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written-in-flowers · 2 days ago

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Please, Don't Leave Me: Junho x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Hwang Junho x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, slight angst

Word Count: 3k

Summary: In the heat of ovulating, you can't wait on your husband to come home. Yet, underneath the surface of heated passion lays a much deeper meaning.

Tags: established relationship, married couple, oral sex (f. receiving), pillow humping, body worship, light spanking (blink and miss it), very slight dom/sub undertones because a bitch can't help herself, edging, breeding kink kind of, and creampie.

****

You didn’t know what was up with you. Sure, you might be ovulating, but it’d never been like this before.

Like a dog in heat, the smuttiest visions came to mind at the most random times. You’d be doing dishes or at work, and suddenly you’d imagine your husband pounding you like he’d done after date night. You’d think about his hands, always so gentle, gripping your hips and bending you over your desk at work. Thoughts of being dazed and drooling when he finally stuck himself inside you had your thighs clenching together. You tried fanning these flames throughout the day, wanting to wait until you had Junho in your grasp. With him working in traffic now, he was home more often.

But tonight, you simply could not wait. You’d started scrolling through your feed of porn videos while waiting on him, imagining yourself in their place, and it came strongly. Laying on your front, your pillow between your legs, you grazed your clothed sex over the soft cushion in slow motions. You kept your face buried in Junho’s pillows, inhaling his scent in every breath to fuel the desires burning inside you. The light brushes of the pillowcase going across your clit brought an aggravating need for release. Glancing at the clock, you knew he’d be home soon and likely too worn out to do anything for you. You didn’t think you could handle the embarrassment of your husband’s rejection.

The screen beside you showed a couple in their bed, the girl spread out at the edge of the bed being mercilessly fingered by her partner. Her pleading eyes and trembling thighs brought back the days when Junho did that to you. You grabbed onto his pillows, taking in more of his natural scent and grinding faster. He’d come home from a long day in Major Crimes, frustrated by his work, and take it out on your body. You’d let him. You always let him.

So wrapped up in your needs, you didn’t hear the front door open. The clinking of keys hitting the bowl did not register, and neither did the light footsteps to the bedroom door. You hadn’t even heard him say your name. Facing away from the door, you didn’t see the tall man leaning against the frame, arms crossed as he observed his wife humping her pillow. His eyes scanned over your body to watch you give into your desires. Junho isn’t an idiot. You and him have known each since college, dating for three years then being married for eight. He knew when your period came, which meant he knew when you ovulated too. He only felt a pang of disappointment that you didn’t come to him right away. Then again, that was mostly his fault. His search for the island kept him away from home. He knew you tried understanding, but that understanding and sympathy will only go so far. Junho worried one day you’d become fed up and decide to leave. The thought of that destroyed him inside. It’s partly why he has given up. He should be at home with his wife, not searching for a brother who won’t come home.

He gulped back saliva after seeing your pussy grinding on the edge of the pillow. It reminded him of the kinkier times, which you clearly were reliving in your head judging by the video you watched.

“Junho…” his name fell past your lips. The picture of his long fingers sinking into your dripping sex stayed in your memory. You remembered how he’d pin your hips down to keep you from wriggling away from his fingers. “Junho…” you whined again, thinking of his fingers deep in you.

“Yes, baby?”

His voice broke you from your visions, and you moved to sit up. However, a gentle hand moved to stop you. “No, no,” he said, “You started this; you’re not stopping now.”

“Junho, I-”

“-Keep grinding, baby,” he said softly in your ear. “You know I like watching.”

Excitement brought a smile to your face, you went back to humping. This time, you had the added pleasure of his hands smoothing over your ass and back. He didn’t guide or force you to move a certain speed. Junho only knelt behind you and groped your cheeks. You closed your eyes to savor the feeling of his hands on your body. Slightly rough from years of hard work, they still handled you as if you were made of glass. He only showed roughness in the light smacks he’d land on you, which made you jerk to the sharp stinging.

“You look so pretty like this,” he said, pulling your cheeks apart for a better view of your center on the pillow. “All needy and wet…I wish I could have you this way all the time.” Your nails dug into the bed when three fingers slipped between you and the pillow. “Your panties are soaked, sweetheart,” he said, “And you put a little spot on your pillow.”

“It just feels so good.”

“But, don’t I feel better?” he asked, tracing a finger over your slit. He started from the front and went towards the back at a slow pace. “Wouldn’t you prefer your husband’s cock over a little pillow?”

“Yes,” you whined, pushing into his hand before he stopped you.

“Then why didn’t you wait for me to come home, baby?” he dotted soft kisses on the backs of your thighs, lifting them from the pillow for more access to you. “I’ve missed this so much,” he said, getting dangerously close to your center, “I wouldn’t have said ‘no’. Especially not when you’re like this.”

“I tried,” you breathed, “But I couldn’t. I’ve been so fucking horny lately,” you giggled, a bit ashamed of it. “I can’t help it.”

“Trust me,” he chuckled, “I know why and that alone turns me on.”

A tremble went down your body the moment he pulled your panties aside. Your pussy hovering over the pillow, you had nothing to grind against except Junho's fingers. The tips lightly slid over the center, with his thumb occasionally pushing to your entrance. Walls clenching and unclenching, it tried grabbing the digit each time, but he kept himself just out of reach. His other hand continued groping your buttocks, sometimes smacking it like he used to. Your body leaned into his touch, craving more of him. It memorized the whirls of his fingers and the faint dampness of his breath on your skin. Every move and touch was put to memory. When his tongue, slippery and hot, replaced his fingers, you fell into a new wave of pleasure.

“Junho,” you whined his name, rocking your hips into his mouth.

“Stay still,” he said, flicking at your swollen clit. “I haven't tasted this in so long. I want to enjoy every drop.”

Holding you in place, you could only writhe and sigh as he lapped at your clit. The tender brushes soon turned into faster, harder licks and suckles that drove your knees and hands against the bed. You couldn't focus on anything else but him. Face buried in his pillow, you let yourself drown in your husband's touch and scent. His name passed your lips over and over, breathing it as if it were the only word you knew. You didn't realize how much you missed him until this moment. His coma coupled with his conspiracy about “games” consumed your husband. He went out every off day to search for an island that might not exist, leaving you at home. You tried sympathizing and understanding his need for answers, but it became harder the longer he was away. Having his tongue dipping past your entrance brought back the need for him.

“Don't le-leave…” you whispered as he kissed up your spine to your shoulders. The rough denim fabric on your naked skin sparked more arousal. “Please…”

“I'm not going anywhere, darling,” he chuckled, reaching your ear. Hands sliding up under your night shirt, he then said, “I'm always right here behind you. I'd never go anywhere.”

You placed both his hands on your breasts, urging him to cup and squeeze them as he grinded into you. “Just don't,” you breathed, “I don't want to lose you again.”

He paused, hands no longer massaging or lips kissing. The gentle grinding came to a slow pace, and you knew he'd caught on. Soon, you felt the tip of his nose get buried in the nape of your neck.

“You won't,” he muttered, his fingers sliding between yours so they locked together. “I promise. I won’t go anywhere.” His reassuring kisses dotted across your shoulder. He then grinded into you, his bulge poking your slick folds. “How can I leave when I have this waiting for me at home, hm?”

He felt you shudder against him, which caused him to do it a second time. He'd given up. He might never find the island or his brother. In-ho was alive, and if he chose not to come back, that was not his fault. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, he focused on your soft whining. Nothing stroked his pride more than knowing he had this effect on you. You were more important than any meaningless mission. He'd let you know that tonight.

“Let's take this off you.”

Your body always stunned him. He took in every curve and detail. This was his. You were his. Always. He liked to think the universe brought the two of you together at a time when you needed each other. He needed you now like then. The lust filling his eyes raked over your body as he felt up and down your sides. He stared down between your legs, hands going down your thighs as he parted them. Junho remembered his last thought before hitting the water that day: your smile. The sweet, cheerful smile you’d give whenever you saw each other; the kind that healed something inside him. He bent down to kiss you, pouring every ounce of love into it that he could.

Your cheeks burned being under his attention, suddenly feeling the shyness as he kissed from your lips to your neck. When he quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes, you couldn't help admiring the lean body he worked hard to maintain. Your hands went up his strong arms to the muscled biceps you drooled over whenever exposed. His chest, broad and hard, puffed up when you slid over them and down his stomach. The bullet wound on his clavicle stood out dark against his skin, but you did not linger on it. Not right now. Your fingers memorized each muscle and patch of skin they touched as if they may never again. The looming fears that stayed in the back of your mind tried surfacing. But, Junho’s touches and kisses kept them away like they always did.

“What kind of man would leave a woman as beautiful as you, hm?” he asked playfully when he sensed this, dotting kisses across your chest.

“A persistent, stubborn one,” you laughed softly.

“Two qualities only a fool would have,” he answered.

“Yes, but he's my fool.”

You shared another kiss before he made a trail down your body. All playfulness disappeared immediately, however, when his mouth wrapped around the nub of your clit again. The soft sensation contorted your body: arching your back and lifting your knees to lock him in place. Gripping your thighs, he kept them on either side as he licked up the juices leaking from you. The obscene sucking and slurping added to your constant whimpers. Small releases of pleasure came out like steam, only to be smothered by the tightness of need. You swore he did it to keep teasing you. He could be ruthless when in the heat of the moment. He kept it slow and light at first before diving deeper. Nose brushing your clit, his tongue then easily slipped through your entrance. You tangled your hands in his soft dark hair, bringing him closer to feel more of him. As his tongue wriggled around inside you, the edge into an orgasm approached. You felt it starting in the very center before shooting to your clit, making it more sensitive as you shuddered around Junho’s tongue. Nails digging into the bed, you held him in place while grinding on his tongue. It inched closer and closer. Your climax reached the very cusp of pure satisfaction, and you couldn’t wait any longer.

Then he stopped. You wriggled around your frustration as he pulled away from you, only pecking light kisses on your thighs.

“Junho,” you whined, “Keep going. I didn't get to cum.”

“I know,” he answered, smirking at you.

Your juices shined on his mouth and chin as he came back up. You locked eyes with him as you wiped some from his chin and tasted it. The growing arousal brought you both to the next level and neither of you backed down. Kissing him deeply, he held you gently by the throat as his tongue brushed yours. The gentle restraint caused you to grind against him, the friction poking at your arousal again. Junho did not stop you, preferring to watch you struggling to get him inside you.

“Come on,” he said in your ear, kissing down your neck. “I thought you wanted my dick.”

“I do!” His hard body kept yours pinned to the bed, making shifting difficult. “Junho, please,” you said, your sex throbbing. “Put it in me. Please.”

“You're a big girl,” he said. “You can do it yourself.”

His spongy tip pushed to your clit, and the need to have it strengthened. “It's not fair,” you cried, spreading your legs further and angling your hips as much as they'd go. “It's right there.”

“I know, so what's the hold up?”

“You can be so mean!”

“You know I can always be worse,” he said, the threat laced into his soft breaths. “I can take it away completely.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh?”

He knelt away from you, all chances gone in a flash. When you shook in place, he chuckled. “So cute,” he smiled, rubbing your thighs.

“Don't tease…”

“But you look so cute when you're being teased,” he said, sliding his shaft between your lips and pushing right to the hole. “I missed making you this way…You missed being like this, didn't you?” He tapped the swollen sex a few times, moving in circles. “You missed being my pretty slut?”

“Yes,” you breathed, gyrating your hips only to end up with his tip inside. You started grinding until he went further, bringing relief and need at the same time. “That's why I was touching myself,” you said, “I couldn't stop thinking about being your slut again.”

“Oh god,” he breathed, body slumping when you spoke. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you grinded into him until he pushed forward. “I missed you tearing off my panties and bending me over whenever you wanted.”

“Tearing off your panties, huh? You mean like this?” In a single rip, the plain cotton panties you'd worn to bed were ripped in two. He continued tearing until the hole was large enough for him to access you again.

A cry of his name forced him back into you. This time, he took hold of your hips and began thrusting. Having what you'd been wanting, you laid there and enjoyed every inch of him. It had been too long since you'd been this way with each other. You couldn't recall the last time he lifted your lower half off the bed, putting you into a sloped position and entering you in a different angle. The force of his pumps and the slapping of his balls to your ass joined your moans, and it was like listening to an old song.

“There's my girl,” he groaned when he'd pulled you into his lap. Wrapped around him, you easily bounced in his lap while he stayed sitting in the bed. “There's my pretty girl,” he grabbed both cheeks to help you along his length. “Keep going like that…Just-Just like that.”

His praise only fanned the flames. Both hands in his hair, you held onto him as you got closer to your orgasm. On top, you wouldn't stop until you reached it.

“Oh god, I'm going to cum,” you said, maintaining your speed despite your burning muscles. “Junho, I'm going to-”

“-Then go ahead,” he interrupted, “Do it for me.”

His thumb playing with your clit sent you over. Your entire body stiffened in his grasp; your nails dragged down his shoulders and chest as you lost yourself in the moment. His praises and sweet whispers hardly reached you at your peak. You thought of nothing but the pleasure pulsating in your core. Right as you started coming down, Juho laid you on your back again and moved to pull out before he stopped him.

“Do it inside me,” you said, hand on his chest. “Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Propped up on his hands, Junho stayed hovering over you as he went faster. The last bits of your climax finished right as his own came. It didn't feel how you expected. His dick twitched and shuddered against your pulsing walls, and you felt a distinct warmth building there but not how you'd imagined. You watched his husband's strong body constrict and flex as it hit him hard; head falling forward, his grunts matched his pushes. He made sure every drop of his seed planted itself in you. You couldn't get over the lustful haze in his eyes, relief coming over them as he collapsed on you.

“Don't pull out yet,” you muttered on his shoulder. “Please?”

“If that's what my girl wants…” he pecked at your neck.

You rolled onto your sides, remaining connected together and kissing to keep him there longer. The afterglow came over you in a fog, finally settling into your muscles and turning you into jelly. You didn't want to move from his arms, wanting to bask in his warmth and touch for as long as you could. A part of you worried he'd be gone when you woke up, continuing his search for that island. You clung to him tighter, and you buried your face in the crevasse of his head and neck on the pillow.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he reassured you in a whisper.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Whatever his reasons, you'd talk about them later. For the moment, you preferred the steady breathing and the lull of sleep.

****

A/N: can't do a Junho piece and NOT make it fluffy and angsty lol I hope you guys liked this one, and give it a reblog and a like <3

#squid games #squid games 2 #hwang junho x reader #junho x reader #hwang junho #junho squid games #squid games fanfiction #squid games fanfic #junho smut #hwang junho smut

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stargazedwinchester · 2 days ago

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Hey, for a request, how about an earlier seasons Dean x Reader scenario in which they got a little crush and flirting going on, sparks between them, but Dean's a little worried that John won't approve? 👀

Your texting moodboard and the image of the "I love you. Don't reply, this is my dad's number" kinda inspired this idea!

Forbidden ♡ Dean

Summary: John doesn't approve of you dating his son, Dean. Word Count: 1,037 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Thank you for requesting ily!! I love this bc I love JDM <3 what a dilf A little bit of Negan came out here (sorry not sorry)

When your parents passed in such a cruel, sadistic way, Dean was the one that saved you. He was the one that introduced you to hunting, to really get a feel for the life that could’ve been if you knew you could save your parents.

That gnaws at you every damn day.

At this point, you had known Dean for roughly a year, joining him on late night drives to dive bars, drinking til you can’t see. You’d stay with him in motels close to your hometown, just for the sake of company. You don’t have a lot here anymore. No close family, old school friends turned acquaintances, so you can really just rely on Dean and his younger brother, Sam.

Oh, and John.

John is a tough nut to crack. Majority of the time, you can’t tell when he’s being genuine or an absolute dick. You know Sam and Dean had a tough childhood with him not being present enough in their lives, so that fact has already somewhat helped you decide from the get-go. You had tried multiple times in the past to get on his good side: trying to get to know him, stay friendly with his sons, and most importantly, stay out of his way.

“You wanna come with?” Dean invites, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. His dad sits in the front seat of the impala, waiting for Dean to finish up. “You think he’ll let me?” You peer at John, his eyebrows scrunched, glaring at Dean. Dean looks over his shoulder, John ushering him to hurry up. “Hell what he thinks. Come with me.”

You press your lips together firmly, believing that if you join them, it’ll end badly. “Dean.” He calls, his voice stern and impatient. “We need to go.” John rolls the window up, and Dean rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t like me, does he?” You focus your eyes on Dean, who shakes his head lightly. “He doesn’t like anyone. Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll figure something out.” He flashes you a quaint smile that makes your tummy do somersaults. You place a peck on his cheek, and he blushes almost immediately. “I’ll miss you.” He says, and you smile. Dean walks down toward the car, then drives off.

It’s been a couple of weeks, and you haven’t heard much from Dean except the odd text from random numbers. One read: ‘I Love You. Don’t reply. This is my dad’s number.’ Times like these make you ill with worry. Worry that Dean’s not safe and there’s nothing you can do. You trust that he can take care of himself and you care for him deeper than you’d like to admit.

A few hours go by and you find yourself nose-deep in your book, ruminating in the same motel room as before. Dean had mentioned about being gone for a day or two, so he paid for your room on your behalf. There’s some light commotion outside. Since the voile is practically see-through, all you can see is the motel sign gleaming through the window. The rowing gets louder, as you see two male figures almost butting heads close to your room. Putting your book down, you head over to the window and see John and Dean in each other’s faces. Again.

“She’s not an issue, dad! You haven’t even given her a chance!” Dean spits. “I don’t need to give her a chance when I’ve seen enough. You need to give her up.” John retorts, and Dean pinches his brow line. “I’m not giving her up just because you say so, dad! I really like her, so get off my ass, man.” Dean attempts to turn around, but John pulls him back. “I’m not done.” He says sternly. John forces himself to be eye to eye with Dean, his cavillous demeanour ignites a fire inside you. He carries on.

“Listen, man, you don’t get to have an apple-pie life. End of the day she’ll be the first one to run when the bullet flies - and you know what? You’ll end up being the one to pick up the pieces, or the one that gets killed. So don’t you dare come back to me when you realise how much you regret being with her and you wanna come back to hunting. It ain’t gonna happen. Once you give up your life here; there’s no going back.” He threatens. John’s eyes are dark. Menacing. You feel as if you’re rewatching Dean’s teenage years reappear right in front of you. He has always mentioned that his father is a very strict person when it comes to ‘protecting’ his boys. That’s what he calls it. You open the door and meet them halfway. John turns his head and notices the scowl on your face, his aura stagnant. “John.” You state, not even bothering to make eye contact with Dean, but you can feel him staring at you. “I don’t care what you think about me, but what you’re saying to your son is far from the truth.” You say.

“You don’t know me. You clearly don’t know your own son and you have no idea about us being together. I don’t care whether you approve of me or not, but what I’m trying to say is that I love Dean. He may be your child but he’s sure as shit nothin’ like you.” You assert yourself, and John’s demeanour changes. His eyes soften, gazing upon your whole body. He looks at Dean, then huffs. Dean almost refuses to look his father in his eyes, as if he’s scared of what he could say next.

A smirk creeps up on Johns face as he’s still looking at you. His posture relaxes as he lets out a small laugh.”You’re the first person to ever stand up to me about my boys. You’ve got balls, Y/N. I like that.” John says, which takes you by surprise. This whole time you assumed John didn’t like you, turns out it’s quite the opposite. “You’re headstrong and you’ll look after my kid. You may not seek my approval but I’m giving it to you.” Jon looks over at Dean, who’s just as shocked as you are. “Thank you, sir.” You nod, and John walks back to the car. Dean sighs.

“Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse. I was starting to get a little worried.” He looks at you with a shine in his eyes, one that screams ‘my-father-finally-agrees-with-something-i’ve-done’.

“Thank God.” You breathe. Dean takes your hand and walks you toward the car. He opens the back passenger door, planting a kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagine #spn imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester angst #john winchester

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lialcross · 1 day ago

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Damian is an artist.

Damian being an artist is so dear to me in many ways, he can use this creative outlet to show how he views things, people, himself in such a deeply vulnerable way without having to say it.

Give me a Damian who paints his family portraits for their birthdays or just for himself, give me Wayne brothers each painted in Damian's style but distinctly different from each other. Different elements are highlighted for each person.

Give me Dick painted in chunky, light strokes reminiscent to van Gogh.

Give me Bruce painted in colors just off from being black and white.

Give me Jason so desaturated or monotoned that when Damian uses color for his eyes they almost glow green against everything.

Give me Cass unshaded and abstract.

Give me Duke painted in the brightest of bright colors against the darkest of shadows, bonus points if glow-in-the-dark paints were used.

But Tim? Tim has always been terribly difficult to draw, Damian just can't get his face right.

He won't let Tim best him in this way, it's unacceptable, but Damian will not let anyone see his artwork not at it's best. He does everything he can just not to draw Tim's face—his favorite is to spiral Tim's face, maybe he'll leave an eye or paint whatever flower he thinks best represents his brother that day right in the middle.

And Tim just loves it.

The first time Damian painted Tim and gave him the piece, he was uncertain of how it'd be received though he'd deny this with every breath in his lungs. He was prepared for Tim to hate it, to get angry that he distorted his face in such a way—and he could see the same thoughts on the faces of everyone who saw Damian present it to Tim. Why wouldn't he hate it? It'd be disrespectful to anyone, especially if the artist and the muse had such a disastrous relationship. He couldn't be blamed, but Damian was prepared to blame him regardless.

Tim was silent for what felt like hours when he laid eyes on the portrait Damian had painted of him. He hadn't expected any portrait Damian painted of him, if he ever painted one of Tim at all, to make him feel so... seen? Understood? Viewed in a way Tim could have never described?

If Tim cried? That's none of your business.

#tim drake #damian wayne #batfam #batfamily #dc comics #red robin #dc red robin #dc robin #robin #batman #theyre brothers your honor #and they are so dear to me #loosely inspired by my thoughts and feelings about No Longer Human #especially the artwork for the book #dont ask me to elaborate #i couldnt if i tried

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maretinelli · 23 hours ago

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SECRET FOR ONE YEAR

Ollie Bearman X Russell!fem!reader

Summary: When Ollie and Y/n have been dating for almost one year, the only person who doesn't know yet is George. Y/n's older brother.

Words: 5.3K+

Warnings: Romance, secret dating, appearance of George and Carmen (I love Carmen🥹), conversations about sex, and women's conversations hahaha.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This story came to me when I was having insomnia, but I decided to write it the next day.

MASTERLIST

Ollie Bearman and Y/n Russell had a quiet romance, hidden from the view of the media and, more importantly, Y/n's brother, George.

From the beginning, the idea of a relationship between her and Ollie seemed complicated, considering the rivalry between him and George on the F1 tracks. The Mercedes driver was a kind, understanding and friendly man, and she knew he would treat Ollie well, but still the fear of telling her older brother lingered in her mind.

They held their meetings in discreet places and away from the eyes of paparazzi, avoiding any type of public exposure.

The Russell and Bearman families knew about this romance, even Carmen, George's girlfriend, and they helped keep up appearances, avoiding any gesture or word that could reveal anything about the relationship.

Poor George, he was oblivious to this. Thinking that Y/n was going to her best friends' house from college every time she caught a flight. But the truth was, she was going to spend a few days at Ollie's house in London. Poor George.

A year passed, and they kept their relationship a secret. There were also days when some fans were suspicious, but Y/n told her brother that it was just rumors, nothing much. The poor pilot believed it, because Y/n and Ollie had been close friends for years.

That's what he thought.

Ollie didn't pressure his girlfriend to tell the world or her brother, he understood Y/n's concerns and supported her with sweet and comforting words.

Sure, he wanted to shout from the rooftops that Y/n Russell was the love of his life. But he also enjoyed the peace they had away from the spotlight.

The day was cold and cloudy. Y/n was at her older brother's house, having girl time with Carmem. Y/n talked about how her relationship with Ollie was going, while the eldest gave advice and listened attentively to her younger sister-in-law.

The relationship between Y/n and Carmem has always been marked by a remarkable closeness. Ever since Carmem started dating George, Y/n felt comfortable opening up to her, even in the most difficult times. They laughed together, shared secrets and, most importantly, always knew how to give each other space when needed. It was a friendship built on mutual trust.

Y/n was lying on George and Carmem's big bed, with her feet covered in a sock and resting on the headboard, relaxing while her sister-in-law was sitting in the armchair, concentrating on painting her nails, with a skincare mask on her face, just like Y/n.

The two were enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, away from the stresses of everyday life and their boyfriends' Formula 1 events.

"You know... sometimes I feel like telling George about my relationship," she begins, and Carmen looks up, looking at her sister-in-law lying on the bed. "I feel sorry for Ollie, I keep the relationship a secret because of my brother and not because of the media, and I feel like he wants to show everyone that we're together. But... it seems like I won't let him, you know?"

Y/n turns to Carmen, looking at her with slightly teary eyes. Carmen tries not to laugh, even though the subject was serious, Y/n looked funny with that pink mask on her face.

"Look, honey. I understand the weight you carry." Carmen says. "You can talk more and I know Ollie will understand what you want right now. And when the time is right, you can tell George. I know he loves and protects you a lot as your big brother, but he wants to see you happy too, just like Ollie. I see the love the pilot has for you, and I know he's willing to do whatever you decide."

Y/n turns her head to her and smiles, sniffling a little. "Oh, what I would be without you, Carmen!"

Carmem smiles sweetly and goes back to painting her nails.

Y/n turned her gaze to the wall in front of her, while wiggling her toes absentmindedly, her hands were inside the pocket of the sweatshirt she was wearing.

Carmen sees how she thinks about something, and bites her lower lip. "Y/n, what are you thinking about now?" She asks teasingly.

The girl lets out a little laugh and looks at her sister-in-law. "Oh, I don't know how to tell you this...it's kind of...embarrassing...I guess." Y/n takes her hands out of her pocket and begins to peel off the nail polish, shyly.

Carmen frowns and looks curiously at the youngest. "Hey, you can trust me! You know!"

Y/n rolls a little in bed to face her sister-in-law, but doesn't realize she was right on the edge, almost falling. A sudden movement and she ends up on her back on the floor.

"It's just that Ollie and I..." She laughs awkwardly. "You see... we slept together for the first time last week..." She says quietly, but Carmen hears and smiles, her eyes widening a little.

"What? Like, in a way-" Carmen doesn't finish, because Y/n interrupts.

"NO!" She says loudly. "Well, yes. No, but...damn." She tries to explain herself and Carmen laughs. "I mean, we slept together in a real sleeping way. You know." Y/n explains. "But also, you know, we've slept together that other way..." She feels her cheeks grow hot, confessing this to someone.

No one knew, however, Y/n was embarrassed to tell her mother. Not that she would fight, but you see, she would be talking about sex with the woman who raised her.

"So? Can I ask how you felt?"

Y/n smiles embarrassedly. "The first time is weird, isn't it?! But I have to say it was good... he was good..." She searches for the right words, taking some time to think better. "It was kind... He respected the moment and everything" She turns around smiling.

Carmem smiles, still focused on her nails. "Ah, that was cute!"

Y/n rolls her eyes laughing, looking back at the wall.

"You know you can trust me. I can give you tips on how to-"

Y/n interrupts her, blushing from having spent too much time on that subject. "Thanks! That's weird coming from you, because you're dating my brother. But coming from a woman to a woman, I take the advice."

Carmem laughs softly. "Was it the first time for both of you?" She asks, we try to help Y/n with the question.

Before Y/n could respond, something interrupts.

"First time of what?" George says loudly, startling Y/n, making her turn around quickly and fall off the bed in fright. Her back makes a loud bang on the floor.

"Holy shit" she curses under her breath, placing her hands behind her back for falling on her sneakers. That would definitely leave a bruise later.

"Are you okay?" George asked worriedly as he watched his sister get up. Carmen across the room was holding back a laugh.

"I am." Y/n grimaces. "But it was your fault, you scared me!" She jokes, making George roll his eyes.

"Hey, it's not my fault if you were telling a secret against me and got scared by my arrival" He raises his hands laughing. Y/n exchanges a look with Carmen, who had a smile on her face.

"Funny you" Y/n sits on the bed. And George laughs.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Days passed, and the Monza Grand Prix finally arrived. The atmosphere was full of energy, with fans cheering and teams busy making final adjustments for free practice. Y/n took advantage of her break from university to watch the race up close. It was rare to be able to watch her boyfriend and her brother at the same time, but this dynamic had its price: secrecy.

In the Mercedes VIP lounge, Y/n was comfortably seated in one of the armchairs, her eyes fixed on her cell phone. She was wearing a casual but elegant Mercedes outfit, which went unnoticed among the luxury of the area.

To George, it seemed like his sister was just there to support him like she always did: wearing a T-shirt with their last name and a team cap. He would never suspect the real reason behind her presence.

Ollie Bearman.

As she was scrolling through her phone, she heard footsteps entering the room. Instinctively, she looked up and froze. There was Ollie, with that unmistakable smile that always made her heart beat faster.

"Hey, my love-" She could have sworn the nickname came out louder than they expected.

Y/n's eyes widened immediately, putting her finger to her lips and frantically gesturing with her hands for him to stop talking. Before she could react further, the side door of the room opened again, and George walked out of his private room with a friendly smile.

“Ah, Ollie!” George greeted, extending his hand to the Haas driver. Ollie, who had also been frozen for a moment, quickly composed his expression and shook George’s hand.

"Hey, George! How are you?" He replied, his voice slightly hesitant, but still friendly.

"Of course! What brings you to our room?" George asked, clearly curious but kind.

Y/n held her breath, trying to look distracted by her cell phone, while her eyes moved to follow the scene.

Thinking quickly, she looked up and replied, "Oh, I called you! I thought we could take a walk around the paddock before practice starts. You know, catch up."

George seemed pleased with the answer, as he knew how great friends they had been since the younger driver was in F2.

He nodded. "Good idea! It's a great day for a walk."

As Y/n stood up, Carmem entered the room with a calm smile. She walked towards the coffee machine, but when she saw Ollie and Y/n together, she gave her sister-in-law a knowing look, which she hid as much as possible. Carmem clearly knew what was happening, but she wouldn't say anything.

As Y/n walked past her brother to leave, holding her cell phone, George frowned slightly when he noticed something in her hand.

"Hey, I never noticed before. Nice ring, Y/n!" He commented, casually pointing to the discreet wedding band she wore on her finger.

For a moment, silence filled the room. Ollie froze in place, while Y/n felt her cheeks grow hot. Carmem almost choked on her coffee, but George, innocent as always, didn't understand anything wrong in the atmosphere.

"Oh, thank you!" Y/n said quickly, trying to sound natural. "Our mother gave it to me the other day. I thought it was pretty and decided to use it,"

"You have good taste," George replied with a smile, before turning to Carmen, who was trying to contain her laughter.

Y/n took advantage of the moment to pull Ollie by the arm and leave. They hurried across the paddock, trying not to attract curious glances. As soon as they found a more secluded corner, away from the hustle and bustle, Ollie grabbed her hand, gently pulling her closer.

Before she could say anything, he surprised her with a passionate kiss. Y/n smiled against his lips, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. When they pulled away, Ollie had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So it was your mother who gave you that beautiful ring?" He joked, chuckling softly.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but laugh. "It was the first thing that came to my mind, okay? And it worked, didn't it?"

Ollie caressed her face, his gaze full of affection. "You're amazing, you know that? Even when we're in danger of getting caught, you think quickly."

Y/n bit her lip, looking away for a moment. "I was thinking... I think it's time to tell G. I don't want to hide it from him anymore. He'll understand when I tell him, right?"

Ollie nodded, squeezing her hands lightly. "Of course he will!" He smiled. "I'll do whatever you decide, love. No matter what happens, we face it together. Always."

Those words made Y/n smile, her eyes shining with emotion. She hugged him tightly, feeling grateful to have him by her side. "Thank you for being so understanding. I don't know what I would do without you."

"You won't have to find out," he replied, kissing the top of her head with a smile.

They stayed there for a few more minutes, enjoying the moment away from the watchful eyes of the paddock and exchanging soft caresses and vows of love.

Time passed, and the paddock was buzzing with activity. Drivers were milling around, some focused on practice and others engaged in casual conversation. George, still sweaty from his practice session, came out of the Mercedes garage, surveying the surroundings. Soon, he spotted Ollie chatting animatedly with Leclerc, Piastri and Antonelli.

Ollie gestured as he laughed at something, his hand resting on an iron barrier next to the group. George, distracted, fixed his eyes on the Haas driver. It was then that she noticed something glowing on his finger.

A ring. He frowned, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu. The ring was surprisingly similar to the one he had seen on Y/n’s hand earlier.

"It can't be..." He muttered to himself. He shook his head, trying to push the thought away.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, he thought. But the idea lingered in his mind as he walked back to the VIP room.

Upon entering, he saw Y/n standing on the balcony, holding a cup of coffee while watching the movement on the dance floor. The afternoon light reflected on her hair, and George felt a wave of nostalgia at seeing her there so calmly. It was hard to believe that his little sister, who he always wanted to protect, was growing up.

"Are you enjoying your day, Y/n?" He asked casually.

"Yes, everything is so busy today," she replied, without taking her eyes off the track.

George walked past her, but couldn’t help but look at her hand again. The same ring. He frowned again, but didn’t comment.

Instead, he looked around, searching for Carmen. "Have you seen Carmen? I didn't find her in the Mercedes hospitality room?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Y/n finished her coffee, placing the empty cup on the nearby table. "No, I didn't see her. Maybe she's in the paddock or talking to someone," she said, already starting to walk towards the exit.

George tried to call Carmen, but the call didn't go through. "Damn, my phone's dead." He stopped and looked at Y/n. "Can I use your phone? I need to try to talk to her."

Y/n, who already had her hand on the door, turned around with a casual smile. "Sure, here." She took her cell phone out of her pants pocket and handed it to her brother without hesitation. "You can use it as you please." She said as she told him the phone's password.

George thanked her as Y/n left, oblivious to what he was going to do next. With his phone in hand, he unlocked it with the intention of going to the dialer, but the first thing he saw was the messages tab open. He was about to close it when something caught his eye. At the top of the contact list was the name.

'Mi amore❤️'

Reflexively, he stopped, frowning again. Mi amore? The heart emoji was hard to ignore. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the chat. What he saw stopped him cold.

The messages were clearly between Yin and Ollie. There were pictures of them in the messages he quickly passed along. Conversations full of affection, inside jokes, and even some passionate confessions.

George didn't need to read much to understand what was going on. Y/n and Ollie...? The penny started to drop. The ring. The smiles. The discreet behavior of both. Everything made sense now.

As George absorbed the shock, Y/n walked around the paddock casually. From afar, she saw Ollie leaning against one of the barriers, waiting for her.

He smiled as soon as he saw her, that warm smile that always made Y/n feel special. She quickened her steps, and when they got close to each other, Ollie opened his arms, as if he wanted to hug her, but stopped when he remembered the public setting.

"Hi, mi amore" he said quietly, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Hi," she replied with a shy smile, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to them.

The two began walking together, towards the paddock cafeteria, trying to keep the conversation casual while enjoying the rare moment of being together.

Meanwhile, in the VIP room, George was still holding Y/n's cell phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, completely surprised and trying to decide what to do with that information.

He barely noticed when Carmen entered the VIP room, smiling happily. But as soon as she noticed her boyfriend's pale, dazed gaze fixed on Y/n's phone, her smile disappeared.

"George? What's wrong?" She asked, concern evident in her voice.

He shook his head slowly, as if he was still trying to organize his thoughts. "I... I need to find Y/n," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Carmen immediately noticed the phone in his hand and her eyes widened. "George... is that your sister's phone?" He looked at the device and then at his girlfriend, hesitantly. "Oh my God..." She murmured when she saw the wallpaper and the accessories that indicated that it belonged to Y/n.

Carmen sighed deeply, placing her hand on her forehead. He had figured it out.

Without another word, George hurried off, nervously walking around the paddock looking for Y/n. He barely noticed the glances that some of the team members were throwing his way. All he wanted was answers.

As he walked, something caught his attention. Chatter and laughter came from behind one of the garages. He stopped, recognizing Y/n's soft chuckle. Following the sound, George walked around the structure, only to find the scene of Y/n and Ollie, their backs to him, sharing a kiss and laughing together.

"Y/n?" George called, his voice firm but filled with surprise and a hint of frustration.

The two instantly pulled away, Y/n reflexively pushing Ollie away. She stared at her brother with wide eyes, while Ollie seemed frozen, trying to think of something to say.

"You don't have to move away" George said, holding up Y/n's phone. "I already know."

Y/n felt her heart sink in her chest. Ollie looked at her, worried. George continued, "When I went to call Carmen, her contact list was open. I saw the messages."

Y/n and Ollie stood completely still, as if time had stopped. Finally, George took a deep breath and asked, "How long have you two been together?"

Hesitantly, Y/n exchanged a look with Ollie before replying quietly, "A year..."

George's eyes widened, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "A YEAR?! Why didn't you guys tell me?"

Y/n stepped forward, trying to explain herself. "George, I... I thought it would be awkward for you. You and Ollie are racing rivals. I didn't want it to affect your work or our relationship as brothers."

He dropped his arms, frustration giving way to quiet sadness. "Did you really think that would make me treat you differently? That I would put this above your happiness?"

Y/n felt a lump in her throat, but managed to shake her head. "I was afraid... of disappointing you."

George closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing those words. "What about the families? Do they know?" He asked, already imagining the answer.

Reluctantly, Y/n nodded. "Yes... everyone knew but you. I'm sorry, George. It was never our intention to exclude you."

He sighed, shaking his head as he processed everything. "I understand," he said finally. "I understand that you wanted to protect things. But... it hurts me to know that you felt you couldn't trust me. You're my sister, Y/n. I will always want the best for you."

Y/n, moved, gave a small smile. "Thank you for understanding." George hugs his sister.

The Mercedes driver stepped closer, his eyes softening. He looked at Ollie, extending his hand. "Congratulations on your relationship... really."

Ollie, surprised, shook George's hand. "Thank you, George. That means a lot."

But then George narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at him, his tone becoming more serious though there was a hint of teasing. "Now, listen carefully. Take good care of my sister, Ollie. Because if you don't, things are going to get ugly for you."

Ollie laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I'm taking good care of her."

Y/n smiled, feeling the weight she was carrying finally dissipate. George, seeing the scene, gave a genuine smile and added, "Just please don't give me nephews TOO SOON, okay?"

The comment made Y/n blush and Ollie laugh, completely breaking the tension. "No rush, George" Ollie replied, winking at Y/n.

George shook his head, laughing along. He handed his phone to his sister, patted Ollie on the back, and walked away, looking more at ease.

Once they were alone, Ollie turned to Y/n, an amused smile on his face. "I thought he was going to freak out, but he was pretty calm... for a protective older brother."

Y/n laughed, feeling relieved. "I thought so too. I think he trusted you more than I expected him to."

Ollie put an arm around her shoulders. "Well, at least now we don't have to hide anymore."

She nodded, looking at him fondly. "Yes. Finally."

#fanfiction #y/n #imagines #lovers #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #ollie bearman x reader #imagines ollie bearman #ollie bearman

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mqriuss · 1 day ago

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02 | Now playing: What Are You Doing Now

from 'bad girls that haven't been caught' series

playlist | series masterlist

you'd think rindou skips class and causes a bunch of ruckus often enough for the teachers to stop giving a shit about him (and his brother), and that may be true, but it's not the case for every teacher.

he actually has a few favourite teachers that he respects. there's nakajima sensei who teaches english—she's all smiles everyday, and she's one of those teachers who considers every student her own child. including rindou, who helped carry her stuff to the classroom a couple times while she was pregnant. she's also just really good at her job, rindou always ends up putting the earphones away to listen to her. and then there's kawamura sensei, the p.e. teacher that he likes for no reason other than "he's cool and admirable."

fun fact, rindou caught kawamura sensei alone with hamada sensei in a classroom after school when most of the students have left. he made eye contact with him before leaving immediately. the next day during p.e., kawamura sensei came up to rindou–

"i won't tell anyone," rindou casually said before his teacher could say anything first and watched as he became visibly flustered.

"i- i was just going to tell you that was a good goal," kawamura sensei chuckled sheepishly, then glanced around before leaning in to whisper back to him. "you're a real one, kid."

funnily enough, hamada sensei is one of the teachers that just... enjoys scolding him. it's not like she needed to search high and low for a reason to, but she would still do it over small reasons. the whole class thinks she just wants to humiliate him and it actually garners some sympathy from them.

rindou doesn't normally care either, it's easy to tune out teachers scolding him, but not hamada sensei. especially not ever since she started confiscating his earphones in her classes, forcing him to listen to every word she says. so yes, rindou doesn't like her at all and has no idea what kawamura sensei sees in her.

now imagine the state of him when he finds out that there's homework from her due today and he had no idea about it. stressed is kind of an understatement.

the day before, your homeroom teacher assigned you all to different seats and rindou sits behind you now. he lit up immediately upon seeing you doing the homework, the exact same homework you had turned in two days early. the same homework he didn't know about.

"y/n," he calls out to you from behind and it certainly grabs your attention in an instant. a voice you've heard before, but never heard saying your name. rindou glitches for a second when you wordlessly turn your head to look at him. "can you help me-"

"no."

he raises an eyebrow, he hasn't even said the whole thing? "wha-"

"no, i won't do your homework," you interrupt him again, turning back around.

"wait—please, i really don't wanna get in trouble with hamada sensei." rindou gets up from his seat, standing beside you and your ears perk up just a little bit. the younger haitani brother, delinquent of the school is pleading you to do his homework? you honestly thought he'd be more annoying about it.

"i don't do other people's homework," you retort and you see him crossing his arms in your peripheral vision.

"then what's that?" he nods to the worksheet on your table.

"my homework."

"you turned this in two days early," he says, making you finally meet his eyes again. "besides, i don't think you ever do your homework last minute."

you chuckle, "you'd be surprised." at that, rindou furrows his eyebrows in confusion. there's a bit of silence for a while as you get back to work and rindou glances around. just when he's about to say something, you beat him to it. "i'm only doing this for shimoda because he's paying me."

"so money is what you want? fine, i'll-"

"no, i don't want your money."

you don't think his face could look any more confused, but it does. "then what's gonna get you to do my homework?" he asks, and you finally put your pencil down.

"teach me how to play basketball after classes and we have a deal."

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#bad girls that haven't been caught: series #tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers rindou #tokrev rindou #tr rindou #rindou haitani #haitani rindou #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #haitani rindou x reader

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someone-will-remember-us · 2 days ago

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It would have been easier for Caroline Darian if her father, Dominique Pelicot, were an unremitting bastard: an absent or distant dad, a man who battered her mother, took no interest in his kids or just soured every family occasion. Then the daughter of France’s most notorious mass rapist could consign him to Hell without a backward glance.

But for both Darian and — it would seem from this account — her mother, Gisèle, it is the ambiguities that magnify their pain. This slim book comprises the diary that Darian, now 45, kept in the weeks after the police revealed that Pelicot had been drugging Gisèle and pimping her out to strangers for ten years. Yet amid her revulsion at his limitless depravity are sweet reveries. There is her father taking her to dance classes; urging her to the summit as they cycle mountain roads in Provence; putting Barry White on the car stereo as she and her brothers cram on the back seat for family holidays; singing beautifully at her wedding and making the perfect speech at Gisèle’s 50th birthday, calling her “my one, my all”.

After their father’s crimes were revealed, Darian and her brothers, David and Florian, packed up the rented house in Mazan, where their parents retired and the rapists came, in just two days. Everything was jettisoned: furniture, photographs and her father’s paintings, including a female nude entitled Under My Thumb, which Darian personally destroyed. Gisèle left for a new life with just two suitcases and her dog.

Harder to discard are the idyllic summers, Pelicot teaching his grandson to swim, and drinks and board games on the terrace. When you discover your father drugged and photographed you naked and may have raped you too (which he has always denied), where do you file the innocent memories?

This quandary divides Caroline and her mother. Darian describes Gisèle as a “medieval queen” whose “innate elegance extends even to refusing to say a bad word about our father”. Gisèle, who lost her own mother aged nine, maintains an outer serenity. Darian, who is more visceral and volatile, collapsed after the news and was admitted briefly to a mental ward. She was aghast when her mother fretted that her father would be cold in prison, and took him a bag of warm clothes, or when she declared: “I want to remember the good times.” Gisèle was trying to reconcile two warring thoughts: that her husband is a monster and that she once loved him deeply. Otherwise, one supposes, she would have to junk her entire life.

Pelicot’s crimes hit his family like a cluster bomb, a central explosion containing a multitude of smaller blasts. How can Darian tell her young son that the grandfather he texted before every football match is dead to him now? How will she forgive her mother for refusing to countenance — because the thought might have tipped Gisèle into insanity — that Pelicot raped her too?

All families are strange, but quirks read as normal when you’re a child. Now with open eyes Darian sees that her comfortable middle-class upbringing was a façade, that it was only her mother’s middle management job, which came with a five-bedroom company house near Paris, that kept them afloat. Her father, an electrician who dabbled in property, set up companies that always failed.

Papers her brothers discovered reveal that Pelicot defaulted on huge loans that he took out mainly in his wife’s name. Gisèle let him handle all admin, never wondering why he always rushed to gather up the post. Besides being raped 200 times by at least 73 men and left with four STDs, she faced bankruptcy too.

Darian sees what she missed as a girl: that this wasn’t a close marriage, but a coercive one, and her father manipulated Gisèle under the guise of loving protector. They all believed him during those ten years when her mother suffered blackouts and memory loss — a side-effect of the pills he fed her — that it was her grandchildren who had tired her out.

Now moments that seemed inconsequential loom large. Darian recalls her father angrily hauling her mother off her feet by her blouse, coming home from school aged 14 to find bailiffs had taken all their furniture including beloved heirlooms, and her father helping himself to cash she had made from summer jobs, saying it was his right.

Pelicot starts to come into focus: a grifter, an amoral chancer, someone who always had secrets. The most powerful memory Darian dredges up is of her mother’s old friend Pascale coming to the house to say that Pelicot had propositioned her. “Your husband isn’t the man you’ve always taken him to be,” she warned. Pelicot threatened to beat up Pascale, and Gisèle never spoke to her again.

Finally we learn the probable source of Pelicot’s character. His own father was a terrible man: a caretaker at a rehabilitation centre, he was a big, leather-jacketed bully, a lazy tyrant who took Dominique out of school at 13 to bring in a wage. Within weeks of his wife dying he made their foster daughter, who was 30 years his junior and had severe learning difficulties, his new spouse. Darian notes that this poor girl ripped out her own hair and needed permission to change the TV channel. There is a whiff of Fred West here, yet Darian’s parents sent her to stay with them every summer holiday until she was old enough to complain.

Darian has written this book to launch her campaign against “chemical submission”, the use of drugs within controlling relationships, which is seldom picked up by police. This account does not include the four-month trial that ended with 51 men including Pelicot convicted of rape. Nor does it mention Pelicot’s earlier crimes: an attempted rape in Paris in the 1990s that Pelicot has admitted to and a rape-murder he has denied, for which he will soon stand trial. “I’m convinced we still have more to discover about my father,” Darian says darkly, and the French police, who are checking his DNA against decades of cold cases, would agree.

But this book, although fragmentary and brief, is the story of how families can absorb horrible deeds and not merely function, but seem outwardly happy. Pelicot’s sons put up with him, although he was always cadging money after another failed scheme. His youngest child, Florian, still came to family parties after his girlfriend walked in on Pelicot in the daytime, his office door wide open, masturbating at his laptop. The last text Darian’s husband sent to Pelicot was a jolly message about the Tour de France. For the sake of family harmony, or for their mother, or because he could turn on the charm, they seem to have tolerated him as a bit of a rogue.

Yet all the while Pelicot was defiling everyone — his wife, his daughter, his sons’ wives (whom he filmed naked with spy cameras) — and violating everywhere they felt safe, raping Gisèle in her marital bed, at Darian’s home and at her beloved holiday cottage on the Île de Ré. And still three years ahead of them loomed the public ordeal of the trial, which Darian will cover in a future book. But what we have here is a primal scream of shock and disbelief. She may never call Dominique Pelicot “Dad” again, but the horror is that is who he remains.

(archive)

#radblr #radfem #radical feminism #gender critical #radical feminist #terfblr #caroline darian #gisele pelicot

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ladycatofwinterfell · 2 days ago

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In the quiet dark

Day 2 of @nedcatweek: Wedding night/First time

Long after the fire in the hearth has died Ned remains awake, deeply aware of that the stranger that is his wife is also not sleeping. Though in the darkness of the unfamiliar bedchamber he gets to share a soft moment with her

Catelyn was a stranger to him in every way there was. A stranger and also his wife. His Lady Stark. Even as he had never seen her before that day. He had heard of her, of course. Many times. Being that she was Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter and had also been his brother’s betrothed it would have been strange if he had not heard of her.

His brother’s betrothed. The mere thought of it made it twist in Ned’s chest. He should not have been there. If the world had been bright and just it would have been Brandon in the bed next to her.

She was awake next to him in the pressing darkness. It was impossible to make himself unaware of it. He heard every breath she took, felt her every movement no matter how small.

And so he himself was as still as he possibly could be. Even when he grew warm and uncomfortable he did not move. He kept his back to her, stayed exactly where he was. Stared out into the unfamiliar room even as he could see very little of it with how dark it was.

Behind him Catelyn released a breath in the shape of a deep sigh.

“Did we drink all of the wine?” she then asked in a low voice.

Ned had poured them a cup each when they had just been thrown into the room, but that was all. The flagon was far from empty.

“We did not” he let her know, not turning to face her.

“Then would you like some, my lord?”

He was quite certain he would not sleep that night so why not accept another cup of wine?

”I could be persuaded.”

As he sat up Catelyn did the same. She wrapped herself in a pelt that adorned the foot end of the bed and then made her way through the room on light feet. Ned heard how she poured wine into the cups they had set aside before, seemingly not hindered by how dark it was.

Not a minute after she had left the bed she had come to sit next to him again, handing him one of the cups.

”I do not know which of the cups you had earlier this night, my lord, though I figured it might not matter much considering…”

”What else has passed between us?” Ned suggested.

There was a somewhat nervous laugh from her.

”You stole the words from my mouth.”

They both sipped from the wine. It was a strangely sweet wine with an aftertaste Ned could not claim to be fond of. It coated every inch of his mouth, clung to his tongue long after he had already swallowed the wine.

”When will you depart from Riverrun, my lord?” Catelyn asked.

Her voice was perfectly polite and yet Ned sensed what was underneath. She would be rid of him as soon as was possible. Not that he faulted her for it. He was as much a stranger to her as she was to him.

”Two weeks from today.”

There was a pause from her before she spoke.

”Two weeks is a rather short time.”

”Indeed it is, my lady.”

Though there was urgency in what they were doing. They could not stay at Riverrun any longer than was strictly necessary. There was no rest in war.

Again he drank as silence descended upon them, not knowing what more to say to her. Who was she? What passed through her mind in that moment?

Despite knowing of the cold outside Ned found himself wanting to open a window. Allowing the cool night air into the chamber would perhaps make it just a little easier to breathe. And just a little was all he could ask for. It was all he was ever given.

Ever since Ned had woken that morning he had felt as if though he was in a strange dream. He could recognise some things but in its entirety his existence was unfamiliar. He could not place himself in its centre and yet there he was. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

This was not helped by Catelyn’s presence. Brandon’s betrothed and Ned’s wife were one and the same, and she was sitting there with him. She had stood before him in Riverrun’s sept earlier that day. He knew things about her he should not have known. How soft her naked skin was. What it was like to kiss her. How she looked with her auburn hair in a fan about her head on the pillow. And yet he knew little else.

”I suppose two weeks are more than many men and women wed in wartime are granted” Catelyn said long after that had passed from Ned’s mind.

The cup in his hand was empty and yet he had not put it aside. Nor did he wish to. He held onto it.

”Though I shall pray for that you will return to me so that we may have more time together, my lord” she added before he could say anything.

As if she was afraid he would believe she wished for him to die.

”I hope for that, as well.”

Even as he said it it was hard to see that future. Himself in Winterfell with Catelyn at his side. Children carrying his name running through the castle. A peaceful north for him to rule. Though that was what awaited him if he lived through the war. Things he had never seen for himself.

”What a dreadful conversation to have on your wedding night” Catelyn reflected.

”Do forgive me” Ned apologised.

With what little he knew of her he was deeply aware of that she had deserved a joyful wedding. The most important guests attending that day had been the ghosts of those who had already lost their lives. The second most important guests were the living who were soon to march to their ends.

”You are blameless in all this horror, I do not fault you for any of it. Why would I?”

Ned could not muster more than a shrug.

”More wine?” was her response to that.

Again he saw no point in refusing even as the wine, mildly worded, disgusted him.

”Let me fetch it for you, my lady” he said, reaching for her cup.

Catelyn had covered her naked body with a pelt, he did not consider doing the same until it was already too late. Though what reason was there to play at modesty there in the darkness? She had seen him in his entirety when the fire had still been burning in the hearth.

Relying heavily on touch he managed to fill their cups once more, perhaps pouring a little more than he should have into each. It had been difficult to see how much had gone into each cup, but judging by the weight they were quite definitely almost full.

Though Catelyn did not mention it when she again had her cup in hand. No, it was quickly at her lips.

”What is Winterfell like?” she then asked.

Ned allowed himself a mouthful of detestable wine before he gave an answer. He was fairly certain Brandon would have told her that a long time ago. They had known each other for years, even as they had only met occasionally.

”I suspect you will find it too large and too cold, my lady. Southerners often do. But even so it is a sight to behold.”

”I much look forward to seeing it, even if it is too large and too cold.”

”I much look forward to showing it to you.”

If they ever got that far. Their future was and would remain shrouded by uncertainty.

Still it was all he wished for was to return to Winterfell. He wished to find Lyanna so that he could bring her home to Benjen. He wished to gather what remained of his family and house so that they could be safe. Catelyn had that day become part of his wish.

”Though I understand you have spent your youth in the south.”

”In the Eyrie” Ned specified. ”A sight to behold, as well.”

A sight that had to be seen to be believed. Writing did not do the castle justice, it was magnificent where it perched atop the mountain. A keep in the sky.

”Is that why you agreed to wed me in the sept?”

In truth he would not say he had agreed for that. He had arrived to Riverrun and been told the sept had been prepared for the ceremony. Though he also had not had any complaints. There were more important concerns.

”You, and Jon, and your sister all keep the Seven. Why arrange a ceremony in the fashion of the Old Gods solely for my sake?”

”Many other men would have demanded it.”

”Considering all else it seemed foolish to take offence, no great injustice was done.”

He would not have been able to find it in him.

What little light managed to reach into the room from behind the heavy drapes made her eyes gleam when she looked at him. She had beautiful eyes. All of her was beautiful, really. With her hair a shade of auburn Ned had never seen before and her freckled skin. She had a soft figure, her body was gently curved and smooth. There was a strange comfort in her lack of angles. He had been told of her beauty long before he had seen her, though it was something else entirely to actually see her.

Ned hid his face in his cup, took several gulps of wine before lowering it again. Suddenly he was deeply aware of his own nakedness and reached for a pelt of his own.

”Are you cold, my lord?” Catelyn asked. ”Should we relight the fire?”

”There is no need” Ned assured her.

He was warm. Too warm for the pelt. Though as it was he would rather sweat. It was not made better by that the intensity of her eyes seemed to grow with every passing moment.

One of Catelyn’s hands came to rest on his upper arm. Her slender fingers were cold enough for the hairs on his arm to rise. Though it was not unpleasant in the least. He had been so warm.

”Are you cold, my lady?” he returned the question.

”A little. I always am in winter.”

”Should we ever come to Winterfell you will have winter in abundance.”

”I am certain there are ways in which one can stay warm.”

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he entirely misunderstood. He would be deeply ashamed later, if so was. Though there was a great purpose to what they were doing. They needed an heir.

Still Ned set aside his cup and turned to face her. He felt every beat of his heart as Catelyn did the same.

The wine tasted better on her lips than it did in its own right. Suddenly he could appreciate it. It was as if that was the way it was meant to be enjoyed.

While her hands were cold the rest of her was warm. Heat radiated from her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Ned liked that more than he could have ever imagined he would and there was a twinge of shame when he was forced to admit that to himself. He did not know Catelyn and still the way she sighed into his mouth when he ran his hands down her sides delighted him.

If it was that they had spoken a little more or if the cover of darkness granted them some courage Ned could not say. Perhaps the wine had also done its part. What he could say was that it seemed to come more natural to the both of them that second time. There was less hesitation from Catelyn and Ned felt much more certain of himself.

Instinctively he moved to push her to her back, that was the way they had done it before. Though she resisted and immediately Ned yielded to that.

”My lady, if you do not—”

She had pressed her lips to his again before her could finish speaking. Still eager, still wanting. It was astonishing, truly. That she seemed to want him.

Without breaking the kiss Catelyn moved to straddle him, putting one leg on each side of him. The position left them even more closely entangled and made him desperately aware of his own hardness.

When Catelyn reached between them to wrap her fingers around him he broke the kiss so that he could lean his head back against the headboard. The heat that had spread from his lower stomach through his body was like fire, it was utterly unbearable.

As much as he enjoyed her hand on him he quickly realised how all-consuming the shame would be if he was to come like that. And there would be no child. Again and again he had been reminded of the importance of getting Lady Catelyn with child before he left Riverrun.

So with a gentle grip around her wrist he moved her hand away before placing his hands on her hips and guiding her down on his cock.

The moan that came from her made him dizzy. In combination with feeling the hot wetness of her he could barely breathe. His heart beat hard and fast in his chest, his blood was rushing.

With her hands on his shoulders she began to move. Very slowly at first, shifting slightly with each movement. Though it was not long before she found her footing and began to roll her hips with more purpose.

Ned would have wanted it to last forever. The pleasure of being joined with Catelyn was overwhelming and still he wanted more of it. The warmth of her skin against his, her sighs and moans, the way her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back. It seemed forbidden to think of even in that moment and still he could not stop himself.

Shivers went through him when her hands went from his shoulders to the back of his neck and she weaved her fingers through his hair. He could not keep himself from holding on tighter to her hips, his fingers slightly digging into her soft skin.

When she leaned down to kiss him again her hair fell forward and formed a cave around them, making it completely dark. Though he treasured that darkness and that feeling. Her hair so soft against his face.

In spite of his wish to go on it was not long before he came with a groan, spending his seed within her. The pleasure reached a peak, sending waves of heat through him, before slowly fading to a dull background noise.

As his heartbeat began slowing he raised his head so that he could look at Catelyn. At the woman he was still joined with. At his wife. It was as if he had not fully realised it until then and there. Catelyn was and would continue to be his wife.

She moved her hands from the back of his neck to the sides of his face, swept her thumbs over his cheekbones. All while having a soft smile on her lips.

Ned believed he would melt under her touch. The intimacy of how she held his head felt far more inappropriate than what they had just done, scandalously so. He did not know what to do with himself. The feeling was so large he could not house it in his body, it would explode out of his chest.

”I shall give you a son” she said, her voice laced with determination. ”A strong boy to inherit your house.”

”Our house” escaped Ned before he could think about it.

She was his Lady Stark, after all.

#nedcatweek2025 #i chose to focus more on the wedding night part than the first time part whatever sue me #what's the difference between the first time and the second time really?#catelyn stark #ned stark #ned x cat #my fic

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losergender · 1 hour ago

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the more i read the faster the torture will end (yes im aware im choosing to do this and can stop when i want to)

okay back to titan attacks

"the truth of my life was becoming depressingly obvious: people didn't like me" alexis i know i said that i feel bad for you and stuff but you are also so unlikeable my dear. you never talk to anyone and your only 2 interests are mathematicians and classical music and you don't even bring them up when talking to people

stop guys she's wearing a black hoodie with a skull holding up a middle finger in the front

alexis this is why people dislike you.

alexis is on the pink press everyone

she keeps saying fluck instead of fuck

"the great war killing all our race was really bad for friendship" miss,,, miss do you hear yourself,,,

the one thing that annoys me the most about this book is that alexis cannot go two sentences without mentioning how she is suicidal and how she wants to die and straight up off herself and how despite having so many chances at it she never does it (WHICH IS COOL. DONT KILL YOURSELF PEOPLE) but she also never gives any explanation as to why not? like there was one chapter that in which she was at corfu w patrochilles and she was like "the best thing i could do was drown myself." cut to 3 paragraphs later, she's swimming with her pet because "she loves swimming." she's going through physical torture in the military thing they're at? "i wish i would die" "it's easier to die" "i'm gonna kms" "the moment i got a sec i was gonna kms." she gets close to death once and she's like "thank god i didn't die." which is a thing that happens. many people myself included who have experimented a near-death experience or real fear of death after/during suicidal ideation will come to a realization that maybe they didn't want to die and the cognitive disonance of "i wish i could kms but i dont want to die" is, i feel, a not all that widely explored topic in YA fantasy. and i think it's interesting, and it opens so many doors in terms of character development, and it could have make this book so, so much better. and instead not only is the chance not taken, but also, it turns sucide into a joke for 36 chapter and it makes is so that any mention of actual risk of death/suicide goes as a joke even if its serious.

(bonus points -> she has two very clear reasons as to why she can't die. one is that she's technically immortal which i dont really get bc shes meant to be in military school as a trial to see if she deserves immortality but also she and her classmates can already not be killed. except for the fact that. they can because 3 of them died. so whats the point idk. and i can only imagine how distressful it would be for someone who has suffered so much and is actively facing torture every day of their life that and who is suicidal to be suddenly told that she is never gonna die. and she doesn't mention that whole dilemma AT ALL. then, theres the fact that her little brother doesn't know where she's been the past months and he's still facing homelessness, this time by himself yes i still think he's dead. see, she brings up charlie like once every 3 chapters when she remembers to which i guess is a good amount. the idea of charlie is there either to make her feel guilty (when she has the wet dream) or to motivate her, because she wants to go back to him. BUT IT IS NEVER THERE TO MOTIVATE HER OUT OF HER SUICIDAL IDEATION? WHICH,,, AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO FINDS THIS A BIT RANDOM? like how come charlie is good motivation when you are being forced to run after weeks of starvation but he is never once mentioned when you are wishing you would kill yourself? why is it "i gotta survive this for charlie" and then immediately after "i should kms" and no mention of charlie? like it feels so,, idk. whatever. sure.)

back to reading

speechless

"at this point, i didn't care if carl gauss thought i wasn't accomplished in the after life (i cared). carl can suck on my... stuff."

YOU HAVE A NICE GUY GREETING YOU WITH A SMILE AND BEING FRIENDLY TO YOU IN SPITE OF THE FACT YOU HAVEN'T TALKED TO ANYONE BUT 1 GUY IN MONTHS, IN SPITE OF THE FACT NO ONE WANTS TO KNOW SHIT ABOUT YOU, IN SPITE OF THE FACT YOU'VE BEEN COMPLAINING ALL CHAPTER ABOUT HOW PEOPLE DISLIKE YOU?? AND YOUR REASON IS THAT HE IS TOO GRATEFUL AND CHEERFUL?? ALEXIS IM TRYING TO BE NICE TO YOU BUT MY GIRL I CANT

a titan just attacked in the chapter called titan attacks who's surprised

"ice covered" you're in a greek island in autumn why is there snow.

okay so. the titan attacked while they were running (they've a circuit they have to do often around the island) and most students went to hide but she stayed behind to help one who had fallen (and who now is dead) and then she started to attack the titan herself with a stone and stuff until kharon (the predator) came to finish him off. and now. i think he's gonna kiss her. which. to quote finn mertens, i nono wanna.

btw in case anyone's lost, there's two guys pursuing alexis, kharon (the predator) and augustus (the evil teacher slash pokemon sword guy) (and theyre lovers)

alexis youre stupid

c-ptsd flashback okay

oh and now kharon mister "she's prey",, mister "i'm gonna kill her", mister "i'll be your sworn enemy", miser "i wanna torture you" is like "nooo alexis :( i didnt mean to trigger you by threatening to beat you up"

"can i touch you" BROTHER YOU WERE HOLDING HER BY THE JAW SECONDS AGO AND HAVE BEEN TOUCHING YOURSELF TO HER FOR AGES. WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN 1 MINTE AGO AND NOW FOR YOU TO LEARN CONSENT

augustus' whole thing is that he's overprotective of women to the point he wants to control every single one of their actions and he's so controlling of alexis that he threatens to torture/actually tortures everyone who touches her including doctors im gonna scream

also can i just say they go through all this intensive physical training just for their weapons of choice to be. Guns.

welcome to sunny reacting to stuff in which sunny reacts to stuff. in this tumblr post, we're dealing with blood of hercules (the i'm a girl and as it turns out i'm hercules book) because i'm doing So Bad Mentally that i am in dire need of something that will make me laugh.

chapter 1 reaction below

montana?? out of all states?? okay go off

"kids at school called it apocalytic core. i called it hell" already laughing. i love my life decisions.

SUPERSEED I'M SORRY WHAT?

"if you wanted to live (i didn't)" you and me both bestie

does the author know verb tenses

i'm saying so little bc otherwise the post would be huge. every single sentence is hilariously bad this is so silly

summary if anyone is interested -> pretty unclear dystopian setting, 10-yo befriends an echidna named nyx and then gets a foster brother delivered to her room the next day. the titans are like superhumans killing normal people and the "spartans" are 12 protector families (8 are olympian, 4 are cthonic and those are dangerous murderers or something).

#yapped off w this one #im tired of being silly about this book its time i put on the serious hat

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garvalhaminho · 3 months ago

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i have to admit i think about mark blackthorn in "tales from the shadowhunter academy" at least once a week

#'helen julian livia tiberius drusilla octavian. and emma. you see? i have not forgotten. every night no matter what has happened during the #day no matter if i am torn and bloodied or so bone-tired i wish i were dead-#i look up at the stars and i give each star a brother's name or a sister's face. i will not sleep until i remember every one.#THE STARS WILL BURN OUT BEFORE I FORGET.'#'there is nothing wrong with ty but he is different and the clave hates all that is different.-#they will try to punish him for being who he is. THEY WOULD PUNISH A STAR FOR BURNING.'#'[tavvy] is so little. he won't remember dad or m- or his mother. he's the littlest thing. they let me hold his hand when he was born and-#his head fit into the palm of my hand. i can still feel his weight there even when i cannot grasp his name. i held him and i knew i had to-#support his head: that he was mine to support and protect. forever. oh but forever lasts such a short time in the mortal world.-#he will not remember me either. maybe drusilla will forget as well. i do not think so though.-#drusilla learns everything by heart and she has the sweetest heart of us all. i hope her memories of me stay sweet.'#'jules. my artist. my dreamer. hold him up to the light and he would shine a dozen different colors. all he cares about is his art and-#his emma. he will try to help helen of course but he is still so young. they are so young and so easily lost.'#'“helen julian livia tiberius octavian. and emma” mark whispered his voice low and revered. one simon recognized from the synagogue-#from the voices of mothers calling the children from all the times and places he had heard people call on what they held most sacred.'#“are you here to save me?”#i was unwell when i read that #i think about that quote so much #also also there's more #“i might as well be dead for all the good i am to my brothers and sisters.”#SOMEBODY SEDATE ME #honourable mention to simon's response: “'oh mark blackthorn what are they doing to you?' simon whispered.”#also “all that is good and true is lost.”#aaand #ok i am done now #have a nice day<3333 #tales from the shadowhunter academy #tftsa #simon lewis #simon lovelace

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prisonhannibal · 3 months ago

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!! DONT SKIP !! donations urgently needed They are only at €5,561 out of €50,000 goal

I was contacted by Nader to draw pictures for and help spread his brother Abdulsalam Al-Anqar’s fundraiser to save their family. Nader is a 17 year old boy who lives in Gaza with his family: parents Ahmed (54) and mother Iman (49), brothers Abdulsalam (26), Mohammed (14), and Omar (21) and Abdulsalam’s wife and their one year old daughter Iman. Imagine it was your sibling, your friend, your son, who should be in school or with his friends, who instead has to hide from bombs and ask for help online to save his family. His family have suffered through one year of genocide. All of you are their hope to get to safety.

This fundraiser is vetted by @gazavetters, number four on the spreadsheet here

Abdulsalams daughter Iman is only one year old and has lived most her life in a war zone. She is suffering from malnutrition. It’s every fathers worst nightmare to see their child starve and not be able to feed her. Please help him feed his daughter and get her to safety. No child should grow up hearing the sound of bombs. Every child has the right to food and safety. You can help give Iman the childhood she should have, where she can sleep in a safe bed at night with a full stomach.

Their father Ahmed has cancer and needs surgery and medication. It is not possible to get the treatment he needs in Gaza. every day his illness is left untreated, the cancer will continue to spread through his body, so he very urgently needs money for treatment and travel. If you help them get to their goal, you are saving their fathers life. Don’t let this family who have already lost so much lose their father, husband, and grandfather

Nader has showed me pictures of this explosion close to them, thankfully they were able to get away. Every day they stay in Gaza their lives are at risk from israeli bombs. Every day and hour counts. I know there are compassionate and kind people who are willing to help. every euro helps, YOUR donation will bring them one moment closer to safety. With love and hope I’m asking you to give what you can, I believe in the kind people of the world and I beg you to not let them die. If you can’t donate, please share so it may reach people who can.

Never forget that palestinians are not numbers on a list of deaths. Please think of each of them, think of their names and faces and know that you can help them. I think of them every day. I think of the hopes and dreams they should achieve, I think of their education, their future, and the love they show when they work hard every day to get help. You may feel powerless to stop this genocide, but you have the power to save Abdulsalam and his family. I dream that the day will come soon where they may use their days to rest and recover from what they’ve been through, where they can share a meal and laugh and the children will play, instead of having to use their time to beg the world to listen and help them. We can make this possible.

50 000 euros is a lot of money for one person to give, but for all of us together, it can be done. Please don’t look away.

(drawing above by @neechees)

Thank you for reading their story. Please don’t keep scrolling without sharing

here is the link again to their fundraiser

tagging for reach:

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitive @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @furiousfinnstan @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryoria @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymoods @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisams @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater @toesuckingoctober @waskuyecaozu

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whencartoonsruletheworld · 7 months ago

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candace flynn is THE most teenage girl character of all time. she is at level 100 anxiety 24/7. she shows her love for her brothers by trying to get them in trouble constantly. her neck is as long as her forearm. she features on a blues album after having an allergic reaction. she has a shrine to her boyfriend in her room. she can't live without her phone. she has a panic room in the basement. she plays 20 instruments that all start with the letter B. she read all of sherlock holmes in one night. she's seen their platypus running around as a secret agent more than once, assumed she was hallucinating each time, and moved on with her life while telling no one. she likes wrestling video games. she was rutabaga princess. she has a billion people to email memes to but when she's trying to think of friends she can only think of four people and one of them is her mom. most animals hate her except monkeys. she invented grilled cheese flavored ice cream. she pretended to be irish for a week. she's autistically obsessed with her universe's version of barney. she writes marvel fanfiction. she does parkour. there's an entire archive of her voice actress screaming just in case her voice ever gave out while recording. she sees her brothers build time machines and rollercoasters every day but doesn't believe in santa. when she starts scheming the wicked witch of the west theme starts playing in the background. she was elected queen of mars. she won a "mayor for the day" essay competition. there's a random person in town who's been avoiding her to the point she doesn't know he exists. she learned how to parallel park by driving a monster truck. she thinks the plural of moose is "meese." she tracks her mom with a GPS. she doesn't know her little brother's full name. she's scared of heights, spiders, and the number seven. when her boyfriend told her he'd call "soon" she started doing complex math to try and figure out when exactly that would be. her first thought upon seeing her royal doppelganger was to go to the laundromat and fill all the dryers with cheese. she earned 50 not-girl-scout patches in one day through sheer determination. she can run fast enough to catch up to moving cars. she can sense when ground is broken in the backyard and when people are judging her. one time she got her face caught in the sink. her brothers carved her into mount rushmore. every now and again a magical zebra appears, calls her kevin, and then disappears again. she killed 99% of an alien invasion with a t-shirt cannon. in an alternate universe she's leading a regime-destroying resistance at the age of 15. she's being accidentally gaslit every day of her life.

#candace flynn #phineas and ferb #pnf #mine

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loveanddeepdick · 3 months ago

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nerd!choso who is so unknown at school that people go, “who?” when he’s mentioned. you’re pretty sure that only five people knew who he even was.

nerd!choso who is most definitely the president of some club like chess or dead poets society. he saw you at the club fair and fell in love

he thinks he went to heaven when you approach his table at club rush. yuji, although not in chess, was helping choso recruit people since his poor brother was too shy to talk to anyone. you go up to your friend yuji, making small talk with him.

“i’ve never played chess, yuji”, you giggled

“my brother can teach you!”

you glanced over at choso, not even noticing him at first. he was.. pretty. not pretty as in a way your friends would giggle at you when they saw you in a new outfit, not pretty as in the comments you got under your instagram post, but he was a natural beauty.

yuji had to snap you out of it. of course he noticed though, the way you two looked at each other.

nerd!choso who teaches you how to play chess, not letting the two other members of the small club play with you.

nerd!choso who helps you study, helps you carry textbooks, and helps you with midterms and any exams you have.

nerd!choso who has a nosebleed when you give him a small peck on the cheek when he finally confesses to you after months of pining for you.

you two had been studying in his dorm, comfortable with each other as your head was leaning against his shoulder as you two relished in each other’s presence.

“i like you.”

“oh! i like you t—“

“no. i like you.”

you turn to him. a small smile creeping onto your face. you didn’t say anything, only pressing a short kiss on his cheek. he immediately freezes up, his hands turning clammy and sweaty.

“i—uh..”

then, a trickle of blood comes from his nose, dripping onto his cupid’s bow.

“oh my god, cho!”, you gasped as you jump up, running to grab a tissue from his nightstand where he also kept a picture of you two and a bottle of lotion

you leaned in, wiping his nose attentively. as you chide and nurse him while mumbling, choso can’t help but stare down to take a peep at your tank top. he could see the valley of your boobs and the top of your bra. he choked, letting out a startled gasp before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

he knocked out cold on the spot

nerd!choso who keeps a special picture of you in his wallet. he’ll be at his chess club meetings, at lectures, out with his family, and he keeps a hand on his wallet, knowing you’re in there.

the picture was a polaroid he took with your camera, your eyes were just out of frame but he could see a portion of your fucked out face, his cum dripping from your mouth and splattered on your cheeks. you were completely naked and sprawled out on his bed in his childhood home

it was almost funny how a hot goddess of a girl was naked, covered in his cum, and sprawled out, pussy on display on his old lego ninjago bedsheets.

nerd!choso who dedicates every single one of his orgasms to you. if you were with him, he’d find a way to cum inside you. in your mouth or your pussy, he’s find a way inside. of course, he’d also opt for cumming on your tits or on your face, he wasn’t greedy. but what he really wants, is to cum inside your cute little ass! he’s too shy to ask, of course, but the day would come eventually

if you weren’t here though, he’d pull up his personal secret album for you, filled photos and videos with shots of under your skirt, through the crack of your bedroom, from your window, when you just walking around with a tank top. he loved it all.

but his favorites were videos you’d allowed him to take while he was fucking you from the back or in missionary. he loved watching them on repeat, never getting bored of them. after a while, he gained the courage to show you as well.

you checked your phone to see a notification from your boyfriend and gasped when you opened it.

it was an image of the picture he kept of you beside his bed, covered in his semen. in the corner of the photo was his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.

‘i miss you 🖤’

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #choso kamo x reader smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo #choso x you #choso x reader #choso smut #jjk choso #jjk x you #rina thinking 📝

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saetoru · 1 year ago

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder.

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence.

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, ��he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six.

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard.

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you.

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him?

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs.

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better.

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop.

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines.

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his.

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone.

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction.

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru.

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower.

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you.

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you.

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends.

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted.

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four.

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new.

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome.

scarily handsome, in fact.

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend.

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen.

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk.

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused.

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle.

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him.

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it.

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it.

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information.

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips.

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble.

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone.

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples.

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb.

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign.

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core.

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up.

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you.

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal.

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale.

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face.

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him.

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night.

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length.

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more.

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you.

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him.

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans.

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness.

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you.

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever.

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin.

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

#teepods.writings #fics.#thirstee!#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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mv1simp · 5 months ago

Text

Cuffing Szn ♥️

Max Verstappen x MidSize!Reader

it's cuffing season and all the girls are leaving to get a big boy (I need a big boy, give me a big boy)

As Max Verstappen's new girlfriend, you're one of the few WAGs on the grid who isn't a model and the only one, you think self consciously, who doesn't look like a model either. Good thing your big, strong boyfriend is here to set the record straight about how much he disagrees with you.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, trigger warning: explicit discussion about eating disorder and body dysmorphia, dom!max, sub!reader, size kink, this is just a shameless excuse for me to write smut about max's thighs, 3.3k WC

When you'd delivered one of your favourite patient's 3rd baby, handing over the healthy, crying pale blob (after thoroughly wiping it down because, you know) with a congratulations, Victoria, its a boy! you hadn't expected to catch the eye of the patient's very attractive, tall older brother at her side.

But as you walked off down the hallway once the baby checks were done, you were surprised to find Max stopping you with a large but gentle hand on your shoulder. You'd seen him a couple of times in Victoria's pregnancy, accompanying her and her husband at the ultrasound checks leading upto the delivery. You'd secretly thought he was so adorable with the way he handled his nieces and nephews patiently while his sister got scanned.

You'd also thought he looked positively delectable in his white linen shirt that highlighted his broad shoulders, and skinny jeans that clung to some of the thickest thighs you'd seen a man be blessed with. But making bedroom eyes at patient's hot family members was generally frowned upon (although not explicitly prohibited in the Hippocratic Oath, one could argue) so you promptly forgot about the handsome blonde 5 minutes later when the emergency bell went off.

But he stood before you that day, looking every bit as attractive as you remembered, even more so with a pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked if this was the last time you'd be looking after Victoria?

You tilted your head quizzically at him, your neck a little strained from looking up at his 6 foot frame from your 5"1 one. Yes it is, you informed him, and because new families often got anxious, you sweetly added that it was a good thing, to not see you again, because it meant darling Victoria and her baby are both healthy.

He confuses you again by saying that he was hoping to see you again. Oh! You smile excitedly, are you and your wife expecting? You pull out your clinic card and tell him that you're actually all booked out for the year but you'll make an exception for Victoria's brother.

His blush deepens. (Somewhere in a hospital broom cupboard, Lando Norris was filming this scene unfold and cackling.) Max rapidly explained that he's not expecting. Oh, and he's not married. And also he doesn't have a girlfriend. Basically, I'm single - he finally stammers out. (Rizzless and bitchless, Lando texts him). Thankfully, at this point you had caught on that Max was trying to ask you out, and after a quick phone call to the legal team to confirm you were clear, you turn back around to inform him cheekily that he could pick you up at 8pm Friday night for dinner. (Wait, this actually worked? a flabbergasted Lando now texts.) The emergency pager then goes off so you gently tug on Max's shirt to hint that you want him to bring his face down, give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and sprint off to Ward 6.

The dinner goes perfectly, with Max's charm returning in full force after a G&T - Sorry about earlier, schat, you're such a gorgeous woman and a very smart doctor, it makes me nervous - leading to a 2nd date and then a 3rd and then to a weekend trip in a romantic Nice winery, where you can't resist jumping into his muscly arms after a glass of wine and demanding he have his way with you. (He does. Very thoroughly. Multiple times that night, and the morning after. Thinking about it still has you blushing.)

6 months later, you two are officially going out and you're making your first appearance as his girlfriend at the races. You had carefully dressed in a classy Mirror Palais dress, complete with matching heels to save your poor boyfriend having to bend down too much. You'd also become rather turned on at seeing your normally soft, gentle cat dad of a boyfriend turn into an absolute menace once the Redbull suit is zipped up, terrorising his way all the way to P1 and living up to his nickname of the Dutch lion. As his assistant guides you to the podium ceremony, you're stopped by various fans who compliment your outfit and ask for pictures. The media attention is very new to you, as Max had been very insistent on protecting your privacy as you two established yourselves as a couple. But everyone had been so nice today - until you started noticing the dirty looks thrown your way, glaring up and down your form. And then, a couple of snide comments from passing fans about how you were very confident to wear such a body hugging dress, especially with your curvy figure.

You roll your eyes at their clearly jealous tones, and walk over to the podium ceremony to greet your boyfriend. He breaks into an adorable grin when he sees you, his whole face lighting up as he easily scoops you up for a deep kiss. The cameras around you two go crazy, but don't pick up his whispers when he sets you down and leans in, telling you that you looked so pretty today, schat, he'd been staring at you so much GP had to tell him to focus, and how was your first race? nobody gave you a hard time, did they? You don't miss the way his eyes are attentively focused on your face, clearly still worried about the damage he had warned you about before you agreed to go public.

You aren't going to spoil his win over a couple of snide comments. Not at all, baby you reassure, before whispering back that he looked really hot in his tight fireproofs, could he pretty please bring them home later when you give him his reward for such a good performance on the track? The tip of Max's ears go pink as he struggles to maintain a straight face for the cameras. Giggling, you press a kiss to his cheek and murmur you'll see him after his interviews.

Later though, when Max is in his interview across the paddock and you're being introduced to the other WAGs, you can't help but notice how different they all look in their body hugging dresses compared to you. Although you wouldn't be called fat, you aren't slim either, and you're nowhere near the tiny, trim figures the other girls maintain. Once the seed of insecurity is planted, it's very hard to stop it growing out of control - and at each race or public event or launch party you attend at Max's side, you start to pick apart more and more insecurities about yourself. How you're so much shorter than the numerous models on the grid, making you feel childish and round compared to their lithe gracefulness. How their delicate collarbones and ribs can clearly be seen at all times, but yours only if you twisted your neck a certain way. And they're all so lovely, chatting eagerly with you and interested to hear about your work, asking if you'd take so-and-so on as a patient, you had a great reputation already even though you were a new doctor in Monaco! The conversations distract you from your worries for a bit.

But afterwards, when you'd be laughing at cat memes online and sending them to your boyfriend, you'd come across the paparazzi pics of you speaking to the WAGs and felt sick to your stomach at how huge you thought you looked compared to everyone else, clearly standing out as the plainest one amongst their flawless faces. Some of the comments agreed, saying that it was just sad that the best driver on the grid had the ugliest girlfriend, and couldn't Max buy his gf some ozempic with all his tax evasion money? Comments that would have made you laugh at the originality now suddenly had you sobbing, and you're glad you hadn't stayed at Max's tonight and had to explain the state you were in.

When you'd been younger, in college, you'd started struggling with managing your stress levels given you were a perfectionist working towards a very difficult medical degree. Having always been a stress eater, you frequently binged on junk food, and obviously ended up gaining quite a bit of weight. Your family and ex boyfriend had ridiculed you endlessly, and so the year after you had to work hard and lose it all, which you had managed to do. You'd mentioned this to Max in passing, a couple months into dating when he'd spotted an old college picture of you and muttered so fucking cute, pocketing it.

You didn't tell Max about how you'd lost the weight though - with a vicious binging and purging cycle for the better chunk of a year. You'd grown out of that "phase" once you'd left college, or so you thought - because it was almost too easy to slip back into it now, to enjoy the sick pleasure at barely eating all day and seeing the weight drop on the scale, then bingeing on whatever you wanted because it didn't count, you'd throw it up anyways. You had to be very careful with it this time round, because your boyfriend's attentive gaze had been fixed on you even more so than usual - noting how you've been wearing higher heels, how your dresses are still as gorgeous as ever but never body hugging anymore, how you spend hours before a race now perfecting your makeup instead of joining him in the garage and don't spend the nights at his anymore. You weasel your way out of his questions when he asks you repeatedly if everything was okay, schat?

But you weren't able to fool him any longer after attending a charity gala for one of his sponsors. You'd actually been happy with your appearance for once, pleased with your slimmer waist this month, but as the night went on you started to feel the fatigue of starving yourself catching up, leaning more and more into Max's side as he glanced at you with concern. Rubbing your back soothingly, he asked if you wanted to leave early, but you shook your head, murmuring you were okay, your feet just hurt a little is all. He frowned then, hating to see you in pain just to be dressed up for some stupid event he couldn't care less about. Bringing you to the empty lobby, he told you he was going to grab your coats and have the car brought round, end of discussion, you need to rest, okay liefje? You didn't have it in you to protest any longer so just nodded. You hadn't realised just how much you'd been leaning on him until he left, and as stars started entering your vision, Max returned just in time to catch you before you stumbled.

You felt him firmly grab your waist, fully supporting your weight as he led you out to the car, lowering you gently into the seat and even buckling you in. You started feeling a bit better inside his Aston Martin with the aircon on, nibbling on a high protein low calorie bar you'd stashed in your clutch. Regaining your alertness, you notice the tense atmosphere, with a stormy expression on Max's face as he drove rather furiously through the Monaco streets, his hand not even resting on your thigh like it usually did but gripping the wheel tightly. Maxie - you begin uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension and ask why he was upset, but he cuts you off with a terse Don't. Let's wait till we're home.

So you wait, until you're both walking in through the front door. Max rips off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves, but he still doesn't talk and instead heads to the kitchen. You follow him, sitting on a barstool to admire how he still looked so handsome in the fitted sky blue shirt and tight navy pants, even when he was clearly mad. As Max starts cooking, his back to you, he tells you about how growing up his sister Victoria had to go to therapy for a long time because she wouldn't stop throwing up every time she ate because their father told her she was too fat (despite looking like a buffalo himself, Max snorts as he sets down a simple but delicious plate of chicken pesto pasta with salad in front of you), about how Max has seen countless girlfriends on the paddock purposely avoid eating all day, including his already stick thin model exes, and how Max himself would be called fat every month or the other by some trashy gossip magazine, because the media is just fucking toxic, he hisses. This is why I wanted to keep us hidden away from the cameras. He glances pointedly at your plate, where you've eaten the salad and chicken and not touched your pasta. You sigh and pick up your fork, slowly working your way through the food as you tell him that you suppose your diet had somewhat...spiralled out of control, but honestly, Max, I'm completely fine, and you two can't avoid the cameras forever given how he's the frickin F1 winner at all-

Don't tell me that you're fine. Do you really think I don't know what's going on? Max demands tersely with crossed arms. Finally finished with your meal, you hop off the stool to neatly place your plate in the sink, ignoring his question. Standing behind you, he watches you wash the dishes, still not even reaching his chin, even in those damn 6 inch heels you're still wearing. You do respond when he asks you just why you're putting your body through such torture.

C'mon, Max you say with an eyeroll, You know why, I need to lose some weight, I'm so much heavier compared to all the other girls and all your exes, and you deserve to have a girlfriend who looks-

Don't tell me what I do or don't deserve, schat. I always want the best and that's why I picked you. You're really gonna question the choice of a world champion, hmm? Max's deep voice is now right by your ears as he leans down behind you. You feel a shiver run up the back on your spine as he curls his huge arms possessively around your waist and thighs. He continues his whispers, his hands roaming up to your plush tits and another squeezing your ass, telling you You're so goddamn pretty. Every single part of you, just for me, making you bite your lip and breathily moan from his affections - it'd been a while since he'd had his way with you with all your avoidance, after all.

You feel him slowly unzip your dress, and the silk easily falls to the ground, leaving you only in your stiletto heels and a deep red lingerie set he’d gifted you for your 3 month anniversary. You tense, already feeling self conscious, but before you can say anything Max has wrapped a large hand around your waist and easily flipped you around to sit on the kitchen counter. You gasp from the action, hands automatically going to rest on his broad shoulders as your face comes level with his.

I haven’t made it clear just how lucky I am to have such a beautiful girl all to myself, schat, Max says huskily, before pulling away to unbutton his shirt, his blue eyes darkening as they roam over your pretty tits spilling over in the lacey bra, over your cute plush tummy, and over those deliciously soft thighs he adores. His hungry stare is really starting to drive you wild now, and you beg at him to hurry up and finish undressing. Chuckling, he throws his pants to the side as well, now only wearing his tight boxers. He pulls you forward on the counter so you're flush against him. See what you do to me, sweet girl? Hmm? he grinds the very prominent bulge in his boxers against your own damp core, making you gasp. You get me so hard and you haven't even touched me yet, that's the kind of power you have over me.

At his words, you don’t hold back from running your hand all along Max’s well defined chest. Your boyfriend is so much bigger than you and it's incredibly sexy. He towers over you easily with his 6 foot frame, all wide shoulders and swollen biceps and muscled thighs, and you don't hide the hypnotised look in your eyes as you trace from his thick neck down to his slutty waist, desire and desperation coursing through you, replacing any inhibitions you'd had earlier.

He grasps one of your wandering hands in his own, his larger palm easily dwarfing your tiny one and making you bite your lip at the difference in size. His attentive gaze doesn't miss this either, and with a low hmm he brazenly asks if you found it as hot as he did, the fact that you were the perfect size for him to snap into half if he wanted? He knows he's got you right where he wants as your pupils go wide with desire, breath hitching at the thought of your big boyfriend using his strength against you for once.

Then he's pulling apart your pretty little set, lace ripping and a large hand easily wraps around your entire throat, pulling you into a breathless kiss that has you moaning at his skilled tongue. You barely have time to collect yourself when he suddenly lifts you up by the waist, biceps flexing, and your eyes widen as you're lifted impossibly high in the air and find yourself straddling his thick shoulders, his face now at the perfect height to bury his tongue into your dripping pussy right in front of him. Max! you squeal, utterly ruined by his impressive display of strength. You're desperately scrambling for purchase at the cabinets behind you, head banging back against the wall as he relentlessly thrusts his wicked tongue into your puffy folds.

And he only sets you down after you cum obediently all over greedy lips like he demands you to do, then gently carries your shaky form to the bedroom to show you multiple more examples of how you were just made to take him, truly the perfect girl for him, weren't you? You'd been too blissfully fucked out by that point to form a coherent response.

Needless to say, you find yourself caring very little next time strangers had anything to say about the way you looked, thanks to Max's hands on affections (he'd also taken you to therapy like the supportive boyfriend he was, bless him.) He'd quickly formed a personal favourite method to prove to you just how desperate he was for you and how you had the world champion in the palm of your hand, whenever he saw that look flicker into your eyes from time to time. He'd take you back home, make you undress yourself for his hungry gaze, then lift you up into his arms, folding your thighs up against your waist from where he held them. You’d moan as he slid into you, bouncing your whole body onto his hard cock like you were a ragdoll, making you scream his name endlessly as he fucked you mid-air.

And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly possessive, he'd flip you around, pressing your back to his toned chest, as he made you watch with him in the mirror how he obscenely slid in and out of your dripping pussy. Whispering in your ear that see, like he had told you, he had such good taste, don't I, schat? And as you met his heated gaze through the reflective surface, clenching around him when you saw the pure love and raw desire in his eyes, you couldn't help but agree.

---------------------------------------------------------

A/N: guys can you guess I have a thing for boys who are big. Big boys, if you will. Someone just let me sit on Max’s lap goddamn 💸💸 as always lmk what you think and if u have any requests!!

#tw eating issues #tw ed disorder #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #chubby!reader #midsize!reader #plus size!reader

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stylesispunk · 1 month ago

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'The soldier in the armour' | part i

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it. “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

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