesses kept on chanting the liturgy next to him, almost without a break, until evening. As Julia greeted the people who came to pay their respects with an incredibly forced expression, you wondered how she managed it. She must have done it many times before; she was like an expert. It was as if she was not the one who wanted to kill him weeks ago. Everyone who came asked about Geta and where he was, and Julia always had an answer ready. Standing with them in the great hall, you hoped Marcus would return with Geta soon. Near dusk, you almost fainted listening to the endless guests and their long speeches. You excused yourself and left the great hall, walking to the other courtyard. It was quieter here, the nausea seemed to have passed for a few days, but your body was weak from all the tension you had been under lately.

You sat on the lectus in the courtyard and put your feet up to relax. You thought about calling out Decima, but she wasn't there anymore. All of a sudden, you felt a bit down, wondering where they were now and what they were up to. You let out a little sigh and leaned your head back. You soon heard footsteps approaching.

"My Lady." A deep, masculine, velvety voice addressed you.

You immediately opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him.

"You're here," you said, your face brightening with a smile. You were just about to slide your legs down but Marcus walked over, grabbed your legs and sat down next to you, resting your legs on his lap. He had a warm smile on his face.

"Or my lovely princess had a rather tiring day?" His hand gently caressed your legs.

"Just a little." You replied with a smile.

"Nothing to trouble you, I hope?" His gaze turned serious.

"Not really, it's just people coming to pay their respects. Some of them were rather garrulous. If you imagine what I mean." You said with a whispering gesture, putting your hand near your mouth.

Marcus laughed. "I afraid I can imagine, yes. Anyway, I returned with good news.’’

"Or did you find him?"

Marcus nodded and smiled.

“Thank the gods,” you said with relief. Then you put your feet down to embrace him. His large hands gently caressed your back, and you felt his lips brushing against your hair.

He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. “I've only been away from you for a short time, yet I miss you so much.”

You pulled your head back and looked at him. His eyes took over yours with all their seductiveness. He leaned down to kiss you. But before your lips even met, a familiar voice interrupted you.

“Sister!” Geta's voice rang through the courtyard walls. Julia called after him as he approached you with a big smile on his face, ignoring his mother.

You turned your head towards his voice, tried to pull back to stand up, but Marcus' strong arms wouldn't let you. You looked at him, he seemed a bit unsure, but then his arms loosened their grip. As soon as you stood up, Geta came over and gave you a big hug. "Ugh! I've missed you so much! You wouldn't believe what's happened to me!" Marcus seemed annoyed. Julia crossed her arms.

"I have missed you too brother." You murmured.

Geta stepped back to look at you, then frowned. "Gods! What happened to your face?" 

Marcus tensed and stood up when Geta took your face in his hands. You were aware of Marcus's nervousness, of course. You gave Geta's hands a little push away. "It's nothing serious. I've already made some ointment, and if I keep applying it I'm sure it will heal in a few days."

There was a wound on the side of his forehead. You also observed that he was staggering slightly. "What about you?"

Geta just threw himself on the lectus where you were sitting a few moments ago. "I fell. I was very nearly murdered by that cunt Macrinus and his rats.”

"You shouldn't be seen like this," Julia whined, looking at him. "You should bathe and then dress appropriately for the funeral."

Geta sighed. "I agree about the bath, but afterwards I want to sleep with no dress on!"

"There are still guests coming-"

"I do not care! I'm not interested in their fake faces and tears! I need to rest." He then looked at you. "Aurelia, Acacius, join me for dinner, would you?”

“This must be a joke! It is simply not acceptable to enjoy a dinner in the house of mourning! People will gossip until eternity!" Julia yelled.

Marcus took your hand and looked at Geta. "Lady Domna is right, Your Majesty. I will have them bring your dinner to your room after your bath. It would be more appropriate if Lady Aurelia and I retired to our room now. It has been a tiring day for us all."

Geta pursed her lips. "Acacius, I would have chastised you if you hadn't come to rescue me from that awful place. However, you have every right to ask for rest. You may leave now.”

Marcus gave a nod and turned to take his leave, pulling you along with him.

“Good night sister! Rest well!” Geta said loudly after you.

“And you as well!” You waved at him.

As you made your way out of the courtyard and towards the stairs, Marcus let out a quiet sigh. "I am looking forward to returning to our villa," he said. "It might need some repairs first." He stopped at the first step of the stairs and looked at you. "We could stay here for a little longer if you wish, until I find them."

You smiled. "Now that you've found Geta, we will reunite our family."

He moved your hand, which he was holding, to his lips and kissed it. "We will, my love.”

Once you had finished your evening meal, which was brought to your room, you applied the ointment you had prepared for Marcus to his arm. You approached the table to put the bowl down, while Marcus opened the drawer of the other small table.

"My Lady, I believe I have something that belongs to you," he said. He was holding the bracelet you dropped last time when you running away from Flavius. 

"Marcus, you found it! But how?" You smiled cheerfully.

He reached for your arm and placed the bracelet on your wrist.  "I consider myself fortunate. Thanks to this bracelet, I was able to reach you in time." He sat on the edge of the bed and sat you on his lap. You put your arm around his neck. "Maybe the gods had mercy." His fingers traced the bruise on your face. His eyes were dark. "Maybe they knew what I would do if something happened to you and they intervened to prevent it, for the sake of Rome."

You could imagine what he was talking about since you had witnessed his furious side. He wrapped his other arm around your waist and kissed you on the face again and again. With each kiss, your heart was beating faster and your throat was feeling dry. As his breathing also became more rapid, lust began to take over your entire body. Marcus pushed back the hair covering your neck and kissed the exposed skin. You instinctively arched your neck back and wrapped your other arm around his neck. With your waist supported by his arm, he gently laid you down on the bed. Your feet were still touching the floor. Marcus bent over you and gave you a passionate kiss on the lips. His tongue tasted of the wine he'd just drunk – sweet and fruity. His moustache and beard tickled your cheeks, making you kiss him even more eagerly. As he deepened the kiss, he grabbed the fabric of the stola you'd tucked into your belt and quickly released you from both. Once you were left in just your tunic, he sat you down on the bed and quickly undressed you, making it very clear that he loved this very much. He took hold of your legs and waist and pulled you towards the middle of the bed. Before long, he was on top of you. His hands, his lips, his movements were as gentle and careful as he promised. It was beautiful in its seductiveness, yes, but it made you even more impatient. A few more touches and your body was already writhing to be his. You tangled your fingers in his hair as Marcus' marvellous tongue circled around your nipples. He snickered as your fingers then gripped the hem of his tunic.

“Impatient, my lady?”

“Very much so,” you said with a giggle.

He laughed and got up on his knees to take off his tunic. His bare chest never failed to amaze you. It was perfect in every sense of the word. After eyeing his torso, you reached for him, grabbed his neck, and pulled him to you.

Your lips met and immediately turned into a hungry kiss. Marcus smiled crookedly as you spread your legs for him without a second thought. He was trying to be as gentle as possible, but you were trying his patience too much. Now he was as impatient as you were. He gripped your hips and slowly entered your now helplessly squirming walls. A loud moan of pleasure escaped your mouth, causing you to break the kiss. This gave Marcus the opportunity to lick and suck your chin. But your mouths met again. And it turned into a kiss so deep you forgot how to breathe. Marcus was in no rush to speed up his thrusts, determined to be gentle this time, until you raised your hips a little and wrapped your legs tightly around him. He let out a deep, masculine sound that was similar to a roar. He broke the kiss and placed his hands on the bed, on either side of you. You thought he was angry but he snickered. "You are driving me mad you know that, do you not?"

"I know," you giggled, biting your lip. "Marcus," you ran your hands over his shoulders. "I see you're trying hard to be gentle, but there's really no need. Our child is fine." Then you placed your hands on his waist. "And I am perfectly fine." You said seductively.

He leaned in and kissed you, then grabbed your hips and pulled back to thrust deeper. "I'm glad you said that because I was just about to bite the bed sheet."

You both giggled. As if he was waiting for your approval desperately he thrust deep again. You were overwhelmed with the incredible pleasure he was giving you.

"I love how stubborn you are, even in bed," he whispered in your ear. "It makes me want you even more."

You were almost climaxing from his words, if not from his glorious thrusts deep inside your walls. He responded to your loud moans with a satisfied smile, and soon he was feeling close to the edge too.

“Marcus!” You cried out his name.

“That's right, my love. Say it louder.” He purred.

“Marcus!” You could have sworn your voice echoed across the Roman skies.

As you rose into the sky in an explosion of pleasure, you desperately but mercilessly dug your fingers into his back. And he lost it. His big fingers gripped your thighs and squeezed them so hard as he reaches his climax. He pressed his face between your breasts until he was breathing regular again. You felt wet, but it wasn't just his forehead that was sweating - your whole body was too. Your heart was beating fast, your breathing was almost wheezing, but Marcus' lips, moving slowly over your collarbone, helped you to calm down. And soon you laughed as your breathing became regular. Marcus laughed too and collapsed next to you. "This was magnificent. It deserves to be at the top of the list. What do you think, princess?" he asked, panting.

You rested your chin on his chest, looking at him curiously.  "I didn't realise you had a list, General."

He ran his hand down your spine. "Not to make comparisons of course, but to track progress. Anyway, this is a bit pointless since we're getting better every time, aren't we?" He winked at you. You blushed, but it must be invisible since your body is red all over. "Maybe it's because you're so wonderful, so full of surprises, my beautiful wife," he kissed the top of your head. You smiled and involuntarily yawned and he laughed in response. "We should get some rest now tomorrow is going to be a bit of a hard day."

"Indeed, we should," you murmured slowly, your eyelids already closing and you soon fell asleep.

He cupped your head in his palm, then carefully placed it on the pillow, then kissed your temple. "Sleep well, my love.”

As the first rays of the morning heralded a new day in the city, it did not appear to evoke a sense of mourning. As the day began, people appeared to be in good spirits, with some even hoping that the period of mourning would soon come to an end and they could return to their daily lives. Nevertheless, it was an emperor who had passed away, and whatever was required for his funeral would be done, even if he had been a flawed ruler.

As was to be expected, preparations for the funeral began at the Domus Severiana at an early hour.Julia was feeling relieved inside although she looked sad and devastated from the outside. She had been sitting beside her son's cold body in the early morning, waiting in her black stola: For her other son to wake up.

It is not known whether Geta had woken up yet, but you had already opened your eyes. Marcus woke up before you and woke you up in the sweetest way; placing soft kisses on your face. It seems that the room you were in was nothing like a room in a house of mourning.

“I wish we'd never got out of bed.” You mumbled something quietly. “I really miss the early days of our marriage.”

Marcus smirked. "Am I mistaken, my lady, or weren’t you a little bored?”

You looked up at him. “Bored? I don't think so! I don't recall anything like that. Besides, I couldn't be bored with you. That's not possible, General.”

“I feel the same way, my lady. I'd love to stay in bed with you forever. But not in this bed for sure.” He frowned.

You giggled. "In our bed back at the villa?”

“Yes, you might want to make a few changes while the repairs are taking place.”

“What could it be?”

“Anything you wish. After all, it'll be three of us in that room soon, don't you think?” He gave you a wink.

“Oh, that's right.” You said with a grin.

"It might even be four or five. Or perhaps we should tear down the room and make it bigger."

It was appealing to picture yourself with so many children, but also a bit daunting. “How are we going to stay in one room with so many children? Besides, we'll never get any alone time too.”

Marcus leaned towards you. “How about a separate secret room for us to be alone, then? A small room where no one can find us?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hmm, it sounds very romantic.”

He smirked and kissed you.

And then, you heard footsteps just outside the door.

Geta came bursting in. “Are you two still in bed?” 

Marcus quickly pulled the sheet up to your head and buried you in it.

“Gods!” You yelled.

“What do you think you're doing?” Marcus barked.

Geta crossed his arms, looking away. "It's a habit, I suppose. My mind goes back to the old days." He chuckled.

It's really great that you brought up the old days in front of Marcus, brother, you thought. You couldn't see him, but you were certain Marcus was angry.

"I had no idea you two were busy romancing on the day of the funeral," he grumbled, glancing at Marcus’ naked body out of the corner of his eye. But he looked away because he was staring at him menacingly. "Anyway, get dressed at once. The ceremony will start soon."

He left the room quickly but you had no intention of lifting the sheet off your face. You were a little tense about meeting Marcus's angry face. You gripped the sheet tightly.

"The old days?" Marcus asked.

You swallowed.

"He used to barge into your room like this before too?"

You bit your lip.

"Aurelia, I asked you a question." His tone of voice was definitely angry.

You shook your head but you must have looked pretty ridiculous since you were under the sheet. Marcus surpressed his smile and took the sheet to pull it away from your face. You tried to resist, but you were no match for his strength. You looked down, not wanting to look at his face. "I am awaiting for an answer?"

He put his fingers under your chin and made you look up at him.

"It's Geta, he's always like that."

"That's not an excuse!" he yelled, startling you.

He then let out a sigh trying to control his anger. He got out of bed to put on his tunic. "This is too much! I'll make sure the villa is repaired and we return there at once, or we'll be having another emperor's funeral soon!"

"You're right, we can't stay here." You said, mumbling.

He looked at you, then sighed again, He then sat on the edge of the bed, seemed calmer now. He brushed your arm with the back of his hand all the way down to your wrist. "I shouldn't have shouted at you. It wasn't your fault after all. Forgive me."

You got up on your knees and put your arms around his neck. "Marcus, my love, we'll return to our villa eventually. I am sure that we'll be happier there than ever. So could you try to be a little more patient, please? Also, could you try not to get angry with him? Can you do that? For me?" You ran your fingers through his hair. He didn't seem angry anymore.

He nodded. "Very well. I'll try not to get angry, but just for you. However, it'll definitely be hard to do so."

You traced your lips over his cheek. "Then, whenever you feel angry, simply remember this: I love you, I'm yours, my heart is yours, and no one can change that, not in this life or the next," you whispered.

He smiled and then looked at you in the eye. "I do too, Aurelia. I love you with all my heart, my body, my soul, everything that I have." Then he kissed you passionately, soon turned into another lustful kiss and you were surprised when Marcus quickly took off his tunic.

"What are you doing General?" You giggled. "What about the ceremony?"

He grabbed you round the hips and waist and laid you back on the bed roughly, making you gasp.

"Perhaps we can keep them await a little longer," he grinned.

okay guys im seeing movie on thursday im ery excited about it! then I will have to recover in few days... to keep writing my fic, I need your supports to do that, thank you for everything love you all!!

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[wileycap]

Beings Suffering From Extreme Sleep Deprivation Should Not Attempt Turning To The Dark Side

There he was. Anakin Skywalker, the prize jewel of the Sith... even if he did not know it yet. Sitting in the office of his friend, the Supreme Chancellor.

All the pieces were now in place, and the only thing left to do was to reveal his identity to Skywalker and let him break down. The satisfaction that permeated the form of Sheev Palpatine was so great that he nearly forgot that his parents had named him Sheev.

But not for long. Distaste prickled up his spine. Still, they were entering the glorious morning of a Sith Empire that would never see night. Or, rather more accurately, the night would be neverending. And the metaphors would be better - he would hire (and by hire, he meant enslave) the greatest poets to compose endless lamentations for the suffering he was about to unleash.

Skywalker sat in the chair, looking listless. The nightmares Palpatine had sent had done their job well - it seemed like he had hardly slept. His thoughts were sluggish, his resistance gone, and his terror absolute. Terror for his "secret" wife, who he feared would die in childbirth.

And while the "visions" were far from genuine, oh, Palpatine intended to make sure that Padmé Amidala would.

With the death of his wife, Palpatine's control over Anakin Skywalker would be perfect. And, in ten or twenty years, thirty even, the boy would become his new vessel. After all, the plans of the Sith were measured in the millenia, and Sheev Palpatine had no intention of planting trees in whose shade younger generations might sit. No. He intended to sit there himself, chasing off the whippersnappers so they might get sunburnt. (He really needed to consult a poet.)

But the creation of his Empire was a far more immediate goal, and a very worthy stepping stone indeed. And since all it would take was a push, he had better get to administering said push.

"Dear boy, I don't think I've ever seen you look quite this... disturbed," he intoned, perfectly miming the tones of a concerned grandfather. "Not - and I am terribly sorry to bring this up, but I can't help but be concerned - not even... not even when your mother died."

There. Skywalker was an easy instrument to play. A veil of concern, a dash of "you can tell me anything." A hint of his past trauma, which so neatly (almost as if by design) connected to his current fear. Even calling attention to Skywalker's sorry state served to remind him that the structures he could depend on were now shaky and unsure, ravaged by war.

Palpatine briefly entertained himself by wondering what the boy might think of the sheer amount of planning that had been put into his fall.

"Mom?" Skywalker asked, voice groggy and wide eyes betraying his shock.

And said nothing more, just gaped at Palpatine, as if he were about to pull Shmi Skywalker out from under his robes. Idiot boy.

"I'm terribly sorry for shocking you, Anakin," Palpatine said, suffusing the room with his phony concern. "I know it must be horrible to think about, especially in these... present circumstances."

Well, he'd thrown subtlety out the viewport, but that would certainly get the job done.

Skywalker did not respond. He was blearily gazing into middle distance. And Palpatine was running out of time - Skywalker needed to fall now, before Kenobi could return from Utapau and somehow pull him back from the brink, again.

So, subtlety? Subtlety would die the same death it always died in Skywalker's presence: a sudden one.

"Actually, I've called you here on an important matter," he said, injecting some urgency into his tone - no longer a grandfather, but a concerned statesman. "I now have every reason to believe that Senator Amidala and the Delegation of Two Thousand are planning a coup."

"Huh?" Skywalker said, attempting to sit up. "Padmé's planning..."

And then his train of thought appeared to slip away again, and he resumed his vacant staring.

"Yes." Palpatine gritted out. "Padmé Amidala, your wife, is planning a coup."

"Oh. Yeah, she's good at politics," Anakin mumbled, offering Palpatine a tired smile. "I'm sure she'll do a good job."

"A coup against me." When nothing more than a "hmm" was forthcoming, Palpatine continued. "And it appears she has allied with the Jedi Council."

Skywalker suddenly stood up, ramrod straight. Finally, Palpatine thought.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you have to find out this way-"

"No, no, this is great! She's finally hanging out with my work friends! Now she'll know what it feels like!" Skywalker shook his head. "Like, it's only fair, right? I've sat through a ton of formal dinners and stuff. And Bail is okay, I guess, and Mon, and Fang Zhar is kinda funny, but... they're so boring. Treaty this, agreement that, 'what do you think, Master Jedi?'"

Skywalker started pacing. "Yeah, but who's laughing now, Padmé? I hope she tries to take them out for lunch. Then she'll get to see twelve Jedi Masters meditating to discern which restaurant the Force is pulling them towards."

He turned to Palpatine, as if to explain. "And that takes hours. You wanted lunch? Sorry, it's dinnertime and also tomorrow, and the spot they picked, which, by the way, is always the one Yoda wants,-" and, to the Sith Lord's horror, he launched into an imitation, "'mmm, great darkness I sense within the Jundland Buffet, perhaps to Stewcruiser, we should instead go', but when we finally decide to go to Stewcruiser, it's closed on Taungsday, and the whole thing starts all over again!"

And at that, Skywalker sat down with a huff.

"Indeed," Palpatine said, no longer able to keep the coldness out of his voice. "The inefficiencies of the Jedi are... vexing."

"Tell me about it," Skywalker mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"But rather more pressingly, they are planning a coup." Palpatine said, rather icily.

"Yeah, right," the boy said, looking a bit shamefaced. "Sorry."

"It is no matter," Palpatine replied, still eyeing the Jedi. Skywalker made no move. "What do you think about the coup?"

"Oh, yeah, uh. Like I said, I'm sure she'll do a great job. Sorry, I don't really... pay attention to politics."

Palpatine opened his mouth. And then closed it again. "A coup is a bad thing, Anakin."

"Uh-huh," Skywalker said, clearly paying no attention, and that was just about the limit of Palpatine's patience. He hadn't set the entire galaxy ablaze to be uh-huhed by the boy.

It was time to go for the throat.

"Anakin, I'm going to kill your wife." He said, enunciating every word as clearly as he could. He needed to provoke the boy into fear and anger, which would feed his guilt and shame, which would lead him to the Dark Si-

"Oh, okay. Good luck."

"What?!" He hissed. "I just threatened to kill your wife!"

"Yeah, but..." Skywalker scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean, she's been in like, twenty battles. She can handle herself."

"She is eight months pregnant!"

Skywalker actually shrugged. "The med droid said she can keep doing her usual activities for as long as she feels able. And no offence, but you're kind of... old."

"Old? I am the Lord of the Sith, young fool! I possess powers your feeble mind can't even comprehend!"

Something had gone blank in Skywalker's eyes, but Palpatine was far too angry to notice. "I orchestrated this entire war! All of this is my doing! I planned for your mother to die, I corrupted the Tuskens myself, I was behind Kenobi faking his death, beh-"

And that's about as far as he got, because a sky blue blade had just passed between the spot his head occupied and the spot that was occupied by his body, and had kindly suggested to the two that it was time to part ways.

"Chancellor, Sith Lords are a specialty at the Jundland Buffet," Anakin muttered, turning off his saber. He tried to hook it back on his belt, but apparently somebody had taken his usual hook, and the handle fell to the ground. Sighing, he called it up with the Force and shoved it into his boot for safekeeping, when a thought struck him. "No, that's not right. How did Obi-Wan say it..."

And then he commed Obi-Wan, because that seemed like the thing to do. After a long wait, a small, blue Obi-Wan appeared, looking harried. Before Anakin could compliment him on his new size and color, Obi-Wan was already talking way too fast, something about killing Grievous.

"Hey, Obi-Wan, uh. I killed the Sith, but I-"

"What?" Obi-Wan's voice had a lot of static in it. He should really get that checked out. "Sorry, Anakin, did you say you killed the Sith Lord?"

"Yeah, anyways, back when we were fighting Dooku, you said something about Sith Lords and a specialty, and, uh, is it a specialty dish somewhere? And can we go there next time the Council has lunch? I'm getting really sick of Stewcruiser."

"Anakin. When was the last time you slept?"

"Oh, uh, two weeks ago or something."

There was a heavy, staticy sigh from the other end of the comlink. "Alright, Anakin. Turn the comlink around and show me the Sith, and then I'll guide you through cleaning up the pieces of the duelling droid you dismantled this time, and - oh Force, is that the Chancellor?!"

"Uh-huh," Anakin nodded, forgetting that he wasn't in view of the receiver.

"Don't uh-huh me, Anakin! Did you kill the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Yeah, he was the Sith?" There weren't any more words coming through the comlink, so Anakin figured it was safe to continue. "He said that he orchestrated the whole war and he was the Sith. Also, for some reason, he moved out here to the desert, and that's weird, because I don't think it's gonna agree with his complexion."

There was more silence from the comlink. Anakin remembered to turn it so he was again visible to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan appeared to be frozen.

"Are you... disappointed?" Anakin asked, after a while.

"No more than the usual amount," Obi-Wan sighed. "Go take a nap."

"Oh, good," Anakin smiled. And then frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'the usual amount?'"

[ozzgin]

Yantober Day 7: Dear Alice

content: female reader, captivity, mentions of murder, horror, ft. Cute!Twisted!Yandere

"I don't know what else to do, (Y/N)."

The young man carefully smoothens the napkin onto your lap with a merry hum. He's trying his best to remain calm, though your lack of cooperation is truly wearing him thin.

"He's gone. The worms are probably feasting on him right now. Must we reminisce on such terrible memories every single dinner?"

You glare at him with pursed lips.

"You murdered my fiancé", you finally spit out begrudgingly.

"No. We've been over this already." He forces a smile, then tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Come, don't frown like that. I brewed your favorite tea."

He's kneeling before your seat, cupping your hands in his. The dark, empty eyes stare at you with adoration. You observe his features once more; no matter how often you see it, you still cannot believe that such a beautiful, innocent face is behind this nightmare.

"We would've been married by now. Then you came along."

His smile instantly drops, and he stands up, kicking the floor in protest.

"No! No!" he shouts, index finger tapping against his chest ardently. "I was first! You know that very well, we made the promise together. He ruined everything. All I did was to keep my word."

By the end of his angry discourse, his cheeks are burning, and his shirt is ruffled. He suddenly notices his deplorable state, coughs dryly, and straightens himself. Then, as if nothing happened, he returns to his soft, feminine voice, lips curving in a cute pout.

"You really tease me sometimes, (Y/N) dear. It hurts when you lie."

He resumes his previous pose, curled at your feet, except this time his large eyes are blurred by fat, fresh droplets of tears.

"When will you forgive me? I was a child; I had no choice but to move away. It wasn't my intention to disappear on you.

That's why you picked him. To make me jealous."

You want to correct him, but he quickly continues:

"And so I took care of him, didn't I? Yet you keep being upset with me. You treat me like some sort of stranger."

His body quivers in despair as he lowers all the way down, head pressed against the ground.

"God, I'd do anything just to hear you say you love me too."

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist] | [Main Story]

[italiansteebie]

I want to try my hand at the streamer!au

Streamer Eddie who plays exclusively horror games and makes it his mission to terrify himself and his audience, but sometimes there's a knock at the door and Eddie pauses his game. Eddie. The guy who once played through the whole night and didn't even stop to pee.

But whoever knocked must be important because Eddie doesn't think twice about pausing his game.

Streamer Steve who reviews games for kids and rated them on how suitable they are, makes sure they won't cause nightmares, or if they're appropriate to play in the presence of toddlers. And sometimes he gets up in the middle of his stream and only says "Hold on, Im spooked, Ill be right back." And he leaves, for just a second, and comes back with a blush on his face before resuming what he was doing.

And their fans think both of them are single.

Until Eddie tries to stream for 24 hours straight without leaving his room, and even his chair. And suddenly there's another person, and viewers can only see their hands when they reach across to feed Eddie. Some fans think it's cute, some think that Eddie is a monster for having someone feed him.

And Eddie reads that chat message to Steve who gets absolutely offended, and ruins the unintentional hidden relationship by moving into frame, his angry face looking like this " >:( " and he looks right into the camera, "Hey! It is a privilege to be able to feed him!" And he's mostly joking but he volunteered to do it because Eddie was planning on just not eating the whole time and he wasn't having that.

And the chat goes wild because Steve? steviereviews is corrodededdies boyfriend?

And suddenly it makes since why after that certain knock Eddie lowers his volume on the game and has a soft smile on his face. And it definitely cleared up who Eddie was taking about when he'd say "Sorry guys, gotta turn it down, it was scaring my baby." (Once his viewers learn that he's talking about his boyfriend and not an actual baby they are conflicted. How can this guy be so soft? And if we're talking about that, how can Steve be with a guy who loves horror? Steve who jumps every time the lights merely flicker? But some how it works).

[hom3landr]

Pain au Chocolat

Bakerverse

18+

Much to Homelander’s surprise, a sleepy morning proves that maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye

CW: mild somnophilia, Stormfront

Homelander’s eyes blink open lazily. Your room is still dark and the glint of orange he’d normally spy on the horizon is hidden by clouds. The bed is toasty from shared heat but the air outside the soft blankets is nippy. The storm is through but Homelander can hear the soft pattering of drizzle against the window. Homelander contemplates rising for a moment but instead he snuggles deeper under the covers and wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer. You make a soft noise in your sleep but otherwise you don’t stir. He gives a tiny squeeze just for good measure. He likes feeling the soft give of you against him.

It had been a true terror of a storm the night before. The lightning split the sky like holy fire and he, god that he was, felt truly divine as he flew through the maze of bolts. He knew exactly where he’d find you when he arrived, waiting for him at your kitchen window. The same way you have for every bad storm that disturbs your peace. You wait for him and he wraps the two of you in blankets while he holds you through your panic. Storms are not as satisfying to watch indoors but he’ll sacrifice the view for the chance to hold you close. He’s willing to indulge in your quirks even if he still thinks you’re being ridiculous.

You hadn’t asked him to stay during storms and ordinarily he wouldn’t because why should he have to? But it feels right to care for you and be your hero. He wants to be your hero so badly.

You’d fallen asleep on him on the couch like you always do. He carried you to your bed like he always does. He slid in after you in the sweatpants you always let him borrow. It didn’t take long for him to follow you into dreams because it never does.

He doesn’t have nightmares when he sleeps with you. Your apartment smells nothing like the tower. It smells like sugar and old brick, earthy and sweet. He can close his eyes and all the worries of Vought just slip from his mind like water off a stone. He could take you to his penthouse when it storms. You wouldn’t even have to commute in the rain. But there’s something sacred about you willingly allowing him in your space. So he comes to you instead. It’s his only break from all the noise in his head. It’s the only time the past doesn’t hang over him like a dark shadow.

You also seem to rest better when he’s here. No more anxious baking into the wee hours of the morning, you practically become Sleeping Beauty the moment he lets you lay against him. You still feel safe with him despite everything…or maybe you’re just stupid.

He likes to think it’s because you’re in love.

He watches you sleep. You look so peaceful and serene in his arms. He nuzzles in close and presses featherlight kisses to your temple. You hum in your sleep but you remain deep in dreams. His hands travel up your sides. His thumb barely brushes against the undersides of your breasts and he’s suddenly extremely aware of the morning wood currently tenting his pants. It’s a lot harder to hide his boners from you when he doesn’t have his cup. But at the moment you’re sound asleep so he indulges himself with a slow grind against your ass. Subconsciously you must be aware of what he’s doing because your hips push back into his even though you don’t wake. His hands roam back down so he can grip your hips and roll them into a rhythm that makes his eyes roll back in his head. He resumes his kisses.

BEEPBEEPBEEP

He growls at the sudden tinny jingle that cuts through the peace, eyes glowing briefly as he barely restrains himself from lasering your phone in half. You groan loudly and blindly swipe around until you grab your phone from the bedside table. You hit the snooze button and ungraciously drop the phone onto the bed beside you. Homelander shifts away subtly, hoping to hide the way he was using you. You bury your face fully in your pillow with a huff and Homelander breathes a sigh of relief that you don’t notice. He rubs your back with a chuckle, ignoring the angry throb of his cock.

“Wakey wakey!” He practically sings to you and you grumpily mumble something unintelligible into the pillow. He loves how much you hate mornings. He’s addicted to these new edges you’ve begun to reveal ever since the fiasco where he tried to take you flying. It’s like there was an invisible wall between you he wasn’t aware of. He remembers how hard you fought in the air. He can respect it now in a way he was unable to then.

You’re practically scrappy.

You don’t make any attempt to move so he chuckles and grabs your hips to flip you like a pancake. You glare at him and your nose scrunches just the tiniest bit. He barely resists the urge to kiss it. He has to try even harder not to kiss your pout.

“I’m not going in. I’m sick.” You cough pathetically and he rolls his eyes. Fat chance he’s going to let you out of work with such a pathetic excuse. He knows you know that he knows you’re perfectly healthy.

“You’re sick?” He hums with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t even know if I have the strength to get out of bed.” You whine. You try to sit up only to collapse pathetically back into the pillows with a sigh and a bat of your eyelashes.

His cock twitches.

He leans over you and presses a firm lingering kiss to your forehead. You jolt and the warm fragrant heat that floods your veins makes him groan. Still so easy to fluster even with all your newfound cheekiness.

“You don’t feel like you’re running a fever.” He replies cockily against your temple. You huff and cross your arms. He’s deeply amused by your petulant act and getting a rare deep sleep has him feeling lazy and mischievous. He shifts to whisper in your ear. “Of course…there’s another place I can use to check your temperature.”

He gives your ass a quick pinch and you shriek as he erupts into laughter.

“That’s not necessary!” You squeak shyly, feathers all ruffled.

Your scandalized gaze isn’t enough to hide from him how excited you got by the suggestion. Maybe that’s something worth circling back around to. His amused giggles taper off as he looks at you fondly.

“If I’m going in then you have to as well. I need you there with me.” His voice softens as he reaches out to cup your cheek. He relishes the heat of you against his bare palm. Your eyes widen at his sincere confession and his vulnerability disarms your previous huffy playfulness. He can hear your heartbeat speed up as you nuzzle into his touch. Briefly an image of him snuggling into Madelyn’s dishonest touch flickers through his mind and he hastily discards it before the turning of his stomach ruins his good mood. He inhales deeply and the scent of you chases her ghost away.

“You need me?” You reply quietly, gazing at him softly as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“Always.” He answers, voice tender. The air crackles with charged energy that’s far from the lighthearted teasing only moments earlier. There’s an unspoken shift in the air as your gaze dips to his lips. He swallows thickly and leans in slightly.

“I guess it would be cruel of me to stay home then.” You whisper.

“I don’t think I could handle it.” He replies with a whisper to match yours.

You hum before shifting to press a sweet tentative kiss to his lips. He groans lowly and his hand on your cheek moves to grip the back of your neck, holding you steady while he deepens the kiss instantly. In the cozy haze of the morning he forgets to behave and keep his kisses gentlemanly. You genuinely surprise him by meeting him with equal passion, slinging one arm around his shoulder and pressing your body eagerly to his. Your breasts press into his chest and he nips at your bottom lip as his cock twitches under the loose fabric of the sweatpants. It’s impossible to hide the tent in the fabric but you’re too busy kissing him to notice. Your mouth opens easily at the press of his tongue. You react so quickly that it’s almost like you’d been waiting desperately for this very moment. This is the boldest he’s ever been with you and he’s relieved that you are bold in return.

The intensity of his kiss causes you to lay back on the bed. Homelander follows without a hitch, tasting as much of you as he can. He licks into your mouth as he crawls over you. You whine at the feeling of his hard cock pressed into your stomach but before he can put together an apology, you hook one leg around his hip to keep him in place. His cock twitches again and you must feel it because you let out a moan that he quickly swallows. The scent of your desire is so thick and heady that it makes him lightheaded. He trails a hand under your oversized sleep t-shirt to grip your hip as he grinds into you. It’s happening so fast that the disciplined part of him doesn’t even have time to react. Besides, you initiated. You want this. He is being good. It’s not his fault that you kissed him while he was half unclothed in the haven of your bed.

Your hand tentatively travels down his chest, scratching lightly at the hair there. He huffs at the tickle of it and when your thumb brushes his hard nipple he shudders. You pause and he can practically hear the gears turn into your head. Your caresses are just as light and careful as he imagined as you intentionally run your thumb over his nipple. He bucks into the soft swell of your stomach.

He shifts only slightly but it’s enough for him to slot a thigh between your legs. You gasp brokenly and your body goes still for a moment. He pauses his kisses, concerned now that he pushed it too far. But before his concern can evolve into anxiety, you slowly start to grind against him. Your breathy little pants make him throb as he watches you establish a rhythm. He uses the hand on your hip to guide you, wanting to feel helpful in your pursuit of pleasure. He can feel the wet heat of you plastering his sweatpants to his thigh. You’re drenched and the brown sugar scent of you has him slavering like a hungry wolf. He nips at your neck where he can hear your pulse beating loudly, intoxicated by the way he can feel the flutter of it against his lips

You sigh his name sweetly and something inside him snaps. He breaks the kiss only to bury his face in the crook of your neck as he shudders and makes a mess of his borrowed sweatpants. His hips roll lewdly against you as he rides out his orgasm. Your hand buries in his hair as you press heated kisses against his temple. A combination of satisfied pleasure and intense embarrassment from blowing his load like a teen boy jacking it to porn for the first time floods his body and he mewls softly into your skin. You lightly pet his hair while he shivers

He can already feel the flustered apology on the tip of his tongue but before he can verbalize his shame, your snooze alarm goes off again. He growls and rolls off of you, secretly grateful to avoid the opportunity to address his mess. He gathers the sheets around his waist so you don’t see the dark stain on the front of his pants. Although he wouldn’t mind you seeing the wet spot you left on his thigh. You don’t show any sign you noticed him come just from a little dry humping. You’re too busy angrily poking at your phone as you turn off the alarm. His exhausted cock aches at the way your lips have swelled from his kisses. Your nipples are poking at the thin material of your sleep shirt. He can feel himself already hardening, eager for another round. He shimmies off his sticky sweatpants under the covers and kicks them to the floor. His eagerness is dampened as you climb out of bed.

“You should call in sick and stay with me.” He calls out after you as you start to shuffle through the clothes in your closet. It fills him with a not insignificant amount of pride at the shakiness of your legs, all wobbly like a baby deer. You scoff lightly but there’s no bravado to it. You seem a little bit shell shocked from having your pleasure interrupted so rudely. He wants to push you against the wall and finger you till you’re screaming to balance out the tables a little bit. Now that he’s seen what you look like all flustered and aroused from grinding like a teenager in the back of a car, he just knows you’ll be pretty as a picture when you come.

“I can’t. I’m not running a temperature.” You turn around to grin at him, cheeks still flaming as you peek shyly through your lashes. With how eagerly you pounced on him and rode his thigh, he’s beginning to wonder if your nervous disposition was related to sex at all. Maybe you are just shy. He isn’t sure but he’s excited to find out.

Not right now though.

He can’t take off so easily, not with a grand total of three tv ads he’s contracted to film today along with his normal meeting with The Seven and an appointment with Ashley about the new ads for his campaign. You have to go in earlier than him but he can’t lay around forever. So he reluctantly doesn’t push you to stay although he does take a quick peek when you leave to change (and to rinse off the sloppy mess of arousal between your legs) He only looks long enough for a glimpse. He’s not some pervert.

You emerge dressed in the way he’s used to, sensible shoes, nice dress pants, and a pretty white blouse. You look put together and professional. It’s a far cry from the person who writhed and moaned against him.

“I need to head out but you’re free to stay as long as you want. There’s some pain au chocolat in a covered bowl by the fridge if you want some breakfast.” You tell him breezily although you still fluster when you meet his gaze.

“Can you tell me that in American?” He asks with a relaxed drawl. You roll your eyes but your expression is deeply fond.

“There are some chocolate croissants in a bowl by the fridge. Help yourself.” You reply with a smirk. You pause, sheepish. “Also I’m going to the laundromat after work so if you…need anything washed, just drop it in the hamper over there.”

You scamper over to press a quick chaste kiss to his forehead. He hums at the brush of your lips.

“Bye!” You bid him farewell before scurrying out the door and down the long stairs to the ground floor.

Homelander stretches and reclines back on the pillows. He feels unfulfilled despite his powerful orgasm. You hadn’t come at all and then you just raced off. Sure, you did have a good reason but he had wanted to take his time with you. He’d planned for ages how he wanted to take you for the first time but this surprise makeout session has his plans all discombobulated. He still hasn’t fully processed what happened. He looks down at the dirty sweatpants on the floor.

“If you…need anything washed”

Homelander groans. You did know.

Fuck

Aw well, he reaches down to stroke his cock that has filled out once again. He still has enough time to rub out another quickie. He’s going to more than make up for his indiscretion. You won’t even know what hit you.

————————————————————

Homelander is still dripping from the downpour outside on his flight back to the tower. He took too long entertaining himself with a pair of your underwear so now he doesn’t have time to run back to his penthouse for a dry suit. Luckily, you’re waiting in the conference room as always, humming to yourself as you prep for the meeting. The pleasant scent of you tickles his nose and reminds him again of this morning’s events

You haven’t noticed him yet as you busy yourself with your tasks. Although he can tell by the faint furrow of your brow that you’re keenly aware of his absence. He grins and silently follows behind you like a cat. You remain so adorably oblivious when you look pensievely towards the doorway, unaware that he’s already on your trail. He’s tempted to reach out and cheekily pinch your ass but he doesn’t want to risk giving you a heart attack. Instead, he waits until you’ve slid the last packet in place to grab your waist and spin you against the window. You gasp as he leans in close, boxing you in with one arm perched casually against the glass. You blink owlishly up at him in surprise and he can see your fluttering pulse beat against your skin.

“You’re all wet” is the first thing you manage to stammer through your shock and he grins.

“You’re observant today. I guess I didn’t kiss all the sense out of you” He replies and you give a little huff at his teasing as you hit his chest with an ineffectual slap. He’s so close that the lingering rain on his suit is starting to soak through your white blouse and his stomach flips when he can spy a hint of lace through the fabric. You rest your hands on his chest but don’t make any attempt to push him back.

“Are you cold?” You reach up to brush a dripping strand of hair out of his eyes. He shivers pleasantly at the gentle touch but you seem to interpret it as evidence of a chill. He places a hand on your waist to further box you in against him and your whole body erupts with heat as the blood rushes through your veins. He’s never this bold with you in public but a barrier has been broken. It’s time to be more forward with you.

“I’m freezing, I need someone to warm me up.” He purrs. It’s like you’ve suddenly become aware of how close he’s standing because you drop your gaze shyly. His cock gives a needy throb when he sees the barest shadow of your nipples beginning to stiffen in your bra. All he wants is to settle his warm mouth over them and suck. You’d squirm and pant against him. His tongue flicks against his teeth as he imagines making you come just by teasing your nipples until you can’t stand it anymore.

You sneak a peek up at him through your lashes and he squeezes your waist gently. You open your mouth to respond when…

“Are you two just going to stand there spraying your pheromones all over the conference room or can we get this meeting started?”

Homelander grits his teeth and the bane of his existence waltzes through the door. You startle and this time your hands on his chest do attempt to create some distance at being caught in such a compromising position. He lets you go as he fixes Stormfront with a nasty glare. He’s frustrated with himself for not noticing her as she approached but your fucking nipples were hard so it was difficult to pay attention to anything else. You awkwardly cross your arms over your chest when Stormfront sneers at the sight of your now see-through shirt.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your job?” She remarks coldly. You bite your tongue hard and Homelander catches a whiff of blood when you open your mouth to reply.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be going right away.” The warmth from his proximity has faded and you shiver shamefully in the crisp air of the conference room.

“And put on a jacket, this isn’t a wet t-shirt contest.” She replies and Homelander hates the scent of salt in the air as you tear up in frustrated embarrassment. He wants to step in and defend you but unfortunately you scurry out of the room fuming without even meeting his eyes.

He can feel them start to sizzle.

“Who the fuck pissed in your cheerios this morning?” He snaps at her. The knowledge that the rest of the team is coming is the only thing keeping him from more firm measures of retaliation… Such as popping her head like a ripe melon. He grumpily takes a seat in his chair and taps his fingers against the table to try and calm his nerves.

Much to his annoyance, Stormfront takes the seat directly next to him. She strategically waits until the rest of the team begins to file in before she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I never took you as the type to fraternize with the help.” She states frankly and his hackles raise at her insinuation. He doesn’t like being reminded that you’re ultimately just a PA. When he’s with you, it’s so easy to forget how little you matter in the grand scheme of things. His pride rankles and his skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t fraternizing. You’re taking things out of context.” He harshly whispers back. He’s not quite sure what that imaginary context could be. He did have you pressed sensually against the wall while you gazed at him with fuck-me eyes and hard nipples.

“Listen, I don’t care who you fuck but if you’re going to slum it then you need to be a little more discreet.” Her tone is dismissive.

Homelander’s ears start to ring.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He hisses. She knows nothing. She knows nothing about you. Who cares if you're nobody. It means you’re all for him.

“I’m someone who’s trying to give you advice. Get some standards.” She replies.

Homelander stands straight up, eyes burning, teeth bared, and the other members of The Seven meet each other’s gaze nervously. Stormfront just stares back with that infuriatingly smug smirk. He clenches his fists as he imagines how pretty her blood would look painting the conference room. He wants to laser right through her skull, roast her until she’s nothing more than a charred fucking husk. His eyes flare brighter. Then he remembers Edgar. He knows the kind of trouble he’ll be in if he indulges his urges. He shouldn’t care but he fucking does and it’s that which protects Stormfront. But he won’t be so lenient in the future if she keeps talking about you like you’re less.

“Meeting’s over!” He growls before stalking out of the room, steam practically billowing out of his ears. He can hear the confused murmurs of the team but he can’t be fucked to pay attention.

He’ll never give you up. You belong to him, especially now. He’s certainly not less because he’s… His thoughts stutter to a stop. He realizes that he has no clue what the two of you are. You’re not dating yet he sleeps in your bed and kisses you stupid. Things had evolved so naturally that he can’t even pinpoint the exact moment the relationship became more.

He needs to make this official, he decides. It’s time to make sure you’re really his. No more slumming it. He’ll show you off with fucking pride. You’ll love it. You’ll love him.

You’ll never be a nobody again.

[pascaloverx]

STARVE

Summary: You lost your husband some time ago while he served as a gladiator for Emperors Geta and Caracalla. General Acacius saved you from becoming an object of pleasure for the emperors. Since then, he has taken you as his mistress. In your free time, you became a disciple of Ravi, the healer, dedicating yourself to tending to wounded gladiators. All seemed to be in perfect harmony until Hanno, a gladiator driven by a thirst for vengeance, crossed your path.

Author's Note: And the gods said: Starve will be a multi-chapter fanfiction (I hope readers will follow it all the way through). Without further ado, the characters belong to Ridley Scott's Gladiator II universe, though there will be significant deviations from the film. Historical accuracy regarding life in the Roman Empire may not always be strictly observed, so I hope you can overlook that. Yes, this story revolves around a love triangle, but I will strive to satisfy everyone. This fanfiction will include adult content, violence, and potentially coarse language. Enjoy!

three five (+18)

FOUR

You lost consciousness, yet fleeting moments of the struggle to bring you back to life drifted through your mind like a fevered dream. Ravi, frantic, attempting to stitch your wound. Your body burned with searing heat. Someone held your hand, cold lips pressing against your forehead, as you fought to return—to reclaim a life you were no longer certain you deserved. But the thought of never waking again, of being torn from those you held dear, was a nightmare far worse.

Your late husband appeared before you. He spoke no words, only extended his hand, beckoning you to follow him. You embraced him as one does in farewell, knowing it was not yet your time. And then, whether by day or night, you awoke. Pain throbbed low in your abdomen, a grim confirmation that this was no hallucination—you had been wounded. More than that, Hanno had sought your life. Yet your wound was dressed with care, wrapped securely in bandages. Your attire was unfamiliar, the fabric of your tunic impossibly fine—far beyond anything you had ever worn. You had been tended to with great attention, that much was certain.

"It is a relief to see you recovered," came a voice, firm yet measured. Emperor Geta stood at a distance, observing you intently before stepping forward. In that moment, the pieces began to fall into place—the luxurious garments, the richly adorned chamber. Of course. These were his quarters.

"I would not say recovered, Emperor, merely awakened." Your voice was steady, though your body remained weak. "I see that you are safe." Fragments of memory returned—the gladiator revolt, the last moments before your collapse.

"General Acacius managed to quell the disorder among the gladiators," Geta remarked, his voice smooth yet watchful as he moved closer. "I suspect his true aim was to save his beloved mistress from the grasp of death, though that is something you shall have to confirm with him yourself." You pushed yourself upright, adjusting to the ache in your body, making space on the bed for him to sit. After all, these chambers belonged to him.

"I must thank you for your care. I imagine my recovery is due to your efforts," you say, your gaze fixed upon Emperor Geta. Years had passed with the two of you in such close proximity, yet always bound by the same unchanging dynamic—he desiring you, while you belonged to another. If not to your late husband, then to the great General Acacius.

"You saved my life, healer," Geta murmurs, his eyes locked with yours. His hand comes to your face, a gentle yet deliberate touch, urging you to meet his gaze more fully as he draws closer.

"And your act of bravery will not be forgotten. The gladiatorial games shall resume as soon as you are well enough to attend them—at my side, fulfilling your new role in Rome." Something feels amiss. A new role?

"Forgive me if I seem ungrateful, but what new role do you speak of? And I had assumed the gladiators would not be so willing to continue their battles in the arena," you say, your thoughts reeling, trying to piece together what has transpired in your absence.

"I do not wish to overwhelm you, but your actions have made something clear to me," Geta replies smoothly. "A companion willing to sacrifice her life for me, one who possesses both skill and knowledge in tending to wounds, would be of great use. From this moment on, you shall be my attendant before all of Rome. I assure you, you need not spend every moment at my side—but while you do, you shall keep me entertained."

He pauses, his tone sharpening slightly. "And let me make one thing very clear—you need not concern yourself with what the gladiators wish. They will stand in the arena for as long as I decree it. We decree it—my brother and I."

A faint smile lingers on his lips as he rises. "Now, rest and recover. These chambers—and whatever garments you may require—are yours." Then, with deliberate ease, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss at the corner of your lips before pulling away. The unexpectedness of it leaves you momentarily stunned. And just as swiftly as he came, Geta turns and departs, leaving you in silence.

Not immediately, but moments later, you rise. With some difficulty, you make your way through the palace, recalling the times you accompanied your late husband to his brief meetings with Caracalla. You needed to see Ravi—perhaps the only one truly concerned for you. As you prepare to take the risk of mounting a horse to go to him, General Acacius appears, accompanied by several guards on horseback.

"Where do you think you're going?" Acacius questions the moment his gaze meets yours. You look at him, anger simmering beneath your composure. Years by his side—tending to his wounds, watching over him—and when you were the one struck down, he left you in the hands of Emperor Geta.

"General Acacius, there is a certain recklessness in your question. We are no longer connected, and surely, it is inappropriate for you to question my actions when they matter so little to you," you respond, continuing to ready the horse for your departure.

"Leave us," the general commands his guards, dismounting. "If defiance is your intent, I suggest you try harder," Acacius murmurs behind you, his breath warm against your ear. His hands graze your arms, a slow caress that makes you shut your eyes at the familiarity of his touch.

"Did you even spare a thought for my well-being while I lay dying?" you ask, uncertain now whether your survival is of any importance to him at all.

"If you must ask me that, then you never truly knew me, despite all these years," Acacius says. "I would have faced all of Rome to save your life if it came to that. And indeed, I put an end to a rebellion to ensure that you would stand before me once again, looking at me with that same cold indifference. And here you are." He moves in front of you, seizing the reins of the horse you had been preparing to mount. You avert your gaze, momentarily ashamed.

"I imagine you have punished the gladiator responsible for this," you say, meeting his eyes once more.

"I cannot do that. In the chaos, we were unable to identify who attacked you," Acacius replies. But something in his demeanor shifts—something is not right.

"That will not be an issue. I can identify him," you lie, watching him closely. You need to understand why he is suddenly hesitant. "Do not do this," he says almost immediately.

"And why not?" you demand, struggling to comprehend why Acacius would have any interest in sparing Hanno.

"I cannot tell you. Not yet. Just… don’t," he pleads, his voice softer now, almost desperate.

"Let me guess—it has something to do with Lucilla?" you say, feeling your blood boil. "Your wife comes before any retribution for an attempt on Emperor Geta’s life? Or nearly sending me to my death?" There is no need for him to answer—you already know. Perhaps it is better this way. The sooner you accept that Acacius does not belong to you, the easier it will be to accept the reality that, piece by piece, you are being handed over to Geta. Always belonging to someone—never having someone who belongs to you. Perhaps one day, you will belong to yourself.

"Believe me, it is not easy letting the one who hurt you go unpunished, but there are circumstances that prevent me from—" You do not let him finish. In one swift movement, you mount his horse, the one he had so foolishly left within your reach, since he still blocked the one you had prepared. Yes, you are stealing a general’s horse.

"A word of advice before I leave, General—if you continue placing your wife above all else, you will die. A person blinded by love loses all the instinct for survival," you tell Acacius before spurring the horse forward. But instead of heading toward Ravi, you turn in the direction of the one who owes you the most answers. Hanno.

Your wound threatens to slow you down, but with determination, you press on, each step a test of endurance. At last, you arrive at your destination—the dim, squalid cells where the gladiators are kept like beasts awaiting slaughter. The air is thick with the stench of blood and sweat, the groans of the injured echoing through the narrow corridor.

A guard, stationed at the entrance, swiftly steps forward to block your path, his expression wary. "You are the savior of Emperor Geta, correct?" he asks, scrutinizing you.

"In a way," you reply, your voice steady. "I have come to visit one of the gladiators—I used to tend to his wounds." He studies you for a moment before stepping aside, though his eyes linger on you with mild curiosity.

"You saved our emperor. You may visit whomever you wish. But be warned—none left unscathed. They were punished mercilessly for their part in the rebellion," the guard cautions.

You nod and move forward, your gaze sweeping over the men behind the iron bars. Some are barely conscious, their bodies marred with fresh wounds, while others simply stare blankly ahead, their spirits crushed by suffering. You cannot help but think of Ravi, who must be overwhelmed, desperately trying to mend the broken bodies around him. Then, a sound catches your attention—soft yet urgent. A woman’s voice, one you recognize.

Your steps slow as you follow the sound, until you find yourself before Hanno’s cell. The heavy iron door is ajar, and within, you see him—battered, bruised, barely standing. But he is not alone. Lucilla is there with him, locked in what appears to be a hushed, heated exchange. A strange unease coils in your stomach. Whatever is happening, it is not something they expected to be witnessed. You take another step forward and clear your throat, making your presence known.

"Am I interrupting something?" Both of them freeze, their heads snapping toward you, eyes wide with surprise. And Hanno—Hanno looks utterly ruined.

Your chest tightens at the sight of him. His body bears the cruel marks of battle—wounds torn open, bruises darkening his skin like the aftermath of a storm. It is evident that Ravi has not tended to him, that no gentle hand has sought to mend what was broken. You should feel some measure of satisfaction at his suffering, for he nearly cost you your life. And yet, all you can summon is a strange, unwelcome pity.

"You are alive." Hanno’s voice is urgent, as though the mere sight of you breathes life back into him. He moves toward you, instinctively drawn closer.

But you retreat—a step, then another. His pale blue eyes search yours, and in them, you find sorrow. Perhaps it is for himself, or perhaps for the wariness that now defines the space between you. It matters little. The last time he stood this close, you were left at death’s door.

"Yes, I live." Your tone is measured, though not without bite. "And I see you have already sought comfort elsewhere." Your gaze flickers toward Lucilla, her presence beside him casting shadows of suspicion. The truth strikes swiftly—this is why she so fervently opposes Acacius bringing Hanno to justice. Lucilla stiffens, her face drained of color.

"It is not what you think, Y/N!" she exclaims, a thread of panic woven through her voice. She steps away from Hanno, as though distance might absolve her. You do not reply, merely observing as she turns toward him, her voice lowering to something just above a whisper. "I cannot explain why I am here. I shall leave that task to you."

Then, with a fleeting touch to his arm, she murmurs, "Stay safe." And with that, she departs, leaving you and Hanno alone. There is hesitation in both of you, a guarded uncertainty. And yet, beneath it, something else lingers—a strange, unspoken pull, as if despite all reason, some part of you still longs to close the distance.

"Was it for her that you tried to kill Emperor Geta? He was not even the intended target, was he? Or would you have slain him first, then Acacius, so the two of you could be together? What kind of reckless fool are you, Hanno?" Your voice rises, edged with fury, the mere thought of it setting your blood aflame. Had he truly risked everything—had he risked you—for Lucilla? Acacius had always belonged to her, but Hanno had not.

Before you even realize it, your hands are upon him, shoving his body against the iron bars of his cell. He grunts in pain but does not resist, allowing you to press him further into the cold metal. And then—he smiles. As though your rage amuses him, as though he welcomes it.

His rough hands close over yours, steadying them, though he does not force you away. And then, with a swift motion, he pulls you into his cell. Before you can utter a word, his palm is over your lips, silencing you.

"I will explain everything," he murmurs, his voice low, commanding, "but not if you refuse to listen. Be a good girl and keep still for a moment." Your eyes flash in warning before you sink your teeth into his hand. Hard.

He curses, releasing you with a sharp intake of breath, shaking his hand as if to rid himself of the pain. The faint taste of blood lingers on your tongue.

"I shall remain silent for your explanation," you say coldly, "but do not lay a hand on me unless I grant you leave to do so."

Hanno huffs out a soft chuckle, flexing his fingers as though to ease the sting. He is still smiling—perhaps at your audacity, or perhaps at the sting of your defiance. Then, his expression darkens.

"Lucilla is not my lover," he says at last. "She claims to be my mother, though the fact that she brought me into this world does not necessarily make her one." His words strike you like a blow.

You take a step closer, your mind racing. "That would mean…" The realization unfurls within you, pieces of an old tale assembling into a truth long buried. The missing child. The son of Lucilla, lost to the world. "Lucius." Your voice is scarcely above a whisper. "Lucius Verus Aurelius."

Hanno—or rather, Lucius—gives a slow nod. "I had no wish to reveal it, but I could not allow you to believe there was something between us." There is something oddly hesitant in his gaze, something almost vulnerable.

"Were you afraid I would tell Acacius?" you ask, searching his face for an answer. "Though if he spared your life, it means he already knows."

Lucius exhales, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I care not if you tell Acacius or Geta what I have done or who I am. My only concern was that you might believe I meant to harm you." His voice wavers, and for the first time, you see the torment behind his eyes. "I wished the gods had taken me instead of you. Believe me, it was never my intention to wound you. I have suffered for it every day since, for I wounded the only person who made me feel alive since the death of my Arishat." His voice is thick with emotion, his eyes dangerously close to tears. You stare at him, your chest tightening, before your hand flies across his face in a sharp slap. His head turns with the force of it, his cheek reddening, but he does not flinch. He merely watches you, unreadable.

"Nothing you say will undo what you have done," you say, your voice trembling with anger. "The sheer folly of striking against an emperor! And worse—of keeping this from me."

You push him back against the stone wall of his cell, your gaze flickering over him—his bare chest, the rise and fall of his breath, the defiant set of his jaw. His lips.

Lucius tilts his head slightly, his breath warm against your skin. "Strike me again if it pleases you," he murmurs, his voice nearly brushing your lips. "If pain is what you wish to inflict upon me, then I shall welcome it." His words send something hot and wretched through you, something you refuse to name.

Your hands tighten at your sides, your anger warring with something far more dangerous. "How could you do this to me?" The words spill from you in a whisper, your strength faltering as tears well in your eyes. "Do I mean so little to you?" For the briefest moment, you let yourself break.

"No—do not doubt what I feel for you simply because I was reckless," Hanno says, his voice strained yet firm. "I sought vengeance for Arishat’s death. I thought that if my target were Acacius, it would create a rift between us. If only I had realized sooner that it was vengeance itself I should have abandoned, not merely my aim."

He steps closer, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he wipes away your tears. Your voice trembles with emotion as you ask, "You abandoned your attack on Acacius… for me?"

His jaw tightens. "And it nearly cost me your life. I shall never be so foolish again." His hand rises to your chin, tilting your face up toward his.

His lips hover just above yours, his breath warm against your skin, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I have not forgiven you yet," you murmur against his mouth, your words barely above a whisper, "but listen well—tend to your wounds with Ravi, and next time, think before you act. Strength without strategy is a wasted effort." Your lips are so close that it is almost a kiss, a ghost of what could be.

The hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, mirroring the heat pooling in your chest. Your body aches to close the distance, to surrender to the pull between you. But you cannot. Not yet. Without another word, you step away, turning swiftly on your heel. You do not dare look back as you slip from his cell, leaving him behind.

[senualothbrok]

Here

Summary: After you save him from Orin's clutches, Gale has some things to work through. You show him that he is not alone.

Featuring a fireside chat with Astarion.

A response to this anon ask. I hope you like it 💜

Word count: 2.1k

Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort. Gale x reader/Tav.

AO3 link

A/N: You can watch Gale's reactions to being rescued from Orin's lair here (at 12.32) and here.

Thank you so much @dekariosclan for beta reading and being my marvellous Gale consultant, as always!

****

His scream tears you from sleep. It is shrill, piercing, a desperate flinch against untold horrors. You reach out for him as he gasps, clawing at his orb scar, choking for breath.

When you touch him, he thrashes, still caught in the talons of his nightmare. You see the scars left by Orin in his cloying sweat, his shaking frame, his subsiding shouts as he crumples into you. He cannot hide them from you, much as he tries.

“It was a dream.” You press his head against your chest, twining your fingers through his tangled hair. “You’re safe. You're home.”

He does not speak for a long time. His eyelashes flutter against your skin, his heartbeat jolting through you as he searches frantically for his glade of calm. When he eventually finds it, you feel his hands come to rest on the small on your back, steadying, anchoring. You hold him, torn apart by a gratitude as strong as grief. He is here. You could have lost him, but he is here. You will never let go of him again.

He clears his throat. When he moves back to look at you, his smile does not quite meet his eyes.

“My apologies, my love. I didn't mean to wake you–”

His voice is hoarse, broken. You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for, Gale. Absolutely nothing.”

He looks away for a moment. You know you have a brief opening, now, before the mask comes up, before the jolly dismissals and self-deprecating quips resume their well-worn routines. You place your hand on his cheek.

“Gale, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? Everything that happened–”

He jerks his head, taking your hand in his. His skin is clammy, and there is a hollowness in his gaze, though it is still tender as rain-kissed earth.

“I'm fine, Tav. Please don't worry yourself.” A brisk smile of reassurance, warring with the dark circles under his eyes. “Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.”

You are about to object, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is swift and firm. When he rises from your shared bedroll, you feel bereft.

“I'm quite alright. Nothing that a bit of fresh air and a quick walk won't cure.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, squaring his shoulders. The walls are up, and he is retreating into the night. Even as you ask, you know what his answer will be.

“Should I come with you?”

He huffs, bending down to kiss your forehead. “No, please. Rest. I deprived you of a good sleep tonight, and gods knows how many nights before this. I want you to take what rest you can for our battles ahead. I won’t stray far. Don’t worry.”

You cup his face tightly, desperately. “I love you.”

This time, his eyes smile before he turns away. “I love you too.”

*****

In the distance, streaks of dawn tease at the bruises in the sky. Sleep is a triviality that eludes you. You huddle around the campfire, fretting, trying not to mark the hours that Gale has been gone. Trying not to imagine all of the nightmares which were until recently Gale’s reality.

You fail. You think of how Orin must have flayed Gale’s mind from his body as he struggled, powerless and alone. You imagine his terror, not just of torture and death, but of the orb inside him. And you wonder whether he despaired as he waited, doubting that his love would come for him, fearing that his friends had forgotten him. Convinced that he was once again abandoned to die.

‘Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.’

You bury your face in your hands, a chaos of panic, love and guilt. It takes you a moment to register the presence beside you.

“Gods, you look awful.”

Astarion is peering at you like he is examining a torn gown. A trickle of blood stains his collar, the triumph of a late night hunt. He wrinkles his nose as he studies you.

“Do I need to have a word with Gale about laying off on” – his hand circles vaguely – “whatever it is the two of you do at night?”

You do not have the energy to glare at him. Instead, you glance towards the edges of camp, scanning for signs of Gale’s return. When you see nothing, you sigh. Astarion arches an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to explain why Gale might not be in the mood for that?”

Astarion tilts his head. There is understanding in the pause that follows. Astarion had been the one who helped you get Gale down from Orin’s altar, after all. He had seen the turmoil in Gale’s eyes, the blood on his limbs before the healing spells. He had felt Gale’s resistance when you both laid hands on him, easing him up. The fractured moments before Gale’s usual cheery gratitude snapped into place. Astarion would have recognised the signs better than anyone.

“He’s been having nightmares,” you manage. “But he won’t talk about them. He woke up screaming tonight. Then he went for a walk. He’s been gone for two hours.”

Astarion frowns. “If you’re worried for his safety, the wizard is more than capable of blasting people to smithereens.” He purses his lips. “Assuming he’s not magically restrained, like Orin managed–”

You wince at your rising dread. Gale is an archwizard, you remind yourself, not a defenceless babe. You fight the urge to smother him in care, to protect him and keep him safe at all costs. It is not what he needs. But perhaps you do not know what he truly needs.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Astarion stares at you for a while. He leans back, brows furrowed, and you suddenly wonder if you give him enough credit. Perhaps there are things Astarion sees, despite his usual habit of deflecting things with thinly veiled insults.

“Sometimes, there are things that are better left unsaid.” He curls his lip. “Even for Gale.”

You ignore the barb, spinning towards him. “So Gale should just soldier on? Stiff upper lip, the show must go on? Even when he’s falling apart?”

“So dramatic, darling.” He tuts. “Who’s falling apart? He seems fine to me.”

You clench your hands. “The nightmares are getting worse, Astarion. Gods knows what Orin did to him.”

From the feathering of Astarion’s jaw, you know he can guess.

“And he won’t talk to me. Like he doesn’t want to be a burden. Like he’s sorry…” You scoff. “As if it’s his fault, that he’s the one who let me down.”

Astarion narrows his eyes. “If you’re suggesting that it’s your—”

“No, no,” you huff. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s about Gale.”

Astarion sighs. His gaze is weary as a scar.

“Some things are too horrific to share, darling. So atrocious that it’d be a nightmare to even hear them. He just needs to grit his teeth and get through. Survive.”

You struggle to keep the anguish from your voice. “Does he have to do that alone?”

Astarion’s mouth tightens. He averts his gaze. “Maybe that’s what he’s used to.”

You are taken aback by the resignation in Astarion’s words. Conviction rises in you, an unstoppable tide that weaves through the tents of each and every member of the family you have found.

“But he isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to keep it to himself. He isn’t a burden, and there’s nothing he could do or say to drive me away. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him.”

There is a quiver in Astarion’s features. You have a sense of a door cracking open. A glimpse of something ancient and hidden.

“It takes a while,” he says quietly. “To get used to that. To believe it.”

The silence that falls over you is both heavy and light. Within it, a lifetime of loneliness and fear crashes against the battle-forged bonds of love and friendship. And you believe, with every fibre of your being, that love will endure.

Astarion jerks his head behind you. You turn, your eyes filling as they fall on what they seek.

“But if anyone can remind him,” you hear Astarion chuckle, “it’s you.”

*****

When you return to Gale’s tent, you try to settle him, but he is a flurry. His movements drag with exhaustion, yet are manic with determination.

“Is there something I can get you to help you sleep? A cup of tea? A warming spell? Do you need a–”

You embrace him. His breath catches, and you clasp him so close you can feel the points of muscle and bone. The weight of him, the miracle of him beside you. You will never take him for granted.

“Just you,” you whisper. “Here, with me.”

His lips tingle against your neck, his grasp tightening around your waist. For an eternity, neither of you let go. You are haunted by the shadow of your separation, chasing away Orin’s ghost with the strength of your need. When he dips back, his brows are steepled with concern.

“You’re troubled.” He traces his thumb across your jawline. “What troubles you?”

After all this time, he still does not understand. He cannot see how someone could love him so deeply that his pain becomes their own. He still cannot believe that someone could respond to his love by giving him their whole heart. That you could love him as he loves you. An outpouring of the soul. A sacred offering, steadfast and unending.

“That you’re troubled.” Your fingers interlace with his. “That you think your struggles are a burden to me - that I wouldn't want to share everything with you, including your suffering.”

He grimaces so sharply, it is almost a flinch.

“My love,” he heaves. “You quite literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It torments me to know I’ve added to that load, rather than easing it. If I weren’t such a fool to fall for Orin’s trap–”

You shake your head. The force of it stills him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Gale. What happened wasn’t your fault. And what you’re going through now…You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright. I know it isn’t. I hear it, I see it, every day, every night.”

His eyes widen, the wrinkle between them deepening. You sense the knee-jerk apology that bubbles within him. Your grasp his hand tighter, the words tumbling from you like the sea surging against the shore.

“I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll never abandon you, no matter what happens. You can tell me anything. Everything. Whatever you want. And you can trust me, just like I trust you. Just like I know you love me, and will always be there for me.”

For a while, he does not speak. His gaze roams your face, searching for signs of doubt, hesitation, disapproval. But all you can give him is love.

You draw him back, sinking down to your bed roll. He softens as you curl into each other, his arm wrapping around your body. Your head nestles between his neck and shoulder, and you breathe in the sour tang of his sweat. He inhales deeply, nuzzling into your hair. Memorising you, just as you are soaking him in.

“You kept me alive, you know,” he whispers. “When Orin toyed with me, tore at me. The thought of you, your courage, your kindness. Your love. She could never break me, no matter what vile cruelties she inflicted. I had you.”

Your tears trail into the nook of his collarbone. His voice trembles.

“My foolishness, my carelessness… it could have got you killed. And when you saved me – when, yet again, you saved me from the precipice – I resolved to do better. I told myself the least I could do was cause as little hassle as possible.”

You lurch forward, your vision a blur as you take his face in your hands.

“Gale,” you breathe. “I love you more than anyone and anything. You are not, and will never be, a hassle. A burden. Never. You're the man I love, and you're everything to me.”

His eyes are bright as he brushes away your tears. You watch the shadows lift from his features as the truth of your heart washes over him, wave by wave. Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to each of your palms, holding them against his cheeks.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

There is awe in his voice. Wonder. And shimmering within it, the beginnings of acceptance.

You lean forward, circling the tip of his nose with your own. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands weaving around your back, pulling you closer.

“You don't need to do anything. Just be here, with me.”

You smile into each others’ lips, two rivers joining in the sea.

“I can do that.”

********

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think as always, so don't be a stranger 🫶

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[flowersforchoso]

Back to you

summary: bi-han is going on a solo mission, but you don't want him to. husband!bi-han x reader. cw: angsty, slight hurt/comfort, established relationship, domesticity. nothing too serious

it was one of those nights were you found it hard to sleep because your thoughts raced a thousand miles per hour. bi-han was going on another one of his long missions, which wasn't surprising; only this time, there was a lingering dread you couldn't quite shake off.

you knew what you were getting into by being involved with him. you just didn't envision it would always be like this: that all of his days would be spent away from home, away from you.

but you couldn't fault him entirely; he was a busy man, with an entire clan to govern. still, deep in your heart, you wished he set consideration aside for you.

even during your honeymoon—what was supposed to be an intimate period, free from interferences—his duties still took precedence, effectively casting you aside; placing you on the backburner. and the worst part? he never once protested, his priorities were clear.

he doesn't belong to you, even though you're evidently bound to each other.

you once thought about asking him if the lin kuei needed more members that you'd like to join since it seemed to be the only way you'd get his undivided attention, but had an inkling your attempt at jest would be poorly received, so discarded the idea entirely

you tossed and turned, trying to ease your anxiety but it was no use; eyes landing on bi-han's back, who was no doubt fast asleep.

shifting your gaze to the ceiling above, you blankly counted sheep hoping you'd eventually tire out and succumb to sleep. when that proved to be ineffective, you resumed tossing and turning, which provoked a response from your husband.

finally

"what is it?" his voice is groggy when he calls you out for disrupting his sleep. there's a certain softness to it, and you bite your lip, seeing this as an opportunity to share your thoughts, even though you knew it would lead nowhere, as always. but what harm was there in trying?

"must you go?" you didn't expect the words to come out in a squeak, but you're certain he heard you loud and clear, his reply made that evident

"we've talked about this, i won't repeat myself." his tone is sharp this time, it's obvious he's irritated by your goading, but was it really a bad thing to show that you cared, that you needed him, that you prioritized his wellbeing above all else?

"i feel like it's a bad idea" you swallowed, not allowing his iciness deter you from speaking. "i've been having nightmares. my intuition tells me—"

"your prattling disturbs me. cease it and rest." and with that, silence fell, signaling that no further discussion was needed. there was nothing new to say; you knew that, so did he. getting bi-han to change his mind was an exercise in futility, no different from trying to teach a pig how to fly—it was simply impossible and yet, you persisted.

perhaps his stubbornness had begun to rub off on you. it is said that couples often mirror each other, though you weren't sure how true that was. but if it were, you wished he adopted your traits instead.

sighing, you resign yourself to fate. but not long after, a certain thought crops up in your mind, making your eyes twinkle at the opportunity to turn lemons into lemonade; despair into joy, if only for a moment.

"can you... can you hold me? i'm finding it difficult to sleep." you finally confessed your troubles, hoping he wouldn't deny you something as innocuous as cuddling. contrary to popular opinion, bi-han wasn't all that affectionately challenged. he had the capacity for romance, although his displays of tenderness were few and far in between and sometimes difficult to decipher.

seconds soon turned into minutes, and when silence accompanied inaction, you dejectedly muttered, "goodnight bi-han," as you curled into yourself under the covers.

the next morning, you awoke to the sounds of muted shuffling. bi-han was already up, nearly dressed in his familiar lin kuei getup. you yawned whilst rubbing your eyes, then got out of bed to make your way towards him.

"shall i brew tea?" his back was facing you when you asked, but then he turned to meet your eyes, brows slightly furrowed. "i'm not a child, i can fend for myself if need be."

you only shook your head, fully aware of his disposition and refusing to take his words to heart. "i'm well aware; i just want to help in some way, be useful to you"

"go back to sleep." his dismissiveness made you struggle to hold back tears, but a sob managed to escape your now quivering lips. "how can i, when my husband is leaving?"

"bi-han, please. for once in your life, acquiesce." your eyes squeezed shut in frustration as you pleaded with him to rethink his decisions. it was a pitiful sight, and you were on the brink of bursting into tears at this point—the culmination of your feelings regarding this situation, and perhaps your marriage with him.

as expected, he is unmoved by your outbursts and heads for the bedroom door. you blink away tears before following him into the living room

"i don't have the time and my patience is growing short." he gruffs, already standing near the doorway, about to make his exit. tears are streaming down your face now; you've tried. you've only got one appeal left.

"promise me..." you sniffle, "promise me you'll return home—right here, right back to me"

bi-han's expression softens at your crestfallen countenance. a sliver of guilt tugs at his heartstrings, although you'll never know. he'll never afford you that privilege

"be at ease," he calmly assures. "do you need constant reminders that i'm grandmaster of the lin kuei, not some third-rate lackey?"

this time, you let out a sorrowful chuckle. his bravado is so typical, ego larger than the size of two planets. you firmly rebuke him, showing your seriousness on the matter. "that's not the answer i want to hear. promise me you will return, bi-han"

those words prompted him to act. and act he did, moving closer to you and gently placing a hand on your cheek. you embrace his touch, silently praying for this moment to not end while the tears flowed, seemingly neverending

"i'll return to you. come hell or highwater, neither will prevent me because it is destiny to be with you. i solemnly promise you this."

his words, rather than comforting, were far from it. yet you believed him regardless, because what else could you do besides blind belief?

as if sensing your doubts, he seals his promise with a quick kiss on your forehead, leaving you longing to uncover and experience more of the warmth hidden beneath those frozen layers. but it's too late for that as he backs away and sets off on his mission, not once looking back at you.

you don't know why your heart is suddenly constricting, but his absence is already palpable and engulfing. both of you, unaware, chaos and all its conundrums awaits him while you remain, waiting and pondering, as a pulse continues to grow within you.

wallowing.

[ellievenus]

Saw that your requests were opened and I can’t stop thinking of having sex with Lyney in his bedroom in the house of hearth trying not to get caught by a none and him putting his hand on your mouth to keep you quiet 🤭🤭

Songbird

Characters: Lyney x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: .. went kinda bonkers about this. no i am not favoring lyney requests, i am not, nope. not proofread!

NSFW under the cut.

“Lyney… here?”

You signed, folding your arms over your chest and looking at your boyfriend with an irritated look, which he returns with a wink.

You guys were flirting after one of his shows and things got… way too heated. You weren’t about to fuck backstage and get caught by Lynette, that would be a fucking nightmare.

He smiled and lightly touched your arm, you hated how easy it was for him to just… make you listen. He slowly and gently takes a hold of your hand, admiring the way your hand looked intertwined with his own. Then he looked at you with those eyes you know that screams ‘I’m up to no good.”

“Awh, c’mon love, it’s not like it’ll be our first time here!”

He purred, making sure to lower his voice to the tone that he knows gets you going. You blush and avert your eyes, though your hand tightens its hold on his, making him smile.

You sigh and look at him again,

“I know that, and I also recall us almost getting caught.”

There’s no venom in your words, you both know you want to do this, Lyney just has to push one more button and you would become putty in his hands.

His free hand went to your lower back, tracing a star shape, looking up at you with a teasing expression,

“Well that was because a certain somebody couldn’t stop making noises.”

He just knows how to push your buttons a little too well.

“Fine. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He’s being unfair. He’s gripping your waist and digging his nails into your skin while pounding into your hole so fucking rough the sensation overwhelms you with pain and pleasure at the same time so deliciously you feel like you’re gonna burst any moment.

Your breaths are quick, whining and moaning Lyney’s name over and over as his thrusts become even faster, more rough, and he watches you with a small smile on his lips.

You writhe under him when you cum, cry out so loud let alone the house of Hearth people in the court must have heard you when he doesn’t stop, his thrusts don’t relent, fucking his own cum into you when he shivers and just keeps going, his breathy and whiny moans of your name that fall off his tongue like a prayer just adding to the absolute pleasure and pain he’s drowning you in.

“Lyney- fuck- ah fuck- too fast- you’re going to fast, Lyney-!”

He moans and buries his cock inside you, still for a moment as he catches his breath and his slowly travels from your stomach, leaving a scorching feeling in their wake, and he taps your lips.

“Open up, baby.”

It’s sudden, his voice, the way his body glistens under the moonlight and the way he just fucking says that makes you obey like a fucking dog. He coos as he pushes two fingers inside your mouth, rubbing the tips of them on your tongue.

He starts moving again, now snapping his hips and making sure that every inch of his cock is inside you before pulling out again and doing it over and over again until you’re a crying mess once more.

He pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth. Dropping his voice to a sweet whisper,

“Hush songbird, you don’t want to get us caught do you? be good for me.”

You whimper pathetically and both of your hands find his arm, you start sucking, which helps with muffling your sounds. He looks pleased and resumes his pace, he isn’t going to stop until he’s had his fill of you, until you’re dripping with so much of his cum that it starts to run down his dick and he fucks it back into you. He missed you so much, after all, so be good and take it.

“There’s a good songbird…”

[neverpathia]

crappy rant/analysis about the Voice of the Paranoid because I'm very normal about him

with that said.

It's pretty clear that he's not just scared. Anxiety isn't his only personality trait, and the game makes it incredibly prominent that he's no helpless victim. He's a starved animal backed into a corner, straining his chain thin, clawing and biting. He's desperate and frantic and charging at it all with nothing left to lose.

But I don't really think people talk about his spite and resentment as much, and it's a little surprising given how much he moulds it to his advantage. Still, he's not just sassy for the hell of it: he genuinely hates what he's being forced to do. He's incredibly frustrated. He's very, very done with your bullshit—and that includes his own bullshit too, because he's the scared part of you (Quiet) that turns your fears into reality.

So he despises everything that he's being put through (by you, himself and the other voices), and I think he definitely despises the rest of the Quiet to some extent. He's mainly driven by sheer desperation, but petty spitefulness is also very much involved—in Nightmare, he gets very quick to snipe at Hero despite having a job to do. He even prolongs the argument for a while before Narrator urges him to resume the chant.

And I think that just like the Contrarian, the Paranoid hates what he himself is too. Granted, @/sssilverspades and @/salty-an-disco brought this up, but all the voices probably have that same capacity for self-loathing and I think he's no exception.

He's the most perceptive voice, but at the same time he twists his perception against himself a lot. He's the reason Nightmare happened. He's the reason his fears manifest. And given how quick he was to figure stuff out in Cage and Apotheosis, I think he'd figure that his biggest problem by then was himself.

It's because he's not okay that they could stand a chance against Apothy...but it's also because he's not okay that she happened in the first place. He's very far gone here. At that point, there wasn't much left for him to do but pretend it all away—just a dream, just a dream—and shut his fears off.

He wants it all to be over with, which is especially apparent at the end of Apotheosis's Grace ending, or at the beginning of Nightmare-Wraith. He's doing what he can and keeping it going, but it's not because he wants to. It's because it's the only thing he's even capable of doing anymore. And it's turning him bitter, turning him resentful.

This is what you've done, and he's a part of you. He's regretting and atoning just as much as he's fighting, yet it's what he must do.

Let's not completely rid him of accountability, by the way, which is another thing I wish fandom acknowledged more. You often get him by abandoning the Princess and denying her what she wants. This is what you did: what he did from beneath you. And he's suffering for his own actions.

This is what fear does—it's perfectly natural to be scared and anxious, but you're not the only one it affects. Let it fester, and you lock yourself in. Let it fester, and you hurt yourself more and more. Let it fester, and you lash out against this hurt. Let it fester and you turn others as hollow as you've become. Fear helps no one. All you can do is amend and atone, which in a way is kind of what he ends up doing sometimes. Or you get Moment of Clarity.

As much as I love him, it's a bit hard to see people just praising him for being the goat (even though he is lol) because of how much he helps. Yes, he's a very useful voice. But he's the very reason he has to be useful, not that he even wants to be here.

I might just be completely misinterpreting his character here, though.

[h0rnyshakespeare]

nightmares

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

genre: reverse comfort

word count: 584

warnings: none!

It had been a long day at UA High. With finals coming up, it was needless to say that things were becoming more hectic. You rubbed your tired eyes as you stretched at your desk, thankful that the load of homework you had was finally over.

You glanced at your phone to check the time. It read 1 am. You sighed. Better late than never.

You walked over to your bed and immediately sank under its warm covers, drifting off as soon as your head hit the pillow… only to be woken up rudely by the sound of someone knocking at your door. Grumbling at whoever disturbed your much-needed sleep, you stumbled in the dark to your door. Your frustrations, however, all disappeared when you opened it to reveal your boyfriend. Katsuki’s blonde hair was messy and there were notable bags under his eyes. You frowned. This was out of character for him, as he always went to bed so early (something you’d constantly make fun of him for).

“Katsuki? What’re you doing here?”

“…Can I come in?”

You moved from the entrance, allowing him space to enter your room before shutting the door softly.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, softly.

He sat on your bed, exhaustion apparent on his face. “I’m fine. It’s just the damn nightmares again,” he said, looking away from you.

Your heart ached at his words. Ever since Bakugou had been kidnapped by the League of Villains, he’d have recurring nightmares about it. You hated that there was nothing you could do to stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, holding your arms out to him. He wordlessly fell into your embrace; you began stroking his hair.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked. He usually doesn’t, although that’s never stopped you from asking. Today’s the same, however, as he shook his head in response. “That’s okay,” you said softly, kissing his forehead. “Want me to get you some water?”

He shook his head again, his grip on you tightening.

“Okay, I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him, continuing to stroke his hair and back gently.

You both lay in silence for a few minutes, before your boyfriend spoke up, surprising you. He usually never did.

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic, huh?”

“What?”

“Not being able to sleep just because of a few nightmares over something that happened ages ago. Pathetic.”

You frowned at his words. “Katsuki.”

He looked up at you.

“I would never, ever think you’re pathetic for going through this. You went through something traumatic, and it wasn’t ages ago, it’s still very recent. And even if it wasn’t recent, these things take time to heal from. It’s totally understandable why you’re having nightmares, even though I really wish you didn’t because I feel so bad that you have to experience that moment over and over again. I wish I could stop it. But I can’t. So I’ll be here for you in all the ways you need me. I’m your partner, ‘Tsuki. I’d never judge you. You’re handling all of this really well, and I’m so, so proud of you. Okay?”

He stared at you in silence before clearing his throat and hiding his face in your neck, not wanting you to see that your words made him tear up (even though you could tell). “Thank you.”

You smiled and resumed drawing imaginary circles on his back. “Now go to sleep, you need rest. I’ll be here if you have another nightmare. I’m always here.”

[ironskyfinder]

Taking Dictation

The ad was simple, running in such a nondescript fashion that she almost missed it, down at the bottom of the screen - plain black text on a gray background, so bland it was almost painful.

Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary. Seeking an experienced secretary proficient in dictation and transcription. Must adhere to a strict dress code based on long-term function; excellent communication skills required. Submit a resume online or text ‘SUBMIT’ to 67678.

She thought about it for a moment. 

Everyone at Hamilton & Greene was amazing - except, of course, for Ms Hamilton and Mr Greene - and she liked the fact that it was a short ten minute drive from her apartment. 

But….

The pay was terrible, the transition to the new ‘paperless’ system was a nightmare, and Eric still stunk so bad it was hard to go past his cubicle, even after Linda had a private conference with him. Everyone was overstressed and overworked, and with the lease coming due in two months there’d still been no word on whether they were moving offices, again.

Maybe it was time for a change, or at least time to scare everyone into thinking they’d have to go without her. She glanced back, but the ad and the link were gone - so, she picked up her phone, and texted 

“Submit”

to 67678, just like the ad said, and in seconds a reply popped up - a link, and she tapped it.

The page was similarly subdued, but it had all the information she wanted. The posting was as thorough and painstakingly specific as the job was straightforward - a freelance IT professional and technical writer needed a secretary that could help him run both his businesses. The only item that wasn’t extensively clarified was the dress code, but if it meant she’d be expected to be professional in front of clients, she wasn’t worried. 

She opened her resume, and skimmed it to make sure that it was current before she uploaded it; the next page simply read, “Thank you for your application”, and she stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief that it’d been that easy. 

By Tuesday, she'd forgotten about it, not least because of the fight that Mr Greene and Ms Hamilton were in over the Friemann case, and hearing that it meant bonuses were delayed had her trying not to cry in her car on her lunch break

The phone dinged - a text, from 67678, letting her know that her resume had been accepted.

And, seconds later, a text from a number she didn’t recognize. For an interview: 10AM or 11AM Thursday, or 10AM Friday?

She took a deep breath and steadied her hands. 10 on Friday would be perfect! she texted back, and got ready to head back into the office. 

The interview, and everything leading up to it, was a blur in her mind.

She had taken Friday off, calling in sick late the night before, and had spent a good hour longer than usual getting ready so that she looked sharp for her interview. 

It was at his residence, about a half hour’s drive away; she was on her way with plenty of time, and as much as she’d hate the commute, it was a nice upscale neighborhood, and on the map it looked like it was next to a park that she could walk to on breaks. 

When she arrived, though, all she could focus on was him. She didn’t remember walking in, taking off her jacket, or even what his name was - she was lost in those eyes, and in the sound of his voice. 

He was busy, he explained, too busy to keep up without assistance. He was employed and was about to be over-employed twice over, and there was just no time - his hands were too full. His previous assistant had gotten pregnant, and was looking for a change. She had all the right qualifications to replace her, and to perform even better in her role; she was an expert in taking dictation.

The pay he was offering was almost double what she was making - and, she would be free to use one of the bedroom suites downstairs, whenever she wanted - and she was so excited that she almost forgot to ask about the uniform requirement. 

Almost. 

She’d asked, and he’d chuckled, and she felt herself get wet. He’d said something - she couldn’t remember exactly what - and she’d flushed further. She’d followed him downstairs to one of the bedrooms - to her bedroom - and showed her the corset and stockings that were carefully laid out. 

The mix of arousal and astonishment and disbelief must’ve shown on her face. She didn’t have time to protest or ask questions before he was talking again, and she couldn’t help but melt into his voice. 

He wasn’t just a technical writer, he explained. He also wrote erotica, very successfully, and it was crucial to his process to have inspiration on hand, and reference material available. He was sure that she’d be a perfect fit for her role, all she needed to do was embrace it…

Six weeks in, and she was adapting extremely well to her role.

She rolled lazily out of bed - out of his bed - and quietly made her way downstairs to her room, where she stripped out of yesterday’s uniform and got ready for a quick shower. After last week’s shopping trip, she had everything here that she needed. 

That was another reason she hadn’t been to her apartment since last month. Drying her hair, she emerged from her on-suite bathroom in a cloud of steam and immediately set to getting ready.  

By the time he was coming downstairs to the office, she was dressed - in black today, the set she’d decided she liked the most - she was already there, their coffees in hand, ready to start the day. 

Today he had meetings all through the morning - so she sat at her desk and started working through the notes from the previous day. He was midway through a support call when he hit a button and his desk raised up so he could stand. As soon as he was comfortably standing, she knelt on the cushion in front of him and unzipped his fly, pulling out his cock.

She loved his cock. She got lost in his eyes, and his voice made her melt, but after the first time she saw his cock - on her fifth day, the first time he’d fingered her for reference, while dictating to her. She’d been dizzy, between the sensations of him ruthlessly stimulating her g-spot and  trying to keep up with the rapid pace of his words, and didn’t notice he was jacking off until he grunted softly.

She’d looked back, then - into his eyes, first, those hypnotic pools of gray, and only when he glanced down had her haze followed and - it was perfect, long, thick, throbbing, a drop of precum dripping from the tip as he gently stroked it. She’d begged him to fuck her, that later that afternoon, and that was the first night she’d spent at the office, working late. 

 And the best part - or the worst part, or the hardest part - was that he did expect her to work, despite it all. The uniform, she found, not only kept her on display and accessible, but she felt sexier in it, and even the heels were comfortable too, somehow - but it didn’t make it any easier to be bent over his desk, cockwarming him while he rattled off erotica to her to transcribe. She had to make sure his notes and files got organized, even if she was asked to bounce on a dildo for reference. She had to balance his schedules and make sure his emails were dealt with, even if she chose to spend the morning on her knees trying to distract him while he was on a call. 

Four months in, and she was starting to put a few things together. 

Sir kept assigning her more hypnosis to review, and no matter how good it felt to spend hours on his desk, fulfilling her role, she was only barely keeping up with the notes, and the scheduling, and taking his dick-tation - she giggled, now, whenever she thought of it like that - was even more intense now that he’d started writing a lot of breeding stories. 

She also barely ever slept in her own bed anymore. He liked having her close - for inspiration, he said - but he also liked picking a hole to use to satisfy himself in the middle of the night, and filling her up with another load.

She wasn’t complaining, of course - she would do it even if she wasn’t getting paid - but her birth control pills had vanished from the cabinet, and she couldn’t help but notice that over the next few months the scheduled titles were starting to shift from breeding into pregnancy stories.

A year into her employment and six months into her pregnancy, deskpet was starting to worry. 

She was falling behind now, everything was taking more and more time. The hypnos had made deskpet much, much happier, and now she barely had thoughts at all besides the ones that Sir put in her brain for her to use - but it meant that typing was harder, and now when she was cockwarming or taking dick-tation - she giggled - all she wanted to do was go blank and fulfill her role of serving his cock. 

But he worked so hard, and he deserved help - more help than she could give. 

She thought about it for a while, and set about posting an ad. 

‘Help Wanted: Skilled Secretary’ the ad began….

[rebeliz7]

We have to stop meeting like this

Natasha Romanoff x Doctor Reader 

Request: Can you do Natasha x non avenger/reader where reader is very possessive and protective over her wife “Listen pal. There are two things I need from you. Number 1 is get away from my wife and number 2 is stay the hell away from my wife.” Natasha finds her wife’s treats very amusing, considering she’s the black widow and can more than well take care of herself.

Word Count: 2255

…

You’re about to leave the hospital, your shift having just ended, when your phone rings. 

You see Steve’s name on the screen, and your heart stops for a second before you slide a trembling finger across the screen to answer. 

“You need to come in.” He says after murmuring a soft greeting, and you immediately become terrified. 

“Steve, is she - ”

“She’s okay.” He hurries to explain, probably realizing his mistake. “She’s fine, she’s a little beaten up, but she’s fine.”

“She’s alive.” You assure yourself, before taking a deep breath, and gathering your things. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

…

The moment you get to the Compound you know that Steve was more than vague in his explanation, because you walk into the most chaotic state you’ve ever seen the Avengers in. 

Thor is speaking loudly, his voice booming and making the windows shake lightly while Tony rubs his temples, trying to soothe a certain headache. Sam is nursing a bleeding arm on the couch, and he looks pissed as he raises his voice at Tony too. 

Steve, on the other hand, seems to be trying to keep everyone in check while Wanda and Carol sit on the nearest couch looking exhausted. No one notices you at first.

“Good evening, Doctor.” Scratch that, Friday notices you, and suddenly everyone else does too. They all fall silent the moment they see you, and when no one opens their mouth you rush down the hallway to the med-bay, terrified all over again. 

“Wait up.” Someone calls behind you.

“What the hell happened out there?” You ask over your shoulder, and you realize that everyone is coming with you. 

“You know we can’t tell you what happened.” Steve says calmly, and you turn around abruptly causing him to  stumble trying to catch himself before running into you.

You notice that his brow is bleeding from a small cut, and his suit has a tear on its chest, and he looks exhausted. 

“I don’t want the details of the mission, Steve. I meant what happened to my wife.” You clarify, and he looks to his left as he swallows, and then nods. 

“Bullet wound.” He says, and you close your eyes as you take a deep breath. Then you turn around, and resume walking.

You know how secretive Natasha’s work is, and you understand the risks. She’s an Avenger, and protecting the world is her job. Injuries are, at this point, just a professional hazard for her. 

Still, she’s your wife, and over the years you’ve only become more protective of her instead of more accustomed to the inevitability of these kinds of calls. 

“She should have waited.” You hear Tony say, as you round a corner. 

“Yeah, and you were a load of help.” Sam says sarcastically, and you begin to pay closer attention to their conversation. 

“More help than you, that’s for sure. Getting yourself shot the second you showed up.” Tony snarks back, getting angrier by the second.

“You put us all in danger by going for that computer, Stark.” Thor says, and the steel in his voice is terrifying to hear. “You are not a team player.”

“Newsflash, beach boy.” Tony starts, just as you reach the med-bay. “We need that computer if we want to put an end to this nightmare.”

“That’s enough.” Carol says, and even you straighten up at hearing her command. “Not now.”

The second you spot your wife you rush to her side, while simultaneously assessing the situation with a critical eye. Her waist is patched up, and you breathe a little easier when you realize that the bullet must have not hit anything vital. She’s being hydrated intravenously, and they’ve administered an antibiotic. Other than that, she just seems to be sleeping. 

You know she heals faster than a regular person, but you can’t help but feel as scared as you do every time that she comes home with a bruise, let alone a bullet wound. She’s not invincible, despite the world’s beliefs. 

You take a moment to look at her before you press your lips softly to her temple, and pull up the sheets to cover up to her chin. You pick up her chart next. 

The bullet went through and through just like you thought. They just had to patch her up, the wound was already healing when they brought her in. 

“She should have waited.” Tony says again, and you pick up on the fear lacing his tone. Natasha and Tony go way back, you know he’s her oldest friend among the Avengers, and he wouldn’t put her in danger deliberately.

So whatever’s happened, you rest easy at knowing that he had her back. He always does.  

“That’s enough, Stark.” Carol speaks again, her voice is steel  now, and it scares you slightly. “You can try to justify what happened out there all you want, but we all know the truth. We all heard what you said. We all know that it was you who gave Natasha the go-ahead. So stop. Nat is on this bed because of you. Own it.”

The silence that falls upon the room is deafening, and your confusion only increases the moment Natasha opens her eyes. 

“Jesus, Danvers! You’re being way too harsh.” Your wife rasps with humor in her tone. You know she’s okay, but that still doesn’t stop you from leaning down to kiss her lips the moment she’s done speaking. “Who called my wife?” She asks, her hand cupping your face as you comb her hair back with your fingers before kissing her again. 

“We gotta stop meeting like this.” You joke, and she scrunches up her nose. 

“You think you’re funny.” She says, her thumb caressing your cheek.

“Yeah, well. You married me.” You shrug, and she smiles up at you. 

However, your joy at having your wife in one piece is quickly snatched away when you can feel the rising tension among her team again. 

“We can talk about this later.” Steve says, as you sit down on the edge of the mattress, your wife’s hand in yours as you both turn your attention to her friends. 

“Of course.” Tony says, but you can hear the sarcasm in his voice, and so can everyone else. 

“Tony, come on. We’ll talk about it later.” Wanda insists, her hand on his forearm, but he’s quick to shake her hand off, and step closer to the bed, his eyes firmly locked on your wife. 

“You were an idiot!” He points a finger at Nat, and it’s your turn to frown. 

“Tony.” Sam, and Carol try to stop him but he continues to advance on your wife anyway. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You wife asks as you slowly stand up. 

“That’s enough, Tony. Come on, man.” Steve intervenes, but Tony ignores him, his eyes still trained on your wife.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the master spy? The brains of this bunch, besides me?” He shouts, his anger sparking your own, and you find yourself pushing him back before he can take another step closer to Natasha. 

“Listen  here, pal.” You growl, as he stumbles back a couple of steps. “There are two things I need from you right now. One: Stop yelling at my wife, and Two: Stay the hell away from her. Got it?”

“Seriously?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you step closer, daring him to try you. He may be Iron Man, and a dear friend, but you’re Natasha’s wife, and he’ll have to respect that. 

You glare until he takes a step back in response, still frowning. He looks at Nat over your shoulder, and you hear her snicker. 

“I’d listen to her, Tony.” She tells him, and you can hear the amusement in her voice. She’s not angry, or hurt, despite Tony’s frustrations. 

“Is anyone seeing this?” He asks, his index finger pointing at your chest, as he looks at everyone else in this room. 

“Come on, man.” Steve sighs again, and you catch Carol smirking, as Wanda rounds the bed to get closer to Natasha. 

When Tony looks at you again you can see the regret in his eyes as clear as day. You don’t know what happened out there, but you don’t blame him for your wife being on this bed. Natasha doesn’t take uncalculated risks, at least not since you two got married. Whatever decision she made during their mission was her own, you’re certain of that. 

“How about a shower, and a nap?” You tell him, your hand on his arm now, and he lets out a deep breath. He looks exhausted, and he’s a dear friend of yours too. You need him rested, and taken care of before he attempts to speak to Natasha again. “Come back later, we’ll be here all night.”

“Yeah.” He nods, and he leaves quickly, leaving you surrounded by equally exhausted superheros. 

“How do you do that?” Sam asks you, as Carol and Steve walk closer to the bed too. 

“Do what?” You ask him, feigning ignorance.

“You know what.” He says, and Carol is laughing when you turn around. 

“What’s so funny?” You wife asks her as you sit on the mattress, and begin running your fingers through her hair again. You smile to yourself as the Avengers gather around your wife’s bed. 

“Nothing, really.” Carol shakes her head, and your wife frowns, fixes Carol with a glare that only makes the Captain laugh harder as she turns around, and makes for the door. 

“Don’t say it.” Sam shakes his head, also amused and you’re tempted to laugh at the look on their faces but you limit yourself to watching the interaction. 

“What?!” Your wife insists. 

“Well, your wife is a lot scarier than you these days.” Carol shrugs, one foot in the hallway already, and Sam hides his laughter behind a very fake coughing fit. 

“And that’s funny why?” Your wife asks, and Steve shakes his head, finally smiling. 

“You’re the Black Widow.” Carol deadpans, and your wife glares harder. 

“It is kinda true.” Wanda says, nodding her head, and your wife huffs in disbelief this time. 

“Children, the bunch of you.” You call them, as you stand up again to put an end to their teasing. Natasha really does need to rest, as do all of them. “Go, take showers please. And eat something.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve says with humor in his voice, and you roll your eyes as you practically push him out of the room.

When they’re gone, you close the door before taking off your jacket, and heels.

“What are you doing?” Your wife asks with a smile, even while she scoots over on the mattress, already making room for you. 

You get in bed with her, your arms wrapping around her middle as she presses her lips to your temple, and hugs you tight. 

“You need a shower too.” You tell her after a little while, and she pinches your arm as she laughs.

“Rude.” She says, but you’re quick to kiss her lips. 

“Babe, I love you. But you’re all sweaty and gross right now.” 

“I was shot!” She reminds you, and you hum in response. 

“No need to remind me.” 

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes. “I got distracted for just one second.”

“What happened?” You ask her.

“There was this really cute tabby-cat, and he was right in the middle of - ”

“Hold on.” You interrupt her, your hand in the air. “Please tell me that you didn’t get shot because of a cat, Natasha.”

The silence that you’re met with is answer enough, but she looks absolutely adorable as she grimaces, and pulls back a few inches from you. But that’s exactly who she is, isn’t it? She’s the kind of person that would get shot because she was trying to protect someone… or in this case a cat. 

“You really are scary.” She tells you, and you roll your eyes again. You know she likes cats but this is just ridiculous. 

“I swear!” You huff, and she hugs you closer, her lips pressing sweet kisses on your shoulder again. “Do they know why you got shot?”

“Wanda does.” She says with a smile. 

“That girl is always helping you when you’re reckless.”

“That’s why I love her.” Natasha smiles wider this time, and her wandering lips continue to press kisses along your neck, your jaw. 

“If you think you’re getting lucky while you’re lying on a bed after getting shot because you saved a cat, think again.” You tell her with a pointed look and she lets out a disappointed breath, a smile on her face as she presses one last kiss on the corner of your lips.

“You need to tell Tony that. He thinks you got shot because of him.” You tell her quietly.

“I know.” She sighs, and you can see how tired she feels. 

“Thanks for defending me.” She says after a few minutes of lying in silence. 

“Anytime.” You grin cheekily at her, and she presses one last kiss on your cheek before getting more comfortable. 

You both know that she doesn’t need you standing up for her. She could have handled Tony on her own, and she can take her teammates teasing. They all know how far to push after all. She is the Black Widow. 

But ‘Black Widow’, ‘ex-assassin’, ‘deadliest woman alive’ or not she’s still your wife, and the love of your life and you will always, always stand up for her. 

… 

[loveandmurders]

You belong to Ambrose I (poly!Sinclairs x f!reader)

Hey everyone, I'm happy to finally post the first part of this imagine.

I really hope you'll enjoy it <3

Warnings: no proof reading, a few strong words, angst, dangerous!Lester, mentions of violence, blood and murders, morally grey reader.

“Hey, mom, what do you think Ambrose looks like now?” you heard yourself asking your mother without even meaning to.

The woman sent you a quick glance before her attention went back on the food she was preparing on the kitchen table.

“Why?” she sternly asked back and you tried to shrug it off, no matter how embarrassed you were starting to feel about the whole conversation you just brought up.

“Don’t know. I’m just planning a road trip with friends and we’ll go close back to where Ambrose is…was. I noticed it wasn’t even marked on maps anymore” you explained and your mother hummed

“Then you got your answer. Ambrose must be gone.” she said “Like the brothers you used to love so much” she replied and sent you another look, as you glanced down at your lap, in shame.

You should have known better than to talk about Ambrose to your mother. The woman had always wanted to pretend it had been a terrible nightmare.

“Mom…” you whispered

“I’ve never understood why you were so fond of them. Your dad either. They were a terrible influence on you. I’m happy you decided to burn the bridges with them and that you never went back to Ambrose. There was nothing for you there. And those people were troublesome and violent and… freaks. You deserved way better than them.” she continued and you resisted the urge to take their defence. They weren’t freaks, they were… a great part of your life and now a great hole inside your chest. “What was their name again?” your mother asked.

“Sinclairs” you instantly replied before biting your tongue

“Ah yes. Well, I’m glad you didn’t become one” she continued and you frowned at that.

“What do you mean, mom?” you wondered with a tilt of your head

“The eldest one, when he came back to Ambrose after his mother died and that he was sent away for a few months, and before his dad died that same day, he looked for you. He knocked at our door. Thank God you were away with your dad then. I told him to go away and he assured me that he would never go away from you, and that you would become his wife one day too.”

“His… wife” you whispered, your heart aching.

Bo was indeed often speaking about marrying you and sharing you with his brothers, but you always thought there were only words; the Sinclairs never really planned out their future. Bo was too obsessed with cars and getting free from his family to care about anything else. Vincent was too focused on his art. Lester was just a lost kid wandering into the woods late at night. You hadn’t thought they were actually seeing you as their future. You always appeased Bo, you always brought Vincent back to reality, you always helped Lester feel like he was part of something.

“To be honest” your mom resumed and your attention went back on her “with the amount of time you were spending with him and his brothers, I was really worried you would agree on doing something that stupid. And even though you left Ambrose heartbroken and sobbing, I’m happy something happened between you, him and his twin, that day. I don’t know what it is, but I knew it convinced you to leave.” she continued and you didn’t answer. The memory of that day was still burning you to the core.

You had been so happy so see Bo and later on, Vincent. You had run into their arms and they had hugged you with fierce love. You were all planning on getting Lester back too. 

And then, Bo killed his dad and Vincent told you he was going to continue the House of Wax, the way his mother always did. You knew about the murders, you knew people were beneath the wax, but you never said anything because you loved the boys. And despite how an awful mother Trudy was, she liked you. You were a girl, and she could finally chat around with what looked like a daughter to her. Victor was also a little more careful around you. You were loved by the Sinclairs, and they couldn’t explain it; it just happened.

But their love was dark and violent, and you couldn’t agree to live like that; you couldn’t stay in Ambrose when everything was dying around and you couldn’t live from murders. You promised yourself to never betray your boys, but at the same time, you left with your parents without a goodbye. You knew that if you decided to go see the twins one last time, they would convince you to stay and it couldn’t happen. You never recovered from the fact you didn’t see Lester again before leaving and you hoped Bo had been able to bring him back home. You were certain he did though, because his people were the only thing that mattered to him.

You were about to leave the kitchen when your mother called your name and you turned around, with a raised eyebrow, silently asking her what she wanted.

“Do me a favour and stay away from Ambrose during your little road trip, okay?” she said with a hint of concern in her voice

“You said yourself that there is nothing there anymore anyways” you replied, a little bit surprised by your mother’s attitude

“I know but… I don’t want you to tempt the devil” she replied and you only found yourself nodding. 

You wondered if by the devil she meant Bo.

Bo knelt in front of a woman he just killed. She was the last one of the group and he was glad about it because he felt quite tired now. It was too hot today to play hide and seek with assholes. At least, the night was already casting its shadows around Ambrose and bringing with it a little bit of fresh air. Bo looked down at the woman, tilting his head to the side as he watched the pretty necklace she had around her neck. It was slightly covered in blood but he was pretty sure he could wash it without trouble. It looked expensive; he was certain the glitter coming from beneath the blood was a little diamond. He took it off her body without a care and pocketed it before Vincent could use this jewel on his next wax statue.

“Y/N would’ve liked it” Bo hummed to himself before sadly sighting. His throat tightened as always when he was saying your name out loud.

Whenever he was spotting something that reminded him of you, he was always grabbing it and putting it away, in a box filled with gifts for you. He never stopped hoping that one day he would be able to give you this box. You would realise how much you were loved then; but so far it only happened in his dreams. And yet, he was thinking about you everyday of his life and he still believed you would come back home one day. He was certain you were meant to be a Sinclair; even his parents were liking you so it had to mean something. He missed you so much, he missed your laugh and he missed the way you loved his brothers and himself. Ambrose was empty without you. Life had always been shit, but your absence was torture. He had thought that after a few years, the pain would subside, but it really didn’t. It often felt like it was actually growing up inside his chest. You left with a piece of themselves, you left with the only sun and happiness the boys truly felt. He knew his brothers were feeling the same, because everytime they were all eating together at night, the conversation always ended on what you became. And on why you never came back.

They could guess you were disapproving of the killing, but they couldn’t stand the idea that maybe you got scared of them. They couldn’t even say it out loud; you were the only thing they would never have hurt.

Bo sighted again as he grabbed the woman by her ankles and he started to pull her to the house. Vincent came upstairs when he heard a body being dragged on the floor and he helped his twin out. Vincent could tell by the look in Bo’s eyes that he was thinking about you. It was the only moment Bo was utterly silent too, lost in thoughts.

Vincent couldn’t blame him. He had hundreds of books filled with drawings of you. Whenever he thought that he would never hear your voice again, never feel your touch on his skin anymore, Vincent was drawing you. He was certain you existed that way, and he was certain he would never forget about what you looked like, even if he knew your figure and face were carved inside his chest and brain. You used to caress the bad side of his face and to remind him he was handsome, even in front of Trudy or Victor. You had never been afraid to show yourself with “the freak”. And his skin felt so dry and painful now your fingers hadn’t traced it in years.

The twins worked in utter silence and none of them felt hungry that night, so they went to bed earlier than usual. None of them slept actually, simply staring at the ceiling or at the wall, wondering where you were and if you were happy… without them. They wanted you to be happy as much as they wanted you to be miserable without them, because it was their only chance you would one day come back home.

Lester wasn’t better than the twins. And if Bo fucked with some girls, Lester just couldn’t even think about touching someone else than you. It felt wrong to him. He promised you he was yours and only yours after all. He had always enjoyed how a little bit possessive you were with the three of them. Lester wasn’t certain of a lot of things, but he knew he belonged to you. You had always loved them equally, giving them the love they were all craving so much.

You were always in Lester’s mind. He was always hoping to find you among a group of tourists, to be fair. He never stopped looking for you and hoping to see you again. You belonged to them too, so he couldn’t understand how you could live away from them. And he knew that if he ever found you again, he wouldn’t hesitate to lock you up somewhere if it meant keeping you by his side. Forever. 

And he was certain that the twins were thinking the same. They lost you once, they wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

But for that… he needed to find you first. 

And every morning and every night, he promised himself he would. Out of the three, he was the one who was the most certain he could get you back home, no matter if you wanted it or not. You were his little goddess, so he was certain that at some point you would come close to Ambrose again… and he would stumble upon you… and he would get you home. You would become the divinity of Ambrose once again, and everything would be alright.

One day, luck seemed to be on his side.

The closer you drove to Ambrose, the more you recognised the roads. Your mother’s words never stopped echoing inside your head and at some point, you turned the wheel so you wouldn't get too close to the place. A part of you wanted to drive right back to it; you even felt a little pang when you took the opposite path. You wanted to be back home more than anything, but you were too afraid of what would await you there. You even believed that the twins would be so mad at you, they would kill you and turn you into a wax statue so you couldn’t leave anymore without saying goodbye.

You found a little campsite and you all decided to spend the evening and night there. You forced yourself to focus on your people so you could forget about the Sinclairs. Another part of you was begging you to leave this place and to drive as far as possible away from Ambrose. You had no idea which parts of you were stronger.

You realised you didn’t have enough food for tonight so you and another girl took the car to find a shop nearby. It was late so a lot of them were close and you had to admit, you shivered in fear when your friend showed you the only store open 24/7 in the area. It was very close to Ambrose; little did you know that it was actually the town Lester was living in. You tried to not show anything as you drove to the store. You crossed your fingers to not run into any of the Sinclairs before you thought how stupid this was. The boys wouldn’t be there, and they might even be dead because of their way of life. And you were a lucky girl, something like that couldn’t happen to you.

Even if something inside of you was bubbling in excitement and hope.

As you entered the store, a man was leaving it. He moved to the side to let you come in and as you were about to thank him, your eyes met his and widened.

Lester.

You tried to move past him, hoping he wouldn’t have recognised you or that he would hate you enough to let you go easily. But you were a fool. He instantly grabbed your wrist as he whispered your name, bringing you back to him. He was in trance. He couldn’t believe the day finally came. Your friend frowned, wondering what was going on. She placed an arm around your shoulder to show you support

“Can you let go of her, buddy?” she calmly said and Lester instantly obeyed, not wanting to cause a scene. He put his hands in front of him in defence.

“Sorry. Hi, Y/N, ‘s been a long time” he hummed, looking for your eyes.

“Hi, Les. Sorry, but we’re a bit in a hurry here, we’ll chat another time, hmm?” you said, hoping to get out of this discussion as fast as possible. Goosebumps littered his skin at the sound of your voice calling him by his nickname.

You were surprised when Lester simply smiled and nodded. You noticed his grin didn’t reach his eyes though and you suppressed a shiver. You knew you were in trouble, especially with him letting you go so easily. Even more when he cheerfully said as you turned your back to him “See you soon, darl”

Lester settled in his truck and waited for you and your friend to get out of the store. He dialled his big brother’s number with a light in his eyes. It was the first time in so long he felt like he was finally alive. He was certain things were finally going to be good.

“‘S up, Les?” Bo hummed at the other side of the line, always answering his phone very fast whenever his brothers needed him

“She’s here.” Lester simply said because he was too happy and excited to say anything else.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout, kid?” Bo asked, not wanting to get some false hope.

“Y/N. She’s at the store. She’s with a friend. Gonna follow them, I’ll send ya their location… And we’ll bring her home tonight”

It was a promise.

And a threat.

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Taglist : @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21

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PART II