#Their resume must be a nightmare

[radarchives]

[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."

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[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.

[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 🫶

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[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…”

[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….

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x Reader)

All Chapters List

Chapter 13: 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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[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.

--

Taglist : @lacychick ; @magical-sass ; @limehaspassed ; @loveinglymessedup ; @bloodmoon-bites ; @iwantsleepplz ; @kawaistrawberry21

--

PART II

[queenie-avenue]

Sent from Below, Fell from Above. [pt.1] [pt.2]

—> if angels can fall, demons can rise.

⤻ reader is a female, reader is a bunny-type angel(?), canon-typical cursing, very bad use of 1920s slang, heavily inspired by @jazjelspen 's angel baby fic, death, betrayal, mentions of racism, abuse of men against women and sexism, angst, spoilers for all of hazbin hotel season one, flashbacks

notes: a rather long one, and wrote another small verse for readers to sing. I wrote it while slowing down the melody in Emily and Charlie's parts.

💌 ⤻ archives.

You walked into the broadcasting room, your heels clacking against the clean floor as you looked about before acknowledging that someone was already there.

"Ah, are you my newest assistant?" The man seated there had the widest grin on his face as he sat there, legs slightly spread apart as you gulped, nodding your head so meekly. Ah, to be human again, when you were too scared to even raise your head. "Haha, that's wonderful, my dear. I was told you had quite the resume. Most impressive for a young lady." You nodded your head. "Very... very impressive indeed." He smiled at you.

"You are impressive too, sir." You quipped.

"Oh?" He tilted his head.

You blushed as he narrowed his eyes at you. "Both of us... we- we're not exactly what society deems as... correct."

"Is that why you're working here? You relate to me?" The creole man asked, leaning against his chair as he tapped a lanky finger on his desk.

"No." You shook your head, your wild hair shaking alongside you. "I admire you. I want to be like you. I imagine it must have been hard for to get to where you are now." You spilled your heart out to this man, because for years, you admired how someone that was meant to be pushed out of what society deemed 'right' managed to rise to the top, to become a striking star in the radio world. "So I'm here because I want to learn how to become a star, just like you."

His eyes widened as you faced him with that determined look on your face.

"What a bright young woman." He rose up from his seat, sauntering his way towards you as you stood there, waiting.

Alastor grabbed your hand, bowing down as he looked up at you, that sweet grin on his face. "Alastor, my dear, pleasure to meet you." He said, before sealing your fate with a kiss on your hand. "I hope that we can get along well." You gazed at him with wide eyes, your eyes raking over his bronzed skin and brown — almost red — hair. Glasses lined his gleaming eyes.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

"Hey, bitch! I'm talking to you over here!" Adam's voice rang throughout your head as your head snapped up to meet the first man on Earth. You frowned.

You never liked Adam. He was stuck-up, and you had heard the stories of how badly he treated Lilith and Eve, it reminded you of your high-school friends who unfortunately fell into the hands of those abusive men they had to marry. Adam had the same air as them, just less... smart.

"You want me to show up to the trial?" You repeated.

"Yes!" Adam yelled.

"I don't mind. That demon princess annoys me a little. I don't understand why she's trying to redeem a murderer like him." You hissed. The fact that girl — who probably knew of his sadistic nature — associated with him, left a bad taste in your mouth. Though wrath was a sin, you felt resentment and wrath for Alastor, and envy for how he did not seem to regret any of his actions that led him to hell in the first place. Meanwhile, you had to deal with the nightmares that came with being killed. For the first years in Heaven, you woke up in cold sweat as you remembered the knife that went through your heart.

"Well then, babe," you disliked Adam, but a temporary truce would be fine. "Let's start heading there, shall we?"

You nodded and unflapped your wings.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

You flew up to the seat beside Adam, eyes narrowed as you watched Alastor promenade in with the Princess of Hell and that girl you still had no idea about. The way he walked was still the same as it had been years ago.

You met eyes with Alastor, mustering all your courage to send a look of malice his way, as Sera announced the beginning of court.

"We are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell can be redeemed to the Heavenly Realm by means of this Hazbin Hotel." Oh, you just knew Alastor named that Hotel, he always did have a sick sense of humour. You almost snorted at the name too, but refrained from doing so.

Adam nudged you. "Now." He practically hissed. Out of spite, you almost didn't stand up.

"Objection!" You said as you stared down at the Princess, then at Sera. "I apologise for interrupting you, your royal highness." You looked down at her, then up at Sera, who glared at Adam, instinctively knowing it was his idea to rope in the innocent you into his plans. "I understand that as a Winner, I typically have no say in how Heaven runs things." You summoned up all your might as you met Sera's eyes, utilising all that courage you had back as Alastor's assistant into your heavenly body. "But I must disagree on the type of people the Princess of Hell is trying to redeem." You pointed a finger at Alastor, his eyes widening in amusement as you accused him.

"This man, I knew him from when I was alive, my heavenly council." You looked at all the archangels and others that gathered around. "He was the man who killed me. A notorious serial murderer from when I was alive. More of his victims are no doubt here too, maybe some in hell. But what doesn't change the fact is that someone as dangerous as him," You pointed your finger at Alastor again, your face turning red as he simply tilted his head towards you, like a gentleman greeting a lady. The council gasped as they all whispered about, some glaring down at your murderer. For once, you felt like justice was being served for how abruptly your life had ended in Alastor's hands."Does not belong in Heaven after all the souls he has killed in his time in the living. No matter how much he repents, taking away another human's soul is an unforgivable crime!" You exclaimed.

The rest of the council agreed, as the Princess and the girl beside her looked about, frantic. Alastor simply smiled up at you, his little bunny.

"Order in the court." Sera said, attempting to calm everyone down after you riled them up with your voice.

"You've always been such a good public speaker, my little bunny." You saw red, he dared to call you that intimate nickname in front of the Heavenly Court? After you had revealed his crime to everyone to see?

It seems that Alastor's nerve had not died with him.

"Why is he even here?" You questioned Charlie, your fiery gaze never leaving the trio below you.

"I am the host of the hotel, my dear!" Alastor said, "I should be here to support my fellow colleagues in their endeavours. What kind of co-worker — let alone friend — would I be if I let them defend their case on their own?"

You were about to speak when you were interrupted by that Princess.

"In the Hazbin Hotel, we believe that everyone can be redeemed!" The Princess exclaimed despite the loud voices drowning her out. "Please, you have to listen!"

"You don't even have evidence that this Hotel can work. If you do, we'd be glad to see it!" Adam responded sarcastically, challenging Princess Morningstar.

"We have a patron that is showing incredible progress." She said.

"Who?"

"Don't tell me it's him." You glared at the Princess, daring her to confirm your doubts.

"Angel Dust!" What an odd name.

"Oh yeah! The porn demon, he's totally worth being redeemed." Adam blew a Raspberry at them. That was... immature. Still, your cheeks almost flamed scarlet as Adam gave you context for who and what this sinner the Princess referred to was.

"Well, if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into heaven?" She pointed at Adam as your eyes widened. You had never thought about this before but... what did a person need to do to get into heaven? Did they need to be perfect? Because if so, you certainly belonged in Hell. Then, you remembered Alastor and your mood soured to think that you might have been in the same spot as him.

What was even more shocking was when Adam began to get flustered, flabbergasted by Charlie's question as Sera inquired as to whether Adam was okay. You watched even more shocked as Adam cursed at Sera and began to scribble nonsense onto a paper and sent it down to the girl. You caught a glimpse of the paper and your eyes widened.

"Are you fucking serious?" The ashen girl by the Princess' side asked, and honestly, that was your reaction too.

Adam snapped his fingers as Charlie challenged him, your eyes narrowing as an orb of light began to reflect, glowing bright before showcasing a bunch of sinners... partying? Was that how partying looked nowadays?

"Heavenly people, what more do you need to see? The pornstar chose a night of debauchery, that's not a soul worthy of being redeemed!" You side-eyed Adam. He had done way more debaucherous stuff than you cared to admit, and plus, if not partying was one of the factors for how you could get into heaven, the parties Alastor dragged you to would have caused you to plummet to Hell already.

"Are you telling me you never had a drink with friends after a hard day?" The Princess was right.

Thankfully, Sera was much more forgiving and less stupid than Adam, considering that she eventually allowed the Princess of Hell to continue. Still, you glared at Alastor, annoyed that you and Adam's ploy to get everyone so worked up over the serial killer in the room had not worked.

If the type of people the Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar, wanted to redeem was a serial murderer, you would never accept the idea of redemption.

Alastor did not deserve such happiness.

You continued to watch, and the more you watched, the more you empathised with this Angel Dust... the more you felt inclined to care for him. You felt your heart — that you had assumed turned to stone for the sinners down in hell — slowly soften into clay for this sad man. Yet, despite how sad he clearly was, he was so strong. Stronger than anyone you had ever seen.

"See! He did everything on your list! He was selfless, he stopped Nifty from stealing and stuck it to that Moth man!" Charlie exclaimed, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

"Well, b- then why isn't he here then!" Adam sputtered out. "Hm?"

"Why isn't he here?" Emily and You said in unison.

"Wait, none of you know what gets someone into Heaven?"

The rest of the conversation was a blur to you as you struggled with the idea that you had no idea why you were in Heaven. If you had done one wrong thing... would that have condemned you to hell with Alastor?

You had not even comprehended the fact that they had started debating their ideas in song till Lute who was seated beside you, began to insult the sinner that all of you had been observing. Your eyes had solely been focused on Alastor the entire time, but theh quickly shot to Lute.

"What are we even talking about? Some crack whore who fucked up already! He blew his shot like the cocks in his mouth, this discussion is senseless and petty!" Lute sang, and you almost reached out for her, to not say such crude things in front of the Heavenly council and certainly to not insult a victim of abuse. Yet Lute and Adam flew away first and you frowned even deeper.

"Gotta say I can't wait to-"

"Adam." You turned to Sera.

"Come down and exterminate you!" Your eyes widened as you realised the severity of this situation. You now understood why this Princess was fighting so hard for this hotel.

Adam was killing the sinners.

He was no better than Alastor. No, even worse. Adam slaughtered an entire group of people without mercy. You felt bile rise up from your throat as they continued to sing, the tunes of their voice banging against your ears.

"Whoops!"

"Guess the cat's out of the bag!"

"What's the big deal?"

They didn't even see what was wrong with what they had said. You almost stumbled back thanks to shock and your absurdly long dress. Your entire world was sent into a frenzy as you felt so disgusted with yourself, for thinking that you could work with Adam, for siding with Sera and Adam — though briefly — for the idea of extermination. You felt yourself fall back, but someone was there to catch you.

Alastor's shadows manifested behind you, holding you close to his chest. "Be careful, Sweetheart." He said, helping you regain your balance as you felt too much anger with yourself to be angry at him.

"If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie!"

"Emily-"

"If Angels can do whatever and remain in the sky! The rules are shades of grey, when you don't do as you say, when you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again!"

Their words resonated with you, and you found your heart thumping to the melody of the song.

"Don't look there." Alastor whispered as a red hand came up to your face, covering your eyes. "I don't like to see you stressed, my darling." The warmth of his hand felt like that time when he had surprised you on your birthday, covering your eyes before revealing the cake he had bought and the decorations he had put up for you.

Despite how he covered your ears, you could hear the court arguing amongst themselves.

That's when you heard it.

Sera's voice boomed throughout the entire court, facing the sinners with a verdict. "I'm sorry, but this court finds that there is no evidence souls in Hell can be redeemed."

"Oh fuck yes! I win, suck it, bitches!"

"You better save the date cunts, because we're coming to your hotel, first." That's when Alastor manifested in front of them, his shadows pushing Adam back, almost causing him to topple over.

"Not a very clever idea, chum, it's rude to curse at ladies." Alastor warned, the shadowy tentacles slithering about, ready to attack Adam.

"Ugh, son of a bitch!" Adam cursed as he grabbed out his guitar. "Or maybe, I can just kill you fuckers now." He took out his guitar-axe and in a flash of light, you flew towards them, shielding the trio from Adam's strikes with your wings. Adam flew back when his guitar-axe made contact with your angelic wings, enchanted by a spell that slammed Adam and Lute back, crashing into the wall.

"Just because you're a winner, does not give you the privilege to harm someone else!" You yelled, never having such a fit of rage in your life as you spread out your wings. You were a bunny; prey, never the predator. But as you spread out your Enchanted wings, you felt yourself grow angrier as you thought of how Adam — that sadistic motherfucker — no doubt killed multiple sinners. Sinners who were just like Angel Dust, misguided, but deserving of redemption.

"Are you seriously defending them right now, you crazy bitch?" Adam grunted as he glared at you.

"I'm defending the principle of it." You hissed.

Sera and Emily looked down at you. Sera, in particular, had a sour look on her face.

"You say that demons cannot be redeemed to Heaven, but why can Angels fall?" You questioned. "Lucifer himself, was once an angel, God's favourite angel!"

"If angels can fall, then why can't demons rise?" You looked towards the Heavenly council as you sang. "After this, will you really believe all their lies?" You questioned through song as Adam got up, knowing you had little time to convince the court. "The rules aren't black and white, who decides what's wrong and right? Can you say that this is justice when you kill them again?" You sang, pleading for the court to just look past their prejudices.

Just then, you heard a snap of Adam's fingers as a portal emerged from behind all of you. "No!" You yelled when you noticed how the portal was leading to a red fiery pit you assumed was hell, but before you could even protest, you had been pushed in by Lute, causing the rest of the four of you to stumble back down into hell.

tags: @duckydinglers @ghostdoodlen @belletifeshyl

[toournextadventure]

everyone but her pt.41

Summary: You were getting used to the weird. Hell, you were almost even comfortable with it. But when weird turns to unsettling, you panic. At least Wednesday's there to panic with you.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, violence, arson, mentions of murder, slight gore Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

It was dark and you couldn’t breathe.

No, that didn’t seem right. You were still alive, weren’t you? Surely you could breathe. With great effort, you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with the hot summer air. Every moment of it hurt, but you could breathe. Okay, that was much easier to work with, now you needed to focus on the dark.

Wednesday had invested in even thicker blackout curtains (which were unnecessary, though appreciated), so that must have been it. There was a dull pain in your eyes - yes, actually in your eyes - but you marked it down to still being exhausted. The alarm clock on Wednesday’s nightstand read 3:33 am; way too early to be awake. It was no surprise your eyes were hurting.

It wasn’t immediately obvious why you had woken up at such an unusual time. Wednesday was still asleep in your arms, her head tucked carefully underneath your jaw. Her breathing was deep and even and, against her desire, she was almost horrendously warm.

If she was still with you, what could be wrong? You couldn’t remember a nightmare - even though your racing heart said otherwise - and there weren’t any strange sounds in the room. The muscles in your back pulled with the shift of your wings; you still couldn’t tell what was wrong.

You settled deeper into the bed and held Wednesday tighter. Her breathing caught for a moment before resuming its typical slow pace. The thought nearly made you laugh. If you hadn’t known her better, you too would have assumed she was nothing more than a corpse. She was completely still and you could barely feel her breath on your skin. Which was exactly what she was going for, but it was still funny to you.

Maybe nothing was wrong. Your eyes slipped shut at the unsurprising revelation. Just because you were wide awake and panicking didn’t mean something was wrong. That was one of the benefits of dating an Addams; she always made you panic - in a good way - and helped you learn not everything meant something. Sometimes life just moves on without a single care for you. Not everything mattered. That was something you could live with.

They’re dying.

You exhaled through your nose, causing Wednesday to shift momentarily. She quickly settled again. For the past few weeks, the voice stayed within the confines of your nightmares. It maintained a presence on the fringes of your mind, only coming forth when you were already beaten and broken. But when it stayed away from your waking hours, you couldn’t complain.

However, you were not having a nightmare, you were awake, and it was making its presence known. Perfect. Fantastic. You loved hearing your personal doomsayer wax poetic when you were trying to fall back asleep with your girlfriend. Besides, why was it so vague? Normally it was painfully specific, what gives? You kept your eyes closed; it would need to try harder to get your attention.

Your parents, the voice said, the children.

You held your breath and waited. Wednesday moved in your arms.

Your grandparents. They’re burning.

That got your attention.

One of the benefits of Wednesday being, well, Wednesday, was she slept like the dead. Both physically and literally. She had convinced your entire friend group that she was a light sleeper and no one could ever sneak up on her, but you knew it was a lie. Hell, you swore she wouldn’t wake up even if a nuclear war started around her.

It came in handy when you wriggled your way out of bed. You smiled to yourself at Wednesday’s adorable nose scrunch when you pulled your arm out from under her head, but she was still within moments once again. She looked so peaceful there on the bed. Even with your body removed, she stayed curled up on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.

You loved her.

You would die for her.

You would kill for her.

They’re dying for you.

Your beating heart was almost painful in your chest as you willed your body to move. It was soon accompanied by a sharp pain radiating from your toe as you, unsurprisingly, tripped over Wednesday’s shoes. It wasn’t the first time. And you couldn’t even get upset because she had placed them exactly where she always did. Maybe you just needed to pay more attention to your surroundings.

You were taking too long. A nail was driven into your brain, sticking gruesome images into every space in your head. Fire. You forced some shoes on. Screaming. The jacket felt too small; you didn’t care. Burning wood creating an inferno. Your fingers jammed into the doorknob, and you swore under your breath before successfully grabbing it.

“Cara mia?”

The sounds and images in your mind remained, but they parted to give way to Wednesday’s small, sleepy voice. If anyone could see her at that moment, tired and small and vulnerable, they wouldn’t have believed it was her. She was growing soft, but even in that moment, she was still your girl. Your love.

They’re burning while you stay here.

“Go back to sleep,” you said softly as you walked back over to the bed. The voice started to grow louder in your mind.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. The sleep started to slip away and she looked more alert. Her usual state since she had restarted her investigation board.

There was no use in lying to her. “I have a bad feeling about home,” you told her. “I’m going to go check on them.”

Wednesday held your gaze until you were both uncomfortable. “Give me a moment and we’ll go.”

The voice started screaming in your mind. It was deafening and left a distinct ringing in your ears. The first few months of its disturbance had nearly driven you insane. The constant screaming, the bloody, gorey images, the fear response your body would have. All of it had left you feeling like you were losing your mind and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself out of it.

Now, however, you could cope. At least in the short term. You had worked out a plan with Wednesday, and it had yet to fail you. Whenever the screaming started, or the images put too much pressure, you would just look at her and focus on whatever she was doing. It was simple, Yoko had even teased it was a bit self-centred of Wednesday, and yet it worked.

You watched as she pulled on something a bit comfier; something she wouldn’t mind flying with. She grabbed the shoes you had stubbed your toe on and slid them onto her feet effortlessly. She also made sure to toss you a single shoe and, when you looked down, you saw the matching pair on your left foot. Your right was in a lazily-tied boot that did not match.

Wednesday also tugged your jacket off; which wasn’t actually your jacket.

“Let’s go,” she said as she grabbed your hand and started dragging you out the door.

You didn’t have to ask if she was good with flying; you knew she wasn’t. But she was brave - as she had often insisted - and she wrapped her arms around your neck the moment you both got outside the apartment building. In return, you wrapped your arms around her waist before taking off. Perhaps you would need to get a harness for your rare flights together. Now that would be funny.

The voices got louder the closer you got to the house. That… wasn’t a comforting thought. You were sure Wednesday could hear your racing heart from where she was resting her head, but you didn’t care. Something just didn’t feel right. The feathers of your wings puffed up and the hair on your arms stood up and you weren’t sure what to do.

Your hands stopped shaking when Wednesday started lightly scratching the back of your neck. It was an uncomfortable position for her; flying itself was weird even when it was just you. There was no telling how many dozens of flights you had experimented with to get the hang of how to hold your body. If Wednesday had flown with you more than the required minimum, she would have been able to figure it out too.

At another time it would have been funny. Now it just left your palms clammy and your grip tighter.

The world was distressingly quiet when yours and Wednesday’s feet planted on the ground. You couldn’t hear the birds chirping, nor the goats bleating as they stayed up later than they should. Every light in the house was off - as they should be so late at night - but it still didn’t feel right. Every fibre of your being was on high alert.

Even the voices had grown silent.

“I see nothing wrong,” Wednesday said, her voice sounding extraordinarily loud in the silence.

“Me either,” you mumbled.

Your eyes darted every which way. The barn looked completely untouched, aside from someone forgetting to properly latch the door. The limbs of the surrounding trees swayed in the barely noticeable wind. To your left, on the other side of Wednesday, you could see the empty doghouse. Nothing was out of sorts.

That was unusual enough.

Finally, a larger gust of wind blew by, ruffling through the leaves and your hair. It felt nice on a summer night. Nothing was more unbearable than the stillness of summer heat. You let your head fall back a little to enjoy the breeze and inhaled deeply.

Then you froze.

“Do you smell that?” You asked as your head slowly lowered.

“Yoko warned me that was a trick question,” Wednesday answered.

“What?” You asked, then smiled to yourself. Oh yeah. You had pranked Yoko plenty of times with that question. “No, I’m being serious this time.”

Wednesday looked around. “I don’t smell anything.”

You hummed in response. She didn’t smell it. But you knew it was there, and it was familiar. The name was on the tip of your tongue, you could almost taste it. A strong taste that clung to every taste bud, taunting and teasing you to think of the name. It was a mix of sticky and bitter and intense and… like a sharpie? Maybe?

Well that just sounded stupid, you would keep thinking about it.

“I’m just going to look around real quick,” you said. “Go wait inside.”

“And if your Grandfather has a gun?”

You faltered.

“Don’t go inside,” you corrected. The corner of her mouth ticked upward. “I’ll be right back.”

Her knuckles brushed against the back of your arm before you started your way around the yard. Twigs snapped under foot; the only sound that reached your ears. Even the birds were silent. That was the part that worried you. You walked further into the tree line, following the smell, and the birds stayed silent.

The smell was stronger in the tree line behind the house. It pervaded all of your senses, you just couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. You stepped precariously, not wanting to get too close to whatever it was. Though you still couldn’t name it properly, you knew what it was; it smelled like danger. 

You took another step forward and reached your hand out to a tree trunk for support. It was wet. Sticky. Whatever it was, the trunk was soaked in it. You pulled your hand away and held it up in front of your face to see what it was. The lack of light didn’t help, but it was something dark.

The smell nearly made you gag. It was nauseatingly strong and very much not natural to the area. The liquid trickled down your arm slowly until you let it fall back to your side. Your eyes trailed down the tree, following the liquid until you could see it puddled on the ground. 

It was shiny, and when you tilted your head to let the moonlight catch, it almost looked like a little rainbow was trapped within it.

You stood up quickly and eyed the shimmering line leading directly to the back of the house. Your house. The house where your family was fast asleep. The feathers on your wings were standing up so high it was almost painful. Each step you took toward the house was like moving through the water.

Something sparked and popped behind you.

“Oh fuck.”

A wave of heat hit your back. Thankfully it wasn’t strong enough to push you forward, but that didn’t mean it didn’t light a fire under your ass. The spark of the fire slowly grew to a roar as you sprinted to the house. You wanted to scream, to get someone’s attention, to wake up everyone in the house before you could get there.

The scream lodged itself in your throat even as you rounded the corner of the house. Your turn was too sharp, and your feet kept sliding across the too-dry dirt. Loose gravel embedded itself into the palm of your hand as you fell. It was almost second nature to dig your fingers into the ground and pull yourself forward while simultaneously pushing yourself back to your feet.

Ringing echoed in your ears as you ripped the screen door and threw the front door open. It should have made a loud “thud.” You couldn’t hear it. There should have been a plan. You should have made a plan. But the only thing in your head was static; a red static that left your head feeling heavy.

A hand rested on your arm.

“Wake up your parents,” Wednesday said. Her voice sounded like it was muffled by a pillow. “I’ll wake up the kids.”

Okay. That was a plan. Someone had a plan. You could work with that. You didn’t wait for her before running up the stairs, three at a time. None of the stairs creaked, at least not that you could hear. Down the hall, third door on the right, it hit the wall so hard you could feel the floor shake.

At last, you heard a noise. A gun being cocked.

“I ain’t afraid to shoot.”

You stared down the barrel. The voice slowly started to creep back into your mind. A low rumble accompanied by the crackling of the distant fire. Only the fire wasn’t outside, it was within you. Burning hotter and hotter until you wanted to rip your skin off and feel the light summer breeze once again.

You stared down the barrel of the gun.

“Y/N?”

You blinked slowly.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Pop asked. “Thought you was some critter from the woods.” You didn’t move. “Coulda shot you, baby bird.”

You’ll get him killed.

“What’s wrong?”

Each muscle in your body was locked; you couldn’t move.

“And why the hell you smell like a barrel of gasoline?”

Tell him.

The muscles of your jaw tensed when you opened it and closed it a few times. Fire. The house. Run. No words would come out. They stuck in the back of your throat like a cold. But you had to tell him. You had to warn them. The crackling was growing louder.

“Wednesday?”

Someone sidled up next to you. You didn’t have to guess who.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is goin’ on?” Pop demanded.

You’re all going to die.

You were silent.

“The house is on fire,” Wednesday said.

Five words. You couldn’t even say five words.

Pop nodded once and shook the body beside him. “Come on, Momma, we gotta go.”

You clenched your jaw and watched them get up. Watched them do the things you couldn’t make your body do. Why couldn’t you just answer them and move? How was Wednesday doing all of it while you just stood there on the sidelines like it wasn’t your family in danger?

Nicky would be very disappointed in you.

“Go grab your Abuelita,” Pop said when he was suddenly standing in front of you. When had he gotten there? “Wednesday, you help Momma grab a few things.”

Wednesday nodded once and walked over to where Momma was already starting to gather things. You didn’t know what. All those instincts you had harboured, all those dangerous things you had managed to avoid, and now you were frozen in place. Your feet felt rooted into the ground as if they wanted to stay. As if they wanted to go down with the house.

Maybe they did.

“Y/N.” Fingers snapped in front of your face. You blinked once before using every bit of strength you had to look up into Pop’s eyes. “Get your Abuelita and get the hell out.”

His words echoed in your head, twirling around the voice that continued its onslaught of doom and dread. It didn’t help you move, it didn’t do anything but paralyse you with more fear than you had started with. Fear. That was the word you had been looking for all evening. You were afraid.

Wednesday’s hand brushed against your arm, the one not covered in gasoline. Not that it would have mattered, it sent a jolt through your body anyway. A jolt that gave you just enough energy to finally move your body. One step at a time, getting progressively easier until you made it to your grandparents’ room.

They were already up.

“Help an old woman down the stairs,” Abuelita said as she reached forward. You held out your dry arm for her.

“I’ve got the important things,” Grandpa said, hoisting a duffle over his shoulder and following you both out of the door.

You could smell the smoke when you approached the stairs. A red glow reflected off the front wall of the house. The sight nearly had you frozen in place again. The kitchen was on fire. It was on fire. Your house was burning.

You’re all going to die because you can’t move.

“Keep moving, puișor,” Grandpa said with a gentle nudge.

It was enough to keep you in step. The way down the stairs was slow, and Abuelita seemed to be in no true rush. Did she know something you didn’t? No, she was simply old, that must be it. By the time you got down the stairs, you could feel the heat of the fire suffocating your every breath.

Everyone else was already out by the road when you managed to get Abuelita and Grandpa out as well. You stood up straight and started counting heads; two parents, two grandparents, six kids, one girlfriend. That was everyone. The roar of the fire grew louder.

Everyone was safe.

You’re forgetting something.

Were you?

“Wait,” Emily said. “I forgot Miss Spider.”

“We’ll get you a new one, baby,” Momma said as she held onto Emily’s arm to keep her still.

“But Nicky got her for me.”

Nicky.

You forgot Nicky.

You looked up and met Wednesday’s gaze. Her eyes were wide and you could see the ever-growing fire reflected in them. You took one step backward. She shook her head slowly. Each step had her shaking her head increasingly fast.

You forgot Nicky in the house.

You turned and sprinted toward the house.

“Y/N, get back here!”

Everyone’s voices were drowned out by the fire. A loud mixture of sounds that created a horrific orchestra from hell. The crackling fire, the roaring heat, the wood burning away and crumbling to the ground. It wasn’t even the heat that had you hesitate; it was the sound.

You forgot Nicky.

The steps were hot as you sprinted up the stairs. They weren’t burning just yet, but they were hot. Your bedroom door was still wide open, and you could see the flames licking up the window. Miss Spider was laying on the floor beside Emily’s bed, miraculously unscathed aside from what looked like a single scorch mark on one of the legs. You snatched it up and shoved it under your shirt to keep it safe as you made your way out.

“You gonna forget me?”

You froze. The floor got hotter underneath your feet. Smoke continued to invade your senses, filling your lungs and suffocating your very thoughts. You needed to get Miss Spider back down to Emily. But you couldn’t leave him.

You turned back to face the room and stood tall. The last time you had seen him had been that one weekend at the Addams’ household. He had stayed fairly under wraps, as far as you could remember. He seemed shorter. Or perhaps you had just grown.

“You left me waiting long enough,” Nicky teased. “I thought you were gonna leave me here.”

A lick of fire brushed against your bare leg.

“I’d never leave you,” you said with no effort at all. “That’s why I came back.”

“Then come on,” he said as he held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

You looked down at the hand he was offering you. It was normal. No IV scars, no cuts, no dirt, no fire. It was his normal hand that you had held time and time again. It was Nicky. Your Nicky. Miss Spider’s legs itched and tickled under your shirt when you took a step forward and lifted your hand.

The fire continued to rise around him, but you couldn’t feel the heat. All you really needed to do was reach out and take his hand. Then he could come back home, and you could all be a family again. He could properly meet Wednesday, and Hailey wouldn’t be so mad, and you could all belong. 

That was all you really wanted, right? To belong? To have Nicky by your side as you both grew out of the trauma that had been inflicted upon you for no other reason than being different? You could have that. You could have your brother, and your girlfriend, and your family. You could have it all. You just simply had to reach out and take his hand.

“We can sneak out and go camping,” he said. “Mom and Dad can go with us.”

Your muscles locked up again when your fingers were only centimetres away from his.

“What?” Nicky asked. “What’s wrong?”

Flames continued to climb up your legs.

“Nicky hated them,” you said with a shake of your head. “He would never invite them.”

The smell of burning feathers permeated the air.

“Don’t turn your back on me now,” he said in a voice that was no longer his. “Just come with me.” 

You looked down at where your outstretched hand nearly met his. His skin was black; charred and bloody. Following up his arm removed the char but was replaced with lacerations. Blood. Injuries that had been carved into the inside of your skull, unable to be scrubbed away no matter how many years it had been.

His eyes were pale.

It wasn’t your Nicky.

Fire jumped from his hand to yours; it caught the gasoline on your fingers. You couldn’t feel it race up your arm. At least, you couldn’t feel the pain. It simply felt like a tickle against your skin. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t your Nicky, and you weren’t taking him with you.

You pulled your arm back to your body and turned around, nearly tripping over your own feet in an attempt to run from the burning house. Your burning house. You took no risk of falling down the stairs, instead just jumping from the top floor and landing on the ground with a harsh “thud.” The first sign of pain was in your knee. It didn’t stop you from running out of the house.

The air was clear outside. Muffled voices reached your ears once you were far enough away from the screaming fire. In the distance, you could hear sirens. Something wrapped around your arm, and you finally felt the pain. A burn that was nothing short of indescribable.

You still couldn’t scream.

Instead, against the screaming coming from every atom of your body, you reached under your shirt with your good hand and handed Miss Spider to Emily. She said something that you couldn’t hear. You hoped it was something nice. People were still talking to you when you turned back around.

Nicky’s silhouette stood in the window of your burning home.

—---

“Can’t thank ya enough, Mr. and Mrs. Addams,” Pop said after Lurch had led the kids upstairs to get them settled in their own rooms.

“It’s our pleasure,” Mr. Addams said with a wave of his hand. “You’re all Addamses now, you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you for letting the littles bring Steve,” Momma said.

“Pugsley loves pets,” Mrs. Addams replied. “He’s always happy to have more.”

Both sets of adults kept talking as they made their way into the sitting room. At least you thought that was where they had gone. Truthfully you didn’t know. All you knew was you couldn’t get Nicky’s gaze out of your head. Or, no, it hadn’t really been Nicky, you didn’t think. Something else. Something sinister.

“Cara mia.”

You didn’t want to face her. You couldn’t face her. God, how could you have been so stupid? She shouldn’t have even been there, it had been dangerous from start to finish. You had put Wednesday in danger again. How could that ever be forgiven? She could have died.

“Let’s go.”

She grabbed your good hand and slowly led you to her room.

You didn’t save them all. You squeezed your eyes shut while she guided you. Everyone will burn in the fires of your sins.

Everything hurt when you finally got to her room. You hadn’t heard everything the paramedic had said, but you didn’t have to. It was your body anyway. The soles of your feet were burned, and you would have to regrow more than your fair share of feathers. If you were lucky, you wouldn’t need to do anything else for the burns on your arm.

You weren’t so optimistic, but you would rather die than go back to a hospital.

Wednesday quickly crawled into bed with you after you had both changed into something more comfortable. Everything was still foggy, but you noticed her hesitation before touching you. You didn’t care. You pulled her closer, ignoring the unbearable heat even her body created against the burns. It hurt.

You didn’t care.

“You terrified me,” she said softly, her breath tickling your skin. “I believed I would lose you.”

You couldn’t say anything.

Your mind was running rampant even as Wednesday settled into an unsteady sleep. She nearly had lost you. You had nearly walked into that fire without a single hesitation. If that spectre hadn’t mentioned your parents, you would have taken his hand and stayed in that house until you burned down with it. You would have died without thinking twice. How could you have let that happen?

I’m not done with you yet.

And what if it happened again?

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

I wake up a couple of hours later, the sunrise barely peeking through the curtains in my window. Ash is no longer spooning me, and I’m afraid he might have snuck out, that I’ll roll over and he’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone, and the room will suddenly feel cold and dark the way it always does. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the usual disappointment as I turn over. But when I open my eyes, he’s here, on his back, sleeping soundly, and I’m filled with gratitude once again.

I watch him for a moment, smiling to myself. I don’t want to disturb him, but I want to be closer, to feel his skin against mine. So, I reach over and rest my hand on his, running my thumb over his long fingers with their perpetually chipped black polish.

When he begins to stir and roll onto his side, I slip my arm around him to pull him close and he lets out a sleepy, yet peaceful, “hmm” sound as he kisses my shoulder and nuzzles into me.

That feeling I longed for so many times when waking from my nightmare. It was this. His arm draped across my stomach, his leg across my leg, his head resting in that spot between my shoulder and my chest. The spot that was meant only for him. I tilt my head slightly toward his, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead again. His hair is clean and soft and smells faintly of my shampoo. But beneath the subtle notes of coconut, I can smell him. That smell that feels like home. I close my eyes and breathe him in, feeling as though I’ve been reunited with a part of myself that’d been lost. I lay quietly, too tired to fight it or overthink it. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his body against mine, getting gradually heavier. His breathing becomes deep and even, and I let the rhythm of it lull me back to unconsciousness.

I sleep deeper than I think I ever have, and it’s hard to climb my way out of at first. I feel Ash sit up next to me, take a drink of water and reach over to get his phone from his pants pocket.

“Good morning,” I say when he leans back on the bed.

“Good afternoon,” he replies, scrolling through the notifications on his phone.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter after one.”

“Oh shit.”

He doesn’t respond, and I wonder to myself if I’m imagining the tension in the air between us.

“Thank you for staying,” I say.

“Yeah, of course, I’m glad you asked you me to.” His tone is light, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his phone, doesn’t look at me, and my stomach drops as my senses heighten. I want to ask him if we’re okay, to get some kind of reassurance, but the words won’t come out, so I lie there silently suffering in my own personal purgatory.

Finally, he sets his phone down and looks over at me, “I have to get going.”

Before I can respond, he jumps out of my bed and starts gathering his clothes from the floor. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rush out, but apparently, I have to go out to the Bay to help my sister. And, of course, she didn’t bother to tell me this until the last minute…”

I barely register his venting as he pulls on his pants and searches for a missing sock. There’s a desperation rising in me, and all I want is to grab him and pull him back into bed, beg him not to leave. I know I can’t do that, and I won’t, but there is a part of me deep inside that is screaming at him not to leave me.

It must be written all over my face too because as soon as he looks up at me, he stops. His shoulders slump and his eyebrows pull together in a worried expression. “Atlas, what is it?”

I shake my head, looking down as I try to shove my feelings aside.

When I look up, the worry on his face reaches his eyes as he chews at his lip, “Do you regret it?”

“No! No, of course not.” The words fly out of my mouth. I hate that he even considered it.

“Good,” he says, relieved, “good, me neither. We probably shouldn’t make a habit out of it, but it was really great.”

He resumes putting on his shirt and I feel the wave of desperation rising again, gripping my throat. I look away from him, trying to collect myself. I stare at the blanket on my bed, analyzing the pattern of the blue, white, and gray stripes, inspecting the stitching for flaws, anything to keep my mind busy until the feeling passes. Much like I used to do as a child sitting silently in my room staring at the wallpaper for hours.

The bed shifts slightly, disrupting my visual analysis and forcing me to look up. Ash is sliding onto the bed in front of me, “I’m sorry I have to leave so abruptly; I don’t want to.” I think he’s still trying to guess what’s wrong with me, not that I could tell him even if I wanted to. We’re clearly fine, I overreacted, so why don’t I feel better? When I don’t respond, he says, “Okay, well, you can call me or text me later if you want to talk. I’ll make time.”

I nod in acknowledgement. I don’t know why he’s so kind to me. I almost wish he wasn’t. It only makes everything harder.

“Can I, um, is it okay if I kiss you goodbye?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, as if I’d ever say no.

When he kisses me, he does so slowly and with intention, ensuring it will linger there long after he’s gone. He puts so much of himself into the way he kisses. I bet I could tell what he’s thinking or feeling just by the way he moves his lips against mine. Right now, he’s saying goodbye. Not just because he’s leaving, but because this might be the last time that we’re this close. It might be the last kiss we ever have.

This thought brings on such a heavy wave of sadness that I have to stop. I pull back only slightly to rest my forehead against his and take a deep breath, shoving the thought back.

“Hey,” he holds my face in his hand, turning it slightly so I have to look him in the eyes, his perfect soft gray eyes, “I really did have a great time with you last night. And not just the sex, I mean, that was great too, amazing actually, but…” he pauses and looks down for a moment, letting his hand fall from my face. When he looks back, his eyes are shining slightly, “but you make me feel cared for in a way no one else ever has, and that means something to me. Last night meant something to me. And I feel like it meant something to you too. So, why are we doing this? Why are we pretending we’re just friends when, clearly, we both want more? Why don’t we give it a shot?”

“Ash, I—” I barely say anything before he looks down, shaking his head slightly side to side, already knowing what I’m going to say. He’s nearly off the bed by the time I finish, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why?”

There’s nothing I can say that will satisfy him, that won’t lead to more questions, questions I’m not prepared to answer. And it feels stupid to say, “you don’t want to date a guy like me, you deserve better, blah blah blah”. It sounds like a bad fucking movie, even if it’s true. So, I say the only thing I can think of, the only thing that sounds semi-logical, the same thing I told him before, “I don’t date people I work with.”

He scoffs, “Right. So, you just hook up with them at nightclubs?”

“No, I usually don’t do that either.” He looks away from me, and I suddenly realize how that sounds. I’ve basically told him he’s worth breaking my own rules to fuck, but not to date, and I feel like the biggest piece of shit. “Ash, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts me off and stands, gathering the rest of his stuff. “You know what, I’m sorry. This is why I brought it up last night, so I wouldn’t do this, and I’m fucking doing it anyway, and that’s not fair. I get that. But listen, if a friend is what you need me to be right now, then I’ll be your friend, but then you can’t look at me like I’m breaking your heart when you’re the one who put the boundaries up in the first place. It’s too confusing. I don’t know what the fuck you want from me sometimes. Just…” he stops and sighs, “tell me what you want, Atlas, really.”

I hate this. I hate having to lie to him. “I want us to be friends.”

“Okay,” he replies, his lips pressed into a hard line, “Well, I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow then.” There’s a bite of sarcasm in his tone that reveals his frustration and hurt at my continued rejection.

I hate myself for the pain that I cause him. I hate myself for being so broken.

As if I’m determined on some level to make things worse, I can’t even bring myself to respond. So, he just nods and walks out of the room. I hear the door close behind him as he leaves my apartment. And then he’s just… gone.

I’m left alone in my room, his words echoing in the empty space he left behind.

The pain rises up, quick and efficient, clenching my gut and filling my chest, tearing me apart from the inside until I fold in on myself. I want to scream, to rip my hair out, to punch holes in the walls until my fists are bleeding and bruised. But I don’t. Instead, I force myself to sit in silent agony because I know it’s exactly what I deserve.

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